There are those who believe that life began out there,

far across the universe, with tribes of humans

who may have been the forefathers

of the Egyptians, or the Toltecs, or the Mayans.

Some believe that there may yet be

brothers of man who, even now,

fight to survive somewhere beyond the heavens...

PROLOGUE

The best thing about the interstellar void was that it was so damned big. Baltar found a certain comfort in that. As he lay on his back in the biggest, emptiest portion of the battlestar, he pretended to be the smallest object in existence.

It was the graveyard shift for the deck and he counted on being alone with the stars visible through a distant portal. Somehow this moment made up for all the time he’d been cooped up in a crowded sickbay lately. When he was alone like this he could think.

Oceans of space washed against oceans of time—and all living things eventually must drown. Space-time was a voracious entity that overwhelmed individual consciousness. As much as he had grown to respect Apollo, he held against the commander the simple fact that the man was an idealist. The trouble with heroes was that despite the rigorous use of their minds they also had faith in things beyond themselves.

Baltar prided himself on having faith in nothing. That was why he didn’t expect much good to come of the seemingly idyllic planet they had called Paradis. Baltar was a hard man to disappoint.

As he lay on the bare metal deck of a giant spaceship and stared into infinity, he had to admit that he missed the sensation of grass under his feet. There was something charming about lying on a living surface. A blue sky full of clouds had a special beauty not to be found in the spinning emptiness of the interstellar void.

But staring into outer space made it easier for him when he was trying to be nothing. Why a man who had been as important as Baltar suddenly longed for insignificance might confuse the pretty young nurse, Elayna, from whose tender care he had temporarily extricated himself. But there was no mystery to the great traitor.

Perhaps in the dark spaces between the stars he couldn’t hear the cries of the dead; and in the unfurling scroll of time all memories would become dust. There was much to say in favor of dust.

Elayna often told him to get more sleep. In this advice she was joined by Athena. Silly girls. Sleep was a one-way ticket to dreams. His dreams had always been unsettling. After the betrayal of his home planet they had become nightmares. After the Cylons invaded his head and transformed his brain into a betrayal machine (so that he would be a traitor to his own kind regardless of any choices he made) he entered a realm deeper than nightmare.

Once again he could never hope to escape the red eyes of the Cylons, swarming after him like so many infernal insects. There were times when he wished he could reach up to his tormented head and tear it from his body. But Apollo was always there to stop him. His old foe had become the closest he would ever come to a friend. Despite the danger Baltar posed to the community, the young commander insisted that the man live.

Anonymity was difficult to achieve for someone who excelled at anything at all; even if that achievement was the high-water mark of treason! Baltar had a purpose, after all. Someone had to play the role of the villain in the fleet. He didn’t have permission to die.

When he thought about death, the images that flooded his mind began as galaxies. . .dwindling, shrinking, collapsing into small dots of fire in the immensity of the black void until they became even smaller than the stars, the suns that promised life to a few fortunate planets. To go from so much energy and matter that the mind cannot encompass it all—to go from all that to so very little is to starve the mind with a feast of nothingness.

In that vertiginous annihilation mere human crimes meant nothing. How could Baltar be right or wrong in the grand scheme of everything? History was nothing but a self-proclaimed expert boasting about a victory, or complaining about a defeat. Was there any meaning when no one remembered?

If a species could scream out at the moment of extinction and the universe didn’t hear, why should a historian make a sound? History was only another form of nagging, after all. History found Baltar guilty of genocide. History was a pain in the ass.

The universe didn’t dump any of this felgercarb on him. The eternal space-time continuum took no more notice of Baltar’s treason than it would an exploding nova or the death of a daggit. Baltar had reached the stage of life where his only comfort was provided by snatches of cosmic indifference.

It would be nice if he could spend the rest of his life this way: confusing the absence of pain with fleeting pleasure. But the red Cylon eyes wouldn’t leave him in peace. He had to sleep sometime. Through an effort of will he might overcome his subconscious and banish the human eyes of his human judges. But the Cylon eyes weren’t the product of his unconscious mind. He knew they were a real telepathic intrusion into his soul!

What was left of his soul.

Suddenly it was no longer pleasurable to lie on a little used walkway in the belly of a battlestar. He stumbled to his feet and winced at a pain lancing into his neck. The vacation on Paradis was truly over as the planet receded into space and memory. Pretty soon everything would be back to normal.

The Cylons were coming and nothing could change that brutal fact.

Well, this time the bastards were in for the fight of their cold and implacable lives. So what if they’d wired his brain like a crazy kid’s radio set? They couldn’t use his gray matter as a homing beacon without also flooding his head with visions of the Cylon world in chaos. It was good to know that not only colonials had problems in the old interpersonal relations department. Perhaps that knowledge would be useful.

There were times when Commander Apollo almost made him feel essential to the future of the Galacticans. Baltar would like that, not because he wanted to expiate his sins. He had a far more characteristic motive.

He was bone-weary of being afraid of the Cylons. Maybe it was time that they, too, feel how small they were in the vast mosaic of space and time. The grimace on Baltar’s face might almost be taken for a smile.

1

“Not again!”

President Tigh made the words sound like a curse. Athena felt the same way but she was too numb to be angry. After what she went through on Paradis, she wasn’t ready for more bad news. Or more accurately, she had been shaken by what she experienced above Paradis, in a docking orbit where she was expected to carry out an order that would have meant a massacre of innocent lives. She’d been saved from the horror of giving that order. The lousiest part of command was triage-choosing who would live and who would die in an emergency.

The fleet sailed on a sea of permanent emergency. Athena wondered why they couldn’t put into a harbor somewhere, anywhere, where they could be at peace. Paradis had seemed such a place. Why did appearances have to be so misleading? At least it seemed that way in the parts of the universe explored by the colonials.

“Could the reports be wrong?” she asked, keeping her voice flat and emotionless.

Tigh shook his head. “No,” he said. “We were in such haste to repair the ships and get everything that could fly off the ground that we were..

He couldn’t finish. She tried to help: “Careless?”

“Not enough time,” he whispered. “There’s never enough time. Some of the salvage jobs won’t be able to make the jump to light speed. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

“What about the ones left behind returning to the planet?” she asked, “is there any hope of that?”

“How?” he snapped. Then he softened and put his hand on her shoulder. “You know the problem. The red sun contracting, the ion storms, the warnings of the Gamon elders. This is a place we need to leave.”

“What does that mean?” she got out through clenched teeth. “They have to go somewhere. Cosmic events don’t happen in a heartbeat. There may be enough time for them to make use of Paradis. We aren’t certain how much time there really is. They may have yahren yet to effect repairs and attain provisions. They can’t just drift in this solar system until they die.”

“I agree!” came the welcome voice of Commander Apollo as he joined his friends on the bridge of the battlestar. “Everyone who got off Paradis has a chance for life. We have no right to prevent them doing whatever they deem necessary for survival.”

“You mean like Baltar?” asked Tigh with a smile.

“The perfect example,” agreed Apollo. “Thank you for your help, Tigh. For a long, long time I’ve had my fill of the Council of Twelve, most of them. They are more than ready to leave Baltar behind.”

“They don’t have any confidence in your judgment,” his sister observed, walking over and leaning her head against his shoulder.

“They never do,” added Tigh. “Why should they when ninety percent of the time you predict what will happen with uncanny accuracy? All you have going for you is experience, high intelligence and a strategic mind. If you say that Baltar will be important to our survival, well, that’s all the council needs to hear for them to reject the idea!”

“He is a living link between the Cylons and ourselves,” said Apollo. “That’s the most important military fact of the current situation.”

Athena patted her brother on the arm and returned to her vigil over the flickering screens. Apollo thought the way the light played across her high forehead made her appear stately and wise. He could imagine her in his role as commander; but that was also a fate he wouldn’t wish on anyone he loved.

“I wish Baltar’s unpopularity was the only hurdle,” lamented Athena. “What are we going to do about the ships that can’t join us in hyper-space?”

“We will make a command decision,” said Apollo wryly. “No debates on this one. The entire fleet will escort the unfortunate ships back to the planet before we continue on the journey.”

Koren wished that Caran could be with him. He’d not had any contact since the exodus back to space. The news that not all ships were fit for FTL hit him with the force of a hammer. He might not find out what happened to his young friend until he was in another solar system.

At least he was grateful for his father’s decision. A temporary return to Paradis was the obvious solution for everyone. Surely the planet could hold together a little while longer.

The boy found a viewing portal with slight magnifying properties and shielded against the blinding rays of the sun. He preferred that to a monitor. It seemed a little more real and immediate to him than electronic images on a screen.

This might be the last time Koren would see a livable planet for a very long time. The ball of green and blue filled his vision with a satisfying display. He had seen it many times before going back and forth from the planet’s surface to orbit; but it was different when he knew it was the last time. Pressing his face against the portal, he wished he didn’t even have to blink lest he miss a precious micron of the view.

Suddenly his devotion was rewarded, or so it seemed. The beautiful sight became even more splendid. New colors began to swirl across the portion of hemisphere within his view. If Koren had paid more attention in his class on planetary atmospheres he might have felt a twinge of dread at the tendrils of bright orange snaking out across the placid blue-green dome. Instead he marveled at the interesting clash of colors.

When pools of angry red joined the darkening orange, the boy was finally concerned that something was out of the ordinary. Blaring alarms down the corridor from the observation room reinforced his sudden dread.

“Oh, no,” he said under his breath. They had all been through enough! How much can a people be expected to endure? There were times when Koren felt as if the colonials had angered some demented god who would never stop persecuting them with one dire scenario after another. He wished he could get his hands on the author of their predicaments.

His idle musings vanished as abruptly as they began as he saw a portion of the planet’s atmosphere ripped away from the gravitational cradle. He thought of a giant, invisible ladle stirring the sky into a messy porridge and then spilling the air into the void.

Koren didn’t always pay attention in science classes, but he did well enough to understand that a planet dies slowly. Whatever the ultimate fate of the mass of matter that he called Paradis, the world he’d come to know was no longer habitable.

He didn’t care why. The scientists would figure out the exact cause of the disaster they had been anticipating. That’s why the colonials returned to space. But right now Koren didn’t want to hear a single fact or lonely number.

It just wasn’t fair. It wasn’t supposed to happen this soon. Was Paradis just waiting for them to come back so the whole planet could slap them in the face?

What would happen to those whose ships couldn’t make the jump to light speed? There were probably many options left. Apollo was always telling him not to despair and that when times were tough it was all the more important to stay calm and use your mind. Koren wasn’t always in the mood.

What about the Gamon? His father had told him how special the natives were. Koren had seen enough himself to believe. The Gamon were very spiritual. They had told the colonials not to despair at the prospect of their imminent demise. They would move on to a higher plane. They would be all right.

But Koren didn’t want to think about it or remember it or hear a bit of it. All those fine sentiments meant nothing to him at this moment as he watched the planetary colors he’d found so attractive streaming into space as if a painter’s palette and all its gooey contents melted in the overbearing heat of the red sun.

This was reality. This was the here and now. The message screamed inside the teenager’s head: THE UNIVERSE SUCKS!

Suddenly he felt something wet on his face. He was having trouble breathing. A drop of something salty touched his tongue.

Covering his face as if he had leprosy, he made a dash out of the observation room and back toward his room. He prayed to all the Lords of Kobol that no one would see him cry.

“Do you think it might be Cylons?” asked Dr. Salik.

“Waddaya mean?” Starbuck inquired.

“Paradis crapping out on us,” the doctor clarified as he stirred his drink. Salik didn’t often go the bar but this latest frustration had been a bit much for him.

“I’m the wrong man to ask,” the warrior told him. “I’m ready to blame the Cylons for anything. I even blame them for the problems I have with my girlfriends. Destroying a planet is child’s play compared to that.”

Salik laughed, glad to be in Starbuck’s company. “We can’t decide if the stripping away of the planet’s atmosphere was a natural phenomenon or helped along by the Gamon. Some of my associates even suggest the planet-kill might have been precipitated by the enemy. Hasn’t Baltar promised us that the Cylons miss us so much that they have found us again?”

Starbuck frowned. “The Cylons hate to miss.” He downed his grog and ordered another.

“I know what you mean,” said Salik, helping Starbuck to forget, however briefly, that the man sitting across from him was one of the premiere scientists of the human race.

“I’m ready to fight them again,” said Starbuck. “They’re my favorite enemy, you know. There’s never a moment’s regret when you spread those tin cans and their fleshy counterparts across the galaxy.”

“Yeah,” said Salik, reluctant to say more because he was beginning to slur his speech. Scientific observation: Don’t try and keep up with a professional drinker when you are a rank amateur.

“I’ll confess something to you, doc,” said the warrior. “There’s something I want more than anything else. Any idea?”

“Higher rank?” asked Salik.

“Never! I’ve seen what it does to Apollo. I could never be that serious.”

“Your heart’s desire?”

Starbuck started to nod but stopped short. “I’ve loved many women. That’s no secret. I love one fine lady more than any other and that’s no secret either.” He resumed his drink, but this time he was sipping instead of gulping.

Salik took the silence as an invitation. “Does your heart’s desire have something to do with the enemy?”

Starbuck grinned and saluted the doctor, even though it was a breach of protocol. “You’ve hit the Lucifer on the head! I’d give my life to bring it to an end.”

“You’re too valuable for us to lose.”

“Thanks, but I’m only valuable if I make a difference. I mean ultimately make a difference! When you hate something as long as I’ve hated the Cylons it pushes other things out of your system.”

“You mean like love?” asked Salik.

“Funny thing, Doc, but I’m having the kind of conversation with you that I bet Apollo has with Baltar. I could never be honest with that traitor. Hate him too much, like I hate the Cylons. The point is that one day this war must end. No war can go forever.”

Now it was Salik’s turn to brood. “I hope you’re right about that. The Cylons terrify me because I can imagine them going on forever.”

“What about us?” Starbuck asked.

For a micron, Salik didn’t understand the question. When he did, he couldn’t stop honesty from pouring forth. Scientific observation #2: Don’t drink a lot unless you intend to be brutally honest.

“I can imagine the Cylons being around after we’re gone,” he admitted.

“Exactly my point!” said Starbuck. “So can I. That’s why we’ve got to destroy the monsters utterly, just to make sure that it doesn’t happen.”

They sat in silence for a long while. Then Starbuck taught the eminent scientist another important lesson.

“I think you’re thinking too much,” said the warrior. “Let me buy you another drink.”

Apollo would like to enjoy the company of his son or his sister or Cassie. Even Baltar would do at a time like this. But when he saw the planet shed its atmosphere like a snake would shed its skin he decided he had to be alone. He needed to use his mind to the utmost of his ability.

There were no voices coming to him from other states of being. No whisperings from the Lords of Kobol. No good advice from his Gamon friends. He was alone in his head.

The people would turn to him again. Although the council would pretend to have a say in the decisions to come, they secretly hoped the commander might prove to be an excellent lighting rod for criticism as was his fate ever since taking up the mantle of his father.

He did not lie to himself that at times like this he wished his father still lived. It’s not that he needed Adama to tell him what to do. What mattered through all the long years of his warrior duties was confidence that his father stood there to approve his victories and help him get past his failures.

On the other side of the officer’s log, he’d never fully appreciated how much his father needed Apollo after Zack died; he hadn’t understood completely until Adama joined Zack on the other side of the curtain.

Sometimes it seemed as if life taught all the hard lessons too late to do anything about it.

There were a lot of fathers and mothers and sons and daughters who were waiting for a decision from Commander Apollo. He, in turn, was waiting for data from the scientists. What the hell had just happened to Paradis?

The biosphere was history. Salik theorized that internal forces had also begun to destroy the planet. If they hung around long enough they might even see the planet come apart at the seams. That might provide raw materials in a convenient form to build what the fleet needed.

But there was no time for that if the Cylons were on the way. Too many colonials feared the Cylons were already here and had caused the disaster. When it came to the whereabouts of the Cylons, Apollo figured it was a good idea to trust his expert.

But Baltar was no more qualified than anyone else to tell those left behind that everything was going to be all right. The Great Traitor was the last person to put in charge of the Aid and Comfort Department.

Survival in this solar system was not a problem if the ships had the means to utilize the industrial possibilities of vacuum engineering. They could weld the necessary metals more easily in space anyway. Ever since the Exodus, the colonials had all been forced to learn how to live and work in low gravity and zero gravity environments. They might not like it but those left behind had no choice.

Apollo wasn’t worried about their survival. He didn’t doubt that in time they would outfit the ships for FTL. No, there was only one worry. The Cylons were hurrying to this solar system. When they arrived they would find the stragglers. And without the support of the battlestars, those left behind would be annihilated down to the last atom.

It was a problem. He could only imagine one thing worse. The last time he spoke to Baltar, the living receiving set made a little speech:

“Apollo, has it ever occurred to you that the Cylons have changed their primary goal in regard to us? Maybe they no longer desire our extermination. You can take it from me that there are worse things than death.

“I don’t pretend to know why the Cylons mighl want us alive after all their sincere efforts to eliminate us. I suspect that it might have something to do with a war they are fighting among themselves. Maybe we can be of use to them.”

Alone in his quarters, Apollo was not about to forget Baltar’s suggestion. The Cylons were coming. They were always coming.

The next time they found Apollo, he’d be ready for them no matter what.

2

As she watched the tendrils of atmosphere uncoil into space, and the formerly beautiful planet Paradis turn into a gray expanse of dead rock and black seas. Commander Athena wrestled with a strange, new feeling. She was almost glad for the disaster because this time the horrible unexpected had taken place before any colonials lost their lives. She knew that her brother would not torture himself over making the wrong decision. Not this time.

Of course, Apollo had no way of knowing this would happen. She imagined him staring in disbelief from the bridge of the Galactica. She could bring him up on the monitor readily enough but she elected to keep her own counsel. She resided in splendid isolation on the bridge of the Daedalus, her own ship that she had made such sacrifices to attain. Glancing around, she took note that only a skeleton crew of technicians was with her at this empty hour. It was as close as a leader of a battlestar could come to being alone.

There was a morbid fascination in watching a living planet begin to die, as one layer after another came off, an onion peeling itself. Hard to believe that not long ago she had felt the breezes of Paradis on her face, drank fresh water, played with living animals and watched birds matching their brilliant plumage against richly textured sunsets.

All gone now. Another memory for the colonials to file away in their long journey from somewhere to nowhere. The scientists would argue among themselves over the death of Paradis as they had argued over its discovery. Questions of why a planet lived would be replaced with questions of how a planet died.

Athena didn’t care anymore. You’ve see one world, you’ve seen them all. She cared about the burdens of command crushing her brother. What mattered was that the council couldn’t use this as another club to beat him over the head because the planet had conveniently committed suicide just as colonials once more walked its verdant fields. While the council twiddled its collective thumbs, Apollo made decisions and acted upon them. This time he was saved from disaster. And she knew that he would have been far harsher in judgment of himself than the flaccid authorities of the council always ready to condemn a brave man.

She knew the bone-pulverizing agony of being responsible for the Daedalus. Her whole life had brought her to this honor and sometimes she could barely withstand the fulfillment of her youthful ambition. To be in charge of the entire fleet struck her as almost beyond the power of words to express. Apollo’s greatest achievement was the same as their father’s: both men maintained their sanity against impossible odds.

She turned from the monitor and one of the technicians caught her eye. “Yes, Commander?” he asked. She had not realized that she’d been staring.

“Continue with your work,” she said, and swiveled the chair back to her monitors. There were many pitfalls in command. She must remember not to treat her men as if they were equipment or wallpaper. She had a good crew and they were attuned to her at a level that, if not telepathic like the Gamon, came in a close second.

The Gamon. She hadn’t thought about them until this moment. Could they have done something to precipitate the slow fading of Paradis from the worlds of the living? They had told the colonials not to mourn their passing before it was even a fact. Apollo might be comfortable with their insistence about how they were about to pass on to a higher plane. Athena was not like her brother when it came to transcendental questions. She believed what she could see and hear, taste and touch. Apollo seemed to be on intimate terms with the Lords of Kobol in a manner that eluded his sister. The philosophy of the Gamon was even harder for her to assimilate.

Even as a young girl, she’d been too impatient for the kind of reflective life that attracted her brother. She had the sense to realize that his mystical approach to life helped give him the strength to face the challenges of ultimate command. She tried not to judge him, although there were occasions when his private insights infuriated her because he could not share them with her. At least not fully.

Then again, Apollo never had to face the prejudices a woman dealt with daily if she sought to ascend the ladder of command. Athena appreciated what female warriors preceding her had accomplished. For two hundred years women had been posted. They were on the lists. But only a fool believed the old attitudes had been completely mollified by excellent service records.

Apollo had never burned for the rank of Commander as Athena had ulcerated and ached for such a position. In common with her brother, she had risen up the ranks of command, mastering each position in turn. Athena didn’t expect any special favors because her father was the great Adama. None of his children ever gave him cause for shame.

She remembered the day her father said, “Athena, I love you and Apollo as I love my left and right hands. But the two of you couldn’t be more opposite in nature. He’d rather fly and you’d rather study, even though you’re both well rounded and able to do everything required. But your hearts could not be more different.”

That was one occasion when she wanted to be angry with her father but she found it exceedingly difficult when confronted by the truth. The trouble was that men in the ranks would always prefer a leader who flew and fought by the seat of his pants. She could spend all the time in the universe immersing herself in study and being mentored by the best tacticians she would someday replace on the bridge.

But that didn’t make her one of the boys.

Hell, she’d won the senior cadet class debate; but it was a pyrrhic victory because only the other girls in her class warmed to her afterward. That was her first big lesson on the road to having her own battlestar. If her male classmates didn’t trust her then she could never be the leader that she wanted to be.

A crotchety old professor had surprised the class with an argument that only she had felt qualified to answer. He looked right at Athena even though he was supposed to be addressing the entire class.

“You fine young ladies invariably make the case that your records are comparable to male cadets and that estrogen can prove as deep an ocean of violence against an enemy as the more highly touted testosterone. But you fail to see the one crucial weakness you bring to any large scale military operation.”

“And what is that?” she asked in an even voice, dedicated to the proposition of not losing her temper on this occasion.

“You forget the male equation in your Algebra of human rights. You are so busy proving yourself that you fail to consider what your own injury or capture means to your male comrades. It is difficult enough to abandon your fellow warrior when he’s a fellow! But if the mission requires, you must act ruthlessly. Many men find that sort of action more difficult with a woman in the picture. For instance, a man is more likely to toss a blaster to a fatally injured man and expect him to finish himself off. Women in combat further complicate an already volatile situation.”

Athena formulated her answer in the time it takes to hurl a curse or suck in a breath. “Professor, erect a neat wall between civilians and combatants and we’ll talk. But in modern warfare the primary target is the civilian population. When the enemy intends mass extermination of men, women and children these fine distinctions of yours evaporate like the morning dew. Not only do I make the case for women warriors but we should do a better job of teaching children to be killers. If I could make a daggit into a killing machine. I’d do that as well.”

The way the professor’s mouth opened and closed with no sounds coming out suggested to her that he’d never encountered her response before to what he probably viewed as his best unanswerable question. Athena only wished the male cadets had been more enthusiastic when she won the debate. One boy she’d had her eye on seemed afraid to ask her out on a date after that.

As she continued staring at the death throes of Paradis, she had a sense of grim satisfaction that her whole life seemed like a vindication for what she had said that day. The Cylons were the full embodiment of the implacable enemy that made no concessions to women and children. During the attacks on the home worlds, it seemed as if children were the primary targets.

That made biological sense to a race of monsters that wanted to remove humanity from the universe. The youngest members of the species are the most dangerous because they represent the future threat.

Athena flicked off her monitor. Contemplating a dying planet made her relive all the world-killing that began the exodus to the stars in the first place. Right about now she’d enjoy the company of Starbuck for a reason having nothing to do with romance.

Now there was a man who’d like the world of the Cylons to enter the cosmic cemetery.

The planet explodes like a bomb. Again and again it disintegrates in Baltar’s dream. But is this really happening? Is this only a dream?

“How did you sleep?” came a deep and oddly reassuring voice.

Baltar did not appreciate being asked that question inside a dream. It did not seem right to say those words to someone dreaming that he is awake. He assumed that he must still be asleep because Cylons surrounded him in a cavernous hall with an absurdly high ceiling.

Black tentacles snaking down from the ceiling provided another strong indication that Baltar was not only asleep but having his worst nightmare in some time. But how did he get from an exploding Paradis to the throne room of Imperious Leader? And why was his old tormentor asking how he slept?

“I’m on a battlestar,” said Baltar. “I’m surrounded by other colonials and we are in space. I’m nowhere near a Cylon ship or base, much less in the court of Imperious Leader. Now it’s time to wake up!”

“Have it your own way,” declaimed the Cylon mastermind. “But you’re not waking up until we’ve had another of our interminable conversations.”

“Not that,” muttered Baltar. “Not a chat.”

“Your vacation is over!” the voice insisted, growing more metallic, less human.

“Vacation?” Baltar responded with irritation. “You call that time we spent on Paradis a vacation!”

“Compared to what’s coming next,” said the voice with real sincerity. “You had an easy time of it, didn’t you? Weren’t you on the sidelines through the whole affair of the Gamon? Every now and then Apollo turned to you for advice. And then there was the supreme audacity of you teaching classes. Let’s see, what was the subject matter they entrusted you to impart to the young? I almost remember...”

“You know damned well what I taught!” he filled in. “You’re already in my head, rooting around in my secrets and the stuff I want to forget. You know everything already. I think, therefore you are!”

“No, Baltar. I think. You only react. You are mine, you sad technological barbarian.”

Baltar rose to his feet, unsteady because he was suddenly dizzy. He wondered how he could be lightheaded inside a dream. “You call me a barbarian, you monster! Cylons are no more civilized than a hive of insects.”

Imperious Leader floated above his dais. It was a new trick except that Baltar reminded himself that everything he saw wasn’t exactly real, and anything can happen inside his head.

Unconcerned with Baltar’s objections, the Cylon leader floated over to the human guest, its prey, and responded to Baltar’s thought with: “The experience may not be real in an existential sense, but a lot more is going on than your fantasies. We are in communication.”

“No! Shut up!” To his own ears Baltar sounded like a beggar.

“We communicate but you insist on adding the personal touch. Our previous encounters in the flesh—in your flesh, I should say—traumatized you. The nightmares are now part of you. We have nothing to do with that. The communications are something else again.”

“WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH ME?” Baltar pleaded. As if in answer, one of the black tentacles hanging from the high ceiling like a sickly vine writhed down and seeped inside the fragile little cranium of the dream self locked inside the larger cranium of a sweating man, turning and tossing in his dark room aboard a battlestar.

The tentacle slithered along the central fissure separating the two lobes of his brain. The pain was beyond pain, feeding the curiosity of his unsentimental captor. Then the tentacle sank down through gray matter and found its way to the spinal cord. The black snake hollowed into its new home and sent millions of small agonies into every screaming fiber of his nervous system.

“Now that I have your undivided attention,” said Imperious Leader, “by uniting the two parts of you into one exquisite agony, I’ll explain why you are a technological barbarian. You have spent your life attempting to understand the basic laws of the universe. The only kind of law you respect is the law of gravity. Your goal has been control over the physical world. At a certain point in your development you concluded that your fellow beings were only another part of the physical world to be manipulated for your purposes, no different than a rock or a cyclotron. You never bothered yourself with the moral codes or ethical dilemmas that tormented so many of your fellow beings.”

“Hold it right there!” said Baltar. “How can you presume to judge me? Cylons do not concern themselves with the rights of other beings. You belong to the ultimate collective. You don’t accept any human notions of right or wrong, and so treat the universe in precisely the same manner that you accuse me!”

“How can a renegade like you pass judgment on the perfect morality of the Cylons?” asked a familiar voice. The ghostly visage of Count Iblis filled the chamber, his wise, tired eyes offering no respite to the great traitor.

“Morality? Them?”

“Oh, yes,” intoned the voice of the greater traitor. “They act for their own welfare, don’t they? Until this current civil strife between the biological members and the pure metallic citizens, they experienced no internal strife. They’ve never had criminals. And because their conflict is over ideology, the victors will act for the good of the whole as they see it. They are nothing like us.

“We were born as isolated egos, Baltar, alone with our own purposes. When we cooperate it is for our own narrow motives. Human beings will never know the perfect morality of a true collective.”

Baltar prided himself on being an attentive listener, even if the droning lecture was the product of his own fevered imagination. He could never be sure. Somehow the reality of the situation didn’t seem as important right now as finding an answer to the vileness of Iblis’s beliefs. If this were only a dream, he wished he could conjure up Apollo to sing the praises of freedom, to make a poem of human love and liberty. Those ideas fell outside Baltar’s area of expertise.

He settled for spitting out: “One monster’s morality is a free man’s bad joke.”

“What would you know about that?” asked Lucifer, rising up from a transparent floor.

“I know I’ve been out of touch with all of you far too long. I’m certain that there’s a whole new cast of characters by now. I wonder what they look like.”

No sooner had Baltar admitted his curiosity, than he regretted it profoundly. Vague shapes billowed just outside his peripheral vision like musty curtains blowing in a cold wind. Bony fingers seemed to play up and down his spine which reminded him of the black intruder sunk in his spinal cord.

Baltar was always one for turning adversity to his advantage. Despite a stomach turning revulsion, he grabbed one of the skeleton hands and forced it over his head so that it had to touch the side of the tentacle. The black thing had been coalescing into something more like heavy leather but at first contact with ice bone fingers transformed back into something born of smoke and shadows. It retreated from his body far more swiftly than it had entered.

“Bravo!” said the voice of Iblis as the face vanished.

Suddenly Baltar realized that he was alone. He was still inside the vast metal cavern but no Cylons spoiled the view of its bleak immensity. Daring to look overhead, he was relieved at the absence of the tentacles.

Now if he could only wake up it would be the perfect ending to an imperfect evening. When a hand tapped him on the shoulder he wasn’t surprised. A moment’s peace and quiet was too good to be true.

Baltar turned around and came face to face with Baltar.

“We can’t keep putting this off,” he told himself. “We have a destiny.”

“Oh, leave me alone.”

“I’ve done that too much. We need to do some serious thinking.”

“I prefer humorous thinking.”

“Don’t bandy words with me. We’ve got to figure out what the Cylons are up to.”

“Which Cylons? They’re having a civil war, remember?”

The other Baltar, or maybe it was the first Baltar, shook his head. “Disagreements among your enemies is not a panacea. If they don’t destroy themselves they always come out of it stronger. Those are the Cylons who are coming for us, bigger, better, nastier. We’ve got to figure out what they want.”

One Baltar laughed and one didn’t. “They always want the same thing. To wipe us out because we don’t fit into their preconceptions of how a space faring species should behave. We’re unpredictable, remember? That means we’re better off dead.”

“Wishful thinking,” said Baltar.

“What the hell do you mean by that?” demanded Baltar.

“They may have decided that some of us are useful to them alive. After all, you proved that, didn’t you? That may be our greatest treason of all instead of selling out the old home world.”

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

Baltar wouldn’t let Baltar off the hook. “We showed them a live human can serve them, didn’t we? And unless I’m missing something, we are still carrying on that grand tradition even now!”

“Frack!”

“Cheer up. Maybe it’s not completely our fault. I have a theory. Want to hear it?”

“How can I stop you?”

“Exactly. My theory is that the Cylons miss our company. That’s the underlying motive for their current squabbles. When we’re not around to engage their attention they become so bored that they have to fight among themselves. There now, do you feel better?”

“I want to wake up.”

“You mean the transmission is over.”

“I want to wake up.”

“So that you can watch Paradis blow up again?”

“Better than being here.”

“But Paradis isn’t blowing up just yet, Baltar. It takes a lot to detonate a whole planet. Don’t you understand what is actually happening?”

“Enlighten me.”

“It’s your head, dear boy. Baltar, your head is blowing up, every micron of every day. And guess when it’s going to stop?”

“When I find a better doctor?”

“No, when you’re dead.”

3

“I have the report on Baltar,” said Cassie coming onto the bridge of the Galactica. Her formal demeanor and tone of voice made it clear that she meant to be all business.

“Thank you,” said Apollo, taking the thick report. "Before I read this. I’d like to hear a summary of your findings. I have the closest relationship with our subject but I’d appreciate your personal insights more than anyone else.”

“Yes, Apollo.” She rubbed her eyes and sighed as though dredging up her opinion from a deeper place than her medical expertise.

“The Cylons have done their work well,” she began. “They left his personality and memories intact while transforming the rest of his brain into a spy device.” She bit her lip at that point.

“Contributing to catastrophes that probably cost us one-third of colonial deaths and injuries over the past twenty-five yahren,” Apollo finished. He smiled ruefully. “Do you wonder why I keep Baltar alive?”

“Sometimes I play games of strategy to keep my mind limber. The Cylons don’t know that you’re on to them.”

Apollo nodded. “The most difficult part of command is accepting casualties to keep the enemy in the dark about your intelligence and capabilities. We cannot run from the Cylons forever. I promised my father that I would never lead them to Earth.”

Now it was her turn to nod. “I will do my best to keep Baltar healthy. I can’t help from feeling sorry for him. He seems trapped between two hells.”

“Both of his own making,” Apollo added. There was the crime the man could never escape; and there was his current link to the Cylons that he could not break without dying.

“I don’t have much more to say that isn’t in the report. Dr. Kim has provided invaluable treatments but there is only so much she can do without triggering Cylon booby traps. His nightmares are worse than ever and we record everything he says. His latest utterance was about the destruction of Paradis and that he must warn you that the Cylons are already here!”

“Good work,” said Apollo. "We have a lot to talk about later.” He raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Yes, we do, Commander!” she agreed and then took her leave. On the way out she passed President Tigh. Apollo’s old friend had aged considerably during their time on the planet. He placed a hand on Apollo’s shoulder and stood watching the flickering lights and shadows of Paradis fading from the living world. Every monitor in every ship was permanently switched on to that one spectacle. It was as if the fleet were held in a heavy magnetic field from which they could not break free, but nothing really kept them there but a morbid fascination at their latest loss.

Apollo spoke first; “The council demanded that we exit Paradis immediately. For the only time in their history it looks as though they were right!”

Tigh laughed and it was a good sound to hear. “Even the council can’t be perfect. Always being wrong is a kind of perfection.”

“If only they didn’t work so hard at it.”

“Yes. At least they don’t pretend to understand what’s going on out there. Our scientific readings didn’t indicate any reason for the atmosphere to be stripped from the planet. Now we have indications that forces are building up inside the planet that could blow it smithereens. We have no explanation.”

Apollo looked his old comrade in the eye. “Baltar says the Cylons are back.”

“I thought he only said they were on their way.”

“No. He believes they’re already here.”

Tigh wrinkled his brow in thought. “By the Lords of Kobol, we can’t be wrong about everything. We haven’t picked up any readings. Nothing!”

Apollo sympathized. “Interesting. You probably don’t want to hear this but lately I’m feeling something I can’t explain.”

Tigh winced. “You’re right. I don’t want to hear this. I’m convinced that whatever is going on exists within Paradis itself.”

“I’ve made some readings myself. Paradis has extremely high energy readings indicating a highly volatile core. The sun’s sudden contraction could have set off some kind of chain reaction.”

“That sounds credible,” said Tigh. “I suppose we don’t have to worry about it, so long as the Cylons aren’t breathing down our neck. We have more .immediate problems.”

"And we better solve them,” Apollo echoed the painful truth. “We were unprepared to leave for space without proper provisions and accommodations. The council is solely responsible for that. If only they hadn’t been so short-sighted.”

Tigh sighed. “I could have done better in that department myself.” Apollo rose from the commander’s chair and patted the president on the arm. “You were caught in the middle. That’s a good description of your job. But you weren’t responsible for focusing all our energy and resources on building New Caprica City. That psychotic architect takes the blame for that one!”

“I’m sorry I took so long to recognize that man’s ambitions,” lamented Tigh. “I didn’t realize that he would have blocked refurbishing the fleet even if he didn’t need the materials for his construction project. He didn’t want us to ever leave Paradis. Maybe we should have left him behind!”

The two men continued gazing at the monitor. “He didn’t do it alone,” said Apollo. “The council acted like his servitor.”

“He had our pogees in a vise. The council is a fundamentally civilian enterprise. They wanted to listen to Ryis because he satisfied their immediate needs. He had a free hand because we were at peace.”

“No, President Tigh!” The older man gave a start of surprise. He and Apollo rarely used each other’s titles in private conversation. “The people must finally learn the hard truth that we have not been at peace for the past twenty-five yahren. From the moment of the Cylon attack on the home worlds we entered the final phase of our eons-long struggle. We did not undertake this journey so that we can pretend we are at peace. Every action we have taken since that bloody day has been for survival.”

“Of course you’re right,” said Tigh, his shoulders sagging. It had been so easy to forget despite his warrior service. Holding the office of President was a slippery slope to seeing too many things as a civilian.

Seeing the effect he was having on his old friend, Apollo softened his tone. “You have your job and I have mine. I see my duty more clearly after Paradis. Never again will I allow the council to hold the destiny of this fleet in their hands. When we finally reach a new homeland and the Cylons have been utterly destroyed, I will listen to them again.”

Tigh chuckled. “I’m coming to feel the same. They don’t understand that you love peace more than they ever will.”

“Thank you for that, Tigh. I won’t settle for the illusion of peace because it’s a lie and a potential death warrant. But no one loves real peace more than I do!”

Silence settled over the two men like a heavy cloak. They had carried the burden of authority fora long time. Emotional repression was only one of the many prices they paid for acquitting themselves with honor. Duty was their constant companion and it gnawed at both with an insistent hunger for right decisions.

Apollo spoke in his voice of authority. “Call a meeting of the Council of Twelve. We must decide the destiny of our people.”

“Have you decided what we will do next?”

“Yes. We must move the fleet as far as possible from this location at sub-light speed.”

“You don’t want to be surprised by a Cylon attack! But what about Baltar?”

“I’ve already thought about that,” said Apollo. "We will keep Baltar isolated so that his brain won’t transmit vital information. He will remain under constant supervision in his quarters at all times.”

Tigh exhaled slowly. “That’s a good plan but do you have a fallback position?”

“What do you mean?”

“We were talking about the people only a moment ago. They’ve never encountered a short-sighted solution they don’t like. When it comes to thinking in the long term, they are woefully deficient.” Apollo grinned. “Is that the voice of a professional politician?” “You’ve got me there. Maybe counting votes is a bad habit. But I’m giving you a serious warning. How do you expect me to sell the idea that Baltar goes with the main body of the fleet while others stay behind in this inhospitable solar system?”

“The truth is as important as our support vapors. I am convinced that Baltar holds an important key to our survival.”

“I’m not questioning your judgment,” said Tigh, “but I have the problem of convincing people who don’t know you as well as I do. Hell, even I have trouble accepting that you’ve become as close to that criminal as you have.”

Apollo walked away from Tigh and observed the work of one of his helmsmen. Tigh remained where he was. The meeting was not over. He wondered if he had gone too far with his last remark. But no, he convinced himself it was part of his duty to share with Apollo not only what he thought but also the opinions of other Galacticans. A good leader had to know the score; and Apollo struck him as—someone with an unlimited capacity for the truth.

The commander finally returned to Tigh. “I have trouble putting into words what I’ve learned from Baltar,” he said softly. “A man who has walked the dark path and survived has much to tell. I have seen the realization dawn in him of what he did to his fellow man. Guilt has grown in Baltar, like an unwanted fetus. The man has finally discovered a sense of shame. Imagine what it must be like for him to live long enough to actually care about those he formerly sought to control or eliminate.”

“He must have a steep learning curve,” said Tigh. Apollo didn’t miss the sarcasm.

“I don’t blame you for having doubts. But my whole lifetime has brought me to this point. Out of evil can come good. We have seen this enough times in other circumstances. Baltar is the rarest of men because he can articulate and share insights we won’t encounter from anyone else. The Cylons made a mistake when they behaved true to their inflexible pattern.”

“I see what you mean,” said Tigh, the light beginning to dawn.

Apollo continued: “They successfully used Baltar against us when they attacked the home worlds. They are creatures of pure routine, if he was an effective weapon in their hands once, they assume he will always serve them in the same capacity. I intend to prove them wrong.”

Bojay noticed a spot on his right wrist. He didn’t mind getting older except for the wrinkles and the occasional unexpected blemish. The receding hairline was OK with him because it meant that hair didn’t get in his eyes. The little gut developing around his middle just seemed like extra insulation. So long as his eyes were clear and his hands steady, he lived up to his reputation as the Magician.

The Viper he was working on was an old ship. He felt a certain affinity to it because neither of them were youngsters any longer. But when the Viper was up to standard, young pilots depended on it for a ride they wouldn’t forget. Bojay had the same attitude about himself. At least three of the young female warriors were willing to check out his cockpit and go for a ride. None seemed to mind his receding hairline one little bit.

As he worked on the current ship, he thought about how he first started down the path to his career. In a time of peace a first-rate mechanic is a value; but in a time of war, he becomes essential. If he wants to be the best of the best, let him tell by the sound and pitch of engines in old Viper war-horses what can still be salvaged and how. Then he becomes the best friend of every ace pilot. He might as well be flying the missions with them and blowing the enemy to hell and back—which he had done enough times as a pilot himself, second to none. But every time he fixed a ship for a comrade, it was as if he flew another mission himself.

At first, there had been some resentment on the part of the pit crews when a pilot moved in on their turf. In short order he won them over. The best thing about the engineering personality was that it judged performance by results. Bojay didn’t disappoint his new friends.

When he’d been a boy he thought he’d be a warrior. But he worried that he lacked the aptitude. His thought his reflexes were not quite fast enough. Then there was the math requirement, as tough as what was expected of an astronomer. He lacked confidence that he could master paraboloids and vectors, loci and basic ballistics. But his hands guided his brain to the area where he was a lot better than good. What he could touch he could understand, especially if it happened to be mechanical.

What a pleasant surprise to find out that he was competent at all the other things as well. The first time he flew he thought there was no greater pleasure. A few months later he was laid for the first time and declared both experiences an exquisite draw.

Right now he was working on a valve that wasn’t allowing enough fuel to go where it was needed. The gauges were malfunctioning as well. At least he’d already fixed the ship’s computer by the simple expedient of shaking the frizzorts out of it. He’d learned some of his best tricks from actually flying these crates.

“Is your ship talking to you?” boomed a friendly voice as a boot kicked his foot. Bojay always liked a visit from Starbuck. He pushed a button and his flat work-cart motored out from under the Viper. Bojay sat up and gave a salute to his fellow maniac.

“These ships only talk to me. Everyone knows that. They tell me what ails them and then I can fix ’em up in a matter of microns.”

"Yeah, but what happens the first time a ship clams up on you?”

“Never happen!”

“Not even my ship?” Starbuck asked in a goofy voice that wasn’t as funny as he thought it was.

Bojay got to his feet. “Never your ship, Starbuck. She feels that you neglect her and can’t wait to tell me everything.”

“Seal-breaker!” Starbuck said, laughing. “But I must confess there’s a smidgen of a problem that I thought you might help me with.”

As they walked over to check out his ship, Bojay surprised his old comrade by asking, “You want your Viper in top condition so you can go planet-side?”

“You’re kidding?” blurted Starbuck.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been so busy down here you haven’t kept up with the news! Paradis is dead. You must be the last person in the fleet who didn’t know. There’s no going back there.”

“So what now?” asked Bojay.

“So the council will figure out other ways of making our lives miserable!” contributed Boomer, appearing next to Starbuck’s ship just as they arrived.

“Well, the less we know about our destination the more important it is to have these ships ready. So what’s wrong with your craft, Starbuck?”

Starbuck scratched his head. “This is sort of embarrassing but I’m not quite sure. It’s not handling just right but I’ll be damned if I can put my finger on the problem.”

“You’re a hypochondriac,” announced Boomer.

“What the frack do you mean by that?” asked Starbuck.

“I don’t mean for yourself; I mean you’re a hypochondriac when it comes to your ship. Now here you are, wasting Bojay’s valuable time. .

Bojay laughed which would have defused the situation if it needed defusing. But all three were laughing by this point.

“Just leave your Viper with me,” insisted Bojay. “This is the sick bay for all our special little ships. I’ll figure out what’s wrong and then I’ll fix it.”

Starbuck nodded and clasped Bojay on the shoulder. For someone who found it difficult to depend on others, his friends were a godsend to Starbuck.

“Now you two leave the doctor to his patient” said Bojay, shooing them off.

Starbuck and Boomer headed for the lift. “You interested in the council meeting?” asked the latter.

“That’s like asking if I want to eat some tasty mucoid mugjapes.”

Boomer made a face and stuck a finger in his mouth. “Sorry I asked.”

“Poor Apollo has to put up with those idiots, but thank the Lords of Kobol I don’t have to. Just thinking about it gives me a headache. I’ll go to the Med Lab and get something for the pain.”

“Good idea,” said Boomer.

“What’s a good idea?”

“You going to the Med Lab for medicine.”

“That’s what I just said.”

“I know. I’m agreeing.”

As the doors to the lift shooshed open, and Starbuck made a hasty exit. Boomer watched the ace warrior and renowned womanizer display more eagerness than was normal for him. Boomer knew what was up.

Thirty yahren of watching and analyzing Starbuck had given Boomer his fair share of wisdom with his friend. Ever since his life threatening injury on Paradis, Starbuck had come to grips with what he really wanted out of life. He’d stopped lying to himself. Boomer was glad to see the change.

Starbuck was hurrying to the Med Lab for a sovereign remedy, but it wasn’t a pill or powder for a headache.

The name of the medicine he needed was Cassie.

4

Adama once told Apollo that many of the men and women who joined the council accomplished much in their lives before entering that honored circle. They weren’t all decadent products of inherited wealth. In fact, a good number of them had shown sufficient strength of character and good judgment that Adama might have recommended them for positions of authority.

Granting all this, the young Apollo wondered why his father found himself so often in opposition with the members. Adama explained that even good minds were adversely affected by the nature of the council. The key reason was that each member was immune from the consequences of bad decisions. A handful of people wielded authority for the rest of their lives and never feared retribution from either warriors or the people. Yet these were the same people ready to bray about the necessity of democracy in any conflict with the warriors.

Before the council member noticed what was happening, he perfected a skill in never taking the blame for any miscalculation he might make. But that was only the half of it. The same member perfected a positive genius for taking credit for anything that went right, whether he had anything to do with it or not.

The warriors did not enjoy any of these luxuries. The most credit they ever received came in the form of a medal reluctantly awarded—all too frequently it was posthumous—as in the case of Commander Cain. When it came time to pass the blame, they were expected to take all of it as part of their patriotic duty.

As Apollo strode purposefully toward his latest encounter with people he no longer respected, he tried to put himself in a receptive frame of mind. His father would want him to try to be diplomatic again. As hard as it was for him, he knew that it was the right thing for him to do even if the final decision must run against every conciliatory gesture. He wasn’t going through an empty ritual. Every effort must be made for the representatives of the people to see the light of reason.

However unreasonable the final result might be!

As if reading his mind, Athena’s slender fingers were suddenly on his arm and her voice sternly in his ear: “Don’t lose your temper!”

He patted her arm. “What good would it do?” he asked. She shrugged and he continued: “It’s the same old story. We need the council members to calm the people and persuade them not to engage in a full fledged mutiny.”

Athena’s expression softened. Up close like this she could read her brother’s face and appreciate his internal struggle. “Wouldn’t it be grand if they could really help for once?”

He could almost hear her heart beating. She understood the stakes. Two young men passed close by and they waited until they were past to resume the conversation.

He laid it out. “When the people learn that over a third of their numbers may be asked to stay behind, it will task the political skills of anyone with Sire in front of his name!”

“They won’t want to face the Cylons alone,” she stated the obvious.

“The rest of us won’t want to fight other colonials. A civil war is worse than the Cylons. Besides, I couldn’t stand the irony of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Baltar believes that the Cylons have been having a civil war of their own! Wouldn’t it be the final sick joke of the universe if it turns out we follow their example before they even have a chance to finish us off?”

Athena gave a low whistle. A young warrior turned on his heel and glanced at her for a hopeful moment. Then, realizing the whistle had not been directed at him, he went on his way.

“Well, Apollo,” she said finally, “you have your work cut out for you. For what it’s worth, I’ll be at your side in there.”

“Thanks, Athena. It’s times like these when you appreciate your friends more than ever.”

Another friend was waiting for them at the door to the council chamber. President Tigh made a point of joining them as the three entered into the bowels of bureaucracy.

Just once, Apollo thought, it would be a pleasant change of pace if these public gatherings were as calm as, say, a violent sporting event.

Instead there was the usual animal odor of fear and anxiety, made all the worse by so many bodies crowded together in a chamber not meant to house half that many. The council had all the elbowroom it required: an ideal metaphor for the existential reality of the situation. The crowd probably didn’t have much more room than the cramped quarters of their space ships. The brief time on Paradis where they had room to live a normal human life again had not spoiled them. Back in space, they quickly adapted back to living in closet-sized apartments.

Scanning the desperate faces in the room, again Apollo was grateful for the life he led despite the heavy responsibilities. He was grateful for the seating arrangement, as well: he was in-between Tigh and Athena.

The president stood and held up his hand in an attempt to bring order to the proceedings; if the melee up to this point even deserved the designation of proceedings. Apollo never failed to be impressed by the presence of the man. The cross-section of sweating, urgent, strident humanity finally became an attentive audience.

“Men and women of the colonies,” he addressed them, “all of you are aware that once again we face life and death decisions. Too often in the past we have postponed dealing with difficult circumstances. Now that Paradis is no longer an option, we must waste no time in deciding our next course of action. To do that, we must admit what we can do and what we can’t do, however unpopular the truth may be.”

“The truth!” screamed a voice from the back. There were too many people in the room to tell who spoke. “You’re gonna leave a lot of us to die! No damned aristocrat will stay behind to hold our hands.”

The Sergeant at Arms failed to locate the heckler. Apollo got his attention and waved him off from the pointless endeavor. Apollo would rather have dozens of angry voices in the mob than deal with Ryis on the council. At least he could rest easy that one menace was safely imprisoned.

Other angiy voices joined the first, emboldened by the freewheeling anarchy in the chamber. Despite these challenges, Tigh was able to reassert control.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “accusations and blame will get us nowhere. If we are going to be honest with one another, we must admit that everyone played a role in getting us into the current predicament. We all took Paradis for granted. And even those few of us who grasped that it was but a temporary refuge underestimated how little time we had.

“Is there anyone in this chamber who didn’t let himself or herself hope against all odds that we were finally free of the Cylons? We are only human. We don’t have an infallible guide to the future. But when facts hit us in the face, then we must have the wisdom to team from past mistakes. We must also have the courage to remember past victories which is sometimes the harder thing to do. What has worked to keep us alive before may work to keep us alive again.”

“You’re just a stooge for Apollo!” screamed a female voice. Tigh thought it sounded a lot like the woman who had been Ryis’s mistress. So much for the authentic anger of the people.

“Don’t worry,” said the oldest member of the council in a voice so low that everyone strained to hear it. The trick worked. The speaker was a study in corpulence, eyes sunk in layers of fat as if they were hiding from close scrutiny. The mouth was wet and worked hard to get out the first assault on Apollo from the Twelve: “We don’t want to live under a military dictatorship any longer.”

“That does it,” muttered Apollo under his breath but Athena’s fingers dug into his arm like needles. He held himself in check. At least for a little longer. But how could he play diplomat with fatuous lies?

“That may be a bit unfair,” said another member of the council, a woman as thin as the man was not. She seemed to have a case of the permanent sniffles. “It’s not the fault of the warriors that there are too many of us. Some of the young couples even had children on Paradis.” Her tone of voice was the same as if she’d been talking about a case of skin rash.

“Excuse me, madam.” It was Tigh’s turn. “Are you suggesting that we periodically thin the herd of colonials whether there is a threat or not?”

“Bet she won’t be left behind!” came an angry voice from the very heart of the crowd.

“Too many or too few is beside the point,” said the fat man, regaining the floor. “Sometimes a society benefits from a population increase and sometimes it’s better off with a decrease. These decisions are too important to be left in the hands of military men who are supposed to serve society, not control it. The warriors have forgotten their place.”

With that kind of provocation, Athena wasn’t fast enough to stop Apollo. He was on his feet like a shot and not even a pulse rifle could have prevented him declaiming: “You members of the council fail to appreciate that neither you nor I determine if we are at war. The enemy always has the privilege of determining if they want to kill or enslave us.”

He turned away from the council and addressed the worried mass of colonials. “We are in a mess. We can’t all get out of it the same way. If you want to survive, the last thing you should do is listen to these fools..

Musiclinks and TTansVids were carrying his voice and face throughout all the ships. The dreadful silence in the room was in part due to the angry mob hanging on his every word. They were so angry and afraid that they could be moved in any direction by a well-placed gust of indignation. The council member who opened this can of worms assumed that the rage of the people would naturally turn against the military. In a flash, Apollo demonstrated how easily it could go in the other direction.

Because as much as the people chafed under emergency measures, they had a grudging respect for the guts and heroism of the warriors. And no matter how many handouts the council might occasionally throw their way, the people didn’t respect the indolent poseurs who sought their favor.

Apollo understood this social dynamic before he ever became Commander of the fleet. He studied his father resist the temptation of turning the masses against his political opponents. Apollo had done his best to follow in his father’s footsteps, only employing draconian measures in genuine emergencies. The council members truly were fools when they allowed any of their members to prattle about a dictatorship.

Again and again Apollo had resisted the role of dictator. Rather than continue his harangue he allowed his sister to pull on his sleeve. As he slowly resumed his seat she took the floor and did her best to ameliorate the situation.

“We must rise above personal attacks,” she said. “President Tigh warned us about that. Commander Apollo represents all the warriors. He demands and deserves respect. As for the council, we do not question their constitutional authority.”

Apollo and Tigh exchanged glances and a mutual sigh. Turned out that Athena had diplomatic skills worthy of her father.

She continued: “We are all responsible for the predicament we find ourselves in. I include myself. Apollo agrees that we all share in the blame so that is one more reason we shouldn’t start hurling mud. We only succeed in dirtying our own faces.”

Anger began to seep out of the chamber as if Athena had punctured a pressurized tank holding volatile gases. Tigh thought he should take notes. Apollo wondered how long it would last but decided to make the best use of the time by marshalling his arguments. They still had a very difficult proposition to sell.

Athena held the chamber in the palm in her hand and she wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. “If we stayed on Paradis the Cylons would have discovered us sooner or later and taken us by surprise. Or the planet’s sun would have killed us. Or we could end up exactly where we are—without enough space worthy ships. There wasn’t enough time to refurbish enough ships for deep space even if we had done nothing but work on that the day we arrived on Paradis. Our fleet has been in space for twenty-five yahren and it would have taken upwards of three more yahren on the planet to properly rebuild all the ships. Now, maybe a few more ships could have been repaired in time and a few more of us would have had the means to escape this solar system, but roughly a third of our population would still be left behind!”

Except for the soft sound of breathing, the silence inside the chamber was as deep as the vacuum outside the battlestar. Athena suddenly felt the full solemnity of the moment. She didn’t want to continue but she had to. Her brother squeezed her hand and she felt as if some of his strength was flowing into her. He didn’t think he could say what had to be said any better than Athena.

“Let’s put away blame and guilt. We must deal with the emergency at hand. We have to act immediately if any of us are to leave this quadrant alive. Paradis is dead and gives every sign of imminent disintegration. Our instruments have not picked up any Cylons in the vicinity. Due to the vast distances between our current location and the next destination we must move with alacrity. We’ve traveled too far and suffered too much to give up now.”

She fiddled with her comlink and accessed the data she required. “We have located a possible habitable planet approximately three light years from here. We will need to travel at our top hyper-speed if supplies and fuel are to hold out. By the Lords of Kobol, we will have no starvation on this journey! But the brutal fact is that not everyone can go with us.”

A baby cried in the back of the room, a grim reminder of the decision that now faced them. A young boy in the front row said, “I’ll volunteer to stay and fight the Cylons when they arrive. We’ll stop them right here and they’ll never find you!”

Apollo looked hard at the lad, about the same age as his own son Koren. He felt a pride in the young man that was like a dagger in his heart. He prayed for a day when decisions like this would never be made again for these moments were the true horror of war.

Athena fired her last shot, almost surprised that no one had shouted her down. “We must face this terrible reality and decide now, gentlemen!”

She sat down, relieved and exhausted. Apollo admired how his sister had grown up and assumed the mantle of command. For the first time since assuming command he felt that he had an equal partner.

He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Father would be very proud of you.”

President Tigh appreciated what his young friends had done for him today. He picked up where he left off, but with a civilized group of human beings instead of barbarians. It was strange how the right person or the right word could stave off disaster. He would never forget what Athena did.

“Let us adjourn,” he said. “We have much to think about. We will reassemble at 0900 hours. As Athena so aptly stated, we have little time and much to do. We will begin gathering and databasing all colonials and essential personnel to this fleet. We must have complete information before we determine a method to make the crucial decisions.”

The council remained silent, music to the ears of Apollo and Athena and Tigh. As Apollo rose to his feet, Tigh whispered in his ear: “They were all so stunned that no one thought to bring up the subject of Baltar!”

“I’m not interested in the secrets of the universe!” Baltar screamed in his sleep. “You Cylons promise everything but it’s all lies!” Dr. Kim made a note of it and then checked on her other patients. The recording devices were on twenty-four hours a day and no one was on permanent watch. It would be different if Baltar hurt himself or swallowed his tongue in his delirium but so far he did not seem to be in physical danger.

She was annoyed that he kept begging for drugs to keep him awake. He was fine, according to him, so long as he didn’t drift off. But no one could stay awake forever.

He insisted that if he had the free run of the Med Lab he could work out a way to stay awake permanently. Calmly, she deflated his idea by pointing out that he’d only succeed in reaching the “waking dream” state. The Cylons could still reach him there.

Besides, it was up to Commander Apollo to determine what was to be done with Baltar. The decision was neither hers nor her patient’s.

Cassie was a big help with Baltar. Kim looked forward to her conversations with her. The sudden sound of a closing door made her think Cassie was checking in but to her surprise she saw a glimpse of someone running. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone else on the night shift.

She followed the interloper only to find another swinging door. Before she went through it she saw something glistening on the door to Baltar’s room.

Someone had scrawled in blood the words:

BALTAR STAYS BEHIND!

She wasted no time calling security.

5

Victory over the colonials was not enough. The three-lobed brain oflmperious Leader demanded complete understanding of the human enemy. Conflicts among the Cylons forced him to consider a wider range of thought categories than had once seemed optimal. Now he had to know everything!

At one time it was sufficient merely to hunt and destroy the unpredictable human targets. No attention was paid to irrelevancies, such as the fact that a renegade human actually fathered the Cylon race from its reptilian origins.

Count Iblis admired ruthlessness when he was a mortal man. He casually dismissed his humanity back then. How simple it was for him to retain that part of himself as he became more than human, his consciousness extending to merge with the highest levels of control mind.

No matter how pure the purposes of that control, a problem remained for the ultimate cylon Ego that perceived itself as Imperious Leader. How was he to make sense of the senseless? Human imperfection no longer outraged the delicate sensibilities of that hyper-critical perspective. Now the very flaws of the human enemy provided an endless source of fascination.

Could there be something intrinsically evil about the human source? The three-lobed brain perceived vast seas of orgasms all to no effect. Imperfections were chains to hold back any clear purpose.

Contemplation was dangerous. It led to even stranger thoughts than considering the possibilities of limits. Could there be an entirely different kind of perfection? Was it remotely possible that imperfection at certain moments in the flux of space-time could be itself a kind of perfection?

The merest hint of such an idea stimulated the neuron flow in the incandescent and pulsating hive-brain. Imperious Leader was eager to learn.

The human traitor Baltar might furnish the answer to all such musings. There was in that tortured soul an incessant desire to do something great as defined in human terms.

In common with Imperious Leader, Baltar could analyze and evaluate a situation with various moving parts. If anything, he had a natural gift for strategy and tactics. But there the similarity ended. Baltar’s sole purpose was the preservation and aggrandizement of Self. This was a different matter from a sense of superiority. To Imperious Leader, Baltar was superior to most of his fellow humans. That was merely a fact, the same as the Cylon leader’s knowledge of his superiority to all other Cylons. The mystery of Baltar did not lie in his high self-regard but rather in his purposes.

What exactly did Baltar want? If his needs were self-contained there was no need for him to act on the external world at all. Undoubtedly he possessed the genius to create a cyber-environment in which he could place his brain in permanent stasis with adequate energy and defenses to optimize survival. From that relatively secure and hidden redoubt, he could construct scenarios of personal triumphs and satisfactions that could feed his ego for eternity.

He would cease to matter to his fellow beings; but how was that different from his current circumstances? Forever isolated from others of his kind, he would no longer send out signals of any value to the Cylon Empire. Baltar would be an Empire of One.

For some incalculable reason, the human traitor had never thought of this solution to his problems. He was human, all too human, after all. He lacked practical Cylon mental engineering. To wit, problems are meant to be solved.

The dispassionate Cylon intellect concluded that ultimate answers about the human soul were to be dug out of the writhing mass of tortured gray matter that was Baltar’s brain. Perhaps that was the man’s ultimate purpose—to help Imperious Leader put down a Cylon revolt that challenged his rule.

There were plans to be made for the final encounter between those who care enough to conquer the universe and the weak ones who run and hide. Baltar was very much part of those plans.

He had a dichotomous nature, even more so than the routine human specimen. It would be a shame to waste him as a mere homing beacon for the Cylon fleet. There were other uses for a splendid tool.

Ever since it had been ascertained that images of the Cylon world had been bleeding into Baltar’s unconscious, a simple strategy dictated the restriction of those mental pictures. A distortion wavelength gave the already paranoid victim a whirlpool of nightmare visions instead.

Why not try a more sophisticated strategy and send the man clear and understandable pictures of what the Cylons intended to do? Only Imperious Leader would make certain that Baltar received some false data.

“I’m tired of people dying,” said Koren.

“Death is what you make of it,” came the stern yet reassuring tones of Gar’Tokk. “If it is not time for you to die, then you have a duty to live fully. You must learn that from death.”

The two appraised each other in a lonely corridor. Anyone else coming upon the young teenager all by himself during a sleep cycle would instantly interrogate the lad. That was not the way of Gar’Tokk. Curfew was an alien concept to Borellian Nomen. They respected the right of every living thing to roam, regardless of age or stature.

Gar’Tokk only needed one look at Apollo’s adopted son to sense the deep loneliness of the boy. Apollo mattered to the Noman, so the boy mattered as well.

“What is your trouble?” he asked.

Koren raised an eyebrow in surprise. Despite his young years he had been around long enough to be surprised that Gar’Tokk would presume to tread, however lightly, on someone else’s privacy. If the boy had been asked that question by almost anyone else, he would have resisted. He’d made up his mind to be bitter and stubborn. He felt that he had the right, after all he’d been through with both his real father and now Apollo. Every time he thought he might have a chance for happiness, the universe refused to cooperate.

On the other hand, it was difficult feeling sorry for himself when someone as important as Gar’Tokk paid attention to him.

“I guess I’m thinking too much,” he said.

“Wisdom whispers to the young as well as the old,” said the big humanoid, placing a hand on the boy’s narrow shoulder.

Emboldened, Koren pressed on. “Maybe you won’t think I’m crazy but I’ll tell you. It seems like we fight ourselves a lot more than we do the Cylons. I mean, lately that is. At least since I’ve been born. Look how my father, my real father, fought Apollo!”

“You have not forgotten how the Cylon force pursued us into the Ur Cloud?” Gar’Tokk gently reminded the young critic.

“No, of course not,” the boy admitted. “But ever since we got to Paradis it’s like I said, only worse than before. The way we’re still fighting now it’s like we’re still down on the planet. I can’t believe that some of us will have to stay behind when the fleet makes the jump.”

“Cold equations,” said Gar’Tokk. “Hard facts.”

“Too hard!” the boy countered, staring into the eyes of the big alien, searching for some kind of understanding. “Why don’t we all stay here until the Cylons come and face the final battle together!”

The Noman gave an almost imperceptible nod but Koren noticed. “You have a warrior’s heart,” came the deep voice. “But you don’t think like a commander.”

“I know,” muttered Koren. “It always comes back to Apollo.”

“True. Your adoptive father has to make the final decisions so it must come back to him.”

“When the council lets him!” the young one added and they both made low grunts of amusement that weren’t exactly laughter.

“Koren, you must understand that Apollo has a duty to all.”

“Then why is he going to split us up?” the boy asked tensely.

The Noman shook his great mane of a head. “He did not create the trap we are in. He will fight with every ounce of strength to save at least a remnant of his people no matter what happens.”

Koren shrugged. He should have known better than to open his mouth around Gar’Tokk unless he chose to be exceedingly careful about what would come out. It was hard to put anything over on a seasoned veteran whose people were famous for 100% honesty.

“But what if the two groups never see each other again?” he asked, trying vainly to keep emotion out of his voice.

“Wrong question, young human. In this sea of space and time distance is the same as time. You should ask how glorious it is if both groups survive. That is what matters.”

Koren turned his face away from the Noman and said in a quiet voice, "I don’t want to lose her.”

“Who?”

“Caran. I don’t know what’s happened to her since we left Paradis. I don’t even know if she got off the planet.”

Gar’Tokk was not one to give false comfort, even to the very young. This time words of comfort came easily. "Very few were left behind, young warrior.”

It took a moment for the boy to realize what Gar’Tokk called him. “Thanks,” he replied. “Thanks for everything.”

"Don’t thank me yet. Follow instead.”

Not knowing what to expect, Koren followed the broad back of his benefactor down a corridor until at length they arrived at a special gymnasium. Even though it was the middle of a sleep-cyde, Gar’Tokk had a key.

“That’s for warrior training,” the boy said in awe.

“I know. There is an exercise good for your body and your mind. Come inside.”

For three centons, Gar’Tokk showed Koren how to run and climb over a variety of steep surfaces. He taught him how to use his dominant foot when jumping, and how to use his upper body strength to best advantage to continue up the side of a wall. Momentum made a big difference but there was also no better demonstration to the young man of why he needed to develop his biceps so that his arms could match the power of his legs.

Gar’Tokk showed Koren what to do with his arms and legs when jumping to the ground so that his body could absorb the force of impact without breaking bones or tearing muscle tissue. The boy learned to roll and duck. He learned to keep his hands in front of him because they were his best friends not only for fighting but also for dealing with the demands of any rigorous course of physical action.

He found out the right time to bend his knees and the wrong time to depend on the power of the untrained grasp of his hand. Most of all, he learned how to breathe when exerting himself and never to fear the racing of his healthy young heart and the pumping of his lungs.

Koren didn’t even realize how exhausted he was until the session was over and then he half fell to the ground, laughing in exhilaration at what he’d found out his body could do.

“Apollo would do these things with you if he had the time,” said the Noman.

"That’s easy to say,” said the boy, examining his feet.

“It’s the truth, young adopted son of the commander.”

Now he had Koren’s undivided attention. “Are you saying he asked you to spend time with me?”

Gar’Tokk, always careful, was especially diplomatic in his answer. “We both talked about you with pride, young one. My time is mine.”

Koren grinned. “You’re a real friend, Gar’Tokk,” he said. “Let’s do this again real soon.”

Ryis didn’t like his cell. He didn’t mind being locked up nearly so much as he objected to the design of the cubicle. Other prisoners might offer suggestions of how to decorate the walls so as to create the illusion that they still occupied private quarters, but thoughts of that kind never crossed Ryis’s mind. He couldn’t stop being an architect.

If the purpose of confinement was to make the prisoner feel claustrophobic then too much space was being wasted. Assuming that psychological warfare was not the purpose, then space was still wasted. A better design would make a smaller cubicle feel more spacious. One glance at the guards and the prisoners on either side of him was sufficient for Ryis to appreciate that none of his companions cared about the aesthetics of good engineering.

The man next to him did share certain interests with his former employer. The poor fool still believed in the vision Ryis has put forth on the planet that was even now in the process of breaking up. There was little advantage in pointing out to him that if the master builder had had his way then they’d all be dead by now. The most exasperating of the situation was that Apollo had been proven right yet again.

It seemed that by always betting on disaster Apollo never lost. The commander had figured out something about the universe that eluded his fellows. Ryis hated Apollo so deeply that it burned his soul.

“You think they’ll leave us behind?” asked the architect’s former right-hand man.

Sometimes Ryis didn’t listen to his appendages. But he was so bored at that moment that anything originating outside his head was worth paying attention to.

“You can count on it,” he said. “Whatever sort of system they develop will carefully select out all the ‘bad sorts’ and ‘traitors’ to be left for the tender mercies of the Cylons.”

“Yeah, I sort of figured on that, Ryis. But what about this idea that the ones left can survive even if they take on the Cylons; or maybe they can hide from the Cylons. I’m a little confused about it.”

Ryis snorted derisively. “You’re not the only one who’s confused. But think about it, man. You’re smarter than the rest. You’re not a bova. You can’t possibly believe their felgercarb.”

The other man nodded. “I never believe anything that sounds good coming from an enemy. Iwish we had some solonite so we could blast out of here.”

“And then what would you do?” asked Ryis, keeping his voice low and his eye on the guard at the end of the corridor.

“Ask you for our next move,” the man answered in an equally low voice.

Ryis enjoyed every syllable of the man’s answer. “I’d tell you to gather those stiil loyal to me. We’d commandeer a good ship with functional FTL and we’d go our own way, separate from the fleet’s continuing quest for Earth and not a sitting duck in this system. To hell with all of them!”

“I wouldn’t have thought of that,” admitted his right-hand man.

“Take it from me,” said Ryis, wanning to his subject, "whenever your enemies give you two choices start looking for a third or fourth option.”

The other man sighed. “I thought Paradis was our new choice.”

“So did I. It would have been the answer to all our prayers. But there’s no point crying over spilled oceans and split continents.”

“How much longer before it disintegrates completely?”

“Some of the scientists remain sympathetic to me and they smuggle information my way. Paradis won’t be with us much longer.”

“I’d like to see it blow up,” said the right-hand man.

“I’ll leave you to that pleasure. I’d find the spectacle too depressing.”

The guard chose that moment to return to his station nearer to the cells. That was their cue to terminate the conversation. Ryis didn’t mind. He preferred keeping the particulars of his plan at a sub-vocal level.

The final destruction of Paradis would provide a stronger impetus to get on with the selection process. Despite his animosity for Apollo, he didn’t envy the commander his current duties.

No sane man would volunteer for that job.

The little man sat next to the body of his little wife. They were the sort of people who never stood out in a crowd. They had many friendly acquaintances but no close friends. They had no living relatives, no children, no pets.

They lived together for thirty yahren without making a ripple on the society in which they floated as serene as a gray leaf. And up until this moment, they survived the current war with the Cylons.

So no one could be more surprised than the little man that he had placed his fairly weak hands around the throat of his wife’s even weaker throat and strangled the life out of her. That was his second surprise of the evening. The first was that they had argued and shouted only a short time before.

They had never had an argument until that dark moment.

As the little man sat on the bed in which lay the corpse of his wife, he tried to reconstruct what had happened. It seemed very important to him that he do this as quickly as possible because he had something to do just as soon as it was clear in his mind what had transpired in their cramped living quarters. He had to be sure of each and every detail.

When the disagreement began he thought that she was joking. But her words were difficult to misinterpret: “If they don’t break up couples and you aren’t selected to go with the fleet, then I’ll leave you and form a Seal with someone who is on the list to go.”

If he had been thinking rationally, it might have occurred to him that a marriage isn’t quite that easy to dissolve and who was to say she could find an ideal husband, ripe for the picking like a heffala berry, to serve her convenience. Upon reflection, he realized that he probably should have laughed at her and asked what was for supper.

That would have been a superior choice of action to saying nothing, calmly walking over and murdering his wife. The authorities would not be very understanding about the situation. He wouldn’t receive any kind of commendation for thirty years of domestic tranquility because their first argument had been their last. He would be found guilty of very bad judgment.

Under the circumstances, he saw no way out. Convinced that he had accurately reconstructed the events leading up to the murder, he made a recording of his confession and left it next to his wife. He hoped that the apologetic tone would be accepted in the spirit in which it was given.

Then he closed the door to his compartment and took his tech-maintenance pass with him. It was relatively easy to find the opportunity. No one saw him enter the air-lock without a space suit.

He set the controls to depressurize quickly. The last thing he noticed before losing consciousness was his ears popping. There was little time lost between his inability to breathe and the blackness swimming up to claim his mind before the blackness of outer space claimed his little body.

When the tragedy was discovered, the sad couple was listed as the first victims of the Great Selection. The irony was that the rules hadn’t been decided yet.

6

Paradis finally died. Flashes of light raced across the planet as the tectonic plates rubbed together to the point where they shattered.

Volcanic eruptions burst forth everywhere. Entire island chains went up in columns of smoke that reached as high as what remained of the stratosphere.

All this was mere prelude. The continents cracked and the oceans boiled from millions of degrees of heat building up from the interior of the planet. Whatever forces had been released could not be stopped now.

Paradis came apart, flinging a billion trillion fragments into the void.

The colonials viewed the spectacle from a safe distance. One interested spectator was Dr. Salik. He watched the planetary guts spilling out into space with the interest of a professional chef contemplating all the dishes he could concoct from the fresh ingredients.

Salik regretted that Battlestar technology was not really adequate to mine stars of their heavy elements. The fate of this system’s red sun would eventually flood the area with pure neutrinos the colonials might be able to harvest except they would be long gone before then, tylium remained their primary fuel because it was safe in its inert form.

But the destruction of the planet Paradis was an entirely different situation. It produced materials the use of which would be a lot more practical than trying to skim good things from waves of angry energy off an exploding sun. The planet did not only represent a source of energy but a source of raw materials. Those who stayed behind might yet derive a benefit from this planetary catastrophe.

Oxygen could be extracted from tons of iron ore. Water could be had from hydrogen. Then there was easy access to nickel and lead, zinc and mercury, tin and chromium and silver and gold and bismuth and so much more. All the ingredients that had gone to make up a living planet were now spread thin and just begging to be taken by a space faring technology.

There was only one problem. The ships most qualified to make use of this potential were the ones certain to leave this vale of tears for hyper-space. The most qualified scientists and engineers were certain to continue the Quest. Would the men and women left behind be up to the challenge? Could they make the best of a bad situation?

Dalton, Trays, Troy and Raya ran for their Vipers. Bojay shouted at them to slow down but they paid no heed. The fire of youth blazed every bit as hot as the furnace that had blown Paradis into fragments. These warriors weren’t about to sit inside a battlestar and watch the spectacle from afar.

They wanted to witness the death throes of Paradis from a closer vantage point. So they put on their helms and entered their cockpits, grasped the navi-hilts with their gloved hands and felt the adrenaline rush as their ships rocketed down the metal corridors to burst from the womb of the mother ship into the empty, cold realities of the big outside.

Outside in the big universe where even a planet may die.

"Look at that,” whispered Dalton, the first to get within viewing range. A stunning array of bright colors left a signature and epitaph for the planet that had once been their home. Dalton remembered the time in the cave and the discovery of the ancient space ship. She wondered why that image was still so vivid in her memory. Then she remembered Starbuck coming for her and how happy that made her.

Troy was right behind her. “By the Lords of Kobol,” came out of his mouth involuntarily. He was not terribly religious and sometimes he felt that he’d seen everything a tired, old universe could throw his way. But he’d never seen anything like this.

The others stared in wonder at the light show. It was so overwhelming that it almost made them forget, for a few microns at least, the ecstasy and joy of flying the Vipers. The graveyard of Paradis was a challenge to life.

Troy spoke to the others: “Can you imagine that an entire planet was once in this very spot where now there is only energy and particles?”

Trays replied: “All those Gamon people are dead and gone. I sort of accepted they must have died when they lost the atmosphere. But this is different, somehow. It’s so total, so unbelievably.”

"Everything we touched on the planet is vanished,” said Dalton. “Commander Cain’s grave is dust.”

“Well, maybe it’s the same as if his body had been cast adrift in space,” said Troy.

“I wonder how Sheba is feeling right now,” said Dalton.

Raya changed the subject. “More have been lost than have died in any war.”

“Any war that we know of,” added Trays.

“I keep thinking about the Gamon philosophy,” said Dalton. “They were so different from us. They didn’t seem bothered by the fact that their planet was heading for oblivion. They seemed reconciled to it. Almost at peace. How could they be like that? Were they somehow more evolved?”

Raya wasn’t having any of it. “What good is reaching the top of the food chain if you let the universe eat you without a fight? Passivity is not a survival trait. I never understood them from the beginning. If someone tried to take over my planet I would have given them felgercarb.”

The Vipers were all in view of each other. They had accelerated and decelerated together, as if tied by invisible strings. As their voices crackled over the communicators it was as if they were all in the rec room aboard the battlestar. They had fought so many battles together that sharing this moment as witnesses felt as intimate as if they sat around a single table.

Troy continued the dialogue: “I can’t prove this, of course, but I feel as if the Gamon have already been there and somehow made it back! That’s why I think they had such compassion and forgiveness for us in spite of our aggression.”

Trays sighed. All this philosophy was getting a bit much for him. “The question is what are we going to do now! We don’t have a planet to go back to, even a dead one that we might use like a moon. I’d been hoping that this idea of leaving colonials behind might not be so bad if they had somewhere to stand. I mean literally stand! Some of those rickety ships are space coffins. I don’t believe any of our people will stoically face death like the Gamon.”

No one spoke for some time. They could hear each other’s breathing. Finally Troy broke the spell: "The answer to that question will determine the ultimate destiny of the fleet and the human race. I wouldn’t want to be in Apollo’s boots right now.”

There were mutterings of assent. Troy wrapped things up: “Well, come on. We’ve got a job to do. Let’s split up and patrol the fleet.”

Starbuck stared at streaks of pure magenta through the view port, the weirdly beautiful remains of a piece of Paradis. The destruction of the planet left him unmoved. He’d never been the sort of man who felt a strong attachment to any place. But whatever emotions he had in that regard were quickly exhausted by the Cylon attack on the home worlds thirty yahren ago. Ever since then Starbuck adapted to the life of the eternal wanderer. He didn’t really care if Apollo succeeded in finding Earth. All that counted was defeating the Cylons.

If Starbuck had an idea of home it had nothing to do with planets or space ships. People were what counted. Especially certain people like Cassie. He couldn’t get her off his mind and that was close enough to home for anybody. It seemed that every time he flirted with death his mental image of Cassie grew in power as a symbol of life; of the best reason for him to struggle back from the brink so that he might hold her in his arms.

As far back as his near-death experience on Kobol and his encounter with the Light Ships, it had been that way. More recently, his life-threatening injury on Paradis forced him to once again prioritize. Cassie kept her position of preeminence on the list. If Starbuck hadn’t gone through his tumultuous relationship with Athena, he might not have learned to appreciate Cassie as much as he did now!

He had changed a lot from the old care-free Starbuck. Only his closest friends recognized the difference. To the general run of warriors and civilians, Starbuck had a reputation every bit as immutable as the law of gravity. It was easier to put him in a box and leave him there for all time. That way the average person didn’t have to think about Starbuck again but could use him as a kind of cultural short-hand. There were very few certainties in a universe where you couldn’t even count on a planet hanging around through a human lifetime; but you could always bet your last cubit that Starbuck was a womanizer.

The only thing wrong with such a perfectly crafted cliche was that Starbuck grew older the same as everyone else. It had something to do with the law of entropy. And as time passed, the bright star in the center of Starbuck’s personal solar system took on the features of Cassie.

Turning from the view port, he strode purposefully down the corridor on the way to the Med Lab. It had been too long since he’d seen her. Somehow the celestial fireworks made it all the more urgent that he feel her touch, kiss her lips and know that she was still alive and in need of him.

Was this the true meaning of growing up? For most of his military service he had rarely been hit or injured. A sense of indomitable luck might have played a role in keeping him in eternal adolescence. If so, the handful of near-death experiences proved the mitigating factor. He wasn’t immortal, after all.

Then there was the loss of comrades. Each death seemed to tap him on the shoulder and remind him that he couldn’t put off decisions forever. His normal approach to life was summed up by the attitude that “there’s always tomorrow.” But what a sad awakening to the dawn of fewer days ahead than those behind.

Apollo. Boomer. Sheba. He couldn’t stand the idea of a universe without them. And it was unthinkable to imagine life without Cassie. Somehow all these people had somehow penetrated the official Starbuck emotional defenses despite his best efforts to the contrary.

Although he insisted to himself that he did nothing to win their acceptance, there was no denying that he had a family!

Defending the fleet was a nice abstraction compared to the faces of loved ones hovering in front of you like a surreal asteroid belt. He’d told himself over and over that emotional attachments were a distraction for a warrior. If you worried too much about the fate of loved ones it might throw you off and you’d lose the battle. He’d almost made himself believe his little mantra until Dalton changed his life.

The first battle where he couldn’t stop thinking about his daughter was an engagement that racked up his highest quota of kills! He was too honest to keep up the old mantra after that. Maybe the higher the stakes the better he did.

But he didn’t have the courage to face the implications of his newfound wisdom. When he wasn’t wrapped in the blanket of emotional safety that he took with him every time he went into combat, he felt like a frizzort waiting to happen. A warrior at peace was the real danger for him.

Drinking helped. It always did with Starbuck. But he noticed that when he bent the elbow with his old comrade, Apollo, the other man seemed to drink less while he seemed to drink more. He chalked up Apollo’s moderation to the exigencies of command; but that didn’t provide a rationale for Starbuck knocking down all the grog that Apollo wasn’t consuming.

Starbuck sensed that Apollo intuited his secret. Starbuck’s drinking was yet another way of avoiding personal issues. On some unfathomable level he knew that he cared too much which was why he put on the devil-may-care act of not caring at all. An ocean of booze couldn’t drown that fact. An endless procession of affairs and dalliances never succeeded in filling the hole in his heart that ached with loneliness.

The destruction of Paradis had triggered a chain reaction inside Starbuck as potentially explosive as any cosmic event. When he’d left the hangar in search of Cassie he only wanted to see her. Now his desire for her was almost born of desperation, as if he were dying of thirst and she his only source of water.

In that mood, he burst into the Med Lab and he almost shouted her name in a tone of voice that Cassie had never heard in her life.

“Starbuck?” she asked, wondering what was wrong.

He caught himself. He wanted to rush over and grab onto her like she was a life-line. Through a supreme effort of will he forced himself to remain stiff as a statue and drink in her beauty. For the moment, the mere sight of her was sufficient to feed his soul.

"Are you all right?” she asked. “Did you see Paradis blow up?”

That was his excuse for a rather bizarre entrance. “Yes,” he said, not bothering to tell her that the sight of her at this moment was a phenomenon of greater cosmological importance to him.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” she said.

“No one has,” he added.

“It was just fantastic.”

“Unbelievable!”

Glancing around, he saw that they were alone. She noticed him noticing! “Is that why you came here, Starbuck, to discuss Paradis?”

"No.”

"Then why?” she pursued the topic, basically offering him an engraved invitation. She was amused, as usual, by the conflicting forces in Starbuck that would pull him apart the same as Paradis if he couldn’t finally master them.

The words came out of him in the same listless tone one would expect from a boy Koren’s age if he found himself in the antiseptic confines of a hospital room: “I’ve got a headache.”

Cassie laughed and then came up short when she saw his hurt expression. “I’m sorry, Starbuck, I’m not laughing at your pain. It’s just that I thought you missed me and came by for a visit.”

“I do. I am. I have.” The more he tried to extricate himself, the more flustered he became. His headache was real enough and it was getting worse.

“Come over here and we’ll take care of it,” she said, holding out her hand. “You know, a headache is supposed to be a woman’s excuse.”

He gave her a little smirk and half nod. She wrapped her fingers around his arm and placed her other hand up against his forehead to find out if he had a fever. “I’m glad to see you, Cassie,” Starbuck told her. “I’m glad that you’re all right.”

“Is that all?” she tossed back. “A certain kind of girl might think you loved her and couldn’t wait to see her.”

He could tell that she was in a bolder mood than usual. Maybe exploding planets increased the production of female hormones. “What sort of girl do you have in mind?” he was bold enough himself to ask.

Her fingers tightened around his arm. “How about a girl like me?”

So here she was, his heart’s desire in his possession. Why in frack couldn’t he act right here and now? What was stopping him? He needed to defeat this thing in him that held him back from achieving happiness for both of them.

Cassie studied his face as she fed him a pill. She’d had a lot of experience with Starbuck’s head and concluded that his biggest problem lay behind his skull, all right, but it wasn’t a migraine. He needed another remedy right now and she decided to administer it post haste.

She kissed him. Her move was so unexpected that he turned red. His visit to the Med Lab had not turned out according to plan. He definitely wasn’t calling the shots.

“Feeling better?” she asked as she came up for breath.

“Cassie...”

“How’s your headache?”

“What headache?”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Starbuck remembered how to breathe. “I think I need to talk to Apollo.”

Cassie sighed. “Don’t we all?”

Some of the colonials treated the end of Paradis as a picnic. It was too bad they didn’t have another planet to use where they could roll blankets on the grass and sit very still in the summer night and wait for the heavens to entertain them. But on their small ships they made the best of it. The unspoken rule was that no one could bring up the subject of lotteries or computer selections or any other depressing ideas about breaking up the colonials for the big FTL jump. The secret to having a picnic was in good food and friends and, most importantly, not bringing up controversial subjects.

It was nice to have enough food for a while. That was another subject no one could bring up: the question of how long the food was going to last. Another secret of a good picnic is never worry today over what you can use to grow ulcers tomorrow.

Paradis put on a spectacular show and it would be a shame to waste all those pyrotechnics. For some of the lucky eye-witnesses who had the best angles and viewing equipment, Paradis died with tremendous power and dignity. The planet actually seemed to grow three times its natural size like a balloon blowing up.

The universe seemed to hold its breath. The stars seemed brighter than usual. And then a sure and steady planet turned out to be a fragile glass-blown thing, the strong became weak and the old died yet again.

An old man marveled at the implacable laws of nature. At this moment, he was stronger than a planet because he still existed. He thought that when his time came, and he expected it very soon, he might find it easier to die from the example of Paradis and the Gamon, as well. He had not forgotten the Gamon.

The old man had a young teenage niece who watched the conflagration with him. Her name was Caran. As he thought about death she thought about life. She remembered Koren. She was sorry about the way they’d lost contact. She took the blame for it. She couldn’t explain to him that she didn’t want special favors because of his relationship with Apollo. He’d never understand and couldn’t stop himself helping her to be chosen to go with the main body of the fleet.

When she first grasped the grim calculus being developed to arrive at conclusions no one wanted to face, she made her own personal decision to wait until the final sums had been tallied. When she knew where she and her family stood, only then would she reestablish contact with the young man she was growing to like more and more with the passage of time.

If Caran was not having a picnic, the young children she was in charge of were having the time of their lives. A kid brother along with a bevy of cousins thought the destruction of Paradis was an even better light show than the events held on the planet to commemorate Adama and rekindle faith in the Quest for Earth. Every little kid in the fleet knew that a planet blowing itself into a trillion fragments was done expressly for his entertainment.

Then there was Sheba. No other warrior could know how she felt at this moment. She watched the final resting place of her father vanish in flame and smoke and dust and silence. It was ironic to have come this far and to say farewell on a verdant hillside only to witness the return of her father’s body to space.

He’d had the last laugh, she reflected. His preference would have been burial in space. In the end, that’s where all burials must be. No planet would survive the heat-death of the universe. Everything that existed had to perish. We are all made of atoms emanating from stars so it was appropriate that we should return to the void that birthed us.

With these thoughts Sheba comforted herself. It all made perfect sense just so long as she didn’t cry. Better to remember Commander Cain laughing and living and happy to hold his little girl in his arms.

That was a perfect epitaph for him and for the planet that offered its hospitality for one brief season of the soul. Sometimes that is enough.

7

They went inside Baltar’s brain but he didn’t mind. They found him wandering outside his room, and muttering phrases in an indecipherable language. Every now and then he would repeat a phrase in the language of the colonials: “Cylons never sleep.” Then he would lapse back into what seemed like gibberish.

Elayna, the young nurse, found him and brought him back to his room. She realized how far gone he was this time because he didn’t compliment her on her cute legs. He always did that! The experts surrounded Baltar like so many fluttering insects seeking nectar. They all had Apollo’s orders.

Dr. Kim was in charge of recording his verbal responses and making vid-studies of what they could disentangle from his mental images. Like Elayna, Kim knew that Baltar was really out of it this time. He usually complimented her on her breasts.

Baltar didn’t see anything except the pictures behind his occluded eyes. He didn’t hear anything but the dim buzzing of alien voices. He didn’t feel anything but a gentle falling sensation. He was definitely over the cliff and into the whirlpool.

They went into his brain with physical instruments and saw some of what was racing through his mind. They recorded every moan and whisper. But they could only retrieve fragments of what was happening to Baltar.

He was really angry this time because the Cylons had changed the rules on him again. Every time it seemed like he was about to understand what was going on in their outre minds, the dreams switched. Again and again, he vainly attempted to fathom their purpose; and just when it seemed he might be getting somewhere, the hideous nightmares overwhelmed his ability to think rationally.

Baltar prided himself on being adaptable. So step by painful step, he persuaded himself not to panic within the dream state when thousands of red Cylon eyes pursued him or he heard the pounding of thousands of Centurion boots marching to crush his bones. Calm, calm, calm! Through an act of pure will he would overcome the phantoms sent to bedevil his senses.

Then the bastards went and changed everything on him again. They finally showed him a vista of the Cylon home world. The information was all very nice except how could he trust it? The world shown to Baltar’s fevered gaze was completely empty except for his dream self aimlessly wandering the twilight avenues.

Where was everybody? He’d never dreamed that loneliness could be so absolute. As a matter of fact, he would have told anyone who cared to ask that he preferred this manner of touring the enemy capital over night sweats produced by hordes of enemies pressing down on his unprotected flesh. The attacks all seemed very real inside the dreams.

But now the aching reality of total loneliness seemed even more bitter and real. Being completely cut off from his own species would be bad enough if he had to play hermit on a lost asteroid. Maybe that would be for the best, living apart from his fellow men. Maybe in time he would only remember his life before the betrayal of Caprica.

In contrast, the loneliness he was feeling now was entirely different from those idle day dreams. In this nightmare, permanent separation from his own species literally screamed a funeral dirge over his lost soul. He could hear the warning: You will be more than dead! It will be as if you never were! The mere idea that any action could ever lead to the existence of anyone remotely like you will be blotted out of all universes in all of space and time!

Total obliteration was total loneliness. The past was guilt but that guilt would be expunged along with his own identity. The future was worry. Except that his annihilators promised him no future.

Baltar wandered the empty streets of the Cylon home world. The experience made him long for the good cheer and warmth of a Cylon Base Star. He had to keep moving. There was no point to it but he had to move one foot in front of the other or lose his last tenuous link to sanity.

A fluttering of rubbery wings forced him to look up. But there was nothing but the sickly purple ribbon of the alien sky, discernible beyond the impossibly high towers. He had the same sense of vertigo looking up as if he had gazed down into an abyss. Cones and cubes of varying sizes floated in the air between him and the sky. The towers themselves were of a color he had never seen before. Their mass was so great that they seemed to lean forward if Baltar let himself look closely enough to make out features. He had to turn away for fear the columns of twisting metal would collapse and crush him.

He walked faster but kept telling himself not to run. There was no point in running if no one was following him. Or no thing! A steady gait was called for. One foot in front of another.

Suddenly he came to a turn in the gray street, at the corner of one of the buildings he dare not scrutinize. He stopped walking. There was no particular reason to stop but he felt he had to.

Slowly, as slow as a rich molasses, he peered around the corner to see where the metallic path led. He almost choked when he saw the boiling, sulfurous pool of undulating muck that he might have stepped in. The crazy street went around it and there was a pathetic excuse for a fence between the pool and potential victims.

He placed his face in his hands and began to sob. There was no conceivable reason for such a thing as this pool of boiling sludge. The stench was unbearable which really put out Baltar because he normally didn’t smell things when he was dreaming. Maybe the unpleasant odor emanated from a medicine they were administering back on the battlestar. Wouldn’t it be nice to wake up and find out?

As he carefully made his way around the obstacle, he noticed something different about the buildings on this street. The towers here were not dark as before but sending out a blinding light. Some were rotating. If he squinted, he could make out that the towers were transparent exceptions in this black giant of a city. Finally, the light was too much for him and he retraced his steps; but not so quickly that he forgot about the dangerous pool he might have trouble noticing until the bright spots stopped playing before his eyes.

He stopped in his tracks until he could see well enough to traverse the remaining distance in safety. Then he tentatively resumed his journey. At least the pool hadn’t moved. He took some solace from that.

Baltar continued down the street past the pool and was rewarded with another architectural statement that at least didn’t blind him. He was grateful for small favors.

This time the street began to move upward on a slightly inclined plane. It was harder to walk but at least he could see what lay ahead. The street led directly into a building, its doors wide open and revealing a space far greater than the hangar on the Galactica. He nervously entered the titanic cavern and was instantly greeted by the sight of gigantic machinery running at what must be top speed. Coils quivered and a light show flashed across incomprehensible control panels. Small, black disks flitted around his head. They made no sound but seemed to be examining his head. Then they flew off to be grabbed in mid-air by metal tentacles and stuffed into busy, electronic maws.

Baltar continued on his way because he could still make out the path leading through the labyrinth of ceaseless activity. Under other circumstances, he might have paused to analyze the machines in the hope of ascertaining their function. But not nowl

He didn’t care about anything but moving forward. Maybe he would find a Centurion. Maybe he would stumble into a biological Cylon. He was so desperate for company that even they would do right about now.

Finally, he reached the end of the machine cavern and welcomed the sickly light promising a return to the outside world. He wanted to be outside more than he wanted to hide. In a place as terrible as this, he at least wanted the advantage of seeing what was coming. It would be horrible to hide only to discover one had taken up residence with a Cylon horror.

So back outside! This time there were sounds that assaulted his ears. They were discordant pulses running up and down his spinal chord. He was tempted to return to the cavern except that he could not resist the impulse of moving forward. Maybe the sounds weren’t so bad, even though they seemed to drive hot spikes into his right temple. At least they didn’t blind him. He walked on.

The sounds were like broken glass inside his head and arms and upper back. He placed his hands against his ears and screamed for the torment to end.

Suddenly the pain subsided.

He took a deep breath and surveyed his surroundings. This part of the Cylon city was better. At least it made some kind of sense. The huge metallic structures neither emitted a terrible light nor did they have an aura that made them painful to look at. They seemed to be functional structures. They were so tall that they reached up into a luminous fog—it couldn’t be clouds, could it?—that seemed to writhe about the pinnacles of the titans. The more he looked at the buildings, the less content he was with his original assessment that there was something more reasonable about these structures. What he meant, of course, was more human.

There was nothing any more human about these buildings than the others. What at first appeared to be windows were nothing of the sort. They were more like sores on a sick body. Baltar expected puss to start pouring from those openings.

He kept walking. One foot in front of the other. Why were the Cylons doing this to him? What were they trying to tell him this time? Or sell him? Or geld him? What were they doing to his mind? What had his mind ever done to them that they should punish it like this? Baltar decided that at the first opportunity he would write up a legal brief defending his mind against his Cylon accusers.

Yes, that’s what he would do if he could keep putting one foot in front of the other. Right foot. Left foot. That wasn’t so hard, actually. And if he kept staring down at his feet he wouldn’t have to look up at the next stretch of buildings where everything was so terribly wrong.

The idea to look down seemed a pretty good one until the smooth metal surface beneath him changed its properties to become a reflective surface. He couldn’t very well ignore the floating platform that drifted overhead with a large eye in its center that seemed fixed on Baltar. How could he not look up at something like that?

Of course, he wished he hadn’t. Because the moment he did so the platform began to descend right on top of him and it was very large indeed. That took care of his resolution not to run. He fled for his life, laughing to himself because he was being pursued by eyes again. It always seemed to be eyes that made him put the pedal to the metal. So instead of a swarm of red Cylon orbs, he had one perfectly human, blood-shot, tired green eye coming for him.

He decided that he might not run so hard if the eye had merely detached itself from the platform; but the idea of hundreds of tons of an alien metal squashing him flat inspired an active retreat.

Up ahead in the gray darkness a luminous glow attracted his attention. It was slightly off the path but, come to think of it, at no point had he instructed himself that he couldn’t leave the path. Staying on it was not a strict rule but more in the nature of a guideline.

He headed for the light. As he left the path, he found himself on some kind of gigantic stone ramp that began to tilt at an inconvenient angle. He didn’t care. He was committed now and had to make it to the light before the black slab with its staring eye crushed him flat as paper.

So he ran. Again the little black disks began to swarm around him but he ignored them. A crack opened in the ground in front of him but he ignored that, too, and leapt over it. The hazy light was becoming more distinct. It just had to mean something, an end to his torment or just an ending.

He was finally close enough to see the source of illumination. He found the courage to look over his shoulder and stare at his pursuer. The platform held steady in the air and now he could see its shape more clearly. It was a pyramid.

It seemed to be waiting for him to do something. He turned his back on the thing and examined the light. It was a door in the stone surface he’d been traversing like an insect crawling across the face of a moon.

He knew there was no turning back. He flung open the door and began to descend. There were platforms floating beneath his feet, many ten times larger than the pyramid that had chased him here. An ocean of light poured forth from a subterranean source. Fortunately, the staircase he used was designed for the human shape that, he reflected, was also the Cylon shape.

The gigantic emptiness formed a spiral as it went deeper into the heart of the Cylon world. He could hear the vast groans and sighs of alien machines working forever and ever to produce and control what had to be made and commanded for the purposes of Imperious Leader.

How could Baltar ever hope to understand it all? Assuming that he did, would the knowledge be of any use to Apollo and those he would save from these monsters? Baltar felt woefully inadequate to the task. He would be the first to insist that they find someone else for his job except that everyone knew that only Baltar was suited to his current purpose.

On that one grim fact Apollo and Imperious Leader could agree. That, and the fact that Cylons never sleep.

Apollo insisted that they meet in Adama’s secret chamber. For a decision this momentous it seemed the only appropriate setting. Tigh and Athena greeted him at the door. The three entered in silence.

His father’s presence was palpable. The three were bound together by the same destiny that had driven the exodus thirty yahren ago. Now it was time for a similar decision. Any one of the three would have gladly walked away from the responsibility if they thought they could. But their oaths and their blood made such a choice impossible.

Tigh spoke first. “The vote must be fair, and perceived as fair, or the colonials will revolt. Everything we’ve worked to achieve could be lost in a moment of blind fury. Our people have suffered severely. It seems as if the deprivations have been without respite for twenty-five yahren of our long journey.”

“At least they don’t blame us for the Cylons,” commented Athena wryly.

Tigh continued: “The people will not accept anything less than absolute parity with the military and the council when it comes to deciding who will go and who will stay. That means that other than essential personnel we will all be placed in the lottery and placed at risk of staying behind. The people will not accept anything less despite the fact that the military faction of our fleet is the only real hope of survival in the future. Although those who stay behind have a remote chance of survival we must admit the fact that the odds are against it. Which means that many of our closest friends and family may be selected to die!”

Athena cursed and then elaborated. “I hate to admit it but I agree with Tigh. Many of those in our military ranks may be chosen to stay behind and face the high likelihood of annihilation.”

The other two had gotten what they had to say off their chests and now it was Apollo’s turn. He was in no hurry to say anything but he had a duty to perform.

“I take everything you’ve said under consideration. For the time being, we have more immediate concerns. We must watch the council closely. They have their own agendas. Our willingness to sacrifice ourselves is irrelevant to them. They will do everything in their power to survive and take their friends and cohorts with them.”

“Apollo,” Athena began, her voice breaking, “do you think there is any chance that those who remain behind might survive?”

He took his sister’s hand in his. “We’ve learned one thing in all our adventures. The universe is strange and unpredictable. Maybe those of us who leave will face the greater risk, but the odds don’t show that. When you make plans you have to work with the data you have. You mustn’t be reckless or hope for miraculous rescues even when you’ve experienced last minute reprieves in your own life. Mathematics and physics cannot be ignored. You know how much I believe in powers beyond what we can detect with our immediate senses. Despite that, I have a responsibility to face the facts and they suggest that those who make the big jump will have a far higher likelihood of survival than those left behind.”

“As Cylon bait,” added Athena morosely.

“No, not that,” said Apollo. “No colonial is ever bait. If only one of us is left and he faces a billion Centurions, then he goes down fighting. I expect the same courage from a civilian as a warrior in that circumstance.”

“So would Adama,” observed Tigh. “Your father would be proud of you, Apollo. He never underestimated the importance of luck! But meanwhile we must decide what to do in the immediate circumstances. How do we ensure an honest and fair lottery that the majority will accept? I’ve been a politician too long to believe that we can come up with anything that everyone will support.”

Apollo sighed. ‘The answer is so obvious that it’s almost trite. Putting it into practice will be the problem! The people must be in charge of the vote. Let them select their representatives and let them count the vote. It’s the best way to make the selection process equitable.”

“I agree,” said Athena.

“As do I,” said Tigh.

Again silence reigned. What else was there to say? Apollo was about to announce the meeting was concluded when he received an urgent message from the bridge. They told him about Baltar’s condition.

“I have to check out our old nemesis,” said Apollo. “He is experiencing new reactions to the Cylon mental link. They took him back to his quarters at the Med Lab. I’ll meet both of you at the council chamber at 0900 hours.”

Sire Rigginbok was a buritician, a member of the hereditary nobility of the colonies. He stayed in the background as one council member after another had tried to thwart Apollo and the warriors. On many occasions, he had been approached by fellow aristocrats who thought the warriors were getting too big for their uniforms and needed to be put down. Rigginbok never joined in any of those would-be mutinies. He didn’t calculate any advantage in making such a move so long as there was an advantage in playing both sides against the middle. He stayed out of trouble during the time on Paradis and even sent the architect Ryis packing when that annoying professional man thought he could pressure him to join with other members of the council against Apollo. Rigginbok liked to bide his time.

But as he watched the destruction of Paradis, he finally accepted that the period of apathy was at an end. The warriors would be emboldened to move forward with their insidious theories of fair play. They would try to give everyone an equal chance at staying with the main body of the fleet. Sire Rigginbok could not allow that. The time had come to form an alliance with the most powerful member of the council, Sire Uri.

Rigginbok viewed himself as so incredibly superior to the general run of human beings that mere words could not express the solemnity of it all. Rigginbok was a drug addict and a rapist. He was the most decadent member of the council. He frequently used the word liberty as a positive good which confused his colleagues who expected him to extol the virtues of authority instead. They were not astute enough to recognize that Rigginbok only waxed enthusiastic about liberty as a cover for his loathsome crimes.

There was no way that he was going to stand by and allow inferior normal human beings a better chance at survival than his own glorious self. After all, the run of the mill colonial lacked Rigginbok’s superb aesthetic sensibilities. They would fail to recognize that Paradis blowing up should be judged on an artistic standard. He thought the spectacle worthy of the slime god he worshiped, the dripping vacuity of Nerglahd. Anyone who didn’t know what the hell he was talking about didn’t deserve to live. They were all uncouth barbarians. Apollo was their perfect leader.

He would have to do something about these mediocre people.

8

Cassie was still trying to recover from her previous encounter with Starbuck when she put in the call to Apollo. The emotional power both men held over her matched any force field. She wondered what it would be like if only the three of them existed on some far off world. Would she be a lover to both of them? Were they mature enough for such an arrangement? Was she?

The vicissitudes of their demanding lives left them so little free time that idle fantasies had to take the place of real decisions about personal lives. How could the problems of three little people amount to anything when placed in the balance against endless disasters? There was always a crisis.

Cassie prepared herself for Apollo. He didn’t disappoint her. He paid her the tribute of silence as they both faced each other at the door. Her encounter with him might begin as it had with Starbuck, but she had little doubt that it would wind down a very different path.

“I’ll take you to Baltar,” she said without preamble.

“Wait,” he said. “He’s not going anywhere.”

“They locked his door,” she said with a smile.

“Standard procedure. They should have locked it for his own safety after the threat was painted on his door.”

"We won’t be making those mistakes again,” she said. “Let me take you there, Commander.”

He reached over and took her hand in his. “There’s time for that in a moment,” he said. “We need to talk.”

She reached up with her free hand and touched his face. “I always want to talk to you, Apollo.”

He kissed her fingers as they gently trailed across his lips. “I’m soriy I haven’t been there for you,” he said softly.

“You don’t have to explain,” she breathed. “I understand.”

How could she put her deeper feelings into words? Her head told her commonsensical things that both she and Apollo readily accepted. Those ideas did nothing to fill the hole in her heart. Beyond loneliness was the bitterness of frustration. She didn’t have the relationship she desired. She was denied the release of anger because the sadness in Apollo’s eyes softened her spirit. She just couldn’t win.

She hugged him tight and said what she was best able to express: “I miss being with you. There never seems to be any time for us.”

He nodded and held her even closer. “Cassie, I need you. You’re the only one who makes all this bearable. Don’t give up on me.”

She both hated and loved him for saying those words. He held her by something more powerful than the strength in his arms. Smiling weakly, she stood on tip-toe and kissed him gently on the cheek.

“Don’t forget your son. He’s hardly seen you or me these past few centons.”

“I know.”

They held each other for a precious moment longer. Then Cassie brought them back to business.

“I’ll take you to Baltar. He seems to be in a semi-coma but his mind is highly active. We’re attempting to read his brain signals, but they’re confusing and disjointed.”

“Let’s go.”

There was a security detail posted outside the room. Apollo noted that the blood had been washed off the door with its warning that Baltar would not make the great journey with the fleet. The security men saluted and Apollo entered the sick room followed by Cassie. Dr. Kim was inside monitoring Baltar’s vital signs.

Baltar was tossing and turning in a state of delirium. Sweat poured off him and kept the sheets damp. Cassie involuntarily sucked in her breath. She hated seeing a fellow creature in such a state.

Apollo grasped instantly that the seeming gibberish coming out of Baltar’s mouth was a form of communication but that the words would prove unintelligible to any conventional method of decoding. He gestured for the others to back away. Dr. Kim hesitated for a moment and then cooperated.

Apollo reached out with both hands and laid them upon Baltar’s fevered brow. Baltar’s eyes were squeezed shut as if the man feared to wake to even greater horrors than what currently obsessed him. Apollo closed his eyes and did his best to tune out everything from his immediate surroundings except what flowed from Baltar. He did more than listen to the disjointed speech; he tuned into the meaning that came in emotional waves off the reluctant patient.

Cassie saw the pain wash over Apollo’s face and dared approach him. He hadn’t told them to keep silent so she risked speaking.

“What are you seeing?”

He didn’t blow up at her. Far from breaking the trance, her kindness and empathy helped him channel the flood of dark images into a semblance of meaning.

“Strange shapes and designs,” he said. “It must be Cylon architecture. There is chaos in everything. Even inanimate objects seem alive with malice and great destruction. I see machines.”

“What kind of machines?”

He swallowed hard. “They are machines like I’ve never seen before. They seem linked as though by a living force and yet they are not living. Their purpose is. . .”

Suddenly Apollo became unsteady on his feet. His hands slipped from Baltar and he stumbled.

“Apollo!” cried Cassie, trying to keep him from falling. The doctor rushed over and helped.

“I’m all right,” he said, but his voice was ragged. “I must have blacked out for a moment.”

“What happened?” Cassie asked.

“It was too much to take in all at once,” he said. “I can’t explain it. Strange images, sounds.... Suddenly I had an inkling of how the Cylons see us!”

Cassie had never experienced Apollo like this before, as if he had just been punched in the solar plexus and hadn’t slept for a week.

“I need time to think about this,” he said. “Baltar is undergoing something beyond what any of us anticipated. How long can he survive this torrent of evil?”

“Well, he is Baltar!” said Cassie.

“He’s also a human being,” added Dr. Kim.

“Is there anything else you can do for him?” Apollo asked, looking at both Cassie and the specialist.

“We are doing everything for him that is physically possible,” said Kim.

"The mental link may be slowly killing him,” said Cassie, “but there is nothing we can do about that. At least we haven’t found any way to interrupt it and we are still under your orders not to even make the attempt.”

“I realize that,” Apollo agreed. “For the time being, there is no option but maintaining the status quo. You’ll both have to excuse me now.”

As Apollo left, Cassie and the doctor exchanged glances but didn’t say anything. The other medical professional didn’t know Apollo the way Cassie did. To her, the commander’s behavior could be explained as a simple matter of over-work and juggling too many responsibilities. But Cassie knew the man better than that.

She had never seen him shaken so completely. What terrible things had poured into his mind from contact with Baltar? She felt a combination of love, sadness and deep worry. What a great paradox Apollo represented to her. To finally have found a man she could really love and have the life she ached for; and yet to be kept at a distance by the man’s chosen career and implacable destiny. Now another barrier she could neither see nor touch had been erected by the dark phantoms from Baltar’s brain.

She returned to her station. Work was a way out for her. It always was. Can a man or woman have a real life with a chosen partner but at the same time take on the full responsibilities of command where duty must supersede personal desires? The answer for Apollo was the same as the answer for her. There was always more work to do.

Starbuck lit up a fumarello. At that moment, it seemed like the most important thing in the world to him. He suddenly didn’t have a desire to do anything else. He’d left Cassie in a state of confusion. He wanted to see Apollo when he left her but something strange happened en route.

It was as if the energy had drained out of him. All of a sudden he just didn’t care. Most of his life he’d been driven by an ambition that was so second-nature that it seemed effortless. He didn’t care about honors or his reputation. He cared about finishing the mission. So long as he had a clear purpose, everything else just fell into place.

Something happened when he left Cassie. His ambivalence toward her seemed to spread out and darken every other aspect of his life. The confusion extinguished a spark in his soul. The only light that mattered to him now was at the end of a match!

A human dynamo, he’d never felt like this before. Flirting with death only made life more precious when he returned from the brink. Living and dying both seemed preferable to him than the gray indifference enveloping him.

He needed to search for something, anything, as a way of finding himself again. He didn’t remember deciding to go to the landing bay but his legs were taking him there. He must be on automatic pilot.

Dalton was there by herself, just hanging out. She gave him that defiant look that was as natural to her as breathing. Suddenly his daughter made him feel an ache that was worth all the oregg in the universe.

“How are you doing?” he asked. She shrugged.

That seemed an appropriate response to his inane opening remark. So he tried again: “You seem sad.”

“You noticed,” she said. “I’m surprised.”

He wasn’t about to tell her he’d just been feeling so empty and pointless that he would have given anything to feel sad.

"I notice a lot of things,” he said. “I don’t always tell you.”

“Why?” asked Dalton.

She was making him work in this conversation. He gave it his best shot. “When I was your age, I hated others telling me what to do or laying their judgments and projections on me.”

"Yeah?” she said, daring him to go on. Obviously what he’d said wasn’t enough.

“Well, Dalton, I guess what I’m trying to say is that even if they were right I didn’t want to hear about it!”

That broke through. She smiled. But then she caught herself and staked out contrary territory.

“That’s you. I respect your life. But it’s not me! I may look like you and act like you some of the time, but I’m not you.”

“Nobody says you are!” The moment he got the words out, he realized he’d made a mistake.

She came closer. That was good. At least she wasn’t hiding from him. “I need you to listen. I need my father to listen and pay attention to me!”

The harder she tried not to cry, the more tears streaked her face. She hugged him. He responded, but wished he’d thought to hug her first.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just that you seem so strong and independent. I don’t want to get in your way. Nothing seems to faze you.”

She pulled away and wiped away a tear. “Like you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing fazes me, just like my father.”

Starbuck frowned. “I don’t mean it that way. I don’t admire you only because of similarities to myself.”

She started to sniffle. “That’s something. I may seem like a lot of things to you but underneath I’m still a little girl who’s scared she’s going to lose everything that matters. I’m not afraid of dying. But I am afraid of losing you and Troy and Apollo and my mother.”

This time he hugged her first. “Thanks for telling me,” he said. “Sometimes I need things spelled out. I don’t know how much I can help you, but you’re sure helping me.”

“Good,” she said, voice muffled by his chest. “We all have to help each other. Please don’t lose Mom! You’re meant to be together.”

Starbuck held her face in his hands and asked, “What are you talking about?"

Dalton smiled. “You think you can hide it but I see it every time that you and Mom are together. The love and pain. It’s all in your eyes.”

“You’re better at reading faces than I am,” he said as he tried to read hers.

“You don’t want to be alone for the rest of your life, do you?”

“No, but choices aren’t always simple.”

She playfully punched him in the arm. “That’s why they’re called choices, silly! She’s the love of your life. Daddy. You’re never going to find someone like her again and you’ll never settle for less. If you don’t want to end up a bitter old man you better make up your mind soon. Besides, we don’t know how much time any of us have. Especially now!”

He squeezed her arm. “A short or long time doesn’t matter. What you do in the moment is what counts. Thank you, Dalton.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

"Sometimes the most important thing you can do for someone you love is to remind him or her that they are alive. It’s a terrible thing to forget, even for a moment.”

They hugged again and Starbuck surprised himself by holding back a tear. “You’ve brought your old man back to life just in time to do something.”

“What’s that?” she asked.

"Business as usual,” he said.

She nodded. "Apollo needs you.”

After he left the Med Lab, Apollo returned to his quarters and gathered papers for his confrontation with the council. He forced himself to take sufficient time to prepare. How he wanted to just tear into them with fists in place of arguments! But he had never made that mistake and he never would. Not so long as he could remember the example set by Adama, the diplomat. Apollo was a synthesis of Commander Cain’s fury and his father’s caution.

As he approached the council chamber, two of his most trusted friends were waiting for him. “You’re a sight for tired eyes,” he told Starbuck and Boomer.

They shook hands. “You can always count on us,” said Starbuck.

“How bad is it going to be in there?” he asked.

“Bad,” said Boomer. “Maybe it’s the fault of Paradis. After all that freedom and fresh air, the people aren’t going to easily settle for yahren in tight, miserable quarters again. That’s everyone’s fate for a long time, both those who will make the big jump and those who won’t.”

Starbuck shrugged. “They complained before when they lived on recycled air. Fresh air didn’t make them stop belly-aching. Don’t worry about it, Apollo. We’re here for you.”

Apollo grimaced. “They have something to complain about this time.”

“And we have our duty,” said Starbuck. “Let us know what you need and we’ll support you all the way.”

Apollo slapped Starbuck on the back. “I know you’ll always watch my back, both of you! This could get ugly.”

They went into the lion’s den. There were no civilians present at this meeting. This was a rare closed meeting, restricted to the elites. The people were already wary of what was going on. Whatever decision was reached better be the right one.

Athena and Tigh were already at the head of the table, holding seats for their comrades. Apollo greeted them, his posture erect and expression carved in stone. They all picked up on the vibe. There would be no quarter given. They must hold the line.

The others sat down. Apollo remained standing and wasted no time making his opening statement:

“The time has come to decide our future. I have done a survey of the fleet and we have approximately fifteen ships that are not deep space worthy. There is no choice. Those ships must be left behind.”

The first sound emitted came from the oldest member of the council, the obese gentleman whose name Apollo could never remember. The man was so distraught that his attempt at speech came out as a gasping, wheezing symphony of imminent demise.

One of the man’s assistants came up behind him and successfully dislodged a piece of food from the aristocratic windpipe.

Apollo sized up the room. He had learned to tell the signs. From the manner that council members nervously appraised Sire Uri to take their cues, Apollo recognized his new enemy. Uri was a study in pent-up fury but the man wasn’t ready to strike yet. Apollo continued.

“The facts are hard,” he said. "Eight hundred colonials must stay behind. We have no place for them with the main body of the fleet. Our food stores are inadequate to sustain them with the rest of the population during the long journey to the system we discovered with a hospitable planet. Thank the Lords of Kobol for the new telematic sensors. The ships capable of making the journey are already overburdened. We are pushing it even with the eight hundred left behind. So the reality is we must now decide who will go and who will stay. The question is who will run this lottery fairly and who will be put at risk by inclusion in the list of names.”

Everyone had expected that Apollo would eventually make this speech. But now that it had actually happened the result was one of total shock. Apollo took his seat and waited for a response.

The smooth and velvety voice that broke the dire silence was, as Apollo expected, the stentorian tones of Sire Uri. He granted the assembly the respect of standing.

“Commander Apollo, you have done an admirable job of laying out the problem. But to be fair and just, the council represents the people and therefore should set up and run the lottery. The ground rules should be clear from the start. Obviously the military and the council should not be included in this lottery as without our mature guidance there would be a breakdown of civil order. In the end, none would survive the chaos. The people will have to understand. If they are recalcitrant, then the military has a duty to back the council and ensure order.”

Uri took his seat. Sire Rigginbok started to applaud but Uri gestured for him to stop. This was not a popularity contest. No one understood better than Uri how a popular vote right now would go against the council. The councilman’s strategy was based on the forms of democracy, not its spirit. They had been elected once and that would suffice.

Caught in the middle between Apollo and the council. President Tigh felt right at home. He took his turn:

“Much of what Sire Uri says makes sense. I would agree under most circumstances, but in this case the people have lost faith in us. If they don’t trust us, they will not accept our dictates. What happens if there is an open revolt? Civil order goes up in blood and smoke! We cannot run that risk. A civil war will kill more of us than the immediate threat.”

As he took his seat, staff members of the council dared to resume mutterings of discontent. Clearly the decision was still up in the air. Who would dare to speak next?

Athena took the floor. “Apollo, Tigh and I have formulated a plan to circumvent any potential uprising. We believe that the people should be put in charge of the lottery. Let them vote on who they want to lead and organize it. We will, of course, set guidelines and rules such as making a determination of who are essential personnel absolutely necessary to running the fleet and protecting the passengers. We will also decide who among us must put their names in the lottery and be at risk.”

The grumblings and gasps were not lost on her. This was exactly the sort of reasonable compromise that the council members feared.

Athena continued: “We have no choice! We must make the hard choices in the name of justice or the people will revolt.”

As she resumed her seat, Apollo placed his hand on top of hers. She was trembling.

Sire Uri took a deep breath and slowly exhaled as he rose to address those assembled. “Well said. Beautiful words. It’s a shame that they make no sense. You force me to repeat myself. We are the people’s representatives and as such should govern the process. We can’t throw out our system of government on an emotional whim. We are the people’s voice. You cannot take that away from us.” The rest of the council had heard enough. They threw diplomacy to the winds and cheered. No one stopped Rigginbok applauding now. The line had been drawn in the moon dust.

Uri was emboldened to say more than he intended. “We are the chosen ones, whether the people like it or not!” The council members cheered even that sentiment. There was no turning back.

Apollo slowly rose like a judgment from all the Lords of Kobol. His voice had the force of thunder and it cut through all the other sounds. “You leave me no choice. I declare martial law!”

Sire Uri actually gasped. “But we aren’t at war,” he squeaked. Apollo’s voice had the power of a physical force beating against the heads of his enemies. “The greatest mistake we ever made was not recognizing that we have been at war since we left the colonies. The military and I will no longer accept your dictates. For any of you who decide to interfere or disrupt our procedures there will be quick justice. You will be imprisoned. The people will now decide their own fate. And you know what that means.”

Uri didn’t want to speak but he couldn’t help himself. “What?” he asked in a weak voice.

“They will decide your fate,” said Commander Apollo. “The meeting is adjourned.”

9

Baltar finally stopped struggling. At first Dr. Kim thought he was at peace. But the brain monitors showed that the messages pouring into his head had actually increased.

"Cassieopeia,” she addressed the woman in charge of the Baltar project, “should we contact Apollo again?”

“Not yet,” said Cassie.

“I don’t understand how the input can increase like this without his suffering greater pain.”

“More surprising than that, Dr. Kim, is how his condition has actually improved!”

The two women busied themselves over the monitors. If the data had been difficult to decipher before it was now thoroughly scrambled.

“Let’s face it,” announced Cassie with an air of finality, “Baltar will have to tell us in his own words the messages he is receiving.”

“If he survives,” the doctor added.

Both women would have been surprised to learn that Baltar heard every word of their conversation. As the web of thought impulses increased the number of strands by an order of magnitude he suddenly had the ability to hear eveiything going on in his sick room with one part of his brain—while the rest of his mental apparatus was preoccupied with the new visions courtesy of his Cylon educators.

He never doubted that Imperious Leader was the direct source of these communications. For the first time it dawned on Baltar that his one-time ally was sharing opinions with his human receiving set, as well as introducing him to history in the making. Baltar enjoyed the rare privilege of witnessing the Cylon civil war.

Before Imperious Leader injected subtle thoughts into the guinea pig there were brutal sights to behold. The vision unfurling before the mental gaze of one lone human being made everything Baltar experienced up until this point pale by comparison.

It began in the same gray twilight in which Baltar had wandered empty, antiseptic streets of the capital on the Cylon Home World. One moment his dream self was alone. The next he was surrounded by a tidal wave of moving beings, many of them alive.

The Home World’s ugly purple sky began to darken until the stars appeared. With the fall of night came the attack, of Cylon pouring death on Cylon. It was the battle between the reptiles purged of any human element, against those who still possessed human DNA. Caught in the middle were single-brained Centurions, mechanically trapped in whatever program they received as to which side could count on their allegiance.

The new ones swooped in from the sky, following a plan hatched in their pure reptilian minds. The giant, gray city was scratched and torn and maimed and chewed. Raindrops of molten fire rained down on the grotesque citadel that Baltar had learned to hate. But he was caught up in a mob pouring through the streets, trying to avoid the hail of razor blades that had once been the metal skin of collapsing buildings.

The sky grew very bright as the stars were put to shame by thousands of new pin-pricks of burning light. Nothing could blot out the radiance except clouds of black dust rising up from the debris of a dead city.

Choking, blinded, frantic, the gasping human wreckage that was Baltar sought refuge in whatever structures had yet to fall. But even as he made his way into a squat building it gave a huge shudder and began to fall inward before his hand touched the door.

There was nowhere to go. He remained on the streets and witnessed the crushed shells of Centurions. He saw the bleeding flesh of the higher Cylons. As the cascade of death from the sky began to abate, he let himself believe for a micron that the worst was over.

Imperious Leader had launched a counter-attack of silver ships employing giant force fields as scoops to round up new sparks of enemy fire before they could finish off what remained of the city.

Baltar had not counted on the ground attack. The pure reptilian Cylons employed worse mechanisms than what the human traitor had come to accept as the Cylon way of doing things. Baltar was not alone: he even sensed disgust emanating from Imperious Leader.

On a wide avenue choked with fleeing victims of the attack, the crowd was met by pale-green things that flopped down the street, leaving a yellowish ichor behind. From these pulsating sacs of unarticulated liquid flesh extended metal arms that brushed aside Centurions but grabbed two-brained Cylons and then performed a brief operation. Needles sank into the spinal columns of living victims, this process resulting in a waterfall of fluids gushing forth and leaving the bodies as desiccated mummies.

The voice of Imperious Leader whispered to Baltar: “They are not merely killing my subjects. The procedure removes all human DNA.”

"Why?” Baltar heard himself gasp. “What is this all about?”

“You have known for some time that we are fighting a civil war. Of all humans, you may best appreciate the reasons. They will affect you and the other colonials in the end.”

With the logic of a dream, Baltar was transported from the scene of carnage to a disembodied state. Imperious Leader laid out a tableau that was fully realized and concrete.

Baltar saw Count Iblis arrive on the arid, desert planet Kobol that was the home world of the reptilian race he would use to create the Cylons. An expert in genetic engineering, Iblis mastered every ethical argument for using advanced biological techniques to improve the health and intelligence of mankind. None of his party subscribed to older religious views that such techniques obscured the crucial distinction between object and subject when contemplating the question “what does it mean to be human?”

Count Iblis loved pointing out that character is destiny. Therefore, his argument went, it would be irresponsible to withhold medical science from guaranteeing advantages leading to good character before the child even popped out of the womb! This in no way interfered with free will any more than good nutrition or an artificial leg or hypno-education blocked human fulfillment.

Many of his entourage had memorized his position without the aid of hypno-education; so he just naturally assumed that no one would mind when he carried the logic of his position to the next stage with experiments on the reptilian race of a backward planet.

A few balked at his somewhat callous manner toward a backward but highly volatile alien species that, although not operating at a human level, was most definitely above the animal stage in its mental powers. Iblis had to assert his authority on a number of occasions when weak-willed members of his staff objected to the pain he inflicted on the reptilian beings. He reminded his timid critics that they were all stuck on a dismal planet for some time and the only resource at their command was biological stuff! This seemed sufficient to hold the cowards at bay.

His enemies never believed that he or his followers could survive the most vicious, predatory species ever discovered. The real trouble began when he insisted on combining human DNA with reptilian aliens. By then, he had achieved a rudimentary form of communication with the natives and ascertained that with proper training and selective breeding these creatures were potentially the finest warriors in the universe. He couldn’t let a discovery like that go to waste.

Iblis thought of himself as a scientist first and philosopher second. There were too many occasions when he’d seen good ideas wasted because the originators were so in love with their theories that they ignored obvious facts right in front of their faces. He wasn’t about to make that mistake.

No idea was so wonderful that it couldn’t be improved by combining it with an equally good or better notion. He already thought that the reptilian race had the potential to be superior warriors. Another idea was that recombinant DNA experiments were more than a hobby but a path to greater knowledge and efficiency. If humans couldn’t appreciate what he offered to them, he’d make his point with a new species that would conquer all.

The reptiles were too violent and unpredictable to be properly controlled even by someone with Iblis’s persuasive powers. So the solution was to combine two ideas by the simple expedient of combining reptilian and human DNA. The physical became a literal metaphor for the philosophical.

One of his colleagues was so horrified that she tried to stop him. He didn’t like killing her but upon reflection realized that her death provided more human genetic material for his experiments! Before he was finished other members of his party met a similar fate.

By then he started developing a new religion, of course, so that he had fanatical followers willing to do anything he said because they believed his every utterance to be revealed Truth; and they also had no desire to end up on a table in his laboratory. He rather enjoyed being a god.

Iblis even got to the point where he started finding good things about living on the stinking desert planet. What was left of his original crew dared to admit in whispers that the old man must be crazy to enjoy the hell world! Terraforming created brand new problems by activating long dead spores. Everyone developed a breathing problem from the revived fungus that got inside the lungs.

Everyone except Count Iblis. In a spare moment, he developed a cure but didn’t bother sharing it with fellow humans. His interest was almost entirely for the hybrid race he was creating.

“He was our father,” said the voice of Imperious Leader to the listening mind of Baltar.

“It worked,” said Baltar. “I’ve had more than enough experience of Cylons to realize the full effectiveness of the Iblis experiment.”

Cylons didn’t smile but Baltar could almost feel Imperious Leader doing the next best thing in untoward glee at what he said next: “Do you remember how we worked together the time the Galactica was stranded without fuel? You worked with us then, Count Baltar.”

“I want to forget.”

“You must remember how Commander Cain brought the Pegasus into the fray and confused the military situation for both Adama and us.”

“Why are you dredging up the past?” groaned Baltar.

“But my dear renegade, that is what we are doing when we explore the origins of the Cylons. I force you to remember your dealings with us to prove that the kind of Cylons Iblis created could actually work with a special kind of human being on rare occasions. I owe you gratitude for that.”

“Why does any of it matter?” cried out a man’s soul trapped by Imperious Leader.

“Here’s why!”

With those words the vision changed to a later time in Cylon history. There were always plenty of Centurions—as the colonial Warriors could testify—every time they flew a Viper into battle. But the upper echelons of two-brained Cylons were sometimes depleted. On one of those occasions when the bio-labs were working overtime to meet the required quota there was a damaged genetic program. A virus changed the future of the Cylons by destroying the Iblis programming.

Suddenly there were two-brained Cylons who not only didn’t give a damn about the purposes for which Count Iblis had created the race, but went so far as to rethink the entire situation. They concluded that the human element in the Cylons was the virus that weakened the race and prevented it from conquering the universe.

So began a clandestine movement right under the nose (so to speak) of Imperious Leader. Purely reptilian Cylons were to be preferred over those with the human taint. A new religion was cobbled together to defy the orthodoxy of the Iblis Faith. The new creed insisted that ending the Iblis program was only the beginning! Next the human enemy must be destroyed, but not only the pure humans making up the colonies. Any human element in the Cylon race must also be expunged; and that meant any two-brained Cylon with human DNA would be treated the same as a full human. After the last human cell was burned out of the universe the destiny of the Cylon race would be fulfilled because nothing would stand in the way of the evolution of the true race.

The Centurions were viewed as the pseudo-machines they were and therefore no problem except when they were programmed against the would-be liberators. That left only one Cylon presenting a genuine threat to the plan.

The three-brained Imperious Leader was a greater enemy to the New Order than any childish Galacticans. He must be destroyed if the last shreds of Iblis were to be wiped from the cosmos. But the abilities of a three-brained Cylon could not be underestimated. Imperious Leader was the only force that actually frightened the reptilian two-brained Cylons. They needed a special weapon to fight him.

They came up with the only logical solution by laboring long and hard to generate their own three-brained leader, a difficult procedure even with the technology they had managed to steal along with heavy, unmovable equipment they were forced to use in secret. After all, three-brained Cylons were the most closely guarded secret of the Cylon Empire. The process by which a twobrained candidate was selected to make the transition to ultimate power was methodical and deliberately complicated.

Baltar could feel the frustration and anger coursing through every fiber of Imperious Leader when that arrogant consciousness realized that for the first time in Cylon history there were two three-brained Cylons in existence at the same time. Now a civil war was more than a possibility. It was a dire necessity.

The reptilian Cylons called their master Alpha Leader. Some of the enemy sarcastically referred to Imperious Leader as Omega Leader because they intended that he be the last, the true ending, of his kind.

“So what?” Baltar’s mind spoke in a tone every bit as sarcastic as any Cylon reptile. “Whichever side wins, it’s just as bad for humanity.”

“You surprise me, Count Baltar. For the first time in our long acquaintance you display a shocking lack of imagination. I assure you that there are many ways to die. You do not want these new Cylons meting out your fate. Trust me.”

“Trust you? How do I know that anything you’ve told me is the truth?”

“You’re an intelligent man, Baltar. You must realize that any falsehood I would try to make you believe would be administered rarely and surrounded by the truth. I’m honest enough to give you fair warning.”

Baltar laughed inside the dream state. He might have cried, but he thought that would prove more difficult. “So throw me a big truth, why don’t you? Tell me something I can use to impress my fellow colonials so I’ll swallow your clever lies later on.”

“I will,” promised Imperious Leader. “You’ve been out of circulation, lately. You probably slept through something as spectacular as the glimpses I’ve allowed you of the Cylon War.”

The mere mention of the carnage on the Cylon world terrified Baltar. He didn’t want to see any more of it. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take of these alien vistas. He was surprised that he hadn’t gone insane a long time ago. But come to think of it, how could he possibly be the judge of whether or not he was nuts?

“Tell me anything that’s not about the war.”

“You’ve seen it in your dreams, Baltar. But you weren’t awake to witness the real thing.”

“What are you talking about, damn it!”

“The destruction of Paradis, of course.”

“I’m not surprised. The scientists were belly-aching about the planet losing its bio-sphere. I figured it was typical colonial luck. I was the only one of us who wished that we’d found a dead planet in the first place so we wouldn’t get our expectations up.”

"Baltar, do you remember dreaming of its complete destruction?”

“You mean the planet blowing up? That was only a dream.”

“It happened, Baltar. The planet has been blown to bits.”

“How could that happen? What natural phenomena could cause such an abnormal event?”

"Here’s your big truth, Baltar. I’m sharing it with you. I destroyed Paradis as a warning that we have found the colonials. Thanks to you, my friend, we had to locate all of you eventually.”

“The.. .planet. . .gone? But how?”

“We have a ray. We started directing it at Paradis the moment we discovered your presence there. We sent the ray through a spacetime warp and that weakened its effect. It took a lot longer to build up the necessaiy force than if we had used the weapon on a planet in our own solar system. But in the end, the result was the same.”

Baltar imagined himself shrugging. “I wonder if Apollo will believe me.”

“Your scientists are discovering certain data that suggests an outside agent led to the catastrophe. But they could never deduce the actual cause from what they have. You can satisfy their curiosity.”

“Maybe they will reward me with a better cure for headaches! So when do I wake up?”

“Not for a while yet.”

“Won’t they be thrilled to learn that we’re in another battle with you already and they don’t even know it.”

“Commander Apollo won’t be surprised.”

Was that respect for Apollo that Baltar detected in the solemn tones of Imperious Leader? If so, this was a new development. Or maybe he had spent so much time in this dream state that he could no longer tell a mugjape from an ogliv.

“If you have such a powerful new weapon why don’t you use it in your fight with the other Cylons?”

“We will not discuss the military advantages both sides bring to this conflict.”

“Fair enough. Class war is always a pain. Civil insurrection plays hell with law and order.”

“As the colonials are discovering in their current strife over who stays behind.”

“How do you know about that?”

“From you, of course.”

“I wish you’d stop rooting around in my head,” complained Baltar. “Well, if I don’t get to wake up yet, does that mean I have to watch more of your Cylon Civil war?”

Imperious Leader suddenly sounded smug. “Has it occurred to you that the reason you are so receptive for images of chaos and destruction is that you are attuned to them without any help from me? You were a carefully selected instrument, Count Baltar.”

That tore it. Baltar’s anger had the explosive force of the end of Paradis. "CANT I JUST SLEEP WITHOUT DREAMS, WITHOUT NIGHTMARES? WITHOUT YOU?”

“And without information. That’s up to you, Count Baltar. Why don’t you make the attempt?”

For the first time since he could remember, the pictures in his head began to fade. A blessed canopy of black rewarded his deepest desire. Maybe he could finally rest.

He felt himself drifting. No sounds. No sights. Who needed to wake up? Just a good night’s sleep was better than waking up. So long as there was no dream. He hated dreams.

Any moment the last scintilla of thought would fade and he would be at peace. Finally there would be real slumber, the blessed black curtain of deep sleep.

Except there was a faint gleaming of something off in a corner of the blackness. A dim light reflected off a green hue. Or was it blue? The object was coming closer. It was both colors, actually, a greenish-blue.

Then he saw more of the objects rippling in front of him. He didn’t want to see them. If he weren’t already asleep, he would close his eyes.

The last thing he wanted to see was a line of wet, gleaming scales like you might see on the smooth body of a reptile.

10

Apollo hadn’t felt this good in a long time. A great weight had been lifted from him. It’s not that insoluble problems suddenly offered up solutions. Tragedy continued to shadow the colonial enterprise; he’d come to accept that. There was only so much that he could do.

But to finally confront the petty human evil of the council in a manner unlike anything he’d done in the past—well, that definitely counted for something. Win or lose, he felt as if a tumor had been cut out of him. He was a little less tired. He could breathe better. Life was better.

He could tell from the expressions of Athena and Tigh that they did not necessarily share his assessment. He wished he could pass his feeling on to them before anyone said a word.

But words have a way of being heard, in or out of the council chamber. Well, for the moment Apollo was glad to be outside the stifling confines of his least favorite room in the universe.

“That decision may not have been prudent at this critical juncture,” said his sister. She most definitely was not feeling better. That was a real shame.

He tried to be kind. “Athena, being prudent is no longer an option. I admit there have been times in the past when I should have been more diplomatic. This is not one of those times. We are now in the hands of the people. Under the circumstances, there is no other path for us to follow. Let the word go forth to every man, woman and child that their vote counts for something this time. Maybe it hasn’t always counted in the past. Maybe there have been times when they weren’t really capable of carrying the burden. This time they must rise to the occasion. The choice has to be theirs! They will choose the leaders. They will set the agenda.”

Now it was Tigh’s turn to sound the note of caution. He put his strong, dark hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “It’s ironic how often you have been castigated for being a dictator; or at least a man with such untoward ambitions. If only some of your old enemies could see you now. But are you sure that this decision is wise? You leave no room for maneuvering if you, if we, are wrong in our faith.”

Apollo returned the favor and put his hand on the president’s shoulder. They stood eye to eye, as seasoned warriors who have seen and done it all.

‘Tigh, if we don’t have faith in the people now, what have we been doing for the past thirty yahren? All the sacrifices cannot have been in vain. It’s not enough merely to escape or even defeat the Cylons. It’s not enough just to survive! In these new times the council no longer represents the will of the people.”

Athena couldn’t stop herself from jumping into the fray. “The council hasn’t been worth a damn for a long time, Apollo. Why don’t we feed them to the mob? Or at least space all of them!”

Tigh and Apollo both laughed at Athena’s ferocity. They knew she wasn’t joking but it made them love her all the more.

“I wish it were that simple,” said Apollo. “There’s just one problem. There aren’t enough of these aristocrats to make up the eight hundred we need to leave behind. The terrible fact is that many good and innocent people will have to stay behind. That’s why the decision can’t come from us. That is also why many of us must also place ourselves at risk.”

Tigh and Apollo lowered their heads. It was a solemn moment. "Let us pray the people can handle this.”

“They can’t be children forever,” said Apollo. “It is time for them to grow up.”

“May the Lords of Kobol guide them,” said Athena softly.

“Yes,” Tigh agreed.

“Cheer up, both of you,” insisted Apollo with a grin. “I assure you that they will choose with greater wisdom and experience than they have in the past.”

Then to the surprise of both his sister and his old comrade, the commander of the fleet whistled a merry tune as he took his leave down a wide and empty corridor.

“Have you heard the news?” a guard said to Ryis in his cell. The man had been bribed often and well. His information was always accurate.

It was late during a sleep cycle and only Ryis was awake. That’s when the guard preferred making contact with the architect. The man was the guard’s favorite prisoner.

“I’m sure it’s something bad,” said Ryis.

“You don’t know the half of it. Apollo is getting his way.”

“That’s normal.”

“Not this time. He’s insisting that all the colonials have a vote on what happens to them.”

Ryis raised his eyebrows. “Voting! That’s asking for chaos and a total breakdown in the social order.”

“Tell me about it,” the guard agreed morosely.

“Even women?” Ryis wanted to know.

“Yes,” admitted the guard.

“I’ve always assumed that Apollo is an anarchist at heart.”

“It’s worse than that,” said the guard. “He even would extend the vote to children.”

Ryis shook his head. “I’m in here and he’s out there. There’s no justice in the universe. Apollo is a madman.”

While they carried on their conversation in low whispers, the guard smuggled Ryis a fumarello. The prisoner lit up and let the hunger in his body be satisfied by the nicotine flooding his system.

“A lot of us don’t like this,” said the guard.

“Who is us?” Ryis quite reasonably wanted to know.

"People with responsibility, you know. People who do more than just take up space on these old crates we call space ships. Hell, I can’t believe that the warriors will be happy with this harebrained scheme.” "I see what you mean,” said Ryis, letting smoke trickle from his nose.

“Yeah, I figured a big brain like you would consider himself worth more than most.”

Ryis allowed a smile to form. “Now that you mention it, I do put a certain premium on my own hide.”

“Like Baltar,” said the other man, half joking.

“I have the greatest respect for that man,” said Ryis. “I didn’t used to but it is remarkable how a little time spent behind bars clarified one’s thinking. Whatever became of him?”

The guard checked out their surroundings but everyone was pretty much sleeping as if they were dead. They didn’t have anything interesting to wake up to.

“They keep him in a special section of the Med Lab like a prize specimen. There’s all kinds of wild rumors about him.”

“Like what?”

“Namely that he has secrets of the Cylons that he won’t share with anyone but Apollo. What do you want to make a bet that the Great Traitor receives a one way ticket to the new world!”

Ryis drew in another deep drag from the fumarello and held it for a long time. It was a lot better than the food they’d been shoveling down his gullet. Then he let a thought escape from his mouth along with a cloud of smoke.

“How can that be? I mean, if there is a popular vote then Count Baltar is the last man to receive any, shall we say, vote of confidence.”

“You’ve got that right,” agreed the guard. “Someone painted a warning in blood on his door that he won’t be making the FTL jump. No way, not ever!”

“I wonder where they got the blood,” said Ryis.

“That’s what I like about you,” said the guard. “Anyone else would wonder who did it but you wonder about the blood.”

“It’s just that plasma is a scarce commodity now. Did someone hate Baltar so much that to make a statement they opened their own veins? Did a group of patriotic citizens volunteer? Maybe it was an animal smuggled up from Paradis that provided the hemoglobin.”

“Yeah, any pet would have to be smuggled. With provisions already scarce no one is going to put up with feeding animals.”

Ryis put out his smoke and noticed the bemused expression on the face of his benefactor. “I’m saving it for later,” he explained. “Never know when you can get me another.”

“There will be more, Ryis.”

“You never can tell. You were saying that people look askance at feeding extra mouths right now. They can’t be very happy about taking care of the criminal element, such as yours truly.”

“I see what you mean,” said the guard. “I don’t know how they’re going to decide what to do with, uh, criminals.”

“Except Baltar,” Ryis corrected the observation. “He’s veiy special, but I don’t begrudge him his success. Actually, I wish I could learn from the master how he does it. Speaking of which, how is the council taking the Apollo ultimatum?”

The guard snorted. “Just as you’d expect. Apollo has really done it this time. He told off Sire Uri at the meeting. At least that’s what all the gossip says.”

“What do you mean ‘told off?”

“Hell, they say that Apollo threatened to throw Uri in jail if he doesn’t go along with this crazy scheme. That would really be something, wouldn’t it? You could have the most important members of the council as cell mates.”

Ryis stretched out his arms but was careful to keep them behind the bars. He was finally getting sleepy. “I wouldn’t put it past Apollo. He always overplays his hand, you know. That’s the sign of a true fanatic. I learned that the hard way back on Paradis. But I made important friends on the council when we were on the planet.”

“I’m not about to forget,” said the guard. “The one thing I’ve learned is that someone who is up one day and down the next can always be up again.”

"I appreciate that,” said Ryis. “Apollo is making more enemies on the council this time than ever before.”

“All of them,” agreed the guard. “I don’t think he’s ever done that before.”

“Of course not. This time it’s their necks on the line. If he’s taking on Sire Uri, that means other members of the council who refused to give my little projects support back on Paradis may finally grow backbones and stand up to Apollo. A few more of those bastards on my side would have changed things on Paradis.”

“What can they do?” asked the guard.

“What can any of us do against Apollo’s insanity? Those of us who count, as you put it a moment ago, will find each other when the time is right. I look forward to a mutiny among the warriors.”

“I don’t know about that, Ryis. A certain number of them and certain scientists will be immune from the lottery or voting or however the hell they work it out.”

Ryis showed the guard his teeth with an ugly grin. “If Apollo had brains, he’d be certain to exempt all the warriors. But I have confidence that he will guarantee that a significant number of them have to take their chances like the rest of us poor slobs. That should be sufficient to cause trouble down the road. Never forget that Apollo is an idealist. That’s our best weapon against him. Now if we’re finished, I’ll grab some sleep.”

"Pleasant dreams,” said the guard as he left his special prisoner.

“Tonight they will be just fine,” said Ryis.

When Koren unexpectedly came across Gar’Tokk he almost said hello until he saw that his burly friend was involved with another of the Nomen. They seemed to be playing a game. They were so involved that Koren was certain they hadn’t noticed him and he began to back out of the rec room.

“Stay, young one,” said Gar’Tokk without ever looking up. His companion hadn’t raised his eyes from the gaming board either. Koren could never figure out how they did it. But the Gamon had been just as big a mystery to him down on Paradis.

The boy tried to be inconspicuous. Finally the two aliens finished with Gar’Tokk the winner.

“Now we’re even, H’Mal,” said Gar’Tokk.

The other stood up and bowed. “Until the next game.”

As the other Noman left, Gar’Tokk finally looked at Koren and came over to the lad he was treating as a ward. “My comrade loves to gamble,” said Gar’Tokk, gesturing at H’Mal’s departing back. “This game is his own invention. He calls it Veyguhs. We’re tied. I finally got the hang of it.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” said Koren.

“Just as well that you did! I was going to come looking for you. I have information about the young woman who has captured your spirit.”

“Caran?”

“I’ve learned what ship she is on, safe with her family. The reason she hasn’t contacted you is because she doesn’t want any favors about the lottery.”

Koren frowned. “Doesn’t she know that Apollo isn’t making a big list of those with special favors? It’s the opposite!”

“The colonials are beginning to find out.”

“I mean, if Apollo is making a list it’s more likely to be the warriors and important people who will have to take their chances along with everyone else.”

Gar’Tokk had facial expressions that were difficult to read except for the joy he couldn’t hide when in the heat of battle. But Koren was beginning to detect certain moods in the big alien’s tone of voice. There was something different about the way he said:

“Apollo thinks everyone is important.”

Koren was impatient. “You know what I mean.”

“Maybe I don’t.”

The last remark took the young man by surprise. Sometimes Gar’Tokk seemed like a steady source of wisdom for all occasions.

Koren felt like he was in school. That was an emotion he liked to avoid around Gar’Tokk. “I meant that some people are better fighters or better scientists than others. That’s all. My step-father, er, I mean Commander Apollo can’t ignore things like that.”

“You can be at peace about that,” said Gar’Tokk. “Apollo ignores nothing. In the great test of life and death, everyone has an equal right to test himself. Special cases must be made for the survival of the fleet. The greatness of Apollo is that he refuses to use that fact to extend the list of exceptions by one extra name. Very few leaders would do as he does.”

“What would Noman leaders do in a situation like this?” asked Koren.

“When I said very few leaders would act as Apollo, I should have said human leaders. He is behaving as a Noman leader.”

“I’m proud of him,” said Koren softly, the import of the situation finally sinking in.

Gar’Tokk nodded. “Then you should be proud of your young female friend. She, too, is acting with pride. Soon votes will be cast. Procedures will be adopted. The way of selection will be clear. Then you and Caran will see each other again, whether you are fated to bid farewell or make plans to share the next adventure together.”

A short time ago, Koren had been boiling with rage over not seeing the girl. As far as lists were concerned, he’d made up one of his own—a litany of what was wrong with Caran for not getting in touch with him. After all, he was easy to find! No one could be close to Apollo and enjoy any sort of anonymity. There was a downside to celebrity but this definitely wasn’t it. What was the matter with the girl that she hadn’t dropped everything and looked up the young hero who pulled her out of the quicksand bog back on Paradis!

Of course, a moment’s reflection was sufficient to remind the boy that it had actually been Apollo who saved Caran. A minor detail as far as the boy was concerned but worth considering. There were other crucial facts about that first meeting with Caran. Such as that Apollo let Cassie and Koren help with the rescue! So why was Caran so ungrateful?

As Koren sat across from his big alien friend and watched the Noman watching him, the boy finally got the point. This must be another of those annoying stages in growing up. The girl probably had family responsibilities that she took seriously. Koren didn’t have anything comparable. And what if she had other friends who meant as much or more to her than he did? He didn’t have the right to presume on her friendship.

An incredible thought came to him. What if she had a boyfriend who meant more to her than Koren? Yes, even that was possible in a universe that allowed whole planets to blow up. You couldn’t count on anything; but that didn’t mean you should stop trying.

Suddenly Koren realized that he had never once asked Gar’Tokk about his personal life. It was no secret that the Nomen had lost their women. The race was physiologically different enough to count as another species. It was also common knowledge, even to one as young as Koren, that there were sufficient similarities between Nomen and humans that the more daring socialators could offer comfort and distraction to the lonely aliens. But that wasn’t the same as having a mate. And there were no progeny issuing from such unions.

The topic rarely came up between humans and the aliens for many reasons, most of them good! But the friendship growing between Gar’Tokk and the adolescent colonial was a special situation. All of a sudden Koren wasn’t just interested in himself. He had the crazy idea that maybe he could even help Gar’Tokk with some advice, returning the favor for all the Noman had tried to do for him.

The boy risked it: "It must be difficult living without any of your women.”

“What?” said the Noman, hardly believing what he was hearing.

“I don’t mean to offend you but I hoped we might be good enough friends to talk about it. I wonder if back in your world, before all the terrible things happened, if you had a girlfriend.”

Nomen didn’t laugh. But what came out of Gar’Tokk was a recognizable facsimile. “You are brave, young one, to ask me that.”

“I apologize if you are angry.”

Gar’Tokk shook his great mane of a head. “I’m not angry. There are things a Noman keeps private.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

Koren turned away and began to leave but was stopped by a new tone in the big alien’s voice. The tone carried more weight than the word.

“Wait!”

Koren did. He was almost afraid to turn back but drew himself up and faced Gar’Tokk.

“I had a mate,” said the Noman. “I’ve never told any human about her, not even Apollo.”

“Did you love her very much?” The words slipped out of the boy as easily as his breath.

“Yes, young one. She was the only one for me. In time I may tell you more. For now, I share this with you: She was brave. That may not be what you want to hear, but we are a warrior race. We do not have classes the way you do. Imagine the colonials as nothing but warriors and you would have the idea. In that world where bravery is everything she was the bravest woman I ever knew. She chose me, young one. She chose me.”

Koren had forgotten to breathe. His lungs worked along with his voice. “I’m glad for you, Gar’Tokk.”

“My only regret is that I did not face death with her.”

Koren knew his history about what happened to the Nomen. “That wasn’t your fault.”

Gar’Tokk nodded. “My fate was not the same as hers. There is nothing I wanted more from life than to face death with her.”

Koren wanted to learn so much more, from the Noman female’s name to finding out if they ever had children. For the moment, he was smart enough to know that Gar’Tokk had told him everything he would for the time being.

"Well, Gar’Tokk, pretty soon a lot of colonials are going to make decisions about facing possible death together. We could use some of your Noman guts.”

Gar’Tokk held up the great slab of meat he used for a hand and said, “Take my advice, Koren. If you ever find a woman you love and who loves you, the quest is not over. Many humans are not fit for fertilizer in the Noman world. Make certain that your woman is loyal to you.”

“You mean that she wouldn’t leave me for someone else?”

“Listen carefully. Colonials don’t know the meaning of loyalty. Apollo is an exception. Cherish him and remember these words. Loyalty is sticking with someone when there is danger instead of comfort. Loyalty is risking your life for the one you love. I mean literally risking your life. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Koren, wide-eyed.

“How many matings among the colonials pass this test?”

“I don’t know,” the boy admitted.

"Before the Cylons launched their attack on the colonies, it was worse than it is now. Human females treated their mates as potential enemies. Or they viewed them the same as you would a pair of boots. If your boots become damaged and you live in a world with thousands of boots, do you repair them or throw them away and get new ones?”

“I’ve never had that kind of choice,” the boy admitted. “I can’t even imagine it.”

“That was the world of the colonies. Men and women meant nothing to each other. There was no bravery in their marriages and so there was no bravery in their children. When the Cylons exterminated millions of them it was no great loss. Be grateful for the world you live in. Apollo has made me look at humans through new eyes.”

“Why should I be grateful?” asked Koren in a state of confusion.

“Choices are real here. We do not live a lie.”

11

Maybe not as fast as 186,000 miles per second, but still fast, word of the council meeting spread throughout the ships before official announcements could catch up. If gossip usually came close to FTL speed, this time the truth moved just as quickly.

The truth was welcome! Even if eight hundred must stay behind (the rumor mill rounded the number up to a thousand), placing the choice of selection in the hands of average colonials was the only good news. The majority was pleasantly surprised. They had been through too many bad things lately for them to expect even a silver lining around the latest black cloud hovering over the ragtag remains of Galactican civilization.

Gar’Tokk might have been surprised if he could eavesdrop on some of the conversations taking place in colonial families. For everyone scheming to guarantee safe passage there was someone else concerned for a loved one and willing to make the ultimate sacrifice. Before the actual selection process could begin the population had already searched its collective soul and found a vast treasure of heroes. The problem, of course, was a not ungenerous supply of scoundrels.

If the civilian population could be divided into two camps, there was no need for fine distinctions among the elite of the council. Still smarting over the rebuke they received at the hands of Apollo, these esteemed ladies and gentlemen were more than ready to listen to anyone with a plan assuring their continued dominion.

Sire Uri remained the putative leader of what Sire Riggbok dubbed “the resistance.” A few had not forgotten the yeoman work done

on behalf of their privileges by Ryis; but for the moment, none of the architect’s friends and associates on the council were willing to take any risk on his behalf. There was no one better suited to understand such tactical reticence than Ryis himself.

There were even a few members of the council who could not bring themselves to believe that Baltar had truly thrown in with Apollo. For these members, the astounding past treason of the count left his name on a permanent list of potential recruits and even possible leadership. After all, went the reasoning, anyone capable of such perfidy to save his own skin could be relied upon in a crunch to serve his own interests.

Other members of the council used that very fact to shoot down any idea of a future alliance with Baltar. Their reasons had even greater clarity than the pro-Baltar faction. Quite obviously the man was held by Apollo as a trump card in a game of pyramid. It didn’t really matter if Baltar liked the idea or not. So long as Apollo held him close to the commander’s chest, the Great Traitor was no longer in play.

In all the careful deliberations by these worthies, the subject of the Cylons hardly ever came up. Never mind all the human lives that had been snuffed out by the enemy. Just ignore the malignant plans that even now might be hatched by these dedicated and implacable foes of human life! The council had other concerns.

Apollo was the enemy. He was in charge and that made him the enemy. His advisors showed a villainous unconcern for the tender sensibilities of the gray haired eminencies who only cared about the welfare of the people, whether such benefits could be delivered or not. One joke that started circulating among the bartenders and socialators was that the council would save the people no matter how many of them they had to sacrifice in the process.

Clearly Apollo was a paranoid schizophrenic. He must also be a megalomaniac as well. He wasn’t all that good at his job anyway because he hadn’t anticipated each and every Cylon attack. So what if he fought them whenever they showed their gleaming skull heads and flashing red eyes? He didn’t prepare for every attack; and then there were times when he said there was going to be an attack that never came. He was an alarmist and a liar—unsophisticated in the arcane arts of colonial government. Something must be done about him before his mad scheme of trusting the unenlightened voter led to the end of the world as the council understood it.

Sire Riggbok spoke for many of them when he said, “I hate the man’s arrogant attitude. He’s a worse menace than the Cylons. I’d rather have Imperious Leader in charge than Apollo.”

Fully cognizant of the rules they were living under now that martial law had been declared, Sire Uri urged that his zealous supporter tone down the rhetoric. For one thing, those words could do a lot more than earn Riggbok time in protective custody. He could be executed for such blatant treason.

Reticence was the order of the day, but it would not do to ignore these attitudes bubbling up from wealthy men and women who had never feared for their lives with such intense passion before. Sire Uri risked sending out a personal statement only to be distributed among his inner circle.

“My friends, I must again take this opportunity to recommend caution. We must bide our time. The final battle is the only one that matters. Some of you are making a terrible mistake by assuming that our animosity for Apollo is shared by the people as well. I have been in politics for most of my life and I’ve learned a thing or two. Apollo has always been able to count on a significant portion—about a third of the colonials because of their basic patriotism. We have relied on a roughly equivalent base that is always disgruntled with the status quo and has an instinctive dislike of the warriors. They are the exact opposite of Apollo’s followers. This leaves a third group that swings back and forth and often decides the popular will. That group was thoroughly in our pocket during the time on Paradis. But all that has changed now! Because of Apollo’s insistence on letting the people decide their own fate in the current crisis, he has won the hearts and minds of the swing group. He can add them to his own base of nova-bum patriots. This leaves us only with the disgruntled final third and they want to know what we can do for them, as usual. Well, this time there is blessed little we can do for them because our primary concern is for our own survival. To conclude, this is a political black hole. We cannot succeed by conventional political methods. The only sensible strategy is to gather a small group of dedicated fanatics who will do our will in return for sharing the benefits. The payoff is survival itself! Under no circumstances do I want any of us being arrested or eliminated because of this damned martial law. From this point on, our best plans must be secret.”

Sire Uri didn’t sign the note but he didn’t have to.

While members of the council busied themselves with schemes within plans within conspiracies, others had better things to do. Cassie had her baby.

Relieved to have a little time away from the Med Lab, she turned her attention to her child. A woman could not devote all her time and energy to monitoring Baltar! Besides, the best medical people available were taking turns with the prize patient.

As she looked into the pale blue eyes of her only child, she wondered what horizons they might behold in the future. It was unthinkable that he would not survive. He had too much to live for. Once again, she felt a terrible emptiness at the thought that the young boy’s father might be Count Iblis instead of Apollo; but the feeling lasted only for a moment.

She hummed a little song to her toddler as she imagined other mothers aboard other ships were doing as well. Like all good mothers, she wouldn’t hesitate to give up her life for her child. But she also appreciated the rich paradox underlying that emotion. A child needed her mother. If at all possible, a mother had a solemn duty to save herself as well as the child. Out of the least selfish of motives came the clarion call of self preservation.

She kissed her son on his head and marveled at how much hair was growing there. She loved him so much and wanted to do what was best for him.

Her feeling was the essence of what Gar’Tokk called loyalty. She called it love.

Apollo awoke refreshed from a long a night’s sleep. Baltar might betray another Caprica to enjoy such a dreamless and invigorating slumber.

No sooner did Apollo finish his ablutions than a knock came at the door. Throwing on the nearest outfit at hand, without regard to whether it had already been worn, he flung open the door.

Sheba was paying him a visit. He wasn’t sure what bothered him more—her unexpected visit or his unshaved face and wrinkled clothes when a lady came calling.

There was no graceful way out of an awkward moment so he invited her in. He made no attempt to conceal his reluctance. From the nervous twitch of her hands he concluded his awkwardness was contagious. That was just as well. They could suffer together.

Although no telepathy was going on between them there might as well have been. Sheba could always read Apollo like a book. She deliberately brushed up against him as she crossed over to his bed and boldly stretched out on it.

So far not a word had been spoken. Her devilish smile suggested that she would win the contest if he broke the silence. Right now he was in no mood to play any games.

“Why are you here?” he asked without preamble.

Her smile remained but lost its devious quality. “I’ve been noticing that you and Cassie aren’t seeing much of each other these days.”

He was blunt. “I don’t have time to see anyone right now.”

No one could outdo Sheba for bluntness. “Are you still in love?”

At least she had the decency to drop the smile when she hit him with a question like that. He sighed. Sheba always had a problem with timing. Still, he had to admit he wasn’t always the perfect diplomat with her. He remembered the time he criticized her new haircut as too close-cropped for his taste. That didn’t turn out terribly well. They patched things up but for a while he preferred another space battle with a Cylon to seeing her again.

"Well?” she asked again. He realized he hadn’t answered her yet.

"Sheba, this is not a good time for this. We’re in a life and death crisis.”

“Apollo, we’re always in some kind of life and death crisis. That’s when my feelings for you are strongest.”

He kept to himself the thought that at times like this she was most in need of her father. Any man she married would have a tough act to follow, measuring up to the shrine she had made in her heart for Commander Cain.

“Yes, I still love Cassie,” he admitted to her. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

To her credit, she shifted from a provocative pose to something more sedate. Placing her feet on the ground, she sat up with a rigid posture. He continued standing.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “My dearest friend in the world looks sad and alone. I only wanted to reach out.”

“I know,” he almost whispered.

“You say that as if it hurts you.”

“That’s because I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Oh, Apollo!” Her voice broke. It took a moment to regain her composure. “Why have you closed yourself off to me? What have I done to deserve this?”

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” he said softly.

“I’ve finally accepted the fact that you love Cassieopeia. Why does that have to end our friendship? We used to spend hours together, just talking and having fun together. I miss that. Don’t you?”

His body seemed to sag. “Yes. Life does this to all of us. Especially the kind of lives that we lead.”

“What do you mean?”

“Love isn’t getting in the way of our friendship, Sheba. It’s duty. Sometimes I think duty is a monster that eats time. I imagine that all of us could have our life spans extended by generations and we still wouldn’t have time for each other because the time would all be devoured down to the last micron.”

Now it was Sheba’s turn to sigh. “I know what you mean.”

“I’m sorry that our personal lives always seem to take a back seat to the battles we have no choice about fighting. The endless battles...”

Sheba jumped up and almost fell into his arms. “Apollo, I’m here for you! That’s all I wanted to tell you. If you need me you always know where to find me.”

Biting her lower lip, she pushed away from him and left Apollo alone with his duty and a closed door.

“What’s next?” he asked out loud. “What will you throw at me for the rest of the day?” he asked the universe at large.

This was no ordinary day. The democratic process would begin grinding out its hard, impersonal decisions. The losers would not have the satisfaction of putting a face on their despair. No one individual could carry the burden of their defeat. The losers must blame their fellow colonials; they must blame themselves.

The personal was easier to stomach than gray abstractions. What had just happened with Sheba was supremely personal but the pain was bittersweet. There would be nothing but emptiness and ashes for the losers chosen to stay behind. Although most people railed against tyranny, the awful truth was that they preferred it to the impersonal mechanisms of a statistical universe. Cruelty was easier to understand than computers.

Before playing his part in seeing to it that votes would be cast and counted, Apollo felt a need for something intensely personal in his life, but not in his life as a man. He’d just suffered through that with Sheba. He needed a personal epiphany of what it meant to be supreme Commander of the fleet.

He glanced at his face in the mirror. Despite or perhaps because of the heavy sleep, there were dark circles under his eyes. He started to clean up and then thought better of it. He felt a perverse desire to appear in public dressed casually, as if to say he empathized with the wholesale pain flooding the remnants of the colonies. He was not to blame for it but he was ready to be the focal point of all the angst.

If Sheba had still been with him, she would have recognized this most demented manifestation of duty.

Apollo left his compartment and walked the corridors in a daze. Given the time of cycle and the route he took, there were few people along the way. The few he came across saw that this was a man deep in reverie. A few brief salutations and salutes elicited no response. Apollo was locked up in himself.

He reached his goal, his father’s secret sanctuary. He let himself in and breathed in the cold air of a place visited rarely. As he sat in the tattered command chair, he could feel Adama’s presence for the first time in years. In his present frame of mind, he’d take almost anything as a sign.

But the place was empty and quiet and dark.

It had been centons since he last heard his father speak from the hologram projected on rare occasions from Adama’s seat of power. He deeply appreciated these vivid fragments of the past.

Long ago Adama had programmed sacred information and recordings to be released at critical junctures in the travels of the fleet. Apollo had always been mystified over the technique by which his father could have programmed uncannily relevant material into these projections. It was not exactly that the material consisted of accurate predictions of the future. It seemed as if his father had grasped the general outline of what was to come so that his advice was never an exercise in non-sequiturs.

Was this another example of life after death? There was no room for doubt so far as Apollo was concerned. The evidence had mounted up even before contact with the Gamon. After experiencing those remarkable souls, Apollo could only feel sorry for the more stubborn scientists on the Battlestar Galactica who clung to their quaint notion of a completely materialistic universe. He used to believe their denial of any possible afterlife was because they had never encountered first-hand evidence to the contrary.

Now he figured their opinion was simply a case of wishful thinking. Not everyone warmed up to the idea that they might have to exist forever!

As he rocked back and forth in his father’s chair, Apollo decided that one of the many aspects of duty was that he could not allow metaphysical considerations affect decisions in the here and the now. His task was to cherish the lives entrusted to him as if they were irreplaceable and tragically finite. That was what made the pragmatic calculations so hard. The greatest good meant cold comfort to many—far too many.

He’d deliberately not turned on the full lights. The chamber was dimly illuminated by a row of permanent lights near the floor. His least movement cast long shadows over the dead control consoles.

He realized how much he missed his father’s wisdom, love and support. Would he ever experience such things again, even if there was an unknowable life beyond the grave? Could it be as different as not seeing one’s loved ones again: the sad atheist certainty?

Apollo had undergone many changes in the last few yahren. He felt as if he had been reincarnated many times in his single lifetime. Now a new era began. It was a good time for faith. Apollo’s faith had grown by an order of magnitude in recent times and yet the more he had, the more he wanted. Faith was greedy for an ever-increasing supply of spiritual food.

He wished he could share his greater confidence and hope for inner peace with every colonial. For all the political struggle that haunted his every waking moment, he felt a great love for the people he had struggled so long and hard to protect from the Cylon menace.

Now their time of decision was at hand. They must share the burden that had so often been Apollo’s alone to bear. The time of decision had finally come and there was no turning back.

12

Athena sat in the back of the largest meeting room available in the fleet. She wanted to remain inconspicuous as long as possible. The warriors needed someone to represent them at this gathering. She joked that she lost the coin toss but that did nothing to diminish the high regard her comrades insisted was her due. The warrior style was to ask for volunteers.

Apollo couldn’t do everything.

So Athena was present at a town hall meeting giving every indication that it was on the verge of degenerating into a free-for-all. She couldn’t stop herself from comparing this exercise in democracy with other management styles.

She tried not to feel contempt. On first glance, representative government seemed more like a meeting of the council than the more measured deliberations of the warriors. Maybe there was something to be said for the mocking attitude of Sire Uri.

But she didn’t let herself follow that line of thought to its unfortunate conclusion. Her brother had made a commitment to the will of the people that she felt she must respect, whatever the outcome. That didn’t prevent her from exercising her own independent judgment. Apollo expected no less of her.

The most striking aspect of these deliberations was how the majority was careful not to express itself. Many of these people had never hesitated to shout at the authorities when decisions were in anyone’s hands but their own. Now that the shoe was on the other foot, they waited. Quiet silhouettes of their former selves, they didn’t know which way the popular will was tending.

The majority waited for the majority to tell it what to think. First they would have to elect a slate of representatives. Then those freshly minted officials would decide who would be included in the lottery. Which was only another way of deciding on the short list of those who would be exempt!

Athena respected a few brave souls with reasonable suggestions who spoke up at this stage of the game. She easily imagined these men as warriors. She did them the favor of not even considering that they could ever qualify for the council, so great was her hatred for that august body. The tragedy was that these were the very kinds of people who needed to be on the council instead of the current membership. She doubted that they would even win the popular vote and be among the new officials.

One such person was a gray haired man with great dignity who said: “I object to a lottery because it isn’t really logical. I am an old man. I shouldn’t even be considered for the journey to the new world. If eight-hundred must stay behind, we should make up lists of everyone like myself who is no longer essential to the survival of the colonies. The young and vigorous should be at the top of the list. The only old men and women who should be considered for the journey are those who provide an indispensable function. We might decide the whole thing without ever getting to a lottery.”

The next speaker did nothing to win Athena’s approval. He was also an older man with a decidedly different perspective. “That’s easy for you to say, Da’veed Lindsay. For all we know, you have an incurable disease and nothing left to live for!”

The first man shook his head. “My ailment is the same as yours, Etoohey. It is a fact that we are old men.”

“Who can say what is old?” replied the other. “How do we know that the young will be any more useful than ourselves on a new world? They may fall into selfish patterns if we are not there to show them the true way.”

“Then write down your wisdom and let them take that with them,” suggested Lindsay, the sarcasm in his voice reflecting the true estimate of the other man’s work.

Etooey did not appreciate the point. He stomped his foot and stammered out an answer. “You contradict yourself! Both of us have been teachers for many yahren. I thought you were an advocate of what you smugly describe as rational selfishness.”

"Yes, and I thought you were the great defender of self sacrifice! Isn’t it interesting how our positions seem to have reversed themselves in the face of the new situation? We both know why.”

"Please enlighten us because I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The distinguished man had an answer. “It’s about life, my dear Etooey. As the late, great council member Sire DeChancie said back on the home worlds before we were driven into space, ‘In times of war, it is not sentimental but entirely practical to value the young. Life becomes a drawn out struggle to defend a Castle perilous. The young do most of the fighting, so it is all the more important that those of its members who survive be afforded every opportunity to reproduce’.”

That exchange remained the intellectual highlight of the meeting. Other voices, both old and young, drowned out the thoughtful debate with slogans and acrimony.

The majority was beginning to pick up on its own special vibrations. A lottery was inevitable, since it maximized a chance of survival for each individual. Despite a few optimistic suggestions from scientists that those left behind still had a chance for life, a clear consensus was forming that the losers of the lottery might well lose everything.

The gray haired man threw out a few more pearls before the crowd. “I will volunteer to stay behind. Everyone who follows my example will free up more slots for those who should make the journey.”

He received hesitant, polite applause for his grand gesture. No one was about to jeer a man stepping out of the way of their own fondest hopes for self preservation.

He volunteered a last idea as well: “We cannot be so uncivilized as to place children in the same jeopardy as the rest of us. Certainly an exception can be made for them.”

Surprisingly to many in the room, but not to Athena, a woman objected. “At what age do you determine a child? It’s better not to start down that path.”

Another woman, a popular midwife named Circe, supported the proposal. “The solution is to exempt young children, all those yet to reach puberty. Perhaps arrangements could be made to exempt their parents as well.”

“No, no!” shouted an angry young man. “What do you do about older teenagers in the family?”

“They would have to take their chances with the rest of us,” said another midwife. “If both parents are exempt because of younger children, that will create too much resentment on the part of losers in the lottery. How about exempting the mothers of young children but not the fathers and older kids?”

A teenage girl spoke up. Athena recognized her. It was Caran. “She’s right. Married couples can’t be exempt! There are too many. Besides, is that fair when lovers who aren’t married could be broken up?”

“Yeah,” added a middle-aged engineer. “If married couples are treated as a unit, then you create a situation where there are a lot of instant marriages. The lottery is already under a strain because of the exceptions we have to make for essential personnel. I suppose that list will come from Apollo.”

A few listeners in the back glanced nervously at Athena. She pretended not to notice but kept her attention focused squarely on the unhappy retired judge who was trying to maintain order. The woman’s greatest achievement was seeing to it that everyone spoke one at a time. As for the idea of a short list from Apollo, Athena expected the topic to come up sooner or later.

“So we don’t get to vote on the elites Apollo will try to shove down our throats?” came a surly voice that Athena couldn’t place with any speaker. She concluded that someone involved with the council had slipped in that comment.

The shortest man Athena had ever seen rose to his full four feet in height and put that last objection to rest. “It wouldn’t matter if we did have a vote on such a list. Everyone knows who the top people are for running the fleet and guiding us through the war with the Cylons. The same goes for the best scientists who are an obvious component for survival. Even if we had a vote on that, I have faith that the majority would simply provide a stamp of approval for any names Apollo would propose.”

There was that mysterious creature the majority throwing its weight around again! Athena wished that one of those wonderful scientists just mentioned would solve the problem of inadequate FTL ships. Then everyone could walk away from the current difficulty and go back to bickering about trivia instead.

She stifled a yawn. The proceedings were heavy going even for those more suited to politics than herself. At least the scientists and engineers worked with objective reality. They figured out what could be done and how. If the data didn’t fit, they had to quit!

She never ceased to be impressed with what the scientists did accomplish. No matter how severe the lack of supplies, they always managed to provide every ship with artificial gravity. As she looked around the large chamber and saw the anxious faces of men and women, she doubted that any of them ever took a moment to be grateful for the artificial gravity any more than they did for the recycled, livable air or the food and water. The miracle of staying alive for one more day was never adequately appreciated.

Well, she had a job to do and that was to provide her one fact to the proceedings. She stood and could hear the chamber become truly quiet for the first time since she arrived. She spoke quickly. “Apollo wants all of you to know that he won’t be providing any list of names.”

“I don’t believe it,” said an anonymous voice.

“Commander Apollo is putting everything in your hands. I am instructed to provide you with this information,” she said, pulling out a sheaf of papers and disks containing the same files.

"What’s that, Athena?” asked the judge running the proceedings.

“Information, your honor. The list in my hand consists of suggestions.”

“Typical!” screamed Sire Riggbok. Athena was surprised to see an actual member of the council reveal himself in that manner. The council had been playing it close to the vest lately. The impetuous aristocrat plowed onward. “The commander is trying to influence the course of these events. Whoever is elected will be expected to take his suggestions the same as orders.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Athena noticed military police moving into position. She caught their eye and shook her head. There was more than one way of administering martial law. Apollo had explained the rules with such clarity that even a council member could understand. Up to this moment, prominent members of the council had shown sufficient fear, if not regard, for the new rules. If Riggbok wanted to be arrested maybe he shouldn’t be granted the honor. At least not at this moment when the fate of the colonies was up for grabs!

Athena preferred defusing the man without the spectacle of arrest. She didn’t want a martyr. On the other hand, Apollo told these bastards that if they tried to interfere with the democratic process they would find their ample asses joining Ryis in prison. The best thing was just to make the man shut up.

“The information speaks for itself,” said Athena. “Every function necessary to the survival of the fleet is itemized. Apollo trusts that your elected officials will make use of it.”

“Are you essential, Athena?” asked Riggbok with barely concealed enmity. “I’ll bet you and your brother are considered more important than tylium!”

Right then it dawned on her that the bastard was drunk. No wonder he was making a fool of himself. Before the guards could move in to make an arrest, others in the Sire’s party got on both sides of him and hustled him out the door.

“Thank you for this material,” said the judge as she received it.

Athena wondered if she should stay but decided her best course of action was to follow Riggbok’s example. This was a time for the people to act. The council and Apollo held their last important meeting with the people locked out. Now turnabout was fair play. Although the meeting was open to anyone who cared to attend, it seemed a politic decision for Athena to absent herself.

On the way out, she noticed that a chair had even been reserved for President Tigh out of respect for his service. But Tigh had decided not to be there.

Still, Athena was glad she had put in an appearance. It showed that the warriors were taking it all seriously. Her information had been delivered with the personal touch.

The elections were held the next day. Athena was pleasantly surprised that the older man named Lindsay was one of the winners. She was so cynical that she would have bet against his victory.

“I told you so,” Apollo told her so. He’d invited his sister to watch the election returns with him.

“I liked him best of the speakers I heard,” she said.

“That’s why you were sure of his defeat,” Apollo chided her. “Anyway, I want to thank you for going there yesterday.”

They sat together in his quarters, just the two of them, sharing a bottle of celebratory Ambrosia. There was no one Apollo wanted to be with more in this waking cycle than his sister.

They weren’t really alone, of course. The communicators were on. Tigh checked in every hour. Throughout the process they had word from Starbuck and others who shared with them the fortunes of war.

The initial election was not the end but only the beginning of the real event. No one was going to sleep until the real decisions were made.

The new leaders did everything in the glare of the public eye. Apollo liked that. They quickly laid out the agenda. They compiled a list of colonials who would be included in the lottery.

The female judge with the responsibility of running the meeting also won office. She didn’t volunteer her name but others did because they approved of the manner in which she handled the deliberations. Everyone would soon know the name of Diana.

She announced: “We commend the warriors for providing us with such accurate data on themselves—everything from age factors to command experience.”

Although the results were predictable, they came as a surprise to those who could not believe that Apollo wouldn’t have fixed everything in advance. Certain prominent warriors were included in the lottery. These included Starbuck, Boomer and Sheba. All the younger warriors were excluded, such as Dalton, Troy and Trays. Once again, the result was entirely predictable, but only to those who used logic in place of emotion.

As for the exclusion from the lottery of Apollo, Athena and Tigh, there was nothing surprising in this. Training, knowledge and command experience were criteria that the new leaders were not about to ignore. After all, they’d seen the results of ignorance and envy too many times on the part of the council. The new team wasn’t about to make the same mistake as their predecessors.

If any critic needed proof that the new regime could be fair and logical, there was no better evidence than what they decided about the council. Every last one of these lords had the honor of being included in the lottery.

“I’d pay every cubit I’ve ever possessed just to see Sire Uri’s face right now,” said Apollo.

“Me first!” said Athena. “You pay, but I want to see him first.”

Not every decision was as satisfying to Adama’s son and daughter. If anyone harbored dark suspicions that Apollo might have fixed the list, the fact that Cassie was included in the lottery should put such doubts to rest. There were darker implications in that choice.

“So they didn’t agree to exempt the mothers of young children,” said Athena with genuine astonishment.

“At least the children won’t be separated from their mothers,” said Apollo. “It’s bad enough being left behind without being left alone.”

“Left behind!” Athena hissed through her teeth. “I’ve come to hate that phrase.”

“I agree with you about that, Athena. I’d give anything to save everyone. If only we could trust in fate.”

“I know. It comes down to faith and fate,” she said, idly rubbing her forehead. “We’re fresh out of ideas.”

Apollo’s communicator intruded yet again, as it had throughout the evening, but this time it was not from a friend. An officer of the military police was using the emergency channel. Apollo didn’t expect that. Until the lottery was actually finished and the losers went berserk, the military police shouldn’t be dealing with any emergencies. It was too soon for fistfights to break out.

“Commander, we’ve caught a member of the council trying to bribe his way out of being included in the lottery.”

“That didn’t take long,” marveled Apollo. “Who was it?”

“Let me guess,” Athena intruded. “Was it Sire Riggbok?”

The officer on the other end didn’t try to hide his surprise. “How did you know that. Commander?” he asked her.

“A little daggit told me!” she said. “I hope you arrested him.”

“We just did.”

“The man’s a fool,” muttered the commander of the fleet. From the moment he declared martial law, Apollo dreaded the first arrest. It was best to let the threat do the work for you instead of having to follow through with those foolish enough to test a true leader’s resolve.

The last thing anyone needed was for this Riggbok to set an example that others might follow. But when he crossed the line, the mucoid space-waster had to be slapped down hard. Apollo commended the officer for his quick action and switched off.

“What made you think the council member was this man?” he asked Athena.

“He was shooting off his mouth at the meeting when I was there,” she said. “I didn’t like him very much.”

“You don’t like anyone on the council.”

“That’s true, but he’s the worst I’ve run across lately. I guess Sire Uri needs a better caliber of villain to help his cause.”

No sooner had Athena expressed her uncharacteristic thought about the relative qualities of bad guys than the communicator communicated with her brother for what seemed like the millionth time. Neither resented the annoying device when they saw that the message came priority from the Med Lab.

The doctor on shift wasted no words: “Commander, Baltar is awake!”

13

Most people expected to be in the lottery. They had reconciled themselves to it long before the details were worked out. The majority of the colonials behaved in a mature fashion. An optimist could entertain the reasonable expectation that even most of the eight hundred losers in the lottery would behave well.

But as no one knew better than Apollo, it only took a few troublemakers to shift reasonable people into the unreasonable column. Politics was a lot like space travel. A minor course change of no more than a fraction of degree spelled out a completely different destination.

Many young couples took their cues from the posting of the names in the lottery, so very many names, that the most important choices in their lives were no longer theirs to make. If they had postponed making love up to now, they weren’t about to wait any longer. If they were already serious they got married; and often made a pact that if one were to stay behind then the other would give up the slot for the next name on the list.

There were plenty of rich men and women on the council who were more than eager to purchase abandoned tickets if it came down to it. They were already sending out word that price was no object.

The surprise for them was that no one seemed interested in their cubits. Colonial money had somehow maintained its value over the course of thirty yahren. It was still in use when they set foot on the verdant fields of Paradis. So what had changed?

Sire Uri himself saw young people using cubits to light fumarellos! The sight struck terror into his soul. He thought he’d seen everything.

He did not consider himself a coward. Indeed, compared to many of his colleagues he had the heart of a warrior. (Those who traveled between the stars appreciated the significance of relativity.)

But if young people no longer believed in money what did that portend for the future? What other mechanism could be improvised for the exchange of goods and services? Instead of planning for the future, the young ones were only living for the moment. Everywhere he looked, there was a party atmosphere. They made love, not plans.

It wasn’t only those whose future was uncertain who looked for truth close to home instead of seeking distant vistas. Among the select ones exempted from the lottery there were many who thought that now was an opportune time to celebrate life.

Far at the top of the Galactica near the bridge and command center was the star chamber. Two had chosen that place for a rendezvous.

“It’s the most romantic place in the fleet,” said Dalton, lying on her back and looking up at the real stars.

“I’ve always found something about this place to be mystical,” replied Troy. He wasn’t looking at the stars. His head was turned to the side as he lay next to her supple body. He examined every detail of her perfect profile as she was examining the distant suns.

“Do you feel guilty?” she asked without preamble.

“Huh?”

“I mean, do you feel guilty about our being exempted from the lottery.”

His expression captured the confusion going on behind his eyes. “No, not really. At least I don’t think so. Well, I’m not sure. Do you?”

She propped herself up on elbow and looked him in the eye. She decided she liked what she found there better than the burning spots of fire in the black canopy of night.

“Troy, I’m not diminishing our importance as warriors. And we make a good team.”

“You can say that again!” He reached out to stroke her cheek but she gently pushed him away.

“I’m not talking about sex. I mean that we fight well together.

And I like us together in the other ways. Troy, I feel that you’re my best friend.”

“Dalton, I feel the same way.” He reached out to take her hand and she accepted, squeezing so hard that she surprised him.

“I don’t feel that we have a right to be singled out this way,” she elaborated. “I don’t feel that we are so much more special than anyone else.”

“That’s why you feel guilty?” he asked softly.

“Yes, of course.”

He laughed. The reaction surprised her but she didn’t pull away. “Oh you wonderful girl,” he began. Despite the words there was nothing patronizing in his tone. “Dalton, don’t you see the nature of the honor we have received? We are young warriors with excellent records in battle. We are only spared because we are expected to give our lives without hesitation! But in battle. Always in battle.” “I understand,” she said, but her voice was uncertain.

“You don’t feel what I said in your gut! Our lives are too valuable to be risked on the lottery. Our deaths can have much greater value in other circumstances.”

She turned away but didn’t let go of his hand. “I would understand that better if all the warriors had been removed from the lottery. I don’t feel we’re better than someone like my father.”

He gently slipped his hand out of hers and embraced Dalton. “Listen to me. The older warriors agree with the decision. Apollo had to make a show that not even we as a group are exempt! Older warriors with command experience could not be risked to the lottery. So it came down to a choice between older and younger warriors.” “How can we be chosen over those with a more spectacular record?” she wanted to know.

“Statistics. Odds. History. They are slowing down and we are still in our prime. That doesn’t mean that in the next five battles the great heroes of the fleet won’t still outshine us. But right now the leaders are planning for the next fifty battles. The future is unsure.”

“You win,” she said as she laid her head on his shoulder. “You know, our parents used to come up here to the star chamber. I wonder if they felt like we do at this moment?”

He stroked her hair. “Maybe it depends on if they had the kind of stupid arguments we do.”

“They’re not stupid,” she said, placing a hand on his. “You’re not stupid.”

“Not while I have you in my arms,” he said.

“I wish we could feel like this always,” she said.

“Let’s insist on it.”

“It’s just that we seem to lose the magic as we grow older. I’ve seen it with everyone.”

He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. Then he held her face in his hands and asked, “Why worry about it? What matters is the moment.”

“It’s only that I never want to stop feeling like this,” she persisted. “Even if this is the last day of my life I wouldn’t really mind as long as I can be with you and have this incredible feeling.”

“I love you,” he said simply and then kissed her hard. He couldn’t match her natural poetry but let the movement of his tongue work inside her soft mouth. He preferred that to making words.

When he came up for air, she started to speak again but he dove back in. This time she responded as fiercely as Troy. Maybe if they could keep kissing they wouldn’t have to resume the conversation. He hated to admit it to himself but she had planted a seed of doubt in the center of all his neat and untroubled arguments. Even kisses like theirs couldn’t last forever.

“What’s the matter, you silly warrior?” she asked, noting his suddenly serious expression. “You know how much I love you.”

“Did you believe what I said just then?” he asked.

“About why we’re exempt? It makes sense but still doesn’t feel right.”

“Yes, I admit it. I think everything I said to you is logical but I wasn’t being completely honest with you.”

She tapped him on the chin with a delicate finger. “Has love unhinged the apparatus inside your head?”

“Don’t joke,” he said. It was as if in the course of their kiss there had been a psychic transfer of her worries to him. Was guilt contagious?

“I’ll admit it,” he said. “It doesn’t seem fair that our parents are on the lottery list and we’re not.”

She sighed. “You crazy bastard,” she said lovingly. “You’ve just done a great job of convincing me that the system makes sense and now you shoot down your own case! I don’t know what I’ll do if my father is chosen to stay behind. I can’t leave Starbuck! Whatever the outcome, I don’t want ever to choose between you and my father.”

“Maybe it won’t come to that,” he said. "There’s one thing we haven’t discussed.”

“What?”

“Luck!” he said, his old bravado creeping back. “Maybe everyone we care about the most will be damned lucky.”

Playfully punching him on the arm, she said, “Thank you, Troy. I forgot about luck.”

They kissed again. This time it was gentler. They were cuddling, standing up, with their mouths the closest point of contact. They listened to each other breathe. Again, they had found something better than words.

Finally it was time to return to prosaic reality, because despite Dalton’s wishes, such moments can’t last.

“Come on,” said Troy. “We need to get back. They’re probably looking for us by now.”

They walked out, arm in arm, still caught up in the magic. They were like so many other couples at this uncertain time. They only had eyes for each other.

That was why they didn’t notice the figure sneaking out from the shadows at the back of the star chamber. Their warrior instincts had been blunted by passion. All the intensive training they received could be summed up with a simple maxim: there’s no excuse for not securing the perimeter!

But if they’d stopped to reconnoiter the immediate surroundings before their tryst, they would not have discovered an enemy. Instead, they would have faced embarrassment in the wide-eyed expression of Cassieopeia.

Funny how things worked out sometimes. Before the young lovers decided on their meeting, Cassie found her way to a favorite spot in the sanctuary and fell asleep under the stars. She’d left her baby in the careful hands of her favorite midwife and opted for a moment of solitude before returning to the Med Lab.

When she woke up and realized that her daughter and Troy were in the room, she did not want to interrupt them or spoil their tender moment together. She didn’t really like to eavesdrop but accepted the unfortunate circumstance and made the best of it.

The hardest thing for her to do was to keep silent. She wanted to cry, she was so proud of both of them. It was difficult not to announce herself and run over to embrace both of them, showering the young ones with whatever blessings were hers to offer.

Now that she was alone again she let herself relax. She walked over to the star gazing seat. As she allowed the vastness of the cosmos wash over her, she considered the absurdity of everyone’s situation. Here they were, travelers between the stars, finally in a situation where a considerable number of them would have to end the journey.

The ones left behind could no longer comfort themselves with stories about the green hills of Earth. The quest had become an empty exercise for most colonials anyway; but at least those still moving forward cherished the time when they let themselves believe in the final destination. They might even regain the belief that Earth was still in their future.

It was different for those stuck in this solar system. It would be ironic if there were true believers among the men and women left behind, while the winners included plenty of cynics who had lost their faith. If Cassie bet on anything it would be on an outcome like that. The universe seemed to be overly fond of contradictions.

On the other hand, the universe still had plenty of surprises. While she was deep in reverie an unspoken wish of her heart came true. Maybe the universe was a sucker for happy endings, after all.

A man’s hand squeezed her shoulder. Naturally she gave a start until she saw that it was Starbuck. He never stopped living up to his reputation as the most unpredictable warrior. She didn’t expect him to reach down and tickle her waist with such surgical precision that she couldn’t stop giggling like a schoolgirl.

“Oh, stop it!” she gasped.

“Are you sure?” he asked, grinning. "You seem to be enjoying it.”

In self-defense, she struggled out of her chair and attempted to tickle him back. She was completely outclassed. Besides, as she discovered to her frustration, Starbuck didn’t seem to have a ticklish spot anywhere on his firm body.

“If you want me to cease and desist, you’ll have to pay the price.”

"What’s that?”

“I’ll show you,” he said and then proceeded to kiss her passionately. She wondered if Dalton and Troy had left some kind of ineffable essence in the air from their embrace. Or maybe it was the subtle perfume of the star chamber itself. Whatever the reason she concluded that it was more fun being with Starbuck here than in the Med Lab.

“Hello,” she said, coming up for air.

“Hi,” he replied. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

They both laughed. She let her hands move down to his thighs, but deliberately did not rush things. The unspoken rule for anyone in love who had once been a socialator was don’t let technique take over. Follow your heart. It was a hard rule for a professional to heed, each and every time she made love since the days of her first career.

Starbuck made it easy for her because the love she felt for him was a tidal wave that she could barely keep bottled up. He wasn’t tickling her any longer. How could he when she was melting into his arms? Each of her nerve ends reached out for the purity he had inside him that she wanted thrust inside her.

Idly she wondered if he had arrived in time to notice Dalton and Troy. No sooner did the thought intrude than she dismissed it as irrelevant. There was a good chance that Starbuck might have involved himself in some ham-handed fatherly way. So the “kids” were lucky to exit the premises when they did. Well, who cared? Her happiness was with Starbuck, here and now.

Her kiss went out of control. Suddenly she was licking his face and neck and biting his shoulder. Her promise to move slowly evaporated like the dew off a trembling flower. As her hands found and released his manhood, she continued kissing him. She had to kiss every inch—and she started measuring him inch by inch.

Now it was Starbuck’s turn to gasp. She was having a woman’s revenge for the trivial tickling to which he had subjected her a short time ago.

“Oh, Cassie!” escaped his lips as she let her head move back up his body so that her lips could meet his, now entirely the master of the situation. But Starbuck was too much of a warrior to surrender so easily.

He let his right hand descend to the core of her being and it played across her inner thighs as if she wasn’t still wearing clothes. She couldn’t stand it and pushed him away; but this was only to allow herself the chance to rip her uniform from her perspiring body.

Starbuck thought that things were going a lot better than they had in the Med Lab.

He removed his clothes more carefully and didn’t tear anything. Starbuck was always neat.

They came together under the stars of the universe as if a billion trillion white eyes witnessed their act of love. Perhaps the universe began just this way, in an exploding orgasm of creation.

When they began she was on top, but when they finished he was on top. Neither could honestly say just when and how they changed positions. Their bodies had become one in the fire of their passion.

Other lovers might scream in ecstasy or pursue the goddess of eros in grim silence, but Cassie and Starbuck laughed in the pure joy of the moment; and were still giggling when they fell back from each other exhausted.

They’d never stopped tickling each other.

“I’m glad to be alive,” she said when she got her breath back.

“I’m glad you are, too.”

“I love everything in my life,” she went on. “I don’t regret anything that’s happened. Not anything!”

Starbuck chuckled. “Just don’t be grateful for the Cylons, that’s all I ask.”

“Those poor, loveless monsters,” she replied. “They might as well not be alive.”

“I’d be happy to help them see it your way,” said Starbuck with real sincerity.

“Oh, you know what I mean! Can you imagine what it’s like going through life with no purpose except to destroy others?”

“I agree with you, there. The Cylons can’t even enjoy a decent game of pyramid.”

“We matter to each other,” said Cassie, pressing her face close up to his. “I don’t mean just us, here and now. I mean humans are supposed to matter to each other.”

“Tell it to the council,” he said.

“Even those fools and cowards don’t achieve the evil of the Cylons. At least they’re human enough to be afraid.”

They lay in each other’s arms for a while. Every now and then he reached out and stroked her hair. “You said something profound, you know.”

“What’s that?”

“About the members of the council being human enough to be afraid. You’ve made me think about my own fear.”

“Oh, Starbuck, you’re one of the bravest men I’ve ever known.”

“I’m not talking about fighting. I’ve been afraid of you, Cassie.”

“Don’t talk about it,” she said softly, not wanting to spoil the moment.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “This isn’t a prelude to an argument. I need to tell you what it means to me, what we’ve just done. It’s another gift I owe you.”

She smiled. “All right. I trust you. But I don’t understand why you think you’ve been afraid.”

He sat up and cradled her head in his lap. “So many are afraid right now. The lottery weighs heavily on them.”

“Are you afraid to be included?” she asked, remembering the conversation between Dalton and Troy on almost the exact same spot where she and Starbuck had consummated so very much.

“No. And you?”

“No, except that I’m worried about the child.” She smiled at him from the safe pillow of his lap. “I don’t want to be separated from Dalton or you.”

“I know,” he said. “But that’s not the kind of fear I’m talking about.”

“What is it?”

“Cassie, only lately have I started listening to Apollo. I mean really listening. I’m beginning to see things differently. I realize that there are a lot more ways to be out of love than in love. It takes a lot of courage to be in love.”

She closed her eyes and let the sentiment wash over her, every bit as refreshing as a summer rain on Paradis. "You’re describing real love,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Not everyone who says he or she is in love is brave in the way you think. Don’t forget all the time I spent as a socialator and what that taught me. You can’t always trust human nature.”

He hadn’t expected that. “I don’t believe you’ve ever told me. I’ve always seen you as the total romantic.”

She sat up and faced him, hands on each of his strong shoulders. “I’m romantic about you. I’m romantic about Apollo. I’m romantic about people who deserve it.”

“But I don’t!”

“You do, Starbuck. You’re a good man.”

“I’m a natural born killer.”

“You use that to protect the innocent.”

“I can’t stick with people.”

“You stick with all your friends all the time! Why do you think I find it so easy to love you.”

“Love. That’s where I have my weakness. I feel like a fool half the time.”

She hugged him. "So why don’t you spend the other half with me?”

They had begun in laughter and that’s how they ended, making love again under the celestial eyes in the star chamber. They were another happy couple taking what time they could, living life in the early days of the lottery.

14

Crawling back from the black pit of the Cylon visions and his own tortured mind, Baltar returned to the society of men and women. Despite the promises of Imperious Leader, the Great Traitor had begun to doubt that he would ever wake up again.

His greatest fear was that his physical body might die but through some unexpected alchemy the Cylon mastermind would devise a means to keep his human mind alive and eternally trapped in the alien dystopia of an enemy world. Eternity seemed like a really bad proposition to Baltar right about now.

He was an educated man. That made his experiences all the more terrible. He had an historical background to draw upon for grim precedents; and the imagination to extrapolate various futures, all of them malignant.

The home worlds had been around long enough to develop myths and legends. In common with any other human civilization to be found in the space-time continuum, the colonials had plenty of stories of saints and sinners with which to regale their children.

Baltar grew up with the same background as anyone else of his class. Unsurprisingly he’d accepted every privilege as his due. His opponents suggested that his background provided the ideal soil in which treason could grow into a fetid crop. But considering how many other men and women with the same advantages did not betray their worlds to the Cylons, it wasn’t fair assigning blame to anyone’s family.

The seemingly endless time Baltar’s mind had recently spent in the Cylon dimension inspired him to reconsider his past. Nostalgia seemed to help as he attempted to crawl up the slippery sides of the pit of his nightmares so that he could once again be a conscious participant aboard the Galactica.

Saints and sinners! The two ideas (or the same idea in a distorting mirror) would not leave him alone as he attempted to come back to himself. Of course, his fellow colonials saw him as a total sinner! They were prejudiced.

He asked himself just what was the genuine difference between the two? Both were separated from the bulk of ordinary men by virtue of their isolation. Every child knew that from the myths and legends. The wise man belonged to a certain type and was expected to go through certain rituals.

Great insights never came to him when he was imbedded in society where any difference between him and the mass of others was dissolved by daily routine. He needed to be alone. So he pursued loneliness as though she might be a shy mistress who required his constant attentions. If he was very good, or very bad, she would share a secret or two with him.

Thus spake the saint and sinner! First must come the trek into empty wilderness. He must survive the desert or the jungle. He must inhabit the mountaintop orthe cave. Cut off from others ofhis kind he would be visited by non-human beings. He would undergo tests and challenges provided by them.

Chastened, mad, half-dead from the experiences, he prepared himself for the return to society. Again among his own kind, he would speak of his epiphany or illumination. Then he would point them in the direction of a tunnel at the end of which they might find true enlightenment.

Along about that time, his fellows would become very concerned over this idea of whether or not the New Man that had burst forth from the dry husk of his old perceptions happened to be a saint or sinner. Before others entered the tunnel, they wanted to know if there was a light at the end of it.. .or deeper darkness.

A common thread running through the old stories was that no one ever doubted that the ragged hermit—recently returned to society—had in truth touched the edges of the great Outside. One good look at his physical condition was sufficient for others to believe that he had experienced something out of the ordinary.

The problem kept coming back to the thorny question of saints and sinners. Was the man’s vision to be trusted or was it more prudent to burn him at the stake and get back to business as usual?

Better safe than sorry!

Responsible members of a thriving community could not ignore little things like good and evil. They enjoyed patting themselves on the back if they removed a danger to society; but they would feel pretty bad about it if they inadvertently exterminated someone who had been trying to help them. Most people in authority wanted to believe they could tell the difference between a boon and a boondoggle.

So when they were shown long tunnels at the end of which supposedly waited The Truth, they were in no rush to go spelunking. That’s what all the myths and legends seemed to say loud and clear.

Baltar could appreciate that kind of reluctance as he made the difficult climb out of his own tunnel. Back from darkness to light. Back to the Galactica.

Back to anxious faces surrounding his bed in his private room in the Med Lab.

As Baltar began to blink those faces into focus, he saw that Apollo was among them. Apollo, the only man he trusted to understand any part of what he’d brought back with him from the pit.

"How long have I been out?” he asked the commander.

“A long time.”

Baltar coughed up something nasty and his favorite nurse wiped it all away. “Thank you, Elayna,” said her patient. She demurely bowed her head and didn’t respond. She was awed to be in the presence of Apollo.

“I’ll fill you in on current events,” promised Apollo, “but first things first. According to Cassiopeia and Doctor Kim, your brain activity knocked the needles off all their instruments.”

“Where are they?” asked Baltar, straining to raise himself for a better view of his surroundings.

“Outside, where everyone else is about to join them.” Apollo nodded to the nurse who finished a final check on her patient’s vital signs. Then she, another medical technician and two security men exited the room.

“A nice illusion,” said Baltar.

“What do you mean?” asked Apollo.

“Don’t think I fail to appreciate the gesture, my old friend, but we only appear to be alone. That’s the way I want it, of course, but I can imagine all sorts of recording devices busily whirring away and making multiple copies of our latest encounter.”

While Baltar was talking, Apollo brought a chair over so he could sit close to the bed side. “You should have more faith in me than that. Until I know what you have to say, I am more anxious to keep it under wraps than you are.”

“Things are bad, aren’t they?” he asked.

“Be patient and you’ll receive a full briefing on what you missed while you were in that strange coma.”

“I felt they took me under deeper this time,” Baltar admitted. “Good thing I’m not expendable! At least not yet.”

Apollo might have taken the last remark at face value if he hadn’t seen the sardonic expression that accompanied it. “There’s a good reason for you to tell me everything you learned before I fill you in on current events.”

Baltar nodded. “I understand. There’s no better way to verify if my dreams correspond to your information. That’s always assuming that what I recall is worth a daggit’s hairball!”

Apollo smiled. “Come on, Baltar, you never underestimate yourself. Let me get you a glass of water.”

“What, nothing stronger?” asked Baltar with a twinkle in his eye. But no sooner had Apollo made the offer than the frail body on the bed realized how thirsty it was.

“This will have to do for now,” said Apollo, passing the glass.

Baltar downed the glass in one gulp. Apollo had never seen Baltar do anything but sip liquids and take his time over meals, no matter how simple the fare. His old foe had lost considerable weight and gave every sign of having survived a grueling ordeal. Apollo thought that perhaps only Tigh would join him in accepting that Baltar had fought a battle equal to that of a Viper pilot after a serious engagement.

At least Baltar regained enough strength to sit up completely in bed and put his pillows behind his head so that he could more comfortably regard his visitor. A few coughs later, the color returned to his face and he started looking like his old self.

“Apollo, you have become a good friend to me in my old age. I never believed I’d ever receive anyone’s compassion or concern again. You are one in a million.”

“We’ve been through this before, Baltar. I believe you are trying to make amends for your past mistakes.”

"Mistakes! You are becoming a diplomat worthy of your father! Anyone else would call them crimes or treason.”

“I can think of no better example of a mistake than a crime or treason,” observed Apollo.

Baltar nodded. After rubbing his face with his hands, he looked at his only friend with a deepening appreciation. “I call you my good friend. It might be wiser if I didn’t. Others might overhear and misunderstand. I would never want you condemned for association with me!”

As Apollo had witnessed Baltar change with the passage of time, he assumed the man would ultimately reach the limits of his reclamation. Yet here was another example that the Great Traitor was on a path so far removed from his earlier one that it was sometimes hard to follow.

There were good men and women in Apollo’s life whom he wouldn’t expect to volunteer the example of supreme camaraderie that just emanated from Count Baltar. The man actually worried that guilt by association might do damage to Apollo’s good name! The Baltar of yore would have gone out of his way just to cause that kind of mischief.

“Thank you for the thought,” said Apollo. “Nowadays my reputation isn’t what it used to be. We can’t concern ourselves with felger-carb like that any longer. More serious issues loom before us!” “You’re right, of course. Let’s get down to business.”

To Baltar’s satisfaction, Apollo went over to the door and checked it to make sure it was locked. He even put his ear to the door to check that they were alone. The man on the bed was astonished at this display, especially considering that the most likely ears to be listening on the other side of the portal belonged to friends of Apollo.

The kind of friends that Baltar could never equal, the old reprobate concluded ruefully.

“All right,” said Apollo, returning to his chair. “Tell me some things that will knock my boots off!”

“I’ll earn that drink, yet. I’ll begin with the destruction of Paradis. The planet is gone, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Apollo. “That was after you sunk into your dream coma. Did someone here mention it to you?”

“I can’t honestly answer that. There were occasions when I seemed to be aware of what was happening in this room at the same time that I was deep in the Cylon place.”

“So you might have overheard that the planet basically blew up?”

“Possibly, but that’s not important, Apollo. I saw the planet destroyed as if I were a satellite in a close orbit to the doomed world. I saw everything. No one watching it from the fleet saw more. No Viper pilot was closer. No scanners detected more. And despite everything I’ve said, that’s still not the salient fact.”

“What is, then?”

“The Cylons destroyed Paradis with a long-range weapon.” Apollo jumped to his feet. “I knew it! May the Lords of Kobol guide us, but I suspected it all along.”

“What did the scientists finally report?”

Apollo resumed his seat. “They couldn’t explain how a natural phenomenon brought about such a result. That’s not the same as proof of a Cylon attack. Hell, there were even rumors that the Gamon might have been behind it but I always rejected that.”

“Imperious Leader showed me the ray that was used.”

Apollo raised an eyebrow. “How did you see this, exactly?” “Well, it’s hard to explain. In one sense, I’m shown these things but I don’t understand what I’m seeing. At the same time Imperious Leader is projecting concepts directly into my mind. They come out as words. This only happens when he wants to be absolutely certain that I understand.”

“He wanted you to be clear on the destruction of Paradis,” said Apollo.

“Yes. But most of the time in.. .that place, I was only shown terrible things. I couldn’t begin to assimilate it all! My mind was starved for explanations but instead I was tortured with vision upon vision. Take it from me, Apollo, there is no greater torture than to be shown and not told!”

“I’ve never trusted anyone who says you shouldn’t tell what is going on. That’s too much like the council. I think it’s one of their damned rules.”

For a moment, the two men let silence settle over them. The import of their words sunk into the marrow of their bones. They had accomplished the impossible by communicating at all. If the council had their way, this unlikely dialogue would never have begun. If the original plan of the Cylons had been followed, this communication could never have taken place because both participants would be dead. Humanity itself would have been edited out of the universe, turned to ash and all their hated ideas with them.

All that remained would be a nebula of lost dreams, a final testament—an award—to nullity.

"We’re here,” said Apollo.

“What?” answered Baltar. He’d been drifting.

“They haven’t succeeded in getting rid of us, have they? Despite their mighty machines and vast energies thrown against us, we prevail.”

Baltar swallowed hard. He wanted to believe. “But for how long?” he asked plaintively. “The Cylons found Paradis and destroyed it. They are coming.”

Apollo placed his hand on the older man’s shoulder. “We knew that even before this final damning evidence about the ray.”

Baltar didn’t want to dampen Apollo’s spirits, but this was not the place or time to hold anything back. “That’s not proof, you know,” he pointed out. “There are plenty of experts who won’t accept my claim about the Cylon weapon.”

“That doesn’t matter. They don’t matter. We are committed to the current policy because we are facing reality again. Paradis is behind us. The Cylons are the primary fact of our existence again. In fact, they always were.”

“Let me share with you what I experienced in that endless nightmare,” said Baltar. “I have seen their evolving world and what they are turning into. It’s worse, Apollo. As hard as that may be to accept, it’s worse!

“The species has one obsession and that is to destroy any other living beings that might ever present a challenge to them. Their civil war will only make them stronger. Whichever side wins will come for us.

“Despite what you just said about how we have survived all they’ve thrown at us, we’ve been having a vacation lately. It’s not only the time we spent on Paradis. The real vacation is their private little war that kept them at bay. One side will exterminate us for having corrupted the Cylon race with human DNA. The other side will exterminate us because we’re simply old business that hasn’t been taken care of. In time, either or both (if they ever find a basis for an alliance) will continue on the path of total annihilation of other complex life forms.”

“They’re the same monsters as always,” said Apollo in a failed attempt to put the other man at ease. “The fight goes on no matter what.”

“But I must help you to see the greater danger,” groaned Baltar as he grabbed Apollo’s jacket.

“It’s all right,” Apollo said calmly. “Do you want a stress pill?”

“No, that’s all right,” Baltar exhaled the pain and frustration. “May I have another glass of water?”

Apollo obliged and then Baltar was ready to continue:

“I can never expiate my true crime. It was pride, Apollo, dumb and blind and smug. I thought that I knew better than everyone else when the evidence was overwhelming as to genuine Cylon motives. It’s not that they lied to me but I let them get away with it. I believed because I wanted to believe.”

“You’re not the first human being to make that mistake,” said

Apollo. “We all have a price that we want so much to be met that when we hear the desired offer our brains shut down.”

“Sure,” Baltar agreed too quickly. “But consider the stakes when people buy and run to achieve their folly. Usually when an egomaniac like me fouls up, all that happens is that people are cheated. They don’t die. They don’t all die!

“The Cylons used my vanity to turn me into their willing tool. They had one purpose. They used me to set the colonials on an epic journey to the stars to find our forefathers.”

“That journey was also necessary to our survival,” Apollo reminded the tortured soul.

The confession was not about to be derailed. "Listen, I admit that I had my own agenda but it was not to destroy the human race. You may assume that the fleet’s survival is due to you always keeping one step ahead of them. I don’t want to diminish your fine work in that regard. But you’ve got to see it in the larger context.

“The truth is you and I, and all the rest of us who still live, are only alive because the Cylons aren’t finished with us yet. I suspect they have a special purpose for you!”

Apollo gritted his teeth. This was not going as he’d expected. “Did Imperious Leader tell you this?”

“No, of course not.”

"Were there images that you are interpreting in this way?” “Apollo, I have had a long time to think about what I’m telling you. I freely admit that I am sharing an opinion with you. Imperious Leader has been doing things to my mind. It’s up to me to separate truth from lies. That’s the only thing I like about the bastard. He plays games.”

As Apollo scrutinized every tic and quiver running across Baltar’s face, he saw a glimmer of his old enemy. He understood that what came out of Baltar just then was a form of professional courtesy. Baltar sucked in a deep breath and noticed the momentary concern flashing across Apollo’s face.

“Don’t worry about me, my friend. I’m never going back to the man I was. But I didn’t spend all that time perfecting the arts of treachery without being able to detect someone else’s strategy. Please accept what I’m telling you in that spirit.”

Apollo nodded. “Very well. Please proceed.”

“Thank you. As I was saying, Imperious Leader has a reason for letting us survive this long. I’m talking about what he both did and failed to do before the Cylon civil war began and distracted his attention; what I still claim is the basis for the splendid vacation we’ve been enjoying.”

“Why does that creature want us alive?” Apollo asked.

Despite the privacy they had apparently achieved in one quiet sick room of the Med Lab, Baltar leaned in close to Apollo and whispered: “It’s all about you! They are using you to lead them to the Thirteenth Tribe, your forefathers, the root race of our kind!”

“Why?”

Baltar resumed a more comfortable position on the bed. He allowed his voice to rise again, but continued speaking more quietly than before:

“Think about it. The original race are the ones who cast aside the Cylon’s God and creator, Count Iblis. He was banned to the planet Kobol with a handful of fanatical followers who received the justice they deserved from the hands of their evil master. Of all the visions I suffered, none were worse than what Imperious Leader made me see and hear about that wretched planet. This was a case of show and tell from hell! I had all the explanations I could stand from the lips of Iblis himself. It was like eavesdropping on everything you’ve ever prayed not to experience.”

“I appreciate what you’ve done,” said Apollo.

Baltar nodded, but for a moment he could no longer speak. He seemed to be having trouble breathing but when Apollo offered more water he gestured him off.

After a few deep breaths, the man who knew too much continued: “I watched Iblis engineer the Cylon species eons ago. It was meant to be his final revenge on the original race that exiled him.”

“You wouldn’t know if the original race still exists?” Apollo asked with a genuine sense of wonder.

“Yes. They are waiting for us to find them.” “Now you know, too.”

“The Cylons are out to exact revenge on that ancient race and will never cease in that goal. There is no doubt in my mind about any of this. Imperious Leader’s own hatreds and fears and obsessions make it impossible for him to hide any of this from me.”

Suddenly it was Apollo who needed a glass of water. He was glad he’d given orders to keep this room secure. No one must know about this conversation until Apollo decided otherwise.

“What do you think is our best course of action?” he asked Baltar.

“Simple. You must leave me behind!”

Apollo blinked. Was this for real? He almost broke his own rule to tell Baltar of the protests that had been made against the idea that the Great Traitor would continue the journey to the new world. Apollo doubted that anyone had ever told him about the obscene message in blood that had been scrawled on the door to this very room.

“Why do you make such a request?” was all that came out of Apollo’s mouth.

“You have no hope of losing the Cylons unless I die!”

Apollo sighed. “There must be some other way.”

“I can’t think of it.”

“You are a bit close to the subject, don’t you think? Someone else could be more objective. I have a gut feeling that you have another role to play on behalf of the fleet. You may not appreciate your full purpose even now!”

Baltar did more than laugh. He literally guffawed. “My purpose is coming to an end, my friend, whether we want to admit it or not. I have seen the future and I’m not a part of it.”

“You can’t be sure of that,” gently suggested his one friend.

“I don’t deal in certainties but probabilities. Who can ever be sure of anything? Who would have thought that I, the greatest traitor of mankind, would receive this kind of gift in my old age? I can serve best by ceasing to be.”

“Hasn’t that been your fondest dream for some time?” Apollo asked.

“You have a point there. To sleep without any possibilities of dreams.. .that is my last hope. The long sleep! How wonderful that in making a choice to do nothing I achieve so much for my fellow man.”

Apollo stood up and felt the weight of a galaxy between his shoulder blades. “We don’t have to decide everything today.”

"That’s true.” Baltar reached out and shook Apollo’s hand. He gave the simple action a greater dignity than if it had been a salute. “Now I’d love to rest, maybe even doze a little, without ugly things crawling around in my brain.”

“I hope you can,” said Apollo.

Right before the commander of the fleet left the room, Baltar shared a parting thought: “Thanks again for keeping this conversation private from our fellow man and woman. It’s interesting to reflect that probably every word was transmitted to the Cylons!”

15

It was a mistake for certain foolhardy members of the council to arrange their own lottery as a protest against the genuine article. Making a big deal out of publicizing the stunt was yet another mistake because a sufficient number of civilians showed up to make trouble. Another error was allowing their own military police to get belligerent and shoot a few of the rowdier civilians.

But there was no denying that the protestors’ supreme blunder was not counting on Starbuck and Boomer showing up.

“You know what I like best about working with you?” asked Boomer as his strong black fist connected with a gray whiskered jaw.

“No, what?” his friend responded as he karate chopped a wrinkled white neck.

“You don’t ever shave time off your duty roster,” said Boomer, diving into an angry trio who were brandishing metal pipes. “You’re always ready to lend a helping hand!”

Until he mopped up his quota. Boomer was too busy to elaborate. While getting an opponent in a stranglehold, Starbuck added: “A warrior’s work is never done.”

They let their fists talk after that. There were only two of them up against roughly fifteen opponents—actual council members and theirhand picked stooges. Although the men the warriors fought were badly out of shape and many of them over the hill, sheer numbers gave them a certain advantage. Blunt instruments used as makeshift weapons would have turned the tide in their favor. . .if they had any skill whatsoever.

The carefully selected military police, serving almost as private bodyguards for the council, were unable to come to the aid of their bosses because Starbuck and Boomer were in the center of them. Besides, the rent-a-cops had their hands full trying to hold the civilian mob at bay without shooting any more of them. The most corrupt member of the military constabulary didn’t want to adopt draconian measures when warriors were present as possible witnesses.

Although Sire Uri was nowhere to be seen, a council member close to him accurately sized up the situation. “Uri doesn’t know about this little experiment,” he whispered to an assistant. “He’ll be livid when he finds out what we’ve done, but we need his approval to call in more of our police.”

“I’ll take care of it,” said the assistant.

“Don’t mention that Starbuck and Boomer decided to mix in,” hissed the man in charge.

“Don’t worry,” said the other, hurrying off to take care of business.

Meanwhile, back at the fight, Starbuck was giving loving attention to the only man in the group who seemed young and fit enough to be a challenge. With proper training, the man could have taken Starbuck, but he’d never learned how to hit. He was a little better at defending himself but that didn’t do him any good because Starbuck kept wearing down his defenses.

The only reason it took Starbuck a while to knock out his target was that he had to deal with two of the man’s friends who weren’t very sporting about coming in from behind. But the inevitable happened. One solid punch to the jaw did the trick. The man wobbled and looked around him in a daze before he finally had the decency to collapse like a rag doll.

That’s when it dawned on Starbuck that he didn’t have anyone left to fight. Everyone still standing was piling on Boomer.

“Think we should call for backup?” he shouted at Boomer as he waded into the sea of flailing fists.

“Who did you have in mind?” asked his friend through bloody lips.

As Starbuck grabbed a pudgy pugilist from behind, he reflected that his friend had a point. Should they call for more warriors?

Should they call for military police still loyal to law and order instead of the council’s pocket books? The intellectual strain was finally too much for Starbuck.

“Ah, the hell with it!” he shouted. “We can take care of this ourselves.”

Highly trained as they were, both warriors did not forget the presence of armed men nearby. But they could see that the police were operating from the same rulebook as Starbuck and Boomer. When the warriors kept their weapons holstered, so did the MPs. There would be no more shooting today.

Something shifted in the angry crowd, as well. They were suddenly more concerned with helping their members who were down. Apparently there were no fatalities among those who’d been shot—at least not yet.

Everyone was too wound up to appreciate the peculiar equation working itself out before them. Take one crowd of angry Civilians worried about the real lottery. Add to that the genuinely stupid move by council members to put up their own bogus list exempting themselves from the genuine contest already determined by popular vote. Throw in military police who still had an old fashioned respect for cubits unlike the non-commercial spirit sweeping the young. Fire a few bullets into the crowd and there was only one possible answer: a blood bath.

The equation changed with the arrival of two warriors who were themselves stuck in the real lottery the same as the crowd. These two heroes seemed to swoop down like avenging angels. The corridor providing the setting for the neat little morality play ended in a cul-de-sac. The guards had been so busy protecting their clients from the wrath of the mob that they were not in position to deal with two men—only two men—whose righteous anger burned through a random sample of council members like a pulse rifle would fry a ton of lard.

It did not occur to Starbuck or Boomer that they might very well be saving the lives of these fools they were beating up. Basically, they got their hands on them before the crowd did. There is a breaking point for even the most docile group of humanity. This particular gathering of civilians was on the verge of sweeping over the guards and ripping out the throats of the hated council members who had dared to make a public spectacle of their contempt for the average colonial.

Instead of dispensing a well-deserved dose of carnage, the people chose to watch the entertainment instead. It was really pretty cool seeing Starbuck and Boomer mop up the floor with these bastards.

When Starbuck entered the fray, it made it easy for Boomer to break free of the half-dozen hands trying to pull him to the ground. Backing away a few paces. Boomer got into a crouch and then dived at the mid-section of a remarkably overweight specimen from the council. He vaguely remembered that this man had made a lot of snide comments to Apollo. Sure, this was the guy Apollo had complained about; the sublime council member who sniffed that too many colonials married and had children while they were on Paradis.

As Boomer pummeled the man’s doughy face into red pulp, he felt he was repudiating the ideas of a man who thought it was virtuous to prefer death over life. He kept at it so long that his hands went numb. He might not have ever stopped if Starbuck hadn’t pulled him off.

“It’s over, Boomer.”

"What’s over?”

“The fight,” answered Starbuck, gesturing at their unconscious opponents on the floor. Only then did Boomer notice that he was seeing everything through a red haze. He hadn’t even noticed he was bleeding.

Suddenly both men had something more important to notice. The crowd applauded! As other military police showed up, the grim determination of their faces softened into respect for the two warriors. There was no riot to put down. At least not here, not now.

“How do you do it?” asked Boomer as they walked away from the glorious mess they had made.

“Do what?”

“Emerge without a scratch!”

Starbuck took a quick inventory. His knuckles were red and there was a long scratch on his right forearm. One eye felt a little swollen and his bottom lip was cut. Other than that everything seemed fine.

“There’s just one thing I want to know,” said Starbuck.

“What’s that?”

“Is my hair okay?”

Boomer laughed and gave Starbuck a playful punch.

“Ouch!” said Starbuck. “I think I just discovered another injury.”

“We’re going to have to report this to Apollo,” said Boomer.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Starbuck. “This is nothing. A stupid stunt by some of those idiots on the council doesn’t matter.”

“What about those damned military police shooting into the crowd?” Boomer demanded.

“You’re right—we have to do something about that. But first we have something a lot more serious to worry about.”

“The real lottery?”

“You know it. I hear the results will be listed tomorrow. Then we’ll have eight-hundred people knowing for certain that they’re slated to be left behind.”

“A death sentence,” said Boomer softly.

“Maybe. I don’t know about that. But can you imagine what it’s going to be like when everyone knows the final list of names? What happened today will seem like a picnic.”

“Or we just had a dress rehearsal for the real thing. Maintaining order will be a lot harder with people who don’t think they have anything to lose.”

“You can be certain that Apollo is devoting every waking moment to planning for what happens when the felgercarb hits the fan.”

Boomer nodded. “You know what? I think I enjoyed that fight a little too much, Starbuck. It was a way of letting off steam.”

“I feel the same way.”

“We’re both in the lottery. How do you think it’ll come out?”

“I’d rather gamble on a hand of pyramid,” Starbuck admitted. “Whatever happens I have one hope.”

“Yeah?”

“To get one more Centurion in my sights before I’m through! I don’t care if it’s in this solar system or the new one or anywhere else. I want another crack at the Cylons.”

Boomer and Starbuck clasped hands in the warrior mode. “That goes for me, too!”

As fate would have it. Sire Riggbok ended up in the cell next to Ryis. The cell used to be occupied by a loyal follower of Ryis until the man finally sensed that he had backed the wrong side and hanged himself.

“Why did your friend kill himself?” Riggbok asked, pretty well up to date on prison gossip even before he took up residence.

“He grew weary of waiting for my situation to improve. By the way, he wasn’t my friend. He was a supporter.”

Riggbok thought about the distinction. "What’s worse? Having a friend kill himself or a follower?”

“The latter,” answered Ryis without hesitation. “It betrays a lack of confidence in one’s ultimate aims. That’s not the worst of it, if you’re interested.”

“I’m very interested,” the other assured him. “I believed in what you were trying to accomplish on Paradis.”

The architect smiled and said nothing about that. Cursed with an almost photographic memory, he remembered sizing up the decadent Riggbok as a neutral at best. There was nothing like time in the slammer to inspire new recruits. Instead of accurate recollections they relied on wishful thinking.

“Well, Paradis is behind us now,” said Ryis. “So is my girlfriend. She’s never communicated with me once since I’ve been in here. I take that as a bad sign. This current suicide is another bad sign. But what really burns my ass is that Sire Opis has never raised a finger to help me!”

“You were sort of partners, weren’t you?” asked Riggbok.

“I was his good right hand!” insisted the architect, voice rising higher than any building he ever erected. “For a long time I’ve believed that he was waiting for the right moment to make a move on my behalf.”

“Maybe he still is.”

Ryis shook his head. “We’re not completely isolated from the news in here. When Apollo made his grandstand play, I expected the council to do something clever. I’m still waiting. My main worry is that they’ll treat all prisoners as automatic losers in the lottery. There are times I wish I hadn’t been so high-handed about my role on Paradis. At least I wouldn’t be stuck in here!”

Riggbok sighed. “I see your point. If I hadn’t become impatient myself I wouldn’t be sitting in this cell.”

“What did you do?”

“You don’t know?”

Ryis shook his head. “There’s a guard who is my most reliable contact with the outside world. Haven’t seen him lately. Hope he didn’t turn honest, or some other terrible thing happened to him.”

“All I did was open my mouth,” Riggbok said. “I wish it had been something more dramatic, but I just talked a little sedition.”

“Don’t you mean treason?”

Riggbok scratched his head. “What’s the difference, exactly?”

Ryis pondered the question. “In a time of martial law, these distinctions are important. As I see it, treason is when you piss off Apollo. Sedition is when you piss off his friends.”

Riggbok chuckled. “Thanks for clearing that up. But cheer up. It’s going to get better.”

“Why do you think that?” asked Ryis.

“I don’t want to make any evaluation of your situation with Sire Opis; but you can rest assured that Sire Uri won’t leave me to rot in here!”

Ryis felt like he was about to suffer a bout of hiccups. That happened sometimes when he suppressed a desire to laugh. “Your situation is nothing like mine, I take it,” said the architect.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Riggbok hurried to put his new associate at ease. “We all know what you accomplished on Paradis. No one who mattered wanted to leave the planet. It’s just Apollo’s rotten good luck that he was proven right by the planet blowing up! Who could have predicted something like that? I mean, under normal circumstances you would have been right and he would have been wrong.”

“Thanks for cheering me up,” said Ryis dryly.

Riggbok had no idea that he was digging a hole worthy of one of the architect’s underground bunkers. The aristocrat kept on his merry way.

“The difference between us, Ryis, is that you are a professional man.”

“Yes?”

“I am not judged by what I do but what I am. I come from a Fine family that spent generations refining the strain until they produced me.”

“A remarkable result,” said Ryis, almost succeeding in keeping sarcasm out of his voice.

“So it’s one thing to abandon a useful servant but quite another to forget an alliance with one of the best families produced by the colonies.”

Ryis stared in amazement at the man in the cell next to him. Was this some kind of plot by Apollo? Had that wily leader hired a professional actor to play the role of a buffoon and put the council in the worst possible light even to someone like Ryis?

Ryis shrugged. He knew better than that. It was just one of life’s little ironies that this member of the council should end up here. For the first time in his life, he completely sympathized with how Apollo must feel when dealing with people like this.

“I must thank you. Sire Riggbok, for explaining the situation to me with such clarity. I see now that I was only in a role inferior to Sire Opis whereas you are a full equal to Sire Uri.”

Riggbok prided himself on being magnanimous with anyone who showed an eagerness to learn, and basically could see things his way.

“I’m glad you don’t take the circumstances personally,” he said.

“There is nothing more impersonal than a fact. Something is true or it isn’t.”

“Well said,” said Sire Riggbok in a tone suggesting that he would throw the architect a treat if only he had something sweet and tasty on his person.

“But as we sit here and wait for you to be rescued by Sire Uri, may I ask a question? I assure you that it is entirely impersonal.”

“Ask away,” trumpeted Riggbok with a smug expression.

Ryis bowed slightly. “Thank you. Sire. My question is how is it that Count Baltar is the product of one of the finest blood-lines in the history of the colonies. . .”

“Oh, there’s no arguing with that,” Riggbok interrupted.

Ryis swallowed hard and soldiered on to his conclusion. “As I was about to ask, how can Baltar, a true aristocrat, be a remarkable genius instead of a useless fool?”

The fleet hung in space, a collection of small satellites around a swollen sun. Debris from the destroyed planet drifted past the ships, slowly making its way out of the solar system while the ships waited for the living things inside to decide on where they would go next.

Inside these fragile metal worlds were struggles both large and small. There was love and hate. There were plans and hope and theories. There was always room for more theories.

But outside the ships there were also a few living things with no time for theories. They put on the fragile skins of space suits, so much more fragile than the ships of the fleet or the Viper fighters birthed out of the ships. Space suits were flimsy protection against the big empty spaces. Each and every living body in its suit became a little world unto itself, another satellite of the sun that had lost one of its children when Paradis ceased to exist.

Did that sun hunger for new children to take the place of Paradis? Did its gravitational pull exert some ineffable extra whisper of desire that these new satellites should stay—all of them stay and none make the dangerous trip to a new solar system and a new world?

Inside the space suits, human hands worked inside awkward gloves to heal ruptures on the skin of space ships both large and small. Work had to be done outside on ships readying to make the FTL jump; work had to be done on ships that would not abandon the sun that watched everything with a giant, blinding rainbow eye.

Working outside space ships is always dangerous, even in a solar system that hasn’t recently been the scene of a planetary catastrophe. The fleet always used volunteers for this work.

Bojay was the warrior whom the mechanics trusted the most to work on the Vipers. Naturally he was at the front of the line when work had to be done outside the ships. It was an honor for warriors to volunteer for engineering assignments with Bojay and he always put together a crack team.

There was more work than ever to do now before the colonials took the next big step in the exploration of the universe—the colonials who won the lottery. There were so many names on the lists that it came as no surprise to anyone when volunteers for hazardous work reached an all time high.

Maybe it was a form of tempting fate to take a chance while you still didn’t know what the future held in store. Whatever the motives, dangerous work had to be done.

Paradis was gone, but it had left plenty behind in its wake. A whole planet just doesn’t disappear, no matter how total the destruction wreaked by the super-weapons of the Cylon Empire.

The increase in micro-meteors was right off the scale, little deadly bullets making external work all the more hazardous. Everyone knew the risk. Precautions were taken but it was still a case of playing the odds, like a game of pyramid.

The little human satellites floated in the sunlight, each a bright star of human efficiency doing essential tasks for all the living ones inside all the ships of the fleet.

On this particular work detail there were only two accidents. One human satellite never rejoined the larger metallic world of the ships. The head went spinning off in one direction and the body in another, two new satellites of the lonely sun that had lost a whole world.

The other victim stayed in one piece. A small pinprick depressurized the suit and opened a vein. Before the victim stopped breathing, or died in vacuum, or bled to death, the suit repressurized. The damage was only so bad to the suit.

The human being was not as well designed as the space suit. But she was still living as Bojay desperately carried her pale, inert body into sick bay and found Cassie.

"It’s Rhaya!” he cried out. “She’s lost a lot of blood but we can still save her!”

16

“What about your big talk now?”

Da’veed Lindsay turned from the posted list of names to face his accuser. He used to like being a teacher until he got to know his colleagues. Etooey was always a pain in the ass. He was glad the man had voted against him for the office he now held.

“I intend to keep my promise,” said Lindsay. “I said it at the town meeting and I meant it.”

Etooey jabbed a finger at the list as if he were stabbing it with a knife. “Easy for you to say then, but here is the real list of names chosen to stay behind and you’re not on it!”

“I will formally request that my name be removed.”

As the elected official turned away from the grim posting, soft hands grabbed him with a strength he never imagined they could possess. Suddenly he was staring into the sweating face of a terrified little bald man.

“Please switch with me, then,” gasped Etooey. “You saw my name on the list. You don’t care what happens to you, so why not switch with me?”

Lindsay drew himself up to his full height, towering over his fellow teacher. “You heard what I said at the meeting. I think this journey should be for the young. I’m not about to help remove you from the list.”

“But why not? I’m younger than you!”

The other man laughed. “By two yahrenl That’s not exactly what I meant.”

“This whole thing is stupid,” said the other man, returning to stare at the document. The two men were alone in one of the study halls that was normally used for classes but had been converted into a supply dump during the current crisis. Lindsay was on his way to open the door.s but the other man ran over to him again.

“Maybe it’s not real if no one sees it,” pleaded the other man.

“What are you talking about?”

“How many of these lists have been posted? Maybe it’s not too late to gather them all up and no one will see.”

“You’re insane,” observed Lindsay with real pity.

“Why me?” screamed the man. “They should have posted lists of those slated to go instead of tormenting the poor losers with this hideous death list.”

“Can’t you understand anything?” asked the slightly older man. “It isn’t practical to list the names of those who won the lottery. It’s a huge majority! Why even waste the paper or storage space on the terminal displays? Besides, the losers shouldn’t go through the torture of checking and rechecking the longer lists, searching in vain for their names.”

“Torture!” screamed Etooey, getting between Lindsay and the doors. “This is torture! I don’t want to die.”

Lindsay couldn’t understand how a man like this was ever allowed to teach the young. He was afraid to learn how many of his colleagues were like this. The lottery was a crime, all right, but not so much for facing the cold equations of necessity in a statistical universe. The crime was in learning the true nature of one’s fellow men.

"Listen to me carefully, Etooey” he began, using a condescending tone that none of his students was ever subjected to. “I’ll try to explain this one last time. We don’t know for certain that staying behind is a death sentence. There’s always hope. But we must play the odds in favor of the young.”

“I hate the young!” screeched the unhappy pedagogue.

“By the Lords of Kobol, why were you ever a teacher in the first place?” Lindsay wanted to know.

“It seemed like a good career choice for someone who hates kids,” said Etooey in a sudden outpouring of honesty. “I don’t mind pretending to value the little brats in front of their parents but now this is serious.”

Lindsay said a silent prayer of thanks to his own parents that by the grace of good genes or good environment or just plain good luck he hadn’t turned out a sniveling coward. He wondered what it was like to crawl through life, forever hunched over in metaphysical terror of your fellow human beings. He made a last desperate attempt to communicate with the pathetic specimen before him.

“You won’t be alone. At least you’ll have me for company. I’m not exactly sure how we are going to accommodate those who volunteer to stay. I imagine we can arrange a new collection of names for those not on the list and then do a run-off lottery of some kind. There’s plenty of time. The fleet isn’t going to leave until all this is resolved.”

Suddenly the other teacher was calm; but it wasn’t a natural kind of calm. The man was not at peace. Something had gone out of him, some spark taken for granted until it is absent.

“You don’t want a run-off lottery,” said Etooey.

“It’s just an idea. We haven’t worked out all the wrinkles.”

The angry, little man didn’t seem to be listening. “You don’t want to let people make their own decisions about giving passages aboard the fleet.”

“I didn’t say that. I have an open mind. All I said was that I’m not taking your place.”

“An open mind,” said Etooey. “That’s an interesting idea.”

This was getting nowhere. Lindsay started to walk toward the door again but the shorter man jumped in front of him again. “I finally see things your way. You want to stay behind and I agree that’s exactly what you should do. I’m even going to help you.”

Da’Veed Lindsay never saw the knife flashing in the other teacher’s hand. If he’d lived long enough to think about it, he might have appreciated that Etooey was a professor of anatomy. The knife found a vital organ without any fuss or bother.

And of course Lindsay never knew what Etooey did to his corpse after it was neatly laid out on the floor. That discovery was made by the security guard who wondered why the doors were locked long past when they should have been opened.

By then Etooey had opened the head with surgical instruments and spread the brains all over the floor.

“He has an open mind!” shrieked the ex-teacher. He was still giggling when they took him away.

This was the first murder directly attributable to the result of the lottery. It was not the last.

Apollo began the day alone in his quarters with the first printing of the list. He could have received the information electronically but requested a physical paper copy instead.

It seemed like the right thing to do.

He made himself read the whole list all the way through. He read it out loud. He paused between the speaking of each and every name. He wanted to feel the weight on his tongue. He went through all eight-hundred names. He felt the full impact of the numbers. EIGHT HUNDRED NAMES.

The most difficult part was when he came across names of close friends and loved ones he didn’t go any faster or any slower than he did with the other names. He said the name. He felt the full meaning of the name. A beat. He went to the next name.

“Starbuck.” He’d half expected it. A feeling in his bones. Usually Starbuck was lucky. He’d won enough hands of pyramid to prove that.

He had to put down the list when he came to that name. He thought about their many arguments over the years. They played a kind of tug of war as only close friends can. Whether it was Apollo disagreeing about what Starbuck should do with Cassie, or Starbuck worrying that the heavy pressures of command were having a detrimental effect on Apollo, they always came back to square one. They were always in the fleet. They could always count on another round of whatever game they played.

Apollo had never admitted it to himself before, but he couldn’t imagine losing Starbuck to anything but a dogfight in space against an enemy Cylon. Yet here was the separation at last, a name on a piece of paper as irrevocable as the law of gravity.

Wearily he resumed his masochistic task. Other names were there like a knife in the heart. Too many. Too hard. But he kept at it until he’d reached the last name.

Tossing the pages into the air, he watched the white sheets come to rest as randomly as his thoughts fragmented inside a troubled mind. Despite his personal feelings, he realized that they had done the right thing. The coldest decision he’d made since assuming command of the fleet was to share this burden with the people. No one understood what was in his heart better than Tigh.

Not long after Tigh was elected president, he and Apollo had a private conversation about martial law. There never was a time when Apollo made the threat or actually re-established martial law that he didn’t remember what Tigh told him that long ago day.

“The majority wants security more than they want liberty. That is true even in times of peace but the situation is exacerbated during war. We have a peculiar duty. We must not let them forget the value of freedom even when we are forced to restrict it in emergency circumstances. That’s why they need to feel that they have a stake in the policies we adopt.”

As Apollo idly kicked at the papers he’d happily tossed to the floor, he remembered that despite the wisdom proffered on that occasion, Tigh had been hesitant to push the democratic envelope to the point where they all had paper cuts. What had he said more recently? That they wouldn’t have any room to maneuver once elections and a lottery were an accomplished fact! No wiggle room! No exit!

Apollo closed his eyes and wondered what it must be like to experience Baltar’s visions. At least the man had been shown the problems of another world. Apollo would like to give that a try sometime.

As a matter of fact, he felt the need to commune with the spirits of the Lords of Kobol. But something in him told him that the time was not yet. What had impressed the Gamon elder most about Apollo was the commander’s sense of timing. That was the greatest gift Apollo had ever received from whatever source and, in turn, it was the gift he had for the fleet.

He assumed that he must have received a fair share of his instincts from his father. He longed for the next contact from Adama but that, too, must wait. Something deep inside Apollo would let him know when such a communication was imminent.

One part of Apollo felt guilty that he was allowing his mind to wander at this latest time of struggle. But another part knew better. Often his best decisions came when he could distance himself from immediate concerns. The more he could grasp the larger picture, the more pragmatic were his choices on the nuts and bolts level—the place where things get done.

One day on Paradis, Dr. Salik asked Apollo if he could explain the nature of mysticism to him. Although possessing a good scientific mind, Salik arrived at his conclusions by a chain of simple logic: A leading to B; B leading to C, and so on. Apollo explained that he had the greatest respect for that kind of linear logic and often employed it himself.

But Apollo went on to point out that the traditional scientific approach had limits. Salik humorously suggested that science was limited to reality. Apollo pointed to a web that had been spun by a crawlon.

“What if some truth can’t be arrived at by a direct approach, your chain of logic?” asked Apollo. "What if some truths are more like that web, overlapping with each other? Or consider that lake over there!”

As if on cue, a bright, silvery fish jumped out of the dark blue water at that very moment.

“How did you do that?” asked Salik.

Apollo laughed. “The magician doesn’t explain his tricks. But I’ll be honest with you. That is what we call a coincidence, a belief essential to your view of the universe.”

Now it was Salik’s turn to laugh. “You had me worried.”

Apollo finished making his point: “I was going to say that fish live in that water. If they had minds, most fish would assume that the water is the extent of the universe. But what about the fish who is taken out of the water?”

“It dies.”

Apollo grinned. “If you catch it and eat it. But that fish we just saw is alive and well. He is a fish explorer. He left Water Space and discovered a whole new universe. He leapt ahead of the conventional thinking of all the other fish.”

Salik sighed. “You have me there,” he admitted. “This is how you see the mystical approach to truth?”

“How else?”

Sitting alone in his quarters, staring at the scattered papers on the floor, Apollo realized why he had relived that brief exchange with one of the most prominent scientists of the fleet. This was no time to give up. In the current crisis, chain logic was a way of imprisoning your mind. As he had in the past Apollo must again be the fish that can see things from a point of view outside of the water.

Soon the fleet must leave. This was the deadline in more ways than one. But as the time of truth crushed down on all of them, Apollo could not let himself be overly concerned with the deadline.

He needed a lifeline.

He gathered up the papers and placed them neatly on a side table next to his chair. He would do what he must to maintain order. He would oversee the last minute details in preparing that large portion of the fleet that would soon be traveling through hyperspace. He would see to it that every consideration possible was extended to those who were to stay behind.

Pretty soon no one would be complaining about martial law. The lottery pushed all other thoughts from the collective mind of the fleet.

Apollo smiled at that last thought. Had the colonials achieved some sort of mystical connection between all the individual selves making up a cantankerous, hating, loving, dreaming race? They were truly children of the stars now. The Cylons could never take that away from them.

And maybe, just maybe, before it was all over, another special mystical insight would come to Apollo’s aid. Salik called it mysticism. Athena preferred calling it insight. Boomer dubbed it instinct.

Whatever it was, the ability to find inspired solutions to seemingly insoluble problems wasn’t just useful for strategy and tactics.

Now Apollo needed it more than ever.

“Hi.”

Hearing that word from Caran’s lips made a certain teenage boy’s heart beat faster. He didn’t want to let on how excited he was.

Koren’s attempt at being casual was really lame. Caran noticed his hand shake slightly. She caught the beginning of a stutter in his words but he caught himself: “I.. .I’m glad to see you again.”

She’d knocked on his door. He thought things like that only happened to Apollo. “Heard you were mad at me,” she said, walking into his room without asking permission.

“Who told you that?” he wanted to know.

“Gar’Tokk. I thought Nomen never lie.”

“They don’t.”

“Then you were mad at me.”

"Yeah, I admit it. I’m sorry.” No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he was surprised at how good it felt to say them, at least to her.

“Why were you angry?” she asked, squatting on the floor in a lotus position.

“I thought you didn’t care about me any longer.”

“Why should you care?” she asked with an impish smile.

He opened his mouth but nothing came out. This had happened so suddenly that he just wasn’t prepared. Then again, he had to admit he didn’t have much experience in dealing with girls.

“Caran, I guess I didn’t mean some of those things I said when we first met.”

“Do you even remember them?”

“Sure!”

She started rocking back and forth while still in the lotus position. She was enjoying herself way too much. “So tell me one of them again.”

“Huh?”

“Tell me something you said to me you want to apologize for. Then I’ll apologize to you.”

He hadn’t expected that. “What do you have to apologize for?” he asked quite reasonably.

“You first!” She was still smiling. “Can’t you remember?”

“Sure, I can!” But the annoying thing was that he couldn’t quite remember any of the assuredly dumb things he’d said to her in the past. It was just like a woman to come back into a guy’s life and suddenly start testing him! The worst part of it was that he really wanted to pass this particular exam.

If wishes were memories then this sort of issue would never come up. No sooner did he wish real hardj^han an embarrassing memory did come creeping back.

“I told you to watch out where you step when we pulled you out of the quicksand.”

“I don’t remember you using that tone of voice. And why are you standing up in a corner of your room? Come over and sit down.”

He did. It was nice being close to her.

“I guess I was sarcastic that first time we met.”

“You got better,” she said.

“I think I kind of made a big deal out of not having ever stepped into quicksand before.”

“You sure did. You put your feet in your mouth instead!”

“Hey, wait a minute. I thought you were going to apologize to me about something.”

She smiled. “See, you have a good memory! I’m sorry that I didn’t get in touch with you all this time. I’m grateful to your friend Gar’Tokk for knowing when to come and tell me that I needed to see you. He picked the right time.”

“What do you mean?”

“The lottery, of course. Now we all know where we stand and there’s no more suspense.”

Koren slapped himself in the head. “I haven’t been out of my room today. I knew it was today, but I didn’t bother checking it out.”

“Why should you when you weren’t going to be on it?”

Taking her by the hand, he looked her in the eye. “I’m sure you’re wrong about that. I’m not some little kid. I don’t think I was put in any special exempt category or anything like that.”

“Whatever,” she said, exasperated. “Your name is not on the list of those who will stay behind.”

He couldn’t stand it any longer. “What about you?”

She shrugged. “The good news is that I won’t be separated from my family. We were lucky enough that we’re all chosen to stay behind.”

He stared at her in astonishment. “You call that lucky!”

“Yes, don’t you?”

Suddenly he found it hard to breathe. He almost tripped getting to his feet. When he woke up he didn’t expect that a centon later he’d be making the most momentous decision of his life.

“Caran,” he began, but she cut him off.

“Don’t say it!”

“I will,” he persisted. “If you stay behind, then I do the same.”

“You don’t have to.”

She shook her head. “You’re only saying that now. What will Apollo say?”

“I don’t care! This is my choice. It’s my life.”

“Think what you’re about to do, Koren. When the fleet disappears into hyperspace there will be no turning back. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life, no matter how brief that is.”

“I want to thank you for coming over today and seeing me. But I don’t think you really understand me.”

She stood up and walked over to him. His nervousness had completely vanished. She liked him even better this way.

“Don’t you want to ask if I have another boyfriend?”

“No.”

She placed her head on his shoulder. “Thank you,” she said. They were both doing a lot of growing up all of a sudden. From this day forward, they’d never feel like teenagers ever again. Their real ages no longer mattered.

“I need to tell you something, Caran. You know that Apollo is not my real father.”

She gazed hard into his eyes. “But you love him, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation. “But I can never forget that Apollo had to fight my real father.”

“Did you love him, too?”

“Yes, but I could tell from the start that Apollo was a better man. That’s part of my trouble. Do you have any idea what it’s like having Apollo as your dad?”

She shook her head. “I can’t begin to imagine.”

“No one can. He’s so superior in so many ways to nearly everyone. It drives me crazy trying to measure up to someone like that. So that’s one more reason I can’t stay here aboard the Galactica."

“It wasn’t easy for me to get aboard to see you. This isn’t my ship and security is strict about where they allow losers to wander. Maybe they’re afraid I’d be a stowaway.”

Koren let what she said sink in. “You’re right, the lottery does change everything. So how did you get through?”

She grinned. “Your friend Gar’Tokk can be very persuasive.”

He nodded. “Tell me about it. Anyway, you see why I am volunteering to stay behind. I can’t spend the rest of my life in Apollo’s shadow. I’m not essential to the fleet. This may be the first time I’ve ever been brave.”

“As brave as Apollo,” she said right before she kissed him.

17

Baltar couldn’t help noticing that there wasn’t much security on the door to his room. It had been such a long time since he’d attempted an escape that the guards viewed him as the detail in the fleet. He was so grateful to be back in what he perceived as the real world that he had no particular desire to venture anywhere other than to the adjoining bathroom which had been partitioned off as part of his little personal empire in the Med Lab.

As far as he was concerned, the most important thing in the universe was that he could actually sleep without dreaming. The second most important thing was that he’d gotten his concerns off his chest to Apollo.

So what could go wrong? The lottery didn’t affect him as he’d already made the decision to stay in this quaint and charming solar system. He liked it a lot better now that there was no planet capable of sustaining life. There would be a lot less trouble that way.

His immediate future seemed appealing in many ways. The charming young nurse Elayna informed him that she’d been unlucky in the lottery and would be staying behind as well. She genuinely surprised him by volunteering to continue taking care of him. He didn’t think she was that fond of him.

Every time he watched her tight young body leaning over his well aged frame, he thought of all sorts of things he’d like the nurse to do for him. But for all his world-weary cynicism, Baltar respected professional boundaries. This delicious girl was a nurse, not a socialator. Now, if she ever showed any tendencies toward starting up a second career in that area, then he would be more than happy to be her first customer.

Baltar also believed it was a duty for the old to instruct the young.

For the moment, however, he was content. He didn’t even want to hear the news about what was going on with the lottery. Past experience taught him all he needed to know about human nature. He had no reason to assume there was any improvement on the horizon.

Everything was going so well until, right before dozing off, he noticed a figure standing in the shadows outside the range of his small light. He hadn’t heard the door open.

“To whom do I owe the pleasure of this unsolicited visitation?” he asked.

The silence was not unsettling at first. Baltar assumed some minor change in security arrangements. But when the figure remained as still and silent as a statue, that was a bit too much.

“Have it your way,” said Baltar as he turned the light at his bedside full on the face of his visitor. It only took a micron to recognize his own face looking down at him, complete with an imperious expression worthy of himself.

“No,” Baltar said softly. He pinched himself in a vain attempt to wake up. His agile mind raced, seeking the most plausible explanation. He must have fallen back asleep. But when he pinched himself hard enough to draw blood, and the figure remained where it was, Baltar had to reject the most obvious hypothesis.

“Count Iblis?” he asked of the figure. “Is that you, you old monster?” Since transforming himself into a creature of pure mental power—a malign spirit if there ever was one—Count Iblis could project himself into any form, theoretically anywhere in the universe.

No sooner had that thought crossed his mind than Baltar sensed another figure in the room. Glancing over at the door to the bathroom revealed another figure. This one was Count Iblis, exactly as Baltar remembered him down to the laughing wrinkles around the old and menacing eyes.

“That’s not me over there,” said Iblis, pointing at the second Baltar.

Baltar prided himself on his self control. At no moment did he cry out for help. If he were having a complete mental breakdown, he preferred keeping it private. As bad as all this was, he still preferred it to visions from the Cylon world.

He closed his eyes and counted to three. Then he slowly opened them and was rewarded by the white expanse of the bathroom door. No Iblis hiding in the cracks.

With that much accomplished, Baltar dared look* back at the other corner of the room. He cursed in a vocabulary that not even the warriors had ever heard.

His doppelganger hadn’t budged an inch. “What do you want with me?”

“Can’t stay in this room forever,” said the other Baltar.

“Why should I listen to a fragment of my imagination?”

“What if I’m not?”

“Then what are you?”

The doppelganger smiled. “I’m a perfect echo.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Baltar shouted, finally losing his much vaunted self control.

The moment the door opened and a guard stuck his head in to check on the prisoner, there was only one Baltar in the room. That was the one on the bed who suddenly discovered he was suffering from a serious nosebleed.

When the troubles finally began they came wholesale.

Starbuck’s pessimistic predictions were right on the money. Military police who weren’t in the pocket of the council were forced to fire live rounds at unruly crowds. Once again Apollo’s hopes for maturity on the part of all colonials proved unrealistic.

But the commander of the fleet was right in one prediction. The majority of the losers were not the problem. It only took a few disaffected ones to rile up the usual gang of troublemakers who for many yahren might as well have served as a fifth column for the Cylons.

“Do you mind being a loser?” asked Boomer as he and Starbuck raced down a corridor to a trouble spot.

“Didn’t we just do this yesterday?” asked Starbuck.

“Yeah, but then we were only in the contest like every other poor slob in the fleet. Now we’ve seen the results and it’s official. We stay!”

“Funny thing,” said Starbuck, pleased to notice that neither he nor his buddy were out of breath.

“Yeah?”

“I feel the same as before. Guess I can’t tell when I’m winning or losing.”

They had to stop the conversation short because they reached the scene of mischief. Boomer gave a low whistle at the sight of several angry warriors and military police on the same side. Instead of maintaining order these men were the cause of violence and vandalism. An office had been smashed up and two civilians were huddled in a corner, nursing their bruises. One was a woman who was crying.

“What the hell is going on here?” asked Starbuck.

“We don’t like being on the list of the dead,” said a warrior.

Starbuck had to hold back Boomer from tearing into the man right then. He spoke for both of them through clenched teeth: “How can you wear that uniform?”

“Same as you,” said the young warrior. “I’ve fought for our side and now this is my reward?”

The other men grumbled. A military policeman pointed at the civilian couple. “They get to go on the joy ride but they won’t forget today.”

“I’ll make sure they don’t forget, and neither will you,” growled Boomer but again Starbuck held him back. Boomer gave his partner a surpised look. This wasn’t like Starbuck.

“I’m just trying to figure this out,” Starbuck said low into Boomer’s ear.

“Hey, we know you’re loyal to Apollo no matter what,” said the big-mouthed warrior again. “Why should we listen to your lies?”

Starbuck didn’t like that. “Listen, son, if I’m lying to you then why are Boomer and I on the list of those who stay, the same as you?”

A third voice from the back piped in with: “We’ll just hold our own lottery, how about that?” “Didn’t we go through this yesterday?” Boomer asked Starbuck.

“Maybe we’ll keep going through it over and over until the Cylons show up and give us a change of pace,” answered his comrade.

“So what have you two heroes cooked up?” asked the young warrior. “And by the way, Starbuck, I’m not your son.”

“I have a bad feeling you’ve been holding me back,” Boomer whispered in Starbuck’s ear, “just so you can strike the first blow.”

“Unfair, good buddy. Watch me handle this diplomatically.” With that, Starbuck stepped out in front of the angry men and spoke in a calm and civilized voice:

“Gentlemen, let us reason together. Why don’t you all return to your quarters and calm down?”

“We’re holding a lottery of our own,” said the young warrior.

“Well, so much for reason,” said Starbuck.

“I knew it!” grumbled Boomer because, as predicted, Starbuck got in the first punch.

“This one is mine,” said Starbuck as he broke the jaw of the young warrior who had pissed him off the most. “I would never do this to my son,” he said over the young warrior, writhing in pain on the floor. “I save this for traitors.”

By the time other warriors showed up, ready to join Starbuck and Boomer, the job was done again. No one was standing but the dynamic duo.

“Just tell me one thing,” said Boomer, “do we have to do this every waking cycle from now on?”

“Certainly not,” said Starbuck. “By the way, how’s my hair?”

The Daedulus had the same problems as the Galactica. But Athena was even more impatient over the bad behavior than her brother.

“Do you like living under the rule of law?” she asked a subordinate.

The young woman looked surprised. She wasn’t expecting that sort of question from the commander of the Daedulus. “I’m only a technician,” said the woman.

“Everyone has to choose between civilization and chaos,” said Athena. “Your opinion is just as good as mine. Feel free to answer.”

“Yes, Commander. Thank you, Commander. Yes, I prefer order to chaos.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” said Athena, but she wasn’t angry. “Try again. I didn’t ask about order but the rule of law.”

“Oh, I see. Yes, Athena, I believe in the rule of law.”

“So do I,” said Athena. “Now look at those fools rioting.” The two women observed the monitors showing a handful of guards trying to quell a disturbance several levels directly below the bridge where Athena had to make her decision.

“It would never occur to those people that the rule of law is not to protect us from them.”

“It’s not?” asked the subordinate, a bit confused.

“No, law is to protect them from me! If I hadn’t given my oath to the fleet and to my brother we wouldn’t have a problem about who is staying behind. Rioters never consider what holds back those with the real fire power. It is the very law they think they can do without.”

“I understand,” said the other woman, regarding her commander with a whole new respect and just a touch of fear.

“Get me the Galactica,” said Athena. “I need to talk to Apollo.”

The commander of the fleet was on the bridge of the great battlestar with President Tigh. Athena was blunt: “What the hell do we do?”

“Can you maintain control?” Apollo asked.

“If the number of protestors doesn’t increase, yes. My men are stretched to the limit. May I use lethal force?”

Tigh jumped in. “We expected a certain amount of this. We need to bottle it up. Casualties might have the opposite effect of what you want, Athena.”

“Apollo?” she asked, pointedly ignoring Tigh. That’s when her brother realized how angry she really was.

“I agree with Tigh,” he said. “I’m not concerned with the rioters and vandals as much as I am with the bulk of the people. So far, they are cooperating in these difficult circumstances.”

“The moment they lose faith, anything could happen,” added Tigh. “We must defend the fleet.”

“Isn’t it possible that the people would approve a use of lethal force against the trouble makers?” asked Athena.

“Observe your screens,” Apollo ordered.

All three did from their respective vantage points. “Do you see it?” asked Apollo.

“I do,” said Tigh.

“What?” asked Athena, becoming more annoyed with every passing moment.

Apollo could be just as blunt as his sister, especially when he was making a point opposite to hers. “Kids. Teenagers. There are too many young people in these mobs. It’s one thing dealing with older obstructionists. Starbuck and Boomer reported in a short time ago about problems we’re having with renegades in our own ranks. But we’re not about to start mowing down these frightened crowds. There’s too much at stake. Do you read me, Athena?”

Chastened, she lowered her eyes and her voice. “Yes, Apollo. I understand.”

“Right now the people need a gesture of good will. They need something tangible to restore faith in us.”

“What do you have in mind?” asked Tigh.

“I don’t know yet. Let’s start making arrangements to bring together a large group in one place. That’s better than making a speech entirely through flatscreens and musiclinks and TransVids. We must show we’re not afraid of them. We’ve got to get everything back under control!”

A meeting was held in one of the main cargo ships. Since leaving Paradis, hundreds of civilians had been housed in the cramped and uncongenial surroundings. Stacked together like so many oxygen tanks, the people in this environment had not enjoyed a pleasant centon since the planet was put behind them.

Even before the lottery, there was no laughing and no smiling in the metal cavern housing the tattered remnants of men and women who had found a small piece of dignity on a planet now lost to them forever. When they first heard of another habitable planet in a new solar system, a few of these hundreds let themselves feel joy again. But for most of them, talk of the new planet was relegated to the same place reserved for stories about the legendary Earth.

Believing in a wonderful place like Earth could only sustain sad and underfed people for so long.

So when the idea of the lottery first started to circulate, the already depressed denizens of this particular cargo ship didn’t exactly leap for joy. Their spirits were already at low ebb.

The lottery didn’t move forward fast enough for many of the colonials. For those with the recent discovery of their names on the list, it was better that the lottery never moved in any direction. But for the tattered people inside this cargo ship, it hardly mattered one way or the other.

The lights were on low to save power when a man with a loud voice started bellowing out the names. He’d been chosen because the microphones didn’t work very well. As for the dim illumination, it seemed entirely appropriate given the dark atmosphere of the proceedings.

Finally the man with the loud voice got through the names. There was barely a flutter of emotion from individuals with no family ties. As emotionally exhausted as these people were, the realization that families would be broken up still had the power to shock.

The speaker could hear sobs and cries from the back of the ship, but he did not allow anything to dissuade him from getting through as quickly as possible. Finally, his droning voice gave out just about the time he reached the end of the names. He exited the stage before he could be asked any questions. All that mattered to him was that he and his family were safe from the Doom list.

That’s what they called the list aboard the old cargo ship. It made perfect sense because they also called their vessel the Doom ship.

No one aboard knew that their ship had been dangerously substandard until work had been done on it from the outside. This was the space ship where Rhaya had her accident.

Dear Mother,

I want you seriously to reconsider your decision to give up your passage to the new world. You have a lot more to consider than what happens to me. They won’t break up mothers and young children. That means your choice also determines the fate of Elke as well. She’s only six and you can’t be separated from her.

Yes, I miss Father as much as you do. It means a lot to me that you keep insisting I’m the man of the family. But that doesn’t matter now. I’m on the list. Mom, and there’s nothing we can do about it.

Naturally you hope that I might have another chance because of these brave people who are giving up their places in the fleet. But there are only so many of those and the rumors are they won’t run a second lottery. What if after they do that some other citizens decide to bow out? They can’t keep running lotteries right up to the end.

Whatever they decide, they’re keeping it under wraps. Secrecy will cause more dissension but I can’t see what else they can do. If it were up to me, I’d extend the list for essential personnel. I’d remove warriors who lost in the lottery and place them back with the fleet.

Every mother feels like you, and would take these cancellations as an opportunity to put their whole families back together. But can’t you see that there are just too many families to accommodate this way? We’re not the only family in this fix.

Mom, I’m sorry about your health problems and I wish there was something I could do for you. At least we got you a supply of the medicine you need. Let’s be grateful for that. You know how much I hate the Council of Twelve but at least I’m grateful that the dealings Dad had with those people paid off with your medicine in this time of scarcity.

I’m not hiding from you! Let me repeat that! I’ve volunteered to become a member of the military police to help with those who stay behind. I think this is an important job. Now that we have the names we can see that there is a need to fill certain positions.

Instead of being angry at Retime, why not give her your blessing instead? We love each other. It would mean the world to us if you wish us well. As we will hope for the very best for you and my sister in journeying to the new world with Apollo.

Our paths have diverged but I will always love you, Mom.

May the Lords of Kobol watch over all of us.

18

Imperious Leader experienced new sensations. Nowhere in his complex triad of brains was there room for anything new. The very idea was anathema. Something had changed. The impossible breathed itself to life and he felt the ragged edges of internal change.

Whatever was happening to him had nothing to do with the war against the renegade Cylons. Although the struggle dragged on and on, there was nothing in its dimensions to challenge any portion of Imperious Leader’s confidence in his implacable purposes. Nor did the hunt for the colonials explain why he should be experiencing unease. The humans fled and he went after them. It had become a habit.

There could be only one reason for an alteration in his consciousness, and yet the nexus of his minds rejected the inescapable conclusion. Contact with Baltar must have done something to Imperious Leader.

It was one thing for the greater Cylon consciousness to seep into a human mind, but quite another for a single human brain to exert any power whatsoever. Never mind that Baltar was a genius among his kind. He was only human, all too human. How could a lesser being influence or alter any aspect of superior Cylon consciousness?

Only Iblis could make the claim of impacting the Cylons. That was all right. Imperious Leader grasped the full implications. Iblis had been more than human for an Age. But if the ferocious reptiles leading the rebellion suspected that a contemporary human could have an influence on the leader of the impure Cylons, it would be a propaganda weapon in the hands of Alpha Leader. The mere thought of such an outcome made Imperious Leader shudder at the deepest metaphysical level.

No one must have the slightest inkling that something about Baltar had seeped into Imperious Leader. He would bury the secret so far down that even he would forget it.

His conscious, planning minds would move forward as always; but they would be driven by a scintilla of extra motivation that the colonials must be destroyed. When the time came, there might be something almost like pleasure in giving Baltar a crucial piece of false information assuring the destruction of the fleet.

Yet planning the endgame provided scant satisfaction in the present. Imperious Leader hungered for a reminder of his victories over the pure humans even more than the latest casualty figures for renegade Cylons. To that end, he mentally triggered distant Spy-eyes to send him signals from a place he had not visited in many years.

While he waited for data to flow, he amused himself by first cursing humans—and then altering the imprecations to more accurately reflect his evaluation of the new Cylons. He hated both sides for embodying the error of unimaginative breeding. A true Master Race must be drawn from the best elements available! Build and stretch and cut and stitch and fuse until the mosaic is complete. The great Count Iblis showed the way.

The necessity of combining disparate elements was even true when there were conflicts between the technological and the organic. Machines alone might as well be articulated stones. Flesh alone was weak and powerless, only fit to bleed and weep. Together flesh and metal became stronger; just as together human and reptilian DNA became more than the constituent parts.

Unity only mattered in a superior brain that guided all the different aspects of an Empire into an unstoppable juggernaut. Such a mind justified itself through power alone.

The colonials just didn’t get it!

The pictures requested by Imperious Leader finally arrived, transmitted directly to the visual centers inside his pulsing gray matter. He felt at peace as he saw one of his favorite things.

Over time, every defeated colonial ship that had not been blown to atoms was carefully gathered up and put in orbit around a sun in a lifeless solar system. There were ships from other enemies of the Cylons, as well. But Imperious Leader would not have started his private graveyard collection if not for the colonials.

It gave him a sublime satisfaction to see the carefully preserved bodies of men and women and children. Cold and content, pale with open fish eyes, they manned their stations for eternity in catacombs that once were ships.

Did they appreciate all the trouble Imperious Leader had gone to on their behalf? He actually wanted to remember them for the role they played in Cylon history. What greater compliment can an enemy offer a fallen foe?

Imperious Leader would like to extend the same courtesy to every remaining human.

Apollo found Cassie in the Med Lab. She was putting in a lot of overtime. One glance at the over-crowded stockade of human suffering told him all he needed to know.

There were too many injured.

There were too many dying.

The one thing that the Med Lab was short on was medical supplies. By some good fortune, the supply of blood and plasma was holding out.

Except that Cassie had one piece of unfortunate news in that department. She gestured for Apollo to follow her. In a corner of a crowded room she’d managed to throw up a curtain allowing one sleeping patient a modicum of privacy.

“Rhaya!” Apollo said her name like a prayer. “What happened?”

“Space detail. She’s lost a lot of blood.”

He felt like crying, but somewhere, a long time ago, he’d shed his last tear. Now there was only anger and purpose.

“Cassie, I thought you had enough blood for the current number of patients.”

“I do. But this girl has a rare blood type.”

“How rare?” Apollo wanted to know.

“The rarest I’ve ever seen,” said Dr. Wilker, joining them. “We can’t synthesize anything she can use. Technology has its limitations. Her only hope is if we find a donor with her type. We will keep looking until the end.”

Apollo wanted to stay and hold the girl’s hand. Duty wouldn’t let him. It nagged and pushed. It reminded him of the hundred things he had to do in the next micron. It was not about to let him sleep ever again. But that didn’t stop him wanting to seize time by the throat and insist that it give this girl a break.

“What is her condition now?”

“Stable,” said Wilker.

“We have enough plasma for her in the short run,” Cassie added. “We’re not shorting any other patients. At least not yet.”

It was turning into another of those days.

“I must get to other patients,” said Dr. Wilker. “But I would like to ask you a question if that’s permissible.”

“Of course, doctor.”

“Dr. Kim has already told me what to expect if I ask you about this.” He noticed Cassie busying herself with Rhaya’s chart. She knew where the topic was headed.

Apollo’s had enough respect for Wilker that he didn’t want to show his impatience but the man was taking an awful long time to get to the point. “Yes?” he prompted the doctor.

“Well, it’s about Baltar’s room. Space is at a premium, as you can see for yourself. Is there any possibility we could move him to smaller quarters and make use of the space?”

“No,” said Apollo.

“It’s just that even his guards take up space. Wouldn’t there be accommodations in the prison sections?”

“Dr. Wilker, I thought you grasped the situation better than this,” Apollo spoke patiently. “Baltar’s condition is a matter of fleet security. We need access to the best medical equipment as well as a place of adequate security. The last thing we need is for Baltar to be near the criminal element at a time of turmoil. I’m personally sorry for the current conditions, but I can’t justify taking the risk of moving Baltar.”

Wilker almost seemed to sag as he accepted defeat. Then he regained his composure again and extended a hand to Apollo. They shook hands.

“Thank you, Commander, for stopping by. I hope you don’t think I had anything to do with that graffiti scrawled on Baltar’s door.”

They all laughed at that. “Not your style, doctor. Did you ever solve that Med Lab mystery?”

“No, did you?”

Apollo shook his head. “I’ve been otherwise engaged. The way things have been going since the posting of the lottery list, nasty graffiti is the least of our problems.”

Wilker chose that moment to gracefully withdraw. “I will listen to your speech when it’s piped in.”

“Speech?” asked Cassie, as they watched the white coat of the departing doctor.

“I have to try again,” he said simply. “Maybe I can offer everyone another ray of hope but my batteries are running low.”

She took his hand. “Nobody does it better,” she said simply. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“You mean more than the burden you’re already carrying in here?” he asked tiredly. “You will always be special to me, Cassie.”

“I believe in you, Apollo.”

“If it’s possible for either of us to get away from what we have to do, we can meet in the star chamber.”

Cassie’s eyes grew a little larger than usual, but Apollo didn’t notice. He was kissing her hand. “That is a good place to meet,” she agreed.

Right before Apollo left her, he asked, “How is the child?”

“I’m glad you brought him up,” she said with a deep contentment.

"Does he understand about the lottery?” he dared to ask.

“No, he’s too young. At least I think he’s too young to understand. Sometimes he surprises me. I suppose a lot of mothers feel that way about their sons. But there is something growing in him, Apollo. I know that my destiny lies with him.”

Both were careful not to broach the topic of the child’s father. This was not the time or place and they had a lot to do.

“My son did it.”

Sire Uri lifted his sweating face from scrutinizing the blueprints laid out on the long table. “Did what?” he managed to get out. When he was this tired he found it difficult to talk.

“The blood on Baltar’s door. The message saying that Baltar would never leave with the fleet.”

The other council members and close hangers on had reached that stage in their deliberations and machinations when they could do with a break. The sudden outburst from Sire Opis had all the earmarks of an entertaining distraction.

“All right, then. Let’s hear about it,” said Sire Uri, leaning back in his chair and listening to it creak and groan in protest.

“His name is Adrick, but you probably already know that.”

“No, and I don’t care,” said Uri helpfully.

“Anyway, my boy was working as an orderly in the Med Lab. He had access to stores of blood..

“Frack!” shouted the oldest man in Uri’s chambers. “He wasted blood at a time like this!”

“Hope it wasn’t anything rare,” said another, still nursing his jaw from a roundhouse punch courtesy of Boomer.

“Look, I had nothing to do with it!” Opis defended himself. “I don’t have anything against Baltar compared to what we have to put up with from Apollo.”

“Please get on with the story,” Uri begged him.

“For some reason Adrick has convinced himself that Baltar is Apollo’s secret weapon. No one will ever convince me of that but boys will be boys. Anyway, one night when he was off duty he managed to sneak in and do the deed. He was almost caught leaving the scene of his little crime by one of the damned warriors.”

“Which one?” someone asked.

“Trays. I think it was Trays. I don’t suppose it matters.”

Sire Uri sighed. “No more than your story. Is there any particular reason you have chosen this auspicious moment to share with us your son’s imbroglio?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact there is,” finally picking up on Uri’s sarcasm. “The point is that Adrick’s name didn’t appear on the list. I’m recommending that he keep his mouth shut and go with the fleet in case our scheme backfires. I want him at a safe distance.”

Finally interested, Uri leaned forward in his chair and asked, “What did he say?”

“He’ll keep his mouth shut but he wants to stick with his old man. Share my fate and all that. I’m surprised that the little bastard has it in him.”

“Good for him,” said Uri. “As for his negative assessment of Count Baltar, I reserve judgment. The man is not part of our plan. Speaking of which, shall we get back to work?”

A heavy-set man who had lately become Uri’s personal bodyguard brought over a large box and opened it. Uri stood and peered in at the contents before gingerly removing a high-intensity portable bomb.

“Is all the merchandise this quality?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“And there will be the quantity we discussed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well, I believe we are reaching the point of truth.” Sire Uri stood before continuing his address to the small assembly. “Despite the case of Opis’s son, I continue to believe it highly unlikely that not a single high ranking council member escaped the death list—as popular slang is describing the damned thing. I can just imagine Apollo standing here in front of us and insisting that the lottery was fair and square.”

“He wouldn’t stand here long,” said the heavy set man.

“We appreciate your zeal,” said Uri. “But it really doesn’t matter any more. Even if Apollo didn’t cheat us, the die is cast.”

“I just had a thought,” said Opis. "Apollo might not have anything to do with interfering with the lottery. The newly elected officials were a bunch of imbeciles who hated us. One of them might have screwed with the computer program and conveniently made sure our names were on the shit list!”

“Did you hear about the one who had his head split open?” chortled one of the female members of the Council of Twelve.

Her enthusiasm was contagious. “Too bad that didn’t set a precedent,” said the old member as a trail of spittle appeared on his chin.

“We are all on the same page,” Uri agreed. “Has anyone given thought to what we should do about our comrades who are incarcerated?”

Sire Opis put in his two cubits worth. “You were the one who warned us not to cause trouble and not to get arrested.”

Uri wasn’t about to let anyone get away with an attack of convenient amnesia. “Yes, and how many of you in this room ignored my advice with that stupid move about running your own lottery?”

They all grew sullen like spoiled children, except for Opis who piped in with: “I wasn’t there!”

“But many of you were. And then you had the nerve to contact me for extra guards, dragging me into it if I hadn’t been careful. What you did was as criminally stupid in a time of martial law as the way Sire Riggbok dug a grave with his big mouth.”

Opis took that as his cue for a return to the immediate issue. “What do we do about your friend?”

Uri was taken aback. “Riggbok? You think that poltroon is my friend?”

The mumbling around the table suggested that such was the consensus of opinion. Opis summed up: “But his family is of the finest blood.”

“So donate his carcass to the Med Lab,” suggested Uri. “We are not about to risk this operation for the likes of him. There is only one prisoner I believe would be of real use to us in the current situation.”

The manner in which Uri observed Opis made the other man a bit nervous.

“Are you looking at me?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you looking at me?”

Sire Uri folded his hands in his lap and began twiddling his thumbs. He could wait as long as any of these highly inadequate allies. By the Lords of Kobol, did he have to do all the thinking for everyone?

It was as if a small nova exploded over the head of Sire Opis. “Ryisl” he exclaimed. “Do you mean him?”

“The thought crossed my mind.”

“What good is he to us?” asked Sire Opis. No one in the room seemed particularly surprised when Uri held forth on the almost perfect lack of value to be found in Riggbok. But Ryis was a different matter. Paradis wasn’t that long ago. They all remembered the many useful functions of the architect.

“Wasn’t he a close friend of yours?” asked one member of the council.

Before Opis could respond, another asked, “Didn’t you sort of throw him overboard when you had your big showdown with Apollo and Athena?”

Sire Opis didn’t have to put up with this sort of nonsense. They couldn’t do this to him. He had too much on everyone. He opted for a simple declaration of a basic truth so his fellow council members would never do this sort of thing to him ever again.

“I have no friends,” he explained.

“Thanks for clearing that up,” said Uri. “One of these days we may be safely ensconced on another planet and in need of a man like Ryis the architect. When that sad day arrives we will be sorry we made no attempt at a rescue. For the time being, he is expendable.”

Uri poured himself a glass of Ambrosia and saw to it that the council members present had glasses as well, albeit with less generous portions. Non-council members continued to stand at attention. They could have grog later.

“I propose two toasts,” said Uri. “First, may our plan succeed.” They drank. “And now the second toast. To the memory of the late, great Ryis. We honor his personal war with Apollo.”

They all drank to that, including the man who was not his friend.

19

He wanted to get the sand out of his shoe. It had been there a moment before and now it was gone. A little voice in the back of his head suggested that if the sand wasn’t there, he didn’t have to worry about it any more.

Baltar knew better than that. It was all some kind of dastardly Cylon trick. If he ignored the problem then the sand would sneak back in his shoe. It didn’t matter that only he saw it. Dr. Kim assured him that his room was spotlessly clean.

The only way he could be certain was to see a thin stream of the yellow particles going from his upturned shoe to the floor below. Nothing else counted.

Elayna, the young nurse, tried to calm him. She quite reasonably observed that Baltar must be suffering from dreams again. She didn’t like the way he brushed her away. His normal friendliness had been replaced by a nervousness she’d never seen before.

When he insisted that he wasn’t dreaming any longer, she suggested calling in Dr. Kim and hooking up the machines just to be sure. No harm in checking on the old noggin, was there? He held her arm so tightly that he hurt her. That had never happened before.

He didn’t even notice when Elayna asked to be transferred, the same girl who had volunteered to stay by his side after the main body of the fleet left for good. She was crying when she reported to Dr. Kim and Cassie. She thought that Baltar didn’t recognize her any longer.

She was wrong about that. Baltar was still completely aware of his immediate environment. He knew who everybody was. He remembered everything he had picked up from the Cylon visions, and he could recite every word of the conversation he’d had with Apollo. He could even do both parts!

The change in Baltar had nothing to do with a break from the consensus reality he and the medical staff shared. A layer of paranoia had simply been added. He had to deal with other things that no one else could see.

There was the annoyance of the extra Baltar popping up occasionally. Every bit as irritating was the occasional flash of other worlds while he was wide awake. Every day, in every way, it was getting worse.

He wasn’t lying when he told Elayna that the nightmares were over. The situation had neatly reversed itself. Now when he slept, he was safe in a warm black hole where he was left completely alone. His prayers for such sleep finally came true.

If only the universe didn’t have it in for Baltar, then everything would be great. It was a shame that the universe didn’t like the poor son of a bitch.

He had one consolation. Count Iblis had not reappeared. The one brief visitation could certainly be a figment of his imagination. But he couldn’t dismiss the fragmentary appearances of the other Baltar quite so easily.

Why did that persistent doppelganger keep telling him he could figure it all out because Baltar had brains? When the apparition wasn’t saying it was an echo, it threw out that insincere compliment until Baltar wanted to scream.

“You’ve got brains!” the second Baltar told the first, always using the plural.

Baltar had sand, as well. The glimpses of other worlds were as likely to be the arid expanse of the desert planet, Kobol, as it was the gleaming metallic expanse of the current Cylon metropolis. Lately the desert shimmered on the horizon of his peripheral vision so frequently that he felt his tongue go dry. Elayna thought that was an acceptable delusion when he asked for twice as much water. Medical people always like it when patients drink water for any reason.

It was when Baltar started worrying about sand in his shoes and on his bed that a trained medical technician had to be concerned. And she definitely was not a sympathetic audience for reports of extra Baltars wandering around his room! He usually kept mum on that because he didn’t want extra security on his door. In fact, it was just as well that a nice girl like Elayna was replaced with a dull and conventional nurse who would never check on him any more times than the job absolutely required.

Now all he had to do was wait for the ideal moment in the dead of night, the absolute center of the sleep cycle when even an insomniac guard was tempted to nod off.

Baltar had to be careful, though. It had been a long time since he last tried the sort of stunt that was knocking around in his brain and driving him crazy. He had to act just to make his head stop hurting.

There was no need for the night guard to be especially concerned about the patient on the other side of the door. But a guard isn’t going to forget he is responsible for a man with a dangerous past even if all that is supposed to be safely relegated to the past.

So Baltar turned on the old charm. He invited the guard into his room and started chatting with the man. Before long he learned that his guest actually preferred his previous assignment. Turned out that he’d worked in the main prison where he struck up an acquaintance with Ryis.

Baltar was sufficiently impressed, especially when the guard explained how he used to smuggle all sorts of good things to Ryis like quality fumarellos. It was really too bad in the current circumstances that Baltar was on such good terms with the authorities that they would bring him what he requested right out in the open. Baltar agreed that it was difficult for an enterprising young fellow to advance himself when the normal ebb and flow of a healthy black market was interrupted by a prisoner being treated well. There was simply nothing the guard could offer the prisoner

As a demonstration of Baltar’s unique status, he offered a glass of Ambrosia to his guest. The idea that Baltar should have such riches at his fingertips astonished the guard. Indeed, the man couldn’t help but feel envious when Baltar assured him the fine wine was a gift from no less than Apollo himself who rewarded Baltar for unstinting cooperation. Not even Apollo expected Baltar to live by water alone after an orgy of cooperation.

Now, in a situation like that, who can blame the guard for being overly trusting? Starting with Ryis, the clock puncher had gotten a sense of the better things in life from someone behind bars who was better educated than he could ever hope to be. Also, Ryis was always outspoken in his opinion that Baltar was someone the gods smiled upon.

Pity the poor guard having a drink with, not merely a criminal mastermind, but someone reputed to be a close confidant of Apollo as well! Talk about walking both sides of the street.

It was about the time the guard asked for an autograph that Baltar put him out of his misery with a karate chop to the back of his neck. No sooner did the body hit the floor with a thud than Baltar regretted his precipitous action.

He’d broken the wine glass. And he hadn’t even thought of a toast.

For a micron, he saw the other Baltar gesturing to him at the door. He didn’t need any help. Everyone was asleep, including his visitor.

It was like the good old days as Baltar escaped!

Athena received the news first. Although she wasn’t surprised, she felt a different emotion than usual. Instead of burning anger, the sensation coursing through her taut body was just plain disgust.

She contacted Apollo first. As his face flickered into life on the screen, he stepped on her line.

“I already know,” he said.

“About the council?” she asked.

His eyebrows shot up as if rocket powered. “I was referring to Baltar. He knocked out a guard and escaped from the Med Lab.”

Athena bit her lower lip. “I guess you can’t teach a lupus to change its spots. But that’s not why I’m calling.”

“Hold on. I’m getting an emergency message coming in.”

Athena stamped her foot and suddenly felt like she was twelve years old. “Oh no you don’t, Apollo. You’re getting the big news from me. Those mindwipes on the council have commandeered a ship and loaded it with explosives!”

She could always read her brother like a book, but now she saw something new on his face. It went beyond the anger that she nursed the way Cassie had looked after her baby when it was born. It went beyond the clean, honest hatred that Starbuck held for the Cylons. She couldn’t even begin to put a word to it but she hoped that she’d never see Apollo like this ever again.

“They wouldn’t have done this without Sire Uri,” he said. “They’re all in this one together. The message that just came in verifies your report. Hold on, I’m contacting Tigh.”

While Apollo put all of his daggits in a row, Athena reviewed the military situation. The council’s ship was a medium sized freighter. The smoothest part of their operation was getting all of their own people on board and then positioning the vessel so that it was smack dab in the middle of fleet.

A computer-generated voice announced the amount and quality of explosives on board. They had ten times more solonite than they needed to start a chain reaction with the reactors of the ship. At this close range, the resulting tylium explosion would effectively wipe out a quarter of the in-lying ships and badly damage the majority of the remainder. The voice warned that any ships accelerating out of the danger zone would be taken as a provocation and the bombs would be set off.

While Athena worked out the math, the dulcet tones of Sire Uri were heard on the emergency channels. Apollo was right about the bastard. She wondered if her brother ever got tired of never underestimating evil.

At least Sire Uri was no longer hiding behind the anonymity of a robot voice enumerating weapons on a terrorist shopping list. When it came to making demands, the big man himself crawled out from the shadows.

“I know you’re listening, Apollo,” he said to all interested parties. “Our demands are simple. We insist that we be put back in power. Your martial law trick and the lottery added up to nothing more than a coup d’etat. When we are in charge, we will review the lottery from start to finish. We will make the final decisions on who goes and who stays based on reason. Do you hear that, Apollo? Reason, not faith, will decide who is valuable to this little civilization of ours.”

Athena studied the screens on her console. Perversely, the screen with Uri was dead center in the middle between Apollo and Tigh. She had a wild fancy of Apollo and Tigh reaching out from their screens into Uri’s and throttling the swine right in the middle of his ultimatum. Speaking of which, she hoped that it wouldn’t take much longer.

As if to oblige her, Sire Uri finished with: “We leave you no choice. It doesn’t matter if the fleet is on alert or sleeps through its own demise. We are the legitimate government. We are not the usurpers. We leave that honor to you. We will never abide by a vote or a lottery or an astrological ritual or a hand of pyramid, or anything else that prevents us from fulfilling our rightful destiny. Honor demands victory or we blow the fleet into oblivion. You have one centon. That is all. You know how to reach us.”

Uri signed off. Athena broke the silence first and passed on her calculations to Apollo.

Her brother’s words matched the new expression on his face. “It doesn’t matter if he destroys everything or most or even one ship. We aren’t giving in to blackmail.”

Tigh, as usual, played the thankless role of a moderate influence. “If we don’t give in, we may never get out of here.”

“Part of what we’re fighting over is to determine who the we happens to be in that example,” Apollo pointed out. “Well, I speak for all of us who aren’t about to let the council make that determination. Especially not now that they’ve finally shown themselves as criminals.”

“I can’t get over their gall about everything,” added Athena. “What makes them the voice of reason all of a sudden?”

“You can bet that their criteria will always lead to the same conclusion,” observed Tigh.

“Yes,” said Apollo. “Someone else always takes the fall instead of them. They made that clear enough.” “So what are we going to do?” asked Athena. “I’m sure they are scanning everything we do. I see no point of egress where we can get a team on board the ship to take them down.”

“That won’t work,” Apollo agreed.

Tigh added: "We have the same kind of problem if we destroy the ship. It’s too close to the other vessels in the fleet and we might precipitate the same result as if they set off the chain reaction.”

“That’s still a better approach than sending in a team,” said Athena. “If we manage it just right, we can interrupt the life support systems before they know what hits them. They won’t be alive to trigger the bombs.”

Apollo shook his head. “Not even the council is that foolish. They must have agents in space suits just in case of such an eventuality.”

“So what do we do?” Athena asked again.

“This situation does not call for military action,” Apollo said. “Stop thinking like it’s a problem in ballistics.”

Tigh piped in again. “They sure as hell have taken a military action against us.”

“That is why we’re floundering around as if we have a real problem,” said Apollo.

Athena and Tigh stared at each other across the space that separated them. Over the screens, they could read the astonishment on each other’s faces as clearly as if they were in the same room together.

“This is not a problem?” asked Athena.

Apollo tilted his head and she heard a bone in his neck crack, as if he’d just wrestled the problem to the ground and gotten it in a headlock. “A military action only works when it comes from soldiers or those who think like soldiers. Again and again the council has shown itself to be cowards. They don’t make effective terrorists.”

“Do you doubt they have the explosives?” asked Tigh.

“Of course not,” he said, pointing to the data coming in from the multiple scans of the ships. “They did everything right up to the moment of truth. I’ll give them that.”

“Can you take this decision on yourself?” asked Tigh. “You haven’t conferred with anyone.” “There isn’t time. What do you think, Athena?”

“I agree they are terrified, crawling vermin,” she said in her sweetest voice.

“There,” Apollo said to Tigh. “I’ve conferred with other experts.”

Tigh threw up his hands. “You’re probably right, but I’m glad I don’t have to make the decision. At least I see where you’re going with this.”

“They are too egocentric and self-serving to actually risk their own lives.”

Tigh gave it one last shot. “Under martial law, you can execute them all if they surrender. They have nothing to lose.”

Apollo shrugged. “They don’t know if I’ll execute them or not. Frankly, I’ll bet they’d choose to live one more cycle even if execution were guaranteed.”

“They’re still losers in the lottery,” Athena reminded Apollo.

“Same point, sis. If they surrender and aren’t executed, they still live longer than if they blow themselves up.”

Tigh made a remark from left field. “Baltar has taught you a lot.”

Apollo took it as a compliment. “More than you know.”

“Tell me the truth,” suggested Athena. “Are you going to execute them or not if you pull this off?”

Apollo did something entirely uncharacteristic. After performing a little dance step, he said, “I’d rather feed them to the civilians, Athena. Execution is letting them off too easy.”

“You really think you can stop them without using any military force?” asked his sister.

“Yes.”

“So when are you going to call their bluff?” Tigh asked, breaking into a sweat.

“No time like the present. Have faith!”

Apollo contacted Sire Uri with one simple declarative statement: “You win. Blow up the fleet.” Then he signed off.

What happened next was pure entertainment played across the screens. Apollo was only wrong about one thing. Sire Uri turned out to be made of sterner stuff than any warrior had imagined. The scoundrel put so much effort into his scheme that he couldn’t just walk away from it. Athena was studying her monitors so intensely that she noticed it first.

“He’s going for it!” she cried, freaking out over her helplessness. There was nothing that fleet command could do about Uri attempting to detonate one of the solonite bombs. One bomb was all it would take to make Apollo a liar.

But Apollo was proven correct yet again! Sire Opis tackled Uri and saved the day.. .for the fleet. No one else on the ship seemed inclined to die just to put Apollo in his place.

The last image transmitted to the bridge of both the Daedulus and the Galactica was of a heavyset man pinning Uri’s arms behind him.

“How can you betray me like this?” asked the senior member of the council.

“You never said I was going to die,” answered the man. “I thought you were going to outsmart Apollo.”

Easier said than done.

Sheba bumped into Dalton on the way to the Med Lab. “I can’t believe it’s you!” said Sheba.

“What’s the matter?” asked the younger woman. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Sheba reflected that Dalton wasn’t far off base. The shade fluttering in her mind was golden haired and blue-eyed. It was the image of her father—and thanks to the message she had just received, Commander Cain seemed to be with her again.

“Dalton, you haven’t forgotten the time we spent together with Rhaya in the caverns on Paradis.”

“Forget?” Dalton echoed. “She’s the most headstrong girl I’ve ever seen.”

“You helped get her out of trouble in the caverns.”

“So did you! I admire anyone with a daring nature, but Rhaya needs to look before she leaps. Like when she got caught in those rocks! There’s no excuse for that kind of carelessness. She was fortunate that we were there to look after her.” “Dalton,” said Sheba slowly and firmly, “I’ve just been informed that Rhaya suffered a serious injury and needs a blood transfusion.” Dalton’s mood shifted instantly. “Is there anything I can do?”

“You can come along and hold my hand if you want to,” said Sheba. “When we were down in those caves, I felt that Rhaya might be related to me. You know how it is. There’s a certain kind of frustration you only feel with someone close to you.”

“I know,” said Dalton. “I felt that way myself the way Rhaya and I were always fighting over trivial, really stupid things.”

“Dalton, I’ve found out how close I really am to her!”

As they talked, Dalton noticed Sheba dabbing at her eyes, something out of character for the daughter of Commander Cain. “What’s the matter, Sheba?”

“Rhaya is my half-sister.”

“What?”

“The Med Lab has been going though all its registered blood donations. Rhaya has a rare blood type that matches Commander Cain’s. There isn’t an adequate amount of that type on hand to save her. It’s my blood type, Dalton. There’s no other explanation.”

“You and Rhaya!” said Dalton. “I felt something very strong between the two of you when we were on Paradis. You know, now that I think about it, in some ways Rhaya is more like your dad than you!”

“I completely agree,” said Sheba. “The birthmark on Rhaya’s arm first got me wondering.”

“I wonder how many children Commander Cain brought into the world!” said Dalton with a smile.

"That’s a very good question,” said Sheba.

“Come on,” announced Dalton as she took Sheba’s hand. “I’m going with you to Rhaya. It’s about time that something worked out for our gang, the way everything’s been going to hell. I can’t wait to tell Troy.”

The two warrior women hurried down the corridor on a mission of life. The unspoken bond between them was that rioters or looters would do well to steer clear of them. They were in no mood to put up with any crap from anyone.

All that mattered was the truth beating in the heart of a brave woman: The blood is the life.

20

Apollo sensed the call deep within him. This was the force he’d been unable to explain to Salik. It gave the universe meaning.

He felt sorry for those not attuned to the vibrations that kept life in harmony between the universe outside the head and the one within. They might go through the motions of various religions and philosophies, but ultimately did not believe in purposes beyond themselves. Then there were the other tragic cases who heard the music of the spheres—but instead of sweet music it was only a cacophony ripping apart their nerves. They sought to impose their own specious version of order on forces ordered at a level beyond their wildest imaginings. They were the dark mystics who confused their inner darkness for an inner light.

Apollo counted himself fortunate that when he made his intuitive leaps he usually didn’t disappear into pitfalls of his own making. It all came down to a question of balance.

If Sire Uri had acted more decisively, then the big gamble would have failed. It wouldn’t have helped that Apollo accurately gauged the psychology of the other conspirators. He had taken the chance because his intuition nudged him in the right direction. The bet was that the cowardice of the many would neutralize any suicidal courage of the few.

As he watched the conspirators rounded up courtesy of a warrior on the spot with an S-cube unit, he said a silent prayer of thanks to the example set by his father. Even as a child Apollo realized that the most important gambling was not done in a game of pyramid. He never enjoyed games the way that Starbuck did.

Games were not an end in themselves but practice for the challenges that try men’s souls. He learned how to gamble the serious way from the example set by Adama.

Thoughts of his father drew him back to the star chamber as saligium would be drawn by a magnet. If Cassie met him there, all well and good. If this was to be time alone, that was also good.

There were times when the only person Apollo really needed was Adama. When Sire Uri made his move, Apollo silently kicked himself that fleet security had been asleep at the switch. If they did not face the immediate peril, heads would roll. But under the circumstances, Apollo neither had the time nor the will to punish anyone.

His leadership style was based on sharing information with his closest confidants. But he’d kept from Athena and Tigh one fear when he made the decision to call Sire Uri’s bluff. If the conspirators had really had it together, one of them would have rigged the gyro-capacitors to instantly transfer the destructive force of unleashed tylium to every other engine system in the fleet and there would have been no survivors.

Baltar would have thought of that. Apollo was glad that Baltar wasn’t part of this scheme. It wasn’t necessary to check on all the conspirators to see if Baltar was among them. Uri’s plan was so bone-headed that Apollo knew from the start that Baltar couldn’t be part of it. Whatever was going on with his old foe remained a mystery for now.

As Apollo entered the star chamber, he marveled at something he’d seen countless times, but which now seemed brand new. What had he been missing all these years?

The place was beautiful. And it provided a great eye by which to observe the beauties of the heavens.

In the middle of chaos he’d found a profound quiet. This place was a momentary sanctuary from the gathering storm. Why was the eye of the storm the most tranquil location?

Looking up at the stars, he wondered what his forefathers would have thought of all this? Space ships were marvelous inventions, weren’t they? And humanity had a supreme destiny, didn’t it? If the colonials had been left unmolested on the home worlds they never would have inherited the stars.

How many times had human beings reached this point in their evolution? How many had abused the powers that could carry them in chariots of fire to the sky? Those same fires could burn a world to ash. At least the colonials had one reason for pride. They did not burn their own worlds. The Cylons did.

And what of Earth? Had other humans been in the situation of the colonials and made it there? Had the situation ever been reversed with those born on Earth searching for a haven elsewhere? Were there people out there who never forgot anything they learned? Could they be found?

The questions were as many as the stars. The older he got, the more Apollo was content with a few answers. Just a few.

In the most ancient room in the fleet, hidden away in the vastness of the Galactica, Apollo sat in his father’s chair. It always struck him as strange that he could be so at peace when surrounded by hatred and cruelty. Maybe that was the secret to peace.

He closed his eyes and tried to put away all the madness where it couldn’t touch him. It was good to be here and know who he was.

When he opened his eyes, Adama was standing in front of him. It had been such a very long time.

“All things eventually work together to serve the highest good,” said Adama in the voice that had chased away the demons from Apollo when he was only six and frightened of imaginary goblins that could never compete with the Cylons for ferocity.

The welcome image of solemn wisdom continued: “Trust your knowing which is not exactly the same as knowledge. Observe the sequence of events unfolding with both your mind and heart.”

Apollo couldn’t waste this opportunity. “Father, I’ve never understood how these recordings of yours are cued to our circumstances here in the future, after your death. There must be something more to your visitations.”

“Your quest is not over,” said Adama.

“Our enemies are both inside and outside the fleet.”

“You have carried on where I left off, my son.”

Suddenly Apollo felt that this long desired dialogue contained too many generalities. His next remark was precise: “What I’ve never been able to understand is why a race would pursue humanity across the universe just to destroy us.”

“They are afraid of humanity,” said Adama. “Hatred and fear are twins inside the core matrix.”

That was plenty specific! Apollo went on. “But why this endless war?”

“Count Iblis!” answered his father. “When the original race killed his body they did not end the danger of his tremendous intelligence. All they succeeded in doing was to transform him into a god capable of projecting his ethereal body into any form he chose.”

“I believe it’s all coming to an end,” said Apollo. “The Cylons war among themselves but they agree on destroying us. Will we face two separate Cylon armadas?”

“You ask about future events,” said Adama.

“I’m sorry if that is an error. May I ask a question about yourself?”

“No.”

That surprised Apollo. This was the first completely satisfying exchange he’d had with the sum total of his father’s knowledge. He was dying to know how this was possible. It wasn’t the same as when he’d had the telepathic communications with living Gamon. It wasn’t like his brief but intense communications with higher spirits emanating from the Lords of Kobol. He wanted to know something of the mechanism in use.

Then Apollo had a horrible thought. It was the most disturbing moment of his life, but it was a possible explanation.

“It can’t be,” he whispered.

“What can’t be?” asked the figure.

“Would you dare?” demanded Apollo, rising to his feet. “Are you Count Iblis pretending to be my father?”

The figure seemed to flicker for a moment as if the force of Apollo’s rage released the energy of a pulse rifle. When the voice spoke, it had lost none of its authority.

“My son, only you can answer that question. Would Count Iblis tell you what I have told you? You must trust your own inner light and have faith in what you find there.”

Apollo lurched forward and did something rare for him. He lost his footing and came crashing down. When he regained his footing the image of his father was gone. But Apollo wasn’t alone.

“Are you all right?” asked Cassie.

“I think so. I just had a scare.”

“Can you tell me about it?” she asked, coming over and holding him by the waist.

“No, it’s all right. I just followed some good advice and I’m all right. Tell me, do I look like someone who could mistake someone I love with a monster from hell?”

Cassie was taken aback. “You sure know how to put a girl at ease. Since you ask, you’re the last man in this galaxy anyone should try to trick.”

“Thanks,” he said. “So why are you here?”

She couldn’t stop laughing. “You asked me, silly.”

“Oh, that’s right,” he replied, mortified.

She placed her hand against his forehead and he asked why she was doing that. “To see if you have a fever!”

“Do I?”

“No, but I wouldn’t be surprised after what you’ve been doing to yourself lately. I heard about the run-in with the council.”

“Rumors are running wild. I’ll tell everyone what actually happened when I make my speech. We had a close call and everyone’s nerves are frayed.”

“Like yours! Come on, let’s sit down. The star chamber is one of my favorite places.”

She led him to the same place where she and Starbuck had done such a fine job of communicating.

“You’re very beautiful,” he said out of the blue.

“Why, Apollo, I can’t remember the last time you gave me a compliment like that.”

He took her hand. “This is one of my favorite places, too. Here I can see things clearly. I want to tell you how much I miss you.”

He could sense the emotions surging underneath her gentle and tender exterior. “I miss you,” she said in a less flirtatious tone of voice. Something was moving inside her.

“Would you mind holding me again?” he asked.

This time she did not merely place her hands on his waist. She wrapped herself around him and said, “Lean back.”

It was at times like this that he really appreciated the law of gravity. He looked deeply into Cassie’s unfathomable eyes.

Whatever was happening was too intense for her. She looked away even as she continued holding onto him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Or maybe I should ask what’s right? You seem different somehow.”

He felt that there was a profound sadness inside her and yet it somehow co-existed with joy and a sense of peace. She felt his spirit probing into her secret places.

“Apollo, you have the gift of seeing. What can a girl do with you?”

The tension was broken, but they also moved apart and sat up, still deliberately close together as if they had just made love instead of encountering a barrier.

“You know that Starbuck is on the list to stay behind,” she said.

“I know every name on the list,” he said quietly. Apollo tenderly touched her face and wiped away a tear. She turned away and he said, “Something else is wrong. What more do you need to tell me?”

“The truth,” she said. “Starbuck and I made love, right here where we are sitting.”

Apollo took a deep breath and gathered himself. “Go on,” he said.

She did. “You know how a number of older, single people are volunteering to take the place of unlucky mothers and children who made the first cut of the list. I know you support that.”

“Of course. That was one more reason the council went crazy because they knew no one would volunteer to take them off.”

“I’ve made a decision about Starbuck,” she said, choking.

“Go on.”

After swallowing hard, she produced a torrent of words. He let her get it out of her system.

"Apollo, my making love to Starbuck again wasn’t planned. It just happened. I never meant to hurt you. No one has been more fair than you about the crazy triangle we’re in. But I was feeling alone and helpless and I needed someone. No, that’s not exactly true. I’m lying to myself. Something within me wanted it to happen. I still love him, even with all his flaws and. . .and those agendas of his! I’ve tried so hard to move on with my life, but I always seem to leave him behind. I’m exhausted trying to. I need to be with him now, more than ever. He’s going to need me. So I’ve decided to stay behind with him even though I have a way out. Please forgive me. If the worst happens and he’s going to die, then I want to be with him.”

She sobbed out the last few words and then started crying. Apollo waited several beats to make certain that she had said it all.

“I admire you, Cassie. But what about the child?”

"I want him to stay with me and the nurse.”

“Yes, of course.”

She stood first. “Please understand that I love you more than any other man in my life except Starbuck. I finally realized that no one could ever take his place in my heart. Please forgive me.”

"There’s nothing to forgive,” he said, rising to join her.

She kissed him once with just a touch from the tip of her tongue and then hurriedly left the chamber. He could tell that she couldn’t keep the tears bottled up much longer.

He watched her leave without ever telling her the personal news he’d received from Gar’Tokk right before the council tried its grandstand play. Koren was also staying behind even though his name was not on the list. The pride Apollo felt was hard to express.

As Apollo gazed up at the magnificent starfield, he realized that the last thing in the universe that he wanted to do was work on another damned speech. Life had to be more than just stringing words together.

There was something wet on his face. That discovery broke open his reservoir and he wept from the depths of his soul.

Duty was Apollo’s taskmaster and truest lover. He arrived on schedule for the speech. The Council of Twelve was being held under arrest, along with their fellow criminals who assisted them. The portion of the council’s armed escort that refused to join in the mutiny against the fleet was still in uniform and had been absorbed into other police functions.

Apollo enjoyed entering the council chamber for the first time in his life because every council member was tied up and gagged. Although the civilians in attendance were agitated, they enjoyed the spectacle of the bound aristocrats and that helped maintain order. Apollo insisted that there would be no more closed meetings. The newly elected officials were also there, full of respect and healthy fear for the commander of the fleet who had saved them all yet again. They appreciated how Apollo handled the latest crisis.

In short order, Apollo told everyone present and all those listening over TransVids what Sire Uri and his goons had tried to get away with. By the time he was finished, the crowd had something else to think about than the lottery.

“Space the fracking mugjapes,” shouted one angry grandmother. “That is if you can get their fat asses into the airlocks!”

Apollo held up his hand and restored order more quickly than usual. There was nothing like a bout of heroics to make the people take notice.

“I’ve done Sire Uri the favor of keeping his mouth shut,” said Apollo. “I’m doing him and the Council of Twelve a favor because if they spew forth any kind of defense of their actions I don’t believe we have enough warriors and police to protect them from all of youl” The crowd went wild with cheers.

Apollo summed it up: “Their attempt to hold us hostage and blow up the fleet is the last time they will cause trouble.”

“Are you going to execute them?” screamed a voice from the back of the room.

He’d thought long and hard on that subject. “I leave that to all of you. But I suggest you calm down before you decide. As for my position, martial law saved us from an internal attack that would have destroyed us as completely as an attack by the Cylons. We survived. Now we must move on.”

“What about the lottery?” asked a young girl.

“I assure you that your lottery decisions will be honored. I salute those of you who are volunteering to stay behind so that others may be removed from the loser’s list. I also salute those of you who are choosing to stay behind because of love and loyalty to others. You have proven by your example that democracy can work.”

He looked disdainfully at the sweating faces of the council members straining against their bonds and mumbling behind their gags. “These men didn’t believe you could measure up,” said Apollo. “They thought that most of you are dumb animals ready to tear apart society if you don’t get your way. You have proven them wrong. Only a minority of you rioted. When it came down to the crunch it was they who acted in a truly uncivilized fashion. They threatened everyone, which the rioters didn’t.”

The applause was loud and sustained.

Apollo looked around to see if Cassie was in the crowd but didn’t see her. No matter. Wherever she was in the fleet, she would hear what he said next.

“Now I come to my main announcement. I have decided to stay behind as well.” The crowd had been through a lot lately but still could come up with a collective gasp.

Tigh said, “Oh, no.” Apollo heard that loud and clear because his old friend was sitting next to him.

“Apollo!” a small voice cried out over the noise of the crowd. There she was at last, Cassie waving and crying. But now there was a different quality to her tears.

Suddenly Apollo felt a hand on his shoulder. It was as if Starbuck appeared at his side by magic.

“You’re a hero,” he said.

“Look who’s talking!” said Apollo.

Starbuck laughed and hugged his best friend. “We’re probably out of our minds,” he said, “but facing death with you is my idea of a happy ending.”

Apollo had a little more information for his bud: “Take good care of her, Starbuck. You two deserve a chance for real happiness.”

The joy on Starbuck’s face began to fade like a light going out. “What are you driving at?”

Apollo raised his voice and resumed speaking to the multitude.

“I’m taking Starbuck’s place in the lottery! Tigh and Athena are more than capable of running the fleet.” The crowd was exploding with excitement but there was no undercurrent of violence any longer. Things had improved a lot since dealing with the Sire Uri problem.

“There’s more,” said Apollo. “I will place myself in the people’s custody under the newly elected officers. If you find that I’ve been lying to you then do with me what you will. I give you my sacred oath as a warrior and as Commander of the fleet that I am your servant. I have always been your servant. It tore out my heart every time I had to restrict your liberties and this is how I offer to make amends.”

The people cheered. Any last undercurrents of anger evaporated in that moment. Apollo had done the impossible and achieved unity as a time of greatest disunity.

“The Cylons are coming!” he said, and those tried and true words, so full of menace, quieted the throng. “Don’t forget that the war is not yet over. Let those who have been chosen to stay behind gather their belongings and be escorted to the appropriate ships. If someone will volunteer to place the council with other prisoners, you can put them all in a ship if you choose and give them supplies. That is up to you. Only if you are so magnanimous to grant them their lives, see to it that they have no weapons or explosive triggers or bombs. It will be too bad if they run into the Cylons but at least they will never again threaten their fellow colonials.”

The crowd went wild with support for Apollo. By then, Cassie had managed to work her way through and join Starbuck and Apollo and Tigh.

“You never let down your true love,” she said to Apollo, gesturing at row upon row of smiling faces. “You’ve given them hope again. That’s always better than holding them in line with guns.”

21

“Not guilty!”

“Excuse me?” Apollo asked.

Judge Diane repeated herself. “Not guilty. Commander. The duly elected government, post-council, just had a meeting. We find you innocent of all charges. We appreciate you placing yourself in our hands, but you also insist that we are the official government. Case dismissed!”

“Democracy really does work!” exclaimed President Tigh, present on Apollo’s bridge.

Apollo smiled. “Thank you for the vote of confidence.”

“Good,” said the judge. “Now that we have that out of the way, you can get back to work here aboard the Galactica. There’s a lot to do that only you can handle.”

As Judge Diane turned to leave the bridge of the Galactica, Apollo asked her, “What did all of you decide to do about the council?”

“I thought you’d be interested,” she said. “You have an awfully soft heart for a man in your profession. We’ll let them live as per your suggestions. I wish we could put a spy-eye aboard their ship, though.”

“How do you know we haven’t?” asked Apollo. “They might be hatching new plots.”

“I suppose that would be a good reason,” said Diane, pursing her lips. “I’d just like to see how they get along with their comrades whom they left in prison when they made their grab for power! Now all those nice people are back together again.”

“Listening in would be very educational,” Tigh agreed. “But they are clever enough to disable such a device.”

The judge, who also happened to be the highest-ranking official overseeing the legitimate lottery, took her leave.

Apollo got back to work.

As time finally started running out, a lot was accomplished in short order. The division of the fleet had been planned but now it had to be implemented.

Chosen civilians and warriors took their assigned places aboard the appointed vessels. Families, lovers and friends said goodbye to one another. The time of protests was at an end.

The warriors kept a close watch on the council’s ship. Apparently Sire Uri was still in charge despite his less than satisfactory performance of late. Tigh was impressed by how that boatload of villains respected seniority.

There were no more threats against the fleet.

Of great concern to Apollo was what the hell had happened to Baltar. He put his best men on it but they failed to turn up anything. At a time of such confusion, one man as wily as Baltar could hide for a long time.

Apollo had almost forgotten about Rhaya. Recovered from her ordeal, she and Sheba made a special visit to the bridge of the Galactica.

“I’m glad that you’re all right.”

“Thanks to Sheba,” she said. “How about a half-sister showing up when you need one?”

“That Dr. Wilker was no slouch,” added Sheba. “When he had the right ingredients, he was a miracle worker.”

“I’m always in favor of miracles,” said Apollo. “I wish Dr. Salik and his crack team of scientists could do as well, but they seem to be fresh out of ingredients.”

“What do you mean?” asked Sheba.

“For those of us who stay, there are minimal food stores. The energy and power will last a little longer. We’ll be dead by the time the lights go out.”

“I though there were resources we could tap in this solar system,” said Rhaya.

“Yes, there are,” Apollo answered. “The irony is that we can only make use of those materials if we strip all the FTL technology off the other ships. Then we can all survive in this solar system until the Cylons arrive to wipe us out.”

“What about the air?” asked Sheba.

“That’s the good news if you have a morbid sense of humor,” he said. “The air runs out just about the time the food and water go. We won’t starve. We’ll all just go to sleep. A peaceful end, if the Cylons don’t get us first.”

Rhaya snorted. “Peaceful sleep is just what I’ve been doing for a week.”

Sheba hugged her sister and they both placed their foreheads together. “I’m staying,” said Sheba.

“Me, too,” said Rhaya.

“No you’re not!” her older sister ordered her. “You are going back on active duty with the fleet. But I’m staying.”

By this time, Apollo had hoped that each time he heard those words from people he cared about it wouldn’t hurt so much. But he was wrong about that.

“If I could save all of us, I’d pay any price,” he said. “I’d stand up to my waist in liquid nitrogen!”

“Don’t do that!” said Sheba, alarmed. “We want you to stay handsome right until the end.”

The end. He knew it was coming. He could see it on the horizon in big, black letters. THE END. But this was not the way it was supposed to be.

How often had he and Starbuck fantasized how they would go out in a blaze of glory, taking a swarm of Centurions down with them into eternity.

Prosaic reality lacked the requisite glamour.

When Tigh and Athena (on leave from the Daedulus, but her bridge crew was completely sympathetic) arrived for one last tour of the Galactica, the ceremony had a dark, dream-like quality for Apollo. Maybe now he had an inkling of what Baltar had been going through.

“Who would have thought this day would arrive so soon?” he asked.

Barely able to contain herself, Athena grabbed her brother’s arm and blurted out, “It’s not too late. The people will understand if you change your mind.”

“No,” he said, firm in his resolve. “They have been betrayed too many times. I will keep my oath.”

“Damn it all to hell,” said Tigh.

“Those who stay behind need someone to run things. They’ve asked me to handle operations as usual. Until the last centon, I will do my duty.”

“Oh, Apollo,” said Athena. “I can’t stand this.”

“Look, I’ve traded places with Starbuck and that is irrevocable.”

Tigh and Athena looked at each other and both began to cry. Apollo thought he’d seen everything until that moment. Again, he was wrong about something. Facing the end of everything was a guaranteed way of learning new things about your friends and family.

“You know, there is one thing you can do for me before you leave,” he asked Athena and Tigh.

“What?” they both asked in unison.

“Help me find Baltar! He told me he was going to stay behind, but I don’t like him unaccounted for.”

At the landing docks, Tigh and Athena took turns hugging Apollo as he prepared to leave with the final shuttle to the considerably smaller ship that would be his new base of operations.

Athena spoke first: “Thank you, brother, for honoring me with your faith, love and trust.”

God, she was one of the bravest and most beautiful women he’d ever seen in his life—and he’d seen plenty! “I have always believed in you, Athena. I had a lot more worries about myself. I had a hunch you were going to turn out fine.”

Then it was Tigh’s turn. “Your father would be proud of you, Commander. In fact, I’m sure he is!”

“I should be seeing him soon and he can tell me in person,” said Apollo with a tired grin. “I’ll put in a good word for both of you.”

The situation was already difficult but Dalton, Trays, Troy and Rhaya (back with her old comrades) showed up to make it harder.

“Father, please change your mind,” said Troy. “The fleet needs you and so do I.”

Apollo placed his hand on Troy’s broad shoulder. “Eight hundred brave people, most of them civilians, are sacrificing their lives. They need me more! Please know that I love all of you. Remember that you are the ones the fleet will be looking up to for guidance and protection. You are now the ideal. Hold your heads high and set a good example.”

He said goodbye to each individually. All the time he was thinking that at least Koren would be with him. For what it was worth, the boy would not lose a father a second time.

Hardest of all was Starbuck and Cassie coming up to him for the last time. As she hugged him, Starbuck passed him some of his best fumarellos.

“These are my last fumarellos,” he said. “If ever there was a time to start smoking them, this is it.”

Apollo let Starbuck place one in his mouth. Then they both lit up. One choking moment later, Apollo remembered that he wasn’t a smoker.

“I didn’t realize what I was missing,” he gasped.

“Just so long as your face doesn’t turn as green as a beschkurd, you’re doing fine!” observed Starbuck, giving his friend the warrior handshake. Cassie chose that moment to touch Apollo’s face.

That’s when the commander of the fleet realized the best thing about smoking. It offered a convincing way to hide one’s tears.

From space, Apollo took a last look at the Galactica. His new home was a distant cargo ship.

He began taking inventory of the supplies. He wasn’t expecting a slender female hand to appear from behind one of the crates.

“Sheba!” he almost shouted.

“You didn’t think I was going to let my best friend go home alone, did you?” she said. Her voice was deep and throaty, a lot sexier than it had been in his quarters once upon a time.

“Sheba, you can’t do this,” he said, realizing how lame it sounded even in his own ears.

“I’m here.”

“What if I turn the shuttle around?”

“You won’t, darling. Besides, it’s too late. When I told you and Rhaya I was going to stay, I meant every word. So I traded places with another warrior. It’s you and me to the end, old buddy.”

“I hate you,” said Apollo with a big grin.

“Hey, that’s my line!” she corrected him. “Only the girls get to say that with feeling. Come here, you big lug.”

The shuttle was cramped but they made the most of it.

On the bridge of the Daedulus, Athena prepared to go to light speed.

On the bridge of the Galactica, Tigh prepared to go to light speed.

Having transformed into a smaller collection of ships, the leaders of the fleet were ready to exit the solar system at record speed.

Something caught in her throat as Athena heard her brother’s voice for what she was certain was the last time. He sounded steady and happy. At least she could be grateful for that.

“Prepare to engage,” he said. “Are you ready?”

“Ready, Apollo,” said Tigh, grateful to say the name a last time.

“We’re secured here as well,” came Apollo’s reply. “May the Lords of Kobol guide you and keep you at peace.”

“The same wishes be with you,” said Tigh, standing tall.

Athena had only one thing to say. “I love you.”

Before Apollo could respond, the line went dead. The energies building up for FTL often played hob with communications.

In a swirl of coruscating energy, the mighty ships disappeared into the void between worlds.

Fifteen ships remained.

Aboard their old freighter, the council and their crew prepared to go to light speed. “I told you I’d come through for all of us!” said Sire Uri. “The black market has always been my best friend. We have an FTL drive that Apollo didn’t know about. We’re not going to stay behind and wait to die like those poor fools with their rhetoric of heroic sacrifice.”

“No one will accuse you of heroics, take it from me,” said Ryis, slightly slurring his words.

Since being released from his cell, Ryis determined that his best course of action was to get drunk and to stay drunk. The more he learned of what the mighty council had been doing during his sabbatical, the less impressed he was.

Sire Uri ignored him but every sound that came out of the architect made Sire Opis nervous. Only good, old Sire Riggbok seemed blissfully unaware of the social dynamics grinding around him.

“We will follow the fleet at a distance,” said Uri. “Mark my words, the people will take us back. They need us as a daggit needs a leash. Without our firm guidance, they will fall into a state of anarchy.”

“Is that bad?” asked Ryis, holding down a burp. “Don’t we make some of our best profits during unsettled times?”

“Just ignore him,” said Uri, which had the effect of the others paying attention to every one of Ryis’s pronouncements.

“Well, we outsmarted everyone with your secret FTL drive,” said Riggbok. “The fleet wasn’t about to sacrifice good people like Apollo and let us have a scarce item like a space drive.”

“Good?” Opis screamed. “Good people?”

“You know what I mean,” said Riggbok.

“We most certainly do,” agreed Ryis in the best of spirits.

Uri kept at it. “The point is that we are smarter than the rest of them. This was my fallback plan all along. If they didn’t accept our demands, we could always use this smuggled, secret FTL drive to follow the fleet.”

“Wait a minute,” said Sire Opis. “If this was your alternative plan, then why did you go nuts and try to blow us all up when Apollo called your bluff?”

“Shut up,” Sire Uri suggested.

“The equipment still needed work,” said a smarmy looking engineer tinkering in the back of the ship. “It just might work.”

“Might?” screamed Sire Opis. “Did you say might?”

“Anyone for another drink?” asked Ryis, feeling no pain.

“Everyone straighten up and listen to me!” Sire Uri could be most insistent. “In time, the people will welcome us back with open arms. With Apollo out of the way, we will restore peace and prosperity. Now, if the coordinates are locked in, let’s be on our way.”

“Do you want me to turn it on?” asked the engineer.

“Yes, yes, you fool. Engage!”

The ship groaned. There was a popping sound deep in the bowels of the hyper-drive.

“That’s not good,” Ryis gave his evaluation.

“What’s happening?” Uri shrieked.

“We seem to be moving in the wrong direction,” said the engineer with dispassionate curiosity.

“How is that possible?” Uri asked anyone who might have an answer. “Get the rest of the maintenance crew on this.”

“What crew is that?” asked the engineer with the same air of total objectivity.

“Somebody who gives a damn please check your instruments,” shouted Sire Uri, on the verge of his very first stroke.

A crew member showed motivation. “Captain, we’re moving in the direction of the former position of Paradis.”

“That’s impossible,” said Uri.

At that moment the comscreen flickered to life and a familiar face appeared. Sire Uri grew very quiet. Even Ryis had nothing to say. Personally, he was very impressed and didn’t want to miss anything the new player in the game might do.

“Baltar,” said Sire Uri, regaining his senses.

“Sire Uri,” said Baltar, returning the greeting.

“What are you doing aboard my craft?”

Baltar wagged a finger. “Now, we aren’t getting anywhere with that kind of attitude. This is my ship, lock stock and barrel.”

“It is?” marveled Sire Riggbok.

“Shut up!” screamed at least three other members of the craft in unison.

“No need to be rude to one of your own,” said Baltar. “As we come to the end of the road, there is no substitute for a little kindness.”

That got their attention.

“What are you talking about?” whined Uri.

“If you will all be good students, I’ll elaborate,” said Baltar. “But no more interruptions. Everything I’m about to tell you will be on the final exam. I’m in control of this craft and I have a very important delivery to make. I’m taking us on a one-way trip to the Cylons.”

“Oh, frack,” said Ryis, sobering up fast.

“Why would you do such a thing?” asked Sire Opis, filling in for Uri who seemed to be suffering a complete mental breakdown.

“Funny how it worked out,” said Baltar. “I thought I was going to take this trip all alone. No FTL drive was required for my plan so I disabled yours. Your controls don’t work because I found it more convenient to rewire them so one operator could run the ship. I’ve always been a skilled technician. It’s a sheer accident that you came aboard. Check the registry and you’ll see this was my ship all along, with my cozy personal quarters.”

"This isn’t fair,” said Sire Uri, getting back his voice.

“Just bad luck on your part. I had just escaped from the Med Lab and returned here when the colonials decided to let you confiscate this old ship. No one respects private property any more.”

“What’s going to happen to us?” asked the inadequate engineer, finally interested in his own fate.

“Well, the Cylons should be arriving shortly and I intend a big surprise for them. If the architect over in the corner there has any Ambrosia left, I recommend he pour some drinks so that we may toast their demise. Oh, look, they’re already here!”

Everyone had been so entranced by Baltar that they hadn’t been looking out the large viewing port.

“We’re going to die,” observed none other than Sire Riggbok and no one quarreled with his evaluation.

It was simply the most terrifying fleet of Cylon ships ever conceived, filling all of space as far as the eye could see in any direction. It was like another field of stars except these all seemed to be moving toward this one little ship.

“Well, enjoy the fireworks,” Baltar concluded. “You can’t get to my control room so just have those drinks and make the best of it.”

Apollo never gave up hope of finding out what happened to Baltar. But as he busied himself tending civilians in the cargo ship, he did not expect Baltar to contact him on his communicator.

“Hello, my only friend.”

There were always new surprises when Baltar was involved.

“Where are you? You must turn yourself in and join us immediately.”

Baltar shook his head. “We’ll all be joining each other soon enough in some other life, or death. I’m very concerned that for me, personally, death will not be the end. I’ve been harassed lately by visions of myself! I think I’ve figured out what it means.”

“Baltar, where are you?”

“Just a moment. Let me finish the point. It has dawned on me that those wily Cylons could have made a duplicate version of my brain when they had my body as a prisoner. Then there would be two Baltar minds, if my theory is correct. Do I have the original brain or the copy? Interesting thought, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know. With the Cylons, anything is possible. But where are you?”

“I’m in my quarters aboard the aptly named Rising Sun. Some of my old friends are here, too: Sire Uri and the entire council! Isn’t that splendid news?”

Baltar still had the power of taking Apollo’s breath away. “What are you doing?”

"Restoring cosmic balance. Do you know that shortly after I came on board Imperious Leader sent me false information, trying to make me believe he was not coming to this solar system? I was insulted at the amateur quality of the lie. He probably thought I’d pass that junk onto you and you’d keep the whole fleet here so that you’d have access to all the high-tech equipment to make use of natural resources and keep everyone alive. What would be the point of saving lives so that Imperious Leader could snuff them out?”

“I take it that Imperious Leader won his civil war,” said Apollo.

“I’m not sure about that either. He wants me to think so, but how can I tell if he’s on the level? If you’ll check your monitors you’ll see the size of the enemy fleet headed your way. Such a force suggests that Imperious Leader is playing with all the pieces, but you never know with Cylons.”

Just then all the alarms went crazy. Apollo never doubted Baltar’s reports on anything dire.

“We can’t fight a force of that size,” said Apollo. “We don’t have much time left anyway.”

Baltar had that smug expression he always wore when he had the upper hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’m about to give the council a lesson in applied civics. Good government must always make some provision for defense.”

"What are you going to do?” asked Apollo.

“Watch and enjoy the show,” said Baltar. “You can say goodbye to the council if you’d like. I’m too busy. I’m about to say goodbye to the Cylons!”

The enemy force was so huge that Apollo could see them from the view port even though they were still at a safe distance. Baltar’s sense of timing was only matched by his sense of the theatrical.

The Cylons never knew what hit them. Baltar prepared his old ship well. The solonite bombs had been confiscated from Sire Uri but those paltry firecrackers could not have achieved the results of Baltar’s explosion. The destruction was a work of art, combining applied physics and a working knowledge of tylium’s potential.

Apollo wondered how Baltar did it, but whatever he used had the force of a small exploding sun. Apollo saw it in real time on his instruments first. The mega explosion consumed the Cylon ships in a brief moment that seemed to stretch to infinity.

The shock wave covered the distance and finally reached the colonial ships as the sky went white outside the viewing portal. Apollo shouted that no one should look directly at the blinding flash that sent Baltar on his final journey.

A final journey unless the Great Traitor—and now Great Patriot was right about the possibility of a duplicate brain, another self! Apollo imagined a succession of Baltars in imperial robes striding down the corridors of time.

“What happened?” asked Sheba, a bit dazed.

Apollo placed his hand against the smooth viewing port now that it was safe to look through it once more. He chose his words carefully. After all, this was an epitaph:

“An extraordinary human being just found his way home.”

EPILOGUE

Closing his eyes, Apollo let himself drift. How much could a single human mind contain? When it came to the commander of the fleet, there seemed no end to the steady stream of information and experience. A vision came to him of the Gamon elder. Apollo realized how much he missed the one friend he made on Paradis.

The Gamon spoke. “You and your people have chosen a new destiny; one that leads to life instead of annihilation. You and your people will be given a new opportunity for your civilization to evolve. Please accept our parting gift to you as a token of appreciation for reminding us that all life is capable of growing into the oneness of spirit.”

“Wake up, Apollo,” said Sheba, shaking him.

“I’m not asleep, but keep touching me!”

“You never change, even as we face death. Have you noticed the air is starting to thin?”

Apollo slowly sat up. “We taught everyone in this cargo ship how to breathe more shallowly. They have behaved well. I think they are going to be rewarded in this life!”

Sheba stared at him with that expression she reserved for when he surprised her. “Do you know what’s outside our ship?”

He shook his head, noticing Sheba’s little smile. She liked it when he didn’t know everything. He followed her past sleeping figures to the viewing port.

His first impression was that a few of the Cylon ships must have survived Baltar’s grandstand play. But the stars were blotted out by a larger craft than any of the Cylon fighters.

“So that’s what he meant,” said Apollo.

“Who?” asked Sheba.

“Never mind,” he said, putting his arm around her slender waist.

“We are receiving the gift of life from a Space Ark of the Thirteenth Tribe. We have found our destiny.”

Sheba’s eyes grew wide at the huge dimensions of the craft. “Look!” she said, pointing at the line of silver oxygen canisters drifting from a portal on the side of the ship.

“Even if it was the end, I could have faced it gladly after Baltar’s heroic sacrifice,” said Apollo.

“But this is better,” said Sheba, “I can’t believe we’re going to live! That’s one of the arks we explored on Paradis. But it was so heavily damaged!”

Apollo’s mouth was dry. He licked his lips and said, “I believe there was another one. That’s what was throwing our instruments off at the building site of New Caprica City, where we were getting those extraordinarily high energy readings. It must have somehow freed itself when Paradis was destroyed.”

Sheba wrinkled her brow and observed, “That’s impossible. It would have been destroyed along with the planet.”

“I have a feeling that the Gamon had something to do with this!”

Turning her back on the spectacle, Sheba admitted, “Those buggers gave me the creeps, but I sure as hell like them now.”

Before Apollo could respond, Sheba grabbed him from behind. Using all her skills honed in many centons of training, she pulled him to the floor.

Face to face, Apollo grinned and asked, “Are you trying to tell me that you are in the mood to celebrate life right now?”

Sheba smiled, then proceeded to celebrate.

Table of Contents

PROLOGUE

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

EPILOGUE