By Susan J. Paxton
Originally Published in ANOMALY 19, 1992

The eleven other members of the Council of Twelve listened attentively as Count Baltar, the member from Gemoni, spun his tale of how the Cylons had approached him indirectly through mutual business contacts on Orion and requested him to arrange peace negotiations with the Twelve Colonies. When Baltar had finished and resumed his seat, Diomedes, the member for Sagitara, a ruggedly handsome older man dressed in the command blue uniform of the Colonial Fleet, sat back and looked around the ovoid Council table, an expression of weary disbelief on his face. He expected to see that expression mirrored on the faces of the other men but, to his surprise, he detected uncertainty from only one other.
President Adar rose and said, “You bring us welcome news, Baltar. For a thousand yahrens, a full millennium, we have persevered in our conflict with the Cylons. At long last, perhaps an end is in sight. If that comes to pass, the human race will be forever in your debt for your prompt action in informing us of this great opportunity for reconciliation.”
The member for Taura nodded and said, “The war has been permitted to drag on long enough. It is past time to have an end to the bloodshed and waste.”
The Aerian representative agreed. “We have wasted lives and resources on this for too long. It will be eternally to Count Baltar’s credit that he appears to be the first person to have the courage to take a first step towards stopping it.”
Diomedes had heard quite enough and before another Councilor could chime in with beatific praise he said, his voice deceptively mild, “Gentlemen, I find it hard to credit what I’m hearing. Instead of rushing to congratulate Baltar, perhaps we should be asking just what has prompted this sudden, unexpected Cylon desire for peace.”
“I agree,” Commander Adama, who represented Caprica, said from across the table. “The Cylons now hold a definite military advantage over us. It is not logical that they should want to sue for peace at such a time.”
Diomedes nodded. “We’ve been steadily losing ground for twenty five yahrens, ever since the Cylons began their suicide raids of attrition against out planets, raids we no longer have the strength to entirely prevent. They outnumber us everywhere. Little more than a yahren ago, they destroyed the Fifth Fleet at Molecay, three heavy battlestars and their escorts; two months ago, the battlestar Olympia and her task force went missing under what might best be termed extremely suspicious circumstances. Our battle fleet is at the moment comprised of only five heavy battlestars, with five more in various stages of construction, none of which will be available for at least two yahrens. The Cylons, on the other hand, possess at least ten operational base stars, possibly more, possibly some of an entirely new design comparable to battlestars we now have only in the design stages, and they possess more planets from which to draw resources. I believe that this sudden Cylon proposal for negotiations ought to be viewed against this backdrop, and hence with extreme caution.”
Several of the members’ eyes had glazed slightly during Diomedes’ recitation. Into the ensuing Cylon, Baltar inserted smoothly, “The military are always the last to believe in the possibility of peace.”
Diomedes shot back, “Does the member for Gemoni suggest that Commander Adama and I are warmongers?“
Soothingly, President Adar said, “We all know and respect your military record, Commander, and yours, Adama. But Baltar does have a point.”
On top of his head, Diomedes silently agreed, and you too, you sanctimonious astrum.
Adama spoke up, “No one desires peace more than I, Mr. President, or Commander Diomedes. As combat warriors and command officers, we are all too well acquainted with the cost of war. To counsel caution is not to suggest that we oppose peace.”
“Far from it,” agreed Diomedes. “As I’m sure you’re aware, Commander Adama has three children and I have two, and all of them are warriors.” Not only did his remark serve to indicate his genuine desire to see the war ended, it also reminded the other councilors that none of them, so far as he knew, had offspring in the military. That was becoming far too common amongst the bureautician class. They were all too happy to claim for themselves whatever privileges they could, but were unwilling to perform the kind of service that might help to justify their exalted status. Diomedes continued, “But any peace with the Cylons must be genuine and verifiable, and provide for secure borders and clearly defined spheres of influence, on both sides.”
“I’m sure you will find the Cylons most willing to discuss all of this,” said Baltar.
Diomedes inquired curiously, “Have you actually met with the Cylons?“
“Not yet. Only via…intermediaries.”
“What sort of intermediaries?“ Adama asked.
“They are called Ovions, I believe. An insectoid race. Unaligned politically.” Baltar sounded utterly uninterested in the Ovions.
Adar asked Baltar, “Through them you will be able to arrange direct negotiations with the Cylons?“
Baltar hesitated for the barest instant, then said, “That may not be immediately advisable, Mr. President. They appear somewhat willing to trust me, but whether they will agree to meet other humans…I don’t believe we should press the issue. The outcome, after all, is of such importance….”
“Absolutely not,” Diomedes said angrily. “It is in our code of law that any treaty of peace must be the result of direct, face-to-face negotiations between the principals or their personal representatives. This comes down to us from the Lords of Kobol and I will not be a party to seeing this wise law disregarded for any reason.”
“I second that,” Adama affirmed.
“Do you wish a vote?“ Adar asked Diomedes.
“I do indeed. I believe we ought to have everyone’s position on this subject on the record.”
“Very well. We will vote on the matter suggested by the member from Sagitara.”
Inset in the rich wood of the table before each of the Council members were three fingerprint-sensitive touchpads, one for a yes vote, one for no, one for abstention. The results immediately appeared on a small viewscreen above the buttons.
“Ten against, two for,” said Adar. “Your motion is defeated, Commander Diomedes. I propose that we grant Count Baltar whatever latitude he requires to carry out these negotiations in whatever form is preferable to the Cylons.”
Predictably, the result was ten for, two against.
Diomedes was still for a centon, dark brown eyes studying the President with dangerous intensity. Then he rose to his feet and said, “Very well, Mr. President, you may do so. You may make peace with an enemy proclaimed and you may ignore the laws of our ancestors. But you do so with my utter contempt, and I will not be a party to it. I do not trust the Cylons, and I do not trust Baltar. I resign.” He turned and strode out of the Council chamber.
Adar looked from the closing doors to Adama, clearly expecting him to follow suit, but Adama did not react. He sympathized with Diomedes, but he knew that for now he would be more useful just where he was.

Athena lined the shuttle up on the strobes, passed cleanly through the selective forcefield that guarded the landing bay entrance, and dropped it without a bump onto the deck of the battlestar Columbia.
“Galactica shuttle alpha, on deck and powering down,” she reported.
“Confirmed,” Columbia’s flight officer replied. “Welcome aboard.”
As Adama rose from the copilot’s seat, Athena asked, “Should I wait for you here, Commander?“
“No, I may be awhile. Find the officer’s club, relax. I’ll call you when I’m ready.”
“Aye, sir.”
Outside of the shuttle’s hatch an honor guard was drawn up. Adama passed down the double line of warriors to be greeted at its end by the waiting commander of the Columbia.
“Permission to come aboard?“
“Granted. Welcome aboard, sir,” Commander Aeneas replied. The two men shook hands after the Sagitaran fashion, then Aeneas invited, “If you’ll come with me, sir?“
“Lead the way, Commander.”
Once the door of Aeneas’ quarters had closed behind them, Aeneas asked, “Something to drink, Commander?“
“No, thank you.”
Aeneas waited until Adama, the senior officer, had sat down before seating himself. Aeneas was younger than Adama by nearly a centuron, the youngest man ever awarded command of a full-fledged battlestar and certainly one of the most able. The dark blue command uniform suited him. He had the dark hair and eyes and olive skin common among Sagitarans, and the strong neck and shoulder muscles that came from yahrens of flying strike fighters, which he had done before transferring to command. The few lines visible on his face were from stress, not age.
“Well?“ Adama asked without preamble.
“Early this morning one of our outlying patrol corvettes scanned something inbound from the nearest warp point and intercepted it. It was a drone message torpedo, Colonial. I had it brought on board.”
“And?“
“It’s from Dasher.”
Adama nodded. The Dasher was a fast reconnaissance corvette assigned to his Third Fleet, and he and Aeneas had decided to send it into Cylon territory less than a month previously, as soon as Adama had returned from the Council meeting on Caprica at which Baltar had made his dramatic announcement of the Cylon peace initiative.
“Unfortunately,” Aeneas continued, “I don’t think there’s any doubt Dasher herself was lost. The torpedo is damaged and somewhat radionactive. It must have been launched as the ship was destroyed. I have a team working on recovering whatever records it contained, and an initial report should be ready at any time now.”
“I only hope that the information will prove worth the lives of the crew,” Adama murmured.
“It’s always a tradeoff, Commander. We must have data, and quickly. Baltar has the Council beguiled with his tales of benevolent Cylon intentions. We need to know the truth of it before there’s a public announcement. And if he’s lying….”
“Indeed,” Adama agreed. He liked Aeneas, thought highly of him as a man and a warrior. Aeneas could have been his son—he was only fifteen yahrens older than Apollo—but in spite of the difference in their ages they often thought along the same lines. “And,” Adama added, “Fleet Command could use some shaking-up as well. Count Baltar’s claims have some of them almost as fascinated as the Council.”
“Which is why Commander Diomedes resigned from the Fleet as well as the Council.”
Shaking his head, Adama said, “Diomedes and I see eye-to-eye on little, though we do agree on this peace business. But he should have stayed. We needed him where he was, not to stalk off and make a grand gesture of it.”
Aeneas suggested quietly, “Perhaps we Sagitarans feel differently about such things. Lord Diomedes considers peace negotiations with the Cylons to be treason. Insane treason, I believe he referred to it. To be associated with such would be impossible for him. It would not be honorable.”
“Still he should have stayed. We would have had an information source within Fleet Command. He was the only one I trusted, since Kronus retired.”
“Commander Kronus always told me that you could never, ever have enough information,” Aeneas remarked with a smile. He had been Kronus’ last exec aboard the Rycon.
“I know. He was making that same speech half a centuron ago.”
“And Commander Diomedes would make the same speech about honor. A concept,” he added, “that I suspect Baltar would have some difficulty comprehending.”
“I notice that you and Diomedes inevitably fail to use Count Baltar’s title.”
Aeneas sniffed disdainfully. “His title was bought and paid for. He is no more noble than a street vendor in Dardania is. Less so, really. Lord Diomedes, on the other hand, is a prince, and a king.” Subsiding slightly, he added, “Not that it matters since the unification of the Colonies.”
Adama suppressed a smile. The Sagitarans would swear to that in public, but behind the scenes their noble families continued playing the power games they had avidly pursued for millennia. At least they had finally been persuaded to cease bashing in one another’s heads and laying siege to cities, though it had taken a long and unpleasant occupation by Scorpian troops in the period after the reunification to cure them of the practice.
The door signal chimed. “Enter,” called Aeneas.
The door snapped open and a young officer, dressed in smudged blues, entered the room. “By your leave, my lord, sir,” he said, nodding to Aeneas and Adama in turn.
“My second officer, Colonel Arkelokos,” Aeneas introduced him. “Report, Colonel.”
“The record crystals in the torpedo have suffered significant damage. Some information will probably be unrecoverable. However, I can give you a rundown on what we’ve learned so far.”
“Do so.”
“Before she was ambushed and destroyed, Dasher checked six known Cylon bases, including Cylon itself. She scanned three baseships in dock at Barbaan and two in dock at Cylon. Two ambushed her in the Tiros system. She detected no others.”
“Seven in total,” commented Adama.
“Sir, Dasher’s commander believed that one of two that jumped her was one of the ones she’d scanned earlier at Cylon.”
“Six. Out of how many?“ wondered Aeneas.
“Military Intelligence estimates they have ten.”
“I’d put it closer to fifteen. And who knows how many of these new ones they’re rumored to be building,” said Aeneas.
“Still, that’s the usual number of ships they have in dock.”
“Yes, but….” Aeneas paused and looked over at his second officer, who was listening to the conversation between the two commanders with ill-concealed interest. “Thank you, Colonel. Have your people continue working on the torpedo. Report any developments.”
“Aye, my lord,” he replied, and withdrew.
“Young,” Adama remarked.
“My entire crew is. An experiment, an idea of Commander Diomedes’. Something about, forgive me, sir, getting rid of what he describes as ‘old fogeyism.’“
“And him only a yahren younger than me,” Adama mused. “That young man’s form of address was a little non-standard.”
“He’s Sagitaran,” Aeneas replied off-handedly as if that explained everything. Adama supposed that it did.
“You were about to suggest, I believe, that something sinister might be going on,” Adama said.
“I wonder, Commander, I do,” Aeneas said earnestly. “If they do have ten baseships, six in dock would be normal. They usually have three or four on patrol so unless they’re up to something the rest are usually refitting or under repair or just waiting around for orders, same as us. But if they do have more…Commander, if we can prove they do, even the Council would have to think twice.”
“You’d have to find them, and where they’re based. It’s likely they have bases we know nothing of. After all, I doubt they know of Starlos.”
“Exactly. And Dasher was in transit to what I believe might be the location of a secret Cylon base.”
Adama commented mildly, “You didn’t tell me about that.”
“It was something I suggest to her commander. We were aboard Rycon together, I knew her fairly well. Here, it’s easier if I show you.” Aeneas rose, went to his desk, and touched a couple of contacts. The first dimmed the room lighting, the other activated a spherical holographic representation of a starfield in the empty space between the desk and the chair in which Adama was seated. Initially the stars were depicted in their proper colors, then, after an orienting few microns some changed, becoming red, blue, or yellow. Blue stars denoted systems controlled by the Colonies, red were Cylon, while the yellow stars were border systems that frequently changed hands as the war continued. Tiny white captions identified the important systems. “This projection is five hundred parsecs in diameter and includes all of our territory and all known Cylon territory,” said Aeneas. “These are the systems visited by the Dasher,” he continued, and several stars turned green. “She visited Helbrun, Telbroc V, Atkos, NC-546/A, Barbaan, and Cylon, and was passing through the Tiros system on the way to this area when she was destroyed.” A small patch of space glowed softly.
“And what’s in that area?“
“A few unremarkable stars that we know of. Otherwise, nothing. I began to have some suspicions that the Cylons might have a base in that area after Cosmora Archipelago and Molecay. We were here,” he said, and a flashing silver star appeared not far in galactic terms from the glowing area, “out in the middle of nowhere, which is a good description of the Cosmora Archipelago, when a Cylon battle fleet dropped out of a previously unidentified warp portal and started kicking us around the system until Kronus turned it around and took out three of the five attackers, although Cerberus was damaged beyond repair in the process and we took the worst casualties I’ve ever seen. We were really mauled and had a hades of a time just getting the Rycon home in one piece. It wasn’t until after Molecay, though, that I started to really study the scans we’d taken at Cosmora. You know what was interesting? Those baseships were loaded, full of fuel—and they were also nearly fifty parsecs from their nearest known base.”
“They may have refueled from tankers.”
“Maybe. Like I said, I didn’t really look at the scans until after Molecay and by then it was too late to find out. From what we know, Cain was hit only twenty parsecs from Cosmora—close to seventy parsecs from the nearest known Cylon base—and the recon corvette that reported before Cain arrived said the baseships in orbit were fully fueled.”
“The Cylons had already taken Molecay when Cain arrived.”
“Yes, but the refinery and storage areas had been destroyed. They couldn’t have gotten more than a trickle of fuel out of Molecay for at least a yahren; they would have had to rebuild everything. But they had enough fuel—from somewhere—to take out the Pegasus, Rycon, and Bellerophon. I need hardly add that the Olympia was in this general area when she went missing.”
“So, on that evidence you postulate that the Cylons have a base somewhere in or near the area you’ve marked on this map?“
“It’s the only explanation that makes sense, Commander. There’s an unknown warp nexus somewhere in this area and the Cylons have a base there. The Cylons will use tankers to refuel baseships, but for long distance operations they prefer to keep their logistical requirements in line by using three baseships or less, else they’d need every tanker in their fleet to refuel them en route. We were hit by five at Cosmora, and Cain must’ve been attacked by at least that many. He must have been outnumbered, Commander.”
Leaning forward in his chair, Adama gazed at the holographic projection, thinking over what Aeneas had said. “It’s possible,” he said after a centon.
“Sir, I think it’s likely. The Cylons had to know what Dasher was up to. As long as she was doing reconnaissance that would tend to confirm they’re not up to anything they left her alone. But when she headed for that area, they pulled out all the stops. When have you ever heard of the Cylons sending two baseships after one corvette? That’s a target I wouldn’t waste two flights of strikers on. If we find this base and the Cylons have, say, five or ten baseships we know nothing of there…well, this peace treaty felgercarb goes down the turboflush no matter how fast Baltar talks.”
Adama looked through the starfield at his earnest young subordinate. “What are you suggesting?“
“It would be two sectons in, two out for a fast ship into that area; only six systems between here and there. Maybe a secton in the area to hunt out the warp nexus.”
“One ship, in and out quick?“
“Yes, sir. And the Columbia is the newest and fastest, and with antimatter drive needs no tanker support. No tankers, no escorts.”
“I suspected you were planning on volunteering for this.”
“Sir, with all respect, Galactica and Solaria should have been scrapped a long time ago.”
“Painfully agreed. I’m going to give you the go-ahead, Aeneas. I don’t have to remind you of the need for caution, or tell you not to start anything if you do find something. If attacked, defend yourself, but provoke nothing. We don’t want to give the Cylons an excuse, in case there is something genuine in their desire for peace. Not,” Adama added, “that I really believe that.”
“You and me both, Commander. Since we’ll be going into enemy territory alone, I’d like to boost our viper force.” The Columbia’s fighter compliment was split between vipers and strike fighters; she carried only half the vipers of a normally equipped battlestar.
“I’ll assign you one of my squadrons. How soon can you depart?“
“Two days, including the time needed to transfer your squadron and load supplies. We’ll split off from the Fleet as soon as we pass through the first portal. You on patrol, us on recce.”
“You can have anything you need.”
“Thank you, sir. We’ll be back before you notice we’re gone.”
“Just as long as you get back before the Council notices you’re gone,” Adama replied.

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