Chapter Two
"Relax, Starbuck," Cassiopeia repeated with half an eye on the scan she had completed, as she kneaded the muscles in his right shoulder, coaxing out the knots that had taken up permanent residence. Metrons away, Rhiamon was opening an old-fashioned leather-bound satchel, and removing a set of fine needles, making quite a show of placing them on a treatment table where they caught the light and glinted evilly.
"Oh yeah, right," he murmured from the bio-stretcher in the Life Station, where they obviously chilled the surfaces in preparation for patient care. "I'm face down, practically naked, and under orders by my CO to have an Empyrean Healer drive needles into me. I'm. . . just completely relaxed, Cassie. Like melted mushies."
"It was sounding like every other day up until the needles," Cassie quipped.
He couldn't help but grin. "Cute, Cass . . ." He glanced over at Lu, who was laughing quietly, while keeping a careful watch for any possible signs of his escaping.
"How's the pain?" Cassiopeia asked, switching from the gentle teasing to asking about his health history with an ease that came naturally to her. She moved her fingers about one centimetron to the right.
Starbuck sighed, capitulating now that he was finally in the Life Station. "It's more of a dull burning that never really goes away. I barely notice it anymore."
"It's the numbness he really complains about, Cassiopeia," Luana inserted. "He says that he can't sleep on his right side, or even turn his head too far that way without the tingling and numbness getting worse."
"That must make flying interesting," Cassie glanced at Starbuck. "What's your range of motion like?"
"Not too bad. I sit on the left," he shrugged. "Dietra has the right."
"It's amazing what our bodies can get used to, or adapt to," she offered, before asking, "Are you still using the analgesics?"
"No."
"Do you have any more?"
"No."
"Would you be using them if you had more?" she asked, continuing to work his muscles as she probed him.
He shrugged.
"Why didn't you come get more?" Cassie paused. "If you need them . . ."
"I haven't had time, and it really only bothers me at night."
"The pain or the numbness?"
"Both. It seems to stiffen up at night." He paused, and then grinned roguishly. "The shoulder, I mean."
Cassie cleared her throat. "Every night?"
"I guess. I try not to dwell on it."
"Seems pointless?" she asked.
"Uh . . . yeah." The conversation seemed familiar, somehow. "Besides, I've barely had time to sleep since we started refitting this tub, Cassie. We've all been way too busy to notice the little things."
"Starbuck, have you been avoiding your follow-up appointments because I've been the one running the Life Station until a physician is assigned?" Cassiopeia asked point blank.
"Sagan, Cass . . ." he muttered, since it had entered his own mind that stripping down for his former lover, who was currently the love interest of a man who had become almost like another father figure to him, as well as his new commanding officer, while she massaged his body—which she had done erotically more times than not, in the past—could be a little uncomfortable.
Especially with Lu three metrons away, watching it all.
"Just answer me, because if this is going to be a problem for you, we'd better figure out a solution, and fast. The Lords of Kobol know that you're probably going to be one of my regulars." She winked at Lu, then stepped back from him, brushing a stray lock of her golden hair back from her forehead with the back of her hand. "I suppose I could get Rhiamon to permanently take you on as part of her workload . . ."
"Now, wait just a centon!" Starbuck rolled over, hastily grabbing the sheet that was covering him, as he sat up, dangling his legs over the side of the bio-stretcher. "Cass, I'm reasonably sure that I avoid all med techs equally. I don't play favourites; I'm what Dayton calls an 'equal opportunity avoider'. This has nothing to do with you personally." At least if Rhiamon entered the equation, it didn't. He could wrap his mind around it if necessary. He would try to think about Torg, Bex, Sire Dracus, Sire Regus, being shot, being stabbed, crashing his Viper . . . whatever else could fire the breaking thrusters on a young, healthy, virile male body from reacting the usual physical way when a beautiful woman started leaning over him, and massaging his aching muscles, her hair tickling his back as it inadvertently played across his naked flesh . . .
She leaned forward, hands on her slender hips, her blue eyes searching his. "Felgercarb, flyboy. You're avoiding me. And putting your health at risk because of it. I won't tolerate it, Starbuck."
"My health is fine."
"Not according to Luana. She says you only sleep four centars a night, and even then you toss and turn because of your shoulder freezing up. Usually, she wakes up to find you've given up and have gone to the Duty Office." She smiled. "If I mentioned that to Apollo, I'm sure he'd recommend a psychiatric exam as well."
Starbuck glowered at his wife. "I'm just busy. I have a lot to get done, Cass. The refit. The new cadets. The certifications on the new ships. Getting enough Empyrean ale for a six secton tour. Sometimes it takes a while to shut off my brain."
"Praise the Lords, it used to take a while to turn it on," Cassie rejoined, abruptly covering her mouth with her hand and looking surprised that the words had passed her lips. "Sorry. I didn't mean that."
"Uh . . . should I leave?" Luana asked, looking hesitantly between them.
"No, of course not," Cassie reassured her, holding up a hand.
"Look, if you two have something to work out, I don't mind stepping out for a centon," Luana reiterated.
"Do we have something to work out?" Starbuck asked Cassiopeia, wincing.
"Why are you asking me?" she returned, crossing her arms over her chest.
That struck an old familiar chord. "Because I'm usually the last to know . . ."
"Okay!" Luana stepped forward. "Now it's starting to sound like some kind of lover's spat. The problem being, you both have different lovers now." She glanced from one to the other. "What's going on here?"
"Okay, I'll admit it . . . it's a little uncomfortable for me to look after Starbuck . . ." Cassie confessed, torn over wanting to be the consummate professional, but obviously falling short of that with her reaction to this particular Colonial Warrior. It was disappointing both professionally and personally. He simply didn't deserve this much consideration seven sectars after their break up. "And I suppose I think I should be able to get past it because . . . well, because I'm a professional. Or at least I'm supposed to act like one."
"So I'm not the only one feeling a little awkward here?" Starbuck ventured, letting out a deep breath.
"I'm a professional," she repeated a little desperately.
"And I'm just the slack-jawed Viper jock . . ." he broke off, and the irony was it hurt more to know he wouldn't fly a Viper again, than it did to be having it out with Cassie. To never be hurled through a launch tube because he'd sustained far too many internal injuries that his body simply couldn't take it . . . Lords, if the Endeavour and the Hybrids hadn't come along, he would be flying a desk somewhere. He rubbed his burning shoulder, glancing at Rhiamon as she looked back at him, fondling her current weapons of choice. Compared to this conversation, it seemed a welcome reprieve. "Never thought I'd be saying this, but can we get this over with?"
"Of course," Rhiamon nodded. "Just lie back down on your stomach, and try to relax."
"Yeah, right . . ." he murmured. "Like melted mushies . . . about to be devoured . . ."
--
Six sectons.
That could almost be an eternity.
Apollo leaned back against the wall of the turbo lift, blowing out a deep breath, rubbing his eyes, and shaking his head. Where on Kobol had he come up with the idea that his last few centars with Boxey could possibly be happy ones, as father, son and trusty daggit squeezed in whatever pleasures they could to make up for his upcoming absence? Instead of the idyllic scenario he had so wished for, it had been emotionally draining, filled with tears, guilt and fear.
Just like when you were a kid.
His mother, Ila, had tried to normalize the inevitable partings, attempting to create the same joyful departure for Adama that Apollo had imagined so determinedly for himself and Boxey. When the young warrior really thought back to his own childhood—getting past the carefully planned family outing, the departing hero's favourite dinner, and the dutiful line up at the front door as the military hovermobile arrived to whisk away Adama for yet another tour—he suddenly realized that his family had a tradition of trying to turn a difficult and emotional situation into some kind of artificially uplifting send off.
He sniffed in self-derision. He was only perpetuating the myth. Leaving your child behind was no occasion to celebrate. It was merely a professional necessity, born out of his civilization's long standing history of being at war. He would have to make a concentrated effort next time to find some kind of way to just "hang out" with his son, not superimposing any kind of contrived, glucon-coated, impossibly gleeful expectations on them both.
He glanced at the levels passing by on the control panel, then narrowed his eyes as the side of the turbo lift seemed to ripple or undulate. A strange evanescent glow began to expand from a small slit, projecting slowly outward. Impossibly, solid metal was no longer solid. The whole bulkhead was shifting and mutating. He held his breath, bewildered as to what might be happening, at first wondering if the recent emotional roller-coaster ride was making him lose it, and then abruptly suspecting some kind of Empyrean involvement. After all the stories he had heard from Starbuck, this seemed to have Ama's signature all over it. He reached forward tentatively, to touch the surface.
The turbo lift abruptly came to a stop, and with a suddenness that startled him, the solid metal wall returned to normal. He frowned, his fingers lightly stroking the surface of the turbo lift. Cold, hard metal. So bemused was he by the episode that he totally missed the fact that Sheba was standing before him in the landing bay.
"Was it that rough?" she asked, her tone concerned.
"Huh?" Apollo asked, turning to regard her.
"Boxey. How did it go?" Sheba asked, gently taking his hand and leading him off the turbo lift, apparently assuming he was walking in a fog.
He took one more look at the turbo lift wall, instinctively having a bad feeling about this. Either he was hallucinating, or there was some Empyrean hocus-pocus at play. Not surprisingly, one possibility was as unappealing as the other. "Where's Ama?"
Sheba smiled tolerantly, looking around searchingly, before returning her gaze to him. "Sorry, I don't have my crystalline ball on me. You really don't want to talk about it, huh?"
"What?" he murmured. "Oh. Right," he replied, abashed. "Uh . . . it was . . . tough on him. Tough on both of us."
Sheba nodded compassionately, and then looked around the busy launch bay, finally sliding her arms around him. "When are you due back aboard the Endeavour?"
"As if you didn't know," he replied knowingly. Sheba knew his schedule as well as he did, down to the micron and without the need for a chrono. That was why they had managed to steal precious time together, more than once, despite the increasing demands of their jobs. His shuttle was preparing to leave, and he could see Jolly standing by the hatch, talking with Boomer, newly-minted strike captain of the Galactica. The two friends glanced in their direction, but were discretely giving them a moment together. Apollo sighed, pulling Sheba against him, holding her tightly, knowing it would be their last opportunity for a while. "I love you."
"I love you," she replied, burrowing into his chest.
They didn't need to say anything else. They had made sure that with this inevitable parting that anything that needed discussing, had been covered. Sheba would make a concerted effort to spend some time with Boxey, when her responsibilities allowed, trading off with Athena whenever possible. Slowly, she was becoming more and more present in the young boy's life, slipping into his daily routine with greater frequency, so as to become part of his growing circle of honorary family members.
Apollo stroked Sheba's hair, and then pulled back slightly, tipping up her chin and gazing into her eyes a long moment before tenderly kissing her. In a life with so much uncertainty, where by necessity relationships came and went with a brutal suddenness, his bond with Sheba was the one part of it that he knew was as solid as forged tylinium. He tilted his forehead against hers, smiling at her, before she reluctantly pulled back. Across the bay, a diplomatic cough made itself heard.
Their time—far too short— was up.
"Jolly's waiting. You'd better get going," she murmured, slipping an arm around him and steering him towards his shuttle.
"It'll go quickly," he replied, knowing that six sectons of putting the Endeavour and her relatively greenhorn crew to the test, while exploring an unknown region of space before them, all the time being on the lookout for Cylons, and God knew who else, would pass by in the blink of an eye . . .as the last three sectars had.
"Apollo," Boomer stepped forward to greet him, his arm gripping the colonel's in a warrior's grip.
Apollo grinned, returning the grip, and then tweaking the captain's pin on his friend's collar. "Looks good on you, buddy. And about time, too."
"Well, Starbuck and I knew we couldn't stay lieutenants forever, as likely as that appeared at one point," Boomer rejoined with a smile. "By the way, tell him that I have a bone to pick with him. Seems that the OC is low on Empyrean Ale because he had every last available case loaded from the Malocchio's storerooms onto a shuttle yesterday to stock up the Endeavour. And, I hear a few bottles of Proteus stock is unaccounted for as well."
Apollo chuckled. "He's doubling as one of our many supply officers . . . at least when it suits him."
"We're in good hands on the Endeavour, knowing that his godmother-in-law runs Empyrean Ale and Tobacconists," Jolly added.
"Well, considering you're dating Lia, Jolly, I'm beginning to worry that the Galactica's supply line is about to totally dry up," Boomer quipped. "One might die of thirst, one might."
"Two might," Sheba inserted with a smirk, "You have a point, Boomer. We'll have to work on Ama to increase her output of ale while the Endeavour is away. After all, with Council out of session, she'll have some spare time on her hands."
"The Council out of session," said Boomer. "Well, I presume that damage will be minimal." They all chuckled.
"And Ama with spare time on her hands," Apollo frowned, thinking back to the rippling wall of the turbo lift. "Why does that worry me?"
"Well, if it worries you," Jolly laughed heartily, "then imagine how Starbuck would feel! After all, now she's family"
The others joined in his laughter.
--
She was beautiful. Breathtaking. Utterly like an angel, with an effulgent, almost palpable radiance that yet seemed somehow ethereal. She was smiling at him, her face radiating an indescribable calm. Beckoning him forward. Holding out her hand in sweet invitation. It was plain that she wanted him. Desired him. Longed to enfold him within her. And her glimmering eyes were giving him a "come hither" look that the best-trained socialators across the universe could only strive to emulate. All he had to do was to rise up. To reach out to her. To take her hand. Just a step away from Paradise . . .
But Lords of Kobol, Lu would skin him alive, using her own Empyrean blade!
"Starbuck, life energy is the power by which any methods of healing are truly accomplished."
The words seemed to pull him physically and forcibly out of his dream, as though he was being torn in two, and he gasped in a breath at the violent upheaval. Eerily, a moment later, he felt strangely bereft and disoriented. He looked around to reaffirm that he was actually in the Endeavour's Life Station, before closing his eyes once again. That's what sleep deprivation will do to you, Bucko.
"Whether we speak of the skills of the ancient herbal healers, or the most modern of medical techniques that Doctor Salik can bring to bear, it is so. Life energy is the force, the agent, which is the true and direct healer of the body. Thus, a healing art is superior or inferior to the degree that it can 'awaken' the flow of life energy in the body." Ama's voice seemed almost disembodied, flowing through him, rather than coming from any definable source. It filled him up . . . filled the void that had been left from his dream . . .
"Huh?" Starbuck muttered, his eyelids fluttering open reluctantly in the dimly lit treatment room as he lay propped on his left side, three separate pillows supporting him. It was comfortable. No, come to think of it, it was damn comfortable. More comfortable than he'd been in sectars, actually. Of course, if he slept this way every night, there'd be no room for Lu . . . "Do you want to run that by me again?"
"Which part?" asked Ama, leaning over him suddenly, looking into his eyes.
Meanwhile, Rhiamon gently removed the needles which she had carefully inserted, and replaced them with heavy hot packs.
"Everything after 'Starbuck'," he replied with a long sigh. His shoulder felt strangely cool and numb, even beneath the delicious heat. It was as though the comforting feeling was coming from within him, rather from any other external source. But that could only be Empyrean gobbledygook that he had absorbed after spending all this time with Lu, Lia and Ama.
"Hmm. Fortunately, Starbuck, one does not have to understand the flow of energy within one's self for it to occur." Ama smiled in amusement, gently trailing her fingertips over his face, and he closed his eyes instinctively. She slowed slightly, as she passed down the centreline of his nose, then continued on. "Rest now, my Prince."
"I'm not . . ." he began to murmur, once again finding it necessary to remind another Empyrean that Luana had abdicated her title, and all that went with it, and that he was not interested in any part of the Empyrean power structure, up to and including the throne. Instead, his words trailed off wearily, as he found it increasingly difficult to keep impossibly heavy eyelids open. This time when he began to drift off, the woman in his dreams was Luana.
"Shush now. Rest."
--
"What do you have?" Apollo asked without introduction, as he stepped through the hatchway into the Control Centre. He'd barely arrived back from the Galactica, when he'd been called here. He glanced at the monitor, then back up at the speaker.
"We are receiving a signal at Phi Seven Mark Four, ahead of the Fleet, Colonel Apollo," the IL, Malus, informed him. He put the scanner graphic up on the board, and pointed towards the region in question. It was well to port of the Fleet's current heading, and almost at the edge of their scanner range.
"Origin?" Apollo asked, as Malus inserted a digit into the Endeavour's computer system, bypassing the need to access data the "old-fashioned" way. The cadet at that station glanced at the IL, anxiously awaiting an answer. The IL's eyes stopped oscillating for a moment, and the flashing of his brain sped up.
"Unknown," Malus replied after a moment, his "lights" returning to normal. Had he been Human, he might have sounded . . .disappointed. "It reads more as a natural energy wavelon, than any recognized form of artificial transmission, either Cylon or Human, Colonel." Malus "flipped a switch" internally, and put the signal on audio. It was an oscillating hiss, almost a whistle, coming through massive static. "Interestingly, the signal fluctuates in intensity."
Then, the speaker went silent.
"Colonel, the signal just disappeared," Cadet Sagaris told him.
"Try and re-establish, Cadet."
"Sir," said the other. He tried for almost a full centon, but the speaker stayed silent. "No good, sir. Nothing there at all, now."
"Very well. Dump it to the computer for crypto. Copy to Sergeant Komma on the Galactica. And check with Rigel, and see if they picked it up, as well."
"Sir," replied Sagaris.
"Malus?" Apollo asked. The IL was busily studying the scanner data.
"Yes, it is gone. For now anyhow," Malus confirmed, actually nodding slightly. "Odds are, it will be back, Colonel Apollo. Especially if it is a natural phenomenon."
Apollo smirked, recognizing one of Starbuck's oft-used phrases. "Cadet Pierus, get me the Galactica. And have Commander Dayton and Captain Starbuck report to the Bridge . . . Command Centre."
"Will we be investigating the origin of the energy wavelons, Colonel?" Malus asked. He actually sounded excited at the prospect of exploring this new mystery, which wasn't surprising after over a centi-yahren of abandonment on Planet 'P', after the IL's Base Ship had been struck by a solar storm and had never returned to pick him and his troops up. Apollo couldn't help but laugh within, but kept his expression solidly neutral.
"That's up to Commander Adama, but coincidentally we are scheduled to ship out later today, at 1800 centars, and head for that very quadrant," Apollo returned. "It would make sense." He looked at the scanners again. What little they had been able to determine was maddeningly tenuous, and could be interpreted in any of a number of ways. The energy signatures resembled a supernova explosion to some extent, yet did not seem powerful enough to be an exploding star. Some planetary bodies acted as natural radio sources, yet the fluctuations seemed, at least to his untrained ear, as if they could be modulated.
"Yes, Apollo?" said Adama, suddenly on screen, just as Dayton and Dorado entered. But not Starbuck . . .
"Commander, did you pick up the energy. . ." Apollo began, looking at his father on screen.
"The energy wavelons, yes," Adama replied, his gaze drawn away, and a frown crossing his brow. "In fact, Apollo, we're getting another . . ."
"Colonel, it's another signal!" Cadet Sagaris cried.
"Origin?" said Apollo.
"We're practically on top of it, sir. This one is from within the Fleet!"
"Call an Alert!" Apollo told him, the klaxon blaring a moment later, warning all pilots to standby.
"What's going on?" Dayton demanded, as he crossed to the main station with Dorado on his heels. He leaned over Cadet Sagaris' shoulder. "What the hell is it?"
"A fluctuating energy wavelon of unknown origin, appearing first in quadrant Psi," Apollo pointed to the navigation board, "And now there's an identical signal, only it's coming from within the Fleet. Trace the origin!" Apollo ordered.
"That's impossible," Dayton muttered. "There's no way something can travel that fast, even with the hyperdrive flat out. It has to be two separate occurrences! Malus?"
"Energy levels are indeed different, Commander, but the frequency and wavelon configurations are unquestionably the same," the IL replied. He put a graphic of the current signal up on a screen, and that of the earlier one next to it. The correlation was almost one to one. "And it is worth mentioning that had the massive energy wavelons not been identified centons ago, we might not have even detected these smaller ones."
"Colonel Apollo, we're having trouble locking on the signal," Cadet Pierus informed him.
"Why?" asked Dorado.
"It's too close," replied Pierus. "Like staring into a high-powered illuminator."
"Keep trying," ordered Apollo.
"Yes, sir. But it's still fluctuating."
"Is it looking for something?" Dayton suggested.
"Like a scanner?" Apollo asked, furrowing his brow.
"Yeah. Like a cell phone."
"A what?"
Dayton explained. "The phone sends out a signal, until a compatible tower recognizes it and locks on."
"Like our Fleet Comm Line."
"Yeah. Pretty much," answered Dayton.
"I'm not reading a single ship out there, Apollo!" Dorado told him, suddenly manning a station beside another of the cadets. "Other than those of the Fleet!"
"Is it even a threat to us?" Malus posed. "It may be some natural phenomena in this quadrant." He plugged back into the system, running the real-time signal through his processors.
"Galactica?" Dayton asked.
"We can't lock on the signal either, Commander Dayton," Adama replied. "The source is still unknown; therefore, we can't rule out that it might be a threat to us. Get me Commander Cain, Omega. Standby, Endeavour."
"Standing by, Galactica."
Just then Starbuck lurched into the Control Centre, his tunic undone, and a flight jacket slung over his shoulder. His right eye was almost shut, and his hand was pressed to that side of his head, his wan face a mask of pain. "Phoenix and Sphinx Squadrons are standing by," he grunted. "What have we got?"
"What the frack happened to you?" Apollo asked, watching his friend shrug into the jacket.
"The Empyreans," Starbuck returned bluntly, joining him at the control panel. "My head is going supernova, but my shoulder feels much better."
"Remind me never to hurt my shoulder," muttered Dayton, sparing Starbuck a quick glance. Dorado snorted a short laugh.
"So the headache is a side affect of the neural stimulation treatment?" Malus asked.
"Odds were two hundred to one, in case you were wondering, Mal," Starbuck nodded, and then winced with the motion. They saw Malus' brain speed up, a sure sign the IL was calculating. "Never mind all that now, what's going on?"
Apollo briefly explained the situation.
"Nothing like a command challenge to get us started," Starbuck frowned, looking at the readouts of the signals being digitally dissected on the computer by Malus. "Well, Mal?"
"I'm afraid my understanding of such anomalies is rather limited. I've traditionally dealt more in the practical and concrete, rather than the conceptual."
"Well then, let me have a go," Ama suggested as she breezed into the Control Centre as if she owned it, Lia and Luana on her heels. "I do have some experience in the area, and you brought me here as a spiritual advisor, after all."
"Councilwoman Ama, this is a secure military area, you're not supposed to be here." Dayton attempted politely, yet assertively, as he stepped in front of her.
"Now, don't get your knickers in a knot, Mark-Dayton," she stopped before him, poking one index finger into his chest. "I'm not just interfering for the sake of being a busybody. I'm quite certain that I have connected with this entity this very morning."
"Entity?" Apollo asked.
"A life force quite unlike our own, Colonel. Yet, a life force all the same," Ama nodded.
Apollo glanced at Starbuck, searchingly.
"Don't look at me. They didn't cover this at the Academy," his strike captain replied, raising his hands, then looking to his wife and sister-in-law.
"Hear her out, Starbuck," Lia implored him, and then added, "Please, Commander Dayton."
"You speak of a spirit, Ama?" Malus asked, his lights flashing more quickly. This promised to be interesting. Being both a machine, and from a totally non-theistic society, Malus had little data on incorporeal entities, other than what he had gleaned while in the Fleet. Trying to incorporate Human beliefs into his programming, in this case especially, was challenging. Even the concept was difficult for him, until Dayton had once described it as thinking of software, without the computer. "Fascinating."
"Of course, Malus."
"Good or bad?" Dayton asked.
"Well, I've yet to meet a spirit totally devoid of goodness or light," Ama replied. "Although there is one out there that I've felt on occasion . . ." She shuddered, almost imperceptibly, before adding, "But overall, I'd say this entity didn't exactly leave me with a warm, fuzzy feeling. Oh . . ." She drew in a deep breath, raising her hands while simultaneously closing her eyes. "She's coming . . ." she breathed.
"She?" Starbuck repeated, watching the readouts on the computer spike sharply as it picked up an enormous energy wavelon.
"Can you trace it?" Dayton asked. "This thing is pegging the metre."
"No, sir," Sagaris replied, shaking his head helplessly as he tried to do just that, as well as figure out the Earthman's idiom. "I don't understand why we can't get a lock on it."
"Because we can't calibrate it," Apollo replied. "We have no standard to compare it to."
"How can our limited technology be expected to align with something spiritual in nature?" Ama intoned, before her head jolted back as if she had been hit, and her eyes snapped open. "The Prison Barge. Check the Prison Barge."
"The Prison Barge?" Apollo echoed in confusion.
"Scanning now," Dorado told them, nodding as his fingers flew over controls that he hadn't handled for three sectars, with an instinctive familiarity. "I'm not reading anything out of the ordinary."
"Open a line with the Prison Barge," Dayton ordered.
Apollo glanced at the Earthman, but said nothing. Then the speaker went silent once more.
"The signal is gone again, Commander," Sagaris reported helpfully, as they all watched the energy spike level out. "It only lasted . . . ten point eight microns."
Dayton nodded briefly, his eyes searching the scanner for any signs of a reoccurrence. Hoping . . .
"Commander, I have Captain Elgan of the Prison Barge on the comm," Pierus told him, and then spoke into his headset. "Go ahead, Captain."
"Captain Elgan here." His voice was brisk. Distracted.
"Captain, we've detected a large energy wavelon of undetermined nature, that appears to have been concentrated at your position. Report," Dayton requested.
"Lord Sagan," Elgan sputtered. "Could that have anything to do with . . .?"
"Captain?" Dayton snapped expectantly, waiting.
"It's Baltar," Elgan replied.
"What's Baltar?" replied Dayton, wondering what the Traitor of Colonial Humanity was up to now.
"Security just reported in, Commander. He's escaped."