To the Colonials, the effect of the transporters was still a
little startling. To save time, Pike had convinced Adama to forego
the shuttles, and so he and the other Federation officers
materialized in the Battlestar’s cavernous landing bay, to an
honor guard. Once the introductions were done, again, they were
led up through the ship to the conference room.

Pike at once liked the huge, polished wooden table, sitting
on its elevated platform. The old, hand-rubbed wood was certainly
at odds with the metal and plastic environment of a starship, and
succeeded in giving the room a homey feel. Beyond it, the large
viewport gave them a spectacular view of the planet they now
orbited, as well as of many of the other ships. One of the
stewards on duty was clearly mesmerized by the image of one of the
Federation ships, the Constellation, orbiting close to the
Galactica. Pike couldn’t help but smile ever so slightly. Several
of his own crew found the Colonial Battlestar equally fascinating.

They took the proffered seats, and waited for the link to
Starfleet HQ to initialize. Pike had felt that this meeting of
peoples was too important not to include HQ at once, yet leaving
the area, until it was certain there would be no further Cylon
incursions, was out of the question. So, Commodore Nogura had
agreed to a link, and the refugees from the Beta Quadrant would be
meeting with the top levels of the Federation government. As he waited
for things to click in, Pike studied his guests/hosts more
closely.

Commander Adama was a man who, somehow, made him think of a
Biblical prophet or patriarch. Though manifestly a life-long war
leader, he nonetheless exuded the sort of avuncular aire one
expected from an indulgent grandfather, or the nice man next door,
amply demonstrated when Boxey, Muffit in tow, decided to trundle
in unannounced, and was introduced to the newcomers, and then
gently sent on his way to bed. A man at the helm of a powerful
ship of war, yet he dealt with one small, frightened boy with the
gentleness of a St. Francis.

That’s it, thought Pike. He reminds me of that rancher, near
where I grew up. The one with the big house, and the three sons
What was his name? Ben…

He was brought back to the here and now by the signal from
Earth at last coming through. Lacking a subspace commsuite equal
to those the Federation vessels carried, the signals were relayed
to and from the Battlestar, via Enterprise. The Klingons had not
deigned to appear for this conference, or even answer the
invitation, but it mattered little. With Starfleet’s okay, the
conference was being carried out via a code known to have been
recently broken by Klingon Intelligence. At least, Commodore
Nogura reasoned, the Klingons could never claim that anything of
import was hidden from them.

Truthfully, anyway.

“Gentleman,” began Adama, bringing the meeting to attention,
“first I wish to apologize for the abruptness of our arrival in
your territory. Faced with the situation with the Cylons, we had
no choice if our people were to survive.”

“One does what one must to survive, Commander Adama,” said Melk’lek, the Federation President. Of the Axinarian race, he was yet
another example to the Colonials of the unexpectedly great
diversity of Humanoid types to be found in this new region of
space. “On behalf of the United Federation of Planets, I welcome
you and your people to the Alpha Quadrant.”

“Thank-you,” replied Adama, words at once echoed by the
striking woman next to him, introduced as Siress Tinia,
representative of the Colonial Council. Two others, introduced as
Sires Domra and Uri respectively, also acted for the Council.
Adama at once set to, unfolding as quickly but thoroughly as
possible, the story of his people’s millennium-long war with the
malignant Cylon Alliance, their defeat through the machinations of
the treasonous Commander Baltar, and their desperate flight across
the universe. Melk’lek, talkative after the fashion of Axinarians,
interrupted often with questions, Nogura, who cultivated the
inscrutable Oriental image, seldom did, but it was obvious to both
the horrific odds against which the Children of Kobol has striven
to reach their goal.

“Damage to the Galactica was considerable,” Adama continued,
“and we of course knew that their BaseShips would attack again
soon, when we discovered the wormhole generator.” Adama sent, to
the holographic monitors at each station, the data files from
their scans of the mysterious alien machine, both its internal
construction and energy signatures. Sitting next to Pike, Spock
leaned close to study the data, his mind eagerly absorbing all he
saw. Clearly, the level of scientific and technological prowess
possessed by the former inhabitants of that distant system
surpassed in many ways that of not only the Federation, but other
known races in the Alpha Quadrant as well.

“Before evacuating the station, and bringing the Fleet through
the wormhole,” said Adama, in answer to the President’s question,
“we set solonite charges throughout the control deck, to prevent
the Cylons from gaining access to the machine, and its technology.”

“Thank God for that,” said Garrovik. “From what I’ve seen, those
Cylons are the last thing we need here. The Klingons, Tholians,
Romulans, and the rest are quite enough.”

“The charges were set to detonate within a few centons,” said
Adama. “The station is destroyed by now.”

“Can you be certain of that?” asked Captain Stone, of the
Constellation.

“As certain as can be,” replied Adama.



Dozens of Centurions made their way through the station,
searching for any sign of Human stragglers. While Lucifer had not
considered it likely that any would be found, he had decided to at
least go through the motions, for Iblis’ sake.

No, for his own, since he did not want his cranial case
melted into slag by another love pat from the mysterious Count.
The real reason for the boarding party was to try and discover
what frequency triggered the alien machine, forcing it into
opening another wormhole to whatever distant part of the universe
the Galactica and the Colonial Fleet had escaped to. He naturally
hoped for success.

Iblis demanded it.

And so did Imperious Leader. A message from the Cylon ruler
had arrived, urging, yes, that was the word, urging the IL to
ever-greater efforts. The communication, replete with references
to the consequences of failure, was profusely colorful, and there
had not been a dull electron in it.

One of the Centurions, a gold-colored Commander named
Turpitudus, perused the same data interfaces Athena and the techs
had before him. Unlike the Humans, the Cylon felt no frustration
or impatience at his initial lack of success. He was, however,
aware of Imperious Leader’s orders, and Iblis reward for those who
failed to produce.

Vast reams of data scrolled up the monitor, each and every
bit recorded in Turpitudus’ memory banks, while simultaneously
being uploaded to his BaseShip’s computers as well. Fortunately
for the Cylons, the rate of copying and analysis were a mere
fraction of what it had taken Adama’s people. Fortunately for the
Humans, Cylon data on their enemy’s history was as abundant as
their tolerance of them. Any and all information taken from
captured ships and Warriors, not immediately germane to the war,
was discarded as a matter of course. Thus, none aboard the Cylon
task force recognized the script or language for what it was.

The station’s defenses had, of course, activated upon
detecting unknowns boarding it. Laser batteries has fired upon the
boarding shuttles, destroying one, before they were knocked out.
Interior defenses, such as decompressing chambers, or rooms
flooding with anesthetic gas, of course had no effect on the
Cylons. They went about their evil business, oblivious to it all.

Iblis, of course, was not. Once again, the hated blue spheres
had skimmed the Cylon force, hovering around his ship a few
moments longer than the rest. The accursed vermin knew he was
here, knew what he intended. But it was too late for him to be
stopped, he told himself. Soon. Soon, the wormhole would open once
more, and…

“Damned machine!” he hissed aloud to himself, alone in his
chamber. One such as he could, with a mere thought, transport
himself and whatever he chose, across the infinity of space.
Supreme Beings like himself had no need of…machines!

But, he was forcibly reminded by the passing of another blue
sphere, he was still under a penalty, for his part in murdering
Apollo, back on that planet where his ship had crashed. He was
forbidden the use of certain of his powers, for a time of
indeterminate duration. While he could at any time go
whithersoever he wished, the Cylons themselves were limited to
other, more mundane means. He could aid them only to a certain
point. He seethed under the ban, his anger brewing up to a fine
rolling boil. How dare they…how dare HE, tell Iblis, the Great
Illumined One…

“No one has dominion over me!!” he growled aloud. Looking up,
he repeated his endless mantra.

“No one has dominion over me!!”

I wonder.

He whirled, face hideous, claws flexing, eyes hell red, ready
to obliterate anyone who dared speak thus to him. But the room was
empty, Cylon machinery his only audience. He remembered the words,
of course, remembered the day they had been spoken. Above all, he
remembered the one who had so insolently uttered them in his face.

Sheba, daughter of Cain. And as he searched the room with
senses strange and unholy, he could hear her words, again and
again, seeming to mock him.

I wonder.

I wonder.

I wonder.

Screaming in utter, yet impotent fury, he flailed out, his
vile thoughts obliterating bulkheads, machines, and not a few
Cylons beyond them in a blast of orange-blue light.

I shall be like the Most High!!!

When at last he settled down, he looked about him, finding
himself standing amid a blackened, tangled heap of twisted smoking
wreckage.

“No,” said Lucifer to a Centurion, a few sections away, picking
himself up. “I… think I’ll wait.”

“No one,” seethed Iblis, breathing hard, “has dominion over me!”



Ensconced in his command seat aboard the Kreeda, Commander
Gommeed watched the encrypted Federation transmission play on his
board. Unlike the Klingons, his people had not yet succeeded in
breaking a single Federation code. True, his crypto people were on
it at that very moment, but for now, it was all garbage.

And Gommeed hated garbage. Obviously, the Feds, and the
mysterious newcomers, had something to hide. Now decelerating as
they entered the system, the Tholian ships were busily scanning
the Colonial vessels, with particular attention being reserved for
the immense ship now orbiting the planet. True to his
expectations, it was definitely a warship, and a powerful one,
too, if the energy signatures they were scanning were any
indication. Dozens of gun emplacements, missile tubes, and many
fighters in her giant bays. Without a doubt, this ship would be a
serious threat to the Homeworld, if and when things played out
that way.

“Reading energy transmissions from the Federation ships to the
newcomer vessel, sir,” reported Loskeem. “Transporters.”

“So, they talk. Like all mammals, they talk.” He looked at a
scan. “What of the other ships?”

“Lightly armed, sir,” replied another officer. “Some are
entirely without defensive armaments.:”

“That should make it easy, when and if the shooting starts,”
said Gommeed. “Anything else about them, Scan Officer?”

“They read as full of bio signs, sir. Many densely packed,
like freight. Most of the ships have low energy signatures, and
seem poorly maintained and underpowered.”

“Look at them,” said Loskeem, zooming in on the old freighter
Gemini. Dented, scorched, battered, and repainted more times than
anyone could remember, it looked exactly like what it was. A wreck
with a motor on it. “It looks like something from a salvor’s yard,
sir.”

“Something that escaped, you mean,” chuckled Gommeed. At least
it was a chuckle to another Tholian. To anyone else, it would have
sounded something like air squealing at high pressure out of a
tattered organ bellows. “It’s a refugee fleet,” he observed after a
few moments. Local intership communications confirmed it. Mostly
uncoded, or using simple ciphers, these messages could be read. As
his people pieced the tale together, he sent everything he had
back home, and ordered his gunner to scan and prepare firing
patterns for every ship.

And, request more ships for backup.

“What about the Klingons, though, sir?” asked Loskeem.

Good question, thought Gommeed.



“Deuces?” said Starbuck, examining the cards dealt him by the
blonde young Federation officer. They were in one of the rec rooms
aboard the Farragut, and Kirk was engaging in what he liked to
call a cultural exchange . For his part, Starbuck was feeling
marginally better. They had just heard from Sickbay. O’Kala’s
condition had been upgraded from extremely critical to critical.
She’d come through. Apollo likewise was recovering.

“Yes,” replied Kirk, examining his hand. “They’re wild.”

“Ah, I see,” replied Starbuck, perusing his own cards, and
trying to make sense of them. He took a sip of the drink at his
elbow, something his host called whiskey, felt his esophagus
ignite like a Viper engine, and tried the ol’ Starbuck charm. As
expected, Kirk played his hand, and indicated for Starbuck to
follow suit.

“Whatcha looking at, Starbuck?” asked Giles, as the Lieutenant
continued to study his hand.

“This one.” He looked at Kirk. “What’s it called, again?”

“Ace of Spades,” replied Kirk.

“Uhh. Looks more like Spectre's head,” said the Colonial, and
with a shrug, played his hand. He took the spreading grin on Kirk’
s face to be indicative of failure on his part, and Starbuck hated
to fail. Be it combat, women, or even cards, the whole point was
to win. He studied the cards a moment or two more, before noticing
the smirks of his comrades.

“How would you like to be tied across my laser guns, and taken
on patrol with me?” he asked sweetly. Giles looked away, then burst
out laughing. Sirrion, more stoical, nonetheless managed a smirk.
“With wingmen like you guys…” began Starbuck.

“…who needs Cylons?” the others finished. Starbuck went from
glaring at them, to studying his conqueror more closely. “You know,”
he said, “you could make quite a living as a professional wagerer.”

“Nah,” said Kirk. “I'll keep my day job.”

“Well, you remind me of a three-handed dealer I met once, on
Pinias.” He heard the others groan. Oh Lords, not the three-handed
dealer story again!!!! they thought.

“Where?’ asked Kirk, and Starbuck’s pulse quickened slightly.
Kirk was interested. Perhaps…

“Pinias,” repeated the Warrior. “A planet on the edge of the
Cyrannis Sector. The gambling chancery there was the most famous
in the star system.” He took a breath, sensing his growing mastery.
“There was this one casino, and they had this three-handed pyramid
dealer. A Naytarian. Anyway…” Starbuck went on, extolling the
virtues, or at least the pleasures, of the Colonial gaming
systems, the resort worlds near the Colonies, et al. By the end of
ten centons, uh, minutes, Kirk was hooked.

“I’m sure my CO will allow it,” he said, and led the way out of
the rec room, towards the transporter. From all Starbuck had said,
Kirk just had to see this other ship, the Rising Star. Cards.
Exotic drinks. Foods. Ladies.

Wrigley’s with engines.

"I need to check on O'Kala, first," said Starbuck.

"Sure," replied Kirk.

“Starbuck?” asked Giles, as they followed Kirk. “What’s a Royal
Flush?”

“Dunno. Imperious Leader’s turboflush stall?”


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



“Sir,” said Loskeem, aboard the Kreeda. “Command base has
responded. Two more ships are being dispatched to join us.”

“Excellent,” replied Gommeed. “Anything else?”

“No, sir. Command is still analyzing the data we transmitted.”

“Very well.”




Korrd felt the change in gravity, as the generators shut down
on deck six, section fourteen. He and his men, however, in battle
armor and magnetic boots, stayed rooted to the deck. Kang regarded
his scanner.

“Alien robot is behind that bulk…” he stopped, as an ugly
disruptor beam ripped through the door, and gave him a haircut.

“Really?” said Korrd, as they all ducked back around the
corner. He and two security men replied with their own disruptors,
blowing the door to scrap, chunks flying everywhere in the null
gravity. Another beam from the captured weapon swathed by, this
time missing them entirely, but tearing up the deck. Security
Officer Kadwal fired a grenade through the open hatchway, and a
second or two later, the entire room blossomed into orange fire.

“Excellent,” said Kang, as they waited for the smoke to clear.
As they did so, there was a secondary blast, and more wreckage
spewed from the shredded bulkhead, followed by gradually spreading
flames. Through the smoke and fire, they could see ruptured
conduits and sparking power trunks, but no sign of the Cylon. Even
as he registered that, Korrd was sent into the far bulkhead by yet
another blast.

“Engineering!” he ordered into his suit mic. “Restore gravity.”
At once, he fell to the deck, bruising his tailbone, and uttering
a few choice words. Within the burning section, loud crashings
could be heard as wreckage fell back to the deck. “Fire alert!
Activate suppression!” For a few seconds, nothing happened. Korrd
repeated the order, more forcefully this time.

“Primary system off-line, sir,” came a voice. “Attempting to…”

“Feklar conjugate your attempts! Get a fire crew here at once!”

“Sir.”

“Well, sir,” said Worf, “we have destroyed the Cylon, sir.
Things could have been worse.” Korrd turned to him, face a sneer of
contempt.

“And how, pray tell, my son?”

The lights went out.

“Oh.”



The gravity aboard the Rising Star was a little heavier than
the Earth-normal that Kirk was used to, but he’d felt worse, on
numerous planets, and after a few minutes he forgot about it
completely. The ship was, he had to admit, luxurious. Lavish. No,
make that Sybaritic. Starbuck explained that it had originally
been built, about nine yahren before the Holocaust, as a liner,
catering to the hyper wealthy crowd, which had nothing better to
do but spend their money, after taxes, indulging themselves.

‘Oh my,” he muttered, upon entering the gaming area. He was
reminded of the casinos on Wrigley’s, and a wild liberty on Risa a
few weeks back, but this place had them all beat. They ought to
call this ship The Rising Sodom, he thought. Up on a glittering
stage, dancers in a wide and hedonistic variety of undress
cavorted, as others did so on the floor, played cards, or other,
as yet unidentified games of chance. Starbuck led them to a table,
and since he had no Colonial currency, Giles handed him a small
pouch of cubits.

“Gold,” said Kirk, examining one, which the translator rendered
as auric .

‘Yep,” said Starbuck, already feeling better, as he bellied up
to a table. He waved at one of the girls at the next table, then
acknowledged several others.

“Friends?” asked Kirk.

“Sort of,” replied the pilot. He took a deck from the dealer,
and spread them out for Kirk. “This, Lieut...”

“Jim, please.”

“Jim. This is a pyramid deck…”

As Starbuck explained, Kirk’s attention was drawn again to
the others aboard the liner. Most were Human, or appeared so. A
vocal group, just firing up, was composed of three bizarre
Humanoids, each with two sets of eyes and mouths each, in a head
set upon an otherwise gorgeous feminine body, dressed in skimpy,
clingy gowns. From them, he turned to see a man, apparently the
dealer, with purplish skin like burned plastic, and a couple of…

“What are they?” he asked, as the hulking fellows made their
way across the dance floor, seemingly oblivious to the other
people around them. Tall, hideously muscular, and with heavy
beards and Hoods, they sported enormous brow ridges and noses,
giving Kirk the impression of a troupe of seven foot Neanderthals,
without the bearskins.

‘Borellian Nomen,” explained Sirrion. “Whatever you do, stay out
of their way, Jim.”

“Bad news?”

“Very,” said Giles.

“Ready?” said Starbuck. Kirk nodded, after a last look at the
Nomen. Smiling the smile of the cat who’s swallowed the cream,
Starbuck turned to the dealer. ‘Let’s roll!”



“Excellent work,” said Lucifer, to the Centurion who’d brought
him the report. They had, he hoped, isolated the frequency
required to trigger the wormhole device into operation.

Make that fervently hoped.

How ridiculously obvious, the IL told himself. The Colonial
ships almost always used their attack scanners to sweep the area
ahead of them, and they utilized a limited set of frequencies for
this purpose. Certainly, they would have done so upon first
investigating the huge alien device. Simple. Obvious. It should
have occurred to him long ago.

Why hadn't it, then? Unfortunately, he had no time to ponder
this, for he had to report to Count Iblis, and Imperious Leader,
this new development. Actually, he would have already, if the
somewhat testy being hadn't slogged half a deck, and left
intership communication in a complete mess.

“Yes?” said Iblis, as he entered the Count’s chamber. Already,
techs scurried about, repairing the devastated room. In front of
him was a holographic image of Imperious Leader, with whom the
Count had been conversing when Lucifer had entered. His voice was
calm, yet quietly eloquent with the consequences of displeasure.

“We believe we have discovered the proper frequency for
activating the device, Imperious Leader, Lord Iblis.”

“Indeed,” replied the white robed menace. Though he was
certainly not biological in nature, Lucifer could still sense a
change in the alien. A wave, or pulse, of energy from Iblis washed
over his sensors. Though he could not identify it, Lucifer was
nonetheless left with the impression of...elation? Pleasure? He
couldn't be sure. “Then let us begin.”

“By your command,” said Lucifer, and turned to lead Iblis to
Control Center. As he walked, Lucifer once more wondered something
that had bothered him for nearly as long as he had been active.

Why do Iblis and Imperious Leader have the same voice?


Everyone in the Galactica’s council chamber stood, asthe transporter energy faded, solidifying into Korrd, his XOKang, and another hulking example of Klingondom, introducedas Korrd s son, Worf. Once the crisis aboard the G’roth wasunder control, Korrd had been ordered by his superiors toattend the Federation’s conference with the newcomers. Whilethey were, of course, reading it all, they nonethelesswanted, nay needed to be seen, making their presence felt.Korrd strode purposefully across the floor, handed his cloakto a servitor without even looking at him, introduced hisparty, and they were shown their seats. Quickly recapping, Adama showed them the basic data onthe Cylons. Korrd did not, of course, mention the recenttrouble aboard his own ship, but was secretly hoping hisFederation counterparts were having similar problems. Helooked around the table. Hhmphff...Captains all. Probablynot. Naturally, being the brusque Klingon, Korrd demanded toknow why the Colonials had come here, and what theyintended. Refugees were not to his taste, of course. Fromhis point of view, war should produce no refugees. Everyoneshould either conquer, submit, or die, and not clog the roads. Whatrefugees? But, he was faced with the reality of the Galactica,and her fleet. And while he had no doubts about his ownskill in battle, he saw, more deeply than any of his crew,what a formidable vessel this Battlestar truly was. He wouldrather not, he decided, have to face him...no, make that herhe reminded himself, in battle, without plenty of backup.The Cylon fighters, small and flimsy as they were bycomparison to his own ship, had done enough damage. Whatmight squadrons of Colonial fighter craft not do? But first things first. “I wish to extend my thanks,” he said, to Adama, slowlyand deliberately. “For?” “Saving my ship and crew, Commander. You destroyed aCylon fighter craft about to crash into me. You and yourpeople are considerable Warriors.” “Thank you, Commander,” replied Adama. “Any enemy of theCylons…” “Indeed, indeed,” he said, slapping the table. He turnedto accept a cup of wine from the steward, looked about thehuge chamber, then at the planet beyond the port. “I amimpressed, in fact. Truly I am. This vessel, Commander.Built by those who truly understand war!” He cast a sidelongglance over his cup at Captain Stone of the Constellation,with whom he had traded a few shots over the years. “Yes,truly understand war.” “Only out of need,” replied Siress Tinia, not certain ifshe liked these people. They reminded her of BorellianNomen, with a dash of the Eastern Alliance thrown in. “Thewar was forced upon us.” “War is forced upon us all,” said Kang. “It is the natureof life, the struggle for existence. It is how we respond toit that says who we are.” “Number One,” reported Tyler, back on Enterprise, manningthe sensors in Spock s absence. “Yes?” “Sensors are detecting two more Tholian vessels, ma’am.Just coming into sensor range.” “ETA, Mr. Tyler?” “Approximately nineteen hours to intercept. Velocity0.97 C.” “Very well.” “Ma’am? We are also detecting a slight increase inneutrino emissions from the wormhole coordinates.” “Is it opening, Lieutenant?” “It doesn’t seem to be, at least not yet, ma’am.” “Very well. Continue monitoring. Coordinate your effortswith the other ships, Lieutenant.” “I‘ve already contacted the Reliant, ma’am.” “Excellent, Lieutenant.” “Shall I inform the Captain?” asked Alden. “Not until there is anything to inform him of, Mr.Alden,” replied Number One. “Yes, ma’am.” Sheba had to admit, the drinks on offer aboardEnterprise weren’t bad. Beer, a bottle containing Saurianbrandy, and something called Coca-Cola seemed to be the mostcommon. She liked, she decided, these Federation Humans.They acted as if welcoming brethren they hadn’t known of theday before was the most natural thing in the universe. Likethe day aboard the Galactica, the Federation day was dividedinto three parts of eight centars, or hours, apiece, totallytwenty-four. An interesting similarity, she decided. They had linked up with a very young officer, an Ensignnamed Hikaru Sulu, as their liaison. He and Boomer at oncehit it off. Like the Colonial pilot, the young Ensignenjoyed both electronics, and botany as hobbies. Bothpracticed swordsmanship as a form of exercise, and both hada degree in physics. And, both enjoyed the drink Sulu called sake. “And they actually gave a command to a man like that?”asked Sulu, finishing up his lasagna when he learned of thetraitorous Baltar. “A Battlestar?” “Yes,” said Sheba. “Baltar was a wealthy and powerful man,from an influential family. He wangled election to theCouncil, and the command.” “I see. No reflection on your political institutions,”said Sulu, but… “It is quite alright,” said Sheba. “Money and powercorrupt, regardless of where, or what society, Ensign.” Shebaremembered how, on one of his rare furlons home before hergraduation, her father, the legendary Commander Cain, hadtold her of Baltar’s schemes to ascend to both the Council,and the command of the Battlestar Pacifica. He had pleadedbefore the outgoing Council, to the local Senate on Piscera,their mutual home colony, even to numerous political groups,to try and block Baltar’s eligibility to stand for election.All to no avail. Only her father’s inordinate love of warhad kept him from following her advice, resigning from themilitary, and pursuing a political career, to oppose Baltarin the Councilar elections. Somehow, she didn’t think it wasmerely a coincidence that, when the Cylon push in theMolocay sector had begun, it was Cain who was chosen to leadthe Fifth Fleet Task Force, rather than Adama, the moresenior Commander. She also suspected that it had been Baltarwho had leaked their battle plans, so that the enemyBaseShips had been waiting for them when they had arrived. Baltar never forgot anything, and never let go agrudge. She tried to relax and forget for a bit, when Sulu toldthem it was movie night. Once movie was explained, she andBoomer sat back, and found they enjoyed Captain HoratioHornblower. Boomer had enjoyed tales from the Colonies’distant past, when people had regressed to the level ofwooden ships, and crossed the oceans of their worlds on thewings of the wind. The pilot found himself caught up in thetale, the booming of the cannons, the roar of musket fire.Yes, he decided, if these old pictures were anything to goby, Earth was a planet of surpassing loveliness, her historyone to rouse his interest. He looked over at Sheba, and sawher, here yet not here. She’s back in Sickbay, he decided. With Apollo. Therehad been a time, briefly, when he had hoped that Sheba,newly ensconced aboard the Galactica… But no. Fate, God, dumb luck. Whatever forced ruledover such things, Boomer realized that the voluptuousWarrior was not for him. Not without a certain regret,surely. But, he held no animosity towards his CO. He wishedApollo well of her, and let go a tiny prayer for him, evennow. As the lights went back up, she thanked Sulu, andheaded back for Sickbay. “You understand your instructions, Centurion?” askedLucifer, of the pilot about to board the Raider. “By your command.” “Yes, but do you understand?” “Upon reaching the specified coordinates, transmit on thespecified frequency.” Too many specifieds, thought Lucifer. “Yes. Now go.” “By your command.” Sigh Lucifer watched the ship launch, and hoped this worked.After all, Iblis… Chose that moment to call him. Daggit drivel! Starbuck looked up from the table, to gaze into LieutenantKirk’s eyes. For a moment, the ship, no the entire universe,seemed to spin crazily. This was impossible! It just couldnot be happening! He would sooner expect the Cylon ImperiousLeader to get up on stage, and do a long slow strip. Kirk had hit him with a perfect pyramid! After a shakystart, the Starfleet man had won one game with a quarter,then a half pyramid. Then, after losing to the Card Sharp ofCaprica, Starbuck had been slammed back down into his seatwith a perfect pyramid. TWICE! “Not bad,” said Sirrion, keeping his face almost asstraight and believable as a Baltar lie. Giles said nothing,but gave Kirk a wink. The Starfleet officer smiled back, andasked the dealer for a larger bag, into which cubitsinnumerable now vanished with a scoop of his hand. But… “C’mon, Starbuck,” said Giles, trying to keep his lungsfrom rupturing, “it’s only a game.” “But…” Kirk smiled, and looked around the lounge again.Through one hatch, several people were entering, fourdressed in what was evidently maintenance crew garb. Theytook a seat at the next table, and ordered drinks. One was,he immediately noticed, a very cute, long-haired brunette,whose bulky suit did little to hide her gender. “Hi,” said Kirk, taking the initiative. He introducedhimself, and invited the newcomer to his table. Starbuck,still in near-cataleptic shock and still muttering “But…” didn’t notice, either the lady, nor the distinguished elderlyman, making his way towards them. It didn't take long beforethe young Earther was deep in conversation with the femalerepair tech, discovering her name, Neith, her job (she wasworking on repairs to the Rising Star from the recent Cylonattack), and the fact that she bunked aboard the liner. Then, things went south. “Hi, Starbuck,” said the elderly man, heaving to next tohim. Starbuck, still studying the cards like an attackscanner, did not at first acknowledge. Sirrion explainedwhat had happened, and the old man leaned around, to peruseStarbuck’s hand. Ah, he said at last. “I told you, remember?Unless the dealer holds the capstone…” “Uh…oh, hi, Chameleon,” said Starbuck, at last returningto a semblance of life. “How’s tricks?” “Oh, the same,” smiled the old man down at his son. Hesat, and ordered a drink. Giles introduced him to Kirk, andthe old card sharp at once liked the brash young Starfleetofficer. “Some of us had almost given up on Earth being real,Lieutenant.” “Jim,” repeated Kirk. “Yes, it’s real. In fact, I haveleave, coming up in a week or two. If things work out, youcan come and see the family place in Iowa.” “Iowa?” asked both Chameleon and Neith at once. Kirkexplained his birthplace, the burgeoning Megalopolis ofCenterville, Iowa, where his widowed mother still lived onthe family farm. “What’s a week?” asked Neith, clinging to Kirk’s arm andnursing her second ambrosia. “A week? It s a period of seven standard Earth days.”They tried to work out the variations between systems, whena shadow about the size of the Statue Of Liberty fell acrossKirk’s drink. There was a grunt, and he looked up, faintlyregistering an “Oh felcercarb” from Chameleon, and a sharpintake of breath from his impromptu date. The shadow wasconnected to someone immediately reminiscent of MountRushmore, glowering down at him as if he were a frog aboutto be dissected in biology class. “Leave her alone,” rumbled the Borellian Nomen, remindingKirk of a Klingon with a serious hormone problem. Withoutwaiting for an answer, the Nomen reached down, and tookNeith’s arm in his grip. “Come.” “Look, Bela,” she said, trying to free herself from hisgrip, “I told you, it’s over.” She tried to wriggle free, buther arm was like a butterfly caught in a tractor beam. “Willyou get that through your thick…” “I have not said so, Neith,” began Bela, when Kirkinterjected. “Leave her alone.” “Uh, Jim…” said Giles. “Lieutenant…” began Chameleon. “Hush...” managed Starbuck, but Kirk wasn't listening. “Look, King Kong, the lady said scram. So put an egg inyour shoe, and beat it.” The Nomen looked back towards Kirk,his gaze going from an annoyed scowl to an irritated glower,tinged with amusement. “How...picturesque,” said Bela, taking hold of Kirk’suniform with his other steam-shovel bucket of a hand. “Youhave a large voice for someone so...small. And if I choose notto?” “Then I’d get worried,” replied the Starfleet man. “Uh, Kirk…” began one of Neith’s co-workers, a man namedFreeman. “Indeed?” continued Bela, grinning widely. “Worried how?” “Worried about what’s going to happen to your ugly,spent dilithium crystal of a face if you don’t.” “You?” asked Bela, leaning close, nose to nose, his grinlike the gash in a slit throat. He grinned even wider,showing formidable teeth. “I see you’re not flossing,” said Kirk, allowing a tinysmile to show, but never letting go his eye-to-eye gaze. “You, Tiny?” asked the Nomen again, voice almostincredulous. “You got it, butt breath,” replied his foe. “You and who’s BaseShip?” Barely had the word left his mouth, when Neith, takingadvantage of her would-be lover’s distraction, kicked hisleg from under the table. Bela looked down, eyes going fromcontemptuous to angry, when Kirk let him have it with aright cross. The results were somewhat like hitting MountMcKinley with a tennis ball, but it did get Romeo’sattention back for the moment. “Don’t call me Tiny,” saidKirk. With a bestial roar, Bela doubled his fist, andbackhanded Kirk across the face. He went sailing intoStarbuck, knocking the pilot to the floor, and sending cardsand drinks flying. Bela let go entirely of Neith, and moved in on Kirk.But the agile Starfleet man doubled up his legs, and kickedas hard as he could, right into Bela’s knees. The Nomengasped in pain, and staggered for a moment, allowing Kirk toregain his feet. Freeman chose that moment to strike Bela aswell, smashing a bottle over his head. For his trouble, thetech was sent flying, right into another table. The fight had by this time caught the attention of Bela’s Brothers in Nomenness, and they were hurrying that way,one laying hand to the laser boles that were the Nomen’sfavorite weapon. Starbuck moved his elderly father out ofthe way, telling him to call Security, and turned… In time to see Giles locked in a death grip from one ofthe other Nomen, and Kirk crashing a fist into Bela’s bonyface. Starbuck grabbed the second Nomen’s arm, and twistedwith as much strength as he could muster, wrenching theattacker off balance, and making him drop Giles. The thirdNomen was trying to rescue his bandoliers from Sirrion, whoquick-thinkingly tore them from him, to forestall anyunfortunate results. In revenge, the third Nomen picked up achair, and brought in crashing down on him, then held one ofthe legs over his head as a bludgeon. He never got to use it, for Freeman body-blocked himwith surprising speed, sending both weapon and Nomen flying.The burly thug crashed to the deck near Chameleon, whobrought his foot down on the Borellian’s hand, grinding hisheel in as hard as he could. The hulk bellowed in pain, andreached for his tormentor with the free hand, but as withcards, Chameleon was fast on his feet, like a dancer. Hekicked the Nomen in the face, then slipped out of reach. Kirk’s original foe had him by the throat, and waspounding his face with unrestrained glee, when another chairwas swung across his back, staggering him. He never got thechance to recover, before Neith kicked his knees from behindwith her boot, dropping him like a stone. She turned, andgot a Nomenesque fist in the face for her trouble. And trouble seemed to be the word for the day. As ifthree Nomen were not enough, two more of the hulkingColonists entered the lounge, and at once rushed to the aidof there peers. Or at least tried to. One was tripped alongthe way by one of the double-mouthed singers, and slidacross the dance floor, knocking another table askew. “This place is starting to get real unfriendly,” saidKirk, as he ducked a vicious swing from one of the Nomen. Hereplied with an upper cut, eliciting an ooof, but not muchelse. Like Klingons, the Nomen were thickly muscled, andstronger than he had expected. “Well who the hell started it?” shouted Starbuck,likewise ducking, then smashing his fist into Bela’s face,spattering blood. There was a loud crunch, and the Nomenspat a tooth at him, then roared in fury, picking him up,and hurling him away. A moment later, Giles broke a tableleg across his back, then ducked as Bela rounded on him… To get an ambrosia bottle smashed across his nose byNeith. He roared in pain as the alcohol stung both hiswounds, and his eyes. Blinded for a moment, he struck outwildly, barely missing Kirk, and cracking the jaw of one ofhis fellow Nomen. The second Nomen went down, and then Bela,headblocked by Kirk as he tried to grab Neith once more. “Do you always do this sort of thing?” she asked. “Well, I never liked a man treating a woman like…” “Hey, I can take care of myself.” “Yeah, right”” “Okay, call me chivalrous.” “Oh, please!” “I guess he's kinda stuck on you,” said Kirk, to theColonial woman. “Oh, yeah. Like dried...ugh!” She toppled, a punch fromanother Nomen felling her. In reply, Kirk brought a foot up,on course for the Nomen’s crotch. He missed, catching thebrute in the leg only. Then, the other had one leg in a vice-like grip, and twisted, sending him spinning. Starbuck had landed somewhere near the stage, no, makethat on the stage. Both dancers and equipment scattered, andhe tried to recover his lost breath. Slowly, he got to hisknees, and looked around. Those who had not fled the loungehad joined in the fight, giving the Nomen as good as theygot. One Nomen, held high by two people, was sent sailinginto one of his fellows, crushing both a table, and severalbones in the process. Frack, he said, and tasted blood on his tongue. Hereached down, and found that his pistol was gone from itsholster. Having little choice, he headed back into the fray,cracking a bottle over the skull of the Nomen about todismember Sirrion, then stabbing him with the jagged edges.The heavy cloak protected the Nomen from lethal injury, butgot his attention, an attention at once diverted by Kirk,hitting him hard in the small of the back, then hammeringhis jewels when he turned around. His mouth open in a silenthowl, the Nomen went down. He did not see the other one,behind him, till with a bellow worthy of a Nomen itself,Chameleon brought a serving platter down on the fellow’shead, then struck him across the face with the broken half.With a scream of pain, the Nomen collapsed, his facebleeding. Kirk pounded into another Nomen’s face, just asSecurity finally made an appearance, weapons drawn, andshouting to be heard over the din of combat. Kirk felt handstake hold of his arms, and was ordered to hold it, when, ina last gasp of defiance, a Nomen succeeded in smashing hisface with a huge fist. As the world spun, the lights dimmed,and he rapidly approached the deck, Kirk realized twothings. The first was that he had underestimated the Nomen.The other was that the deck was really, really hard. His Raider on course and perfectly aligned with thewormhole device, Flight Leader Vomus began transmitting. Atfirst, nothing happened, likewise on the second frequency.Then, adjusting his scanner to the third… As the survivors of the Battle of the Rising Star wereordered, dragged, or carried from the lounge, the wormholeonce more began to stir into life. The Federation Captains were reviewing the data in theGalactica’s computer on the Cylon command structure, whenPike’s communicator beeped. Less than a second later, Stone’s did as well, then the Galactica’s klaxon sounded throughthe room. “Number One?” asked Pike. “Sensors show the wormhole preparing to open again, sir.” “All defenses to full, Number One. Battle stations.” “Sir, what about…” “Keep the shields up, Commander,” ordered Pike. In thebackground, he could hear his fellow Captains doing thesame. He looked up at Adama, and could see from his facethat the Colonial leader had received the same news. He gavethem the liberty of accompanying him to the bridge, and theyfollowed him from the council chamber. The Battlestar’s bridge was abuzz with tension andactivity as they entered. Pike could see one of hisengineering people, working in concert with Galactica’stechnical crew, on one of the bridge stations. Feelingalmost naked being off his ship, Pike drifted towards ascanner station, and took stock. The wild interferencerippling across the screen was in full force, as theflickers of light presaging the wormhole burst into the fullflower of the phenomenon. As before, it unfolded like abizarre, terrifying flower, spewing light and myriadradiations into the system. Adama brought the ship to battle stations, preparingher for heavy attack. Under his breath, he could be heardcursing the failure of the mines to detonate, destroying thestation. He had just ordered all laser batteries activated,when the wormhole collapsed, leaving the system in darkness,as before. As before, save for… “Commander,” reported Athena, “scans show a single crafthas emerged from the wormhole.” “Identity?” “Cylon Raider, sir.” Just one? asked Tigh. “Affirmative, Colonel. One fighter only. It is fullyarmed, and heading towards the Fleet.” As Adama worked, Pike got the same information from theEnterprise. One enemy ship, period. While puzzling, theCylon’s behavior was not. As soon as the aftereffects of thewormhole began to die down, the Raider broadcast a demandfor immediate surrender. Without waiting for an answer, theCylon began to attack, making a run on the nearest ship inthe Fleet, the freighter Gemini. Its lasers struck home,sending metal bits flying, then came around for anotherpass. But Adama wasn't sitting still. He at once orderedVipers up, and soon the Raider was blasted into moltendebris, saving the freighter. Adama requested a damagereport, and the Vipers, after sweeping the area, headed backfor the Galactica. “Excellent,” rumbled Korrd, watching the Raider fly tobits. “Excellent, Commander.” “Thank you,” replied Adama, unsure of whether praise fromthe Klingons was quite to his taste. “Enterprise to Pike,” came Number One’s voice over thecommunicator. “Pike here.” “We have scans taken during the wormhole’s duration thatyou, and Commander Adama, should see, sir.” “Transmit it to the Galactica’s bridge at once, NumberOne.” “Aye, sir.” “All ships will be in position for transit in less thanten centons, Your Eminence,” said Lucifer, in response toImperious Leader’s query. Much to both Lucifer’s surprise,and trepidation, Imperious Leader had decided to personallyjoin in the final assault on the Human enemy. Yet another one, thought the IL series administrator.The Leader’s BaseShip had just entered scanner range, andwould be within the system in less than fourteen centons.Altogether five BaseShips would be involved, insuring thatthe Colonials would, finally, be exterminated. Eradicated.The universe cleansed of them for all time. What puzzled Lucifer was, once they were through thewormhole, wherever it led, and engaged the Galactica, howwere they going to get back to their part of the galaxy? AllLucifer’s analyses of the scans from the wormhole led him tobelieve that the device led somewhere far, far beyond knownspace, somewhere no Cylon had ever been. Assuming all wentwell, and the last of the Humans were obliterated, whatthen? Iblis was obviously keeping something from them. What?Lucifer’s experience with non-Cylons, while admittedlylimited, told him that, behind the smile and intelligenteyes, something was being held back. Something ofimportance, something… Deceit, he decided at last, recalling his experienceswith both Baltar, and the pilot, Starbuck. Baltar, even athis most devious, was often transparent, once one got toknow him. Yes, they had, as he had once predicted to aCenturion, learned much from him. But, once his nuancesbecame familiar, Baltar could hide little from his Cylonexec. But Starbuck...Starbuck had been different. While Baltarused lies like a fighter used tylium, Starbuck had usedsomething the Humans called charm. While he still did notcompletely understand the word, or concept, he knew itinvolved somehow making your opponent draw the wrongconclusions about you, or modify their intended course ofaction, from the emotions you projected, without having toactually utter an untruth. Or pretended to. Lucifer recalled the game of chance,pyramid, he had played with Starbuck during his briefcaptivity aboard this ship. Lucifer’s computer brain verysoon made short work of the cards and their myriadcombinations, being able to predict all outcomes of anyhand, based on his own. Yet, despite all that, Starbuck hadbeaten him time after time. Lucifer had examined the resultsmany times, seeking clues to Human behavior, but neversolved the riddle. Until now. It was this...this charm thatIblis projected, so like yet unlike Starbuck’s, that seemedto provide the necessary ability for the strange man to getwhat he wanted. Even to the point of getting Imperious Leader, itseemed, to do his bidding. Which brought Lucifer to anothertroublesome point. Iblis and the Leader...both had identicalvoices. Repeated vocal analyses on his part had proven itbeyond doubt. Both the current, and past Imperious Leader,had the same voice as the Count, down to tonal quality andinflections. How? And why? And how did Iblis come to knowpasswords and codes known only to those of Lucifer’s leveland above? All attempts by Lucifer to probe Iblis body hadresulted in the same thing. Nothing. No returns, no data. Itwas as if the being wasn't there, somehow. Visible, yetunreal. “A BaseShip?” asked Garrovik, in the Galactica’s readyroom, looking at the blurry scan from Enterprise, enhancedto its limits. “Yes,” said Adama, clearly both surprised and angry.“During the wormhole’s brief opening, your scanners detectedwhat lies behind us. The Cylon force has assembled, and isready to open the wormhole.” “What’s taken them so long?” asked Stone. “It may be,” said Spock, and all eyes turned towards himas he spoke, “that they have not until now known how to doso. Recall that Lieutenant Bojay reported that the machinedid not begin to operate, until he had scanned it on aparticular frequency.” “That’s right,” interjected Athena. “His attack scannerfrequency.” “Yes,” said Spock, hiding his annoyance at herinterruption. He had found the young Colonial woman to beoverly emotional, somewhat loud, and otherwise thoroughlyHuman. Perhaps, he thought very fleetingly, he should tryand introduce these Humans to the teachings of Surak.Perhaps a people worn down by endless war might, like hisown, once, be receptive to the precepts of logic. So unlike T'Pring, he thought, even more fleetingly,and wondered where that had come from. He ruthless put itdown, and returned to the matter of the moment. “It seems logical that the Lieutenant unwittinglyactivated the device when he initiated his scan. SinceColonel Tigh has informed us that Cylon vessels normally usedifferent scan frequencies, it would seem that this accountsfor their delay. Until now, they have not known how to openthe wormhole.” “Why wouldn't they just use Colonial frequencies to tryand open it?” asked Pike. “Uncertain, sir,” replied Spock. “However, it may be thatto do so, they would have to retune their equipment, and tryeach frequency in turn. Colonial data indicates that Cylonsdo not innovate well, or make the kinds of…leaps Humans andother sentient creatures do. They would have been methodicalin the extreme, until they succeeded.” “Which they obviously have,” said Korrd. “Gentleman, I want to thank you for all your help,” saidAdama. “Our pleasure,” said Pike. “But now, we need to get backto our ships. If they do come through…” “Then we shall annihilate them,” rumbled Worf, standingnext to his father. He looked at Pike, then to Korrd. Anindecipherable look passed between them, then Korrd turnedto Pike. “Captain,” said the Klingon. “Yes, Commander?” “We may be in battle, soon. To fight is perhaps to die.If we die, may it be glorious.” He paused a moment. “You savedmy son, Christopher Pike. You have given him back to me, andto the Empire.” “Well, I just…” “He might have died, yes. But thanks to you, he lives tofight once more, and heap yet more glory upon our name.” “I see,” said Pike, unsure if he really did. “I am trying to...say...thank you, Captain,” said Korrdthickly, as if it came hard for him. It obviously cost himno small amount of pride to say it to a Human. “You are welcome, Commander. May you both find...honorahead.” “Yes,” said Korrd, gave Pike a curt bow, then stood back.Slapping his fist to his chest, he barked “Q'PlaH!” “And to you,” replied Pike, then the Klingons were gone. Lucifer actually shook his head, realizing that allthis introspection wasn't getting him any closer to ananswer to his original question. How in Hades Hole were theygoing to get back? He looked up at a monitor. ImperiousLeader’s BaseShip had just dropped below lightspeed, and wasmoving in on the planet orbited by the wormhole device. Ashe scanned, it entered visual range, and the Leadertransmitted a message. One Lucifer had heard, through theCylon neural net, once before. As he did so, somethingStarbuck had once said suddenly flitted through hisprocessors. Oh get a life! “The final annihilation of the life form known as man.Let the attack begin.” The fuzziness of emerging awareness was the first thingKirk was aware of. As it slowly rolled on, he became awareof sound, light, and pain. Lots and lots of pain. He opened his eyes at last, thensquinted at the overhead illuminations. As he focused, heturned his head, slowly, and tried to take in the room. Itwas unfamiliar, but to someone as experienced in spacetravel and ships as himself, he could at once tell what itwas. No, not the brig on Wrigley s. Uhh, not the gambler’soffice on Risa, either. It was…lemme see…Of course! Asickbay! “Ah, awake,” said a voice, and he tried to sit up. Ahuge, pulsing throb in his face reminded him that wasn’t agood idea. A body hove into view to join the voice, andbegan checking the readouts next to his bed. “Don’t sit upjust yet,” said the body, that of a handsome middle-agedwoman with graying red hair. “You took quite a pounding,Mr...Kirk. Your bones need time to finish knitting.” “I have to get back to my ship,” he countered, ignoringher admonition, and trying to rise. He looked at her again.She might be about fifty or so, in Earth terms, but she wasstill quite a looker for all that. “Doctor…” “Sekhmet, Lieutenant. Doctor Sekhmet. I’m CMO here onthe Rising Star, and I haven’t had this much business heresince the last All-Fleet Triad Championships.” She smiled,but it was the smile of the parent who has just caught youwith baseball bat, glove, and shattered window. “Uh, well...” “Uh nothing, Lieutenant,” smiled Sekhmet. “Your littleshow of testosterone poisoning in the Main Lounge has putseveral people in here, and some very valued Warriors atthat.” “Well, I…” “Ah, come on, Doc,” came Starbuck’s voice, and Kirkturned to look at the Viper pilot. “Everything was just fine,until that Nomen started in.” “Well, you know better than most, Lieutenant Starbuck,what getting in a Nomen’s way can result in,” said theDoctor, with a knowing look. Obviously, a story there, Kirkdecided. “Well, he started it,” said Giles, half his facebandaged, and arm in a cast. “The Nomen, I mean.” “Yeah,” muttered Neith, jaw wired, awaiting therapy. ‘Well, I don t care if the Council of Twelve started it!However,” sighed Sekhmet, “Fortune has smiled on you all. Itseems that the Captain has decided, in the interests ofamity with our new Federation friends, to forego any chargesagainst you, Mr. Kirk, pending Commander Adama’sconcurrence, which is why you and the rest aren't in thebrig, right now.” ‘Well, thanks. I…” “He also asked me to give you a message from the crew ofthe Rising Star.” “Really? What is it?” “Goodbye.” “That’s it?” “In it’s entirety.” She smiled her mirthless smile again.“You are, also, to be transported back to your ship as soonas possible.” “Thank-you, Doctor,” replied Kirk, unsure of whether ornot something witty was well advised just now, with thedoctor holding some unidentified medical instrument in herhand, and smiling. “You’re welcome,” said Sekhmet, and informed them thatthe rest of her patients, with the exception of the Nomen,who were warming a cell in the brig, would be accompanyinghim back to the Farragut. With the shortages in the Fleet,many basics were either limited or unavailable in the RisingStar’s small Life Station, and the medical staff on theFederation vessel has agreed to extend a hand. “Of course,the Galactica seems to have little trouble gettingreplenishments,” she grumbled. “Well…” “That’s not fair, Doc,” began Sirrion. “Plug it,” she ordered the Warrior. At that moment, the elderly frame of Chameleon stirred,and opened one eye. “Starbu-u-u-uck?” Sekhmet turned her back on Kirk, and two Security men,lasers on hips, escorted the casualties to the shuttle bay.Once there, Kirk was handed his communicator by one of theguards, and signaled for transport. He felt somewhatgratified, seeing the expressions on their faces, as he andthe rest faded out in the transporter beam. His gratification faded utterly as he solidified onthe Farragut’s transporter pad, and beheld the face ofCaptain Garrovik. The unsmiling face, complete with enormousstogie. After greeting the Colonials, and escorting them tothe Farragut’s sickbay, he pulled the young Lieutenantaside, into the nearby conference room, presentlyunoccupied. “We need to talk.” “Uh, sir…” “Put a sock in it, Lieutenant! Stand at attention!” Hewaited, while Kirk stiffened, partly to attention, partly inpain. “Do you have any idea how upset, no, not upset. Thishas gone way, way beyond upset. Do you have any idea howpissed off both Commander Adama and Colonel Tigh are, at thenews that one of our people, one of my crewmen, managed toturn a simple card game into a gladiatorial match?” TheCaptain’s voice had risen perceptibly, letting Kirk knowwhat was coming. “One of my officers lets his well-knownlibido get in the way, decides to play Sir Galahad, orperhaps I should say Don Juan, and turns a lover’s tiff intomaking their lounge look like a used gunnery target!” Louder,now. “We are trying to show these people, these war-wearypeople, the best the Federation and Starfleet can offer,Mister Kirk, not demonstrate how fast we can redecoratetheir ships. Am I clear here?” “Quite clear, sir.” “I trust so, Lieutenant. Because, once the Doc certifiesyou fit to resume your duties, you will report to CommanderAdama, and the skipper of the Rising Star, and apologize.”Garrovik leaned close, rolling the cigar around in hischeek. (As an aside, it should be noted that CaptainGarrovik rarely smoked cigars. He mangled them.) “And, onceyou have done so, you will personally clean up the lounge onthe Rising Star, along with any of the Colonial personnelinvolved whom Commander Adama may wish to assign to the samedetail. Am I clear, Lieutenant? “Yes, sir. Very clear, sir.” “I hope so, Lieutenant,” growled Garrovik, leaning close,“because if I ever hear of you brawling again while under mycommand…?” He waited a few tense beats. “Well, I might justhave to talk to Engineering about assigning someone new toclean out the warp plasma filters.” He took the cigar fromhis mouth, and pretended to regard it. “Or, if one prefers, Ihear there’s talk of actually assigning a Human crew to thedilithium cracking station on Delta Vega.” He smiled avuncularly. “Understood, sir.” Kirk did not smile. “I hope so, Lieutenant.” He put the cigar back. “Now getto sickbay. Once the leech gives you the once-over, you’reconfined to quarters till further notice.” “Yes, sir.” Kirk moved towards the door, but the momenthis Captain stepped through, the klaxon sounded. Red Alert. Red Alert, came the voice from the bridge.All hands to battle stations. I repeat, all hands to battlestations. This is not a drill! Captain Garrovik to thebridge. Garrovik raced for the nearest intercom station. It was ashe had feared. The wormhole had began to open once more. “Jim!” said Garrovik, turning back to Kirk. “Get to yourstation. Now.” “Yes, Captain,” said Kirk, and this time he did smile.“Thank you, sir.”
“Commander Gommeed!” called Loskeem, aboardthe Kreeda. “Wormhole opening again.” “Contact the Ultur. Status of our backup?” “They are still almost a standard day away,sir,” Gommeed snorted, or at least gave the Tholian equivalent. “Arm all weapons, all hands to war posts.” “Sir.” Lucifer did not like the transit through thewormhole. Not one bit. Whatever energy drove themysterious alien device, it was not kind to hishigher mental functions. Memory, vision, andanalytical processes all took a beating, even togoing blind for a few millicentons. So blind thathe did not see the strange blue spheres, oncemore buzzing about the ships. The IL felt arising sense of…what? Panic. Yes, that was theHuman word. He actually felt a momentary wave offear, at the unfamiliar experiences now coursingthrough his cybernetic frame. He fleetinglywondered if the rest of their forces wereexperiencing the same. He would have been annoyedto learn that the lower Centurions, with theirmore limited brains, did not. Sometimes, it pays to be stupid. One by one, the Cylon ships dissolved intothe wormhole effect, Imperious Leader’s takingthe lead, followed by Lucifer’s, with thatcommanded by Noxious last in line. The wholeconstruction was large enough to hold three ofthe ugly vessels at once, and even as the firstvanished, the rest moved up. Which did not sit well with the computer runningthe installation. These…aliens were not permitted byit’s programming to enter or make use of thedevice. Years, centuries, of neglect and decayhad left it’s programming spotty and degraded,but it still knew that these beings were notHuman. Not its builders. Outside. Other. Itdelved down, trying to access long-disusedprogramming, but to no avail. Its weapons weredamaged, and all measures taken so far had notresulted in the termination of one invader. Whatcould it do? It must follow its directives, butits own self-destruct protocols could not beaccessed. It… A force of Cylon troops had been left aboardthe station, to prepare it for full analysis, andacquisition by the Alliance. Even as the taskforce prepared to depart, a call was sent out,all the way to Cylon, for another ship, this onefilled with technical crew, to be dispatched atonce. Once the machine was fully understood, itwould be restored to 100% operating condition,then replicated. Soon, the entire star systemwould lie within the reach of the Alliance. Noworld, no race, would long escape the grasp ofCylon, and the Cleansing of the Universe couldtruly begin. All that had gone before, theHassaris, the Humans, the Delphians, all that wasas preparation for the Crusade to come. The Universe would lie prostrate beforethe Red Eye of Cylon. The station computer had intercepted andattempted to decrypt all this. Though only marginallysuccessful, its stuttering mind understood onething. They must be stopped. It searched andsearched… And found the mines left by Adama’s technicians.It scanned the devices. All the units had beenslaved to the master unit. It exploded, they allwent. Unfortunately, it had malfunctioned,before being found by Cylon troops, anddisarmed. Of course, Cylons being Cylons, theyhad only disarmed the master charge. After all,if you cut off the head, that was that, right? And, sometimes, it doesn’t pay. Could it be detonated remotely? The machineanalyzed and analyzed, scanning the mines repeatedly. Ifit could find the right frequency… Appropriate frequency accessed. Executing Program… A powerful EM pulse ripped through the controldeck, where Turpitudus was monitoring the transit ofthe task force. He, and all the Cylons aboard,were momentarily rendered insensate by thepulse, a moment that stretched into eternity.The mine, sitting on the console next to amonitor with the rest, began to squeal, then… Aboard his own ship, Noxious saw theblinding flash of light erupt from the station’scontrol deck. He was puzzled at first of course,then grew concerned when the data uplink withthe force aboard the station went dead. He wasabout to order it reestablished, when the entireBaseShip rocked, then rocked again. Somethingexploded… Turpitudus was thrown through the ceilingof the control deck, smashing to bits on impact.Two microcentons later, the second chargeexploded, ripping through the bulkhead, severingthe cable trunks under their feet. The thirdfollowed suit, then the fourth, then all therest. Vast orange balls of flame erupted fromthe control deck, like a volcano, then larger,deeper explosions began tearing through theentire machine. The landing deck cracked open,then the station’s vast power grid overloaded,slicing huge chunks out of the superstructure. Almost at once, the wormhole effect died,as the machine was hammered to pieces. Thefourth BaseShip had entered the wormhole, on itsway towards Federation space, when the effecthad begun taking hold of Noxious’ vessel. Partlyin, partly out. As the effect collapsed, theboundaries between real and hyperspace weremomentarily mixed, like two disparate metalsunder stress. Circuits began to overload andblow out all over Noxious’ ship, then vast chunksof debris from the exploding station slammedinto her hull. Every panel in Control Centerbelched smoke and sparks, the computers burned,then… The BaseShip exploded as her main drive wasoverloaded with energies beyond theunderstanding of Cylon science, her ordnancefollowing. It rapidly swelled into a giganticball of demonic fire, sending evaporating hunksof shrapnel into what was left of thedisintegrating station, turning bothmachines into one miniature nova. Amidst the darkness on the night side ofboth the planet below, and the ringed world, itseemed for a moment as if there were a new sunin the sky, as the starry vault momentarilyblazed to life with an unholy radiance. Forseveral moments, the fireball continued to swelland swell, till it was all that could be seen inthe sky. With a massive burst of radio and sensornoise, the wormhole once more erupted into life,momentarily blinding all who looked at it. It’sbizarrely beautiful petals of energy slowlyunfurled, momentarily bridging two parts of theuniverse never meant to touch. As with eachprevious episode, scanners and other electronicequipment in the vicinity snowed, screeched, ordied, as unholy energies washed over them like asummer flood. Then, from what seemed like thevery maw of Hell… “Sir!” shouted Loskeem, over the din of theinstruments. “Vessel emerging!” He pointed to theviewscreen, damped down to its limit, andGommeed followed. A vessel was emerging from theterrifying rip in space, a vessel both huge, andugly in it’s own right. It took a few seconds longer for thesensors aboard the Klingon vessels to recoverfrom the initial energy bursts, but Korrd couldsee that another Imperial ship, G’ith, had justentered visual range. Then, amid yet a furtherburst from the wormhole, his screen went down. “Report, Mister Spock!” ordered Pike, risingto his feet. “Enormous sensor distortion, Captain.Tachyon and meson radiation off our scale.” “Is there a ship?” demanded the Captain. For amoment, none said aught, as both eyes and instrumentsstrove to recover from the onslaught. Then,slowly, it began to fade… “There, sir!” said Tyler, pointing. In themiddle of the screen, barely visible against thewormhole effect, a black spot was becomevisible. Growing, taking hideous shape. Thenanother emerged from the wormhole behind it,then a third, like some deformed, twistedlozenge, vomited from an equally diseasedthroat. Pike ordered full magnification, and thetiny image zoomed to fill the screen. There were few times in his space careerwhen Chris Pike had felt fear. Real fear. Once,in the catacombs of Talos IV, or fighting theKalahr on Rigel VII, but rarely otherwise. Butnow, standing on the bridge, staring at the shipbefore him, he felt it again. Ship? No, this wasn’t a ship. It was amonstrosity, a cancer, an hideously distorted, diseased excusefor a vessel, overflowing from one end to theother with ugliness. Ugliness, arrogance, andhate. The upper and lower hulls, identicalmirror images of each other, looked likemangled, sick versions of the saucer sections ofFederation vessels. Whoever had conceived andconstructed this machine had beentwisted, Pike decided. Filled to overflowingwith vile, malignant hate. From what Adama hadshown he and the other Captains, he could wellbelieve that such a design would vomit forthfrom Cylon, as the ships themselves had vomitedforth from the wormhole. Doubtless, as helooked, each and every Cylon aboard the taskforce was brimming with it, ready and eager torend and kill and destroy. These Cylons, hedecided, made the Klingons seems kind, theRomulans like good neighbors. “Fascinating,” said Spock, quietly, as the shipshove slowly closer. “Shields to maximum,” ordered Pike, turning away,as a feeling of terror ran through him. Terror, andnausea. “Phasers to ready, load torpedo tubes.” “Aye, sir,” replied Number One, and the Enterpriseprepared herself once more for battle. As was the Galactica. Like everyone else, hersystems were filled with static and wild readings.unlike theirs, hers began to stabilize a fewmoments sooner. Adama, shielding his eyes,ordered all hands to battle stations, all pilotsto their Vipers. “Two, sir,” reported Omega, back at his post.“Three.” “My God,” rasped Tigh, as the reality of itsunk in. Not only had the enemy gotten ahold ofthe wormhole device, they’d made it work, andfollowed them across the galaxy, as ever bent ondestruction. He studied a readout, still partlyscrambled by the effect. Unless he was grosslymistaken, he could see a fourth BaseShip oozeout of the wormhole. Then… “What in Kobol…?” shouted someone. “Massive energy surge,” replied the Farragut’s science officer, to his Captain’s demand. Just moments after the fourth BaseShip emerged fromthe wormhole, a massive slurry of light and fluttering energy spewed out behind it. For a moment, it seemed as if the very fabric of space around them blurred, smeared, and squiggled, then, with an even more violent burst of light,it closed. Not as before, as some monstrous flower closing up for the cosmic night, but like a burst light fixture, then blackness. For a fewmoments, no one said or did a thing, as systems, both nervous and electronic, settled down, then there was one more final, feeble spurt of light,like a phaser bank being cut off, then nothing.Utter and final nothing. “Systems clearing,” said Spock. “Systems clearing,” said Omega. “Systems clearing,” said Kang. “Systems clearing,” said Koloth. “Systems clearing,” said Loskeem. “Systems clearing, by your command,” saidLucifer, to Imperious Leader. For a few moments, the Cylonruler said nothing. Like the IL, his own neuralsystems were still scrambled by the wormhole effect. Then, as they began to clear, he looked at his underling on the screen, and spoke. “All ships, take up battle positions.” “By your command, Imperious Leader.” Taking up a star formation, the fourBaseShips activated their defensive armaments,and readied their fighters. And just sat there.For several centons, they didn’t move, beyondthat same, horrid, hated rotation. Adama, used toCylons launching instantly, puzzled for a momentas to the delay. “Of course,” he said aloud. “They don’t know wherethey are, or who the other ships are.” “They are making long-range scans of the region,sir,” said Omega. “Repeatedly. And their long-rangebeacons have kicked in.” “Incoming signal, sir,” said Tigh. From the…fromthe Imperious Leader, sir.” “Imperious Leader? said Adama, clearlysurprised. “Put him on, Colonel.” He waited, as thescreen flickered, then cleared. “Greetings, Commander Adama”, said the Cylonruler, his reptilian face taking on the closestthing he was capable of to a smile. “At last, wecome to the final moment. I shall enjoy, bringingabout your death at last.” “You came all this way, just to be destroyedbe me? I’m flattered.” “You have it quite reversed, Adama. I shall be theone to destroy you. I shall at last have what thatfool Baltar could never deliver. Your destruction, and with it, your whole race.” “We have allies, now, Imperious Leader. Powerfulones. You came all this way for nothing.” “We shall see, Adama,” said the Leader, hisvoice as unctuous as ever. As he spoke, somethingflitted across the Galactica s viewport.Something blue. “Report!” ordered Korrd. “Unknown, sir,” replied Kang. “They do notregister on our sensors fully.” “Unable to get a target acquisition, sir,”said Worf, taking Kruge’s place. “Our scannerscannot determine their speed.” “Mister Spock?” “Unknown, sir,” replied the Vulcanian. “Someform of energy, but sensors cannot givespecifics. They are traveling faster than ourinstruments can track them.” “I see. Status of Cylon forces?” “Holding position at 323.7, z plus 5,500,range 11,000 relative, sir. Sensors read alltheir defensive systems as armed.” “Sir,” said Alden, picking up a transmissionfrom one of the Cylon ships to the Galactica,sir.” “Let’s see it, Mr. Alden.” “Aye, sir.” “Give up, Adama,” said Imperious Leader, hisvoice becoming almost oily. “I promise you, Ishall make your end quick and easy.” “We have seen what Cylon promises have beenworth in the past, you piece of cyberneticgarbage. I’ll take my chances, and spit my lastbreath at you!” “That is your choice, Adama,” said the Leader.Then, to everyone’s surprise, Imperious Leader was almostshoved aside, and another figure took his place.A figure well known to Adama, and everyone elseaboard the Colonial Fleet. A figure that, toanyone else, might have seemed Human. “Enough babble!” Then, after a moment: “I saidwe would meet again, Adama,” said the figure,smiling the smile of Hell. “Old friend.” “Iblis!” breathed Adama, as the image of theevil Count at last registered. Last seen afterApollo and Starbuck had gone to investigate thecrash of a mysterious vessel near the Fleet’scourse, Adama had often wondered about the Count.Who was he? Really? Would he return? What wastruly behind his deliverance of Baltar into theirhands? Once more, Baltar’s question ran throughhis mind… Who is he? “There is no need, Adama, to die today.” Ifpossible, the Count’s eyes gleamed with even moreevil. “My offer still stands. Accept myleadership, and you shall live. All of you.” “Sure. And the Atlantia will be pullingalongside us any centon,” growled Tigh. Adama,still looking at Iblis, said no word of reproofto his XO. He seemed to consider a moment, andTigh wondered why. He could not feel thestruggle, as Iblis, from the safety of ImperiousLeader’s throne room, strove to control Adama’smind. The Commander, naturally, resisted.Resisted despite the stress it put his aged framethrough, the sweat running off his face. Justwhen it seemed that he could do so no longer,Tigh shook him. The Commander blinked. The momentwas broken. Iblis snarled, furious. He glared at Tigh,but said nothing to him. His face was as twistedwith hate as any Human face could be. Then, for amoment, they all could see the Count as he was,for who he was. The twisted, deformed,unimaginable ugliness that was the true Iblis.Spittle, steaming and vaporous, spilled from hisblack smoldering lips, and his eyes became as redas blood. “Fools!” rasped the Beginning of Murders. “Doyou think I shall let you go? That I would everlet you go?” “Well, your toys haven’t had much luck,” saidAdama, suddenly filled with a feeling of power,of a vitality, not his own. “It’s about time youshowed up.” “And I am here! This day shall see thefulfillment of my plans! For a thousand yahren Ihave worked towards the annihilation of yourpathetic species! Your race shall not be able tostop me!” “Pathetic enough to keep you and your toy soldiersat bay for a thousand yahren,” quipped Tigh. “Only aHuman traitor had brains enough to devise a planthat would win.” “It was you, wasn’t it,” asked Adama, facelike the Wrath of God, “who fomented the overthrowof the true Cylons. Who gave them the technologyto construct robots and ships in the first place.Who plotted their orgy of conquest, all to bringabout the destruction of Mankind!” Iblis faceseemed to blanch, if possible. “Who, when ourFathers on Kobol rejected you, fled away. When wedid not die when you murdered Kobol, and survivedthe wilderness of space to found the Colonies,you found another, more willing race to be yourtools.” The Commander of the Galactica stood up,tall and strong, and it seemed for a moment as ifthe long, grinding yahrens of war and suffering andpain had sloughed away, leaving a young, vigorousman at the helm of the mighty Battlestar. “You…how…?” choked the Lord of Lies, takenaback by both Adama’s words, and his countenance. “I know it all,” said Adama, blue spheresseeming now to dance around him, on the bridge.“All, Iblis. Diabolis. Loki. Set. Deal. All of it.” “Then be knowledgeable, and die!” roaredIblis, becoming even more ugly, if possible. “DIEALL OF YOU!!!!!!” The signal faded, and Adamaturned to his men. “Launch.” “Moroth’s ass, but those ships are beautiful,” saidKleege Barely had the word left Adama’s lips, whenintense, massive beams of blue energy beganpouring from the lead BaseShip, followed by itsnearest fellow, a few moments later. As alwayswhen Imperious Leader was present, the otherships provided cover, protecting their Master atall costs. Immediately the Cylons began firing,the Galactica returned fire, her Vipers screaming out into thevoid once more, as the Cylons launched their ownfighters. “Mister Tyler,” ordered Pike on Enterprise, “targetthat lead ship. Full torpedo spread.” “Torpedoes show ready, sir.” “Fire!” The lights dimmed a bit, and they all heardthe noise of the launchers kicking in. Fourphoton torpedoes tore from out from the starship’s hull, directly for the nearest Cylon vessel.Fighters were pouring from her launch bays likeangry hornets from a nest, when the first torpedostruck. It flared into a blue-white blossom ofdestruction, hammering the BaseShip’s defensivescreens. The rest followed suit, pushing theenemy vessel up and backwards. Almost at once, the next nearest Cylonturned her huge mega-pulsars on Enterprise, theblue beams hammering her shields like the Devil’sfist. Pike was knocked to the deck, and thelights flickered, but he regained his feetquickly. “Phaser banks, lock on!” Which is precisely what the Reliant was doing atthat moment. Once the Cylons had opened fire, she hadbroken position, and come up to one-thirdimpulse. Passing over the Cylon force, she openedup with all banks. Though not yet refitted withthe new phaser technology, her main lasers werehot, on target, and acquitted themselves well.One BaseShip’s screens flared angrily, the next,already stung by Enterprise’s torpedoes, felt thered beam pierce her hull, sending metal anddebris flying. “First blood to you,” said Lucifer, grabbinghold of something to steady himself. He orderedreturn fire, but the BaseShip’s air defensegunnery could not follow a ship so nimble, soclose. Cursing with words he’d learned fromStarbuck, he ordered missiles readied. “Incoming!” shouted someone on theConstellation’s bridge, and the ship cut hard toport, barely in time. The salvo exploded, rockingthe ship, but her screens held. The starshipswung around at nearly half impulse, slatheringLucifer’s ship with intense phaser fire. Hugeblasts erupted along the Cylon’s shieldperimeter, but the screen held for now. “Let’s go!” screamed Cree, as his squadrondove on the first Cylon Raiders. He opened fire,vaporizing the nearest Cylon, then rolled, firedagain, and cut hard over to avoid an enemy salvo.A Raider exploded behind him, and he came around,to see Sheldrake with two Raiders on his tail.One connected, sending bits of Sheldrake’sfighter flying off, then exploded as a laserdrilled it dead center. He fired also, sendingthe second Raider to join the first. “Thanks, whoever that was,” said Sheldrake,sweat pouring off his forehead. “My pleasure,” said Bojay, rocketing past. “I wish I could,” said Garrovik, to Starbuck,on Farragut. Really. “But with our deflectorscreens up, we can’t transport anyone. You’re…” hebroke off, as the ship seemed to rock beneaththem. “You’re stuck, till this is over.” “Lords, we should be in our Vipers,” saidGiles, helping Starbuck back to his feet. “OurSquadrons…” “I know, Giles. But…” They wobbled again, astwo Raiders swept past, strafing the ship. Thehelmsman banked hard over, and the main batteryopened up. One of the Raiders disappeared underKirk’s gunnery, the second slipped past. “Good job, Mr. Kirk,” said the Captain. “Targetlead Cylon vessel, and open fire!” “Targeting aye, sir!” replied Kirk, and angrylances of light spat from the ship, slicingthrough space to find the Cylon. The BaseShip’sscreens held a moment, then fire mushroomed fromher hull, near one of the landing bays. Kirkfollowed it up with another shot, ripping moremetal from the Cylon, till a pulsar blastconnected with Farragut, slamming her hard, andblowing a panel into sparks not inches from theCaptain. Seeing that they were too easy a target asthey were, the BaseShips split up, seeking toenglobe the Galactica and her unknown protectors.As they did so, the fighters, nearly 1,200 ofthem, sought out their main target, theBattlestar, and her school of flying remoras. Asone squadron moved in on the Galactica, Korrd,ever the honorable Warrior, fired two torpedoesinto the heart of the Cylon formation, then cutloose with sweeping lasers. Over a score ofRaiders boiled to dust, shrapnel and wreckagewreaking havoc with several more. “Good shooting, my son!” bellowed Korrd, as hewatched a Raider blown to bits. Worf retargetedhis guns, striking the closest BaseShip a tellingblow to the lower hull. Its screens flaredbrightly, then it returned fire, a blue spear ofenergy slicing into the D-7’s screens. Korrd’sship banked away, visibly wobbly, and the Cylontargeted her again... Ignoring his brother ship, G’ith. The secondship opened up, sending two torpedoes into theBaseShip, then targeting her once more beforetaking a missile from the Cylon in return. “Commander,” said Loskeem, “enemy fighter craftapproaching. Range…” he broke off, as the first ofthe Raider’s slathered the Tholian with its guns. “Plasma cannon, fire!” An orange blob of boiling light shot from theKreeda, sending two Raiders flying into chunks, theshrapnel ripping through three more. The Tholianvessel rocked from themultiple blasts, then again as her shields tookhits from the wreckage. Kreeda banked, and ranstraight into another Raider, its guns buttoningthe Tholian ship dead on. “Evasive maneuvers!” shouted Gommeed. “Emergencypower!” Kleege had at once moved to firing position,but some very good Cylon gunner had anticipatedhim. As he brought his forward tube to bear onthe closest BaseShip, one of the Cylon’smegapulsars cut loose, slamming him directlyabaft the bridge. Sparks and smoke belched fromunder a console, all but one of the bridge lightsdied, and the main screen flickered on and off.His gunner managed one laser shot, then the Bird-of-Prey slid out of the way. “No,” muttered Lucifer, examining damage reports.This was not right. Some of these new enemy ships wereusing weapons that their scanners did notrecognize. Like lasers, only stronger. Hotter.And their shielding was also unlike anything theCylons had encountered before. This did not, hedecided, bode well for the task force. He feltthe ship rumble under him, as a shot from one ofthe ships with the long nacelles connected. Thoseships… “Centurion, emergency power to deflection systems.” “By your command.” “Main phasers fire!” ordered Stone, on theConstellation, and he watched as the red beamssliced space between his ship, and the nearestCylon vessel. On its way, it destroyed threeRaiders, and hammered the BaseShip’s screens justbelow one of her landing bays. His gunner firedagain, and he was gratified both to see anotherbeam, this one from Farragut, connect with thesame target also, and the huge ball of hotwreckage blast from the enemy’s hull. The Cylonvisibly shuddered, her spin stuttering. Shereturned fire, slamming Constellation directlyabeam, shaking her down to her bones. Jolly fired, and then cursed as he missed theCylon making a dive on the Galactica. He fired again,and saw metal bits fly from one wing. The Cylonbanked hard away, and Jolly found another enemyfighter bearing down on him. He fired wildlyahead, momentarily blinded by the burning flowerof light erupting in his path. Unable to turnaway in time, he flew directly through theboiling miasma that had been the Raider, and felthis ship buck sharply. Something under him wentsharply thunk, and his scanner died, followedhard on by one engine. His control stick wasbrutally snapped from his fingers, and he sailedon… Adama watched the instruments as a Raiderflew to bits under the ship s anti-aircraft guns,then felt his stomach tighten as a Viper followedsuit. It never failed, the feeling of sicknausea, whenever one of his people were lost. Hecursed inwardly, fleetingly wishing he hadCommander Cain s vast and varied vocabulary whenit came to obscenities. Come to think of it, hecould use Cain. He turned, as Tigh passed closeby, and watched smoke waft from a grill. Firecrews and techs were standing by, but so far, themodifications the Federation engineer Scott andhis people had made to the Galactica’s shieldsand power grid seemed to be bearing fruit. Theshields were dissipating heat more efficiently,and the guns were hotter by a few percent thanbefore. If only… “Bring her around, Lambda Two-Three,” heordered, as they targeted a BaseShip. “Missiletarget acquisition.” “Missile aye, sir,” replied Tigh. “Fire!” “Firing, sir,” replied the Exec, and theordnance shot from the Battlestar, on course forits target. The BaseShip’s scanners saw itcoming, but gunnery was too slow, being otherwiseoccupied. The thermonuclear warhead slammed intothe Cylon’s battered shields, flowering into asweetly beautiful corsage of death. The Cylon’sscreens flared up into the visible range, andthen went brilliantly white, before dying. A hugesection of her hull was now blackened, buckled,and utterly naked to her enemies. Of which there were aplenty. Within less than onecenton, six Vipers dove for the now obviouslyworried BaseShip, and strafed the naked sectionof her burned hull. One after the other pumpedlaser fire into the damaged vessel, tearing openmore wounds by the moment. Return fire was spottyand ineffective, and the Vipers made three morepasses before several dozen Raiders, as hoped,were detached from fighting elsewhere, to defendtheir damaged BaseShip, taking some pressure offthe Galactica. But to no real purpose. No sooner had thefighters engaged each other, when a massive crackappeared between two hull plates in the lowerhull of the BaseShip, and hot gas and debrisspewed forth like water from a cracked dam.Intense beams of green light, pounding hercourtesy of the G’ith, ripped more plating fromher side, followed a moment later by more shotsfrom G’roth. The BaseShip began to try and pullback, but could barely even maintain her trim.She began tumbling away, towards the ColonialFleet, firing wildly as she went. Like Starbuck aboard the Farragut, Sheba hadfound herself stuck aboard Enterprise when thebattle had begun. Feeling angry, no, furious, atbeing separated from her Viper in time of combat,worried sick over Apollo, and puking like adaggit with morning sickness, she nonetheless gotpermission from Pike to be on the bridge duringthe fight. The Federation Captain seemed tointuitively understand a Warrior’s need to benear, when the clash of arms began. Though shehad tried to keep it buttoned up, shecould, like a certain other member of her family,no longer refrain. Stepping away from Boomer… “There,” she said, to Pike, pointing at thelower hull of the BaseShip the Galactica hadpinned. She looked at a scanner image on a screenat Spock s station, and zeroed in on a spot onthe savaged hull. “This lower bay is the closestto their tylium storage bunkers,” she told him,who reported her observation to Pike. The Captainnodded to Number One, and the Exec reset hercontrols, and opened fire. Enterprise’s phasers tore into the BaseShip’s wounded side, ripping open one landing baydoor, and cutting through the Cylon alloys likelightning through mist. The beams held steady,ripping deeper into the ship, until they foundtheir prize. A huge blast tore the enemy vesselopen like a burst balloon, sending the interiorhurling into space. The smoke and debris clearedfor a moment, revealing more than half theBaseShip s lower hull entirely gone, theremaining bits sparking, and spewing burning fuelinto space, giving the Cylon an uncontrollabletumble. She rolled like a lumpy rock, directlytowards the nearest Colonial ship, the orphanbarge, when the Reliant screamed past, and fireddeep into the yawning wounds in the Cylon’s hull. The BaseShip disappeared in a heartbeat, goingfrom a million gross tons of evil metal, to a seething,swelling cloud of radioactive vapor. The fireballgrew larger and larger, eating up severalRaiders, and hurling molten debris towards hersister ships, as the Reliant sped away, pepperedby wreckage. Cheering erupted on the Enterprise’s bridge, andDid they but know, the Galactica’s as well. OnFarragut, Starbuck slammed Giles across the backwith a hearty slap, and the two old comradescheered as loudly as a klaxon. The normally sternGarrovik turned to look at his unwilling guests,but said naught, actually smiling at the anticsof the two young men. Yes, I was young once, hethought. Barely had he looked back from theColonial Warriors, when sensors picked up… “Incoming missile from the Cylons!!!” Far, far away from the battle, energyradiating outwards from the destroyed wormholedevice touched the sensor grid of a ship. On it’sbridge, the officer charged with monitoring thosescanning devices noted its presence, did a quickanalysis, and turned to his superior. “Commander, you should have a look at this.” For a long, long moment, though in realtimeit was but a fraction of a millicenton, ImperiousLeader sat, silently, reviewing the destructionof his supporting BaseShip. How? How in all thatwas ordered and normal could this have happened? An up-to-date, top of the line BaseShip, blown to bits like a trapped fighter?And after only a few centons? Again he reviewedthe data, and again he could not grasp how itcould be. “Fools!” said a voice, and Imperious Leaderroused himself from his reverie, which, hisinternal chrono told him had amounted to a mere.0013 millicentons, and turned to face the sourceof the word. “Idiots!” said Iblis, turning to lookat the Leader. “What kind of retarded turnips doyou have with you?” “Their weapons are unfamiliar to us,” repliedImperious Leader, annoyed with both Iblis’ tone,and the comparison to something he knew nothingof. The word turnip, naturally, did not exist inthe Cylon databanks. “You did not tell us thatthere would be other Human vessels here, or thattheir weapons would be so powerful.” As if topunctuate his last statement, the ship shook, arumble shuddering through her hull. “Do not presume to remonstrate with me, machine!”said Iblis, in a quiet voice. The kind of quiet voicethe hired killer uses right before he slips theknife into you. “You would be nothing but for me.Your whole race would not exist but for me!!!” “We are grateful for all you did for us,” saidImperious Leader, accessing for the first time insectars the memories of his destroyedpredecessor, who had been activated before theonset of the war with the Humans. Yes, all thatthe Cylon race had become had been due tothis…being. Imperious Leader found this fact,undeniable as it was…unsettling. The Cylon race,the very pinnacle of the evolution of the purityof the machine, the product of a man. Iblis was, however, not a man, he remindedhimself. He was some sort of being, someunquantifiable class of creature, which seemed totranscend both living tissue, and electroniccircuits. Iblis was neither. And if it were notfor the fact that he knew certain codes thatcompelled obedience from every Cylon, regardlessof status, Imperious Leader would have had himexecuted, or at the very least thrown off theship. Only Iblis’ knowledge prevented this action.Once more… “Protocol seven, nested memory file 3955,program Avenger,” said Iblis, looking directlyinto the other’s optical sensors. “Execute!” At onceImperious Leader felt the will to kill thiscreature fade. He felt utterly impotent, impotentand confused, as Iblis smiled at him, a smile notunlike one his predecessor had seen on the faceof the Human traitor, Baltar, when theduplicitous Commander had first broached histreacherous scheme. A smile of victory, ofknowing of a certainty that one has theiropponent utterly in their hands, because theyhave absolutely no choice. A look that faded rapidly as one of themysterious blue spheres seemed to fly rightthrough the room, barely missing the gloatingIblis. The Count turned to look where it hadgone, but the mysterious manifestation was gonefaster than any mere Human could follow. But, asImperious Leader knew, Iblis was not Human, andwhen a second sphere appeared, then a third, theCount, with a growl of anger and a swish of hisrobes, vanished from the throne room, leaving theLeader alone. The ship rumbled beneath his feetonce more, a light flickered, and he activated a circuit in his giant brain. “Control Center. Status report.” Jolly’s control stick was useless. When hetried to move it forwards and back, it was stuckfast as a beached ship. Side to side, it floppedlike a limp… Another warning beep sounded, adding itsnoise to the cacophony of all the other beeps.Something smelled burned, and he tried to accesshis diagnostic board. Damnation! Another enginehad just kicked out, and if the wreck of what hadonce been his control panel was to be believed,he was leaking fuel from the left dump vent, andleaking mighty fast, too. As he tried to bringsome life back to his crippled Viper, he felthimself growing lightheaded, and reached underthe seat for the emergency oxygen bottle. Deepbreath. Deep breath. Yes. That’s the key. Breathe. His scanner was dead, but as he looked outhis canopy, he saw a Raider crossing his line offlight. Angry, scared, and feeling helpless, henonetheless decided that he wasn’t going outwithout a last strike at the enemy, and hegripped the control stick, and waited. Hoping hisgauge was telling the truth… He fired, and a single bolt of energy spat fromhis right gun, and nailed the Cylon dead on. TheRaider spewed chunks and gas into space, then thecockpit window blew out into vacuum. Jollywhooped at this tiny victory, then fell silent ashe saw what was ahead. The planet they were orbiting, growing larger byThe moment. As if that weren’t enough, a huge chunkof debris, at least five or six times the size ofhis ship, was between him and the planet, and hewas sailing right into it. He yanked on thecontrol stick once more, but it still refused toobey him. His ship kept on, the huge hunk ofdebris growing larger and larger. He hit UNICOM,he practically yelled into his helmet, but sofar, there had been no response to his pleas forhelp. Almost too far away to be seen, EnsignGreenbean nonetheless saw the Cylon explode, andturned that way. He scanned, and picked up thebarely transmitting distress call from Jolly’sViper. Banking hard, he headed that way,following the glittering trail of fuel his friendwas leaking, coming up close alongside thecrippled ship, just as the last of Jolly’s fuelspluttered out into space, killing his lastengine. “Jolly?” asked Greenbean, his ship barecentimetrons from the other. Jolly turned tolook, raising a hand to wave. “Okay, bud,” said Greenbean. “I’m going toassume you can hear me.” He looked, and saw Jollytap his helmet, then give the thumbs up. So, atleast he could hear, if not transmit properly.Greenbean looked ahead, and saw the wall oftwisted death they were headed towards. “I’m gonnagive you a little kiss, Jolly. I know you likegirls, so don’t take it the wrong way.” Hemaneuvered his Viper closer, so close thecomputron gave him a proximity warning. He ignoredit, and edged closer. Closer. Ever closer.Despite screaming alarms, he edged his left wingunder the mangled remains of Jolly’sright one. Hold her steady for a few moremillicentons, buddy. He spared a look forward,and saw the huge chunk of wreckage nearly fillinghis cockpit window and scanner screen. Then, oncehe heard and felt the two pieces of metal scrapetogether, and the computron scream at him… He flipped his Viper over sharply a few degrees,sending Jolly’s crippled ship tumbling away fromthe wreckage ahead, his fighter missing the chunkof metal by less than the length of a Viper. Hesailed past it, letting out a long deep breath,and thanking each and every one of the Lords ofKobol in turn, by name. As he tried once more toregain control of his ship, he saw Greenbeanreappear, moving in front of him, and a tethershoot from under the stern of his Viper, to latchon to his own. As he felt the tether connect witha thunk, he saw another Viper join his savior,then a third. Slowly, he was pulled away from hiscourse into oblivion. He waived at the otherpilots… And saw at least four Raiders heading directlyFor them. He swore, and checked his weapons. Hislasers were down to below firing level. His shipwas helpless, he could do nothing. Till an intense beam of green energy slicedthrough the formation, destroying them all. Asthe Cylons sublimed into vapor, he saw one of thealien ships, the Cling-ons, speed nearby. He didn’t know, or care, he just was glad to be in onepiece. He waved at the alien vessel, then lookedahead, where the Galactica was drawing near. Like his Leader, Lucifer also was stunned amoment, at the destruction of the BaseShip. Ithad been the newest and best defended of thegroup. How? Obviously, these Federation Humanshad weapons far, far more powerful than anythingthe Colonials had ever fielded. Clearly, they hadstumbled into a situation they could not handle.Any fool could see that. The IL Series spentthree picocentons calculating the odds ofvictory. They were dismal, as were the odds ofmere survival. A conclusion punctuated by the sudden hard slamhis ship took at that moment. He gripped the nearestpodium to remain standing, and returned hisattention to his screen. His gunners continued topour fire into the enemy, but the return fire wasjust proving to be too strong for their screens.He ordered fire directed at one of the Federationships, and felt an almost Human gratification asits shields flared brightly, the megalaserpinning the ship dead center. Almost at once, theHuman ship returned fire with the hideouslypowerful missiles they used, and… The lights failed in Control Center, and Luciferwas momentarily blinded by a panel bursting intoflames. The BaseShip shook once more, andsomething exploded, sending them all sprawling,and debris rained down from the ceiling. “Emergency power!” bellowed the IL. “By your command” replied an underling, as anotherexplosion slammed the BaseShip. The Cylon missile exploded barely a ship’slength from the outer hull of the Farragut,caught by her lasers. Everyone was hurled backand upwards, and her screen momentarily wentblindingly white, as the thermonuclear ordnancegnawed at their shields. Garrovik and Starbuckended up in a tangled heap together, and severalcontrols burned and died, before the malignantlight faded, and they could take stock. “Main viewer!” ordered Garrovik, retaking hisseat. He felt something trickle down his leftcheek, and reflexively reached up. There was adeep gash stretching from his brow to over hisear. The viewscreen had momentarily died, andthey could see nothing. “Sensors!” “Activating backups, sir,” said a voice, andone by one, fitfully, the lights came up,followed by the main viewer a few moments later. “Shields?” “At 46.7 percent, sir,” said his exec. “Warp driveoff-line.” “Status of enemy forces?” “There, sir!” said Kirk, pointing at thefuzzy, tearing screen. The BaseShip that hadattacked them was otherwise engaged at themoment, trading heavy salvos with the Galactica,but at least a score of Cylon fighters werebearing down on them, almost within firing range. Aboard the Kreeda, Gommeed had picked himself up,and was taking damage reports. Thanks to theElementals, the ship was in better shape than hehad feared from the pounding they had taken. TheCylon fighter that had tagged them so preciselyhad come around for another pass, and beendestroyed by one of the Human-flown fighters fromthe immense Battlestar vessel. For the moment,the Cylons seemed to be ignoring him, as well ashis sister ship. Fools. Maneuvering in, closer to the action,Gommeed’s gunner saw a hoard of the ugly Cylonfighter craft bearing down on one of theFederation ships. While he had no love for therepulsive mammals, it was clear that they allfaced a common foe in these Cylons at the moment.The gunner turned (no small feat for a segmentedpiece of crystal), seeing his skipper observingthe tracking data. Wordlessly, Gommeed pointed tothe Cylon formation currently screaming towardsFarragut, and gave the order. Aboard the lead Cylon fighter, Flight LeaderPravus lined up the wounded Federation vessel onhis targeting scope in front of the third seat.While much of the data his scanner gave him wasunfamiliar, either to his or his ship’s database,and therefore useless to him, he could plainlysee that the ship was hurt, it’s shield energiesdown significantly and fluctuating, along withsome sort of highly energetic plasma venting fromone of the long powernacelles projecting from the body of the ship.Significantly enough for his fighters to inflictserious damage to the ship. Pravus double-checkedhis formation, then ordered- “Arm weapons.” “By your command.” As they came into killer range, Pravus’ shipopened fire on the Farragut, and the CommandCylon was rewarded by a bright flaring of energyfrom the enemy’s shields. He was then furtherrewarded by even more brightness, as the closestship in the formation erupted into a boilingcloud of debris. Pravus turned to get a betterview, and for a microcenton got a trulyspectacular one, as the canopy and side of hisfighter disappeared under the Tholian assault.Barely had he perceived this, and begun toregister surprise, when a chunk of shrapnelsliced off his head, and the orange blob firedfrom the Kreeda completed its deadly work,burning through the ships, and the every bit ofthe Cylon force was reduced to hot metal vapor,Pravus’ surprise-filled head included. “Good shooting, Kirk!” shouted Garrovik, as theShock wave from the Cylon’s destruction wafted overthem. “Damn good…” “Not me, Captain,” replied the gunner. “It wasone of the Tholian ships, sir.” Garrovik lookedfrom his gunner, to the main screen. Sure enough,one of the Tholian vessels was skimming past thecooling cloud of debris that momentsbefore had been the Cylon attack force. As hestared in near disbelief, Garrovik had to admitthe intervention was well-timed. Even the one shotthat had connected had whittled another half-percent or so off their shield power. With themain warp-core off-line, it would only get worse,unless the engineering crew could pump theimpulse reactors up to near-insane levels. Eventhen, with them trailing warp plasmalike they were, they were… “Helm,” he ordered, voice suddenly whip-sharp. “Plot us a course away from the battle.210, mark 11, z-minus 5,500.” “Sir?” “Speed, one-tenth impulse, shut down theport impulse engine in nine seconds, takemaneuvering thrusters four, nine, and elevenoff-line.” “Off…” The helmsman stopped, suddenly seeingwhere this was going. “Wobble us,” said Garrovik. He turned, toregard his Colonial guests a few moments. “Andload all torpedo tubes. Bring lasers to fullcapacity. Prepare to drop starboard screens onmy order.” “Torpedo tubes loading, sir,” replied Kirk.“Lasers to full aye.” “And transmit my thanks to the Tholian Captain,he added.” “Uh, Captain Garrovik…” began Sirrion. “Hold on,” Garrovik said, to Starbuck andcompany. “It’s gonna get a bit bumpy.” “What’s he doing?” whispered Sirrion, toGiles. “Unless I’m really mistaken, something worthy ofCain,” replied Starbuck, trying to hide a smile. Once he was back aboard the Galactica,itself no mean feat in the middle of a battle,Jolly popped his canopy, and got out. Or rather,fell out. Under battle conditions, they had notbeen able to catch his damaged fighter with thetow beam and recovery arm, and pull it in,setting it down in a cradle. No, once inside thelanding bay, the tether was let loose, and heskidded to a brutal stop, ending up on his nose.Once the canopy was open, he fell out like afish on a trawler’s deck. Getting up from hisunceremonious reunion with his shipmates, heran, faster than the ship’s Fitness Directorwould have given him credit for, directlytowards the launch bay, where three fighters satempty for lack of pilots. Not waiting forsomeone to tell him no, ignoring the shouts frombehind him, Jolly leaped up into one ready ship,and at once began revving her engines. “Lieutenant…” began a deckhand, but the rotundViper pilot waved him off. “What, I’m gonna sit here on my oversizedastrum, while there’s a battle on?” He hit thebutton to lower his canopy. “No way.” “But regulations…” “Frack ‘em with a bovine prod!” shouted Jolly,and hit his stick. The Viper screamed down thelaunch tube, the deckhand unsure of whether ornot the vibration he felt was the departingship, or a Cylon salvo. Aboard the third remaining BaseShip, theCommander noted the destruction of the attackforce sent to destroy the Farragut. He scannedthe Federation ship, and formulated a plan.Bringing his ship around, he maneuvered hercloser to where the Human vessel was drifting. “All mega pulsars, target the Farragut,” heordered. As he spoke, a shot from the Galactica slammed hisshields, then a second one. Lights failed, thenblazed back. For precisely three picocentons,the Commander was torn. Which ship to attack? “Cylon vessel breaking formation,” saidKoloth. “Heading towards grid zero-one-eight,cross-grid five-five.” “Target,” ordered Kleege. “Full impulse!” “Commander,” said the bridge officer,“approaching the coordinates of the energyreadings. Uncharted solar system at 227, delta 4.4.” “Alter course,” replied the Commander,twirling his swagger stick between his fingers.“Any sign of Cylons?” “None so far sir, but I’m getting resonateenergy signatures that correlate positively withColonial power systems.” “Recent?” asked the Commander, showing a hint ofheightened interest. “Still analyzing sensor data, sir, but likelywithin the last secton.” “Bring us in closer.” With Iblis gone from his presence, ImperiousLeader could give full attention to the matter at hand.Yet, somehow, like an organic sentient, some partof his electronic mind would not let go of recentevents. The conversation, so-called, with Iblishad left him unsettled, even angry. ThoughImperious Leader did not know it, his creatorshad followed the Human mental pattern a bit tooclosely, along with the physical, in designingthe cybernetic race that now called itself Cylon.He was angry, irritated, and were he capable ofarticulating it, suffering from a bruised pride. All of which detracted from his immediateconcern, the fight with the Humans. One BaseShipdestroyed, the rest damaged to varying degrees.No way, no way at all, should this have happened.Iblis had lied to him, not bothering to informhim of the powerful, advanced races thatinhabited this region of space. As the fight woreon, his massive brain continued to analyze boththe enemies, and their vessels, for any scrap ofdata that could be turned to the Cylon’sadvantage. One glimmer seemed to be that none of the Humanor Klingon ships were designed to defend againstattack by waves of small fighter craft, such asthe Cylons and the Colonials used. While blastsfrom their weapons seemed effective in scatteringRaider formations at a distance, if the fightersgot in close, they could do some real damage.Massive pinwheel attacks, a Cylon standby, shouldprove effective, if properly coordinated, andImperious Leader sent out the order forthwith. Ashe watched the scanners, waiting for the varioussquadrons to form up, he saw two more of his ownfighter craft destroyed by Vipers, and the secondBaseShip take a telling hit from the Galactica’smain batteries. Obviously, time was of theessence, and he urged his forces on, infusingthem with his sense of urgency. Or trying to,since to a lower-class Cylon, nothing was urgent. “Damn Iblis!” he said aloud, surprising bothhimself, and the nearby Centurions. “Imperious Leader?” asked one. “Status of pinwheel formation?” “It is done, Imperious Leader.” “Attack.” “By your command, Imperious Leader.”