The control room in the Cybele was really starting to feel like home. It wasn't a big one, not like some of the other ships, but there was enough room to maneuver a wheelchair through. It was a clunky looking room, with an island in the center. The radio was mercifully low enough that Artie could get to it with ease, and one of these days someone was finally going to teach him all the steps for an FTL jump. If the worlds were going to end, he was going to get at least one dream filled, damn it.

"Good morning, Artie," Captain Xu said, smiling at him from her post. "What's on your agenda for the day?"

"I've got to go over to Cloud 9. Meeting." It still felt weird to say he had a meeting. Meetings were something his parents did. But it was kind of cool.

"Tough life, huh?" Captain Xu teased him.

"Can't complain," Artie said. "Anything new come in overnight?" he asked as he began swiveling the dial on the comm unit.

"Nothing interesting. The Gemenon Traveler is sending out some paper, and the meat comes in from the Kimba Hita today."

"No Cylons?"

"No Cylons. Been a few days since that boarding party hit Galactica." Captain Xu sighed. "Wish I could believe we're rid of them."

"Yeah. No chance of that happening," Artie said. He picked up the clipboard and Captain Xu turned back to her own work as he began going through the call log. There were the advertised messages about meat and paper, but also a slightly more interesting one concerning a meeting about organizing a protest to have the Vice President lead the government while Roslin was in prison. There was another bulletin from Galactica re-emphasizing that Laura Roslin and Lee Adama were fugitives, and that if spotted, the Galactica should be contacted immediately. Artie bit his lip at that one, pushing his glasses back up his nose as he stated at the neatly typed words.

He checked his watch. Four-fifty. Say what you would about Galactica, they ran on a schedule. Artie grinned and slipped on the headphones, turning the wireless to the right channel.

"Galactica, this is Cybele."

"Right on time, Cybele." Mercedes' voice was distorted with the static, but it still sounded enough like her. Artie smiled to hear it, just like he did every morning at this time. "How have you been?"

"Good. Can't really complain." He glanced over at Captain Xu, but she either wasn't listening or didn't care. "How's life over there?"

"Puck's still insufferable," Mercedes said. "If he makes me call him Private Puckerman, Cylon Slayer one more time, I swear I'm going to punch his Marine ass."

"It does have a nice ring to it," Artie said wistfully.

"Yeah, but the way he talks, you'd think no one ever survived a battle before."

"I think I'd be the same way after taking down a couple of Cylons." Artie wasn't a little jealous that Puck had that opportunity. Not at all. No.

Mercedes heard it. "Don't let him fool you. Most of the time he's sitting on his ass doing guard duty or doing drills. It's not like he's single-handedly saving the world."

"Right." Artie sighed. "Any word on the Commander's recovery?"

"Dualla says he should be coming back in a day or two," Mercedes said. "Until then, we've still got Colonel Tigh. But you heard the Cylon was shot, right?"

"Yeah." Artie tried to sound casual, but he shivered. The fact that a Cylon could look enough like a human to be in the military for two years and then gun down the Commander was absolutely frightening, although he wasn't going to say that out loud. But he was glad someone had shot the thing.

"Hey," Mercedes said, "is it true that more people are accusing each other of being Cylons since they found out there was another one on Galactica?"

"Don't know about other ships, but Coach Sylvester nearly had Mr. Schuester out the airlock again two days ago, until Dr. O'Neill stepped in. But now that I think about it, I'm not sure she even tried to convince anyone he was a Cylon. I think it had to do with his hair. But some people thought that's what she was doing."

"Sounds exciting."

"It would be if she hadn't done it four times before this. I think Dr. O'Neill is getting bored." He smiled as Mercedes laughed, and then remembered the other thing he meant to tell her. "Oh, and in other news, Sam has a girlfriend."

"Really?" Mercedes and Sam had dated briefly, but their breakup had easily been the most drama-free breakup New Directions had ever seen, and they just seemed to be even better friends since. "Who's he seeing?"

"A girl he met over on the Daru Mozu. Her name's Rya."

"Good for him." Mercedes sounded genuinely happy for him.

"Mercedes?" Artie began, wishing he didn't sound so damned tentative.

"Mm?"

"Have they found the Pres- Ms. Roslin?"

There was a short, heavy silence on the other end, and then Mercedes said, "I have a call coming in on another channel."

"Mercedes, I-"

"I'll talk to you about this later, Artie. But I really do have duty." And just like that, she cut off. Artie sighed and pulled the headphones off.

"Are you okay?" Captain Xu asked him.

"Fine," Artie said, with what he hoped was a bright smile and knew probably wasn't. Of all the people in New Directions, Mercedes was the one he really wanted to talk to about Roslin and what was going on. What Roslin had said, about being the dying leader that the Pythian prophecies said would lead the people to Earth. Mercedes knew the Scrolls, and she'd be able to explain her beliefs to him a lot better than anyone else, without looking down on him for the lack of scriptural knowledge that any Gemenese person was supposed to have. This was the first time he'd had the guts to ask, and Mercedes hadn't been able to answer. Or hadn't wanted to answer - he had no idea if she'd cut him off or really did have to get back to work.

"Captian Xu?"

"Yes, Artie?"

"Everyone says that Roslin-"

"President Roslin, Artie."

"President Roslin must be on the move, so the Galactica can't find her. What should I do if she contacts us?"

Captain Xu looked up eagerly. "Has she?" she asked, leaning forward.

"No. No, not that I know of."

"Oh." Captain Xu looked a little disappointed. "Well, if she contacts us, you tell her that the Cybele is at her service, Artie. Whatever we can do to help the President, we will do it."

Artie nodded and looked back down at his notes. It was a theoretical case, and the odds of it happening were probably pretty slim. The Cybele didn't strike him as a ship with a lot of good hiding places- it was too crowded and too small, and traffic in and out would be easy to monitor. But what he'd really wanted to know was what Captain Xu would say.

What he really wanted to know was what he would say. He looked at the wireless. What if Roslin called up right now? What would he say? "Sorry, ma'am, I really like you and I think you're a good President, but I can't put this ship at risk"? "Do you really think you're the dying leader?" "Please, come aboard, I might secretly think you're a lunatic but everyone else on board thinks you're right"? The truth was, he had no idea. He'd probably tell her to come on board, just because that's what Captain Xu told him to say. Great reason. But then, saying no would be turning the rightful President of the Colonies over to the military, and Artie wasn't sure he liked that idea, either.

Fortunately, the wireless remained quiet, and no former or current Presidents hailed him, pleading for sanctuary from a military that was a crazed mess after a Cylon infiltrator had put two slugs in the Commander's chest. The day continued as normal.

He turned back to his clipboard, looking at the schedule he'd put together for himself for the day. He had the Cloud 9 trip, which would be a lot of dealing with people and then having adults try to explain to him how to install systems until they finally caught on that he knew his way around a radio better than a lot of them did. He flipped a page and a slip of paper caught his eye. He didn't remember it being there last night, but he definitely recognized the handwriting.

A.A-

I need to talk to you. Cloud 9, the Starlight Lounge, 7:00 tonight. And please, I'm begging you, don't wear a sweater vest.

-K.H.

Really, Artie thought with a sigh, why bother with just initials if Kurt was going to be so obvious about exactly who he was? And what was so important that Kurt had to meet with him at the Starlight Lounge, instead of just talking about it back here on the Cybele, and that Kurt would leave a note instead of just saying 'hey, meet me wherever'?

It was a mystery, but at the same time, it was an interesting one. The day might actually be looking up.

***

"How many kids are we expecting today?" Mike asked Tina as he spread peanut butter on his toast.

"The same number as always," Tina said. "Why would it be different?"

Mike shrugged. "Some of the parents don't seem to want their kids out of reach with the whole martial law thing."

"That's kind of ridiculous, isn't it?" Artie asked, stirring his oatmeal. "I mean, I know that there was the Gideon, but the soldiers aren't just wandering on the ships shooting people."

"Well, no one expected them to actually shoot on the Gideon, either," Tina pointed out. She sighed. "I wish the Galactica would just acknowledge President Roslin when Adama's back in command."

"You know that won't happen," Artie said. "He's the one who took her out in the first place."

"For what, though?" Tina said. "All they ever said was 'an abuse of power' and interfering with the military. And after what they did on the Gideon, maybe the military needs to be interfered with."

Artie opened his mouth to answer, but then realized that Tina was right. They didn't know what Roslin had done. All they had was the speech Adama had given and a lot of "no comments" and "classifieds." Strange how the military held such authority he'd never even thought to ask that before.

Quinn approached their table. "Artie." She had her arms crossed and her best now glare in place. Artie leaned back away from her.

"What did I do wrong?"

"It's been fifty-six days."

"Oh." Of course. He sighed. "Let me finish my breakfast first."

"Fifty-six days?" Mike asked, looking from one to the other. "You guys aren't…"

"You're not pregnant again, are you?" Tina asked suspiciously.

"Hardly," Quinn snapped. "Like that would happen."

"Hey. No need to sound like it's that impossible," Artie said, offended. "I am sitting right here."

"Sorry," Quinn said, but she didn't smile. Artie didn't really blame her. "It's been fifty-six days since we both last gave blood."

"Oh." Mike shrugged.

Quinn narrowed her eyes. "Have you given blood since the attacks?"

"Well, sure."

"Since right after?"

Mike looked guilty. "No. But I keep meaning to, and they said we have to space it out, and…" he deflated under Quinn's icy glare. "I will," he said in a small voice.

"At least you have a choice," Artie muttered.

Tina looked shocked. "Wait. You don't?"

Artie shrugged. "We're both type O. It's required for us."

"Why just type O?" Tina asked.

"Type O is a universal donor," Quinn explained. "That way they don't have to use a ton of storage to have reserves."

Artie gave up on the last remnants of his breakfast. "All right," he said. "Let's go." Quinn was immediately on her feet, swinging behind him and taking control of his wheelchair. Artie fixed Tina and Mike with a glare. "You guys should give, too," he said darkly. "If nothing else, just so I have company in this."

"You do have company," Quinn reminded him as she rolled him away. "Me."

"Right." Because you'll even speak to me during the whole thing, Artie thought sourly.

It wasn't that he minded giving blood. In fact, left to his own devices, he would have been first in line. He was all too aware that it was only because other people gave blood that he hadn't died during the hours after the crash when he was a kid. He could never pay back those exact people, but he could pay back the world in general. The gods in general? He rubbed his forehead, well aware that if he followed this line of thought, a headache was more than likely to set in.

When they got down to the infirmary, Simon was waiting for them. He had blood packs at the ready, and patted the table. "Up you go," he said, and then moved to help Artie up onto a table. "You ready for this?"

"Does it matter?" Artie asked glumly. "It's not like I have a choice."

"Well, technically you do, but your choice involves jail time," Simon said, sounding a little too cheerful. Artie lay down on the table, and Simon stepped back to let Quinn come in and start swabbing his arm clean.

"I know. And it's not like I wouldn't do it," Artie explained. "I just don't like being told to. It makes me feel like a giant incubator or petri dish or something."

Simon laughed a little. "It's just a pint of blood."

"Yes. But it's my blood." Artie frowned, looking away as Quinn tied the restricting band around his bicep and started feeling for the vein. "Who made the rule, anyway? The Commander or the President?"

"Which came first, the chicken or the egg?" Simon asked. "I think the order came first from the Galactica, but the President agreed to it. Does it matter?"

"It matters when they say that the people aren't getting representation," Quinn said, picking up a needle. Artie stared at her, because this wasn't the Quinn Fabray that was the head cheerleader. This was the angry pregnant girl, upset with the world. She caught him staring and lifted her chin. "I don't exactly like the idea of the military treating me like a farm," she said defiantly.

"Preach." Artie winced as Quinn put the needle into his arm. To her credit, she got it on the first try, and as he relaxed, his blood started filling the bag. Quinn made a face and then hoisted herself up on the other table.

"Well, what are you going to do?" Simon asked rhetorically, cleaning Quinn's arm. "When it's not a real democracy- when everyone doesn't have a vote- abuses of power and taking advantage of the weaker will happen."

"Wait! That's it!" Quinn started to sit up, but Simon grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her back down. Quinn obeyed, but her eyes were still sharp and intense. "We could withhold the blood from this collection until democracy has been restored."

"Quinn, they shot people on the Gideon for holding back coffee!" Artie protested. "What do you think they'll do to us if we hold back blood?" The idea was cold. He knew Quinn was capable of a lot, but this surprised him.

Quinn twisted on her bed to look at him. "Are you afraid, Artie?"

"Well, yes. What part of 'they shot people over coffee' isn't getting through to you?"

"Which was a disaster. They've issued statements to that effect." Quinn's eyes narrowed calculatingly. "I thought you always wanted to be a badass. Like Puck."

"And if we hold back the blood, Puck could be one of the people that dies."

"That's not all that likely."

"I know." Artie sighed.

"Do you really believe in martial law?"

"Do you really believe that much in democracy?" Artie shot back. "Because back in Lima, I seem to remember you preferring McKinley in something of a totalitarian state. At least as long as you were on top."

"Do you two talk like this all the time?" Simon asked. He'd been watching their argument, looking back and forth between them. "Because I thought high school students weren't supposed to care this much."

"In case you've missed it, we're not high school students anymore," Quinn said bitterly. "And I care. It's not just survival. It's survival of the soul. You know what Laura Roslin is."

"I know her true nature, yes," Simon said evenly.

"Well? We hold back the blood, call the other ships in on it, and Adama will have no choice but to reinstate Roslin."

"Quinn," Simon said with a sigh, "I appreciate your feelings on this. But you're forgetting one thing: the blood supply is in the hand of doctors. And while some of them may agree with you about Roslin, a lot of them will not withhold medical supplies in a time of crisis. They may refuse to send the blood over now, but Adama and Tigh will know that they'll cave in a time of crisis. Do no harm."

"When the stakes are this high, sometimes you have to cause a little harm to serve a greater good. Besides, isn't their oath to protect the people of the Colonies?" She had a point. But the idea of going up against the military like that, that sort of confrontation…. He hadn't been on the Gideon, but Artie had a pretty vivid imagination. It definitely wasn't something he wanted on the Cybele. "We can't just sit by anymore. Not when so much is at stake," Quinn insisted. She narrowed her eyes and sat up. "Don't stick that needle in me," she ordered. She came over and stood over Artie. "Are you with me?"

"Quinn, I…."

"Are you with me?"

Quinn Fabray was standing over him as he lay on a medical table, a host of scalpels, needles, and other pointy metal things at her disposal. And she looked very, very capable of using them. Artie swallowed hard. "Sure," he said. "I'm with you."

"It's not right, Quinn," Simon said as Quinn removed the needle from Artie's arm.

"You're right. But what they're doing isn't right either," Quinn said. "And we're going to make them understand that." Her jaw was set and her eyes were icy, and Artie was suddenly very, very glad he'd agreed to her demands, even if withholding blood didn't feel entirely right to him, either. But with the look on Quinn's face, he wasn't going to say that.

***

Withholding blood. It seemed like a small thing, and at the same time, it didn't. The chances weren't high that someone was going to die, but the simple fact was that someone could die. And when someone died, it wouldn't be Commander Adama or Colonel Tigh. It would be a private like Puck, or a Raptor pilot, or a deckhand who got caught in an accident. Someone who might not agree with martial law. Someone like Mercedes, who even though she wouldn't talk about it, Artie knew she truly believed in Roslin and hated what was happening.

Puck always said he chickened out too much to be a badass. It bugged the hell out of Artie when Puck said things like that, even if he secretly suspected that Puck was right. It wasn't who he wanted to be.

Of course, right now he wasn't sure who he did want to be, or who he agreed with. Everything was a jumble of martial law and prophecies, ethics and questions and standards. And it didn't matter anyway, because none of it was in his hands. Just as well. But it was still heavy on his mind as he made his way to the docking bay. When he got there, Rachel was standing with a notebook and a pen tucked against her body, wearing a plaid skirt, knee high socks, and a sweater. The notebook had kittens on the front.

"You know," he said, taking in her outfit, "there really is something to dressing the part."

"I know," Rachel said, not getting the point at all. "And I am trying to convey youthful innocence, hope, and optimism in a dark and trying time."

"You think that's what people want to hear right now?" Artie asked doubtfully.

"Of course," Rachel insisted. "It makes them feel happy. Content."

"Which is why you've gotten so many assignments."

"I've been given stories," Rachel said primly. "That piece I did about the flowers on the Zephyr got excellent ratings."

"Because those are poppies, Rachel," Artie said dryly, staring at her. "They can be used to make opium."

Rachel straightened up and stepped onto the shuttle with as much dignity as she could muster. "You can take a pessimistic view, but I prefer to think of it as what will be my first break into post-apocalyptic journalism. When I write my memoirs, I'll certainly be mentioning it."

"Rachel…."

"What?"

Artie thought about arguing that publishing wasn't exactly a booming business and that there may never be a day to write memoirs, but then sighed and decided it was pointless. Besides, who knew what Earth would be like? The thought kind if startled him, really. That Rachel could write memoirs on Earth.

"Rachel?" Artie asked, once they were in the shuttle. "What do you think Earth is going to be like?"

Rachel blinked. "I… I don't know," she said. "I hadn't really thought about it, I guess."

"Why not? That's where we're going."

"I don't know. Do you really think we'll find it?"

"The Pythian prophecy-"

"One of my dads believed that Pythia was a prophet," Rachel interrupted. "Well, he followed Zeus, anyway. But Papa followed Mithras, and he was the one that took me to services. Pythia didn't exactly figure in."

"So you aren't exactly buying into the whole Dying Leader thing?" Artie asked.

"I appreciate the drama of her announcement, and I concede that appealing to the faith of people is an effective way to get their attention and sympathy."

"So… that's a no, then?"

"It could be true, I guess. It would be like in Rueful Dynasty, when Mia Kopolos's character had visions of the future." Rachel warmed to her subject. "In fact, if Ms. Roslin wanted, I could discuss those particular passages with her. The emotion that Mia used to convey her divinity would be very useful to the President in convincing people that she truly is the Dying Leader. If she really is," she added hastily. "You know, there's this beautiful solo, too. One that's exactly in my range…."

Was there a reason he'd even asked Rachel about this whole thing? Had he honestly expected an answer he could make sense of? Artie rolled his eyes and looked out the window of the shuttle.

"You know," Rachel continued, sighing wistfully, "it's such a shame we had to give up the idea of the television show. Have you seen some of what passes for entertainment?"

Artie had. There were two shows being put on. The writing was pretty bad and the acting anywhere from reasonable to absolutely horrendous, and they had all the production values of a McKinley production. "I'm surprised you haven't tried out for a part," he said.

Rachel flushed, but then tossed her hair over her shoulder. "So far there haven't been any parts that have been appropriate for my age and appearance," she said. "All of my extensive talent is useless when the director specifies he's looking for a large man. Although I did suggest the part be rewritten to better utilize his resources. He refused."

"Imagine that."

"Besides, it's not the same without New Directions," Rachel continued, ignoring Artie's sarcasm. "There's something special about the entire team."

"That's… awfully nice of you."

"You're all the perfect complement to my voice."

"Right." But he couldn't be mad- not really. After three years of glee, you just got used to Rachel. In a way, it was kind of a relief Rachel was still so focused on her talent and ambition. It was a constant in a world gone mad. Although when Rachel Berry was your touchstone for sanity, it was a sure sign that the world was at an end.

***

The concept of a broadcasting station had started back as early as a few days after the Fleet was formed. It made sense to base it from a luxury liner, as those ships already had a system in place for entertaining guests. The first one had been based on the Zephyr, but someone pointed out the cheerful fact that any ship could be blown up at any time, and stations had also been started on Cloud 9 and the Pyxis. But the systems had only been configured to broadcast within each ship. Expanding the range to the other ships was not a one-step task.

Artie had been active in the AV club back in Lima, and his father, an electrical engineer, had enthusiastically encouraged his interest. He'd been planning on going to college on Virgon and getting a degree in electrical engineering or game engineering himself. It had been an extremely depressing day the day he realized that, if the Cylons had never attacked, he'd be leaving for Virgon and starting at VTI.

But there hadn't been time to be depressed for more than the day, because Artie had work to do. A lot of work to do. So much that he supposed he should feel a little guilty that the worlds had ended and he found himself not only being useful, but doing work he liked, but he just couldn't summon any guilt up. As far as he was concerned, the universe owed him one, and this was a hell of a lot more believable than a hot girl landing in his lap again. He was useful- hell, he was actually kind of important- and he was connected to the Fleet. He was often the first to find things out, like when Adama was shot and that they'd found another Cylon, and there was something kind of awesome about that.

He couldn't help but be jealous on the rare occasions he saw Puck. If life had been different… well, if life had been different he wouldn't be here in the first place, because the attacks never would have happened. But they had, and if his life had been different, he could be out there, getting revenge for what he'd lost, protecting the people he cared about. But that was only when he was actually with Puck. When he wasn't, he forgot about dreams that weren't ever going to happen anyway and focused on what he could do, which was a lot. Although, damn, it would be nice to be a real hero.

But not everyone could be a hero. Hell, he couldn't even stand up to Quinn and tell her he was uncomfortable with the idea of withholding blood, although he couldn't articulate why he couldn't tell her that. But at the same time, not everyone could fix a wireless. Artie figured he'd better focus on what he could do rather than what he couldn't.

***

The Starlight Lounge was exactly the kind of place Kurt would want to meet someone. Artie rolled in, looking around. It was high class, with a well-stocked bar, fancy tables, and lighting that made the place seem full of possibilities. It looked rich, cultured, and just a little trashy all at the same time. Pure Kurt. Artie was half surprised that Kurt wasn't sitting on one of the high stools, legs crossed as he sipped some martini type drink.

Instead, Kurt was sitting in a booth, appearing a little uncomfortable as he fidgeted with the menu. He looked up when Artie approached and smiled, but his smile was off. "Are you all right?" Artie asked, instead of saying hello.

"What? Oh, of course." Kurt laughed a little; a high, thin laugh that made it clear he was lying. "Thanks for meeting me."

"I couldn't resist," Artie said. "I have to know- what's with all the secrecy?"

"Secrecy?"

"The note, the initials, meeting on Cloud 9 instead of on the Cybele… you did realize you were being secretive, right?"

"I, er… right." Kurt shook himself and put his confidence back on. "I guess I was. But I have something I needed to talk to you about that… well… I didn't really want all of the ears of New Directions pressed to the door."

"I'm listening."

Before Kurt could say anything, the waiter came over to take their order. Artie suspected the menu was nowhere near as elaborate as it had once been, but it was still nicer than anything they had on the Cybele. Kurt was completely gracious as he ordered, all airs and pretenses of culture, but when the waiter left, the pretense came down a little.

It came back up when an older woman in a suit stopped by their table. Kurt immediately jumped up, a strange combination of exaggerated manners and condescension. It made Artie wonder if Kurt felt as strange about being thrown into working with adults as he did. He'd never ask, but he suspected Kurt did feel the same way, especially as Kurt sat back down with a look of relief when the woman left.

"I was wondering," Kurt finally said, fingering the scarf around his neck, "if there was any chance you could get a recording device."

"A recording device?" Artie asked, oddly disappointed. "That's it? What's so secret about that?"

"Who said there was anything secret?"

"You just did!"

"No I didn't! I told you-"

"Not in so many words, but you've been acting like it. What could possibly be so secret about- wait a minute. What are you recording?"

"A speech," Kurt said. "Nothing illicit. I don't need some seedy hidden camera or anything like that. I just need something that can record a speech and be broadcast with a good fidelity."

"Broadcast? Why don't you just go to the stations?"

"Sometimes the stations aren't the channel you want to use. Especially when certain military officials keep eavesdropping." Kurt was trying to play it cool, but he looked flat out guilty.

"Wait," Artie said, the whole thing unfolding in front of him. "You know where Roslin is."

"No I don't!" Kurt widened his eyes in innocence.

"Maybe you don't, but Tom Zarek does."

Kurt drew himself up. "Why would Laura Roslin go to Tom Zarek? She can't stand him. Everyone knows that."

"Yeah, but he's been pretty outspoken against martial law," Artie pointed out. "Not that anyone ever had doubts about his position. Come on, Kurt. I do have a brain." Kurt looked uncomfortable, and Artie sighed. "Relax. I'm not going to say anything."

"You're not?"

"Kurt, if I can figure out that Zarek might know where Roslin is, don't you think Colonel Tigh can, too? He's probably already at the top of their suspect list. I'm kind of surprised they haven't been asking you questions yet."

"Because apparently when Mr. Zarek arranged for democratic elections," Kurt emphasized the last words with a glare, "he held a gun to Captain Adama's head. Captain Adama is with President Roslin. And while Roslin might conceivably turn to Zarek, Adama wouldn't." Kurt sat back and glared at Artie, arms crossed and looking for all the world like he was taking on Mr. Schuester.

"And the fact Zarek held a gun to someone's head doesn't bug you at all?"

"Please. Like there weren't guns on him, too." The way Kurt said that made Artie wonder just how different Zarek's version of that day was from the one that he'd heard, and how different either of those was from reality. This conversation wasn't going well, and Artie wasn't sure how the hell to save it.

The waiter arrived and put their plates down in front of them. Artie noticed with a little surprise that they'd both ordered the same pasta dish. It was a small thing, but it made him smile.

"Not quite Breadstix, huh?"

Kurt stared at him for a minute, and then relaxed and smiled a little. "You know," he said slowly, "Finn was right. Their actual breadsticks really did suck."

"The rest of their food was pretty good though."

"If by pretty good you mean standard Gemenese-Canceron fare with no thought or creativity, yes." Kurt sighed. "But I'd give just about anything to eat there again. It was fantastic comfort food."

"We're a long way from there, though." Artie poked the pasta with his fork.

"I know." Kurt sighed. He tapped his fork against the plate and leaned his chin on his hand, deep in thought. Artie concentrated on the food.

"So what are you going to do?" Kurt asked suddenly. "If you're not going to give us the recording device, that is."

"I never said I wasn't," Artie said. Kurt stopped, fork halfway up and his mouth open. "You just want it for a speech, right?"

"Right."

"Let me think about it," Artie said. Kurt eyed him suspiciously for a long moment, and then nodded. Artie picked up his fork and realized his hands were cold and sweaty. Because getting that recording device? That meant unequivocal support for Roslin. And holy shit- it hinged on him. He put his fork back down, shocked to the core. He was being asked to help Roslin… do whatever she was doing. That kind of chance- that kind of decision- had just been dropped in his lap without any warning.

"Are you okay?" Kurt asked.

"Fine," Artie said, and his voice sounded far away in his own ears.

This was a time to be a hero, if he believed in Roslin. Or a time to be a whistle-blower, if he believed in the military. He looked at Kurt and knew immediately he couldn't do the second. So what did that mean about the first?

"So," Kurt said, trying to break the silence. "Has Rachel tried to get on the wireless stations with her songs yet?" He was deliberately casual, almost flirtatious… normal Kurt changing the subject.

"It's funny you mention that," Artie said, snapping out of it. "Rachel was talking about the show again, but with all the work…." He trailed off, smiling. Kurt raised an interested eyebrow.

"Oh?"

"If I got you that recording device," Artie began, "would we be able to use it? After Roslin is done with it?"

"We?"

The idea came to him fully formed. "New Directions. Look. The television show didn't work out, right? But that took choreography and costumes and a lot of effort." Kurt nodded. "But the wireless stations- the ones that are just radio- they're up and looking for entertainment. For the most part, they're just using sound files that people had on personal devices during the attacks, or in their quarters for the ships that survived. There's nothing new. But there could be."

"But we-"

"If we just do songs for the wireless, we don't have to have choreography," Artie explained. "We don't have to have costumes. We just have to have the music. It would take a lot less time, and if we gave the music to the others on the Galactica, we could do like we did for the Colonial Day party and have them rehearse their parts ahead of time before we put it all together."

It was funny how excited that thought made him. But then, Artie had never been one of the ones that saw theater and music as his career- just as something that he loved to do on the side. The idea of having that back was incredibly appealing. Kurt looked lost in the thought, until suddenly his eyes sharpened and he smiled at someone over Artie's shoulder. Artie glanced back fully expecting to see some other political figure. But the guy who was approaching only looked a couple of years older than them, with curly hair, a very young face, and a shirt that Artie kind of liked but he was sure was making Kurt cringe. It took a minute, but Artie finally placed his face as Billy Keikeya.

Kurt made the introductions, considerably more relaxed than he had been with the official earlier. "Billy, this is Artie Abrams. He's on the Colonial Communications Commission based out of Cloud 9. Billy is President Roslin's aide. He and I weather Quorum meetings together," Kurt explained. "Do you mind if he joins us?"

Artie gestured to the empty seat. "Please do."

"Thanks," Billy said, slipping into their booth. He looked tired. "But I guess I'm not President Roslin's aide anymore. Even once martial law is lifted, I'm sure that the Commander won't reconsider putting her back in office."

"What makes you say that?" Kurt asked.

"I have my sources," Billy said glumly.

"I'm surprised you're not with her," Kurt said.

Billy shrugged. "I had my choice."

"Can I ask you something?" Artie said. Billy nodded. "Why didn't you go with her? I'm not asking to be rude," he hastily amended, putting his hands up, "I just… I'm trying to figure some things out for myself."

Billy leaned forward on his elbows. "I'm an atheist," he said finally. "I believe that President Roslin is dying- I'd never doubt her word on that. And I certainly think she's an excellent leader. But divine intervention, saying that it's divine intervention when people are so desperate to believe that they'll believe anything…." His face twisted. "That's why I didn't go with her. That's the only reason I didn't go with her."

"But it does fit," Artie said. "I guess." An excellent leader. Something about that sentence tugged at him.

Billy shrugged. "The words are pretty vague. I understand that there are a few theologians in the Fleet that have studied it more extensively, but the idea that the person who is currently leading us has cancer… the odds against it are high, but not astronomically so."

Kurt looked interested. "Did you read the piece in the Fleet News today? It baffles me how anyone could even begin to believe it. It simply makes no sense."

"No, it makes sense," Billy corrected him. "You just have to believe that it has significance. Which I don't."

"Anyone who does is a delusional moron," Kurt muttered.

"You know," Billy said dryly. "I work for that 'delusional moron.'"

Kurt at least had the grace to flush. "I'm sorry," he muttered stiffly.

Billy looked beaten. "Don't worry. You're hardly the first one to say it. You're just the first one that I can snap back at."

The two of them continued talking, moving on to something about the Quorum meeting that day. Not that there was a Quorum legally, Artie thought sourly, but apparently they were still meeting. There was something comforting about that. Really comforting, actually. He half-tuned out their conversation and thought again about the recording device.

An excellent leader, Billy had said. Artie realized that, if you'd asked him before Roslin had made her statement that she was the dying leader, he would agree with this whole-heartedly. She'd kept the Fleet together, she'd unified them, guided them, stood up to the military when she needed to and made hard decisions that kept people alive. Like leaving the ships without FTL drives after the Fleet first firmed. Like shooting down the Olympic Carrier; he'd read that story and known he could never have made that call, even though it was absolutely the right one. Like admitting elections needed to take place, like choosing a Vice President, like preserving people's rights. Like supporting the mandate that all Type O donors needed to give a pint of blood every fifty-six days. That was why Quinn's blood strike bothered him. Because as repellent as it was, Roslin was right. She was right a lot. Did the fact that he didn't agree with her religiously negate the fact that she was one of the reasons this Fleet was still alive?

No.

It would be risky, if he did this. If he was caught, it could even be seen as aiding and abetting a fugitive. He could be looking at jail time for this. And that was… really kind of cool. Puck would definitely do it. If Puck wasn't on Galactica, he would help, too. Because getting a recording device wasn't necessarily going to be easy. But if he got help, and if he fudged the paperwork a little and called in a favor from-

Holy shit. He was really going to do this.

Quinn was down in the infirmary when Artie finally found her. Fortunately, she was alone except for Simon. The two of them were cleaning instruments and talking quietly.

"Think about it," he heard Simon say to Quinn. He patted her on the shoulder and then disappeared behind the curtain into the depths of the infirmary. Artie knocked.

"Artie." Quinn looked surprised to see him. "Come in. Is everything all right?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."

"Do you need Simon?" She stood up, her skirt swishing gracefully. "I can go get him."

"No. I wanted to talk to you."

"Oh." She looked baffled, and he couldn't blame her. For all that New Directions was a family, he and Quinn didn't exactly talk much outside of glee.

"I wanted to talk to you about your idea," he said. "The blood thing."

"Oh." Quinn glanced back over her shoulder and then gestured to the spot across from her. "What do you want to talk about?"

Artie wheeled closer. "You know it's a bad idea, right?" he asked.

"It's not a bad idea," Quinn snapped. "It's drawing a hard line in the sand. I know that it's playing hardball and Simon says that the doctors won't go for it, but I think he's wrong."

"That's not the problem," Artie said. "It's not immediate enough. The Galactica's got blood supplies, and withholding them isn't going to be felt right away."

The furrow between Quinn's brows eased a little. "Do you have a suggestion for a better idea?"

Artie grinned. "As a matter of fact, I do."

***

Quinn looked around the gardens, impressed. "I haven't been over here since Colonial Day," she said. "I always forget how amazing it is."

"If I could move over here, I would," Artie said. The halls were wide and even, there were handicap accommodations, and everything was not only nicer but easier.

"Why don't you?"

"There's only a waiting list a mile long," Artie said. "They're not keen on letting people move for non-work related reasons, and I'm not here enough to justify it. Especially now that they modified things on the Cybele."

Quinn made a face. "Still. You'd think…" she trailed off and shook her head.

Artie shrugged. "I guess that's life. Come on. We've got crime to do. Let's go make Puck proud."

Puck, Artie discovered, had nothing on Quinn when it came to crime. Quinn immediately swung around behind him to push his chair. And when they came across a pair of security guards who were walking the halls, Quinn leaned down to kiss Artie's cheek.

"You kids are sweet, you know that?" one of the guards said. "Makes me remember why we're staying alive."

"Thank you," Quinn said, all innocence and blushing. Artie just stared up at her until they passed.

"You're good," he said. "You're really good."

"No one will suspect us of a thing." Quinn was smug. "This is fun. Let's go pull the sweet and innocent act on everyone else."

Look casual, Artie told himself as they made their way through the halls. No one is watching us. No one knows what we're doing. What we're planning. He wondered how many people would support them if they knew.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked Quinn.

"Go for it."

"Why do you believe that she's the Dying Leader of the prophecies? What's your proof?"

"That's what faith is, Artie," Quinn said. "You don't need proof to believe."

"But-"

"Sarah Porter believes. She was a professor of theology before she was Dean of her college." Quinn shrugged. "A lot of people believe. Why do you ask? You believe, don't you? You're doing this for her- you must."

No. Quinn's answer didn't convince him of a damn thing. "Yeah. Sure. We're doing this, aren't we? Right here, by the way."

Quinn stopped by a double door. "Can you get in?"

"Should be able to." Artie fished out his key card. He put it in the slot and watched it turn green.

"I feel like this should be harder," Quinn said as Artie opened the door. "Like there should be people shooting at us or something."

"I know. If you want the truth, I'm a little disappointed." He wheeled in. "Well, we've hit the jackpot."

The room was lined with shelves, and the shelves had all sorts of equipment on them. A lot of it was rounded up from various ships in the Fleet, and most of it was old and outdated, or obscure or cheap models. All the good stuff was already taken.

"I don't even know exactly what we're looking for," Quinn said. "It's been so long since I've used anything but a vBand."

Artie scanned the shelves. "There," he said, pointing to the top one. "That's an old Jaxie 520 model. No one will notice it's missing for a few days. I hope."

Quinn stood on her toes, then shook her head and found a stool. The Jaxie was dusty, and she sneezed as she handed it to Artie.

"I hope this baby works," he said, checking to make sure that there was a tape as well.

"Artie."

Both Quinn and Artie froze. Paulla Schaffer headed up the Colonial Communications Commission, and was someone Artie was very familiar with from working with the station. She was not a big woman, but she was intimidating, perhaps because her expression suggested she could rip a man's balls off with her fingernails and would probably enjoy the experience. Artie was very, very alarmed to realize he was on the receiving end of that expression. "Er, yes, Ms. Schaffer?"

"What are you doing?"

"Taking a requisitioned recording device. Didn't you get the form?" Artie said, looking as bored as he could.

Paulla blinked. She'd obviously been expecting a fight, and Artie had knocked the wind from her sails. "What are you taking it for?"

"New Directions. We're trying to put together a demo tape. For the wireless stations?" he added, when she didn't answer.

"What the hell is New Directions?"

"It's our show choir."

Paulla sighed and rubbed her temples. "This doesn't have anything to do with that Rachel Berry girl, does it?" Quinn and Artie exchanged looks, and Paulla groaned. "No."

"What?" Artie looked up at Quinn anxiously. "Ms. Schaffer, it's just an old one that no one is ever going to use."

"It's Colonial property and I'm not letting it go to some high school singing group."

"President Roslin asked us-"

"There is no President Roslin anymore," Paulla said. "Put it back or I'll call security."

"Should we kick her?" Quinn whispered.

"I'd really like to keep my job," Artie said from the side of his mouth. "Wait, were you joking?"

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Ms. Schaffer?" she said, holding out her hand, "I'm Quinn Fabray. I'm with the Gemenon Council on Decency and Appropriateness in Fleet Entertainment."

"The what?" Paulla and Artie both asked. Quinn nudged Artie in the shoulder, hard.

"The Gemenon Council on Decency and Appropriateness in Fleet Entertainment. We've just been commissioned by Ms. Porter. And when the Quorum is reinstated- and the Quorum will be reinstated- we will be monitoring the content of the broadcasts to ensure that it will be appropriate for the children in the Fleet."

"Oh, for frak's sake…."

"Now," Quinn continued, in the best ice princess voice Artie had ever heard her pull out, "you and I can be friends, or you and I can be enemies. It would make both our lives so much easier to be friends, don't you think?"

"You think I'm afraid of a fight?" Paulla asked.

"No, I think you have better things to do with your time than argue with me," Quinn said. "Especially when all it takes to make a good impression is the use of an old, antiquated recording device that no one was going to use anyway."

Paulla narrowed her eyes, looking from Artie to Quinn. Artie smiled back, but Quinn held her ground, arms crossed, and looking a lot older than eighteen.

"That form had better be on my desk, Abrams," Paulla said. She looked at her watch. "You're right. I do have better things to do with my time."

Quinn held out her hand. "I look forward to working with you."

"Right." Paulla glared at them one more time and then left.

"That was awesome," Artie said once he was sure they were alone. "You're even better at this crime thing than Puck."

Quinn smiled.

***

"You know," Artie said as they sat in the shuttle back to the Cybele, their prize on his lap, "the New Directions thing wasn't just a cover."

"It wasn't?" Quinn arched an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Singing for a wireless station is a lot less difficult than singing for a TV show. We could do it, if we wanted to."

Quinn frowned. "I know that we all have our own lives and jobs now, but I'd kind of like to."

"Kurt's on board, too. And you know Rachel will be."

"Yes," Quinn said with sigh, rolling her eyes. "Rachel and her talent. It's amazing how she can still be so insufferable at the end of the worlds."

"So you'd be in?"

Quinn ran her fingers lightly over the recording device. "I would. Thank you, by the way."

"For what?"

"For asking me to do this. Simon had a lot to say about the blood strike idea. He really didn't like it." Quinn frowned. "I see his point," she admitted, "but I just… she's the dying leader of the prophecies."

"Right." Artie looked down.

Silence.

"You don't believe it," Quinn said, realization dawning in her voice. "You don't think she is." Artie shrugged. "Why did you do it, then?" Quinn asked. "If you think she's a lunatic?"

"I don't think she's a lunatic," Artie corrected her. "She's too rational. She really believes what she's saying… I think. I guess… I guess I did it because of everything she's done before this. And because, well, when else would I get to do something that mattered?"

"You do get to do things that matter," Quinn said.

"Okay, not matter," Artie said, because Quinn was right about that. "But something… big."

"Badass."

Artie snapped his fingers. "Exactly. Well, I guess exactly."

Quinn pressed her lips together, looking at the recording device. "I'm glad you did it."

Artie took a deep breath. "I hope I will be, too."

***

They put the recorder on Kurt's bed. Artie had the feeling that by doing that, he was putting himself far deeper in this thing than he had ever wanted.

Well, here went nothing.

***

He expected fireworks and explosions, or at least something. Instead, his next day went exactly as he planned it, with work on receivers and a trip over to the Monarch to repair a faulty circuit. It was late when he was finally able to work on upgrading some of the Cybele's systems.

"Solder?" Brittany asked. "Aren't they over on Galactica?"

"That's soldiers, Brittany," Artie said, long used to how Brittany's mind worked. "Solder. The metal stuff you melt."

"Oh. Right." Brittany smiled, but didn't look embarrassed beyond that. Instead, she turned around and started sorting through the crates neatly lined up in the storage pod-cum-workshop. "Mr. H? Do we have any solder?"

"Soft or hard?" Burt didn't look up from whatever it was he was fixing.

"There are about a million dirty jokes that could use that as a punch line." Kurt sauntered into the workshop. He had his satchel slung over one shoulder and a strut to his step, but Artie also noticed that there were circles under his eyes and his hands kept gripping the satchel's strap. "Hi, Dad."

"That time already?" Burt squinted up at the clock. "You're early."

"I know," Kurt said with a sigh. "That's what happens when the Quorum's not in session." He put his satchel down and leaned back against a workbench, arms crossed as he watched Brittany sort through the bins. "You need a hand?"

Burt's head shot up. "Yeah, sure," he said, his voice much more casual than his body language. "You might want to change out of that get-up, though."

"All right." A little smile lingered at the edge of Kurt's lips. "Artie, would you mind giving me a hand? There's a knot on the back of this shirt that is the devil to undo alone." He winked.

"Er, sure." Helping disrobe Kurt wasn't exactly something Artie was keen on doing, but he wasn't going to say that in front of Mr. Hummel. And the way that Mr. Hummel rolled his eyes made Artie think that Kurt asking for help with various zippers, ties, and buttons wasn't an unusual thing. Not to mention Kurt's wink was a dead giveaway that something was up.

The New Directions' room was only a few doors down from Mr. Hummel's workship. Brittany had gotten hold of some paint and painted the door bright yellow, and insisted on everyone putting a handprint around the door. They'd all laughed at the idea, but Artie had to admit he liked the colored handprints, each with a name scrawled over them. There was even space for when they were able to get Puck, Mercedes, and Santana over. Finn had come over on a shuttle run, and his handprint was right next to Kurt's and under Burt and Carole's prints.

The interior of their cabin had improved as well. Part of it was due to Brittany and her paintbrush (say what you would, but Artie also liked the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling), but part of it was due to supplies being distributed more and people finding money to buy things they really wanted. It was interesting to see what everyone chose. Burt and Carole, for example, had opted for a plush comforter- not that you could see it with the sheets neatly tacked around their bed for privacy. Quinn had managed to get four new books. Tina had found a mirror, Mike had found several new games, and Rachel had a stack of recordings. Artie himself had managed to get a deep, dark blue bedspread and pillows. Clothes were organized on racks that Burt had built, and old crates served as tables and cabinets. The room had gotten a lot cozier, and Artie realized that he was really thinking of it as home.

"So you didn't really need help with knot, did you?" Artie said as Kurt began unlacing his boots. "What's really going on?"

"I really did need help with the knot," Kurt huffed, and presented Artie with his back.

Artie began to unpick the knot that tied Kurt's shirt down. "Okay, but what do you really need?" Artie prompted.

"We're having some… problems over on the Astral Queen."

"I can't see your face, but I'll bet you're winking again."

"I am not! I just wasn't sure how to phrase it."

"Uh-huh." The knot came loose in Artie's hands. "You're set." He lowered his voice. "Did you try making the recording?"

"Thank you." Kurt turned around. "We haven't yet, but that's not the issue. We're having some problems with the systems on the Astral Queen. Well, not problems. We want to modify it a little."

"To do what?" Artie asked.

"We need to be able to do our own jump calculations. Well, not just jump calculations, something about extending the range of them. I don't understand it at all. Galactica gave us a data patch to install before we reached Kobol, but the Sagittaron crew isn't exactly up to the minute on the latest computer technology. Would you be able to do it?"

Their own jump calculations. Artie's mouth went dry, because there was no way this didn't have to do with Roslin. "I helped do it for the Cybele," he said. "I could do it." It hadn't been the wireless, but computers were computers and the data patch had had a pretty standard installation, really.

Kurt's gaze sharpened and he leaned forward. "When can you get over to the Astral Queen?"

"Late tomorrow," Artie said. "I can do it then."

Kurt smiled grimly. "Thank you," he said quietly, and then straightened back up.

"Hey Kurt?" Artie asked as Kurt started shrugging off his shirt. "Why are you doing it? Because I know you don't think she's the dying leader."

"I don't," Kurt agreed. "But she is the leader. One thing being on the Cheerios taught me: a true leader remembers who helped her on the ladder to success."

"Right," Artie said. He watched Kurt finish changing. "That's the only reason?"

"I like my job," Kurt said with a shrug. "That's enough of a reason right there. See you tomorrow."

He stepped out of the homey compartment, ready to take on the world. Artie wished he felt half as confident about what he'd just agreed to do.

***

Four-fifty. Artie wondered why he felt so guilty as he slipped on his headphones and spun the dial to the right channel.

"Galactica, this is the Cybele."

"Right on time, Cybele," Mercedes said, and she sounded cheerful. "How's life over there?"

"Not bad," Artie said, feeling like he'd crack and everything would come through in his voice. "How about there?"

"About to get better," Mercedes said happily. "Scuttlebutt has it that the Commander's coming back to the CIC today."

Adama coming back to the CIC. Things would be decided about Roslin once and for all today. "Mercedes," Artie said.

"Don't ask me questions I'm not authorized to answer," Mercedes said, in an impersonal voice that didn't sound much like her own. "There will be consequences for any ship that goes against the orders given by the Galactica."

"Wait, you really think that?"

"We are serious, Cybele. Those are the orders."

"Mercedes. Do you agree with the orders?"

"Does Mr. Schuester choose a set list a month before Nationals?"

"I see what you're saying," Artie said carefully.

"You should. Take care, Cybele."

"You too, Galactica."

He hung up and swallowed hard. It should feel better to have confirmation that someone else thought he was doing the right thing. Instead, it just made him more nervous.

***

"Wheels."

Artie looked up, startled. Coach Sylvester never approached him voluntarily unless she needed something. "Yes, Coach?"

She looked from side to side and then sat down at his table, where Artie was grabbing a late breakfast. "We need to talk," she said, crossing her arms and leaning forward. "My sources tell me that you're planning on making a little trip over to the Astral Queen this evening."

"Sources? What sources?"

"The voices in my head that speak to me through visions and chamalla-induced stupors," Coach Sylvester said sarcastically. "The shuttle schedule, you idiot. You put your name right on there. What do you think?"

"Oh. Right. Well, I'm doing some maintenance work over there on their wireless," Artie said, trying to look prim and innocent. At least she didn't have pliers.

"And how are you planning on getting over there?"

"That would be the shuttle schedule I signed up for, Coach Sylvester."

"You might as well hold your breath and flap your arms if you think you're going to get there that way," she said, sitting back and crossing her arms over her chest. "You think the shuttle's going to be running tonight?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"Word has it that Commander Adama is on his feet again, taking control of Galactica. He might not love martial law like his twit Tigh, but he has to catch Roslin. Letting her go makes him look like a fool. And what's he going to do to catch her?"

"I don't know… search the ships?"

"Exactly. Search the ships. And how do you do that to make sure she can't jump back to one that's already been searched?"

"You…" Artie frowned, feeling it almost hit and then hit hard. "You keep the ships separated."

"Exactly," Sue said, smacking an open palm on the table between them. "Quarantine. Good thinking, Bearskin."

"Wait, I thought I was Wheels."

Sue blinked. "You think I care enough to keep all you losers straight?" she asked, pushing away from the table. "I've lingered here too long. There's your information, Wheels, do with it what you will."

"But I didn't-" Sue was walking away, off to terrorize someone else. Artie frowned. As much as he didn't trust Coach Sylvester as far as he could throw her (which wasn't really at all), her logic made sense. If he was going to do this, he had to do it now.

He took a deep breath, and then went to see if he could find Kurt before he left for the Astral Queen for the day. If they were going to do this, he needed to be on the same shuttle over.

***

The Astral Queen looked exactly like Artie expected, and at the same time, not. He'd imagined the huge cell blocks and the cells, but he hadn't thought of the blankets and materials put up since the attacks to make those cells homes instead of prisons.

"Don't look," Kurt hissed as he pushed Artie down the center of the cellblock. "They don't like it when you stare. It's an invasion of privacy. But don't be too obvious that you're not looking. Just act casual."

"Right. Casual." Because it was so easy to be casual in a wheelchair as you rolled down the center aisle of a cell block. "There's no other way to get to the main control room?"

"No," Kurt said. A man waved at them. He was older, with long, grizzled gray hair and a thick gray beard. Kurt waved back.

"I'm just saying," Artie said, rubbing the sweating palms of his hands together. "Because this is just too weird."

"They are just people, you know," Kurt said, but there was a quaver in his voice. Artie felt a little better knowing that Kurt wasn't as confident as he was pretending. "We're almost there."

At the end of the cellblock there was a flight of stairs. Artie was about to comment that there was no way he could climb those when he noticed a good-sized man waiting for them, leaning against the wall, hands in his pocket. He was older, maybe fifty or sixty, with gray hairs in his goatee and an odd dye job that must have been the style on Sagittaron. He was wearing civilian clothes, Artie noticed, unlike a lot of them men lounging in the cells.

"Mr. Meier," Kurt said. Meier grinned at them. It was a quick grin, laced heavily with bitterness. He wasn't particularly large or muscular, Artie thought, but he was easily the hardest man he'd ever seen. "This is Artie Abrams. He's going to help us with the data patch that upgrades the nav system."

"He looks like he's your age."

"He is my age, sir," Kurt said, extremely politely. Artie snapped his head around to look at Kurt. He couldn't remember the last time Kurt had called anyone 'sir.' "But believe me, Artie knows what he's doing with anything electrical."

"If you say so."

Kurt lifted his chin. "I do."

Meier arched an eyebrow. "Okay then," he said. "Let's get him upstairs."

The one thing Artie was certain he would not get used to in this Fleet was the indignity of being carried. Here he was, coming over to the Astral Queen as a coworker- as a frakking consultant- and he had to be carried up the stairs like a baby. Meier didn't even break a sweat, either, although he heard Kurt struggling with the wheelchair behind them. The climb seemed to last forever, and he couldn't look directly at Meier, which Meier noticed.

"You can look at me, kid, I'm not going to kill you."

"I didn't think you were," Artie said. "I just don't like being… helpless."

A shadow flickered over Meier's face, and he didn't seem quite as terrifying for a moment. "Yeah, I get that well enough," he said. "Can't say I'd like being a cripple either." There were a million things wrong with that statement, but Artie decided it was better for his general health not to take offense. Meier got to the top and waited for Kurt to finish climbing and open the wheelchair back up. "Don't think the boss is back yet," he told Kurt, "but go ahead and get started."

"Yes, sir." Kurt turned. "Come on, Artie. The control room is this way."

Artie waited until they were safely inside the control room before he asked. "Okay. So what's the story with Meier?"

Kurt shuddered, and then looked around to make sure no one was listening. "I can't stand him. He… watches me."

"Yeah, I picked up that part. Are they all… like that?"

"No. I mean, a few of them have hit on me and everything, but they take no for answer." Kurt seemed remarkably unconcerned about that. "I just don't…"

I just don't trust that he'd take no for an answer. Kurt didn't have to say it. It was the hardness in Meier that had scared Artie himself, and Kurt must have felt it, too. "What about Zarek?" he asked.

"Oh, Zarek is completely different," Kurt said, and this time his face lit up. "You'll see. Okay. Here's the patch they sent," he said, turning their attention back to the job at hand and handing Artie a disk. "Do you need anything?"

"I'll let you know." The wireless was beckoning to him, and looking at it grounded Artie. Kurt murmured something and backed away to do paperwork, but Artie had already tuned him out. All of the trepidation drained out of him and slid the disk into the drive of the nav computer.

The patch had a straightforward user interface, but there were a lot of steps and a few tricks to take into account the age of the Astral Queen's computers.. By the time he was done, his shoulders were sore and his head was pounding, but it worked. He watched the program scroll across the scene, a smile of triumph spreading across his face. "Finished," he said triumphantly.

"Now, that's a sound I like to hear."

Artie had seed Tom Zarek before, although never up close in person. Now he was standing in front of him, hands in his the pockets of a black leather jacket, leaning against the wall. He pushed up and extended a hand to Artie. "Tom Zarek. Nice to meet you."

"Artie Abrams. I think I've got it all set, sir."

"No need for the 'sir'," Zarek said, a little too casually, giving Artie the impression that dropping the 'sir' was not really an option. He stepped forward and leaned over Artie's shoulder, examining the modifications. "This is installed correctly?"

"Yes, sir."

"You're sure of this?"

The voice wasn't Zarek's. Artie looked beyond him and his eyes widened, because Roslin was standing right there. She was accompanied by a woman wearing the regalia of a priestess and a good-looking man in a drab jacket who Artie realized must be Lee Adama, if the reports of him helping Roslin were true. But it was Roslin who commanded the room, just by being in it.

"Oh!" Artie fumbled with the wheels of his wheelchair, feeling like he should stand but obviously unable, and suddenly aware of a smudge on his cheek and a small burn on his vest. "I… erm… yes. I'm sure. Sir. Ma'am."

"It's all right," Roslin said. "Take a breath." She was another one Artie had only seen once in person, but he knew her face as well as everyone else in the Fleet did. In person, she looked more attractive, and more human. She also looked nervous, Artie realized. She leaned over his work as well, and then shook her head. "I can't even get a cassette into a player," she laughed. "I'll take your word for it that it works."

"Are you ready to do this, then?" Zarek asked her.

"Hey, Zarek?" Meier said. "The guys still haven't heard the tape yet. Most of them are ready to go because you say we should go, but I think a lot of them would really like to hear it."

"Of course. They're Sagittaron," The priestess said. "Play it for them."

Zarek glared at her. "They'll follow no matter what," he said, but he put the tape into a player and picked up a microphone.

"Astral Queen, this is Tom Zarek. It has been brought to my attention that you've yet to hear the message that has been distributed throughout the Fleet. Allow me to remedy that right now." He moved the microphone next to the tape player and pushed play. Artie leaned forward, curious, because even though he'd helped get the device that made the recording, he had yet to hear the result himself.

Roslin's voice filled the ship. "Women and men of the Fleet. It seems I have been chosen to help lead you to the promise land of Earth. I will not question this choice I'll simply try to play my part on the plan. Therefore, at the appointed hour, I will give the signal to the fleet. All those wishing to honor the Gods and walk the paths of destiny will follow me back to Kobol it is there we will meet the Gods' servant with the Arrow of Apollo. With the Arrow, we will be able to find a path to Earth."

A chill ran down Artie's spine, and he had the sudden, overwhelming feeling that someone else was in the room. Someone bigger- so big that the room could in no way contain them- and something as personal as a hand on his shoulder. The priestess closed her eyes and whispered, "Praise be to the Gods."

"So say we all." Meier said it fervently. Artie wasn't completely sure he agreed with the sentiment, but he did feel like if there was ever a time he would, it was right now.

Zarek glanced at Meier out of the corner of his eye, a smirk playing on his lips. "Well, Laura," he said, facing Roslin, "there you have it. If anything is going to get people to follow us, that will."

"I can only hope," Roslin said. "But as long as these upgrades work and we are able to go and meet Thrace at Kobol, we can do what needs to be done. We can get that Arrow and find the Tomb of Athena, and find the map to Earth."

"They will follow, Laura," the priestess said. "Maybe not all the ships, but the ones that have people of faith will follow."

That didn't seem to reassure Roslin. Instead, she bit her lip and shook her head. "I wish there was another way," she said. "I don't like dividing the Fleet. It makes us vulnerable, weak. And there are risks."

"It's not a choice you're making. It is the choice that Adama is making."

Behind Roslin, Artie saw the surprise on Kurt's face. It took about that long to register what was happening. Part of the Fleet was jumping away. It might just be this ship, but they were jumping away from the protection of the Galactica. The Cylons were out there. Intellectually, Artie knew that the chances of the Cylons finding them would normally be pretty small, but he had a hard time forcing himself to really believe that, especially when the Cylons had been stationed on Kobol. His stomach started twisting in knots and fear blocked his throat. Standing up to the Galactica was one thing; leaving her was another.

"Mr. Zarek?" Kurt spoke up. "Should I get back to the Cybele?"

Zarek shrugged. "You're not going to be able to get there. Adama will have Raptors coming here as soon as he hears about that tape."

"He's already heard about it, I'm sure," Lee said. "Even if they don't know we're here yet, they know we're coming here. There's no way a shuttle will get in or out."

Kurt's eyes widened. "But my dad- I have family on the Cybele! And Artie- he didn't know we'd be jumping right away when he came over here!"

"The Cybele is populated almost entirely by Gemenese," Zarek said, extremely unconcerned. "They'll be first in line to follow us."

Roslin actually looked sympathetic. That surprised Artie. "If we have enough ships follow us, Adama will have to come after us," she told Kurt. "I don't believe that the Fleet will be divided for long."

"It is not the Gods' will," the priestess added.

Kurt looked like he wanted to argue more, but the position was clear; the two of them were not getting back to the Cybele. Zarek clapped Kurt on the shoulder and then retreated with Roslin, Lee, Meier, and the priestess into a quiet conversation. Artie wheeled over to Kurt.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah. It's just…."

"It's just your dad on the Cybele," Artie said. "Carole's on the the Daru Mozu today and Finn's on the Galactica."

Kurt nodded. "Yes."

Artie wanted to say something, but really, there was nothing to say. So instead he asked, "What is the Arrow of Apollo? Is she really serious about that?"

"What is the Arrow of Apollo? How could you not possibly know that?"

"Not really my thing. I'm surprised you know it," Artie said.

Kurt sighed. "I know it because it's art, not religion. There's a statue in the Delphi Museum of the Colonies on Caprica. I've never seen the real statue obviously; aside from being on Caprica, the statue is broken. But the hand that survives is absolutely exquisite. It's supposedly an artifact from the Exodus from Kobol. From what I've picked up, it's some sort of key that unlocks the Tomb of Athena." Kurt shrugged contemptuously at that. But the color was returning to his face, and he was regaining his composure. "So she sent someone back to Caprica to get the Arrow. That's what made Adama lock her up in the first place."

"That was the abuse of power?" Artie asked incredulously. "That's what started all this? That's it?"

Kurt shrugged. "I guess she stole some military asset to do it." He checked his watch. "I know this sounds crazy, but I'm supposed to meet with some of the people on this ship. I guess it's business as usual, right?"

"Right," Artie said. "I'll just make myself useful in here."

Kurt gave him a brief half-smile and disappeared from the control room in a flash of color. Artie watched him go, suddenly feeling very alone.

They hadn't jumped yet, he reminded himself. Who knew how many ships would follow him? Zarek's casual assurance that the Cybele would follow had been meant to divert Kurt's attention and pat him down- Artie had seen that immediately- but it was also true. They would follow. They would.

It was all going to work out, he told himself. And if it didn't, if they jumped back into the Cylons and they all died in a fiery explosion… well, at least it would be quick.

***

The hour ticked by.

The men aboard the Astral Queen truly believed that Roslin was the dying leader. Artie had seen that belief before- it was all over the Cybele- but he hadn't seen it expressed like it was here on the Astral Queen. People kneeling for her blessing, trying to kiss her hand… the religious devotion was physically expressed and discomforting for Artie to watch.

Artie had only ever known one Sagittaron before, and that was Blaine. And for the most part, Blaine didn't act like one. He'd left the planet and had no desire to return, and by all accounts his entire family had been happier on Gemenon. Aside from a soma bracelet that he'd worn, he didn't seem to keep any of the traditions. But some of these men were Sagittaron to the core.

The point was driven home when he made his way to a bathroom. The stares of the inmates were uncomfortable, bordering on hostile. "I don't understand," he said to Meier, who'd come with him to help get his chair up a few steps. "Did I do something wrong?"

"You lived."

"What?"

Meier shrugged. "You lived," he said, pointing to Artie's wheelchair. "Whatever happened to you, it would have killed you without a doctor, am I right?"

"Yes. They did surgery."

"They cut into your body. They mutilated your flesh. They took the decision from the gods and made it for themselves. There you go, that's the party line. You're tainted. That's what they think."

"Wow. That's…." a new one. Well, it was. Sort of. Not really. Hadn't he been treated differently his whole life for something broadly similar? But then, the Gemenese never said he should have died.

He knew the Sagittarons were the exception to the rule, and that they were oddities among the Colonies. But he couldn't help thinking that if these were the Gods, he wanted no part of them.

The Cybele had decent food. Artie hadn't realized how true that was until he managed to get down to the dining area on the Astral Queen and get a meal. The brown glop that was meant to be stew was the most unappetizing thing he'd ever had. He sat staring at the goo dripping from his spoon into the bowl, wondering just how hungry he was.

"Quite a day, isn't it?" Artie looked up to see the priestess sitting down across from him. "I don't think we've been introduced," she said, extending a hand. "I'm Elosha."

"Artie Abrams."

"How are you doing, Artie?" There was a knowing look in her eyes, and Artie suspected that the question was more than just mere politeness.

"A little overwhelmed."

"I imagine. I've felt the same way since this whole journey began."

"Mmm." Artie looked down at his stew.

"It's one thing to believe in the Gods. It's another to find yourself directly being used for Their work."

"I guess."

Elosha studied him and then smiled. "You don't have to pretend just to be polite," she said.

"It's not exactly something I talk about," Artie muttered.

Elosha frowned. "You're Gemenese, aren't you?" she said. "I thought that's what I heard Zarek say." Artie nodded. "The Gemenese adherence to the Scriptures is… strict."

"That's a nice way of putting it. But I guess it's better than Sagittaron beliefs." Elosha cocked her head inquiringly, and Artie sighed. "Meier told me that they all think I should have died. That my soul is tainted because a doctor saved me."

"Of course. I should have seen that." Elosha patted his hand sympathetically. "The Sagittaron interpretation of Scripture is ignorant at best."

"How can you say that, though?" Artie asked. "I mean, what makes you so sure that you're right and they're wrong? No Gods have come down from Olympus to hand out carved tablets or anything."

Elosha's eyebrow went up. "Do you want to believe the Sagittarons are right?"

"No, but I don't want to believe that the Cylons blew up all of humanity, either!" Artie protested. "Just because something sucks doesn't automatically mean it's wrong! Not that the Sagittarons are right, of course. But I just don't… I just don't really get it."

Elosha was silent for a long moment. "You know," she said finally, "people think that just because I'm a priest means that I don't understand how people can't believe in the Gods. Funny enough, I understand all too well."

"Really."

"Really." Elosha laughed. "Believe me, Artie, if you had known me when I was your age, you never would have guessed I would turn out to be a priest. Car thieves usually don't."

"You stole cars?"

"Mm-hmm. I used to be the best in my area at hot-wiring. It's not hard to figure out, but there really is an art to it. I lifted thirty-six cars before I was busted."

"You're kidding."

Elosha shook her head. "When I was brought before the court, they gave me a choice of the monastery or reform school. I chose the monastery."

"And you learned about the Gods," Artie said in a dull voice.

Elosha laughed. "Not like that. For a long time, I didn't believe. I chose the monastery because it was the easier of the two options. The safer of the two options. And you have no idea what novices get up to. Chamalla… it's very potent. But I didn't believe. Not for a long time."

"What made you believe?" Artie asked. "What changed your mind?"

"A lot of things," Elosha said. "Some were small, too small for me to even notice at the time. Some were bigger. I lost my sister while I was in monastery. We were close, and her death should have destroyed me. It didn't. I got through that time with help, and I realized that. I had visions. People can put them down to the chamalla, but sometimes… you just know. I can't prove it to anyone else, but I experienced it and I believed it."

"I somehow doubt the Gods are trying to talk to me," Artie said sourly. "If they are, they're pretty much saying 'frak you'."

"Maybe," Elosha allowed. "Maybe not. The thing with the Gods is, you have to always be listening. And maybe they aren't." She smiled. "The Gods are wise, Artie. Some people they approach directly. Some people they approach more subtly, or in a language that they can understand. Some only Zeus approaches, some Aphrodite, some Athena… there are as many approaches as there are people. And some people they just don't approach at all. The Gods are wise enough to make that distinction."

"Be nice if humanity would make the same distinction," Artie muttered.

"On worlds other than Gemenon, they do." Elosha sighed. "But Artie, we're here, on the cusp of one of the great miracles. When the servant returns with the Arrow of Apollo, we will have the map to Earth. What will you do with that knowledge? What will that mean to you?"

Artie sat back. Up until now, he'd dismissed the whole idea of Roslin being the dying leader as… yes, as superstition. Over-enthusiastic interpretation of vague texts. But say it happened. Say this Kara Thrace actually returned from Caprica with the Arrow- which even Kurt admitted was a real thing, even if he didn't think it had any significance- and this whole thing worked?

"I don't know," he said finally. "I guess I would have to hear… I'd have to see."

Elosha smiled at that and covered his hand with her own. "Let me ask you something, Artie. When that time comes, when we have the map, talk to me. Work through your questions with me, instead of trying to deal with them on your own. I won't try to force you to believe, I won't push you in a direction you're not willing to go. But I'd like to be there to help you. You say you don't know, and that, Artie, is the beginning step of the journey. To admit that you don't know everything. Take those next steps with me."

He felt that feeling again that he'd felt in the control room when Roslin had made her recording. The feeling that someone else was in the room, standing just beyond his line of sight, watching him. Waiting for him.

"All right," he heard himself saying. "If we find a map, I'll discuss it with you. I promise. But why? I'm just… I'm not anyone important. I'm a kid in a wheelchair with a bad haircut. Why?"

"Laura wants to save her people," Elosha said softly. "And so do I."

Artie swallowed, speechless.

***

"All right," Lee said, looking at his watch. "It's time."

Roslin nodded to the pilot. He nodded back and launched the flare. It was impossible to see it from inside the control room, but Artie could imagine it going up, exploding in a burst of light over the Astral Queen. He sat at the wireless station- his real domain- tense with anticipation.

"We're starting jump preparation," the pilot told Roslin. She nodded and crossed her arms, leaning back a little. Artie wished that he could contact Galactica. But even if it wasn't so dangerous, Mercedes wasn't on shift anyway. His throat closed, and he sat at the radio console, frozen, waiting for the order.

"Three… two… one… jump!"

They jumped.

Artie waited with bated breath as the others went through their checks. Finally, the navigator looked up. "We're in orbit around Kobol."

The wireless buzzed into life.

"Astral Queen, this is the Gemeneon Traveller. We're with you."

"Astral Queen, Galatea here. We're in formation."

"This is the Monarch. You'd better be right about this."

"Astral Queen, this is the Epheme. We're here."

"Astral Queen, this is the Cybele."

"Cybele, this is the Astral Queen," Artie said, nearly collapsing in relief. "It's good to hear your voice."

***

In the end, twenty-four ships came with them. Eighteen thousand people. It was more than Artie expected, to be honest.

The Astral Queen didn't have windows, but he could see Kobol spinning below them on one of the screens. It was beautiful, all blue and green with white streaky clouds.

"It's too bad we can't just settle here," he said wistfully.

"Except for the Cylons waiting to blow us up." Meier didn't seem at all impressed. "The Quorum in there," he jerked his thumb in the direction of the conference room, "aren't going to take too kindly to the idea of settling where toasters are hunting us."

"I didn't say we should settle here," Artie snapped. "I just said I wish we could."

Meier opened his mouth to argue, but a beeping distracted him. He leaned forward, studying it, and then abruptly departed towards to conference room where the Quorum was meeting. Artie leaned over and looked at the screen; an unmarked symbol was approaching the Astral Queen.

"Go wait in the dining hall," Meier ordered him. Artie had no choice but to obey.

Artie was also beginning to wonder just how long he was going to be stuck on the Astral Queen. He'd been here for hours, and truth be told, he was bored out of his mind. He wanted to go back to the Cybele, just to reassure himself that they were there. That New Directions was there… well, most of New Directions. There was no real home to go to, but that was what he wanted. He wanted to go home.

The minutes ticked by. Eventually, Kurt came and sat down next to him. "Quorum meeting over?"

"It is. I got sent down here." Kurt frowned. "I'm debating if it's worth trying to stomach the food over here, or if I should just hold out until we're sent back over to the Cybele." He dropped a stack of papers next to his place. "I'm thinking hold out."

"You should. I ate the stew earlier," Artie said, holding his stomach.

"You actually ate it? I'm pretty sure they use cat meat."

"Oh." Artie had been half-joking before, but now he was feeling distinctly sick. "Kurt, can I ask you a question?"

Kurt arranged his papers on the table. "I'm not joking about the cat."

"Let's not talk about the cat, okay? What are you going to do if this is all real? The Arrow of Apollo and all that?"

Kurt shrugged, not even looking up. "Nothing," he said. "I mean, as much as I despise admitting it, religion does generally have a basis in fact. We came from Kobol. There were twelve tribes that settled twelve planets, and maybe there really is a thirteenth tribe. I'd believe any of that. It's the question of the involvement of any sort of fantastical deity that I can't accept. There's always some sort of logical explanation. Now, if you don't mind, I've got work to do."

"Go ahead," Artie said. He pulled out a piece of paper and began to work on his own schedule for the next day. Now that he knew what ships were around, he had an idea of where he needed to be and who he could work with. He wondered how long the Fleet would be separated. Cloud 9 hadn't come, but the Zephyr had. He'd have to let Izzo know he was here, especially since some of her crew may have been left behind as well. He kept writing until his eyes grew heavy and his head started to droop, and before he knew it, he was asleep at the table.

***

"Kurt."

Artie jerked awake as Zarek walked in. Kurt was asleep, his head resting on his folded arms on the table. Zarek nodded at Artie and then sat down on the table and shook Kurt awake. "Kurt. You there?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry. I…" Kurt blinked, trying to wake up quickly. "Just a minute."

"No, it's all right. I want you to go back to the Cybele tonight."

Kurt blinked. "If you need help-"

"I don't." Zarek sounded very fatherly. "Look, there's a lot going on." He took a deep breath. "Kara Thrace is back. She brought the Arrow of Apollo."

Artie sat up straighter. "Really?"

"That's what she says it is. Whether or not it does anything…" Zarek shrugged dismissively. "But they're organizing an expedition to go down to Kobol tomorrow."

"And you want me to come with you?" Kurt asked dubiously.

"I don't think it's your speed," Zarek said with a thin smile. "Unless I've severely misjudged you and you're more into camping than I thought. There will be no moisturizer."

Kurt shuddered. "Ugh. No." He rubbed at his eyes. "But don't you need me here tomorrow to field calls and take care of things?"

"Not at all. Catch up on your rest, spend time with your father." Zarek patted him on the arm, and then looked at Artie. "I've got a shuttle waiting for the both of you. I don't want you staying on this ship tonight. Aside from Thrace and another human that was stranded on Caprica, they've brought a Cylon on board."

"A Cylon?" Artie gaped at Zarek. "One of the Centurions?"

"No, one of the human models. In some ways, they seem to be even more dangerous." Zarek turned, and Artie saw that Meier was waiting for them. "Let's head on down to the docking bay."

Kurt and Zarek walked a few steps ahead, Zarek talking in a quiet voice to Kurt, obviously relaying instructions. As they passed a holding cell, Artie spotted a woman in a prison jumpsuit. She was small, with olive skin and dark hair. Pretty. And angry.

"Is that her?" he asked Meier.

"Yeah. That's her. I'd kill her if they'd let me," Meier said.

Artie thought about his parents, about all of students at McKinley, all of Lima. And that was just a tiny little blip on all of humanity. And this… this thing in the cell had helped bring about all of that.

"Yeah," he said. "I would, too." He felt Meier's approval, and for a moment the two men completely understood each other.

The shuttle was a modern one, and to Artie's relief, it had a ramp. He wheeled himself up, ready to get back. Kurt climbed on after him, looking as exhausted as Artie felt. Meier didn't smile, but Zarek waved. "Get rest," he called after them both. "And thanks for your help."

He was the picture of fatherly concern. But as the ramp went up, Zarek clapped Meier on the shoulder. "That's them taken care of," Artie heard. "Let's get planning."

***

It was two in the morning when they got back to the Cybele. Most of the ship was asleep, but Artie was in no way surprised that Burt was waiting for them and had Kurt in a tight embrace as soon as he was off the shuttle. He was a little surprised- but very pleased- when Burt hugged him as well.

"What about Carole?" Kurt asked as they walked out of the docking bay and towards the New Directions compartment.

Burt's face was angry. "She got stuck over on the Daru Mozu," he said grimly. "And Finn's on the Galactica."

"Do you think-"

"One of two things is gonna happen. Adama's going to come after us, or we'll go back to them. This family is not breaking apart, Kurt. You got that?"

Kurt nodded.

There was no evidence, no reason to believe Burt was right. But somehow, the way he said it, Artie believed it. Their family was going to be put back together again, some way. That was the thought that lulled him to sleep that night.

***

Artie slept late the next morning, and only woke up when he heard someone crying. It was strange, he thought, gripping his pillow, that crying had the power to wake him up again. It wasn't as common as it used to be. He fumbled for his glasses.

"Brittany?" he asked.

"No."

"Quinn." He put his glasses on and sat up. Quinn was sitting on a crate, knees together, her face blotchy and red. "What's wrong?"

"Do you know what they say about Kobol?" Quinn asked angrily. "That any return will exact a price in blood. In blood."

"Did something happen to the expedition?"

"How should I know that?" Quinn demanded. She took a deep breath and wiped furiously at her cheeks, trying to compose herself. She took another, and then looked directly at Artie. Her eyes were red and her nose was swollen, and it was obvious she'd been crying for a long time. "Simon is dead."

"What? Dr. O'Neill?"

"No, Simon Brill. Of course Dr. O'Neill."

"What? How?"

Quinn sniffed. "Suicide," she said. "His wife found the note this morning. They checked the logs and an airlock was activated yesterday."

"What time yesterday?" Artie asked, running his hands through his hair in an attempt to get it to lie flat.

"What time? Why does it matter?" When he shrugged, Quinn sighed. "Early. Nine something."

"So before Roslin made her announcement about Kobol," Artie said. "There's a logical explanation for everything."

"Suicide is logical?" Quinn said. "Taking your own life, angering the Gods like that… especially when his wife and stepdaughter are still alive?" She was angry now. "His child is still alive, Artie. How is that logical?"

Depression, guilt over something, survivor's guilt, feeling hopeless and helpless…. There were plenty of reasons why someone would kill themselves, Artie thought. But something in Quinn's face made him realize that her anger wasn't just anger, it was grief. "What are you going to do?"

Quinn gave an inarticulate cry and threw a book at him. Artie managed to move just in time to avoid being hit. "Who cares what I'm going to do?" Quinn shouted. "Simon is DEAD! Don't you get that? He's DEAD!"

"I'm sorry," he managed. He had absolutely no idea what else to say. "Do you need me to do anything?"

"Just go away," Quinn sobbed. "Go away and leave me alone."

"Okay." He grabbed the first outfit he saw and moved over to his chair. On the way out, he stopped by her. "For what it's worth, I really am sorry, Quinn."

"Just go."

He nodded and left.

***

A price in blood. It was ridiculous on some levels. He definitely didn't think that Simon's suicide- as inexplicable as it was- had to do with any gods. That didn't make any sense. But it occurred to him that there were still Cylons on Kobol, and Cylons could find them here, in orbit around Kobol. And there was no Galactica to protect them all.

He hoped that price in blood wouldn't come true.

He spent the rest of the day in the Cybele's control room, dealing with the wireless. The traffic was so much less than it had been just a day ago.

The next day, at four fifty in the morning, he turned to the frequency that he used to communicate with the Galactica. No one was there. He sat and listened to the emptiness.

***

"It's strange," Brittany said as they all sat picking at their lunch. "She's across the galaxy, but I still feel like I can feel her."

No one laughed. Burt put a hand on Brittany's shoulder, the same emotion clear in his eyes.

"It's awful," Rachel agreed, taking a deep breath. "When I think that I could have been on Cloud 9 if I hadn't been sent out to research the state of air filters in the Fleet. To have our family torn apart, even more than it already is."

"But you weren't over there," Quinn said sourly.

"Come on, guys," Mr. Schuester interrupted, obviously anxious to avoid a fight. "It's not like the Fleet is going to stay divided forever, right? Artie and Kurt said that President Roslin is down there on Kobol right now with the Arrow of Apollo. Just the fact that anyone managed to get the Arrow off Caprica at all speaks volumes about the Gods, right?"

"Just the fact that the Cylons blew up all but fifty thousand of us speaks volumes about the gods," Kurt muttered. "Ow!" He reached down and rubbed his shin, glaring at Tina all the while.

"Mr. Schuester's right," Tina said, valiantly trying to recover. "Once the President has the map to Earth, we'll go back to the Fleet. Commander Adama might believe her and he might not, but we'll at least be back together."

"Guys," Mike said.

"I wonder how long it will take," Burt mused. "It's a big planet. Trying to find one tomb would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack."

"I wonder if it's even still standing," Will said, resting his chin on his hand. "Two thousand years. If they find it, it might just be a pile of rubble."

"Guys," Mike said again, "I'm serious."

"And even if it is still standing, what kind of condition will the map even be in? I mean, if it's written on paper, the paper'd probably be dust by now, wouldn't it?"

"Fine," Mike snapped. "I'll just get up and look out the window and marvel at the rest of the Fleet myself, okay?"

"The Fleet?" Rachel jumped to her feet and sprinted to a window, pressing her nose against the glass. "The Fleet! They found us! They came to us!"

Artie looked at Kurt, who immediately got to his feet. Crowds were forming around the windows, but the buzz of conversation was getting happier and happier. He had a hard time believing it himself, until he was finally able to worm through the crowd and head up to the control room.

The wireless was there, open in front of him. He picked up the headset and slipped it on, and spun the dial to the right channel.

"Galactica, this is the Cybele. Are you really there?"

"Cybele, this is Galactica." It was Mercedes. "You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice."

Artie started laughing. He leaned forward, his forehead against the cool metal of the console. Mercedes was right there, right on the other end. That meant Puck and Finn and Santana and Carole and Sam were all there, too. "I might have an idea," he said. "The family's back together, huh?"

"That's right," Mercedes said, and she was laughing too. "The family's back together."

***

It took about eight hours before a Raptor docked in the landing bay. A Raptor, not a shuttle. A real, live Raptor, piloted by Finn "Twinkletoes" Hudson.

"Can you believe it?" he said with a triumphant grin.

"They let you fly one of those things? Well, there's thousands of taxpayer cubits headed up in smoke," Kurt said, but he reached forward and they hugged. Santana was hugging Brittany and Puck was high-fiving Mike and talking to Quinn. Artie sat off to the side, watching with a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"About time I saw you in person again."

He turned to see Mercedes coming out of the Raptor. She was wearing olive green BDUs, and her hair was up in a tight ponytail. She looked happy though, and when she got close enough she bent down and gave Artie a huge hug. "I know you were in on it. You did great," she said, soft enough that no one could hear.

"Adama doesn't know I did anything, does he?" Artie asked.

"He doesn't, but even if he did, I think you'd be off the hook," Mercedes said. She pulled back. "I'm glad you did it. Even if I'm not supposed to be. But I didn't think you were religious."

"I'm not," Artie said with a shrug. "I just got talked into it."

***

The four of them from the Galactica couldn't stay long, but they stayed long enough to do a few things.

"It's stupid," Santana said, but she was smiling as she put her red handprint right next to Brittany's.

"So don't do it." Puck was putting his green one right near Artie's blue one. "But some day, this door's gonna be worth a fortune."

"How?" Mercedes asked, wiping the purple paint off her own hand. "It's not like we ever did that TV show."

"We didn't do the show, but we still could record," Artie explained. "We could get our songs on the wireless. Without the costumes and the choreography, it would be a lot easier."

"That's great!" Finn said, still standing with his arm around his mom's shoulders. He frowned. "But wait. Where would we get something to record with?"

Kurt, Quinn and Artie looked at each other, and then burst into identical evil grins.

***

The planet spun below them, blue and green and streaked with white. It was impossible to tell what was going on down there. Mercedes told them that Adama had gone down with a search party, and that he'd taken Billy Keikeya with him. "If President Roslin will listen to anyone, it's Billy," Mercedes said happily.

"Do you really think they'll find the Tomb?" Tina asked. "Or that Adama will find the President?"

"They really studied the Scriptures before they went down," she said, and then grinned proudly. "I was able to help them out a bit. Gods know they needed it- Commander Adama and Lieutenant Gaeta are not exactly fonts of Scriptural knowledge. But I think they'll find them. Too much has gone right to go wrong now."

Artie didn't know if he agreed about that, but the next night, they sat listening to Adama's speech on the wireless.

"We have struggled since the attacks... trying to rely on one another. Our strength and our only hope as a people is to remain undivided. We haven't always done all we could to insure that. Many people believe that the Scriptures, the letters from the Gods, will lead us to salvation. Maybe they will. But 'the Gods shall lift those who lift each other.' And so, to lift all of us, let me present once again the President of the Colonies, Laura Roslin."

There was clapping, both on the wireless and in the cabin of the Cybele. Artie looked around. So many people looked relieved, almost transported. The clapping faded as Roslin began to speak, detailing the map she had found.

She'd found a map. The Arrow of Apollo had worked, and she'd found a map. A map that led to Earth. Earth. It was real. Artie barely heard the words over the crashing sound in his ears.

All at once, he felt that feeling again. Stronger, more insistent. That feeling of someone else being in the room with him. He tried to tell himself that was ridiculous; aside from the members of New Directions that were there, they were in the cabin. There were a lot of people in the room. But this presence… it wasn't human.

He was making it up. It was all in his mind. If you wanted to believe, you could convince yourself of anything, and he didn't want to believe.

There were no gods. There was no divine plan, no destiny, no pawn pieces in some great cosmic game. And yet, Roslin had found a map. A map.

"Artie?" Quinn's fingers laced through his.

"What? Did I…"

"You're crying," Quinn said softly.

He raised his hand and touched his cheeks and found that he was. "Oh." There was nothing more to say. He looked around and saw a range of expressions on the other faces, from the elation on Tina's face to the calm sadness on Quinn's to the joy on Mike's and the relief on Burt's. Their minds were all on Earth. But the expression that really registered was the one on Kurt's face. "Are you okay?" Artie asked him.

"Didn't you hear?" Kurt asked, his voice high and strained. "Meier is dead."

"Oh." That… that kind of stunned him. It was hard not to feel something, although he had no idea what he was feeling. Kurt looked like he felt the same way.

"And the priestess," Burt added. "What was her name, Eloma?"

"Elosha," Kurt said, and suddenly everything crashed over Artie again.

"If we find a map, I'll discuss it with you. I promise. But why? I'm just… I'm not anyone important. I'm a kid in a wheelchair with a bad haircut. Why?"

"Laura wants to save her people. And so do I."

He'd had one conversation with her. One. And yet he didn't know what to say.

***

"Did you guys hear?"

Sam had just gotten in from the Daru Mozu. He had dark circles under his eyes and was dirty, and he smelled terrible. Artie could smell him from across the small room as Sam dug through his things for his shower kit.

"About the map?" Mike asked. "Everyone's heard."

"No. Not that." Sam pulled a folded up newspaper from his back pocket. "Check it out. They found another Cylon."

"Really?" Mike caught the paper.

"Yeah. Apparently when that Thrace chick was on Caprica, she found another Cylon, too."

"At least she didn't bring that one back with her," Artie muttered, and then looked at Mike's face. His eyes were comically wide.

"She didn't need to," Sam said with a shrug. "He was already here."

Mike handed Artie the paper, and there was Simon O'Neill, smiling out at them from an old photo clipping.

***

Artie found Quinn in the infirmary, perched on a chair and with a huge book in her lap. Her shoulders were slumped down and she looked very young.

"Quinn."

"Yes?"

Artie handed her the paper. Quinn took it, and read it with furrowed brows. He could see that she read it over and over, shaking her head. "No. No. It's not possible."

"They're sure."

"How can they be sure?" Quinn asked. "How do they know… how do they know Thrace isn't a Cylon? Or the guy she brought back with her? How do they know Simon is? Was? How- no!" She was shaking now, and starting to cry. "He can't be."

"It must be why he committed suicide," Artie mused. Quinn glared at him, and he realized that was probably not the right thing to say right now. "Sorry."

"How can he be a Cylon?" Quinn asked. "He was teaching me everything he knew. And it worked! I helped make people better. No one died under his care. Everyone got better. And he told me…" she wiped furiously at her cheeks. "He told me not to do the blood strike idea because it made me hard! Because it leached away a little of my humanity, denying people something that could help them live. He told me 'don't get too hard. Hold on to… hold on to… hold on to what makes you good.' A Cylon wouldn't say that."

Artie blinked. Quinn was right. A Cylon wouldn't say that. "Maybe he was working under cover," he suggested. "Or maybe he didn't know he was a Cylon. Mercedes told me that the Cylon on Galactica insisted she didn't know. Lots of people didn't believe her, though."

Quinn glared at him. "Do you?"

"Actually, yeah. I do." When she didn't answer, Artie continued. "Cylons are machines, right? Programmable? So if you're making one to infiltrate humanity and you don't want them to slip up, the best way to go about it is to program them to think they're really human. Maybe that's what they did with Simon, too."

"But why? Why now? Why on the Cybele? The Galactica makes sense, but the Cybele? He wasn't even supposed to be on this flight, was he? Is that how we escaped?" Quinn's questions were coming faster. "I don't understand!"

"I don't either," Artie admitted. "But it really looks like it's true."

Quinn took a deep breath. "I don't know what to do," she said. "What I should be doing now. I… I just don't know."

"You can run the infirmary," Artie said. "You know a lot, and like you said, everything he taught you worked."

Quinn nodded, but her eyes looked far away. "I guess. I guess that's all I can do. Just keep going and hope…." She shook herself, pulling herself back together. She wiped her cheeks on her palms, found a tissue and blew her nose, and then folded the paper in neat, crisp motions. "Thank you for telling me, Artie," she said. "I appreciate it, especially that I found out in private. But if you don't mind, I do have work to do."

"All right. If you need anything-"

"Thank you."

She picked her book back up and sat back down, staring hard at it. Artie got the message and left.

***

Four-fifty in the morning. It had been a few days, but Artie still smiled every time he got to turn that dial to the frequency he used to communicate with Galactica. And today was even better. "Good morning, Galactica."

"Right on time, Cybele," Mercedes said cheerfully. "How's everything over there?"

"Good. I've got some good news about Quinn."

"How's she doing?" Mercedes asked sympathetically.

"Really good, actually. Apparently, before he died, Simon contacted one of the doctors on the Rising Star and told him about Quinn. She's going over there and training now, with Dr. Michael Robert."

"They're sure he's not a Cylon?" Mercedes said.

"You're the one in the CIC. You tell me."

Mercedes laughed. "Well, odds are against it. The Gods wouldn't be that cruel to Quinn."

"That's what she said. And we've got another stroke of luck. Kurt and Billy are taking us to dinner on Cloud 9 tomorrow."

"You are lucky," Mercedes said enviously. "Tell Kurt I said 'hi'."

"Actually, Kurt said to let him know the next time you had leave. He really wants to meet up."

"Good. I'll get in touch with him, then. Well, my five minutes are up. Have a good day, Cybele."

"You, too, Galactica." Artie switched off the channel after Mercedes did and smiled. It was amazing how much a five minute conversation could make a place feel a little more like home.

"Okay. So tell us," Kurt said. "Tell us about this map. If I hear any more about it second hand, I will scream." They were sitting in the same restaurant on Cloud 9. Kurt and Billy had been given money to take Artie and Quinn out for a thank-you dinner. It might not be Roslin and Zarek, but Artie had the suspicion the truce was over.

Billy sighed and stretched his hands out. "It was… if I hadn't been there, I swear I wouldn't believe me, either. We went into the tomb, and there were broken statues of the icons of the Twelve Colonies. President Roslin recognized Sagittarius, and Kara Thrace put the arrow into the statue. And when she did… it was like a circuit went on. Then we were in a field and it was dark, and we could see the constellations."

"Amazing," Quinn breathed. Billy flushed.

"It probably was a circuit," Artie said. "The Arrow of Apollo probably completed it somehow. Did you ever go into a V-Club?"

"Virtual reality?" Quinn asked scornfully. "Two thousand years ago?"

"They had spaceships two thousand years ago," Artie said with a shrug. "Why not?"

"That makes sense," Kurt said, tossing his scarf over his shoulder.

"Now that I think about it, it makes complete sense," Billy said, looking a bit embarrassed. "Would the electronics hold up that long?"

"In a sheltered environment like the Tomb, with minimal exposure to the air and elements, it's definitely possible. Especially if they're encased in stone." Possible, a little voice in his head whispered. Not probable. He ignored it and continued on. "The Thirteenth Tribe must have known where they were going and basically left directions. They- what? Kurt?"

"Nothing. It just… it just hit me that Earth is real."

"Of course it is," Quinn said. "The Scriptures-"

"Quinn, do you really think I care about the Scriptures?" Kurt asked. "But they are based in fact, and… it's a logical explanation. It all does make sense."

Quinn opened her mouth to reply, but Billy interceded. "Whether you believe the Gods were involved or not," he said, "the fact remains that Earth is real and now we really do have a chance to find it. I think this deserves a toast." He lifted his glass. "To President Roslin and Earth!"

"So say we all," the others echoed, and clinked their glasses together.

***

"Artie?" Quinn asked him later that night. "Do you really think it was just a circuit?"

"It was probably a circuit that triggered the map, yes," Artie said. "But…."

"But?"

"Elosha said something to me that day. On the Astral Queen," he admitted. "She said that admitting you don't know is the first step to faith. Do you think that's true?"

Quinn had to think about that one for a minute. "I guess so," she said. "It means that your mind is open."

"Yeah. Well, I'm saying it now," Artie said. "I don't know. I don't know what I think. Elosha made me promise to talk to her, but…."

"But now you're lost," Quinn said.

"Yeah. Something like that."

Quinn was silent for a long moment. Then, more tentatively than Artie had ever heard her speak, she said, "If you wanted to talk about it, there are people who would listen. Me. Mercedes. Not push. Just listen."

Listen. Artie nodded. "Yeah," he said. "That might work. I guess. I think."

Quinn smiled. "You don't know."

Artie laughed. "Right. I don't know."