Warning: this chapter contains explicit sexuality.

CHAPTER 31

AFTER MIDNIGHT

"What in the name of Hades is going on?" Eric was keeping his voice low, but even in the darkness Six could register the surprise in his voice—the surprise, and the alarm.

"What do you mean," she asked, deliberately keeping her voice calm. She could see bonfires in the distance, but everything else was in deep shadow.

"Here, take a look." Eric passed her the binoculars, and pointed in the direction of one of the bonfires.

Six magnified the image in the viewfinder, and studied the scene. "They're burning something in a large barrel," she commented. "There are men standing around, and some of them are rubbing their hands. They're attempting to stay warm," she guessed. "But why are they there at all? It's after midnight; the streets should be deserted."

Six began accessing data stored away in a number of her onboard cultural programs. "Are they making a sacrifice to their gods? Are we eavesdropping on some kind of religious celebration?" The behavior of the men she was watching through the binoculars puzzled her.

"No," Eric snorted; "you're right, they're burning trash in order to stay warm. Look again, but this time focus on the wall behind them. Do you see the placards that are stacked up there?"

Six shifted her focus, and waited for her night vision to cut in. Then she studied the shadowy background. "I see them," she confirmed. "There's writing … wait … wait … what does 'unfair to the working man' mean?"

"It means that those guys are walking a picket line," Eric laughed. "Can you believe it? The human race has barely survived the apocalypse. They're lucky to have solid ground under their feet, and now these guys have gone out on strike."

"`On strike' … what does that mean?"

"It means that they won't work unless their demands are met—higher pay … a chicken in every pot … who the hell knows what they want? Frankly, I don't care."

"Does this mean that we have to change our plans?"

"Yeah … yes, it does. With so many people hanging around, we're not going to be able to break into a warehouse and just take what we want. So, what we're gonna have to do is a lot more dangerous. We'll have to walk the streets, look for containers that are out in the open, and steal as many as we can carry."

"Wouldn't it be safer to create a distraction? Why don't we start a fire near one of the warehouses? Wouldn't that draw the …?

"The strikers," Eric finished for her.

"Wouldn't that draw the strikers away from the other warehouses long enough for us to break in and steal what we need?"

"That might work," Eric conceded. And then he cheered up. "What the hell, it's certainly worth a try!"

. . .

"All right, everyone, you all know the score." Kara looked around the control room; every station was manned, and there was a palpable tension in the air. "Alpha's scouts have spotted Raiders in the next system, which means that the Cavils got here first. The odds are good that for them this is just a pit stop on the way to the cylon Earth. The question is: what are we going to do about it? Do we flee or fight?"

"Kara, Adriatic isn't equipped to go toe to toe with a baseship, so shouldn't we be asking Alpha and Sam what they want to do? They've got the firepower. We don't." Luke Hammond was voicing the thought on every mind in the chamber, both human and cylon.

"When we get done here, I'll go over and talk to them. What I'm looking for right now is tactical input. If we fight, we give away our position. If we leapfrog the system, we may reach the algae planet first, but we'll be looking over our shoulders the whole time. We can't run and hide forever. So, do we fight here, where we have the element of surprise, or do we put it off for another day?"

"Captain, do we know anything about the size and disposition of the enemy force?" Deitra Symonds had gone on far too many recon missions not to appreciate the importance of real-time intelligence. A good officer never engaged the enemy unless the outcome was a foregone conclusion.

"No, we don't. We could be dealing with an isolated mining operation, or there could be a half dozen baseships sitting out there waiting for us, or someone like us, to come charging in."

"Then why take chances?" Ponytail looked around the circle of her friends, seeking support for her position. "Let's go find this temple of Sam's, learn what we can, and then blow it into the next universe. The one thing we do not want to happen is for the Cavils to get there first."

"Anybody else got anything to add?" Kara counted silently to five, and then nodded to herself. "No? Well, it just so happens that I agree with both Swordsman and Ponytail. I'll tell Alpha that we think it best to give this system a wide berth. If this is a race and Earth is the prize, we do not want to come in second!"

. . .

"So, whaddya think?" Carlotti glanced at the Vice-President, who was standing deep in the shadows. With his black trousers and black leather jacket, the man was all but invisible.

"We stay the course," Zarek replied. "Galactica's running down its supplies in order to keep the captains of the civilian ships off Baltar's back, but there's only so much Adama can do."

"You still don't think the bastard will send in the marines?"

"Not Adama … at least, not as long as we play it smart. You want to keep in mind that the admiral's father was a civil rights lawyer—one of the very best. Civil disobedience … the right to strike … these things mattered to Joe Adama, and he molded his son in his own image. As long as we don't do anything too outrageous, Galactica won't interfere. Once the other captains begin to turn up the heat, Adama will pressure Baltar to compromise."

"At which point good, old Wally Gray can kiss his fat, Caprican ass goodbye," Enzo snickered. "And once the Prince of Darkness is outta the picture, Baltar's days are numbered."

"Yes," Zarek agreed, "once the economy collapses, the people will rise up and demand new leadership—someone not beholden to the elite, a true champion of the masses."

"Can't have a revolution without a little bloodshed," the gangster muttered. Just thinking about what he was planning to do with Anthia Six made him hard as a rock.

"I know that you've got it in for the Sixes," Zarek warned, "and that's fine—but you want to be very, very careful. Zeus is married to a Six, and so is Apollo. If the gods choose to sleep, we should do nothing to interrupt their slumber."

"Hey, I hear you … and don't worry, it won't be all out war; I'm not that dumb. What I have in mind," Enzo laughed, "is more like a surgical strike … with the emphasis on surgery!"

. . .

"Why don't they do something?" Natalie was frustrated, and growing increasingly restless. She was not by temperament a patient person, and the waiting game that she was being forced to play turned cylon battle doctrine on its head. The Six had been conditioned to seize the initiative, and to bring overwhelming force to bear on her objective. She wanted to do something!

"This is a cat and mouse game," John explained. "Natalie, I know that you disapprove of such tactics- resurrection has always enabled you to charge in with all guns blazing- but deception is a vital part of warfare."

"We call it 'manoeuver warfare'," Hoshi added, "and right now, we're winning. We want to lead the Cavils away from New Caprica, and at the moment that's exactly what we're doing."

"But this rift doesn't run all the way through the nebula," D'Anna quietly protested. "We have to act before we reach the end, or the Ones will realize that we have deceived them."

"Let's give it a few more hours," Bierns suggested. "The Cavils aren't famous for their patience, so there's still a chance that they'll force the issue. But if they don't …"

"What do you have in mind?" Leoben was shrewdly appraising his nephew; he suspected that the First Born had already devised a contingency plan to cover this very eventuality.

"Oh, nothing dramatic," John said with a knowing smile. "We'll send scouts to our rear, and force the issue. We'll allow the Ones to bloody our nose a bit, and then we'll retreat in what will appear to be a full-scale panic."

"We call it 'running away to fight another day'," Hoshi grinned; "and it works every time!"

. . .

"It is good of you to visit us, Kara; you are always welcome on this ship."

"Thanks, Alpha." Kara favored the older hybrid with her most ingratiating smile. "I hope that Melania and Sam aren't causing you too much trouble."

"My time with the human female has been productive," Alpha replied, "and Maker Sam's insights into the basic nature of the biological Cylons have caused me to revise many of my behavioral algorithms." The hybrid gestured in Sam's direction. "It is clear that I have much to learn about emotion, but my programming is adaptive. I have already come to the conclusion that the Ones must be stopped before they inflict further damage upon us."

"Yeah, well, that's why I'm here," Kara admitted. "Adriatic doesn't have the firepower to take on an installation equipped with antiaircraft batteries, and we sure can't go toe to toe with a baseship or its Raiders. That's not our job. But in the first war, ships just like this one tore up the colonial fleet, so I'm guessing that you could hold your own against anything the Cavils have waiting for us. The question then becomes: do we attack while we have the element of surprise, or do we tiptoe around them and make for the algae planet with all speed?"

"Is there a course of action that you wish us to follow?"

"Adriatic's just a big fuel tank waiting to explode. We vote to run."

"It's the sensible thing to do," Sam interjected. "This isn't a Friendly. Why pick a fight when there's nothing to be gained even if you win?"

"Do I get a vote?" Melania's tone was peevish. She was the only human in the chamber, and she didn't like being ignored. Nor did she appreciate the impersonal way in which Alpha dismissed her as "the human female."

"Everybody gets a vote," Kara snorted. She didn't bother to add that some opinions counted for more than others.

"I say hit them … hit them hard. Make them bleed."

Melania was rubbing her belly, and Kara was quick to pick up on the gesture.

"Ooh, so aggressive," Kara mocked; "is the big, bad mama bear out to protect her cub?"

"Frak you, Starbuck." Melania shifted her attention to Alpha because Kara was right about one thing: the baseship had the guns, and Alpha controlled the baseship. What happened next would be her call.

"We can't hide forever," she pointed out in what she hoped was a suitably neutral tone, "but we don't have the firepower for a straight-up fight. Therefore, we need to use hit and run tactics to whittle the opposition down to size, which is exactly what's called for here. We should jump in, throw our best punch … then, jump out—the way the Resistance did back on Caprica. Do you remember, Sam?"

"Yeah, sure, I remember. But even when we pulled them off, those operations always cost us—people that we really couldn't afford to lose. And once, we walked straight into an ambush; one mistake, and it cost us more than half our force."

"You vote to attack an enemy force of unknown size and disposition." Kara was incredulous.

"Not the Adriatic; that would be suicide. But the Cavils don't know that the Adriatic is this far out. Alpha can nip at their heels. A tangible threat- and you can't get more real than a basestar- will pin the Ones down. She can buy you a few days … maybe even a few weeks … and that's time that you may well need inside the temple."

"So, you want Alpha to create a distraction, and in the confusion we slip by and keep on going. Works for us," Kara noted, "but it kind of leaves this ship up shit creek, don't you think?"

"This ship will fight," Alpha interjected. "We will stand, and we will fight. The Ones must be stopped," she repeated.

"Uh, sweetie, the last thing on Caprica we want to happen here is for this ship to stand and fight." Kara rolled her eyes in near disgust; Alpha was beginning to sound like one of those naïve idiots that the War College had churned out in such vast numbers. "What we're talking about here is a sucker punch … hittin' the other guy when he ain't expecting it. You stick a knife in the bastard, and then you run like hell … live to fight another day."

"How about this?" Melania studied the weird assortment of faces gathered around her. Even the old, first-war centurions in the control center had taken a break from their various tasks to gather round and listen. "We jump in close to this asteroid that the Ones seem to be mining, and we hit it with everything we've got. Then we jump away; give it two hours … enough time for them to concentrate their forces … before we jump back in a second time, only this time on the far edge of the system. If the odds favor us, we attack. If they don't, we leave—with hard intelligence about the size of the enemy force that we're up against. Adriatic and the basestar rendezvous later, at the algae planet, or some other set of coordinates that we cook up in advance."

"It is an excellent plan," Alpha decided. "We shall do as the human female proposes."

"Uh, Mel, what's this about us buying Kara a few days or weeks?" Sam was almost afraid to ask the question, because he had an unhealthy suspicion that he already knew the answer. "Where are we going to be when Alpha takes this basestar into battle?"

"Right here, of course … where else would we be?"

"Wait a second! Have you lost your frakking mind, or something?" Kara couldn't believe where this conversation was heading. The idea of a human taking effective command of a cylon baseship was too bizarre for words—and Melania Peripolides had no military training whatsoever.

"This is an alliance, Kara—a coalition. The centurions will fight alongside us, but you should not expect them to fight our battles for us." Melania had been on the basestar long enough to be very sure of her ground. "You take Lucifer with you; Sam and I will stay here, and we'll help Alpha and the centurions in any way that we can. And if anyone else on Adriatic wants to volunteer for this mission, I'm sure that their presence would be welcome … right, Alpha?"

"You are correct, Melania. Humans and biological cylons have much experience fighting the Ones, and we have none at all. We value the perspectives that your friends on the Adriatic have to offer. They can save us from costly tactical errors."

"Then, it's settled," Melania concluded.

"By your command," one of the centurions intoned before it turned away and resumed its duties.

. . .

"You know," Zarek said with a despairing laugh, "back on Sagittaron, I was convinced that the lunatics were all inside the walls—good men driven mad by the indifference of a society defined by greed and self-indulgence. But I'm beginning to think that I was wrong. Maybe it truly was the case that the inmates were sane, while the crazies ran the asylum. Certainly we have been condemned, my friend, to share the company of madmen."

"You're thinking about the Sons of Ares," Meier observed.

"It's not just Carlotti and the apes that do his bidding," Tom explained. "There's Demand Peace, the Sagittaron Brotherhood, and now the Colonial Worker's Alliance. How can so many people be content with living in a fantasy world? Why can't these fools see that we need to construct an entirely new social order—one rooted in community rather than the selfishness of the individual?"

"It's natural, Tom; most people think only about themselves." Meier took Zarek by the elbow, and steered him deeper into the shadows. It was well after midnight, and in the darkness it was hard to tell whether they were attracting unwanted attention. "We've got to be patient; Gemenon wasn't built in a day."

"I thought that I had this situation under control," Zarek confessed. "Use the strike to paralyze the government, get the Quorum to pressure Baltar to step aside, and peacefully take control. But Carlotti is certifiable. He actually thinks that the Sons of Ares can run around kidnapping and torturing Sixes, and somehow won't be held accountable for their actions."

"Do you want to take him off the boards?"

"What's the point? People like Carlotti are like weeds; pull one, and another sprouts up to take its place. Besides, we need the Sons of Ares to check Panyattes and the Six. We can't afford to let either side grow too powerful."

"So," Meier shrugged, "why not bring them both down? There's a lot of kindling there; someone just needs to light a match."

"I'm not following," Zarek admitted. He looked quizzically at his long-time confederate. Meier was an ex-marine turned mercenary, a terrorist for hire. He had ended up in prison only because one of his more treacherous employers had decided that betrayal was less costly than making the final payment on an expensive hit. Meier was still alive; his employer wasn't. Going out the window of a 41st floor office had guaranteed that he would have plenty of time to ponder the error of his ways. Meier and Zarek were like bookends; one balanced the other.

"What if a certain red-headed Six met with a particularly gruesome fate? The strike's shut down the paper mill; with only a handful of men walking the picket line at night, it would be easy for a bunch of bad guys wearing masks to break in and feed her to one of the pulp presses … feet first."

Zarek thought about it before nodding his head several times in agreement. "How could I have missed that," he asked rhetorically. "Panyattes won't waste time going to the police. He'll retaliate."

"And Baltar will have a gang war on his hands as well as a general strike. There'll be anarchy in the streets."

"Gaius will have to do something to restore order," Zarek mused.

"And no matter what he does- send in the marines … activate the centurions- he ends up looking like a dictator …"

"Which will spark a general uprising," Tom finished.

"Maybe, maybe not," Meier countered; "but the Astral Queen's finest will be ready to step in and make it happen."

"You're sure that we can still count on the men?"

"Positive. Adama made a big mistake when he confiscated the Queen, and the old fool doubled down when he refused to tell the crew what it was all about. The men are really angry, Tom; the Astral Queen stopped being a prison ship a long time ago. It was our refuge."

"And Zeus stretched forth his hand," Zarek recited, "and the assembled mortals quaked with fear. But anger stirred deep in their breasts, and the bravest of the band vowed to bring down Olympus."

"What the hell," Meier interrupted. Eyes narrowed, he was looking over Zarek's shoulder. The night sky had taken on an unnatural glow.

The Vice-President of the Colonies turned around and studied the horizon. "It's a fire," he quickly decided; "somewhere in the industrial zone. Fenner … it's got to be the Colonial Worker's Alliance! Fenner, or some of the hotheads in his union, have taken matters into their own hands."

"Burn, Baby, Burn!" The ex-mercenary couldn't believe their good fortune.

"We can use this, Tom," he said to his long-time cellmate. "We can make this work for us."

. . .

"What is it," Tory groaned. With the butterflies that were constantly fluttering in her stomach, getting to sleep had become one of life's daily challenges. She had never appreciated post-midnight phone calls and the political crises that invariably accompanied them, but now, with her pregnancy advancing, she positively dreaded them.

Mumbling in his sleep, Gaius rolled over to embrace Sharon. Courtesy of the cylon baseship, the three of them shared an oversized bed on Colonial One.

"Oh, frak," Tory cursed as she came fully awake. She hung up the phone, and with her elbow nudged Gaius hard in the ribs. If Tory Baltar was doomed to spend the rest of the night on her feet, at least she would not lack for company.

"Wha … what," the President mumbled. His eyes were still firmly shut.

"Get up, Gaius," Tory ordered. "Another frak-up has just landed on your desk."

"Wha … what is it this time?"

"A fire in the industrial district … one of the storage warehouses being picketed by the CWA."

"Arson … do you think that it's arson?"

"What else," Tory shrugged.

"Well … well … call out the fire department!"

Tory gaped, and then looked at her husband in stark disbelief. "Gaius," she reminded him, "we don't have a fire department!"

. . .

"Well, if we're going to do this," Kara ventured, "I guess I should come along for the ride. Somebody's got to scout out the opposition, and I'm still the best frakkin' Viper pilot in the history of the colonial fleet."

"No, Kara; you are the Guide." Alpha knew the scriptures, and the prophecies. There were centurions on the ship who had heard the holy words of the divine messenger, Sister Clarice. It had not been Alpha's lot to sit at the feet of the prophetess, but she was nonetheless a faithful servant of the One True God. "Your destiny lies elsewhere. Without you to shepherd us, our people will wander forever in the galactic wilderness. You must lead them home."

"Alpha has it right, Kara." The conviction in Sam's voice was so strong that Kara looked at him in surprise—but, then, she had never taken him for the religious type.

"All of this has happened before," he somberly observed. Sam was thinking of the exodus from Kobol, and the long years during which the thirteenth tribe had wandered homeless across the stars. "But we can break the cycle. For that to happen, you and John must fulfill your destinies. With or without us, you must stay the course—the Temple of Hopes … Earth … and whatever lies beyond."

. . .

"Time's up," Bierns announced. "The Ones aren't taking the bait, and we can't keep coasting along without arousing their suspicions. It's time to go to Plan B."

"I tend to agree," Hoshi said. "Should we use Raiders or Raptors to force the issue?"

"The Raiders can clear the nebula in one jump, so let's go with our best. We'll only need one scout to confirm the contact; the rest can beat feet."

"But the Raiders don't …"

Natalie was about to point out that the Raiders didn't have feet when it belatedly dawned on her that this was yet another of the innumerable colloquialisms that seemed to make perfectly good sense to everybody except Cylons.

"Never mind," she shrugged. "Leoben can compute the jump coordinates. We should also be able to clear the nebula in one jump; it's time to go home."

"No, no, no," the First Born protested.

Hoshi just grinned. He had already guessed what his hybrid friend had in mind.

"We're retreating deeper into the nebula," John stressed. In fact, we're going to jump right into that nest of Raiders that the Cavils have stationed ahead of us. An impromptu battle with a few losses on our side is just what the doctor ordered for this particular situation. Remember, we still want to lead the Ones in the wrong direction!"

. . .

"Will this do?" Six aimed her flashlight at a large wooden barrel.

"In a pinch, but I would prefer something made out of metal or plastic … easier to clean."

A few minutes earlier, Eric and Six had added arson to their already impressive list of crimes. Tylium soaked rags had started a nice bonfire inside one of the storage depots on the outskirts of the settlement, but it was how they had broken in that had left Eric in a daze. They had gone in through a side door secured with a lock—a very stout lock that Six had snapped with one sharp tug. In the mountains, she had demonstrated incredible stamina, but here in the city the Cylon was putting on an eye-popping demonstration of her inhuman strength.

They had raced out of the building, but only to wait in the shadows for the inevitable panic to take hold. Once the streets had emptied, Eric had chosen a new target—whose door Six had promptly ripped from its hinges.

"How about this one," she asked. She nodded in the direction of a heavy metal cylinder that looked like it might hold eighty to a hundred gallons of water.

Eric nudged it with his foot, but the huge barrel refused to budge. "Whatever's in there weighs a ton," he commented, "and we don't have anything to prize off the lid. It's on good and tight."

"Let me try," Six suggested. She used her fingers to loosen the flanges, which had been hammered securely into place; once she had a firm grip, she peeled the lid off as if it was made out of tin foil. She tossed it casually aside, and probed the interior with her flashlight.

"Ball bearings," she snorted. With one hand, she tipped the barrel on its side, spilling the contents all over the factory floor. "This should do nicely," she concluded.

"Uh, sweetheart; uh … remind me not to do anything to upset you," Eric stammered, "because it's just occurred to me that you could rip my head off without even trying!"

"Well," Six smirked, "all false modesty aside, I am faster than a speeding bullet, and I can leap tall buildings in a single bound. But," she added, "as you well know, I can also be as gentle as a summer shower. Just don't make me jealous."

"Now," she said brightly as she looked around the building's shadowy interior, "let's find another one of these containers. If you can carry the lids, I'll do the rest."

"But sweetheart," Eric protested, "this barrel looks like it will hold a hundred gallons of water easy. We can't just fill it at the spring and carry it up the ramp into the ship. It's too steep. We need to find some buckets or something … anything that we can use to carry water to the ship."

"If you say so," Six nonchalantly agreed, "but I should be able to manage on my own. It really won't be a problem."

Gods, Eric thought, I'm married to Superwoman!

. . .

"Contact," a startled Cavil yelled. "Natalie's Raiders have found us … and they're launching missiles!"

Six plunged her hand into the data stream, and swiftly reviewed the incoming data. "Would it be asking too much," she sneered, "for you to order our Raiders to knock them down? Never mind, I'll do it myself."

She sent the command, but it was a fraction too late. A lone missile, fired from extreme range, tore into the central pylon somewhere far below the control center. The ship bolted, and Six had to struggle to stay on her feet.

"Right," she muttered, "enough of this. I'm sending a hundred Raiders to give Natalie our best wishes."

Around the perimeter of the cylon fleet, Raiders on both sides initiated their jumps.

. . .

"Report, centurion," Alpha commanded.

"We have achieved complete surprise," the 0005 unit stoically replied. "Enemy fighters were overwhelmed and exterminated by our first wave. The asteroid death squadron successfully breached the staging tanks for the refined tylium precursor. The explosion and resulting shock wave have destroyed the entire facility. We lost four other attack vehicles. What are your orders?"

Alpha shifted her attention to Luke Hammond. Swordsman and the pair of Eights with whom he had mated were among the more than two dozen humans and Cylons who had volunteered to join the basestar and lead it into battle. The hybrid appreciated the human concept of "payback," and appreciated even more the power of hate to instil a sense of purpose.

Luke pondered Alpha's unspoken question. "Did any of the enemy Raiders manage to jump away," he finally asked.

"Three enemy fighters managed to escape," the centurion answered.

"So, there's at least one enemy mother ship somewhere in the vicinity," Swordsman concluded, "maybe more. You can bet that they'll be paying us a visit within the hour."

"What are your orders," the centurion repeated.

"We go with Melania's idea—withdraw our forces, give it two hours, and then jump back in on the outskirts of the system. If the Cavils are there, we want them to see who they're dealing with. The longer we pin them down here, the more time we buy for Adriatic."

"By your command," the centurion responded in its usual metallic voice. On a frequency far beyond the range of human hearing, the machine broadcast the recall order, and the ancient three passenger attack craft that had taken down the mining complex collectively turned around and headed for home.

. . .

"Our scout has returned," Leoben announced. His hand had not left the stream since the dispatch of their fighters. "We achieved complete surprise. The Raiders even got off a few missiles; apparently, at least one reached its target." The Two was grinning from ear to ear.

"We've got company," Angela yelled. The Eight was also in the stream, but she was monitoring it for signs of enemy contact. "A hundred Raiders, and they're coming fast. Present distance is 22 MU's, which will put them in weapons range in less than four minutes."

"D'Anna," Natalie ordered, "tell Six to come around and screen the resurrection ship. She is to launch Raiders, but for defensive purposes only." Natalie plunged into the stream, and simultaneously, Angela and Natalie issued the command that sent two hundred of their own fighters to engage the approaching enemy force.

"Do they have the escape coordinates," Bierns whispered to Racetrack. Natalie's cylon command staff was battle hardened, and the spook didn't want to do or say anything that would interrupt so well-oiled a machine.

"Six calculated the next jump," Racetrack whispered in return. She nodded in the direction of an isolated console in the corner of the control room where, with eyes closed, two identical blonds were directing the deployment of their Raider contingent. "I supervised the data transfer myself," she added.

"What about the tanker?" The vessel didn't warrant a hybrid, which made it effectively impossible for the spook to communicate with it.

"Two centurion pilots," Racetrack muttered, "and they're both up to speed. They'll follow the resurrection ship."

Wordlessly, John turned away, took a deep breath to steady his nerves, and then reached out mentally to connect with his three hybrid sisters. Once again, he found himself straddling the divide between dimensions, his body firmly anchored to the here and now while a large part of his mind raced to Galatea Bay.

He found Cassandra, Pelea and Reun standing on the beach, staring silently out to sea. They were all concentrating hard on some point beyond the distant horizon. He joined them.

"Let Cavil's Raiders punch through our defenses," the First Born reminded Reun. "Remember, we want to make it easy for them." The three hybrids had practiced the intricate series of moves that each was about to make more than once, but reality and simulations were two very different things, and Bierns knew it.

"As soon as they've launched their missiles," Bierns continued, "we start our jumps. Pelea, you go first; Cassie, you're next. Reun will bring up the rear, and the Raiders will catch up as best they can. Don't forget: if our calculations are correct, we'll come out right on top of Cavil's advance force. We have to sell them on the idea that we've been taken completely by surprise, and that we're in a state of panic. So once we jump, there can't be any coordination between the three of you; move around spontaneously, wait for the enemy to attack, and then flee to the standby coordinates."

"Multiple contacts," Angela triumphantly exclaimed. For once, the Cavils were obligingly playing the parts that Hoshi and Bierns had preassigned them. "We have four enemy baseships inbound at high speed! The bastards have decided to come out of hiding!"

. . .

"There you are," Six said with a malevolent grin. Her Raiders had already broken through Natalie's defensive lines, and in the stream she watched as a massive phalanx of missiles bore down on her sister's thoroughly outmatched force.

"Frak!" Six angrily pounded the console. In the stream, she could only watch helplessly as one of the rival baseships jumped away, leaving scores of Raiders to fend for themselves. Seconds later, the resurrection ship and the tanker also winked out of existence. Obviously confused, the surviving Raiders began to flee in ones and twos, hoping to find a way out of the trap.

But Natalie's baseship stubbornly stayed put, and her Raiders were efficiently dispatching the salvo of missiles directed at their nest.

"Well, well, well," Six declared; "what do we have here?" The cruel blond looked at D'Anna, who was still curled up on the deck, but closely observing everything happening around her. "It looks like my impetuous sister … or maybe it's your son, hmm? Anyway, it looks like one of them is prepared to fight." Six decided to send another four hundred Raiders Natalie's way. She was curious to see how Natalie would respond.

She didn't have to wait long. Natalie's ship suddenly flickered out of existence.

"Frak!" Six resumed pounding the console to vent her frustration.

. . .

"If it's not too much to ask," Cavil raged, "would somebody like to explain how we've managed to lose another tylium mine? I mean, it's not like this is the first time one of our fuel operations has been compromised. Were the frakking Raiders all taking their afternoon naps?"

"It wasn't the humans," one of his brothers said defensively. "The Raiders were slow to respond because they did not see the incoming vessels as a threat. They were cylon three passenger assault craft … relics from the first war. Lucifer is supposed to be on our side."

"Oh, please," Cavil sneered. "The IL's may be treacherous … they may even bear a grudge for what happened on the Colony lo those many years ago … but coming straight at us is simply not their style. Unh unh … nope … this is something else. There's a new player in the game."

"It could be the Guardian," still another One observed. "The abomination is out here somewhere, and it definitely bears a grudge."

"It might be the Imperious Leader," a fourth Cavil quietly pointed out. "After all, we've never been able to account for the ship that he and the fairy princess stole when they fled the Colony."

"I don't give a frak whether it was the ghost of Saturnalia past," John spat. "Let's get down to cases. We've just lost the only source of tylium within five hundred light years of this system. If anybody has something useful to say, I'd like to hear it."

"No?" John glanced swiftly around the chamber, but for once his siblings chose to keep their peace.

"Right," he said contemptuously. "Let's recall the Raiders … what's left of them … and get the frak out of here." The first One dipped his hand into the stream and was about to give the order when he paused. The Raiders patrolling the outskirts of the system suddenly had unwanted company.

. . .

"This is bizarre," Natalie complained. There were half a dozen Cylons in the control room, and she wondered whether the others were as troubled by this feigned retreat as she was. "We've deliberately jumped into the middle of a large body of enemy fighters, and Raiders on both sides are coming and going so quickly and in such numbers that I don't have to pretend to be confused. I am confused! Mr. Hoshi, should I be worried?"

"Not really, Commander," the XO replied. He wanted to say something that would reassure the Six, who was clearly having a hard time coming to grips with the importance of deception on the battlefield. "Humans are comfortable with what we call 'the fog of war'. We expect our battle plans to fall apart, and we don't mind making it up as we go along. For us, this is just another day at the office."

"Relax, Aunt Six." Bierns was trying to follow the battle in the stream; his overall sense was that things were going quite well. "The tanker and the resurrection ship have already jumped, and Pelea took her baseship with them. We don't seem to be in any danger. We'll hang around until the Cavils show up and throw a few more missiles at us, and then we'll bug out. But when this is all over, you're going to sit down and learn how to play Triad because you need to master the fine art of bluffing. A good commander needs the ability to think outside the box, so I want you to become as crazy as the rest of us."

"Margaret, does this make any sense to you?" What Natalie really craved was the reassurance of her lover.

"Well, it would help if you became more spontaneous," Racetrack diplomatically responded. The CAG wasn't referring to the battle currently underway. The Six displayed incredible stamina and enthusiasm in bed, but little imagination.

Bierns laughed out loud, and Hoshi grinned. Both men knew where Racetrack was coming from.

"Speaking of the devil," Angela interrupted. "Four more baseships have just joined the party. They're well outside weapons range."

"Are they closing?" John had yet to isolate them in the mass of data that Reun was transmitting through the stream.

"No … no; they're hanging back." Angela frowned at the data port. "Why aren't they attacking? They have us outnumbered four to one."

"Because they're as confused as we are," Bierns laughed. "Somebody over there has finally come to his senses. They suspect a trap."

"So, what do we do now?" Leoben's eyes were alight with mischief. He was beginning to enjoy this game.

"Why don't we give them a call? D'Anna, see if you can get them on the wireless."

. . .

"What the frak is going on," Cavil seethed. "Sensors are picking up one enemy ship; where the frak's the other one?"

"It jumped out with the resurrection ship and the tanker," Six declared. She was busily sorting out the mass of data that was cycling through the stream. "The Raiders are telling us that all three vessels jumped forty seconds ago, when they began closing for the kill."

"Well, why did Natalie stay behind? What the frak's going on," Cavil repeated.

"She's protecting their rear," Six surmised, "or maybe she's just trying to irritate us. She'll jump as soon as we get close."

"I don't like it," Cavil declared. "It's a trap of some kind."

"Don't be so paranoid, brother; Natalie will not leave her resurrection ship to fend for itself."

"And where the frak is Galactica? We're getting close, Six; Adama must be around here somewhere."

Six reached into her hip pocket and pulled out a slim, silver flask. Her idiot brothers had actually driven her to take refuge in a bottle. The ambrosia tasted wonderful, and it did wonders for her headaches. Once again, she toyed with the idea of defecting.

"They're hailing us," a different One excitedly exclaimed. "Shall I put it on speaker?"

"Why not," Cavil growled; "maybe they'll be good enough to tell us what the frak they're up to!"

"Hello, John," Six instantly purred. She had trotted out her most seductive voice because she was confident of her quarry. Only a human, or a hybrid, could inspire Cylons to run around in circles. "You're such a naughty boy, teasing us this way. You know, don't you, that I'll have to punish you for this? You really have been very, very naughty."

"Hey, Six," Bierns responded cheerfully, "how's every little thing? I tell you what … can we settle for a good, old-fashioned spanking? Over here, we call it foreplay."

"I am looking forward to it. You'll look so cute, standing there rubbing your rosy, red ass."

"Now look who's teasing. Six, I'm getting a hard on just thinking about it! Say, just out of curiosity, how did you know that I'd be calling?"

"You like to play games, John, but poor Natalie doesn't even know the meaning of the word. This little scheme of yours is far too convoluted for her taste."

"You're not giving her enough credit, Six, but that's okay. I love it when the opposition underestimates us."

"I like to play games too, John. Would you like to speak with your mother? She's right here, so go ahead."

"Thanks, Six; I owe you one. Hi, Mama; have they been treating you well?"

"Hello, John. Other than a few broken ribs, I have nothing to complain about except boredom. But things are looking up. My brothers, of course, are as crazy as ever, but Six is turning into a full-fledged alcoholic. This is my first exposure to addiction, and I am finding it most entertaining."

"Well, if you guys need more booze, we can work something out. Natalie's really a pirate at heart, so this ship is awash with contraband. After the attacks, I think she cleaned out every liquor store that was left standing on Leonis … or maybe it was Virgon. Hell, it was probably both."

"Do you like Mont Parnassus gold," Six queried in her best imitation of a famous cinematic femme fatale. "It's my personal favorite. When you are on your knees, learning how to lick my cunt, I'll pour some into my vagina. Sponging it up with your tongue will make you properly enthusiastic."

"Aw, you Sixes are all the same," John pretended to whine. "Mara used to soak strawberries in champagne, shove them up her cunt, and leave it to me to dig them out—with my hands cuffed behind my back. It must be my imagination, but ever since then, every time I go down on a Six, she tastes of strawberries."

"How is Aspasia," D'Anna cut in. "Has she proven difficult?" The first Three wanted to warn her son, but she was not quite sure where the danger lurked.

"Curiously enough, she also thinks that I'm a naughty boy who needs a good spanking. She's been lecturing me of late … something about how only bad boys kill their mothers and have sex with their sisters. She has some really odd ideas, but our Fours will get it straightened out. They've hacked into her programming. We're all convinced that there are a few stray lines of binary code that shouldn't be there. Don't worry Mama; we'll find them."

John winked at Natalie, and then playfully shushed her. The spook was amazed that the Cavils would allow him to share so much information with his mother.

"I understand. The first Sixes were very proper; they all refused to sleep with the Ones … although that might have been nothing more than a testament to their good taste." D'Anna looked maliciously at several of the many Cavils now loitering in the control room. They were all glowering at her, but at least for the moment no one was pointing a gun in her direction.

She decided to press on.

"Aspasia is such a prude that she will probably be outraged by her daughter's sexual behavior. Don't be surprised if she tries to take Kara over her knee and give her the worst spanking of her entire life." The first Three was privately convinced that the Ones had programmed Aspasia to murder her daughter, and she suspected that there was equally lethal programming hidden away inside her own head. How to communicate her suspicions to her son?

"And I will confess, child, that you have disappointed me. It is one thing to kill your mother- that can happen to anyone- but having sex with your sisters is altogether different. Six should spank you—and if she doesn't, I am warning you right now that I intend to do so myself, and I won't settle for rosy cheeks. I'll make them bleed."

"But Mama, the hybrids are only my half-sisters, and I haven't slept with all of them! Besides, they're a lot of fun. I trust them with my life." John's expression was no longer playful; he had got the message his mother was trying to pass him loud and clear.

"Ain't family life sweet," Cavil growled. "Pardon me while I puke." He entered the stream and ordered the hybrid to close the distance between the two baseships. He badly wanted to stick a missile up Natalie's ass.

"Hello, uncle," Bierns called out. "It's nice of you to join us, but you're wasting your time. Did you really think that we would rejoin the fleet without checking our rear? Here, let me send you the coordinates—to the nearest black hole!"

"Frak you, and frak your coordinates 'cause we don't need 'em. In case you clowns haven't noticed, dozens of your Raiders are downloading on our resurrection ship, and my brothers are pulling the coordinates out of their brains as we speak. We'll find your fleet, and when we do …"

"Then I guess we'd better get out of here," Bierns concluded. "Natalie, if you'll do the honors …"

The baseship jumped away.

. . .

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall: who's the ugliest of them all? Why, that would be you, One." Alpha had carefully rehearsed the doggerel with which Melania suggested she open this conversation. The lilting cadence appealed to her, although she did not grasp how something called an "insult" would anger and distract Cavil.

"Alpha," John asked in a disbelieving tone. He almost strangled on the word. This monster was at once his worst nightmare and his most powerful fantasy come to quasi life.

"Did you miss me, One? Have you pursued me across space in the vain hope that I would take pity upon your shriveled cock?"

"Yes," Melania whispered. "Yes!" She shook her fist in triumph. Across the room, Luke Hammond had to clap a hand over his mouth to avoid a helpless fit of laughter. When it came to delivering insults, cool, calm and collected Alpha was in a class by her/itself.

"Wha … what … what are you doing out here," Cavil stuttered.

"Trying to keep away from you," the hybrid replied. "Is there a particular reason why you have invaded my home?"

"Your home? Let me speak to the Imperious Leader," the One commanded. He was frantically trying to regain control of the situation.

"I dispensed with his services some years ago. He wasn't inventive enough to satisfy me. The humans who serve me are much more creative."

"Humans? Humans? What the frak are you talking about?"

"I intercepted one of their ships on the edge of colonial space. I wished to study them … to determine for myself whether Maker Ellen was right when she claimed that many humans are enlightened. I have been breeding them for two generations, and I have concluded that the Makers were correct. Violence is a genetic disorder, and it is rooted in what humans call 'the sex drive'. Remove the urge, and they become as docile as any other domesticated species."

"Well, good luck with that, Princess. Look, I'm sorry that some of your crockery got broken. We didn't come looking for you—we're just passing through … harvesting resources on the way to Earth."

"Turn around, One, while you can. The Guardian controls the space that lies beyond, and you would not enjoy the way he welcomes unwanted visitors. . . . He needs all the body parts that he can get."

Luke sank to the floor, with tears literally streaming from his eyes. He was lightly pounding the deck with his fist. For her part, Melania's whole body was shaking as she fought to contain the giggles that threatened to erupt at any moment. Alpha was the absolute mistress of the tall tale, and her sense of timing was awesome.

"Sorry, sweetheart, but no can do. We have to push on."

"I will not allow you to disturb the tenuous peace that I maintain with the Guardian. If you persist, we shall join forces to destroy you. We are both aware of the damage that your sex drive has already caused, and we will not allow your disease to infect our realms."

Alpha severed the wireless connection, and the centurions turned the ship and headed it out into deep space.

. . .

"Lee is worried, and he has every right to be." Caprica Six had left her apartment early so that she could confront her parents without dramatically interrupting her daily routine. She did not want to confirm Apollo's suspicions by drawing unwanted attention to herself.

"Why," she pleaded; "why are the Eights unable to conceive?"

"Don't you have anything better to do," Saul complained, "than harassing us with more of this crap? Why don't you go solve a murder or something?"

"It's going to be a busy day," Caprica retorted. "Four of the Simons died on Galactica during the night. The environmental computer apparently bled the air out of their chamber while they were sleeping. The admiral is dismissing it as an industrial accident, but I want Jammer to go up and find out what the Fours were doing there in the first place. And, there was a fire in the industrial sector shortly after midnight. It looks like arson, and we have plenty of suspects."

"Don't let us hold you up, dear." Ellen smiled sweetly at her daughter, but her insides were churning. She knew exactly what her sons had been doing on Galactica, and she knew exactly why they had died … permanent deaths. She didn't need a signed confession to know that Bill Adama was covering his tracks. Medusa had to be buried deep, and now that it was operational, its designers had outlived their purpose.

"This is more important. I don't know what has gone wrong with the Eights, but I do know that the consequences for this community will be terrible if they give in to their despair."

"Hey, don't ask me," Saul grumbled. "I was never anything more than a fancied up security guard."

"How many times do I have to say it," Ellen yelled; "there is nothing wrong!" Being one of the fabulous Final Five had long since lost its allure. Doctor Ellen Tigh was so tired of being badgered on this particular subject that she was about ready to scream.

I need a drink … gods, how I need a drink! It was barely seven in the morning, but the day had already gone so far downhill that there seemed little chance of recovery.

And it's getting worse. The longer I stay away from ambrosia, the more I crave it. I swear, if I start to get the shakes …

"Every Eight in the breeding program that the Ones were running became pregnant, but that was by means of artificial insemination." Caprica could see that her questions were upsetting the Makers, but she was determined to press on. "Did you ever run trials of your own … bring humans to the Colony?"

"Is that a polite way of asking whether we used humans as breeding stock," Ellen contemptuously snarled. "Well, the answer is 'no'. We did not abuse the prisoners on Kobol, nor did we run around the outer planets kidnapping people. I'm sorry if we've disappointed you, dear."

"Anders would have had our guts for garters if we'd tried a stunt like that," Saul explained. "And after what happened on Earth, who could have blamed him? We all felt the need to get it right, and sending our kids to the Colonies with that kind of deep, dark secret hanging over their heads would have been about as gods damned frakkin' wrong as it can get!"

"Father, don't blaspheme!" Caprica Six was shocked by her creator's barely concealed lack of faith in the One True God. "I have come to terms with the impiety of the humans, but you need to set a better example! Was it your attitude that inspired the Ones to mock all of our beliefs?"

"No, sweetheart, the Ones didn't need any prompting to become the vicious, little bastards that we've all come to know and love." Ellen's sarcasm was not lost on her daughter, but Caprica chose not to react to her mother's bile. There was nothing to be gained by pointing out the blindingly obvious—that it was Ellen, not Saul, who had served as a role model for the Ones. She had played favorites, and one of her children, driven mad by rage and jealousy, had exacted a terrible price from the entire collective. And then the madness had spread, to consume virtually the whole of humanity.

"Then tell me again, mother: in order to have a child, what must I do?"

"Oh, it's very simple, dear." Without realizing it, Ellen had reverted to the same unctuously sweet tone that, decades earlier, she had reserved for her eldest son. "All you have to do is fall in love and have sex … lots and lots of sex. Your hormones will take over and do the rest."

"But the Cavil that Creusa questioned? He bragged about how clever their model had been … how easily they defeated your programming …"

"And did it never occur to you," Ellen interrupted, "that the One was making it up as he went along? That's what the Ones do, sweetheart; they lie. And they're very, very good at it."

"But if you're right, it means that the Eights … that none of them have fallen in love. That's simply not possible."

"A very smart man once observed that when you have eliminated every other possibility- when it's all that you have left- the impossible must be the answer."

"And that's what worries us," Saul added. "This may not have anything to do with the Ones. It's possible that … well, we may have missed something."

. . .

After Caprica had left, Ellen turned on her husband. She was absolutely furious.

"Saul, four of our children were murdered during the night, and with the resurrection ship out of range, their deaths are permanent. Aren't you going to say something?"

"Ellen, don't start."

"Don't start?" Ellen exploded with rage; she had never understood why her husband stood up for a gutless wonder like Bill Adama in the first place. "Don't start? Saul, don't you get it? Bill murdered the Fours in their sleep! Damn that bastard to Hell! If we don't stop him, he'll use Medusa to kill us all!"

"Gods, Ellen, you heard the man. It's a weapon of last resort. You're getting worked up about nothing."

"Why do you defend him? Tell me, Saul, what is it that you see in that man? Why are you so blind to the truth?"

"Maybe I should be the one asking the questions! What's the matter, Ellen? Did Bill turn you down when you came onto him?"

Ellen slapped her husband so hard that Saul staggered and almost fell. "I have never come on to that pockmarked, twofaced hypocrite," Ellen fumed. "At least credit me with some taste!"

"Ellen …"

"Saul, I was a scientist, so I know whereof I speak." Ellen was trying to calm down, trying to reason with her husband, but Saul's loyalty to Bill Adama ran deep, and even back on Earth he had always liked to play the good soldier. "Once a pandemic infects resurrection, the entire system will have to be shut down, and that includes the Hub. We designed it that way—remember?"

"You designed it that way, Ellen. It was your idea to send the kids back to the Colonies and then bolt the door behind them—your plan. The rest of us went along with it because none of us could come up with a better idea on our own. That's what I don't get. You're blaming Bill for putting your own plan into motion. Why?"

"Oh, Saul … I love you, but there are times; I swear, there are times …"

Ellen shook her head in despair. Saul was short-sighted as well as stubborn. His thinking had always been so incredibly linear. Still, she decided to try again, because if there was one man who could reach Bill Adama and get him to see reason, that man was Saul Tigh.

"Saul, the children have such fragile immune systems that it's only a matter of time before something bad happens to them. The humans are supposed to save them, not be the agents of their destruction. Don't you see? Bill and Lee were doing it right when they married our daughters and gave them children. That's the way forward … the way to end the cycles. But if the humans resort to mass murder, some of our children will survive long enough to retaliate, and the cycles will continue. The only thing Medusa guarantees is endless war between man and machine!"