Dayton walked into his office, pausing while the door slid shut behind him, as he saw Ryan sitting in the chair behind his desk, Baker pouring himself a drink, and Porter glancing over a data pad that looked unmistakably like his. "Make yourself at home, guys." He deftly relieved Porter of the data pad, and then stared at Baker for a long moment. "Hey, pour yourself a few fingers."

Baker raised his glass, grinning. "Thanks, Mark. Don't mind if I do."

"He always did take good care of his own," Ryan added, raising his eyebrows and wriggling them as he raised his legs to rest them on the desk. He motioned at Baker to dose him. "Good of you to join us."

"Make yourself comfortable, Commander," Porter added with a grin.

"Looks like you beat me to it." Dayton brushed Ryan's legs off his desk. "Have a drink, Paddy. I hate to see you looking so uptight."

"I'm fighting it with everything I'm worth, Mark. My middle name is 'Relaxed', after all."

"Uh-huh." Dayton sat down, perching himself on the edge of the desk, as they handed the drinks around. With a bit of effort, Dietra had managed to scare him up a pilot qualified on the Hybrids to get him back for his meeting with his men, albeit a little late. Starbuck could thumb a ride back, for all he cared. "So what's so important that you needed to see me before we shipped out?"

"Are we going?" Ryan replied rapid fire.

Dayton dropped his friend's steady gaze, letting out a long breath, as he regained his feet. "Our assigned mission is to find the Base Ship, Ravager, and destroy her."

"What about Dick and Hummer?" Baker asked.

"We've been directed to avoid Earth detecting us at all costs."

"And?" Baker asked expectantly.

"I . . . I haven't quite worked it all out yet," Dayton admitted, looking into his glass. After a few seconds, he took a swig.

"How can you even think about getting that close to Earth and not setting your feet on it, Mark?" Baker asked. "God, I can practically feel the mud between my toes."

"I didn't say we wouldn't be going eventually, Bob, just that we need to take a little time to figure out what the hell's happened there. I mean, why would our own military toss Dick and Hummer in the slammer at Cheyenne Mountain, when our guys could clearly fill the brass in on what's been happening on our end?" Dayton replied. "You guys have been instrumental in figuring out ways that we can get the data we need, and for that I'm thankful . . ."

"I vote we get them out first, and ask those questions later," Ryan inserted. "The last I remember, when we left in 2010, American policy on interrogation wasn't exactly 'ask nicely'."

"Dick survived Torg and Bex, he can survive cooling his heels . . ." Porter began.

"Whoa, now!" Dayton inserted, his voice raising, and then falling again. "These are Americans that we're talking about! Our own people! Hell's Bells, I mean Dick is a well-respected astronaut, a published scientist, and bona fide American war hero, not a friggin' terrorist!"

"Well, apparently they treat heroes a little differently these days," Ryan returned caustically.

"You don't know that for certain," Dayton leaned down, grabbing a fistful of Ryan's shirt for a moment, hauling him forward, before thinking better of it, and releasing him again. The man dropped back down into the chair. "I'm sorry, I . . . well, there has to be some reasonable explanation, Paddy . . ."

"Well, there's an explanation, all right, but who knows if it's reasonable," Ryan replied, straightening the creases in his shirt. "C'mon, Mark, all I'm saying is that politically speaking, we don't know what's happened since we've been gone." Then he added more calmly, "It had to have been big if this Worldwide Aeronautics and Space Agency has replaced NASA, CSA, ESA, JSA, and all the rest of the alphabet soup."

"Especially if this Count Iblis was involved, like everybody seems to think," Baker agreed. "Remember him? He was a demonic being, not a court jester." Ryan snorted at the choice of words. "Okay, powerful, unquantifiable, unclassified, non-corporeal life form."

Ryan nodded slightly, apparently mollified, before adding, "'Mean son-of-a-bitch' would have sufficed."

"Whatever. Chances are if he left his imprint on Earth, it wasn't to fill it with peace, love, and understanding."

"And in this uncertain environment, you want to play Mission: Impossible, bust in and break out our guys?" Dayton asked incredulously. Going into the command meeting with Adama, he'd been torn between expediency and honesty. If he'd gone in telling them he wanted to rescue Dick and Hummer, he had a strong suspicion that Adama would have sent Cain along with them in some kind of advisory capacity . . . and then in self-defence he'd have been forced to short-circuit the Juggernaut's brain implant, which would probably be grounds for a court martial. No, he couldn't in all good conscience just leave the two men there, while the Council of Twelve deliberated over how best to approach Earth's dignitaries. But he couldn't exactly land a Hybrid fighter on the lawn of the White House, demanding their release either. "Listen, it's obvious we need to straighten out a few things once we get there, but it can be done without breaking in to a high security military base . . ."

"Better than appealing to the government, and ending up in the same position as Dick and Hummer," Ryan countered. "I've done my time in prison, and I don't much care to repeat it, not even if it is on good ol' Mother Earth."

"Well, who said you were coming?" Dayton countered, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Don't jerk my chain, Mark. Or I'll overflow all over you," Ryan snarled.

"Ryan," Porter inserted, "Mark has a point. You sound a bit paranoid, old loon. Like you actually think the good guys switched sides since we left home. This is just one fleeting impression—or maybe vision is a better word—that you're basing an entire evolved culture on. Like bad sci-fi, inspired by Orwell."

"Well, that's good then!" Ryan returned. "Paranoid's exactly how I feel, when I find out that the two guys we sent through a wormhole to Earth in order to kick start their technology into something that can defend our people against Cylons, are suddenly incarcerated!" His tone was deadly serious. " Face it, something's dodgy in Dodge, boys." He glanced at Baker. "What do you think, Bob?"

"Well, I'll agree that the first thing I want to see is Dick and Hummer out of stir, and back safely with us. Then I'm willing to let Mark talk all he wants with the President. Even have tea in the Oval Office, for all I care."

"And breaking two guys out of Cheyenne Mountain doesn't strike you two as putting a black mark on visiting emissaries representing another tribe of humans from across the galaxy?" Dayton asked. "Especially when we show up with our Base Ship, and park it in Earth's orbit?"

"Wonder what they charge for parking these days?" Ryan quipped. "We might need to take out a loan on the Endeavour, using her as collateral."

"We'll put it on your Citibank VISA," Dayton returned with a wan smile, before drawing in a deep breath, and letting it out again. "Look, the first thing we need to do is find that Base Ship that is supposed to be nearing Earth. Find her, and destroy her. That's our top priority. That's what I told Adama I'd do, and I have every intention of doing just that. Once we've dealt with that, I'll decide how we're going to get Dick and Hummer back. As your commanding officer, that's my final word on this."

"Pulling rank, Dayton?" Ryan asked, eyebrow cocked. "Remember? I'm retired. Hell, we're all retired!"

"This isn't a democracy, Ryan. I'm in charge. Be a man, and suck it up!"

Ryan scoffed loudly. "Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak; courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen," he quoted.
"Winston Churchill," Dayton confirmed after a moment. "How about this one, Paddy? 'Lead me, follow me, or get out of my way.'"

"Hmm, gotta be either John Wayne or General Patton," Ryan shrugged. "Either way, it's very you."

"Patton. And I'm glad you see it that way," Dayton nodded coolly.

"Hey, I know you well enough by now," Ryan rejoined. "Here's another: 'If everyone is thinking alike, then someone isn't thinking.'" He paused to let it sink in. "That was Patton, too. You might want to give that some thought, Duke."

"Paddy . . ." Dayton growled.

"Just think about it, you stubborn git," Ryan replied, interlinking his fingers as he rested his hands on his chest. "The Earth we're going back to is not the Earth we left. If you think it is, then you're either being idealistic, or idiotic. Oh, wait . . ." He popped his eyes in mock surprise.

"Oh, great. Why don't you wave a red flag in front of a bull, Paddy?" Porter said irritably.

"An idealist or an idiot, huh? Well, thanks one hell of a lot for that, Ryan," Dayton scoffed, leaning forward and jabbing a finger into Ryan's chest. "And I guess I know which one you'd accuse me of."

"Well, the Mark Dayton that I've known for thirty years is no dummy," Ryan replied with a faint smile, leaning into Dayton's finger, and slowly standing until he was right in the man's face. "You can't go back, Mark. We can go to Earth, but we can't go back to what we left behind. Your wife, your kids, your life. I know you want it to be the same." His voice rose with fervour. "Christ's sake, I want it to be! You think I'm not chewing my guts out, wondering? Worrying? What about my kids? My brothers and sisters? And Mom? Hell, I even think about my ex, and that's without booze on board!" He rolled his eyes. "Jaysus Murphy, are they still alive? Are they okay? Would I be able to . . .would they even want me to . . . " He stopped, letting out a ragged breath and turning away from them, in a rare moment of loss of control. He clenched his fists, standing stock-still for a long moment, before letting out a low groan.

"Paddy . . ." Dayton said uncertainly, raising a hand, and hesitating. In a motion that mimicked Starbuck's earlier, the man shot his hands up, forestalling any advance or offer of comfort on anyone's part. For a solid minute, the only sound in the room was his uneven breathing.

Finally, Ryan turned to face them again. "Me again," he apologized, shrugging. "We all want it, Mark, but it isn't going to be. It can't be. You know that, don't you?" He paused, searching his friend's features. "Don't you?"

"Damn you, Ryan," Dayton muttered gruffly. "I'm in command. It's not that easy."

"Sure it is," Ryan replied. "You just need to remember your priorities. Your first allegiance."

Dayton blew out a breath of frustration. Ryan wouldn't budge on this. He'd argue until the cows came home . . . It was possible they'd never see eye to eye on this one.

"Now, now, boys," Baker reminded them, glancing at his timepiece. "Preparations for shipping out. Remember, Commander? T-Minus, and all that technical astronaut jazz?"

It took Dayton a moment longer to get past Ryan's outburst, and the words that had struck just a little too close to home. "Yeah," he breathed.

Beep!!

"What now?!" Dayton snapped in the door's direction, annoyed at the intrusion. He slammed a hand against the entry pad, waiting irritably for it to open. It slid back, revealing his wayward strike captain.

Starbuck stepped into the room, giving the assembled men a cursory glance, and nodding at them in acknowledgment. He turned to his commander, looking as serious as Ryan had a minute before. "I need to talk to you, Dayton."

"Peachy."