Epilogue

There weren't many places a guy could seek solace on an Abaddon-class Cylon Base Ship turned Colonial Covert Operations Ship; however, Starbuck had been over just about every cubic centimetron of the Endeavour, and he knew a few quiet haunts where he could sit in the silence, puffing in peace on a fumarello, no one to drop yet one more command problem on him or to wave at the wisps of smoke, turning up their noses in irritation at the inadequate air recirculation. The not yet operational Epsilon Bay was just such a place, utilized largely for its storage capacity, at least until the time came where they actually had enough Hybrid fighters to necessitate its use. Around him were spare parts and stores, including about thirty cases of Lagavulin Scotch that nobody but him knew about. He smiled to himself, considering opening a crate and indulging in a private snort of the good stuff. The trouble was that Dayton had told him it was fine liquor meant to be shared, and his current companion definitely wouldn't appreciate the subtle nuances of Scotch Whiskey at its best.

Starbuck sat down, propping himself up against the hatch, and stretching out his legs. A moment later, Shadow had stretched out beside him, the dark brown lop-eared daggit's head cocked to one side, his alert soulful eyes watching Starbuck's every move as the warrior pulled out his ignitor and went through the ritual of lighting a smoke. When the end of the fumarello glowed with life, Starbuck closed his eyes, puffing lightly on the Empyrean blend, savouring the aroma and flavour of a finely cured tobacco.

They had been back for over almost six sectons now and he still didn't know what had transpired on Earth. His last Earth memory was Ryan and Cassiopeia trying to revive a clinically dead Dayton, followed by Ama taking the Oculus from Eirys. What happened next was the usual celestially inspired Empyrean blur, but when Starbuck and Lu could once again think and form coherent sentences, they were back aboard the Endeavour, and furthermore, located about ten parsecs aft of the Colonial Fleet. The Covert Operations Ship had returned to its point of origin.

Not only had he and Luana made it back, but so had the pilots that had left Mars and Phobos, flying across the star system in a race against time as they tried to rendezvous with their base ship. Now, an optimist would presume that if Ama came through on those two points that they could rely on the fact that somewhere across the heavens Phobos was still in one piece and Mark Dayton was still very much alive. He fervently hoped it was so—Ryan instantly coming to mind, poised to lose not only his best friend but his son—but an underlying doubt seemed to do battle with Starbuck's cautious optimism on an on-going basis these days. Guilt over Ama's unknown fate, as well as Cassiopeia's obvious abandonment on a planet she'd decided against settling on, hadn't exactly helped him curb his cynicism. At times he couldn't shake the thought that Dayton was really dead, Phobos and her crew were destroyed, and Ama was now the new embodiment of evil, on a celestial level somehow balancing the "goodness and light" of the Beings of Light with her own particular Empyrean flavour of "badness and darkness"—which possibly translated as some unfortunate race of beings half way across the galaxy suddenly being transformed into gap-toothed, wild-haired, wide-bottomed tobacconists.

Starbuck's eyes flickered open as Shadow tensed, a quiet whine escaping him long before Starbuck heard the approaching footfalls. The daggit's tail started thumping a steady beat on the deck plate, indicating friend over foe. Starbuck glanced sheepishly down at the comm unit he'd purposely turned off to ensure a little privacy. Incredibly, his brain auto-engaged and he'd thought up three excuses for the breach of duty by the time he realized the intruder was merely Apollo.

"Over here!" Starbuck reluctantly announced.

"I know," Apollo replied, covering the meagre distance between them in short order. "I could smell the smoke."

"Right."

Dang it all if Apollo didn't head directly for Starbuck's stash of Scotch Whiskey, pausing only a moment before pushing aside a canvas tarpaulin and pulling out a bottle, a triumphant smile on his features. Without skipping a beat, he returned to his friend's side, sliding down the side of the hatch until his astrum hit the deck. A moment later, he pulled out the cork and took a swig of the Earth liquor, sighing in satisfaction, before handing the bottle to Starbuck.

"It went that well, huh?" Starbuck asked, taking the proffered bottle and sampling its depths.

"About the way we expected," Apollo conceded, reaching over and taking the Lagavulin back. He took another long drink, this time resting the bottle between his legs, apparently keeping it close at hand.

"So . . ." Starbuck sighed, leisurely puffing his fumarello. "Cain or Tigh?"

"Cain," Apollo replied, rubbing his eyes wearily. "Tigh will command the Pegasus." He paused a moment. "He deserves it and we both know it. It's overdue."

There had been the faint hope that Apollo would be promoted to commander of the Endeavour; however, the Council of Twelve hadn't been very impressed with the fact that the Endeavour had defied orders and had made contact with Earth on what was supposed to be a "stealth" mission to destroy the Ravager. The fact that an alliance with Earth had been struck seemed secondary to their apparent misconduct. The subsequent military reprimand that Commander Dayton normally would have received for ignoring Adama and the Council of Twelve, instead rolled down the usual chain of command, falling squarely on the shoulders of the executive officer.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I have to celebrate the fact, buddy," Starbuck offered. "I suppose that means someone is line for promotion to colonel."

"Are you interested?"

"Hades, no," he scoffed. "I belong in a cockpit."

"You don't want to command your own ship?"

"I'd be happy to command my own social calendar." Starbuck grinned ruefully at Apollo's resulting laughter. Of late, both Sheba and Luana had been dragging them both from one function to another, apparently taking advantage of the "downtime" before another command shuffle. Chameleon had been factored into several of those engagements, and Starbuck had to admit it was good to be back in the old conman's company again. His father's easy going humour and tales of his "activities" were a welcome distraction. "But seriously, I command my own ship every time I launch, not to mention a couple squadrons."

Apollo smiled knowingly. "I remember when I felt the same way. Early days, buddy. Just wait."

"Suffering Lord Sagan, Apollo!" Starbuck exclaimed in mock horror. "Were those words of wisdom?"

"I'm just preparing you for Cain."

The strike captain chuckled, taking another drag of his fumarello. "I wager he qualifies on the Hybrid within a sectar. And he flies his first patrol right after that."

"Sucker's bet," returned his friend.

"Well, if the boot fits . . ."

"Then it wasn't made by the Colonial Service," Apollo retorted, waving at a tendril of smoke drifting his way. They sat for a few moments in companionable silence.

"Mal would be perfect for executive officer," Starbuck said.

"I don't think anybody's ready for a Cylon as an executive officer of a Colonial capital ship," Apollo replied. "But you're right. He would be a good choice."

"He'd be a great choice. And it would get him off my back."

"Watch what you wish for, buddy, you might end up as his subordinate officer at some point."

Starbuck grimaced. "I didn't think of that. I guess that's why you're the colonel."

Apollo glanced over at him and they grinned, before the colonel passed the bottle once again. Speaking of Malus, first on the command agenda for the Endeavour would be whether or not to scrap the Clavis project. While cruising through time and space was a novel concept, thus far the crew of the Endeavour seemed to spend less time in control of the Espridian device than other more evolved creatures in the universe. The concerns that Malus had put into his report before this mission had started had certainly been validated. It had put them at considerable risk more than once now. While an amazing feat of technology, they simply didn't have the necessary control over the Clavis. And while some officers—namely Cain and Starbuck—had voiced their opinion that the potential might be worth the risk, others—namely Adama and Apollo—had disagreed.

The strike captain nodded his thanks as he sipped on the liquor once again. "Just remember, in a few sectars the crews will rotate and we'll probably be on another ship anyhow."

"Yeah. In the meantime, I guess we make the most of it. I'll be curious to see how Cain functions outside of his usual element."

"Somehow I'm guessing he won't be asking for my invaluable opinion," Starbuck smirked.

"Hey, he is Cain. He might surprise us," Apollo replied, ever practical.

"After all, he's made a career of it," Starbuck replied.

Apollo nodded, studying his friend closely for a long moment before asking, "How are you holding up?"

Starbuck frowned, sucking on his fumarello before blowing the smoke in the colonel's direction. "Did I ever explain to you that I don't like direct lines of questioning? They're bad for my bio-pulse rhythm."

Apollo chuckled. "I recall hearing that about you. The trouble is that I come from a long line of direct questioners."

"Runs rampant in the family, huh?"

"Yep, pretty much," Apollo agreed, accepting the bottle from his friend. "I'm always around if you need to talk."

"Yeah, I noticed." He paused for a moment. "I noticed that you're helping yourself to my Scotch too."

"Privilege of command," Apollo informed him.

"And friendship," Starbuck replied with an amused sniff.

"I knew you'd see it my way." Apollo said, slowly stretching out his limbs before standing. "You'll see him again one day, Starbuck. A life force like that doesn't burn out easily."

Starbuck nodded, wanting to believe just that. "That sounds like something Ama would say." He turned up his face towards his friend, the question on the tip of his tongue difficult to get out for fear of the unwelcome answer.

"Spit it out."

"What about Ama?" Starbuck asked,

"Ama, huh? That's tougher. Much tougher," Apollo replied, holding up the bottle, his eyebrows raised in question.

Starbuck shook his head this time, letting out a long sigh and climbing to his feet. Shadow bolted up beside him, nuzzling his hand. Idly, he stroked the daggit's fur. "I can't see her taking Iblis' place, Apollo. Even if that's what the Ship of Lights wanted, I can't see her being any less the . . . woman she was before all this."

"But you did say she commanded the Oculus to get you and the others back aboard, didn't you?"

Starbuck dropped his chin, nodding. "Yeah," he replied dispirited. "And that was the last any of us heard from her."

At his side, Shadow bristled, and then barked wildly.

"Then I suppose I'm overdue . . ."

Starbuck jerked his head upright, his gaze following the sound of the necromancer's voice. For some reason he was expecting some kind of dramatic entrance befitting a necromancer that wielded the Oculus. Instead, he couldn't see her . . . "Ama?" he asked tentatively. Apollo was looking about expectantly, fortunately confirming the unexpected words were not some Scotch-inspired figment of his distilled imagination.

"Hello, Dear Heart," she replied, stepping around the stash of Scotch, a bottle in her hand, looking much as he'd seen her when they'd first met on the planet Empyrean. How the carefully coiffed hair had returned to her trademark wildness, he didn't know, but he also didn't care, as he rushed forward into her outstretched arms, picking her up with a cry of joy and whirling her around in a circle. Shadow jumped around excitedly beside them. Starbuck set Ama down gingerly, suddenly remembering all his doubts and anxieties. "Are you alright?"

"Quite," she agreed with a glitter in her grey eyes and a gapped-tooth smile that could send a small child into tearful hysterics. "Although, I can't say the same for the Lagavulin."

"Dayton?" Starbuck asked, watching her open the bottle and sniff it appreciatively. She took a sip.

"And Phobos?" Apollo inserted, reaching over and squeezing the necromancer's free hand warmly.

"Phobos is on its way to becoming a functional space dock once again. They have already stabilized its orbit, and begun sealing it up. Her crew are fine."

"What about Dayton, Ama?" Starbuck asked again, not liking that he had to. "Is he alive?"

She considered him a long painful moment, her features serene and strangely beautiful . . . when her mouth was closed. "I sense his life force in the universe, Starbuck. A light like his burns eternally."

Dread suffused him. Starbuck felt Apollo grip his shoulder, lending his support. "What the frack does that mean, Ama? I never was very good at riddles. Is he dead or not?"

"Easy, Bucko," Apollo said. Then he growled, "Ama . . ."

Ama sighed, taking a step forward and caressing Starbuck's cheek maternally. "Faith is an elusive thing, isn't it, Son of my Heart, and truth is but a perception of our relatively provincial reality." She placed a hand over his chest and he could feel the warmth of her fingertips upon his now-chill flesh. "The balance of the universe is a precarious thing, Starbuck, requiring a careful attendance and governance. And while the fragility of the flesh is a sorrowful fact, the endurance of the spirit is awe inspiring in its magical complexity. Take heart in that."

"Balance of the universe? Hades, where's my languatron? Ama, please! By all the Lords, I don't know what you're talking about," Starbuck admitted, shaking his head in frustration, as he captured her hand. "Can't you just speak plainly?"

"Or are you trying to mislead us?" Apollo dared to ask. "Do you still carry the Oculus, Ama? Are you truly its Keeper now? Have you inherited Iblis' status along with his blood?"

"Don't be daft, Apollo. Only the Keeper of the Oculus can bequeath its guardianship," Ama reminded them. "Although I certainly borrowed it one last time, Eirys actually bequeathed it to one other than me, much to the dismay of the Elders."

"Who?" Apollo asked, even as the glaring alternative entered his horrified mind. "Oh Lords! Baltar?"

"Baltar?" Starbuck echoed. "What the frack is that? Diabolis the Next Generation?"

Ama raised her eyebrows. "It was a great sacrifice on Eirys' part, but in my mind an elegant solution, and a masterful conclusion." Ama replied. "After all, Baltar had all the credentials, and came highly recommended . . ."

"But he was a Being of Light," Starbuck protested, still absorbing that the one-time Betrayer of Humanity turned Guardian Angel was now the Evil One. Suddenly, it entered his mind that if Baltar bumbled his way through his current duties as he had his former ones, the universe might still be torn apart . . . this time by disbelief or laughter. "But he redeemed himself!"

"Baltar's redemption: it went against his nature, his very destiny. You of all people should have realized that, Starbuck. Didn't you call him your Guardian Weevil?" Ama replied. "I'm sure he'll be more content now. He can get himself a new pedestal, towering above the rest of the peons, while I try to figure out how to recapture the Oculus before he learns what to do with it."

"But what about Eirys?" Apollo asked, his natural compassion for the Angylion apparent.

"She remains with the Ship of Lights, Baltar's natural nemesis now." Ama shook her head. "It's regrettable, I agree."

"What about Cassie?" Starbuck asked. "She told Dayton she was going to stay with the Fleet. Why didn't you bring her back too?"

"She could have left Mark-Dayton knowing he was fine, but it was a different matter when she knew he was dying beneath her well-meaning fingertips, Starbuck," Ama explained. "In that moment when we needed to go, she made up her mind to remain and do her best to save him. She's very gifted."

Starbuck wrinkled his brow. "Then he's okay? Cassie saved him?" Suddenly, it all made sense. Cassie had to remain behind to help them save Dayton. That was it!

Ama jerked her head upward, suddenly frowning irritably. She took a long deep breath, and then leaned forward, briefly kissing Starbuck, stroking his cheek, then tilting her head forward until their foreheads met. He closed his eyes. A familiar warmth that he often associated with Ama suffused him. It was immediately comforting and he never came out of it with a hangover. If only he could bottle it and sell it in the Fleet . . .

"Starbuck, I almost forgot to tell you," she whispered. The sound seemed to flow through him and all around him.

"Yes?" he asked a little dreamily.

"Listen closely now. You see, over thirty Earth years ago the spirit of Mark and Yvonne Dayton's unborn son crossed the galaxy, giving life to another child in the Colonies," she whispered. "They truly believed you to be their son."

"Their son?" It seemed so surreal. "But Chameleon . . ."

"Yes. Chameleon is your father."

"But . . . you just said that . . ." He opened his eyes, feeling the blissful contentment retreat. "I . . . I'm confused."

"It is complicated, Son of my Heart, but I can tell you this. You carry the DNA of Chameleon and Gabrielle, of this I'm certain. But, at some point, as sadly often happens, the babe within her womb died. She was still carrying it, not yet aware of what had transpired, when another child, half a galaxy away, this time by malice and cruelty, also succumbed before birth." She took a deep breath, and looked into Starbuck's astonished face. "Through a wisdom and grace far beyond the understanding of most mortals, the spirit of that child crossed the gulf of space, to fill the unborn son of Chameleon."

"Holy fracking . . ."

"Lords . . ." murmured Apollo.

"Yes. You are that son, Starbuck. Conceived on one side of the galaxy, and born on the other to fulfil a destiny for both worlds. It was Yvonne, with her special kind of spiritual evolution—or dementia, as the Earthmen call it—who recognized you. Son, it was your genealogical bond with Mark-Dayton that prepared the way to ultimately unite the tribes, negating a separation that had lasted millennia."

"But . . ." Starbuck wasn't certain what to say. Had it been some deep-rooted instinct that made him trust Mark Dayton so long ago when he'd been close to exposing him for almost destroying the Galactica near the pirate base? Conversely, there were all those times that Dayton had harangued him for various perceived indiscretions, real or not, but had stuck his neck out to come to his aid whenever Starbuck was in trouble. Had it all been fate?

"Close your mouth, Starbuck, before something flies in there," said Ama.

"You . . . you have permission to tell me this?"

"Who said I asked?" Ama smiled, her need of modern dentistry once more in evidence. "I have a message for you, son."

He nodded slowly.

Her grey eyes misted over ever so slightly, softening and suddenly reminding him of another familiar set of beloved grey eyes, last seen looking desperately at him six sectons before. Shadow's low unsettled growl faded into the background as soon as it had begun, getting further and further away. It was like being transported back in time and space, and if he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine it was Mark Dayton standing there before him. But he couldn't close his eyes. He couldn't break the spell that Ama held over him. The luring depths of charcoal drew him in further, until he could almost smell that awful cologne that Dayton had taken to wearing in his last sectons on Earth. Old and Spicey . . .

"I'll be watching over you always, my son. As I do my daughters. You make me proud, kid. I love you."

Starbuck's eyes misted over and he held his breath as a single tear trickled down his cheek. It still seemed too surreal to grasp. Rationally, it didn't make much sense; however, he tended to think of things in simple biological terms, when he thought about them at all. Irrationally, on an emotional level it felt right. He closed his eyes, feeling like a crystalline orb about to shatter into a million pieces. Wait a centon . . . had the voice belonged to Dayton or Ama? Either could utter the words meaningfully. Why couldn't he reason beyond any doubt as to whether or not the Old Man was dead or alive.

Because you don't want to, Idiot! You're afraid of the truth!

"Buddy?"

Apollo's voice pulled him back to the harsh reality of the steely decks around him. Ama had stepped back, regarding Starbuck with some concern, even as she once again looked upward, as though getting direction from another dimension, like John once had.

"Just tell me the truth, Ama," Starbuck begged her.

She smiled at him kindly, holding her hands upward, as though trying to ensure she wasn't hiding anything. "I did tell you, Starbuck. Once again, I can only reassure you that his spirit lives on."

"But . . ."

"I must go for now, Starbuck. Give my god-daughters and Chameleon my love. Tell Lu I will be here for her when the time comes."

"The time . . . what time?" he asked, once again bewildered as she simply disappeared before his eyes. He reached over, gripping Apollo's arm, finding his solid, unwavering presence comforting in the light of the last few centons. "What time?"

"About twenty past the centar, buddy," Apollo replied, gripping Starbuck by the shoulder, and steering him back towards the hatch and the Scotch.

Surprisingly, the hatch opened. Lu's head popped through it, followed by the rest of her. Shadow barked happily, wagging his tail at her appearance. "There you are! I've been looking all over for you!" she said, her smile lightening his heavy heart as she sprang forward into his arms. Typically, the daggit got up on his hind feet, forepaws on human legs, and barked joyously.

Despite the ups and downs of their relatively short marriage, lately things had been good between them. Really good. The events on Earth had had a way of putting things into perspective, until a couple realized that they'd better enjoy what they had, instead of regretting what they didn't. Shadow had helped, giving them both a necessary distraction aside from their troubles.

"There's something I need to tell you!" Lu enthused, her smile contagious as she grabbed Starbuck's hands, entwining her fingers in his.

"Should I leave you two alone?" Apollo asked.

Lu laughed joyously, the sound a tonic for the soul. "Good luck with that," she giggled mysteriously, before taking Starbuck's hand and lowering it to her belly.

Now, women only placed their hands on their bellies for two pertinent reasons that Starbuck was aware of. He had a sneaking suspicion she hadn't searched him out to share her monthly "bloated like a Base Ship" status with him, especially with that ecstatic smile on her features. That left one other option that even the best Colonial physicians had told them just wasn't possible after Lu's exposure to certain chemicals on Planet 'P'.

"Besides, Apollo," Lu continued, "I want the whole Fleet to know, and you can be the first. Well, after Starbuck, that is." She pressed her hand over Starbuck's, her radiance exquisite as they stood there smiling at each other, husband and wife.

"Lu?" he asked tentatively. He didn't dare believe . . . "Are you . . .?"

"Innamorato, it's an honest to goodness miracle!"

"It is, Innamorata," Starbuck replied with a breath of disbelief, pulling her into his arms, lifting her off her feet, his eyes flooding this time with tears of happiness. It hadn't been long after his return to the Fleet that he'd found comfort in Luana's arms. Had it been that night when Dayton had lost his battle for life, even Cassiopeia's medical skill unable to sustain him any longer? Suddenly, what Ama had said made complete sense. His spirit lives on. "He'll be a strong and healthy boy, the pride of his father and the delight of his mother."

"You think so, huh? If he takes after you, then more likely he'll be Hades at full turbos!" She laughed aloud, as he set her back down on her feet. Then she smiled impishly. "You know . . . it could be a girl."

"Maybe," he grinned mischievously, putting an arm around her and pulling her close. "But I'm willing to bet otherwise."

xxxxx

Fleeing from the Cylon tyranny, the Battlestars Galactica and Pegasus, along with a salvaged and modified Cylon Base Ship, renamed Endeavour, lead a ragtag fugitive fleet on a lonely quest . . . a shining planet known as Earth.

The End

Thanks to Senmut, Beta Reader Extraordinaire, for his support, inspiration and constant nudges that kept me going.