Boomer popped the shuttle's hatch, not waiting for
Wilker to signal the all-clear. Who needed to, Boomer
decided? Bojay was out there, and obviously breathing
whatever the locals were, and he was too glad to see his old
Warrior comrade to wait on the prissy scientist. He stepped
out onto the Enterprise's flight deck, and at once saw
Bojay, running towards him.

"Boom-Boom!"

"Bojay!" Boomer yelled back, arms wide, smile as well.
"You furlon-heisting daggit! So this is where you've been
hold up!"

"Well…"

"Oh, yeah. I know. You just couldn't resist those Siren
beams, and decided to take a tour of this other galaxy." By
this time, Pike and his men had moved in, and Bojay did the
introductions.

"This is Captain Christopher Pike, of the Federation
Starship Enterprise," Boomer took his hand, "And this is
Science Officer Spock." Spock did not offer his hand,
keeping his resolutely behind his back. Bojay introduced the
rest, including the Tellarite Security man, Zag, and then it
was Wilker's turn.

"Your ship is most impressive," said Wilker, as they
made their way along the corridor towards Sickbay. “Some sort
of continuum distortion arrangement, isn't it? The nacelles
being fed plasma would seem…"

"I think you'll enjoy talking with our Engineer Scott,
Doctor," said Pike, as the reached the turbolift.

"Who attacked us?" said Boomer. He explained how they,
like Bojay, had been exploring the device, then been here.

"That was the Klingons," said Pike.

"The Klingwho?" asked Boomer, as they emerged onto Deck
5.
"Klingons," said Boyce. "A Warrior race, and our
enemies by the way. They think that battle is fun, that
carnage is cute."

"Oh great," said Boomer. "Sounds like the Cylons all
over again. But why?"

"The probe you sent through the rift struck and damaged
one of their ships, Lieutenant," said Pike. "When your
shuttle followed so soon after, they did what Klingons
always do. They leapt to conclusions, and opened fire."

"Well I sure am glad you were here to help, Captain
Pike. Our shuttles aren't capable of much in the way of
defense," said Wilker.

"So we saw," said Pike. They reached Sickbay, and went
in. Almost at once, there was a message from the bridge.
"Pike here."

"Sensor update you requested on the Tholians, sir. No
change. ETA, 21 hours, 7 minutes."

"Any reply to hails, Number One?"

"None, Captain. They are running silent."

"I see. Good work, Number One. And our Klingon
friends?"


"Both holding at 17,000, sir. Watching us."

"Any communications?”

"Messages to their home base, sir. Crypto is on it."

"Good, Number One. I'll be there shortly." Pike clicked
off, and turned to catch the last part of an exchange
between Spock and Wilker.

"…called Earth," said the Colonial scientist. "Do you
know of it?"

"That's what I've been telling Boomer here," said
Bojay. "These people, at least most of them, are from
Earth!"

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Adama could not help but feel…awe, as he approached the
vast construction. Awe at its size, awe at its age. And awe
at the sheer technical prowess needed just to design such a
structure. A palpable aura of both age, and power, hung over
the abandoned machine, as he watched the sun glint through a
row of windows near its "top".

And he was focused on those windows because he wasn't
about to repeat the mistakes of the last two exploratory
missions. With data retrieved from Sheba's expedition, they
had learned of a control section, high atop the device, with
a landing deck. Or so it appeared. Coming around the other
way, he hoped to avoid tripping the device's still-active
systems.

"There, Father," said Athena, pointing to her sensors.
"A hangar it looks like."

"Like the data said," he replied, smiling. While his
daughter might have a tendency to sometimes state the
obvious, even when it was glaring out the windows as now, he
felt secure in both her observations, and her piloting
skills. Things rarely got past Athena.

Except men.

"Internal scans"?

"Nothing, sir," replied one of Wilker's techs, using a
setup like the one Wilker had taken. "I read large areas
still pressurized, but no bio signs at all."

"Power signatures?"

"Plenty of them, sir. I'm still trying to isolate and
analyze them all. Near as I can tell, the device seems to be
in stand-by mode."

"Can we safely land?"

"As far as we can tell, Commander," said the second
tech," there's no reason why not."

"Very well, " said Adama. "Athena, take us in."

"Taking us in, Commander."

The shuttle nosed down, towards the covered landing
deck, and gracefully moved in to the approach pattern. At
once, landing lights and computer controls from within
kicked on, and after a few moments, began to guide them in.
Moving under the huge metal roof of the hangar, Athena felt
the sticks tugged from her hands, and the shuttle was guided
in. They came to a stop, and beheld the bay before them.

"My God," whispered Adama.

"Lords of Kobol!" muttered one of the guards.

"Look at it, Father," said Athena. "It's like a huge
parking garage full of spacecraft."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Leaping at once into Warrior mode, Apollo made a mad
rush for the surface. At once, he was beaten in the face by
the heat, but continued on. Almost at once, he could hear
shouts, and the pulse of the Landram's gun tub. Drawing his
own weapon, he sought concealment behind something, in this
case part of a wall, and risked a look.

The Landram was being circled by people, swathed in
dark robes, on what looked like some sort of equus. They
bore drawn swords, spears, and some of them bows. One spear
was sticking out from the top of the vehicle, and Dietra was
firing at the attackers whenever there was a proper angle.
The gun tub pulsed, and several of the attackers flew
backwards, crashing into the sand. Falling back, others
loosed arrows at the Landram, missing the Warrior atop it.

Except for one. Apollo heard a cry of pain, and the
firing stopped. One of the primitive weapons had gotten
through, and he saw her slump. Angry, and feeling the first
tendrils of his ever-near guilt complex begin to stir, he
popped out from cover, and fired. One of the attackers went
down, then another. He heard the animals scream as the stun
shot hit, and fired yet again.

And was rewarded for his trouble by an arrow sent in
his direction. He once again fired, and the archer was sent
sprawling, then again. Then, as if knowing he needed help,
the gun tub flared again, and half a dozen or more of the
attackers went into the dust, along with their mounts. He
fired again, and again, till finally, someone in black
figured out that this wasn't such a good idea, and there was
a sound like a horn or bugle, and the still functional
barbarians began to retreat.

Except for one. As Apollo began to move towards the
Landram, he heard a scream, and could see a hulking figure
atop it, drawn sword glinting in the sunlight. He took aim,
and fired. With a scream, the attacker toppled off the
machine, head first into the ground. With a burst of speed,
he reached the vehicle, and climbed atop, to find…

Dietra, semi-conscious, arrow protruding from her left
shoulder, her left arm and chest glistening red. Her head
lolled back, she tried to focus on Apollo.

"Sir."

"Save it," he ordered her, taking stock. With the gun,
he lobbed a few extra shots after the fleeing attackers, to
put a little more of the fear of God into them, then he
opened the hatch, gingerly moving the injured woman towards
it. He yanked the spear from its place, tossing it away, but
not before noticing that it had sliced through the antenna
cable. No wonder the Landram had fallen silent.

He got her inside, and settled her as best he could in
one of the seats. Double checking to make sure all was
locked up tight, he returned to Dietra.

"How…is it, sir?" she asked.

"Don't know yet," Apollo replied. The arrow had struck
her just under the left collarbone, and from the sound of
her breathing, punctured her left lung. He pulled the medi-
kit out from under the seat, and gave her a shot for pain.
Then, gingerly, he began to remove the arrow. Fortunately,
it was not barbed, and slid out smoothly, if not painlessly.
Mentally, Apollo kicked himself, for not keeping his certs
current on first-aid. He searched his memory, then found the anti-septic pad, and cleaned the wound as best he could. Then, applying a pressure bandage, he covered it, hoping that the anti-biotic impregnated into the bandage was still
good. "How do you feel?" he asked, after he was done with his makeshift doctoring.

"Like a..." she broke off, coughing. "Like a BaseShip landed on my chest, sir. Are you."

"I'm okay, Lieutenant," he told her. He slid into the other seat, and fired up the vehicle. "I'm going to find us some cover. That wave will be here any centon."

"Any…any good news, down below, sir?"

"We found what might be records, but you keep quiet, Lieutenant," he ordered. "You need to conserve all your strength."

"But."

"That's an order, Lieutenant!"

"Aye, s..." hack, wheeze. "Sir."

Apollo found a length of wall, apparently of granite, and ensconced the Landram behind it as best he could. On the scanner, the bizarre wave was closing. Five centons. Four. He belted them both in, and waited.

And gritted his teeth as the leading edge of the wave reached them, rocking them back and forth like a Cylon fusillade.





Athena set the shuttle down in as near to the center of the cluttered bay as possible. Or rather sat in her seat feeling useless, and watched it be landed, by remote control. Scans indicated internal atmosphere, breathable by Humans, but Adama insisted on each of them donning an life mask, just in case. The senior Warrior popped the hatch, and descended to the deck. The others followed one by one, then signaled Adama it was clear.

It was huge, this bay. Adama was forcibly reminded of the first time he had ever set foot on a Battlestar. As a young cadet, his first Academy examination barely behind him, he and his class went aboard the Horus, for their first real look at a warship. He’d felt tiny, in the cavernous landing bay, as they’d filed out of the shuttle, and now the feeling was back with a vengeance. He looked around, marveling at all the derelict craft left abandoned here.

“My scanner counts 23 craft, father,” reported Athena. “Negative on any bio signs.”

“Hardly likely after all these yahren, I should think,” he replied. Despite the hangar having air, it was quite cold. Athena felt it, too, and returned to the shuttle, for heavy parkas for them all. A little warmer now, they continued on.

“This looks like an old-fashioned Nebula-class transport,” she observed, of one vessel, blocky, with large engine pods in back. Another was very similar to the shuttle they came in, but the rest were unfamiliar, and the warbook had no record of any such.

“The bay is secure,” reported one of the Warriors. “No one here, Commander.”

“Thank-you,” replied Adama.

“Father, I think we should try and salvage some of these ships,” said Athena, examining the control pad next to the hatch of one. It was long, sleek, and highly streamlined engine nacelles.

“Oh? Why?”

“The fleet is chronically short of resources. Lords of Kobol, I don’t need to tell you that. With these ships, we’d have metal, maybe even useable parts we could adapt to our own ships. Things we haven’t had much access to since we left the Colonies.”

“You have a point, Athena. It has been a while since our last overhaul,” Adama said, considering it. The fleet was chronically finding itself out of something. Perhaps…

“Commander,” came the voice of one of the Warriors, over the commlink. “We’ve found the hatch out of the bay, sir.”

“On our way,” said Adama. He and his daughter threaded their way through the many abandoned craft, to find the Warriors clustered around an airlock hatch, lights above it still blinking.

“According to scans, sir,” said one, “it leads to a corridor, then up…” he pointed to the control gantry, above and to their left, “to that deck. Sensors say it’s the control deck, and we read active power signatures up inside there.”

“Then let’s go,” said Adama, and moved to the door. He studied it a bit. A keypad, apparently numeric, and three buttons atop them. Red, green, and yellow. The numbers, he realized after a few moments, were similar to those classified in the Galactica’s database as Old Gemonese. Having studied archaic Colonial scripts since Kobol, he made an educated guess, and tried it.

Much to his surprise, the red light began blinking, then the green lit up, solidly, and the door opened. Inside was a large chamber, like an oversized elevator car.

“Shall we?”





As with the other Colonials, Doctor Boyce found Boomer and Wilker to be in excellent health. Although there were a few curious variations, such as both Wilker and Bojay having their hearts on the right side, and a curiously different blood chemistry, they were unquestionably Human, he declared, and remarkably free of any disease organisms the Enterprise crew need worry about. As was his custom, the ship’s chatty CMO engaged his patients in conversation, and found them enjoyable. Boomer, besides being a Warrior, was actually a closet philosopher, and Wilker asked a lot of questions about the engineering of the medical equipment in Sickbay.

But the major topic of conversation was Earth. Wilker had never really believed it existed, but now, in the ship’s briefing room, he was shown photos. Charts, and scans of the Federation Homeworld. He was astounded, not merely that the world Adama so passionately sought actually existed, but at the level of
technology she manifested. The huge spacedocks in orbit, the terraforming of the Moon, the ships. Oh yes, the ships. As a pilot, Boomer found the level of shipbuilding technology beyond what he’d ever believed possible. Yes, the Colonies were the most advanced race, aside from the Cylons, his people had ever found in their part of the galaxy, but in this quadrant…

“Here,” Bojay pointed out, on the main screen. “This is the entire galaxy.” Their cartographers have divided it up into four quadrants. “This is where we are, and this…” he waited while Lt. Scott shifted the view, “is the area we come from.”

“That must be over…50,000 light-yahren,” estimated Wilker, studying the chart. “Lords of Kobol, the technology of that machine is greater than we imagined.”

“So it seems,” said Scott, finding Wilker interesting, from the scientific point of view. Though the technology so far displayed by the Colonials was behind that of his own people, Scott had discovered in conversation that the Colonial scientist was well up to discussing more advanced topics. Everything from wormhole theory, to the basics of the propulsion system that powered the
Enterprise

“We’ve known about anti-matter for hundreds of yahren,” said Wilker. “It was first predicted in equations published before we even developed chemical rockets. But it was never found to be cost effective.”

“How so?” asked Scott.

“Well, our early generation FTL drives were powered by a complex series of reactions involving a highly energetic and volatile mineral we call tylium. Once the engineering was worked out, it became fairly cheap to operate, because our region of space was full of sources of tylium. Among the planets in our region known to us, we estimated that there was sufficient tylium to fuel our ships for thousands of yahren.”

“Och, I see,” replied the Scot. “Economics.”

“Well yes, that,” said Wilker, “and the fact that some early anti-matter experiments ended disastrously. However, Mr. Scott, I am familiar with the basic theory, and would be pleased to examine aspects of your engineering systems.”

“Well, some o’ our systems are classified, as ye can appreciate, Doctor. But I think the Captain’ll approve yer takin a wee look at what’s in the public domain.”

“I would appreciate it.”

“Me, too,” said Boomer, “but I have a question closer to home. Is there any way we can contact our fleet? Let them know we’re okay, and how to trigger that machine to get here?”

“I canna help ye, there,” replied Scott. “The wormhole was, accordin’ to our sensors, one way only. And without an exact understandin’ of the mechanism used, we canna open a wormhole from this end.” He saw Boomer clench his jaw in frustration, and Bojay curse silently under his breath.

“What about a signal?” asked Boomer, who’s sideline was in communications.

“Same story, lads. Yer fleet is over fifty thousand light-years from here.” He highlighted it on the starchart. “Even a subspace message at full power would take near ta a decade ta get there. Maybe longer. And by that time…”

“Right. It would be pretty attenuated,” replied Boomer. He sighed. “Well, it was worth a try, Lieutenant Scott.”

“Och, call me Scotty,” replied the engineer. “Unless it’s the Cap’n or such, I hate titles.”

“Alright. Scotty, then.”

“Lords of Kobol,” sighed Bojay, looking once more at the galactic map. “Over 50,000. I sure hope the Cylons don’t find that portal.”

“Amen to that, Bo,” said Boomer. “I’ll die happy if I never see one of those shiny assassins again.”

“Tell me somethin’, laddie,” said Scott. “Who are these Lords o’ Kobol yer always mentionin’?”

“Well,” began Bojay, when Boomer deferred to him, “our history tells us we originated on a planet called Kobol, approximately seven millennia ago. Now, Kobol was dying, and our ancestors…”







To a Human observer, Command Centurion Noxius would have seemed utterly unresponsive, sitting in his command chair, not seeming to regard any of the other Cylons about him. But said observer would have been wrong. As more and more of the BaseShip’s systems came back on-line, the Commander plugged himself in to the ship’s diagnostic interface, allowing him full access to what was
going on.

Most of the ship’s defensive systems were on-line again, or would be, and full electrical power had been restored throughout the ship. Hull breaches had been sealed and braced, and each landing bay was fully operational once more. However…

The engines were still giving the engineers trouble. Several relays had blown out less than 5 centons ago, setting back the repair estimates by at least 50 centons. Every moment was precious, Noxious knew. Each centon allowed the Galactica to repair and restore also, increasing the chances that Adama would,
once more, escape. With as close to anger as a Cylon of his caste ever gets, Noxious swore that this would not happen.

To add to his frustration, his call for additional BaseShips had only just been acknowledged. Apparently, those above him were busy elsewhere, destroying yet another inferior species, and had relegated his request to a lower status. Now, instead of replying in the affirmative, he was being asked for additional
clarification of the current situation. As if the loss of one BaseShip, and the near-destruction of another was not sufficiently clear. Having no choice but to comply, he clarified the situation, and was told that reinforcements would be dispatched as soon as
feasible .

Now, of course, would have been better.

Noxious, deep in his digital excuse for a soul, absolutely hated Lucifer.






Aboard the Klingon vessel P’kuth, Kleege was doing much the same as Noxious, over 50,000 light-years distant. He was also glaring at the image of Enterprise on his main screen. Like most Klingons of his generation and class, he despised Humans. Soft, merciful, and weak, the galaxy reeked of them, and their sickening love of peace. Oh how he longed, nay lusted, to see the Federation ship fly to bits under his weapons, her crew taken and given over
to the Examiners for whatever information they had. He also longed to get his hands on Pike, making the Earther suffer long and sweetly for the damage inflicted on his ship.

Apparently, the rumors were true. The patakh did have a new weapon system. More powerful than the standard lasers he was equipped with, it had almost blown through his shields, and into his hull. Hopefully, those idiots back at the High Command would get around to eventually reading his report, before he and his crew were reduced to dust. Obviously, the Earther scum were planning something; an attack on the Empire he felt sure.

“Yes??!!” he barked at the underling who appeared at his elbow.

“Status report, sir,” said the young officer. “Shields and life-support restored.”

“Engines, Lieutenant Koloth?”

“Still under repair, sir.”

“Very well. Dismissed.” He scarcely noticed as the Lieutenant left, and returned to his lugubrious musings. He called up the sensor logs, and took another look at the mysterious alien vessel that the Enterprise had intervened to save. Mode of power was uncertain, but appeared to be some kind of chemical reaction drive. It’s design was totally unfamiliar, though the readings of two Humans aboard hinted at a Federation connection. The craft that had struck the other ship seemed, now, to be a probe of some kind, not a warship or torpedo of any sort.

But what puzzled Kleege the most was the way the alien ships had appeared, amidst a massive surge of various radiations. While his ship’s sensors were not as complete or advanced as those the Federation fielded, he knew the signs of a wormhole when he saw one, having grown up the son of a scientist. The computer
concurred. The interloper craft had come from somewhere else, far away. Very far away.

Being the ever-cautious predator that most Klingons were, Kleege changed position, pointing his ship’s bow towards the exact coordinates where the wormhole had been. Nearby, the B’ath remained as she was, weapons pointed towards the Federation scum. Whichever happened first, the wormhole opening again, or the Enterprise attacking once more, he would be ready.

“Incoming message for you, sir,” said Koloth.

“Yes?”






“Report from crypto, sir,” reported Lt. Alden, to Pike, on the bridge.

“Yes?”

“The Klingons have requested reinforcements, sir. And we’ve just intercepted an answer.”

“Which is?”

“Another ship is on its way, sir. The IKV G’roth. Computer has identified her as one of their new ships, sir. D-7 class battlecruiser.”

“Lovely,” said Pike. “Just one?”

“So far as we’ve heard, sir. Just the G’roth.

“And our request to Starfleet, Lieutenant Alden?”

“We’ve just received a response from Commodore Nogura, sir. The Constellation and the Reliant have been dispatched, Captain.”

“ETA?”

“Sixteen hours three minutes on the Reliant, sir. Nine hours on the Constellation.”

“And the Klingon ship?”

“Approximately eight hours till she’s here, sir,” replied Alden.

“He, Mr. Alden. Klingon vessels are referred to as he.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Hand me that comm extract, please,” he asked, and reviewed the information which Alden had just given him. For a moment, just a moment, Pike wished that he were still back on Talos IV, and this was another of the Keeper’s illusions. Wonderful, he sighed. Just wonderful.




Previously: Starbuck and his team have taken refuge from an approaching storm by descending through the opening to underground chambers, into a holding pen for aquatic vessels and up into a vast, spherical command chamber. A portable force field shields their entrance from the storm. Meanwhile, Greenbean has put the shuttle in a synchronous orbit above their site.


As Varica delved into his task with obvious relish, the others continued inspecting chamber's upper level. Shauna, one of the other two technical specialists, stopped in front of what appeared to be a large display screen with a sizeable panel of controls next to it. With a touch of wonder in her voice, she said softly, "I wonder if there's anything salvageable here, visual records,
anything. . ." She plopped her equipment bag on the floor and began a careful inspection.

Starbuck and Giles began to feel a bit out of place and in the way as the rest of the team, the three scientists - O'Kala, Sirrion, and Nila -- and the other tech, Thomson, were soon all deeply and enthusiastically engrossed in their work, examining different aspect of the chamber.

"This script looks similar to ancient Gemonese!" exclaimed O'Kala, a linguist as well as archaeologist, running her fingers across a panel. Several swipes with her sleeve had revealed columns of the text beneath the thick layer of centuries old dust and mildew. She began to eagerly input the information into a hand held Languatron. Perhaps, she hoped, the computer would be able to cross reference the alien language with their own records of ancient Gemonese.


Starbuck and Giles walked slowly around the chamber, gazing at the alien technology and feeling a combination of wonderment and curiosity. Who had these people been? And where had they gone? More importantly, did they have any connection with the Thirteenth Tribe?

After a few centons, however, Starbuck realized that the atmosphere of the chamber was becoming increasingly stagnant and oppressive, uncomfortably so, in fact. The Lieutenant pulled a sensor device from his belt. According to it, the air was still breathable, though in the marginal range. Earlier, before they had entered the holding pen, Sirrion had tested the atmosphere and had programmed the device to warn them when the air quality reached the lower-marginal range of acceptability. Starbuck had been surprised that the underground chambers had an atmosphere at all, but Sirrion had reckoned that the structures must have had
ventilation shafts - albeit highly filtered ones to screen out the surface radiations - that assisted in the recycling of the atmosphere.

Still, Starbuck had had enough of the growing stagnant odor. As he pulled the apparatus out of his backpack, he said, "I don't care what that sensor says, I'm switching to the breather now."

Giles nodded in agreement, as did several of the others. The breathers were connected to a small container of pure oxygen, about 5 breaths' worth, but that was enough, because the apparatus recycled CO2 back into oxygen, providing the wearer with an indefinite air supply. The drawback, though, since they had to
form an air-tight seal over the face, was that they restricted one's vision and tended to be hot.

Beep, beep. Beep, beep.

Starbuck tugged his communicator from his belt and pushed the button. "Go ahead, Greenbean," he said, his voice sounding tinny through the breather's speaker.

"Just to let you know, the eye of the storm has just passed over your location and winds should be diminishing in several centars. That's the good news."

"Okay, so what's the bad news?" Starbuck glanced at Giles.

"There's a surge wave approaching, and it's huge! It'll impact the shore in about 20 centons."

"Lovely," Starbuck muttered. "Let's just hope the force field holds."

"That wave looks mighty powerful. The force of the water could wash out the entrance, force field and all." Greenbean sounded worried.

"Well, if it does," Starbuck quipped, "then you'll just have to dig us out again. I wouldn't worry. I think we're a safe enough distance inside this complex."

"Hmm. I guess we don't have a choice, anyway. I'll be in contact. Greenbean out." The sergeant did not sound too convinced of their safety.

Starbuck sighed and then repeated to his team what Greenbean had said. As he finished, the warning indicator on his atmospheric sensor finally blipped its warning. Varica and Nila pulled on their breathers without a word, and all returned to their work, digesting this latest news with the practical attitude that whatever happened was out of their hands. So why fret about it?

****************
The Warriors were bored and restless, feeling a desire to move on. Starbuck was fingering the panel located next to what was most likely the entrance to the rest of the underground complex, wishing he had even Boomer's technical knowledge, so that he could hot wire the door. Giles was staring around at the techs and scientists, who were all engrossed in their individual tasks. Finally, Starbuck could stand it no longer. "Listen, everyone," he said.

They turn to gaze at the Warrior.

"I recommend that we divide up so that we can explore more of this complex. At least two of you can remain here. Varica, any luck?"

"Not yet, Sir, but I think I might be able to salvage some of the data, given time."

"Okay, why don't you and . . ." Starbuck looked at the faces of the other team members.

"I'll stay," said O'Kala. I'm still working on the translations, and can do that just as well from here."

"Okay, I suggest that the rest of us see what's beyond these doors-" The beeping of the communicator interrupted the Lieutenant. "Go ahead, Greenbean."

"Starbuck, the wave will make landfall in two centons. Just wanted to let you know."

"Thanks, but I doubt we'll even notice it. I'm putting my bet on our own technology. I think the shield will hold," Starbuck stated. He added under his breath, "I hope."

"All the same . . . good luck." Greenbean broke the connection.

Starbuck glanced around at his team briefly before continuing. "Right. Anyway. Shauna, can you open this door?"

The tech smiled, "You bet!" And she grabbed a couple of tools as she moved to examine the pad next to the exit.

Except for the occasional tap, tap or clatter from where Varica was working, the chamber had grown quiet, almost eerily so. Their lanterns illuminated small circles of about three metrons where each person was, but the rest of the chamber was enveloped in darkness, since the IR goggles were not compatible with their breathers. After a moment, all had stopped working, and, despite their earlier nonchalance, most kept glancing at their chronometers. Two centons passed, then three, four, five. Giles walked slowly over to where the ladder emerged from the ground level through an opening that was about a metron wide in diameter. It had no cover. He peered through and pointed a hand-held illuminator downward. The thin beam shone faintly across the vast lower chamber and onto the open doorway that led down to the aqua-vessel holding pen. The gloom beyond, though, smothered the rest of the light.

They felt the rumble a micron before they heard it, briefly, for less than a centon. Then silence again, for a few moments, as the rest of the team moved to peer around Giles and down to the lower level, shining their own illuminators and glancing nervously at each other. Then they heard a low reverberation that swelled quickly from barely a murmur to a deafening roar, right as a torrent of water came crashing through the blast doors and into the lower chamber. It swirled around the huge circular interior, rising rapidly despite the chamber's size, swallowing up the space between it and the entrance to the second level.

"Frak!" yelled Giles and jumped back.

"Get those doors open!" shouted Starbuck, waving his illuminator at their only means of escape - the sealed exit.

Thomson had attached a sensor cable and was hastily punching in codes, with no apparent effect. Starbuck stared at the rising water. It had slowed a bit, but was still filling the lower level. It had about twelve metrons to go until it overflowed into their level. Five centons, maybe.

Shauna, Varica, Thomson, and Nila were working with a growing urgency on the doors. Giles and O'Kala collected up all loose equipment and backpacks and stood nearby, shifting from foot to foot. Starbuck alternated between willing the doors to open and willing the water to stop rising.

The communicator beeped. Starbuck grabbed it from his belt. "What in Hades happened out there?" he yelled before Greenbean could say anything.

"The winds are still too strong for me to get a visual scan of the area, but sensors show that the wave extended several kilometrons inland," said Greenbean. What's your condition?"

"The water's filling the lower level. It'll reach our level in about three centons, at the rate it's going. We're hoping to open the rear doors that lead to the rest of this complex." Starbuck turned to shout at his team. "Any luck yet?"

"Not yet," answered Varica through gritted teeth.

"Just blast the damned thing!" the Lieutenant yelled.

"I doubt lasers would have any effect on these doors. Look like some kind of titanium compound. It wouldn't work, and it'd be too dangerous to try!."

"Frak!" breathed Starbuck. "Greenbean?"

"I heard," said Greenbean. "The biggest problem is that the wave was followed by a second surge, and the water's just now retreating, according to the sensors. Starbuck, the entrance is still totally submerged and will be for at least ten more centons. . ."

"Great. Wonderful. Looks like I lost that bet. Big time. Gotta go. I'll update you in a bit. Starbuck out." The Lieutenant slapped the communicator back onto his belt and hurried over to the exit.

In the light of the lanterns and illuminators, Starbuck could see that Varica's breather was steamed from sweat, as were the others. They had stopped bothering with the panel and had pulled out magnetic grips. Positioning two on each door, Thomson activated their field, and they adhered tightly to the surface. Without a word, Starbuck dropped his illuminator and gripped a handle.
Everyone else took hold, also. Varica counted to three, and then they pulled, pulled with all of their combined strength. For a micron, nothing happened, but then a hiss indicated a break in the seal.

"Frak and felgercarb!" Giles grunted.

And Starbuck saw why. Through the sweaty steam on the mask of his own breather and in the dim light, he could just barely see the hatchway - as the water came streaming up through the entrance. "Watch your footing!" he yelled as it tumbled across the floor and around their ankles.

***************

"Pull!" shouted Varica, "Pull! Pull!" With a strength enhanced
by a growing sense of panic, they all pulled. And the doors parted several millimetrons.

"Now!" They gave one last all-out effort with a chorus of groans and desperate grunts. Muscles were straining, but adrenaline overpowered pain. O'Kala slipped with a startled cry and let go, sloshing out of the way, but having enough presence of mind to grab their equipment from under the rising water. All realized that in a couple of centons, the water would be too high, the footing too slippery, the pressure too great, for the doors to move.

Then right as their strength was about to fail, the doors conceded-and slipped open wide enough, just barely, to squeeze through. The water rushed out and into the darkness beyond. Grabbing backpacks, illuminators, and lanterns, they pulled themselves through the narrow opening. Varica and Thomson removed the magnetic grips and stowed them in their packs before exiting.

Bringing up the rear, Starbuck had vaguely noticed the sound of falling water after the doors had opened. With a lantern in front of him and his pack behind, he squeezed through the gap – and stumbled on an unseen, slippery step.

"Whoa, careful!" Thomson grabbed the Lieutenant's arm and steadied him.

Starbuck swung his light around and almost lost his footing again as a feeling of vertigo swept over him. They were on a narrow bridge, it seemed. It had a metal mesh bottom and two waist-high hand railings, and lots of open space in between the support railings. Shining his illuminator back at the doors, he could see that the water was pouring through the gap and down through bridge, down, down, down. In the opposite direction the narrow walkway extended to another set of doors that were set into the shear wall of what seemed to be a vast but natural cavern. Below, he could barely see the watery bottom.

The rest of the team had sat down, too tired to do anything else, at the moment. Starbuck sat down carefully next to a support railing - a thin cable, really -- feeling unnerved by the open cavern and the vast drop beneath them. Thomson, Nila, and Sirrion looked equally uncomfortable, while the others seemed unfazed by their location. All were too exhausted to speak for several centons.


Finally, Starbuck pulled out his communicator. "We're safe for now," he informed Greenbean. "What's the status of the storm?"

"Good to hear from you!" Greenbean said. "The storm's almost past and I'm just about to survey the area. Hold on . . . Holy frak!"

"Yes?" asked Starbuck.

"Completely flooded and caved in! Looks like the entrance is filled with sand, mud, rocks, and water. I doubt the portable force field stood any chance against those waves. Uh, Starbuck?"

"Yes?" The growing knot in his stomach was not from the vertigo; the Lieutenant could sense what was coming next. “It’ll take days and equipment we don't even have to dig out the entrance, given all of the water and mud. I can't even land safely within half a kilometron."

Starbuck glanced at his team. The cavern was quiet, too quiet, since the water was no longer flowing out the open doors. Only the occasional and distant sound of splashing waves, somewhere far beneath them, could be heard. He saw solemn faces beneath the breathers as all eyes watched their team leader, waiting, listening. "Okay," he said at last. "Survey the area for any other possible entrances to this complex. There had to have been other ways in and out - besides just an aquatic vessel port. Oh, and keep a fix on our location. I'll keep the signal on the communicator activated."

"Roger. Okay," said Greenbean. "I'll report the current situation to the Galactica." He sounded more than a little bit worried. "Take care."

"Will do! Hey, remember, we've got an indefinite air supply with the breathers, and emergency rations for at least two days. And the knowledge of some very skilled people. We'll be fine. And we'll probably be able to locate several more exits in no time at all. Okay? Starbuck out."

The Lieutenant let out a long sigh, then turned to his team. "Right!" he said, hoping his confidence did not sound forced. "Change of priorities, folks. Records and data collection will have to wait until we can locate the nearest useable exit." He looked down the bridge, shining his light on the doors. “That's got to lead to the main part of this underground complex. Shall we?"

Keeping a tight hold on the railing, the eight climbed to their feet, settled their packs on their backs and walked slowly towards the doors on the opposite end of the bridge. The multiple light beams danced off the cavern walls and the narrow pathway in front of them. After several silent centons, they stopped at the doors. A platform in front of them provided just enough space for the group to stand and to set down the lanterns against the cavern wall on either side of the doors.

Shauna was examining the control pad set to the right of the doorway. Using her sleeve, she brushed away thick layers of mold and dust, then inhaled sharply as lights flickered across the panel for a moment.

"Lords of Kobol, there's still power!" grinned Varica.

"O'Kala, can your read these labels? It's a touch pad with a long series of options," Shauna explained.

Pulling out her Languatron, she studied the text and punched in phrases. Finally, she pointed at a button on the bottom of the panel and said, "There! That says `auxiliary power'! And that one," she point up near the top, "says `open'!"

"Could it be that simple?" wondered Giles.

Shauna looked at her companions, shrugged, then firmly pressed the touch pad key for auxiliary power. The pad flickered and stayed lit for several microns before going dark again. "I suppose that was too much to ask for," she muttered. "Maybe -"

"Wait! Listen!" O'Kala had heard it first. Then they all heard it: a faint hum as the ancient power generators reactivated.

The cheer that erupted lasted for almost a centon. Finally, Starbuck, pulling out the communicator, said, "I'd better share the good news with Greenbean."

As the Lieutenant finished, Shauna let her finger hover above the other key. "Ready?" she asked. Her companions nodded, and she pressed the pad again.

With a loud hiss, the doors slid open. Several luminators penetrated the blackness beyond to reveal the interior of what must have been a large transport compartment. Rows of dusty seats along each wall implied that the ride could be lengthy. Cautiously, the team entered. As Starbuck crossed the threshold, bringing up the rear, Shauna and O'Kala was already examining the interior control pad.

"Is this thing safe?" asked Sirrion, looking all around. "It hasn't been used in ages, I'm sure."

Starbuck glance back out into the cavern. "I don't think we have a choice, since we can't get out the way we came in," he said. "O'Kala, any suggestions?"

The scientist peered at the panel for a moment longer, then said, "It seems that this, uh, transport can go in three possible directions - up, down, and horizontal, in this case, into the cavern wall."

"Up?" suggested Giles.

"Why not," said Shauna, "but maybe we should close the doors first." She pressed the pad, and the doors swooshed closed. Then she pressed another button. The only reaction was a flashing light on the panel beneath the area she had just pressed. "Hm, looks like we can't go up, not yet, anyway. That light is the `forward' button."

"Wait! What other options are there? Will we have to stop it manually, or will it automatically stop at the next entry point?" asked Starbuck, not keen on blindly traveling around underground.

"Okay," said O'Kala, peering at the pad and consulting the Languatron. This series of buttons is marked something like `station alpha,' `station beta,' and station gamma.' Let's try one of those?"

Shauna looked around at her companions. "I'll try `station alpha,'" she said. Starbuck nodded but said nothing further.

This time, as soon as she pressed the pad, they heard a hum and felt a jolt, followed by a gentle rocking as the compartment began to move and pick up speed.



===================================


Frustrated by the seeming slowness of his superiors, Noxious Finally decided on action. Though his contingent of fighters was down by well over half, he would send them out on another mission of attack. Only this time, they would not approach the Galactica's host system from the expected direction, but circle around it, to come in from opposite the sun. He ordered the fighters to be fitted with auxiliary fuel tanks for the extra distance, and watched as they departed the launch bay, loaded with solonite.
To the scrap heap with Lucifer, the Leader's pet! I will still destroy the Galactica. He turned, and gave orders to an underling. Despite the main drive system still being off-line, they began to slowly move towards the Colonials once more, albeit on maneuvering thrusters alone. Noxious, like all Cylons of command grade, could not stand prolonged inaction.
Lucifer. Pah!



Continuing along a dusty corridor, Adama and his team found the lift to the upper deck. Much to the surprise of all, it was powered and functional. The ride was, however, a slow one, and it gave the Commander time to once more appreciate the immensity of this station.

"God, it's so huge," Athena muttered, looking through the transparent shell of the lift car. "This single deck is nearly the size of a Battlestar, Father."

"Impressive," was Adama's reply. "Whoever these people were, they certainly surpass us in some ways."

"You think there may be a connection, Father? With our ancestors, or maybe the Thirteenth Tribe?"

"Well, I know that I can read some of this," replied her father, pointing to a faded plaque on a bulkhead. "It's similar to Old Gemonese."

"What does it say?"

"Ah...let me...'Not burn'...No. it says `No Smoking'."

"'No Smoking'? How...mundane. Good thing we didn't bring Starbuck"

"Well, did you expect something like `Welcome Galactica crew'?" he smiled.

"Well, I could stand some mushies. Think they left us anything?"

"And this," he pointed to another plaque, smiling, "says something like...'Authorized Personnel Only'"

"Now that's more the sort of thing I'd expect aboard a space station."

"Me too."

They continued along the corridor, coming to another set of Heavy blast doors. Like those down on the planet, these had been left open as well, and after the Warriors scanned and swept the area beyond them, they prevented Adama, permitting he and Athena, along with the techs, to proceed. Inside, the bulkhead on the left, stretching for millimetrons into the distance, was covered with massive banks of computer interfaces, screens, and communications gear. On the other side, consoles banked beneath wide windows, giving them a clear view of the landing bay below. From here, the shuttle they had come in looked like a toy held at arm's length.

"We're picking up power systems still operating, sir," said one of the engineers. "Most of this equipment seems to have been left in standby mode."

"Can you decipher it?' asked Adama, moving over to him.

"It'll take time, sir," he replied. "We can't read any of this script."

"Link your Languatron scanner to the shuttle's computer, and from there to the Galactica's, and access the language banks. I think you'll find that it is related to Old Gemonese, Lieutenant."

"Right, sir. Give me a few moments."

"Father," said Athena, calling from a score of paces down the deck.

"Look here." Adama made his way towards her, sidestepping one of the other techs who had a console open, probing its guts. As he passed, he took note of the circuitry inside. It was as sophisticated as any aboard the fleet, and impressively dense.

"Athena?" he asked, drawing even with her.

"This is a comm. Station, father. I'm sure of it." She held up a thin slip of some kind of plastic, tiny microcircuits visible inside the translucent material. One end was slightly flared, the other covered in metal contact points. "And these..."

"Yes. They look like our old theta-class data chips."

"I remember seeing them in an old data scan at the Academy, in communications school," she informed him. "They were replaced by iota-class crystalline chips almost 40 yahren ago."

"I remember. We were still using them when I was a cadet, Athena." He picked up one, examining it minutely. It was dusty, but he wiped it clean, revealing tiny letters on both sides. Or perhaps numbers. Several of them were sitting in a small tray, next to a slot in the console. "I'll wager two secton's pay that this is a log, Athena. A record." He studies the console some more. "Does this unit have power?"

"Yes," she replied, pressing a few buttons. Next to the slot, a flashing red LED came to life, and a speaker began to hiss softly. The screen in front of them showed a raster.

"Shall we?" Adama asked. She smiled, and he slid the chip into the slot, and touched the button next to it.

"Commander!" called one of the techs. "Cylons!"

"What?"

"We've gotten a scanner working." Adama rushed to his station, and looked at the screen. The entire solar system, and space for a huge distance beyond, was displayed in detail, far beyond what the Galactica's scanners were capable of. The BaseShip, and her squadrons of fighters, were clearly visible.

On their way towards the Galactica!




They rode in silence for the first several centons aboard the
ancient subterranean transport. Starbuck gazed at the faces of his
team and could see, beneath the smudged breathers, the same
exhaustion that he felt. With the gentle swaying of the
compartment, he found himself fighting the desire to nod off to
sleep. Sleep. Lords, he realized, they had been working for over
ten centars, almost nonstop, since landing on the surface of the
planet. He mentally counted the centars: two just to reach the
site, six or so spent excavating the entrance and then installing
the now-defunct force field, two more spent exploring the - what?
-- control center for the vessel port, he supposed - before the
tidal waves had destroyed the excavation site, and - he glanced at
his chronometer - it had been only 20 centons since they had
escaped the rising waters and began their new quest: to located
another way to the surface.

They needed rest, he decided, rest, food, and liquid. They had
eaten the last meal in shifts while excavating the site, and that
was probably six or seven centars ago. Now was as good a time as
any, he reflected. Only God knew how many centons they were from
"Station Alpha." And being encumbered with the breathers, a meal
was anything but a feast. Instead, a meal meant securing an
"energy packet" to a tube that was inserted through an airtight
seal. The packet contained rationed amounts of nutrients, carbos,
and revitalizing/rehydrating liquids, designed to be taken every
six centars, or so, and eliminating the need for water. Regardless
of any actual feelings of hunger or thirst, the energy packet was
supposed to suffice. With each person carrying six packets, they
could survive for a considerable period of time.

"Status?" Starbuck asked Varica, breaking the silence.

"Sensors indicate that we're traveling on a level course, almost
due east, at a rate of approximately 15 kilometrons per centar."

"We could end up well inland," noted Sirrion. "And well out of
range of our original landing site."

"Don't forget that Greenbean can track our position," Starbuck
said, trying to sound reassuring, "so I wouldn't worry." He added
mentally to himself: not yet. Out loud, he said, "Since we don't
know how long the ride will be, I recommend we `eat' now.
Everyone got their energy packets? Let's enjoy our `dinner,' shall
we?"

His companions nodded, groaned a bit, and proceeded to consume
their "meal." After only five centons, all had finished and had
packed up the used pouches, which, when empty, compacted into
tiny, easily stored, bundles.

Next, Starbuck contacted Greenbean. "Do you still have a fix on
our location?" he asked.

"Affirmative," the flight sergeant answered. "However, there may
be a problem - or two -- real soon . . ."

Starbuck sighed in resignation. "So give us the `good news.' What
now?"

"One, if you continue much longer on your current trajectory,
you'll be under the mountain range in approximately 20 centons. I
doubt my sensors will be able to locate your signal then," said
Greenbean.

"And the second problem?" Starbuck saw the worried glances that
passed among his companions.

"The Galactica reports that they've picked up an approaching
Cylon attack force. They were able to use the sensors on the
orbiting space station, which have a much greater range than ours,
so I guess you could say we've got an advantage; the Cylons won't
be in range for another two centars. However," added Greanbeen,
"I was just about to contact you - all available pilots have been
recalled to defend the Fleet. I can only stay with you for
another 50 centars. After that, I'll need to refuel and join the
defense force."

"Understood. Starbuck out." The Lieutenant resisted the urge to
sigh again.

"Not exactly our lucky day," muttered Giles. "What happened to
that ol' `Starbuck luck'?"

"Oh, I don't know," countered Starbuck. "It depends on how you
look at it. If the rest of this subterraneous complex is
functioning as well as this transport, finding an exit should be
easy."

"Hey - and just imagine the wealth of records we should be able to
access!" Nila looked excited, despite the fatigue they all felt.
"We -"

Sirrion interrupted. "Is that a breeze I feel?" he said, looking
at a grated opening in the ceiling of the transport.

Thomson pulled out his sensor, took some quick readings, and
exclaimed, "It is indeed! We must have triggered the life support
systems, because we almost have a breathable atmosphere again!"

Starbuck poked Giles in the ribs with an elbow. "See! I told you
it's not as bad as it may seem. I'd say it's the `Starbuck luck'
that keeps saving our astrums."

Fifteen centons later, Nila was the first to pull off her breather
and test the new atmosphere. "Stale, still," she commented. She
took a deep breath. "But not as bad as the first complex."

The others removed their masks, as well. Even as musty as it was,
the coolness of the air was refreshing after the stuffy, humid
breathers, and it was a relief to be able to see clearly again.

"Any change in our status?" Starbuck asked Varica.

"None. Still traveling in the same direction at the same
velocity. We've gone approximately 1.3 kilometrons inland."

As if on cue, Starbuck's communicator beeped. "Go ahead,
Greenbean."

"You're about to enter the mountainous region. I doubt I'll be
able to maintain contact, but I'm going to scout ahead to see what
lies along your current trajectory. Maybe I can get an indication
of other possible access points before I have to leave.
Starbuck?"

"Yeah, `Bean?"

"Take care. I'll be back with assistance, soon as we get rid of
these frackin' Cylons."

"Blast some for me and Giles, will ya? See ya! Starbuck out."

========================

Adama at once contacted the ship, and informed them of the
approaching menace. Though the Galactica's sensors were now back up to full,
they were, it seemed, well below the level of those aboard the space
station. All launch tubes were now operational, and soon every spaceworthy
Viper was screaming down one, to intercept the approaching
Cylon force.

"We have to get back to the ship," said Adama, to Athena.

"We can't," she replied.

"Why not?"

"The shuttle couldn't reach the fleet before the Cylons do.
If a lone shuttle is intercepted in space, Father..."

"But as Commander, I must be there, Athena. My duty..."

"Your duty is to survive, Father." She grabbed his arm, as
he turned to leave. "You can't be replaced."

"I cannot neglect my..."

Their argument was interrupted by a loud, blaring klaxon,
Flashing red lights, and a voice booming over a PA system. While the
language was not at once familiar, a few moments with the Languatron gave
them...

"Alert. Hostile forces are approaching the station. Defense
posture. Repeat, hostile forces are approaching the station. Sealing all
primary bulkheads." Immediately, the blast doors at the end of the huge
chamber began to rumble, moving on long inert gears. Before any of them
could reach them, they clanged shut like a dungeon, sealing them inside.

"Try and find an override!" Adama ordered the techs, and
returned to the scanner screen. The Cylons were closing, and all Vipers were
moving to intercept. In orbit around the ringed planet, the fleet was
pulling together into defensive positions. All was being done that could
be done, and Adama kept the channel to Tigh open, cursing himself for
leaving the ship.

"The BaseShip seems to be lagging,' said Athena, pointing. "I
wonder why."

"Damage, perhaps. Who can say? At least that's something to
be thankful for, Athena." He looked towards the technicians. "Any
luck?"

"Not yet, Commander. The automatic systems are in control. It
could take sectons to find it."

"Felcercarb," muttered the Commander.



"What?" asked Scott, in the hangar bay. He was busy examining
the interior of the shuttle, and the Colonials were astounded by his
engineering acumen. "Fel..."

"Felcercarb," said Boomer, explaining the Colonial
expression. He had been explaining the shuttle's propulsion system to Scott,
engine housing open, and used the word in reference to the Cylons. The
Universal Translator made nothing of it, and Scott laughed, contributing a
few choice Gaelic expletives of his own. It wasn't long before he
used it again, taken aback at how fast Scott had mastered the
system before them.

"Ach, it's old-fashioned," he said, "Horse `n buggy, beggin'
yer pardon, lad. Now our shuttles," he gestured towards the Galileo
and Columbus, "use impulse drive."

"Impulse?" asked Bojay.

"Aye. A hydrogen fusion system. It can push ye close ta'
lightspeed, fairly quick. Still, what ye've got here is no small shakes. And
she's got those skydivin' tubes, and a lot more internal space than
ours."

"Well, it seems we have a lot we can learn from each other,
Mr...."

"Scotty."

"Scotty," said Wilker. "I'm impressed at your, uh...phaser
system. It seems far more powerful than our standard lasers."

"It is," said Scotty, starting to practically beam with
pride. "We've been able ta' increase power ta' the weapons by over 130%,
with only a 15% or less increase in energy usage. So far, she's passed
all the tests with flyin' colors."

"I'd love to see the Cylons on the receiving end of that
beam," said Bojay, with some heat. "They've got something new in the way of
shields. We barely survived their last attack."

"Well, I've run a sim er two, based on the data from yer
flight recorder, Mr. Bojay. If those cybernetic beasties show up here,
they'll get one bloody case o' heartburn, tryin' ta swallow our phasers."

"Glad to hear it," said Boomer. "But, you understand, we need
to know how our people are doing, Scotty. It's..."

"Aye, lad. I understand. I'd be climbin' the walls meself, if
it were my people, and I was stuck, clear across the galaxy. But
without signal boosters and exact frequencies, we canna get signal to yer
ship in anythin' like a reasonable time. We'll just have ta'..."

"Red Alert,' came Alden's voice over the speaker, as the
klaxon sounded throughout the bay. "Red Alert. Wormhole opening. All
hands to battle stations."

"Well," said Scott, slapping the shuttle's engine cowling
closed, "that's me' call. Ye'd better be getting' ta quarters or the
briefin' room." And with that, he was off.

THIRTEENTH TRIBE WAS HERE!!! THIRTEENTH

"Sheba here,” said Cain's daughter, as her commlink beeped.
She'd been studying the data scrolling up one of the antique vidscreens,
When the call came from Tigh. Once she heard the news, she was fairly
sprinting towards the exit to the vast chamber. As hard as it was,
her curiosity as aroused as any of the rest of them, she ordered the
exploration terminated immediately, and all hands to prepare to
depart at once for the Galactica.

"But..."

"But..."

"No buts. This is an attack!!!" she shot back. "Gather up
whatever you have, and head for the shuttle. The Cylons will be here in
about a centar."

"Shutting down,' harrumphed Callidus, keeping his irritation
largely to himself. The archaeological find of the millennium, and, as
usual, the golmonging, snitradeous tinheads have to crash the party!

"Brie," she asked, over her link. "How much solonite do we
have on the shuttle?"

"Lieutenant?"

"Get it down here, pronton. We're going to mine this place.
We can't let the Cylons get their hands on any of it."

"On my way."

"Good." She switched frequencies, calling Colonel Tigh. He
gave her the go-ahead. Set the charges. At the right moment, they'd blow
the pogees out of the place.



Which was exactly how Apollo was feeling, just then. The
mysterious, violent wave had passed over the Landram, knocking it onto its
side, but otherwise leaving them be for the moment. He tried to move, but
another wave suddenly hit, seemingly more powerful than the first.
Circuits popped and fried, filling the vehicle with an acrid stench that
made his eyes water, and set his charge to coughing. He and Dietra held
each other as tightly as her injuries allowed, until it had passed as well.

He looked around the damaged Landram, trying to right himself
in the toppled vehicle. Only the emergency lights, and locator beacon,
seemed to be working. The rest of her systems were down, burned out by the
brutal assault, or shaken to pieces. Gradually, it quieted down, till all
they could hear was the sizzle of circuits, and their own labored
breathing.

Apollo tried to get Dietra into an upright position, and
checked her vitals. The bleeding had stopped, and thankfully her wound had not
reopened. But she'd whacked her head in the tumble, and was out
cold.

"Well, Dietra," he said, trying the door that was now the
roof of the Landram, "I think..." He stopped, letting it slam, and grabbed
Dietra, as something rumbled, and the Landram began to totter...

As the ground under it started to collapse.

"Ohhhhhhhh Fraaaaaaaack..........."


=======================

=======================================
Racing towards their hated foe, the Cylon pilots were surprised to
discover interceptors already moving to attack. They discovered it
as the first Raider was blown to bits. Neither party should have
been able to detect the other at such a range. How was this
possible? In typically slow-witted Cylon fashion, the attack's
Squadron Leader informed the BaseShip of this unwelcome
development. It was fortunate for the Colonials that their
opponents were so absorbed by this deviation from the programmed
mission, for the order to arm weapons had not yet been given, and
the Vipers, splitting up to squeeze the Raiders in between hammer
and anvil, had gotten in the first shots.

One Cylon fighter after another went up in a blinding flash,
loaded as they were with both solonite, and extra fuel. Fully half
the first wave of the enemy fighter craft were obliterated, and
many more scattered, before they responded effectively. And in
that scattering, a few slipped past the otherwise vigilant
defenders.

Sheba and her crew bounded aboard their shuttle, dumping
their equipment and data in a heap, before strapping in for take-
off. It annoyed, no infuriated her that the enemy had already been
contacted, and she wasn't even back aboard the Galactica yet!
Gunning the shuttle's engines dangerously close to redline as they
climbed out of the planet's atmosphere, she called Colonel Tigh
for an update.

"We've lost contact with Captain Apollo's team," he informed
her, keeping the emotion out of his voice. She swore softly, and
asked Tigh to have her Viper prepped and ready for her when she
landed. Of course it would be, he told her.

Oh God! Apollo! What's happened? If you've gotten your
knuckleheaded...

"And Starbuck's group, Colonel?" she asked, as the atmosphere
thinned to blackness.

"Trapped underground by a massive cyclonic storm,
Lieutenant." He gave her the details.

"I see." She looked ahead, to the Galactica's massive landing
bay. "On approach vector now, Colonel."

"Roger. You are cleared to land, Lieutenant. Beta bay."

"I'll be aboard in..." she checked her chrono, "less than a
centon."

"Acknowledged."

Unable to do much of anything but watch events passively,
Adama followed the progress of the approaching Cylons on the
"alien" scanners. He nodded approvingly, as he saw large numbers
of them blown to splinters, and reported all movements to Colonel
Tigh. The Galactica would be battened down and ready long before
the first Raider came within firing range.

Only they weren't coming into range. True, more than half the
approaching Cylons had been destroyed or damaged by the Vipers,
but the survivors were not heading towards the Galactica's last
known position, as expected. They were curving away from the
system, heading out into space it seemed. Retreating to their
BaseShip? Why in Kobol's...

His attention was diverted to the top of the scanner screen.
There, at extreme range, still too far to launch fighters, a
second BaseShip was heading their way. If he knew the Cylons, it
would soon be followed by another. So why were the fighters...

Of course!

"Colonel Tigh," Adama called, as their enemy's plan suddenly
became clear to him. "What is the ship's engineering status?"

"Chief Engineer reports main drive still off-line. Port
auxiliary engine now functional, starboard is expected..."

"Prepare to break orbit, Colonel. Order the entire fleet to
form up on the Galactica, and to follow you at once."

"Commander?" said the confused Tigh. "Follow where? Our
squadrons are still..."

"You will make for this inner planet, Colonel. The Cylons are
bringing up another BaseShip. It has just come into the range of
this station's scanning systems. The fighters we've just engaged
are trying to swing around, and catch us between again." He
forwarded a scan capture of the screen before him. "Our surface
teams?"

"Lieutenant Sheba and her team are aboard now, sir. She's
launching in her Viper." Tigh turned to someone off-screen, then
back to his CO. "Lieutenant Starbuck's and Captain Apollo's have
yet to return, sir."

"I...see. Recall all Viper squadrons to the Galactica at
once, Colonel."

"Re...yes, Commander." Tigh turned to forward the order.
"Getting under way, sir."

"Keep me posted, Colonel," said the Commander, voice dropping
a notch. Adama turned away from the screen, to hide his pain from
his Exec. Tigh of course didn't miss it for a millicenton.

Neither did Athena.

"Father, Apollo..."

"We cannot risk the survival of the entire fleet for one man,
Athena."

"But..."

"Not even for the Commander's son, daughter."

"But Father, you have to give him a chance! He's..."

"You think I don't know that?" yelled Adama, surprising both
everyone else, as well as himself. Never one to raise his voice at
his children, he felt like a cad. "I know, first Zac, now Apollo?
You think I don't care? That I don't still...still agonize over
him? Left behind, doomed?" He turned away, and saw the rest of his
boarding party looking at him. Quicker than a Cylon lie, they all
seemed to find something else to occupy themselves with.

Assiduously.

"I...I'm just..."

"I know, Athena." He looked down at the scanner. The BaseShip
was drawing closer, now joined, as he feared, by a second. The
original BaseShip was still crawling in their direction, and the
remaining Raiders were completing an arc, soon to drop into the
system from behind the sun.

But, at last, the Galactica was beginning to move.



Sheba swore into her helmet, as she got the recall signal.
She was just closing with the Vipers, when the order came. What in
Hades Hole was Tigh doing? What a waste of fuel! Growling, she
turned her ship around, and headed back for the fleet. As she
lined up for landing, she heard the chatter of the pilots behind
her. Ah, she thought, good news. All the Vipers launched had
returned! No losses on this mission. Something to be thankful for,
Lords of Kobol be praised.

As soon as the last Viper was aboard, the strung-out fleet
began forming up on the Battlestar. Within a couple of centons,
the last fuel shuttle was aboard, and the entire assemblage of
ships began pulling out of the ring plane of the unnamed planet.
Ripples in the circling dust went everywhere, leaving a very
visible wake, but it no longer mattered. The approaching Raiders
were just coming onto the Galactica's repaired scanners, heading
their way from the opposite direction of their BaseShip.

Fortunately for the Colonials, the two approaching BaseShip's
had slowed, rendezvousing with the crippled vessel, giving the
Colonials more time to make their escape. As they moved inwards,
all Vipers were refueled, rearmed, and given what repairs were
possible, to be ready to launch at a moment's notice. All pilots
not needing a trip to Life Center were to remain in their ships,
given quick rations, or whatever minor medical attention might be
required.

"Any idea what's up?' asked Cree, next to Sheba's Viper.

"Got me, " said Greenbean, fidgeting like a bridegroom. "I
wanted to go back and get Starbuck, but Colonel Tigh said no."

"We're pulling out of orbit," said another pilot. "Heading
off towards where Bojay got it."

"What?" said Sheldrake, a new Cadet. "That's nuts! We
outta..."

"Stow it!" snapped Sheba, downing the last of her water. "I
don't want to hear that kind of talk again!"

"But Lieutenant, what about Star..."

"I said stow it, Cadet," she repeated, frostily. She crossed
to a recycling hatch and dumped her garbage, then climbed back up
onto her Viper. "ALL OF YOU!!!" she yelled, raising herself high
up on the fuselage, her fingers whitenuckled on the metal. "I
don't want to hear any more of that snitrad-crawling felcercarb!
Colonel Tigh is following orders from Commander Adama. We aren't
here to question them, or debate their merits, or even waste the
breath doing so. This is NOT the Council of Twelve!" For a moment,
some of her surviving comrades from the Pegasus were forcibly
reminded of her father, the heroic, semi-divine Commander Cain.
Eyes. Posture. Voice. Cain in drag. She raked them all with her
eyes, like pulsar batteries, before settling them back on the
mouthy Cadet. "Understood?"

"Understood," squeaked the offending pilot.

"Good. Now I'm quite sure that the Colonel is very busy, up
on the bridge. I'd hate to have to call him down here for
nothing."

So said, she slid into her seat, and closed the canopy.
Waiting. Prepared. Not wanting to listen to the rest grumble any
more. So that she could compose herself for whatever came next.

So that none of them could hear her cry.






Pike watched as the wormhole began to open, both beautiful
and deadly at the same time. Standing off at extreme range, the
Klingon ships were girding as well. Weapons charged, sensors going
wild. He looked to his readout, & the Tholian vessels were still
approaching at what he presumed was their maximum speed. If this
turned out to be a full-blown battle, the last thing either side
needed was the Tholians mucking it up.

“Captain,” piped Alden, turning from his board. “Incoming
message from the U.S.S. Farragut, sir. She’s headed this way, at
flank speed.”

“The Farragut?”

“Yes, sir. The Captain sends his greetings, and says to save
him some Klingons, sir.”

“Commodore Nogura made no mention of the Farragut.”

“Captain Garrovik says this is on his own initiative, sir.”

“I see,” said Pike, and allowed himself a chuckle at his old
Classmate’s joke. Old Save Me Some Klingons Garrovik. Last he’d
heard, the Farragut was on some kind of hush-hush mission. No
wonder Nogura hadn’t said anything. Well, he sighed, he wouldn’t
want to be in Garrovik’s boots when Nogura found out. The
Commodore’s temper was legendary. Still, the more the merrier.

Especially when Klingons were involved.

“ETA, Mr. Alden?”

“Just under three hours, sir.”

“Three hours,” said Pike, softly. “That could be an eternity.”

“Sir,” said Spock. “The wormhole.”



This way to Ye Olde Battlestar!!! This way to Ye Olde
Battlestar!!! This way to Ye O



While the BaseShips dallied on the edges of the system, the
Raiders had already penetrated deep within the heliopause.
According to the scanners aboard the huge station, they would come
into Adama’s visual range in just under half a sectar. The
Galactica herself would reach the station a few centons later. He
turned to the engineering techs, still hanging back a bit over his
earlier outburst.

“Have you found any sign of the defensive systems controls?”

“We did see what looked like anti-aircraft batteries on the
hull when we approached, Commander,” said one, “but we haven’t
finished our examinations in here yet. We’re still…” he was
interrupted by the computerized voice once more.

“Defense posture two. Arming all batteries.” At once, an entire
bank of equipment lit up, and the tech ran for it.

“Any clue how to open the doors and get us out of here?” asked
Athena.

“Not yet,” replied another tech, working on the blast door they
d entered by. “It’s sealed by some kind of magnetic lock. And it
has a mechanical backup, too.”

“Can we blast our way out?” asked Adama.

“We may have to, sir,” said the engineer, eyes focused on the
circuits laid bare before him. “I can figure it out in time, but we
may not get it.”

“That’s for sure,” said Athena, referring her father’s
attention to the scanners. The Raiders were closing, and if their
tentative translation of the language was correct, the system was
informing them that the Cylons had scanned the station. “I make out
seventeen of them, Father.”

“Our Vipers can handle that number,” he replied.

“Two got through last time,” she reminded him softly. He merely
nodded, and turned back to the screen.



Dietra felt something moving, then slowly realized that it
was herself. She tried to open her eyes, but the sheer nausea made
her close her eyes once more. She slowly tried to take in her
surroundings by feel, and gingerly tried her limbs. One by one,
things moved, if painfully. She tried her eyes once more, letting
a tiny slit be her window on her world.

She was pinned in her seat, and her right side was now facing
downwards. As she dared more vision, she saw that the Landram s
front window was smashed, and a huge hunk of rock was a mere
handsbreadth from her face. A soft electronic hiss was everywhere,
and as she looked around, she saw several of the lights blinking
erratically on the dash.

She also smelled smoke. Puffs of it were coming from under
the panel in front of her, and as she watched, the occasional
spark as well. She tried to move, but found herself quite stuck.
She managed to turn her head, taking in the ruin of the rest of
the vehicle, and found Apollo pressing down on her. At any other
time, she had to admit, she might have welcomed it, but here,
stuck in the wrecked vehicle, her shoulder screaming, all she
wanted was out.

“Sir?” she managed to choke out, her mouth dry, except for the
blood on her lips. Apollo did not answer. “Captain? Are you…” Oh
frack!!! She thought, as she managed to focus on her CO. He was
pinned down onto her, his own side’s door partly jammed into the
cab. But his eyes were closed, and he did not seem to be
breathing! “Oh Lords! Don’t let him be dead! Please…” She looked
closer. Yes! Yes, he did draw a ragged breath, but his head was at
such a lousy angle, how could he breathe? How…

“HELP!!!” she yelled, or tried to, hoping against hope that
someone was close by. What came out was more of a jagged squeak.
No answer. She yelled once more, more strongly this time, and
still all she could hear was her own breathing, and the hiss of
the Landram s defunct radio. Slowly, she wriggled her left arm
free, despite the pain, and tried to reach around to Apollo s left
hip. She stifled a scream, as another tremor shook the Landram,
and it shifted. There was a loud scrape, and the rock slid past
the window, and the angle changed, moving Apollo slightly. Then,
it was still once more.

So that was it. They had fallen into a chasm or sinkhole of
some kind, and gotten stuck there. Damn lousy way to end up, she
thought. Still, if it weren’t for the Landram s metal body, they’d
be dead already. She called to Apollo once more, but he still made
no response. She moved her now freer arm around, and grasped for
his laser. With maddening slowness, she teased it free, and
managed to get a full grip on it. Despite the pain in her whole
left side, she aimed, and squeezed.

The first bolt blew one of the driver’s side door hinges off,
followed by another shot that missed, going through the now empty
window frame. After five shots, the door was finally loose.
Setting the weapon down on Apollo, she tried to wriggle towards a
piece of loose metal from the Landram’s roof. After another
seeming eternity, she got it, and lifted it, to push on the loose
door. It moved surprisingly easily, then fell away, scraping along
the side of the machine, to fall noisily, crashing down whatever
sort of shaft or tunnel they were in.

She dropped the piece of metal, and let out her breath, then
loudly yowled in pain. After a breather, she shouted once more for
help. She listened for a time, feeling weakness drawing closer by
the micron, then shouted yet again.

She heard Apollo groan slightly, and turned as best she could
to look at him. Clammy, blood on his lips, it was obvious that her CO didn’t t have much time left. Like I do? she mused. Apollo groaned again, and an eye fluttered.

“Sir?” she whispered, her throat going dry. “Captain, can you
hear me?”

“Serina?” he muttered, almost too faint for her to catch.
“Serina, I’m…” He broke off coughing, and opened an eye. The other
one was swollen shut.

“Sir, are you okay?” Dumb question, Lieutenant! Any more
brilliant questions, Dr. Dietra?

“I’m…not sure. What happened?”

“The ground collapsed under us, when that wave hit, sir. The
Landram got stuck in some kind of shaft.”

“Are you alright?” he asked, almost a rasping breath.

“For the moment, sir. What about you?”

“I…” he began, then tried to move. As he did so, Dietra felt
sure she heard the sound of an engine, very far away. Rescue? she
wondered, as a wave of nausea began to creep over her. She also
could hear someone approaching.

“Help!” she cried once more, and her head swam from the effort.
“Sir, I think someone’s coming. Can you move?” The engine sound was
drawing closer. A shuttle!

“I can’t move my legs,” whispered Apollo. “Arms…Can’t…”

“Oh God no!” cried Dietra, close to panic, when a brilliant
light shone outside the Landram, followed by a figure that
appeared in the savaged hatch behind Apollo. A woman in a Warrior
uniform with laser on her hip and communicator in hand, Dietra did
not at once recognize her. Long, wavy flowing hair, and a face of
an almost angelic sweetness one would hardly expect in a Warrior,
she looked from the Lieutenant to Apollo.

“Are you alright?” she asked, checking both victims’ pulses.

“Yes, ma am,” she replied, “but I think Apollo’s neck is…” She
broke off, coughing, tasting blood in her mouth. As she fought for
breath, she watched the other Warrior run her hand over Apollo’s
neck, then lift the communicator to her lips, and call for help,
giving their location. Something about that voice, Dietra thought.
Wait a bloody centon! Some…

“You! You…”

Then she heard other voices approaching, and the darkness
took her once more.



Aboard the station, Adama watched, unable to do anything, as
the Raiders came into view, tiny glinting dots against the black
sky. On the scanner, he saw the Galactica approaching as well.
Good, he told himself, as the Battlestar drew near. Soon, his plan
could be put into motion.

Bad, he amended things, as, on the far edge of scanners, yet
another BaseShip came into range, decelerating to rendezvous with
the others. The rest had stopped, presumably rendering aid to
their crippled sister ship, before moving in for the kill. And a
kill, an easy kill, it would be. Against that sort of firepower,
they stood no chance.

Adama watched as the thirteen Raiders skirted close to the
inner planet, heading towards the Galactica. At the same moment,
he saw Vipers catapulting off the Battlestar, moving to intercept.
Those few Raiders stood no chance, and then they could, he hoped,
slip through the…

“Father, the Cylons are coming here,” said Athena, pointing to
several dots on the screen. Of the thirteen Raiders, six had
broken off from the main group, and were heading towards the
station. Adama felt powerless, naked, off the bridge of his ship.
Cylons heading this way, and…

Opening fire. Each Raider cut loose at the station, lathering
the ancient machine with laser fire. Gripping something
reflexively, Adama braced for the result. Only rather than the
catastrophic results he expected, a shield materialized between
the station and the Cylons. The Humans felt the huge machine rock
gently, but no more. As the Cylons passed over, their shots not
getting through, a defensive battery opened up, ripping one
fighter into molten bits. The rest of the attack force broke up,
then moved to reform for another run on the station.

As they did, Adama looked at the BaseShips again. His heart
sank into his boots, as he saw them beginning to move again,
heading directly for the Galactica‘s last position. Soon, they’d
be within scanner range, and then…

“You,” said Adama, to one of the techs. “How much solonite do
you have?”

“Altogether, about 50 kilons, sir,” replied the man.

“Alright, set a charge to try and blow the door. We’ll try and
escape, and make it to the shuttle.”

“And the rest, sir?”

“Mine this room. Whatever happens, we can’t let the Cylons get
their hands on this technology.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Father, they’re coming around again,” said Athena. As they
watched, the surviving Cylons bore down on the station, opening
fire. Unfortunately, after so many millennia, the station’s
systems were not what they were, and one shot got through. On one
monitor, they watched as sparks and bits flew from the station’s
hull, followed by another. This time, they felt the whole place
vibrate more violently.

“A few more like that, and…” began one engineer, when the
tables, it seemed, were turned.

One fighter, making a run on the station, was suddenly caught
in the same greenish beams that had enveloped Bojay. Within
moments, all the Cylons were, and were being drug towards the
immense maw of the machine. Adama could see their engines spewing
fire, trying to escape, but the tiny machines stood no chance. The
five Cylons were sucked into the wormhole projector…

“Lords!” shouted someone, as whole banks of equipment lit up
like a holiday. Humming loudly, floor vibrating, the entire
station seemed to be pulsing with energy. Data and waveforms
scrolled across various screens, and the huge cage that made up
the bulk of the device glowed and sparkled with energy. The
fighters were sucked further into it…

And then they were gone.

======================

The wormhole flared to life, and as before, a few of the
Enterprise’s systems were affected. Pike heard a breaker click,
and smelled smoke from somewhere. Spock assured him that
auxiliaries were cutting in, when he saw the new arrivals emerge
from the brilliantly boiling maw before them. Small, barely
visible, they seemed to be racing from the wormhole at high speed.
Then, with a final flare of roiling energy, the wormhole closed,
collapsing in on itself as rapidly as it had opened, leaving only
darkness, and an afterimage on Pike’s retinas.

“Sensors?”

“Interference clearing,” reported Spock, bending over his
instruments. “Five spacecraft, Captain. Power system similar in
signature to the Colonial Viper and shuttle. Negative life signs.”
He adjusted something, then stood. “Craft are Cylon fighters, sir.”

“Weapons status?”

“All weapons report ready, sir,” said Number One.

“Excellent.”

For a few moments, it seemed as if the Cylons were just
careening through space, going nowhere in particular. No doubt,
Pike decided, they had experienced their own systems problems
coming through the wormhole. But unlike their Colonial
counterparts, they recovered more quickly. Within seconds, the
craft had formed up, and were accelerating.

Towards Enterprise.

“Hail them, Mr. Alden,” ordered Pike. “Warn them off.”

“Reading target acquisition from Cylon craft, sir,” said Tyler.

“No answer to hails, sir,” reported Alden, but then a voice,
crackly and droningly electronic, came from the speakers.

“Stand down, Humans. Surrender or be terminated.”

“Mr. Alden?”

“Transmission stopped, sir.”

“Full power to deflectors,” ordered Pike. He’d barely spoken
when the lead Cylon opened fire, the fighters having crossed the
distance to the Federation ship in a few seconds. The rest of the
Raiders followed suit, lathering fire across the Enterprise’s
upper hull and left nacelle. She rocked, but the deflectors held
against the alien fusillade, shimmering blue as they easily
shunted the energy aside.

“Phaser banks, lock on!” ordered Pike. “Return fire!” At his
word, angry red energy spat out from the vessel, but the nimble
enemy craft evaded the first salvo. Then, splitting up, they dove
on Enterprise from both sides, firing. They could feel the ship
rock with the impacts, but the screens held against the less
powerful lasers.

“Sir,” said Alden, “one of the Colonials is requesting
permission to launch his Viper craft, to fight the Cylons, sir.”

“Tell him we can’t launch from the shuttle bay when shields
are up.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Got one!!!” cheered Tyler, as a Cylon fighter evaporated in a
direct hit from the Enterprise‘s phasers. The others peeled off,
trying to get out of range. But they had no idea of what this ship’
s range was, and soon another was violently boiling away into
plasma, to join the first.

“Enemy craft now at three, sir,” reported Spock.

“They’re coming around again,” said Number One, as the
surviving Cylons formed up. They fired at the port banks, one shot
a near miss, the second a direct hit. Tyler weaved the ship out of
the way, and the enemy craft sped by, their next shots useless.
With surprising speed, they came around again, and once more the
Enterprise opened fire. A phaser beam cut close to one, just as it
opened fire. The phaser beam was off, sending the Raider spinning
into space. The next fighter took a bead on Enterprise,
accelerated to full, and dove in at full speed, blasting.

Its shots buttoned the ship’s upper sensor array, maintaining
target until its lasers overheated. On the bridge, a panel began
to smoke, as circuits overloaded.

“Targeting sensor control circuit,” said Spock. “Attempting to
re…”

“Hang on!!!” said Tyler, as the last phaser shot missed it’s
target. The Cylon had evaded the phaser, and roared on, slamming
directly into the underside of the ship’s saucer section. The
solonite aboard it exploded violently, damaging the deflector, and
driving white-hot chunks of metal up into the Enterprise’s hull.

Everyone on the bridge was jarred violently as the Raider
obliterated itself, and a panel to Pike’s right erupted in sparks.
As he picked himself up, he saw the main viewer go dark, and felt
the gravity beneath his feet flutter.

“Damage report!” he bellowed, moving to pick Yeoman Colt up
from the deck. She had a minor cut on her forehead, but nothing
worse.

“Starboard deflectors four and five down,” reported Spock.
“Airlock three destroyed, loss of communications on deck six and
seven.”

“What happened?” asked Pike, none too gently.

“We experienced a momentary loss of sensor tracking, sir,”
reported Spock. “One of the enemy craft used that to evade our
fire, and make a kam…”

“Kamikaze.”

“Yes. A kamikaze strike on the ship.”

“What s the status of our sensors?”

“Attempting to reroute through the secondary system, sir. We
should have full sensors momentarily.”

“Get me engineering,” said the Captain. He turned to survey the
bridge. “And get me the viewscreen back!”

“Viewscreen now, sir,” said Alden. True to his word, the main
viewer kicked back in, showing the stars around them.

And a Klingon D-7 battlecruiser, the I.K.V. G’roth, just
dropping out of warp.