Chapter Fifteen

Starbuck groaned as he was rudely awakened by some astrum-wipe gripping him by the hair, and jerking his head upward. Instinctively, he reached for that particular piece of scalp that was being ripped off his head, at the same time as he reached for his weapon.

His laser was gone.

"He-is-conscious."

That incessant drone of Cylons penetrated the haze of pain that had enveloped him, as his head was released and he crumpled back to the ground. He was in a world of hurt, everything aching, burning, or throbbing, from his head right down to his feet. He could see the mine cart crashed into a pile of debris almost ten metrons away. Presumably, he had been thrown over here by the momentum, which actually explained a lot. Yeah, it was all coming back to him. The mine cart. An explosion. Cylons.

Dayton?

He jerked upright, glancing around, first taking in the patrol of six Cylons that surrounded him, before noticing Dayton lying prone only a metron away, unmoving. He couldn't tell if his friend was alive or not. The Cylons seemed to be distracted, talking about their appearances, and trying to ascertain their identities, when the entire Angylion nation had not long before been disfigured little trolls. Starbuck only had a few microns to act during their inaction. Scrambling quickly towards the Earthling, he ignored the increasing dizziness that tried to defeat him. He would only get one chance.

"Halt!"

"Dayton!" Starbuck reached him, his fingers automatically searching for a pulse and a weapon even as he quickly confirmed the Cylons had already disarmed the man. With a bit of effort, he disregarded the Cylons moving in on him, holding his breath, before feeling the steady, reassuring throb beneath his fingers. By rote, he began checking the commander for any serious injuries . . . like the jagged cut across his temple. Dayton groaned. "Come on, Old Man. Java break is over."

Then a Cylon blade was at his throat.

"Halt! Submit-Human."

"Hey now, easy there," Starbuck murmured, sitting back on his haunches with his hands held up as the blade nicked his skin. Again, vertigo made his head whirl. He closed his eyes briefly, willing his vision to be clear when he opened them again. "Let's not do anything I'll regret later . . ."

"You-are-a-prisoner-of-the-Cylon-Alliance. You-will-obey-our-demands, or-die." The centurion paused for a moment, and then pulled back the blade, sheathing it.

Dayton was stirring, his eyes blinking as he tried to focus them. He frowned as he reached for his empty holster. "You okay, kid?"

"Silence!"

"Me?" Starbuck asked, his hands still raised. "You're the one kissing the ground with blood running down your face, Dayton."

Dayton glanced over at him, taking in the tattered uniform and the many contusions. "You look like you went through a shredder."

"I feel . . ."

The abrupt shock then outrage on Dayton's face should have warned him, but Starbuck moved too slowly as he feinted to the right. A powerful, blunt jab in his shoulder sent him sprawling face down. It was the butt of a Cylon Pulse Rifle. He could hear a sword being unsheathed again, and instinctively knew . . . He leapt out of the way, as a Cylon blade cleaved the ground beside him, barely missing him. Sparks flew from where the blade had struck rock.

"Hey!" Dayton roared, pushing himself to his hands and knees, shaking his head determinedly, as droplets of blood flew from his face.

"Silence!" Another centurion gripped the Earthman by the throat from behind, jerking him to his knees, and neutralizing him. "Comply-or-you-will-be-terminated."

Somehow, Starbuck gained his feet, pivoting to find the centurion advancing on him, its sword raised. Evidently, these centurions had even less of a sense of humour than the ones in his own dimension. They also seemed to be awfully fond of their swords, not even bothering to pull their rifles in this instance. Most likely, they were conserving ergons. He looked around desperately, trying to find something to defend himself with. Then he saw it. He raced the few remaining metrons to the wrecked mine cart, jerking at the old hand brake. It didn't budge. He put a foot against the cart, and pulled again, pushing himself to the limit as he heard the metal strain. Teeth bared, he grunted in exertion. The damn Cylon was practically droning down his neck.

"Come . . . on . . ." he grunted, feeling the sweat pour off of him.

"Move it!" Dayton choked out a warning.

It broke free.

Starbuck turned, quickly putting some distance between him and the Cylon, and brandishing the brake handle like an old-fashioned quarterstaff, even as he eyed the other five centurions who were watching. Weird. He'd never fought a Cylon before an audience, before. Apparently, he was going to be made an example of. He tightened his grip, feeling the adrenaline rush through him, wishing there was an "extended release" version when it made the throbbing in his head even worse.

"Hey! Your commander is going to want us alive!" Dayton shouted hoarsely, pulling at the unforgiving metallic arm, struggling to free himself. "Or are you too stupid to figure that out, Hot Wax?"

"One-prisoner-will-be-adequate."

"Yes, but which one has the information your commander wants?" countered Dayton. "Huh? How's he gonna like it if you kill the wrong one, and he doesn't get what he wants?" Silence. It was clear that the centurions were unprepared for such a puzzle.

However, without an order to do otherwise, the Cylon advanced on Starbuck, its sword looming menacingly in front of it. Instead of retreating, the Colonial Warrior rushed forward, counting on his own reflexes being better than the centurion's, even in his current condition. Veering to the right, he nimbly dodged the first strike, and knocked it aside with the improvised staff. Then using his momentum, he drove the bar between the centurions's legs. Not known for either balance or grace, the Cylon tripped, and crumpled to the ground, its sword skittering across the stones. Starbuck leapt after it, bending over to collect the sword . . . and almost tossing his mushies at the abrupt pounding in his skull as the blood rushed to his head. He gasped, dropping to one knee as the cavern started rotating around him. The staff clattered on the rocks beneath him as it slipped through suddenly clumsy fingertips.

"Get up!" Dayton ordered, his voice reverberating around the cavern.

Instead, Starbuck landed on his astrum, closing his eyes, as he willed the world to level itself. Now would be a really good time for Apollo to show up, like the "ca-val-ree" in Dayton's movies, even if it was just to ream him out for being late . . . as usual. However, the odds of that were . . . he didn't even want to think about it. Shaking off the dizziness, and wrapping his hands tightly around the hilt of the sword, he tried to steady himself. He planted the tip of the sword in the dirt and leaned on it heavily, raising himself on one knee. It was pathetic how much effort it took, and he blinked as the blade in front of his eyes blurred around the edges. The damn droning of the centurions seemed to be coming from all around him, disorienting him.

"Kid! Behind you!"

Instinctively, Starbuck swivelled around, and holding the grip with both hands, he cut horizontally, as he spotted the Cylon ready to begin a deadly downward strike. His blade caught the centurion at the gap of the knee joint, slicing right through, and taking the Cylon's leg off. Sparks flew as the centurion buckled on that side, collapsing.

"Nice!" Dayton roared, then abruptly gurgled as the Cylon securing him tightened its grip.

"Silence!"

The Earthman's eyes widened, as he pulled ineffectually at the centurion's arm, his mouth open and gasping for a breath. His body arched reflexively, as he struggled against the mechanical restraining limb, fighting to breathe.

"Let him go!" Starbuck yelled, lurching forward to grab the pulse rifle that the downed centurion carried, even as he discarded the sword. As his hand gripped the butt of the weapon, the ground beside him exploded, tearing up rock and dirt that pelted him mercilessly. He rolled to the opposite side, gripping the rifle determinedly as he ended up prone, lining up the patrol leader in his sight. Frack . . .

"Surrender-or-he-will-die! Drop-the-weapon!"

The Cylon patrol leader was pointing its rifle at Dayton's head. The Earthman was still secured in the other centurion's tylinium grip, while the leader's weapon threatened to blow his head off. Dayton's grey eyes bored into Starbuck's, and he shook his head the barest amount the restraining grip would allow, as his lips snarled back over his gritted teeth.

"Don't!" the commander forced out.

Two centurions were down, of those, only one was out of commission. The other four were either threatening Dayton, or now pointing their weapons at Starbuck. A quick glance around revealed he was out of options. He met his commander's eyes, wincing imperceptibly at the fury within them. It was another "crazed Dayton" moment, but Starbuck just wasn't willing to sacrifice both of their lives to go out in a blaze of stupidity.

Uh . . . glory.

Letting out a breath of disgust, Starbuck dropped the rifle, pushing it aside. He raised his hands in surrender, letting them rest on the back of his head as he stayed face down on the ground.

"Damn it, Starbuck!" Dayton cursed, his breathing easy as the centurion relaxed its grip, although the pulse rifle against his temple remained.

"Yeah, I should have had them," Starbuck returned sarcastically. "All five of them."

He tried to control the anxiety that was rising with each forward step of the two centurions coming to seize him. After all, a moment before they had decided to kill him. Were they now going to finish the job, or take both him and Dayton prisoner? They stopped either side of him, then leaned down to grip his arms, and abruptly he was airborne as they jerked him to his feet as if he was as light as a child.

"Ohhh . . ." he groaned, as the abrupt movement made his head spin and his stomach heave. His knees buckled, and for a long moment he hung suspended between them, making him realize just how helpless he was. Then they dropped him to his knees, one of them grasping him by the hair, and jerking his head upward as the other pulled his sword.

"Your-time-is-at-an-end."

They were going to behead him!

"NO!" Dayton screamed, lurching forward, and almost escaping the Cylon's grip before he was jerked roughly back into place. He fought like a maniac, lunging against the centurion's hold, until the butt of the rifle crashing into his gut left him wheezing for air. "Pick on someone your own size, you tin-plated hunk of junk!"

"Silence!"

Starbuck sucked in a ragged breath, flinching as he felt the cold metal of the blade touch the back of his neck, as the Cylon lined up his blow. Lords, it was almost his undoing! The desire to scream for mercy, to cry at the injustice, to try and run for his life almost consumed him, until he again met Dayton's eyes. Something in those flint grey depths calmed him, and gave him the strength and courage to quell his rising terror. He held the gaze like a lifeline, clinging in desperation to the invisible bond he had with this man that was friend, mentor, surrogate father, and commander to him. Starbuck's pounding heart rate slowed and his head began to clear. Maybe it was because he didn't want Dayton to think less of him when he watched him die, or maybe it was something more significant that he couldn't explain. Regardless, Starbuck found the courage to dampen down his fear, and die with honour.

Hey, it was better than soiling his pants.

He could hear the Cylon shift, pulling back his blade to strike. It was mind boggling that his time was at an end. A thousand thoughts ran through his head, but one prevailed.

"Dayton, if you see Lu again," he swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, refusing to lose control, "tell her . . ." His voice was hoarse as he sucked in another breath, and focussed on his friend again. "Tell her I love her."

Dayton nodded soberly once, then seemed to startle, as though he had suddenly realized something. Abruptly, he shouted out, "Hey! Don't you know who've you got here!" Again, he fought helplessly against the Cylon's grip, as if his struggle could somehow drive his words home. "That's Prince Llewelyn! Heir to the throne of Morlais! Your commander will melt you down for spare parts if you kill him!"

The Cylon leader merely gestured with one hand towards Starbuck, ignoring Dayton.

Starbuck held his breath, watching the Earthman intently, willing him to help him through this final test. Then the Earthman let out an animalistic roar and his face twisted with an emotional agony that Starbuck had only seen twice before. Once when Dickins had disappeared with the Earth shuttle, and again when Ryan had been shot. It was unnerving, to see his own fear and desperation reflected back at him, but the remorse and suffering that cut right through him were genuinely unbearable, shattering his defences. Starbuck closed his eyes as he awaited his fate, drawing a ragged breath that would be his last. Behind him, he could almost hear the Cylon blade splitting the air as it rushed towards his neck.

----------

"What did I tell you?" Luana said over her shoulder to Baltar as he stood behind the pilot's seat, looking out over the bleak expanses of the landscape below them. In the rear of the Cylon shuttle, the Angylions were planning their battle against the Base Ship. "We've been integrating our technology with Cylon machinery ever since we commandeered the Abaddon Base Ship. Flying this old crate is almost like being home."

"Home," Baltar sniffed. The word brought back memories of Piscon. Memories that he just as quickly pushed out of his mind, lest images of smouldering, blackened ruins, devastation and death superimpose themselves on his mind. "Are you speaking of the Endeavour, Ensign?"

"I suppose," she answered with a shrug. "She's our home now." She glanced over at Lia. "Wouldn't you say?"

Lia nodded. "Home is where our people are." An alarm sounded from the scanner array, and she quickly checked the Cylon control panel. "It's a Raider!"

"Oh, great!" Lu replied. "Are they on to us?"

"I'm not sure. Don't seem to be," Lia murmured tensely, as Dietra joined them. "What I want to know is where it came from. The scanner was clear a micron ago."

"Are you sure?" Dietra asked.

"I swear," Lia returned. "I've barely blinked since we launched, and I was even on forward scan when it showed up."

"Interesting," Baltar commented. Raiders didn't generally drop out of nowhere, and there certainly weren't any nearby mountains to rationalize away their failure to detect it. "Scan it for life forms."

"Life forms? Why?" Lu asked.

"Do it, Lia," Dietra added briskly, nodding at Baltar.

"Scanning . . ." Lia replied. The scanner image before her snowy and unclear. "I'm getting some kind of interference . . . source unknown."

Baltar frowned, nonplussed. He had nothing to compare it to. How did the Cylon scanners normally function here in Morlais? Was there some kind of natural phenomenon that blocked their wavelons?

"Are you sure?" Dietra asked, leaning forward and checking herself.

"They're diving! Frack! They're coming up behind us," Lia remarked anxiously, watching the progress of the much faster and more manoeuvrable fighter "They're scanning us."

"Scanning us?" cried Dee.

"Yes."

"Evasive manoeuvres!" Luana cried, banking to the right before diving for cloud cover, while wishing that Ama could spare a lightning bolt for them.

----------

Cain paced across Dayton's office one more time, his swagger stick balanced in his right hand as he ranted. The Juggernaut was looking better than he had in sectars, having put some weight back on, and getting a healthy glow to his once-pallid complexion. His voice was almost the same, as well, no longer the thin, at times weak, parody of Cain's. So, in a way, it was almost gratifying to be reprimanded by him, Dorado decided.

" . . . one fighter into an unknown, potentially hostile situation! What's one fighter going to do?" Cain continued his litany.

Almost.

"Assess the situation and report back to us," Dorado replied. "Baker, Jolly and Malus were assigned, all good men. In fact, they volunteered for this mission . . ."

Cain quickly held up a hand briskly, cutting off his words. "Captain! The Cylon is not . . .I repeat, not . . . a man."

"You're right, of course, sir," Dorado nodded, feeling silly for saying so, but Cain had a deep-rooted hatred and distrust for the IL, despite what Malus' technological savvy had meant to both Cain and Dorado, giving them both a second chance at futures that, under present circumstances, would have been otherwise bleak following their injuries on separate occasions. In Dorado's case, a sectar before he would have never imagined he would be commanding the Endeavour in Dayton's stead. In fact, if it hadn't been for the support of his fellow warriors and friends, he might not have had the courage to take this assignment. Indeed, he might still be vegetating, and wallowing in his own despair, had they not reached out to him. Although as far back as a day or two after Dorado's accident on Planet P, Starbuck had as much as promised him a position aboard the Endeavour, and then had manoeuvred and manipulated his way to making it happen.

Cain blinked at him, his eyes narrowing. "Are you humouring me, mister?"

"No, sir," Dorado replied, trying not to feel like a new cadet in serious trouble, in front of the Living Legend, again. "I made a decision based on the information then at hand."

"You could have waited five centons. That's all it would have taken."

"I felt confident that Commander Dayton would support my decision, Commander Cain."

Cain sniffed, frowning as the comm interrupted their discussion.

"Excuse me, Commander," Dorado said, leaning over to open the line. "Go ahead, Pierus."

"Captain Sheba on the Pegasus wishing to speak with you and Commander Cain, Captain."

"Put her through," Dorado nodded, waiting as Sheba's image abruptly appeared. "Go ahead, Captain."

"We have a problem, Dorado," Sheba frowned, her brown eyes flashing angrily. "I need you to search the Endeavour for a stowaway."

Cain blew out a breath of disgust, sweeping a hand through his hair as he groaned aloud in frustration. "I don't believe it . . ."

"A stowaway?" Dorado asked, looking from father to daughter. Lords, if it wasn't devastated planets, weird alien artefacts, and "witches" with weird powers, now what? A stowaway?

"Boxey is missing."

Dorado sniffed in astonishment, turning to Cain. "You brought a child?"

----------

"They're right on our tail! I can't shake them!" Lu told them. The cloud cover hadn't done anything to dissuade the pursuing Cylons, such as scramble their scanners, in the least.

The comm panel began beeping loudly.

"Incoming message in Cylon code!" Lia cried. "From the Raider!"

"Cylon code?" Baltar glanced over her shoulder, holding tight to the back of her seat with both hands. "Can you translate it?"

"I doubt these Cylons would be using the same code that modern . . ." Lia paused, watching the algorithms cross the screen. "By Triquetra's Toenails . . ." she murmured.

"Huh?" Lu glanced at her sister, shaking her head slightly. Never one for cursing, putting "Triquetra" and her toenails together was pretty risqué by Lia's standards.

"It's the same code," Lia muttered in surprise, then a smile lit her features. "Oh yes! Sagan's Sandals, it's Jolly!"

Dietra grinned. "I knew it! It's one of ours! It's a Hybrid!"

"How did you know?" Baltar asked.

"It jammed our scanners, just like it's supposed to," Dietra returned enthusiastically. "And we were none the wiser, not expecting it. Transmit a message back to them. Have them follow us to rendezvous with the others."

"Yes, Lieutenant," Lia replied, doing just that.

"And then ask them how they got here," Lu added.

"I guess we'll find out soon enough."

----------

Apollo grinned, and clapped Jolly on the shoulder as the lieutenant climbed down from the Hybrid Raider. "You don't know how glad I am to see you!"

"We thought you might need some help, Skipper," Jolly replied, then winced. "Sorry, Colonel."

"That's all right, Jolly." Apollo shrugged indifferently. He looked up at the one-time enemy fighter. "But how did you get here?"

"I think I'll let Malus explain," Jolly returned, as the IL's lower limbs became visible descending the fighter's ladder. The pilot turned to see Lia, Luana, Dietra, and what he had just learned were Angylions, heading towards them from the Cylon transport. Then he froze when he saw Baltar talking with an Angylion that could have been his younger brother, so alike were they in appearance, save the translucent aura that surrounded the other Being. "What the . . ." Instinctively he reached for his weapon, glancing in surprise at Apollo when the colonel stayed his hand. "What? B . . . Baltar?"

"Believe it or not, he seems to be on our side this time around . . ." Apollo told him softly, slowly removing his restraining hand. "He even took out a fighter, single-handed."

"Ours or theirs?" Jolly returned.

Apollo smirked. "Theirs, of course."

"Lords, did the entire universe just shift under me?" asked the other man, slack-jawed, still looking at the traitor. He slowly let his weapon slide back into its holster.

"It sure did. And the Angylions have a fervent belief that he is one of our military heroes, delivered by their gods to aide them."

Jolly scoffed derisively. "Oh? Let me guess where they got that idea?"

"It doesn't matter, Jolly. We're watching him . . . carefully."

"We must be in a different dimension," Jolly shook his head, then startled when he saw a man that could be Apollo's double, but with the same ethereal glow surrounding him. "Holy frack . . ." he murmured, when another man, this one a dead ringer for Starbuck, but with the same strange quality came into view. The blond Angylion smiled cheerily, waving jauntily as though he was enjoying Jolly's surprise. The Apollo look-alike casually cuffed him. "Looks like we all have some catching up to do."

"That we do."

----------

"NOOOOO!" Dayton screamed as torchlight reflected off the blade that arced through the air, ready to execute Starbuck.

He could see the young man's shoulders hunched in preparation, his face contorted in expectation, his eyes tightly shut, every muscle in his body tensed for the inevitable strike. Then abruptly, the blade stopped its deadly coarse, ending its lethal blow at the precise moment that the sword touched the nape of Starbuck's neck. Dayton sucked in a breath, holding it, not sure if the Cylons were merely toying with them before they finished it—something he hadn't thought them capable of—or if something else was happening . . . He looked around, trying to figure it out in his frenzied state.

The patrol leader was holding up a hand, and had said something that just didn't register with Dayton, as his own screams still echoed in his head. Then the executioner, without even looking at the Command centurion, sheathed its sword, and the other Cylon released its grip on Starbuck's hair.

"Holy . . . fr-frack . . ." Starbuck rasped, his eyes fluttering open and then darting around wildly. He let out a ragged breath, and then slumped forward onto the ground limply.

"Kid . . ." Dayton lunged forward, almost surprised when this time the Cylon released him as well. He half-crawled over to where the young captain lay, putting a hand to the back of his neck, and pulling it away slick with blood. The wound was superficial, but it still scared the hell out of the Earthman, considering the situation. He put a hand on the kid's shoulder, feeling fine tremors besiege the young man, as he gazed sightlessly ahead of him, his cheek pressed against the cold stone and dirt. He was either in shock, or well on his way. "You're okay. You got that? You're just fine." Who are you trying to convince, Dayton? The kid? Or yourself?

Starbuck snorted in contention, his breathing still ragged. "If this is okay . . ." He blinked slowly, his gaze flickering reluctantly over to the Cylons. Then he shuddered involuntarily, and glanced back at Dayton. "I'd hate to see what a bad day on Earth looks like."

"Still a smart-ass, huh? Well, that can only be a good sign," Dayton returned, squeezing his shoulder. It was a reprieve, but at least it gave them time.

"Bring-them," the patrol leader ordered. "Commander-Mendax-will-want-to-interrogate-the-Angylion-prince-personally."

----------

Iblis curled a derisive lip, glancing around the Holy Angylion Sanctum before slowly returning his malignant gaze to Ama. "This is part of the Elders' plan, isn't it? That instead of interfering, I will be distracted by my own . . . whelp." Then he smiled corrosively. "Or is this a threat? Am I expected to disappear quietly, once again?" This time he looked upward, addressing his comments beyond the cavern. "Exiled to another barren hunk of rock that befits the punishment of my alleged crimes? For my disobedience? For my unwillingness to conform?" His voice rose in volume and intensity, shaking the cavern, bitterness bleeding from his accusations. "Knowing that if I don't comply, that my . . . my blood will be at your mercy!"

"I believe you are judging them from your own standards," Ama replied hesitantly, as doubt nipped at her while she bore witness to his passion. All that she truly knew of the Beings of Light was through her own interactions with them, yet Iblis' insinuations defied what she had learned, and believed to be truth. "Such as they are."

Iblis smiled mockingly. "But you aren't certain, are you, daughter?"

"You destroyed an entire civilization of Angylions, enslaving them as Odreds, as well as brought the Cylons here, situating them to dominate yet another dimension, as if the billions already enslaved or slaughtered in their own were not sufficient." Ama returned, her own bitterness rising. "Or had that slipped your mind?"

Iblis smiled, his blue eyes eerily devoid of emotion. "Your point? Whelp."

"What happened to you, Arion?" Ama whispered. "What happened to the man that my mother loved, and the Empyrean Court revered?"

"I was betrayed by your mother . . ." Iblis returned, smiling humourlessly. "Just as the Elders would have you betray me now."

"And how would I do that?" she spat back, almost before she meant to, and the cold knot in her stomach answered her before he did. "I owe you no allegiance."

"You are still my daughter. My blood. My get! Have they not sent you here to challenge me? Such irony that your existence was kept from me, only so they could prepare you to destroy me, knowing I would either fall, or face my own personal Hades Hole through killing my child. And they call me the evil one." Iblis smiled, his tone and mien suggestive of someone having a polite everyday conversation.

"From what I've heard, you do wear the crown," Ama returned.

"Do you realize that other than the Elders, you were the only one capable of reversing the Angylion Curse? The only one with powers that could possibly match my own. They knew that. Did you?"

"I figured it out, eventually," she returned. So much had filtered through her mind while she was intent on helping Starbuck, that now she was unsure of how much was suggested to her by the Beings of Light, and how much she had deduced on her own. However, his stunned reaction to her raised more questions than it answered. Had she even given herself time to reflect on how this anomalous family reunion would go? Hadn't she just assumed that Iblis would arrive unleashing his powers against Morlais and the Angylion people, and she would respond by defending them to the best of her abilities? "Why did you decide to destroy these people, Arion?" Strong, beautiful, spiritual, yet mighty warriors. "More than any other that I have encountered in the universe, they are so much like my own . . .my own Empyreans."

Then Iblis sniffed, curling a disdainful lip. "That . . . is why."

She quirked an eyebrow, holding her hands palm upward. "Let me see."

Iblis took a step closer to her, letting out a bitter laugh. "You wish to join with me, mind and spirit, and experience my life, as you do with your human pets?"

"I do," Ama nodded, ignoring the gibe as her desire to see the truth outweighed any trepidation or concern for her own safety.

"It's a dark journey from which you may not return," Iblis warned her, taking a step back and holding up a staying hand.

"I'll take my chances," Ama returned, taking a pace closer to him and lifting up her hands so they rested on his temples. "Don't fash yourself, it won't hurt . . ."

His eyes met hers in surprise, then mild amusement, as she titled her head forward to meet his own . . .

----------

Apollo paced as he digested all the information he'd been given from the Angylions, Baltar, and Malus. Starbuck and Dayton, now Cylon prisoners, had been spotted boarding a Cylon troop transport under duress. The Angylion scouts that had reported the intelligence, had almost intervened, until they realized how well armed the Cylons were. Before they could get into a position to attack, the craft had taken off.

"Our forces have almost retaken the city," Glynn reported, nodding at Eirys who seemed to act as a communications conduit between her people. "The Cylons are retreating towards their ship, consolidating their forces."

"We need to strike now!" Llewelyn inserted ardently. "While we still have the advantage!"

"Now wait just a centon!" Apollo replied, holding up a hand to caution him. "A Cylon Base Ship is usually armed with enough artillery to easily destroy an army of a thousand Angylions with a single shot. They can burn up whole cities from orbit with single salvos. If you attack it with nothing but shields to protect you, they would decimate your forces."

"Artillery?" Glynn asked.

"On an Abaddon Base Ship, there are five batteries evenly spaced on the upper hull, as well as the lower, for a total of ten." Malus informed them, as the Angylions considered him curiously. "Two missile tubes flank each of these. There is also a mega-pulsar battery at the apex, as well as thirty defensive anti-aircraft emplacements. At present, only those weapons on the upper hull can be brought to bear against a target, until the ship lifts off." A Cylon like Mendax, the Base Ship commander, the similarities between the two IL's left the Angylions politely distrustful and sceptical of his intentions. "The hull is two point eight metrons thick. As well, there is an electromagnetic defence shield that would render it impenetrable to Colonial side arms, and certainly to Angylion weapons." Trying out a newly adapted invention of his own, he ignited the laser he had engineered into one of his digits, and then etched a diagram of the enemy vessel on a rock face, pointing out the batteries in question. None of the assembled organic Beings looked impressed, or even commented upon it, but he knew that Starbuck would see its potential . . . the first time he needed to light a fumarello and was without his trusty Flintex. Several of the Angylions leaned close, studying it. "As you can see, gentlemen, ladies, the overlapping fields of fire make any ground assault by an enemy impossible, either infantry, or mounted. Her weapons would target and vaporize any one or thing before you came within a thousand metrons, at a minimum."

"She also carries several hundred centurions, which can be detached from flight operations for ground action," added Baltar, sneaking another surreptitious glance at the enchanting Eirys as he spoke. She smiled and nodded at him. "Assuming they are close to full strength, this class of ship could field at least five hundred centurions, both in armoured transports and infantry, all heavily armed. Set against what we possess right now, she is impenetrable."

"Their troops are no longer at full strength, "General Caradoc reported. "We have killed close to one hundred of their centurions."

Baltar nodded approvingly. "Good to know."

"Then how do we destroy it?" Caradoc asked.

"From the inside," Baltar returned, glancing at Luana. "And while we're there, we might as well save Starbuck."

"And Mark . . ." Cassiopeia inserted, putting a hand on Ryan's arm.

"How?" Lu asked, her features drawn. Others echoed her doubts. "If the Base Ship is as impenetrable as you both said, then how do we get aboard?"

"I believe I can answer that. After all, it's about time that Cylon Command checked up on its missing Abaddon," Malus replied, glancing at Baltar. "I have a plan, Baltar, and I believe you will be intrinsic to its success."

"Baltar?" Apollo asked, hearing the same stunned reaction from others.

"Yes, Baltar," Malus replied.

---------

Things were not going quite to plan.

When the Cylons had first attacked Morlais, the Angylions had responded by using a typical counterassault that concentrated the majority of their forces directly against the Cylon forces, two armies clashing together on a battlefield below Mt. Cadoc. Ultimately, the centurions with their superior weaponry, laser pulse rifles, rocket launchers, and poisonous gas, would have eventually prevailed, but when the entire race of organic Beings had suddenly turned into deformed dwarfs, their defeat was without recourse.

Since their transformation back into their original forms—which Mendax had concluded was almost identical to Humans in his realm—they used a different strategy, one that the Cylons were not familiar with. Small-scale forces moving quickly and silently had unexpectedly attacked Cylon strongholds in the former Angylion city that had, up until recently, been Mendax's base of operations. A few unsubstantial uprisings had earlier been squashed, but this time their offences had systematically attacked and destroyed his posted patrols, and then seemingly disappeared, only to regroup and destroy yet another patrol sent to investigate the conspicuous communications silence of the first. At last report, in the city the Angylions had destroyed nearly one-fifth of his entire complement of centurions, almost a hundred centurions, and the rest had been ordered back to the Base Ship.

The IL had ascertained that his missing patrol and shuttlecraft were victims of an Angylion assault. Yet, since Angylions didn't know a shuttle from a landram, it mattered little . . . although in retrospect, every transport would be an asset in his new quest for Cylon domination in this dimension. He might have to consider sending a crew to recover it once he had fully annihilated the Angylions. But first he would see the Angylion prince cede to his superiority and beg for his mercy . . . before he executed him, of course.

"Control Centre," Mendax spoke into his comm unit. "This is Commander Mendax." Of course, he had no need to say so, but reminding these . . . drones of who was in charge was just so . . . satisfying. After all, he would likely end up as the supreme commander in this dimension, once he successfully carried out his plan for domination. He was so close. "Are the prisoners aboard?"

"The-transport-carrying-the-Angylion-prisoners-just-landed-in-Gamma-Bay, Commander."

"Have them brought to the Brig," Mendax ordered. "And prepare the Brain Probe." A centar in the device, and Mendax would have the entire Angylion attack strategy at his fingertips. It would be interesting to see the emotive reaction of the prince when he realized he had just sealed his people's fate, by unwillingly betraying their war secrets.

"By-your-command."

"Engineering will be switching over to the auxiliary power units shortly. They will also be beginning power up of the main reactors in approximately sixty centons. Prepare to begin the countdown on my order."

"By-your-command."

---------

Starbuck could feel his chest tightening as he and Dayton were escorted through the Cylon ship, every step taking them closer to the inevitable interrogation. He was just about at his limit, between his physical injuries and his exhaustion. It wasn't exactly the best condition to show up in, or so some instructor had once told him at the Academy. He wiped a trail of sweat from his forehead, catching Dayton's eyes on his in concern.

"Okay?" the Earthman murmured quietly.

Starbuck merely nodded, looking around at his surrounding, and trying to equate this ship's layout with the Endeavour's, to get his mind off his throbbing head and aching body. Functionality wise, little had changed between the era when this ship and the Endeavour were built, and that of Baltar's, other than the fact that the Hades-class ships were twice the size of the Abaddon's. Some things just didn't need improvement, he decided. Upon approaching the enemy vessel, they had seen the huge steel pylons that supported the ship, and the forges and machinery surrounding it, all working towards its repair and return to space. From what he could tell, the Cylons were close to being able to launch.

He and Dayton were led down a dimly-lit corridor, some of the bulkhead plating stripped out for other uses, and then they were propelled into the holding cell where the Cylon Brain Probe was housed. Thoroughly outfitted with restraints for arms and legs, and a ring of probes that lowered over the subject's cranium, this was an older and cruder variation of the one that had been used on Cree back on Arcta. It placed the subject in a chair, rather than standing, but it otherwise looked identical to the one from the Endeavour that they had employed with Baltar. He sniffed humourlessly, realizing that somewhere out there Baltar would be laughing himself maniacal if he knew that Starbuck was about to undergo the same Cylon interrogation device. The difference being that the Cylons, thinking he was Prince Llewelyn, would be trying to extract information that the Colonial Warrior didn't even have. Weirdly, they hadn't noticed the obvious difference between Angylions and humans, as though they couldn't even see the aura that seemed to surround the ethereal looking Beings. Obviously, things mystical were beyond them in every sense, which was okay with him, since every moment that they prolonged this ruse, gave them another opportunity to escape, and do this Base Ship some potential damage.

"Sort of looks like 'Old Sparky'," Dayton murmured beside him, studying the device as he looked around the room. Starbuck looked at him, frowning. "An electric chair." The Earthman studied the probe machinery up close. "Wasn't there one of those on the Endeavour before the refit?"

"Uh huh," Starbuck nodded. "Commander Adama ordered it destroyed, although I could tell he was tempted to try it out on a couple Council members first . . . not to mention a wayward officer or two." Then he glanced at the Earthman. "What's an electric chair?"

Dayton winced. "Never mind."

"Silence!" a centurion ordered them.

"Or what?" Starbuck replied. "You'll torture me in a Cylon Brain Probe? I've been trained to resis . . ."

"Silence!"

Behind them the hatch opened, and an IL Series Cylon entered, a garish cloak over its shoulders like Lucifer had worn. It was curious to see, considering Malus refused to wear clothing considering it to be too characteristic of humans, and unnecessary.

"Commander-Mendax, we-are-ready-to-proceed-with-the-interrogation," a centurion told him.

"Prince Llewelyn, I am Commander Mendax. Leader of the Cylon Alliance in this quadrant." Mendax nodded at the blond warrior. "You are my prisoner. You will tell me everything I want to know, or suffer the consequences."

"You've got the wrong guy," Starbuck shrugged. "I'm just a lowly foot soldier."

Mendax looked him over carefully. "I have your image imprinted into my memory banks from when I first visited Mt. Cadoc. Although your hair is slightly shorter, and your clothing different, you are definitely Prince Llewelyn."

"Am not."

The IL paused before stating, "Lying is pointless."

"Better check your programming, Bub. Cylons perfected lying. Took it to a new level," Starbuck bit off his words, not wanting to give away his cover by talking about the so-called Armistice. Then again, these Cylons probably were unaware of it, being in Morlais for a deca-yahren . . .

"Where are your forces hiding?" Mendax demanded.

"Hiding?" Dayton sniffed, drawing the attention to himself. "They're not hiding, Nuts and Bolts, they're amassing!"

"Who are you?" Mendax asked the Earthman.

"He's my manservant," Starbuck inserted quickly, before his commanding officer could get a word in edgewise. He had to protect his CO, and making him appear innocuous was the best way. Starbuck smiled slightly, starting to put together a plan.

"Manservant?" Mendax echoed, as Dayton just about choked on that revelation.

"Yes, the hereditary servant of my House. His family has served mine for generations." Starbuck nodded at Dayton, whose jaw had dropped. "They're a bit slow on the uptake sometimes, but reliable."

"Why, thank you, Oh Exalted Highness," Dayton replied, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he turned and bowed low before Starbuck.

"Don't mention it." Starbuck returned offhandedly. "Stand up, Dayton. You'll wreck your back."

"Yes, Your Illustriousness."

"I . . . see," said the IL thoughtfully.

"Yeah, he draws a turbo bath for me after I wake up from my ten yahren naps. Trims my hair . . . lays out my best clothes . . . " Starbuck glanced down at his tattered, filthy uniform, not even recognizable as that of a Colonial Warrior, much like Dayton's. "Although, as you can see, good help is hard to find these days."

"A personal servant," Mendax surmised. "Cylons have no need for such things."

"Well, I don't know about that," Starbuck returned, reaching forward and fingering the golden robe that the IL wore. "Looks like you could use a manservant, Mendax. Normally, I wouldn't be caught dead in a cloak that looked like that. I'll bet your Cylon leader has an attendant or two." Beside him, Dayton drew in a sharp breath.

Lights twinkled in the IL's head. He was considering it.

"Besides, having a manservant is a sign of distinction. Of status. Prestige," Starbuck added. "Military leaders, much like Royalty, should be defined by such things, don't you agree?"

"Perhaps, I could see some benefit . . ." Mendax mused.

"And you should see him with a needle and thread," Starbuck continued. "He could fix you up nicely. Couldn't you, Dayton?"

Dayton frowned at him, then reached reluctantly forward, fingering the IL's robe. "I could knit and purl this frock back to its former glory, My Liege." He glanced at Starbuck, suddenly looking tentative. "If that is your wish, oh Long-Haired One of Pre-Eminence."

Starbuck winced slightly. Dayton was laying it on a bit thick. "Well, better that than Cylon 'consequences', wouldn't you say, Old Man?" He glanced back at the IL. "He's been with me since I was a child, grooming me, turning down my bed, trimming my toenails . . . such allegiance should be repaid."

"You bargain for his life?" Mendax asked.

"I'm merely suggesting he could be more useful to you alive than dead," Starbuck replied. "Any Angylion life I can save is a personal victory."

"Please, Imperial Margarine. I would rather be dead than serve one other than you," Dayton replied beseechingly, dropping the robe, and instead gripping Starbuck's arm. Hard.

"You'll do as I say, Dayton," Starbuck returned, as he glanced into the flint grey eyes of his commander. If they got out of this alive, he knew that Dayton would make him pay. Probably with his hide. But it was still worth it.

"Yes, Your Oleo-ness," Dayton replied sullenly, withdrawing his hand.

Mendax undid the clasp, removing his cloak and handing it to the manservant. "Very well. I accept your manservant into my service, Prince Llewelyn. Now, tell me where your army is amassing," Mendax ordered him.

"Now, that wouldn't be very princely of me, would it?" Starbuck returned with a nervous smile.

"You can tell me willingly, or I can get the information I wish in other ways," said Mendax, indicating the probe.

"I don't suppose we could discuss this?" asked Starbuck. "You know, after a nice hot bath. A change of clothes. Dinner. Maybe over a glass of something cold afterwards? We could explore other customs of Angylion aristocracy. After all, it's been a long time since I had a decent . . ."

"Connect his cortex to the brain probe," Mendax ordered his centurions, then looked back to Starbuck. "You will be powerless to resist. I will find out what I want to know."

"Wanna bet?" the warrior replied, as a centurion grabbed his arm, pulling him towards the brain probe, and then shoving him roughly into the waiting seat. Across from him he could see Dayton bristling as they restrained Starbuck, securing him to the chair. "Hey! I bruise easily!"

"Silence!" ordered one of the centurions.

"Be brave, my lord," said Dayton, his voice flat and serious. "Make your people proud. You will not be forgotten."

"Erect a bust in my honour, Dayton. Hmm, so many to chose from . . ." Starbuck mused briefly, as the probe began to lower over his head. He could only hope that having a concussion already didn't put him in any further danger. Hey, maybe it would actually get rid of his headache. Yeah, being pain free would be nice for his execution. Suddenly, he was all out of witty retorts and remarks. Cree had made it through this . . . so had Baltar. He could too. The rest was up to Dayton.

"I will examine the cortex scans when they are complete," Mendax told them.

"By-your-command." The centurion turned to his fellow. "Begin calibration."

"Come with me, Dayton," Mendax ordered him. "And bring my cloak along so you can mend it."

"Yes, Oh Jaunty Jackass," Dayton replied, trailing behind.