Chapter Three
"I really can't explain it, Commander Adama," Captain Elgan reported, shaking his head as he regarded the image of the Fleet Commander from the Bridge of the Prison Barge. "Impossible as it sounds, we've searched every millimetron of the Prison Barge, and checked all the surveillance feed, including the airlock logs, with no results. There's no sign of Baltar. One centon he was confirmed as secure in his cell, and the next he was gone without a trace."
Adama let out a long sigh, his frustration at the impossible situation barely contained. "Where could he go, Captain? There were no ships launched from the Prison Barge. . . None logged as being in the area . . . Recorded telemetry comes up blank . . . He has to be aboard, somewhere."
"Commander, I tell you, he's gone," Elgan repeated, his own voice betraying his aggravation. "Look at the vid feed yourself. Your Bridge should have received it by now. It simply shows him standing in his cell, and then . . . disappearing!"
Adama frowned, turning to study the surveillance vid for the tenth time. It showed Baltar, first sitting on the bench in his cell, then rising to his feet. He appeared to be speaking, though no one was visible, his features curious, then almost radiant, as he began to reach out in thin air for something that nobody could identify. Then he simply vanished. "Croft?" Adama asked his executive officer.
"My first thought is to check with the Prison Barge's Security, Commander, just to confirm all data," Croft replied, leaning over the console that displayed the recording on a loop setting. His hand stroked his jaw, his fingers running idly over the scar under his left eye. "Surveillance can be tampered with, images superimposed. I agree with you. Baltar has to be somewhere aboard, in hiding, just waiting for some opportunity . . . most likely previously arranged. We have to be vigilant. We can't let down our guard. That's what he's waiting for."
Adama nodded. "Send the vid feed to Corporal Komma, and have him analyse it. If anybody can detect whether or not it's been tampered with, it'll be him."
"Yes, sir," Croft nodded. "I'll have Boomer shuttle over, just to look things over."
"Agreed," Adama nodded, not missing the irony that Boomer had been on a shuttle with Baltar the last time the Traitor of Humanity had tried to escape. That time his plan had been thwarted, although the Borellian Nomen and Eastern Alliance officers in league with him had made good their escape. An outcome that still rankled, he had to admit.
"Commander," said a voice. Adama turned.
"Yes?"
"Commander Cain standing by, Commander, on the Fleet Comm Line" Omega reported from his station.
"Put him through," Adama turned as his old friend's image came up on screen.
"Adama, we're picking up another energy surge at Psi Seven Mark Four," Cain reported. "Those are the same coordinates the original signal came from. The Pegasus needs a good run to blow the space dust out of her energizer . . ."
"Negative, Cain." Adama shook his head, smiling slightly, as Cain instinctively tried to manoeuvre his Battlestar back into the "field", before the Endeavour. "Commander Dayton is ready to ship out, we'll simply move his departure up by a few centars . . ."
"Adama, as a gesture of courtesy, perhaps we should assign the Earthman to something a little more . . . predictable," Cain returned, trying to be diplomatic. Then he smiled. "Lord Sagan alone knows what this thing is, and you and I both know, he's not going to tell us."
The method was familiar, but subtler than the days before the Juggernaut had had his stroke. A suggestion. Some humour. Subtle coercion. The great warrior had been humbled somewhat when he had found himself looking at life as a handicapped civilian, after his injuries sustained during a battle with the Cylons. "Cain, the Prison Barge still can't find any trace of Baltar. If somehow while he was on that Base Ship that we destroyed over Planet 'P' . . ." Adama's voice trailed off, as he began to wonder if this signal was of Cylon origin. He exchanged a brief glance with Croft.
"You're wondering if somehow Baltar has been communicating with the Cylons?" Cain voiced the concern aloud. He grinned. "How? By banging his head against the hull? No, he has to be still aboard, Adama. We'll find the mong-raker. My gut is telling me that this signal is something else. Something we haven't come across before."
"Regardless, if that signal is of Cylon origin, then the Endeavour is better equipped to handle it. And, even if it isn't, I don't believe Commander Dayton would appreciate any gestures of courtesy, any more than you or I would," Adama returned pointedly. "He's more than capable of dealing with this, Cain."
"I hope you're right, Adama," Cain returned with a frown. "Cain out."
It was a departure from the straight forward shakedown cruise that they had been planning for the Endeavour, but assigning the Pegasus to investigate the long-range signal when the Covert Operations Ship was positioned to ship out, would be no less than a slap in the face, and a vote of no confidence in Dayton's abilities as a leader.
"Omega, get me Commander Dayton."
"Right away, Commander."
----------
Baltar felt as though he had been turned inside out, and then right side in again, several times, as though once wasn't enough. Stabbing pains shot through his head, making him see stars. Nausea washed over him in waves, causing his stomach to convulse, and the acrid taste of bile to clear the back of his throat. His head hurt, his guts hurt . . . as a matter of fact, everything hurt. From his toenails to his hair. He coughed, moaning in discomfort, and wiping at his runny nose, as he spat the vile liquid onto the cold, damp ground that he had collapsed on.
Ground?
"He looks well enough . . . sort of," a harsh, craggy voice murmured from the darkness.
"And you, Caradoc? How do you feel?" another asked, closer by.
"Well enough. I'd say it's safe, Eirys. There were no adverse effects on my part. I'd say the Doublewalker that crosses realms is the one who feels the effects."
"I had to be sure, Caradoc. It was brave of you to volunteer, General."
"I pledged my life to King Byrne, and to his sons. It is nothing. Now let's get a look at him. I'm curious."
"I hope you won't be disappointed."
Baltar opened his eyes, as rough hands turned him over, positioning him on his back. He groaned again, pressing his hand to his throbbing head, and trying to focus. What little he could see was spinning, only making him feel worse. There had been an intense light that had blinded him while his body was wracked with pain, and this subsequent gloomy nightfall took a few moments to adjust to. He closed his eyes, hoping the misery would abate. "Where am I? Who are you? What happened?" he demanded in a shaky voice.
"By Llyr, he looks just like me! Well, before . . ." Caradoc grunted.
"Like you, but less magnificent somehow, General Caradoc. Smaller? Softer? Less hairy, certainly," Eirys added.
The resulting laughter grated on Baltar's nerves, especially considering the subject matter. "How dare you mock me? You . . . you . . ." his mouth dried to dust as the spots before his eyes began to clear, and he found himself regarding two of the ugliest Beings he had ever seen before. About a metron and a half in height, with long, dark, coarse hair sticking out in every direction, much of it coming from the long, pointed, bumpy noses on their hideous faces, they looked like the Trolls from the grim tales that were told to children in his day. Short, stubby arms and legs were covered in ragged clothes, and a layer of grime completed the ensemble. "Dear God . . ."
"What is your name, Doublewalker?" the slightly smaller troll asked him as she—at least he presumed it was a "she" with the tattered skirts it wore—tucked something into her skirt.
"Doublewalker?" he asked, as he looked around. He appeared to be in some kind of underground passageway. The walls were wet and dripping, and torches provided the woefully insufficient light. Somehow the fact that he was no longer in a cell on the Prison Barge seemed overshadowed by his current circumstances. "What's a doublewalker?"
"A twin spirit, of course," she replied, as though he was a little bit dense. She looked at her companions, and shook her head. "Your name, Doublewalker?"
"Baltar," he allowed, trying to digest the information. As unlikely as it seemed, these Beings obviously believed that he and the grotesque little troll were somehow associated, but he wasn't about to argue with them in such a vulnerable position. "How did I come to be here? Wherever here is . . . " Perhaps any moment now he would awaken from this strange dream.
"I brought you here," the female replied. "I am Eirys." She straightened to her full height, pausing as if for effect. "A great and powerful Sorceress."
"You?" Baltar replied, managing to get a distinct note of derision into his tone. He seriously doubted she was a great and powerful anything. Maybe he'd eaten something he shouldn't have, and was suffering the consequences? "How? Why?"
"To see if you'd survive," she replied matter-of-factly.
"Wha . . . say that again," Baltar gulped. His delivery to this place had been some kind of . . . test. But in preparation for what?
"Crossing realms is complicated, Baltar. I was unsure you'd survive," Eirys shrugged. "I'm pleased that you did, though."
The Traitor of Humanity digested that a moment. "Your concern is overwhelming."
"What do we do with him now that he has survived?" Caradoc asked testily.
"Well, you have a vested interest in keeping him alive, if the legends are true," Eirys replied. "Besides, I don't know if I can send him back, thus we'd best keep him with us, lest he fall into the hands of the Cylons."
"Cylons?" Baltar's head shot up, and he instantly regretted it. Once more, his vision swam, and his stomach threatened to betray him. "There are Cylons here?"
"You know of the Cylons?" Caradoc snapped, grabbing Baltar by his tunic, pulling him to his knees with surprising strength, and menacing him with a dagger at his throat. At that point Baltar realized that a musky scent that had been invading his senses, adding to his discomfort, was actually coming from these creatures.
"Oh, I know all about the Cylons," Baltar nodded, beginning to feel the tides turning in his favour. He pushed the blade casually aside. "Are they friend or foe to you?"
"They are the sworn enemy of the Angylions," Caradoc sneered, letting go of the man. "They have savaged our world, enslaved our people. How do you know them?"
"They savaged my world too. Murdered my people." His tone rose dramatically. They stood by in rapt attention as Baltar climbed to his feet, a hand on the cavern wall for support. He towered over them. "They brought our civilization to its knees, and forced the remnants of our society to flee for our very lives, on an exodus across the universe. Still, they hunt us like animals!" He let out a deep forced breath, covering his face from their view for a moment, before rubbing his eyes wearily. Then he continued more quietly. "By necessity and circumstance, I managed to single-handedly infiltrate their defences . . . trying to regain some advantage for my people . . ." Baltar paused as they looked at him curiously.
"You are also a great general, Baltar?" Eirys asked, looking between him and Caradoc, exploring the parallels of their lives.
"A commander and bureautician. I once sat upon the Council of the Twelve, our people's ruling body, and commanded my own ship of war," he offered. "A high distinction amongst my people." Then he frowned, considering his words carefully as he drew on his lifelong skills as an orator. "It's a long story, which I'm sure you would find tedious. Suffice it to say, I know how they think . . . how they're programmed to react to a situation. I know their weaknesses." He smiled tentatively, ignoring the throbbing at the back of his head. "If the Cylons are your enemy, I would offer my services as your ally." He bowed slightly. It was so much better than any number of alternatives that might involve being the slave, prisoner, or evening snack of a race of trolls.
"Why would you do that?" Caradoc asked. He took no pains to conceal his obvious scepticism.
"If I am truly your . . . twin spirit . . . your Doublewalker, as you call it . . . then it seems natural to me that we should be allies," Baltar raised his eyebrows enquiringly. If he could manage to deceive the Quorum of Twelve, and the likes of President Adar and Commander Adama, then surely he could bamboozle these crude and backward Beings. "Especially since we share the same disdain for the Cylons. Or am I mistaken?"
"In truth, this is the first time I have endeavoured to bring a Doublewalker to Morlais," Eirys admitted.
"Morlais?" Baltar asked, vaguely wondering what had happened to necessitate them bringing him here. Patience. All will be revealed in due time. "Where is Morlais? Which star system?"
"I cannot answer that. I do not know how," Eirys replied. "I can only tell you that in the vastness of the Infinite, that your people exist in one realm, and mine in another. The Nonentity separates us."
"The Nonentity?" Baltar asked, sensing the reverence with which they referred to this place. "I know of no such . . . place. What is it?"
"The place of Mystics."
"Mystics?" Baltar tried to understand. "Who are the Mystics?"
"I sense that your society is very backward, Baltar," Carodoc opined.
"General," Eirys raised a hand. "Remember, we have removed this Being from all that is familiar to him. His world may be as different from ours as Odreds are from Angylions. But he knows about our enemies, and in return, he has offered to be our ally against the Cylons. Have a little patience."
"A little patience is all I have left," muttered Caradoc. "The Cylons and that Mystic, Iblis, have taken everything else from me. A pestilence upon them all!"
It took all the self-control that he had to contain Baltar's surprise.
Iblis!
----------
May the Lords of Kobol be with you.
Adama's final words after delivering Dayton's orders, resonated with him still. The new Colonial commander took a deep breath, his excitement barely contained, and turned in the Control Centre to address his crew. "Okay boys and girls, we just got our orders from the Grand Poobah, and we're shipping out. Time to fire up the boilers."
This was it! All their efforts and hard work finally realized! The Endeavour's shakedown cruise was about to begin, and it wasn't just a pleasure cruise around the galaxy, but a mission with a purpose! He had half expected the venerable commanding officer of the Battlestar Galactica to give Cain this mission, when these strange energy wavelons were detected. But to Dayton's surprise, his arguments on his own behalf, and that of his crew, hadn't even had to be voiced. Then again, the fact that Adama's son was his executive officer, and his hasty mention of Ama detecting the energy wavelons before their own scanners had, might have tipped the scale in their favour. He forced back the unmanly giggle of joy that was threatening to burble forth, out of control.
"Grand who?" Malus asked.
"Poobah. Vernacular for The Chief. The Great and All-Powerful. The Big Cheese." Malus just looked at him, in that annoying way. "Okay? File that under Earth culture, and cross reference both opera and the Flintstones, Il Faro." He paused to slap a hand on Ensign Vesta's shoulder. "Lay in the course. Our heading, Ensign, will be Psi Seven Mark Four."
"Psi Seven Mark Four," echoed Vesta from navigation. Her fingers moved across her board with a fluid quickness. "Course laid in and on the board, sir."
"Commander," Apollo inserted, walking to the navigation station. "Instead of taking a direct route, why don't we veer off from the Fleet first?"
"So if we do come across Cylons, or any other bad guys, a straight vector won't lead them right back here," Dayton nodded, feeling idiotic for not thinking of it himself. The fact that Apollo thought of it kicked the other up another notch in his estimation.
"Not only that, but if this . . . energy source can scan us, it could have already identified an Abaddon-class Base Ship in the Fleet. If we're approaching them from another vector, then they might not associate us as connected with the Fleet. At least not right away."
"Good point," Dayton frowned, nonplussed that there was the potential that they'd already lost their greatest advantage over the Cylons, the element of surprise that it was Humans manning this Cylon capital ship. They might as well do it now. "Course correction. Tau Nine Mark Sixty, Negative.
"Tau Nine Mark Sixty, Negative, Commander," replied Vesta.
"Malus, I want three consecutive coarse corrections in the next centar, to get us to that energy source. Without dropping out of warp . . . I mean lightspeed, to do so."
"Any particular interval, Commander?" the IL asked.
"As random as possible, " Dayton added. "No sense in making it easy for anyone who might be behind that energy wave. Now," he turned to look at the vast collection of people amassed there. Dorado wasn't even on duty yet, Ama clearly didn't belong there, Lia and Luana weren't even assigned to the Bridge, Porter, Baker and Ryan looked like they were going to break out the pompoms, and Starbuck, in particular, was beginning to turn a nasty shade of green, which wasn't an approved Command colour, at least not in this man's military. "Anybody without clearance, or not actually on duty here, can get off my Bridge, or suffer the consequences." He tried not to smile.
"Does that mean I have to go to my room, Dad?" said Ryan, as respectful as ever of discipline and the chain of command.
"With a spanking, and without supper, yes," replied Dayton, neither looking at him nor missing a beat. "And you, Vanilla Bean, get yourself back to the Life Station, and get something for that migraine before you puke all over my shiny, new, and recently updated circuitry."
"That's Captain . . ." Starbuck murmured, his eyes at half-mast, and a hand cupping his eye as though he was protecting it somehow. He winced with the effort of speaking.
"Captain Vanilla Bean," Dayton amended his order, moving to put a hand on the young man's shoulder. "And hey, not to be needling you, you understand," Starbuck snorted on cue, "but if I was you, I'd stay away from those acupuncture treatments, kid. They don't seem to agree with you."
"Listen Old Man, you're the one who ordered me . . ." the strike captain attempted, as Lu slipped an arm around him.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah . . ." Dayton gave him a gentle push towards the hatchway. "Suck it up, buttercup. You were in trouble up to your seventy's retro hair style with these Empyreans long before I ever came along."
"He has a point, Bucko," Apollo reminded him.
"With friends like you two," Starbuck murmured, as he was led away by his wife and sister-in-law, with an Empyrean Necromancer determinedly bringing up the rear, "who needs Cylons?"
"A question that has confounded philosophers and thinkers throughout the ages," Ama posed.
"Well, if you really want to examine that issue, I'm sure we could reassemble a centurion or two," smiled Dayton.
"Hey, don't put yourself out . . . on my account," replied Starbuck, his voice increasingly tremulous. Dayton, in turn, curled a lip at him, and pointed towards the Core. "Okay, okay, I'm going."
"Do you need further assistance, Starbuck?" Malus asked, turning towards the warrior. "I know that Human females are rather weak, and unlikely to be helpful in the event that you fall ill."
"What do you want to do, Mal? Carry me?" Starbuck muttered, reigning in Luana as she harrumphed in annoyance, and then turned towards the IL threateningly.
"I would consider it an honour," Malus volunteered, his lights flashing with pleasure. Too much pleasure. "You know that I would do anything within my abilities. . ."
Starbuck abruptly raised a hand, his hand now visibly shaking. "No, no. I'm fine. I'm sure you're needed on the Bridge. Right, Day . . .uh, Commander?"
"Right. Heel, Malus." Dayton replied. That cyborg was far too concerned about their fair-haired strike captain, and had been curiously drawn to Starbuck since their first meeting. It had been cybernetic love at first byte, or more likely, a glitch in one of the IL's systems. "Now get out of here, Starbuck, or I'll carry you to the Life Station, myself."
"Aye, sir."
Yeah, the kid pretty much had to be suffering to be calling him "sir". Dayton glanced conspiratorially at Ama, knowing by her quick nod that she would attend Starbuck, making sure he actually arrived in the infirmary. "Okay, now, let's get this show on the road. Communications."
"Sir?" replied Cadet Pierus.
"Inform the Foundry Ship that we are ready for plugs out." The young man just looked at him, brows furrowing. "We are ready to detach."
"Aye, sir. Foundry Ship replies all tethers and umbilical lines detaching."
"Engineering?" Dayton turned to Ensign Xochiquetzel, her eager young face looking up at him expectantly. Now this kid really needed a nickname!
"All umbilical lines detached. Confirmed." There were green lights across the board. "We are now one one-hundred percent internal power."
"Excellent. Helm, manoeuvring thrusters at twenty-five. Take us out."
"Thrusters aye, sir."
Slowly, the Endeavour began to move away from the Foundry Ship, as her thrusters fired. Gradually, she gained momentum, as her power rose. She arced away from the Fleet, continuing to gain speed, switching over to her main reactors, till the other ships, including both Battlestars, were but small lights in her wake.
"We are clear of all Fleet traffic, Commander," reported Sagaris. "All scanners at maximum sweep ahead."
"Very good." Inside, Dayton was about to burst, as he realized this was the moment. He would actually get to say it! "Helm. Lightspeed, now. Maximum factor."
William Shatner would be so proud!
"Lightspeed, now," reported the Helmsman. With the bleep of a few buttons, and a rising throb from the decks, the Endeavour surged ahead, becoming a smear of light, and tearing a hole in space. "We are now in lightspeed, Commander. Speed is at Factor one point five, and accelerating."
"Good." Dayton studied the instruments. Their speed was curving up nicely, and all ship's systems were in the green, everything exactly as expected. "When we get to maximum safety cruising speed, keep us there."
"Yes, sir."
"And I want updated ETA's at the source of the signal, updated every half hou . . . centar."
"Yes, sir."
"Commander?" asked Malus. Dayton turned to the IL.
"Yeah?"
"What does 'heel' mean?"
----------
In the Central Computer Room of the Battlestar, Komma was hard at work on the data sent over from the Prison Barge. He ran it several times, before determining that it had not been altered in any way that he could detect. This data was clean. He began by applying a variety of filters to the images. No results. He hmm'd a few times, then broke it up into its constituent wavelons, running each one separately through the Buffered Telemetry Demodulator several times. Nothing! Shape to shade algorithms. Nothing. Conversion to 3-D. Nothing. Image-plane multidither sensing to obtain wavefront-correction control signal . . .
Damn! This was getting frustrating! There had to be something! A man did not just vanish in plain sight. Things connected, and this was entirely without . . .
Or was it? He suddenly remembered a bizarre energy pattern that he had seen cross his instruments earlier. At first, he'd shrugged it off as one of the things one runs across in space. Random, phantom electrical interference, usually meaningless. Talk about grasping at straws! But, if he was right . . .
"Holy Sagan's socks!" he muttered, as the data scrolled up his screen. "No way!" But it was . . . He ran it five more times, just to be certain. He shook his head, swallowing, not quite sure how he would summarize his conclusions for the Fleet commander. He reached for the telecom.
"Bridge? Commander Adama please!"
----------
This was unbelievable! Starbuck's shoulder felt the best it had been in sectars, but the front of his head was going to explode at any moment. Each step he took towards the Life Station was debilitating, stabbing pains shooting through his skull. If anything, it was getting worse with each passing moment, not better. He staggered, groaning as he leaned against the bulkhead, squeezing his eyes shut against the spinning world around him, and taking a steadying breath before he lost his primaries all over the deck.
"Come here, son," Ama said, her gruff tone almost motherly as she stepped in front of him.
"Ama . . ." Starbuck muttered irritably, but he simply didn't have the will to pull away as she placed her fingers on his temples, drawing his forehead to hers, firmly, but gently. From behind him, he could feel Lu's hands on his shoulders, reminding him that she was there as well.
"Shush now," Ama replied soothingly. "Let me help. Lia, Luana," she added, "form the triune."
It was that familiar situation that left him torn between his implicit trust in the Empyrean Necromancer, and that niggling uncertainty mixed with a little fear over a situation that just wasn't . . . normal. At least as he usually defined it, for it was far beyond his control. Lu and Lia joined hands, encircling him, gently pulling him away from the bulkhead, as Ama remained firmly attached to his forehead. He knew that the sister's free hands would be resting on their godmothers' to complete the triune, and that they believed that the unification of the three Empyrean Talismans they all wore invoked and fortified the great powers of the Goddess Triquetra; Maiden, Mother and Crone to the Empyrean People. It would have been amusing, if he wasn't suffering the worst headache he could ever imagine.
He swallowed down the acrid taste of his own saliva that was burning the back of his throat, and took a deep breath, feeling some of the pain begin to slowly recede as he did so. Then a warm, hazy sensation, that wasn't altogether unpleasant, began to envelop him. It almost felt as though he was being lifted up, and left to float in a comforting cloud of mysticism. Or his own scepticism, which in retrospect he wore more comfortably. Still, if he opened his eyes, he would expect to see endless fields of sun-dappled wildflowers, or an infinite skyscape of twinkling stars spread out before him. But somehow, breaking this spell seemed like a bad idea just now.
"Better?" Ama asked, her voice flowing through him with each breath.
Her breathing was now perfectly matched with his own, which had calmed considerably. He could also hear his own heartbeat, and could imagine those of the women, all in perfect sync with his own pulse, or so it seemed. With a soft sigh, Starbuck nodded, still reluctant to open his eyes. Even close-eyed, somehow he could still "see" Lu smiling behind him.
"Look at me, son," Ama told him, releasing him, and then reaching forward to tenderly push his hair from his eyes.
Somewhere over the last yahren, this gruff, forthright, vexing woman, with her gapped-tooth smile, and her unkempt hair had ceased to shock or horrify him. In fact, Starbuck realized that now when he looked upon her, that the beauty he saw within her, came from his unequivocal affection for the Empyrean mystic. An affection that had sort of snuck up on him, until he suddenly realized it was there, fully formed. Her familiar grey eyes studied him intently, concern lurking in their depths.
"Thanks, Ama," he nodded, feeling as though he had just awakened from a deep sleep. He stretched out his limbs, doing a quick assessment of the aches and pains that he had become accustomed to living with. His headache was gone, and his shoulder felt much as it had prior to his injuries received on Planet 'P'. "What did you . . ." He looked into Ama's eyes, and the words died on his lips. "No. No, never mind."
Ama grinned at him. "You'd rather not know. I understand." There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Wasn't life boring before you happened upon us?"
Her smile was infectious. "Not really . . ."
"Liar," she returned, before leaning closer and touching his arm. "Starbuck, humour an old lady, and go put on your Empyrean Talisman."
She had made a gift of the talisman to Starbuck sectars ago before he set out with Apollo and Lia on a mission to rescue Luana and Sheba from a long-range patrol they had disappeared on. Lia had told him then that the talisman granted protection and wisdom, and was supposed to give its wearer an ability to see with clarity and truthfulness. He had worn it for a while after the mission, more from sentimentality than any real belief in its supposed powers, but in all honesty, it had been relegated to the bottom of his locker and forgotten after that. Ironically, an old burn, suffered from a close-range laser blast while wearing the talisman had left its mark, so in truth, the emblem of the Empyrean Talisman was etched in him permanently. Absently, he fingered the scar, through the fabric of his tunic.
Luana looked between them worriedly. "Ama, what's going on?"
The necromancer sighed. "I sense her presence, lingering like a bad aftertaste, within Starbuck."
Luana bristled, her gaze flying between her godmother and husband. "What do you mean, 'within Starbuck'?"
Starbuck immediately raised his hands innocently. "I didn't do anything!"
His wife looked unconvinced.
"Ama, do you mean the same spirit that you detected this morning, also has connected with Starbuck?" Lia asked. "That . . ."
"Yes. I believe it is her presence that caused Starbuck's headache," the Necromancer agreed. "The questions being, how many others has she probed, and what is she searching for?"
"Besides Baltar," Lu added. "And we don't even know what's happened to him."
"Can you recall anything that might be helpful, Starbuck?" Lia asked him.
"Uhh . . ." Well, what was he supposed to say? That perhaps the disturbingly realistic erotic dream he'd had of some gorgeous blonde enticing him for purely carnal pleasure, was instead possibly some evil spirit that was passing by on its way to the Prison Barge . . . Not a conversation he wanted to have with his wife, sister-in-law, and most especially a godmother that could do nasty things to him. Visions of being turned into a porcine or a block of wood flashed through his head. He sidestepped the question. "Ama, you're the one who told us to check out the Prison Barge. What exactly does this . . . entity have to do with Baltar's disappearance?"
"I noticed you didn't use the word 'escape'," Lia inserted quizzically.
"Since the last time Baltar escaped, that Barge has been locked up tighter than an Otori virgin . . ." He winced, realizing it wasn't the best illustration of his point in the present company, but decided to blunder on towards safer territory. "Hey, Boomer and I were assigned to tightening the security on the Barge, and finding flaws within the existing protocols. We went over every centimetron of her, making sure something like that couldn't happen again, then put it all to the test. Even with all our military training, we couldn't escape."
"Ah, I see," Luana smiled. "So you're certain that you and Boomer couldn't have overlooked something . . ."
"Well . . ." he shrugged, smiling confidently. He decided it was damn unlikely. "It's damn unlikely."
"It's true, Boomer doesn't miss much," Lia teased him.
"What about it, Ama?" Starbuck repeated, looking back to the Necromancer. "What exactly are we up against here?"
"I wish I knew exactly, Starbuck," she replied, her brows knitting in concern. "I can't help but wonder if this signal we're following is some kind of lure . . ."
"Lords, Ama! Those are the kind of suspicions that might be worth mentioning to the Commander!" Starbuck returned heatedly. Dayton was rushing headlong into what he thought was a challenging first mission, not a baited trap! He looked back towards the Control Centre, ready to pull the Necromancer back in there to explain. After all, by the looks of things, all they had lost so far was Baltar, something that no one was exactly broken up over. Was that really such a tragedy?
"All the same, son, I believe that whatever is about to happen, needs to happen," Ama continued. "It's difficult to explain."
It wasn't the first time Starbuck felt as though he had been "enlightened", just to be plunged back into the darkness. "Ama, I don't know about Empyrean, but generally in our history, flying into a trap is a bad thing, without exception."
"Destiny, Starbuck. Often in life, our course is predetermined," she returned elusively.
He shook his head vehemently. "Not this kid." He tapped his chest. "I'll chart my own course, if it's all the same to you."
She merely smiled enigmatically, nodding, and then murmuring quietly upward, as he made to return to the Bridge, Lu and Lia on his heels.
----------
Adama could feel his face drain of colour as Komma's words penetrated his brain. "You're saying that Baltar vanished at exactly the same time as the energy wavelon was detected in the position of the Prison Barge?"
"To the micron, Commander," Corporal Komma told him over the comm link. "A complete one to one correlation. I was toying with the idea that that signal was sent to scramble the security systems on the Prison Barge, but all their surveillance equipment fully checked out. It wasn't tampered with. What we saw actually happened. One centon Baltar was there, the next he was gone. Now I'm convinced the signal was something else, sir. It definitely originated from outside the Fleet, and registered as some kind of mysterious phantom interference. I still can't correlate it to any recognized energy signatures or frequencies."
"Thank you, Corporal," Adama said, turning to Croft. "Keep on it. Anything you can think of."
"I will, Commander," replied Komma.
Adama terminated the link. He turned to Croft, recent commanding officer of the Celestra, and veteran of the Arcta mission. "Colonel, what's the latest from the Prison Barge?"
"Boomer just reported in, Commander," Croft informed him, a hand to his headset. "They've examined every millimetron of Baltar's cell, and not only have they confirmed that it was never reopened once Baltar was last secured, but they also can't find any sign of any 'remains' of a body. They also examined the surrounding cells, as well as the entire deck that he was on. Same results."
Croft had recently raised the point that the energy wavelon might actually be some kind of weapon, designed to incinerate an intended victim at long range. As such, Boomer had been instructed to look for residual organic matter, however miniscule. Adama let out a breath of relief. Although Baltar's inexplicable disappearance was alarming, the alternative of such a weapon reaching out across space, and incinerating enemies at will, was a terrifying one. Especially, if it was the Cylons who controlled it. Fleeting memories of the Ravishol Pulsar flashed across his mind.
"Commander," Croft added, "It's beginning to look more and more like Baltar was physically removed from the Prison Barge. I don't know how, but I can't see any other explanation at this point, sir."
Adama nodded, his mouth tight. "That almost raises more questions than it answers, Croft." He looked over at Rigel. "Is the Endeavour still within communications range?"
"No, Commander," Rigel replied. "She exceeded comm range fourteen centons ago."
He nodded soberly.
"Father," inserted Athena, "how could Baltar be . . . physically removed? From a sealed metal room, surrounded by guards? What could do that?"
"Nothing that I'm familiar with, Athena," the commander admitted as he wondered what kind of mission he'd assigned his first-born son and the Endeavour's young crew to. "God only knows."