Apollo's attention was caught by a slight movement and he watched as Colonel Tigh stepped up to report to Adama. The commander nodded at the information, a concerned frown distorting his features.

The captain frowned slightly himself at the disturbing scene. He'd been summoned here with little explanation and now he stepped up to his father to find out what exactly was going on. The commander didn't turn as his son came up beside him, and for the moment neither said anything. Finally, Apollo placed a hand on Adama's arm inquiringly.

"Father? What's happening?"

"Our long-range patrol has run into trouble," the commander informed him distractedly, still without turning from the console. Apollo's eyes followed his father's gaze. "We're not sure exactly what."

"Who's out there?" Apollo asked, his voice laced with concern for any of the fleet's pilots who might have encountered a problem.

Adama finally looked up at his son. He hesitated slightly before he finally said simply, "Starbuck." He turned his eyes back to the screen and away from Apollo's troubled face.

The warrior's grip on his father's arm tightened slightly. That was all, but it was enough to communicate to Adama the fact that his son was very much worried about his friend.

"Gregor and Lathom are with him," Adama continued. "We've launched Red Squadron to help them out," he offered, wishing he could sound more hopeful. "But they're so far away." His voice trailed off and Apollo nodded his head in a gesture of understanding.

"Could it be Cylons?" he wondered after a moment.

"No. Starbuck was positive they weren't."

"It might be better if they were."

Adama looked at his son curiously.

"At least with Cylons we'd know what we were dealing with," Apollo continued. "We know what those hunks of metal can and can't do. If we've encountered a new group of hostile aliens... Well, that's all we need right now."

"Commander!" Omega's voice cut in from below. "We've lost one!"

All eyes turned once more to the screens. There were now only two Vipers marked there amid a multitude of unknown type craft. There was no way to know which pilot had been hit. The patrol was now under communication silence to keep the fleet's presence undetected.

"They're moving out of sensor range," came the report.

Adama slammed his fist against the railing. "How far is Red Squadron?"

"Still four centars, Sir."

The commander shook his head. "Too long. They'll be a million microns away by then."

There was nothing anyone could do but watch helplessly as the blips on the scanners grew fainter and fainter. The only consolation was that several of the alien vessels had disappeared along with the earlier Viper. They weren't invincible at least.

At that moment, one of the remaining Viper signals vanished from the screen and the rest of the alien ships closed in on the last Colonial pilot as the signals faded altogether. Whatever happened now, they were too far away to know.

The bridge was quiet... too quiet, as each person's thoughts and feelings occupied their individual attention. Adama finally broke the silence.

"Colonel?"

Tigh stepped forward. "Yes, Commander?"

"Inform Red Squadron their mission has been aborted. They're to return to the Galactica."

"Aborted?" Tigh couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. "Sir, shouldn't they investigate? We need to know what we're up against."

"Of course we need to know. But we'll need careful planning. We can't just go blasting in."

"Yes, Sir."

Adama turned to Apollo, who had moved off a little distance... perhaps to be out of the way, more likely just to be alone. "I'm sorry about Starbuck, Son, but there's no possible way he could have survived. Even if he was that last Viper, he was hopelessly outnumbered. Starbuck's good but even he..." He trailed off.

"I know," Apollo replied softly, staring down at the deck. He cleared his throat and when he lifted his head, the eyes that met his father's were rimmed with unshed tears. "When you do send out a team to investigate, I'd like to be on it."

"You'll be in charge of it, Apollo. I promise."

The sound of his footsteps were lost to Apollo's ears, drowned in the noise of the ship's thrusters. Few people frequented this part of the Galactica, but he'd always enjoyed coming to this long-forgotten refuge whenever he needed to be alone... just to think. Right now too many matters occupied his thoughts. It would be good to sit and stare at the stars, to empty his mind of anything but the serenity of space.

The service for the lost patrol had been small and brief... just the men's immediate friends present, with Adama speaking a short eulogy while standing in front of three flags. There was the Virgon for Gregor, the Scorpion for Lathom and, of course, the Caprican for Starbuck. Though it wasn't much as far as ceremonies went, it was enough to send Apollo's mind back to other such services.

He remembered the fleet-wide memorial held shortly after their escape to honor all those who'd died in the holocaust. There had been so many dead it had been impossible to single out individuals. That service had seemed cold and impersonal and most people had still been in a state of numbed disbelief.

There had been the more intimate one Adama had held especially for the warriors who'd given their lives for the fleet. Apollo had known most of the men and been friends with many of them. Even so, he'd been able to maintain control while his father called off their names. But when Zac's name was read and Adama's voice had broken, Apollo had to leave the room. Later, Serina had found him and held him all night while he spent his grief.

There had been one for Serina herself, of course. As he remembered now, it had been beautiful, but at the time he hadn't been in any state to appreciate it. He knew such things were supposed to comfort, but when someone you love was lost, memorial services were sadly inadequate.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the gloomy thoughts, as he climbed the ladder that led to the celestial viewing room. When he opened the hatch and scrambled up into the chamber, instead of being greeted by the silence he was expecting, he recognized the sound of stifled sobs.

As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he could see someone sitting on the deck, head bowed slightly forward. Apollo moved over and sat down next to the person he now recognized as his sister. He placed a tender hand on her shoulder.

"Athena?"

She raised her head. "I heard you come in," she said softly.

"I didn't think you knew about this place," Apollo remarked conversationally.

Athena shrugged. "I don't come up here very often. But I couldn't think of any place I could be alone... and I had to be alone." Her voice faltered and tears ran down her face.

Apollo stroked her hair comfortingly. "Pretty bad, huh?"

Athena bit her lower lip and nodded a short "yes." This confession seemed to break some barrier inside and she leaned against her brother's chest and sobbed quietly.

Apollo put his arms around her and let her cry. Up until this moment, he hadn't even considered his sister's feelings for Starbuck. Once the lieutenant seemingly made the choice between Cassiopeia and Athena, everyone had conveniently forgotten that the commander's daughter had also loved Starbuck. Athena herself had helped this happen by yielding gracefully, never making a scene or being difficult about the situation.

Now Apollo realized just how much his sister had cared for his impetuous friend and his respect for Athena increased one hundred fold. It must have been awfully hard on her to watch everyone comforting Cassiopeia. No wonder she needed to get away and let her feelings out. He was glad he'd found her. At least she would have somebody with her. He knew how terrible it was to be alone.

Cassiopeia sat on the bunk in the bachelor officers' quarters, feeling ill at ease. All of Starbuck's belongings had been gathered together by someone... probably Boomer. At least he'd been the one who came to her and asked if she would like to go through these things.

Starbuck's uniforms had already been taken to be used for upcoming cadets. It seemed there were always shortages of everything. What was left lay spread out before her. It was mostly just odds and ends... a warrior didn't own much. There was an unopened deck of pyramid cards, a dozen or so cigars, a small case that contained the gold star cluster, and a couple of framed likenesses.

She picked up the first one. It was a group of cadets who'd obviously just graduated from the Academy. Looking closely at each face, she could easily pick out people she knew. There was Starbuck, grinning as if he knew the biggest secret in the whole twelve colonies. On his right was Apollo, looking very serious. On the left was Boomer with a shy but knowing smile. Cassiopeia had always wondered about these three and their friendship. They were all so different... Starbuck wildly impulsive, Apollo so correct and sober, with Boomer running somewhere in-between. Perhaps that had been the key. They balanced each other out.

Contemplating this, she put the likeness down and picked up the other one. It took her a only a moment to figure it out. It showed a small boy, about six or seven yahrens old. He was standing on the banks of a stream holding a good-sized fish high up in the air. He was smiling a gap-toothed grin that conveyed a definite sense of triumph. His sun-bleached hair was blowing in the wind and there was such a look of devil-may-care about him that he was totally lovable. It was Starbuck... obviously, and Cassiopeia absently stroked the face while wondering who had taken the picture since the warrior had grown up an orphan. But it really didn't matter. This one picture was all she wanted. It would mean Starbuck to her more than any of his other possessions. She did, however, take a cigar before putting the rest of the things into a small box.

She got up to leave when a new thought struck her. She impulsively reached back into the box and picked something else up. Then she left the room, the small container sitting forlornly on the empty bunk.

"Athena, wait a centon, please. Could I talk to you?"

The woman had been about to enter the elevator for the bridge when she heard this call. She turned and felt a small twinge of regret when she saw it was Cassiopeia hurrying to catch up with her. Athena wasn't quite sure of what to say or how to act. She's always thought of the pretty med tech as... well, not exactly an enemy... but definitely a rival. Now, even though the reason for the tension between them was gone, it wasn't going to be easy to change. She stood still, waiting to find out what the other woman wanted.

As Cassiopeia approached, both women cast awkward glances at each other.

"Hello, Athena."

"Hello."

There was an uncomfortable silence for a few moments, then Cassiopeia took a deep breath.

"Athena, I wanted to talk to you because... well, because I know how you felt about Starbuck. No, wait... let me finish," she stated, seeing Athena about to protest. "There's no reason to pretend with me. I wouldn't have changed anything, but I thought you might want this." She held out her hand for Athena. In it glittered the star cluster.

Athena picked the object up without a word and looked questioningly at Cassiopeia.

"They let me go through his things," she explained, a trace of emotion coming through her voice now. "I just thought you might want something. That's all I could think of."

"But what about you?" Athena asked quietly, finding her voice at last.

"Oh, I've got something for me... something very special." She waged a short but visible fight for control.

Athena felt awkward again. "I don't know what to say... I..." She suddenly threw her arms around Cassiopeia. "Thank you," she murmured brokenly. She turned and stepped into the open doors. The elevator whisked her away.

For what seemed like yahrens, he floated in darkness. When light finally began to swirl and edge its way back into his life, it brought with it pain... terrible and unwanted. As he tried to resist the return of consciousness, he gradually became aware of things. He was definitely alive for he could feel the confines of his own body again. A pleasant breeze was blowing gently across his face and somewhere a small musical voice was singing. Or maybe it was the wind itself creating the tune. He wasn't sure...

...abruptly he was awake and he opened his eyes, only to squeeze them shut tightly again. The bright light of the sun was glaring and seemed to bore into his brain. He let out a small groan of protest.

Instantly he felt a cool, moist cloth placed on his forehead and a hand caressed his cheek. Obviously someone cared enough to try and help him. Curious to see his unknown benefactor, he tried once more to open his eyes. He managed mere slits. The sunlight was still painfully bright but he could make out a small child standing at his side. He saw she was holding his hand and was surprised that he couldn't feel the pressure of her grasp. Her hair was white and blended so well with the light framing her that it had the effect of a halo. He wouldn't have been surprised if she was an angel.

He wanted a better look at her and tried to raise his head. The movement immediately triggered waves of pain and nausea through his entire body and he fell back with closed eyes. He was fading back to the dark nothingness but he could hear a voice calling.

"Davey? Davey?"

As he blacked out, he wondered idly who Davey was.

The quiet tranquility of space suddenly erupted into a series of blinding flashes and he was caught in the middle of them. Everywhere he looked, ships were being blasted into oblivion and he couldn't stop it. All at once, everything was coming apart around him and he began falling. He felt like screaming but there was no air to fill his lungs. He plunged deeper and deeper... faster and faster... then nothingness.

Then... singing; a familiar voice he'd heard before and he strained to place it. His face felt a comfortable warmth and he opened his eyes to the sunlight. He was laying on a soft bed in an airy room and he suddenly remembered being here before. The horror he'd just experienced must've been only a bad dream.

As he took in the room, his gaze fell to the foot of the bed where two bright blue eyes were peering at him from over the end. Seeing that he was awake, the eyes straightened up and became a little girl. He remembered her now. She'd been here when he'd first awakened. He smiled at her and after a moment, a shy half-smile played around the corners of her mouth.

Before he could say anything however, the child whirled at the sound of someone coming. He looked towards the door and saw a pleasant looking woman framed in its opening. She was tall and willowy, with light brown hair falling about her shoulders. As he studied this newcomer, the little girl scampered past her and out of the room

The woman paid no attention to the child. Instead, she moved over to his side and sat on the chair next to him.

"I'm so glad you've decided to wake up," she greeted with too much casualness in her voice. It was evident she was trying to mask concern. He wondered who she was that she would worry so much about him. Maybe she just didn't like the idea of someone dying in her bed. "How are you feeling?" she went on.

"I've felt better... I guess," he answered. His voice sounded weak, even to himself, and it took a lot of effort to talk. "I'm still fuzzy 'bout what happened."

"You took a bad fall up in the hills. The men from the village brought you home."

His brow furled in confusion. A fall? "I'm kinda mixed up. You mean I landed up in the hills."

"I'm not surprised you're confused," she told him with a wry smile. "You hit your head pretty hard."

"I did?" He tried to reach his hand up to his head but an intense pain shot down his right arm when he tried to move it. He clenched his teeth and winced.

"Now let that teach you," she reproved him. "Did I say your head was the only thing you hurt? You banged yourself up pretty badly." She breathed a deep sigh. "I tell you, Davey... you're lucky you're still alive."

He'd been listening quietly to her but glanced up sharply at the last statement. "Uh... Davey? I think you've got the wrong guy."

"What?" Now she was confused.

"I dunno know who Davey is... my name's Starbuck."

The woman looked incredulous for a moment and then gave a nervous laugh. "What do you mean?"

"The name's Starbuck," he explained patiently. "I'm a Colonial Warrior." He paused to rest a moment. All this talking was exhausting what little strength he had. He fingered the woven blanket covering him. "I'm not sure how I got here but..."

"Davey, please." The woman was growing concerned and she held onto his arm as if to reassure herself of his presence.

"Listen... I'm not this Davey." He tried to rise, couldn't and fell back.

Alarmed now that he was becoming agitated, the woman hastened to calm him. She placed one hand on his uninjured shoulder and stroked his forehead with the other. "All right, all right," she repeated several times in a soothing voice. "We'll talk about it later. You just rest now."

He contemplated continuing the argument but just didn't have the energy. He would straighten her out another time.

The view from the open window afforded little and of what he could see, trees dominated the scene. A constant breeze rustled the dense foliage before drifting into his room. Birds chirped incessantly and sometimes a faint smell of ocean air wafted in on especially strong gusts. Any other time it might have been nice lying here, but right now he was too restless to enjoy it.

He'd taken stock of his injuries as soon as he'd been clear-headed enough to move without blacking out. Even if he hadn't felt the bandage encircling his head, he would've known he'd hurt it. Though the most of the nausea had gone away, there was an ever-present dull throbbing he couldn't ignore. And he hadn't needed to see the tight wrappings around his chest to know he'd fractured some ribs. Every breath he took told him that. Upon experimenting with his right arm, he'd found the only part injured was his shoulder and if he was very careful, it wasn't too uncomfortable. There was also a dressing on his upper right thigh and when he'd removed it, he found a deep gash just beginning to heal. So he'd redone the bandage and let well enough alone. He wouldn't be going anywhere for a while, but on the whole it could be worse. He could be dead.

He wished he could remember more about what had happened to him. He recalled distinctly leaving the Galactica on a long-range patrol, but after that everything was hazy. He had vague impressions of a fight, but with whom he didn't know. And there could've been a crash. His present condition would attest to that. But he couldn't be sure of anything. As to where he was now, the Lords only knew.

The sound of the door opening interrupted his thoughts. When he glanced over to see who it was, the little girl he remembered from before came in bringing a tray laden with some kind of nourishment. The aroma seemed to bring his stomach to life and he suddenly felt ravenously hungry.

He carefully eased himself up to a half-sitting position and the child settled her burden cautiously on his lap. "Thanks," he said smiling.

She smiled back a little timidly. He took up the spoon with his left hand and dipped clumsily into the bowl. It hurt to lean forward so he tried to bring the spoon to his mouth while still lying down. The journey was sloppy and the thick soup spilled all over him. He looked up sheepishly.

"Sorry about the mess. I guess I'm still a little shaky."

The child watched silently as he tried once more without success. She took the spoon from his hand, dipped it into the bowl and held it to his mouth. Reluctantly he took the offered mouthful. It tasted wonderful and hunger soon got the better of pride and he ate without a fuss.

After the food was gone, he closed his eyes and lay back, panting a little from the exertion. The effort to eat had taken a lot out of him. Obviously he was still in pretty bad shape. The child sat in her place beside him, still not saying a word, but evidently content to stay where she was.

"You know," he ventured after a few centons of silence, "I don't know what your name is." He waited expectantly for an answer, but only got the wide, blue-eyed stare in return. "Mine's Starbuck," he added, hoping it would prod her a bit, but she only smiled once more and continued to sit kicking the rungs of her chair.

For the next few centons he tried vainly to get her to talk to him. All he got for his trouble was an occasional smile. Exasperated, he wondered if there was something wrong with her. She didn't seem retarded. Her eyes held a definite spark of intelligence, almost as if they were hiding a secret wisdom in their blue depths. But he could think of no other reason for her silence.

As he studied her, she cocked an ear to the window, listening. There were voices coming toward the house. The girl was apparently satisfied as to their identity for she once more settled back in the chair undisturbed. Now he could make out a woman's voice... the woman who thought he was Davey... whoever Davey was. There was someone else with her... a man whose voice he didn't recognize. He strained to hear their conversation.

"It must be amnesia. That's all I can think of." It was the woman talking earnestly to the man. "Why else wouldn't he remember his own wife and child?"

Wife and child? He glanced sharply at the girl, but she offered no answer.

"You're probably right, Celine."

Celine? Was that the woman's name then?

"But the delusions 'bout bein' a warrior and all the rest... I don't know."

"He did hit his head pretty hard. When Bethie found him he was babbling nonsense."

There was quiet between them and when they spoke again, they were closer to the house.

"What should I do, Lonny? Do you think he'll ever recover?" There seemed genuine concern in Celine's voice.

"I really can't tell ya, my dear. Best bet would be to humor him a little. Answer his questions... he's bound to have some. Who can say how much he'll eventually remember. But for now be thankful he's alive. Ya almost lost him, ya know."

"I know that and I'm grateful. Won't you come in and see him?"

"No... not just yet. All he needs right now is another face he can't remember tellin' him what good friends they are. I'll come by another time."

"Whatever you think is best. Goodbye Lonny and thank you."

The door opened and shut. Footsteps faded away from the house even as Celine walked into the bedroom. Her face lit up at the sight of the empty tray.

"Now that's a good sign. Bethie, take the dishes into the kitchen, dear."

The child moved to obey. He watched her leave then looked up at Celine. What could he say? What could he do to convince her he wasn't the man she thought him to be? There didn't seem to be much. If a woman could mistake her own husband, then she obviously needed help. He heaved a deep sigh and winced at the pain in his ribs. How did he get into these situations? Well, until he could get around, he was going to have to stay here. It wouldn't help any to upset her. He decided that for the moment he wouldn't argue with her.

The afternoon breeze carried strains of laughter from the hilltop clearing as he and Bethie sat outside the small house. They were playing an old Caprican hand slapping game he'd taught her. It was really just a testing of each players' reflexes and he'd had to modify the rules a little since he carried his right arm in a sling. Still, the child was enjoying it and it warmed him to hear her laughter.

After lunch, he'd informed Celine that he felt like some fresh air and had asked for some clothing. She'd given him a quizzical look but hadn't said anything as she brought him a pair of loose, beige colored trousers and a dark blue robe. She'd helped him ease himself out of bed and steadied him as he walked stiffly and clumsily outside. After he'd plopped ungracefully into the chair she provided, it had taken him a while to catch his breath, but the exertion was well worth it. He'd been ready to climb the walls of his room from lying in bed so long.

Celine then announced she had some errands to run in the village and asked if he would be all right alone. He'd hastily assured her he would and watched as she quickly disappeared down the hill.

Sitting by himself, he'd gazed thoughtfully up through the trees to the sky above. Question upon question tumbled through his mind. What had happened to him? Where was the fleet? Was anyone looking for him? Who was this woman, Celine, who thought he was her husband? How had he gotten here? What was he going to do?

Bethie had appeared beside him, interrupting his confusion and he occupied his time by teaching her the ancient child's game. He was amazed at how quickly she learned things and he wondered again at her inability to communicate. Wrong, he corrected himself. She communicated. She just didn't use speech to do so.

And so they played, and he realized that he was actually relaxed. In spite of the mysteries and problems to be faced, he was enjoying himself. This enigmatic child, in whose presence he normally would have been uncomfortable, calmed him and put his troubled mind to rest.

Their game was stopped suddenly by a distant rumble. He glanced upwards to scan the sky. There were no clouds overhead. Maybe they were building up farther away.

"Sounds like a storm, Bethie. Maybe we should go inside, hmmm?"

He looked back down at his companion, only to find her trembling inexplicably. Her eyes were shut tightly and her fists were clenched at her sides. Could she be that frightened by thunder?

"It's just noise, Bethie," he reassured her and wrapped his good arm around her to gather her against him. "It can't hurt you."

Another rumble sounded in the distance and Bethie buried her face in his chest. He wondered what could've happened to make this child have such mortal fear of thunder.

"Come on... we'll go in the house."

She gave her head a quick negative shake, then broke from his embrace to run past the house and into the trees.

"Bethie, wait!" He rose unsteadily to his feet, meaning to go after her, but a call stopped him.

"Davey!" It was Celine, hurrying up the path.

"Celine, Bethie's run off. I think it was the thunder. It's got her scared to death."

Celine's face was grim. "It wasn't thunder and she'll be all right. You know there's nothing anyone can do with her when she's like that." She took his arm. "Let's go inside."

"Hey, wait a centon." He angrily shook off her hand. "You mean you're not going after her? She's terrified."

Celine heaved a deep sigh. "You really don't remember, do you? She'll be all right. She does this every time. I don't know where she goes and even if I could find her, she wouldn't let me help her."

He stared at her, perplexed. "Why is she so frightened of thunder?"

"I told you, it's not thunder. It's them."

"Them?"

"You know... the Ben-Tellans."

"Who?"

Celine's eyes widened in astonishment. "I don't know how you could forget them, no matter how hard you hit your head."

"Well, I don't know about them, so if you would be so kind..."

"I'm sorry, Davey." Celine was now sincerely contrite for her remarks. "It's just that it's hard getting used to thinking of you as a total stranger."

"I'm trying my best," he apologized, suddenly feeling sorry for this mixed-up woman.

"I know you are." She smiled and put her arm around his waist to help support him. "Come on back to bed and I'll tell you about them"

"They came about three yahrens ago. They had great ships... the likes of which we thought only existed in legends. They massacred our people. There was so much killing... I don't think any of us will ever forget." She smiled wryly. "Except you, of course." He gave her an apologetic look and she laughed nervously. "Anyway, the people that were left were given a choice. We could work for the Ben-Tellans or die. So now, two or three times a yahren, they come to collect their share of what we produce."

"Why don't you fight them? No one should be a slave."

She shrugged. "Our people have always been simple and peace loving. There have been no wars in all the millennia we have been here. When the aliens came, we weren't prepared for even the concept of war, let alone the actuality. Most found it easier to give them what they wanted."

He shook his head in amazement. "And what about Bethie?"

"Of all the people left, she was the most affected. Who can say why? She was always a very sensitive child. Perhaps there was just too much killing and horror for her to bear. After the massacre, she stopped talking. And now, every time they come, she runs off and hides. She'll come back. She always does."

They were both quiet for a while. "Will they come here?" he finally asked.

"They shouldn't. They take our allotment from the boat."

"The boat?"

"Yes. You know, Lonny's boat... Oh, I'm sorry. I keep forgetting. I told you it's hard to remember you don't know things. You and Lonny are both fishermen. There are several others who go out on the boat too. The assessment for our family is taken from the catch of fish. As long as there's enough, they shouldn't bother us."

"But if I've been... uh, sick, then I haven't been able to go out, right? So I don't have my share."

"Lonny'll cover for you. He told me not to worry. The catch has been good."

"A fisherman, huh?" He digested this information. "Well, I always liked to fish. Never got to do it as much as I would've liked. Uh, this Lonny... is he a pretty good friend?"

"Very. He's been like a father to you." A sad look crossed her face. "You don't remember him either?"

He slowly shook his head, chasing away thoughts of Chameleon. "I'd like to see him though. That is, if he has the time."

"Oh, he wants to. He just didn't want to upset you. He'll be so happy you asked for him."

He smiled. If this man got a good look at him, then maybe he could convince Celine that he wasn't her husband. Everyone couldn't be crazy. He felt sorry for Celine. She loved this Davey very much. He watched as she got up and walked out of the room to let him rest and he fell asleep wondering about the real Davey, and about Bethie, Lonny, the Ben-Tellans, and... more distantly... the Galactica.

"This is insane! I know who I am. I'm Lieutenant Starbuck from the Battlestar Galactica and two crazy people calling me Davey can't change that." With as much energy as he could muster, he pushed past Lonny and Celine and left the house, slamming the door angrily behind him.

He'd held such high hopes for the meeting with the old fisherman. He'd been certain that once they came face to face, all questions as to his identity would be cleared up. But things hadn't worked out as he'd anticipated. No sooner had Lonny entered the room, than he was being embraced warmly, as if he were an old friend. No amount of arguing could shake either Lonny or Celine in their stories. To them, he was Davey... friend, husband, and lifetime acquaintance.

When he'd been unable to take any more of their confused sincerity, he'd exploded. He began walking through trees and brush, not bothering to take note of where he was going, until his chest began to pain him and caused him to slow his pace.

His breath was coming in short gasps and he stopped to rest. Still weak from his injuries, he sank down wearily and leaned his forehead on his upraised knee. His injured leg he stretched out in front of him.

For a few centons he sat that way, letting his mind spend the energy his body couldn't. Everything was crazy and turned around. He knew who he was... why didn't anyone else? But then, where was the fleet? Why wasn't anybody looking for him?

A gentle rustling through the trees finally broke into his musings, causing him to slowly raise his head. The movement of the leaves held a musical quality that struck him as extremely lonely sounding. Tears of frustration welled up in his eyes, trying to break free, but he forced them back. He would not give in. It would be admitting defeat and he wasn't ready to quit yet.

He stood up slowly, his body stiff and sore, and dragged a sleeve across his nose. He glanced around to survey his surroundings. The same trees he'd seen many times from his bedroom window dominated the area. Their abundant foliage almost obliterated the sky, making it quite dark and difficult to see clearly. He was suddenly filled with an odd sensation of having been here before. He shuddered as his mind brought forth far-distant memories of being lost in the Thorn Forest on Caprica. He was surprised he still remembered that. He'd only been about four or five yahrens old. But the terror he thought he'd forgotten came rushing back... even stronger when he turned completely around and realized he didn't know how to get back to the house. He was being foolish, he knew, but it had been even more foolish to stumble on blindly the way he had.

What kind of a warrior are you anyway, he chided himself, trying to push all the unpleasant memories from his mind. He had other things to worry about... like how to get out of this damn forest. Looking around bewilderedly, he wasn't sure what to do. If he started wandering aimlessly, he could end up more lost than he already was, if that were possible... especially since he had no idea how big the forest was. But if he stayed where he was, would anyone find him? Surely Celine and Lonny would grow worried when he didn't return. He decided that his best course of action would be to remain where he was. He sat back down, settling against a tree, and waited.

No time seemed to have passed when he found himself waking up. Strange, he didn't remember going to sleep. He squinted up at what he could see of the sky, trying to gauge how much time had really gone by. There was no way to tell, except that the air had a definite chill to it now.

He rose, groaning slightly at the pain of doing so, and shivered. It was no good just waiting around. He needed to move... to do something. The cold seemed to penetrate the very bone of his right arm. He peered through the darkness and shivered again as he tried to pick out some kind of a trail. There was none visible but he shrugged to himself and started off anyway. Walking somewhere would be better than sitting around and freezing to death.

It was rough going. There was virtually no light. Roots and brush seemed to reach out and grab his feet. Each time he stumbled and caught himself, pain shot through his body from the jerking movements. Breathing was fast becoming a labored effort and with each intake of the increasingly frosty air, a knife seemed to twist in his lungs.

Trying to take his mind off his physical discomfort, he started thinking about what Apollo might be doing right now... or how Boomer could be looking for him this very moment... or how nice it would be sitting at a pyramid table with Chameleon at his elbow. Funny, but these thoughts weren't having the desired effect. If anything, they were making things worse. Trying harder, he pictured that last night on the Galactica, before he'd left on patrol. He'd spent it with Cassiopeia. Thinking of her, he tried to recapture the warmth of her arms around him, but for some reason, he couldn't concentrate. He only knew that thinking of Cassie made him ache worse.

He was uncertain what to do now. To stop and rest meant risking the cold. To continue on was almost more agony than he could bear. He mulled over the question as he still moved on through the woods. Once more he tripped on a gnarled root sprawling across his path, only this time he couldn't stop his momentum and he fell heavily to the ground. A small moan escaped him as sharp needles of pain seared through every part of his body. He thought he was going to pass out, but somehow consciousness remained and he lay where he'd fallen, listening to his own ragged breathing and the mocking song of the wind.

He wasn't sure how long he lay there before he became aware that a person was singing along with the wind. Their songs intertwined, woven together as if the wind was a living entity. With a sudden revelation, he recalled that voice... he'd heard it before.

With a tremendous effort, he raised his head. A short distance from him sat Bethie... cross-legged, her hands clasped together in her lap. Even in the dimness, her eyes shone brightly. He slowly crawled to his knees and held out a trembling hand. She hesitated a moment then stood up and came towards him. His vision blurred but he could still see her reach out and take his hand in hers.

"Bethie," he gasped. "Take me home."

The officer's quarters seemed unusually subdued to Apollo as he walked in and stopped at the doorway. Nothing was out of place. The bunks were all made with military neatness, and except for a few warriors who were trying to sleep, they were empty. He did notice however, that three of the beds had been stripped of their linens. A blanket and pillow sat at the foot of each, waiting for a new occupant. It was a sight he didn't want to dwell on.

He stepped into the room and then down the few steps to the main level. At a table occupying the center of the floor a pyramid game was in full swing, but for some reason the players didn't seem to have the same spirit that always accompanied these games. Was it his imagination or was there a definite presence missing? As he paused to watch the game's progress, the warrior nearest him gave a small whoop of triumph. He placed his cards down and began raking in a large pile of cubits.

"Ha! This one's mine. I starbucked all of you!"

There was a tangible moment of silence and then the man jumped as if he'd been kicked under the table. Apollo became aware that all the players were looking at him.

"Uh... Captain," the hapless warrior began. "I didn't mean..."

Apollo shook his head. "Forget it."

So it seemed Starbuck's absence had affected everyone. Well, it was understandable. The lieutenant had been well-liked, but Apollo didn't want the men walking around on eggshells because he and Starbuck had been close.

At that moment Boomer strolled into the room from the adjoining turbo-wash. He had a towel wrapped around his waist and another draped around his neck and had obviously just showered. He gave Apollo a gesture of greeting and the two moved over to his bunk to talk.

"Things are a little quiet around here," Apollo commented.

"You noticed." Boomer pulled on his pants then sat down on the edge of his bed to pull on his boots. Apollo started to sit on the one next to Boomer's, saw the bare mattress and remembered whose it had been. He elected to stand.

"We've lost warriors before," he finally blurted out. Boomer gave him a hard look and he hastened to amend his remark. "You know what I mean. Starbuck was a good friend... my best friend. Gregor and Lathom were good men too, but that still doesn't explain all this." He waved his hand to indicate the warriors. "It's hit them pretty hard."

Boomer slipped on his uniform tunic. "I think it's not knowing what we're up against that's got 'em. At least we're used to Cylons. Everybody's wondering what kind of beings could take out an ace like Starbuck."

Apollo reached down and slapped Boomer's shoulder. "Well, Buddy, that'll soon be taken care of." Boomer looked up questioningly. "We're sending out a special patrol to investigate the area where the fighters disappeared. I want you to locate Jolly, Sheba and Bojay. Meet me in Alpha Launch Bay in one centar." He gave his friend an encouraging smile. "We'll find out what happened and get the guys responsible." He left the bunkroom and went to prepare for the mission. Boomer quickly stepped into his boots and left to round up the other members of the squadron.

Apollo stood in the doorway to Boxey's room and watched his son sleep peacefully in the darkness. This was the only part about being a warrior that he didn't enjoy. Every time he went on a mission he ran the risk of leaving Boxey fatherless as well as motherless, but it was something they both had to live with. Other families had done it before, his own included. He could well remember the many nights as a child when he would get up from bed and find his mother sitting outside their home, staring up at the stars, waiting for Adama to come home. She'd never complained, though Apollo could imagine how much it must have hurt for her to watch her children, one by one, go off to fight the war with their father. He shook his head to dispell his mood. That was all in the past. There was too much to deal with in the present to let himself become lost in regrets.

He walked softly across the floor until he reached the side of the small bed. Muffit rumbled quietly from where he stood a patient watch over the boy. Apollo shushed him and then reached out to run a hand across Boxey's forehead. The captain sighed deeply. In reality, this assignment wasn't different than any other. Each one held unknown dangers, but for some reason he was reluctant to leave his son this time. There was no way around what he had to do though. He owed it to Starbuck. He leaned over and kissed the top of Boxey's head, then straightened up and started for the door.

"Dad?" came a sleepy voice.

Apollo turned, forcing a smile to his lips. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Boxey sat up and threw off his covers. Muffit ambled over to his side and the boy ruffled the drone's head. "Are you going somewhere?" he asked softly.

The captain walked back over and sat down next to his son. "Yes. I have a special patrol to pull. It shouldn't take too long."

"What's it for?" Boxey rubbed his sleepy eyes and waited for an answer.

Apollo hedged a little about answering but decided there was no way around the truth. "We're going to try and find out what happened to Starbuck's squadron."

"But you said they were dead."

The warrior nodded grimly. "They probably are. But we need to know who attacked them... to see if the fleet's in any danger."

"Could they kill you?" Boxey's eyes were grave.

Apollo met his son's gaze. "It's always possible, Boxey, you know that. But we have to believe otherwise or we'd never get anything done that needs doing."

The child thought it over for a moment. "I try to believe, Dad. But I never thought Starbuck could get killed. He told me once that he was one of the two best pilots in the fleet."

Apollo laughed quietly at the familiar boasting of his friend. "Well, I don't want you to worry about me. I'll be all right."

"I'm not worried, Dad. You know why?'

The warrior shook his head. "No. Why?"

Boxey grinned proudly. "Cuz Starbuck said you were the other one."

Apollo pulled his son into an embrace and held onto him tightly for a long moment.

The five Vipers held perfect V-shape formation as they cruised into the region of space where the lost fighters had first encountered the alien ships. Apollo held the point. On his left were Sheba and Jolly... on his right, Boomer and Bojay. All the pilots were tense with anticipation of the unknown. The enemy had practically swooped down out of nowhere onto Starbuck's group. So, alert for trouble and with extreme long-range sensors operating, the patrol sailed on. Their only advantage over the other ships was that they knew something could happen. They wouldn't be caught off guard.

Boomer's voice suddenly sounded over the comline. "Apollo... I've picked something up on the edge of my screen."

"I've got it. Hold steady. Let's see what they're up to."

"Looks like they're pacing us," Jolly commented.

"Not anymore," Boomer corrected. "They're moving in at high speed."

"Shouldn't we let the Galactica know?" Sheba inquired.

"No," Apollo answered. "We can't risk them picking up our transmissions. We have to let them guess about our strength. The fleet has us on scanners. They'll know what happens."

"They're coming up behind us," Bojay informed them.

"All right. Execute turn-abouts and we'll drive down their throats."

Almost as one entity the five fighters circled around sharply, ending up barreling full throttle back the way they'd come. Within microns they were practically face to face with a squadron of eight ships of alien configuration. The vessels were not unlike Vipers in basic design, but with flaring tail wings. The Galactica pilots had little time to admire them however, as the aliens came at them immediately with weapons firing.

"Break away," Apollo commanded and the five ships split formation, offering less of a mass target. They began returning fire.

Outnumbered nearly two to one, no one had time to think of more than staying alive, but Apollo did mentally thank the Lords for the extra two ships. He could easily see how Starbuck's three man team had been done in. Coming out of an evasive loop, Apollo saw Boomer put an end to one of the aliens, but there was no time for congratulations. He caught sight of one behind his own fighter. It seemed the Vipers had the edge on maneuverability, as well as firepower, even if the opposition had more speed.

The captain turned his craft practically nose up and came about, firing rapidly. The pursing ship exploded into fragments. As he was pulling away from the debris, he heard Jolly shout something to him and he caught out of the corner of his eye another explosion. That one had been close.

"Thanks, Jolly."

"No problem, Skipper. Don't mention... Frack!"

"Jolly, you okay?" Even as he tried to locate the warrior, Apollo heard Sheba coming in to help.

"Steady now, Jolly. I've got him."

Satisfied that the situation was taken care of, Apollo turned back to his own problems. As he was executing some evasive moves to shake off a sudden pursuer, he heard a jubilant cry from Bojay. Well, five down. That was something.

Centars seemed to pass as the game of dodge and weave became the order of things. With the numbers more in the Colonial pilots' favor, it was a matter of waiting for someone to make a slip.

Apollo, now doing some of the chasing, saw a stream of laser fire and heard a yelp of dismay from Bojay.

"Hey! Somebody wanna give me a hand. I'm hit pretty bad."

"I'm coming, Bojay. Hang on."

It was Sheba. Apollo only hoped she wasn't abandoning her own man to take on Bojay's. That could be a fatal mistake. He moved in to try and put an end to the alien he was following. He came down blasting away as the ship entered his sights. Coming up through the remains, he assessed the situation. A ship was closing in fast on Bojay's crippled Viper. Sheba was in hot pursuit of the threatening craft, but the last remaining alien was coming up behind her.

"Sheba, watch your tail!" Apollo shouted as he raced to help.

Everything happened so quickly that it was hard to keep events straight. As Sheba's lasers finally found their mark and the ship burst into a fireball, Sheba's own fighter was hit badly. It was only Boomer's well-timed shot that kept Sheba from joining the alien she's just sent into oblivion.

"Got him!" Boomer cheered. Apollo could clearly see the enemy craft had lost its weapons and a good deal of it's tail.

"This one goes back to the Galactica with us," Apollo declared. "Sheba, Bojay... What's the damage?"

"I don't think I'd want to put this baby through any more fighting," Bojay stated. "But she'll get me home."

"Sheba?"

"I'm not so sure," she answered with a nervous laugh. "Don't get too far away from me."

"We won't. You two head back. Jolly, you go with them and keep them in sight at all times. Boomer and I will be right behind you with our guest here."

The two undamaged Vipers closed in on the remaining ship. It's pilot obviously had no choice but to comply and surrender. With nowhere else to go, he flew between them. Slowly and carefully the pilots escorted their unwilling prisoner back to the fleet. It was a nerve wracking four centars, but finally they herded the alien into Alpha Landing Bay.

Security was there waiting to take the being in tow. As Apollo climbed out of his Viper, he saw a group of technicians running tests on the craft before they opened it. He supposed it would help to know if the being could live on board. Apparently they were satisfied, for as the captain came over, joined by the rest of his squadron, the canopy was lifted and the ship's occupant was helped out and down to the deck. Laser pistols were pointed at him from all directions and he obviously understood their meaning for he did not move an inch.

He was tall, nearly a head taller than any of his guards. He was basically humanoid, though his eyes were deeper set and his jaw more protruding. His skin was a burnt orange color and a layer of fine hair covered all his exposed flesh. He surveyed his surroundings calmly and betrayed no hint of emotion. After a few centons, the guards finally gestured for him to follow and he was led away to be interrogated. With him went most of the curious onlookers. The pilots stood rooted to the spot where they'd watched the proceedings and were silent for a moment.

"Well," Boomer ventured to say finally, "they're not much uglier than the Nomen."

Jolly chortled, Bojay and Sheba laughed as well, and Apollo allowed himself a smile at Boomer's joke. They'd been through a long ordeal and all needed the release of tension. Even so, Apollo didn't feel completely satisfied. There were still many questions to be answered. Uppermost in his mind was the fact that Starbuck was still gone. Finding the alien and taking him prisoner couldn't change that. Apollo had known all along that it wouldn't... couldn't possibly bring his friend back, but the actuality of the day's events still left him with a vague sense of disappointment. He heaved a sigh and left the bay, headed for the bridge. His father would be waiting for his report.

Leaning up against the window in his room, he watched as the sun sank behind the trees... a huge orange fireball. He'd come out of the woods tired and sore, but none the worse for a little wear. After a few days rest, he was feeling better than he had in a long time. He remembered clearly the trip back... Bethie guiding him through the dark forest, stopping often for him to rest or if he stumbled. Her small hand never let go of his. Eventually they'd come upon the group of villagers Celine had gathered into a search party. He recalled the glare of lanterns and the blur of faces he didn't know. But he hadn't cared and he'd practically fallen into Celine's arm. He'd awakened in his room late the next day.

He'd been quiet and thoughtful while he recuperated from his ordeal. Being sensitive to his mood, Celine hadn't bothered him. Bethie kept a silent vigil by his side, holding onto his hand. Somehow it helped having her there. He was a mixture of confused feelings. He felt as if some small barrier had broken inside and part of himself had been lost. There hadn't been anything he could do to stop it either. A few days ago he would've sworn he was Lieutenant Starbuck from the Battlestar Galactica. But now... now he wasn't sure of anything.

The sun had disappeared and he straightened up and moved away from the window. He walked slowly over to the long dresser and stared into the framed mirror hanging over it. His reflection stared back at him, a sorry sight. The bandages were gone from his head, but his forehead sported an ugly purple bruise that was still sore to the touch. His lip had been split and was only now healing over. There were the last traces of a black eye as well. He wasn't sure what he was hoping to find, but the image in the mirror offered no help. He shook his head in frustration and his gaze wandered down to the contents arrayed on the dresser top. There were odds and ends of personal care scattered around. In the center was a carved, wooden box. Lifting the lid, he was surprised when a beautiful tune began chiming from it. He smiled in spite of himself.

He then spied a small dish containing several cigars and he was suddenly seized by the desire for a good smoke. He picked one up and bit off the end. Next to the container he found a flamer and he lit the cigar. He took a long pull and wondered a bit at the unusual flavor. It wasn't bad, just unexpected. The lilting tune played on and the smoke curled up to the ceiling. He closed his eyes, letting the music replace the turmoil in his mind.

The crashing of glass startled him out of his reverie and he whirled to find Celine staring at him from the doorway. Scattered around her were the remnants of a vase she'd been carrying to the kitchen. Water, flowers and glass were everywhere but she seemed oblivious to the mess. Her eyes were wide and wondering and he could swear there were tears filling them. Her lower lip was trembling slightly and she bit it to keep it still.

As he moved over to her and stooped down to clean up the bits and pieces of glass, Celine became aware of what had happened and bent down as well.

"These things get kind of slippery," he commented as they both worked.

Celine looked up sheepishly. "I guess you startled me." A thin smile flashed across her face.

"I startled you?" He'd thought it was the other way around.

"Yes... I... It was just seeing you like that, is all." She was flustered now and her hands were shaking. He took them in his to quiet them and Celine looked up again. As her agitated brown eyes met his strangely calm blue ones, there was no more doubt about tears. A few spilled over and ran unnoticed down her cheeks. For a few moments they stayed like they were and the only sound was their own breathing and the tune from the music box. Then abruptly, without knowing precisely why, he felt uneasy and broke away from the contact. He busily resumed cleaning up the broken glass.

"What exactly was wrong with what I was doing?" He glanced over at the dresser. His cigar was still smoking from where he'd put it down and the music was winding down.

"Oh... nothing was wrong," she assured him hastily. "It's just that... well, I never expected anything so... so normal. There's so much you don't remember." She shrugged her shoulders lightly. "That's all."

"I do that often, huh?"

Celine couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. "You like an evening cigar, yes." There was a small pause and then she went on. "You gave me the music box when we were sealed. You had Jonathan make it special."

"Jonathan?" He tried to ignore the word "sealed."

"The woodcrafter. He was killed in the takeover."

"Oh." He felt awkward now but went on anyway. "I... uh... I suppose the song was special too?"

Celine simply nodded, a pathetic look of melancholy on her face. She stood up quickly, dispelling the mood. "I better get something to mop up this water." She walked into the kitchen, leaving him there on his knees. He toyed absently with a piece of glass until he heard Celine call something to him.

"Hmmm?" he asked, still deep in thought.

She appeared at the door again and he glanced up at her. She seemed her usual self once more. She smiled down at him. "I said, do you feel like going into the village this evening?"

"The village? I guess so. Why?"

"There's to be a gathering tonight."

"A gathering?" He stared up blankly.

Celine laughed merrily. "Well, we're back to normal. A gathering is the celebration we have after the Ben-Tellans leave. There will be food and drink... singing. And of course Shadrach will spin his tales."

"Who's Shadrach?"

"Our Loremaster." Celine gave him a condescending smile. "I never cared too much for his stories, but you always enjoyed them. Bethie too."

He thought a centon, then pulled himself up from the floor. "Sounds great to me. I feel fine."

A short time later he, Celine and Bethie were making their way down the winding trail from their hilltop abode. The breeze carried a definite tang of salt now and the sea was in full view. He could hear the surf pounding on the shore. Before they were even halfway down the hill, the sound of people enjoying themselves could be heard, and as they entered the village, they instantly found themselves in the middle of a festive mass of townspeople. Bethie pressed closer to his side and held tightly to his hand. Several men he didn't recognize came up to him, slapping his shoulder and shaking his hand. It made him uncomfortable and he unconsciously took hold of Celine's hand.

His grasp let her know he felt uneasy so she steered him over to a less crowded section of the street. Once there, he seemed to breathe easier. She smiled reassuringly and left to go get them something to eat. He stared after her as she disappeared into the swarm of people and he felt disconcerted in her absence. Then he felt a firm hand come down upon his shoulder.

"Well now, Davey boy. It's good to see you back in town."

He turned around to face Lonny. The old fisherman was beaming, his grey eyes laughing. His white hair was brushed back and he clenched a clay pipe between his teeth. The whole town was in a jovial mood and Lonny was no exception. He smiled a greeting to the old man.

"Hey there, Bethie my girl." Lonny reached down and swung the child up into his arms. She giggled happily and gave the man an enthusiastic kiss on the cheek.

"How did you get her to do that?" he marveled.

"Well, I've always had a way with the women." Lonny winked at Bethie and set her down. "Bethie and me have always been good friends."

The child grinned up at the fisherman to let the old man know she agreed. Nevertheless, she moved back and took hold of his hand. Seeing this, Lonny smiled broadly.

"But we all know who she likes best."

At that moment Celine broke into view carrying several plates heaped with meat and cheese and bread. Seeing Lonny, she hurried over and gave him a peck on the cheek.

"They're starting to gather at the circle," she announced. "Shall we find a place?"

The group made their way through the crowd and settled down in an ever-increasing circle around a huge bonfire. Lonny was on his right side, Celine on his left. Bethie sat quietly on his lap, holding a large plate of food.

It was now quite dark and, as if on cue, the entire crowd grew hushed and expectant. A tall, robed figure stepped into the center. The fire behind him cast strange, dancing light on his face. This had to be Shadrach, the Loremaster. As he sat watching, he found himself strangely drawn to this mysterious man. He leaned forward a bit, ready for anything.

Shadrach seemed to be in some kind of brooding trance, staring intently at the ground in front of him. Then, with a flourish of his arms, he raised his head and lowered the hood of his robe. He began in a low, quiet tone that increased in volume as he got further into his story.

"Many millennia past, our ancient fathers gathered together on their homeworld of Kobol. It was decided in a great council that pioneers should be sent to colonize other worlds. This was done to increase man's dominion over the stars. A large group ventured forth, deciding to develop twelve colonies."

He was alert now... and tense. This story was the first familiar thing he'd heard.

"But another group of travelers," Shadrach went on, "decided to separate themselves. They wanted to strike out on their own... without help from the main body. These pilgrims traveled in an entirely different route. After a time all contact with the others was lost. They were presumably destroyed by a great calamity in space of which we know little. The last group was now truly on their own. The only thing they knew was the name of their future home. They called it Earth."

"No!" he whispered fiercely to himself. Celine heard him and turned, her face concerned.

"Davey?"

He shook his head violently. "That's not the way it goes."

But Shadrach was still talking, unaware of the stir he was causing. "We know not how long they traveled. Perhaps they are traveling still. But this we do know. Along the way many grew weary of the journey. They longed for a permanent home. They wanted land to farm... seas to swim in... grass to walk on."

"One such group of tired wanderers left the giant star vessels and settled here on Vesuvan. Here they vowed to give up all technology for the peace of simple living. Over time, all knowledge of the machines that brought them was lost. But we lived in peace for thousands of yahrens."

"Now, even in the midst of our captivity, we live for the hope of peace and freedom once again."

He didn't wait to see if Shadrach was through. He couldn't listen anymore. Everything had a ring of truth but it was twisted around and turned upside down. With reality itself reeling in his mind, he handed Bethie over to Lonny, stood up and pushed his way through the crowd of enthralled villagers. He wasn't even aware of the disgruntled looks as he stepped on hands and feet. Nor was he aware that Celine was hurrying after him.

Quickly the crowd thinned out and soon he began running through the empty streets, leaving the gathering far behind. He didn't know where he was going, but he soon recognized the trail back up the hill. He must've still been out of shape from his injuries. His lungs burned with the exertion and he stopped finally and bent down to catch his breath. He tried to convince himself that the ragged sounds he heard were not sobs but he didn't quite believe it. He was startled suddenly by a voice calling him.

"Davey! Davey, wait!" It was Celine. He didn't want to see her, but he couldn't find the energy to move. She ran up to him and took hold of his arm. He turned away from her but didn't shake off her touch.

"Davey... what's wrong? Please let me help."

He took a moment to make sure his voice was under control before he said softly, "You can't help... nobody can. It's all too crazy."

Celine regarded him for a moment, then she gently led him over to a nearby rock. "Here, sit down." She knelt down beside him and reached up to take his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her.

"It was Shadrach's story," he began in a low voice. "I know it... I can remember it... but it was wrong." He shook his head. "I can't explain it."

"Maybe I can."

He took her hands in his and regarded her curiously.

"Look, Davey... from what you've told me about your... your real life... it seems like everything relates to this life." There was still confusion in his eyes so she tried to explain further. "Don't you see? You hate the way we live... this slavery... but there's nothing you can do about it. So when you fell and hit your head, the dreams of your delirium made you a powerful warrior... able to defeat your enemies."

He looked ready to protest but she hushed him. "Davey... even in your dreams you couldn't escape the realities of your actual life. Even Shadrach's legends came out in them."

"But I can remember things... people... people I care about."

"That girl... Cassiopeia?"

There was resentment in her voice and he was sorry that he might have hurt her. "Among others. They're all real to me."

Celine fell silent and let her gaze wander up to the moon. He watched the light playing on her hair and shining in her eyes. A thought suddenly found its way into his mind... if she was right about him, then he was being terribly unfair to her. Impulsively he reached out and touched her face. Startled, she glanced back at him. Their eyes met and held. What did he have to lose? He was already questioning things that days ago had been concrete realities, and here was this woman waiting for him to accept her and love her. Would being Davey for her mean losing Starbuck? But Davey or Starbuck, did it really matter which one he answered to? He was still himself. Or was he? Did he even care anymore?

He took her gently by the shoulders and pulled her to him. She came willingly. Her mouth was warm under his and as he drew back from the kiss, her eyes searched his deeply.

"Davey..."

"Shhh." He placed a finger lightly on her lips. He gathered her into his arms and together they walked up the hill to the house.

The sunlight streamed in through the open window onto his face. He was very comfortable and didn't want to wake up. He rolled over onto his stomach, burying his head into the pillow to avoid the light. Just when he felt himself drifting off again, a small but noisy bird perched itself on the window sill and began warbling happily. He groaned, lifted his head and scowled grumpily at the songster. As if it could interpret his meaning, the bird fluttered off to a nearby tree and resumed it's chirping.

Fully awake now, he turned his head to look at the empty space beside him. He hadn't heard Celine get up, but the sounds he could now make out from the kitchen told him where she was and the delicious aroma filtering into the room told him what she was doing.

Telling his rumbling stomach to be patient, he tossed off the blanket and swung his legs around to sit on the edge of the bed. He stretched thoroughly and ran a hand through his tousled hair. Spying his trousers lying in a crumpled heap where he'd discarded them, he stood up and quickly stepped into them. In the small wardrobe in the corner he found a simple homespun shirt. He pulled this over his head then glanced at himself in the mirror. He chuckled at the sight, for the image looking back at him certainly was not a Colonial Warrior.

He moved over to the basin of water sitting on a small table and generously splashed his face. He gathered together the razor and lather mug and commenced the painful process of shaving. If everyone here was right about his memory, it was no wonder he'd dreamed up a better way of taking care of this chore. He'd considered giving up and just letting the whiskers grow, but he'd never cared for the scruffy feeling nor the scraggly appearance of growing beards. So he suffered through this daily ritual, happy just to get it over without slitting his own throat.

The noises in his stomach were becoming more adamant now as he dried off and walked out of the bedroom. As he entered the kitchen, Celine turned from the stove. She gave him a tight smile and a curt nod.

"Good morning," she greeted, though the ice in her voice made it seem otherwise.

He thought for a moment that he was imagining the coldness, but it was there all right and he couldn't understand why. Confused at her mood, he mumbled a "good morning" and slipped past her to settle into one of the four wicker chairs gathered at the table. Silence hung heavy in the room and he occupied himself by toying with the bowl of fruit in front of him. He racked his brain furiously for something to say. He didn't know what he could've done to make her so angry. She'd seemed happy enough last night.

"That smells pretty good," he finally blurted out. "What is it?"

"Fel eggs and Mank steaks," she replied without taking her eyes off her cooking.

"Oh." He had no idea what those two items were, but he felt it wasn't the right time to inquire further. He didn't want to upset her any more than she already was. He drummed his fingers on the table until Celine looked over at him impatiently. His hand froze guiltily.

Celine then brought two plates of food and set one down in front of him. She sat down across from him with the other. What had seemed so appetizing just a short time ago, now tasted like sand and he no longer felt hungry. He played with his fork absent-mindedly as Celine ate quietly. Occasionally he glanced up at her, but never once caught her looking at anything but her plate.

"Celine?" he asked when it had become too quiet for him to endure any longer.

She looked up noncommittally, waiting for his question. Something in her eyes however, told him his conversation wasn't welcome.

"Uh... never mind." He went back to fidgeting with his meal.

Finally, when the atmosphere in the kitchen had reached the peak of tension and he was just about ready to get up and start throwing things, a voice called from outside.

"Hey there... Davey... Celine...? I've brought my visitor home to ya."

It was Lonny. He scooted back his chair and jumped up in relief. He'd barely opened the front door when Bethie came running to him. He scooped her up in his arms and tossed her playfully into the air. She dissolved into giggles until he stopped and hugged her tightly.

"Did you have fun last night? I missed you."

She smiled broadly and nodded vigorously.

"Bethie 'n me, we always have a great time." Lonny had come in and was standing in the doorway. "I trust you weren't too lonely without her." He winked mischievously and looked past them to where Celine had come in.

Embarrassed, he glanced over his shoulder. Celine's mood obviously hadn't improved. She scowled at Lonny and disappeared back into the kitchen. He turned back to the fisherman and grimaced apologetically.

"Hmmm." Lonny chewed on the stem of his pipe thoughtfully. "Maybe you need to get away for a little while. You been cooped up a long time. The boat's going out soon. Why don't ya come along? Even if ya don't feel up to fishin' yet. It'll do ya good."

He glanced back to the kitchen. "Maybe you're right," he mumbled. He turned back and made up his mind. "Sure. Why not? I have to get back in the groove, right?"

Lonny nodded his agreement and started out the door. He set Bethie down and prepared to follow the old man, but the child clung to his hand.

"Bethie, you stay here. I'll be back later." He firmly disengaged her hand and walked outside. The child stood there for a moment then ran after him. She took hold of his shirt and tugged insistently. "Bethie, I told you..." He felt a hand on his arm.

"You'd best take her along. When she gets her mind set on something, she's tough to persuade otherwise."

He sighed heavily. It just wasn't his day with women. "Well... come on then." Bethie smiled happily and the three of them walked down the hill to the village.

Lonny's boat was large compared to the other craft docked in the bay. It was completely sail driven however, and it took a while to reach the spot where Lonny wanted to fish. Once there though, the men who manned the huge nets had them set up in no time. There were between fifteen and twenty men on Lonny's crew, ranging in age from about sixteen to forty. He tried to be helpful but only ended up getting in the way. Feeling terribly inept, he elected to remain on the sidelines and he perched on top of a hatch cover to watch. Bethie stayed by him a while, then moved to the side where she dangled a piece of rope in the water.

After the initial work was completed, Lonny ambled over and plopped down next to him. He lit his pipe and sat puffing silently.

"You know, it's funny," he remarked to the older man, "the only fishing I can remember is with a pole in a stream or lake."

"That's only natural. This kind of fishin's mostly hard work. What you remember is relaxin' and fun. It's easier to recall the good times first. The rest will come later."

"You think so?" He sounded wistful, even to himself.

"Don't worry about it, Davey boy. Things will work out for the best... even with Celine."

He looked up sharply, then turned back to gaze thoughtfully out at the sea. "I don't understand her, Lonny. I thought that after last night..." He felt the red blush crawl up to his hairline. "Well... anyway... I thought that's what she wanted."

Lonny placed an understanding hand on his knee. "Your trouble, boy, is that you've been so busy tryin' to get your point of view straightened out, you haven't seen Celine's."

"What do you mean?"

"Think about it. In the midst of all this trouble with the aliens and all... her husband almost gets himself killed and then wakes up a total stranger. Now that takes some gettin' used to. Everything needs explainin'... you can't remember anything you and her ever did together. It's kind of a strain."

"I know it hasn't been easy," he admitted ruefully. "But I still don't understand why she's upset. I thought everything would be fine now."

Lonny shook his head. "I don't pretend to know everything about women, but I think Celine's problem is that she thought everything would be fine too. So you made love last night... the first time since you lost your memory, right?" He gave a slow nod. "So she probably figured you were back to normal... that you remembered her again... but you still don't, do you?"

"No... not really. I'm trying, Lonny. I just can't." He leaned his head into his hands. "And I can't get rid of the other things I do remember... or dreamed... or whatever. Why is that? If I'm who everyone says I am, why do I remember a made-up life so vividly?"

"It's hard to say what makes the mind work, Davey. Why just look at Bethie there." Both of them turned to watch the child playing at the railing. "Smart as a whip she is. But her mind refuses to cope with certain things. So maybe you hated this life of slavery so much, you made up a better one."

"Now that's another thing... the Ben-Tellans. What do they want from us? Why take over this planet? I've never even seen them. Are they really so terrible?"

"I don't suppose Celine would've told you very much about them. She hates to talk about it. But you see, they didn't kill all of us. They took the majority away to be slave labor in their fuel mines. They left enough of us here to supply the work force with food. So, even though life here seems pleasant enough, there's always a cloud hanging over us. Almost everybody's got relatives that were taken."

"There must be something we can do."

"I don't know what. They'd just as soon kill ya as look at ya. So we live our lives and are thankful they only come two or three times a yahren. Still... it's hard. Ya always wonder 'bout them that's gone."

They were interrupted by a move to the sides by the crew and Lonny rose. "Well, boy... work's callin'. Come along and I'll show ya how it's done." They walked over to where the rest of the men were busy hauling in nets full of fish. He spent the remainder of the day learning a fisherman's way of life.

The noise level in the main casino room was pitched as high as usual. Some things never changed. People came to the Rising Star to forget about the everyday problems of survival. And so, even though the entire fleet was waiting for word on the aliens, gaiety and merriment reigned supreme here.

It had been almost two sectars since Starbuck's patrol had encountered the race of hostile beings and nearly that long since Apollo's squadron had brought back the prisoner for interrogation. Since then, the Galactica's scientists had worked almost nonstop on language analysis, trying to communicate with the alien. It was a slow process, not helped any by the being's refusal to cooperate in the least degree. And so, by not wanting to blunder into any uncertain confrontations, Adama had brought the fleet to a halt... creating the mood of tense expectancy felt in every ship but the Rising Star.

In the middle of all the noise and laughter, Apollo sat at a corner table. He swirled a drink in his hand but had consumed very little of it. He wished he hadn't let Boomer talk him into coming here. He'd never been the partying type and this place had too many memories associated with it. To top it off, Jolly had shown up and dragged Boomer off someplace, leaving Apollo alone. He wished he'd stayed at home with Boxey.

"Mind if I join you?"

Apollo looked up, startled to see Cassiopeia standing beside him. She was smiling but there was an emptiness in her normally sparkling eyes. He stood up and pulled out a chair for her.

"Sure. Have a seat."

"Thanks." She sat down gracefully and he resumed his own seat.

"Want a drink?" he offered.

"Not really." She noticed his full glass. "You're not indulging tonight either, I see."

He gave her a wry smile and picked up the drink. "No. I guess not."

There was an awkward silence as they both managed to look everywhere but at each other. Cassiopeia finally spoke up.

"How come you're here by yourself?"

"Well, I wasn't originally. Boomer's around somewhere. He got sidetracked." He looked at her curiously. "What about you? Why'd you come?"

"I guess I got tired of my own company." She smiled an inward sort of smile. "Self-pity gets a little old after a while."

"I know what you mean," he agreed. "But this place isn't exactly making me stand on my head with joy either. I'd go back to the Galactica, but Boxey's in bed and Muffit isn't much for conversation."

Cassiopeia laughed lightly. "Well how about keeping me company for a while? I'm pretty good at conversation and my place is a lot quieter than this."

Apollo eyed her quizzically then shrugged. "Sounds great." He stood up and pulled out her chair for her to stand. Taking her by the arm, he escorted her out of the casino and toward the shuttle bay.

"You were right. This is a lot nicer." He sipped the drink she'd given him. "And this is a whole lot better than the engine lube they serve on the Rising Star. Where did you get it?"

Cassiopeia looked a little guilty. "Starbuck managed to save a couple of bottles from Krodon before it blew up. I guess he wasn't supposed to have them."

"I won't tell anyone," he promised. But the mention of Starbuck's name had made him uneasy. He rose from the couch and walked over to the table, fidgeting with his glass.

Cassiopeia watched him for a moment, then she got up and came over to him. "Apollo, I'm sorry... but if we can't talk about him between ourselves... well, he wouldn't have wanted us to stop living."

The warrior turned to face her. She was very close and as he stared down at her... green eyes meeting her blue ones, he noticed that the room was becoming quite warm. He cleared his throat. "Uh... Cassiopeia... I..."

"Shhh." She moved closer, her body pressing against his. With one hand she took the glass from him and set it on the table. With the other, she played with the hair falling over his collar at the back of his neck.

He swallowed hard against the sudden surge of emotion. He reached out a tentative hand and ran it through her hair, his eyes never leaving her face. Then he gently pulled her head toward his and he bent down to find her warm and giving mouth. Slowly at first, then with more passion, he kissed her. Her arms found their way around his neck and he felt the urgency in their pressure.

He opened his eyes to meet hers again. There was still time to back away.

"Cassiopeia," he whispered, "I never planned for anything like this."

"I know," she answered softly. "If you had, I wouldn't have invited you here."

He gathered her into an embrace, holding her supple body close against his and then reached down to kiss her again. He knew that he didn't want to be any other place at this moment. There was no more confusion or hesitation and, as he caught sight of the bedroom door from over her shoulder, he took command of the situation. He gently guided her in that direction and she followed willingly, content to let him lead.

As they entered, light from the main room illuminating the entryway, they stopped and faced each other. Apollo touched her face, then moved his hand to caress her throat. Cassiopeia closed her eyes. Her arms were wrapped around his waist. She was waiting expectantly when she felt Apollo tense suddenly and pull away.

She looked up at him concerned. "What's the matter?" she asked, the mood already broken and dissipating.

The captain slowly looked from over her shoulder into her eyes. His hands slipped down her arms to take hold of her hands.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled hoarsely. He cleared his throat and continued. "This shouldn't have happened."

"Apollo?" Cassiopeia's voice was trembling and there was uncertainty in her eyes.

He shook his head. "It just wouldn't be right... for either of us." He moved away and reluctantly let go of her hands. For a moment their eyes held, then Apollo turned and quickly walked out the door.

Cassiopeia stood where he left her, staring after the disappearing warrior, unable to understand what had made him change his mind. She sighed, turned to her dressing table and sat down. Absent-mindedly she picked up a brush and began running it through her hair. As her gaze ran over the table top, she caught sight of the framed likeness sitting there. Realization finally struck her. This had been in Apollo's line of sight.

A wave of guilt and sorrow swept over her. She picked up the likeness and cradled it tenderly. "I'm sorry, Starbuck. I'm sorry. I'm just so lonely without you."

The only sound in the room was her quiet sobbing as she clutched the likeness tightly in her hands, and the smiling boy was suddenly wet as tears ran down her cheeks and fell upon his face.

The mid-morning sun shone bright and warm as he made his way up the hillside from the village. He'd been going out regularly with the boat and was quickly picking up on his duties as a fisherman. He enjoyed being out on the sea. It gave him a sense of freedom from the worries he felt about his identity. Though the work was hard, the men were friendly, and Lonny was always ready with a helping hand if he fumbled or a pat on the back for a job well done.

Celine was happier about things now too. Since he didn't spend so much time at the house, she didn't have to put up with his missing memory all the time. During the evenings, when he was at home, she was pleasant and talkative. Though they weren't on intimate terms, they enjoyed each other's company.

The only person unhappy in his absence was Bethie. At first she would stay at the dock, fretting until the boat returned, but more recently, as if she'd resigned herself to the fact that he would be gone part of the day, she'd been staying up on the hill, waiting until he was home to show how much she'd missed him.

Today though, the rigging on the boat had needed some repairs, and since Lonny hadn't needed him, he'd decided to go back to the house. He trudged up the hill, happy for a day of rest but a bit apprehensive about spending the whole day with Celine.

The house was empty when he reached it, but he wasn't surprised. Bethie was probably off playing somewhere and Celine had mentioned something about doing the wash. He'd been a little confused that she had to go to the stream to do it, but he hadn't said anything. He just accepted it the way he'd been accepting everything else.

With nothing to occupy his time, he began poking around closets and drawers, looking for anything that might enlighten him about who and what he was supposed to be. He found nothing of any help, but when he opened one of the closets he let out a cry of delight. Stacked neatly against one side was a whole array of fishing gear. Picking up the rod and trying a few playful casts in the living room, he smiled brightly. It seemed like forever since he'd gone sport fishing... at least the last time he remembered going. It would be fun to get the feel of it again.

He sorted through what he would need and then set off at a brisk pace toward where he knew Celine would be. He'd have to ask her where a good place was.

He found her kneeling over a large tub of steaming water. There was a fire nearby over which an iron kettle hung, heating more water. There was a basket half full of wet clothing next to her. Celine herself looked bedraggled with her sleeves rolled up past her elbows and her hair, damp from the steam, clinging to her forehead. She was so wrapped up in what she was doing that she wasn't aware of his presence until he spoke to her.

"You sure do things the hard way," he observed.

Celine turned, startled. After seeing who it was though, she relaxed and gave him a sarcastic look. "You know of a better way?"

He started to say something then just shrugged. "You want some help?"

She shook her head. "It's not as tough as it looks." She frowned slightly. "What are you doing home?"

"Some rigging needed repairing and I'm still all thumbs on the boat." He laughed good-naturedly. "I don't know why Lonny takes me out."

"Lonny likes you a lot. He's trying to do you a favor."

"I know, I know," he assured her hastily, to stave off any anger on Celine's part.

She smiled to let him know she wasn't mad, then gestured to the gear he carried. "Can't stop fishing, huh?"

He looked down at the things. "This is different. Thought I'd have a little fun." He paused a moment, knowing how his questions could upset her. "Um... Celine. I know I should remember but... uh, where do I usually go fishing around here?"

She laughed a little at the concerned look on his face. "Have I been that bad? Well, I haven't gone with you much. You usually just follow the current till a place strikes your fancy."

He looked up the stream then back at Celine. "Oh. Well... thanks. I'll probably be gone a few centars. Sure you don't need any help?"

"I'm sure. Now go on."

"All right," he shrugged. "See you later." He began picking his way up the bank of the stream.

As he walked, the sounds of the forest intruded upon his thoughts, gradually becoming the center of his attention. The water ran down the stream, babbling noisily. The birds chirped to each other and small animals chattered away. The wind sang softly through the leaves of the numerous trees.

As he went along, this pleasant windsong slowly increased in its harmony and he thought he knew the reason. He stopped, listening intently to pinpoint the direction of the sound, then crept quietly towards it.

He reached the edge of a clearing and silently sat down to watch the scene in front of him. Bethie sat amongst a patch of clover flowers, gathering an armful of them. She was singing to herself, apparently oblivious to anything around her.

He scarcely breathed for fear of disturbing her. Her song was enchanting and mournful at the same time, though he really couldn't describe it. It had no words as such, but it blended with the wind and became part of the forest. He'd heard her singing before but he'd never been close enough to see her. She always stopped if anyone was around.

He must have inadvertently brushed a branch or snapped a twig for Bethie abruptly ceased her tune and after a few moments looked up in his direction. His heart sank for he'd so wanted her to trust him. He'd even hoped that she might one day talk to him. Now it would seem like he'd been spying on her.

Reluctantly, he got to his feet and stepped into the clearing. As he approached her, Bethie's wide blue eyes never left his face. There was no reproach or anger in them... only a joyful pleasure at seeing him. Apparently she wasn't going to hold his eavesdropping against him. He still felt a need to make amends though, so he knelt down in front of where she sat and took her hand.

"Bethie... I didn't mean to sneak up on you. It's just that... well... you sing so pretty that I wanted to listen. You're not mad at me are you?"

The look he got was one of surprise. It had never occurred to her to be angry. Encouraged, he went on.

"I wish you'd sing for me sometime. You don't have to be afraid." He looked at her hopefully.

The only answer he got was a small giggle as she reached out and stuck a blue clover flower into his hair. He smiled in spite of the disappointment he felt. He should've known better, he supposed. He got back to his feet and held out his fishing pole.

"Want to come?"

Bethie's face lit up in an excited smile and she jumped up and grabbed his hand. The two of them walked back to the stream. A little while later they were sitting on the grassy bank, the fishing pole dangling invitingly in the water.

They sat that way for a long time. No fish took the proffered bait and nothing interrupted the silence. He looked over at the child beside him. Her bare feet wiggled in the cool brook and the breeze blew white wisps of hair across her face. Everyone said she was his daughter and though he couldn't remember, he was at least beginning to believe what they told him. Whatever the truth, he knew he loved Bethie and felt an intense desire to have her talk to him. He wanted her to feel secure enough to do so, but he was unsure of just how to accomplish his goal. So, for lack of anything else, he reached out and tenderly brushed the hair back out of her eyes.

Bethie glanced up at him curiously. He must've been one terrific father to make her so unused to affection. He had a sudden idea.

"Hey... How 'bout a story? I bet I could do better than old Shadrach any day."

The child nodded and straightened up a little to listen.

"Well this story is about a warrior. His name was Starbuck... Lieutenant Starbuck. He came from a planet far away from here... a planet called Caprica."

As he went on, his eyes took on a far away expression and his voice held a sad, distant note.

"Now this warrior... he flew a wonderful ship called a Viper. He loved to soar through space. There was nothing like it for him. Of course, he liked other things too. He loved to play cards. Why, him and his old man could outsmart anybody... And I mean anybody. Of course, Chameleon wasn't really his father. It was just kind of a game they played. And this Starbuck... he loved his cigars. A good smoke and a glass of ambrosa and he was happy. He had lots of friends too... a real good buddy named Boomer who was an ace pilot... and his best friend was a captain. Apollo was his name. Apollo had a son named Boxey who wasn't much bigger than you. Do you like daggits?" Bethie nodded. "Well, you wouldn't believe the daggit Boxey had. He wasn't a real daggit. He was mechanical. Name was Muffit and he did anything Boxey told him."

He fell silent for a moment, deep in thought. When he resumed his story his voice was softer. "And this warrior loved a lady named Cassiopeia. She was beautiful and had the prettiest blue eyes... except for yours of course." Bethie laughed at that and he smiled slightly. "You know, you'll probably grow up to look just like her... well, anyway, Cassie was the best thing that ever happened to Starbuck only he was too dumb to know it. Cassiopeia... his fairy queen."

He was quiet now, not sure why he'd gone off on this tangent and not knowing how to continue. He only knew he felt a sharp longing for something that never was. He couldn't trust his voice any longer so he remained silent.

Bethie had watched his expression change as he talked and had sensed the shift in his mood. She felt he needed something... something she couldn't give him, but she wanted to help, to make him happy again. So, softly at first as she gathered her courage, then stronger, she began humming her haunting melody.

Startled awareness crept into his mind as he registered what was happening. Slowly he brought his distracted attention back to the child and he sat enraptured, his eyes filling with tears as he recognized her gesture.

Her song continued on for several centons then she lapsed into silence and sat gazing at the water. He gruffly wiped away the few tears that had escaped to run down his face. When Bethie saw them, she reached over and kissed him lightly on the cheek, then smiled warmly.

The fishing pole chose that moment to jerk spasmodically, bringing them both back to the present. The break in the mood brought laughter with it as he wrestled with the fish on the end of the line. It was only a brief struggle and the fish got away in the end, but not before he was up to his waist in the stream and soaking wet. As he brought up the empty line, a look of amazement and disbelief on his face, Bethie broke into a fit of giggles and lay on the bank holding her stomach.

"So, you think it's funny, huh? I'll show you."

He waded back to the bank, easily picked up Bethie and carried her out into the stream. She tried to break his grasp but was still laughing too hard to help herself. He dumped her unceremoniously into the water and she came up sputtering.

"Now who's funny?" he teased. He started towards her, slipped on the loose footing and went under. As he surfaced, wiping water from his eyes, Bethie dissolved into laughter again and he joined her whole-heartedly.

"If you think it's so easy, then you try it," he finally said after they were under control. He helped her out of the water and put the pole into her eager hands, then watched in amazement as after only a few centons, the line began to jerk and tug against her small arms.

"Well, I'll be..." He grabbed onto the pole and helped her steady it. She managed to land the fish without too much help from him and she nearly danced with glee as he netted it. When he was through, he handed the line to her. She took it and held up her prize triumphantly.

"Come on, hotshot. Let's go home and get out of these wet clothes before it gets too cold." He gently prodded her shoulder to start her down the trail. Gathering up the tackle, he followed after her.

The night was bright and luminous from the full moon and the vast array of stars shining into the clearing that held the small house. He stood leaning against the open doorway, staring up at the night sky. His cigar smoke curled up past the eaves and vanished into the darkness. Despite his acceptance of his life here, there were times when his yearning for the stars was acute. He couldn't explain it. He just knew it was there and he tried to bury it deeper and deeper inside of himself.

He felt a hand come to rest on his arm and knew Celine had come up behind him. Still he was reluctant to turn away.

"Davey, come to bed. It's late."

"I will," he promised. "I'll be there in a centon."

Celine moved up to stand beside him. She watched the sky for a moment then turned her gaze to study his face and the undisguised longing there. She impulsively reached up to brush his cheek with her hand. The sudden demonstration of affection took him by such surprise that he tore his eyes away from the stars and looked down at the woman beside him... his wife... acting like a wife for the first time in a long time.

He took the caressing hand in his own and brought it to his lips to kiss it tenderly. He could see the moonlight reflected in the tears that stood out on her face.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "about so many things."

"Don't be," he told her. "I know it's been rough... on everybody. But we can work things out. You'll see."

At his words, something seemed to melt inside of Celine and she lay her head against his shoulder and cried softly. He put his arms around her comfortingly and held her tightly. Maybe everything finally would be all right between them.

After a few moments she raised her head and looked up at him apologetically. He found a handkerchief and gently daubed at her cheeks.

"Feel better?"

She gave a small nod.

"I'm glad." He lifted her chin and reached to kiss her. After only a slight hesitation, she began to respond and the kiss grew fuller and deeper. His arms moved slightly, pulling her closer still.

As they finally and reluctantly broke the contact, Celine closed her eyes and whispered, "Oh, Davey." She was his now and that should have been what he wanted, but as he moved with her in the direction of their room, he couldn't quite keep the thought out of his mind that her hair should have been blonde.

He was awakened abruptly by a thunderous noise. Bolting upright in bed, it took a moment to register where he was. The noise was familiar and when he saw that Celine was awake and wide-eyed with fear, he knew what it was.

"The Ben-Tellans?" he asked. Celine nodded slowly. "But why? What do they want? It's not time for them to come."

Celine shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. They don't do this very often, but when they do, they want everyone to gather in the village."

"Everyone? What if we stay here?"

"They'll know. They check everyone in. We'll have to go down there."

The noise sounded again and there came a strange, frightened cry from across the hall.

"Bethie!" He scrambled out of bed, grabbed his pants and struggled into them as he ran into the other bedroom.

As he reached the doorway, his eyes swept frantically over the room. The small bed was empty, its blankets lying in a disheveled heap. In the darkness it was hard to make anything out so he call softly and, he hoped, calmly.

"Bethie?"

A stifled sob drew his attention to the far corner, where a small dresser stood. He moved over slowly and found Bethie huddled beside the chest. Her face was buried in her upraised knees, her hair in wild disarray. He could see that she was trembling violently.

He knelt down and reached out to stroke her hair reassuringly. "It's all right," he soothed. "Don't be afraid. I won't let anyone hurt you."

Celine came in, fully dressed, and held out his shirt and shoes. "Here... put these on. We have to hurry."

"We can't leave Bethie here alone. Not right now."

"Of course we can't. She has to come with us."

He glanced up sharply and, even in the dim light, Celine could see anger flashing in his eyes.

"I won't take her down there."

"Davey, you don't have any choice. Everyone has to go. Do you want them to come find you and kill you both? That's what they'll do if you stay."

He glared at her with barely controlled rage as he took the things from her and put them on. Then he once more reached out to Bethie. He gently but firmly pulled her out of the corner. She resisted at first but as he drew her into his lap, she threw her arms around him tightly, her face burrowed into his neck.

"It's okay now," he told her, trying to quiet her fear.

He gestured for Celine to get him a blanket off the bed and he wrapped it around Bethie. He stood up, a little awkwardly because of his burden.

"Let's get this over with," he declared evenly.

The three of them started down the hill toward the village. Celine was quiet and subdued. She watched him as they walked. He looked tight-lipped and angry in the moonlight. He wasn't used to this feeling of helplessness and resented being ordered around. Though she was worried about him, it was only as they neared the village that she ventured to say anything.

"Please, Davey... whatever happens, don't do anything. Promise me."

He turned and saw the desperation in her face. "I can't promise anything," he stated tersely.

Her eyes held a touch of panic. "No... please don't say that," she begged softly. "Don't let it be like last time."

"Last time? What did I do? What happened last time?"

"What happened?" Her eyes grew wider. "You mean you... I..." Now she was flustered. "It doesn't matter. Just take my word... they'll kill you if you resist them."

"Celine." His voice was quiet but commanding. "Tell me what happened."

She plainly didn't want to talk about it but she couldn't refuse the look on his face. "It was about a yahren ago. They came like this... unexpectedly. They were here to punish Samuel." Her voice was low and hesitant as she recounted the obviously painful memory. "He was a good friend. You lost your temper and hit one of the overseers."

For some reason that information filled him with a small sense of satisfaction. "So what did they do to me?"

She looked away. "Nothing to you. You were too valuable a worker. So they took our son back to the mines with them." Her voice cracked and she stopped to regain her composure.

He was shaken by that. No one had ever mentioned a son. He'd just assumed Bethie was their only child, but he did recall Lonny saying almost everyone had relatives slaving in the mines. The thought of a son of his, even one he couldn't remember, being a slave for anyone infuriated him. His mouth set in a grim line. This wasn't going to be pleasant.

They entered the village and Celine guided them over to a crowd of people organizing themselves into lines. As they took their places, he could see the Ben-Tellans up ahead, apparently checking people off as they went by. It was the first time he'd seen them and he had to repress a shudder... not at their physical appearance, though that was strange. It was more from the sinister aura he felt in their presence. He held Bethie a little tighter. Her sobs had stopped but she still clung to him. He felt Celine slip her hand into the crook of his arm and he realized that she was almost as frightened as the child in his arms... perhaps more for what he might do rather than because of the aliens themselves.

They passed by without incident, after identifying themselves into the translator device held out by one of the Ben-Tellans. Then they moved over to wait with the rest of the villagers to find out what the gathering was all about.

They didn't have long to wait. After a few centons, during which a few stragglers hurriedly gathered in, one of the beings stepped up onto a large platform. The already subdued crowd grew even quieter until a deathly stillness prevailed. When he'd waited long enough to produce the effect he wanted, the alien raised the translator to his mouth.

At the sound of the cold, sterile voice, Bethie let out a small whimper and he let her slide out of his arms to stand at his feet, pressed close against him. She seemed to feel safer surrounded by the crowd for she grew quiet again.

"Humans!" the Ben-Tellan was saying. "Tonight we call you to witness a punishment." The alien made a gesture to his companions and two of them led a dirty young man up onto the platform. He was in chains and barefoot, his torn clothing affording little warmth or protection. His despairing eyes swept over the crowd in a hopeless plea for deliverance. Upon seeing his face, Celine drew in her breath sharply.

"What's wrong?" he whispered. "Do you know him?"

She gave a small nod. "It's Daniel. He's Lonny's son. He was enslaved in the initial takeover."

He looked back at the man in chains then around the crowd curiously. "Where is Lonny anyway? I don't see him anywhere."

"This man," the alien continued. "Refused to do what he was ordered. For that he must be punished. But he is young and strong. His capacity for work must not be decreased. Instead, we will provide him with reasons for obedience." Another man was dragged out before them. It was Lonny, looking far older than he was. He tried to give his son an encouraging smile, but was pushed forward roughly, causing him to stumble awkwardly.

Standing there among the crowd, he watched the scene with growing horror. It was clear the aliens meant to punish the old fisherman for his son's offenses. He was so intent on what was happening in front of him, he never noticed Celine's furtive glances and subtle gestures to several men in the crowd. Nor did he pay any attention to the casual shift of people that ended up with him surrounded by men from Lonny's crew.

The aliens had now chained Lonny to a short, wooden post. His shirt had been stripped away; his grey chest labored with his frightened breathing. His head leaned against the post in an attitude of prayer, as if he was certain this would be his last chance to do so.

He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but from such advanced beings he'd been prepared for some mechanical instrument at least. Instead though, they produced a long and vicious looking whip. As the Ben-Tellan flicked it once, experimentally, the light caught and reflected off bits of metal attached to the lash. He pushed from his mind the images such a weapon conjured up. For such technological creatures, they certainly weren't adverse to a little old-fashioned torture.

He had no idea what he was going to do. He only knew that he couldn't stand by and let them use the whip on the old man. He took Bethie by the shoulders and moved her over to Celine, who looked at him in alarm. As the being raised up the lash, he took a step forward.

That was as far as he ever got. As the whip fell on Lonny's back, causing the man to scream in pain, Daniel tried desperately to break free. In the confusion, and as the aliens were busy controlling the struggle on the platform, five pairs of strong arms descended upon him and he was kept from moving any closer. They quickly pushed him to the ground. He tried to struggle but was pinned flat on his stomach. A strong hand was clamped so firmly over his mouth that he thought he might suffocate. His arms were soon numb from being pulled up behind him. He felt the blood roaring in his ears and knew he was going to pass out soon if he didn't breathe.

Working his jaw a little, he managed to get a grip on the fleshy part of someone's hand. He bit down as hard as he was able. The hand's owner was stubborn though and he could taste the warm salt of blood. Then someone grabbed his hair and pulled his head back until he thought his neck would break. He was forced to relax his grip and the hand was quickly withdrawn. He gulped air thankfully, but before he could recover enough to do anything else, his face was slammed down against the hard-packed ground. Pain shot through his head like an explosion. Too stunned to move, he vaguely heard someone whisper fiercely. "Now shut up and keep still."

He couldn't have moved if he'd tried. Through the pain and dizziness, he could hear the muffled mechanical voice inquiring about complaints with their actions. The fight to restrain him, swift and quiet as it had been, had obviously been noticed... at least they'd noticed a stirring in the crowd. Now they were ready to quell any acts of defiance. Several people murmured negative responses. That, plus the renewed stillness of the villagers, seemed to assure the Ben-Tellans that all was in order. Very distantly it seemed, Lonny began screaming again.

He lay in the dirt, aware but hardly caring that people were standing over and around him. Apparently, after they stopped his interference, they'd filled in any gaps in the crowd and were hiding the fact that he lay under their feet. Helpless and defeated, he tried not the hear the old man who'd befriended him.

He wasn't sure how much time passed before the punishment was over. He was dimly aware of the Ben-Tellan ship leaving, their thunder impossible to miss. Then the crowd began to disperse and he was helped up by the same men who'd assailed him.

Angrily he shook off their hands, nearly falling over in the process. They stood back and let him alone. He swayed unsteadily, but managed to stay on his feet. He stood glaring at them, his hair falling into his eyes, blood and dirt smeared all over his face. Finally one of the men stepped forward and spoke up defensively.

"We had to do it, Davey. You would've just made it worse for everybody... including Lonny."

At the mention of the man's name, he glanced over at the platform. Lonny, battered and blood-soaked, was sagging against the post, upheld only by his chained hands. Instantly forgetting the men, he stumbled over and crawled up beside the fisherman. Quickly checking, he found some life still there, but it was all too evident that what remained was quickly ebbing. He gently took the old man into his arms and stroked the matted, gray hair. At the touch, Lonny's eyes fluttered open weakly and his mouth worked wordlessly.

"You'll be all right, Lonny," he murmured brokenly. "Just lie quiet."

The rest of the people in the square now gathered around and were staring helplessly at their friend. Celine made her way over and placed a loving hand on Lonny's arm. He turned his eyes on her, held her gaze for a few moments and managed to say, "Davey." Celine frowned slightly and shook her head. Lonny's eyes then looked back up at him, their expression unreadable. "Forgive me," he gasped out. He then released a long breath and was still.

He sat where he was, holding the dead man while the other fishermen each slowly wandered away to mourn their loss privately. He wasn't even aware they were gone. He stared down at the wizened old face, trying to understand the man's last words. What had Lonny ever done to want his forgiveness? Maybe it was something back in that locked-up portion of his life he couldn't remember, but it didn't seem likely. Celine had told him they'd been like father and son.

He noticed a small hand enter his field of vision and gently pat his own. He blinked back the tears that had threatened to fall and turned to see Bethie beside him. Her bright blue eyes were wide and knowing... all trace of the mindless terror gone with the aliens. As he watched her, she turned her gaze from him to Lonny.

White lashes veiled her eyes momentarily, then she reached over and smoothed the old man's hair. He couldn't watch anymore. He stood up, took Bethie by the hand and led her away from the platform. Helping her down, he gave her to Celine.

"Take her home. I'll be there in a while."

"But Davey... what are you going to do?"

He looked back at Lonny. I'm going to take him down for one thing," he told her with evident control. "Then I don't know what."

"It wasn't your fault, you know. There wasn't anything you could have done, even if they hadn't stopped you."

"Look, an old man has just been beaten to death in front of me. That's not exactly something that happens every day... at least from what I can remember." His voice was rising and trembling. He was ready to explode and when he saw Bethie was watching him intently, he breathed deeply and tried to maintain control. "I'll be all right. Don't worry. Now go on home... please."

Knowing there was nothing she could do or say, Celine took Bethie and reluctantly started down the road. The child watched him over her shoulder until, in the dark, she could no longer see him. He stood staring after them for a while then he turned back toward the platform to perform the task ahead of him.

The council room was filled to capacity with flight leaders, pilots and various scientists. Commander Adama sat at the head of the table, listening carefully to the information that was being presented. He glanced across the room and saw Apollo standing next to Boomer. His son's face was intent on the speaker, telling Adama what he knew already... that this mission was of the utmost importance to Apollo. Farther away, near the door, Cassiopeia was trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible. Technically she had no business here, but Adama was not about to force the issue. He knew the girl had a very personal stake in this.

The person who had the floor was Dr. Salik. He'd been in charge of investigating the alien and was now in the process of making his final report. Whatever he told them would determine their next course of action.

"The being we captured," the doctor was saying, "was actually part of the group our first patrol ran in to. This is fortunate because, other than first-hand knowledge, their pilots know very little. Actually his ship was more helpful than he was. For that I should give the floor to Dr. Wilker." He moved to take his chair and gestured to the other man.

"Well, from the vessel's computer, we've found out their relative strengths. What it comes down to, cutting out non-essential felgercarb, is that we could take them in a fair fight if that's what we want. We could, of course, avoid them entirely by skirting their territorial limits, which we now know." There was a good deal of dissenting murmuring among the warriors at that statement. The doctor shrugged his shoulders and glanced at Adama. "Whichever way you decide, we have the information." He sat down and Dr. Salik rose again.

"One thing before you make your decision... our prisoner tells us that one of the first patrol Vipers crashed on a planet which he calls Vesuvan." The crowd shifted with interest at that. "He was certain though that it was hit bad enough to insure its destruction. That's why they didn't pursue it. The planet, by the way, is the homeworld of humans whom the Ben-Tellans use as slaves."

Everyone began talking at once. Adama let the confusion go on for a while then he rapped on the table for attention. When he regained order, he rose to his feet.

"I wanted you all to hear this information first-hand. What I plan is risky and I wanted you to know what we're getting in to. Although our first responsibility is the safety of the fleet, I feel a certain sense of duty to investigate the planet Vesuvan. As long as there's a possibility one of our warriors survived, we owe him a chance."

The commander paced in front of the grid map. "I propose sending in a small survey team. Their approach can be covered by a diversionary attack by our Vipers. Now... these beings don't know anything about the fleet. They can only assume all our ships are capable of fighting. If we move the fleet toward them, we may intimidate them enough for our team to find out what they need to know."

"Captain Apollo, Lieutenant Boomer and Lieutenant Jolly will make up the team. The rest of you will report to Colonel Tigh for your flight assignments. May the Lords of Kobol bless you. Dismissed."

The council room quickly dissolved from quiet order to vibrant chaos as people moved to leave, talking among themselves about what they'd just learned and what lay ahead of them. As Apollo and Boomer shuffled out, they were accosted immediately by Cassiopeia, determination showing grimly on her face.

"When are you leaving for the planet?" She tried her best to sound nonchalant.

"In about two centars," Apollo answered.

"Good. I can be ready by then."

"Ready for what?" Boomer asked.

"I'm going with you," she announced.

Both men opened their mouths to protest but Cassiopeia spoke up first, cutting off their expected arguments.

"You'll need a med-tech. If you find the pilot alive, he could be hurt. If he's dead... well, you might want to know what killed him." Her blue eyes were ablaze with defiance of probability and fate. "Besides, one of you might get hurt. You're taking the shuttle, so why not take me?"

She steeled herself for the flood of objections, but instead only received an appraising glance from Apollo and silent resignation from Boomer.

"Well?" she demanded, after the wait became unbearable.

"I'll have to clear it with the commander," Apollo finally said, "but you're probably in."

Cassiopeia blinked in astonishment. She'd been ready to argue indefinitely. She smiled in appreciation. "Thank you. You don't know what this means to me."

Apollo gave Boomer a quick glance. "I think we might," he replied quietly.

Cassiopeia's smile grew wider and she nodded her understanding. She reached up and gave each warrior a light kiss on the cheek. "I'll get my equipment and meet you in the bay."

The day was hot and sticky. Low, black clouds held the promise of rain but refused to deliver. The atmosphere seemed to reflect his own mood. He'd not been able to come to terms with the mixture of guilt and anger at what had happened in the village. Something inside told him he would've only made things worse. The aliens might have hurt Bethie or Celine. But something else argued that it was wrong to go along with such cruelty just to insure your own safety. He was having trouble accepting the passive and submissive slave role.

He walked along the edge of the stream for a time, then he sat down on a fallen log and ran a hand through his hair. He sighed wearily. He hadn't been able to bring himself to go out on the boat, though he knew he would eventually have to or else endanger his family. Overnight things had fallen apart again, only this was worse than when he'd first awakened from his head injury. Time had reconciled him to his lost memory. It would not bring Lonny back to life.

A hand on his shoulder made him look up. Bethie stood beside him, worry showing in her bright eyes.

"Hi there," he greeted lamely.

The only thing he was glad about was that the child seemed none the worse for the trauma of that night. In fact, she seemed more worried about him than for herself. She'd been following him everywhere, as if she were concerned for his state of mind.

She stood for a time, watching him gaze out over the water. Then she took his hand and tugged for him to get up. He rose reluctantly.

"What is it?" Curiosity hedged in on his depression as Bethie became more and more insistent.

After receiving only her customary silence for an answer, he let himself be led away from the stream and deep into the woods.

The shuttle landed on Vesuvan without interference, though no one on board doubted that their presence was known to the Ben-Tellans. They felt secure for a while, knowing the aliens were going to be kept busy for quite some time. They ought to have ample time to investigate this planet.

After initial surveys and testings, the hatch opened and the four occupants emerged into a world of trees and dense brush. Apollo pointed off toward a particularly thick cluster of foliage.

"Sensors indicate a ship of some kind in that direction. Boomer and I will go check it out. Jolly, I want you to keep watch here." He turned to Cassiopeia, his voice taking on a no-nonsense tone. "You stay with Jolly. We'll keep the comline open so you'll know if we need you. It'll also act as a tracer for you to find us." His voice invited no arguments and Cassiopeia offered none. "Ready Boomer?" The lieutenant nodded and the two warriors set out.

They walked for a while, pushing their way through the thick undergrowth. Then, abruptly, the brush was gone, replaced by a long slash of black stubble that was just now showing signs of regrowth.

"Apollo?"

"Yeah... I know."

They were following the burned path when Apollo grabbed his companion's arm. "Boomer... look."

Not far ahead of them, glinting in the sunlight, lay what was left of a Viper. Though it was battered and scorched, it was still recognizable as one of the fleet's fighters. As if on cue, both men broke into a run, coming to a halt only when they were close enough to see clearly.

The Viper had been through a lot. The tail had been shorn off, either in the battle or the crash, it was hard to tell. Fire had also done its share of damage. Apollo climbed gingerly up to the cockpit and tried the blackened canopy.

"It's sealed." His voice was tired. "I don't think anyone got out of here." He reached for the release. At the same time the canopy lifted, Boomer called up from where he'd been searching for the identification number.

"It's Starbuck's. I can just make out the number four." There was no comment from his friend so the lieutenant looked up to the cockpit. "Apollo? What is it?"

The captain was staring into the ship, an expression that was a mixture of shock, anguish and nausea on his face.

"Apollo?"

Boomer climbed up next to the stricken warrior, then recoiled in horror as he found the reason for Apollo's reaction. Inside the cockpit sat a badly decomposing corpse, burned beyond recognition.

"My God!" Boomer whispered. His hand automatically flew to cover his nose and mouth.

"He never even got out," Apollo managed to say. "He never had a chance."

"Maybe... " Boomer swallowed hard. "Maybe he was dead before he hit."

Apollo looked up in dismay. "Does it really matter?"

"At least if he was, he wouldn't have suffered this." Boomer waved helplessly at the carnage.

Apollo didn't respond so Boomer took the captain's arm and pulled him away from the terrible sight. There was an awful silence. What could either man say? Although they had both accepted the fact that Starbuck was in all probability dead, coming face to face with it was difficult... a painful reality.

The silence was broken at last by a call from Jolly on the open comline.

"Hey, Skipper..." The warrior's voice held a note of sadness and sympathy. He'd heard everything. "Cassiopeia's on her way there. When she heard... I couldn't stop her."

Apollo looked at Boomer then up at the wreck. Heaving a sigh, he spoke into the comset. "That's okay, Jolly. We'll take care of it." He turned back to Boomer who had moved a little ways away from the wreckage. "I wish she didn't have to see this."

Boomer had been staring off into the woods and to Apollo's bewilderment, his face suddenly lit up with astonishment and disbelieving joy. "Maybe she won't have to. Look!"

Apollo turned to see what Boomer was talking about and gasped in amazement. A man was emerging from the woods. His hair, longer and shaggier than usual, was sun-bleached and his face was deeply tanned. He was dressed in what was presumably native clothing, which hung on him loosely and a small child walked by his side. But it was still Starbuck and he was very much alive.

They had walked for quite some time and he still had no idea where they were going. It was clear though that Bethie had a specific goal in mind, for she marched by his side determinedly, taking his hand and pulling him along if he lagged or showed signs of stopping.

"Bethie, where are we going?" he asked for at least the tenth time.

For an answer, the child got behind him and pushed.

"Bethie," he laughed as he broke through the brush and into a clearing. Bethie stepped up beside him and stopped when he did.

As he caught sight of the scene in front of him, his mind reeled in confusion. There, amid the ruins of a ship, were two men whom he recognized from his dreams. He squeezed his eyes shut. They couldn't be real... not now... after he'd finally accepted his life here. It had to be his imagination. Probably like Celine said... he wanted so badly to be able to do something, he was making everything up in his mind. Perhaps because he was so upset about Lonny, he'd felt the need to conjure them up too. Maybe now, if he looked, they'd be gone.

"Starbuck!" A shout from one of them... of that all too familiar name... wrought an anguished cry from deep inside of him.

"No! Leave me alone!"

He opened his eyes, saw one of the men move toward him, and backed up. The man was held up by a restraining hand from his companion.

He stopped, closed his eyes again and shook his head, trying to sort things out in his mind. Things were happening too fast for him to think, and in the tumult of his disoriented emotions, he felt a small hand slip into his. Bethie! Calm and reassurance flooded through him. She'd found him when he was lost before. He could trust her to guide him out of his mental labyrinth and back to reality. He squeezed her hand tightly and said, with desperation lacing his voice, "Take me home, Bethie... like last time."

There was silence for a brief moment. It seemed as if the entire world was holding its breath, waiting. Even the birds had ceased their constant chatter. Then, in a quiet voice that could have easily been the wind whispering to him, the child said simply, "Starbuck."

The world moved again. He slowly opened his eyes and looked down at Bethie incredulously. She smiled and pointed ahead of her. He followed her directions, turned to face the men and knew he was not dreaming. He started forward hesitantly.

Apollo and Boomer both let out relieved breaths. They hadn't known what was happening with their friend, only that something was wrong with his reaction at seeing them. They waited anxiously to see what he would do. Now, as he walked toward them, everything seemed all right and the momentary tension and apprehension dissolved.

Apollo came forward as Starbuck approached. The lieutenant moved haltingly, as if he was afraid to trust what he saw. Apollo's eyes were misty at the sight of his friend whom he'd thought dead for so long. As they met, each man stopped, suddenly unsure of what to do next.

"Apollo?" Starbuck finally said in a faltering voice. His blue eyes were tear-filled and wavering.

At the sight of his usually brash friend this close to tears, Apollo couldn't suppress a warm, reassuring smile. Then, as if they could read each other's minds, they were embracing affectionately. Boomer came up then and there was a round of back slapping and tearful laughter.

"I can't believe you guys are real," Starbuck managed to say.

"Believe it, buddy, believe it," was Boomer's reply. "What we can't figure out is how you survived that." He pointed to the demolished Viper.

Starbuck glanced over at the fighter and a frown creased his forehead. "I... I don't really remember." He started toward the wreck, Boomer and Apollo following behind him. Bethie kept her distance, but watched carefully from where she stood.

As he ran his hand over the surface of the ship, he noticed the identification number. "Well, it's mine all right, but I can't tell you..." His voice froze and a look of horror crossed his features. He'd seen the open canopy and its gruesome occupant. As if drawn by some force unknown, he started to climb up the side. Apollo came up behind him and took his arm.

"Come on, Starbuck. It won't help to stay here."

The lieutenant stared unmoving, as if transfixed, his thoughts racing wildly. This was his ship. This corpse should have been his. But he was alive so who was in his place? Was he looking at another man or at himself? It was all so jumbled and confusing.

"Starbuck?" Apollo's voice was growing more concerned.

Starbuck slowly turned blank eyes upon his friends, as if he wasn't seeing them. A sudden cry startled them all and they turned to see Cassiopeia running towards them.

"Cass," Starbuck whispered, inhaling sharply at the sight of her. He jumped down from the Viper. "Cassie!" Then he was running... and then he was holding her in his arms, trying to gather as much of her as possible. His face was buried in her sweet, soft hair as he marveled in the reality of her existence. She clung to him, tears of joy running unnoticed down her cheeks.

They stood this way for a long moment, each savoring the touch of the other. Then Cassiopeia raised his head with her hands and reached up her mouth to his. His head swam with the thrill of that kiss. He opened his eyes and leaned his forehead happily against hers. And then they laughed... relieved, joyful laughter that poured through both of their tears.

Apollo and Boomer, who'd stayed tactfully in the distance, now came forward. "We'd better get back," Apollo informed them. He placed a hand on Starbuck's shoulder. "We don't have too much time."

He started to lead the way when a small wail turned them all around. Bethie stood alone, a forlorn expression on her face. Cursing his own stupidity, Starbuck moved back towards her.

"I'm sorry, Bethie," he called. "I didn't mean to forgot you."

The child suddenly broke into a run and threw herself into his arms. He knelt down and held her tightly, stroking the back of her head.

"Don't go away, Starbuck," she whispered brokenly. "Please!" She was crying now and he felt something twist at the sound.

"Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere without you." He stood up with her in his arms and turned back to face his friends. It occurred to him that he should've felt awkward or at least made some flippant remark, but all he could think about at the moment was reassuring Bethie. He realized that he'd never felt more like Davey since he'd awakened here.

Cassiopeia watched the scene with wonder. Here was a part of Starbuck she'd never seen nor expected to, and she found herself liking it. She walked over and slipped her hand into his arm.

Starbuck smiled down at her gratefully. He looked up at Apollo. "We can't leave just yet. I have some business to take care of first." His eyes flickered briefly to the Viper. "I think I know who's in my ship. I have to talk to somebody and get a few things straightened out. It won't take long," he promised as Apollo started to protest.

"All right," the captain grudgingly relented. "But remember, we're short on time."

Starbuck set Bethie down. "I want you to stay with Cassie. Remember I told you about her?" The child gave a small nod. "She's a very special friend of mine so you don't have to be afraid. And I won't be long. Will you do that for me?"

For an answer, Bethie cast a shy glance up at Cassiopeia, then gave the woman her hand.

"I'll look out for her, Starbuck," Cassiopeia assured him. "Just hurry back. We'll both miss you."

Starbuck grinned then reached over and gave her a quick kiss. "I'll be back before you know it." He tousled Bethie's hair and gave her a playful wink, then he turned to Apollo and Boomer.

"You guys wanna come with me? Just to hurry me up of course."

"All right. Whatever you have to do, let's get started." Apollo's hand came to rest on Starbuck's shoulder. Boomer came up on the other side and did the same. "Maybe you can answer a few questions while we're walking."

"Sure, sure... whatever you say," Starbuck agreed hastily. "Just don't go disappearing on me, okay?"

The three men started through the woods. Cassiopeia, holding tightly to Bethie's hand, watched them go with misgivings. It was hard to let Starbuck out of her sight after just finding him again, but at least this time he had company. She had to console herself with that.

"I just want to know one thing... why?"

Starbuck stood facing Celine. His face was grim and anger sparked in his eyes.

Celine remained silent, staring out the window at Apollo and Boomer who'd stayed outside. When she'd seen the three walking towards the house, she knew the charade was over, and one look at Starbuck's face told her that her explanation was going to have to be good.

"I'm waiting." There was a slight rise in the pitch of his voice. He wouldn't be patient for long.

She let out a heartfelt sigh and turned slowly to face the indignant warrior. "Bethie found you wandering... dazed... close to where you crashed. She brought Lonny to you and he practically carried you here. I don't know how you stayed on your feet as long as you did."

"That still doesn't explain the elaborate game you played. Everyone in the village went along with it. Is that your people's idea of a joke?"

"You were a danger to us. We had to make sure you wouldn't cause any trouble. You've seen how the Ben-Tellans react to defiance. Anyone could've been punished for what you might have done."

"So you made me think I was Davey. I suppose there really was a Davey, wasn't there? That's him in my ship, isn't it?"

Celine turned away, but not before Starbuck glimpsed the pain in her eyes. "He was my husband," she whispered, not quite keeping the emotion out of her voice. "You couldn't have timed coming here more perfectly if you'd planned it. Davey was killed in a boating accident only a secton earlier. I hadn't reported his death to the Ben-Tellans yet and you looked enough like him to fool them. It's hard for them to tell us apart. So while you were recovering, the town met and decided what to do." Her voice grew softer now. "Davey's body was put into your ship and we set it on fire to make identification of the remains impossible. And you became Davey."

"Did I?" Starbuck was no longer angry and when Celine looked up curiously, she saw the odd expression on his face and caught the drift of his question.

"Yes," she answered quietly. "For a while anyway. Try and understand. Davey had been gone for so short a time and there you were... living... breathing... being Davey." There was a small pause. "When I walked in on you that day while you were smoking that cigar and playing the music box... You really were Davey to me. But it didn't last. In the morning you were still Starbuck. It was like losing him all over again and I hated myself for slipping like that."

"So that's why you were so upset with me."

"Not with you... with myself."

They were both silent. Without his anger to sustain him, Starbuck felt at a loss. Uneasy and awkward, he finally blurted out what was bothering him.

"But the last time... well, what I mean is... you came to me."

Celine reddened but didn't turn away. "Do you think I was completely insensitive to what you were going through? I watched you day after day, night after night... staring up at the sky with that lost look on your face." She gave a shrug and trailed off.

Starbuck suddenly felt the need to change the subject to safer ground. "And everything else you told me... your son, my friend Samuel, Lonny... I suppose they were all lies too."

"No, nothing was a lie. Everything you lived was Davey's life... oh, except..."

"Except what?"

"Well... Bethie, of course."

"Bethie?" Somehow that hurt worse than anything else. "You mean she's not your daughter? She's not Davey's child?"

"No," Celine answered regretfully. "How can I explain it to you? You see, Bethie is sort of the town project. Her entire family was killed in the takeover. She wouldn't stay with anyone except Lonny now and then. Everyone keeps an eye on her but she belongs to no one."

"Then why pretend she was Davey's daughter?"

"Because she took a fancy to you and wouldn't leave your side. It was easier to pretend than to try and explain."

"What made her attach herself to me?" Starbuck wondered out loud.

Celine shrugged. "Who knows what goes on in her mind? Perhaps because when she found you, you were more lost than she was. Or maybe because you look like Davey. She liked him. You probably became Davey in her mind."

"You're wrong there," he informed her. "Bethie knows who I am. She's always known... better than any of you... or even me. Who do you think led me to my ship?"

Celine glanced up in surprise, but before she could say anything, there was a small tap at the door and Apollo poked his head inside. "I'm sorry to bother you, Starbuck, but we have to get going."

"I know, I know." He turned back to Celine. "The Ben-Tellans know we're here. Your people are probably in a lot of trouble."

Celine nodded rueful agreement.

"We might be able to help. When I get back, I'll talk to the commander about it, I promise."

He started for the door, but Celine called after him before he could leave. "Starbuck... take Bethie with you. At least she'll be safe and I think it would kill her if you left her behind."

His eyes never left Celine's face as he said evenly, "I planned to take her with me." With that, he was gone.

Celine stood in the doorway gazing after the three retreating figures, pondering fearfully what was going to happen to her people now.

As the three warriors trudged back to the shuttle, little was said between them. Starbuck walked along unusually quiet, but neither Apollo nor Boomer made an issue or tried to force him to talk to them. They'd been friends long enough to know that Starbuck would tell them what had happened in his own good time.

They passed the wrecked Viper, giving it only a swift glance. Starbuck avoided looking at it altogether. His face was grim and Apollo noticed a haunted look in his friend's eyes. Whatever had happened here was not going to be easy to forget. He wondered if he would ever see the carefree, happy Starbuck who'd left on patrol so long ago.

Cassiopeia sat in the doorway of the shuttle watching Bethie. The child was sitting cross-legged on the grass, her gaze fixed on the forest. She was waiting for Starbuck's promised return. Studying the intensity of her vigil, Cassiopeia came to the conclusion that even if Starbuck never returned, Bethie would sit there, unmoving, forever waiting.

Jolly came up behind Cassiopeia. He'd been monitoring the activities of the fleet of fighters covering for them. "I hope they hurry. We don't have much time. Our boys can't keep up that diversion forever."

The words were barely out of his mouth when Apollo, Boomer and Starbuck broke into the clearing. Bethie gave an excited cry, scrambled to her feet and raced towards them.

Starbuck's oppressive mood apparently vanished at the sight of the child, for he broke into a wide grin and scooped her up, holding her tightly.

"See? I told you I'd be back." He walked up to Cassiopeia and drew her into an embrace as well. He gave her a long, lingering kiss.

Apollo spoke up. "I hate to break this up, but we need to get going."

Starbuck smiled an apology. Looking up, he spotted Jolly. "Hey, Jolly!" He held out his hand and the big warrior came over and clasped his forearm in a warm greeting.

"Glad to see ya, Starbuck."

"Can you two do that inside?" Apollo asked in exasperation.

Starbuck flashed his captain a grin, looking like his old self for the first time. "Yes, Sir." He helped Cassiopeia up into the shuttle, then set Bethie down inside the doorway. The child however, refused to release her hold on the warrior's neck. She clung to him, her small body quaking with fear. Starbuck sat down on the deck and pulled her into his lap.

"It's okay, Bethie," he said soothingly. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

Cassiopeia knelt down, gently stroking the small, white head. "What's the matter?" she asked.

"It's the shuttle, I think," Starbuck answered. "The only thing she associates with machines is death." He stood up, holding her in his arms, and moved over to sit in one of the passenger seats. "Go ahead, Apollo. She'll be okay."

The captain looked dubious but they had no time to spare. He quickly made his way to the cockpit and began preparation for flight. Boomer slipped into the co-position with Jolly right behind them. Cassiopeia settled down next to Starbuck, who promptly drew her close with an affectionate arm. Before many centons had passed, they were airborne, rocketing through the Vesuvan atmosphere towards deep space.

The journey back to the fleet was uneventful, a fact Apollo accepted thankfully. He sat in the pilot's seat, letting his thoughts wander where they would. It had been almost too miraculous to be true that they'd found Starbuck. Apollo decided that the Lords must have a special interest in his friend for all the times he'd survived when no one else could have. Not that Apollo wasn't grateful, but it occurred to him that if something ever really did happen and Starbuck's luck ran out at last, no one, himself included, would be able to accept it.

The captain swiveled his seat around and gazed fondly on the tender scene he encountered. Starbuck sat with Cassiopeia's head lying against his chest. One arm encircled her, holding her tightly. His other arm enfolded the small child who had fallen asleep on his lap. Cassiopeia and Starbuck were talking quietly to each other and, as Apollo watched, Starbuck's hand moved to stroke Cassie's hair. Apollo silently thanked the Lords that nothing had happened between himself and Cassiopeia to hinder this moment of joyful reunion.

"Hmmm? What?" Apollo turned back as he realized Boomer was talking to him.

"Man, you were really off somewhere. I said, we're approaching the fleet." Boomer looked over his shoulder to where Apollo had been staring and he smiled understandingly. "It's sure more than I ever hoped for."

Apollo nodded and then focused his attention on the instruments. "Let's get him home."

Starbuck paced the length of Adama's quarters impatiently. He normally hated waiting around and now, when there was a pressing need for haste, it had become practically unbearable.

"What's taking so long?" he complained sourly.

"Relax. You know what the council's like. They'd argue about what series of Cylon was flying the ship that killed them all."

Apollo sat at his father's desk, watching his friend's agitated movements. Starbuck, still dressed in Vesuvan garb, his face flushed with anxiety, presented a far different image than Apollo had ever seen. It was as if their roles had been reversed and he was now trying to cheer with clever quips and optimisms. He wasn't sure he was suited to the task.

"I know they'll sit in there arguing with each other until it's too late to do any good." Starbuck's mood was not improving as the centons passed.

The door suddenly swished open, bringing Apollo to his feet and Starbuck's pacing to a halt. Adama entered, his face weary from the ordeal he'd just faced. One look at him told both the waiting warriors that there was only bad news.

"They refused to help," Starbuck observed icily. His eyes were ablaze with indignation.

Adama moved over to his desk and took the seat Apollo had vacated. After battling the council, he wasn't looking forward to fighting Starbuck too. "The official decision is that we do nothing. We have to think of our own people first."

The commander's voice was tired. Apollo, aware of his father's state, wanted to spare him any further disturbance. Starbuck however, either didn't notice or didn't care.

"Those self-righteous hypocrites!" His fury ran unchecked now and he was practically ranting. "They sit here fat and safe and say we can't do anything to help anyone else. They sure have short memories. They're as bad as the Cylons. Worse! At least the Cylons never pretended to be anything different than what they are."

"Starbuck..." Apollo tried to calm his friend but the lieutenant shook off his placating hand.

"I can't believe it. I just can't believe we're going to sit up here in this huge Battlestar and let innocent people get slaughtered. What a glorious state the human race has come to."

Adama now tried to reason with the distraught warrior. "Starbuck, I know you spent a great deal of time with those people and you probably grew very close to them, but try and understand the council's point of view. We're crowded already. Some of our ships are bulging at the bulkheads with people. We left so many of our own behind at the colonies due to lack of space and food. Now you're asking everyone to crowd themselves even further for total strangers, when their own families and friends couldn't come. You can hardly blame them for that."

"Yes I can. I do blame them! The evacuation was done in a state of panic. We were desperate. We're a hundred times better off now than when we left the colonies. And you're trying to tell me the people of this fleet can't extend any help to a few hundred refugees... descendants, I might add, of the Earth colonists we're looking for."

Adama remained silent. There was nothing he could say. In his heart he agreed. It grieved him to no end that they would be deserting those people, but his hands were tied. Starbuck was quiet now... too quiet. He seemed to have spent his anger and he stood staring stonily out at the portal view of space.

Apollo stood between his father and his friend, struggling for an idea to bridge this impasse. There had to be something they could do. It was hard to believe that the entire fleet must sit by helplessly while the Vesuvans were murdered by the aliens. He went over everything Starbuck had told him of the Ben-Tellans and the conditions on the planet. It didn't help much. Starbuck had talked in generalities, unwilling to offer much about his own experiences... but maybe there was something.

"Father, surely the council couldn't object if the Vesuvans had their own ship."

Adama looked up at his son hopefully but Starbuck scoffed. "The Vesuvans don't have ships, Apollo. I told you that."

"But the Ben-Tellans do. Right? You said they collect the food consignments for the slaves. If we could get our hands on one of those freighters, it could house the Vesuvans."

"It would be a terrible risk, Apollo. I don't know." Adama looked grave at the prospect.

"But that's the answer." Starbuck was now ready to grab at any chance. "We could do it. I know we could."

The commander's gaze moved from Starbuck's eager countenance to his son's own hopeful eyes. There was no putting these two off. He nodded slowly.

"I'll go over it with Colonel Tigh and see what he thinks. I'm not promising anything," he added as both young men broke into triumphant grins, but their enthusiasm was contagious and he smiled back at them. "I'll let you know. In the meantime, you both could use some rest. You've had a hard trip."

"Rest?" Starbuck looked ready to argue.

"That's an order, Lieutenant. You still remember how to follow orders, don't you?"

"Yes, Sir," Starbuck gave in. He'd already pushed his luck with the commander far enough today.

The overhead reading lamp cast a dim illumination onto the small child sleeping peacefully in the bed. The man sitting next to where she lay was far enough away from the circle of light to set his face in shadow. There was not a sound but the child's soft breathing and the deeper rhythm of the man's breath. If nowhere else in the universe, here there was peace.

Cassiopeia stood at the doorway to her room, watching the silent tableau. Something had changed about Starbuck. Something was going on in his mind. She couldn't pinpoint it exactly, but it had happened on that planet and this strange, quiet child centered in it.

As she watched, she saw Starbuck's shoulders heave as he let go a heavy sigh. Whatever he was going through, she wanted to share it... to help him. On impulse, she stole softly over to his side and knelt down beside him. She laid one hand over his and reached up with her other to gently tuck a long wisp of hair behind his ear.

At her touch, he seemed to withdraw from someplace far away. Turning to look into her face, she smiled warmly.

"Hi there," he whispered.

"Hi." She noticed the redness in his eyes then. "You look exhausted. Why don't you come and lie down?"

His gaze fell back to the bed, as if he was reluctant to be separated from the child.

"She'll be all right. You really need to get some sleep." She took his arm and stood, gently pulling him. He rose slowly to his feet and followed her out of the room.

Moments later he was stretched out full-length on the couch, holding Cassiopeia close to him. It felt good to just lie with her, feeling her nearness. Somehow it was a reassurance desperately needed. He felt in limbo for some reason... not sure of who he was supposed to be. He hadn't felt that way in Bethie's presence and now, as he pressed Cassie closer still, some of the confusion went away.

They were entwined in each other arms this way as sleep overcame them both. It had been nearly three sectars since they'd seen each other, yet somehow just holding each other was enough.

Everything was dark and he was running blindly through a dense fog, but whether he was being chased or running towards something, he couldn't tell. Dread pressed upon him from all sides and he stumbled on.

Suddenly he knew there were people surrounding him, but when he tried to identify them, he couldn't. They had no faces. Terrified, he pushed his way through them...

...and emerged in the village square on Vesuvan. Here at least was a familiar reference point and anything was better than that suffocating darkness. He took a small degree of comfort in this place as he wandered aimlessly around the deserted square, looking for someone he knew.

Abruptly he was again surrounded by the faceless horde. To escape from their midst, he scrambled up onto the platform. There, face down, was the battered body of an old man.

"Lonny!" he cried, grief renewed at the all too familiar sight.

He knelt down and took the old man in his arms, but as he turned him over, he gasped in horror and bewilderment. Chameleon stared up at him.

"No," he whispered, "not you too."

Then someone was pulling him away, forcing his arms behind his back. One of the faceless things came forward with a whip and began lashing the already torn body. An anguished cry escaped the old lips.

"Son! Help me!" Chameleon's eyes closed...

...then he was falling. He was in his Viper and couldn't breathe. The universe was spinning crazily with orange and red flashes. He wanted to scream but couldn't. Then nothing... the blackness again. Then he saw his ship... wrecked and smoldering. He ran to it and climbed up to the cockpit.

His mouth gaped open wordlessly and his mind reeled. He was staring at himself. He was dead in the wreckage but he was alive and looking at himself. Or was he himself? Who was he?

As he watched, the cockpit caught fire and the corpse started burning and decaying before his eyes. It was too much. As the body became unrecognizable, he covered his face with his arms and screamed...

Then he was awake... sitting upright on the couch, his breath coming in ragged heaves.

"Starbuck, what is it?" Cassiopeia's concerned voice filtered into his consciousness and he gradually became aware of his surroundings. He swung his legs around and leaned his elbows on his knees, his head supported in his hands.

"I'm okay," he said shakily. "Just a bad dream is all."

Cassie reached out a comforting hand to his shoulder, only to find him trembling and covered with a fine film of sweat. It must've been some nightmare to have affected him so. She left the couch and disappeared for a moment into the bedroom. When she returned, she handed him a cigar, smiling to herself at the memory of how much she used to nag him about smoking the smelly things.

"Here. Relax a little."

As the darkness flickered with the brief light of the flamer, Cassiopeia began gently massaging his neck and shoulders. Between her touch and the cigar, he soon began to relax and she felt his tensed muscles ease. He leaned back against the couch, his eyes closed. Cassie's hands moved to caress his chest.

"Feel better?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Pretty silly I guess."

"No... not silly. Everyone has bad dreams once in a while. Want to tell me about it?"

He put his arm around her, drawing her against him and she felt him shudder slightly. "No. I can't talk about it." He buried his face in her hair. "Just thanks for being here."

"I'll always be here."

"I know, but thanks anyway." There was a brief silence as he took a long pull on the cigar. "Hey," he spoke up suddenly, breaking into the stillness. "After all this mess is over, let's go see Chameleon. I'd kind of like to see the ol' guy."

"Sure. We can go see him." Cassiopeia wondered what had brought this to his mind.

"Thanks. It'd mean a lot to me."

The room became quiet again. As the centons passed, Cassie noticed that his trembling had ceased. She looked up at him and found he'd fallen asleep. She gently took the still smoldering cigar from between his fingers and placed it on the table. She eased him back down to a reclining position and brought his feet up again. She sat at his side for a moment, watching him sleep, then she lay down next to him, thanking the Lords once more for bringing him home to her.

When Starbuck entered the officers' quarters the next morning looking for Apollo, he wondered where everyone was. The usually active bunkroom was deserted. He glanced at the shelves where the flight helmets were kept and found them empty. That was odd... the whole squadron was out on patrol. Well... maybe not so odd considering the trouble with the aliens. He really wasn't up on the latest mission status.

He strolled over to the row of lockers, found his and opened it. His brow creased in confusion. Nothing in there was his. He looked at the surrounding lockers. He'd been sure this was his, but maybe it was the next one. He was wrong though... this was Boomer's, so his should've been right next to it.

"Can I do something for you?" a strange voice inquired.

Starbuck turned to see a very young cadet entering the room. He couldn't have been more than sixteen yahrens old. The lieutenant smiled to himself as he remembered his own days as a cadet.

"Yeah... I can't seem to find my..."

"Hey... hold it right there." The young warrior had drawn his laser and leveled it at Starbuck. He gestured to the open lockers. "What are you doing? Civilians aren't allowed in here."

"Civilians?" Starbuck's eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at the weapon. He'd always been well known throughout the Galactica. It was definitely a blow to his ego that this youngster didn't recognize him. "Listen, kid... I'm no civilian. I'm Lieu..."

"You can't snow me so don't try and feed me any felgercarb. I find you in here going through lockers. Maybe some time in the prison barge will teach you to stay where you belong."

Starbuck was beginning to grow tired of this and anger was fast replacing his mild amusement... it was also seeping into his voice. "Kid, I was a warrior while you were still sucking your thumb."

"You... a warrior?" The boy looked at Starbuck's Vesuvan attire with disdain. "Tell me another good one."

"Listen, buddy..." Starbuck took a step forward and the cadet thrust his pistol out threateningly. He stared in disbelief. "Put it away, kid. You're gonna kill somebody." He reached for the weapon, but the untrained warrior, thinking he was being attacked, took a step backwards and instinctively pulled the trigger.

The laser bolt struck past Starbuck, grazing against his shoulder and impacting with the lockers in a burst of energy. Clutching his injured arm, Starbuck was knocked off his feet by the force of the blast.

The sound of running feet now sounded in the corridor. Apollo and Boomer raced in, took in the situation and rushed over to kneel down next to the wounded lieutenant.

"Are you all right?" Boomer asked worriedly.

Starbuck nodded grimly, teeth clenched in pain. He glanced up at the confused and frightened cadet. "Good thing he's not a better shot," he said, his voice shaky with shock.

Apollo's concern now vented itself on the hapless, young warrior. He stood up and grabbed the cadet's arm. "What did you think you were doing?"

The boy saw the fury in his captain's eyes and started trembling so badly he could hardly answer. "Well he... Sir, I..." He was stammering now. "You know him, Sir?"

"Know him? Of course, I know him. He's Lieutenant Starbuck and you and your twitchy finger almost killed him." Apollo's grip tightened as he spoke, causing the boy to wince in pain.

"Sir... I didn't know. I thought..."

"You didn't think! You..."

"Apollo," Starbuck interrupted weakly. "It's okay. He just made a mistake." Boomer helped him to stand up. "He didn't know."

"His mistake almost killed a fellow warrior."

"But, Sir," the cadet spoke up, close to tears, "he didn't look like a warrior."

"He's right, Apollo," Starbuck said quietly. "I don't look very much like a warrior. If I saw me, I wouldn't believe me either."

"Come on, Apollo," Boomer now broke in. "Let's get him to the Life Station."

The captain turned slowly from glaring at the boy and went to help Starbuck. The young cadet watched them leave, relieved beyond belief that he hadn't killed the strange-looking pilot.

"Apollo... Boomer... I'm all right. I don't want to see a doctor. I'll be okay."

Apollo studied his friend's appearance... hair disheveled, face pale and drawn, right arm clenched in obvious pain.

"Sure you will. We'll see what the doctor says."

"Come on. The doctor'll put me out of commission and I'll miss the job on the Ben-Tellan freighter. Your father's made a decision, hasn't he?" Starbuck's face was alight with hope.

"Yes, he has." The captain's voice was firm and even. "We go after the freighter in one centar. With all the fuss going on in space, the Ben-Tellans just might leave the Vesuvans alone long enough to evacuate them."

"One centar! That's great! So see... I can't waste time in the Life Station. I can still fly the mission."

Apollo studied the floor for a moment then looked up into Starbuck's eager face. This was going to be painful for both of them. "Starbuck, listen... You might as well go see the doctor. You aren't going with us anyway."

"What do you mean? Of course I'm going..." He trailed off at the look on Apollo's face. The captain was as solemn as a Borellian death mask. He looked at Boomer who suddenly found interest in the wall. "Why?" It was both a question and an accusation.

Apollo took a deep breath. "Because you haven't flown in three sectars, you're too emotionally involved in this mission and... well, it's academic anyway. You don't have a ship."

"I know I crashed mine, but there's always a few extra..."

The captain shook his head ruefully. "We just brought up a new group of cadets." He smiled wryly. "You just met one of them in the bunkroom. All the Vipers have been assigned. There aren't any extras."

There was a moment of silence, then Starbuck began walking toward the Life Station. His two friends followed after him.

"Starbuck, I'm sorry," Apollo continued. "It's just that..."

"Just that what?"

"Well, everyone... Starbuck, everyone thought you were dead. We had no reason to keep a ship back for you." He turned away at the pain in those blue eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too. Looks like that cadet was right. Without a ship, I'm no warrior." Starbuck sighed heavily, flinching from the pain it caused, but he waved aside his friends' offers of help. "I'll make it to the Life Station. You guys just go out and get that freighter in one piece, okay?"

"Sure thing." Apollo tried to smile, couldn't, and settled for clasping Starbuck's good arm. "We'll be seeing you."

"Right."

"See ya, buddy," Boomer offered, as he too took his leave.

Starbuck watched them head for the launch bay. The pain he was feeling at this moment wasn't coming from his arm. If he wasn't a warrior, then who was he? What was he supposed to do? Coming up with no good answers, he trudged to the Life Station, wondering how long it would be before he got a ship.

"Now watch this. C'mon Muffey. Shake hands."

As the daggit responded and put out a forepaw for Boxey, the boy turned and beamed at Bethie who was a captive audience.

"See? He'll do it for you too. Just hold out your hand." Bethie hesitated, fear evident in her face. "He won't hurt you. Try it." Boxey was all encouragement.

The little girl looked from Boxey's confident smile to Muffit, who was waiting patiently for his next orders. Cautiously, she stuck out a timid hand toward the drone.

"Okay, Muffit. Shake hands," Boxey ordered.

Once more, the furry leg came up and the metal paw was extended. Bethie took hold of it and gave it a small tug.

"I told you he wouldn't hurt you. Muffey wouldn't hurt anybody."

A happy smile spread across Bethie's face, partly for Muffey's trick, but mostly for overcoming her own fear. She was very pleased with herself and looked over her shoulder to see if Starbuck was watching her.

He wasn't. He was slouched in a chair, staring at nothing in particular. His right arm was held stiff against his side, bound there by the doctor to prevent painful movement. He wasn't sulking... exactly. It was more a withdrawal from thinking about anything. He'd accepted the fact that, for a while a least, he couldn't be a warrior. He'd given up being Davey, but he couldn't be Starbuck yet... not completely. And so, his mind wandered somewhere between the two... wondering what he'd ever done to deserve this.

He was pulled back into awareness by a touch on his hand. Blinking back to the present, he saw Bethie staring up at him, concern evident in her wide eyes.

At that same moment, the door slid open to admit Adama. Starbuck started to rise, but the commander waved him to be still. He then took a seat opposite the lieutenant. Boxey came over to climb onto his grandfather's lap, but Adama stopped him with a quick hug.

"Boxey, I want to talk to Starbuck. Why don't you take Muffit and Bethie and go play for a while."

"Sure, Grandfather. C'mon, Bethie." Boxey started for the door with the daggit at his heels. When he realized the girl hadn't followed him, he paused. "C'mon," he repeated.

Bethie still clung to Starbuck's hand, her eyes showing her reluctance to leave him.

"Go on, Bethie," Starbuck admonished. "It'll be all right. I'll see you in a few centons."

The child slowly released her hold and backed away. She stopped when she reached Boxey and turned pleading eyes on the lieutenant.

"Go on," he ordered gently but firmly.

Bethie's lower lip trembled slightly, but she obeyed and left the room with Boxey and Muffit. After the door slid closed, Starbuck settled back to find out the reason for Adama's visit.

"Bethie seems quite attached to you."

"Yeah, I guess you could say that."

Starbuck took out a cigar and clenched it with his teeth. He picked up a flamer and tried to light it, but one-handed it was a bit awkward. The commander leaned forward and took the flamer.

"Here, let me help you."

Starbuck puffed as Adama lit the cigar for him. "Thanks," he said, "but you didn't come here to tell me about Bethie."

"No... you're right. I didn't." Adama paused a moment, then gestured to Starbuck's injured arm. "I was told what happened. I'm sorry. The cadet, Luther, will be properly disciplined."

"Don't be too hard on the kid. He was just over-anxious. It was a natural mistake."

"Still... it could have ended up worse."

"You don't have to remind me of that."

Adama's face took on a concerned look. "How is your arm feeling anyway?"

Starbuck snorted. "Oh, just great... except for the fact that it hurts like Hades when I move it, it feels fine."

"That's too bad really." Adama stood and made ready to leave. "I guess there's no point in asking you to go on an assignment then."

Starbuck perked up instantly. "An assignment? What assignment? Apollo said..."

"I was of the opinion that I ran the Galactica, Lieutenant." Adama allowed himself a small smile.

Starbuck looked apologetic. "Yes, Sir. Of course you do. But Commander... what assignment?"

"What about your arm?"

"My arm? My arm's fine. I can hardly tell it's there." He tried to move it, succeeded only in wiggling his fingers slightly... and almost hid a wince. "See?"

Adama laid a hand on Starbuck's good shoulder. "Yes... I see very well. But I still think you should go on this mission. As soon as Apollo signals that the freighter is secured, we'll start evacuating the Vesuvans. I want you to be in charge of organizing the operation. You've been down there and know the people. I want you to get them ready to go. Think you're up to that?"

Starbuck grinned, happy to have something to do... to at least be somebody again. "You bet I am."

"Very well then, Lieutenant. The shuttles are being prepared now. Report to Beta Launch Bay in one centar."

Adama headed for the door.

"Commander?"

"Yes?"

Starbuck waved his cigar in embarrassment. "Thank you, Sir."

Adama nodded, started to leave and then paused. "Oh, Starbuck... next time you see Apollo, tell him I think he's been around you too much. You're starting to rub off on him."

Starbuck looked blank for a moment, then a wide grin spread across his face. He should've known Apollo would put in a good word for him. "I'll do that," he promised. "But Commander... you're not a bad starbucker yourself."

Adama smiled and left the room.

Starbuck then headed off to tell Cassiopeia... still grinning as he rushed through the hallways.

The small squadron of four Vipers escorted the Galactica shuttle toward the Ben-Tellan freighter. The transport vessel, piloted by Apollo and Boomer, carried a small band of warriors ready to commandeer the cargo ship.

"I've got her on the scanners now, Boomer."

"I see her. Doesn't seem to be guarded."

"I'm not surprised. What with the fleet coming down to bear and our squadrons hassling them... they've probably called everything up to deal with those problems."

Boomer chuckled. "I'd say they're going to have their hands full for a while."

"So are we in just a few centons." Apollo sobered as they neared their target. "They wouldn't leave it unmanned."

"At least we've got these laser turrets the crew so graciously installed for us. Besides, how many guys can it take to run a freighter?"

"I don't know." Apollo flashed his friend a grin. "It takes three Cylons to fly a little raider. Maybe these guys are comparable."

"Let's hope so," Boomer laughed.

They were interrupted by a call from the flight leader. "Viper 9 to shuttle."

"Apollo here... Go ahead, Tad."

"Captain, we're leaving you now to check out the ship. I can't make out any defenses over there, but we're going to make sure."

"Right. We'll hold here. Good luck."

The four Vipers zoomed off. The Galactica group was now close enough for visual contact and they watched in anticipation as their friends flew over and around the Ben-Tellan ship. Their luck seemed to be holding for there was no response to their maneuvers.

"Viper 9 to shuttle. Looks clear, Captain."

"Gotcha, Viper 9. We're going in."

Apollo moved his vessel towards the freighter's docking station. Warriors manned the jury-rigged guns, ready for anything. They were not disappointed. As they set down, a horde of Ben-Tellans came rushing through an open doorway. Each alien was armed with a type of pistol and they fired as they charged.

"Fire!" Apollo commanded and the hangar came alive with the energy of the laser cannons.

The enemy didn't last long. Shortly Apollo ordered cease fire and the smoke cleared to reveal a deck strewn with dead Ben-Tellans. Surveying the grisly scene with evident distaste, the captain drew his weapon and headed for the hatch. The rest of his team followed suit.

Emerging cautiously, prepared for trickery or deceit, the group of warriors made their way to the door where the aliens had entered. After checking and finding it clear, Apollo drew back into the docking bay.

"Jenks, Lyle, Josh... you stay here and guard the shuttle. I'll signal you when it's all secure."

The three warriors nodded and moved back to position themselves around their transport. The captain motioned for the rest to follow him.

"We have to find the main control room. Any suggestions?"

"If they're anything like other outfits I've seen," Boomer offered, when no one spoke up, "the head bosses like to keep as far away from the work as possible. Let's try the point farthest from the loading dock."

"Sounds good to me," Apollo agreed. "Let's go."

As silently as possible, the small group crept down the passageways and up deck ladders. Only occasionally did they surprise a few harried Ben-Tellans. These they dispatched wordlessly and then moved on.

They were rounding a corner, slipping noiselessly past a partially opened door, when a soft moan issued from the compartment, freezing them in their tracks. Apollo glanced at Boomer. With laser poised, he pushed the door open and bounded into the room. Boomer was close on his heels. But instead of the expected Ben-Tellans, what they found was a miserable looking young man shackled to the wall. It was obvious he hadn't eaten well in a long time and there were marks of abuse covering his scantily-clad body.

Apollo holstered his weapon and knelt down next to the man. Boomer bent down on the other side.

"Dr. Salik said they use humans as slaves," Apollo commented to Boomer.

The sound of the warrior's voice must have penetrated the prisoner's fogged brain, for he began to stir. After a moment, he opened his eyes, first in disbelief... then wider in fear.

"It's all right," Apollo hastened to assure him. "We've come to help you."

"No one can help me," the wretch croaked out hoarsely. "I've gone mad at last."

"You haven't gone mad. We're going to get you out of here. Why were they doing this to you?"

The man's eyes were moist with tears as he caught the sincerity of Apollo's words and finally began to believe them. "I... I'm a slave in the mines. I... I was defiant to an overseer." The man swallowed. Talking was an obvious effort. "They took me home to Vesuvan... to punish me. They... they killed my father. Whipped him to death in front of me... in front of everyone. There wasn't anything I could do." He finally broke down and sobbed... his head buried in his hands, shoulders heaving violently.

Apollo looked up at Boomer, a grim look in his eyes. He took his gun out and blasted the chains from the wall.

"Griffith! Nicholas!" Two warriors appeared from outside the compartment. "Help this man to the shuttle. Boomer and I will go on from here. Go easy on him... he's had a rough time."

Griffith and Nicholas each took hold of the man and hauled him gently to his feet. As they headed for the door, Apollo called out, "Hey... we don't even know your name."

The man blinked. Amenities had long been a thing of the past for him. "Daniel," he said finally. "My name's Daniel."

"Well, Daniel... you don't have to worry anymore. We're going to help your people."

Daniel smiled and meekly allowed himself to be led away.

Apollo stared after the departing trio, lost in thought for a long moment. Finally he turned to Boomer.

"All this time we've been trying to help the Vesuvans, we've forgotten about the ones enslaved at the fuel mines."

"But we don't even know where the mines are."

"Maybe the control room can tell us what we need to know."

Boomer looked faintly worried. "And if it does? Then what?"

"Then we send the freighter back to the fleet and take this ship's shuttles to free as many of the slaves as we can."

"I was afraid you were going to say that."

Apollo only smiled.

Starbuck sat tensed and anxious as they made their way to Vesuvan. He kept telling himself to relax. He was being foolish and he knew it. Getting so excited... like a green cadet on his first patrol. After all, he was just going to be herding people into shuttles for evacuation, but at least he was doing something that remotely resembled being a warrior. He glanced down at himself. He still didn't look the part. Someone in requisition and supplies had fouled up and he hadn't gotten a uniform yet. He told himself it didn't matter, but he knew he would've felt more at ease in his familiar attire.

They'd received the word that the freighter was secured and on its way less than twenty centons ago. Apollo's team had worked fast. Just for a moment the resentment at being left behind swelled up, but he forced it back and tried to think of other things.

Like for instance, the fact that the commander was tearing mad at Apollo for taking off half-cocked with Boomer to find the Ben-Tellan fuel mines. When he thought of the fury on Adama's face, he was almost glad he hadn't been on that mission, but he figured Apollo must've had a pretty good reason. He had to know he was going to catch holy frack when he got back. Starbuck sighed. He couldn't worry about that. The captain could handle his own problems. Starbuck had more pressing matters on hand. They had just entered the Vesuvan atmosphere and were preparing to land. The pilots would need his help finding the village and he moved forward to offer his services.

"Commander, our squadrons are reporting in for refueling. Minimal casualties and some minor damage, but they've kept the Ben-Tellans on the run."

"Thank you, Tigh." Adama stepped onto the upper level of the bridge to study the readouts. "Everything just may work out after all... despite my son's impulsiveness."

"But he was only doing what he thought best, Sir," the colonel spoke up in Apollo's defense. "You can't tell me you wouldn't have done the same in his place."

Adama refrained from answering, but the slight uplifting of the corners of his mouth, let Tigh know that Apollo wasn't in as much trouble as he might have been.

"Sir, there's something on my scanners," an excited voice called.

The commander moved over to the young lieutenant monitoring the Vesuvan system. There was definitely a large mass of objects headed there. Adama's brow wrinkled in concerned puzzlement as the computers identified them as Ben-Tellans.

"What can they be thinking? We've been at them for the last six centars. They can't possibly be ready for another attack."

"Who can say, Sir?" Tigh commented tightly. "We don't really know how they think. Perhaps they feel that if they go down, they'll take the Vesuvans with them."

The commander nodded grimly. "You may be right, Tigh." He motioned at Omega. "Inform those shuttle pilots. Warn them they're going to have a battle on their hands if they don't hurry. Colonel, get those fighters refueled as quickly as possible. The Vesuvans are going to need their protection."

As the bridge erupted in a flurry of activity, Adama found himself thinking, selfishly perhaps, that the only good thing was that, if the aliens spent all their energy on Vesuvan, Apollo and his group of refugees would have safe passage back to the fleet.

Starbuck was ready to explode with exasperation. Out of the ten shuttles sent down to Vesuvan, only three had been loaded and started on their way back to the freighter. The remaining seven sat empty... their pilots lounging inside, waiting.

The simple fact was, the Vesuvans were so petrified of technology, most of them could not be coaxed or cajoled into the ships. Starbuck had pleaded, begged, even ranted and raved a little... to no avail. Even Celine had come forward and helped him urge her people to safety, but he eventually sent her in one of the departing vessels. The people weren't listening to her and there was no point in endangering her life any longer.

Now, as he stood on the platform in the village square, he was at his wits' end. He couldn't keep the shuttles here indefinitely. The fleet would be moving on. Besides, there was no telling when the Ben-Tellans might show up, ready for a fight. He wondered how Apollo was faring at the mines and if the enslaved Vesuvans were easier to save than the ones he was facing. Heaving a heartfelt sigh, he brushed a hand through his hair and turned to the loading sight.

A commotion at the nearest ship caught his attention and he strode over to see what the problem was... happy to put off the dilemma of the evacuation. As he neared, he could see the pilot trying to keep hold of a wildly struggling child.

"What's the problem, Jacob?" he asked and then gasped in dismay. As the pilot straightened to attention, he lost his hold on the child, who ran directly into Starbuck's arms. It was Bethie.

"She must have come down from the Galactica," the man explained. "No one's boarded my shuttle from here."

"It's all right, Jacob," Starbuck assured him. "I'll take care of it."

"Yes, Sir." The pilot seemed relieved.

Starbuck took Bethie's arm and moved off away from the shuttles. He knelt down in front of her. "What are you doing here?" He tried to look stern. "I wanted you to stay on the Galactica so I wouldn't have to worry about you."

Bethie didn't say a word, but Starbuck saw a tear slip from those wide, blue eyes and he remembered that she'd been in the Life Station with Cassie when he'd come bounding in to tell her about his assignment. Desperately afraid of losing him, she must have followed him to the launch bay and hidden in the shuttle. Looking at her now, he couldn't be mad, try as he might. Bethie caught the forgiving smile forming on his lips and smiled brightly herself, throwing her arms around his neck in a tight hug.

"All right... all right," he laughed. "Just stay out of the way now until I can get everybody loaded." He stood up to go back to the platform, ready to try again with the Vesuvans, when he heard somebody shouting for him.

"Lieutenant!" came the voice. It was one of the pilots. "Message from the Galactica." The man sounded terribly excited so Starbuck rushed over to see what the news was.

"Sir, Colonel Tigh's on the line. He says the Ben-Tellans are coming."

"Here, let me talk to him." He pushed past the agitated man to get on the comline. "Colonel... Starbuck here. What's happening?"

The colonel's voice came back sharp and insistent. "Get those people on their way now, Lieutenant. The Ben-Tellans are practically on top of you and our Vipers aren't ready to help out yet."

Starbuck's mouth went dry and he swallowed hard in order to answer. "Yes, Sir. I'll see to it." He then gathered himself up for one last-ditch attempt with the frightened Vesuvans.

"There's no way we can get everyone out," Boomer whispered fiercely. "We've only got two shuttles."

"How can we just leave them here?"

"It's their option, Apollo. They've decided."

"I know. I don't suppose there's any other way."

The two warriors stood in a small, rocky valley, keeping an anxious vigil for the appearance of their passengers. They'd landed unnoticed on this barren planet, guided by the freighter's computers. It seemed that the fleet was succeeding in occupying the aliens, for the mines had been sparsely guarded. It had been fairly easy for Apollo and Boomer to sneak into one of the slave encampments... only a matter of taking care of a few sleeping Ben-Tellans.

Their first move had been to wake the men to inform them of their presence. The slaves, abused and bitter, were eager to accept their help. The only draw back was that there were too many Vesuvans to take back, and once they'd made their escape, there would be no question of coming back for a second load.

The Vesuvans had discussed it among themselves and the answer had come quickly and quietly... send the children. There was nothing else the Galactica pilots could do. They'd been sent back to stand watch at the ships, leaving the slaves to organize the children's exodus.

Now, as Apollo and Boomer watched in the darkness, the first group appeared cautiously from behind an outcropping of rocks. Apollo's heart went out to these bewildered youngsters. Most of them weren't any older than Boxey. Choking back any grief at their plight, he moved to help them board.

The two shuttles suddenly seemed terribly small as more and more children came out of the night. All too quickly they filled to well past the ordinary limit. At last, as the warriors were beginning to despair, no more came and a man stepped into the clearing. His pale face showed immense sorrow, even in the dark. He faced Apollo.

"Take care of them. We've sent only the youngest. The rest will have to stay here with us."

Apollo searched his soul for something to say... some small bit of hope to offer this man, but found none. How could there be any? All he could give was the truth.

"You'll probably all be punished for this... for this and for what's happening on your home planet."

"Punished? Yes, probably. But they won't kill us. They need us to mine their fuel. So we'll live and know our children are safe. In that, we can have some cheer."

Tears threatened to spring from Apollo's eyes at the sound of this man's courage. He couldn't trust his voice to say anything so he offered his hand. The man took it and the two clasped forearms silently. Then the Vesuvan melted away into the darkness. Apollo stared after him for a moment then turned to Boomer.

"Let's get going."

"Here they come!" someone shouted and a building exploded in front of Starbuck's eyes.

Suddenly the whole village erupted into a mixture of laser fire, flame and mass hysteria. Even as Starbuck ran for cover, he cursed himself for waiting too long.

Then a single, horrible thought struck him. Bethie! Holy frack... she was down here in the midst of this holocaust instead of being safe aboard the Galactica. He ran for where he'd left her. She was there, cringing behind an open gate and he scooped her up with his one good arm. With his small bundle in tow, he started for the shuttles.

But now everyone on the planet had the same thought. What had been a frightening gamble before, now appeared as a beacon of hope. The panicked Vesuvans were rushing the ships in mob proportions. The unprepared pilots were struggling to keep order... a losing battle for the most part.

Starbuck tried desperately to push through the frantic crowd of people, but with Bethie in one arm and the other useless to him, he made no headway. Soon he was engulfed in the horde... unable to reach the ships, yet unable to escape the frenzied terror of the people surrounding them. Even though in the midst of this nightmare he was aware of the Ben-Tellan ships zooming and swooping across the skies, lasers firing randomly, bent on total destruction... his main fear at the moment was dropping Bethie in the crowd. Gripped as they were by insane panic, there was no doubt the child would be quickly trampled under their feet.

He caught a glimpse ahead of one craft trying to lift off. It was being held by the sheer mass of people still trying to get aboard.

Go, Starbuck thought desperately. Go! Get out of here! At that moment the shuttle broke free and lifted into the sky. Well, one gone, if it could just keep free of the Ben-Tellans.

Out of the corner of his eye he sighted an open shuttle, relatively free of the mass of people and he made a rush for it. Just as he would have reached it to toss Bethie to the waiting pilot, a pair of rough arms grabbed him and shoved him back and the man took his place. Knocked off balance, he had to give way or risk losing Bethie. His opportunity now lost, Starbuck tried to yell to the confused flyer.

"Lift off! Go!"

The harried Colonial tried desperately to comply, struggling to close the hatch as the shuttle started to rise. Abruptly the ship was seized by a mass of people who seemed to materialize from nowhere. Starbuck watched helplessly as the vessel wheeled uncontrollably. Just then, a Ben-Tellan ship roared by, firing. The craft burst into flames.

Starbuck closed his eyes, impotent fury swelling in him until he thought he would burst. There was no point in trying for the shuttles now. His thoughts turned to shelter and he moved toward a stone wall still standing. Getting out of the crowd was almost as difficult as getting to a ship, but he eventually made it through. He crouched down behind the wall, holding Bethie close. From this vantage point, he watched three of the shuttles finally take off and set course for the freighter. The other two were hit before they could even get off the ground.

The Ben-Tellans were now blasting away in full force at anything left on the ground. Starbuck had always wondered what it must have been like at the Colonies during the Cylon attack. Now he felt his curiosity had been satisfied. He could do nothing but watch in grim horror the wanton destruction of human life and he felt he was reliving that terrible event all over again.

A laser bolt struck fairly close, startling him out of his trance-like state. They weren't safe, not by a long shot. He looked down at the child clinging to him and thought about what this must be doing to her. She'd been through it once before. He tried to be encouraging, though he knew it was probably futile.

"Okay now, Bethie. We're going to be moving. Hold tight."

She didn't reply, but her grip around his neck tightened slightly and he took heart at that. At least she wasn't totally insensible from her fear.

He ran then, dodging rubble and bodies... occasionally ducking into temporary places of shelter, only to be forced out again by laser blasts that came uncomfortably close. He didn't know where he was running, just that he had to stay alive until the Vipers showed up. They should be here soon. It seemed it had been yahrens since Colonel Tigh had called. How long could it take to refuel?

His arm was becoming leaden with Bethie's weight. He couldn't go on carrying her like this. But where could he set her down that she would be safe? He stumbled as he ran and almost dropped her. He had to find a place to hide her until the fleet arrived. He could keep on running, presenting the aliens with a fleeing target and draw their fire away from her. Maybe then she would be safe.

He spotted what must have been a cellar. Now all that was left was a half-concealed pit, surrounded by buildings that, as yet, hadn't been too badly damaged. Running with all his might, he deposited Bethie in the burrow as the strength in his arm gave out. She looked up at him, questions burning in her eyes, bright and blue in the fading light of day.

"Bethie... " he gasped out breathlessly, "I want you to stay here." His tone was firm and serious. She must obey him this time. "Don't follow me. I'll be back for you when it's safe... I promise. Do you understand?"

Bethie nodded once and Starbuck gave her a quick smile. "That's my girl. I'll be back real soon. You'll see."

With that, he was gone... running through the demolished town, hoping to lure the aliens away.

As he ran, Starbuck tried not to think about the child alone and frightened in the cellar. He had to keep moving. That was all he could afford to consider. He had to stay alive to get back to her. She would remain in that black hole until he returned and if he let himself be killed, no one would know where she was. He had to stay alive.

He completely lost track of time. Whether centons or yahrens passed, he didn't know. The only thing that mattered was keeping one step ahead of the Ben-Tellans. At one time the force of a near miss knocked him off his feet. Practically senseless, he still managed to scramble to his feet and continue running.

When he finally reached the point where his legs felt more like rubber than flesh and his lungs burned like fire with every breath, and pain stabbed in his arm and shoulder with every jolting step... he stumbled over a pile of rubble and fell, landing heavily on his stomach. He just couldn't move. His breath was gone... he couldn't even find the strength to pick himself up. He lay where he'd fallen, waiting for a flash of laser fire to end the pain he felt.

I'm sorry, Bethie, he thought. I can't run anymore.

Suddenly, the shooting on the ground stopped. He thought he must be going out of his mind. Either that, or he was already dead, for he could still hear weapons firing. With a tremendous effort, he rolled over onto his back and laughed out loud. Vipers filled the air... taking the fight out into space. Somewhere he found the strength to sit up and cheer them as they came blasting away at the aliens.

He watched as one Ben-Tellan craft, damaged and out of control, fell to the ground, a blazing fireball. He laughed and then stopped, his heart in his throat.

"No," he whispered softly. "Oh Lords, no!"

He'd thought he was spent before, but now he ran with renewed energy. He ran, stumbling on, unaware of anything except that the alien ship had fallen too close to where he'd left Bethie. He tore across open spaces, not caring if he was seen. When he reached the spot where he'd left the child, he stopped... not wanting to see what he had to see.

The ship hadn't crashed in the pit, but it had come close... toppling the building next to it. The opening to the cellar was sealed with debris. Even the dust had settled in the time it had taken him to run here. He found his voice at last.

"Bethie!" he shouted, not daring to hope she'd disobeyed him and left the shelter. "Bethie!" There was no answer.

He stumbled to the place where he'd said goodbye and frantically began tearing away at rocks and wood and dirt. Dust threatened to choke him and tears nearly blinded him, but still he worked at the debris... one handed and half-dead from exhaustion.

Then he found her. She was lying quite still under a heavy beam... half-buried in the dirt and rocks.

"Oh, Bethie... no," he moaned softly as he struggled to push the beam away with his one good arm. That done, he tenderly lifted her broken body into his lap. He could still feel the tiniest breath of life there as he held her close.

"Bethie... I'm so sorry."

Her small eyelids fluttered open weakly. The blue eyes still shone brightly from her dirty face. Hope flamed in him then died swiftly, for even as he watched the light was fading.

"I love you, Starbuck," she whispered.

He felt the tiny body go limp in his arms and something inside of himself seemed to go with her.

"Damn it, Bethie... don't leave me."

But she was gone and he couldn't plead her back. For a long while he sat holding her. The emptiness he felt inside seemed to have drained him of any strength he might have had left and he didn't think he could move. The noise of the battle was gone now too and an eerie stillness pervaded the dying village. Slowly he became aware of the breeze again... returning like an old friend to embrace the ruins of the town and bid it farewell. He could hear its mournful tune as it came off the sea and he was reminded of Bethie's singing, which had always seemed so much a part of the wind. He looked down at her peaceful face. Wisps of white hair were tenderly blowing across her cheek, as if the breeze was bestowing a last, loving caress. Without even knowing why, he rose to his feet... Bethie still cradled against his shoulder. She seemed to weigh nothing as he made his way through the rubble and out of the village. The day was gone now, the light faded to just the barest hint of pink on the horizon, and the air had taken on a chill as he started up the hill.

The shuttle pilot made one more sweep of the village with his handheld light. It was a grisly scene. Most of the buildings were demolished and bodies were scattered everywhere. He shuddered involuntarily, counting himself blessed to have survived this slaughter. If he hadn't lifted off when he did... well, he didn't like to think about what might have happened.

He was ready to call it quits and head back... reporting no survivors, when he heard a sound... a crumbling of stone. He swung his light in the direction it came from and found a tired-looking man wandering aimlessly through the ruins.

"Hey!" he called. "You there!"

The man stopped and looked at him, blinking in the glare of the light. The pilot walked over to him and as he came closer, he suddenly recognized him.

"Lieutenant! I'd thought for sure you'd been killed."

Starbuck stared at him blankly for a moment, then he answered hesitantly. "No... no, I wasn't killed." Recognition finally dawned in his eyes. "What are you doing here, Jacob?"

"After we rendezvoused with the freighter and unloaded, we were sent back to look for survivors." Jacob looked around. "Doesn't seem to be any though."

"No... no survivors." Starbuck's voice was distant, as if he was someplace far away.

"We better get going, Sir," Jacob urged. "They'll be expecting me back."

"Going? Oh, sure. Let's get out of here." But Starbuck still didn't move.

"Sir, are you okay? You're not hurt are you?" Jacob eyed the warrior with concern.

"What? No... I'm not hurt."

"Then, if you'll just get on board, Sir."

"What? Oh yeah. Let's go."

Both men walked carefully over to the waiting shuttle and climbed in. Within centons, the ship was headed back to meet up with the freighter.

Apollo docked with the freighter easily. Boomer slipped in beside him. Their flight back had been uneventful... of that, the captain was grateful. These children had been through enough as it was.

"Okay, kids," he called. "This is home for a while."

Apollo opened the hatch and helped them out. He had forty-eight on his ship. Boomer had told him he had fifty on his. Ninety-eight new orphans for the fleet. He shook his head, wondering if these children would ever have a permanent home. Suddenly, he wanted very much to see Boxey.

To take his mind off that, he led his group over to join Boomer's. The children mingled together quietly, still too subdued by their sudden exodus to do much more than gaze at everything with wide-eyed amazement.

"I wonder how Starbuck did?" Boomer asked.

"Some of the shuttles are here. Let's go find out."

Together they moved the children out of the docking bay and into the main hold area. There they were engulfed in a mass of people, all milling about in confusion. Apollo craned his neck over the mob, looking for some sign of Starbuck.

"I don't see him, do you?"

Boomer shook his head. "Why don't we go to the bridge? Somebody's bound to know something."

They found a group of pilots lounging around, apparently waiting for orders. They came to attention swiftly as the two officers entered. Apollo chose the nearest one to give him a report.

"How's the evacuation coming?"

"It's over, Sir... well, practically."

"Over? There are only five shuttles in the bay. Starbuck took ten."

"I know, Sir, but... well, everything went wrong. We're lucky we got as many out as we did."

"What happened?"

"The Ben-Tellans. Everything blew up around us. There was a riot of sorts... everyone trying to board at once." The man shuddered at the memory. "It was awful."

Apollo suddenly felt a cold stab of fear. "Where's Lieutenant Starbuck?"

"We didn't think he made it at first, Sir. But we sent a ship back to pick up survivors and Jacob reports he's on it."

Both warriors let out relieved sighs.

"All right," Apollo ordered. "We'll leave for the fleet as soon as the shuttle's docked. I want you all to go find the supply area and start organizing rations. These people are a little confused at the moment."

As the men left, Apollo began studying the controls. When it was time to leave he wanted to know exactly how this ship operated.

Starbuck wandered through the throng of people, idly wondering at the number of children. He didn't remember that many on Vesuvan. Maybe he was just more aware of them now. It didn't matter though. The one child he wanted to see, he never would again. There was nothing here for him. He felt at odds with himself... not sure where he really belonged or who he really was.

Through the crowded mass of confused and jumbled thoughts, he became aware that someone was calling insistently. Dimly he heard a child's voice growing nearer.

"Dad! Dad, is that you?"

He turned and saw a small, fair-haired boy pushing his way through the crowd. The child emerged and stood facing him. As Starbuck watched, the look of joy faded from the boy's face and turned to disappointment.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I thought you were someone else."

Starbuck couldn't think of anything to say, but he was spared the need by another interruption. It was Celine and she was rushing toward them excitedly. His spirits lifted a little, thinking she was actually glad to see him, but when she saw the boy plainly, she called out to him.

"Aaron! Oh, Aaron!"

"Mother!"

The boy ran to Celine and was quickly grabbed up in an embrace. The two were oblivious to anything else.

If it was possible, Starbuck felt even more at a loss than before. Here was Davey's wife and Davey's son, but they ignored him. He wasn't Davey. That was now shut off from him forever. He slipped away unnoticed.

"Starbuck, I've been looking all over for you. Where've you been?"

The lieutenant glanced up to see Apollo coming towards him. He watched his friend approach with a calm detachment. Nothing mattered anymore.

"I said, where've you been?" Apollo repeated.

"Huh? Oh... nowhere. Just walking around."

The captain fell into step beside Starbuck and the two walked slowly down the corridor.

"Starbuck, I heard what happened on Vesuvan. It must've been terrible."

"Yeah. I guess so."

It was obvious the warrior didn't care to discuss it, so Apollo tried another topic... anything to cheer his friend a little and lighten his listless mood.

"That shuttle pilot, Jacob... he said Bethie stowed away. Imagine that. She's really attached herself to you. You know, I never pictured you as the fatherly type, Starbuck, but..."

Apollo stopped. Starbuck's face had twisted into a pain-filled grimace.

"Starbuck? What is it?"

Apollo suddenly realized that he hadn't seen the child since they'd left the Galactica. If she were on board, she would've been at Starbuck's side, but she'd been on Vesuvan and now she wasn't here.

"Oh Lord! Starbuck... Starbuck, I'm sorry."

The stricken lieutenant said nothing. He merely walked away down the hallway. Apollo did not feel welcome to join him.

"If you think I can help, of course I'll come."

"Thanks, Chameleon. I think he needs you right now."

Cassiopeia switched off the comline and shook her head in despair. Apollo came up and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Don't worry. If anyone can find him, Chameleon can. They think alike."

Cassie tried to smile, but couldn't. "I'm so worried about him. He hasn't been himself since we found him, and he was so close to Bethie. I just don't know what he'll do."

"Try and relax. Boomer's looking too. We'll find him. I think the best thing I can do right now is go out and give Boomer a hand. Will you be all right?"

Cassiopeia nodded. "Go ahead." She took his hand. "Thank you, Apollo. You know, you're the best friend he's got... me too."

The captain reddened a bit and then took his leave. Cassiopeia sat back on the couch and fondled the framed likeness that sat on the table.

The launch tube was dark and lonely... just perfect for his frame of mind. The bottle of ambrosa was empty and he tried to let the darkness penetrate his brain... to numb what little hadn't been affected by the liquor. It wasn't really working. He wasn't forgetting. But things were a little foggier and he let that be enough.

Distantly he heard someone. He tried to ignore it... not wanting to disturb the blanket over his consciousness. But the voice was persistent and wouldn't go away.

"Starbuck?"

Was that who he was then?

"Starbuck... Son."

Who was that? Chameleon? Good ol' Chameleon.

"Son... come out of there. Everyone's pretty worried about you."

Someone worried about him? He couldn't think of who would be.

"Starbuck?"

The voice was right next to him. Chameleon must have crawled up beside him. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes to see a blurred image of the old man.

"Chameleon... you're not dead."

"Well, no... not the last time I looked."

"Everyone else is... even me."

"You're not dead, Son... just a little drunk."

"Me? I never get drunk."

"Of course not. Why don't you come on down with me. Cassie's waiting for you."

"Cassie? Is Cassie here?"

"She's in her quarters. She wants to see you. Why don't we go see her?"

"Sure," Starbuck agreed amiably. "Let's go see Cassie."

Leaning heavily on Chameleon, Starbuck shuffled out of the launch bay and up to the living quarters. People passing by stopped and stared, but Chameleon paid them no mind and Starbuck was past caring. They stopped in front of Cassiopeia's door and Chameleon pressed the buzzer. Instantly the door slid open. Cassie stood there, worry showing plainly on her face.

"Starbuck! Are you all right?"

"Sure I am," he assured her thickly.

Chameleon led him inside and sat him down on the couch. "Too much ambrosa is the immediate problem," the old man informed her. "Beyond that, only time can help I'm afraid."

Starbuck had begun to take note of the change in his surroundings. He glanced around the room, his eyes settling on the likeness lying on the table. His brow furled in concentration. Cassiopeia noticed the expression.

"Starbuck, what's wrong?"

The distraught warrior's face had now contorted with pain and anger.

"No!" he shouted. "Leave me alone!"

He slammed his fist down on the likeness, shattering the glass and cutting his hand in the process.

"Starbuck, stop it!" Cassie sobbed as he continued pounding on the likeness.

Starbuck caught the tone in her voice and froze, his fist poised in midair. He got shakily to his feet and took a few faltering steps. He looked down at his bleeding hand in confusion. Abruptly, as if he could no longer bear his own weight, he sank to his knees and buried his face in his hands.

"Get something for that cut," Chameleon ordered as Cassiopeia stood transfixed, all her med tech training deserting her for the moment. She'd never seen Starbuck in such despair. Quickly obeying Chameleon, she left the room to gather first-aid supplies. Chameleon knelt down beside Starbuck and took the tortured face in his old, weathered hands.

"It'll be all right, Son."

At those words, Starbuck leaned his head against Chameleon's shoulder and gave in to the grief that had been building within him. Sobs racked his body uncontrollably. Chameleon felt a bit awkward at first, but then a gentle warmth washed over him and it felt entirely natural to take his son into his arms.

Cassie found them this way when she returned and she knelt down beside them. She didn't even try to fight her own tears. Chameleon took Starbuck's injured hand and held it out for her to treat. The cuts weren't deep and were soon dressed and bandaged.

Starbuck's sobs had subsided for the most part. Only an occasional shuddering breath remained. Chameleon stood, helped Starbuck to his feet and, with Cassiopeia's help, led him into the bedroom. He went docily and put up no resistance as they helped him lay down on the bed. Chameleon took Cassie's arm and moved aside a little.

"The rest is up to you, my dear. I don't know what all he's been through, but whatever is was, I do know he need a lot of rest and plenty of hand-holding." Chameleon gave her a wink. "I'm certain he's in capable hands." He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. With one more look at Starbuck, he left the room.

Cassiopeia turned back to the bed and moved over to sit beside Starbuck. She took his hand gently in hers and he stirred at the contact. He opened his eyes and, after a bit, was able to focus on her.

"Cass?" It was a whispered question.

"I'm right here, Starbuck." She reached down and smoothed the hair from his eyes. "Why don't you try and get some sleep?"

"I can't." Tears trickled out of the corners of his eyes and ran down into his hair. "Don't you see? I went to sleep before and when I woke up, I wasn't me. Everyone was gone... you were gone. Bethie brought me back to you... but she's dead, Cassie... she's dead. If I go to sleep, she won't be there to bring me back again. I'm all lost inside, Cassie. I'm afraid."

Cassiopeia didn't understand most of what he was saying, but the plaintive pleading in his voice tore at her heart. He needed something desperately and she tried her best to give it to him.

"Starbuck, I'll be here. You can go to sleep. I'll stay right beside you?"

"Promise?"

He was like a little boy... like the child in the likeness had come to life and was begging for her love and protection. She knew that in the morning... when some of the shock and most of the ambrosa had faded, he would be himself again... but for now, the little boy needed her assurance.

"I promise."

"You went away before."

"Never again... I swear. I'll be right here so you don't have to be afraid."

He seemed to take her word for it. He closed his eyes, though he still gripped her hand tightly. Cassiopeia watched... waiting patiently for him to go to sleep.

Moving soundlessly through the vacumn of space, the fleet of ships passed quietly and undisturbed past the Vesuvan system.

On a hill on that planet a small child slept deeply under the shade of a huge tree. The nearby stream continued to run noisily down to meet the sea. The wind rustled through the trees, creating a musical sound that blended with the sound of the running water and rose up to meet the stars.

On board the Galactica, Cassiopeia kept watch over Starbuck. Suddenly she straightened up and looked around the room. She'd thought she heard something... a humming of some kind. She was sure she'd heard all the noises the ship made by now, and this had seemed more like a song. But it was gone now and, after a moment, she dismissed it as nerves. She turned her gaze back to the troubled warrior. Only now, the ghost of a smile danced around his mouth and his grip on her hand loosened slightly. He was asleep... finally. And Cassie was suddenly sure that in the morning he would be all right.