Once Burned

by Wes Imlay

A Battlestar Hermes/Battlestar Victorious story: A tragic event happened early in the career of Artimus Bowman, now it's coming back to haunt him and it threatens to engulf both his family and friends.

5. Chapter 5: Domino Effect

Chapter Five: Domino Effect

Ministry of Intelligence, Caprica Headquarters:

Major Arthur Wallace took a deep breath as he strode towards his office, his mind preoccupied with the task at hand. The bustling hallways of the Ministry of Intelligence headquarters faded into the background as he focused on the critical information he had spent months gathering. With a polite nod to his colleagues, he entered his office and shut the door behind him, the click of the lock signaling his desire for privacy.

Settling into his chair, Wallace plugged a small device into his computer's USB port. As the device loaded, he leaned back, his eyes fixed on the screen. The anticipation built as he typed in a series of codes and passwords, each one bringing him closer to the classified information he sought. Finally, the screen lit up, and a satisfied smile crept across his face.

For months, Wallace had been meticulously piecing together evidence that could potentially bring down two high-ranking officers within the Colonial Fleet. His primary target was Scott Tolan, a man whose reputation was solid, but not without whispers of corruption. Wallace had taken it upon himself to investigate these rumors, determined to uncover the truth and expose any wrongdoing.

As an intelligence officer Wallace had developed a keen sense of intuition when it came to cases like this. He had a knack for reading between the lines and connecting seemingly disparate pieces of information. It was this skill that had brought him to the top of his field and earned him the respect of his colleagues.

Wallace's dedication to his work was unparalleled. He often spent long hours poring over documents and surveillance footage, searching for the tiniest clues that could crack a case wide open. His colleagues marveled at his tenacity and his ability to remain focused even in the face of daunting challenges.

As he opened a photo, Wallace's eyes narrowed. The image showed a woman he had seen multiple times during his surveillance of Tolan, but her identity had remained elusive. He studied her features, his mind racing with the possibilities. Could she be the missing link that would connect Tolan to the Basileus, the shadowy figure at the center of the corruption allegations? Wallace knew that identifying this woman could be the key to unraveling the entire case.

With a sense of urgency, Wallace picked up his phone and dialed a trusted contact. The voice on the other end answered with a hint of curiosity, and Wallace wasted no time in explaining his predicament. He sent the photo, his heart pounding as he waited for a response.

Minutes later, his phone buzzed with a reply. The woman in the photo was identified as Caria Malland, personal assistant to Admiral Carius. Wallace's pulse quickened as he processed this new information. Malland could be the connection he needed to tie Tolan and the Basileus together, but he knew he had to proceed with caution.

Wallace's mind raced as he formulated a plan. Getting close to Malland without arousing suspicion would be a delicate operation, requiring finesse and discretion. He relayed his strategy to his asset, emphasizing the need for swift action before their targets caught wind of the investigation.

As he leaned back in his chair, Wallace's determination grew. He knew the risks involved, but the potential rewards were too great to ignore. With Caria Malland in his sights, he was one step closer to uncovering the truth and bringing those responsible for corruption to justice. The game was afoot, and Arthur Wallace was ready to play.

Now, as he stood on the brink of what could be the most significant case of his career, Wallace felt a renewed sense of purpose. He knew that the road ahead would be fraught with danger and uncertainty, but he was prepared to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

With a final glance at the photo of Caria Malland, Wallace shut down his computer and rose from his chair. He straightened his tie and smoothed his jacket, ready to embark on the next phase of his investigation. As he stepped out of his office and into the bustling hallways of the Ministry of Intelligence, he felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. The hunt was on, and Arthur Wallace was ready to see it through to the end.

Colonial Fleet Investigative Services Headquarters:

Agent Catherine Odessa leaned back in her chair, her mind racing with the implications of this new development. If Bowman's investigation was linked to Tolan's confirmation hearing, it could potentially derail the entire process. She knew that the media would be all over this story, digging into every aspect of Bowman and Tolan's lives, looking for any connection that could be exploited.

She reached for her phone, dialing a familiar number. "It's Odessa," she said when the line connected, "I need you to pull everything we have on Lieutenant Colonel Artimus Bowman and Commander Scott Tolan. I want to know every interaction they've had, every mission they've been on together, and any whisper of impropriety."

As she waited for the response, Odessa's mind was already forming a plan. She would need to tread carefully, gathering evidence without tipping off either Bowman or Tolan. If there was a connection between the two investigations, she needed to find it before anyone else did.

The voice on the other end of the line confirmed that they would begin the search immediately, and Odessa hung up the phone with a sense of determination. She knew that the next few days would be crucial, and she was ready to put in the long hours necessary to uncover the truth.

Rising from her desk, Odessa made her way to the door, grabbing her jacket on the way out. She had a feeling that this investigation would take her far beyond the walls of the CFIS headquarters, and she needed to be prepared for anything.

As she stepped out into the bustling streets of Caprica City, Odessa's mind was already churning with possibilities. She knew that the road ahead would be difficult, but she was determined to see it through to the end. The truth was out there, and she would stop at nothing to find it.

Odessa's first stop was the Caprican Times, where she hoped to gain some insight into the media's perspective on the Bowman and Tolan investigations. As she entered the building, she was greeted by a sea of activity, with reporters and editors rushing to and fro, chasing down leads and crafting headlines.

She made her way to the office of Glynn Oliver, a seasoned reporter known for his dogged pursuit of the truth. Oliver looked up from his computer as Odessa entered, a curious expression on his face.

"Agent Odessa," he said, rising from his chair to shake her hand, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Odessa took a seat across from Keene, her eyes scanning the cluttered desk for any clues as to his current focus. "I'm here about the Bowman and Tolan investigations," she said, cutting straight to the chase, "I need to know what you've heard, and what your thoughts are on the potential connection between the two."

Oliver leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Well, it's certainly an interesting development," he said, choosing his words carefully, "Bowman and Tolan have a history together, and if there's any truth to the allegations against Bowman, it could certainly impact Tolan's confirmation hearing."

Odessa nodded, her mind already processing the information. "And what have you heard about the specifics of the allegations against Bowman?" she asked, hoping to gain some new insight.

Oliver hesitated for a moment, weighing his options. "Off the record?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Odessa nodded, leaning forward slightly in her chair.

"From what I've heard, it's a messy situation," Oliver said, lowering his voice, "An affair with a squad mate's wife, followed by a suspicious Raptor accident. If it's true, it could be career-ending for Bowman, and potentially damaging for Tolan as well."

Odessa absorbed the information, her mind already racing with the possibilities. She knew that she would need to tread carefully, gathering evidence without tipping off either Bowman or Tolan. If there was a connection between the two investigations, she needed to find it before anyone else did.

Rising from her chair, Odessa thanked Oliver for his time and made her way out of the building, her mind already focused on her next move. She knew that the coming days would be crucial, and she was ready to put in the work necessary to uncover the truth, no matter where it led her.

As she stepped out onto the busy Caprican street, Odessa felt a renewed sense of purpose. She was a hunter, and the truth was her prey. And she would not rest until she had it firmly in her grasp.

Odessa's next stop was the Colonial Fleet headquarters, where she hoped to gain access to Bowman and Tolan's service records. She knew that any official documentation of their interactions could provide valuable insight into their relationship and potentially shed light on the allegations against Bowman.

Caprica City, Caprica:

Palace of the Quorum:

The hearing room buzzed with anticipation as members of the Quorum, reporters, and various officials took their seats. Commander Scott Tolan, his heart pounding beneath his composed exterior, made his way to the front of the room. He had faced this panel before, but never under such grave circumstances. As he settled into his seat, his eyes scanned the room, seeking a familiar face. His gaze met that of his friend and supporter, Carter, who offered a reassuring nod from the gallery. The gesture helped ease Tolan's nerves, if only slightly.

As the questioning continued, Tolan felt the weight of the Quorum's scrutiny bearing down on him. The Basileus, a controversial organization with ties to his family, had long been a source of suspicion and unease among Colonials. Despite his efforts to distance himself from their influence, Tolan knew that his association with them would always be a point of contention. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that he was here to prove his own worth as an officer of the Colonial Fleet, not to defend his family's actions.

Delegate Ganani's voice cut through the murmurs of the room, "Commander Tolan, you may have a decorated service record, but what makes you believe you are qualified for flag rank?"

Tolan leaned forward, his voice steady as he replied, "I have dedicated my life to serving the Colonial Fleet and protecting our people. My experience in the field, coupled with my strategic training and leadership skills, have prepared me for the responsibilities that come with flag rank."

He paused, allowing his words to sink in before continuing, "I understand the gravity of this position and the trust that would be placed in me. I assure you, I do not take that lightly."

Delegate Cantrell interjected, "But your family's ties to the Basileus cannot be ignored. How can we trust that your loyalty lies with the Colonial Fleet and not with your family's interests?"

Tolan's jaw tightened, but he maintained his composure. "My loyalty has always been, and will always be, to the Colonial Fleet. I have worked tirelessly to prove myself as an officer, and my actions speak louder than any familial connections."

He leaned forward, his gaze intense, "I have never allowed my family's actions to influence my decisions as an officer, and I never will. My duty is to the people of the Twelve Colonies, and I will not waver in that commitment."

Delegate Woods spoke up, her tone measured, "Commander Tolan, we appreciate your candor and your dedication to the Colonial Fleet. However, we must also consider the public's perception and trust in our military leadership."

Tolan nodded, understanding the gravity of her words. "I am well aware of the public's concerns, and I do not take them lightly. If granted flag rank, I will work tirelessly to earn the trust and respect of both my crew and the people we serve."

He paused, his voice growing more resolute, "I will lead by example, demonstrating that my actions and decisions are guided by the principles of the Colonial Fleet, not by any external influences. I will be transparent in my dealings and hold myself accountable to the highest standards of integrity."

As Tolan spoke, the room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging in the air. The delegates exchanged glances, some nodding in approval, others still harboring doubts.

Delegate Ganani broke the silence, "Thank you, Commander Tolan. We will take your testimony into consideration as we deliberate on your candidacy for flag rank."

Tolan stood, saluting the panel before making his way out of the room. As he walked through the hallways of the Palace of the Quorum, his mind raced with thoughts of the future. He knew that the road ahead would be challenging, that his every move would be scrutinized and questioned.

But he also knew that he was ready to face those challenges head-on. He had spent his entire career preparing for this moment, honing his skills and proving his worth as an officer. And now, as he stood on the precipice of a new chapter in his life, he was determined to rise to the occasion and lead with honor, integrity, and unwavering dedication to the Colonial Fleet and the people they served.

As Tolan stepped out into the bright Caprican sun, he took a deep breath, feeling a sense of purpose and resolve wash over him. Whatever the future held, he would face it with courage and conviction, ready to serve and protect the Twelve Colonies with every fiber of his being.

Caprica Fleet Headquarters:

As Odessa navigated the bustling hallways of the headquarters, her mind focused on the task at hand. She approached the records department with a sense of determination, ready to use her CFIS credentials to gain access to the information she needed.

The clerk on duty, a young man with an eager expression, looked up as Odessa approached. "How can I help you, Agent?" he asked, his voice filled with a mix of curiosity and respect.

Odessa flashed her badge, a serious expression on her face. "I need access to the service records of Lieutenant Colonel Artimus Bowman and Commander Scott Tolan," she said, her tone leaving no room for debate, "It's part of an ongoing CFIS investigation."

The clerk nodded, his fingers already flying across the keyboard as he pulled up the requested files. "Of course, Agent Odessa," he said, his eyes scanning the screen, "I'll have those records for you in just a moment."

As Odessa waited, her mind raced with the possibilities of what she might find. She knew that Bowman and Tolan's service records could contain a wealth of information, from commendations and disciplinary actions to mission reports and performance evaluations.

Minutes later, the clerk handed her a stack of files, a satisfied expression on his face. "Here you go, Agent Odessa," he said, "Everything we have on Bowman and Tolan, as requested."

Odessa thanked the clerk and made her way to a nearby conference room, eager to dive into the records. As she spread the files out on the table, her eyes scanning the pages for any relevant information, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was on the verge of a major breakthrough.

Hours passed as Odessa pored over the records, her mind absorbing every detail. She noted every mission Bowman and Tolan had served on, every commendation and disciplinary action, and any hint of personal interaction between the two. The only thing that caught her eye was a brief mention of a training mission on the battlestar Valkyrie where there was some sort of mishap.

"What else do we have?" she asked herself as she compared the official and unofficial service records of the two officers.

While the details of the mission were redacted, Odessa knew that the Valkyrie mission could be a key piece of the puzzle. She made a note to follow up on the mission, determined to uncover the full story behind Bowman's disciplinary action and any potential connection to Tolan.

Rising from the table, Odessa gathered the files and made her way out of the conference room, her mind already planning her next move. She knew that she would need to dig deeper, to follow every lead and leave no stone unturned in her pursuit of the truth.

The thought came to her as she began to walk towards the exit. Someone had leaked the information about their investigation to the media. While she knew she should not be surprised by it, it made her wonder if it was someone from her team or someone else within CFIS.

'Not much I can do about it right now,' she thought to herself.

Once she looked further into the connection between Tolan and Bowman she could solve the mystery of who from her office had trouble with keeping their mouths closed.

Caprica City - Osiris Bar:

As Artimus Bowman stepped into the dimly lit Osiris Bar, the familiar ambiance of a military hangout enveloped him. The air was filled with the boisterous laughter and chatter of pilots in flight suits, their camaraderie palpable. Dressed in civilian clothes, Artimus felt like an outsider among the uniformed men and women. He made his way to the bar, seeking solace in his thoughts and keeping a low profile.

His solitude was short-lived when a man with dark hair and sharp features slid onto the barstool beside him. "Hey there," the man greeted with a friendly smile, "You look a bit lost."

Artimus raised an eyebrow, remaining silent. Experience had taught him to be cautious of overly friendly strangers.

Undeterred, the man continued, "I'm Jake. I fly Raptors for the Galactica."

The mention of the battlestar piqued Artimus' interest. "How's the Big G these days?" he asked, unable to resist.

"You're with the Raptor program?" a woman's voice interrupted from behind, causing Artimus to tense up.

He turned to face a woman with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. Her sharp features and no-nonsense demeanor exuded authority. "Are you stationed with the Fleet?" she asked, suspicion lacing her tone.

Artimus hesitated, weighing his response. Something about the woman compelled him to trust her. "I used to be," he answered cautiously, "Now I train Raptor pilots at Vaught-Hemmingway."

The woman's expression softened slightly, a hint of understanding in her eyes. "I'm Lena Burton," she introduced herself, extending her hand, "You're quite far from Oxford. What brings you here?"

Shaking her hand tentatively, Artimus replied, "Artimus Bowman. I still live in Caprica City. The drive to Oxford isn't an issue for me."

Lena nodded, taking a seat beside him. "You seem like you could use a friend," she said, her tone sympathetic.

Glancing at his watch, Artimus knew his friends Tolan and Carter would be arriving soon. Perhaps some company would help take his mind off recent events. "What about you? Do you serve in the Fleet?" he asked.

"I've been out of the military for six months," Lena admitted, "And I'm still trying to figure out what to do with myself."

Artimus raised an eyebrow, prompting her to continue.

"I was a pilot for over twenty years," Lena said, a tinge of sadness in her voice, "It's all I've ever known."

Empathy welled up in Artimus' heart. "I understand," he replied, "I've spent most of my adult life in the military as well."

Lena nodded, sipping her drink. "It's a challenging transition, trying to figure out who you are outside of the military."

"I can relate," Artimus agreed, finding common ground with this stranger.

As they delved deeper into their shared experiences, Tolan and Carter arrived, interrupting their conversation. Introductions were made, and the group settled into easy camaraderie, sharing stories and laughter.

Time slipped by unnoticed until the bar's closing time approached. As they stepped out into the quiet streets, Lena suggested grabbing a late-night bite at a nearby diner. Despite initial hesitation, Artimus found himself drawn into the warmth of their newfound friendship.

Over greasy burgers and fries, Lena shared the heart-wrenching story of losing her parents in a Cylon attack, which motivated her to join the military. Artimus and the others were moved by her bravery and determination.

As the night drew to a close, they exchanged contact information and parted ways, grateful for the unexpected connection forged at the Osiris Bar.

Returning to the bar with Tolan and Carter, Artimus settled into a booth. The conversation inevitably turned to Tolan's confirmation hearing for flag rank.

"I'm telling you, those delegates were out for blood," Carter remarked.

Tolan sighed, taking a sip of his beer. "Yeah, it was definitely a rough ride."

Artimus and Carter exchanged concerned glances, understanding the high stakes for their friend. "But you did great, Tolan," Artimus reassured him, "You showed them your worth and proved yourself deserving of that promotion."

Tolan smiled gratefully, appreciating the unwavering support of his friends as they faced the challenges ahead, united in their bond of friendship and shared experiences.

Their conversation was interrupted by a voice calling out from across the bar. A man had just entered with another man and two large companions. "Looks like they'll let anybody into this fine establishment," the stranger said mockingly.

The friends looked at the arrivals with amusement before returning to their conversation, ignoring the newcomers.

"I hear it's considered rude on Canceron to ignore someone who's talking to you," the man said as he and his three associates approached their table.

Turning around, Tolan recognized Captain Herbert R. Geller, callsign Sobel, a bully and rival he had dealt with back when he was a Captain. Scott had been promoted to Major, while Sobel had not.

"You two know each other?" asked the man with his two associates behind him.

"Who the hell are you?" Carter inquired.

"I'm Arthur Wallace," the man introduced himself before gesturing to the men behind him, "These fellows here are Tank and Heavy."

Tolan forced a smile, sizing up the three men before him. He could tell they were trouble just by their demeanor and the way they carried themselves. "Yeah, I know Sobel. He was an ass back on the Majestic and in Advanced Tactical Training. I passed ATT, and he did not."

"Only because you undermined me, you Basileus dog. Your father-in-law used his influence to get you promoted," Sobel retorted.

"Scott just let it go," Andre said, grabbing Scott by the arm, pulling him back. He knew how little Scott thought of Sobel, who was always an arrogant, petty, arbitrary, domineering tyrant who handed down cruel punishments for the most minuscule of infractions, real or imagined.

"What brings you to Osiris?" Wallace asked, trying to defuse the tension.

Artimus scoffed. "We're here to socialize," he replied vaguely and sarcastically.

"And why are you here, Wallace?" Carter asked.

"I am here on business," Arthur voiced. "Tank and Heavy, would you escort Sobel back outside?"

"I will go with him," said Andre, standing up and walking Sobel out. Andre always thought Sobel got the short end of the stick, something he could relate to regarding Scott.

Tolan raised an eyebrow. "And what kind of business is that?"

"That is none of your business," scoffed Arthur. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"I am Commander Scott Tolan, so I am going to ask you again, what kind of business is that?"

"Oh, Commander Scott Tolan, like I care. But wouldn't the head of the Basileus like to know," Wallace replied, staring daggers at the Commander. This only enraged Scott more, the stress getting to him and his fuse shorter than normal, especially about the Stryker's interview.

"Not how that works. I have nothing to do with them," Tolan said.

Arthur chuckles, "Do not make me laugh, it hurts my ribs," but at the same time Wallace seemed amused by Tolan's statement as he waited for his companions to return. Carter and Artimus exchanged uneasy glances before Wallace spoke again. "Well, it just so happens that we have a little business with the Basileus," he said cryptically.

Tolan remained calm and collected. "I'm sure they can handle their own affairs," he replied diplomatically.

Wallace chuckled. "Oh, I have no doubt about that. But sometimes it's nice to have some outside help."

Tolan's instincts told him something was off about these men, but he played along. "I see. Well, I wish you luck in your endeavors," he said with a polite smile.

Wallace grinned. "I like you, Tolan. You seem like somewhat of a reasonable man, unlike your grandfather, father, or brother..."

Carter suddenly stood up, but before anyone could respond, Tank and Heavy stepped forward, blocking Carter from Wallace and Tolan's view of the man. Heavy voiced, "Our duty is to protect Arthur and this will be your only warning."

Carter was about to respond, but Scott gave him a look that backed him down for now, while Arthur gave the same look to Tank who was about to push his fist through Carter's face.

"Listen here, Tolan, we are the runts of the litter," Tank growled, "But like my brother said, we don't take kindly to people threatening Arthur. Tell your lapdog to sit down before we sit him down."

Tolan, Bowman, and Carter found themselves standing face to face with Wallace, Tank, and Heavy. Carter's mind raced, 'They're brothers? If they're the runts of the litter, what else might their family be capable of?'

Bowman, on the other hand, couldn't help but wonder, 'Why such fierce loyalty to Wallace?'

Tolan, trying to defuse the situation, calmly said, "Look, I don't want any trouble here. Let's just take a step back and talk this out like civilized men."

Wallace's laughter echoed through the bar. "You think you can handle this alone? Sure, Commander Tolan."

Scott felt his anger rising. "What do you mean, handle this alone? I can handle you," he said, his voice laced with irritation.

Carter, assessing the situation, declared, "There are three of us and three of them. We can take them!"

Bowman, ever the voice of reason, cautioned, "Take another look, Carter. Those two are each equal to two of you or Scott. With me and Arthur, it's essentially five against three." His thoughts drifted to his wife and mother, and how they would feel about him getting involved in a bar fight.

"We're with you, Scott," Carter reassured, while Bowman silently prayed, 'Gods damn it! Carter's hotheadedness is going to get us killed someday!'

Scott, trying to maintain control, said, "I came here for a reason, and I'm not leaving until we work our way out of this. You get what you want, and I get what I want. But if you aren't interested in helping us or yourself, that's fine."

Artimus interjected, "What are you talking about?"

Scott glared at Arthur. "The asshole didn't even answer what his business here was."

"That's still none of your business," Wallace replied dismissively.

Carter stood tall next to Tolan, his voice firm. "We're making it our business."

Tank and Heavy moved closer to defend Arthur, their hands clenching into fists.

Wallace's voice dripped with disdain as he said, "You want to know what my business is, Commander Tolan? Your wife..."

Scott took a deep breath, preparing himself for the inevitable fight. His anger and rage, which had been building up, took control. He threw a punch, but Arthur was ready, blocking and dodging with ease. Scott, his judgment clouded by alcohol, figured this would be an easy fight.

Artimus suddenly found himself in a boxing stance, facing off against Heavy. 'Brooke is going to kill me,' he thought grimly.

Carter and Tank sized each other up, and it was as if someone had rung a bell. Laughter filled the air as Heavy mocked Artimus's stance. "Get a load of this clown," he said before tackling Artimus, sending him flying across the room.

Scott tried to close the distance between himself and Arthur, but Arthur, though lacking in size and strength, was quicker, likely due to Scott's intoxicated state.

The fight seemed to last only a few minutes, but the bar suffered heavy damage. Scott soon realized he was alone. Artimus had been beaten by Heavy, while Carter was thrown around like a ragdoll by Tank. Even in his drunken state, Scott was impressed by the sheer size and strength of their opponents.

Arthur and Scott traded blows, each landing punches on the other. Despite Scott's size and strength, he realized Arthur had been studying his fighting style. Seeing an opening after Arthur pushed himself away, Scott charged, wanting to end the fight quickly before being overwhelmed by Tank and Heavy. In hindsight, it was a mistake. Just as Scott was about to reach Arthur, two massive fists came flying towards him, with Arthur grinning like a triumphant asshole.

Tank and Heavy's double punch sent Scott flying across the room. It took Scott several moments to recover and get back to his feet. He saw his friend Artimus out cold and turned to see Carter lying over the bar counter, looking like he was broken in half or even dead. However, Scott's ego wouldn't let him back down, and he realized that Tank and Heavy would protect Arthur. He had to go through them one at a time, but the flaw with Scott's plan was that, in hindsight, he was all alone now. 'Godsdammit, where did he find these men?' Scott thought, charging once again, only to be met by Tank and Heavy.

Then everything went black, and Scott woke up in the police station cell alongside Artimus and Bowman.

Caprica City Police Department, Seventh Precinct Headquarters:

Scott Tolan grimaced as consciousness slowly crept back into his battered body, his head throbbing in sync with the aches that seemed to radiate from every muscle. As his vision gradually cleared, the harsh reality of his surroundings came into focus - he found himself in a jail cell, his friends Carter and Bowman nearby, looking equally worse for wear.

"What the frak happened?" Scott groaned, gingerly probing his bruised jaw, the memory of the previous night's events still hazy in his mind.

Artimus gently touched the cut above his eye, wincing at the sharp sting. "I wish I knew, man. One minute we were enjoying drinks at the bar, and the next thing I remember is waking up in this cell, feeling like I got hit by a truck."

Scott's gaze drifted around the cell, taking note of their other friends from the bar, each confined to their own cells across the hallway. Carter, unable to contain his agitation, paced back and forth like a caged animal, his frustration palpable.

"We got our asses handed to us, that's what happened," Carter growled, his pride clearly wounded. "Who the hell were those guys? Where did they come from? And can we recruit some of them?" Despite his imposing stature, Carter couldn't fathom how easily he had been tossed around, like a mere plaything in the hands of their assailants.

Bowman, sporting a split lip, managed a wry smile. "Looks like we weren't the only ones who found trouble last night," he remarked, finding a small measure of solace in their shared predicament.

Fragments of the fight began to resurface in Scott's mind, each flash more vivid than the last. He recalled charging at Arthur, fueled by a surge of anger, only to be swiftly intercepted by the formidable fists of Tank and Heavy. From that point on, everything had faded to black.

"Frak," Scott snarled, the realization of their defeat sinking in. "Carter, you're right. Where the hell did Arthur find those guys? They were like frakking tanks!"

Artimus sighed heavily, the weight of responsibility bearing down on his shoulders. "I think 'tanks' might be an understatement. You and Carter clearly underestimated their capabilities."

Carter, not one to back down, retorted, "We weren't the ones who insulted and laughed at them." His words carried an accusatory tone, prompting Scott to step in and separate him from Bowman before the tension escalated further.

As they traded barbs, a police officer approached their cell, his stern expression a harbinger of the reprimand to come. With a clank of keys, he unlocked the cell door. "You boys should consider yourselves lucky. No serious injuries and the property damage has been taken care of. There won't be any charges filed," he admonished, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Carter, unable to resist, muttered under his breath, "I think our bruised egos should count for something."

Scott, eager to put the whole ordeal behind them, asked, "So, we're free to go?"

To his dismay, the officer shook his head. "Not yet. You still need to post bail. And Commander Tolan, there's someone here who wants to have a word with you."

'Why does everyone make my rank sound like an insult tonight?' Scott mused, a sense of unease settling in his gut.

Just when Scott thought the night couldn't possibly take a turn for the worse, the door to the holding area swung open, revealing the last person he wanted to see: Fleet Admiral Jonas Stryker. The man who had vehemently opposed his promotion to flag rank now stood before him, disappointment etched into every line of his face, speaking volumes without uttering a single word.

Scott's stomach churned at the sight of the fleet admiral. He had desperately hoped to avoid any contact with Stryker in the wake of the promotion debacle, but it seemed fate had a twisted sense of humor.

"Good evening, Commander," Stryker greeted, a tight smile that held no warmth gracing his lips.

'Again with 'Commander' sounding like an insult,' Scott mused bitterly.

Stryker's gaze bore into him, unwavering and intense. "You are aware of why I am here?" he asked, his tone shifting to a grave seriousness that left no room for levity.

Scott straightened his posture, bracing himself for the inevitable dressing-down. "Yes, sir," he responded, his voice steady despite the turmoil raging within him.

Stryker wasted no time in getting to the point. "I'll keep this brief, Commander. Your behavior last night was completely unacceptable. As an officer of the Colonial Fleet, you are expected to conduct yourself with the utmost respect and discipline at all times."

A flare of indignation rose in Scott's chest at being lectured like an errant child in front of his friends, but he bit his tongue, knowing that any attempt to argue would only serve to exacerbate the situation.

"Your actions have brought discredit not only to your own name but also to the very name of the Colonial Fleet," Stryker continued, each word a pointed barb, striking at the core of Scott's pride.

"I understand, sir," Scott managed through gritted teeth, his wounded ego smarting from the public admonishment.

With a curt nod, Stryker turned on his heel and strode away, leaving Scott to stew in a potent mix of frustration and humiliation.

Scott watched in utter disbelief as Stryker crossed the hallway to the adjacent holding cell, where Arthur Wallace and his associates were being detained. In an instant, Stryker's demeanor underwent a remarkable transformation. His body language softened, and his voice took on a warm, almost fatherly tone. "Hello, Arthur," Stryker greeted, his words laced with genuine affection. "It seems you, Tank, and Heavy had quite the eventful night."

Wallace, his face adorned with a tapestry of bruises, flashed a wide, triumphant grin. "Yes, sir, that's one way of putting it."

A flicker of amusement danced at the corners of Stryker's mouth as he nodded in acknowledgment. Turning to the officer, he issued a command that left Scott stunned. "Let them out. It's time for them to head home."

Scott's jaw hung open, his mind struggling to comprehend the scene unfolding before him. The officer, without hesitation, complied with Stryker's directive, unlocking the cell and granting freedom to the very men they had engaged in a brutal confrontation with. Not a single reprimand or consequence was bestowed upon them.

As Arthur, Tank, and Heavy stepped out of the cell, their expressions varied. Arthur's face was split by a self-satisfied, almost mocking grin, reveling in his apparent victory. Tank and Heavy, on the other hand, wore harder, more inscrutable expressions. Their eyes glinted with a desire to settle unfinished business, a sentiment that sent a chill down Scott and Bowman's spines. They wanted no part in further altercations.

Carter, however, felt differently. A fire burned within him, a yearning to even the score and assert his dominance.

Before taking his leave, Stryker cast one final, enigmatic glance in Tolan's direction. His eyes held a message that Scott couldn't quite decipher, leaving him grappling with a mixture of confusion and frustration. The click of Stryker's polished shoes echoed through the precinct as he walked away, the sound reverberating in Scott's ears like a haunting melody.

As the reality of the situation began to sink in, Scott couldn't shake the gnawing sense of injustice and bewilderment. Why were Arthur and his cohorts granted such a swift and easy release, while he and his friends remained confined to their cells? The question festered in his mind, compounding the already suffocating tension that permeated the air.

"What was that all about?" Bowman inquired, his brow furrowed in confusion.

It was the officer who provided the answer, his tone laced with a hint of reproach. "The man you assaulted..."

"We assaulted?" Carter interjected, his voice rising in indignation. "He attacked us first!"

The officer continued, undeterred. "Not according to the eyewitnesses and security cameras. In any case, the man you assaulted is Major Arthur Wallace of the Ministry of Intelligence, the great-grandson of Commander Alan Wallace, who served as Admiral Stryker's commanding officer and mentor. Commander Wallace died on the day of the Cylon Revolt, leading the defense of Aquaria. And Major Wallace's emergency contact? None other than Admiral Stryker himself."

Scott, Carter, and Bowman exchanged knowing glances, a silent understanding passing between them. They had well and truly frakked up.

With a heavy sigh, Scott leaned against the cold, unyielding wall of the cell, his mind racing with the consequences of their actions. He knew that this incident would not be easily forgotten, that it would cast a long shadow over his career and his aspirations within the Colonial Fleet. It would take a Herculean effort to prove himself worthy of the respect and trust of his superiors, to demonstrate that he was more than the sum of his mistakes.

As the weight of the situation settled upon his shoulders, Scott steeled himself for the challenges that lay ahead. He would face them head-on, with the determination and resilience that had carried him this far. But for now, in the confines of the jail cell, surrounded by his equally battered and bruised friends, all he could do was brace himself for the fallout that was sure to come.

Private Conference Room, Caprica City Police Department, Seventh Precinct Headquarters:

Commander Scott Tolan found himself once again in handcuffs, escorted by two officers to a private conference room deep within the police station. The room, not known or open to the public, seemed to amplify the unease growing in the pit of his stomach. As he entered, his eyes fell upon Fleet Admiral Jonas Ingram Stryker, sitting at the Police Chief's desk, an aura of authority emanating from his very presence. 'The nightmare never ends,' Scott thought wryly.

"Commander Tolan," Stryker greeted him, his tone stern as he rose from the chair.

"Fleet Admiral," Scott responded, offering a stiff salute despite his restraints, a gesture of respect ingrained in him through years of military service.

Stryker turned to the officers. "Leave us. I wish to speak with the Commander privately." The officers nodded and exited, the door closing behind them with a soft click. "At ease, Commander," Stryker said, his attention returning to Scott. "I met your grandfather and father, you know. Your grandfather is the reason I hold a negative opinion of your family."

Scott remained silent, a sense of unease washing over him. Being alone with Stryker after the previous night's incident felt like walking into a minefield. Yet, he knew better than to refuse an order from a superior officer, even a retired one.

Noting Scott's discomfort, Stryker took a deep breath before continuing. "I understand there was some friction between you and Arthur Wallace last night."

Scott nodded, choosing not to offer excuses or explanations for his behavior. The less said, the better.

"This isn't the first time you've had this kind of altercation since graduating from the Fleet Academy," Stryker pressed on, his words cutting through the silence like a knife.

Scott's heart sank. Despite his efforts to control his rebellious nature since joining the Fleet, it seemed his reputation preceded him.

"Your behavior disappoints me, Commander," Stryker said, disapproval lacing his voice.

"I know, sir. I apologize for my actions," Scott replied sincerely, his head bowed in shame.

Stryker's gaze bore into him. "Apologies aren't enough, given your family name, to make up for the damage you've caused to your reputation and that of the Fleet."

The weight of his actions pressed down on Scott, the realization that he had let himself and his fellow officers down hit him like a physical blow.

"Fighting amongst ourselves weakens us as a unit. We're supposed to work together, not against each other," Stryker reminded him, his words carrying the wisdom of experience.

"Yes, sir. It won't happen again," Scott promised, determination filling his voice.

Stryker studied him for a moment before nodding. "I believe you mean that, Commander. But understand that this behavior will not be tolerated in the future."

"I understand, sir. I will make sure it doesn't happen again," Scott assured him, his resolve strengthening.

"Good. Return to your cell. Once you resume your duties, try to regain some respect among your colleagues," Stryker dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

Scott hesitated before speaking. "Admiral, permission to speak freely?"

Stryker raised an eyebrow. "Granted, Commander."

"I know my grandfather was a son of a bitch, but I don't think it's fair or just for you to judge me based on him or my family history," Scott said, his voice steady despite the boldness of his words.

To Scott's surprise, Stryker chuckled. "First, I can judge you however I damn well please. Let me ask you a question, Commander..." he said, using Scott's rank like an insult. "Did you lead the Colonial Fleet for twelve years against the Cylons? And for thirty years after the Armistice?"

Scott parted his lips to respond but quickly realized the question was rhetorical. Stryker, begrudgingly impressed by Scott's boldness and resilience in the face of Tank and Heavy's brutal assault, continued. "No. I did. That alone grants me the authority to assess you according to my own standards."

Stunned by Stryker's revelation, Scott realized that the admiral doubted not only the Tolans but also Scott himself. Stryker pressed on, "Fair and just, you say? Those concepts went out the window for me the day the Cylons revolted. Is it fair and just that I'm here when so many are not? What about Admiral Nelson? The best Admiral I ever had the honor of serving alongside. My last message to him was, 'Give Admiral Nelson my most highly affectionate regards, and tell him that he lost his life in service of the Twelve Colonies, but I lost my right hand.' And Commander, I'm sure I know things about your family that even you don't, things your aunt or mother never told you. But you're excused now."

Scott turned to leave, but Admiral Stryker spoke again, "One more thing, Commander Tolan. Arthur is like a son to me, in more ways than I can express. His great-grandfather saved my life on the day of the Cylon Uprising. I held him in my arms as he died. If you ever lay a hand on Arthur again, as long as I live, not the Gods, the Lords of Kobol, your family, or even the Basileus will be able to save you from my wrath. It's only because of your father's service that I spare you now!"

Scott, at a loss for words, recalled his father's service aboard the battlestars Columbia, Courageous, and the escort battlestar Orianos. He had never thought his father's service record was that impressive, but perhaps Stryker simply honored all his men's sacrifices, big and small. Scott allowed the officers to lead him back to his cell, Stryker's thoughts drifting to Admiral Nelson, often regarded as the second greatest Admiral of all time, surpassed only by Stryker himself. The weight of the past and the challenges of the present hung heavy in the air, a reminder of the sacrifices made and the battles yet to come.

Back in his cell, Scott listened as Bowman spoke with a hint of relief, "I guess we should be grateful we didn't get into any serious trouble."

The officer who had unlocked their cell earlier returned with their personal belongings and released them from custody. "You gentlemen are free to go," he announced.

As they walked out of the police station in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, Bowman mused, "Wonder if Admiral Stryker put in a good word for us."

"Had to be," Carter replied.

The officer interjected, "You're correct. We couldn't charge you because we couldn't charge Major Wallace. That's the only reason you're being let go. Stryker paid the damages and made a personal request to the bar's owner, a veteran himself. He agreed as long as Stryker covered the damages."

The conversation came to an abrupt halt as Lydia Zeresi, Scott's aunt and the formidable leader of the Basileus crime syndicate on Canceron, made her entrance. Her presence seemed to command the very air in the room. "Hello, Scott," she greeted, her voice a perfect blend of authority and familiarity.

Carter leaned in close to Scott, a mischievous glint in his eye. "So, what was that about you having nothing to do with the family business?" he whispered, eliciting a chuckle from Bowman.

Scott's heart sank as he met his aunt's gaze, the realization that his attempts to distance himself from the Basileus were growing increasingly futile. "Hello, Aunt Lydia," he managed, struggling to maintain his composure in the face of her overwhelming presence.

A small, knowing smile played on Lydia's lips. "I see you've found yourself in a bit of trouble," she remarked, her tone a mix of amusement and mild reproach.

"Just a misunderstanding," Scott replied, his words a feeble attempt to deflect further inquiry.

Lydia's attention shifted to Artimus, her eyes gleaming with recognition. "Colonel Bowman, our paths cross once more."

Carter's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You know the leader of the Basileus?" he asked Artimus, his voice laced with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

"Yes, we have a history," Artimus confirmed, his words clipped and guarded.

Lydia's gaze settled on Carter, a flicker of intrigue dancing in her eyes. "And you must be Major Carter. Your reputation precedes you."

A cocky grin spread across Carter's face. "Good things, I hope," he quipped, his bravado on full display.

Lydia's chuckle was rich and melodic. "Let's just say your name has been mentioned a time or two."

Scott, eager to extricate himself from the uncomfortable situation, suggested, "We should probably get going."

"Of course," Lydia agreed, her tone turning more serious. "I'll let you off the hook this time, but please, Scott, don't make a habit of getting arrested. Especially not with a Wallace. What were you thinking?"

Scott's voice took on an almost childlike quality as he asked, "Yeah, couldn't you have gotten here before Admiral Stryker?" His tone drew amused chuckles from Carter and Artimus.

Lydia's response was cryptic, hinting at the intricate tapestry of power and influence that enveloped them all. "Oh, I was here long before Admiral Stryker arrived. He was on Aquaria or Picon when he received the call. I was at home, but I couldn't intervene until he made his appearance."

Scott's curiosity was piqued. "And why is that?" he inquired, his mind grappling with the implications of her words.

Lydia's explanation was as succinct as it was revealing. "Firstly, seriously? Secondly, because he is Admiral Stryker, and thirdly, you were being held until his arrival."

The weight of her words hung in the air, a testament to the complex dynamics at play. Scott found himself once again confronted with the realization that his life was inextricably intertwined with forces far beyond his control.

Carter, intrigued by the turn of events, asked, "So, why did they let us go?"

"Technically, they didn't. As the officer mentioned, Stryker had Wallace released, and they couldn't justify holding him while letting you go. If not for Admiral Stryker, the three of you would be facing assault charges. But Stryker wanted the matter dropped because of Wallace. And do you think the Caprican Police would dare to override Admiral Stryker?"

Frustration evident in his voice, Artimus asked, "What did that asshole want anyway?"

As they reached her vehicle, flanked by her bodyguards, Lydia's demeanor turned serious. "To warn Scott that he and Emily are in danger. Someone is plotting to kill them because of Emily's pregnancy," she revealed. "Scott, come with me. Artimus and Carter, head back to Scott's house and keep an eye on Emily."

Bowman and Carter exchanged glances, wondering when Lydia had assumed the authority to issue orders, but both men complied without argument. Scott climbed into the vehicle beside his aunt, his mind swirling with unanswered questions. "What's this about Emily being in danger? And why would Wallace care?"

"Don't be foolish, Scott. Use logic, not emotion. Wallace doesn't care about you, but Emily is a Graystone, a member of the same social class as him. Have you never heard of House Wallace?"

"No," Scott admitted, his ignorance evident.

"It's a noble house from Aquaria, with roots dating back two thousand years to the time of the Exodus. They've existed for at least eight thousand years. Rumors suggest that Alfred Graystone has a direct connection to either Admiral Stryker or Wallace..."

Scott's thoughts drifted to the whispers surrounding his father-in-law's role in his accelerated rise through the ranks. Emily had always reassured him that those rumors held no truth, and trusting his wife, Scott had dismissed them.

Before Scott could respond, Lydia pressed on, her tone increasingly urgent. "And again, what were you thinking, getting into a fight while your hearing is ongoing? Surely you realize Wallace wanted you to throw that punch."

"I think you give him too much credit," Scott countered, his skepticism evident.

"And I think you underestimate him. He is the most dangerous man I have ever encountered. If Stryker has chosen him as his heir, it means the gloves are coming off."

Scott scoffed, "He's just a punk with a famous last name. Without his bodyguards, he's hardly a threat."

"You sound just like your grandfather, and he was wrong, just as you are now. Yes, Arthur has a renowned surname, but he also commands the unwavering loyalty of his men, a loyalty that cannot be bought. Trust me on this, or did you miss the part where I mentioned his family's two-thousand-year history on Aquaria? Along with most of their vassals who swore allegiance to them before the Exodus."

"But the vassals system was abolished with the unification of the Colonies," Scott argued, clinging to his perspective.

Lydia shook her head, her patience wearing thin. "Just because the system changed and the titles no longer hold legal weight doesn't mean the loyalty has vanished. Did you not notice Tank and Heavy? And there are others, even more formidable. All fiercely loyal, but Arthur himself is the most dangerous of them all."

"Yeah, I saw," Scott muttered, rubbing his still-aching jaw where Arthur's fist had connected. 'But more dangerous? Seriously, where is Arthur finding these guys? Does he have a secret cloning facility, or is there something in the water on Aquaria?' he mused silently before addressing the matter at hand. "So, who exactly is trying to kill me and Emily?"

"This folder contains the information Wallace provided to me," Lydia explained, having paid a steep price to acquire the intel. "Wallace is targeting someone named Caria Malland. It was a small price to pay, considering the value of the intelligence, which even I couldn't have obtained independently."

Scott's eyes widened as he noticed the folder's "Eyes-only" marking, indicating the highest level of security clearance, inaccessible even to the President. "How did Wallace get his hands on this?"

"That, I do not know," Lydia admitted, her concern palpable. "And that alone should keep you up at night. They were targeting you, Scott, because you are the rightful heir to the Basileus, and now, with Emily pregnant, the future heirs are at risk. It's a perilous time for the Basileus."

"But I don't want any part of it," Scott protested, his voice laced with frustration.

"Want is irrelevant. It's your birthright, one you can claim at any time. As long as you choose not to, I will continue to lead the Basileus. But even I have heard whispers from those who believe the Basileus would fare better under your leadership than that of a woman."

As Scott opened the folder, he was stunned to discover that the members plotting against Lydia were none other than a group of Basileus, seeking to seize power for themselves. However, the most shocking revelation was the identity of their leader: Septis Berarian, an Aerilon businessman and former Lieutenant of Carl Tolan, who believed he had been unjustly passed over in favor of Lydia, viewing her as a mere placeholder until the true heir, Scott, returned.

To make matters worse, Berarian's agent was a woman named Karla 'Alana' Dixson, codenamed Sorceress - a notorious assassin and femme fatale, lethal to any man, woman, or child who crossed her path.

"Where are we going?" Scott asked, his mind reeling from the weight of the information he had just uncovered.

"To meet someone who despised Fleet Admiral Stryker even more than Carl Tolan did," Lydia replied cryptically, leaving Scott to ponder the secrets and dangers that lay ahead.

Colonial Fleet Investigative Services Headquarters:

As the sun rose over Caprica City the next morning, Odessa was already hard at work, her mind focused on the next steps of her investigation. She had spent the night reviewing the files she had obtained from the Colonial Fleet headquarters, and she was more determined than ever to uncover the truth behind the allegations against Bowman and any potential connection to Tolan.

Her first order of business was to follow up on the redacted mission that involved the Valkyrie. She knew that the mission could hold the key to understanding the dynamic between Bowman and Tolan, and potentially shed light on the current allegations against Bowman.

Odessa made her way to the CFIS headquarters, her stride purposeful and her eyes focused. She had a meeting scheduled with her supervisor, and she was determined to get the resources and support she needed to pursue the investigation to its fullest extent.

As she entered the building, Odessa was greeted by a buzz of activity. Agents and support staff hurried to and fro, their voices raised in urgent conversation and their faces etched with determination. Odessa navigated the chaos with ease, her mind focused on the task at hand.

She made her way to her supervisor's office, her hand poised to knock on the door. But before she could make contact, the door swung open, revealing the stern face of her supervisor, Agent David Kensington.

"Odessa," Kensington said, his voice gruff but not unkind, "I've been expecting you. Come in."

Odessa followed Kensington into his office, taking a seat across from him at his desk. She wasted no time in getting to the point, her voice filled with determination as she spoke.

"Sir, I need your help," she said, her eyes locked on Kensington's, "I've uncovered some information that could be crucial to the Bowman investigation, but I need access to redacted mission files to fully understand the context."

Kensington leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he considered Odessa's request. "You know that accessing redacted files is no small matter," he said, his voice measured, "I'll need a compelling reason to grant that kind of access."

Odessa nodded, her mind already formulating her argument. "I understand, sir," she said, her voice steady, "But I believe that this mission could be the key to understanding the relationship between Bowman and Tolan, and potentially uncovering the truth behind the current allegations against Bowman."

Kensington was silent for a moment, his eyes searching Odessa's face for any hint of doubt or hesitation. But he found none, only a steely determination and a unwavering commitment to the truth.

"Very well," he said at last, his voice filled with a mix of resignation and respect, "I'll grant you access to the redacted files. But I expect regular updates on your progress, and I want to be informed immediately if you uncover anything significant."

Odessa nodded, a sense of relief washing over her. "Thank you, sir," she said, her voice filled with gratitude, "I won't let you down."

With that, Odessa rose from her chair and made her way out of Kensington's office, her mind already racing with the possibilities of what she might find in the redacted files.

As she navigated the bustling hallways of the CFIS headquarters, Odessa felt a renewed sense of purpose. She knew that the road ahead would be challenging, that she would face obstacles and resistance at every turn. But she was ready for the fight, ready to follow the evidence wherever it led, and ready to uncover the truth, no matter the cost.

With a deep breath and a determined stride, Odessa set off on the next phase of her investigation, her mind focused and her heart filled with a sense of purpose that would guide her through the challenges ahead.

Orbit of Caprica, Thermopylae Station:

Arthur entered his assigned quarters on Thermopylae Station after taking a Raptor from Caprica City. "So, how long have you been waiting, Sorceress?" he asked, unsurprised to find her there.

"Since you got into the fight with Commander Tolan," Sorceress replied. She had met Arthur when he killed her then-boyfriend, James Briggs, ripping out his throat. James, who she thought was the most dangerous man she had ever met, didn't even see it coming. It was like a cat playing with its food before eating it, with James as the mouse and Arthur as the cat.

"Does Berarian suspect anything?" Arthur inquired.

"Not a thing. He is attempting to take what he views as rightful and become the new head of Basileus, but why kill him? He has been your ally for years."

Arthur's expression darkened. "This has nothing to do with business. This is personal. He went after several of my people without realizing they were my people. If I hadn't arrived in time, they would have all died, but I was warned of the attack in time to be there before Septis Berarian's men eliminated them. After that, the relationship went cold," he explained, recalling how he had to ditch Whitney Thompson to get back to Aquaria in time to save his agents. "But it doesn't mean his elimination can't be useful. If Scott Tolan is to live or have a place in my new order, I must determine where his true loyalties lie."

"So, you don't have the same opinion as Admiral Stryker?" Sorceress asked.

"No, this is where we disagree regarding Scott. Stryker doesn't think he will cut it as a flag officer, but I couldn't disagree more. Making him a flag officer makes him more useful but also more dangerous at the same time, hence finding out where his true loyalties are."

Sorceress, sitting naked the entire time, smiled seductively. "Well, since business is out of the way, what about personal? How about you come over here and use that tongue of the Gods?"

Arthur, unamused, tossed Sorceress her bra. "Get dressed and get out," he ordered.

"Seriously?" Sorceress asked, catching her bra mid-air.

"Get out before I call Goodfella," Arthur threatened.

"I am going! I am going, such an asshole," Sorceress grumbled as she began to put her clothing back on.

After Sorceress left, Arthur sat down to make a phone call to Laura H. Hills, former Laura Kelly, who was now the personal aide and liaison to the Governor of Aquaria. "Laura, I need a favor," he said.

"You always need a favor, Arthur," Laura replied.

"Well, this time, you won't end up in your bra and underwear, I promise."

"Your promises always come with fine print, but what do you need?"

"I need a transport flagged by the Governor's office."

"So, you're really going to do it?"

"I'll talk about that later. I have another call to make," Arthur answered before blowing a kiss and hanging up. He then called his next agent, "Quinn, are you there?"

"Yeah, I have eyes on the target. Two guys arrived at the house a short time ago, Carter and Artimus," Quinn reported.

"Your orders haven't changed. Keep an eye on Emily Tolan. You are to protect her no matter the cost. Am I understood?"

"Yeah, but one question: why protect her?"

Arthur explained, "If Scott should fall, one of the triplets will be the rightful heir of the Basileus, and I plan to install that child as ruler of the Basileus. They will be folded into my Army of Light, just in case, but that strategy isn't possible if they die in the womb."

"And how do you even know that?" Quinn asked.

"Doctor/patient confidentiality doesn't mean a frack to me," Arthur replied, looking at the ultrasound and sonogram. Alfred Graystone, concerned about his daughter who had almost died from a miscarriage two years ago, had asked Arthur to get him copies of her file. After checking them out himself, Alfred passed along the copies, proving that he truly loved his children. However, Arthur learned that at least one of the triplets was going to be a boy according to the sonogram.

Quinn, whose real name was Mira L. Lin, had been demoted several times for insubordination, first during her time in the Colonial Army and then while working for the Ministry of Intelligence. Her insubordination got her kicked out of the MoI, but Arthur saw potential in her. Quinn was born on Aerilon, with her mother being from that troubled colony, while her father's parents were from Leonis and Libran. She never found a home until settling on Aquaria, which she now identified as her home colony, though it wasn't official, as one's colony was the colony of their birth.

"And it has nothing to do with your attraction to Emily?" Quinn asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Arthur denied.

"You know, for a man who I've slept with, it's striking to me how easily you can lie straight to my face."

"We slept together?" Arthur teased. "I guess it wasn't that memorable."

"You can be a real asshole sometimes," Quinn retorted.

"And who else got your daughter into the best private school on Aquaria and is paying for that private school?" Arthur reminded her.

"Still makes you an asshole," Quinn said. Despite what everyone thought, her daughter, Katrina, was not Arthur's child. Katrina's father had been killed when she was still a newborn, which was part of the reason Quinn had become so insubordinate.

Caprica City, Bowman Residence:

Artimus Bowman pulled into the driveway of his modest home on the outskirts of Caprica City, his mind still reeling from the events of the past few days. As he stepped out of his car, he couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over him at the sight of the familiar surroundings.

He made his way up the front steps, his keys jingling in his hand as he unlocked the door. As he stepped inside, he was immediately greeted by the warm, inviting scent of home cooking and the sound of his wife Brooke's voice calling out from the kitchen.

"Artimus? Is that you?"

Artimus smiled, feeling the tension in his shoulders begin to ease at the sound of her voice. "Yeah, it's me. I'm home."

Brooke emerged from the kitchen, a concerned expression on her face. She took one look at Artimus and immediately crossed the room to pull him into a tight embrace.

"I was worried about you," she murmured into his chest, her voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt. "When I heard about the fight at the bar, I didn't know what to think."

Artimus sighed, running a hand through his hair as he pulled back to look at his wife. "I'm sorry, Brooke. I never meant to worry you. Things just got out of hand."

Brooke led him over to the couch, sitting him down and taking a seat beside him. She took his hand in hers, her thumb rubbing gentle circles over his knuckles. "I know you didn't. Artimus, you have to be more careful. You're not just putting yourself at risk when you get into fights like that."

Artimus nodded, feeling a pang of guilt in his chest. He knew that Brooke was right. He had a family to think about now, and he couldn't afford to be reckless.

"I know, Brooke. I'm sorry. It's just... things are getting complicated. With Scott and the Basileus and this confirmation hearing."

"Listen, I had a call from a reporter about a news report. Something about an investigation and the confirmation."

Artimus hesitated, not wanting to worry his wife more than he already had. He had seen an article but thought it was just more sensation journalism to try to score more views.

"I wouldn't talk to any journalists, they probably just want to create a story out of thin air because of Scott and his blood ties to the Basileus. I haven't done anything even close to being worthy of an investigation," he said.

Brooke was silent for a long moment, her expression thoughtful. Finally, she spoke, her voice soft but determined. "I understand, Artimus. I know that you have to do what you think is right. Promise to let me know if something changes."

Artimus pulled her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I promise, Brooke."

They sat like that for a long time, just holding each other and taking comfort in the warmth and safety of their home. Finally, Brooke pulled back, a small smile playing on her lips. "Come on, let's get you something to eat. You must be starving after everything you've been through."

Artimus grinned, feeling a rush of love and gratitude for the incredible woman he was lucky enough to call his wife. "That sounds perfect. Lead the way."

As they made their way into the kitchen, Artimus couldn't help but feel a sense of hope and determination settle over him. No matter what dangers lay ahead, he knew that he would face them head-on, with the love and support of his family and friends to guide him through.

Artimus Bowman was just about to sit down to enjoy the delicious meal his wife Brooke had prepared when the doorbell rang. He frowned, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was getting late, and they weren't expecting any visitors.

"I'll get it," he said, pushing back from the table and making his way to the front door.

When he opened it, he was surprised to find no one there. He stepped out onto the porch, looking around for any sign of who might have rung the bell. It was only then that he noticed the envelope lying on the welcome mat.

Artimus bent down to pick it up, turning it over in his hands. There was no name or address on the front, just a plain white envelope with no distinguishing marks. A sense of unease began to creep over him as he made his way back inside, closing the door behind him.

"Who was it?" Brooke called from the kitchen.

"No one," Artimus replied, his voice distracted as he tore open the envelope. "But they left something."

As he pulled out the contents of the envelope, Artimus felt his blood run cold. Inside was a photograph, one that he recognized immediately. It was a picture of his old Raptor squad from his days on the battlestar Daedalus, the one he had served with before transferring to teach at the academy.

But there was something wrong with the picture. As Artimus looked closer, he saw that several of the faces had been marked with red X's, the ink stark and brutal against the smiling faces of his former comrades.

Artimus' heart began to pound as he realized the implications of the marked photograph. Each of the faces with an X over them belonged to a member of his squad who had died in the years since the picture was taken. Some had been lost in combat, others to accidents or illness. But they were all gone now, leaving Artimus as one of the few remaining survivors.

And now, it seemed, someone was sending him a message. A warning, perhaps, or a threat. Artimus' mind raced with possibilities as he tried to make sense of the photograph and its chilling implications.

Brooke appeared in the doorway, her face etched with concern as she took in Artimus' expression. "Artimus? What is it? What's wrong?"

Artimus handed her the photograph, watching as her eyes widened in shock and horror. "I don't know," he said finally, his voice tight with tension. "But I think someone is trying to tell me something."

Brooke looked up at him, her eyes filled with fear and concern. "What do you mean? What are they trying to tell you?"

Artimus shook his head, his mind still racing with possibilities. "I'm not sure. But look at the picture, Brooke. Look at the X's over the faces. They're all people from my old squad who have died."

Brooke's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes welling with tears. "Oh, Artimus. You don't think..."

Artimus pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace. "I don't know what to think," he said finally, his voice muffled against her hair. "But I know that I have to find out who sent this, and why."

Brooke pulled back, her face set with determination. "We will find out, Artimus. Together. And we'll make sure that whoever sent this, whoever is threatening you, pays for what they've done."

Artimus nodded, feeling a rush of love and gratitude for his incredible wife. He knew that the road ahead would be dangerous, and that there was no guarantee of success. But with Brooke by his side, he felt like he could face anything.

"I love you," he said softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"I love you too," Brooke replied, her voice fierce with conviction. "And we'll get through this, Artimus. I know we will."

With that, Artimus tucked the photograph back into the envelope, his mind already racing with plans and possibilities. He knew that he would have to be careful, and that the danger he faced was very real. But he also knew that he had no choice but to see this through, no matter where it might lead him.

Greystone Estate, Caprica City:

In the wake of recent events, Emily had been relocated to the secure confines of her father's estate in Caprica City. The sprawling grounds, fortified with enhanced security measures, provided a much-needed sanctuary. Under the vigilant escort of Bowman and Carter, Emily found solace in the comforting presence of her best friend, Brooke. Bowman, ever attentive to Emily's well-being, had thoughtfully arranged for Brooke to be by her side during this trying time.

In a nearby room, Andre, Carter, and Bowman gathered, their conversation inevitably gravitating toward the recent altercation. Andre, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and disbelief, recounted the most memorable moment. "That was when someone threw Carter across the room like a ragdoll..."

Carter, his pride still smarting from the encounter, interjected, "Yeah, I was like, 'Oh frak, I made a huge tactical mistake...'" His words carried a tinge of self-deprecation, a rare glimpse into the usually confident Major's vulnerability.

Andre couldn't suppress a chuckle as he added, "I didn't realize Carter could fly... or that they could toss him aside so effortlessly." The image of Carter's unceremonious flight across the room seemed to provide a momentary respite from the gravity of the situation.

Bowman, his brow furrowed with irritation, fixed Andre with a pointed look. "And where were you during all of this?"

"Trying to avoid the chaos," Andre replied, his tone matter-of-fact, as if his absence had been the most logical course of action.

The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Alfred Greystone, his presence commanding immediate attention. As Andre's gaze met his father's, he was taken aback by the glimmer of pride he saw there, a rare sight indeed.

Alfred's voice carried the weight of experience as he spoke. "Even if Andre had joined in, it wouldn't have made a difference. Scott thought he had a chance by taking out the leader, assuming the rest would crumble. That's why he charged full speed at Arthur. However, Scott failed to account for Tank and Heavy's presence behind Arthur, realizing his mistake only when two massive fists came hurtling toward his face, sending him flying back."

Carter, ever loyal to his friend, felt compelled to defend Scott's actions. "In Scott's defense, he was a little drunk." His words carried a hint of understanding, a testament to the bond shared between the two men.

Andre nodded, his own recollection of the event vivid in his mind. "Even Scott admitted, 'Gods damn, I've never been hit so hard in my life.'" He recalled the dazed look on Scott's face as he struggled to regain his bearings, only to be confronted by Arthur's taunting smile and provocative gesture. The memory of Scott's rage-fueled charge directly into Arthur's waiting fists sent a shiver down Andre's spine.

"He's still an asshole," Carter muttered, his disdain for Arthur evident in every syllable.

Alfred, however, was quick to counter. "He is a Wallace. You will put respect on the man's name. Did you see what happened to Scott?"

Andre, his memory of the latter part of the confrontation hazy, shook his head. "No, he was out cold, father."

Alfred, his voice tinged with a mixture of admiration and reproach, continued, "Scott got back to his feet and approached the trio, albeit not charging like a bull as he had before. He realized he couldn't win, but he and Tolan kept fighting. That's exactly what Wallace wanted. He played you three like a fiddle."

Carter, his face bearing the marks of the brutal fight, couldn't shake a persistent thought from his mind. He turned to Alfred, his eyes searching for answers. "I must know, why?"

"Why what?" Alfred questioned, his eyebrow raised in curiosity.

"Why did they defend that asshole so fiercely?"

Alfred's response was unwavering. "Their sole purpose is to protect Wallace at all costs. They will not let anyone lay a hand on him..." His words carried a gravity that hinted at a deeper understanding of the dynamics at play.

Carter, still grappling with the events, persisted, "Then they failed..."

"Did they?" Alfred countered, his gaze assessing Carter, as if trying to decipher what Tolan saw in the young Major.

"Yeah, I think they did. I know Scott got his hands on Arthur..." Carter replied, his confidence wavering under Alfred's scrutiny.

Alfred's voice carried a hint of condescension as he addressed Carter. "You can think that, but to answer your question, Major, it's two words: loyalty and honor. Something some would not expect a Tolan to understand. You can't buy that type of loyalty or honor, nor will it be easily broken."

Bowman, massaging his throbbing head, added, "That's why they call them Arthur's fists."

Andre, a wry smile playing on his lips, couldn't resist a jab at Scott's expense. "That was a brilliant idea of Scott's," causing even the normally unemotional Alfred to chuckle, 'What was Scott's thinking?'

Greystone Estate, Emily's Bedroom:

Emily lay resting, her thoughts a tangled web of worry and uncertainty, when Andre's gentle knock at the door roused her from her reverie. He entered, his face etched with concern. "How are you doing, sis?"

"Worried. How are Scott, Artemis, and Tyrone?" Emily asked, her voice heavy with exhaustion.

"Artemis and Tyrone look like they got their asses kicked, which they did. Not sure about Scott yet. He's with Aunt Lydia." Andre's words carried a mix of sympathy and uncertainty.

"Lydia?"

"Yeah, you know her?"

"We've met." Emily's response was cryptic, hinting at a history left unspoken.

Andre's presence brought a measure of comfort to Emily, a reminder of the bond they shared despite their differences. "I'm glad to see you here, Andre. I know you and Scott have had some issues in the past, but Father seems proud of you tonight."

"He's strange. You'd think he would consider it cowardly, but he felt otherwise." Andre's words carried a note of surprise, a testament to the complex relationship he shared with their father.

"Just be happy, father is proud of you for once," but despited her words Andre's intuition, honed by years of navigating the intricacies of their family dynamics, prompted him to probe further. "Em, what's going on here?"

"What do you mean?"

"You inherited our father's lying ability, but I know there's more to the story than you're telling me." Andre's words were gentle yet firm, a reflection of his unwavering desire to uncover the truth.

"Nothing," Emily insisted, but the flicker of doubt in Andre's eyes told her that her brother saw through the deception.

The moment was shattered by Andrea's abrupt entrance, her presence a whirlwind of energy as she pushed Andre out of the room. "Girls' talk," she announced, her tone brooking no argument. Andrea had secured emergency leave from the Battlestar Solaria, a testament to the gravity of the situation.

Emily, her heart swelling with gratitude, embraced her sister tightly. "Andrea, I'm so glad you're here."

"There's nowhere else I'd be, but I only got emergency leave for today." Andrea's words carried a hint of regret, a reminder of the demands of their chosen paths.

"I know. Father mentioned that."

"How?" Andrea's curiosity was piqued, her mind racing to connect the dots.

"Our father requested it. Admiral Corman agreed, partially due to everything going on with Scott's hearing." Emily's explanation carried a note of resignation, a recognition of the far-reaching influence of their father's actions.

"There are still two more days of his hearing." Andrea's words were tinged with worry, a reflection of the uncertainty that hung over them all.

"I know. We must be strong for him." Emily's voice carried a steely determination, a resolve born of her deep love for Scott.

"You sound like Father." Andrea's observation was tinged with a hint of bitterness, a reminder of the complex dynamics that shaped their family.

"I am his daughter." Emily's words carried a weight of responsibility, a recognition of the role she played in their family's intricate tapestry.

Andrea's tone grew somber, a reflection of the distance she often felt from their father. "More than I am, it would seem."

Emily, attuned to her sister's unease, gently probed, "What's wrong?"

"I overheard what Andre was asking about, that there's more going on here than you or Father are telling." Andrea's words carried a note of accusation, a demand for the truth that had been withheld.

Emily, her expression grave, knew the time had come to share the burden she carried. "Yes, but I need you to promise me something."

"Anything!" Andrea's response was immediate, a testament to the depth of their bond.

"If anything happens, you'll always look after Scott. Be aboard his battlestar from now on." Emily's request carried the weight of a final wish, a desperate plea for her sister's unwavering support.

"Deal... I mean, sure, but why, Em?" Andrea's confusion was palpable, her mind racing to make sense of Emily's cryptic words.

Emily, her hand trembling slightly, handed Andrea a picture, a tangible representation of the danger that loomed over them. "Scott is in danger. This came from a friend."

Andrea, her eyes widening in shock, studied the picture, the signature "Psych" and the name "Galit Malka" searing themselves into her memory. "Oh my gods!" she gasped, the gravity of the situation hitting her like a physical blow.

What Emily kept hidden from Andrea and Andre was a secret that weighed heavily on her soul. It was their father who had reached out to Major Arthur Wallace, a desperate act driven by the growing fear that consumed him. The implications of this revelation hung in the air, a silent specter that threatened to unravel the fragile threads holding their world together.

As the sisters clung to each other, their hearts heavy with the burden of the unknown, they knew that the path ahead would be fraught with danger and uncertainty. But in that moment, they drew strength from the unbreakable bond they shared, a bond forged in the fires of love and tested by the crucible of adversity. Together, they would face whatever trials lay ahead, united in their determination to protect those they held dear.

"Is there any good news?" Em asked.

"I met someone new!"

"I had heard that one before," Em replied, causing Andrea to throw a pillow playfully at her pregnant sister.

Planet of Logres:

Levesque's Family Estate and Graveyard:

The rain poured down relentlessly, the steady patter on the vehicle's roof a somber backdrop to the scene unfolding in the graveyard. Arthur Wallace stood alone, his figure a stark silhouette against the gray, misty landscape. Tank and Heavy, his ever-present companions, stood respectfully off to the side, their silence a testament to the gravity of the moment. The only other two peoples who knew Wallace was here was Styrker and his wife's Elizabeth, since this is formerly her family estate and gravesite on the planet, Logres.

With a heavy heart, Wallace approached two headstones, a bouquet of flowers clutched in his hand. He knelt before the first, his eyes fixed on the names etched into the weathered stone: Cayla Martinez and daughter, Angel Wallace. A wave of emotion washed over him, and he closed his eyes, his lips moved in a silent statement, a whispered confession meant only for the ears of the departed.

Rising slowly, he moved to the second headstone, a sad smile playing on his lips as he laid the remaining flowers at its base. The name carved into the stone seemed to mock him, a cruel reminder of the bittersweet nature of his loss: Meredith 'Guinevere' Raskoph and son, Joseph Alan Stryker Wallace.

Memories flooded his mind, unbidden and unwelcome. After Cayla's death, Meredith had left him, unaware that she carried his child. Fate had dealt a cruel blow when she died on her way back home, intent on sharing the news of her pregnancy with him. The questions that had haunted him then returned with a vengeance, tormenting him with their insistence. Why couldn't she have simply called him? Was there more to her visit than just the revelation of their unborn child? The silence of the graveyard offered no answers, no comfort to his troubled soul.

With a final, lingering look at the headstones, Wallace turned away, his shoulders hunched against the driving rain. Tank and Heavy fell into step behind him, their presence a silent reminder of the burdens he carried, the battles he had yet to fight.

Six years had passed since that fateful day, but the pain remained as fresh as ever. The drunk driver who had stolen Meredith's life had struck again, this time claiming the lives of Cheryl and Sandra Roslin, their father, and Sandra's unborn child. In the face of such senseless tragedy, Wallace had taken matters into his own hands, tracking down the driver and exacting a terrible vengeance. The details of that encounter remained locked away, a secret known only to him, a secret he would carry to his own grave. If there was ever one detail he would say about it is that he did not need Goodfella to carry out his wishes.

Author Note: Wes Imlay and Allen Knott would like to deciated the chapter to recently passed away, former Dallas Cowboys Offensive Lineman, Larry Allen, who serviced as the physcial basic for the character of Darrell 'Tank' Robinson.