Chapter Twenty-Three

Lightning split the sky, briefly illuminating the barrenness, as a thunderous crash echoed endlessly. The ground beneath them began to shake as a low rumble ominously advanced towards them, growing louder and louder with each passing moment. Dust and bits of debris drifted down on them, and Starbuck stumbled trying to maintain his balance as he shone his useless illuminator in that direction. He couldn't see a damn thing with the narrow beam, or at least anything that could be considered a threat . . .
"Frack . . ." he muttered, his chest tightening, as fear and anxiety wrapped their vicious talons around his heart. Reflexively, he pulled his weapon.

"By Llyr," Llewelyn cried, pulling his sword and aligning himself with the Colonial Warrior. "What's happening?"

"I hope you're asking Llyr, and not me," Starbuck retorted, fanning his laser as he turned in a circle, finally settling back to back with the Angylion.

A blinding flash of light and a deafening explosion shook the ground. Starbuck staggered before falling to his hands and knees, shielding his face with one arm as a howling gust of debris showered him. Abruptly, they were plunged back into darkness and he scrambled to find his fallen illuminator as the elements went wild. Lightning, thunder, quakes, gale force winds, yeah, he'd pretty much had enough of these crazy weather patterns that existed in this dimension. It made a guy yearn for the comparatively monotonous artificial environment of a Base Ship.

Then just as suddenly there was a deathly quiet. It was frightening in comparison with the chaos just passed, and even more frightening in it absoluteness. Once again, the only sound he could hear was his and Llewelyn's rasping breaths, as their minds desperately tried to make sense of the inexplicable. Then a gentle luminescence rose like a beacon of hope before them. Starbuck squinted against the growing brightness, shielding his eyes as he tried to see beyond the blinding light.

"Ama?" he rasped hopefully through the dust.

A despicable laughter flowed over him, echoing through the ages. "Try again."

----------

"Oh, dear Lord . . . what have I done?" Sheba breathed, her hand covering her mouth as she stood numbly, staring at the spot where Iblis had been a moment before. She had issued a challenge . . . and Count Iblis had accepted it.

"It had nothing to do with you, Sheba," Apollo reassured her, glancing at John. "Did it?"

"No," agreed John. "You're but a pawn, Sheba."

"As are we all, apparently," Eirys added.

"Frack that," Luana inserted vehemently. "How do we help Starbuck? There must be something we can do. I can't just wait idly in a cave while this Count Iblis tortures him."

"The Oculus can take us to him," Eirys reminded them. "If we can find Ama while we're there, then we'll have a chance to defeat Iblis. Our only chance."

"If you go, you're accepting Iblis' dominion over you. Doing so will make you vulnerable in ways that you might not be able to fathom," John warned them.

"And that's different, how?" Lu demanded, unimpressed. "I'm going, even if I have to hotlink the Oculus to take me there."

"And Starbuck probably taught her how," Lia inserted with a wry smile.

"I'm going too," Apollo put a hand on Lu's shoulder.

"So am I," Sheba added, as one by one Eirys, Lia and Mouric also declared their allegiance to the mission. A moment later they were all looking expectantly at John.

"Well, John?" Apollo asked, his demeanour making it clear he wouldn't take 'no' for an answer.

"They rarely listen." John rolled his eyes towards the heavens. "Is it too late to be reassigned to the Dolphins? I must say that Cetacean intelligence appeals to me right now."

Apollo cleared his throat impatiently.

"Oh, all right," John sighed. "We all go."

----------

"Report!" demanded Mendax, aboard the Harbinger. First he would destroy every last humanoid in Morlais, and then . . .

"By-your-command. Missile-will-impact-in-one-micron."

"Excellent!" crowed Mendax. "Fire second missile." He looked at the other Base Ship on the scanner. "Target the traitor's ship."

"By-your-command."

----------

"Enemy firing another missile!" reported Dorado. "At us!"

"Hard to starboard! And hope to hell he's as lousy a shot as he is a commander!" Dayton spat through gritted teeth. "I want every laser targeting that missile . . ."

"Belay that!" said Malus, as an idea—an idea worthy of Starbuck—flashed through his processors. "Of course!"

Dayton crossed the small distance between them, grabbing the IL by the shoulders and shaking him. "You have exactly one second to explain why you'd countermand one of my orders, before I turn you into a hat rack, Lite Brite."

But still interfaced with the Endeavour, Malus wasn't listening. As fast as electrons could traverse his circuits, he accessed codes, assembled and collated data, wrote a new set of programs, and transmitted.

Towards the missile.

----------

"Holy Lords!" said Dietra, her eyes glued to her instruments, as the missile impacted Mt. Cadoc. "It's a dud!"

Cheering erupted from her squadron mates both orbiting Morlais and far above it, as the truth sunk in. The Cylon missile, carrying enough firepower to level an entire city in less than a heartbeat, had fallen flat. Its wreckage strewn all over the face of Mt. Cadoc, the once-fearsome enemy weapon was now complete felgercarb.

"They did it!" cried Felic. "Yee-haw!"

"Yes, they did." Dietra replied, smiling at the cry of joy, and missing it coming from her strike captain. She checked her fuel. "Now, let's get back to the Endeavour. I have a feeling Jolly may need our support."

----------

"Iblis!" Starbuck spat with fury and disgust, as the light dimmed sufficiently to allow him to see the supernatural Being standing before them.

"Ah, you're right where I wanted you, Starbuck. On your knees." Iblis smiled malevolently down at the warrior, his white cloak billowing behind him. "Beg for your life and I will set you free. Defy me, and I will torment you for all of eternity."

"Go to Hades Hole!" spat Starbuck.

"Where do you think you are now, cretin?" replied Iblis. "The Fields of Joy?"

"Where's Ama?" Starbuck demanded, as his hand instinctively tightening on his laser while he regained his feet. He holstered the useless weapon, his hand instead migrating towards the hilt of his sword. Beside him, Llewelyn also stood up, his sword in hand. "What have you done with her?"

Iblis looked around distractedly, as though trying to remember. "Oh, she's somewhere around here."

"Where?" Starbuck snarled, an abrupt inspiration taking form. Over Empyrean Ales in the OC, Dayton had once told him of a bizarre Earth legend whereby the life of an immortal could be permanently ended . . .

If it was true . . .

Then Iblis raised his head minutely, suddenly looking concerned. It took Starbuck right back to the site of Apollo's "death", when the Beings of Light had come calling. Iblis sensed something. He was preoccupied, his "guests" momentarily forgotten. It was the perfect time . . .

In a flash, Starbuck pulled his sword, leaping towards the evil Being, his blade already beginning to slash from side to side as he aimed to strike Iblis' neck from his shoulders. He could almost hear Dayton murmuring, in the end, there can be only one. Okay, maybe in this instance the strange Earth phrase didn't make much sense, but it was worth a roll of the dice when you were stuck in an alternate dimension and slated to spend eternity with Count Iblis. Out of the blue, Iblis' words on the Rising Star from so long ago drifted back to him. I can see you and I are going to be soul mates.

Iblis was uncharacteristically slow to realize his danger, his head only just beginning to turn back towards Starbuck, as the blade sliced through the air. His eyes began to widen, registering shock, while the blade slammed into the Count, as though it had just smashed up against an invisible force field. Burning pain ripped through Starbuck's body, consuming him, as a vivid image of his skin melting from his bones, running onto the ground in rivulets, filled his consciousness. The Colonial Warrior could hear a scream of terror as a blanketing blackness enfolded him, and he succumbed, thankfully, to oblivion.

----------

Mendax looked at the scope in disbelief. His oscillating eyes had stopped dead for a long moment, when the missile had slammed home on the plateau before the Angylion Holy Sanctum . . . and did nothing. He rechecked his scanner, and internally re-ran what he had just witnessed. The missile had indeed failed.

"How?" he demanded. "HOW, CENTURION?"

"Telemetry-indicates-the-warhead-disarmed-itself."

"What? But how?" He checked the scanner. The screen was filled with garbage. Lines of code, words, fragments of images, swirling and rolling about in utter chaos. "This . . . cannot be!" He punched several controls, to no effect. "Those arming circuits are . . ."

He swirled, looking back at the image of the Endeavour. Of course! That . . . that treasonous piece of Boray mong, Malus! Somehow, when he had access to their systems, earlier . . .

"Status of second missile?"

"Second-missile-altering-course," reported the centurion.

"What? What course?" shouted Mendax, although inside, he already knew.

----------

Wake up!

Everything tingled, with an underlying layer of "burn". Actually, the more he lay there thinking about it, the more he felt like the personification of one of Porter's Seven-Layer Dips. Tingling, burning, panic, nausea, fear, pain, with a hearty base of complete exhaustion. Mix them all together, serve them up on a cracker, and it was one Hades hole of an appetizer for the infinite ages at Iblis' table of eternal damnation and torment.

"Wake up!"

The hands that gripped him by the shoulders and shook him were insistent, dragging him from the relative comfort of his stupefied state, back out into the realm of reality, whatever reality was in this pit. His eyes flickered open, still unfocussed, and he winced, groaning aloud as the shaking became even more demanding.

"Don't," he murmured, the word sounding thick and guttural, as he clawed at the abusive hands.

"Are you . . . quite alright, Starbuck?" Llewelyn asked, leaning over him.

Starbuck snorted, not dignifying the inane question with a reply. Shakily, he raised his hand before his eyes, noting in surprise that his skin was still attached, and not lying in a pool of horror beneath him, like he remembered. It had been some warped trick of Iblis' . . . an illusion. He shuddered, trying to leave the memory behind, while he blinked a couple more times, trying to focus. A soft light was shining from beside him. His sword lay there, and the glow that emanated from the bent and notched blade was . . . just weird.

"What happened?" Starbuck asked, looking around, and seeing no sign of Iblis.

"I believe . . . I believe you destroyed him," Llewelyn replied uncertainly. "When you struck with the sword, there was an unbearably bright light. I . . . I could see naught. And the sound . . . it was enough to make my ears ring. When I could finally focus again, Iblis was gone and you were lying here insensate, your sword glowing like an Angylion symbol of strength and courage, Doublewalker." He put a supportive arm around the Colonial Warrior, assisting him to sit up. "Such bravery takes a certain amount of desperation, with perhaps a bit of rash stupidity. I know not whether to berate you, or feel ashamed that I had not thought of it first." He left out his own attempt to run Iblis through, since by then some supernatural phenomena had already removed Iblis from his reach.

"He's gone?" Starbuck repeated in disbelief. "You mean it actually worked ?" For a moment he dared to believe it, until reality reminded him . . . "Wait a centon, if he's really destroyed . . . shouldn't he be lying here dead?"

Llewelyn shrugged. "I'm not certain . . . he's not made of flesh and blood, as are you and I. Perhaps it is different for Mystics. Have you destroyed one before this?"

"Uh, no. This is a first for me."

"Unfortunate."

Then a faint tremor began beneath them, growing to a full scale quake as a deafening rumble rolled over them in waves. The ground began to split, thick shoots of a thorny vegetation penetrating it, thrusting up towards the sky all around them.

"Get up!"

Llewelyn pulled his Doublewalker to his feet, supporting him as they became immured in a forest of thorns. It took Starbuck right back to the Thorn Forest of Umbra when he was a tot, except these titans shot impossibly high, blotting out what they could see of a sky. He felt closed in, in more ways than one, as recently surfaced memories rushed back to him, leaving him feeling as vulnerable as a defenceless child.

"Do you hear that?" Llewelyn asked, his grip painfully tight on the warrior.

As the horrible rumbling of the ground died away into yet another eerie silence, Starbuck could detect a gradual droning that seemed to come from all around them, surrounding them as surely as the thorns had.

"Cylons," Starbuck hissed.

"Cerberus," Llewelyn said at the same time, turning to regard Starbuck impatiently. "Cylons, you said? Are you deaf?"

"What the frack's a Cerberus?" Starbuck asked, not understanding how he could be hearing one thing, and the Angylion prince another.

"It's a vicious, three-headed beast," Llewelyn replied, swallowing visibly. "When I was a child, my mother and I were in a forest much like this that bordered the desert lands south of Morlais. A Cerberus came after us . . ." his words trailed off, as he sucked in a steadying breath.

"Let me take a wild guess . . . your mother died saving you," Starbuck ventured, as the droning became louder and louder. He could only imagine that Llewelyn was hearing the growl of this strange Angylion beast as the man's stance stiffened with a rising anxiety that Starbuck could understand only too well.

"How could you know that?" Llewelyn demanded, releasing his hold on the Colonial Warrior, turning to face him.

"Because my mother died in the Thorn Forests of Umbra . . . saving me. From the Cylons." He drew in a deep breath, feeling his heart doing its best to pound its way through his chest at the coincidence. "Don't you understand? Iblis is trying to recreate our worst nightmares!"

"This is all an illusion," Llewelyn whispered, his tone somewhere between a statement and a question. "It is unreal!"

Starbuck nodded, but his recognition of the fact wasn't doing a goddamned thing to quell his unease. "Either that or we just ended up in one really warped rewrite of Yochanan and the Beanstalk."

"I don't understand . . ."

"You're probably not alone," Starbuck returned, as the sound grew in intensity. He pulled his laser, looking down in horror, and then crying out in disgust as it transformed within his grip. Slimy, cold-blooded, and alive, he thrust it away instinctively. Both men jumped back out of the way as the scaly, slime-covered black serpent raised its hooded head, training its obsidian eyes on them, exposing its lethal fangs, before it slithered away into the dense thorns. "Getting to be one of those days . . ." Starbuck rasped, his mouth dry and the sound of his heart beat echoing in his ears. He could have sworn, just for an instant, that the creature had . . . smiled, at him.

"Llyr, help us . . ." Llewelyn breathed, adjusting the grip on his sword as he turned in a circle. "Arm yourself, Starbuck."

"In case you hadn't noticed, that's what I was doing when my laser decided to wriggle away." A little reluctantly, Starbuck leaned down, grabbing his sword. The eerie glow from the blade seemed to brighten marginally. At the same time he felt a warmth on his chest, where his Empyrean talisman rested. He touched the medallion, feeling a slight heat suffuse him. Like the Angylion prince, he turned in a slow circle, studying the thicket they were in, looking for some sign . . . Ama?

Courage, son of my heart. A shimmering translucence circled around him lazily, like a wisp of smoke, before it gradually disappeared, and somehow he just knew . . .

"Ama's here," Starbuck breathed, hope flaring to life, as the Angylion prince looked at him searchingly. Was it Ama who was to die in his mother's place this time? Not while he was still breathing!

"She's smaller than I remember," Llewelyn observed wryly, raising a sceptical eyebrow at his Doublewalker as the din grew around them. An advancing invisible wave of menace, a choking miasma of fear, the surrounding thorns began to shake as their aggressors neared. The prince raised his sword before him, poised for the attack. "Freedom! Glory! Morlais!" he shouted, as though trying to inspire a legion of troops that stood figuratively with him. His usual aura seemed to grow just a little brighter, taking on a golden glow. Like some heroic figure of yore, his long hair flowed out over his shoulders, while his muscles rippled as he hefted his fearsome weapon.

Any guy who hadn't figured out that they were about to engage a legion of Iblis' most powerful minions with nothing but swords somewhere in between despair and Hades hole, just might be inspired, but all the same, the battle cry quelled some of Starbuck's rising anxiety, and the familiar calm that usually descended during combat swept over him. Unconsciously, his right thumb settled on the hilt, exactly as it had countless times on the firing stud of his control stick.

With a deep, steadying breath, he struck a similar pose to the prince's, as the thorns parted, and an oppressive wave of Cylons marched towards them. Sagan's sake, he might not be an Angylion prince, but he was the strike captain of the Endeavour. He should be able to come up with something equally inspiring. With the glimmer of a smile, he hollered, "Last one to the OC buys!" as he leapt into the gaping maw of fate.

---------

"Holy . . ." said Dayton.

"What is?" asked Malus.

"You're a genius, Mal! A goddamned genius!" Dayton roared as he watched the course change of the Cylon missile. He threw an arm around the IL, giving him a nuggie.

"Is this some sort of Earth ceremony for such an occasion?" the IL asked, as he detected the commander's knuckle grinding into his cybernetic skull. That could . . . hurt.

"Looks tribal to me," Baltar added with a smirk, not immune to the infectious joy that had swept over the Control Centre. It would never have occurred to him to do the same to Lucifer.

Except, perhaps, with a wrench.

"Man, I didn't know the potential we had with you!" Dayton shook his head in incredulity. He'd been resistant to placing any trust in a robot, especially one that had with such apparent ease changed sides. It took him straight back to '79 with Maximilian in the Black Hole. A dog of a movie, but a lasting impression. "Pierus, see if you can get Mendax on the horn. What I wouldn't give to see his sparkly little billboard of a head right now! Bet it looks like a disco ball on steroids."

"I . . . I shot up the communication console when the mega-pulsar exploded," Baltar admitted.

"And if I was in command, I'd be doing whatever I could to get it going again so I could keep in touch with my centurions," Dayton replied with a nod of acknowledgement. "Pierus, get on the horn!"

"The horn, sir?"

"Sorry. Earth moment. The commline, Pierus. Open a channel on the commline."

"Getting on the horn, sir," smiled the cadet, following suit.

---------

With a flash of light, they were transported from Morlais into Iblis' realm. It took a moment for the small group of humanoids to adjust from one environment to another.

"What is this place?" Luana asked, one hand on her laser, and the other on her Empyrean talisman as an iciness like she had never experienced before swept over her. Somewhat akin to terror and anguish, the emotional impact of just being within Iblis' dominion was undeniable. It made her want to find a small corner to hunker down in and hide until the demons coming alive in her imagination finally passed her by. She tried to shake the sick, cloying feeling off, telling herself that this was only short-term. Get on with the mission, Lu. Find Starbuck.

"A place where darkness abides, and light has never penetrated. Another dimension apart from your own where Iblis exercises complete control over those who have entered into his dominion," John replied. "Even now I sense he is testing his power over you, toying with you."

Luana nodded. "No kidding."

"I have not felt like this since I was a small boy, running for my mother's skirts," Mouric stated. Others murmured their agreement.

"How do we find Starbuck?" Apollo asked, looking around into the cavernous darkness, his illuminator revealing only more nothingness. "And Ama."

"Ama's here, I can feel her," Lia suddenly inserted, voice close to a whisper, as a shimmering light wafted towards them. Then she frowned, chewing her lip. "At least her spirit is here."

"If it's just her spirit that Lia detects, does that mean . . . Ama's dead?" Sheba whispered, leaning into Apollo as he put an arm around her. After all, this place was supposed to be filled with the spirits of the dead. Wasn't it?

"Not technically," John replied. "It's rather complicated, and I doubt you'd understand."

"Being mere mortals, and all," Sheba frowned in frustration. She was beginning to think this Being thought they were all a bit on the dumb side of stupid. "What are you saying, John?"

"Is Ama dead or alive?" Luana insisted, tears pricking the backs of her eyes. "Give it to us straight! We're not children!"

"On an immortal time scale, children are exactly what you are," John smiled, shrugging slightly. "Ama's spirit lives on, but in this place, her mortal vessel has ceased to exist."

"Sounds pretty damned dead to me," Luana shivered, fighting back the wave of despair that suddenly washed over her. Lia was there in a heartbeat, putting an arm around her sister, sharing in her grieving, even as she supported her.

"Dearest Triquetra . . ." Lia murmured brokenly.

"We believe that after death, the spirit evolves to another plain of existence," Eirys added.

"The physical body can actually limit most underdeveloped species' spiritual progress," John elucidated.

"But this?" Luana rasped. It was absolutely wrong that a spirit like Ama's could be immured in such darkness for all of eternity. Add to that the fact that Starbuck could very well be joining her . . . A choking sob escaped, as an emotional deluge of anguish hit her like a tidal force. It all seemed so utterly hopeless . . . even knowing that Iblis was probably enhancing those feelings.

"Now, now, it's not as bad as all that," John tried to console her, waving his hands in the air as if he could magically ward off the emotional miasma. Then he turned to where the shimmering light form had taken the shape of a spectral image. "I believe it is time."

"Time for what, John?" Apollo demanded, his own anxiety rising as he gazed in bewilderment upon the apparition. "What is going on?"

"Ama?" John said politely, holding out his hands, palms upward.

The spectral image started to gain density, solidifying before their eyes. In a moment Ama stood there before them, looking no different than she had when they had last seen her.

"Ama!" Lia cried, throwing herself towards her godmother, her arms reaching to embrace her. Instead, she passed right through the Empyrean necromancer.

"Well, I didn't care for that," Ama frowned, turning to look at her trembling godchild. Lia's eyes were wide with fright. "Don't fash yourself, Lia. You look as though you've seen a ghost." Then she smiled slightly, stepping forward, her hand moving as though she was stroking her goddaughter's cheek. "Do not lose faith, dear one."

Lia's eyes widened in surprise, touching her cheek. "I . . . I felt that. But how . . .?"

"Light is life, child," Ama reminded her, crossing to Luana and repeating the gesture.

Luana closed her eyes, feeling the soft, reaffirming touch of the necromancer, revelling in the sudden sensations it evoked. The darkness, the fear, the horror all disappeared, as though purified and transformed by the necromancer's presence, leaving behind a hope and faith that somehow things would work out.

"Ama," Lia murmured, holding out the melted talisman that had once been the symbol of Ama's powers.

"Thank you, Lia," Ama murmured, closing her eyes slightly before reaching forward, and placing her hand open-palmed beneath the mangled amulet. She nodded at her goddaughter, who let it go. Lia gasped as it appeared to melt like quicksilver, before shifting within the necromancer's grip and returning to its previous magnificence. She deftly put it around her neck where it rested on her chest, as it had most of her life.

Then Eirys stepped forward, carrying the Oculus before her. "Iblis said that you're his daughter, White Witch. Is that true? Or just another of his lies?"

"It may have been true once, but no longer. I am a child of the gods, now," Ama replied with a smile. "Hurry now. Starbuck is running out of time."

----------

Every fighter pilot's eyes were on their scanners, watching the missile that had been launched from the Harbinger alter course. Jolly breathed a sigh of relief as he checked his scanner, ruling out possible targets based on the missile's trajectory. It was still adjusting course. First, almost losing Morlais, and now the Endeavour, the stakes were only getting higher as the day progressed.

"Lieutenant Jolly, the Raider pursuing us just lost her engines. She's dead in the air!" Acastus reported.

"That's about the best news I've had all day!" Jolly grinned. He checked his tactical display. "They're too far from their Base Ship to make it back, and too low on fuel to be a real threat to us or the Endeavour now. Let's kick in our turbos and give them some room. Let them use up what tylium they have left."

"Sounds good, Jolly," Giles inserted. "As long as we get to come back and pick them off later."

"That's a promise. I'll take volunteers on the Cleanup Crew."

"Sign me up!"

"Jolly, Dee here."

"Welcome back, Dee. That was some fine shooting your wing did. Glad to see that Morlais is still in one piece." Not only had a nation of Angylions almost been destroyed, but so had several people that he cared about, probably more than he would like to admit.

"You and I both," she replied. "Did I hear you say that we get to sit back on our laurels and watch the show for now?"

"You did, and it's deserved, Lieutenant."

"Why, Jolly, that sounds like you're buying back at the OC?" she teased him.

"Dee, you've really been hanging around with . . ."

"Starbuck for too long!" a chorus of cadets chimed in.

"Five centons can be too long," smiled Jolly. "Okay, all wings report in."

----------

Starbuck's arms felt leaden, as he hefted his sword over and over again, while an endless line of Cylons advanced to replace the one he had struck down before. Thorns tore at his uniform and flesh as he pushed through them, wading through Cylon dead. With each strike of his blade, he could hear his mother's scream echo in his ears from yahrens past, not as easily forgotten as he had once thought. With every scream came a renewed determination in his soul that he would kill each and every one of them.

"Starbuck! They keep coming!" Llewelyn rasped from metrons away. A jagged cut on his arm was dripping blood.

"They don't call it eternal damnation for nothing!" Starbuck called back, hissing in pain when a Cylon sword nicked his forearm as he jumped back. Blood welled up from the flesh wound, but there wasn't time to give it a passing thought as he watched Llewelyn intervene, striking down the offending Cylon, sending its metal head rolling with a mighty cleave of his weapon.

"Behind you!" the prince called.

Starbuck turned, his heart dropping into his boots when he saw the full phalanx of centurions, boots tramping like coordinated doom, coming at him like a wall. He swallowed the fear in his throat, trying not to contemplate the odds as he raised his sword once again.

Then a malignant chuckle seemed to reverberate from the darkness. "Plead for your life, Starbuck!" Iblis' voice carried over the battleground. "If you do it convincingly, I might be moved towards mercy."

"This seems to be all about you," Llewelyn grunted aside, looking somewhat disappointed by that. "I'm rather accustomed to it being all about me."

"I'll bet you are," Starbuck spared a fleeting smile at his Doublewalker, even as he tried to imagine what "mercy" would look like from the keeper of this darkness. "I'll never concede, Iblis! Never!" he yelled.

"Then die a thousand deaths, each one more painful than the one before!" Iblis roared in fury as his legions advanced.

----------

"Missile-altering-course-directly-towards-us, Commander," the centurion informed Mendax.

"Wha . . . Shoot it down! Now!"

"Impossible. Due-to-damage-sustained-all-laser-batteries-are-off-line."

"But . . . No! Override! Override! Get out of its way! Evasive manoeuvres!"

"By-your-command."

"Mendax?"

The IL turned again. Remarkably, the comm was working. It was Malus on the main screen. Baltar . . . and the manservant were standing beside him.

"What? You traitorous . . ."

"We just wanted to tell you one thing, Baltar, Commander Dayton and I."

"What?" spat Mendax as the realization struck him that he had held the commanding officer of the Harrower prisoner, and had been convinced he was the lowly manservant of an Angylion prince. No wonder . . . He spared a micron's attention to the scanner, and saw the missile. "Oh, felgercarb!"

Dayton leaned closer and waved his right hand across the screen. His smile was one of pure venom as he stuttered, "Th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-that's all, folks!"

The three vanished, replaced by the image of the approaching missile.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO......................................"

----------

Starbuck's muscles burned with the enormous exertion, as he desperately met the Cylon swords blow for blow. He felt like he was on autopilot; his body going through the motions, brain disconnected, reproducing offensive and defensive moves that Dayton had drilled into him on the Endeavour. Who could have known that his friend and commander's rigorous training, meant to recondition him after extensive injuries four sectars ago on Planet 'P', was actually going to save his life one day?

Ama probably did . . . but Dayton would take credit for it anyway.

Still, skill and discipline could only take a man so far. How many Cylons had he struck down so far? Twenty? Fifty? A thousand? How many had Llewelyn added to the pile? Too many to count, as it all flowed into a blur. The scene had a hint of surrealism that could only come from drugs, alcohol or bone-numbing exhaustion. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, and he didn't even feel the source of the blood running in rivulets down his arm. Any micron now he would fall under a dozen Cylon swords, feeling the cold metal part skin and muscle, slicing through bone and sinew, as the centurions dispassionately and soullessly hacked him to pieces. By then he knew that he'd welcome death, but in this case, it was an elusive dream. An eternity of pain and suffering was his fate as Iblis' soul mate.

Damn you, Iblis! Damn you, you equines' astrum!

Beg for mercy, Starbuck! Iblis' malignant voice echoed through his head, issuing the ultimatum. The demonic Lord of Suffering laughed, as Starbuck dodged a Cylon's blade, before ramming the tip of his own blade into the centurion's optical scanner slit. The robot's head erupted in sparks, and it toppled back. Beg for mercy and I'll end this!

"Never!" he shouted at the sky, renewing his attack, cutting down another Cylon with a vicious blow that took off its head. The rest of the cybernetic body staggered in front of him for a moment, and with a fierce yell he kicked the teetering centurion's body with the heel of his boot, sending it smashing into those coming up behind it. The intensely crazed satisfaction was addictive, better than cubits, better than booze, better than drugs or sex, and he roared again at the harbingers of death, leaping into the fray. Each crash of his metal blade biting into Cylon armour was invigorating! Mentally, he counted each loathsome cyborg as it hit the ground, not caring any longer that it would be replaced. He was as much a machine as the Cylons . . . kill, kill, kill . . .

Smack! Another centurion went down, half-chopped neck belching sparks and smoke.

The burst of sudden light barely made an impact, so intent was he on annihilating every last Cylon standing. Then the wave of centurions parted, and he could suddenly see Iblis. Smiling. Taunting. Evilness.

"Iblis!" Starbuck roared, manipulating his blade in a showy "windmill" that Dayton would have kicked his astrum for, had he seen it. Then he raised the sword pointing it towards the Count, feeling his fury and strength amass as he charged the Evil One, no longer caring what would happen. If he was to die a killer, then let him die trying to kill Iblis once again.

"Starbuck! NO!!!!"

A metron short of Iblis, he hit the sudden blue ball of energy like a wall of stone. Yet instead of feeling pain, he felt himself falling backwards into comforting warmth, suspending him effortlessly as though he were floating on air. Concern, love, and tenderness flowed over and through him, like being a boy in his mother's arms, pushing aside his defences effortlessly. It made his chest hitch painfully with overwhelming emotion, as the frigid barricade, that he had carefully erected to maintain his sanity and purpose, abruptly crumbled. It left him weak as a baby felix, and trembling with weariness.

Ama?

Shush, now. And know the truth.

Then impossibly, he was soaring hand in hand with the Empyrean necromancer, across the heavens. In an eye blink, the stars ripped by, as they came to Earth. In another heartbeat he discovered Hummer and Dickins, both imprisoned, locked away in a military fortress, the majority of Earthlings not even knowing they existed. The superpowers of Earth, stupidly, were denying the existence of the greatest threat known to mankind. After all the Colonials had done to send the astronaut and technician there four sectars ago in the rebuilt shuttle Endeavour, to prepare the pubescent planet . . . It had all been a waste of time and effort, and had ultimately cost two men their freedom.

There's more . . .

And most chillingly, a Base Ship was nearing Earth, following a long-range beacon from a Cylon Raider that had crashed on their moon. The home of the Thirteenth Tribe of Kobol was running out of time.

You must tell Adama, Starbuck. Give me your pledge, Oh Son of My Heart.

And he knew then that she wouldn't be returning with them.

Your pledge, Starbuck.

"On my life."

Even as he began to nod dutifully, he was abruptly thrown back into what Llewelyn called the Nonentity. It was like being shot down a launch tube, without a Viper. In a blinding blast of light he was thrust forward, his sword extended before him, glowing like a beacon of strength and truth as he stumbled to a halt before Eirys, John and Ama. Iblis still stood beyond them, overlooking the battle, his cape flowing behind him, billowing in some invisible wind. He pointed at them menacingly, his face somewhere between rage and sadistic glee, but the Colonial Warrior recognized the concern lurking beneath his mien. Starbuck paused only a moment to embrace Ama, but startled as his hands passed through her, as though she was a Being of Light . . .

"Let me," she murmured, stepping towards him, her hands outreached.

He closed his eyes briefly as she rested her hands on either side of his face and tilted her forehead to rest on his, as she had a hundred times before. This time, their connection was visceral, and almost healing in nature, as he accepted the woman's virtue and energy into his heart and soul without his usual protestations. A moment later, he felt the faintest flutter of a kiss against his lips, and when he opened his eyes in surprise, she grinned her gapped-tooth smile, like the felix that ate the falco.

"I've wanted to do that for a very long time, Starbuck," she cackled, and winked at him.

"What would my father say?" he smiled, then drew a deep breath, before asking, "There must be some way, Ama . . .?"

"Don't fash yourself, Dear Heart," she smiled. "And give no purchase to doubt."

He nodded, quickly assessing the situation. Around him, Luana, Apollo, Sheba, Lia and Mouric had joined the fight, battling Cylons, or Cerberus, with whatever weapon—or point of view—they had. Suddenly, he felt renewed, infused with new strength and purpose. A strength not of flesh, but of spirit. He looked at his sword, blazing like a sunburst, and took a deep breath.

"Death to Cylon!"he roared, and the very air seemed to tremble like some ancient force come back to life. There was an energy that he couldn't describe, but he knew the tide had turned, that the battle would be theirs. Then, he was once again in the fray, hewing down centurions as once Umbrans had cut grain, naturally migrating towards his wife. He brought his blade down on a centurion's head, ripping into the circuits within.

"DEATH TO CYLON!"

Ancient chants older than the ages spewed from the Empyrean necromancer. Her Empyrean talisman glowed like a lodestar. She pulled it from her neck, holding it upward, as John and Eirys stood with her in triune. The Angylion sorceress held up the Oculus, her radiant light flowing through it. The chamber came alive as a whirl of cosmic energy burst forth from the Oculus, emitting a blinding ray of light and a blast of power that flattened everything in its path. It was like a hurricane gone wild.

In silence was victory.

"Innamorato?"

"Lu . . ."

When he rolled over, it took him only a moment to realize they were back in the Angylion Holy Sanctum, atop Mt. Cadoc. In a glance he counted those present. Lu, Lia, Apollo, Sheba, Eirys and Mouric . . . no Ama. No John either, but then his uniform had returned to the usual colour, so the ethereal Being could be anywhere. Starbuck sat up, catching his wife as she threw her arms around him, crumbling into his embrace. He stroked her hair, kissing the top of her head as he murmured nonsensical reassurances, rocking her in his arms.

Two great cosmic forces colliding, one destined to enervate the other through some inexplicable sacrifice. If Iblis was indeed gone, then it was at the cost of Ama. She'd become such a force in his life, that he couldn't fathom she was gone. The loss would be even harder on Lu and Lia. Victory, as always, was bittersweet, and, at least in his mind, not entirely justified. However, he'd learned that life wasn't fair from a young age . . . the same time that he'd first learned about what a mother would sacrifice for her children.

Give him one for me, Ama!

----------

The bridge crew of the Endeavour watched, as the missile flawlessly tracked and struck the Harbinger, directly in one of her launch bays. The warhead erupted in a blue-white blossom of fire, as the fearsome energy of her solonite charge was unleashed. The bay was blown open, bulkheads ripped and decks peeled back, as the pure shock of the blast tore through the ship like the tsunami from Hell. Secondary explosions followed, as the remaining tylium stores were ignited, and her own ordnance followed quickly. The ship was tossed up on end, her hull sending out shattered hunks of debris, spewing fire and rubble as she began to spin end over end. Another explosion followed, as deep in her bowels her reactors were breached, and the Harbinger vanished in a blinding supernova of light and nuclear fire.

"Lords of Kobol!" said Coxcoxtli, as the other ship evaporated into oblivion.

"Move us back, helm," ordered Dayton. "Out of the range of possible debris."

"Aye, sir."

"That was . . . impressive," said Baltar.

"Malus?" said Dayton, turning to the IL.

"Commander?" replied the other, placidly, disconnecting himself from the ship's mainframe.

"What did you do? Specifically."

"Simple. I wrote a new program, overriding the missile's failsafe and tracking instructions. I made it believe that the Harbinger had uploaded new targeting instructions, and sent it back where it came from."

"Holy Saints! What ever made you think of that?"

"Simple, Commander. I just asked myself, what would Starbuck do?"

"You're not just a pretty face, Mal." Dayton quipped before he turned to look at the cloud of cooling wreckage that had been the Cylon Abaddon-class Base Ship, Harbinger.

"That was brilliant, Mal," said Dorado.

"I didn't know it was possible," Baltar nodded, as impressed as the others.

"These missiles and their control systems are older, Baltar," said Malus. "They are more vulnerable to modern attacks."

"Thank the Lords," replied Baltar.

"I hope you've upgraded ours?" asked Dorado.

"Oh yes," said Malus. "That was taken care of, before our launch. It was only during my tie-in to the Harrower's systems that I saw the potential gap in their shields, as it were."

"You amaze me, Malus," said Baltar. "Honestly."

"You really hated him, didn't you?" asked Dayton.

"I believe I did. He hurt Starbuck," said Malus, flatly. "He had to pay."

"Speaking of which," Dayton inserted. "Prepare a shuttle. I'm going down to Mt. Cadoc."

"I should very much like to join you, Commander," Malus inserted.

"Of course," Dayton nodded. He could almost picture the Malus-Starbuck reunion, but it was coming off as too much like a bad romance movie. His strike captain really needed to have a "heart to central processor" talk with the Cylon.

"As would I, Commander," Baltar added, his features suddenly veiled as he awaited and probably expected Dayton to fire him into the Brig for their return trip to the Fleet. "I would . . . I'd be in your debt . . ." he trailed off, obviously having difficulty saying those words, the distaste written on his features.

"You're not planning to stay behind, are you, Baltar?" Dayton asked frankly. "It's my duty to take you back to the Fleet where you'll continue to serve out your sentence . . ."

Baltar raised a hand, shaking his head, as the Earthman slowly clamped his lips together and crossed his arms over his chest. "I merely want to see this through . . . and say goodbye to the Angylions. Nothing more. You have my word."

"There was a time your word wouldn't have meant much, Baltar," Dorado ventured.

"I think they call it yesterday," Coxcoxtli inserted poignantly.

"And there it is, out in the open like a zit on the end of your nose. What about now?" Dayton asked his bridge officers, his gaze moving around the Control Centre and settling on each Colonial Warrior who would meet his eyes. He could definitely detect some mixed emotions. "Speak up!"

"He certainly lent a credence to our ruse, Commander," Malus inserted. "But perhaps you would give scant weight to my opinion on Baltar, especially since I also once dedicated my service to the Imperious Leader."

Dayton raised his eyebrows, considering the IL. "I never met a leopard that could change its spots, Mal. At least, until I met you." Then he pressed onward before he felt the need to apologize to a cyborg for his previous borderline hostility. "As you all know, I'm an Earthman, and what this man single-handedly did to your home worlds didn't touch me on the same personal level that it touched all of you. So I'm going to leave the decision up to you." He fanned his hand out, encompassing them. "All in favour of Baltar having a couple more hours . . . er, centars of freedom, say 'aye'. All against, say 'nay'."