“Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeessssss!!!!” screamed Iblis, Michael’s,
and countless other Warriors hands about his throat. Deep
in the guts of the now boiling planet, the Father of Lies
writhed in pain, under the assault of his foes. His own
demons having either been beaten or fled, he was alone.
Utterly. Beaten, overwhelmed, defeated, forced to his knees,
he was now totally naked to his enemies, and had no choice.

“Now, Iblis!”

“Now, Iblis!” cried the entire chorus of Warriors arrayed
against him. “Now, Iblis! Now. Iblis!”

“YES!” the Evil One cried, shrieked, the merest foretaste
of his future wracking his entire being.

“Yes, what?” pushed the other. No reply. YES, WHAT?? he
sent another shock of power through the defeated Iblis.

“I…obey!” wailed the demonic monster, and at a nod from
Michael, the others loosened their hold on him. Now free,
Iblis began to regain something of his former appearance,
and closed his eyes. He raised his hands…



Cain barely kept his feet, as the wave swept over his
ship, knocking her almost up on her beam ends. He felt the
gravity flutter, then go off-line for a moment. The lights
dimmed, then with another heave, the Pegasus seemed to
partially right herself, and the emergency lights kicked in.
Floating up off the deck, he caught on to the back of Tolan’
s chair, then plopped unceremoniously back down onto his
astrum, as the backup generators cut in.

“What the fracking…” he began, when he saw the images on
one of the monitors. Directly ahead, there was a…well, a
whirlpool of swirling lightning. That was the first thing he
could think of to call it. A whirlpool, and the Pegasus was
being drawn right into it.

“Reverse engines!” he ordered, as the Battlestar was
drawn closer into the maw of whatever it was.

“No response!” replied Tolan, trying the controls again
and again. “Reverse thrusters off-line, Commander.”

“Keep trying!” ordered Cain. “Negative shield!”

Tolan opened the huge blast shields, and they all got a
look. The Pegasus was being sucked down into this…this hole,
like being sucked down a turboflush. Red lights were
flashing across the boards, as system after system went dead
or erratic. An alarm sounded.

“Life support is out all over the ship, sir!” yelled
someone. The Pegasus bucked, like a boat caught in rapids.

“Secure all bulkheads!” ordered Cain. “Fire crews to
stations!”

“Aye sir!”

“Speed, Tolan?”

“Unknown sir,” said Tolan, nearly thrown from his perch
by another heave. “Velocity reads as zero, sir.”

“What? Impossible!” said Cain. Outside, the whirlpool was
passing by as if the ship were literally hundreds of times
over lightspeed. Yet, the indicator read as dead stop! The
scanners were also blank, as if they were nowhere. What in
Hades Hole…?

“Sir!” cried Tolan, pointing ahead. At the center of the
tunnel, a black spot had appeared. It was growing larger,
and the Pegasus was headed right towards it!



“What the frack!” said Starbuck softly, back on the
Galactica’s bridge, as a swirling mass of light opened up
several thousand off their starboard bow. Like, yet unlike
the earlier wormhole, it was obviously immensely powerful,
and had most of their instruments showing only snow. It
pulsed, like a geyser, and after a few centons, it was
obvious that something was emerging.



“WHAT???” bellowed Imperious Leader, when he saw it, on
one of the few functioning monitors before him. As if
everything that had happened was not sufficiently bad, now
they had to contend with this!



All across the Galactica’s bridge, cheering
erupted, as the object coming through the wormhole became
more clearly defined. Long, wide, and gleaming white in the
light of this sun, it was unmistakably…

“The Pegasus!” shouted Giles, followed by several others.
Unreal, unbelievable, it was nonetheless true. The
Battlestar Pegasus, survivor of Molocay and Gamoray, lost,
found, and lost again, was ripping out of the hole in space,
like an arrow from a bow.

“My God!” cried Adama, eyes wide, as shocked for the
moment as everyone else. They all watched the other ship
scream out of the wormhole, which at once collapsed back
into whatever had created it, and roar on, rolling as she
did so. For several moments, it seemed that the Pegasus
would sail on, bypassing them entirely, and crash into the
Fleet. But after a few tense moments, they could see
maneuvering thrusters fire, and the ship turned, slowed, and
righted herself.

“Open a channel!” ordered Adama. Needlessly, as Athena
had already begun to do so. As the interference from the
wormhole cleared, a scratchy image of Cain once more graced
Adama’s bridge.

“Not now, Adama!” said Cain, voice warbly and full of
hiss. “I’m busy.” And so said, the Pegasus came about, pointed
herself directly at the combined Cylon BaseShips, and began
to speed up.

“Oh Lords!” said Boomer, as Cain fired a missile directly
at the Cylons.



“It is done,” growled Iblis.



“Excuse me, sir?” said the Centurion.

“We’re fracked!” said Lucifer.


Meanwhile, on board a spaceship, floating in, well, in
Space...



Pike watched, speechless, as the other Battlestar shot
from the spatial rift, and pirouetting with a grace he would
not have dreamed so massive a ship capable of, turned, and
headed directly for the Cylon BaseShips. He watched as Cain,
in a move of typically insane Cainicity, bore down directly
on the enemy, firing as he did so. The ordnance spat from
the Pegasus missile tubes, to slam into the Cylon’s shields.
Each missile blossomed into a beautiful, blue-white ball of
death, hammering the enemy’s defenses. One, two, three
missiles exploded against the BaseShip’s screens, and still
the Pegasus screamed towards her foe, forward laser banks
pumping out shot after shot. Then, at the very last
millicenton, she banked, like an old-fashioned propeller-
driven airplane, right up onto her beam-ends, and skirted
the enemy, the screens of the two warships flashing and
sparking as they scraped by.

“Who in God’s name is this lunatic?” muttered Tyler, as
the Enterprise bridge crew watched the Pegasus race away,
engines blazing, Cylon guns trying fruitlessly to track her
motion.

“Belay that, Mr. Tyler,” said Pike, sparing his navigator
a glance. “I’d venture to say these people know their
enemies.”

“Understood, sir,” replied Tyler, chastened. Turning back
to the screen, he watched the Battlestar speed away, the
Cylons momentarily blinded.

“Damage to Cylon vessel, Mr. Spock,” said Pike.

“One shield damaged, sir. Total shield integrity down by
6.78 percent.” He scanned further. “No appreciable structural
damage to the enemy, Captain.”

“Sir,” said Number One, “Cylon vessel attempting to target
the new ship. She’s moving.”

“Then let’s not let her. Target the Cylons, Number One.
Mr. Tyler, open fire, all banks.”

“Opening fire, aye,” responded Tyler. Intense beams of
phaser energy spat from the Enterprise’s forward banks,
slamming the Cylon’s screens. Moments later, they were
followed by a full spread of photon torpedoes, then a second
round of phaser fire, raising huge balls of violent energy
from the enemy’s shields.

As if on cue, the remaining Klingon vessels did the
same, opening fire on the Cylons. G’roth cut loose, followed
by the rest of the Klingon flotilla. The Cylon’s shields
flared white, purple, and red, but stubbornly held firm.
Pike watched as Farragut opened fire, then fired himself
once more. Again the BaseShip’s screens flashed and burst,
but stayed in place.

“Cease fire,” ordered Pike, and Tyler stood down. The
Pegasus was now far from the BaseShip, and was coming back
around to rejoin her sister ship, and the Colonial Fleet.
Pike watched her slide smoothly, surprisingly so, alongside
the Galactica, slowing to station keeping. He shook his head
and smiled. What the hell must this Cain be like? He
wondered, as the ship’s name sunk in.

“Klingon forces continuing to fire, sir,” Spock informed
him. “Cylons returning fire.” Pike watched as more lasers from
the Klingons slammed the Cylons, and a pulsar blast from the
enemy seared close to G’roth. The Klingons seemed to get the
idea that this wasn’t going to work, right now, and they
stood down. The Cylons soon ceased fire as well.

“Sir,” said Alden, “Commander Adama requests another
conference.”

“Tell him I’ll be there, Mr. Alden.”

You bet I will be, thought Pike. I want to meet
This…lunatic.

“Captain,” said Spock, “starship Defiant now entering
sensor range. ETA 54 minutes.”

“The Hood?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“Sir,” interrupted Alden, “incoming message from Commodore
Nogura, aboard the Defiant.”

“The Commodore?” said Pike, clearly surprised at this
news.

“Yes, Captain.”

“Put him on, Mr. Alden.”



Lucifer had watched the Pegasus emerge from nothing,
and had felt certain that he was about to be destroyed. For
a fleeting moment, he had wished that Baltar were here with
him, so that he could watch the Human traitor scream in
terror as the end approached. Something about Baltar’s
emotional outbursts, especially the fearful ones, had been
so entertaining.

The Pegasus attack had caught the BaseShip totally
unawares. With crews occupied with repairs and
modifications, and the scanners momentarily obscured by the
wormhole effect, the Pegasus had been turning to bear down
on them almost before they knew it. The first salvo had
rocked the ships, the second missile even worse, as Cain
followed it up with massive laser volleys. While the new
shield design had held, for the moment, against the attacks,
the energy released had obscured their tracking sensors once
again, making it nearly impossible for the gunners to target
the Battlestar by anything but visual sighting alone. As a
result, they missed badly, and got a serious thrashing in
return.

“Yes, Centurion?” asked Lucifer.

“Damage to Number Three shield generator, sir,” said the
underling. Lucifer examined the report. It seemed the
Pegasus near-collision had resulted in severe overloading in
one of the shield generators, and the deflector had nearly
collapsed. Only the overlapping of the screens, and rotating
of the ship had saved it from being penetrated, during the
follow-up attacks from the Federation and Klingon vessels.
Unfortunately, that attack had made it impossible to pursue
the Pegasus, and she had escaped. It was, reported the
engineers, going to take at least 60 or 70 centons to put it
right, barring any complications, along with everything
else. Lucifer shook his pointy electronic head, an
unconscious mannerism picked up from Baltar, and reflected
upon this new situation. Commander Cain. The Pegasus.
Imperious Leader would most certainly not be pleased. He
looked around his damaged Control Center, as the techs
worked to repair, and once again wondered;

What would Baltar do?

“Centurion,” he called, lowering his voice, gesturing to
another Cylon.

“Sir?”

“Is it ready?”

“Awaiting your arrival, sir.”

“Very good, Centurion. Proceed there, and await my
signal.”

“By your command.”


Pike wasn’t certain of just what to expect of
Commander Cain, but somehow this wasn’t it. A tall, still-
vigorous middle-aged man, with a thick shock of golden hair,
and a face you could trust. Somehow, he’d expected someone
with wild eyes, bulging muscles, and the long streaming hair of an ax-
wielding barbarian. But upon seeing him for the first time,
he had to shelve that idea. Cain looked, somehow, so…normal.
Not the sort of man one would expect to pilot a million
gross tons of starship like a punk in a stolen hover car out
playing chicken.

Cain was staring at him, and it took a few moments to
realize that it wasn’t he or his party so much, as the
transporter effect that held the Commander’s attention.
Since the Colonies had never developed the technology much
beyond the theoretical stage, Cain would never have seen it,
and it clearly unsettled him.

They went through the introductory pleasantries, and
then had to do so once again, when Commodore Nogura
transported into the Galactica’s huge council chamber, from
the Defiant. A small man, Pike seemed to tower over him, but
it would have been a mistake to evaluate the Commodore on
that basis alone. A brilliant tactician and line officer, he
had once saved his first command, the Dewey, from certain
destruction by Orion pirates, saving most of his crew, and
destroying two of the attacking pirate cruisers. He said
little, saw much, and heard everything.

“Commander Cain,” he said, his Japanese accent all but
imperceptible, “I welcome you to the Alpha Quadrant on behalf
of the United Federation of Planets.”

“My thanks,” replied Cain, shaking the other’s hand.
Nogura at once took in Cain’s dress. A uniform similar to
that worn by the golden-haired woman next to him, his was
however loaded with shining braid, medals, and gold trim. He
carried a short black swagger stick with a small bird atop
it, and wore a pistol, the grips customized, on each hip. It
was obvious that the woman was related to him somehow,
probably his daughter, Nogura decided.

They all sat, the Pegasus and one of the Federation
ships filling the window. Pike noted Cain’s repeated and
admiring glances at the other ship, and smiled inwardly.

“After the second BaseShip was destroyed,” said Cain,
filling everyone in, “our main life-support failed, as well
as our primary deflector system. We saw, barely, the Cylon
task force closing, heading back for Baltar’s BaseShip, so
we got out of there, while the debris and radion from the
destroyed BaseShips could still obscure us.” Spock studied
Cain’s expression and voice closely. It was obvious that the
Commander hadn’t liked that at all. Unlike Adama, who did
what he did out of need, Cain truly loved war. The man was,
Spock decided, mentally unbalanced, or nearly so, Why else
would someone be so fond of conflict and battle? He blinked,
coming back to the conversation.

Korrd noticed it, too. This man loved war!!!

“We ran her at flank speed, until our main drive failed,
and we were down to auxiliary power,” Cain was continuing.
“Baltar had recovered fighters, and was searching for us, but
we ducked into the Deltivit asteroid belt, and used one of
the larger asteroids as cover.”

“How long were you there?” asked Adama.

“Almost three sectars. We were in pretty sad shape, and
needed serious repairs. After Baltar’s scouts gave up the
search, we began mining one of the asteroids for the
minerals we needed to restore our various systems. It took
nearly two sectars to get our defensive systems and engines
back up to operational status, then another to scratch
enough tylium from the asteroids to fill our bunkers. We
sent out a scout, and when I was sure the coast was clear,
we headed back out, to try and pick up your trail.”

“Scout, sir?” asked Starbuck. “I thought you launched all
your Vipers when we evacuated to the Fleet.”

“We did, but there were enough components in ship’s
stores to construct several Vipers, plus our two-seater trainers.
Once clear of the asteroid belt, we headed for Gamoray once more, and found it a total wreck. None of the Cylon defenses had been rebuilt, and we
were able to help ourselves to all the fuel and munitions we
could cram aboard the Pegasus, before leaving the sector.

“Must have been a big help,” said Sheba.

“It was. But it was nearly two sectons before we picked
up your trail with certainty, Adama. By that time, my people
had finally cracked the Cylon code, and knew that they were
in pursuit of you again. So, I’ve been following, avoiding
the Cylons as best I could, and deceiving them when
necessary. We found the system where you destroyed that
BaseShip, and when we detected scouts approaching, I let
them see me for a few centons, then led them astray, to help
cover your escape.”

“My thanks, Cain,” replied Adama. “Did you encounter the
Eastern Alliance?” He explained. Cain had, but the
Destroyers, still skittish from their earlier encounter, had
preferred to stay back, giving the second Battlestar to
transit their space a wide berth.

“I finally picked up a stray signal from one of your
patrols, and decided it was time to rendezvous, when we had
a scanner breakdown. By the time repairs were made, and we’d
found that solar system, you were gone.”

“I’m surprised,” said Korrd, “from what I have heard. Was
not the wormhole device destroyed?”

“It was,” said Cain. “All we found was a cloud of
wreckage near the inner planet. Some of it was Cylon, and
the rest we couldn’t identify.”

“Then how did you manage the transit from there to here?”
asked the Klingon. Cain looked at him a moment, wondering if
the ridges on their skulls made their brains a different
shape.

“I don’t know,” said Cain, “and that’s the truth. We
encountered ripples of some kind of energy washing over us.
Our computer had never seen anything like it before. Another
one hit, nearly flipping the ship over, and we ended up
here.”

“Well, the timing couldn’t have been better,” said Adama.
“We need all the help we can get against this new Cylon
defense.”

“I noticed that they’ve joined,” he indicated the
holodisplay in the center of the table, “and that they
survived our attack. But I have no more clue as to how we
got here than anyone.”

“If I may,” said Spock, and with a motion, he replaced
the holodisplay of the Cylons, with a computer graphic. “This
is a scan of the wormhole device that brought the Colonial
Fleet to the Alpha Quadrant.”

“It is incredible,” said Korrd. “Such technology.”

“Aye, she was a beauty,” burred Scott.

“Indeed,” replied Spock. “And here,” he switched images
once more, “is a waveform analysis of the wormhole effect,
taken when the Galactica emerged into our space.” He began a
highly technical description of what all the lines and
squiggles meant, but Cain interrupted.

“All fine and dandy, Mr. Spock, but how do the
interaction of graviton wave pulses and collapsar fields get
me here? The wormhole device was destroyed by the time the
Pegasus reached that planet.”

“Yes, Commander. But there were, according to our scans
here, residual energies from the previous events. Echoes, if
you will, of the wormhole effect.” He switched images once
more. “As you can see, the waveform analysis of your
emergence is similar to, but does not precisely match that
of the other episodes.”

“I see that,” said Korrd, who, unlike most Klingon
Warriors, took a more than passing interest in the sciences.
“But it does not appear capable of transiting an object the
size of a Battlestar.”

“You are correct, sir,” replied the Vulcan. “Yet, it did
so. And at the very time that the wormhole opened, to allow
the Pegasus to enter our space, the planet below us was
undergoing bizarre and as yet unexplained geological
upheavals.” He showed a speeded up image of the planet, going
from cold, desolate, and dead, to hot, boiling, and nearly
coming apart. “As you can see, since the arrival of the
Pegasus, the planet’s paroxysms have subsided.” A realtime
image of the planet showed huge seas of lava, boiling up
from the molten interior, and a new, and toxic, atmosphere
outgassing from the surface. But the shattering upheavals
had ceased. “To put it simply, sirs, neither the new
wormhole, nor the planet’s upheavals are explainable, but,
as you can see,” once more he put up a graphic, “the energy
pulses from both phenomena correlate.”

“Incredible,” said Scott.

He was right. Two charts, full of yet more lines and
squiggles, were overlaid. They eerily matched. But as to how the
near-explosion of a planet here, and a wormhole so far away
could be connected, Spock had no answer.

“Well, however it happened, you are here,” shrugged
Adama, Sheba squeezing her father’s arm as he did so. “What
we need now is a way to cut through the Cylon’s new
shielding before they can complete their repairs.”

“Yes,” said Stone, “their new shielding is highly
resistant to analysis by our sensors. We can’t get any clear
data on its configuration.”

“Well, I may be able to help, there,” said Cain, his
smile beginning to surface. He held up a data tape. “While
still in the other system, we were attacked by Cylon
fighters. We destroyed them, and I had some of the damaged
Centurions brought aboard the Pegasus, in an attempt to gain
information.”

“Which you did,” said Tigh.

“Yes,” said Tolan, Tigh’s opposite number on the Pegasus.
“We downloaded everything we could from their memory banks,
and discovered that they had made some new advances to their
BaseShips.” He took the data tape from Cain, and inserted it
into the reader at his station. Again, more squiggles and
pictures, but…

“Och!” said Scott, nearly coming up out of his chair.
“Their shield frequency modulation!”

“Exactly,” said Tolan. “With this data, we can tune our
weapons more precisely, rendering, hopefully, their shields
nearly useless.”

“Gentlemen,” said Nogura, to his Captains, “how long to
make the necessary modifications?”

“I will have to study the data,” replied Spock, at a
questioning look from Pike, “but I estimate less than an
hour, Commodore.”

“Then I suggest we begin at once,” said the Commodore,
gesturing towards the Cylons, “before they finish.”



Atop a slowly cooling outcrop of lava on the planet’s
surface, unaffected by the hot, toxic gasses wafting about
him, Iblis watched the events unfolding above him. Despite
his efforts, the Pegasus had, after all, rejoined the
Galactica, reuniting all that remained of the Colonial
refugees. He seethed in anger, but there was little he could
do. The limits set upon him were clear, and inviolate.


And time marched on, remorselessly. Soon, the Agreement
would expire, and he would have nothing to show. Nothing for
thousands of yahren of work and effort. All for nothing.
Pointless. Dust. He glared upwards in impotent rage at the
Pegasus, then down at the still-searing lava beneath his
feet. His powers, vast beyond any mere Human reckoning,
circumscribed by morals!

MORALS??? Morals were for men, not gods! He, as the
only one truly worthy of worship, confined, penned in,
LIMITED by mere..rules! How unfair! Men transgressed the
will of- he could not even bring himself to think that
accursed name- all the time. Every day of their puny,
miserable, bacterial lives, they sinned, yet they had
greater freedom than he, now. They could go, and do,
whatever they willed. Even the other species, the Tholians,
the Klingons, acted as they wished, playing into his hands
all the time. Why…

The Father of Lies looked back up, towards the Colonial
Fleet, and a slow smile began to spread across his face.
Even in his Human guise, it was a smile of pure malignance,
of such irredeemable evil as to make any mortal who might
have chanced to have seen it recoil in horror. Fortunately
for their sanity, none did. A new idea had begun to
germinate in the Black Heart of Hell, and as it slowly took
shape, the Evil One began to laugh. He laughed, and laughed,
and laughed, till the very rocks around him shook with the
sound, rippling and buckling, as if even the gooey, cooling
lava sought to escape from this creature.
“Oh, yes,” he said, barely a whisper on the keening wind.
“Yes, of course,” and with a thought, he was gone.


And Satan went out from the presence of the Lord


Once more sleeping peacefully, Rigel lay in the
recovery ward of Enterprise’s sickbay, her vital signs
slowly growing stronger as her ravaged body healed. To the
casual observer, it would have seemed as if naught were
amiss, yet...

Once more, upon a quite different plane, she wandered
through a land dark, yet somehow suffused with a bizarre
light. She searched, she was not sure for what, turning her
head this way and that. Where was it? Yes, where was
the...yes! The soul she sought for? Her child, her baby, the
soul she and Omega had so recently quickened, and cruel fate
as soon had snatched from her. She sought and sought...

And saw something. Something moving, amidst the
swirling tendrils of perception. She turned, moving towards
this motion, her own seeming to send wispy ribbons of light
and shadow spinning in her wake. As she drew closer to it,
it seemed to resolve, drawing itself out of the
formlessness, take shape. She called, hoping against hope...

“Omi?” she called, using the pet name she and only she
used for Omega. “Omi, is that you? Where did...”

She stopped, as the roiling form took solidity, passing
from indistinct, to red, to robbed in white. Startled, she
cried aloud, first in surprise, then in fear, as the figure
looked back down at her. Tall, seemingly a robust man of
powerful middle-age, he pierced her with his gaze, his face
outwardly kind, yet eyes like scalpels of pure malignity.
She felt her arms slowly enfolded in fingers of steel,
gripped by a frightening strength she could never match. As
the truth of that face sunk in, she began to shake in
horror, struggling to no avail. Her voice croaked, words
falling silent.

“My dear Rigel,” he said, his words falling dead like
poison in her ears, yet somehow magnetic and sweetly
enticing, “you seem well. I had heard that you were ill. My
condolences on your tragic bereavement.” He smiled again, his
smile both fatherly, and that of the psychotic. Rigel tried
to speak, and could scarce breath-

“Iblis!”



Spock found the Science Officers from both Colonial
Battlestars a mixture of irritating emotions, and sharp
perceptions. While Wilker was somewhat self-important and
ego-centric, what his mother, Amanda, would call prickly,
his opposite number from the Pegasus, a Doctor Dee, was a
near-opposite in temperament. Calm, steady, and seemingly
imperturbable, he reminded Spock of Master Sugan, his first
mathematics instructor in primary school. However, despite
their differences, the two Colonial scientists worked well
together, and interfaced with the Vulcan easily. Already,
their collaboration had borne fruit.

“The sensor logs from the Pegasus attack run on the
Cylon vessel show that the BaseShip’s scanners did not track
them effectively,” he said, tapping out an equation on a
monitor in one of the Enterprise’s labs. “Their scan
signatures become increasingly erratic from this point on.”

“Yes,” said Wilker, after a moment. “The secondary
radiation from the shields acted to scatter much of their
scan energy.”

“Which shows a serious flaw in their new shielding
design,” added Dee. “While deflecting incoming energy, the
secondary radiation nearly blinds them.” He studied Spock’s
math for a moment, then made some notes of his own. “They
seem most vulnerable here, at these frequencies.” Both Wilker
and Spock nodded. “Our laser weapons can be retuned to take
advantage of their shield modulation,” he continued. “What of
your phaser system, or your torpedoes?”

“Phaser retuning will take little time,” replied Spock,
reviewing the calculations, and then running a simulation.
“However, our torpedoes have a pre-set charge. Altering them
to be effective against their multi-phasic shielding may
take considerably longer.”

“Why?” asked Wilker, again letting his prickly side show
a bit.

“Each torpedo has a pre-determined amount of anti-matter
in the warhead. When it mixes and explodes, it releases
energy of a certain precise level and energy configuration.
To alter that, we would have to pull each warhead, and
effectively redesign the charges. Determine a new matter-
anti-matter mix. Given the rate of the enemy’s increasing
shield strength, we may not have time to find the correct
mix, and then manufacture new warheads.”

“We may not have to,” said Dee. “If we are successful in
penetrating their shields, then the torpedoes will do their
work, regardless.”

“I agree,” nodded Wilker, fingers digging deeply into his
chin. He turned back to the screen, and downloaded all the
data onto a disk. “I'll get back to the Galactica with this,
and get started.”

“And I the Pegasus,” said Dee. Both men left, and Spock
transferred the new phaser data to Engineering. He sat for a
moment, considering...



“Yes, Rigel,” said the infamous Count. “I did say I would
return.”

“Wh...what do you want?”

“It is more a question of what you want, Rigel.” He was
quiet a moment, and the light, the very air, seemed to swirl
about them. “I heard about your loss. So sad,” he smiled, and
for a moment, it almost seemed genuine. “I know what it is to
lose, My Dear.”

“My loss...” she stuttered, unable to tear her gaze away
from his eyes. “I just...”

“Your child, My Dear. Yes, very, very sad. No woman
deserves to suffer so. The life within her, torn away by
cruelty, or fate.” He smiled again. “I want to help.”

“Help?” Rigel asked, feeling her mind begin to reel in
confusion. “Help how? My child is gone. There is nothing that
can be done.” She managed to look away for a moment. “Omi?” she
called once more. “My baby. My...” she gasped, feeling tears
begin to well up.

“Yes,” said Iblis, for a brief moment, sounding like the
most comforting of Father Confessors. “Your baby, My Dear
Rigel. I grieve with you. The sad, yea, the needless loss of
life. A life so cruelly cut short, before even having a
chance to truly live.” He turned his gaze from her a moment,
and she followed him. The misty light seemed to swirl up,
then to part. Out of the murk, she saw shapes move, shapes
that seemed so familiar. Shapes...

She cried out, as the images became clearer. Herself,
belly full and rounded, arm in arm with Omega, walking on a
beach somewhere, under a beautiful blue sky. Unable to form
a word, she watched as the images changed. Herself in the
throes of childbirth, a baby at her breast, then a toddler,
a golden-haired girl at her side, jumping and frolicking
upon green grass with a daggit.

“Mommy?” a voice said, coming to her from the mist.
“Mommy?” it called again, and she tried to focus. Out of the
fog stepped a little girl, perhaps no more than five yahren,
the very image of Rigel’s own mother, lost in the Holocaust.

“What...but how...”

“Death is not the end, Rigel,” said Iblis, his grip on
her arms loosening ever so slightly. “Death is ultimately
meaningless. Why should one let it come between them and
their loved ones?”

“But...but she’s gone. I lost her. The doctor...”

“But you can have her back, Rigel,” cooed Iblis, his
voice like the sweetest treacle, the headiest wine. “You do
want her back, don’t you?” He waited a bit. “I can give her
back to you. You and Omega.”

“I...I can t. She s...I don’t under...”

“You don’t need to understand, child,” said the white-
robed deceiver. “But it can be yours. She can be yours.
Again.” He motioned to the image, and the child stepped
forward. Iblis spoke again, as he slipped her hand into
Rigel’s trembling one. Tears running down her face, her lips
quivering, she looked deep into the face of the simulacrum,
and then up at Iblis.

‘What...what do I...”

Even as she formed the question, the gleam in Iblis
eyes seemed to brighten as he sensed his victory. She tried
asking it again, and straightening up to his full height,
the Father of Lies looked down at her, his voice like a
narcotic, saying:

“You will worship me!”


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

As the new phaser data sped its way through the
Enterprise’s systems, Spock sat, quietly a moment, reading
the latest scans from the sensors re the BaseShip. He ran
another simulation, then another. Each time, the results
were satisfactory. The Cylon’s shielding failed, and they
won. Yet, despite all that, something continued to bother
him. Something he could not define

Obviously, he told himself, leaning quickly back in his
seat, and taking a deep breath, the presence of so many
Humans from another culture, with all their wild and
unrestrained emotions, was continuing to affect him more
than he had realized. He must, regardless, set aside more
time for Meditation in the Disciplines, after his watch.
While he had increased his meditation since this crisis had
erupted, he obviously had slipped more than was at first
apparent. Wilker’s prickliness had actually irritated him.
He had actually...sighed. And Athena...

“Athena,” he said aloud, though no one else was there to
hear him. Yet again, the image of the Colonial officer rose
up before him, and he found himself wondering about her.
Curious. Desiring her! She was a beauty, yes. Tall,
attractive in a way even Vulcan aesthetics would approve,
and so very, very unlike T’Pring. T’Pring, who despite her
sensual beauty and great intelligence, her wealth and
ancient lineage, was cold, icy, disdainful.

Chosen as a wife for him by his and T’Pring’s father
almost at birth, he and the girl had been bonded at the age
of seven, in keeping with ancient Vulcan tradition. While
the seven-year-old Spock had felt nothing at the time, save
the creation of the psychic bond between them, as the years
passed he realized that he would never, save only at the
time of pon farr, feel anything for the girl. That, and
nothing from her, either. What little he could sense from
her, now, through their bond, was less than what he
occasionally sensed from any of the women on the Enterprise,
Human or otherwise, when forced by circumstance into close
contact with them. From Number One, he had at times
sensed...interest. Curiosity. From Yeoman Colt, animal
passions, pure female need. Even from Vina, on Talos IV, he
had briefly sensed some fleeting emotion. But from T’Pring,
from his own betrothed, not even that. It was as if he were
bonded to a statue. To ice. To a woman who cared not one
whit for or about him. A woman who, in actuality, despised
him.

But, Athena, daughter of Adama...When he had looked at
her, and she back at him, he had...had felt as if his heart
were stirred. Stirred, like never...

‘NO!” he said, louder this time, shaking his head to
clear it, an unconscious Human mannerism. ‘No. It can never
be! It is illogical!”



“Wor...worship?” said Rigel, her voice squeaky and
uncertain. Her eyes were fixed on Iblis , unable to tear her
gaze away. His smile slowly grew wider, like the sociopath
who sees weakness, like the lupus that senses fresh prey.

“Such a little thing, Child”, said Iblis, his teeth white
like bleached deathstones. “So little, and so many have done
so.”

“I...I cannot...”

“But you can,” replied Iblis, his voice and expression
losing some of their congeniality. “I offer so much, Rigel. I
offer you so much. And I ask so little in return. So little.”

“I...’ began Rigel, as the simulacrum of the child drew
closer, and slipped fingers into hers.

‘Mommy.”

“No. I must...”



“Doctor!” cried a nurse in Sickbay, interrupting Boyce as
he finished up yet another autopsy report. “Doctor!” she
called again, and he jumped up from his office seat, and ran
for the recovery ward. There, Nurse Mansoor was trying to
rouse Rigel, writhing and twisting on the biobed.

“What happened?” Boyce demanded, as he moved in. Rigel’s
eyes were open, but dilated and glassy. Not seeing them.

“It just started Doctor. I came to check her biosigns
before logging off shift, when they suddenly began to spike
like this.”

“Brainwaves show REM state,” said Boyce, “but it’s nearly
off the scale. Her neurotransmitters are through the roof!”
Boyce shook her, but the Colonial officer did not awaken,
continuing to thrash, and cry out in a language Boyce did
not understand. He looked at the monitors again. Her pulse
was over 230, she was beginning to hyperventilate, and her
blood chemistry, as well as pressure, was going crazy. With
everything that had happened to her recently, if this did
not stop soon, she would likely die of stroke or cardiac
failure. He ordered Mansoor to hand him a hypo from the
tray, and injected Rigel with it. He watched her, screaming
and flailing as the medication worked its way into her
brain...



Omega, in his quarters aboard the Galactica, collapsed
onto the deck, his uniform sodden with sweat, his heart
feeling as if it were going to literally explode within his
rib cage. He had been trying to catch a few centons rest
before he went back on duty, when he had awakened suddenly,
filled with a horrid premonition that Rigel was in danger.
He keyed his intercom, but repairs on the ship’s systems had
temporarily taken it off-line. So, as if led, pushed, driven
to do so, he sank to his knees, and turned in a direction he
had rarely turned in his life.

“Oh... God!” he howled, as if stung by bodkins of fire.
“Stop it!!”



“Nooo...” wailed Rigel, struggling against Iblis’ grip of
steel. Despite the pain, despite the agony of her loss, she
could not, she would not obey the Prince of Darkness. As she
looked at him, baring her teeth in what must surely have
seemed a piteous display of resistance, she saw someone
else, behind the Author of Death. Someone she knew, or had
known. Someone....

“Rigel!” said the shimmering, white-clad figure. As she
shifted her gaze wholly from Iblis to the newcomer, Rigel
recognized her.

“Serina?” croaked Rigel, barely able to speak, or even
breath.

“NO!!!” bellowed Iblis, as this fly made it’s way into
his carefully oozed ointment. “No! Be gone! You cannot...”
His voice was cut off, by Serina, placing her hand upon
Rigel’s breast. At once, her violent gasping began to calm,
and her face to relax.

“Be gone, Dark One!” said Serina, voice quiet, yet
somehow able to be heard over all the riot of Hell.

“Rigel!” said Iblis again, ignoring Serina and the host
becoming visible behind her. “Think what I can give you!
Think what you are giving up! All that you and Omega ever...”

“Behold!” said Serina, and the image of the little girl
began to change. Swift as a heartbeat, it morphed, to become
a small, disgustingly ugly imp, with huge, glowing eyes,
which retreated to cower in Iblis robes.

“Master!” it wailed, terrified, making a sick, gurgling
sound in its throat. “Massssster!”

“Noooooo!!” snarled Iblis... Then for Rigel, everything
went black, her last memory that of the uncapricaly
loveliness of the shimmering being before her. Then,
blissful darkness.



“Vital signs returning to normal, Doctor,” said Mansoor,
as the indicators above Rigel’s bed began dropping. Her
muscles relaxed, and her breathing began to calm. Her
brainwaves also began to smooth out, and she was quiet. “What
was that?”

“A neuro-inhibitor,” replied Boyce, still scanning Rigel’s brain. “Her brain was flooded with more neuro-transmitters
than any Human should ever have. This,” he held up the hypo,
“counteracted them. But I’d like to know why her brain
chemistry suddenly started doing somersaults.”

“Blood pressure back to normal, Doctor,” reported Nurse
Mansoor. “Her pulse is now 68 beats per minute.”

“Good. Keep monitoring her, Nurse. I want to talk to the
Galactica’s CMO.”

“Yes, Doctor,” she replied, then froze. For a moment,
they both did, as a blast of intense cold wafted through the
room. A blast of cold, and, Boyce was sure, a thin, faint,
keening wail of a voice. An enraged voice screaming.....

Nooooooo.

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

So taken up with recent events was Spock, that he had
neglected, he realized as his stomach growled softly, to
take any sustenance for over twenty-four hours. In the back
of his mind, he could almost hear his mother, Amanda,
telling him that he needed to eat more. Rising, datapadd
still in hand, and dismissing such reminisces as another
example of his recent lack of discipline, he went to the
food processor slot, and punched up some plomeek broth
before returning to the bridge. As he tasted, eyes still
glued to the readouts in one hand, he clumsily spilled the
hot liquid down his uniform blouse and trousers.

‘What...” he began, then choked it off as yet another
illogical outburst. He set down the datapadd on the briefing
table, then tossed off the remains of his meal, chucking the
cup down a recycling chute. Checking his chrono and
realizing it would be some minutes yet until the
modifications to the weapons systems were complete, he left
the briefing room for his quarters, quite close by on the
same deck, and quickly got out of his soiled uniform, and
into the shower. One thing Spock disliked in the extreme, as
much as a Vulcan could be said to dislike anything, was not
being neat, clean, even fastidious, while on duty. And Spock
was never anything but spotless in front of his fellow
crewmen. He quickly finished, and stepped out of the shower.
Moving into the main living area...



Athena wasn’t sure she liked the feel of the Federation
transporter device. One moment she was on board the
Galactica, in the relatively open landing bay, then she felt
dizzy, her vision blurred, and things around her morphed
into the confines of the Enterprise’s transporter room.
Adama had given her a short mini-furlon, to visit her
brother in the ship’s Sickbay. The latest report on his
condition was guardedly favorable, but for some time she had
felt a rising urge, an intense drive, to go and see him in
person. The transporter tech directed her towards Sickbay,
and she headed out.

And promptly got lost. She rounded a corner, and found
herself lost in the twists and turns of Deck 5. A couple of
techs, dressed in what she recognized as heavy fire-fighting
suits, rushed past her, seemingly oblivious to her calls for
directions. She stopped, hands on hips, looked around her,
certain that a starship must have a telecom system of some
sort, and spotted the rectangular pad with speaker grill on
a bulkhead not an arm’s length away. She moved towards it...

“Excuse me,” said a voice, and she turned. A man in what
she recognized as a Federation enlisted man’s uniform stood
there, in an open doorway, looking at her. “May I help you,
Miss...”

‘Athena,” she replied. “Lieutenant Athena, from the
Galactica.”

“Ah, yes. I recognize the uniform,” said the crewman,
looking her up and down, a faint smile on his face. “Is there
something I can do for you? This area is restricted.”

“I’m trying to get to Life Station...uh, Sickbay. I was
going to see my brother, Captain Apollo. He’s recovering
from surgery.”

“Oh yes,” smiled the crewman, and Athena thought she
sensed something familiar in the smile. “The fighter pilot. I
heard. Come with me. I can show you the way, Lieutenant.”

“Thank-you,” she responded, relief evident on her face.
She took up position with the crewman, and the two headed
down the corridor.

“Was your brother wounded in battle?” asked the crewman,
seemingly interested in making small talk. Athena was
becoming aware of the way his eyes were surreptitiously
raking her up and down, and it somewhat annoyed her.

Yet, it also...flattered her. In some small part of
herself, she could feel herself growing aroused, as if this
man’s eyes alone were able to make her body feel something,
make it...

“Ahhh...no,” she replied, trying to shake it off. “He was
involved in a surface accident on the planet we encountered
back on the other side of the wormhole. His Landram fell
down a sinkhole, and he broke his neck.”

“I see,” said the other one. He stepped out in front of
her quickly, and faced her. Athena stuttered to a stop, and
locked eyes with the man. For an instant, he looked deeply
into her eyes, and the deck seemed to swim about her. “Here
we are, Lieutenant,” he said, and his voice seemed like
liquid heat, trickling over her. She once more felt her body
responding, as if she were caught up in desire, when he
spoke again. “Sickbay.” He pointed to the plate by the door. “I
shall leave you here, Lieutenant.” He turned and left, and
she shook her head, in a whirl at this sudden rush
of...feelings. What in Hades Hole was wrong with her???
Desire? Need? Lust? Over someone she’d known all of a few
centons? Lords of Kobol, she hadn’t had anything to drink
for quite some time, and she sure the frack wasn’t Starbuck!
Besides, he’d been so rude, looking her over like some
choice chop in the meat market. Taking a deep breath, she
moved towards the door, and it slid open with the weird
squeaky hiss all the doors on this ship had. She marched in,
head high and with strength in her gait, when she saw...

“Lieutenant Athena!” said Spock, momentarily frozen in
place, towel in one hand.

“Commander Spock!” she squeaked, eyes wide, face red.

Outside, the “crewman” laughed softly to himself.


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



As he reviewed his underlings repair and operations
reports, Imperious Leader also contemplated the battle
ahead. While he was incapable of swerving from the Directive
to destroy all Humans, he was not so blind as to believe
himself invulnerable. Although the new shielding was a
considerable improvement over previous systems, it could not
stand up forever against the relentless pounding of so many
enemy ships. And, regardless of how well it did, the enemy
had an advantage-they could call in more ships, while it had
been calculated that at full speed, it would take a BaseShip
twenty yahren or more to get here from Cylon. Assuming of
course that fuel and operations presented no
problems.

So, what to do? Once the shield was fully charged, they
would fire the pulse, then distract any remaining Human
forces, and implement his escape plan. Imperious Leader had
no doubts that it would do the job, and the Colonials and
their new allies would fall victim to it, allowing him to,
ultimately, emerge victorious.

Victorious, and lost. Whoever managed to survive would
be unable to find him, and he would be free. Free to find
another world upon which to settle, and begin the task of
building a new arm of the Cylon Empire. In time, there would
be more centurions, more fighters, and more BaseShips. And,
when communication with Cylon was finally reestablished,
they would proceed to crush everything and everyone between the
two fists of his ineluctable power.

He also reviewed the message, transmitted a few centons
ago, back to the Homeworld. Once the lull in the fighting
had settled in, navigation had at last managed to determine
their location, in relation to Cylon. A message had been
sent, at full power, on the Imperious Leader’s personal
frequency. Considerably slower than Federation subspace
transmissions, the Cylon version, however, tended to suffer
less signal degradation over exceptionally long distances
then they did. When the message, repeated continuously,
reached Cylon, in about three or so yahren, the Alliance would
at once send BaseShips to link up with his own outpost here,
and then the final destruction of Humanity could be
completed.

But what of the other races? Lucifer had asked him.
What indeed? pondered Imperious Leader, trying to fit them
into the parameters of his programming. While, like the
Hassaris, the Delphians, the Naytarians, and countless other
species, they were inferior and must be destroyed, or like
the Ovions, made use of, the seemingly easy way in which
they had allied themselves with the Colonials troubled him.
The Tholians, according to the scans, were crystalloid
beings, very much like the now-extinct Delphian race. Their
weaponry, however, was far ahead of what the Delphians had
fielded, and that made them vastly more dangerous. And the
Klingons...

A race that looked and acted so much like the Humans,
yet was not Human, troubled him even more. These Klingons
seemed to enjoy fighting. While the Colonials fought because
the Cylons gave them no choice, the Klingons seemed to fight
because they derived an obscene kind of pleasure from the
very act of fighting. Imperious Leader could not understand
this very well, having no equivalent programming. What he
understood of the more bizarre Human emotions he had gleaned
from his contacts with Baltar, and conversations with
Lucifer. Why would any sentient being enjoy an activity that
could quite easily lead to its injury, or even death?
Surely, any species that conducted its affairs by such a
code would soon find itself annihilated. Wiped out of
existence.

Yet these Klingons not only had survived, but obviously
advanced their space technology to approximately the same
level as the Federation Humans, who seemed, on the surface
at least, as desirous of peace as the Colonials. Imperious
Leader shook his ugly head, a gesture unconsciously picked
up from contact with Baltar, and felt a rush of frustration.
Being a computer, he hated any sort of unresolved analysis.

No, he reminded himself, not all Humans wanted peace.
Commander Cain, of the perpetually returning Battlestar
Pegasus. There was a Colonial Human who seemed to have no
desire for peace. No desire at all. He was a Human who
actually seemed more like these Klingon creatures, than his
own Colonial brethren. Cain loved war, lived for it,
seemingly reveled in the intensity of combat. Perhaps that
was what had permitted him to survive for so long, escaping
death at the hands of his enemies time and time again. Such
Humans, and the Klingons together...what other disgusting
deviants did this Alpha Quadrant hold? Obviously, the
Alliance had much work ahead of it.

He accessed the ship’s chrono. Forty-four centons, and
counting.

But where was Iblis?


======================================
“Uhhh...” began Athena, utterly at a loss for the moment
as to what to say. For his part, Spock was much the same.
While he did not react in the same way as a Human, he was
nonetheless as taken off-guard as she. He at last found his
voice.

‘Lieutenant, I...”

“You want her, don’t you?” said a voice, and Spock
turned. Who else had entered his quarters? He turned, and
beheld the owner of the voice. Tall, appearing to be a Human
in vigorous middle-age, robed in white. After a moment, he
recognized him as the being he had seen on the viewscreen,
whom the Colonials called Count Iblis. The mysterious being
was smiling, though at Spock’s state, or the situation as a
whole, the Vulcan could not tell.

“I...” he began, wishing he had not left his towel in the
head.

“Oh but you do,” purred the other. Spock tried to speak,
but suddenly found speech difficult. While he did not feel a
Human sense of shame, he was nonetheless uncomfortable at
his current state. “Ever since you laid eyes on her, Spock.”
Iblis had drawn closer, and Spock suddenly seemed to be
unable to move as well. All around him, everything had
slowed to a stop. The vibration of the ship’s engines was
gone, the soft noise of the circulation fan in his quarter’s
environmental controls, even the blinking of the lights on
his computer console. All had stopped. Even Athena, her eyes
wide with shock, was seemingly frozen in place, her mouth
open, as if to speak. He could not define exactly what was
going on, but Iblis was the only thing that was moving.
Somehow, this creature had the ability to...

“She is Human,” replied Spock, at last forcing words out
of his mouth. “There can be nothing...between us.” As he
spoke, he was dimly aware of having slipped back into
Vulcan.

“As there was nothing between Sarek and Amanda?”
countered Iblis, his voice somewhere between compassionate
understanding, and taunting. “A Vulcan, and a Human woman?
Who would have believed that possible, eh?”

“But...but my father...”

“Was not betrothed, yes. I understand. Ever since the
death of Sybok’s mother, he had been alone. Bereft.
Desolate. Then he met Amanda, Spock. Met her, and at once
felt drawn to her, despite all your ridiculous taboos. He
saw her, and he acted upon it.”

“I...I am betrothed,” Spock shot back, finding it somehow
increasingly difficult, both to breathe, and to resist the
strange feelings coursing through him. Not just desire,
which was manifestly becoming undeniable. But something in
Iblis voice was having an effect on him. T’Pring. His will,
his ability to think clearly, was becoming...becoming...

“Pah!” said Iblis, leaning close, almost whispering in
his ear. “T’Pring? She cares nothing for you, Spock. Nothing
at all. Do you remember Stonn?” Despite his Vulcan control,
Spock betrayed a moment’s emotion. Iblis smiled. “Yes. Stonn.
Your cousin. The ringleader of the boys who taunted you as a
child. Calling you half-breed, and saying that you weren’t
really Vulcan.” Iblis waited a beat, letting his words sink
in, and the old memory surface. “You never liked him did you?
I can hardly blame you, Spock.”

“Dislike is...irrelevant,” said Spock, increasingly
frustrated at his lack of control. “Stonn is Stonn.”

“And he wants her, Spock. T’Pring. Your betrothed.
And...” Iblis touched Spock on the shoulder, in an almost
obscene caress, T’Pring returns the sentiment. He smiled
again.

“T’Pring is...”

“Unfaithful, Spock. Yes, unfaithful. Behold.” Iblis waved
a hand, and for a moment, he saw before him a room in what
he recognized as the home of T’Pring’s father, on Vulcan.
She was sitting upon a divan, Stonn next to her. Both were
locked in a passionate embrace, kissing, T’Pring slowly
sliding Stonn’s tunic off of him. Spock felt...what? Anger?
Shock? Deep humiliation? He wasn’t sure.

“You knew she cared nothing for you, Spock,” Iblis went
on, the images before Spock’s eyes fading from sight. “You’ve
felt it through your bond for years. Almost from the day you
and she were bonded, over twenty years ago.”

“You don t need her!” hissed Iblis, seeming to move even
closer. “But Athena...” As the images of T’Pring and Stonn
faded, Spock once more saw Athena. But now, she stood before
him, utterly naked, aroused, her uniform in a heap about her
feet. He felt his heart take an involuntary leap...

Gloriously naked...

“I...this cannot...”

“Athena is different, Spock,” Iblis went on, smiling a
smile of pure malignity. “She wants you, as T’Pring never
has. And never will. She is young, beautiful, passionate.
She is willing, Spock. She can be yours. For an hour. For
life. The choice is yours.”

“No....”



Athena opened her mouth in shock, upon unexpectedly
seeing a naked man in front of her. She was even more
shocked when she recognized him as Spock, the Vulcan First
Officer of Captain Pike. Obviously, this was not the
Sickbay. She managed to squeak...

“Uhhh...”

“Athena,” said a voice. She didn’t move for a moment, and
the voice spoke again. Athena. At last she turned her gaze
away from Spock, who seemed to be standing frozen in place,
and beheld Iblis, smiling the smile of evil. She did not at
once speak, and he nodded his head in Spock s direction.
“Yes, it’s him. How interesting that you find yourself here,
My Dear.” He waited a bit, then moved closer to her. “In the
very quarters of the man who so intrigues you.”

“How did I get here?” she choked out, even as she felt
her body spiral upwards in arousal. “I was heading for their
Life...”

“Does it matter? Your brother will be fine. But you came
here, Athena. Came here to the very quarters of the man who
has thought of little but you since the moment that you met.”

“Me? No. No, that can’t be true. He’s an alien, and...”
Like Spock, she found it increasingly hard to breathe, and
everything around her had slowed to a virtual stop.

“And that matters?” oozed the Count. “You want him. I can
sense it. Even now, your body cries out for him. For his
touch upon your flesh, for the power of his body next to
your own.” She felt his fingers touch her shoulder.

“No! You’re a liar!” She tried to move, and remained
rooted in place “You only want...”

“Not at all,” hissed the Father of Lies, his tongue
almost serpent-like in her ear. “I ask nothing from you, My
Dear. Indulge yourself. You will see that I am right. You
want him. Need him.” He indicated the statue-like Spock
before her. “You can see he wants you,” Iblis smiled.

“What...what would...”

“We can talk again later, Athena. For now...”

Iblis seemed to withdraw from her senses, now almost
totally overwhelmed with pure animal arousal, an arousal she
saw mirrored in the wonderfully sculpted form before her.
With a cry of near-bestial lust, she moved towards Spock,
only dimly aware of the fact that she was now as naked as he
was, though she had made no conscious move to disrobe
whatsoever. She gripped him fiercely, as found herself held
as tightly in return. The two of them at once fell to the
bunk, beyond speech, beyond thought, beyond caring.

Beyond seeing Iblis, watching them from the darkness,
laughing. And laughing.

And laughing.


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

Looking at the chrono over the handball court, Yeoman
Colt decided she had just enough time for a quick shower,
before leaving the gym, and reporting for duty on the
bridge. This was it, she mused, as she turned on the water.
The final battle with these disgusting Cylon creatures. From
everything she’d seen and heard, they were evil, worthless
scum, who’d spread nothing but death and misery across the
galaxy. She was entirely in sympathy with the fleeing
Colonials, and thought it truly wonderful to learn that
there were other Humans, elsewhere in the galaxy. So far in
her Starfleet career, she’d met various Humanoids. Klingons,
with or without the heads, Axinarians, Pakled, Denobulans,
Bajorans, Talosians, and any variety of variations on a
theme. The Bumpies of the Week, someone had once called
them. No, here at last were real Humans.

Yet, out of all of them, out of all the galaxy, she
wanted only one...Chris Pike. Once, only once, in the
caverns of Talos IV, brought there through the illusionary
machinations of the Keeper, she had thought she might, just,
have a chance at last with the handsome Captain. The Captain
she admired. The Captain she made love to in her dreams. At
last, to have his powerful arms around her, to feel his...

But no. He was about as approachable as the Statue of
Liberty, and as receptive as a Vulcan Kohlinar Master.

Why? Why can’t it be different? she asked herself, for
the umpteenth time, as she got under the water. It wasn’t
unheard of, having a relationship with one’s superior
officers. Sure, Starfleet Regulations said otherwise, but...

“Captain!” she cried, loudly, as she stepped out of the
shower stall, to find the object of her inmost musings
practically at arm’s length. Pike looked at her, up and
down, his expression one of satisfaction, and she found
herself flushing red in spite of herself, unable to move
from her spot.

“Colt,” he said.

“You can have him,” said a voice in her head. A voice
that was cultured, rich, and very, very seductive. “You want
him, Colt. You know you do. He can be yours. Any man you
want can be yours!”

“I...” gasped Colt, unable to breathe.

“I can give you him. I can give you any one, anything,
that you desire,” said Iblis, suddenly before her. Around
her, the very air seemed to grow still, the sounds of the
ship around her to fade, Pike seemingly the only other thing
that moved. Without having perceived any motion on her part,
Colt found herself with her arms about her Captain, his lips
inexorably lowering towards her own.

“No!” said a voice, and something blurred past her
vision. A small, blue something. A sphere of light. Colt was
startled, pulling away, and found herself looking at another
man. Like Iblis, she had never seen him before. Like Iblis,
he was clothed entirely in white, though it was not robes he
wore, but a tight-fitting suit of a style she d never seen.

“Who...”

“Get out of here!” snarled Iblis, turning to face the
other. “I...”

“Lie,” said the other. “I am John,” he said to Colt, and
she realized with a start that she was now clothed in her
uniform. “You cannot believe a word he tells you, Yeoman. You
must not. He is pure, utter, evil.”

“I can give you what you desire!” said Iblis, his eyes
blazing with a light that made Colt recoil. “Your Captain.
The Keeper was right, you want him. More now than even then.
Need his arms about you. Desire his lips upon you. To feel
him take you! Lust after his passions!” His voice had risen.
“All this, is in my power to give!”

“I...”

“But at what cost, Iblis?” said John, fixing a stare of
cold fury upon his foe. The very words seemed to crackle
with electricity, the air around them prickly, like a force
field.

“Go back to scribbling your visions, old fool!” said
Iblis, face curled in a sneer of contempt. “This one is mine.”

“None of these people are yours, Diabolis!” replied John.
For a moment, it seemed as if he were surrounded by
countless blue spheres, then a host of figures, faint and
watery, as if they were, yet were not, there. “I know you
love your Captain,” said John, turning to Colt, who was now
almost shaking in fear. “Not just in admiration, but as a
woman. But this...this is not Christopher Pike!” He waved his
hand, and light seemed to pop and snap between he and the
Captain. Pike staggered, and the form of the Enterprise
skipper wavered, then fell away. As with the image seen by
Rigel, this too was nothing more than a small, hideous
thing, that at once skittered for cover amidst Iblis robes.

“Massssssster!” it hissed, huge bulging yellow eyes
almost overwhelming its small, pinched face. “Massssssst....”

“Silence, fool!” said Iblis, slapping the remora with the
back of one hand. “Listen, Colt! I can give you anything you
wish. Anything!”

“All you have to do is worship him!” shot in John,
raising his voice to be heard over Iblis snarls of rage.
“Give him everything. First your word, then your body. Then
your very soul! You aren’t the first, Yeoman. Come look.” He
raised a hand. “Behold...”





Standing aloof from it all, the being watched the
events unfolding in the system directly ahead. Should he
involve himself? Should he even bother with these...insects?
They were all so inferior! So...unevolved. Still, some
measure of amusement might be afforded by their bacterial
antics. A moment’s reprieve from the tedious dullness of
omnipotence. He stepped forward...

“No!” said a voice, and he turned. Before him was another
being, garbed in white, impossibly radiant. Again the voice
rang out, seeming to whip through him. “No!”

“Who are you?” asked Q. Despite his natural state, Q had
to squint, to get a clear view of the newcomer.

“That is unimportant,” said the radiant figure. She, for
it was a she, stepped forward, the very blazing radiance of
her presence making Q take a step back. Serina looked him in
the eye, her own orbs searing across him, her white gown
seeming to literally be afire with flames of light. “You may
not interfere here, Q.”

“And why is that, Rapunzel?” sneered Q.

“There are things at stake here, that even you cannot
see. The TimeLine must be preserved,” said Serina.

“Oh please,” groaned Q theatrically. “Not that integrity
of the timeline drivel again. The Q are...”

“Above nothing,” continued Serina, her radiance seeming
to increase even more. Behind her, Q sensed others, backing
her up.

“As if you’d know,” retorted Q, crossing his arms like a
petulant child. “You were Human. Are Human.”

“This involves more than just your usual puerile
amusements, Q,” said another, stepping from the light.
“Greater things than that are at stake.”

“Zac, isn’t it?” asked Q. “Son of Adama? I thought so...”

“Wrong,” said Serina, turning to smile at the dark-haired
one next to her. “This is my son. Sired by Apollo, slain when
I was slain.” Q looked at them both, and his face fell
slightly. Behind him, another figure emerged from the
ethers. He turned.

“Q!”

“Yes, Q, it is me,” said the other one. “Listen to her. You
can’t interfere here. Leave this one alone.”

“You sound as tiresome as she does, Q,” said Q.

“Would you find Diabolisk tiresome?” asked Q. Q seemed
taken aback, then looked at the assembled ships once more.
He peered deep into their hulls, at last seeing one being in
particular. “I am sure he would be less than pleased to meet
you, again.”

“Well, perhaps...” squirmed Q.

“Yes,” said Serina, her son taking up a position close to
her. “You see it. There will be another time, Q. Another
place.”

“But not here,” added the young man. Q stepped forward,
ignoring them, but the son of Apollo barred his way, his
hand pressing on Q’s chest. The two glared into each other’s
eyes for a few moments. Q did not move, and he pushed. “But
not here!” he repeated, quietly, but inflexibly. Q gritted
his teeth, his anger at the interference of this...this
overgrown embryo manifest. He resisted a moment, and was
pushed back.

“Come on, Q,” said Q. “This is not the time or place for
it!” He took hold of Q’s shoulder. “I need your help, anyway.
Over in the Beta Quadrant.” He tugged at his fellow Q,
motioning for Q to join him. With a last look at the Fleet,
the meddling Q turned away, but not before scowling nastily
at both Serina and her son.

“My help?” asked Q, turning to Q.

“Yes. The Deltivit asteroid belt seems to have...well,
gone missing, and I could use some help in finding it.”

“You lost it?” asked Q, voice derisive. “Again?”

“Hey, keep it down, okay?” said Q, looking all around
them. “Don’t get so loud.”

“Well, I...”

“Look, you help me,” said Q, lowering his voice, “and I
won’t have to tell the Continuum about your little dalliance
with Iblis, back when the Cylon Homeworld...”

“Alright!” said Q, a little too quickly, his smile a
little too forced. “Let’s go.” He looked back at Serina, and
threw her a salacious kiss. “Later, Sweets!” He turned back to
Q. “What is it with you and that stupid asteroid...” There was
a flash of light, and the Q were gone. Serina let out a huge
sigh.

“Thank God!” she breathed. “As if we hadn’t enough trouble
right now!”

“You said it,” returned the other.


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

“Where is this place?” asked Colt, as the ship around her
was suddenly replaced by a field under an dark, leaden sky.
“Why have you brought me here?” she demanded, looking at her
uninvited hosts, trying to hide her fear behind a facade of
haughtiness. The landscape around her was desolate, snow and
frost on the ground, the unfamiliar vegetation sleeping its
winter sleep

“NO!!!!” shouted a voice, and Colt turned again. On a
hillock, not twenty yards away, stood Iblis, his robes
blowing about him in the wind. “You cannot do this, Old Fool!”
shouted the Lord of Death. “She belongs to me!”

“But I have, Iblis!” retorted John, “and she does not.” And
with a gentle touch, he turned Colt towards the edge of a
cliff. Looking down, she saw a deep gully. Almost like an
impact crater. In fact, it was an impact crater, with soil
and rock blasted out, vitrified chunks everywhere, forming a
deep pit. In the center of it, she saw scattered heaps of
burned wreckage.

“Where am I?” she asked again, turning back to John. “What
planet is this?”

“It’s name is long forgotten, child,” replied John. “Even
the Dominations do not remember it. But it is what lies here
that you must see.” He began to descend into the crater, and
Colt followed, strangely at peace with this man’s presence.
Behind them, Iblis continued to shout.

“No, Colt! It is lies! All lies. You must return with
me. To Enterprise! This place...”

“What about my duties?” Colt asked suddenly, as Iblis
voice began worming its way into her mind. Perhaps...

“While you are here, with me,” said John, “time has no
meaning for you. Your time away from your ship will pass in
an instant. Come.”

“NO!!!” bellowed Iblis, his voice seeming to rumble
through the very ground.

Ignoring the demon, they continued down into the
crater. Colt noticed that the rocks around them were
scorched and blackened, trees burned to a cinder. But, plant
life was returning to the area, and new shoots were poking
up through the ruined landscape. Here and there, patches of
snow still covered the ground, and John explained to her how
the crash of the ship that lay here had happened months ago.

“Almost eight of your months,” he said, as they passed a
long piece of twisted metal. “Warriors from the Galactica
landed here, seeking some missing comrades, and found this
wrecked craft instead.”

“It’s huge,” said Colt. “Or was. It must have been at
least as big as one of those Battlestars.”

“Bigger,” said John, as they found more crumpled and torn
debris amidst the emerging grass.

“Who cares about a wrecked ship, from some unknown race?”
said Iblis, now in front of them. “It is nothing. It is
Enterprise that matters, Yeoman. Not some burned-out junk on
a forgotten planet.”

“He fears for you to know the truth, Colt,” said John,
helping her over yet more wreckage. “And truth is why we are
here. For they not only found this ship. The Colonial
Warriors found him.”

“Truth about nothing!” continued Iblis, a little too
quickly. Even as he spoke, more of the strange blue spheres
began singing through the cold sky. “This old fool kidnapped
you, Colt! Brought you here against your will! His lies...”

Iblis stopped, as Colt straightened up suddenly. John
had brought her to what had once been a hatchway inside the
alien vessel. Jammed forever open, the surrounding bulkhead
already beginning to rust, John had directed her gaze to
what lay within. Standing on the very spot where Sheba,
Starbuck, and Apollo had stood months before, Colt now saw
what the Galactica Warriors had seen.

Saw what Iblis feared for her to see.

“Oh my God!” she cried, as her brain at last registered
what it was her eyes were seeing. There, sprawled across
what had once been a deck, lay a corpse, a corpse already
far gone in decay when the winter had come. It had belonged
to a tall, bipedal creature, dressed in some kind of red and
green uniform. Two arms, pentadactyl hands, all quite
familiar.

Except the head. The face, what remained of it, was
like something out of the nightmares of childhood. Leathery
skin, large eyes now gone, leaving gaping sockets, mouth
open in a silent scream, exposing large, sharp fangs. The
jaw was delineated by small horns, with two large ones
projecting from the heavy brow ridges above the eyes. The
uniform was ripped, exposing both ribs and a horribly sharp
piece of metal spearing the chest. In a sick wave of memory,
Colt was reminded of the picture of the Devil in her mother’
s old Bible.

But this thing was no picture. It was, or had been, a
real creature. A being both real, and hideous. As she stood,
frozen in place, Colt could see others, jumbled together in
the crushed and tangled wreckage. More of the hideous
things. She stared again at the dead beings. Their ugly
faces. Their clawed hands.

Their cloven feet.

Suddenly, the stench, apparent even in the cold, became
too much for her, and she backed away from the alien charnel
house, gulping in huge lungfulls of clean air. She squeezed
her eyes shut, shaking her head, then looked up, at Iblis.

“Colt...”

“You see, child,” said John, his voice both
compassionate, and hard-edged. “You see what he is. What
Count Iblis, or rather, The Prince of Darkness, truly is.”

“And to...to think I almost...” She shuddered, thinking
how easily her weakness for Captain Pike had led her into
this creature’s deception. She’d been more than willing to
give herself to the semblance of Pike, now seen to be no
more than one of Iblis minions. If she...She shuddered,
horrified and sick at the very idea of what she had so
narrowly avoided. She felt her gorge rising...

And made sure it found a target. It splashed all over
Iblis boots, and for a moment, the Father of Lies lost his
fair semblance, and glared at her in pure fury. Then it was
gone, he the charming deceiver once more.

“Jasmine,” he said, using her first name for the first
time. “This person has lied to...”

“But why?” asked Colt, ignoring Iblis, and turning to
John. “Why all this deception?”

“Iblis has sought to dominate all life for eons out of
mind, Colt. He still does. When the Lords of Kobol rejected
his rule long ago, he found more willing tools. The Cylons.
But he was permitted only so much time in which to use them
to work his foul will, and that time is nearly up.” John
looked from the girl to Iblis. “You will have failed, Iblis.
The Children of Kobol will have survived, and you will be
defeated. Just as you were defeated on Earth, by a simple
wooden...”

“ENOUGH!” roared Iblis, seeming to grow larger and more
ominous. “I will not bow! I will not yield to you!” His Human
face bulged, red and furious. He turned to Colt. “Fools! You
will all regret this! You will all beg to worship me, before
you die. Die horribly, in unending pain!”

“Begone, Iblis!” ordered John, and for a moment, he too
seemed to grow, to become great and fearsome. “Begone, or by
God I...”

He did not get to finish, for Iblis chose that moment
to leave. He looked at Colt, promised her, as he had to
Sheba on that very spot, that there would be another time
and place, and began to fade from view. But, as he did so,
his Human guise gave way, and she saw him for what he truly
was. Twisted, behorned, black, unspeakably vile in his
ugliness. He smiled at her, a smile that truly frothed forth
from the very Heart of Hate, then, with a faint sizzling
sound, he was gone.

“I...I don t understand all this,” said Colt, feeling all
her strength suddenly drain away, like water from a burst
balloon. “The...the Devil? How can any of this be real?”

“Come,” said John, taking her by the arm, and letting
strength flow into her. “We must return to your ship. Iblis
does not yet rest from evil. There is danger yet, and time
runs short.” And so said, they were gone, leaving only the
empty, alien wind, and ghosts, to moan through the remains
of the forgotten ship, for all eternity.


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


Coming slowly back to himself, Spock could not for a
moment believe what he had just done. Was still doing. Still
breathing rapidly, feeling his climax yet thundering through
him still, the logical Vulcan part of him recoiled. He had
taken, in a less willing partner he would have said raped, a
woman not of his own race. He, innocent of women and
betrothed to another, had lain with a woman he scarcely
knew, solely to gratify the baser instincts his race
(outwardly) so assiduously eschewed. This was not the time
for him to feel the pon farr. What had come over him?

He withdrew, and rolled over onto his side, coming
quickly to a sitting position on the edge of his bunk.
Behind him, Athena was still gasping and groaning deeply,
reinforcing his feelings of shame. How? How? He half-turned,
and saw her, eyes half-closed, her beautiful naked form
still shining with sweat. He turned away.

“Miss...Lieutenant...”

“Oh my...Lords of Kobol,” gasped Athena, opening her
eyes, and turning to look at his back. What in Hades Hole...

“I...I must apologize, Lieutenant,” he began, unsure of
just what to say. This was an aspect of Human behavior he
had, perhaps understandably, not discussed with his mother.
Ever. Nor Sarek either, for that matter.

“Apologize?” she asked, getting up on one elbow, and
putting a hand on Spock’s shoulder. He seemed to flinch for
the barest instant, and she took her hand away. “It’s me,
Commander,” she replied, feeling awkward using that
designation of anyone but her father.

Lords! Father! What in Hades...

“I...it was, was...wrong of me to even look upon you in
this way,” croaked Spock, finding his voice reluctant to
cooperate. Now that he was calmer, the images and emotions
from Athena that had flooded his mind during their
consummation were becoming clearer. Her intense female
passion, her deep loneliness, her hurt at what she saw as
her betrayal by Starbuck, the added hurt of seeing the
growing love between Apollo and Sheba, the still-deep pain
at the loss of her brother, mother, and entire civilization,
all had mercilessly flooded his telepathic mind at the
ultimate moment. He sensed the same was also true for her,
although she lacked a Vulcan’s mental abilities or training.

“I...never meant for this to happen,” she said, getting
to her knees on the mattress, and touching him once again.
He felt her breasts lightly touch his skin, and squeezed his
eyes shut as another wave of passion washed over him. “I came
here by mistake.”

“I...know,” he replied, sensing the memories from her
mind.

“Please, she said, almost tenderly. Don’t castigate
yourself, Spock.”

“But I am betrothed. To another. This is a...grievous
wrong.”

“We were deceived Spock,” she said, looking around, and
finding her underwear. She grabbed it, and began slowly to
dress. “I was led here, by Iblis’ lies.”

“You...? You saw this Iblis being, as well?”

“Yes. When I blundered in here, suddenly he was here
also, tempting me with you, Spock. You?”

“I too was...affronted by this creature”, Spock admitted,
fighting the intense culturally-imposed shame within
himself. “He offered you to me.”

“In exchange for?” asked Athena, surprised, yet somehow
not surprised, finding her top.

“He was...not precise. But I think he wished for my
allegiance to him.”

“As he wanted us to elect him leader,” nodded Athena,
adjusting her blouse.

“He will demand something, then,” replied Spock, still
riveted to the same spot. “He will expect recompense, now
that we have...”

“But he’ll get nothing,” she said, looking for a boot.
She found it, then the other. Once it had slipped into
place, she looked at him, head still bowed like a boy who’s
been bad in school. “Spock.” No answer. “Spock?”

“Yes?” he said at last.

“Don’t. Don’t let this eat you up.” She moved in front of
him, and met his eyes. “I have issues, too. But we’ll work
them out. We’ll...”

“Mr. Spock, to the bridge, please,” boomed Pike’s voice
over the intercraft, as the red alert klaxon howled.
“Lieutenant Commander Spock, report to the bridge please.”
Slowly, Spock shook his head, and reached over to touch the
intercom button. “Spock, on my way.” He leapt up, and began to
dress quickly. His stoical demeanor returned just as
quickly, the stone-faced mask slamming back down into place
so fast she could almost hear it clang. “Lieutenant, we shall
have to delay our...discussion to a more convenient time.” As
he spoke, her communicator beeped. Adama was recalling her
to the Galactica. “It would appear that duty calls us both.”

“Uh…yeah,” she replied, a bit miffed at his once-again
stony demeanor. It seemed, from his face, as if the intense
sensuality of the past half hour had never happened. Was he
rejecting her, like some... socialator paid off and sent on
her way? For an instant, an image of Cassie swept through
her mind, and she felt...cheap. “I understand.”

“Please,” he asked, voice rising just a fraction. “Let us
not exit my quarters together. You should leave a few
seconds after I do. We...should not be seen together.”

“Yeah,” she replied, holding back a tear. “Yeah, right. I
understand.” Her emotions were in a complete tangle, and she
felt still both incredible pleasure and satisfaction, and
deep shame and humiliation at her manipulation by Iblis. She
watched Spock go, and then left the cabin herself. She
fairly ran for the transporter room, and once back aboard
her own ship, in the temporary privacy of a deserted
corridor, she began to let it out.

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

“They will begin soon,” said Lucifer, at his station. He
turned, and looked at one of his underlings, and nodded.