Watching the Farragut trailing warp plasma,
the Commander of the second BaseShip allowed
himself an almost Human moment of anticipation.
The crippled Human ship they were approaching
would soon be destroyed, and part of the threat
to the task force at the same time. Before long,
the disgusting Colonial vermin would have no
protectors, and would meet their fate.

“Range to Farragut?”

“Twenty-two microns, by your command,” replied his
gunner. “Interception in seven centons.”

“By your command,” said another underling. “Power
fluctuations from the Human vessel. One engine
has apparently failed.”

“Excellent. Prepare all mega-pulsars, and target
the power nacelles.”

“By your command.”



Flight Leader Mactabulus fired once more on
the Galactica, and once more was frustrated by
his laser’s failure to fully penetrate her
defensive shields. It seemed that something had
changed in the defenses of the Battlestar. He
scanned the enemy ship once more, and found the
results just as baffling as before. Her shield
dynamics were quite unlike those met during any
previous encounters with Colonial vessels. What
had the Humans done?

It wasn’t a what, so much as a who. When the
attack came, Scotty and his engineering team had been
trapped aboard the Battlestar, unable to return
to their various ships. By luck, or perhaps
design, he had actually been discussing the
Galactica’s shield dynamics with Engineer
Shadrick when the Cylons arrived, and at once
tried to bring some of his knowledge into play.
He worked to rotate the ship’s shield
frequencies, with emphasis on the upper EM band,
then attempted to reconfigure the outputs on the
shield emitters themselves. The Federation
engineers work had already resulted in a moderate
increase in power from the ship’s main plant. By
rerouting and jury-rigging, Scott and his team
had stiffened the Galactica’s defenses
considerably.

But would it be enough? Her systems had
never been designed for these kinds of
alterations, especially slapdash redesign in the
midst of combat, and Scott realized it was only a
matter of time.

“Can ye shunt power from this system here,” he
pointed to part of the engineering schematics,
“and route it through yer main armaments bus?”

“That’s life-support for the crew quarters,”
replied Shadrick.

“Most of yer pilots are out, and willnae miss it.
Can the relays take it?”

“We don’t have a choice,” admitted Shadrick,
and entered the appropriate commands into the
system. Lights and heaters throughout the center
of the ship began to dim, as the engineering
systems pumped the energy into the defensive
systems. The ship bucked, and something sparked,
but for the moment, the defenses held. The ship’s
defensive laser guns, their power output
increased by several crucial percent, lashed out…
Catching Mactabulus fighter on one wing. The
metal skin peeled away in chunks, and one engine
exploded, followed by the fuel cells, forever
leaving the Flight Leader with no answer to his
puzzlement.





In a place that no Human could tolerate
unaided, Iblis stood, watching the battle
progress. He smiled as the huge salvos from the
Cylons connected with the Human vessels, frowned
when the opposite occurred. He clenched his fists
in anger, chafing still under the humiliating
limitations placed upon him by his opponents.
With one wave of his hand, the Galactica and all
her helpers could be swept into the sun, reduced
to dust. How he longed to make that a reality,
ached, lusted, to finally rid the entire galaxy,
forever, of the one race he hated above all
others with such unbending, unyielding malignity.
For the barest of moments, he dared think of it,
dared to gather and nurture the thought…

Only to have several of the blue spheres rip
through the space near him. He bellowed in rage,
power boiling from his fingertips, as the hated
blobs spun about his position.

“This is not your place!” he roared, the very
ground under him rumbling with the power of his voice,
the sky roiling. “It is mine!”

“No!” replied another voice, this one as
beautiful and as pure as Iblis’ was foul and
hideous, though no less heavy with authority.
Myriad spheres swept past, till one slowed,
stopping to hover mere inches from the Father of
Lies, and began to morph. Slowly, deliberately,
it began to take on a vaguely manlike shape, eyes
and limbs becoming visible. As
it did so, other spheres appeared also, these a
deep reddish-black, some hovering around Iblis as
he watched the transformation complete itself.
Within moments, which to a Human would have
seemed but a fraction of a second in duration,
there stood before Iblis another, Human-appearing
being. While Iblis would have seemed still to a
Human observer to be a handsome man of vigorous
middle age, this being’s semblance was that of a
tall, powerfully built man
of younger years, his face and eyes burning with
apparent youth. His robes were of an intense
blue-white, and his flesh seemed to be afire from
within with an awful radiance. He looked hard
and deeply at the Beginning of Murders, and
spoke.

“You have lost here, Iblis.” He waited a beat.
“Be gone.”

“You babble like an addled child,” laughed
Iblis. “I shall prevail, and you, and all your
rabble shall see it.”

“You lie still, Iblis. Even to yourself. Your
time is almost expended, and the challenge has failed.”

“They will win, Michael, and the prize will
be mine.” Iblis raised a hand, changing as he did
so into something vast and awesome, crowned with
lightning, and something so intense no Human
could have seen it and lived slammed into the
other being. He staggered, but soon recovered,
changing also and replying in kind. Iblis
gasped, himself staggering under a barrage that
men could measure only in megatons. As he
recovered, Iblis reached out, ripping out
splinters from a mountain, hurling it at his
foe. With a breath, Michael sent it flying into
dust, the debris raining down on Iblis.

“You are done, Iblis. And you will fulfill
your word to the woman.”

“My word?” laughed the Author of Death. He
waved a hand, and Michael staggered, losing his
footing, plummeting over an abyss. “My word? You
fool…” He grunted, staggering himself, as his foe
suddenly appeared behind him, striking him with
a fist that seemed to be ablaze with the very
power of the sun.

“Yes, Iblis. Your word. You remember as well as I
what you promised the woman Sheba.”

“And I care? Soon, she will be dead, and it
shall matter not one whit.” He swung, his bolt
barely missing the other, but shattering another
mountain. Rock and debris sufficient to fill a
hundred Battlestars slid down into the chasm
yawning far below. “Who cares what some pregnant
whore expects or wants? I shall do as I wish.”

“No!” shouted the other, and this time, he
was joined by several other radiant beings, each
one grim-faced and resolute. As he scanned his
opponents, Iblis was taken momentarily aback. He
recognized some of these new faces.

“Serina!” He recoiled in shock, quickly
covered. “Zac, son of Adama?”

“You shall obey, or…”

“OBEY??” screamed Iblis, the air around him
seeming to rip asunder, crackling with evil
light. “I obey none, fool! No one has dominion
over me!!!” He raised his hands, blazing with
unholy destruction…

And the ground under him collapsed, the very
earth beneath opening up, swallowing him. Screams
horrific and hate-filled ripped through the very
fabric of the planet, as Iblis vanished under
the onslaught of rock and blasts of light. His
minions, scattering in fear, fought weakly, as
their Master disappeared from view.

“You shall obey!!!” boomed one of Iblis
opponents, long, waving hair ablaze with a holy
radiance, as the ground collapsed in on itself.
They knew of course that Iblis was not seriously
harmed, and would be back. But for the moment,
the chastened demon would do as he was told.

Or face an even greater chastening.






Imperious Leader watched as his fighters, now in the full pinwheel
formation, began to accelerate, closing on the Human ship Farragut.
Soon, he told himself, the vessel would be destroyed, and the odds would
begin to shift in his favor. It had been hard fought, this battle.
Surprising and savage, but in the end, what other outcome could there
be? The Cylons would win, as they were meant to, and the life form known
as Man would cease to trouble the universe.

But what if, after that, they could not return whence they came? he
wondered. After a few picocentons of seriously deep thought, he decided
it ultimately made no difference. They would establish themselves here,
build a new base and infrastructure on the planet below, which scans had
shown was rich in a variety of minerals, and in time establish renewed
communication with the Homeworld. Slowly, over time, the space between
them would come under the Red Eye of Cylon, as it would have eventually
anyway. Things would unfold as they should, if a little differently then
anticipated.

He returned from his musings, to give his attention fully to the
display before him. The huge formation of Raiders was starting its dive
on the Farragut, while one of the other BaseShips moved in to support.
He need not worry about the Galactica for the moment. She was occupied
with defending against large Raider swarms of her own, and would not be
able to come to anyone’s aid. He watched as a laser shot from one of the
fighters penetrated her shields. Yes, it would be soon. Soon.



“Enemy formation approaching, sir,” reported Kirk to Captain
Garrovik. “Seventy-seven thousand five-hundred, and closing.”

“Cut remaining impulse drive,” ordered the Captain.

“Cutting impulse aye, sir,” replied the helmsman.

“Ready…”



“Sir,” said Number One, on Enterprise, “Cylon formation moving in on
the Farragut.”

“BaseShip?” asked Pike.

“Closing, as expected, sir,” she replied.

“Just as he figured,” snorted Pike. “Phasers to full, Mr. Tyler.
Target BaseShip.”

“Targeting aye, sir. All weapons report ready.”

“Sensor readings, Mr. Spock?”

“The BaseShip’s shields read as weakened but still up, sir. Computer
has scanned the weakest points in her grid. I have also detected
structurally weakened areas of her hull, sir.”

“Feed them to fire control, Mr. Spock. Stand by to get moving.”

“Ready, sir,” said Number One. As she spoke, a blast from Lucifer’s
ship hit them abeam. Enterprise bucked nastily, but her screens held.
Pike sent Lucifer two photon torpedoes in return for his thoughtfulness.

“Captain, Cylon force opening fire on the Farragut,” reported Spock.

“Alright, let’s go!”



Flight Leader Facinus gave the order to attack, and his fighter
opened fire on the Farragut, his shots striking her just forward the
port running light topside. Around him, the rest of the fearsome
pinwheel formation followed suit, raining down devastating fire on the
unprotected Federation ship. As the ships raced past, points of light
blossomed from the Farragut’s hull, as her unprotected skin took the brunt
of myriad Cylon salvos. Soon, the entire ship…

Was once more cocooned in her protective screens, her power coming
back up in an eyeblink. One shot after another was stopped by the
deflectors, and more than a few Raiders, skimming close to the edge of
her saucer section, slammed into the shields, crushing themselves
like beer cans.

“Hard over!!” ordered Garrovik, and the ship roared to life, her
impulse engines glowing like miniature suns. She raced ahead, sending
the pinwheeling Cylons into confusion, and firing her laser banks
directly into the heart of her attackers. Cylon after Cylon blew apart
as the Farragut’s weapons ripped through the slow-to-respond Raiders,
sending them, and bits thereof, scattering in confusion.

“Bring her around, full impulse!” ordered Garrovik. “Fire at will, Mr.
Kirk.”

“Firing,” replied Kirk, and once more the Federation ship’s guns spat
out the final argument. Arcing as the ship swerved, her lasers gutted
dozens of the enemy, totally unprepared for an opponent that could
maneuver this nimbly, as a Battlestar never could. Kirk kept on firing,
slicing fighter after fighter…

Till the more powerful beams of Enterprise joined him, scything
through the Cylon squadrons like the Grim Reaper, erasing Raider after
Raider. Facinus had little time to try and grasp the situation, before
both his wingmen were destroyed, and he was fatally hit. He spun away,
barely able to control his machine…

And then the BaseShip opened fire. Beams from her mega-pulsars
slammed both starships, sending sparks flying across Farragut’s bridge,
and knocking out one of Enterprise’s phaser banks. But the nimble ship
swung around, and pinned the more cumbersome behemoth with her remaining
ordnance. Pike opened fire, strafing the Cylon, while Garrovik did the
same, managing to keep ahead of the slackening Cylon gunnery. Her
shields flared and roiled, till one shot finally found a weak spot, just
above Control Center. Huge chunks of hull plate peeled off as Pike’s
phasers found metal, chewing into the plating like a hot blade through
flesh. The Cylons returned fire, hitting Enterprise over one warp
nacelle, and Tyler banked her hard away.

But the BaseShip found no respite. Despite her battered condition,
Farragut kept up the fire as well, finding another weak spot in the
enemy’s shields. Like her companion, she was rewarded with metal and gas
belching into space, and fired a full spread of torpedoes. Much to
everyone’s surprise, several Vipers joined the fray, keeping the Raiders
off the Federation’s backs as best as possible.

Swinging up and away in a high arc, Pike brought his ship screaming
down almost directly towards the BaseShip’s top hull, dead center. From
this point of attack, more than half of the Cylon’s defensive guns could
not be brought to bear on their attacker, and Enterprise moved almost as
fast as a Viper flat out. As he dove towards the massive hull, Pike
fired again, finding another weak point in her shields. The torpedoes
slammed the weakened screens, then the phasers found their goal. Spock
kept them focused on the exact point for as long as he dared, drilling
deep into the Cylon ship, before the Enterprise veered away, the two
ship’s deflector screens violently sparking as they scrapped together.

A huge fountain of flaming metal and debris boiled out from the top
of the BaseShip, as the mega-pulsar battery exploded with near-nuclear
force. The entire ship was rocked violently askew, her spin going wild,
as the molten wreckage continued to vomit both up out of the wound,
barely missing Enterprise, and down, further into the ship’s guts. The
hit was followed bare moments later by one of her landing bay doors
violently blowing open, spewing more junk into space, the fuel for her
fighters cooking off.

Command Center was in chaos, screens dark or burning, most of the
crew destroyed. Wreckage rained down, the deck cracked, and the hatch
blew outwards as the pressure differential tore it open, sucking
everything, and everyone, into the howling, burning guts of the
decompressing ship.

“She’s going!” cried Greenbean, as he opened fire on the BaseShip
once more. All fire had stopped, and the Vipers were having a field day
cutting up the Cylon’s hull like a piece of old carpet. A few Raiders
returned and tried to resume their attack, but fire from both starships,
and the furious response of the Vipers sent them scattering back to
their remaining carriers. As he continued firing, he saw P’kuth, lasers
screaming, roar past, adding his fire to the fight. More pieces of her
hull cracked off as the Klingon poured more fire into the BaseShip, then
another landing bay tore itself open.



“My God, it’s beautiful!” said Tigh, on the Galactica’s bridge. “It’s
beautiful, Adama!”

“Commander,” shouted an officer from the pit below. “Unidentified
contact. Closing.”



“NO!” bellowed Imperious Leader.



The Vipers continued their barrage, carving up the almost-corpse of
the BaseShip, when an orange ball of light, then a second, crashed into
its buckling hull. The Tholian ships, Greenbean’s scanner told him. He
ordered his flight to peel away, and just in time. Pinioned by beams and
speared by torpedoes, the Cylon BaseShip exploded in a massive eyeblink’
s flowering of radiance, utterly reduced to plasma and dust, taking out
half a dozen Raiders, and one Viper, in the process.



“Centurion,” said Lucifer.

“By your command.”

“Come with me.”

“By your command.”



“God, thot’s beautiful!” said Scott, watching the Cylon die on one of
the engineering monitors. Like a hundred generations of dour, fearsome
Celts before him, he felt the surging blood of war calling to him, and
laughed, tightly gripping a railing, as the BaseShip disappeared into
hell. Cheering erupted throughout the engine room, as the Colonials felt
their chances begin to tip. As the first delicious wave of pure ecstasy
began to wane, Scotty looked back at his instruments. A warning light
was flashing…

“Bloody hell!” he cried, as the import of what he was looking at sunk
in. A moment later, as another Raider fired on the Battlestar, a circuit
popped, then fried. On the grid, a red section of the ship’s hull began
blinking. “Shield failure!”

“Lords!” swore Shadrick, trying to get the failing shield to respond.
“Shunting power from…” He swore again, as another circuit erupted in
sparks, then flames.

“Overload in shield control, sir!” cried one of Shadrick’s men.
“Relays are burned out.”

“Sagan’s daggit!” spat Shadrick. “Our shields are down over Beta Bay.”

“Och, we’re as good as naked, laddie,” said Scott.



“He’s heading for the bay!” shouted Tigh, as the Raider dove directly
towards the hull. A moment later, lasers blasting, it buried itself at
full speed into the bay.





The Colonial Warriors aboard the Federation ships, despite the
terrible damage about them, erupted in cheering almost as energetic as
the BaseShip’s death. Starbuck actually clapped Kirk hard across the
back, eliciting something between a laugh and a choke from the
Lieutenant, and Giles kissed one of the female bridge officers. On
Enterprise, Sheba, never more truly her father’s daughter, whooped like
a naked, bloodspattered savage with a tomahawk, reveling in the raw
emotions of war, exchanging joyous sounds with Number One, Pike, and
even Spock, before…

“Lieutenant,” began the Science Officer, when Sheba, suddenly turning
a shade of green that would have done a Vulcanian proud, fell silent,
tottered, then toppled over, Spock catching her before she could hit the
deck. “Lieu…”

“Mr. Spock,” said Pike, turning to his man. “Damage re…Doctor Boyce to
the bridge. Medical emergency!”


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

“The Fleet definitely came this way, sir,” said Tolan,
indicating the scanner data on his monitor. “Exhaust plasma
residue is unique to Viper engines, and I’m picking up Cylon
wreckage.”

“Cylon?”

“Yes, sir. Lots of it, too.” He switched to another view.
Huge chunks of metal, still recognizably Cylon in design,
floated about, hot with radion. Closer in towards the
sun, there was more wreckage, mostly of fighters, numerous
Cylon pilots floating in the void.

“Well, this is damn puzzling,” said the Commander. “Cylon
wreckage, but nothing else. Colonial fuel residue, but no
Galactica. Take us in closer, helm.”

“Sir.”

Evidence of the recent fighting here was everywhere.
More wrecked or destroyed Raiders, leaking fuel cells from
the destroyed ships, even a few Cylon distress beacons from
now-immobile fighters. The huge amounts of wreckage
surrounding the inner planet got their attention, and left
everyone in awe. The amount of destruction here was
incredible, as if a whole fleet…

“At least one BaseShip amongst the debris, sir. But no
sign of any of the Fleet. And the rest doesn’t match
anything in our database.” As he spoke, something washed over
the ship, like an image beheld through rippling water.
Everyone’s sight dimmed, and the instruments fluttered.

“None of this makes any sense. What the…” began the
Commander, when an alert sounded.

“Cylon fighter approaching! Collision course!”







As Sheba was taken to Sickbay, Pike turned back to the
screen. The hot billowing cloud of wreckage from the
destroyed BaseShip was just beginning to dissipate, and he
could get a clearer view. He turned to Spock, once more
requesting a damage report for Enterprise.

It wasn’t good. One phaser bank was off-line, as was
one torpedo tube. The right warp nacelle had been hit a
glancing blow by a BaseShip’s salvo, and was leaking plasma,
putting the warp drive out of action for now. The deflectors
were rocky, and the shield over the keel might fail at any
moment, as might the hull seal between decks seven and
eight. The shuttle bay doors were jammed, and the
transporter was off-line as well.

Still, casualties were light, and there were no deaths
from the encounter just past. Pike ordered Tyler to plot a
course to rendezvous with Farragut, and Spock to report on
enemy forces.

The two surviving BaseShips had pulled back, under a
withering covering fire, to a point just beyond the planet’s
Roche Limit. Of the other Federation ships, both had taken
telling hits, and were moving as best they could to
rendezvous with Enterprise and Farragut. One of the Klingon
battlecruisers, G’ith, was drifting, her engines down, and
getting a tow from his brother ship. The Tholians were just
sitting where they had before. Silent. Watching. Waiting.
Whatever it was Tholians did. Of the surviving Raiders, only
about a score or so were still engaged against the
Galactica, the rest were withdrawing to cover their
BaseShips.

The Battlestar herself was taking a beating, but Scott’
s improvements to her gunnery, and the reduction in the
number of attackers took considerable pressure off of her.
From his vantage point in Engineering, Scott watched a
Raider, firing wildly as it dove on the Galactica, evaporate
under the A-A, and then two more fall victim to the
returning Vipers.

“Damage control?” asked Adama, watching the battle
progress.

“Beta Bay fire reported sixty percent contained, sir,”
reported Omega. “But boraton mist system failing.”

“Evacuate Beta Bay,” ordered Adama. “Seal it off, and drop
the atmospheric force field.”

“Aye, sir,” replied Tigh. Unlike last time, he would have
little trouble snuffing the fire. When Alpha deck had been
struck by suicide fighters, close to a yahren ago, the
explosion had wreaked such damage to the control systems,
that the force field could not be dropped, and several
bulkheads and airtight doors were bent out of alignment by
the explosion, making it impossible to seal off the bay. Not
this time. Tigh relayed the order, and within a few centons,
the fire crews were out, the doors slammed shut, and the
forcefield powered down. Within millicentons, the fire was
out, the red-hot metal cooling, the danger past.

At least that danger. One Cylon, observing this
operation, made a run for the unshielded bay, but fell
victim to Cree’s Viper, scattering shrapnel across the hull.
Within a few more centons, all remaining Raiders attacking
the Battlestar were either destroyed or running for their
BaseShips. Good.

Or, maybe not. As the Colonial, Federation, and Klingon
ship moved back and licked their wounds, the Cylon BaseShips
were not idle. After pulling back beyond standard laser
range, the two remaining enemy capital ships began a bizarre
performance. Their operational landing bays opened, and
began recovering fighters. One of the Klingon ships lobbed a
torpedo, striking Lucifer’s ship’s screens, but took no
other action. Lucifer’s ship moved until it was atop
Imperious Leader’s ship, and fired her functional
maneuvering thrusters, until she exactly matched the other
ship’s spin. Slowly, she was brought into perfect alignment
with the Command Ship, and the two wounded behemoths began
to spin as one.

“What in Hades Hole are they doing?” said Adama, and
Starbuck, exactly at once, though far apart. “Oh no! Not
that!”

“Feklar’s lips!” swore Korrd, watching the bizarre dance
of metal before them. As everyone watched, the two BaseShips
continued to spin together, until hatches on the lower ship’
s upper hull yawned open, and shafts or appendages of some
sort began to extend, continuing until they met with the
opposite hull, and huge latches snapped them securely into
place. The upper ship repeated the procedure, until both
ships were locked together by thick, massive pylons of
metal.

“Frack Sagan in the astrum!” swore Starbuck, as he
watched the horrible dance continue. Once the pylons had
locked into place, one of the landing bay approaches on the
lower ship s upper hull moved…moved!!! upwards, to meet its
opposite number, moving down. The control gantry moved
aside, locked, and they, like the pylons, latched into
place.

“Oh my God!” whispered Pike, as the evil-looking
monstrosities before him mated and melded into a single,
even more hideous wielder of death. He turned to Spock.

“The BaseShips have docked, sir,” he reported, stating
the obvious. “Sensors show that the BaseShip’s power systems
and defenses have linked, increasing their power
significantly.”

“How significantly, Mister Spock?”

“Sensors show an increase in power of approximately four
to the 9th power Wartham units, sir.” The Vulcan switched
scans, showing a cocoon of protective energy beginning to
envelope the Cylons. “Her deflectors have increased power by
over thirty percent, Captain, and are continuing to do so.”

“Get me Starfleet Command.”



“Get me the High Command!” ordered Korrd. “Repair status!”


“Och, laddie,” burred Scott, watching events unfold, “we’
re screwed.”




"Look, I feel fine now!" Apollo tried to sit up and once
again the firm hand of Doctor Boyce pushed him back down.

"I doubt that, and you definitely won't feel fine any time
soon if you don't give your body time to recover," he said firmly. "The
matter regenerator works wonders on repairing broken bones and more superficial
wounds. This, however, was no simple injury. I repaired your spinal cord
and some extensive internal injuries. The only reason you don't feel
much is because I have you pumped full of painkillers. Now, do I need to
have you restrained so that you don't undo all my handiwork?"

"No," muttered the Captain. It was apparent that the doctor
would not budge in his opinion. Regardless of how much danger they might be
facing, Boyce was not about to let his patient, skilled pilot or not, move
one centimetron out of his bed. The fate of humanity would have to be
decided without his help, as the good doctor had put it.

He lay back against his pillow, gazing up at the radiant
ceiling panels and suddenly felt a wave of nausea pass over him. No, he was
not fine, not yet. He did not recall the last time that he had felt this weak,
this easily drained. He had awoken about a centar ago, and it did not
take long to realize that not only was he on an alien ship, but one that
was under attack. Add to that the shock that this ship was run by
humans. Yes, he had been rather confused upon awakening. Doctor Boyce,
however, had carefully explained how he had come under his care and what
he knew of the current situation. Perhaps the combination of both shock
and euphoria of knowing where he was - within reach, at last, of Earth! -
had masked how weak he truly felt.

Not any more. Even with the continued shakes and
reverberations from the continuing battle, Apollo felt too drained after even that little bit of exertion. He let his eyes close, let his mind just float.
His last memory, a vague, incomplete memory, was of the landram
crashing downward. Dietra calling out. And a figure . . . who? Something was
missing. Something important, something he felt he needed to
remember, was just out of conscious reach. What was it that he could not remember?

He drifted into sleep, and as his mind relaxed, a vision
returned. One he had experienced aboard the Galactica before being
transferred to the Enterprise. A relived conversation. And faces, familiar
faces surrounded by a pure luminescence. Oh, Lords . . . it had not just
been a dream . . . had it? Had it?

Doctor Boyce stopped mid-stride as he heard the monitor
echoing the acceleration of Apollo's heartbeat. He quickly checked his
vitals and decided that the Galactican was dreaming, perhaps a bad
dream, but was otherwise stable. He knew that many would welcome that
news, not the least the young Lieutenant Sheba. Boyce decided that, battle or
no battle, it was time to send for her.

He was about to do just that when the summons to bridge
came.

********
Apollo was still drifting in and out of a fitful sleep when
a voice from outside the ward, a loud, protesting voice, shattered the
silence.

"I'm fine! Oh, for Sagan's sake, I just got a bit dizzy,
that's all. I need -"

Sheba, realized Apollo. He heard the monitor echoing again
the quickening of his heart rate. Sheba. Something had happened to Sheba?
He would have gotten up, but his limbs still felt heavy, too heavy, when
he tried to move.

"You need to take a moment to rest and let me be the judge
of whether of not you are all right," came Boyce's firm reply. "Not just lie
back while I run a few scans. It'll only take a moment."

Apollo thought he heard a sigh, but perhaps it had been his
imagination as he pictured an obviously okay Sheba wanting as impatiently
as he normally would be to get back into the battle. Sheba, he thought,
saying the name in his mind and feeling suddenly an intense, indescribable
sensation. Sheba . . . his mind was drifting again, even as another explosion
from the battle rocked the ship. Sheba. . . and a voice, a sweet, familiar
voice, seemed to whisper in his mind, in his dreams, She needs you. You and
she are meant to be.

Serina? No, thought Apollo, feeling a swelling of emotion,
tears burning in his still-closed eyes. No!

You and she are meant to be. The words repeated, then
seemed to fade, replaced by a quite audible and very real voice.

"See, I'm fine! I just, I just -"

"Well, perhaps before you rush back to the bridge," stated
Dr. Boyce, "you might want to pay a visit to someone, since you're here."

A pause, then, "Apollo? Is he awake?"

"Come and let's see. He might be sleeping, still."

"Apollo!" The voice was suddenly next to him.

The Captain opened his eyes to see Sheba's concerned face
staring down at him. Backlit by the ceiling illumination, she seemed to be
surrounded by a radiance, a white radiance, as another had been. For just
the briefest of moments, her face seemed to shimmer, to blur as another
beautiful image seemed to merge with hers. The words and visions that had
been troubling him since he had awakened, faded in that instance from the
captain's mind, leaving behind one thought, one realization, something he
had not let himself say or truly believe. Until now. "Sheba," he
whispered, "I love you."

"Oh, Apollo!" Tears were slipping down the Lieutenant's
face. She put a hand to Apollo's cheek, gently caressing. "You really had
us going there for a while," she said, sniffing back the tears and smiling
in relief.

"I'll be fine," the Captain said. "But are you okay?"

The ship shook again. Sheba seemed oblivious to it. "Oh,
I'm more than fine!" She did not notice as Dr. Boyce slipped out around a
corner into the next ward, leaving them.

"I love you," Apollo repeated. And he meant it. With all
of his heart, as he gazed up into her glowing, beautiful face framed by the
long soft strands of hair that flowed over her shoulders. No more doubts. No
more hesitation. He just knew that now was the time to reach
out to her and not let go, not let her slip away. Not push her away
anymore as he had done in the past, when a lingering barrier had prevented him from giving himself to her. But that barrier was gone now.

And Sheba saw the conviction in his emerald eyes. For how
many sectars had she longed to see that? Too many, too many. Even when she
and Apollo had given themselves to each other, she had felt his
uncertainty, his unwillingness to let go of the past. But no more, she
realized as she gazed at him. No more!

"Oh, Apollo!" Sheba leaned into his embrace as he wrapped
his arms around her, holding her, pulling her down against him. The tears
streamed down as she nestled her face against his cheek and hugged him as
best she could. Finally she pulled back. "Um, there's something I need to
tell you," she said, glancing away.

Apollo's smile faded as he misread her hesitating look.
"What is it? Are you all right? Did something happen to -"

"No, no," said Sheba quickly. "Everyone is okay, so far."
She decided not to mention how precarious, still, was Rigel's hold on life.
Not now. "I've got some news," she said, grinning, "some good news, I
think." She looked away, still embarrassed.

"What?" asked Apollo, feeling perplexed by her hesitant
reaction. This just wasn't the bold, brash daughter of Cain that he was used to.
"What is it?" A tinge of exasperation was creeping into his voice.

Sheba looked back at him, gazing into his eyes. In answer
to his question, she took his hand in hers and placed it over her abdomen,
pressing it against her.

Apollo knew in an instant. As if he had already known,
somehow. "You're . . .?"

Sheba nodded. "Yes . . . and it's a boy."

"A boy," repeated Apollo in a quiet voice. This brand new
reality was going to take some getting used to!

Sheba's smile faded. "You're happy about this, aren't you?"
She felt that old, familiar doubt suddenly grip her again.

"Yes!" said Apollo, sensing her fears. "Oh, yes!" And he
knew it was the truth. Felt it from the bottom of his soul. He placed his
other hand on top of hers. "Our child," he whispered.

As the ship continued to rock and jolt, as the battle
continued, the two Warriors were oblivious. For now, all that mattered was each
other.




Tolan and his Commander watched as the Cylon fighter dove on
them, engines flat out, lasers spitting death. But one
fighter was no match for their gunnery, and it almost at
once came apart, defensive fire slicing away the
undercarriage and engine housings. The Raider split open
spectacularly, spewing fire and garbage into space.

"Fighter destroyed," announced the gunnery officer,
needlessly. "No other functional enemy craft within range,
sir."

"Good shooting,' replied the Commander. He studied the
scanner data for a centon or two. Wild energy readings the
computer could make nothing of, clouds of wreckage, and no
Galactica. None of this made a millicubit's worth of sense.
He turned to Tolan. "Open a channel to the Galactica. All
frequencies."

"Sir."

And see if engineering can recover one of the Cylons
floating out there. I want answers."

"Sir."


On the other side of the galaxy, engineers aboard every ship
opposing the Cylons were scurrying about like ants,
feverishly working to repair, and prepare for whatever came
next. In the Battlestar's engineering section, Scotty and
his team bridged, replaced, assessed, heedless of the time.
Their Klingon counterparts were doing the same, as were the
Tholian vessels.

"Readings, Mr. Spock," said Pike, watching the now-coupled
BaseShips spin as one. A ghostly wraith of light seemed to
swirl about the joined vessel, and Pike was sure what the
sensors would find.

"The joined enemy vessels have linked their internal
systems, sir. The total power output of the combined craft
has increased by another fifty thousand Wartham units, and
continuing. Becoming increasingly difficult to scan them,
sir."

"Are those deflectors of some kind?" asked Pike, pointing.

"Yes, sir. Some form of multi-phasic shielding, Captain. It
is exceeding the entire output of our impulse engines."

"Can we penetrate it?"

"Unknown, sir. I shall attempt to obtain more data," said
Spock, and bent over his instruments, once more.

"Captain," said Alden, turning from his board. "Message from
Starfleet Command. The starships Hood and Defiant have been
dispatched, sir."

"ETA, Mr. Alden?"

"Six hours on the Hood, sir. About the same for the
Defiant."

"Good news, finally," said Pike. "Ship's status, Number
One."

"Engineering reports warp drive still off-line, sir. EVA
crews have been sent out to effect repairs to the damaged
nacelle, the breach between decks seven and eight, and the
shuttle bay doors as well." She turned back to her status
board. "Starboard forward phaser bank back on-line, but the
torpedo launcher is still jammed."

"At least we've got phasers back. Shields?"

"Engineering estimates that generator number seven will be
back up to full output in less than one hour, sir.
Generators four and five are still off-line for repairs."

"Transporter?'

"Still down, sir. No repair estimate, yet."

"Thank-you, Number One." Pike turned to Spock. "Spock?"

"Still analyzing the data, sir," replied the Vulcanian, not
looking up from his scanners.

"Good. Call me if the Cylons so much as sneeze. I'll be in
Sickbay."

"Yes, sir,' replied Number One. pike left the bridge, and
Spock slowly raised his head, a puzzled look on his
Patrician features. He looked over to Alden.

"Sneeze?"


Adama and his people felt the initial shock of horror abate,
as the reality of the situation sunk in. Only once before,
in the entire history of the conflict with the Cylons, had
two BaseShips physically joined in this way. Usually, if the
Cylons were victorious, there was, presumably, no need to.
If the were defeated, there were no surviving BaseShips to
join. The one instance in the records where they had done so
was over a hundred yahrens old. During a savage battle in
the Naytar system, two BaseShips, their backs to the wall,
had docked, and while Colonial forces licked their wounds
and called for reinforcements, built up their power.

Unleashing it suddenly, they obliterated one Battlestar,
crippled another, then began devastating the planet,
rendering it almost uninhabitable by any life form. Thus
victorious, the Alliance occupied the system, till, a few
years before the Holocaust, an elite operations team, led by
Apollo, had penetrated the Cylon base, and blown it, and its
garrison, to Kingdom Come. The system, and all its vital
resources, were reclaimed by the Colonies.

Now, it was happening once more. As the energy within the
enemy ship/s built up, Adama realized what was coming. He
ordered a channel opened to Enterprise.


Spock at last unraveled the mystery as well. The energy
building within the Cylon vessel was not being generated by
any means used by the Federation. The enemy was tapping what
had once been referred to as "zero-point" energy, energy
drawn from another dimension, or even universe. Such energy
gave the Cylons virtually limitless power. If...

"Ma'am," said Alden to Number One, breaking into Spock's
contemplation. "We are being hailed. Scout Grissom entering
sensor range."

"Grissom?" said Number One, surprised. The vessel in
question, a small science ship of the Revere class, was
dwarfed by her larger sisters, and looked like a matchbox
next the Galactica. What was she doing here?
"Acknowledge, Mr. Alden."

"Acknowledged, ma'am. Captain Raemart says he's here on his
own initiative, ma'am."

"I see. Well, we do need all the help we can get," shrugged
the Exec, wondering what possible use the tiny Grissom could
be against the Cylons. "David versus Goliath?" she muttered.

"Ma'am?" said Alden.

"Nothing, Mr. Alden."

"Colonel," said Omega, turning to the Exec, from his
instruments. "The Cylon shields, sir."

"What about them?"

"Something's different."



"Ma'am," cried Tyler, pointing at the viewscreen. "The
Klingons are firing on the BaseShips!"


Sitting upon his throne in his audience chamber, Imperious
Leader watched and felt events around him. With both surviving BaseShips
joined, repairs and defense could take place at an accelerated rate. As he
accessed data, he could see the new shielding, cocooning him, the added
power of the other ship making it near-impenetrable. Unfortunately, the
recent deployment of the new multi-phasic shielding technology,
despite its benefits, had proven less than satisfactory, as evidenced by
the destruction of the other ships. Hopefully now, joined to
another ship, and tapping into sources of power undreamed of by the
Colonials, they would not only prove invincible, but able to erase their
opposition in short order. He felt a slight movement. Fire from one of the
opposing vessels. The shields held, impervious to the alien weapons.
At least for the moment.
Imperious Leader was pleased with the progress reports
from the repair crews. They were ahead of schedule, for once. He was,
however, not pleased by the sudden disappearance of Iblis. The
mysterious being had vanished, as suddenly as he had appeared, and unexplained
things which his data could not satisfactorily explain bothered Imperious
Leader. The smiling Iblis had known things about Cylon programming that
even he had not been aware of, and that made him as dangerous as a loose
Battlestar. He called a Centurion to his chamber.

"Operations Controller Intortus, By your Command."

"Find the creature called Iblis, Centurion."

"By your Command."


At that very instant, the person in question, his
escape blocked by the body of the planet, writhed in fury and pain. The molten
core of the dead world screamed and tore about him like a liquid
hurricane, and flailing about like a decapitated serpent, he lashed out,
ripping gashes in the very flesh of the planet. With a brilliant eruption
of energies both geologic and unholy, the surface shook, cracked, and
heaved upwards, belching both magma and searing gases into the thin air.
Iblis strove to free himself from his prison, but felt something close about
him as he tore upwards.

"Iblis!" boomed a voice that shook the crust.

"Go! Leave me!" he roared back, voice like a nuclear
bomb. "You have no domin..."

"Fulfill your word!" boomed his foe, blazing with blue-
white incandescence, contrasting so harshly with Iblis' own red-
black pulsing. "Restore..." he choked off, as a blast from Iblis slammed
him back down into the core. For a moment, Michael staggered, then
returned to the fray. He shot into Iblis like a bullet, ripping yet more
wounds in the nameless world. The two titans struggled, the energies about
them crashing and boiling upwards.

"Sir," said Kang, aboard G’roth. Korrd turned towards
his man, then the main screen, and beheld a bizarre sight. The planet
below was in upheaval, volcanoes bursting out along the southern
continental landmass even as they watched. Within moments, huge areas were
transformed into vast, searing lava fields, then even more of the vents
cracked open as the eerie phenomenon continued.

"Scans?"

"Gravity and magnetic field fluctuating, sir," replied
Kang. He held on tight, as the G’roth bucked in her orbit, then again.
"The planet seems to be beginning to break up, sir."

"Cease fire, weapons officer. Helm, move us away from
the planet."

"Sir."

The Klingon vessels at once began to move away, the
G’ith now, barely, under his own power. Soon, everybody was putting
some serious distance between themselves and the heaving planet below.

Except the Cylons.

With a massive heave measurable only in teratons,
Iblis was sent sailing through hundreds of miles of molten rock and crust
like a dustbunny through air, shattering the planet's surface,
bursting forth from his temporary prison, screaming back into the void of
space. Followed hard on by his foes, he did not stop to watch the
lifeless planet buck and heave, its surface ripped and torn by myriad
wounds, its meager air poisoned by the effluvia of countless volcanoes,
and fissures hundreds of miles long.

Everyone else was, though. Spock especially was glued
to his sensors, measuring everything there was to measure about the
dying world. What had caused a stable, geologically quiet planet to
suddenly go violently volcanic, within literally a few minutes? Unless
one knew, they could not have recognized this world as the same one they
had scanned when entering this system. Even as Spock watched, the
atmosphere thickened, clouding over with toxic gases and ash,
obscuring the surface. Winds now ripped at hundred of miles an hour, and
there were literally thousands of quakes going on simultaneously, whole
continents buckling and tearing asunder.

"What in Hades Hole is going on?" asked Adama, on the
Galactica bridge. Like everyone else, he was riveted to the scene
below them. Thank the Lords of Kobol that the mineral crews had
launched to return to the Fleet when...whatever it was had begun.

"Unknown, sir," replied Tigh. "A few centons ago, the
planet was fine. Then...this. I've never seen anything like it."


With another blast of immeasurable power, Michael and
his Warriors sent Iblis tearing back downwards, impacting the planet like
an asteroid.


"It's what?" asked Pike.

"The planet's magnetic and gravimetric fluctuations
seem to be interacting with the residual energies from the portal,
sir," repeated Spock. He then launched into a torrent of technical
gobbledygook that only a Vulcan physicist could love, till Pike halted him.

"Bottom line, Lieutenant," asked Pike, hand extended.

"Bottom...?" hesitated Spock. Sighing, Pike explained.
"I see. Unknown, sir. Too many unknown factors."

"Keep on it, Spock," ordered the Captain.

"Yes, sir."



"Sir," said Tolan, indicating his instruments. Cain
looked down at the readouts, then at the area where the wormhole device
once had been.
"What in Hades Hole is..."

"Energy wave approaching, sir!" shouted someone,
suddenly. "Unknown..."

"Seal all bulkheads..." ordered Cain, as something
broadsided into the Pegasus.



Pike looked at the figures before him. Small, bulbous-
headed, eyes small and remorselessly penetrating. Once
again, he felt rather than heard the Keeper’s words to him,
as he fumed in his cell, deep below the planet’s surface.

“As we always suspected, Captain,” intoned the Talosian
leader, “your intelligence and abilities are shockingly
limited.”

“What are you doing here?” Pike demanded. He looked about
himself, recognizing the confines of his old prison.

“As you have learned,” continued the Keeper, ignoring
him, “escape from our control is not possible. You will do
and act as we determine, Human. You will obey, or you will
be exterminated. There will be no compromise.”

“You misshapen-headed freak!” snarled Pike, throwing his
food dish at the transparency that kept him from turning the
Keeper’s neck into a pretzel. “You’re a coward. You promised
to let me and my ship go!” He looked about again, but saw no
sign of Vina, the Keeper’s female captive. “You…”

Pike stepped back, recoiling in horror, as slowly the
Keeper changed, growing taller, bulkier, and losing all
facial resemblance to the Talosian he had known. The Keeper
and his retinue morphed into metallic beings, eyes replaced
by oscillating red scanners, their hands huge and gloved,
long swords hanging at their sides. The Keeper-cum-Cylon
stared at Pike, in the unnerving way they have, and the
Captain felt terror begin to rise within him. His heart
pounded, his face ran with sweat, but still the cybernetic
killers made no move.

“What…” he began, when the closest one, raising an arm,
pointed at him, and spoke. Spoke, horrifyingly, in the
Keeper’s voice:

“Terminate him.” The other Cylons began to move, raising
their pulse rifles, and opened fire on Pike’s cage. The
transparency disappeared in a blaze of light, and he felt
the bolts rip into him. He screamed…

And sat bolt upright, spilling tapes and disks onto the
briefing room floor.

“Captain?” said Spock, standing over him, in the briefing
room. For a moment, he too seemed Cylon, till Pike’s mind
cleared, and he saw his junior science officer for what he
was. Not a soulless mechanized killer, but a real flesh-and-
blood man. Pike had not spoken, and Spock repeated himself.
“Are you well, sir?”

“Spock?” said Pike, though it sounded more like the
croaking of a lizard. He took a deep breath, tried to
swallow, and again- “Spock?”

“Yes, Captain. I tried to reach you by intercom, but you
did not answer.”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Spock. I…dropped off it seems. I’ve, ah…”

“Understood, Captain,” replied Spock, momentarily
allowing himself a flicker of compassion for the Human.
After all, Pike’s race did not have the stamina of the
Vulcans, and needed rest far more often. They also, he
reflected, had no control over their dreams. Pike had looked
up at him upon awakening with an expression of pure terror.
While his understanding of Human emotions was limited, his
mother being the prime example, it was not hard to discern
the source of his Captain’s discomfiture. The Cylon threat…

Spock remorselessly shut down his emotional blip, and
told himself he must spend additional time in meditation,
once he was off-watch. He had been very sloppy of late,
allowing…feelings to intrude upon his thought processes.
Revulsion at the actions of the Cylons, concern for the
feelings of Pike, dangerous thoughts about the woman Ath…

“I have additional scan data, sir. The computer located
you here, so I took the liberty of…”

“Understood, Mr. Spock,” Pike cut him off, straightening
himself up, and retrieving the scattered materials from the
floor. “What have you got?”

“Mister Scott reports that repairs to the Galactica’s
systems will be completed approximately seventeen minutes
ahead of schedule,” said Spock, seating himself across from
his CO.

“I would expect no less of him. And?”

“Repairs to the Enterprise are also proceeding, sir.
Engineering teams report that the jammed torpedo launcher is
again operational, and the plasma leak from starboard
nacelle is sealed off. The warp coil realignment is
proceeding well, and all deflector generators are back up to
full power, Captain. All hull breaches are also sealed.”

“Good news, Mr. Spock. The rest of the fleet?”

“All ships report battle ready, Captain, though the
Farragut‘s warp drive is still off-line. ETA on the Hood and
Defiant is now three hours, seven minutes.

“Status of the enemy?”

“The Cylons continue to hold station, sir, and have made
no aggressive moves. However, the planet below has begun to
break up, sir. We have moved to a safe distance.”

Pike turned, and activated the briefing room’s screen.
The image from the bridge was clear-the planet, geologically
almost dead a few hours ago, was now a seething molten mass
of hellish aspect. Massive chunks blew skywards, some to
crash back down, blasting huge craters out of the melting
surface. Most of the atmosphere was now gone, as the dying
world heaved and shook with whatever it was that was killing
it. Pike shook his head, remembering how eager the
Federation had been to colonize and terraform the place.
Thank God for Tholian intransigence, he thought.

“Could the Cylons be doing something, Spock?” asked Pike.
“Some weapon connected with their stronger shields?”

“Unlikely, Captain. I can detect no indications of any
energies being directed by the Cylons towards the planet,
except for periodic scans.”

“Well double check, just in case. We can’t afford to
overlook anything, when it comes to them.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Anything else?”

“The Klingons have fired on the Cylons, sir, with little
apparent effect, and Commander Adama requests another
meeting.”

“Tell him that’s agreeable, Mr. Spock. How long till the
transporter is repaired?”

“Still some time, sir. But we could be beamed via one of
the other ships.”

“Make it so. Anything else?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Spock, and slid a data disk into the
computer terminal. The images of the dying planet were
replaced with…

“What is it?” asked Pike, leaning close to study the
image.

“Unknown, sir,” replied Spock. “It appears to be a ship,
but it matches no known configuration in our memory banks.”
Spock magnified the image. The vessel, or whatever it was,
was immense, though sensors could give no specifics. Miles
across, it sported huge towers, glowing spires and
glittering horizontal extensions nearly as long. It glowed
with a cool, blue-white radiance, but the spectrograph could
make out little, beyond iron, beryllium, and chemical
patterns unknown to Federation science. Its energy
signatures were, likewise, utterly unfamiliar.

“How far away is it?”

“Unknown, sir. Our sensors cannot precisely lock on to
it. Neither can those of the Colonial ships, or the
Klingons. One of their ships launched a probe, but its
telemetry failed. Grissom did the same, but the closer it
got, the further the vessel seemed to retreat. It too
failed, and the ship then appeared to come closer again.”
Spock actually sighed, and Pike recognized frustration on
his face. “I have no explanation, sir.”

“What was the direction of approach?”

“None, sir. It just appeared, and was in motion for no
more than a few seconds. Then, it took up position, and has
remained there.”

“An illusion, Spock? The Cylons? Even the Tholians?”

“Not according to the available information, Captain.
The most we can glean from the paucity of data is that
someone unknown to any of us would seem to be curious.”

“A new race?”

“That is my hypothesis, sir.”

“You hailed them, of course.”

“No response, Captain. They did not respond to the
Klingons, either.”

“The Tholian ships?”

“Maintaining radio silence, sir.”

“Hhmmm...” Said Pike, considering. “I’m coming up to the
bridge, Spock. We’ll…”

He broke off, as he and Spock were hurled to the deck
by a sudden wrenching lurch of the ship. The klaxon began to
wail, and as the Enterprise righted herself, there was
another shock, though less severe this time.

“Bridge! Report!” demanded Pike, reaching the intercom.

“An energy wave of unknown source,” reported Number One.
“Our deflectors barely popped on in time, sir.”

“All hands to battle stations!” ordered Pike. “I’m on the
way up.” There was another shake, and Pike nearly fell, Spock
grasping his hand to steady him. For an instant, the touch-
telepathic Vulcan felt what still reverberated through Pike’s mind. He shuddered at the horrific images, both from the
dream just past, and Pike’s imprisonment on Talos IV.

My God! he thought, momentarily mimicking his mother’s
way of speaking. How…

But Pike was out the door, and he hurried to follow,
leaving the dreams and horrors of the past, for those
awaiting them on the bridge.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was noise, sharp and frantic but so low it was
indistinguishable. And the pain, the sharp pulsing pain that overshadowed all else. Then the darkness came up again and smothered out all sensation, leaving her floating alone, numb in that dark sea of nothingness. There was no noise, no pain-nothing. It was cold, so cold and she was alone. More alone than she could
have ever imagined.

When the darkness had originally claimed her, she had
welcomed the absence of pain. In that darkness she had been released from the
constant fear that had become so familiar it was as a part of her life as
breathing. The sudden absence of that constant, unwelcome, companion had been traumatizing in its intensity. Gladly she held onto the darkness, settling deeper and deeper into its welcoming embrace.

Before her she could sense her destination, a warm safe
place that called to her in welcoming serenity. In that darkness she could feel
something, someone, traveling with her, around her - within her. A soul so
precious to her she wanted to cry with the intensity of her love for it. She
held it close to her as they traveled ever downwards into the darkness. Ahead of
them she could just make out a brilliant loving light, so bright it dazzled her
mind's eye.

Then she felt herself stop. No longer journeying forward.
The soul she carried was lifted from her grasp and continued along without her
toward the distant light. She fought against the force that was drawing her
away from it. She reached out and briefly touched the other before it was
taken beyond her reach. The forces around her carrying her back up, away from the comfort and love below.

Now, she was back in the darkness, no pain, no fear -
nothing. Cold and so alone it was madding. She fought against the darkness; she didn't want to be alone! The pain came again but not as intense as before. Sounds once again buzzed around her and this time she could hear the whispers.

"A home, Babe. Finally, a real place to live...." The voice was familiar and comforting.

"...not a cubicle inside an oversized metal box, always on
the run. Sun. A sky. A place for our."

She could feel the sorrow and pain that filled the voice.
She tried to get closer but the journey had been long and hard. Exhausted,
Rigel slipped back down into the darkness.


___________


Omega awoke abruptly, awakened by something he could not
identify. Anxiously, he looked about him, scanning the area before him. He did not, for a moment, recognize the room nor the strange alien scents and sounds
around him. Adrenaline rushed through his senses casting out the foggy
sleep that clouded his mind. Then his memories flooded back to him and he
remembered. During the lull in the battle, Commander Adama had permitted him a
brief return to Enterprise, to see Rigel, and Dr. Boyce had left him with
her. He quickly turned and looked at the small delicate form that lay in the
medical bed beside him. Shakily, he placed a hand over his eyes, wiping away the
last vestiges of dreams, and fighting off a fresh wave of grief.

He had been at home, walking along the shore, exhilarating
in the feel of sand between his toes. His arm draped lovingly around Rigel,
their child in her arms. They strolled along the sands watching the brilliantly
colored sunset before them. Their life aboard the Galactica, the Cylon betrayal
and the Fleet just a bad dream.

Only, the beach and serenity had been the dream and his
love, his life, lay motionless in an alien medical facility, the Cylons and
death still around them. He took a shaky breath as hot tears escaped and ran unheeded down him face.

"Omega?"

His head snapped up at the softly spoken word. Dark eyes
looked up at him in confusion. Choking down his tears, Omega turned and grasped
the searching hand.

"Rigel? Oh, Rigel!" He reached out a hand to touch her face,
afraid he was again lost in a dream.

The face under his questing finger was warm, soft and very
much there. "Oh Babe," he cried out as he hugged her to him.



The being called Iblis is not aboard either ship,
Imperious Leader, intoned the drone below him. Imperious
Leader considered this a moment, but decided against
punishing the Centurion for being the bearer of bad news.
After all, Iblis seemed to be able to do whatever he wished.
He d appeared out of nowhere, and now it seemed he had
returned there.

Still…

“Scan the immediate area for any signs of him.”

“By your command, Imperious Leader.”

The Centurion turned to go, but never made it to the
hatch before something hit the ship like a tidal wave.
Imperious Leader was nearly toppled from his high seat, and
the Centurion went sprawling.

“Report!!”



“What is it?” demanded Gommeed, aboard the Tholian ship
Kreeda. His ship had felt the surge of some powerful wave
wash over it, and the crew was picking itself up. He found
himself fervently hoping the blasted mammals were having the
same problems.

“Energy wave of unknown type, sir,” replied Loskeem,
scanning. “It seems to be emanating from an area between the
planet and the emergence point of the Colonial Fleet.”

“Cylon weaponry?”

“Unlikely, sir. This reads as utterly incongruous with
the Cylon energy signatures we scanned earlier. And the
Cylons have not fired their weapons in some time.”

“What, then?” growled the Tholian. “What?”



“Unknown, sir,” said Kang, reporting.

“Well find out!” ordered Korrd, turning back from Kang to
face the screen. “By Kahless find out!”