CHAPTER 17

THE DARK BEFORE THE DAWN

"I suppose that I should relish my new-found freedom," Six ruefully commented. She was peering out through the tent flap, while behind her Eric Lackey was rushing around, hastily stuffing his belongings into a pair of bulky knapsacks. The two marines, who normally followed her everywhere, had simply vanished.

"It's so quiet," she continued, "and so still. There doesn't seem to be anyone moving around out there at all."

"It's the dark before the dawn," Eric tersely responded. "Right now, my people are digging in … preparing for the worst. And on the other side … frankly, the marines have got better things to do than babysitting a Six who's been a model prisoner. But trust me. As soon as Baltar gets his head out of his ass, we're gonna have front row seats to a bloodbath."

"If … we're still here." Six trailed off, but there was no mistaking the note of uncertainty in her voice. "Eric, are you sure that we should be doing this? If I turn myself into the police, Caprica … my sister … she'll keep me safe."

"Or maybe she'll have you boxed on the premise that any Cylon who sleeps with a Sagittaron must be mentally unbalanced. Hell, Six, I don't have the answers. At this point, all I know for sure is that I love you, I want us to be together, and it's just way too dangerous for us to stay here. Right now, I say that we clear out, find a place to lie low until this mess gets sorted, and then we decide what we're gonna do."

"But we'll be fugitives," Six protested. "Eric, right now, you haven't done anything wrong. But I'm a convicted criminal; if you help me escape and they catch us, they'll put you in jail too. Then, we'll never be together."

"It's a big planet, Six, and it'll be hours … maybe days … before anyone realizes that we've flown the coop. By the time the police catch on, we'll be long gone."

"But where, Eric … where are we going to go?"

"For a start, we'll work our way upstream. We pack blankets and clothing, enough food to last a week, and we find a cave that we can hole up in. Rumor has it that there are thousands of them in the cliff face … about fifty miles north of here. Then we live off the land. We hunt and we fish. Trust me, Six: I'm good at this. We won't freeze to death, and we won't starve. I'll keep you safe. I promise."

Eric pulled her close, and gave his Six a long, lingering kiss. Her happiness crisply defined the boundaries of his universe.

"I love you, Eric," she sighed as she rested her brow against his forehead. "And no matter what happens, I will never stop loving you. If you think this is best …"

"I do," he replied in a voice brimming with confidence. "Now, we want our hands to be free, so let's get these packs up onto our shoulders."

They took turns helping each other to balance the bulky backpacks, and then Eric handed Six one of his military issue handguns. She looked at the gun curiously.

"It's amazing the things that people lose when they're out working in the fields," he joked. Finally, Eric picked up the hunting rifle that he had purchased on the black market. They were ready to go. Without a backward glance, the darkly handsome young Sagittaron led Six out of the tent, and together they cautiously made their way toward the outskirts of the city.

. . .

When Marc Jacobs stormed through the door, the grim expression on his face told Philista and Sharon everything that they needed to know. Although she was not even showing, Philista's hands nevertheless flew protectively to her belly.

"Gods, what a mess," he said with a resigned shrug. "The Sagittarons have gone completely round the bend. Shooting up the hospital … gunning down a whole squad of marines sent in to arrest one of the terrorists … it's all falling apart."

"What is the President doing to restore order," Sharon asked. Marc and Philista both understood that she was really asking how Sharon Baltar had decided to deal with the crisis. Gaius Baltar had turned out to be a good president in large part because he had a lively sense of his own limitations. He wasn't a politician, and he cheerfully conceded it. When Billy Keikeya and Tory Foster spoke, he listened. When they were sufficiently insistent, he dutifully followed their advice. He was easily bored by administrative routine, and was only too happy to turn the day-to-day governance of New Caprica over to his wife. He never tried to undermine her, nor did he try and take credit for her accomplishments.

"Baltar's declared martial law," Marc summarized. "He publicly executed Quentin Margus, the Sagittaron delegate to the Quorum, for treason. Can you believe the bastard grew enough balls to pull the trigger himself?"

"People shouldn't underestimate Gaius," Sharon mused. "He was the driving force behind our coup against the Cavils. He treats the centurions well, so they'll fight for him without hesitation."

"Well, he's now put out edicts suspending habeas corpus, freedom of the press, and freedom of assembly. There's a dusk to dawn curfew in effect, and that guy on The Colonial Gang … McManus? Mathias hauled him out of a press conference, and took him straight to jail. Can you believe that, in the midst of all this chaos, he had the nerve to ask Baltar whether the rumors about Earth being a burnt-out wasteland are true? The word is that a couple of Sixes have been sent in to teach him some manners."

"They should use his mouth for potty training," Philista laughed scornfully. "The seditious bastard has put out so much crap that a battalion of centurions would need a day to shovel it all up."

"So, when's Adama going to send in the marines," Sharon wanted to know.

"Maybe never," Marc sheepishly replied.

"Huh?" Philista was so astonished that her mouth fell open.

"Adama has come out in support of Baltar; however, he wants to minimize casualties on our side by sending in the centurions. But the President wants to resolve the crisis with what he's calling 'a human solution'. He doesn't want the Cylons or the centurions to become involved. It's a stalemate, but it won't last long because the marines want blood. Sergeant Hadrian wasn't particularly well liked, but her command respected her, and having her brains blown out by a sniper at long range isn't going down well in the ranks."

"You're right, Marc; it's a mess." And it's becoming increasingly obvious that the only reason your primate ancestors got up on their hind legs was so that they could pick up clubs with their forepaws and start beating each other to death. How you've survived as a species to this point is a mystery for which not even God may have the answer. "What, if anything, can we do to help?"

"Thanks, Sharon; I knew that I could count on you." Jacobs leaned forward and tenderly kissed the gorgeous young Cylon who had become so intrinsic a part of his life. "I made the rounds. I told Gianna O'Neill and Sharon Agathon to get themselves and the babies out here as quickly as possible. Esther Cohen has already taken David and gone to ground; she had enough sense to appeal to the Eights for protection. They took her in, no questions asked."

"What about D'Anna … what about Samuel?"

"D'Anna won't leave Major Cottle, so they're still in the hospital." Marc looked at Sharon with sudden concern. "Don't worry, sweetheart; they're safe. The centurions have cordoned off the whole facility. They've even put two missile batteries up on the roof."

"Are the babies really in danger?" Philista simply didn't want to believe that anyone could be cruel enough to harm newborns.

"Yeah," Jacobs grudgingly conceded. He looked at Sharon, but he didn't know how to soften the blow. "The Sagittarons regard all of us as blasphemers. They consider the children an affront to the gods. Given the chance … they'll kill them."

"They sound just like the Cavils," Sharon spat. "Those bastards should have moved to Sagittaron decades ago, and left the rest of us to settle our differences peacefully. It's nice to know that, when it comes to hatred and intolerance, Cylons and humans are about evenly matched."

"Amen to that," Marc echoed.

Sharon picked up her hunting rifle, and pocketed a spare box of cartridges. Without another word, she headed for the door.

"Sharon, what are you doing? Where are you going?" Philista was on the verge of panic.

"I'm going to check the perimeter," the Eight grimly declared. There was a fierce gleam in her eyes. "My sisters will be here shortly … in strength. They will expect me to have a deployment plan already in place, and I don't intend to disappoint them. We will do whatever it takes to keep the babies safe."

Philista started to protest, but Marc shushed her. Their house was on the edge of a forest that Sharon knew intimately. The huntress would pin down their weak points, and compensate for them.

"Phi, we're gonna have a lot of company tonight," he said in what he hoped was a soothing tone. "You and I … we need to figure how we're gonna feed everybody and where to bed them down. Let's get to it."

. . .

"Damn it, dad, you of all people should know better! You grew up during the first war. How many of your friends eventually went home in body bags because in the beginning people like your uncle Sammy thought using centurions to fight the Tauron civil war was a really clever idea? How in the name of God could you even think about going down this path?"

Lee's voice had turned shrill, but it barely registered his anger and frustration.

"Don't lecture me, son," Bill coldly replied. "This is a numbers game. The centurions can take the hits. The marines can't. It's as simple as that."

"As simple as that," Lee echoed incredulously. He looked around the admiral's office, seeking support from any quarter when he suddenly realized that this was an almost exclusively cylon gathering. Ellen and Saul Tigh had shuttled up from the surface along with Lee and Creusa. Shelly was seated at her husband's side, and Sonja was standing quietly in the background. The only other human in the room was Colonel Alexander Phillips; the combat engineer was the senior marine officer, and the crisis had found him hard at work on Galactica. Together, Phillips and Peter Laird were currently supervising a thorough overhaul of Cloud Nine. With the refit of the massive Zephyr finally behind them, Phillips had been looking forward to spending a couple of quiet days at his favorite fishing hole—an ice cold, rushing mountain stream more than a hundred miles north of the settlement. The insurrection had put an abrupt end to his well-conceived plan to warm up Galactica's ice cold Cylon XO. He badly wanted to see what Sonja's eyes looked like in the glow of a campfire.

"You've been busy," Lee noted as he fingered the white, wooden crib at the foot of his father's desk. There was a rocking chair that had not been in evidence on his last trip, but it was the crib and the diaper pail stored beneath it that gave the admiral's quarters the air of a nursery.

"John cleaned out the Colonies." Shelly was speaking up for the first time. However delicately, Lee was suggesting that his father hadn't been paying attention to business. Bill hadn't caught the implied criticism, so it fell to Shelly to defend her husband. "Natalie brought back enough cribs to house thirty-five thousand babies. Making choices can be a bit overwhelming, so we have given Polyxena a free hand to put the nursery together. If Creusa needs help, I'm sure that Xena would be delighted to assist."

"Thank you, sister." Creusa's smile did not quite reach her eyes: she wasn't about to let another Six run circles around her husband. "You are fortunate that your adoptive daughter knows so much about infants. But we are not without our own resources. Shevon has taken us both under her wing, so much so that little Paya is eagerly awaiting the birth of her baby sister."

"Oh, yes; I remember … the prostitute with the proverbial heart of gold. I don't get down to the settlement very often. Is it true, then? Have the Sixes and the prostitutes formed a sisterhood?"

"Yes," Creusa solemnly agreed. "We're all just one big, happy family." No one present missed the heavy note of irony in her voice. "Even Anthia has learned how to change a diaper."

"It helps that none of the prostitutes are Sagittaron." Lee caught the undercurrent of tension in the room, but he wasn't quite sure what his wife and Shelly were up to. In any event, he wanted to get the discussion back on topic. "Nor are there any conflicts of interest among the marines. Captain Lysander is having a hard time keeping them in check. They want this mission, dad; they want it very badly."

"And that's precisely the problem," Adama countered. "This could turn into the Gideon all over again, only on a much larger scale. The marines want payback, and that guarantees more casualties than I'm prepared to tolerate. The centurions can carry out this assignment with surgical precision, and the intimidation factor alone will cause a lot of the Sagittarons to surrender without a fight."

"Admiral, may I ask a question?"

"Go ahead, Colonel."

Phillips rubbed his chin while he thought about how best to phrase what he wanted to say. Finally, he looked the admiral straight in the eye.

"What do you think Major Bierns would do in this situation?"

Adama started to reply, but then his jaw closed with an audible snap. He glanced at Shelly. She wasn't military, but her instincts were sound. Bill was acutely aware of the fact that things tended to go badly whenever he failed to follow her advice.

"Colonel, I think I'll let my wife field that one."

"John would encourage us to seek common ground," Shelly thoughtfully answered. She wanted to mollify her sister, but without undercutting her husband. "He would see in this tragedy an opportunity to bring Cylon and human closer together."

"We're talking about a joint forces mission," Saul prompted.

"A compromise," Ellen agreed. The Tighs had been thinking along these lines from the beginning.

Bill thought it over, and decided to take the out that Shelly had offered him. "So, who do we want to take charge of planning the operation and carrying it out?" Bill looked around the room while he continued to think out loud. "It has to be someone acceptable to the president, the centurions, and the marines. That's a tall order."

"Not really, Bill; in fact, I'd say that our choice is rather obvious." Shelly looked expectantly at Lee Adama. She knew exactly how to please her sister.

"What? Hey, wait a second," Lee protested. "I'm a pilot. I don't know a damned thing about ground warfare!"

"Who better for the job than the President's National Security Advisor," Saul grinned. He began to tick off points on his fingers. "You know every hidey-hole in the settlement. You want to save lives. You know how to put our air superiority to good use. You're married to one of my daughters. You work well with centurions, and the marines hate your guts. You're the perfect choice!"

"Congratulations, Lee; the job's all yours." Bill stood up, and walked over to shake Apollo's hand. "I know that you won't let us down!"

. . .

Eric and Six cleared the last row of tents in the dying light of the late afternoon sun. He halted in the lengthening shadows, and knelt in the patchy grass. Six dropped down beside him, and began systematically to scan the fields that now lay directly in front of them. She was looking for the telltale signs of movement; Eric was studying the ground itself. He didn't want to leave a trail for anyone to follow, which left him with two options: cut across dry ground, or stay on an already well-trodden path. He preferred the former alternative to the latter; the thought of running into a centurion out in the open made him nervous in the extreme.

"Do you see anything," he asked. He knew that Six's vision was much sharper than his own.

"No," Six replied as she continued to study the terrain. "If there's anyone else out here, they're hiding."

"Everybody's probably gone home. If I was in their shoes … after what happened to Quentin Margus, I'd take the curfew pretty damned seriously. Still, we'll play it safe … wait until true dark."

"That won't help if there are centurions out here. With their infrared vision, they can lock in on our heat signatures. Cooling temperatures actually work to their advantage."

"But you can get us past them, right? Order them to ignore us, erase the encounter from their logs, and overwrite it with false data?"

"In theory, the centurions can't tell one Six from another, so that should be possible. But I would prefer not to put the theory to the test."

"I hear you. So, here's what we're gonna do. One of the Eights has shacked up with a couple of humans. They've build themselves a cozy little love nest out on the edge of the forest. We're gonna start out in the opposite direction, but once we're well out in the fields, we'll change course and start circling in their direction. We'll take it slow, avoid walking in a straight line, and enter the woods a couple of hundred yards to the south of the house. Then we'll just walk right up to the door, knock politely, and ask for help. If they ask, we're just another couple of refugees fleeing the chaos in the settlement."

"Once we're in the forest," Six frowned, "we should probably start making a lot of noise … give the Sharon plenty of advance warning that we're in the neighborhood."

Eric looked at her inquiringly.

"Trust me, Eric; it's not a good idea to try and sneak up on an Eight in the dark. In fact, it's about the worst idea imaginable. They're hunters, and the forest is their natural element. If she decides to take us down, we'll never see her coming."

The unlikely lovers gave it another half hour, and then set off on their trek across the fields.

. . .

"He's so small," the Sharon whispered. She was cradling David Cohen in her arms; the baby was asleep, and she didn't want to wake him. "So light and so fragile," she added in a tone that was filled with wonder. She had never held a child before, never mind a newborn, and this one simple act was unleashing powerful emotions unlike anything that she had ever experienced. How odd, she thought. It feels like I'm being tossed about by stormy waves on a raging sea, and yet I've never known such complete peace. This is my purpose in life.

"Yes, but babies grow up so fast," Esther observed. "That's why every day- even the ones that make you feel like you want to run screaming into the night- are to be treasured. The first time they laugh, their first steps, the first time he'll say 'mama' … every moment is to be treasured."

Sharon was sitting at the kitchen table, Esther kneeling at her side. She ran her fingers affectionately through her son's blond locks, and the Eights that quietly circled them could feel her love for the child pouring out of her in waves.

Out in the living room, Hera Agathon was up to her usual tricks. She let out a warning cry whenever one of the other Sharons got close enough to try and take her from her mother's arms. Sherman O'Neill, in contrast, cooed contentedly as he was periodically passed from one Eight to the next. With her husband's encouragement, Gianna had decided to give her sisters-in-law a taste of what motherhood was all about. Hopefully, a few of them would be inspired to make a more determined effort to lure a human into marriage.

Karl Agathon surveyed the room, and chuckled knowingly. The Queen of Heaven, which had somehow become his daughter's nickname, was regally presiding over the Liu household, which currently resembled nothing quite so much as a giant maternity ward.

The door burst open, and another Eight charged into the room. "We've got company," she said without preamble. "There are people out in the woods, and they're coming this way. Given the amount of noise they're making … well, we need to get ready."

The atmosphere in the living area changed instantly. It was, Karl thought, as if someone had thrown a switch. In the blink of an eye, the hitherto maternal Sharons were transformed into very determined predators.

"Our sister is tracking them now," the Eight went on. "If she senses danger, she'll eliminate the threat."

. . .

"Six, I feel like an idiot! We're making enough noise to wake the dead!"

In the dim light cast by the nebula, Six spotted a dead branch off to her right. She sidestepped, and put her foot down hard. The branch snapped with a loud crack.

"It's better to wake the dead than to join them," she countered.

"I started hunting with my dad when I was eight years old," Eric reminisced. "Bow and arrow season came first … in the early fall. All those years … and I never even came close. But when it came time to lock and load … five years in a row, Six … five years in a row! I brought down a buck … put food on the table. I know how to do this."

"Stop!" Six raised her arm into the air, commanding Eric not to take another step.

"Sister? I know that you're out there. We need your help. Why don't you show yourself?"

"Tell the human to put the rifle down," Sharon instructed. She was off to their left, somewhere in the shadows.

"We have you surrounded." It was another Eight, speaking from behind them. "We're not your friends, Six … and we are most definitely not your sisters! Don't think for a moment that we'll hesitate. From our point of view, the easiest way to deal with this situation is to kill the both of you. Maybe you'll resurrect … but then again … maybe not. So, do exactly what we tell you to do, or deal with the consequences."

"Hey! Easy … easy," Eric called out as he slowly lowered the rifle to the ground. "All we want is a place to hide tonight, and safe passage in the morning. We don't want to make trouble for you, or anybody else. We just wanna get out of New Caprica before everything goes to Hell."

Four Sharons emerged from the woods and advanced slowly toward the Cylon and the human. "Do you have any other weapons," one of them queried.

"Yes," Six replied. "Sidearms … hunting knives … we're planning to head north, and live off the land."

"Then put your hands in the air … both of you," Sharon commanded. Eric and Six hastened to obey. One of the Eights came up behind them, and ran her hands roughly up and down their bodies. She found the handguns, and casually tossed them to one of her sisters. Eric told her that the knives were in their knapsacks; two of the other Sharons promptly relieved them of their packs.

"You seem to know the way," Sharon Liu sarcastically commented, "so, by all means, lead on!"

. . .

"Mister President, for what it's worth … I agree with you completely. From a military point of view, my father's thinking is tactically sound, but he's not a politician and he doesn't appreciate how delicate the present situation really is. Shelly and Saul persuaded him to accept this compromise, and you have to admit that a joint operation is a much better option than having the centurions storming the barricades."

Lee Adama nodded almost imperceptibly in the direction of Marcus Lysander. Upon returning to the surface, Apollo had set off in search of the veteran marine officer. The two men had quickly cobbled together a mission plan that divided responsibility for the assault on the Sagittaron sector between them. Apollo would use his aerial assets to pin the insurgents down, and Lysander would lead the centurions and marines in a close quarters ground assault. Both men wanted to minimize casualties, but they also acknowledged that, even in a tent city, urban warfare could get real ugly, real fast.

"We can take the terrorists down," Lysander confidently remarked. "Counter insurgency training is something that the marines have stressed ever since the last Tauron civil war. Our problem is manpower. We just don't have enough bodies to secure the streets that we're sweeping. So, Captain Adama and I have tasked the centurions to police the perimeter, which will increase in depth as we push forward. No one, not even a Sagittaron, is going to get too frisky around a seven foot tall titanium killing machine."

"I want you to take their Elders alive … especially Cyrus Uri." Gaius had decided to be blunt. "We'll give them a show trial. But I also want to send a message to the Sons of Ares … let them know that there are lines that cannot be crossed, and that there will always be consequences for those who go too far."

"In short, the Sagittaron Brotherhood has outlived its usefulness," Sharon Baltar said in a deadpan tone.

"I'll take charge of the centurions personally," Caprica announced. "My presence will underscore the fact that this is a police operation. But Marcus, I want you to take one of my sisters into custody as well. I'm referring to one of the Sixes who were convicted of war crimes. She was supposed to return to her cell two hours ago, but so far hasn't put in an appearance. Six has a Sagittaron boyfriend—a relationship that we have encouraged as a means of integrating her into the community. She may not think that it's safe to leave their tent, or she may be taking advantage of the current crisis in order to attempt an escape. Find her, and bring her to me."

. . .

"We have guests," Sharon announced as the other Eights herded Eric and Six into the crowded living room. "Uninvited … unwanted …"

"The human can stay," one of her sisters interrupted. She had stood up and was boldly looking the Sagittaron male over from head to toe. She decided that he had the same dreamy hair as Gaius Baltar, only it was thicker and darker. "He's not bad looking … although his taste in women is certainly subject to question."

This elicited a round of soft chuckles from every corner of the room.

"But I've agreed to put them up for the night," Sharon continued, ignoring the interruption. "But only for the night; they'll be moving on in the morning."

"What are you doing here," another Eight pressed. "There's a curfew in effect. Why aren't you in the settlement?"

"I'm a Sagittaron," Eric confessed; "at least, that's where I was born and raised. But I'm not one of those pig-headed morons who go around digging up roots and eating the bark off of trees—and I am definitely not in the habit of murdering doctors and shooting at colonial marines. I figure that Baltar won't settle for executing Quentin Margus because the marines won't let it go at that. They want revenge, and my people will hunker down and fight back. They'll fight back hard. Six and I don't want to be caught in the crossfire."

"So the Sagittarons won't give up the murderers and allow justice to run its course?" Gianna O'Neill was aghast. "That's insane!"

"The Sagittarons have a chip on their shoulders the size of Mount Olympus," Esther Cohen observed. "In fairness, they've been persecuted for so long that a lot of them have probably developed a martyr complex."

"All for one, and one for all," Philista snorted. "They're inviting a massacre."

"Yeah," Eric agreed; "like I said to Six earlier, this is only going to end one way … with a bloodbath."

"Are these the hybrid babies?" Six, who had so far remained silent, was staring at the three infants, all of whom were now being coddled by Eights. Her features, and her demeanor, had noticeably softened.

"Yes," Sharon Agathon answered. "This is my daughter, Hera …"

"Otherwise known as 'the Queen of Heaven', Helo laughed.

"And the two boys are Sherman O'Neill, and David Cohen." Sharon pointed at each of them in turn.

Six walked slowly across the room, and dropped to her knees in front of the Eight who was cradling David in her arms. The baby was still sleeping soundly.

"He's so beautiful," she murmured. "Truly, God has smiled upon the cylon." She reached out, and with a single finger gently stroked David's cheek.

"My son was conceived on Caprica," Esther bitterly reminded her; "inside one of your breeding farms. I very much doubt whether your god smiles upon rape."

"But you weren't raped," Six protested. "No one violated you. Artificial insemination is … well, it's not rape!"

"If you think that, then you really are a machine," Esther scoffed. "I don't even have the cold comfort of knowing which model is the father. How am I supposed to explain all of this to my son when he's old enough to start asking questions?"

"Leoben … one of the Twos … he's David's father. He was killed in the battle where I was captured. He's still boxed … on the resurrection ship."

"How do you know," Esther squeaked. "How could you possibly know?"

"I ran the program … kept all of the records."

"You ran the program?"

"Yes … I ran the program. Your child is one of the crimes for which I have been condemned in the human court. I still do not understand. How can it be a crime to bring something so beautiful into the universe?"

A snarl escaped Esther's lips, and then she slapped the Six so hard that she landed on her back. Eric and Karl both rushed forward to prevent further violence, but Esther had already started to calm down.

"Leoben would be so proud of his son," Six wistfully remarked as she climbed to her feet. "He volunteered for the program because he wanted to have children. If you unbox him," she explained as she turned to address Sharon Agathon, whom she reckoned to be the real authority figure in this room, "he would prove a devoted father. David would never want for anything."

"It will snow in Hades before I let a Two anywhere near my son," Esther fumed.

"All of the information relevant to the birth fathers is in the stream," Six went on. She was still looking directly at Sharon. "You can access it easily. Shouldn't the father be reunited with his son?"

. . .

She was unconscious one moment, and in the next fully awake. It was like that with Cylons.

Boomer looked out through the canopy, and was chagrined to realize that she didn't recognize any of the star patterns spread out before her. She lowered the Raptor's nose, hoping that a change of scene would also change her luck. A planet lazily swam into view.

"What the …"

She ripped her helmet away, and pressed her nose against the canopy.

"It has to be an optical illusion," she yelled out loud.

Maybe I'm trapped inside a projection … maybe I'm dead. Maybe this is Heaven.

It was a blue world—a world of oceans girdling continents in varying shades of green and brown. Fleecy white clouds crowned the whole.

Boomer dropped into orbit, and slowly began to chase the sun. She left an ocean behind her—one so vast that it could easily have swallowed most of the Colonial worlds. An enormous mountain range spread out before her, the high peaks everywhere capped with fields of ice. Beyond the mountains lay desert. Eventually, she crossed over to the night side, and this time what she saw literally took her breath away. There were no satellites in orbit, no electronic emissions for her instruments to capture, but far beneath her, in scores if not hundreds of locations, the telltale flicker of firelight told its own story. The flames reached out to her as if in greeting.

Inhabited … my God … this world is inhabited!

Coming quickly to a decision, Boomer slipped out of orbit and headed for the surface. She would land somewhere under the cover of night, near a city or a town, and set off on foot to learn what she could. Her instruments had already informed her that the atmosphere was breathable, and gravity within ten percent of Caprican norms. Following established protocols, she would accordingly sample the flora and, if possible, the fauna. Initially, she would observe the inhabitants from a distance. However, if she could devise a plan that did not involve serious risk, she fully intended to introduce herself to one of the locals before returning to space.

Boomer set the Raptor down in the desert to the west of a river valley that appeared to be densely populated. A heavily eroded gulley provided natural concealment. With binoculars and camera in hand, she set off across the arid wilderness. There was a settlement of some kind seven or eight kilometers due east of her present position. It seemed like a good place to start.