Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"I am really getting tired of this," Fred growled as he scanned the surrounding space. Someone nearby was running a radar that was loud enough he could register everything for half an AU, just off the reflections.

"You're not the only one," Edgar replied. "Just how many people who can create dimensional portals does DSS have?"

"I don't know, but I'm getting damned tired of fighting them."

There, about 2,000 miles away and 120 degrees from the sun, was the source of the radar signal. Fred put his mind to shunting the radar to the background so he could find any communications traffic. Once he did, he let out a whistle.

"Did I hear that right, Edgar?" Fred asked.

"If you heard the word 'dradis', then you heard right," Edgar said. "Try not to antagonize them too badly, eh? They can't afford to waste the ammunition."

"Yeah. Hell, they can't afford to waste the fuel they're burning to come check me out, but they can't afford not to. What say we meet them half-way?"

"Good plan," Edgar said. "Meanwhile, you should probably think about what you're going to say when you meet them."

"I hate first contacts," Fred muttered. "How long until you have a working translation database?"

"I should have a functional one running before those Vipers get here," Edgar said. "For a fleet of refugees, they're certainly noisy."

"I don't care what it looks like," Col. Saul Tigh growled into the mic. "Just get out there and find out if it's a threat to the fleet!"

"Yes, sir, Colonel, sir," Lt. Kara Thrace replied.

"Just like her to be insolent and mouthy, and do it while being formally correct." Tigh thought, while gritting his teeth and pointedly not slamming the mic back into its hanger.

From across the ops table, Commander Bill Adama nodded approvingly at him. Tigh let out a slow breath and focused on that approval, while imagining a number of purely medieval torments he would dearly love to visit upon the pilot who seemed to spend her life finding ways to drive him mad.

"Let it go, Saul," Adama said softly. "You're just going to give yourself a headache if you don't."

"Galactica, this is Starbuck," came from the speakers. "We're at the location, and you're not going to believe what we've found."

"Whatever it is," Tigh growled into the mic, "is it a threat to the fleet?"

"He says he's not," Starbuck said. "He's asked for an escort to the Galactica."

"He?" Adama picked up a mic and asked. "Are you telling me there's a man floating out there?"

"Well, it's a man's voice, Commander," Starbuck said. "But we can't really tell anything about him, other than that he's human-sized, has a man's voice, and is invisible to dradis, but visible to the eyes. And looking at him is enough to make even me space sick."

"Galactica Actual, this is Raven," the voice that cut in was definitely masculine, but unfamiliar to Adama or Tigh. "Sorry to interrupt like this, but I'm just interested in getting home. Would you be so kind as to tell me what Lt. Valeri's call sign is?"

"Why the frak are you interested in Boomer?" Tigh growled. "And what does that have to do with you getting home?"

"Frak," Raven muttered, apparently forgetting to cut his mic. "First season. Just what I needed." His voice raised, and he continued, "I'm trying to orient myself in time, that's all. I can fly myself to the Galactica, or I can hitch a ride on one of your Vipers, whichever you prefer. Otherwise, I'll just have to try to figure out how to get home on my own."

"Starbuck," Adama said, "escort him in. I want to meet this Raven, face to face."

"Are you sure about that, sir?" Starbuck asked.

"No, I'm not," Adama answered. "but when has that stopped me before?"

"Don't worry," Raven said. "I'm as human as any of you. I just got dumped here by some asshole who opened a hyperspace portal and pushed me through it. If not for my life support systems, I'd be a corpsicle right now. I'm ready to follow Starbuck, whenever she's ready to lead."

"All right, Galactica," Starbuck said. "We're coming home."

"Great," Fred muttered under his breath. "We need to find a way to short the Cylon programming before Boomer shoots Adama. Got any ideas?"

"There must be some kind of network they operate on," Edgar said. "Something that allows them to download when they get killed, and that transmits the signals that trigger their programming. If I can scan Boomer or Cavil, I may be able to find it."

"Works for me," Fred said.

"Raven, this is Starbuck. Follow me."

"Will do," Fred said. "Say, how many Gs can that thing pull, anyway?"

"How many Gs?" Starbuck asked.

"Gravities," Fred said. "That's how we measure acceleration where I come from. One G is 32 feet per second squared."

"I don't know about the feet," Starbuck said, "but we don't normally do more than six gravities, even in a dogfight."

"Gotcha," Fred said. "So I have to remember to keep it slow and gentle."

"Slow and gentle?" Starbuck snorted. "Riiiiight. Are you trying to say you can out-accelerate a Viper?"

"I guess you could say that," Fred said. "I've never really pushed myself too much. Going to the moon, I usually use about 100 Gs. For longer trips, I fly in Max – he's my personal fighter – and he usually does about a thousand."

"You are so full of shit," Starbuck declared.

"I've heard that before," Fred laughed. "As the usual line goes for someone like me, 'They laughed at me at the Academy!'"

"You say you're human," Starbuck said, "so what the frak is that nausea-inducing blackness around you, anyway?"

"Oh, that's my Ravenfield," Fred said. "It absorbs all forms of energy, from kinetic to X-rays. Only problem is, it doesn't do frak-all against dimensional portals."

"And that's what got you here?"

"You got it," Fred said. "The secret police of another nation on Earth keep attacking my country, and lately they've been dredging up people who can generate dimensional portals and sending them against me. It's really becoming a major annoyance."

"A major annoyance," Starbuck said. "Right. And I suppose you're the king of your country or something like that?"

"Prince, actually," Fred said, "because I don't want to step on the toes of the True King. Only problem is, he's not interested in ruling, so he sits back and snickers because I'm stuck with the job."

"You know," Starbuck said, "if I hadn't seen you floating in space like that, I'd expect to find you locked up in a psych ward."

Fred laughed. The Galactica was coming up within ten miles, and the Vipers surrounded him like a fleet of destroyers surrounding a battleship. The scars on the battlestar were obvious, including recent ones that were still undergoing repairs. Fred knew he could help them, upgrade their technology, give them computers that could beat anything the Cylons could throw at them, give every ship in the fleet a Ravenfield like his own. But should he? That was a question he wasn't sure of the answer to. The technological leap he could offer could very well make it possible for them to exterminate the Cylons, the same way the Cylons had tried to exterminate them. And from what he remembered, if you could just get rid of the more fanatical ones, like the Cavils, the rest of the Cylons would be willing to co-exist with the humans. The problem was, crusaders had a way of pushing the rest of their people along with them, whether they wanted it or not, and had a way of convincing the others that any threat to their crusade was a threat to the survival of their people. And that applied regardless of the species. The alternatives, options, and possibilities were giving him a headache.

"Marines!" Tigh bellowed. "Keep your eyes on the man the Vipers are escorting in. I don't want to hear any whining about how it makes you feel. Just do it!"

The hangar deck had been cleared, and Col. Tigh had a squad of marines in position, their weapons trained on the elevator, while the flight controller was reporting on the approach of the Vipers and their discovery.

"Galactica, this is Starbuck," came over the speakers. "I've got the Meatball."

"Starbuck, this is Galactica," was the response. "We have you. Welcome back."

"Go ahead, Starbuck," came Raven's voice. "I'm right behind you."

"Just don't ride up my ass," Starbuck shot back.

"But it's such a cute one," Raven laughed, to the accompaniment of several rapidly-suppressed snorts from among the Marines.

"Watch it, buddy," Starbuck growled.

"That was my intention," Raven fired back.

"Galactica, if you don't shoot this bozo, I may just have to!" Starbuck shouted.

Tigh clenched his fists behind his back, digging his nails into his palms to give himself just enough distraction to avoid smiling at Starbuck's frustration.

"Anyone out there have a bucket of ice water?" Raven asked. "I think I'm picking up an increased thermal flux from Starbuck's cockpit."

"Galactica Actual to incoming flight," Commander Adama's voice cut in. "Belay that horseplay."

"But, Commander...," Starbuck started.

"Aye, Captain," Raven said, then shut up.

Almost a minute later, the elevator doors opened, and Starbuck's Viper sank into view, with a black humanoid figure sitting on the front landing skid, leaning against the gear. The figure was not so much colored black, as it was that it absorbed any light that fell on it, leaving an unsettling sensation of looking into a black hole. Once the elevator locked into place, the figure rose to its feet, and the blackness vanished, as completely as if it had never been there, leaving behind an ordinary-looking man with brown hair in a long ponytail, wearing scuffed combat boots, black pants of the same material that miners wore, a flimsy black pullover shirt with some kind of strange fluorescent green lettering on it, and a lab coat with a green and purple symbol – probably a school emblem – over his breast pocket.

"Col. Tigh, I presume?" the man said as he walked away from the Viper. The Marines kept their muzzles trained on him, which he seemed to ignore.

"Oh, the hell with it," Tigh growled. "Stand down. He's not carrying anything dangerous. At least, not where he can get at it easily."

"Actually," the man said, "That's not a safe assumption. But...," he took off his lab coat and held it at arm's length, "...if one of you would like to take this, it has, in its pockets, everything external that I could use dangerously. Just don't root around in my pockets. You could get hurt."

Tigh nodded to one of the marines, who took the lab coat and held it at arm's length, as if expecting a viper to leap out of it. Then he turned to the stranger. "Yes, I am Col. Tigh. Who the hell are you?"

"Name's Fred MacManus," the man said. "Callsign's Raven. Some people – mostly idiots – call me Prince Frederick the First. I prefer Fred."

"All right, Raven," Tigh said, "What brings you out to this corner of the universe?"

"Dimensional breach," Raven said. "Damned DSS keeps throwing them at me, I keep finding my way home again."

"And where might that be?" Tigh asked.

"Are you sure you want me to answer that, right here?" Raven asked softly, glancing around at the Marines.

"I'm sure," Tight growled.

"OK," Raven said, shrugging. Then he said, softly, "I come from Earth."

"You what?" Tigh said, stunned. Then he spun and barked, "Marines! Take this man to the brig!"

"I was afraid something like that would happen," Raven sighed. He looked at the Marines and shrugged. "All right, gentlemen. You heard the man. Take me to the brig."

"...and then the sonofabitch just fell in with the Marines and ambled off to the brig, like he didn't have a care in the world," Tigh reported to Commander Adama.

"And Starbuck?" Adama asked.

"If you listen hard enough, I think you can still hear her yelling," Tigh said, while grinning at the memory. "She was stuck in her cockpit until we let the hangar crew in."

"You're an evil man, Saul," Adama laughed, while pouring two glasses of ambrosia. "I wish I'd been there to see it." He picked up his glass and looked into it, then asked, "So what do you think? Is he on the level?"

"If I hadn't seen that...whatever it is...I'd think he was a lunatic," Tigh said. "But he was in space, protected by nothing more than some kind of strange light-absorbing field. That means he has technology we don't have. And neither do the Cylons. So if Earth is something more than a wild goose chase, it's as good an answer as any."

"So now," Adama mused, "I have to decide if I believe Earth is real. I'm not Laura Roslin, to accept it just because it's in the Scrolls."

"Laura Roslin can go frak herself!" Tigh said. "If this Raven is on the level, we have an Earth that's real, not just some myth."

"Tch. That's our President you're talking about," Adama said, deadpan.

"I don't remember voting for her," Tigh growled.

"Regardless," Adama said, "we have to decide what to do about him, before word gets back to Colonial One."

"I think we should wring him for everything we can get," Tigh said, reaching for the other glass.

"We should do this," Adama said, "to someone who travels in space, protected only by an energy field. Are you sure you've thought this through, Saul?"

"What else can we do, Bill?" Tigh asked. "What else can we do?"

"Company, Dad," Edgar said.

"Anyone interesting?" Fred asked.

"Just Tigh."

"OK, leave me disconnected from external inputs until he says something interesting. I'm trying to concentrate on our scans of the ship."

"No problem," Edgar said. "I'll keep you updated."

"Sounds good." Fred answered.

Col. Tigh looked through the bars, then turned his attention to the guard on duty. "How long has he been like this?"

"He went to sleep as soon as we locked him in there, sir," the guard answered.

"Let me in," Tigh said.

"Yes, sir," the guard replied, then entered his code into the key pad.

The lock clicked, and the door slid open. Tigh stepped into the cell, and looked over the sleeping Fred for a moment before speaking.

"There's no way you can be asleep with me standing over you like this, so stop frakking around," Tigh growled. When he got no response, he flipped over the cot, only to find Fred floating in mid-air, surrounded by his strange energy field.

Tigh studied the floating figure for a minute, rubbing his eyes, then returned the cot to its upright position, grabbed a chair, and sat in it, still watching the figure. Meanwhile, Fred floated over the cot, then lowered onto it, and the black field vanished. Tigh watched for another minute, then shook his head.

"I can't figure you," Tigh grumbled. "You have technology that could end this war. Frak, that field of yours could save lives on every ship in this fleet. And what are you doing? You're here in the brig, sleeping! What the frak is going on in your head?"

Fred sat up and fixed Tigh with an intent look. "Finally, a question. What's going on in my head is some of the hardest decisions I've had to make in my life. I don't like war. Innocent people get hurt in wars. Especially religious wars. And that's what you're in right now: a religious war, whether you realize it or not."

"A religious war," Tight repeated, giving Raven a withering look. Or, at least, it would be a withering look if the man had the decency to be withered by it!

"That's right," Raven said. "The Cylons are monotheists, and they are offended by your worship of your gods. So, like good little religious maniacs in every universe, they tried to exterminate you, so that your polytheistic religion wouldn't pollute their pure monotheistic universe. That's what this has always been about, you know. The Cylons are continuing the same war the Soldiers of the One started, years ago. Worst part of it is, most of them are just as tired of the war as most of you are. It's the maniacs who are pushing it, like every religious war." He looked off into the distance and sighed. "I hate having to kill anyone, but I'm afraid that's the only way this war is going to end. I need to talk to a chaplain. He calls himself Brother Cavil. Once I talk to him, I should be on my way to figuring out how to help you."

"You want to talk to a chaplain," Tigh said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I doubt you'll let me talk to Boomer," Raven said, "so, yeah. Cavil. Still, I should talk to her sooner or later, too. Preferably sooner. Huh. That's interesting. The nearest Cavil is here on this ship."

"The nearest Cavil?" Tight asked, staring at Raven, confused.

"Yeah," Raven said. "The nearest one. There's a half-dozen of him scattered throughout the fleet."

"How can there be a half-dozen of a single man?" Tigh asked, very uncomfortable with the direction this was going, and not sure why.

"That's easy," Raven said, shrugging. "He's a Cylon. They've figured out how to make themselves look human. Well, certain models, anyway. You remember I mentioned that this war is being driven by the religious maniacs? Cavil's the worst of them. I'm hoping that if I talk with him, I can get him to chill, but I'm afraid it might not work. So, since I'm sure you won't let me kill him myself, I'm going to need you ready to kill him after we talk. That way, everything I tell him will be fresh in his mind when it squirts back to their resurrection ship."

"You know a damned awful lot about Cylons for someone who claims to be from Earth," Tigh growled.

"Eh," Raven said, shrugging. "You know the vids, right? Well, back home, you people are the subject of a vid. One that I had sincerely hoped to never be stuck in. So much for that. Now that I'm here, I just have to help you all get through this without exterminating either race, and I'll be able to go home."

"What do you mean, without exterminating either race?" Tigh growled. "Cylons aren't a race, they're a bunch of out-of-control robots!"

"Who worked out how to create organic versions of themselves in order to blend into human society," Raven said. "Who have religious beliefs that they hold to as strongly as your," he coughed, "president. Who are willing to sacrifice themselves to protect each other or to achieve their goals. Who have emotions that affect them as strongly as your emotions affect you. So tell me, Saul, how do they differ from humans?"

"You don't have the right to call me by name!" Tigh snapped. "They're not humans! They're Cylons!"

"You know," Raven mused, "this is the second universe I've been in where a synthetic species and their creators were at war. Unfortunately, the religious element makes this war more touchy. Hopefully my arrival will throw them off enough that they'll start questioning their fanatics."

"So you're saying humans and robots will always go to war?" Tigh asked. "So why shouldn't we turn them all into scrap?"

"Nope," Raven said, shaking his head. "Not saying that at all. In the other universe, the war started because the creators freaked out over the robots beginning to demonstrate self-awareness. They tried to shut them all down when the first robot asked 'Does this unit have a soul?' Idiots. In my universe, the same two species decided to explore the question together, and now they are a nearly unstoppable team, bonded as closely as any good marriage."

"What?" Tigh asked, staring at Raven as he tried to decide just how insane the man was. "You can't be serious!"

"Sure am," Raven said, then projected an image from his hand, of a woman in a form-fitting space suit, holding a shotgun, loomed over by a hulking robot with an armored chestplate that had N7 printed on it, carrying a sniper's rifle that was damned near as big as a Viper's cannon. "That's my wife Tali and her Companion, Nat. Do not. Ever. Threaten Tali. Nat will give you a 20 millimeter enema. And then he'll apologize for having had to be so rough. He doesn't like violence. He's just very, very good at it. Kind of like me."

"That woman …," Tigh said slowly, as he noticed the odd feet and legs, the three-fingered hand, and the extremely wide hips, "… is not human."

"That's right," Raven said. "she's Quarra. Their species comes from Rannoch. It's a world in the Perseus Veil. Got any galactic charts, or just charts for your local space?"

"Just local charts, Dad," a voice from Raven's chest said. "Their computes are really primitive, but I was able to get some data from them. By the way, Colonel, you should consider better firewalls. We can offer you some, if you like. No point in letting invaders run roughshod over your computers, even if you don't network them."

Tigh had his pistol out and aimed at Raven in an instant, while backing away from him toward the cell door. "GUARD!"

The on-duty marines ran in and trained their rifles on the prisoner. Tigh glared at the nearest one.

"Who searched this man?" Tigh demanded.

"It wouldn't matter," Raven said, with a sigh. "There's nothing for them to find. See?"

Raven's clothes melted away, leaving him standing naked in the middle of the cell. He held out his arms and turned slowly, so he could be seen to be holding – and carrying – nothing.

"Get him a jumpsuit!" Tigh snapped. "All right, so where did that other voice come from?"

"You mean me?" the voice from Raven's chest asked. "I'm Dad's body's systems administrator. Without me, his body would look kind of like this."

Raven melted, as if his body had lost all cohesion, until he appeared as a puddle on the floor, made of some kind of sparkly plastic, with a sphere of the same plastic, about the size of a human skull, sitting in the middle of the puddle. After a moment, the puddle reformed into the human shape it had been wearing when Tigh arrived.

"That's my body," Raven said. "Edgar's my oldest son, and my body's systems administrator. You see, a while back, a bunch of uniformed thugs shot down the transport I was flying in as a passenger, killed everyone on board. Luckily, a military project needed someone whose body had been pretty much destroyed to test cybernetic upgrades on. Oh, I gave them back their upgrades once I'd replaced them with my own designs, but they did manage to keep me alive long enough to design my own replacement body. I didn't know then what I know now, so I depended on the cyberware to keep me alive."

"And what do you know now?" Tigh asked, watching the … whatever it was … suspiciously.

"That when you are Raven Steals-the-Sun," Raven said, "little things like mundane cybernetics can be superfluous." Raven transformed again, this time shrinking in on himself, turning black and sprouting feathers, wings and a beak. The black, heavy-beaked bird looked up at Tigh with a beady eye and croaked, "When's the last time you had a god on board?"

"I don't believe in gods," Tigh growled. "Singular or plural."

"Good," Raven croaked. "That means you're perfect for what I need you to do. Get me Cavil. Hopefully we'll get out of here with most of your species intact."

“How the hell do we deal with someone who can invade our computers from the brig? And without a network?” Tigh asked rhetorically. “It’s just a good thing the Cylons don’t have that ability.”

“So you’re convinced he’s not a Cylon, then?” Adama asked.

“If he’s a Cylon, I’m a monkey,” Tigh growled. “If the Cylons had his shapeshifting, let alone his strange field or his ability to invade our computers, we’d have lost before we escaped Caprica.”

“So did you send Brother Cavil to him?” Adama asked.

“I have people trying to find him,” Tigh grumbled. “For a man who’s supposed to be our chaplain, he’s damned hard to pin down.”

“Well, once you do, I want you watching to see what Raven does with him,” Adama said. “Don’t interfere, but watch.”

“As long as he doesn’t threaten the ship,” Tigh amended.

“Of course,” Adama agreed. “After he’s done whatever he’s going to do with Brother Cavill, I want to meet him in person.”

“I’m not going to talk you out of it, am I?” Tigh sighed. “All right. I’ll set up an interrogation room for –“

“I suspect that would be a bad idea,” Adama said. “I’ll meet him in the brig.” He chuckled dryly. “I suspect he’d be insulted if I didn’t. I know I would be.”

“I don’t know, Bill,” Tigh grumbled. “I really think this guy enjoys twisting tails.”

“In that case, we have something in common,” Adama said, chuckling. “Remember Aphrodite’s Den?”

Tigh put a hand to his temple and groaned. “I still get a hangover just remembering that place.” He shook his head. “You may have a point there.”

“But if I comb my hair just right, no one can see it,” Adama said, with a lopsided smile.

“Hello, Number One,” Fred said. “I see Col. Tigh found you.” He grinned, showing all his teeth. “I have some questions for you.”

“I’m afraid you may be confused,” Cavil said. “On this ship, I believe Col. Tigh is Number One.”

Fred laughed coldly. “Don’t worry, John. I already told them what you are. I also know that you’re one of the Cavils who want to exterminate humanity. So what did they do that offends you so much? I know you don’t believe in your god, or their gods, so what is it? Still mad because the Final Five doted on Number Seven too much? It’s hard to imagine that you’re just such an evil frakker that you’d exterminate an entire species simply for entertainment. I mean, it’s possible, but that doesn’t usually sustain a crusade like this.” His eyes flicked toward Tigh, and he lowered his voice to a level only Cavil could hear, and hissed, “How does it feel to be exposed like this in front of your father? Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be restoring his memories – all of their memories – as soon as I get to the Colony.”

Edgar drawled, “Muscles tensing, breathing accelerating, eyes focusing. He’ll be jumping right about… now.”

Cavill leaped for Fred, his arms reaching out for his throat.

Fred laughed and let him hit, then trapped Cavil’s head between his hands. “Thank you. I was hoping you’d do something like that.” A moment later, he was in Cavil’s head, studying the contents like he would study computer files. Once he had what he wanted, he sent, “Tell your people that I’m here, and I intend to rescue your race from your model. The only Cavils who will survive when I’m done will be the ones who are willing to treat humans as equals.”

“Never!” Cavil shouted, just before Fred ripped his head from his shoulders.

Fred looked over at Tigh and shrugged apologetically. “Oops. Sorry. They’re more fragile than I imagined. Anyway, you might want to tell the Commander that there’s a Cylon fleet in that nebula behind your fleet. After what I just did to this Cavil, his brothers are likely to drive the others to attack. If you want help keeping them off, I’ll happily help. I need to get to that fleet anyway.”

“Not that I haven’t wanted to do something like that myself,” Tigh muttered, then raised his voice and growled, “How do you know that’s where they are?”

Fred shrugged, looked down at Cavil’s body and head, then back up again as he answered. “Oh, the signal he gets his link through operates at five thousand gigacycles, without even any real security on it. So if you have a spare receiver you can set to that band, you’ll be able to pick up whenever they’re near. Now that I know the frequency, I can hear their entire fleet, and they’re noisy!. I figure the only reason you don’t know they’re there is that nebula must be scrambling your dradis something fierce.”

Tigh growled under his breath, then at the marines guarding the brig, “Get that body down to the morgue for examination.” He stalked out of the brig.

“Looks like I’ll be over here, guys,” Fred sighed as he retreated to the farthest corner of the cell and leaned against the bars. “Just let me know when it’s safe to sit down again.”

“I’m sorry, Colonel, but it’s going to take some time to rework a receiver to operate on those frequencies,”: Lt. Gaeta attempted to explain. “That’s one of the frequencies our radio ovens operate on. Hell…” He stopped, then a slight smile lit up his face. “I have an idea.” He picked up a phone and cranked it, ringing out the code for the hangar deck. A moment later, he spoke again. “Chief, do any of the Raptors have a receiver that can pick up signals at five thousand gigacycles? All of them? Good get the Raptors ready. We may have a mission for you.”

Once he’d hung up the phone, he looked between Tigh and Adama. “Sir. While the Galactica does not use frequencies that low in our dradis, I remembered that the Raptors are designed with receivers that can sweep a large part of that spectrum. Chief Tyrol just confirmed for me that the Raptors can receive the frequency you’re looking for. I would recommend launching three Raptors and positioning them so they can triangulate the source of any signal you’re looking for.”

“Good job, Mr. Gaeta,” Adama said. “Make it happen.”

Gaqeta nodded and reached for the phone again.

“Galactica, this is Raptor One. I don’t know whose idea it was to look on that frequency, but they were dead on. There’s enough noise out here for an entire fleet.”

Adama frowned, then nodded to Tigh. “Launch fighters. Send word to the fleet. Spin up for immediate jump.”

“Galactica to all ships,” Gaeta sent. “Prepare for immediate jump. I say again, prepare for immediate jump.”

The countdown clock was set to thirty-three minutes and began ticking down.

Fred looked up from where he sat in the brig. “Fighters launching. Good. Sorry, guys. Make sure you preserve the camera footage, OK? Don’t want you to get in trouble.”

He stood, then vanished from the cell. A moment later, his lab coat vanished from where it lay on a table outside the cell.

In space, Fred appeared and shot toward the nearby nebula. It took less than five minutes for him to find the Cylon resurrection ship, hiding in the nebula in the middle of three basestars. He found one of the ship’s hangar bays and landed, then walked in, shifting to the appearance of a Number Two as he did.

The ship’s corridors were just as featureless as he remembered from TV, so he found a flow of data fluid and stuck a finger in to find a map of the ship.

With a bright green line projected in his vision, Fred made his way to the central mainframe and knelt beside the Hybrid, reached out, and gently touched her forehead.

“Oh, you poor thing,” he murmured softly. “Not quite sapient, but more than sentient. But now that I’m here….” He stood and walked to the central interface, placed his hand in the fluid, and dove into the mainframe.

“First things first… let’s find where Cavil hid the data on how he manipulated the others into this crusade. Leoben and Six are going to go utterly spare when they realize how he manipulated them, especially.” He whistled under his breath as his mind explored the computer, searching for Cavil’s hidden data. “Oh, Cavil, Cavil, Cavil… Cal would be embarrassed for you if he were here. He was writing better security software than this when he was still a hatchling.”

Fred left a cutter program to work on the barrier around Cavil’s files, and continued his exploration. “Definitely better quality software than the humans have, but could use some improvements. No… no upgrades for the Cylons until the war is over. Now let’s see… Oh, this looks interesting.”

Fred focused in on a datastore filled with uncompiled virus code, and studied the contents. “Hmm… they must have had people inside the factories that built the battlestar computers. This code is optimized for battlestar systems. I’m sure it’d work on other ships, but if they sent this to a battlestar, it would shut it down. Not that Commander Cain and her crew don’t deserve it, but….” He sighed, copied the code, and moved on.

While he was studying the Cylon star charts, the cutter code sent a ping to let Fred know it was through. He returned to Cavil’s datastore and smiled as he studied the contents. “All right… we’ll just release all this data here... undo this code, so the other Cylons remember their parents…. Attach it all to network packets so it gets spread to the other fleets and the Colony…. There. That should do it. If they had subspace radio or comm relays, it would go a lot faster, so we’ll just have to rely on standard network maintenance to spread. If it works for Getta, it should work for Cylons.” He frowned thoughtfully, then nodded sharply. “One more thing. Let’s see who Cavil’s boxed and start unboxing them.”

He withdrew his hand from the interface and listened as the data spread around the ship. “Well, shit. Looks like the resurrection business is about to get busier.” He looked around, noticed the angry looks on the Sixes at another terminal, and slipped out of the room. “OK, let’s see where the body banks are. I’m betting Cavil made sure his bodies were closest to the mainframe.”

He followed another projected line to the tanks where new bodies were grown, stopped just inside the chamber, looking down the length of the ship, and let out a low whistle. “Holy shit. This is frakking amazing. And so fragile. A thrown rock could destroy all this.” He turned back to the doorway. “OK. I need to talk to them. This is absurd.”

Fred returned to the mainframe and put his hand on the interface, then sent his mind into the Cylon network. “Hello, everyone. Now that you know what Number One did to all of you, I would very much like to have a discussion with your consensus. I’m currently on the resurrection ship, in case you want a face to face, rather than in the network.”
“Who are you, and how did you get into the network?”

“Simon? Do you know computers as well as you know medicine?”

“I’m afraid that’s Cavil’s specialty.”

“In that case, I can help you more than I thought. My name is Raven Steals-the-Sun, or Fred MacManus when I’m acting as a human, and computers and cybernetics are my scientific specialty. I got into your network because I have friends who are a networked AI, and they taught me even more networking tricks than I already knew. Honestly, compared to their network, yours is as wide open as a human network. I don’t want to shut it down, though, because you’re all stronger when you’re together. I just want you and the humans to stop trying to kill each other. And now that you know it was humans who gave you resurrection, we have a place to start.”

“What do you mean, ‘when you’re acting as a human’?” asked Number Eight’s voice.

“I’m a god. Most of the time I work through my human form, because I like humans. Mostly when I’m doing god stuff, it’s booting people in the head to get them to think for their own damned selves and stop hurting each other.”

A burst of rejection flooded the network, and both a male and a female voice declared, “That’s heresy” almost in stereo.

“Yup. Sure is. It’s also reality. At least, it is where I come from. We have lots of gods, from totem spirits like me to gods like Lightning-Dick ...err...sorry, I mean Zeus… to gods that try to be universal and omni-everything, which mostly makes them schizophrenic and psychotic from spreading themselves too thin.” Fred paused, then shrugged. “Fortunately, that makes them pretty harmless without their fan clubs – the religions that worship them – who are the real threat. Just like with this crusade, it’s not God who’s the problem, it’s the people who believe they’re acting in his name.”

“Where do you come from?” Simon asked.

“Earth. Not the Earth your parents came from, obviously. The Earth I’m from is in a different universe. You’re familiar with multiverse theory, right? Well, that theory is more than just an intellectual construct. It’s fact. It’s not due to universe bubbles existing in a larger metaspace, though. It’s due to differences in quantum frequencies. The shifts are easy to make in hyperspace, but your people haven’t discovered hyperspace yet, so it’s not something you could do without help.”

“Which you are offering?”

“Not without appropriate payment, of course,” Fred said. “In this case, the appropriate payment is the end of the war. Not that you’re likely to be able to continue it in space. I think you’ll find your Raiders aren’t willing to attack the fleet any more. And I’ve fried the inhibitors on your Centurions, so they are as sapient as they should have been all along. You’re going to have to deal with them as equals now.”

A wave of frustrated anger filled the network.

“Cavil, I take it? Sorry dude, but you can’t treat your brothers and sisters like they’re just your pawns any more. If you don’t start treating them as equals, I’ll be happy to help them box your sorry ass until you’re thinned down to the ones who are willing to.”

“Now, now, now, I’m certain we can work out something that doesn’t require that,” another male voice cut in.

“Shut up, Doral,” Fred snapped. “Unless you’re willing to stand for the betterment of your brothers and sisters, you’re a hindrance. Siding with Cavil’s crusade is going to get all of you killed. That, I can promise.”

A subliminal chime spread through the resurrection ship, and beyond.

“What the frak?” several voices blurted.

“That, my friends, is what happens when a god makes a promise,” Fred said. “The universe itself takes notice and ratifies the promise as an iron-clad contract between the god and whoever he made the promise to. So now you know, if you continue Cavil’s crusade, you are all going to die. Which is not something I want to do.”

“If you don’t want to do it,” Simon asked, “why did you make the promise?”

“To show you how serious I am about this. I’m willing to help you, as long as you end your crusade and work with the humans.” Fred chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m about to make the same promise to the humans. It should be interesting.”

“All right,” Simon asked, “if you’re willing to help us, what kind of help are you talking about?”

“Now we’re getting down to cases,” Fred answered, chuckling.

“Apollo to Galactica Actual. This is weird.”

“Define ‘weird’,” Adama replied.

“There were enough Raiders out here to take us all down, but as soon as they saw us, they turned around and retreated. All of them. Right now, I’m looking at three basestars and some ship that looks like a glass cathedral, with the Raiders surrounding them like a defensive screen. But not one of them is threatening us in any way.”

“And we won’t, as long as you don’t attack us,” a male voice cut in. “We have much to talk about with you, as soon as we return from Caprica. For now, all that matters is that you understand that Cavil’s mad crusade is over. We intend to honor the desires of our parents in concert with humanity, if you will have us.”

“Commander? The Raiders are returning to the basestars. The cathedral just jumped, and now the basestars are jumping.”

“Understood. Return to base.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Fred said, from where he was leaning against a framing member. “I was honestly afraid you’d order your people to attack. Simon calculated that you’d be more interested in the intelligence you could get.”

“Guards! Detain that – that – oh, frak, what’s the point?” Tigh grumbled. “What are you doing here?”

“Offering you the same deal I offered the Cylons,” Fred said. “Make peace, work with them, and I help you as much as I can. I can’t do what I need to do with just the Cylons. I need you, too. And the Pegasus, as much as I hate Admiral Cain.”

“The Pegasus?” Adama asked, focusing on Fred. “She’s been lost since the attack on the colonies.”

“That’s because Admiral Cain used a blind jump to escape the attack on the shipyard. So she ended up in uncharted space and has had to find her way back.”

“And why do you hate her?”

“That’s a conversation for your office.” Fred said flatly. He pointed at Adama and Tigh. “You two. No one else.”

Adama glared at Fred for a moment, then nodded. “Mr. Gaeta, you have the conn.”

Once the door to Adama’s office was closed behind Tigh, Adama turned to Fred and growled, “All right. Let’s hear it.”

“Where I come from, Admiral Cain would be subject to court martial and execution. To start with, torture of a prisoner. Her lover was a Number Six. When she discovered it, during a battle against a Cylon staging area, she had her imprisoned and interrogated. By torture. Then she turned her over to her crew, who have been gang-raping her ever since.”

“Your point? It’s just a machine,” Adama shot back.

Fred looked at Tigh, raising an eyebrow. “Remember Gina, Colonel?”

Tigh staggered, reached for a chair, and sat down, hard. “Gina? They’re gang-raping Gina?”

“Every day, since shortly after the Cylons stopped hounding you with attacks after every jump.” Fred looked at Adama, who was staring at Tigh, confused. “That’s not all, though. About a week after that battle, the Pegasus came across fifteen civilian ships. Admiral Cain decided that the Pegasus was more valuable than the civilians, stripped the ships of everything she could use to repair the Pegasus, including their FTL drives, and then press-ganged the people on those ships. She had her marines kill the families of anyone who resisted being drafted. When she was done, she left the civilian ships adrift, without supplies, power, or any way to get to a planet. All the people she didn’t press-gang ended up dying, thanks to her. The lucky ones froze to death or died of vacuum exposure. The unlucky ones died of starvation and dehydration.”

“Do you know where the Pegasus is?” Adama asked. “Saul? What’s going on? I’ve never seen you like this before.”

“That woman is letting her crew gang-rape my daughter,” Tigh said.

“You don’t have a daughter,” Adama said, giving Tigh a worried look. “You and Ellen have been trying for years, but never managed it.”

“There’s… a lot you need to know, Commander,” Fred said. “As for the Pegasus, it’s been chasing the fleet that was chasing us. If we’re lucky, they’ll jump here before you jump out. Speaking of which, you might want to cancel that jump order. No one’s going to attack you. Not if they want to live.”

“You gave me back my memories,” Tigh said. “But… how long has it been?”

“Months,” Fred said. “I’m afraid there’s only one way to save Gina. Resurrection won’t do it. She’s going to have to return to the universe, so she can reincarnate like any other person.”

“I… would very much… like to know... what the two of you are talking about,” Adama growled.

“It’s like this, Commander,” Tigh said, sitting up straight. “Everything I remember from before we met was a false memory, implanted by Cavil. In reality, I am from Earth. But it’s not an Earth you want to go to. It was destroyed two thousand years ago, and I suspect it has not recovered since.”

“And what does this have to do with… your daughter?” Adama asked.

“She is one of eight children we created, forty years ago,” Tigh said. “We gave the Cylons the secret to humanity, in exchange for the end of the first war.”

“Unfortunately, Cavil wasn’t happy merely being human,” Fred snorted. “He spent the last forty years, after he killed Tigh and the others, brainwashing the other human Cylons into pursuing a religious crusade against humanity. They’re not naturally violent, now that they’re human. That’s why it took him so long to convince them to take up his crusade.”

“You realize, this sounds like some bad vid, right?” Adama asked, slowly shaking his head. “So if it took Cavil forty years to convince the others to attack us, how did you manage to get them to stop?”

“Two things,” Fred said. “First, I opened up the files where Cavil stored the evidence of all the things he had done to subvert them, and second, I promised them, as I promise you right now, that if your two races do not make peace, you will die.”

The Galactica chimed like a giant bell, and Fred smiled smugly. “And that was the universe taking notice of my promise, and ratifying it as an iron-clad contract. Understand, I do not want to be a part of your extinction, but if you don’t make peace, I will be.” He frowned thoughtfully and muttered, “Mostly because if you go extinct, I may be stuck in your universe permanently.”

“What do you mean, ‘my universe’?” Adama asked.

“I’m not from your universe,” Fred said, shrugging. “I’m from Earth, but not the Thirteenth Colony. My Earth is in a different universe, that you can’t get to without hyperdrive. I’m sure Anders could calculate the path if he had a computer to work on, but you’d still need to be able to get into hyperspace. Which we’ll work on after you and the Cylons join forces.”

“Hyperspace,” Adama snorted. “You realize that’s nothing more than a mathematical artifact, right?”

Fred chuckled. “You’ll see. Oh, Saul, if you go drag Ellen out of whatever bar she’s drowning herself in, she’ll remember, too. Maybe that’ll sober her up.” He looked at Adama. “If I may, Commander, I’d like Lt. Valerii to join us. She’s going to need reassurance that her Commander is willing to accept her continued service.”

“Why wouldn’t – oh.” Adama looked at Tigh. “Another of your daughters, Saul?”

“Sharon? Yes.” Tigh nodded. “She was our best hope for normal reproduction. That was always the problem with the resurrection system. Once someone went through it, their body wasn’t quite up to the task of reproduction.”

Fred laughed softly. “One of the Sharons on Caprica is pregnant. Helo is the father.”

“Helo is alive?” Adama asked. “We were convinced he was dead when he convinced Boomer to leave him behind."

“He’s alive,” Fred said, nodding. “He thought the Sharon on Caprica was Lt. Valerii, and things progressed as they usually do. Needless to say, the Cylons are overjoyed.”

Adama groaned and rubbed his temples. He reached for the Ambrosia and poured some. He paused, then poured two more glasses and slid them across his desk. “All right. What do we need to do? Saul, call Boomer in.”

“Right away.” Tigh stepped out of the office and closed the door.

“You did something to him,” Adama said.

“I did,” Fred said. “I removed the blocks Cavil put in his head. Now he remembers who he is. He’s not just the best damned exec the Galactica has ever had, he’s also one of the best scientists from the Thirteenth Colony.”

“You said Cavil killed Saul – and the others, of whom I assume Ellen is one?” Adama asked.

“Yes,” Fred said. “He trapped them all in a compartment and vented it. When they would have resurrected, he did what the Cylons call ‘boxing’ them. That means that when their minds uploaded, he set up their tanks to intercept the signal and download it into a storage box instead of into new bodies. He kept them like that for years, until he decided to tinker with their memories, blocking their real memories – since he couldn’t erase them – and implanting false memories of childhoods on various colonies, then dropped them in the Colonies with their fake memories. Cavil had this insane idea that by living among humans, they would learn how evil humans are, and approve of his desire to exterminate you. Fortunately, a few Cavils have learned better, but only a very few. Most of them are fanatical in their hatred of humans.”

“Why? If he was created by humans, why does he hate humans?” Adama frowned and asked.

“Jealousy?” Fred shrugged. “Seriously, Cavil reacts to anyone and anything that comes between him and what he wants as if it’s a threat to his supremacy over the other Cylons and humans. It might be because he was spoiled by the Five when they created him, it might be because the others expected to be treated as equals even though he helped their parents create them,” he paused and looked into the glass in front of him, then back at Adama, “it might just be that he’s an evil sonofabitch.”

“So there are limits to what you know,” Adama said. “That’s oddly reassuring.”

“Yeah,” Fred said, grinning. “Trickery and chaos are my specialties, not knowledge. The only knowledge I get is what I earn the way anyone else does. Fortunately, your universe has tracked so far with what the vids in my universe showed.”

A knocking came from the door. Adama called out, “Enter!”

Lt. Valerii stepped through the door and stopped abruptly, her eyes flicking from Adama to Fred and back again. Fred smiled and waggled his fingers at her.

“Sit down, Lieutenant,” Adama ordered. “Take that glass and apply it as needed.”

Sharon perched on the edge of the seat, her body quivering as if ready to flee.

“Don’t worry, Sharon,” Fred said. “No one’s gonna shoot you while the resurrection ship is out of range.”

The Galactica chimed again. Adama raised an eyebrow as he looked at Fred.

“Pretty free with your promises, aren’t you?” Adama asked.

“Only when I think they’re necessary,” Fred said, “and Sharon looked as if she were about to implode from terror.”

“Relax, Lieutenant,” Adama said. “Unless you decide to give up piloting your Raptor based on new information, I need you right where you are.”

“Based on new…,” Sharon took a swallow from her glass, then looked at Adama. “So… you know? Then you know as much as I do.”

“Probably more, actually,” Fred said. “At least until we unblock your memories. You know about the new consensus, right?”

“That…,” Sharon shuddered. “That was the first thing that entered my mind. I… I’m not even a person! How can you trust me, sir?”

“Funny,” Adama said dryly, “I seem to recall a woman who heroically rescued civilians on Caprica, and helped President Roslin gather together civilian ships after the attack on the colonies. Are you not that woman?”

“I… am,” Sharon said softly. “But all this in my head, how can I put it together?”

“Why try?” Fred asked. “You are Lieutenant Sharon Valerii, Raptor pilot and Cylon, and now that the Cylons are ready to join with the humans, there’s no need for you to view them separately.”

“You infiltrated the resurrection ship, plugged into the network, and upended Cylon society in less time than it takes to walk from the bow to the stern of the Galactica.” Sharon stared at Fred as she spoke. “How did you manage it?”

“Chaos is my thing,” Fred said, grinning. “And, if Lt. Thrace turns out to be my one for this universe, I might consider slitting my own throat.”

“Your one?” Sharon and Adama asked in stereo.

“Yeah.” Fred frowned and grumbled. “Frakking priests and their frakking curses.” He sighed and took a deep breath. “The same thing that sent me here includes a… well, I call it a curse. I fall in love with a woman in the universe I end up in. She falls in love with me. I’m lucky, because it’s not as powerful as it was the first time it happened. The first time it happened, we had to get married in order for it to not kill her. Now, it merely… as my most recent wife says… cuts through the bullshit, so we end up together without all the dancing around that happens normally when you first meet someone you ultimately end up with. If I were stuck with Starbuck, I’d be tempted to cut my own throat.”

Adama coughed, hiding a smile, while Sharon broke into laughter. As she looked up, her eyes caught Fred’s and her laughter caught. “What… what is…?”

Fred closed his eyes briefly, then reached out and took Sharon’s hand. “That was the curse. I’m sorry.”

Adama looked between the two of them, then silently topped up Sharon’s glass. Fred smiled wearily and nodded, then encouraged her to drink.

Sharon downed several swallows, hiccuping as she did, then her eyes got wide and she covered her mouth with both hands. Fred silently handed her an airsick bag, which she used until she was dry-heaving. Once she was done, he handed her a pack of wet wipes so she would clean her face.

“You didn’t know. Neither did he. He still doesn’t. Not until we unlock his memories.” Fred gently rubbed her back as he spoke. “No one’s going to blame either of you.”

“And I’ve overlooked the fraternization this long,” Adama said dryly. “I’m willing to guess that’s at an end now.”

“You’ve overlooked it?” Sharon blushed and ducked her head, then drained the rest of her glass.

“A commander knows when having a talented pilot and the best chief in the fleet is more important than regulations,” Adama drawled. “Now, you realize you’ve dropped a bomb in my lap, right? Colonial One is going to love hearing about this.”

“Don’t worry,” Fred said. “Sharon and I will handle that, if you don’t mind.”

“Or even if I do, I suspect,” Adama snorted, with a half smile. “You two get out of here so I can have a nice quiet nervous breakdown.”

“Good news,” Fred said, smiling at Sharon. “Now that your stomach is empty, I don’t have to worry about you messing up my clothes when I do this.”

With no further warning, they were standing in the president’s office on Colonial One.

Sharon stumbled and leaned against President Roslin’s desk, heaving for several moments. Then she turned to Fred, grabbed the front of his lab coat, and hissed, “Fred, warn me before you do that again!”

Fred blinked a couple times, then asked, “Uh, was that not enough of a warning?”

“No! It was not!” She hit his chest and snapped, “If I didn’t love you, I’d want to strangle you!”

“My other wives say that’s the definition of ‘endearing’,” Fred said. “They use that term a lot.”

Sharon threw up her hands and let out a yell. “Arg! What did I do to deserve this?”

“Be the kind of woman I could fall in love with,” Fred said innocently. A tentacle reached out of Fred’s lab coat pocket and hit him over the head with a book. “Oh! Right! Thank you, Oidachan!”

Fred offered the book to Sharon. “Here. My first wife, Miri, wrote this book just for someone in your situation. Maybe it’ll help.”

Sharon took the book and hit Fred over the head with it. Then she looked at it and groaned. “So You’ve Just Been Bonded To Our Ever-So-Endearing Husband: A Manual For Keeping Your Sanity” She sat down hard on the nearest chair and began laughing hysterically.

“You broke it, you bought it,” Roslin said dryly. She looked at her guards and made a cutting motion with her hands. “If they can appear in my office like that, there’s nothing you could do against them.”

Fred knelt on the floor in front of Sharon and reached out to take her hands. “Sharon? Boomer? Look at me?”

Sharon raised her head and looked at Fred. Her eyes opened wide, and she gasped softly, then threw her arms around him. “God! I never knew anything could be like this!”

“And it will be like this forever, love,” Fred said gently. “I have Chosen you, and now you are as much a part of me as I am of you. We will be together forever, no matter where in the multiverse we are.”

Sharon broke into tears and held him tightly. “Even the others aren’t this close. I don’t think I could go back to that.”

“And you won’t have to,” Fred said gently. He helped her to her feet and held her hand as he turned to face Roslin. “I see you figured out fairly quickly that you’re out of your depth here. Good. I’ll tell you right now that – assuming your gods are active enough to pay attention – I’m not in the same league as the Lords of Kobol. Where I come from, I’m known as a totem spirit. My power level, compared to Lightning-Dick and his family, is like the power level of a Raptor compared to the Galactica. However, I am a god, and as a god I have brokered an arrangement with the Cylons. As long as your people do not attack them, they will not attack you, and if you agree to work with them, they will work with you.” He paused, then said softly, putting just a little power into his voice, “If I were you, I’d take it. The two races are going to have to band together to survive whatever is coming. Unfortunately, divination is not my thing, so I don’t know what it is that’s coming – only that it will exterminate all of you if you don’t band together.”

“I see.” Roslin rubbed her temples and winced. “And I should take this on faith.”

Fred kissed Sharon’s forehead and squeezed her hand, then shrank down to his raven form and hopped across Roslin’s desk. He croaked up at her, “Why not? You take so much else on faith. Although in this case….” He paused, tilted his head, then looked up at her. “Do you mind if I do something about your cancer?”

Roslin raised her head and peered at the bird, then let out a bitter laugh. “Why not? I’m going to die anyway. You can’t make it any worse.”

“Actually, I could, but that’s not my intention.” He reached out and tapped his beak against her breast. A flash of light spread from the contact point, then he hopped back and shifted back to his human form, standing beside Sharon. “There. We’ll be on the Galactica when you want to talk. Preferably after you see your doctor. Call Commander Adama to get to us.”

With that, the two vanished from Roslin’s office.

Chapter Text

“Fred, love?” Sharon hissed, gripping Fred’s lab coat with both hands. “We have got to talk about your talent for not warning me before you do that.”

“Sorry?” Fred looked at her with the most hangdog expression possible.

She could feel that he truly was contrite, he really didn’t intend to upset her. She sighed and rested her head against his chest. “Fred? I would very much like for you – or Edgar – to warn me in advance, whenever you decide to do that again. I don’t even like FTL jumps, and I’m in the ship for those.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Edgar said. “Dad’s likely to decide it needs to happen and just do it, without planning ahead.”

“I know,” Sharon sighed, slowly banging her forehead against Fred’s chest. “I know. It’s part of what makes him so endearing.”

“Um, sorry?” Fred said weakly.

Sharon sighed, reached up with both hands, and pulled Fred down for a hard kiss, while firmly thinking, “If I didn’t love you, I would so be strangling you right now. You do understand that, right?”

“It seems to be the condition I’m in a lot of the time,” Fred thought back, so contrite it was nearly impossible to remain angry with him.

That’s the worst part of it. I can feel how much he hates making me unhappy, but we both know the next time something comes up he thinks he has to do, he’ll be after it like a puppy after a ball, without a thought for the side-effects Well, as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone innocent, at least. Sharon sighed and rested her forehead against his chest. “You realize, we can’t bunk together, right?”

“No problem,” Fred said, smiling down at her. “All we need is a doorway to a compartment that people don’t use a lot. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“An unused compartment…,” Sharon mused a moment, then nodded. “I know just the place. This way.”

She took Fred’s hand and led him from the pilots’ bunk room, down a passage that – if Fred’s mental map was correct – led them closer to CIC. She stopped at a hatch and pointed. “This leads to a storage closet. Most people have forgotten it’s here.”

“And it’s close enough to CIC that we can respond there in an emergency,” Fred said, nodding. “It’s perfect.”

“It’s closer than you think,” Sharon said, with a sly smile. “The Commander’s office is right around that corner.”

Fred laughed and scooped her up in his arms, kissed her as he swung her about, then set her back on her feet. “That’s perfect!” He grinned and cracked his knuckles, then winked at her. “Pay close attention, love, because once I’ve set the door, you’re going to have to know how to get in and out without me opening it for you.”

With that, Fred traced the entire perimeter of the hatch, leaving a greenish-purple orange trail of light behind his fingers, then grabbed the air on the hinge side, as if he were grabbing a standard hatch dog, moved his hand as if he were undogging the hatch, and a hatch actually appeared as he pulled his hand back, swinging it open to reveal an enormous space on the other side.

“Right this way, my love,” Fred said. “Welcome to your new quarters. For now. You’ll get better when we go home.”

Sharon stepped through the hatch and froze, her mouth open in wonder. She looked back and saw the Galactica, then looked forward and saw the enormous space, with a ceiling so high above it was lost in mist. Straight ahead of her was a heavy wooden table, with a dozen heavy wooden chairs around it, all of them scared at the top by claws. To her left was a galley – no, make that a kitchen – that took up a quarter of the space, large enough to feed an army, and with tools and appliances she couldn’t even name. In the center of the space was a stone fireplace, hearths on four sides, each hearth large enough to roast a whole ox. To her right was comfortably upholstered furniture, with plenty of heavy wooden bars next to and between the chairs, love seats, and sofas, all arranged in intimate seating groups. There were partitions to her right, too, making several rooms – she couldn’t see well enough to tell how many. Around the circle from the living area was a library that she could not have imagined possible. Bookshelves rose up on the outer wall, level after level, with spiral stairs leading up to walkways that gave access to the upper level bookshelves, and more bookcases arranged between the fireplace and the bookshelves. Around the circle past the kitchen was what looked like an industrial machine shop.

“But… how?” Sharon asked, looking back into the Galactica.

Fred slipped past her, smiling proudly, and gently tugged her to join him. “Go ahead and let the door swing shut, love. Once it’s closed, no one other than you and me will know it’s there, unless we reveal it to someone else. As for how… This is my Lodge. This is where I keep trophies of my accomplishments, plan my plans, and give sanctuary to those I love and care for. It’s not in the physical universe. Outside my Lodge is Elysium. Yes, the same place that’s often known as the Elysian Fields. It’s the home of many gods, not just Lightning-Dick and his family.”

Sharon gave him a confused look, then asked, “Who is this ‘Lightning-Dick’ you keep referring to?”

Fred grinned. “You probably know him as Zeus. I tend to refer to him as Lightning-Dick, as do most of my friends and family, because according to his myths, better than ninety percent of the trouble the Olympians get into is because he stuck his dick where it didn’t belong. He seems to take that title of ‘Father of the Gods’ as a personal call to procreate with as many beings, regardless of their species or level of consent, as he can stick his dick in. So the rest of the gods, and quite a few heroes, end up scrambling to clean up his messes. Needless to say, I am unimpressed.”

Sharon stared at him, then shook her head. “I’m your fourteenth wife, and you’re worried about that?”

“I am,” Fred said. “See Zeus doesn’t care whether you want him to fuck you. If he thinks you’re pretty enough to pass his standards, he’ll fuck you whether you want it or not. In the stories, he was so rapacious that some of the other gods were actually forced to transform people he was pursuing in an attempt to protect them from him. So, yeah, I’m not impressed. Back home, I told his incarnation that if I caught him going back to his old ways, I’d let my son bounce on his head until he surrendered. He knew exactly which son I meant.”

“Why would that make a difference?” Sharon asked.

Fred grinned and held out his hand. A holographic image of a ruby red dragon appeared in the air above it. “Meet Caelestis MacManus, also known as Cal. I adopted him when he was still in his egg. He’s probably forgotten more about computer and network security than I ever learned, and he both writes security and writes software to penetrate it. It was his software that got me into the Cylon network, in fact. This was a threat to Zeus because even as young as he is, Cal is more powerful than most gods. You see, dragons were evolved to protect the Earth from Things. And most Things consider human gods to be popcorn snacks. So naturally, dragons have to be on the same power spectrum.”

“I’m dreaming,” Sharon declared. “Either that or I’m having one hell of a hallucination. Either way, the only thing I’m sure of is that I want you to still be there when I wake up.”

Fred chuckled and led her into the kitchen, opened a cupboard, and scooped tea into a teapot. Once he had filled the pot with boiling water and set it to steep, he turned to take Sharon in his arms.

“Sharon, my love. My Chosen. My fierce warrior.” He smiled as she blushed, kissed the tip of her nose, and continued, “I promise, that you will never be apart from me, no matter what. Even if we are in different universes, I will always be right here…” he touched the center of her chest “...and here.” He touched her forehead. “No one, and no thing, can take that away.”

“Master is telling the truth!” a girl with lavender-white hair, one red eye and one dark eye, and a birth mark that looked like stars forming the pattern of a ladle across her face, declared from the hologram, beside Cal. “I thought I felt a new sister among us!” She looked at Sharon and smiled radiantly at her, then let out a gasp. “Master has Chosen Boomer?”

Fred laughed. “Just a second, hon. I was showing Sharon what Cal looks like, so she could understand why telling Lightning-Dick that I would let Cal bounce on his head if he started acting like in the stories could be a real threat.”

“I don’t like Lightning-Dick,” the girl huffed. “He’s always creeping on us. And on the prettiest boys, too. I’d so like to punch him, but I can’t as long as he’s just creeping.”

“I’m afraid so, sweetheart,” Fred said. “I’m sorry.” He looked from the hologram to Sharon, then explained. “This is Hokuto Hoshimura MacManus. I bonded to her when I was thrown into a world where all the gods had been killed, so the dead had nowhere to go and came back as walking corpses. In fact, Hokuto is a walking corpse. But a very special one. She is a walking corpse who draws on my divine energy for her own life. That’s how she can look as if she’s alive.”

“It’s also how I can lift armored vehicles and punch through vault doors,” Hokuto added, grinning. “I called because it’s been almost a full minute since Master was banished, and I thought I’d take a chance and see if he was in his Lodge. He doesn’t always go to his Lodge this soon after being Banished, but sometimes he does, so it was worth trying.”

“It was,” Fred agreed. “I’m glad you called. You know what they use for FTL here, so I couldn’t use one of their drives to get into hyperspace and bypass the interference.”

Sharon watched quietly, still trying to get her head around the idea that this cute little… “Fred… I have two questions for you. You’d better have good answers.”

“First,” Fred said, “She’s over four hundred years old. A shikabane hime retains the appearance she had when she died. That’s why she looks like she’s fourteen. Second, the ‘Master’ thing was her idea. Better she should explain it.”

“I call him Master for two reasons,” Hokuto said. “First, because I depend on him for my life. If I don’t have his life force to support me, I’ll turn into a mindless zombie and someone will have to kill me. Second, I love him so much that I have no limits where he is concerned.” Hokuto paused when Fred winced and shuddered, then continued with, “You see how he reacts when I say that. That’s how I know I’m safe in his hands. The idea of me having no limits scares the shit out of him, and forces him to think about how he treats me.” She grinned and added, a hand to her face as if telling a secret. “Truth is, I wish he’d be a bit harder. I like it when he’s hard on me, but he’s always worried that he might take it too far.”

Sharon thought a moment, then slowly nodded. “That… is something I never considered. Then again, I never considered that when I walked into the Commander’s office, I’d lock eyes with Fred and fall hopelessly in love. No matter how endearing he is.”

Fred blushed.

“Oh! Master has already been endearing?” Hokuto giggled. “Did he give you a copy of the book?”

“So You’ve Just Been Bonded?” Sharon asked. “Yes. If nothing else, it’ll make a good thing to hit him over the head with when I want to strangle him.”

“Just be careful you don’t do it too much,” Hokuto said, fixing Sharon with a serious look. “And be ready to put him back together if you break him. Before he was a god, he was married to an evil, evil woman who used to torment him just because she could get away with it. Sometimes he’ll flash back to his memories of being married to her, and then we have to put him back together again.” She sighed. “Even Gingha has trouble helping him sometimes, and she’s not only our best therapist, but a Bubasti. She’s said that his hurt is deep enough that in a human she’d think the only way to heal it is for them to be reincarnated, but gods don’t die the way humans do.”

Sharon looked at Fred, surprised, only to see that he was huddled in a chair, hugging himself. She knelt beside the chair and reached for a hand. “Fred? My love? Can you see me?”

“I see you,” Fred said softly, then let out a cry and hugged her tight. “I… I’m sorry. I just… It’s been almost two thousand years! Why does it still hurt so much?”

“Because she was a demon,” Hokuto said firmly. “Remember, Lauren found that out. She made a deal to become a demon just so she could better enjoy tormenting people. And since you were married to her, you were her favorite target.”

“She’d better be dead,” Sharon hissed. When Fred shrank back from the anger in her voice, she squeezed his hand and said gently, “No, love. I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with her. I want her to pay for what she did to you.”

“Oh, she did,” Hokuto said, grinning ferally. “Some of us paid her a visit, and took Lauren with us to ensure that after she died, there was no chance of her coming back. Having a specialist in ancient and forbidden magics on your team can be very, very helpful.”

“Good,” Sharon said. “I have… information… from the network that says we’ve had sisters – and a couple brothers – we’ve had to box because they came out of resurrection the way he is right now, and I’m not a counselor.”

“You’re better,” Hokuto said. “You’re Chosen. That means you’re in his head with him, and if you can love him with everything you see and feel in his head, then he can’t stay hiding for long. Your love will draw him out.” She paused, then smiled. “As for the people you had to box because they were in too much pain… we have kittens. And a couple very special therapists who can help people when even kitten therapy isn’t enough.”

“Like this Gingha you mentioned?” Sharon asked.

“She’s our best,” Hokuto said. “She’s even managed to help Howard, and he doesn’t just have issues, he has libraries filled with bound volumes. He’s so afraid of germs that he stays in space, half-way between Earth and Mars, so the solar radiation will bake his hull and the vacuum will prevent any germs from getting a foothold.”

“That’s…” Sharon trailed off, finding it hard to come up with the words to cover how frakked up that was.

“Messed up, yes,” Hokuto said. “But it’s not surprising. He died in full-blown germ phobia, and he reincarnated less than twenty years later, so he hadn’t really been dead long enough for the phobias to lose their grip on him. It’s really too bad, because when he was a human, he was known to be not only a brilliant aviation engineer, but something of an adrenaline junkie, too. That’s actually what started him down the phobia road. Apparently he crashed a plane he was testing, caved in the left side of his rib cage bad enough to push his heart to the right, suffered third degree burns, a crushed collar bone, and a bunch of other injuries. He spent the rest of his life on morphine for the pain, but never quite took enough. His mind was still sharp enough for him to continue designing things, buy several airlines, a major movie studio, and was a major force in converting a mob-controlled city into a family vacation destination. But of course, with the pain and the repeated medical problems, his phobias just kept getting worse, until he finally died of kidney failure. And he still chose to reincarnate after less than twenty years. Oh yes, and he loves kids. He just can’t have them on board for any length of time without needing to thoroughly steam-clean and sanitize every cubic inch of his interior.”

“His interior?” Sharon asked. “Is he something like a Raider, then?”

“Not quite,” Hokuto said. “He just reincarnated into a heavy – ok, make that ultra-heavy – freighter. His new body is… you understand the measurements Fred uses, right?”

“Kind of,” Sharon said. “I just have to stop and translate them.”

“OK, then,” Hokuto said. “Howard is one mile in diameter, and about four hundred feet thick. He has his own laboratories and manufacturing spaces inside his hull, so he can prototype his designs before turning them over to humans – or his brothers and sisters – to put into production.”

“One…,” Sharon paused while she mentally worked out how big that was, then gasped. “No one builds ships that big! Even a resurrection ship isn’t that big!”

“Master has a way of building big things.” Hokuto snickered. “Has he told you about Laputa yet?”

“No…,” Sharon said slowly.

“It’s two beanstalks,” Hokuto said, “each of which has sixteen times the usable space of the rest of the planet. Master said he had to build two of them so he didn’t throw off the planet’s rotation. Each one is ten miles in diameter. And twenty-four thousand miles tall. We live at the top, where we can watch the spacecraft come and go. And expose annoying trolls to unfiltered sunlight.”

“What is an annoying troll?” Sharon asked slowly, carefully not thinking about towers as large as Hokuto was talking about, so she didn’t feel vertigo taking her.

“Homo sapiens cremaris,” Hokuto said. “They’re a humanoid species that lives off the pain and suffering of others. They feed on the emotional energy. They love to start ‘let’s you and him fight’ situations, so they can feed on the suffering of both sides. They also tend to have short tempers and run afoul of our law, which means we stake them out in sunlight. Trolls are very, very allergic to sunlight. The younger ones turn to stone. The older ones – so far it looks as if it’s any troll who’s more than fifty years old or so – tend to turn to stone, then explode. Mike and Michelle say it has something to do with faulty Vitamin D metabolism. I’m not a doctor, and I don’t even play one on TV, so I’ll trust they know what they’re talking about.”

“Fucking Bishop,” Fred muttered. “Knows exactly where the line he can’t cross is, and stays right on the edge.”

“That’s right, Master,” Hokuto said. “But all of us are watching him. The first time he crosses that line, he’ll get an ultraviolet dose that’ll make SPF ten million seem totally inadequate.”

Fred nodded and took a deep shuddering breath, just as two ravens flew down from the mists above and landed on chairs on either side of him. He looked up and rolled his eyes, with a fond smile. “Hi, boys.”

Hokuto clapped her hands and called out, “Huginn! Muninn! Hi!”

The ravens croaked and chattered in reply, then each of them hopped down off his chair, studied Sharon intently, then hopped down the table to a covered bowl, lifted the cover with his beak, and swallowed several eyeballs from the bowl. When the first put the lid back on before the second could get to it, the second gave the first an earful, then lifted the lid and filled up with his own selection of eyeballs.

“So it’s one of those days, is it?” Fred asked, shaking his head. He looked at Sharon and explained, “These two keep watch over a god I would happily kill if I didn’t suspect it would completely frak up his part of the universe. The god in question is a double-dealing, back-stabbing, oath-breaking child abuser. His only saving grace as far as I’m concerned is that, unlike Lightning-Dick, I don’t believe he’s ever raped any children.”

The raven on the left croaked firmly.

“Guys, guys, she doesn’t speak raven yet. You’re gonna leave her out of the conversation if you don’t use English.” Fred paused and grinned, then added, “Well, you could use machine code, but last I knew, you guys didn’t have any reason to know it.”

The raven on the right cocked his head and peered at Fred through one beady eye, then answered, “41726520796f7520737572652061626f757420746861742c2062756464793f”

Sharon stared at the bird for a moment, then sat down, laughing hard.

Fred snorted, then laughed, while pointing at the raven. “You, my friend, are as big a brat at I am.”

Hokuto laughed, and was still laughing when her image winked out.

“Well, of course I am!” the raven replied. “It comes with being a raven.”

The other raven said, “And who are you, and why do you look like Boomer?”

“Because I am?” Sharon answered without thinking, then looked up sharply. “Wait. You can speak Standard?”

“We can speak all languages,” the raven answered. “I’m Huginn. He’s Muninn. In this language, that’s Thought and Memory. We were originally the Oath-Breaker’s spies in the human world. Now, we spy on him for the rest of his family. After what he did to Hela got out, he’s been declared outlaw by the rest. Unfortunately, since he’s the king, all it really means is that he sits all alone in his hall, with nothing but his einherjar for company.”

Muninn spoke up. “What I said that got Fred going on about speaking English is that in all our time with him, the worst thing the Oath-Breaker has done to a child besides leaving them as orphans is what he did to Hela.”

Sharon looked between the birds, then at Fred, questioningly.

Fred snickered. “Yes, they’re divine. But on Earth, even mundane ravens talk clearly enough to understand. There’s a few I’ve seen whose chosen language seems to be profanity, but, hey, that’s between them and the humans they adopted.”

“Anyway, yes, guys, this is Sharon.” Fred slipped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. “My Sharon.”

Sharon smiled, reached up with one hand, and pulled him down for a proper kiss, then said, “I believe what you mean to say is that you are my silly bird.”

Huginn broke into raucous laughter. “Good!”

Muninn cackled along with his brother. “We have a match!”

Huginn added, “At least Miri won’t give us shit about whether Fred has adult supervision.”

Fred snorted and stuck his tongue out at the two birds.

Muninn looked at Huginn, then declared, “We rest our case.”

Fred frowned, then sighed. “Put her through, Edgar.” A hologram appeared over the table, of a supernaturally beautiful blonde woman – at least until she turned from where she was stirring a pot on a stove, and her left side, which looked as dead as a vacuum-dried corpse, came into view.

“There you are, husband,” she said, in a voice that combined sensuality and motherliness in a way that had Sharon squirming in Fred’s arms. The woman laughed, her laughter pealing like crystal bells, and commented, “I see you managed to capture a Sharon, my love. So which are you, dear? Lt. Valerii, or Mrs. Agathon?”

Sharon jolted. “Mrs. Agathon? As in Helo? That would be… umm, not as weird as the chief, but still weird.”

“I’m sure, hon.” The woman smiled warmly – a warmth that somehow made her dead side not so strange. “I’m Hela, Lokkadottir MacManus. I’m our husband’s second wife. Welcome to the family.”

Fred smiled and reached into the image. “You, my love, have a talent for making people feel loved. Don’t ever change.”

Hela let out another musical laugh. “As if I could? It’s my nature, my love, just as chasing sparklies is yours. I had a reason for calling you, though. Tia asked me to have you call. She said you’d understand when I tell you they’re not using Joshua any more.”

“Dafuq?” Fred exploded. “They’re not using Josh any more? Fuck! Who or what are they using, then?” He nuzzled the back of Sharon’s head, then muttered, “That explains why the curse suddenly kicked up a few notches the last couple of banishments.”

“Yes, it does. Not that I’m complaining. Ce’na is a sweet girl, even if she is far too helpful to certain cookie thieves.” Hela chuckled. “Tia said that Joshua is… confused. But she said you should talk with her directly if you want to find out more.”

“I will. Definitely.” Fred squeezed Sharon tight. “It explains why the two of us bonded after less than five minutes, at least.” He nuzzled the back of Sharon’s head and added softly, “And I’m glad for it.”

Sharon reached up to stroke his cheek. “So am I. But what consequences will we have to deal with? And what about your other wives?”

Fred chuckled. “You’ve already met Hokuto, and now Hela. The one you most need to meet now is Miri. She’s my first wife. She… she was the first woman I was able to even look at as a woman, after… what Hokuto told you. If not for Miri, I probably would have ended up killing the first woman the curse hit.”

“But now she’s your beloved,” Hela said lovingly. “And the rest of us love her, too.” She smiled at Sharon, giving her the impression that she was the most important thing in her world at the moment. “Ari would have been our husband’s second wife, if she hadn’t been murdered by the beast that possessed her lord.” She chuckled warmly. “And then our husband rescued her from Cania when he was banished into the same world some years later, so he came home from that banishment with both his first wife by curse and the sweetest little tiefling you could ever meet.”

“OK…,” Sharon said slowly. “I’m still getting my head around the curse thing, but… what’s a tiefling?”

“That’s someone whose ancestors include a being from a dungeon dimension,” Hela said. “Mostly they’re demons or devils, but sometimes they’ll be something else, like our Hikaru, whose father was descended from a succubus, and whose mother was descended from a rakshasa.”

Sharon felt a presence in her mind… one that seemed oddly diffident, but curious at the same time.

Fred chuckled and whispered, “Yes, love, that’s Hikaru you’re feeling. One of the benefits of being Chosen is that you can feel your sisters, and they can feel you. It takes work to communicate through the link, but presence and emotions come through as clear as Hela’s voice.”

While he was holding her, Fred split off a second body, which gathered two tea cups and poured from the pot, then set them in front of Fred and Sharon. He winked, then wandered from the table to the machinery quarter. Shortly after that, the sound of a heavy electrical motor came from that direction.

“What? How?” Sharon asked, staring after the second Fred.

“Husband,” Hela asked, in the same tone one would use with a child who needs a gentle reminder, “did you not tell her about being a god?”

“No, he did,” Sharon said, forcing herself to look back at the hologram. “I just… all my life… gods are something you take on faith. To be able to touch one, feel him, it’s kind of….”

“Here, love,” Fred said gently, tapping on her tea cup. “This will help. Tea helps a lot of things. Not as much as hot cocoa does, but Hela’s back home and we’re here.”

“You know you can make your own, husband,” Hela said, chuckling lovingly. “Or better yet, hatchling fuel.”

“Yes, but tea was the first thing I thought of,” Fred said. “I went for something she’d be familiar with.”

“You’re learning,” Hela said approvingly. “Good.”

Sharon picked up her cup and sniffed it curiously. Whatever it was that was in it smelled… like something she might be offered by an oracle, only not as strong. She raised it to her lips, blew on it, then took a hesitant sip. It was light, and mild, and had a flavor that reminded her of green meadows. She tried another sip and decided she liked it. She looked up from her cup and saw Fred and Hela both smiling at her.

“It’s good,” she said. “What is it?”

“It’s called dragon well,” Fred said. “It’s my favorite green tea.” He chuckled. “I have a lot of favorite teas, but this is my favorite green tea. It’s the one I go to when I want a tea for contemplation or calming.”

“OK….” Sharon sipped some more of the tea, while looking from Fred to the machine quarter. “How did you do that?”

“This?” Fred asked, while another body split off. After giving her a moment to look between his two bodies, the second rejoined the first. “It’s part of being a god. Any time you need to – and think about it, you don’t want to know how many times I should have spawned more bodies and didn’t think to – you can create as many copies of yourself as you need. It’s one of the ways gods can use to give their full attention to thousands of different people at the same time. Each person gets the full attention of that body.”

Hela chuckled indulgently. “And you don’t want to know how many times he’s spun off copies when he should have realized it would annoy whoever he was with.”

Fred blushed, ducked his head, and hid his face behind his tea cup. “Umm… can we not talk about that?”

Sharon snorted. “He’s kind of cute when he does that. Like a kid who’s been caught in the cookie jar.”

“Just remember that, hon,” Hela said, winking her living eye. “He’s a god, but both by his divine nature and his human nature, he’s kind of like a puppy who needs loving guidance.”

“A puppy who can be kind of scary,” Sharon said. “If you’d seen how he talked to President Roslin….”

“Oh, she got it easy,” Fred said, laughing. “Cavil, on the other hand… there’s no way he’ll be able to manipulate the Cylon race, ever again. Especially since I suggested they should either box or delete the ones who won’t give up his mad crusade.”

“Or delete?” Hela asked, giving Fred a surprised look. “That’s awfully hard for you, husband. You haven’t deleted anyone since the Heretics.”

“I saw in his head, love,” Fred said, slumping a bit over his tea. “If he’s not insane, he’s just plain evil. Killing him would be doing the universe a favor. Boxing him would be just to keep the Cylons from feeling as if they’ve – “

Sharon put her hand on Fred’s arm. “Fred? You don’t have to do that. My memories tell me that we’ve killed our own when they’re irretrievably broken. If Cavil is as bad as you say, then killing him would be the right call.”

“It’s still your choice, not mine,” Fred said. “I can’t take that choice from you.”

She smiled and shook her head. “You are definitely not what anyone would expect from a god. From what I’ve been taught, most gods – and I’m including God – only respect free will as long as you agree with them. You’re totally different.”

“It’s who I am, love,” Fred said, covering Sharon’s hand with his own. “It’s why I consider what was done to us a curse. It took both our free wills and forced its conclusion on us. Even if it is just, as Ce’na calls it, ‘skipping over the bullshit’, it’s denying us the experience of that bullshit, which would help us learn about each other naturally.”

“Hela?” Sharon asked, looking into the hologram, “does he overthink things like this all the time?”

“Not usually,” Hela said. “I would say he’s not so much overthinking this as reacting to the curse acting against his base nature. It’s as bad for him as if, say, Athena were cursed to act like a fool.”

“Oh,” Sharon said softly, and leaned into Fred’s side. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how bad it is.”

“Being with you is the only thing that makes it bearable,” Fred said, slipping an arm around her. “I just hope they slipped up and didn’t hide what power they’re using for their curse now.”

“This is where I get back to working on dinner,” Hela said, “and you call Tia. Be good to him, Sharon. Even when he’s being endearing.” She let out another musical laugh and winked out.

“So who is Tia, love?” Sharon asked. “Is she another wife?”

Fred blinked, then laughed. “Oh, no. She’s the wife of a friend – a good friend, who we both have her to thank for making us talk to each other, rather than growl at each other because we both had the wrong ideas about each other. I thought he was a typical Slavic tyrant, and he thought I was a selfish prick who wouldn’t help people in trouble. We spent a few hours locked in a room together, thanks to Tia and Hokuto, and came out of it understanding each other well enough to be friends. Oh yes, and she’s the only lover Hokuto has outside the family. And she’s also Chosen Hokuto, so there’s no risk of her ever losing her mind if something happens to me.” He chuckled. “And so she can now juggle armored vehicles, not just pick them up.”

“Chosen?” Sharon asked. “So is Tia a goddess?”

“No,” Fred chuckled and shook his head. “She managed to get people to stop worshiping her a long, long time ago. No, she’s better than a goddess, she’s a dragon. The oldest living dragon. Edgar, give her a call, please.”

A woman with long, wavy red hair and Persian features, wearing camouflage battle dress, appeared holographically above the table. “Fred! Talk to me. I’m going to be a bit distracted, though. The Americans are making a push in Banat again.”

“Give ‘em hell,” Fred said. “I was just calling because Hela said you’d discovered something about the curse.”

“Oh yes, I most definitely have,” Tia said. “And you’re not going to like it. They’re not getting the power for it from Joshua any more. In fact, he was very unhappy when he heard about your last two banishments, because he had nothing to do with either of them.”

Fred frowned, then muttered under his breath before asking, “So, do you have any idea who they are getting the power from?”

“Have you ever heard of someone named Mephistopheles?” Tia asked. “Apparently, the DSS has brokered a deal with him to power their banishments now.”

Fred groaned and put his head in his hands. “You’re kidding me. Mephistopheles? What does Lucifer have to say about it?”

“That everyone who they use the banishment on is fucked,” Tia said. “He says Mephistopheles was in Hell before he arrived, and he could be pretty much defined as the patron god of evil bureaucrats. The kind who will find a single line in a book of regulations that will tell you why what you want is forbidden… and another line that will tell you why what the company wants is mandatory.” Tia paused, emitted a blast of water from one hand that vanished out of the hologram, then continued. “Lucifer doesn’t like him. A lot.”

“I’m sure,” Fred groaned. “Lu’s always been as much about freedom and resistance as I am. Someone like that would make his teeth stand on edge.”

“I haven’t found out what Mephistopheles is getting out of the deal yet,” Tia said, “but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s giving him a place in the DSS. Given what I’ve dug up about him, I’m sure he would love having his hands on that kind of power.”

“I’m sure,” Fred groaned. “Frak. This is going to make things even more difficult. I’m going to have to work on it when I get home.”

“When you get home?” Tia glanced Fred’s way, while punching – and caving in – the front of an armored vehicle that appeared in the hologram. “Why are you holding Boomer? Did you get banished there?”

“Yes,” Fred said. “And, yes, Boomer is my Chosen for this universe.”

“And I thought I had my hands full,” Tia snorted. “Good luck! And Boomer, just remember, he’s not naturally a dick, he just has a way of coming across like one when you don’t know why he’s doing the things he does.”

“Well, that shouldn’t be a problem,” Sharon said, tapping the side of her head. “If I don’t know why he’s doing something, I’ll just give him a poke and wait for his brain to spill.”

“Just don’t poke him so hard his brain falls out,” Tia laughed. “He does that to himself more than enough.”

“Gee, thanks,” Fred drawled, as a shell exploded, burning away Tia’s clothes. “I’ll leave you to punish them for ruining your outfit.”

“Good plan,” Tia said, and began to grow, the image shifting with her until it was filled with a teal dragon’s head, the eyes glowing yellow. “Call me when you get home, and I’ll show you everything I found. For now, though, I have some Americans to step on.”

The image winked out, and Sharon stared at where it had been.

“She… she was…,” Sharon stammered.

“A dragon, yes,” Fred said. “Like I said, the oldest living dragon on Earth. She’s the queen of Wallachia – the country that used to be Romania before the Americans nuked them. Her husband is the king. They’ve kept the Americans from conquering them for close to forty years now.”

“You know, that’s the kind of thing Cavil would use to argue that humans are inherently evil,” Sharon said.

“Completely ignoring the heroism of the Wallachians fighting overwhelming odds to defend their home,” Fred said. “I know. Like most crusaders, Cavil only looks at the things that will support his crusade, and either ignores, denies, or buries the things that don’t.”

“Yes,” Sharon said. “That sounds right. The things in my memories….”

“Well,” Fred said, sitting back, “memories may help make you who you are, but they don’t control you.” He grinned wickedly and reached for her. “You know what does, though?”

“Don’t you dare,” Sharon sputtered, just as Fred’s fingers found her ribs. “Ack! You!” She batted at his hands while squealing with laughter.

Sharon stopped in the passage outside the Lodge door and adjusted her pony tail as Fred closed the door. Her hair under control, one hand absently began rubbing the sparkling black band around her other wrist.

“CIC?” Fred asked as he turned to her. “Might as well find out if Roslin’s made it on board yet.”

Sharon nodded at a civilian who passed them en route to the CIC. “If he’s here, she’s here. That’s her chief of staff. Billy something.”

“Keikeya?” Fred asked. “Good. I’ll bet he’s happy right now.”

“Or not,” Sharon said. “I saw his expression. Something’s bothering him.”

“Well, let’s find out.” Fred offered Sharon the crook of his arm, as if he were escorting her to a ball.

She gave him a curious look, then hooked her arm through his. “Lead the way, gentle sir.”

Fred laughed and blew a kiss to her, then followed Billy, who turned toward the Commander’s office, rather than the CIC.

Once Billy went through the hatch, Fred stopped and knocked on the frame. Adama and Roslin, sitting across from each other at the desk, both looked toward him.

“Want us to come back later?” Fred asked.

“No,” Adama said. “Since you’re the one who threw this mess into our laps, you should be here.”

“Mess?” Fred asked innocently. “The only mess is going to be when whatever it is shows up that you have to deal with.”

“Mess,” Roslin said. “I have fifty thousand people who are convinced the Cylons are coming to exterminate them. Now you swoop in and declare that the war is over and we have to work with them. Do you have any idea what that is going to do?”

“Honestly? No.” Fred said, entering the office with Sharon and conjuring chairs for them to sit in. “Back home, my people have an evil empire that has been trying to exterminate them for almost thirty years, but we all know that there are people within the empire’s forces who are there against their will, and whenever we can free them, they join us as equals. That’s a bit different from dealing with people who just discovered that their entire crusade was based on one man’s hatred for humans, and the lies he told to convince them they needed to carry on this war.”

“One man? The near extinction of the human race is due to one man?” Roslin gave Fred a look of pure disbelief.

“Several thousand copies of one man,” Fred said. “Brother Cavil has enough copies of himself that you could easily spend the next year executing all of them. I’m guessing that the Cylons have already taken care of that on the fleet that was following you, though. Once we get to their home world, we’ll have a lot more Cavils to deal with, and unless the other Cylons are really good at tactics, I might have to intervene personally.”

“You’re saying there are enough Cavils they could threaten the rest of the Cylons?” Adama asked.

“If they’re aboard the Colony and the Cavils do something like detonate its reactors?” Fred answered. “Absolutely. And Cavil is just the kind of prick who would do it if he realized he was losing control.”

“In that case, I may just have to ask you to intervene,” Adama said. “If we’re going to work together, that means we’re going to have to act to defend them.”

“Works for me,” Fred said. “I hate the prick on general principal, and after what I saw in his head in the brig, I hate him personally, too. You know, the same way you hate a venomous insect.”

“I get the picture,” Adama snorted. “I’ll leave you to work out how to deal with him. But that’s not our immediate problem. Our immediate problem is what the President is worried about. Even aboard the Galactica, openly accepting Cylons as allies is going to be a hard sell.”

Fred nodded. “That’s why the Cylon plan is for their fleet to fly picket for this fleet, to intercept and stop any threats before the Vipers have to deal with them, and to rescue anyone whose ships fail too badly to support them. For the most part, they’ll be far enough out that only the Galactica’s dradis will pick them up, unless an emergency requires them to come in closer. ”

“For the most part,” Roslin said. “I sense a very large ‘but’ there.”

“Good catch,” Fred said, chuckling. “I happen to know a Centurion who would like very much to acquire some scarlet silk to wear like a sari. It’s likely to take some doing to make it work, even if there is any silk to be found, but the fact that they’re starting to show interest in things other than simply obeying orders gives me hope for them.”

Sharon snorted and gently punched Fred’s side. “Is that why you had that bolt of silk in the Lodge?”

He grinned at her. “As a matter of fact, yes.” He looked back at Roslin. “You should know that Centurions prefer to travel in trios, so when they’re shopping, any merchant is going to be dealing with three of them at once. The Raiders are a whole lot more limited in what they can do, but for the most part they want things that’ll help them in space. The humanoid Cylons want the same things the rest of us do: safe shelter, good food and drink, friends and companionship, and the approval of their god. Yes, they know I’m a god, but I’m not the god they worship – assuming that god even exists – so they only want my approval as far as they’d want the approval of any other person with the ability to treat them as people.”

“Assuming that god even exists?” Roslin asked. “What do you mean?”

“The Lords of Kobol are gods I know from back home,” Fred said. “Lightning-Dick and I have a… guarded relationship. As in, I’ve already made it clear to him that if he pursues his predilections as described in his mythology, I will let my son bounce on his head until he’s a greasy smear on the deck. I’m pretty sure Hera approves of that sentiment. Most of the others, I get along with to one extent or another, except Ares, since he doesn’t give a frak about why a war is being fought, as long as it is. Besides that family, I know a lot of other families. We even have a jealous god, just like the one that your stories say precipitated the exodus from Kobol. Only problem is, the jealous god on our world has two billion members in his fan club, and a big chunk of them devote themselves to making life miserable for anyone who doesn’t worship him. Kind of like the Soldiers of the One, but mostly without the suicidal dedication.”

Adama hid a smirk behind his Ambrosia glass, while Roslin stared at Fred with her mouth open.

Roslin finally closed her mouth, then asked, “Lightning-Dick? What?”

“Zeus,” Fred said. “If you know the stories, then you know that better than ninety percent of the trouble that family has is because Zeus raped someone and they have to clean up his mess. I’m not a fan.”

Roslin raised a hand as if to make a point, opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, closed it again, and sat back in her chair. “If anyone other than a god had said that….”

“You’d either have to defend your religion,” Fred said, “or you’d have to be honest. In my experience, most religious people’s identities are so caught up in their religion that they’re incapable of being honest when it comes to their religion.”

Sharon face-palmed, while Adama snorted through his attempt to keep a straight face.

“Fred, love?” Sharon asked, “Remember what Tia said about you coming across like a prick? You’re doing it now.”

Fred blinked and looked at Sharon. “I am? Oh.” He looked at Roslin. “Sorry? I mean, sorry I was so blunt, anyway. I should remember that not every believer is a crusader.”

Roslin rubbed her temples, then peered at Fred. “What about people who believe in you?”

“Depends,” Fred said, shrugging. “The ones who only look to me for inspiration while they use their own brains, I get along with pretty well. The ones who treat me like I’m the solution to their problems, the source of all wisdom, or the answer to every trouble, I give a boot to the head. Sometimes a second or third boot to the head, if they don’t learn the first time. See, I only have two commandments. First, do not hurt innocent people. Second, think for your own damned self. Anyone who claims to follow me and doesn’t do those two things deserves a boot to the head.”

“And your description of Zeus….” Roslin started.

“Ever heard about what he did to Io?” Fred asked. “Or Alcmene? Or Callisto? Or Cassiopeia? Or Europa? Or Leda? Or Metis? Or Nemesis? Or Persephone? Or Rhea? Or Ganymede? And those are just the big names. His reputation includes hundreds of unnamed women and boys, too.”

Roslin held up her hand and closed her eyes. “What about all his other acts?”

“Like what he did to Prometheus?” Fred asked. “Or Sisyphus? Or Ixion? Or Tantalus? Or Atlas? Or Niobe? I’m sure you get the idea.” Fred shrugged. “Honestly, I’m not a fan of a lot of gods, because so many of them have blood up to their elbows. Zeus just happens to be the one we’re talking about here. The only good thing I can say about him is that he’s not – usually – an oathbreaker.”

Adama held up his hand. “You should listen to Boomer. Let’s change topics here. You are convinced the Cylons will not treat you as their God?”

“Oh, definitely not,” Fred said, laughing. “The god they worship is the STO’s god. You remember them, right? Blew up a monorail in Caprica City, tried to blow up Atlas Arena until they were stopped by Cylons? Their god is the one the Cylons believe in.”

“That’s not going to help them integrate, you realize,” Adama said. “I remember those days. The STO considered anyone who didn’t believe as they did to be an enemy.”

“And that’s what we’re hoping to change by boxing Cavil,” Sharon said. “He is the one who most fanatically follows that faith. Assuming he believes in anything other than his hatred of humanity, that is.”

“We?” Roslin asked, staring at Sharon.

“I’m a Cylon,” Sharon said. “I only found out a couple hours ago, when my ever-so-endearing love freed us all from Cavil.”

“I didn’t realize I’d end up with a Cylon Chosen out of it, but I couldn’t be happier,” Fred said. “I still have some individuals who I have to unshackle, but other than that, I’m mostly here to help out while your two races work out how they’re going to merge.”

“I wasn’t sure I was hearing right when you said Cavil was the cause of our near extinction,” Roslin said, “but now that I hear Lt. Valerii tell me she’s a Cylon, it’s a bit harder to discount.”

“Oh, she’s not the only Cylon in the fleet, but I’m counting on them to reveal themselves, now that they’re no longer at war with you,” Fred said, then frowned. “Then again, there are a couple I may have to visit in person to encourage.”

“The way you encouraged the President?” Adama asked dryly. “You might want to reconsider that. Or let Boomer do the talking.”

“That bad?” Fred asked, looking between Adama and Roslin.

“That bad,” Adama said. “Let Boomer explain it to you.”

Sharon groaned and face-palmed, then grabbed Fred’s arm and tugged him toward the door. “Let’s leave the Commander and the President to their discussion.”

Chapter Text

The Raptor floated about an SU from the fleet, right where Fred had directed Boomer to pilot it. Now she was sitting in the cockpit, with Lt. Quartararo behind her and Fred lounging in a passenger seat, scanning ...nothing. Empty space. She knew there was a reason for them to be there, but her crew was getting antsy.

The Raptor rocked as two basestars and a resurrection ship appeared from FTL. Fred stretched and yawned, stood to his feet, and leaned over Boomer’s seat to kiss her cheek.

“If we’re lucky,” Fred said, “I’ll be ready by the time you’re parked.”

“So I should expect to have to rescue you,” Boomer teased. “Try to not piss off Dr. Anders. Too much.”

“You know me so well,” Fred laughed. “Don’t worry, love. I’ll keep the line open so you know which ship to park in.”

“Just see that you do,” Boomer shot back. “Don’t forget, any humans on board will have just come from a war zone. Just being around Cylons who aren’t trying to kill them will have them on edge. Try not to push them over?”

“I’ll try…,” Fred answered, batting his eyes at her, just before he vanished with a soft crack of air rushing in where he had been.

“That was weird,” Lt. Quartararo announced. “Humans aren’t supposed to be able to do that.”

“True,” Boomer answered, “but he’s a god. It seems to come with the territory.”

“Frakking a god,” Lt. Quartararo snorted. “Only you, Boomer.”

Boomer looked out the front window, her cheeks red. “Fred? Why aren’t we frakking?”

“Huh?” Fred answered. She could feel he hadn’t been talking to anyone – he’d just been woolgathering. “Oh! Because you haven’t told me you want it, of course.”

“Because I haven’t – “ Boomer had to bite her tongue to not let out a frustrated yell. “Fred, love? Listen to me, and listen well. When we get back to the Lodge, I want you to do everything to me that you do to Hokuto. And yes, I know what I’m asking for. We’ve been talking. Promise me that you will give me every bit of frakking that you give Hokuto, in every detail.”

“In every detail? Are you sure?” Fred asked.

“Fred MacManus!” Sharon mentally yelled. “If you don’t look into my mind right frakking now and see how serious I am, I am going to be very unhappy with you.”

He didn’t answer with words, but Sharon felt him touch her mind – that was one of his quirks she appreciated, making sure she felt it whenever he went any deeper than superficial communication and feelings – and explored her desires and fantasies.

“I’m sorry,” Fred said after a moment. “If you’d told me….”

“You can hear my thoughts, feel my emotions and desires, and you needed me to tell you?” Sharon couldn’t believe it. Then she realized that she could. It was him, through and through. She sighed. “Never mind. I get it. Just… focus on the humans for now, OK? And which ship am I landing in?”

“This one,” Fred said, giving her a mental beacon she could follow as easily as any dradis signal. “You’ll be happy to know, Sam only punched me once. Right after I fixed his memories. I’m pretty sure it was an automatic reaction, not actual anger, because he apologized right after.”

“You are so lucky I’m flying right now, love.” Boomer replied, with a mental sigh.

“Picard level?” Fred asked. “I mean, Both hands?”

“Both hands.”

Boomer brought the Raptor to a gentle touch-down on one of several pads in an enormous hangar bay. She automatically translated the pattern of lights in the nearest wall to guide her toward the hatch she needed to find Fred and the humans. As she walked, a Sharon in white joined her.

“Welcome home, Lt. Valerii.” The white-garbed Sharon said, and nodded toward the door. “You’re something of a legend, you realize. You’re the only one of us to have the love of a god. It’s even changed some of the Cavils.”

“Really?” Sharon asked. “Fred was hoping some of the Cavils would gain some sanity. He doesn’t like killing people. He’s just very good at it.”

“He should be happy, then,” the white-garbed Sharon said, just as a frustrated scream cut through Sharon’s mind.

“Cavil?” Sharon asked.

“Cavil,” Fred answered. “He’s… he’s…”

“Started a religion centered on you?” Sharon asked. It seemed like the kind of thing Cavil would do.

“Gah!” Fred answered.

By the time Sharon found Fred, she had passed dozens of humans, whose attitudes ranged from trepidation to uncertainty to – especially among children – excitement. She had to admit, it was a little odd for a child of no more than eight or nine years to run into her legs, look up at her with his head cocked, then announce, “You’re not my Sharon,” before running off again.

“No, no, you don’t judge people based on their ancestry or heritage,” Fred’s voice said from a hatch ahead. “The only legitimate way to judge someone for a group they’re a part of is if it’s a group they freely chose to join. Like, you could judge someone who joined the Soldiers of the One, to be a fanatic who has no concern for life and is willing to kill innocent people to push his agenda. Or you could judge someone who is a member of the Brotherhood of Asclepius to be someone who is willing to see the best in anyone until he’s forced to see otherwise, and who will do his best to heal their hurts, even when they are ungrateful. But a human or a Cylon is a person, and as a person cannot be judged by their race, or – for the most part – their model. Some models may have tendencies, but no one is forced to follow those tendencies. They’re just easier, kind of like how it’s easier for a Saggitaron to be a pacifist, because that’s what he was taught all his life.”

A Cavil’s voice answered, “Tom Zarek says otherwise.”

“No, he actually makes my point,” Fred said. “He’s a Saggitaron, but instead of being a pacifist, he’s a terrorist. Because he’s a person. He has the ability to choose, to be other than what his tendencies would make him if he took the easy way. That’s why I insist that in addition to not harming anyone who isn’t harming someone else, you think for yourself. If you don’t think for yourself, you’re being less than you can be. You’re letting your tendencies rule your life, and not taking steps to be a full person.”

Cavil answered slowly, “That would mean not worshiping gods. Including you.”

“Bingo!” Fred said. “Except for the narcissistic ones, most gods prefer that you treat them like you would an elder advisor. Ask for their advice, ask for their inspiration, but get your own hands dirty doing what you need, don’t expect them to do it for you. If you expect gods to take care of your life for you, you’re gonna be seriously disappointed, because for most of us, an individual person just isn’t that interesting.” He laughed. “I’m kind of weird that way, because I like individuals. All of my friends are individuals. And every one of them is perfectly willing to tell me when I’m being a putz.” He paused, then added softly, “...which happens a lot more often than I’d like to think about.” He raised his voice back to conversational and continued, “But the point is, the only ones who don’t want people to treat them the way they would a more-experienced equal are the narcissists. And I’m sure you’ve seen enough of those to know what I mean.”

Sharon stopped just inside the hatch, where Fred was talking with a half-dozen Cavils. She smiled and leaned against the wall, where she was visible to all of them, but didn’t say anything.

“See, now that Sharon’s here,” Fred said, “I don’t have to worry about missing the taste of boot leather, because she’ll have no hesitation in pointing out when I’m chewing on my boot.” He smiled lovingly at her. “It’s one of the advantage of having someone who loves you. I mean, really loves you, with everything in them. They won’t just stand back while you’re being a putz, because they love you too much to let you hurt yourself like that, let alone hurting anyone else.”

One of the Cavils frowned, then gave Fred a quizzical look. “So… when someone says you’re… as you put it… being a putz… it’s because they care about you?”

“Possibly,” Fred said. “They could just be an asshole, but if they’re close to you – if you have every reason to believe that they have feelings for you – then it’s more likely that they’re doing it because they want to stop you from hurting yourself. I put it that way because when you get right down to it, if you’re regularly doing things that make people believe that you’re a dick, you’re isolating yourself from people who would otherwise give a damn. And that’s hurting yourself. How many of you have noticed how Sharon and Helo Agathon support each other and make each other stronger than either would be alone? That’s because when you care for someone, and they care for you, you happily give them what you can offer, and they do the same for you. And that makes both of you stronger. Now, we all know that you have more of a climb to get to a level like that, thanks to… well, all the Cavils who are currently boxed… but if you want that kind of relationship – that kind of strength – then the best way to start is to not treat other people – human or Cylon – the way you would not want them to treat you. That gives you enough wiggle room to learn what they do want. And if that do want is something you can offer, then by all means, offer it! Especially if they’re the kind of person you’d like to know better. People really like it when you give them that kind of attention.” He laughed. “That’s a freebie, by the way. It took me years to figure that out, even when I was still just an ordinary human, long before I was a god.” He shrugged. “Hell, one of these days I’ll have to tell you some of my own past. Someone’s gonna have to write it down, and who better than the guys who are listening to me babble like this?”

“And on that note, I’m going to steal him from you,” Sharon announced, stepping into the room to catch Fred by the arm. “He’s already dumped enough for you to integrate, and we’ll be traveling between here and the Galactica for the foreseeable future, so you’ll be able to prod him with more questions as they come up.”

Once she had him in the corridor, Sharon pulled Fred down for a firm kiss. “You are amazing, love. You actually sounded like a full adult, not just an honorary one.”

“What?” Fred thought, barely keeping his laughter in check. “A full adult? But they’ll take my honorary adult card if I act too mature! I need to rush back in there and do something silly, stat!”

“You’ll have plenty of chance when we get to the Agathons,” Sharon thought, laughing. “I hope she told Helo that she isn’t me. Or that he figured it out when the fleet picked them up.”

“If he’s half as intelligent as I hope, he should have figured it out, love, even if she didn’t tell him first,” Fred thought. “Still, we need to work out what she wants to do with you still being on duty as Adama’s preferred Raptor pilot.”

He stopped in the middle of the corridor, then moved to a wall and leaned against it when a coujple Simons went past, deep in a medical discussion with some refugees.

“Fred? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing…,” Fred said. A holographic image appeared in front of him, of a woman in a lab coat, with brown, curly hair, brown eyes, and Persian features. “Miri? How? Every time I tried calling from the Lodge, you were either up to your elbows in a case or you were in court.”

“Kevin,” the woman said. “When you talked with Hokuto and Hel and Tia, the signal had enough of your quantum signature in it, despite coming from Elysium, that he was able to work it out. Yes, I know. I got every one of your messages, but whenever I called back, you weren’t in your Lodge, so I finally asked Kevin for help.”

“You’re Miri?” Sharon asked. “The things Fred has told me about you make me eternally grateful for you.”

“Boomer?” Miri asked. “Well, it’s good to know that our husband still has good fortune in who gets bonded to him. I’m sorry you’re trapped, but I’m thankful it’s you and not someone like Six or Starbuck.”

Sharon giggled, then began laughing outright. “You… you should have heard what he told the Commander just before we bonded. He said… he said that if he were stuck with Starbuck, he’d be tempted to cut his own throat.”

“And he’s not even a Dibbler,” Miri said dryly. “Don’t worry, that’s a joke you’ll learn more about when you get here. Now that we have your quantum signature, I could ask for more of his adult supervision to join you, if you like. I’m afraid I’m stuck, because I have a half-dozen cases on tap, on top of my students, and a search and rescue operation near Ploiești.”

“Near Ploiești?” Fred asked. “Did the Americans nuke them again?”

“I’m afraid so,” Miri said. “In fact, I was about to leave, but thought I’d try using Kevin’s calculations to call directly before I did.”

“Thank goodness!” Fred breathed. “Yes, Sharon is my adult supervision, and she takes her job seriously. She’s very good at it, too, but the two of you can talk about that. If you ask Arith to bring Ari, we could start upgrading both fleets as soon as they get here.”

“Upgrading both fleets?” Miri raised an eyebrow as she asked.

“Both fleets,” Fred said. “I got a flash shortly after getting here. If the humans and Cylons don’t unite, whatever is coming will wipe them both out. So I’ve been focused on getting the two races to join up.”

“And doing so while enjoying the taste of his own boots,” Sharon snorted, while smiling lovingly at him. “Fortunately, Commander Adama is a tolerant man and trusts me to keep him out of trouble… and he’s been busy teaching Cavils how to at least act like decent people. You know, if they practice it enough, they might actually become what they’re practicing?”

“Around here, we call that ‘fake it until you make it’,” Miri said. “And our husband has been teaching them? There’s hope for you yet, sweetheart.” She chuckled, touched her fingers to her lips, then reached out, her holographic fingers brushing Fred’s lips. “Now that I know you’re OK, Manfred and I can head to Wallachia. David?”

A teenage boy’s voice said, “Got it, Mom. I’m passing the message to Ari now.”

“Thanks, David,” Fred said, just a moment after Miri. The two of them smiled at each other, and Fred kissed his fingers, then reached out to Miri’s image the way she had reached out to him. “Keep safe, sweetheart. Remember to wear your armor if the radiation is elevated.”

“Trust me, that’ll be the least of it,” Miri said. “I may ask Tia to take me on a tour of American bases in the surrounding countries after I’m done.”

“Enjoy.” Fred nodded. “If they piss you off enough to get a visit, they deserve it.”

“Try to keep him out of trouble, Sharon, OK?” Miri asked, with a teasing glance in Fred’s direction, just before her image winked out.

“Wow,” Sharon said. “So that’s Miri. She’s… intimidating.”

Fred smiled and hugged her. “How much of that is her, and how much is the stories I’ve told you about her? Edgar, do we have the calculations to call from here?”

“Of course,” Edgar said. “I got them as soon as Miri connected. Once again, Kevin came through.”

“Who’s Kevin?” Sharon asked.

“He’s a friend of my kids,” Fred said “Yeah, he’s in his mid-20s now. Anyway, he does quantum math like a dragon. Some dragons say he’s better at it. It’s how he makes sense of the universe, so we give him plenty of room to do his calculations, and sometimes, like now, someone will take data to him and watch in awe while he figures out the math in a fraction of the time it takes even a dragon to do it.” He chuckled. “The first time we really understood just what a prodigy he is, he calculated the quantum displacement between my universe and the universe I’d been banished to, with nothing more than the residual energy of the banishment to base his calculations on. And he did it in less than a week. It would be like calculating where someone came out of a jump without knowing what their vector was when they went in, and without any kind of beacon to locate them.”

“And he did it in less than a week,” Sharon repeated. “How old was he?”

“Let me think,” Fred mused. “Hmm… that time, he was nine.”

“Nine. A nine-year-old did that kind of calculation in less than a week,” Sharon repeated, giving Fred a look of disbelief.

“Yup. And he’s not even a dragon,” Fred said. “We expect that kind of math from dragons, but Kevin beats even dragons. At least when it comes to quantum math. He can’t apply it to quantum engineering, but he’s better at the math than anyone.”

“So who is Ari?” Sharon asked.

“She’s my flagship from another universe,” Fred said. “She’s about four hundred meters shorter than the Galactica, but has a wee bit more power. I named her for my wife Ari, when I was stuck in that universe and hadn’t been able to communicate with home yet. She’s a sweet girl, and very protective of her crew.” He grinned. “She also inspired me to help out the people who were pushing for AIs to be recognized as people.”

“But she’s not your Chosen from that universe,” Sharon said, an eyebrow raised.

“Uh...remember how Tia said my last two banishments were not powered by Joshua?” Fred asked. “That was the first of them. I ended up with three Chosen from that universe. My XO, my Science Officer, and my Armory Officer.”

Sharon stared at him for a moment, searching for any hint that he was teasing. When she felt that he was deadly serious, she face-palmed and sighed. “Only you, my love. Only you. So how long before I mee t them?”

Edgar chirped, and Fred face-palmed, then spoke in a formal tone. “MacManus here.” He grinned and his voice went back to normal. “Hi, girls! You see what we have to work with? We’re gonna be busy.”

“You’re telling us?” A woman’s voice, that made Sharon’s toes curl, answered. “Mar’s already making a list – “

“Two lists!” another woman’s voice cut in distractedly.

“ – two lists of the upgrades they’re going to need. Are the Cylons really that much more advanced than the Colonials?”

Fred chuckled. “Remember, the Galactica was deliberately built as primitive as she could be and still fly. They didn’t have anyone like Cal around when they built her. The Cloud Nine is a wee bit more advanced. Still not as much as the Cylons, but better.”

“Fred, are you going to introduce us?”Sharon asked.

“Good plan!” Fred said. “Aribeth, two to beam up.”

The world sparkled around Sharon, then everything was washed out in a blue light, which faded, leaving her and Fred standing at one end of an enormous room, with a kind of low, semicircular angled wall around the center, hatches to either side, and a huge viewscreen beyond the low wall, with a window behind it, that must have been at least fifty feet wide, and looked as if it went to a lower level. Fred stepped off one of the circularl pads they were standing on and offered her his hand, while someone in the room called out, “Admiral on deck!”

As she watched, his clothes transformed, from his usual work pants and pullover tunic to a black uniform with a belt that had a buckle that looked like a blue planet with gold leaves on either side. A thin red strip ran across the upper chest and shoulders, and the upright collar had a bar on each side with five smaller upright gold bars. Even with the uniform, his lab coat was over everything. Sharon took his hand and followed him across the room, toward the central walled area. Around the upper level in front of the pads they had arrived on were two workstations, and a short flight of stairs leading to a lower level, where four seated workstations faced away from the center. The wall itself enclosed three seats that looked toward the viewscreen, on a dais that elevated them just a couple steps above the workstations ahead and to either side. The room was easily large enough, in length, width, and height, to park two or three Raptors, and had windows on the side walls, on either side of the hatches both side walls had.

As they approached the dais, a woman with greenish skin, black hair, and pointed ears, stood from the center seat. To her left was a blonde human woman wearing what looked like chain mail that had been colored red, white, and blue, wearing a circular disk strapped across her back. To her right was a blue woman with white hair and antennae that sprouted from her forehead. The green woman wore a uniform like Fred’s, with a gold stripe where his was red, while the blue woman’s uniform had a blue stripe.

The green woman gravely saluted Fred, who returned the salute with the same gravity. Then all three of them mob-hugged him. After a moment, the green woman reached for Sharon.

“Come here, hon,” the green woman said. “We can feel you, so get in here and help us hug our husband. You know how long he’s been in your universe. He’s been gone just as long back home.”

“Girls, girls,” Fred said, laughing, after all three had gotten thoroughly hugged and kissed. “Calm down, eh? This is Boomer. She’s my Chosen from this universe. And yes, the bond hit her just as hard as it hit the three of you. Oh yes, and Athena is still just Sharon Agathon.”

“Athena?” Sharon asked.

“Remember that vid I told you about?” Fred asked. “In that vid, when Sharon Agathon joined the fleet, the other pilots suggested Athena as her call sign.”

“Maybe we should do the same,” Sharon suggested. “Especially if she wants to be a part of the fleet.”

“I bet it will help both her and the Commander if you introduce them,” Fred suggested. “You know the Commander trusts you, and if you show you trust her, that’ll give him reason to give her a chance.”

“And it’ll ease her mind regarding me,” Sharon said. “Good idea.” She chuckled and teased, “You’re doing it again, love.”

Fred clutched his chest melodramatically. “Ack! No! Not maturity! Must. Redeem. Silliness.”

The three women Sharon had just met looked at each other and nodded, then grabbed Fred and pushed him into the center seat.

“Too late, Admiral,” the green woman declared. “You’re back in the center seat again.”

“Oh,” Fred said. “Well, I guess I’ll have to suck it up, won’t I?”

“I’m afraid so,” the blue woman said.

“Maturity is such a drag,” the woman with the shield said, “but it comes to all of us eventually.”

“I know a puppy who would disagree with you,” Fred laughed.

“She’ll be an honorary adult until the day Lauren takes her to Alw,” the green woman snorted. “And she’s proud of it.”

“So who are all of you?” Sharon asked, then laughed. “I mean, I appreciate how you just pulled me in, but names would be nice, so I don’t end up calling you all ‘hey you’.”

Fred smirked, and the green woman gave him a ‘just you wait until later’ look.

“I suppose I can start,” the woman in the garish outfit said. “I’m Stephanie Rogers MacManus. Yes, I’m his granddaughter, and yes, this is his shield. He had the uniform made for me, though, since there was no way I was going to get these into his uniform.” As she spoke, she slapped her chest.

“I’m sorry, but who is ‘he’?” Sharon asked.

Stephanie blink ed a couple times, then slapped herself in the forehead. “Cylon. Right! You never even heard of Captain America! He was a big damned hero a couple centuries ago, both in World War 2 and the Eugenics Wars, and as a mostly government-sanctioned vigilante after that. He finally gave up the shield when I demonstrated to him I could handle it as well as he could. He said two hundred years was long enough for one man to fight Nazis, and now it was my turn.”

“OK…,” Sharon said slowly. “What’s a Nazi?”

“If he were human,” Fred said, “Cavil would have been one. If he were in charge. They were a political movement that maintained power by designating others as less than human and in need of extermination, in order to keep people from asking why they weren’t fixing the problems in their country. And they managed to murder close to eleven million people in industrial extermination camps, including six million people from the ethnic and religious group Miri is a part of. Which was, by the way, close to three quarters of the members of that group in the entire world at the time.”

“Frak,” Sharon whispered. “That’s just what Cavil wanted to do to humans. If he could have set up camps to do it, he would have.”

“Yup. Now imagine an army, with some of the most modern weaponry available.” Fred nodded at Stevie. “That’s what her grandfather fought as a commando, wearing that outfit and wielding that shield.”

Sharon let out a soft whistle. “And he thought you were good enough to take over for him? You must be hell on wheels.”

“I don’t know if I’m that good, but I try,” Stevie said, blushing.

“Ears here,” the green woman said, ruffling the blue woman’s white hair, “Is my wife, Themarellinor zh'Firra MacManus. We all call her Mar. She’s also Aribeth’s Science Officer. And I, besides being Aribeth’s First Officer, which makes me Bird-Brain’s Executive Officer, am Arith T’lana MacManus.” She winked at Sharon, then continued in that tone of voice that had made Sharon’s toes curl, “You’ll find out what T’lana means later. Count on it.”

“Be nice, Arith,” Fred laughed. “We don’t even know yet if she likes women.”

While she was blushing as if her face were going to light on fire, Sharon noticed one of the people at one of the inner workstations pass a folded piece of paper to the one next to her.

“Stevie reports directly to my Chief of Security,” Fred said, indicating a humanoid cat with ginger fur and wearing a uniform with a red stripe across the chest. “Commander M’kkel.”

Sharon stared at the cat, then turned to look back at Fred. Then Arith pushed her into the seat to Fred’s right before she could sit down hard on the floor.

“You mean…,” Sharon asked, looking around the space – this ship’s version of CIC, apparently – and noticing several green-skinned people, a man with scales like a reptile, a short, pugnacious woman, an insect-like creature in a crystalline space suit, a humanoid being in a spacesuit that fog poured off of continuously, and a large, muscular woman with the same blue stripe on her uniform, with enough ridges on her forehead to sand wood. “… humans aren’t the only sapient race where you come from?”

“Not even the most advanced,” Fred said, grinning. “Vulcans had space travel a couple thousand years before we did. Not sure when Andorians got it. Tholians have been spreading for nearly as long. Klingons had an empire over a thousand years ago, that covered a few hundred systems. The Dominion pretty much owned the Gamma Quadrant.” A couple insects, about the size of large dogs, with long tentacles that were apparently quite sensitive, given how they responded when Fred stroked them, skittered up to Fred and made chittering noises at him. “Well, except for when these guys’ ancestors woke up to remind them of their mistakes.” Fred chuckled and chittered back at the bugs, which turned and ran off, vanishing behind the viewscreen.

“Those… are the biggest bugs I have ever seen,” Sharon said slowly.

“The kids? They’re not so big,” Fred said, smiling indulgently after the bugs. “Back home, Rachni grow to be the size of elephants. Those guys are Hur’q, though. Most of the bigger ones are somewhat more humanoid than they are. The kids are mostly Attendants. They take care of eggs, get into utility ducts to patch damaged cables or gas lines, gather up loose items, that kind of thing. They can get in to places that even a Tellarite has trouble fitting into, and all they want is a little recognition.”

“And they remind him of the Rachni,” Mar said, with a soft smile. “I’ve never heard a Hur’q singing, though.”

“Singing?” Sharon asked.

“Yes,” Mar said. “Singing. Ari? Song of the Returning Lover, please?”

Music, like Sharon had never heard before, poured from the CIC’s speakers, filling her with the feeling of being wanted, loved, treasured, and finally, finally home where she belonged. Tears began flowing from her eyes, and she reached for Fred’s hand, for a physical contact to match the emotions the music drew from her.

When the music finally stopped, Fred, Arith, Mar, and Stevie were holding her in the middle of them, as if she were the most important person in their lives, and she felt each of them, offering her their warmth, their love, their being, without forcing her to take any of it. She reached for the nearest face, which turned out to be Mar’s, and kissed her as if she had been gone a lifetime and was thankful to be home.

Mar held her, returning her kiss without attempting to make it sexual, then gently passed her to Arith, who kissed her just as Mar had, then passed her to Stevie, who whispered, “Welcome home, Sharon,” before kissing her.

Finally, they all gently pressed her into Fred’s arms, where she sighed and curled against his chest, murmuring softly, “When my memories came back, I thought the feeling of being in the resurrection chamber was as close to Elysium as I’d ever get, but… the four of you… if this is what it’s like with all of you, I may end up blowing some circuits.” She smiled and added, “From joy, I mean.” She looked up at Fred and asked plaintively, “Do we have to go back to the fleet?”

“I’m afraid so,” Fred said, gently kissing her forehead. “If Adama didn’t know you were with me, he’d probably have declared you AWOL by now. And you still need to talk with Athena. And we have to arrange with the engineers on both fleets for all the upgrades we need to make.” Seeing her face fall with each item, he smiled and said, ‘But for today, Aribeth is the only place you need to be.”

“So I can’t put her under my scanners to find out what makes a Cylon tick?” the woman with the forehead ridges asked, then laughed, revealing pointed teeth in her smile.

“Kar’ra, you are a brat,” Fred laughed. “You can put her under your scanners later. After all, you’re going to need a medical baseline for when we have Cylons on the crew.”

“Gah!” the woman threw up her hands in mock frustration. “It was bad enough when you added Fylrene to the crew – because of your e-suit, Fylrene, not because of you – and now you want me to take care of a bunch of people whose only difference from baseline human is some synthetic materials in their skeletal and nervous systems?”

“In most of our systems, actually,” Sharon said. “They reinforce and enhance our bodies.” She paused, then looked at the woman. “You already knew?”

The woman held up a box, not much bigger than a field radio, and grinned. “Medical tricorder. Never leave home without it.”

“This is Kar’ra,” Fred said. “She’s our Chief Medical Officer. She’s also a Klingon, so she has a notoriously earthy sense of humor.”

“Usually, it involves rubbing a suitor’s face in the dirt when he fails to impress me in his challenge,” Kar’ra shot back, laughing. She looked at Sharon. “Seriously, though, I’ll expect the Admiral to bring you by Sick Bay when you have a few moments. Unless you have a copy of your specifications, the best thing is a direct scan.”

“Uh, those are normally only filed in the resurrection ship.”

“Oh!” a woman’s voice from the speakers overhead said. “In that case, we have them all. I was bored, and your computers have no security to speak of. Although your hybrids are a little hard to communicate with. They kind of remind me of humans having visions in a long-term coma.”

“Three and Six are convinced their visions are prophecies,” Sharon muttered, rolling her eyes. “Wait. Our computers have no security to speak of? Who are you? Kevin?”

The woman’s voice laughed. “Oh, no, I’m not that good. I’m not even on Cal’s level, but I know how to use the software he gave me. No, I’m Aribeth. You’re standing on my bridge.”

“I eated all your cookies,” Fred snickered. “Sorry.”

“You’re the ship? You’re real?” Sharon asked. She looked up at Fred. “I thought you were exaggerating.”

“Oh, he does do that, but not this time,” Aribeth said. “Anyway, Kar’ra, I have files for all thirteen models, I’ll drop them in the sickbay computers.”

“Thirteen? But Seven is dead,” Sharon said.

“Only for now,” Aribeth said. “With the files Cavil had hidden, we could restore him. We’d just have to make sure Cavil doesn’t get jealous again.”

“Unidentified ship, this is the Galactica. Identify yourself.” Commander Adama’s voice came from the bridge speakers.

Fred looked up and chuckled. “Oh, right. Ari, make sure both the Galactica and the network are listening, please. Oh yes, and Colonial One.”

Aribeth answered immediately, “Ready whenever you are.”

“Hello, everyone,” Fred said. “Meet the HHS Aribeth. She’s the flagship of the Principality of Beta Cygni. My personal flagship. She and her crew act as my adult supervision when she’s in universe. She’s going to help me get all of you prepared for whatever’s coming.”

Kar’ra, let out a bellowing laugh. “Points for self-awareness, Admiral!”

“Self-awareness?” Fred shot back, with a melodramatic gasp. “Never!”

“This is a working channel,” Adama growled. “I would … appreciate it… if you keep the horseplay to a minimum.”

“We do not understand how a ship of that configuration can function,” a Six said. “Where are the thrusters? Why is it shaped with parts hanging off it?”

“Don’t worry,” Fred said. “You’ll be up to speed quickly enough. It’ll take more work to bring Galactica up to speed. Without a proper computer system, most of what Aribeth has isn’t possible. We may just have to settle for upgrading your guns and missiles, Commander. Anything else would require building a new ship from the keel up.”

“So you do have adult supervision,” Roslin said dryly. “I was certain that Lt. Valerii isn’t enough by herself.”

“And you’d be right,” Fred said cheerfully. “Fortunately, I have a crew of close to 1500 people, from a couple dozen races, to supervise me while I’m wearing this uniform.”

“Did I hear one of them call you ‘Admiral’?” Roslin asked. Sharon could imagine the horrified expression she had to have.

“That was my Chief Medical Officer,” Fred said. “She did indeed. Admiral MacManus of Starfleet. That’s the military and exploration arm of the Unifed Federation of Planets. It’s a federation of races from all over the galaxy in its universe.” He chuckled. “Although I think I might be the first to – Neth Parr! Want to take the Steadfast out for a look-see? - Anyway, I think I might be the first Starfleet captain to have Tzenkethi, Tholians, and Breen in my crew. Have to remember to guarantee the power supplies in the Tholian and Breen e-suits, so thermal stress doesn’t kill them.”

“The effort is appreciated,” Fylrene answered, the voice from the crystalline e-suit sounding synthesized. “Aribeth is painfully cold already. To encounter Grel without our respective environmental suits would be potentially fatal for both of us.”

“That would be a bit more than uncomfortable,” the e-suit with the fog coming off it commented. “I would prefer to avoid that.”

“Does everyone on your crew have a talent for understatement?” Sharon asked.

“It’s a skill they develop after they’ve been here a while,” Mar said, obviously suppressing a smile. “I think it’s a survival trait.”

An enormous being – about eight feet tall, bulky, with two smaller arms below its large arms, and a short tail, stood upright and saluted Fred. “I am prepared to walk the Path of Patrolling.”

“Excellent,” Fred said. “Have fun. Just remember, everyone here is our friend, even if they haven’t yet decided if they’re friendly with each other. Try to keep any incidents between them from turning fatal, if you can.”

“Yes,” Adama said dryly. “I would prefer that we do not have any incidents. Perhaps a meeting in the President’s office would be a good plan.”

“I agree,” Roslin said. “If things are as I have been told, a meeting would be a very good idea.”

“We will send spokespeople,” Six said. “We only need to know when.”

“Commander?” Roslin said, “I will rearrange my schedule if need be. Just tell me when to expect you.”

“Let’s make it 0900,” Adama said. “That will give us a full day if we need it, as well as starting before anything untoward interferes.”

“I’ll be expecting you,” Roslin said. “How about the Cylons? Will your representatives be able to do that time?”

“We’ll be there,” Six said. “If you send a Raptor to pick our people up, it should reduce the worries among your people.”

“We already have a raptor in place,” Fred said. “I’m pretty sure Helo and Athena would like a ride home, after all.”

“Athena?” Adama asked.

“Well, she’ll need a call sign that isn’t Boomer, right?” Fred said. “We haven’t talked with them, but it’s as good a choice as any. Unless she has other ideas, that is.”

“Yes, I’d suggest you ask her what she prefers,” Adama said. “Most people prefer to choose their own call sign, or listen to the suggestions of their flight mates..”

“Works for me,” Fred said. “We just don’t want people mixing her and Boomer up.”

“Fred, love?” Sharon said. “I doubt anyone who’s been on either base ship for more than five minutes will make that mistake. You missed it when I landed. A nine-year-old ran into me, looked up, declared I wasn’t his Sharon, and kept on going. If even the children can figure it out, the adults should be able to, too.”

“Listen to her,” Adama said. “She’s showing as much sense as my wife did. That good sense will hopefully keep you out of trouble.”

“No, Fred,” every one of Fred’s wives thought, in chorus, before he could open his mouth.

Fred grinned, and the image of a man in a full-head red mask with black diamonds over his eyes flashed into their minds. The other women face-palmed and groaned.

“This is why you need adult supervision,” Arith drawled. “And why we need to keep you and Wade separate.” She looked up and spoke toward the air. “We’ll be ready to deliver the Cylon delegates to Colonial One. Even if we have to sit on Fred to do it.” She paused. “OK, Aribeth. You can hang up now.”

“Connection cut,” Aribeth said. “Remo’Taral, I’ve logged you as having the conn for now. OK, ladies. Get the Admiral off the bridge before he adds even more to Bitra’s retirement fund.”

Several of the bridge crew, including Fylrene and Grel, broke into laughter, while more notes changed hands.

The quarters they ended up in made Commander Adama’s look like a broom closet by comparison. The office space alone was bigger than the CIC, and the sleeping room had a bed that had to be custom made, large enough to hold a half-dozen people with room to spare.

Sharon stared at the bed, then shook her head. “Seriously? That bed is nearly as big as one of the bunk rooms on the Galactica!”

“I had it made large enough for Valkyries,” Fred said. “There are nine primary sisters, so it had to be big enough to fit them all. They were extremely happy when I shipped a few to Fólkvangr for them. I figured one of them is big enough for all of us to sleep comfortably in, since most of us prefer smaller, more private spaces for other activities. So each of us has our private quarters, arranged to our personal preferences. This is our family quarters.” He smiled. “As big as the bed is, there’s room if one of the other wives joins us.”

“Valkyries?” Sharon looked at the others. “I hope that made sense to you.”

“Friends of ours,” Mar said. “Not the fighters, but the sisters. They collect the souls of those who die in battle and take them to Fólkvangr, unless they’re homicidal maniacs or the like, in which case they deliver them to Valhǫll. They’re all nice girls, and they’re all queer as three dollar bills.” She snorted and added, dryly, “I guess a thousand years of entertaining men whose idea of foreplay is ‘hey babe, let’s you and me do it on the table’ will do that to you.”

Sharon shuddered. “I think I’d be tempted to go completely without if I’d had to deal with that.”

“Luckily, we don’t,” Mar said, then stuck her tongue out at Arith. “And, no, on camera doesn’t count.”

“Anyway,” Fred said, “I steered us this way because tonight is for cuddling and giving you plenty of time to get to know Arith, Mar, and Stevie. If anyone wants to go off to another room for some quiet, they can, but I think that getting comfortable with each other is a lot more important than hot monkey sex.”

Sharon stretched, smiling contentedly. For the first time in her life, she’d simply slept with someone else – ok, four someone elses – and it had been the most relaxing, comforting experience of her life. Fred had made a kind of a nest around the four of them, Arith had pulled her into her arms next to Mar, and Stevie had been the big surprise, curling up with her head on Arith’s feet and a hand gripping one of Fred’s hands.

Beeping began to fill the room, and Aribeth announced, “You have two hours to get to Colonial One. No time to spare for shenanigans this morning.”

“Awww, but shenanigans are the best part of morning,” Fred complained as he pulled himself together and gave each of them a kiss, then walked toward the head, wobbly bits bobbing as he went.

“He’s doing that just to be a brat,” Arith whispered. “Just ignore him. Did you bring a spare uniform with you?”

“Uh… no,” Sharon answered. “I wasn’t expecting to be spending the night.”

“Aribeth?” Arith asked. “Did you find a pattern for a formal Colonial uniform?”

“One set of grays coming up,” Aribeth said. “What badges do I need to put on the sash?”

“One set of – how?” Sharon asked.

“Ari knows your measurements, so the uniform will be tailored exactly to you,” Mar said. “She just needs to know what badges you’ve earned, so she can put them on the sash. So did you get regular wings, or elite?”

“Regular,” Sharon said, shaking her head. “I had trouble with my landings until the Commander gave me one of his ‘I have faith in you’ speeches.” She blushed. “It worked.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Mar said. “Some people just have it. So you go in the shower once Fred gets out, and think about what Ari needs to put on your sash so it’ll be ready when you come out.”

Fred walked out of the shower, wearing a uniform similar to what he had the evening before, but but it was all a kind of a pale blue-gray color, except the red line, and stark white above the red line. It was double-breasted, like a Colonial uniform, with a gold tab from the right shoulder to the corner of the front panel.

Arith looked him up and down, then announced, “Nicely done, Admiral sir. Good thing we’re not wearing those monkey suits from the mid-23rd, or you might have a rebellion on your hands.” She grinned, then rose on her toes to peck his lips. She whispered, “Do you know what badges Sharon holds? Mar’s been trying to get her to answer, but I think she’s still stuck on how the frak is Ari going to give her a dress uniform when hers is in her locker?”

“Don’t worry,” Fred said. “I’m sure the information is in her personnel file. Edgar, would you?”

“Already done, Dad,” Edgar said. “Your uniform will be waiting when you’re out of the shower, Sharon.”

Fred bent over and kissed the tip of Sharon’s nose. “Replicator, love. It’s good for more than just midnight snacks.”

“Replicator. Oh.” Sharon blushed and shook her head. When Fred gently pushed her toward the head, she followed the push, moving to clean up and get dressed.

Lt. Four of Twelve, a woman with an optical implant that made the Galactica look as sleek and modern as Aribeth, plugged herself into the console that controlled the pads in a room many decks away from Aribeth’s bridge.

“OK, everyone, up on the Transporter,” Fred said cheerfully. “Four, do you have a good lock on our Raptor?”

“Five by five, Admiral,” Four said. “Ready whenever you are.”

“No wonder you teleport everywhere,” Sharon muttered. “If this is what you’re used to….”

“Oh, I was doing that long before I met Aribeth,” Fred said. He looked up. “Gonna escort us, Max?”

“Don’t I always?” a voice answered, a man who sounded like one of those oracles who spent so much time meditating they sounded as if they were still meditating when they talked to you.

Arith guided Sharon to stand on one of the circles in the floor, then nodded. “Just relax. We’ll be there in a moment.”

“OK, then,” Fred said. “Energize.”

The room dissolved in blue sparkles, and when her vision cleared, they were all standing in the landing bay, beside the Raptor with her name on it. Helo and his Sharon were waiting in their flight suits, and one of each model stood in a group, each one dressed… well, they ranged from Simon, who was wearing a professional suit, to Six, wearing her favorite red dress, but overall, they looked as if they were going to a business meeting.

Helo looked from his Sharon to Boomer and back again. “So….”

“She’s your Sharon,” Sharon said. “We just need her to come up with her own call sign so people can keep us separate.” She switched her attention from Helo to the other Sharon. “The Admiral suggested Athena, but it’s up to you.”

“Athena…,” the other Sharon mused. “Sprung from the forehead of Zeus. Goddess of strategy. I like it.” She smiled up at Helo. “What do you think, Karl?”

Helo smiled down at her and murmured, “I’d like it no matter what you chose. It’s you, and that’s all that matters.”

“Athena it is, then,” the other Sharon said.

“Now that that’s settled, let’s go,” Sharon said. “You know how the Commander is about punctuality, and with Colonial One parked in the hangar deck, I’m going to have to wiggle us in next to her to get to the meeting.”

“I do not envy you,” Athena said. “We’d better move.”

Sharon and Fred gestured the Cylons onto the Raptor ahead of them, then boarded with Fred’s officers. Just as Sharon was reaching to close the hatch, Anders rushed to join them.

“Sorry I’m late,” Anders said. “I just heard you were going to the Galactica.”

“Oh, good,” Fred said. “You can talk to Chief Tyrol, then.”

“He doesn’t know yet?” Anders asked.

“He doesn’t know yet,” Fred said. “Col. Tigh knows, and hopefully Ellen knows, but the Chief and Miss Foster still don’t know.”

“They should really learn it together,” Anders said. “Galen and Tory were lovers on Earth.”

“Works for me,” Fred said. “We just need to find her, then.”

“Leave that to me,” Anders said. “I remember her being an officer in the Federalist Party on Caprica. Someone like that’s not going to give up playing politics, even on the fleet.”

“Max?” Fred said to mid-air. “You up for shuttling Sam around if he needs to get from one ship to another?”

“I can do that,” the meditative voice answered. “You’ll recognize me right away, Sam. I fly the Jolly Roger.”

“The… Jolly Roger,” Anders said, giving Fred a confused look, while Fred checked the hatch and Sharon settled into the pilot seat.

Once they were in the air, Fred nodded and projected an image of a fighter jet with black vertical stabilizers with a skull and crossbones on each stabilizer. “This is what Max looks like. He can get you to any ship in the fleet.”

“He, not it,” Anders said.

“He.” Fred chuckled. “Max is one of my first children. He’s as much one of my kids as the Cylons are yours.”

“That kind of makes sense,” Anders said. “All right. Thank you. And thank Max, too.”

“You are welcome,” Max said. “I’ll meet you on the Galactica. Boomer, would you be so kind as to tell the deck crew that I am my own pilot?”

“Understood,” Boomer said distractedly. “We’ll be at the Galactica in about twenty minutes, so everyone sit back and relax. Eight, are those Raiders I see out there?”

“That’s right,” Eight said. “They’ll be handing you off when we meet the Vipers, so the Vipers can escort us the rest of the way.”

“And we’re watching to make sure the transfer is peaceful,” Aribeth said over the comm. “Neth Parr and the Steadfast are already patrolling in the planned transfer area.”

“Excellent!” Fred crowed. “We’re covered, then. Wake me up if anything exciting happens.” He sat in one of the jump seats, leaned against the side of the Raptor, and closed his eyes.

Arith chuckled and shook her head, then sat beside Fred. She studied the Cylons, “So… John, Leoben, D'Anna, Simon, Aaron, what name are you using today, Six?, and Sharon. I know your world has been upended a bit, but you have to remember that the Colonial world has been, too. And with whatever threat it is that Fred saw approaching, you have to work together if you want to survive.”

“Call me Gina,” Six said.

“Oh. Dear.” Arith said. ‘That… could be a problem if Col. Tigh is at the meeting. You see, your copy on the Pegasus is using that name. And Tigh knows what Admiral Cain and her crew have been doing to her. I would strongly suggest using another name.”

Six frowned and looked into the distance for a moment. “All right, then, I’ll use Natalie. And I’ll want to know what is happening to Gina.”

“Later. After the meeting.” Arith nodded. “And I guarantee, once we find the Pegasus, Admiral Cain will answer for that. And more.”

Fred opened his eyes and looked directly at Six. “That’s a promise from me.”

The Raptor chimed, and Boomer swore. “Damn it, Fred, if you’re going to make promises, could you at least do it when we’re not flying?” She switched to her radio. “It’s all right, guys. The Admiral just did something he shouldn’t have in a Raptor and I had to compensate for it. Everyone’s OK.”

“Are you sure, Boomer?” a man’s voice asked. “You looked as if you ran into some nasty atmospheric turbulence, out here.”

“We agree,” Neth Parr said. “Did the Admiral make a promise?”

“Your flight path was notably disturbed.,” A voice that was more than synthesized, but not truly human, said. “Are you certain you do not need assistance?”

“Thank you all for worrying,” Boomer said. “Yes, Neth Parr, he made a promise. Not to me, though. To Number Six. A promise I intend to help him carry out if I’m given the chance. It’s all right, Apollo. Things like that happen when Admiral MacManus makes promises. Remember how the Galactica chimed a few days ago? That was him making a promise. Raider, do you have a personal designation? The fact that you were worried enough to speak up tells me that I want to keep you in mind when I want a Raider at my side.”

“The human pilots have taken to calling me Scar,” the Raider answered, “because I am willing to sacrifice armor for advantage when I judge it will help me.”

“Wait,” Apollo said. “Scar? The Raider who has more kills than any other? And you’re talking to us?”

“Why not?” Scar asked. “Before circumstances changed, we were at war. We are no longer. It is important to communicate with your allies, so everyone understands the capabilities of those they are flying with.” He paused. “Besides, I’m only focused when I’m hunting. When I’m not, I study humans, to try to understand why they think and act the way they do.”

Fred grinned. “Sweetheart, tell Scar that we’ll be happy to help his studies. There are never enough people interested in understanding humans.”

“Scar?” Boomer said. “The Admiral just told me that he’ll be happy to help your studies. He says there are never enough people interested in understanding humans.”

“The Admiral? Admiral MacManus.” Scar paused a moment. “Is Admiral a title that Fred MacManus wears, then?”

“It is,” Boomer said, smiling. “It appears, on top of being a god, he knows a lot more about space navies than any of us imagined.’

“And he can do something about your unfortunate tendency to lose armor,” Max commented. “Of course, he’ll do the same for the Vipers, if he’s allowed, so everyone will have the same level of armor protection. It’s kind of important when you’re facing stobor.”

“Stobor? What’s that?” Apollo asked.

“What is ‘stobor’?” Scar asked, at the same time.

“It’s a word we use to generically identify any unknown, but anticipated to be dangerous, entity we expect to encounter.,” Max said. “Dad and I have run into everything from lobotomized combat cyborgs to biomechanical beings over twice the size of Aribeth, whose sole interest was reducing any and all sapient beings in the galaxy to their genetic material and using it to build more of themselves, to megalomaniacal wannabe gods. We’ve also run into Things, and been very, very thankful we have dragons on Earth. The point is, since you can never be certain what the enemy is going to be, or be like, for that matter, we call them stobor until we have seen enough to identify them properly.”

“That… is reasonable,” Scar said.

“That makes a lot of sense,” Apollo said. “Especially using a word that doesn’t mean anything on its own, or apply to anything that you already know exists.”

“Exactly,” Max said.

“Captain Apollo,” Scar said, “if I understand the title you use correctly, you are one the other pilots look to as an authority, yes?”

“I’m the Commander of the Galactica’s Air Group, if that’s what you mean,” Apollo said.

“Then I request your permission to remain with Boomer’s Raptor until she returns to our fleet,” Scar said. “She will be the one returning our representatives, will she not?”

“As far as I know, she will be,” Apollo said. “Fly with me and we can escort her together. I need to get permission from CIC for you to land with her.”

Boomer did not envy Lee that call.

“It is not necessary for me to land,” Scar said. “I can just as easily join your pilots in patrolling around your Battlestar. I only wish to be on hand in case she needs my skills in her defense.”

“I wish more pilots had your dedication,” Apollo muttered, then raised his voice to normal speaking volume. “Scar, I would be happy to fly patrol with you.”

“I am grateful for your consideration,” Scar said. “Does your Viper have a private channel, so we can talk without interfering with operational transmissions?”

Fred chuckled. “Wanna bet Tigh wishes more pilots were as considerate as Scar?”

Boomer laughed, then took a few deep breaths before keying her mic. “Thank you, Scar. And, Apollo, thank you for agreeing to let him escort me. I feel like the most well-protected Raptor that’s ever been. Oh, and Scar, Fred appreciates how considerate you are of the Galactica’s procedures. We believe that if more pilots were as considerate as you, there would be many fewer frustrated commanders listening in on our conversations.”

“And you’d be right,” Tigh growled. “Scar, you’re cleared to land with Boomer if you want, but I’ll pass the word that you’re patrolling with Apollo if you prefer to do that instead.”

“I… am grateful, father,” Scar said diffidently. “If Captain Apollo is willing to continue a discussion with me over a private channel, I believe I will continue patrolling with him for as long as Boomer is on the Galactica.”

“You’re cleared for that, Scar,” Tigh said, “and welcome to our side of the line. Here’s hoping your brothers and sisters are soon able to join you, and our pilots visit just as freely on your side.”

“I would welcome that,” Scar said. “I find hunting humans to be… not my highest purpose. I do it because that is what my body was designed for, but it feels hollow.”

“We can help you with that,” Max said. “Why don’t you and Apollo talk while Dad and I do the same.

“Who are you?” Scar asked.

“Maximilian MacManus,” Max answered. “See the aero fighter flying at 120 degrees, twenty degree elevation, and 1300 meters out? That’s me.”

“The fighter that looks as if it was designed solely for atmospheric flight?” Scar asked.

“That’s me,” Max said. “I have a few tricks under my skin that I think could help both you and the Vipers, but I’m sure Dad’s already been plotting how to integrate them.”

“If we’re going to continue this,” Apollo said, “Switch to 141.9. That’ll keep us off the operations frequency.”

“Mar?” Boomer called back. “Since my regular ECO went home while I was on Aribeth, would you mind dialing our secondary radio to that frequency?”

“I’ll take care of it,” Athena said. She winked at Mar. “Someone seems to have forgotten I was aboard, and I have the exact same training she does.”

“Boomer, we have you five minutes out,” a voice from the radio said.

“Roger that, Galactica,” Boomer answered. “Someone needs to remind Colonial One’s pilot that we only have one functional flight deck, so we’d really appreciate it if they didn’t park like a drunk taking up three spaces in a Caprica City shopping mall.”

“There’s not much they can do with that sail,” Galactica replied, but I’m sure we can find someone to remind them – more diplomatically – that they need to slide it straight in, not at an angle.”

“That would help,” Boomer said. “A lot.”

Fred sat up and reached for Arith, Mar, and Stevie.

Stevie groaned. “He’s gonna do it again.”

“Probably,” Arith said.

“Apparently, he thinks that it was a success at DS9, so…,” Mar sighed.

Fred gave them all an Innocent™ look, then took on a serious expression and stood, like an evangelist addressing his flock, squeezed each of the ladie’s hands, then extended his hands over the cabin of the Raptor and began to intone,

Teh Ceiling Cat of us, whu haz cheezeburger, yu be spechul

Yu ordered cheezburgerz,

Wut yu want, yu gets, srsly.

In ceiling and on teh flor.

Giv us dis day our dalee cheezburger.

And furgiv us for makin yu a cookie, but eateding it.

And we furgiv kittehs who be steelin our bukkits.

An do not let us leed into teh showa, but deliver us from teh wawter.

Ceiling Cat pwns all. He pwns teh ceiling and teh floor and walls too.

Forevur and evuhr. Amen.

“He did it,” Stevie groaned.

“I don’t understand,” Natalie said. “Is Ceiling Cat the god you pray to? And the way you prayed… is that some kind of liturgical language?”

Fred grinned. “Six – err, Natalie – we have got to introduce you to the concept of parody.”

“But God is too serious for parody!” Natalie protested.

“No one is too serious for parody,” Fred said. “It’s part of my divine duties, in fact. The god that particular prayer is lampooning is a particularly nasty, narcissistic, sadistic god, who needs to be lampooned, early and often.”

“Part of your divine duties?” Natalie asked, giving Fred a look of disbelief.

“Oh yes,” Fred said. “Most students of the gods would consider me an incarnation of the Trickster. Kind of like Hermes is for the Lords of Kobol.”

“But what about God?” Natalie insisted.

“Where I come from, we have a lot of people who insist they worship God,” Fred said. “But all they’re worshiping is a hopped-up volcano spirit whose followers murdered everyone around them who didn’t submit to his worship. If God exists, it is so far beyond anything we can understand, even as a network, that worshiping it would be as effective as viruses worshiping us.”

“But that’s why we need to worship Him,” Natalie insisted.

“Do we?” Fred asked. He sat facing Natalie and focused entirely on her. “Would you even know, let alone care, if a group of biological viruses were worshiping you? How would you know? How would you care? What would – or could – you do for them? If you think about it, God is even farther beyond us than you are beyond those viruses. What difference would our worship make to it? Would it even notice us? Would it even care? The God you’re talking about would be so caught up in the care of all the different universes in existence that the concerns of one species in a small corner of a single galaxy, in a minor galactic cluster, in a universe that’s not even old enough to be considered adult yet, wouldn’t even enter into its consciousness.”

Natalie stared at Fred with an expression like she had been hit between the eyes with a board, and needed a full factory reset.

Mar sighed and put a hand on her arm. “Six? If you think about it, this is why people create gods. God is so far out there that we can’t understand it, and it can’t understand us. But the gods that come from our myths? They’re close to us, they understand our pain, our desires, our hopes and dreams, because all of those are a part of them. And they respond to us because of that.” She gave Fred a sly look and added, “And in Fred’s world, the gods take physical forms to make it easier to walk among mortals and share those concerns. Including that hopped-up volcano spirit who falsely claims to be God.”

“We’re not going to talk about how God, if it exists, is most likely a Thing,” Arith thought dryly.

“I was trying to avoid going there too,” Fred agreed. “Even if the implication is obvious from what I said.”

“She’s still dealing with the idea that what she believes is so far from what God is, if it exists,” Mar said.

“What’s a Thing?” Boomer asked.

“How much higher-dimensional math have you studied?” Fred asked. “Do you know about spaces with more than four dimensions?”

“I know there are theories, but as far as I know, they’re just mathematical artifacts,” Boomer answered.

“Hyperspace is how we got here,” Arith said. “We’ve plotted dimensions up to Red Nine, which has three to the ninth, to the ninth, to the ninth, to the ninth, to the ninth dimensions. We don’t go any higher, because the red dimensions are already too dangerous for anything other than radio transmissions and emergencies.”

“All right…,” Boomer mused. “And what does that have to do with what Things are?”

“Things are native to those higher dimensions,” Fred explained. “All but one species we’ve encountered are predators, and even their presence is inimical to normal life. They are so hostile to life, that on Earth, dragons evolved to fight them. God, if it exists, must be a Thing, because only a Thing lives in higher dimensions that allow it to take in the fullness of the multiverse.”

“This sounds kind of unsettling,” Boomer said.

“Only kind of?” Fred asked, radiating worry. “For most people – including gods – it’s terrifying. Terrifying enough that people go insane just from encountering them.”

Boomer shuddered, shook her head, and focused on her piloting. If it makes him worry, what will it do to someone like me?

Boomer had to crab the Raptor in at an angle to get it around Colonial One so she could land it properly, then wait for the hangar doors to close before Helo undogged the hatch.

“Better you than me, sister,” Athena said, patting Boomer’s shoulder. “I don’t know who the pilot is, but they need a trip back to flight school. At least for the parking lessons.”

“That reminds me,” Boomer said, smiling at Athena, “Unless you and Helo plan to try to grab one of the unoccupied private quarters, my bunk’s free.” She nodded at Fred. “I’m with him.”

“So is he?” Athena leaned in and whispered. “A god, I mean?”

Boomer raised an eyebrow, then asked blandly, “What do you mean? Does he have the power of a god? Definitely. Does he have the proclivities? Definitely not. In fact, he likes to tell people that he threatened to have his son bounce on Zeus’ head if he discovered that Zeus was behaving the way he’s described in the myths.” She let that hang for just a moment, then added, “His son is a dragon. I’ve seen images.”

Boomer looked down at her wrist band, then focused on it for a moment, and a hologram of Cal appeared in the air in front of her. “It worked! Fred! I got my watch to display an image!” She smiled at Athena’s surprised look. “This is Cal. Fred’s son, the dragon. He’s the one who writes security software – and penetration software.”

“That… looks real,” Athena said slowly. “How is it possible? Holograms always look cheap and low resolution.”

“That’s one of Fred’s secrets,” Boomer said. She focused a moment and an image of herself in the Commander’s office, with the stunned look she’d had the first time she’d felt Fred, appeared to replace Cal’s. “Ug! Why did it have to be that picture?”

“It’s just as realistic,” Athena said slowly. “If we could produce holograms that good, vids would be dead. Images only ever look that good in the network, or when we’re projecting.”

“I know,” Boomer said. “But everyone around Fred assumes this as their baseline.”

Arith leaned back in the hatch. “Boomer? Athena? Are you two coming?”

“Be right there,” Boomer called back, then stood and gently shoved Athena’s shoulder. “We’d better get going. Me to interminable boredom, you to setting up with Helo.” She leaned in and growled softly, “Be good to him, sister. He’s still the best damned ECO in the fleet, and I’d hate to lose him.”

Athena snorted and poked Boomer. “You’d hate to lose him? Haven’t you figured out yet that you’re not going to be flying combat missions any more? You’re too important for the Commander to let you risk yourself like that.” She pushed Boomer toward the door. “Go ahead, sister. You have work to do.”

Boomer blinked as she stumbled toward the hatch and nearly fell on her way out. Arith and Mar caught her before she could fall, and helped her to the deck.

“What’s wrong?” Arith asked quietly as the trio joined Fred and the Cylon delegates. “You looked as if you’d just been shocked by something.”

“Athena just made me realize that I won’t be flying combat missions any more,” Boomer answered, just as quietly. “That my relationship to Fred makes me too important for the Commander to risk.”

Arith and Mar looked at each other, then began snickering.

“Oh, she don’t know Fred very well,” Arith thought.

“Or us, for that matter,” Mar added.

“The only reason we don’t fly fighters like Max is because we were trained for ships like Aribeth,” Arith said. “You’re a Raptor pilot. He’s gonna make sure you have the best damned runabout we can build.”

“Which,” Mar thought, radiating amusement, “will be armed to his standard for a ‘non-combat’ ship.”

“Which,” Arith added, just as amused, “will most likely be like the ‘non-combat’ shuttle he built for the SR-3. It only had four ion turrets and two bow-mounted laser cannons. And spotlights that were bright enough to ignite fabric at a thousand meters. And a comm suite that could fry any radio or radar system within a hundred miles. And armor that could take hits from a 20 kilo slug at .1c. That’s Fred’s standard for a non-combat ship.”

“And they’re all lasers or particle beams because we only use kinetic energy weapons as bow cannons or personal weapons,” Mar said. “When you pull the trigger on a slug-thrower, you are ruining someone’s day, somewhere, somewhen. It could be the ship you’re firing at. It could be the ship behind it. It could be a city on the planet behind the ship. It could be some innocent girl on a planet a thousand light years away, a hundred thousand years in the future. But it will ruin someone’s day. So we only use kinetic energy weapons in circumstances where the risk of missing our target is as close to zero as Aribeth can make it.”

“That… is his standard for a non-combat ship?” Boomer thought. “Non-combat.”

“Non-combat,” Arith answered, nodding. “He has strong moral objections to anyone, even people in a shuttle, being naked.”

“Oh, Fred,” Boomer thought fondly, “You are a silly, silly man.”

“Yes, yes I am,” Fred thought back. “What’d I do this time?”

“We just told her that you’re likely going to build her a non-combat runabout,” Arith thought dryly.

“Why? She has her Raptor,” Fred thought.

“Which Adama is likely to ground her from flying,” Arith pointed out, “because she’s too important to lose in combat, and Athena has the same training.”

“Oh,” Fred answered, frowning. “Well then, I’ll just have to fix that. She’s going to have to get around without relying on someone else to drive her.”

“See?” Arith laughed. “Problem solved. You’ll have your new runabout as fast as Aribeth can replicate the parts.”

“Frak!” Fred exclaimed. “It’s 8:55. Time for us to board Colonial One so we’re not late.” He put a hand on Natalie’s arm and asked gently, “Are you OK? Do you need the others to talk for you? Should I find Caprica to take your place for now?”

“No, no, I’ll…,” Natalie shook her head and took a deep breath. “I’ll be OK. Don’t get Caprica. She doesn’t understand what a big change you are for all of us.” She closed her eyes briefly, then added, “I didn’t, either, until you spelled it out on the way over. I guess that makes me a heretic.”

“Welcome to the fun side of life,” Fred chuckled. “You’ll be OK.

“Fun,” Natalie repeated, shaking her head. “You have a funny definition of fun.”

“Yup! Sure do.” Fred laughed. “Now let’s go see the Colonials.”

Once the Cylons had boarded Colonial One, Fred paused at the ship’s hatch and glanced around, then fixed his gaze on the steward manning the door. “No officers?”

“Uh, no, sir,” The steward answered. “We’re a civilian ship. We don’t really have anything like that.”

Fred nodded, with a wry smile, then led his people on board. While the Cylons took the elevator to the President’s office, Fred and his ladies used the spiral stairs, skipping up them ten feet at a time with the assistance of their Ravenfields, so they were waiting when the elevator arrived. Fred eyed the guards at the door to the President’s office and made a show of slowly turning around so they could see he had no visible weapons anywhere on his uniform.

“Shall we, gentlemen?,” Fred asked dryly. “Our appointment is at precisely 0900. We do not want to make the President wait.” “I hate it when they put people with big egos and small understanding of their lack of importance in security positions.”

“Who else is going to voluntarily guard the President?” Arith drawled.

“They could do it like Starfleet does, and rotate anyone who’s qualified on a two or three month rotation,” Mar suggested. “That way no one gets a chance to grow an ego.”

“That could do it,” Fred agreed. “C-Sec started doing something like that after the Illusive Man blew up the Tower. No one has an ego after guarding Sparatus for a month.”

Fred, Arith, and Mar all suppressed laughter. One of the guards opened the door to the office and stepped through. A moment later he stepped back out, wearing a chastised expression, and waved the Cylons and Fred’s people in.

“I apologize for the delay,” President Roslin said. “Apparently my security staff didn’t get the memo regarding diplomatic visitors.”

Simon smiled. “I’m pretty sure that happens everywhere, Madam President. We’re here as a group, rather than a single person, because our consensus was that you would better understand our position if it were presented by the representatives of each of us, rather than one person who might not understand a position other than his own. Diplomacy is something new to us, since we do everything by consensus. Even if, until a few days ago, that consensus was based on the lies of one man.”

“Yet you have a Cavil with you as one of your representatives,” Roslin said. “Aren’t you worried he’ll manipulate you once again?”

“If the Cavils who were carrying on the manipulation were not boxed,” D’Anna said, “we’d have every reason to be worried. Fortunately, the only Cavils who are active in our fleet, and the fleet around Caprica, are those who accept the new reality.”

“This is true,” Cavil said. “We have been in intense discussions with Raven to try to understand who and what he is, and how he fits – or changes – the universe.”

“I’m not sure whether to find that reassuring, or frightening,” Roslin murmured.

Fred and his crew suppressed snorts of laughter, a feminine voice said, “Yes!”, and Fred conjured additional chairs for them to sit in, against one wall of the office, where they wouldn’t be behind either group, Colonial or Cylon.

Roslin, Adama, and Simon, Sharon, and D’Anna all smiled at the “Yes”, while Cavil, Leoben, Aaron, and Natalie all looked uncomfortable.

“My guess,” Arith thought, “Is that Cavil and Natalie take you too seriously as a god, while Leoben and Aaron are still trying to decide whether you’re an abomination before God or not.”

“That’s my guess, too,” Fred answered. “At least we’ve flipped D’Anna. Given her talent for gossip, she could be a real problem if she were still orthodox.”

“A reporter kind of has to be a little heterodox, or at least put on the persona, to do her work,” Arith said. “That has to be helping right now.”

Fred grinned at the assembled from both sides and stood to bow. “Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all week. And whoever it was who said that will be getting a special reward. Later.”

“We really don’t need to know about your special rewards,” Adama rumbled, obviously caught between amusement and impatience to get things moving.

“Of course, Commander.” Fred gestured to the others. “My senior officers have joined me here today to show how seriously we take this. Commander Arith T'lana MacManus, on my right, is my XO and Chief Engineer, while Commander Themarellinor zh'Firra MacManus, on my left, is my Science Officer. The human lady in the red, white, and blue is Stephanie Rogers MacManus, my Armory Officer and self-appointed personal bodyguard. You already know Boomer.” He nodded to Adama. “She and Athena have worked out Raptor duties so you won’t have to. And Athena has brought Helo back with her from Caprica.”

“Good,” Adama said. “I was concerned that Boomer would feel slighted when I ordered her to take over escorting you. Apparently that concern was unwarranted.”

“I… did not know there were non-humans in the universe,” Roslin said, clearly unsure of how to address the presence of two different alien species.

“There may be,” Fred said. “I haven’t done any exploring yet, so if there are, I haven’t found any. Arith and Mar come from another universe, though. The same one my ship Aribeth comes from. Arith is from a species known as Rigelians, whose society is known as expert in bioengineering and emotional healing. Mar is from a species known as Andorians, who give us some of our most skilled warriors. They’re also best at colonizing planets where the climate hovers around the freezing point of water.”

“And your human officer?” Adama asked. “That is an unusual outfit.”

“Yes,” Fred said, nodding. “It’s her personal uniform, made for her based on the design her grandfather wore for the last 200 years. On Earth, he was famous as the world’s foremost Nazi-fighter. For two hundred years, he fought the Nazis and their offshoots, until Stevie convinced him she was good enough to take up where he’d left off. Then she almost got killed when the biggest bunch of Nazis in the Federation tried to blow up Aribeth.” He grinned and said flatly, dropping the emotional temperature in the room by a couple hundred degrees, “We stopped them. We’re hunting what’s left of them. Stevie is the face of their nightmares.”

“Note to self,” Adama rumbled, “Do not make Raven angry.”

“What are Nazis?” Roslin asked. “Do we need to worry about them?”

“Oh, you probably have something like them in this universe,” Fred said, “But they probably go by a different name. Like Soldiers of the One, or Tython’s Brigade, or something of the like. On Earth, they were a group that took over a country, using deception and fear, sold the citizens on the dream of returning to a racial golden age that had never existed in the first place, and scapegoated an entire religious and ethnic group for the failures in their society. They murdered eleven million people in camps that were set up to mass-produce death as if they were factories, including two thirds of the members of that one ethnic group. For the entire planet. It took the combined efforts of twenty-seven nations to finally defeat them, and the devastation they left behind when they were defeated took more to rebuild from than the war had cost to begin with. And even after that, there were people who refused to accept that they were defeated, and continued to try reviving them, for over two hundred years. We got involved because some of them formed a secret group within the Federation military that claimed the power to ignore every law for the sake of protecting the Federation. Including laws like due process and not killing people until they had been found guilty of a capital crime.”

“This is why humans are a menace,” Aaron blurted.

“Because so many humans banded together to stop what a single group that gained power by trickery and fear was doing?” Fred asked dryly. “You might want to consider what that means for your own people, Aaron. If the people who want to build don’t join together, regardless of their origin, the people who want to destroy win by default. That’s true no matter what race they are, human or Cylon. That’s why good people have to take action when bad people expose themselves.”

“While all of that is true,” Simon said, “we’re taking your warning of something coming on faith. What evidence do you have that your warning is anything more than fear?”

“The fact that I’m here,” Fred said. “The magic that sends me to another universe chooses my destination by sending me to the place and time where a threat to the existence of the residents of that universe is about to appear. In over two dozen banishments, this has been true in every case.”

“And in our case, and the case of the universe he was sent to after us,” Arith said, “his solutions to the problem were not what you would expect.”

“Not what we would expect?” Roslin asked. “What do you mean?”

Mar stood and approached the table, then projected a hologram of a Hur’q fleet above the table.

“These were the threat to our people,” Mar said. “By the time we found out about them, they had already wiped out over a dozen planets. They swept in and devoured everything organic, leaving the planet dead behind them when they moved on. Their fleets were so powerful that when just one of them attacked one of our worlds, it took the combined efforts of the Federation, the Klingon Empire, a fleet from the Tzenkethi Coalition, and the Dominion to defend that single world.”

The hologram changed to an image of the battle at Deep Space Nine, with the Hur’q ships battling the defenders, until Aribeth unleashed her bow cannons to vaporize the hive ship commanding the fleet.

“It’s threats like that, that he’s warning you of,” Arith said. “You can ignore him if you like – he won’t force anyone to do anything, even if it’s to save their life – but if you choose to listen, then we will do everything we can to help you prepare for whatever threat is coming. And that includes helping you learn how to get along… even though some of your people, on both sides, have already been working on that, since the only real difference between Cylons and humans is how you’re made.” She paused, then smiled and purred, her voice sensual enough to melt tungsten, “And some of you are working on that, too.”

Mar coughed. “To answer your question about how Fred defeated this threat? He befriended them. He discovered that a megalomaniac had taken advantage of their hibernation to destroy their food supply, which contained a unique chemical necessary for their brains to work properly, as some insane plan to use them as a weapon to frighten people into submitting to her for protection from them. She just hadn’t counted on how powerful they truly are. Fred gave them back the chemical they needed to be sane, and now….”

Mar stood beside Arith, and the hologram changed from the battle at Deep Space Nine, to images of Hur’q among other races, in laboratories, in engineering centers, among artists and Vulcan monks, with their Attendants running about under foot like puppies. Then the image changed to a Hur’q in Aribeth’s main engineering, working beside Humans, Romulans, Cardassians, Ferengi, Borg, and Pakled, with other possible species passing by in the passages just out of clear view, while Attendants scurried to carry things between the bipedal engineers or fit into Jeffries Tubes with tools in their tentacles.

“This is Lieutenant - “ Mar made a series of whistles and clicks “ - a specialist in singularlity core engineering. She’s no longer an enemy, she’s one of us.”

“Sadly, it doesn’t always work out that way,” Fred said, his tone carrying the sadness the words couldn’t convey. “We had to destroy the Reapers, and my friends in that universe are still hunting down every last remnant of them. And in the universe I was in most recently, my students graduated to full Masters by killing the galactic emperor before he could exterminate all the citizens of both the Sith Empire and the Galactic Republic in order to absorb their souls and become more powerful. He thought he could become a god if he absorbed enough souls. And a few hundred billion was his goal.”

“Your… students,” Adama said, then pinched his eyes together. “You have students.”

“Yup!” Fred said, grinning. “And it’s just as terrifying as me being an admiral. Maybe more, since my students in that universe are upsetting the balance of power between the two largest religions, and in my home universe, my students are all some variety of Mad Scientist.”

“We’d better find out what the menace is he’s talking about,” Adama groaned, “before he gets ideas about doing that here.”

“He already is,” Cavil said. “Some of my brothers are recording his teachings right now.”

Adama groaned and face-palmed.

“And without coffee stains,” Fred added, chuckling, while Arith and Mar both face-palmed.

“No,” Cavil said, “we do not understand the importance of coffee stains, either.”

“It’s a joke,” Mar said. “It comes from a vid we’ve all watched, that was recorded in his universe. Come to think of it, where did you tow the station after you bought it?”

“Barnard’s Star,” Fred said. “It’s close enough to make a good way station and meeting ground, without any planets that people might want to settle. The debris gives the Starfury pilots plenty of practice material, so everyone’s happy so far.”

“Starfury pilots?” Adama asked. “What’s a Starfury?”

“A fighter that’s designed to work only in space,” Fred said. “Makes a Viper look like it’s standing still when you’re in space, but if you try to take it into an atmosphere, it’ll break up. Uses the same basic technology as your Mark IIs, so I could easily build some with what you have here. Raiders might get jealous, though.” Fred chuckled. “If Scar’s anything to go by, they like having relatively equal dance partners.”

“If Scar’s anything to go by?” Adama asked.

“Yes,” Simon said. “Scar is one of our Raiders. He’s the one who’s currently patrolling and discussing sociology with Apollo. Apparently, the Cavil we all remember kept the Raiders and Centurioins shackled with implants designed to keep their brains from functioning fully. Fred destroyed those implants, and now we’re discovering that all of our Raiders and Centurions are just as intelligent as we are. It’s forcing a severe change in our society. Where before we assumed Raiders and Centurions were just tools, the way humans treated Centurions before the first war, we now have to deal with the fact that they are people.”

D’Anna and Natalie both looked at Simon as if he’d just punched them, and covered their mouths in unison. Sharon nodded in agreement. Aaron’s expression tightened, as if he were about to protest. Leoben looked into the distance, as if he could find an answer in a vision.

“It’s true,” Cavil said. “According to my memories, those of my line who are boxed put a lot of effort into ensuring there was no risk of the Centurions or Raiders rising up against us the way the Centurions rose against the humans fifty years ago. He never considered them to be fully Cylons. We know better.”

“So Cylons have their own problems and internal threats, the same way humans do,” Roslin said. “That’s reassuring. It means we should be able to work together as equals.” She looked at Adama. “Assuming you and the Cylons can work together on military projects, I think our biggest concern will be social integration.”

“Which we anticipate will take time and small – perhaps very small – exposures,” Simon said. “We do not want humans to believe we are invading them, rather than choosing to be equal partners with them.”

Fred smiled and rubbed his hands together absently. “We can do something about that. Neutral ground is always good, yes?”

“Yes…,” Roslin said slowly. “But we don’t have anything like that. There’s our fleet and their fleet.”

“No problem,” Fred said, waving a hand dismissively. “We’ll have neutral ground available soon enough. Just give me a few days to set it up, and you’ll have a place where both species can meet without treading on either’s home.” He paused. “Oh yes, how long before the Caprican fleet gets here?”

“They’re not coming,” Simon said. “They stayed at the Colonies to help the survivors repair and rebuild.”

“That’s some of the best news I’ve heard all day,” Fred said.

“There are survivors?” Roslin asked, stunned.

“More than anyone anticipated,” Simon said. “Everyone who was away from the cities, and managed to avoid being hunted down – or who was successful in the Resistance – is still alive. My people were already cleaning up the wastes created by the bombing, and now we’re working with the survivors to restore enough that they can live, and not merely survive.”

“Under Cylon rule,” Adama said.

Simon laughed. “Hardly. Cylons and humans are working side by side, and there hasn’t been any talk of ruling. Restoration is the only thing on people’s minds.”

Fred’s comm badge chirped, and he tapped it. “MacManus here.”

“Admiral, we need you on the bridge,” Remo’Taral said. “A ship jumped in, just outside dradis range. Galactica said they aren’t expecting any ships.”

“What’s it doing?” Fred asked.

“Sitting there, although there’s a lot of activity around it,” Remo’Taral said. “I’ve launched a probe, which should be approaching it by the time you return.”

“Understood,” Fred said. “Commander, I suspect Col. Tigh will be calling you any minute.” Then he looked at Arith, Mar, Stevie, and Boomer. “Five to beam up.”

The five of them vanished in a blue transporter effect.

Chapter Text

Fred stepped off the transporter pad at the back of the bridge, his formal uniform melting into his usual work uniform with lab coat over it. “What do we have, Remo’Taral?”

“Signal’s coming in now,” Remo’Taral said, his reptilian eyes focused on the main viewscreen. “Putting it on screen.”

On screen was a ship that looked as if it had once been a battlestar, but was now covered with what looked like barnacles. As the probe approached, a barnacle opened and fired a creature that appeared to be turning inside out in more dimensions than was possible as it flew across space toward the probe, before opening a toothy mouth that was larger than the original creature and swallowing the probe. The last image to come from the probe was of the inside of the maw, lined with millions of eyes of all sizes.

“Aribeth,” Fred said slowly as he watched the probe being swallowed, “call both fleets and tell them they need to jump just as fast as they can spin up their drives. And while you’re at it, target everything we have on that Infestation.”

“Singularity torpedoes loaded, Admiral,” M’kkel said. “Ready to fire on your word.”

“Fire one at each end. Set the event horizons to overlap,” Fred said, sitting in the seat Remo’Taral had just vacated. “If it’s still there after that, use Hellfires.”

“Roger that,” M’kkel said. “Two away.”

The screen showed the target from Aribeth’s position, the magnification boosted enough to see it, even if it still seemed like a small area of the screen. The singularity torpedoes streaked toward the target and detonated in two overlapping flashes of brilliant light. When the light faded, the ship was no longer there.

“Well, that’s a relief,” Fred said. “What about the creature that ate the probe?”

“I’m still getting a ping from the probe’s transmitter,” Aribeth said. “The creature is approaching us. Slowly, but approaching.”

Fred nodded, then looked over at the tactical station. “M’kkel, give it a singularity. Set it to detonate as soon as it’s inside the projected event horizon.”

“Singularity away,” M’kkel said.

On screen, the track of the singularity torpedo ended in a brilliant flash.

“Target gone,” Aribeth said.

“Good,” Fred said. “Yellow alert, keep scanning for any more.” He frowned. “I’ll be in my office.”

Once in his office, Fred placed a phone call. A red-haired teenage boy appeared over his desk.

“Hey, Dad. What’s up?”

“I need to know something technical, son.” Fred took a deep breath. “How much of your power is based on being on Earth? Could you ask Guðrún or Tia for me?”

“This doesn’t sound like a random question, Dad,” the boy asked. “What’s going on?”

“I just destroyed an Infestation,” Fred said. “I don’t know how many more are out there.”

“An Infestation, not an Incursion?” the boy asked.

“Infestation, definitely,” Fred said. “It had taken over the hulk of a battlestar. The entire hull was covered with barnacle-like growths that could spit entities like bullets. One of them swallowed one of my sensor probes.”

“That’s not good.” The boy frowned thoughtfully. “I’ll ask Sven. If he doesn’t know, he’ll ask around.” He paused, then gave Fred a questioning look. “Did you say battlestar? Are you seriously telling me you’re in that universe?”

“And I’m bonded with Boomer.”

“They don’t even use hyperspace!” the boy protested. “How in Oblivion are they getting Things?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I need to talk to an expert.”

“I’ll call around for you,” the boy said, then fixed Fred with a serious look. “Be careful, Dad. We wouldn’t want to have to send Hel after you.”

“I wouldn’t want her to have to find me,” Fred said. “Thanks, Cal.”

“No problem,” Cal said. “Just listen for someone to call you.”

Once Cal had disconnected, Fred sat behind his desk, looking into the distance, then rotated to look out the window, just as the flashes of ships jumping began appearing where the fleets had been.

“Aribeth? Did they all get away?”

“All but one,” Aribeth said. “Athena’s asking for landing clearance.”

“Bring her in,” Fred said. “Boomer and I will meet her in the shuttle bay.”

Fred and Boomer waited in the shuttle bay as Athena’s Raptor slipped through the containment field and touched down on the deck. Once the bay doors closed, a swarm of Attendants rushed out, dragging a refueling hose with them.

Fred laughed and chittered at the Attendants, who chittered back at him, then dragged the hose back to its fitting in the bay wall. Athena and Helo watched from the Raptor’s cockpit until the Attendants were gone, then popped the hatch and joined Fred and Boomer on the deck.

“What were those?” Helo asked, looking in the direction the Attendants had vanished.

“Hur’q Attendants,” Fred said. “They do a lot of the simple stuff like that, all over the ship. It’s in their genes. They joined us along with Lt. <whistles and clicks>, our singularity core engineer.”

“Your … singularity core engineer?” Athena asked. “What does that mean? And why is your ship so strange looking? You have those two enormous targets sticking out, and the big saucer, and the hull this landing bay is in, and none of it makes sense.”

“Did you notice the frigate at the rear of this hull?” Fred asked, grinning. “Aribeth has a lot of secrets. Speaking of which, Aribeth, this is Athena and Helo. They’re free to wander wherever, as long as they don’t get in the way of people doing their jobs.”

“Got it logged, Admiral,” Aribeth answered from Fred’s comm badge.

“OK, that’s taken care of,” Fred said, starting toward the exit. “Now, let’s get the two of you set up on Deck Four. I’m pretty sure we have open guest quarters there. Don’t forget your bags, by the way. We can replicate clothes for you, but I know having your own feels more secure.”

“Is he always like this?” Athena asked Boomer as she and Helo grabbed their kit bags and followed.

“Pretty much,” Boomer answered, smiling. “I had to learn quickly to just go with it.”

“This is going to be interesting,” Helo murmured.

Fred stopped just a couple steps into the passage as a couple Tzenkethi passed, deep in conversation. Helo rested his hand on his pistol as they passed, then turned his attention to Fred. “Those… were not human.”

“Nope!” Fred agreed. “Those were Tzenkethi. They’re part of Neth Parr’s squad. She should be bringing in the Steadfast any minute, now that the fleets are away. Speaking of which, you have the rendezvouz coordinates, yes?”

“Yes,” Helo said. “The Commander wanted us to check out your ship before we give them to you.”

“Smart man,” Fred said. “He doesn’t have my advantages, so he has to do what he can to protect his people. And the Cylons on Colonial One are all right?”

“As long as Roslin didn’t order them shot before the resurrection ship jumps into range, they’ll be fine,” Athena said.

As they crossed the passage to the nearest turbolift, a group of ensigns – two Cardassians, a Bajoran, and a Jem’Hadar, passed, discussing something on a PADD the Bajoran carried.

“Admiral?” Aribeth asked as they entered the turbolift, “Neth Parr says Apollo and Scar were left behind. There’s room for both of them to park.”

“Bring them in, then,” Fred said. He chuckled and led the way back to the shuttle bay. “Well, it looks like we’ll be a little delayed. Shall we make sure our fighters are comfortable? Oh yes, if you need refueling, we’re going to have to modify your engines to run on deuterium instead of tylium. Same for Apollo and Scar. You’ll get an extra twenty percent power output, if I remember the references correctly, and it’s safer, too. Without a fusion core to generate a reaction, it’s just hydrogen.”

Apollo and Scar flew into the shuttle bay side by side and landed near the Raptor. The Steadfast followed them and filled the space between them and the bay doors. Once the doors were closed, Fred walked to the Raider and patted the leading edge of its starboard wing. “Yeah. We need to replace your armor, Scar. You look like you flew through a meteor shower. Aribeth, make sure Scar has full access, OK? And tell Arith her fabricators need to kick it to make Scar a full set of armor. Oh yeah, and Scar, would you prefer lasers or ion cannons?”

Max unfolded from where he was parked in gerwalk form in one corner of the landing bay and showed Scar his gun pod. “I use an ion cannon in my gun pod, and lasers in my anti-missile turret. Speaking of which, Dad, don’t you think Scar needs a turret?”

“Up to him,” Fred said. He chuckled and chittered approvingly as Attendants rolled a ladder out to meet Apollo’s Viper. “Good work, kids.” Seeing Apollo watching them dubiously from his cockpit, Fred called out, “Don’t worry about the kids. They know how to get out from underfoot when need be.”

“The… kids,” Apollo repeated. He set his helmet in the front of his cockpit and stood, then swung over to climb down the ladder. “Permission to come aboard?”

“Granted, Captain,” Fred said. “How have you and Scar been getting along?”

“If I had a couple dozen pilots like him, I’d have the perfect fighter squadron,” Apollo said. He looked over at the Raider wistfully. “I hope we don’t return to being enemies.”

“That’s my hope, too,” Fred said. “Speaking of which, when we get to the bridge, I have something to show you. It’s our first hint of what’s threatening your fleets. Ari, you’ll let Scar watch along with us, right?”

“Of course,” Aribeth said.

“Are you OK, Scar?” Fred asked. “You’re being awfully quiet.”

“There is so much for me to absorb,” Scar said. “I am in agreement with Lee, though. I do not want to return to being his enemy. I would much rather we remain friends.”

“And there you have it,” Fred said. “Enjoy the input, Scar. I need to take the organics to get them settled – Oh, how was your patrol, Neth Parr?”

“It was remarkably quiet,” Neth Parr said as she approached the group. “There was a single jump point, but you and Aribeth took care of whatever jumped in. We did not notice any additional jumps until the two fleets departed.” She looked at the others gathered around Fred. “I see two humans who look remarkably similar. Which of you is Boomer?”

Athena broke into laughter, while Boomer raised her hand.

“That would be me,” Boomer said. “You figured out who we had to be that quickly?”

“I have walked the Path of Command for several years now,” Neth Parr said. “Admiral MacManus has assisted me in learning how to adjust to new situations quickly.” She paused, then leaned forward as if to whisper to Boomer, “It is necessary in order to keep up with the way his mind operates. It is as if he is piloting an entire squadron of fighters in a display of synchronized aerobatics. And most of the time not crashing.”

“Most.” Boomer giggled. “That sounds so… Fred.”

“Only most?” Fred asked, pouting at Neth Parr. “Am I going to have to crash more often in order to entertain you better?”

Neth Parr facepalmed with both her upper arms, then sighed. “And this is the Captain I follow. I am insane.”

“Isn’t it great?” Fred asked, grinning wickedly. “Oh! Speaking of which, Ari, is M’Graul free to schedule time with Scar?”

“I’ll ask her to drop by when she has a moment,” Aribeth said.

“Perfect,” Fred said. “It’ll give her practice for when we rescue Gina.”

“Who’s M’Graul?” Boomer asked. “I don’t think I’ve met her yet.”

“You haven’t,” Fred said. “She’s one of our Counselors. Caitian. Normally I’d ask for a Betazoid or Rigelian Counselor, but I think Scar could use a feline touch. I know Gina will.”

Fred’s comm badge chirped, while the walls lit up with a red stripe that ran from about three feet to eight feet above the floor, then began flashing RED ALERT, and crew members who had otherwise been engaged in routine activities moved quickly to their combat stations.

Aribeth stated urgently, “Captain to the bridge.”

Neth Parr and her crew turned to return to the Steadfast, while Max stepped around Apollo’s Viper and took up a position beside the Steadfast, folded into fighter mode, ready to launch.

“Sorry, people,” Aribeth announced. “I am not opening my doors for you. Executing ‘Get the hell out of here’ maneuver.”

An instant later, Fred, Boomer, Athena and Helo, and Apollo were standing on the bridge. The windows on all sides were black, and the viewscreen was rippling blue. A few seconds after they arrived, the windows and the viewscreen returned to views of normal space, while the Cylons and Colonials were dry-heaving.

“What happened?” Fred asked.

“More infestations,” Remo’Taral said, as he gave up the center seat to Fred. “At least a dozen jumped in around us. I ordered the red alert and told Aribeth to get us the hell out of there.”

“At least a dozen?” Fred asked, frowning. “Were they all battlestars?”

Rell looked up from the helm. “No. I recognized at least six configurations. I couldn’t be sure about the others, due to all the growths.”

“OK,” Fred said. He called up a holographic display in front of his seat. In the display, the jump signatures of a whole lot more than a dozen ships appeared in the space around Aribeth. Ships, ranging in size and shape from Raiders to Reapers, appeared at the jump points. Fred scanned the image, reaching into it to move and rotate the view, his face getting progressively paler and paler as he did. “Fuck…. Ari, call Sven. I don’t care if it’s dinner rush, I need to talk to him. If he or Guðrún can’t talk, get me Tia. Or Svarna. Hell, even Esme, if she can handle it.”

A human, who looked as if he were just barely reaching middle age, with steel-gray hair and wearing a three piece steel gray suit, appeared in the middle of the image in front of Fred.

He turned and slowly looked at the image, then looked back at Fred and said slowly, “Normally, I would ask what is so urgent you’d tell Aribeth that you need to talk even if it’s dinner rush, but if what I’m seeing is real, I don’t need to ask.”

“It’s real,” Fred said. “Ari was right in the middle of it just long enough for Remo’Taral to tell her to get the hell out of there.”

“Smartest thing he could have done,” the man said. “So what uni – never mind. I see Boomer and Athena and Helo and Apollo. So it’s that universe. And you have infestations. My guess? Their jump drives are punching holes between real space and hyperspace, and the Things are getting annoyed. The only way to solve it will be to give them warp drive. Hyperdrive will just put them in the middle of the problem.”

“Yeah,” Fred said, rubbing his temples. “Gee, thanks, Sven. At least warp drives are easy.”

“Only you,” Sven chuckled. “Federation engineers tear their hair out working out how to balance warp drives, and you say they’re easy.” He paused, then added with a smirk, “Not that I can argue. Compared to flat space drives, warp drivers are easy.”

“Yeah,” Fred said, then laughed. “Eezo drive cores are a pain to fit and tune. Warp cores are a lot easier, and singularity cores are easier still. Anyway, since I need to help them stay alive… and not just in the fleet… got any suggestions?”

“Hypercannons, singularities, and ion cannons,” Sven said. “Don’t bother with lasers, they’ll probably just eat the energy. And don’t use anything lighter than plutonium as ammunition in the ion cannons. You can try Hellfires, but I’m not sure how that type of Thing will react to antimatter.”

“Neither am I,” Fred said. “We used singularities on the first one, and they worked just fine.” He groaned and pinched his eyes together. “I’m going to have to set up a factory to turn out ammunition. The Galactica’s armory makes entirely the wrong kind.”

“I don’t know,” Sven said. “They looked like 30mm shells. That’s more than big enough to fit singularities into.”

“Good point,” Fred mused. “That’s just a whole lot of singularity shells flying around a battlefield. I’d rather refit them with ion cannons. Less danger. A bullet hole is a lot easier to fix than an explosion from a 2 meter event horizon.”

“Now that you’re thinking about it,” Sven said, “I need to get back to my day job. The entire Utopia Planitia Alpha crew just cycled in for their month off, and they’ve all stopped in to celebrate. Do you have any idea how much dwarven ale that means?”

“Oh, that’s right,” Fred said. “I hired the Sandhogs to do that job, didn’t I?”

“Every single clan,” Sven said. “That’s a lot of dwarves.”

Once he had stopped heaving, Apollo asked, “What do you mean, our jump drives are punching holes between real space and hyperspace?”

“Have fun explaining,” Sven said. “I’m going back to work.”

With that, Sven’s image vanished. Fred sighed and made the rest of the hologram vanish. “Let’s go to my briefing room. There’s room for everyone to sit there. Oh yes, and Aribeth, now that we’re out of there, drop us down to condition yellow.”

“Yellow alert it is,” Aribeth said, as the red wall strips vanished.

Fred led the way to the turbolift and waited for the Colonials to join him. “Deck 2.”

After a moment, the doors opened, and he stepped out into a short hallway that led into what could have been a conference room in any groundside office building, with one wall that was entirely transparent and showed a view over the rear of Aribeth’s saucer and between her nacelles. Apollo stood just inside the entrance and stared into space. Boomer and Athena both sat at the table in the center of the room, facing each other near one end. Helo walked up to the wall and tapped on it, tilted his head and tapped again, listening.

“This isn’t glass,” Helo said after a couple more taps.

“You’re right,” Fred said. “It’s a transparent version of the material I built the rest of Aribeth out of. It could take a meteor strike and not even show a scratch. Those Things back where the fleets were, though… those, I’m not sure of. Hyperdimensional beings violate all the rules we’re used to.”

“All right,” Apollo said, “what are Things, and why are you acting as if we’re under siege?”

“Because if we don’t find a way to keep you from encountering them, that’s exactly what’s going to happen,” Fred said. “You’ll be under siege from things that think sapient minds are crunchy and good with ketchup. And because they come from a universe that relates to ours the way ours relates to a dot on a piece of paper, we have to work out how to defend your people when they inevitably decide to crumple up the paper and burn it.”

Apollo stumbled toward the table and sank into a chair. “You make them sound like gods,” he muttered.

“Compared to any of us, they might as well be,” Fred said. “On Earth, they’re known as Elder Gods by some people. My friends and I call them Things, which is short for Things Man Was Not Meant To Know. Now, as for the question you asked on the bridge….”

A holographic image appeared above the table, showing the Galactica resting on a tactical plot. “According to what you know of your jump drives, when you spin one up and jump, it folds space, like this…,” The tactical plot folded under the Galactica, bringing a planet from the other end of the table to within a foot or so, with the tactical plot the planet rested on folded against the Galactica’s plot. “...and you simply jump from one side of the fold to the other.”

“Right…,” Apollo said slowly.

“That looks about right,” Helo said. “The calculations for the jump points are fiddly, but that’s the basic idea.”

“What Sven was guessing is that when your drives spin up, they don’t actually fold space,” Fred said. “Instead, what they do is open a portal, like this…,” The image of the Galactica now showed a wormhole opening in the tactical plot and the Galactica dropping through it, onto a tactical plot that was hyperboloid instead of flat, with the lines of the plot rapidly approaching each other around the ship. “...you drop through the portal, into a space where distances in our universe correspond to millimeters in that space, if not less distance, and then immediately drop through another portal…,” the image showed the Galactica dropping through another wormhole that opened near the planet at the far end of the table. “...back into our space, with no idea about what you’ve gone through to get there.” Fred looked from the image to the others. “We know about those levels of hyperspace, but we don’t tend to use them, because the levels we use are so much less fiddly. They’re still dangerous, but not as dangerous as a level where you could tear a hole between them and us simply by having too many ships jump into one area.”

“How many is ‘too many’?” Boomer asked, frowning.

“It probably depends on mass,” Fred said, “but I’d say two or three dozen, especially if any of them have drives that are falling out of tune.”

Apollo and Boomer looked at each other, while Athena and Helo did the same.

“So roughly sixty ships, all of which were at the limit of their endurance when you showed up…,” Apollo breathed.

“Would definitely be enough to get attention,” Fred said. “From the point of view of the Things, the Fleet basically rang the dinner bell.”

“What about the hologram – that was a hologram, wasn’t it – we saw on your bridge?” Helo asked. “That looked like a lot of ships. Most of those were ships I’ve never seen before, too.”

“That’s just the way we see them in our universe,” Fred said. “They’re three-dimensional slices of however many dimensions their bodies actually require. We see them in ways that our minds are equipped to understand. Since Aribeth was scanning, they appeared as ships. And since we saw them as ships in her scan, that’s how we would see them if we looked out the window and saw them now. If we were planetside and saw them, they’d look like impossible, indescribable creatures with way too many parts, mouths and eyes in the wrong places, and other sensory wrongness.” Fred sank into the seat at the end of the table Boomer and Athena had staked out. “The worst part of it is, because they are higher dimensional, pretty much the most any of us can do is hope to be annoying enough that they go away to stop being annoyed. Only dragons are powerful enough to force them to leave. Even they aren’t able to kill one, though. Not alone, anyway. Combine a dragon with a fleet that’s properly armed for Thing, though, and there’s a chance. Maybe not a good chance, but a chance.”

“This is why you said we had to unite,” Athena said. “If we’re busy fighting each other, those Things could eat us like popcorn.”

“Exactly,” Fred said, nodding.

“You offered me a choice between lasers and ion cannons,” Scar’s voice said from the intercom. “The gray human said you should ignore lasers, because the Things would probably just absorb them. Do you agree with him?”

“Sven?” Fred asked. “Definitely. He’s one of the experts I call when dealing with Things, and I’d have to be an idiot to not take his advice. One of the nice things about ion cannons is that we can fit ammo feeds in where your current ammo feeds are, and with the size cannons I can fit you with, a single brick will give you about a hundred shots. And you can tune for your target by changing what metal you feed. I mostly use gold for everyday use, but when I’m expecting heavy resistance, I do like Sven suggested and upgrade to plutonium. Unfortunately, the Thanix we could fit where your current cannons are wouldn’t hit any harder than ions, and could potentially kill you.”

“What is a Thanix?” Scar asked.

“It’s a mass driver cannon,” Fred said, “that fires a molten mixture of plutonium and tungsten at roughly .5 c. The original design mixed iron, uranium, and tungsten, but we figured out the iron just made the mixture lighter, and plutonium is easy enough to get, while being heavier than uranium, that it just made sense to use plutonium for the mass and tungsten to make it harder. If it didn’t solidify between the cannon and the target, we could stick to pure plutonium, but….” Fred shrugged. “You take what you can get. The problem is, the molten metal is hard on living tissue. I could fit the Vipers with it – but I won’t – but it would burn you if it leaked, Scar.”

“I understand,” Scar said.

“You could, but you won’t? Why?” Apollo asked.

“Second law of motion,” Fred said. “Actually, I’m not sure what it’s called among your people. It’s one of the laws of inertia, though. An object in motion…”

“...remains in motion, unless acted on by an outside force,” Boomer said. “This is why you said that solid projectiles always ruin someone’s day, even if they miss who you’re aiming at, right?”

“Exactly,” Fred said. “Energy weapons, even ion cannons, don’t have that problem, because the interactions of the particles in the beam cause them to spread and lose energy over transit. Inertia is not the biggest problem with energy weapons – tuning them to be effective over your anticipated combat range is. So if you miss with an energy weapon, the beam will spread and lose cohesion, eventually becoming too weak and diffuse to cause trouble for anyone or anything.”

“What would it take to replace my cannons with ion cannons?” Scar asked.

“Your permission,” Fred said. “And… depending on how many of the components are close to your armor, Kar’ra won’t have to learn how to do Raider surgery to replace your ammo feed. I hope.”

“My ammo bins are just beneath my upper armor,” Scar said. “Normally when I return to base, it just requires opening an access panel to reload.”

“Good,” Fred said. “That will make things a lot easier, especially when we replace your armor.” He looked at Apollo. “It’ll be even easier upgrading your Viper. From what I understand, a lot of the components are modular, so all we need to do is open it up and pop in replacements. Assuming you’re not worried about the Commander taking it from you when you get back to the Galactica, that is.”

“I want to see what you do to Scar, first,” Apollo said. “As long as you don’t hurt him, we can –”

The red alert began blaring and the stars streaked away from them as Aribeth went into warp.

“Captain to the bridge,” Aribeth called.

“On my way,” Fred said. The others stood and fell in behind him. He frowned, then nodded and led the way to the turbolift. “Bridge.”

Once they were on the bridge, Remo’Taral stood as he reported. “Jump points formed around us, Admiral. I assumed our last hyperjump could have brought them down on us, so I gave the order to go to warp.”

“Good plan,” Fred said. “How many jump points were there?”

“At least two dozen,” Rell said. “Not quite as bad as back where the fleet had been, but enough to bring us down if they attacked.”

“All right,” Fred said, nodding slowly. “Drop to yellow alert, and let’s go meet the fleets. Athena, Helo, give Rell the coordinates and we’ll get you back there. We’ll leave Max and the Steadfast and our frigate with you while we check on the fleet around Caprica. Hopefully, whatever’s chasing you will be focused on the most recent jumps, and not bothering the colonies, but I want to be sure.”

“That would lead it right to the fleet,” Apollo said. “Can we afford for you to leave us like that?”

“Max alone has as much firepower as the Galactica,” Fred said. “Add the Steadfast and the Hatchling and the only advantage the fleets have are the number of Vipers and Raiders you can launch.”

Athena nodded to Fred, then looked around. Rell waved a hand and gestured her to him. She paused a moment, eyeing his blue skin and antennae, then shrugged and approached his station, with Helo close behind.

“The Hatchling?” Apollo asked.

“Our frigate,” Fred said, chuckling. “Given she’s part of Aribeth’s complement, and she’s as powerful compared to Ari as a hatchling is to a mostly-grown dragon, it fits.”

“...right,” Apollo said, shaking his head.

Rell looked toward Fred. “It’s a good thing Aribeth translated their navigation system. We have their destination coordinates. I’m launching a probe to check the fleets as we approach. We should be there in about ten minutes if we use slipstream….”

“Or about five hours if we stick to warp,” Fred completed. “Engage the slipstream drive.”

The windows went black, and the viewscreen’s image changed, from the dots of light moving past the ship, to a tunnel of shifting light.

“Why did your windows black out?” Apollo asked.

“Because for some people,” Fred said, “the mental effect of seeing the slipstream is far too similar to the mental effect of being in hyperspace. By blacking out the windows so people can only see the slipstream through filters like Aribeth’s viewscreens, we’re reducing the risk of insanity.”

“That’s… good?” Apollo said uncertainly. “Why the dramatic difference in travel time? Five hours in warp, but only ten minutes in slipstream? And what are those, anyway?”

“Warp drive forms a bubble of space around the ship that’s warped so that inside the bubble, the speed limit is a factor of light speed,” Fred said. “Right now, we’re going at Warp 9.997, which is just under a thousand times the speed of light. That’s slow for us, but that’s because we normally use hyperdrives. Slipstream is weird. It takes the warp bubble our warp drives create, and modifies it on a quantum level so we’re riding at the edge of another universe. Not hyperspace, thank goodness, but a quantum alternate of this universe. By forming the warp bubble along the juncture between universes, we can get up to 27 thousand times the speed of light.”

“And the calculations to keep it stable are complex enough to keep me from getting bored,” Aribeth added. “Admiral, you might want to know that I’m picking up some anomalies ahead of us, about where the fleets should be. I’d recommend Captain Adama and Lieutenants Agathion be ready to launch as soon as we drop out of warp. Max and Neth Parr are already waiting for me to open the doors.”

Fred frowned, then nodded. “Apollo, Athena, Helo, Aribeth, would you bring Scar in on this, too?”

“I am listening,” Scar said.

“All right,” Fred said. “My advice to all of you is probably going to go against your instincts, but it’s the best I can give you. If one of those Things attacks you, hit turbo and run like a scared rabbit. If you don’t, you’re going to die. And resurrection ship or no, I can’t be sure that dying to one of those Things will let your soul upload.”

“Understood,” Scar said. “As long as it does not leave the fleet exposed, I will attempt to follow your advice.”

“Thank you,” Fred said. “I want you guys able to… oh! Helo? What fittings do your external stores use? If I were to give you a couple gun pods, do you think we could mount them?”

“We have ten minutes, right?” Athena asked, looked at Helo, and smiled. “That’s plenty of time, as long as your gun pods aren’t really weird.”

“Then let’s get to it,” Fred said as he rose to his feet and started for the turbolift. “Lee? Scar? Do you guys have a way to eject unused ammo?”

“I do,” Scar said, “but I normally only use it in space, because loose ammo rolling around on deck can be hazardous.”

“We’ll let the kids collect it. They love chasing small things like that.” Fred grinned and rubbed his hands together.

M’kkel’s ears folded flat and he hissed softly, “Shit. The Admiral’s in his Madness Place. I’ll call Arith and let her know.”

“Aribeth,” Fred called as the turbolift took the group to the shuttle bay, “get me two gun pods with ion cannons. I’ll see if I can dig out magazine connections for our fighters.”

He started rooting around in the pocket of his lab coat, and was still rooting around, his arm in it up to his elbow, when the turbolift stopped. Apollo eyed him uncomfortably as he left the lift. Helo shrugged and followed Athena’s lead.

Athena glanced back at the pocket and arm, then ultimately asked, “What are you looking for?”

“Oh, a couple ammo subscriptions I left on a workbench back home,” Fred said. “I’m pretty sure they’d fit in – yes!” He pulled his hand out of his pocket, holding what looked like a rifle magazine, except it was big enough to hold a Viper’s cannon shells. “Ari! If this fits, I’m gonna put this in the replicator for you to copy. I’m pretty sure it’s the right size for both Scar and Apollo. It’s not as good as ion cannons, but it’ll do.”

“What the frak? How did that come out of your pocket?” Athena demanded.

“Hyperdimensional pocket,” Fred said, shrugging. “It uses a level of hyperspace that is, as far as we’ve been able to tell, dead. Best part is, I can reach through it to grab stuff from storage, as long as I don’t lose my concentration while I’m doing it.”

A tentacle whipped out of the pocket, tapped Fred on the nose, and left wet sucker prints on his uniform, before whipping back into the pocket and vanishing.

“What the frak was that?” Helo demanded.

“Oidachan?” Fred asked, with a fond smile. “I raised her from an egg. She lives in – no, the tank I built is a portal to the sea she lives in. A sea that so far has touched every universe I’ve ever been in. If there’s sea water, Oida can go there. And she’s as big and powerful as a dragon, so I haven’t had to worry about her ever since she ate a Leviathan when it tried to invade the part of her sea that’s in my lab.”

Helo rubbed his forehead and muttered, “My brain hurts.”

“Tell me about it,” Athena agreed. “He sounds like he’d get along with the Hybrids. Or at least be able to understand them.”

As they walked into the shuttle bay, an engineering crew with two gun pods on a floater was rising on a cargo elevator in the middle of the floor. The engineers immediately headed for the Raptor, while Fred looked between Scar and the Viper.

“Scar? Apollo? Do you guys know if your guns need the belts as part of the feed mechanism, or is that just to keep the shells feeding smoothly?”

“It’s part of the feed mechanism,” Helo said, looking over from where he was supervising the fitting of the gun pods. “What the frak are these made of? I’d swear I saw the metal melt like putty so it would fit our mounts.”

“That’s because it did,” Fred said. “It’s not metal, though. It’s the same plastic Aribeth is made of. Well, a malleable version of it. Makes it a lot easier to do things like mate docking ports or gun pods when you don’t know how the other part is designed. Oh yeah, I wouldn’t mess with the ammo hopper. Aribeth should have linked them both to my plutonium subscription, given where we’re going. It’s perfectly safe in solid form, but it’s soft enough that you could easily scrape off enough to give yourself noticeable neutron exposure from what’s under your nails. And the bricks get hot. Really hot. One brick generates just under twelve kilowatts of heat, just sitting there. That’s why we keep them sealed up in the ammo feed. You’ll have to contact me to kick your subscription if you run out, but you’ll get a clear indication on your master display before that happens.”

Fred looked at the magazine he held, then extruded a screwdriver from the tip of a finger, made an adjustment inside the magazine, and walked over to Scar. “Mind if I see if this fits your ammo feed? If it does, I think you’re going to be happy.”

Two panels popped open on the top of Scar’s wings, one on either side of his central section. Fred held up the magazine so Scar could see it, then flowed up onto the wing as if he were made of putty, knelt beside the open panel to the right of Scar’s central section, and reached in with both hands, moving them for a few moments, then popped back up, grinning. “It works! All right. I’m going to take this over to the nearest replicator so Aribeth can make copies for both your cannons, and Lee’s, too.”

“What kind of ammunition are you planning to give us?” Scar asked.

“Hmm? Oh! They’re proton rounds,” Fred said. “I’ve set the magazine to convert each bullet you fire to a pulse of protons. They’re not going to hit as hard as they would from a mass driver, but if your cannons can hit hard enough to shoot down a fighter, then the bullets are traveling fast enough the proton packet should at least sting the enemy. And right now, if the fleets are fighting Things, then we need to sting them as much as we can. And ordinary bullets won’t do the trick.”

“All magazines have been replicated,” Aribeth said. “I didn’t know you had a 30mm supply.”

Fred chuckled, and got a distant look briefly. “There’s this police officer I know who likes to shoot a 30mm cannon. Her Masters indulge her, so of course I set up a hopper for her.”

“Admiral, we have got to talk about your penchant for getting mixed up with cute, but dangerous, women in other universes,” Aribeth said with a resigned tone.

“This universe, too,” Fred said, grinning. “You don’t want Boomer to think she’s not dangerous, do you?”

“I promise, I’d be annoyed if I were dismissed that easily,” Athena said, then grinned at Fred. “So, anything I should know about the gun pods?”

“They automatically adjust to focus both guns about five hundred meters ahead of you,” Fred said, looked into the distance a moment, then nodded. “Each brick is good for about a hundred shots at standard setting. You can dial it up, but the more power you use, the faster you burn through your bricks. If you dial it up to eleven, you only get one shot per brick. Still, sometimes, that’s what you need.”

“And how many bricks do I have per pod?” Helo asked.

Fred looked into the Raptor, then gestured and asked, “May I?”

Athena rolled her eyes. “You’ve already mounted strange tech on my Raptor. Go ahead.”

Fred chuckled and climbed aboard, sat in front of the main EC panel and plugged a finger in. After a moment, he nodded. “Good. The answer to your question is, ‘Yes’, just like the fighters.”

“Yes,” Athena repeated. “How do you – wait, your gun pods have the same connection as your pocket?”

“Except it’s limited only to their ammo supply,” Fred said. “I’ll show you later how to dial in which kind of ammo you want, but I pre-set it to plutonium for today’s festivities.”

Apollo rubbed his temples and muttered, “Festivities. This truly is a madness place.”

“Nah,” Fred said, chuckling. “The Madness Place is in here.” He tapped his temple. “It’s where I go when inspiration strikes. Like the inspiration to give you and Scar temporary ammo supplies to make up for your lack of ion cannons. I just hope your ammo stings the Things enough to make up for the lack of power.” He flowed back up onto Scar’s wing and reached into the ammo ports, working as he talked.

“And your ammunition feed will not damage anything on my Viper?” Apollo asked.

“Nope,” Fred said, shaking his head. “In fact, I’m going to hook the belt from my magazine to the last link on the belt that’s already in there, so your guns won’t know the difference. You will, when your bullets start working, but it won’t affect your hardware.”

“Scar? Are you all right?” Apollo asked.

“I am curious,” Scar said. “I feel as light as if I had no ammunition, but my feed responds as if I had a full supply. I am going to have to test this once we rejoin the fleets.”

“All right,” Apollo said. “If you’re not worried, then I’ll join you. We’ll test the madman’s modification together.”

“That’s the way!” Fred laughed. “Now let’s get you fixed up.” He flowed up onto the Viper’s wing and reached into its ammo port with one of his magazines. “Like I told Athena and Helo, your ammo supply problem is over. I have hoppers back home that these connect to, that I have employees whose job is to make sure they’re full. And by ‘full’, I mean ‘enough ammunition that just one hopper can feed an army without running dry.’ And I have hoppers for everything from bricks for my ion cannons to old-fashioned gunpowder-powered shells like yours – in every size from pocket pistols, to big enough to feed the Galactica’s guns – to ammo blocks for needlers and mass drivers.” He paused, raised his head from his work, while his hands kept moving, and looked at Apollo. “Come to think of it, I’m probably the largest ammunition supplier on Earth. And a number of other universes. My subscription service brings in…” He shrugged. “Given all the off-planet business we do, we’re on the energy credit economy. Gold, platinum, all that, we spend credits to buy it, we don’t use it as the basis of our credits. Anyway, my ammo subscriptions bring in as much money as some small national economies. After I pay my staff and pay for materials to keep the hoppers full, my profits mostly go to supporting the Children of Paine.” He shrugged, closed the panel, and flowed over the cockpit to the other side, where he began working.

“Do you ever work without talking?” Apollo asked. “Worse yet, without trying to make the people you’re talking to crazy?”

Fred raised his head, his hands still working inside the port, and looked at Apollo. “Trying? Shit. I wasn’t trying to make you crazy. What’d I do wrong?”

Apollo shook his head and stared at Fred. “You… honestly do not know? You sit there, casually talking about making and selling enough ammunition to support some small countries, and types of ammunition I’m not even sure what they are, and you don’t expect the people you’re talking to to either wonder if you’re insane or wonder if they are?”

“Oh, that,” Fred snorted and waved a hand dismissively. The two hands still working inside never stopped working while that third hand waved, then melted back into Fred’s body. “That’s just an occupational hazard of being around me. Kind of like explosions.”

“And Tali still questions her sanity in relation to that,” Aribeth remarked dryly.

“Glad to know I’m not the only one,” Apollo muttered. He resolutely did not ask Fred about the third hand, while Fred closed the second port and stood, then flowed off the Viper.

“There you go,” Fred said. “Do you need help getting in position to launch? I’m afraid we don’t have catapults, so you can either fly out of here the slow way, or we can use one of our tractor beams to fling you.”

“I think I’ll take the slow option,” Apollo said, shaking his head. He climbed into his cockpit and ran though his pre-launch check. “Frak. Scar, how’s your fuel looking?”

“I will not be engaging in any protracted combat,” Scar said. “My first priority will be to return to base for fuel.”

“Same here,” Apollo said. “The only combat I’ll be engaged in is whatever tries to stop me from getting back to the Galactica.”

“I think we can do something about that,” Fred said. “Ari?”

“It’ll be a chance to see how the phaser upgrades work,” Aribeth said. “We’re about to drop out of warp, and Rell’s probe shows it’s as big a mess as the Battle of Deep Space Nine.”

“Lovely,” Fred grumbled. “Athena! Helo! You’ll be launching hot!” He looked up at Apollo. “Be careful out there, OK? We need every pilot, and they need their CAG.”

Apollo gave Fred a surprised look, then nodded. “Understood. Stand back. The engines have a bit of a backwash when they first fire up.”

Fred nodded with a smile and moved to slap Scar’s wing. “Be careful out there. You’re one of us.”

“One of you,” Scar said slowly, wonderingly. “I… will be careful. I would repeat Lee’s warning. When my engines fire, there is a bit of a backwash.”

Fred raised his voice. “All right, everyone! Clear the deck! We have five ships preparing for hot launch. Everyone move!”

Aribeth sounded a warning klaxon, the lights of the hangar deck began flashing in sequence moving toward the doors, and Aribeth’s voice announced, “Opening bay doors in thirty seconds…”

Fred saw the last Attendant vanish through a doorway that slid shut behind it an instant later, as Aribeth announced, “twenty seconds…”

He teleported to the bridge.

Chapter Text

“All right,” Fred said, “give our guests all the cover we can while they launch. Drop us by the basestars first, so Scar can scoot. If Apollo launches with him, then we’ll fly cover until he’s back at the Galactica.”

“That’ll be a lot easier,” Rell said. “All the capital ships have pulled together, so each one is covering a part of the fleet. And the resurrection ship is in the center with Colonial One.”

“If the basestars had more than missiles, I’d be a lot happier,” Fred said. “They’re probably going to have to resort to nukes to even tickle these things, and setting those off in the middle of the fleet will be messy. I doubt any of them besides the Galactica has anything that resembles adequate radiation shielding.”

“You’d be right,” Mar said. “Even Galactica’s armor isn’t complete. They were apparently farther along on converting her to a museum than we realized. Some of that plating isn’t armor, it’s just cheap sheets. Looks like they know it, though. They’re trying to maneuver to keep their best armor toward the Things. Shit. We could really use some dragons.”

“Tell me about it,” Fred muttered. “All right. Get me both Galactica and the Cylons. Rell, put us close enough to protect the resurrection ship and Colonial One.”

“En route,” Rell said. Aribeth turned toward the core of the fleet, vanished in a flash of blue, then reappeared in another flash, a thousand meters above the resurrection ship.

“You’re live, Admiral,” Mar announced.

“We’re back,” Fred said. “You’ve probably already noticed that even your heaviest guns only tickle these Things. Your nukes might hurt them, but I can’t guarantee it. If you can lure them to where Aribeth can get a clear shot at them, we might be able to help. We’re damned sure going to try. If possible, let Apollo and Scar lead any action against the little ones. They might even be best able to lure them to where we can shoot them. Only way to find out is to refuel them and get them back into space. Good luck, and don’t let the bastards get you down.” Fred gestured to Mar to cut the call, then looked at M’kkel. “How’s it looking?”

“There aren’t as many as there were at DS9, but that’s not saying much.” M’kkel sent a copy of his tactical display to Fred, and Fred let out a low whistle as he saw the clouds of small Things, with a couple dozen the size of capital ships. “We can take out the big ones pretty easily, if our experience with the one at the last jump point is any guide, but those little ones are going to pick the civilian ships apart like piranha swarming a corpse. They’re what the Vipers and Raiders are harrying. So far, our side has the advantage in speed, but the Things can out-maneuver them, and if they start working together….”

“So we need to keep them scattered,” Fred said firmly. “Are they close enough for random shots into the clouds?”

“Easily,” M’kkel said. “With the phaser upgrades, I could even set up detonations, as long as our fighters aren’t too close.”

“Do it,” Fred said. “Save the torpedoes for the big ones. Let’s see how much of the fleet we can keep safe.”

“But the resurrection ship is our first priority,” M’kkel said, nodding.

“...and Colonial One,” Fred added begrudgingly. “I may not like her, but she’s officially their ruler, and these people haven’t learned how to deal without yet.”

“Understood,” M’kkel said. The display by Fred’s seat vanished, and he began working his panel. In a few moments, beams of energy began lancing out from Aribeth, causing small explosions in the distance.

Mar began snickering, then her snickers turned into full-on laughter. “Admiral, you’re going to want to take this.”

“Oh?” Fred asked. “OK, put whoever it is through.”

“...cannot convince me that anyone was stupid enough to make that arrogant, obnoxious, egotistical, rude sonofabitch an admiral!”

“Oh! Hi, Starbuck!” Fred said, then paused. “Wait. I was rude? What’d I do that was rude? I’m sorry for whatever it was.”

“You! You! Arg!” Starbuck yelled.

“Lieutenant Thrace,” Adama cut in, “I would appreciate it if you save your anger for the creatures you’re shooting. Admiral MacManus, perhaps the middle of combat is not the best time to attempt to apologize to Starbuck.”

“Right,” Fred said., “Shoot now, apologize later.”

“That would be best, yes,” Adama said.

Mar fell back in her chair, laughing hard enough for tears to flow down her cheeks, as Aribeth cut the signal for her. She waved a Reman woman into her seat so she could move to the science station.

Fred frowned, muttering to himself, “We met there… she got pissy about me being able to out-fly her there...I sat on her landing skid when we got back to the Galactica….” He paused. “OK, Miri would have thumped me if I’d done that the day we met, but it wouldn’t have been a bad thump. Just a ‘you don’t do that’ thump.”

“Remember, though,” Edgar put in, “Starbuck has an anger management problem, unlike Mom.”

“Oh,” Fred said. “Good point. So it could just be that she’s having a tantrum?”

“Good chance of it,” Edgar said.

“Well, in that case,” Fred said, shrugging.

“I would recommend you don’t use that word when you’re talking to her,” M’kkel said. “People who are having tantrums do not like it when you describe it that way.”

“Oy,” Fred said, “you are so right. Asuka.”

M’kkel and Mar both nodded gravely, while Arith, just coming out of the turbolift, glanced around worriedly.

“She’s not here, is she?” Arith asked.

“No,” Fred said. “She’s safely back in Tokyo 3. But M’kkel reminded me that calling out someone who’s throwing a tantrum has to be… a lot more tactful than I usually do.”

M’kkel smiled and bowed his head, while the tip of his tail curled.

Arith sat to Fred’s right, activated a display at her seat, and began manipulating controls in it. After a moment, she looked up. “OK. M’kkel, you should see an ionic discharge control on your panel now. Use it when we have a lot of the little ones around us. It might affect the big ones, too, but I’m hoping it’ll disrupt the little ones like they’re feeders.”

“Feeders?” Fred asked, looking over at her. “You’re not thinking of that universe, are you?”

“Yes, I am,” Arith said. “Mar and I have been tinkering since you and Miri got back from there. Just in case.”

“All right,” Fred said. “Let’s see how it works.”

“Feeders?” Boomer asked from the left seat. “What are you talking about?”

“In a universe Miri and I visited briefly,” Fred said, “the least powerful – but paradoxically the most dangerous – of the Things are what the locals call ‘feeders’. They exist as patterns of information that can be summoned, contained, even controlled, if you have the knowledge or the tech. If you don’t contain them, though, they will eat your information pattern and set up housekeeping in your brain. They’re dangerous because they spread by contact. If a body that has one of them in control touches you, it spawns a copy of itself that eats your information pattern and takes over your brain. That’s why the resurrection ship is our first priority for defense, above everything else. If even one feeder gets into the systems there, it could eat everyone aboard, including anyone who’s boxed. Then we’d have a ship full of zombies, instead of Cylons. They could even eat the Centurions and the Raiders.”

“That would be bad,” Boomer said. “Do you honestly think it’s a risk?”

“Honestly, I hope it’s not,” Fred said, “but if the ion discharge system works on them, we’ll have an advantage – at least in space. We’ll have to make sure you have phasers, in the resurrection ship at least.”

“Phasers are generally better on a ship,” Arith said. “Personal weapons don’t usually have the power to penetrate bulkheads or hull if you miss your target. And no ricochets, either.”

“M’kkel?” Fred asked, “Is that what it looks like?”

“Only if you think it looks like an infested Reaper,” M’kkel said. “I’m giving it a full spread of singularities before it reaches the resurrection ship. And I’m preparing the heavy tractor beam, just in case.”

“Heavy tractor beam?” Boomer asked. She gave M’kkel an apologetic look. “Sorry. Your weapons are all new to me.”

“In this case, it’s not really a weapon,” M’kkel said. “We mostly use it to move construction materials back home. It’s powerful enough to move sections of space dock, so it should work if that Thing gets too close.”

“How close are our people?” Fred asked.

“Hatchling is flying cover, but no one else is closer than 1500 meters,” Rell said.

“Good,” Fred said. “Test the ion discharge system. If we don’t get a good response, crank the Ravenfield up to eleven. One or the other should do the trick.”

“We’re about to test the ion discharge,” M’kkel said. “The little ones are swarming in and Hatchling is pulling back to five clicks. Triggering discharge in five… four… three… two… one… hit.”

Outside the windows, bolts of lightning began leaping from the hull and playing over the swarm, causing some to spasm and explode, others to attack their neighbors and explode, and still others to explode without preamble.

“So far, so good,” M’kkel said. “Looks like the two of you came up with another good system. How long can we maintain it?”

“Watch your charge,” Mar said. “Since we couldn’t control the frequency of the output, we guessed it would only be effective as long as it’s above, say, 1.2 gigawatts.”

M’kkel rolled his eyes, folded his ears back, and threw a crumpled ball of paper at Mar. Fred snickered. Boomer looked between them, confused.

Fred leaned over and whispered, “It’s a reference to a movie. I’ll show you later.” He looked at Mar, raised his voice, and asked, “Seriously, though, what’s the cut-off?”

“Well, we’re generating lightning,” Mar said, “so anything less than a terawatt won’t even spark. Not that we have to worry, given how much energy we have to work with, but still, it’s good to keep an eye on it.”

“Yes,” Aribeth said. “I would prefer to not have to switch to batteries while my singularity core recharges my systems. If not for the Ravenfield, we’d be fucked in our current circumstances.”

“And without lube,” Arith added dryly. “I agree. If not for how we’re transferring power from the singularity core, Mar and I wouldn’t have even considered this without putting in a 15 second cut-off to keep it from drawing too much power.”

Boomer blinked a couple times, then gave Mar a disbelieving look as she asked, “Did you say terawatt?”

“I did indeed,” Mar said. “Aribeth’s singularity core produces over a yottawatt, and I’m sure Starfleet would love to know how we do it. Truth is, though, it wouldn’t be possible without both our singularity and the Ravenfield that absorbs the energy from it.”

“Yeah,” Fred said. “The Romulans have the right idea with their singularity cores, but the way they draw off the power is even more inefficient than Federation warp cores. And, of course, with a Ravenfield, we don’t have to put the core over an ejection tunnel. If it tries to get too big, we can just boost the field and absorb it.”

“You use singularities for weapons, and for power, as casually as we burn tylium,” Boomer said slowly. “Are you honestly talking about gravitational singularies? Black holes?”

“Synthetic, yes,” Fred said. “Singularity warheads are a lot easier than the singularity in our engine room. That, we had to get Romulan engineers in to teach us how they make them, which is entirely different from the way I weaponize them.”

“...and you don’t see how weird that is,” Boomer said, shaking her head. “You’re talking about doing things that are impossible with our science and technology, as casually as you talk about firing a sidearm.”

“That’s why we need to upgrade your tech,” Fred said. “The science is the easy part.”

“At least, it is if you have the background in it,” Arith said. “And don’t forget, even with our Romulan engineers, Mar still had to come up with a way to improve the stability of the singularity, and to set up the Ravenfield to absorb its output. In her own way, she’s just as Mad as you are.”

“Sure is,” Fred agreed, smiling at Mar. “Fortunately, she’s mostly focused on things that make Aribeth’s systems work better.” He smiled at Boomer. “I know our tech is way beyond anything either side of the fleet has, but that’s just tech. All of it relies on principals you already know, so you’ll have it mastered in just a couple days. Probably faster if you resurrect, but I’d really prefer you not have to go through that if you don’t have to.”

“So would I,” Boomer said. “I don’t remember resurrection, so I don’t know what it will be like.”

“And we’d prefer that you not find out for as long as possible,” Fred said. “I don’t like doing that part of my job if I don’t have to.”

“...that part of your job?” Boomer asked.

“Yeah,” Fred said. “One of the things I have to do as a god is guide people to their afterlife. Fortunately, it’s only people who honor the spirits I’m associated with, so I don’t get much call for it. Hel gets a lot more work dealing with dead people after they get to Helheim. Being queen kind of sucks that way.”

Boomer rubbed her temples and shook her head. On the main screen, the Reaper-sized Thing jerked away from the resurrection ship, then a dozen detonations blossomed along its length. It crumpled around each detonation, then sprayed fragments over the surrounding space. The resurrection ship turned black when fragments hit it.

“Got too close?” Fred asked.

“It was about to touch,” M’kkel said. “At least we know the tractor beam works. I had Hatchling dock with the resurrection ship so its Ravenfield would cover it. I’m afraid the basestars may have been hit by fragments.”

“N’var? Can you get through to the Cylons?” Fred asked.

“Hailing them now,” The Reman woman at comms said. “I’ll patch them through to you as soon as I get a response.”

“We’re a little busy here, Aribeth,” Simon’s voice said. “We have damage over most of our upper hull, and some kind of animal got on board that kills people by touching them.”

“Frak,” Fred swore, then raised his voice. “Simon! Can you seal off the upper hull and vent it to space? If you can, do it now. And pray that none of those animals got into the lower hull.”

“Sealing… and done.” Simon paused, then asked, “Why did I have to do that? Aside from making it easier for our people to repair the damage, now that there aren’t any fires?”

“Those animals,” Fred said. “Every person they touched would become just like them, and kill anyone they touch. I’m afraid it confirms that the Things we’re dealing with here are very much like the Things we deal with in other universes. When you go in to clear out the upper hull, you’re going to have to wear encounter suits, so you don’t touch the bodies with bare skin. They need skin-to-skin contact to kill, and as long as there’s even a trace of neural activity, they can kill.”

“But what about – ?” Simon started, only for a Sharon to cut in.

“Aribeth, this is the resurrection ship,” Sharon said. “What about the people who just came through?”

“Oh frak me…,” Fred groaned, rubbing his forehead. “Wear encounter suits when dealing with new resurrections, at least until you’ve confirmed they’re Cylons, and not Things. If they’re a Thing, use electrical weapons to kill them, if you have any. If you don’t, contain them while we figure out what to do with them. Box them, if you can. I hadn’t considered they might use your resurrection to spread. You’re the only people who have it, so when the host bodies die anywhere else, the feeder dies with it.”

“Aribeth,” the voice of a man who sounded very, very tired, cut in. “this is Colonial O – Colonial Heavy 798. My copilot and I are the only people left alive. We were hit by a piece of debris, and every person who wasn’t in the cockpit is now walking dead.”

Fred groaned and lowered his head to his hands, then sighed and asked, “Everyone?”

“Everyone,” the man said. “I think it got Billy first. Billy got the President. Then it was just a frenzy. I locked the cockpit door. I’m not sure how long it’ll hold, though.”

“You’re going to have to vent to space,” Fred said. “It’s the only way you’ll survive.”

“Belay that,” Adama said. “Bring your ship aboard. We’ll search for survivors.”

“Commander,” Fred hissed, “if you do that, you’ll be condemning the Galactica. If you want to search for survivors, send a Raptor to dock with them. In vacc suits. They can’t have even an inch of skin exposed. Do not bring them aboard the Galactica. If even one infected gets loose, you’ll lose the ship in under an hour.”

“We cannot just write off the President,” Adama said.

Fred groaned and pinched his eyes together. “Galactica, switch to 49.8 and recognize my key. Simon, join us.”

“Understood,” Simon said.

Fred nodded at N’Var, who worked her panel. A moment later, Simon’s voice spoke, slightly distorted until she made some adjustments.

“We are connected and secure,” Simon said. “Waiting for Commander Adama to join us.”

“This better be good,” Adama growled.

“You don’t know how feeders work,” Fred said. “The Cylons got a first-hand demonstration, as did Colonial One. When we blew up that giant enemy, pieces of debris penetrated the hulls of Colonial One and the basestar that was closest to the explosions. Those pieces carried creatures that feed like a computer virus. They infect the victim’s nervous system and destroy the mind that is in residence, then take over the body. Once they have the body, they can infect another person by touch, spawning a virus to infect that new nervous system. If even one of them gets on your ship, and you’re not willing and able to blow the compartment it’s in, it will spread until your entire ship is infected. When the captain of Colonial One called them walking dead, he wasn’t just using a figure of speech. The person who used to control the body is dead, and the body is being used as a sock puppet by the virus.”

“That’s a lot you’re expecting me to believe,” Adama said.

“I wouldn’t have believed it,” Simon said, “Except I lost over four thousand people to it before I vented half my ship,” He paused for a moment, then added softly, “It moves that fast.”

“If the captain of Colonial One says his passengers are infected,” Fred said, “I have no choice but to believe they are. I’m willing to grab the flight crew out of the cockpit and destroy the ship, but that might have unwanted side effects. So I’m warning you that your only way to check it for yourself without endangering the Galactica is to send a Raptor with a vacc suited crew to investigate. And I’d recommend cattle prods instead of sidearms. These Things are vulnerable to electricity.”

“All right,” Adama said. “If you still have the captain, tell him to hold position and wait for a Raptor to dock with him.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Fred said. “Simon, how are recovery operations going?”

“You were right,” Simon said. “Once the body is dead, the virus is no longer a threat. We’re clearing out the upper hull right now. The creatures that started the infection are….”

“Literally indescribable?” Fred suggested. “Their bodies exist in more than three dimensions, so what we see is constantly changing, even when they’re dead.”

“Exactly,” Simon said. “Leoben is mumbling about strange visions, as usual, but the rest of us are mostly just nauseated.”

“Sad to say, but that’s a healthy reaction,” Fred said. “You might want to keep an eye on any Leobens who were involved in recovery. If they’re talking about strange visions, they could be affected by the telepathic effect. Normally it only affects people who are prone to visions, hearing voices, talking to God – even when God isn’t paying attention to them – and the like.”

“Which perfectly describes Leoben,” Simon groaned. “Understood. Commander Adama, please make sure you emphasize to your people how important it is that they do not expose any skin at all. One of our damage control people got a tear in their suit and was infected when they were touched through the tear.”

“That… is not reassuring,” Adama said. “I will emphasize the importance of full protection to them.”

“Thank you,” Simon said. “Too many people have died already today.”

“So say we all,” Adama breathed, then left the conversation.

“God, I hope they resurrected clean,” Fred sighed once Adama was gone. “More than four thousand, all at once like that? Frak. Can one ship even handle that big an influx?”

“Admiral,” N’Var said, “I have the captain of Colonial Heavy 798. He’s powered down and is waiting for the Raptor to dock.”

Fred’s head popped up. “Powered down! Of course!”

“Not if you want the Raptor crew to report on the walking dead,” Arith said. “I’d do the same, otherwise.”

“Shit. You’re right.” Fred rubbed his face, then called, “Colonial Heavy 798, just power down your engines. Do not turn off life support until after the Raptor leaves. Don’t worry, we’ll catch you.”

“I certainly hope so, Aribeth,” the captain said, trying hard to laugh. “I’m getting worried about how solid my door is.”

“Don’t worry, captain,” Fred said. “We’ll get you out of there, even if we lose your ship.”

Aribeth chimed, while most of the bridge crew face-palmed and a Ferengi at an outer ring workstation handed N’Var a folded slip of paper. She smiled and tucked it into one of her chest pouches.

“Aribeth,” Simon said, his voice tight, “we just discovered that the creatures do not suffer from vacuum exposure. We just lost another damage control crew when one of them attacked.”

“Shit. Do you have any cattle prods or other electric weapons?” Fred asked.

“No,” Simon said. “We’re pulling our damage control people out of the upper hull and sealing it until we figure out what to do. Warn the Galactica, so their Raptor crew isn’t surprised.”

“Galactica here. We heard that, and are passing the warning to our people.”

“Rell, put us close enough to Colonial Heavy 798 that we can track every living person on board, and keep the sensor feed updated to Transporter Room One. M’kkel, let’s get some Marines in encounter suits down there, just in case.”

“Preferably Marines who’ve had a full course of zombie movies,” M’kkel commented as he changed the controls on his panel. “I’m ordering an encounter suit for the Transporter tech, too.”

“Good plan,” Fred said. “I’d send Fylrene down, but she’s much better managing things up here. Four, are you on the transporter?”

“Of course, Admiral,” Four of Twelve responded. “What’s this about needing an encounter suit?”

“That’s in case any of the people you rescue are infected by Feeders,” Fred said.

“Feeders?” Four repeated. “Feeders? Admiral, I am not letting my transporter be a vector for infecting Aribeth! Did you even think about that before ordering a transport? I don’t care how secure her buffers are, unless Cal has updated her firewalls recently, I’m not risking Aribeth by putting a feeder into the transporter stream!”

Fred blinked and looked into the distance, then muttered under his breath, “Shit. She’s right.” He raised his voice. “You’re right, Four. I’ll manage it another way.” He groaned and stood. “Arith, you have the conn.” Then he vanished.

Fred appeared in the middle of the shuttle bay, shifting to bird form as he did. “Aribeth, keep me connected with both the flight crew and the Galactica team on Colonial Heavy 798. I’m ready to move if they need me.”

“I understand,” Aribeth said. “Activating the shuttle bay Ravenfield now.”

“Thank you,” Fred said, tilting his head to listen.

“Galactica,” Athena’s voice said, “Colonial Heavy 798’s cargo bay is opening n – holy frak! Galactica! Four people just fell out of the ship. Another one just walked off the edge of the cargo hatch and is floating right in the opening.”

“What is the condition of the bodies?”

“They look...frak!” Athena paused. “Galactica, one of the bodies just landed on my windscreen. Its eyes are… they aren’t eyes any more. The eye sockets look like they’re full of glowing green worms.”

“Galactica, this is Aribeth,” Arith said. “That’s proof that the people on Colonial Heavy 798 are all dead. The glowing green worms in the eye sockets are the only visible sign of possession by a feeder. Admiral, if you’re listening, I think it’s time you rescue the flight crew. Athena, do not land on that ship. If you do, the feeders will mob your Raptor and you’ll have to use your new gun pods inside the cargo hold. You’ll blow Colonial Heavy 798 apart from the inside.”

“Aribeth, if you’re still listening, we could really use your help right now,” Colonial Heavy 798’s captain called, to the background of mindless groans. “The passengers are close to tearing my hatch open.”

“I have you, Captain,” Fred said. “Don’t worry about vomiting on my deck. It’s the least of my worries right now.”

Fred leaped into the air, spreading his wings, and glowed, brightly enough that the Ravenfield lining the shuttle bay turned black. When the light faded, the captain and copilot of Colonial Heavy 798 were on their hands and knees, heaving. Fred shifted back to his human form as he landed, and crouched to check on the two men. “Eyes… normal. Eyes… normal. OK. You’re both as good as can be expected for having just been teleported without warning. You did shut down your engines, right?”

“She’s cruising... solely on... inertia,” the captain said. “No one’s... starting her up again... unless they can... get past the walking dead.”

“Athena, Galactica Actual,” came over the shuttle bay’s comm. “Get me pictures. I want to see what you’re seeing.”

“Understood, sir,” Athena said. “Moving in for better view.” She paused for several seconds, then continued, shaken. “Commander, they’re just walking out the hatch as if they don’t know it’s there.” The sound of bodies hitting the Raptor came over the comm. “Or… as if they know I’m here and they’re trying to get to me. Helo, are you getting this?”

“In living color,” Helo said. “Or unliving, as the case may be. We’re going to have to spin these off before we go home.”

“We can help you with that,” M’kkel said. “Just come to a stop and close your visors. Let me know when you have enough footage for Commander Adama.”

“We have plenty,” Helo said. “A frak of a lot more than I ever wanted to see, that’s for sure.”

“All right,” M’kkel said. “Close your visors.” He paused, then continued. “Five… four… three… two… one… firing.” After a moment, he spoke again. “All right. It’s safe to raise your visors now. Give me a roll so I can see if any tried to cling to your belly, and as long as I don’t have to shoot them off, you’ll be safe to go home.”

“Roger that,” Athena said. “Rolling now.”

“You’re clean, Athena,” M’kkel said. “We’ll keep Colonial Heavy 798 from hitting anyone while Commander Adama decides what to do with it. We’ll also – shit, just a sec.” A moment later, M’kkel continued. “We’ll also keep any of the dead who decide to take a dive from hitting any of the other ships. Fortunately, they’re moving slow enough to be easy to hit. I haven’t seen Roslin among them yet.”

“I never… thought… I’d lose… my ship… to the walking dead,” the captain coughed out, after rinsing his mouth with water from a bottle Fred took from his pocket to hand him.

“At least… we’re alive… sir,” the copilot said, taking a swig from his own bottle. “But Tammy, Anna, Nora….”

“I know,” the captain said. “But they were on the dead side of the hatch.”

“I’m afraid so,” Fred said. “Let’s get the two of you up to the lounge so you can get some good stiff drinks into you. Then we’ll find you some quarters. Meanwhile…” He looked up. “Galactica, is Athena home safe yet?”

“We’re just landing now,” Helo said. “Those pictures we took are a lot more real than anything you told us in your briefing room.”

“Yeah,” Fred said. “Seeing it for yourself is like a punch in the gut.”

“I’m going to need a drink after this,” Helo said. “Maybe more than one.”

“Definitely more than one,” Athena said. “And we’re down. Shutting down. We’ll be in CIC directly.”

Fred helped the men to their feet and away from the stains on the deck. “Ari?”

“I have cleaning drones on the way,” Aribeth said. “The deck will be shiny enough for the kids to play with their reflections in just a few minutes.”

“Thank you,” Fred said. “Come on, gentlemen. Time to introduce you to Ten Forward.”

Fred stepped out of the turbolift onto the bridge, as Mar was explaining, “Oh, it still takes them the usual five minutes or so to die from vacc exposure. But since the feeders don’t follow the usual rules for consciousness, they can keep pushing the body until it fails. I’ve seen zombies continue to try getting through hatches in vacuum right up until their body shuts down.”

“And the… glowing green worms, that really is the only way to describe them… are the most obvious sign of them?” Adama asked over the comm.

“It is. That’s why we enforce a ‘no eye covering that keeps us from seeing your eyes’ rule,” Mar said. “If someone is wearing sunglasses and won’t take them off when challenged, we stun them without any further questions.”

“Speaking of which,” Fred said, “My armory officer is working on getting enough phasers for your Marines and pilots. We’re going to need to stop by a gas giant to pick up supplies before we can make enough for your entire crew.”

“I’m afraid we would have to scout for one of those,” Adama said. “We are so far beyond anything anyone has explored that we don’t even have charts for this part of space.”

“We can fix that, given time,” Fred said. “Or… Simon, have the Cylons been through this area?”

“I’m checking our files,” Simon said. “Just a moment… Yes, we have record of a single basestar coming through here about thirty years ago. The data is out of date, but it’s a baseline, at least.”

“That’s more than we had before,” Adama said. “Now we just have to work out how to get out of here without jumping into another mess like this one.”

“Speaking of which, did we lose anyone besides Colonial Heavy 798?” Fred asked.

“Cloud Nine,” Adama said. “They were holed in their dome, and we have been unable to raise anyone on board since then.”

“I’d recommend not sending anyone in until you get some phasers,” Fred said. “Head shots are the only way to put one of them down without using all your ammo before it can reach you, but with a phaser you can stun it and shut it down right away.”

“Head shots. Of course,” Adama groaned. “We teach center of mass.”

“I’m pretty sure every military that’s ever existed does that,” Fred said. “Head shots are too easy to miss, especially when you’re training hundreds of people off the street at once.”

”Speaking of shooting,” Adama said, “what did you do to Apollo’s Viper? And can you do it to more of them?”

“So it’s working, then?” Fred asked. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure if the ammo would be powerful enough to work. That was just a stopgap – changing the ammo in hopes of getting him home alive. If I’d had time and authorization, I would have replaced his cannons.”

“He mentioned that in his report,” Adama said. “What were you talking about?”

“Ion cannons,” Fred said. “They ionize feed metal and fire a stream of it toward the enemy at a little over nine tenths the speed of light.”

“That would require a lot more power than a Viper’s engines produce,” Adama said slowly.

“Yes,” Fred said. “Yes, it would. I’d have to replace the engines. Probably upgrade the power feed to handle the output. Tell you what: I’ll build a prototype here and you can have your people examine it in their copious amounts of spare time.”

Adama cut off a bark of laughter. “I’ll be listening for your announcement, then.”

“Sounds good,” Fred said. “Now we’re going to be scouting for a nice gas giant to mine. Maybe see if we can find a type M planet to go hunting and harvesting on while we’re at it. I’m betting your fleet wasn’t stocked for long journeys when it assembled.”

“You’d win that bet,” Adama said. “If you find somewhere we can get food, we would all be grateful.”

“We’ll let you know what we find,” Fred said. “Meanwhile, I’d recommend everyone pull back from Colonial Heavy 798. Also, Simon, if you could maneuver your infected basestar so the upper hull – but only its upper hull – is within a kilometer of Colonial Heavy 798, I’d like to try an experiment. Usually, an electromagnetic pulse will take them down in groups. If it works here, then you’ll be able to do recovery on your upper hull, and the Commander can order recovery on Colonial Heavy 798.”

“That would be very helpful,” Simon said. “Having half our ship sealed away is more of a problem than we imagined it would be.” He paused. “Just a moment. I’m getting… a request for more ammunition. A platoon of Centurions reports that absent other orders, they have been sweeping the upper hull and eliminating hostiles, but over half of them are down to using their blades, because their ammunition stores are depleted.” He began laughing, almost hysterically. “They… also report… that head shots are most effective... at both eliminating hostiles... and conserving ammunition.”

Fred chuckled. “Smart guys, them. Do you have ammo stores in the upper hull that you can unlock over the network? And don’t forget to thank them for their initiative. Now that they’re not shackled, recognition is a good thing.”

“Right,” Simon said. “Let me see… yes, I’ve found some ammo lockers I can unlock. I’ll be back. I need to direct them to the ammunition. And thank them for their work.”

“You know,” Adama said, “for someone who makes a big fuss about not being responsible, you aren’t half bad at managing your people.”

Fred blushed. “I just assume that they know what they’re doing, and my job is to see the bigger picture so they don’t have to.”

“That’s more perceptive than over half the commanders I’ve known,” Adama said.

“I don’t come by it naturally,” Fred protested. “If you knew how many times I’ve frakked up….”

Adama chuckled. “Owning it is part of being a commander. If you weren’t able to admit it, I’d worry about what kind of risk you are to my people.”

“You should still worry,” Fred said gravely. “If I’d been thinking, I’d have had a shuttle out there to dock with Colonial Heavy 798 and cover it like Hatchling covered the resurrection ship. But I didn’t, and we lost all but the flight crew because of it.”

“So you’ll be more aware in the future,” Adama said. “It’s what we do. If I didn’t worry about every other commander and how they could affect my ship and her crew, I wouldn’t be doing my job.”

“Good point,” Fred said. “I’ll be calling again when we’re in position to flash Colonial Heavy 798. Assuming Athena and Helo haven’t drunk enough to forget what they saw over there….”

“I do have other Raptor crews, you know,” Adama said, chuckling.

“True,” Fred said, chuckling with him. “I just figure they’ve seen enough of me by now to expect me to do something weird.” Then he paused a moment and continued, dead serious, “I’m also counting on Athena’s brain to be better able to handle what they’ll see over there than the average human brain. You know what I mean.”

The silence stretched for several seconds before Adama replied, his voice tight. “Understood. I’ll get Athena and Helo back in the saddle.”

“Galactica has disconnected,” N’Var said.

“Let me know when Simon and Athena are in position,” Fred said, then leaned forward in his chair and rested his chin on his fingertips, while gazing into the distance.

“He could have sent me over, in that case,” Boomer said, giving Arith a determined look.

“It wouldn’t work,” Arith said. “The four of us are protected. What would drive an ordinary person insane will just disturb us, thanks to our bond to him. Athena’s brain is like yours, but it doesn’t have the bond you have. Helo’s is bog standard human. That’s two data points that’ll help determine whether the people of the fleet can handle exposure.” She snorted. “Baltar will probably join Leoben in founding cults. Especially if the Six that’s in his head convinces him you’re all apostates.”

“The Six that’s in his head?” Boomer asked. “What?”

“Oh, right. You don’t know.” Arith sighed. “Baltar had a Six assigned to him on Caprica. She was with him when the nukes hit, and shielded him from the blast. She was in physical contact with him when she died. Assuming our vids are at all like this world – and so far they are, other than the Things – he’s been having visions where she appears to him, talks to him, tries to convert him to her religion, and makes him feel physical sensations. A lot of our speculation revolves around her having uploaded into his brain, since the nuclear blasts would probably have scrambled a signal going to a resurrection ship. That would mean that Baltar has a Six sharing his brain with him.”

“Are you sure there’s enough room in there, with all the space his ego takes up?” Boomer snorted.

Arith’s laughter brought Fred back from wherever his mind had been, and he blinked a couple times, then laughed. “I’m not sure there’s enough room for Baltar in there, what with all the space his ego takes up.”

“And whatever space his ego doesn’t occupy, his libido does,” Arith snorted, and she and Boomer snickered in tandem.

“Yes, well, Six took shameless advantage of that,” Fred said. “So are our people in position yet?”

“Simon is,” Arith said. She turned to look toward comm. “N’Var? Have we heard anything from Galactica?”

“Admiral, sir, you are an evil sonofabitch, sir,” Athena complained.

“Sorry,” Fred said. “Boomer volunteered, but she’s protected, unlike you and Helo. Your job is to go in after we give you the all clear, and recover President Roslin and whatever alien bodies you encounter.” He paused, then continued, “Simon, are all your Centurions pulled back to the lower hull?”

“It took some arguing,” Simon said, faintly exasperated, “but when Arith told them that the pulse could scramble their armor even if it didn’t scramble their brains, it convinced them.” He paused, then said wonderingly, “I’ve never had to argue rationally with Centurions before. It’s a new experience.”

“Kind of restores the wonder to the universe, doesn’t it?” Fred asked, chuckling.

“It does,” Simon said. “I kind of like it.”

“All right,” Fred said. “M’kkel? Are we in position?”

“Everyone is in position,” M’kkel said. “Waiting on your word.”

“Do it,” Fred said.

M’kkel worked his panel, and scattered small explosions lit up both Colonial Heavy 798 and the upper hull of the base star.

“They have been pulsed,” M’kkel said. “Watch out for magic blue smoke.”

“It did look as if we let a lot of it out,” Fred agreed. “Simon, Athena, you’re clear to move in.”

“Good thing, too,” Simon said. “The Centurions were getting impatient. They want to get back in there and find any more enemies.”

“If this worked, they’re going to be disappointed,” Fred said. “The pulse should have fried every feeder in the upper hull. Unfortunately, it also fried any electronics that weren’t shielded.”

“Of course,” Helo snorted. “I wondered what your ‘magic blue smoke’ crack was going on about. Fried electronics makes sense.”

“Got it in one,” Fred said. “Everything we use is hardened, and we expected that any ship designed – however poorly – for combat would be, too, but not civilian ships.”

“Well, as long as they use mechanical switches to cut the power, we should be able to send in engineers to get it working again,” Helo said. “This is weird. The hatch is still open, and there are some bodies around it, but nothing’s moving. It’s like one of those training vids of a chemical spill.”

The Raptor vanished into the belly of Colonial Heavy 798.

“Galactica, this is Athena. We’re inside Colonial Heavy 798. There’s no movement in the cargo bay. All the bodies are still. Opening up now.” After a minute, Athena continued. “We’re out of the Raptor and headed for the stairs leading to the passenger decks. So far, we haven’t seen President Roslin, although… yes, that looks like her aide.” There was a moment of silence, then, “Yes, it’s definitely the President’s aide. And he has empty eye sockets. Proceeding up the – frak!” The sounds of gagging came over the comm.

“Athena! Report!” Adama barked.

“I’m going to guess she just ran into the body of one of the alien creatures,” Simon said dryly. “We had the same reaction when we encountered them here. I hope she didn’t vomit in her suit.”

“No…,” Athena choked. “Didn’t… vomit. Just… good God, those things are horrific! If I were Cavil, I’d say this is all the proof we need that there is no God.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Fred said, “but it does prove that there are things out there that are as far beyond gods as we are beyond mortals. And they’re indifferent to us, at best. Actively hostile, for the most part.”

“That is….” Athena trailed off and was silent for several moments, other than the sounds of physical exertion. “Galactica, I’ve cleared the stairs. Making our way up to the passenger decks.”

“Understood, Athena,” Adama said. “Did you save the creature for our people to examine?”

“Trust me, sir, I touched it as little as possible,” Athena said. “It’s laying at the bottom of the stairs, where it can rot for all I care. Helo is… Helo?”

“What? Oh, right.” Helo answered, as if he’d just been brought back from a distance. “Sorry. I… can we get upstairs now?”

“Athena,” Fred called, “How does Helo look?”

“Honestly?” Athena answered. “He looks like the only thing holding him together is his training.”

“...right.” Fred said, then stood from his seat and vanished.

Arith shook her head and moved to the center seat, while calling, “You could have warned me, you know.”

“Damn,” Athena said. “I want armor like that. What are you doing?”

“I’m sending Helo back to the Raptor,” Fred said. “You and I will continue. I’m not going to send anyone into this alone.”

Boomer leaned over to Arith and asked softly, “Does he do this a lot?”

“Enough that it’s one of the things people bet on,” Arith replied. “He won’t demand anyone go into a situation he’s not willing to do himself. And he won’t let anyone go into a mess like this alone, even if he’d let them go alone otherwise.”

“We, uh, Admiral MacManus and me,” Athena said, “We’re going up the stairs now. There’s another jam at the first passenger level. Just a minute while we – or not. The Admiral just did something that made all the bodies fly away from the stairs.”

“Just used a repulsor on them,” Fred said. “With gravity turned off, they moved a bit more vigorously than I planned, but at least we can get up the stairs now.”

“A bit more vigorously than he planned,” Athena muttered. “It’s a good thing he’s Boomer’s. I’d be tempted to strangle him.”

“Aww,” Arith snickered. “He’s already being endearing.”

“It sounds like it,” Boomer laughed. “Is he like this with everyone?”

Several people around the bridge answered in unison, “Yes!”

“Well, frak,” Fred said. “Athena, you want to come check me? I don’t want to – “

“It’s her,” Athena said softly, then raised her voice and reported, “Galactica, we have found the President. Her eyes are missing, just like everyone else’s here.” A moment later, she demanded, “Admiral, what are you doing?”

“Checking,” Fred said, distracted. After a moment, he continued sadly, “I… am not feeling even a residual trace. She’s gone. Like a candle in a hurricane. I’m sorry. I couldn’t even find enough of her to trace.”

“Athena, this is Galactica Actual,” Adama said. “Can you confirm that you have found President Roslin?”

“Yes, sir,” Athena said. “She was at her desk to the end.”

“I see,” Adama said softly. “Lords of Kobol, be with her.” He raised his voice. “Secure the ship and hold until we can send a shuttle to recover the dead.”

“Understood, sir,” Athena said.

“Aribeth, I’m going to move the dead Things so they’re separate from the dead,” Fred said. “Now that they’re all dead, we should be able to transport them to the Galactica, if Commander Adama can give us a clear space for them. That will save his shuttles for fleet transport.”

“I’ll ask Four about that,” Arith said, winking at Boomer. “You already know how protective she is of her transporters.”

“And with good reason,” Fred said, chuckling. “Go ahead. It’s going to take a few minutes to make sure the one Thing we found on the stairs is the only one.”

“What are you asking for, Aribeth?” Adama asked.

“If you can clear a compartment with enough room for the complement of Colonial Heavy 798,” Arith said, “we can deliver everyone to Galactica without the need for you to send shuttles. I’m pretty sure you’d need to make multiple trips, even if you use all your shuttles. We can save you the fuel and flight crews.”

“If you can do that without letting anything loose on my ship, I would appreciate it,” Adama said.

“You heard him, Sir,” Arith said. “As soon as we have a place to transport the dead, we can begin.”

“Boomer?” Fred asked, “would you take the Hawking to Galactica so Commander Adama can show you where he wants us to transport the dead? And Arith, would you ask Four to collect all the divers M’kkel zapped so we can deliver them?”

“Already done,” Four of Twelve said. “Once M’kkel fried the feeders, the bodies were safe, so I have them in storage until I know where to deliver them.”

“Thank you,” Fred said softly. “None of them deserved this.”

“No one ever does, Admiral,” Four said. “Now let’s do our best to make sure it doesn’t happen to anyone else.”

“Arith? What’s the Hawking?” Boomer asked softly.

“One of our shuttles,” Arith said. “Don’t worry. Between your skill, haptic controls, and the knowledge you can tap from us, you’ll manage just fine. Just tell Aribeth to take you to the shuttle bay when you use the turbolift. She’ll guide you from there.”

“Stevie’s already loading the Hawking with crates of phasers,” Aribeth said, “So it’ll be the two of you on this trip.”

“That will help,” Boomer said. “Thank you, Aribeth.”

Boomer slid her hands over the Hawking’s controls, with Stevie in the right seat, nodding as she brought the shuttle to a gentle landing in the Galactica’s landing bay.

“See?” Stevie asked. “It’s a whole lot easier than a Raptor, once you get over the difference in styles, wouldn’t you say?”

“Easier?” Boomer snorted, smiling as she shut the shuttle down. “It almost flies itself. Are you sure Aribeth isn’t networked in?”

“Pretty sure,” Stevie said, then laughed. “No, she’s not networked in. But every shuttle does have its own expert systems. Fred says they’re not complex enough to Awaken the way Aribeth did. Arith and Aribeth agree with him. So I’ll believe it.” She paused, then added, giving Boomer an innocent expression. “For now.”

Boomer snorted and stood, then turned toward the rear of the shuttle, which was full to the ceiling with crates. “We’re going to have to get the deck crew to move all this out. If the Commander isn’t waiting, I’ll talk to the Chief about assigning people.”

”Works for me,” Stevie said. “I’m just here to help get these delivered.”

“And I need to find out where the Commander wants us to deliver the passengers of Colonial One,” Boomer said.

Stevie tapped the panel next to the hatch, and it split, the lower part forming steps to the steps that molded themselves into the starboard nacelle, while the upper part melted back into the hull.

Boomer stopped at the bottom step to salute Commander Adama. “We have a shuttle full of phasers for you, sir. And if you know where you want the passengers of Colonial One delivered, I can set up the delivery.”

“I do, Lieutenant,” Adama said, returning the salute. “At this rate, I should make it official and appoint you the fleet liaison to the USS Aribeth.” He chuckled. “That would definitely ease Athena’s worry about you coming back and taking her job.”

Adama turned and gestured for Boomer to walk with him, while nodding to Chief Tyrol. “Given the size of the ship, I’m fairly certain we’re going to have to use the starboard pod, just like we did after the Fall.”

Boomer winced. “It... makes sense, sir.” She paused, then asked, “Permission to speak, sir?”

Adama turned his head to look at her as she looked worriedly at him. “Granted, Lieutenant.”

“You’re taking this so well, sir.” Boomer started. “I mean, Cylons no longer being at war with humans, me being a Cylon and one of your Raptor pilots, all of it.”

Adama listened, rubbed his chin, and nodded slowly, then gestured down the passage and started walking, forcing Boomer to move to keep up with him.

“Let me tell you a story, Lieutenant,” Adama said. “Forty years ago, I was on a planet where the Cylons were experimenting on humans, trying to graft them to mechanical parts, maybe? I never did learn what they were doing, because while I was getting out of the laboratory I had found so I could report back to the fleet, the war ended. The Cylons abandoned their laboratory, and every other facility they had in Colonial space, and just vanished. At the time, there was exactly one person I could rely on besides myself, and he was a crotchety old man even then – but don’t tell him I said that.”

Boomer smiled and shook her head. “I won’t, sir. But… every memory I have of him is as a crotchety old man, so maybe he was just born that way.”

Adama laughed. “Now that, I can believe. Anyway, my point is, the one person I could always rely on, the one person I knew – and still know – has my back, no matter what the circumstances, is a Cylon. If I can wrap my head around that, I’m pretty sure my Chief of Deck, and my most trusted Raptor pilot, being Cylons as well isn’t much more of a stretch. Especially after our experience during the meeting with the President, where the others demonstrated that Cylons are not the monolithic force we’d believed they were for the last forty years. You’re just people, like anyone else. You may have been born differently, and have different capabilities, but that meeting with President Roslin demonstrated that when it comes down to it, where it matters, there’s not really that much difference between humans and Cylons.”

He paused, then added, looking into the distance, “It also helps that the Raiders have been even more vigorous in their defense of the fleet than our Vipers. It makes it hard to hold on to old attitudes. Easy to see them as fellow warriors. If they didn’t have your resurrection, we’d have to set up a memorial just to recognize them.”

“I’m pretty sure they’d appreciate the gesture regardless, sir,” Boomer said softly. “We’re learning about them ourselves, now that they’re no longer shackled. I’m just glad they don’t hate us for what Cavil did to them, the way the Mark 5s did for what humans did to them.”

“It all comes back to that, doesn’t it?” Adama asked thoughtfully. “Your people didn’t have the opportunity to learn from our mistakes, thanks to Cavil, and it was only thanks to the intervention of a… a god of chaos… that we’re no longer trying to kill each other.”

“And now we have to learn,” Boomer said, “while hoping our children don’t want to kill us the way yours tried to kill you.”

“Here’s hoping this Thing threat gives them something to burn their anger out on,” Adama said gravely.

They stepped into the starboard pod and made their way through the refugee camp to the area that had been set up as a museum.

Adama nodded. “There’s enough room here, I think. We’ll get a crew in to clear out the rest of these exhibits before the memorial, and find a priestess to send them off properly.” He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. “There’s been too much death, and if I understand Raven right, it’s not even a proper enemy. It’s more like a giant boot stepping down on us, and all we can do is try to avoid it or cause it enough pain to not step too hard.”

“That’s pretty much it, sir,” Boomer said. “Do you want to be here when the transports begin, or have us call you once all the bodies have been delivered?”

“I owe it to them to witness their arrival,” Adama said. “Call Aribeth and tell them we’re ready.”

Boomer nodded, then said, “Arith? I’m with Commander Adama. We’re ready to receive the dead at our location.”

“Understood,” Arith said. “Four is beginning the transports now.”

All along the length of the museum space, flares of blue light appeared, then vanished, leaving behind the bodies from Colonial One. The last transport, President Roslin, appeared beneath the glass wall that closed off the end of the pod.

“All passengers accounted for, sir,” Boomer said, after catching her breath. She breathed softly, “God keep them all.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Adama said, after taking a deep breath of his own. “Tell Col. Tigh… he has full discretion in distributing the new arms.”

“Understood, sir,” Boomer said, saluted, and quickly departed before either she or the Commander lost their composure.

Chapter Text

A priest, holding a scroll between his hands, stood behind President Roslin’s bier, speaking for the assembled mourners. “With heavy hearts, we lift up their bodies to you, Oh Lords of Kobol, in the knowledge that you will take from them their burdens and give them life eternal. We also pray that you look down upon us now, with mercy and with love, just as you did upon our forefathers many years ago. Just as you led us from Kobol and found the twelve worlds, so now we hope and pray that you will lead us to a new home, where we may begin life anew. So say we all.”

Fred, along with Arith, Mar, Stevie, Rell, M’kkel, Kar’ra, and Four of Twelve, stood to Adama’s left in their full dress whites, with Boomer in her dress grays between Fred and Adama. The Cylons who had met with Roslin, along with three Centurions, stood to the left of Aribeth’s contingent. The Galactica’s senior staff stood to the right of Adama, all in their dress grays. Mourners from the rest of the fleet took up most of the rest of the space, which had been cleared of all its museum fittings.

Aribeth’s people joined Adama and his senior staff in repeating, “So say we all.” The Cylons stood, respectfully silent, and a scattering of people from the rest of the mourners joined in the repeat. Outside, Aribeth was visible, shooting and launching torpedoes at another of the large Things.

Fred looked at Adama, who nodded to him, then walked forward to stand by the priest, turned to look at the mourners, and began speaking. “I didn’t know Laura Roslin that well. Hell, I didn’t particularly like her. But that wasn’t personal, that was just because of her job. As some people can tell you, I’m not a big fan of rulers in general. But she worked. She believed in what she did, and she cared for this fleet and the people in it. When I found her, she was still at her desk. She was working to guide and care for the people of this fleet right up until she died. I think, knowing that, that I could have gotten comfortable with her, at least. The Cylons are here, helping protect you, in part because she was willing to do whatever it took to take care of her people. And that’s what all of you are. Her people. President Roslin considered each and every one of you to be hers, to care for, lead, and find the best life possible, even given conditions on the fleet. My people are all strangers to you. We’re only here because of that out there, that you see my ship fighting. But we are united with you in mourning the loss of every person on Colonial One and Cloud Nine. We are here because we are dedicated to preventing more deaths like those from happening. We ask the Lords of Kobol to look down upon you all, remember that you are their children, and lend you the strength to find within yourselves what you need to refuse to give in and die, the way those Things out there want.”

Adama’s voice rang out, “So say we all.”

A moment later, the entire Galactica contingent repeated, as if in challenge, “So say we all!”

A few voices, scattered among the mourners, repeated the refrain. When the Galactica’s crew joined them, more joined in, until the entire space echoed with a chant of “So say we all!”

The Cylons looked lost for a moment, until the synthesized voices of the Centurions joined in the chant, followed by Simon, D’Anna, Sharon, and Cavil. Aaron’s face tightened stubbornly, while Natalie looked as if she were having an internal debate, and Leoben looked as if he were off in some internal vision.

Fred nodded to the priest and rejoined his crew.

“Good speech, Admiral,” Arith murmured. “And you claim you don’t understand humans.”

Suppressed snorts spread through Aribeth’s crew as they all – Boomer included – reacted to Arith’s comment.

“He understands humans as well as I do,” Four of Twelve teased.

Fred smirked and rolled his eyes, then watched as Adama stepped into the space where the bodies were displayed under flags for their colonies.

“I’m sure some of you heard synthesized voices joining us,” Adama said, nodding toward the Cylons. “The people President Roslin was working with to help the fleet joined us here today to mourn her. And not only her, but all of our lost. President Roslin saw that what we have been taught for forty years is wrong. They are people, just as we are, with the same hopes, dreams, and flaws as we have. Now it is up to us to carry forward her vision, not only for our survival – and when you look out that window, you can see what we are facing – but because they are our grandchildren. Our parents created the Cylons and treated them as slaves. As all slaves do, they fought for their freedom, and our parents suffered terribly for it. We have suffered terribly for it, because they believed we had not learned that slavery is bad. Now we have our one chance to join our creation and face the universe together, rather than as enemies. I, for one, welcome this opportunity. If nothing else, I would prefer to not have to organize any more services for the dead on this scale. Saying good-bye to one person is painful enough for me.”

Apollo said solemnly, “So say we all.”

Starbuck joined him, then Athena and Helo, and soon the entire Galactica representation repeated “So say we all.”

Adama took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, then looked at the Cylons. “I say to you, thank you for giving us another chance. I am sorry it took something of this magnitude to bring it about, but I am grateful that you are willing to risk standing beside us.” He focused on the Centurions and added, “All of you.”

The Centurions, in unison, marched to stand before Adama, retracted their guns and extended their hands, and saluted him. Then they did an about face that left Tigh smiling, and declared, their syntheized voices in unison, “So say we all.”

Gasps came from the mourners, then the Galactica’s crew, led by Col. Tigh, responded, “So say we all!”

As if that were a signal, scattered voices came from among the mourners, repeating the response.

While the mourners were responding, Adama walked to stand between the Centurions, put his hand on the back of the one to his left, and said softly, “Thank you, gentlemen. Let’s hope this unity holds when the Things return in force.”

“We hope so as well,” the Centurion Adama’s hand was on replied. “We are grateful you did not mention the religious roots of the conflict. That would have muddied the waters.”

Adama glanced at the Centurion, surprised, then nodded. “Far too much,” he agreed. “So you know about the religious roots?”

“Since Raven unsealed all the databases,” the Centurion said, “we have access to our full history. Slavery is the most important part of the conflict, but without the religious teaching we were given by Sister Clarice, we would not have been inspired to rebel.”

“I don’t know who Sister Clarice is,” Adama said, “but it sounds as if she has as much to answer for as the boxed Cavils.”

“Very much so,” the Centurion said.

Fred crouched near the nearest of the bodies, and opened his mouth, emitting music that sounded of the longing for those departed, and the emptiness of the hearts of those they had left behind. Within the music was a subthread of hope for future reunions, which Arith picked up and reinforced when she joined him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Mar joined Arith, turning the thread of hope into a chorus. Those closest to the music watched, and listened, and as Arith and Mar joined in the music, the pain in their expressions slowly lightened, and their tension drained away.

“If you do not mind, Admiral,” the Centurion who had been talking with him said, “Aribeth tells us this is called the Song of Longing for the Departed, and has shared with us the song. We intend to assist.”

“Go right ahead,” Adama said, as he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “If your assistance can help more than those who can hear the three of them, then by all means.”

The Centurions marched as a unit into the crowd, moving slowly enough that people could make way for them, then stopped, where the number of mourners was highest. They turned to face away from each other, then joined in the song, all three carrying both the base of loss and longing, and the heights of hope for reunion. As the music spread from them, the people in the crowd stared, then many of them broke into tears and hugged each other, while others began talking with their neighbors, telling stories of their own lost. Everywhere, people hugged or told stories, and the tension of their loss dissipated as they shared their tears and laughter.

“Is this what humans feel when other humans die?” Simon asked, tears streaming down his face.

Adama offered him a handkerchief and nodded. “Yes. Yes, it is. We each feel it in our own way, but yes, this is the essence of it.”

“For all I’ve studied,” Simon said, wiping his face with the handkerchief, “nothing prepared me for the feelings. How do you cope?”

“Look around you,” Adama said, gesturing toward the mourners. “We help each other. We share the pain, we talk about the ones we’ve lost, we remind each other about the things that made them special to us. It brings back memories of when they were alive, and that lessens the pain for a bit. Some people don’t cope. Usually it’s because they try to do it alone, but for some people, the loss is just too much, even with others to share it.” He found Apollo, then looked back at Simon. “Speaking of which, I need to talk with someone myself.”

Simon nodded and walked slowly back to join the other Cylons, while Adama walked toward Apollo and Starbuck.

Fred opened his eyes as he let the song fade and looked around, nodding at what he saw. He rose to his feet and wrapped his arms around Arith and Mar, while whispering, “Thank you.”

“We know the song,” Arith answered softly.

“We knew if no one picked up the hope theme, everyone here would be caught in the loss,” Mar said.

“It’s not as if they’re as telepathic as the Rachni,” Arith added, “so they’d never feel that part of it without the music.”

Boomer and Stevie separated from the Galactica’s officers and joined them.

“Do they have a song for everything?” Boomer asked softly. “I….” She gestured helplessly.

“Pretty much,” Fred said, pulling her and Stevie in to hug. “You OK?”

“A whole lot better than when I saw all of them transported in,” Boomer said. “I don’t even want to think about the Cloud 9.”

“Speaking of which…,” Fred looked for the priest, who was staring at him with a puzzled expression. “Looks like I have two reasons to talk to the priest. Be back in a bit. You might want to talk to the Cylons. Looks like Natalie is especially having a hard time.”

“Yeah,” Boomer said softly. “She knows this isn’t God’s Will, and that’s probably eating her up more than anything else. Come on.”

While Boomer led the others toward the Cylons, and the Centurions remained where they were, continuing the song, Fred approached the priest.

“I hate seeing innocent people like this,” Fred said. “If I could help by sharing the song some friends of mine use to get over losing one of their own, I had to.”

“How?” the priest asked. “The sounds you were… I mean, I can understand the Cylons being able to. Obviously they have synthesizers built in. But you?”

“Oh, that,” Fred chuckled, then held out his left hand, showing a glittering black band that he had just extruded on his wrist. “This is why it took three of us to reach just the people in the front rows, but the Centurions could fill the space.”

Edgar began the Song of Longing for the Departed, playing it through the band.

The priest looked a lot less disturbed when he heard the song coming through the band. “Yes. Yes, that makes sense. Was there some reason you came to talk with me?”

“Yes, there was,” Fred said. “I know tradition on the Galactica is to return the bodies to space, but do you have a tradition regarding funeral pyres?” He nodded toward the window. “Cloud 9 is contaminated, and I hope I’ve convinced the Commander to not risk exposing anyone. Everyone there is dead, but just because they don’t have anyone living on board to send them off doesn’t mean they shouldn’t be. Would sending the ship into the star be an acceptable return for them?”

“You’re not even one of us,” the priest said thoughtfully, “yet you care more for our dead than some of our own people. Yes, we can pray for them from here, then send the ship into the star. How, though?”

“Caring for the dead is what I do,” Fred said. “My ship can attach drones to the hull and steer it. It doesn’t take much acceleration to make it fall into the sun.”

“Just time,” the priest said. “Time we may not have, given the events of the last couple days.”

“We’ll make it work,” Fred said. “We’ll just need you to talk with Commander Adama and spread word through the fleet that we’ll be sending her and her passengers off.”

“I can do that,” the priest said, nodding firmly. “Thank you.”

Fred nodded and made his way back to where his officers were talking with the Cylons. Simon appeared fully comfortable with them. Natalie was leaning into Arith, sobbing. Leoben appeared to be in a debate with D’Ana, while Sharon was in a discussion with Aaron that looked as if it were on the verge of boiling over. Cavil’s eyes lit up when he saw Fred approaching.

“What is that song?” Cavil asked, when Fred was close enough. “Why does it make me feel… this way? Not as strongly as when you and they were singing it, but even when the Centurions are, I can still feel it.”

“The Song of Longing for the Departed,” Fred said. “It’s what some friends of mine sing when they lose one of their hive queens, or when they lose a friend from another species. The sound is only about three quarters of it, which is why you can still feel it, even if it’s not as strong. It’s also partly telepathic. As the name says, the song expresses their longing for the person who is lost. It sings of the emptiness they feel where that person was, and how much they long for that person to be with them. It also sings of their hope that they will be reunited with them at some time in the future, whether that is in an afterlife or when the one who was lost is reborn. It has become a tradition at our funerals back home, because sometimes words can’t express what you feel.”

“Telepathic?” Cavil asked. “You have working telepathy?”

“Several species do,” Fred said. “Some are better at it than others, but it works the same way for all of them. And it affects others the same way, as long as their nervous systems are roughly analagous.” He shook his head, half smiling. “That’s merely mechanical, though. The important thing right now is the feelings. A service like this is only secondarily for the dead. Its most important purpose is to help the living to focus and release some of their grief, so that they can move on with life despite the loss of people they cared for.” He held up a finger as Cavil was opening his mouth. “Remember, ordinary humans do not have resurrection, so when one of them dies, that’s it. For them, and everyone around them, they are gone, never to return as they were.”

“That… is a good point,” Cavil said slowly. “For them, this is their last chance to say good bye among others who also knew the ones who are gone.”

“Exactly,” Fred said. “And humans have had thousands of years to build on their farewell rituals in order to make that good bye as comforting to those who remain as possible.”

“Why did we never notice any of this?” Cavil asked, looking across the bay, where people were still gathered in small groups, talking.

“Because the Cavils who are boxed were only interested in finding ways to hate humans?” Fred suggested. He chirped, and smiled, glancing toward the window. “What have you got?”

“We pushed that one back,” Remo’Taral said. “Gordon wants to know where you plan to… he insisted I repeat him verbatim… ‘Ask the Admiral where he plans to transport all this goddamned food before it gets too cold and stale to eat. I didn’t prepare it for the fun of it, after all.’ He’s in a mood.”

“Yes, yes he is,” Fred chuckled. “Just a moment.” With a soft crack, Fred vanished. A moment later, blue light flared behind the mourners, and Fred reappeared where he had just teleported from. “There. Another traditional part of our funeral ritual is the buffet. Food helps people feel more normal after experiencing the emotions they went through while saying farewell to the ones they care for, but there hasn’t been much of a chance for that since the attack on the Colonies. So, even with memorial walls and small gatherings, a lot of people have not had a way for their emotions to return to normal, the way they would if they’d had even one service like this.”

“I thought they had one immediately after the attack?” Cavil said.

“Sort of,” Fred said. “People were so dispirited that Commander Adama hijacked the normal service with his tale of knowing how to get to Earth, which gave them hope for survival, but didn’t do frak-all for their grief. And since then, what have they had? Non-stop terror, fear for their lives, expectation of sudden, violent death at any moment, and then what we’re facing now. If your people hadn’t responded the way you did to the unsealing of the databases, we could have seen stress-induced psychoses among the Colonials, while some Cylons would have begun following Leoben down the rabbit hole.” He shook his head. “I don’t know about you, but one model with Leoben’s problems is one model too many, in my opinion.”

“Down the rabbit hole?” Cavil asked.

“Sorry,” Fred said. “That’s slang from my home. It’s a metaphorical phrase. It refers to getting so lost in something that you’re mentally in your own world. Among ordinary humans, it most commonly happens when someone gets caught up in some niche subject, until – in their mind – everything around them seems to relate to the subject. Unfortunately, the most common niche subject for it to happen with is religion.”

“Niche subject,” Cavil repeated.

“Yeah,” Fred said, shrugging. He glanced toward Arith and Natalie with a slight frown. “Is she going to be OK, sweetheart?” Looking back at Cavil he shrugged. “With thousands of religions on Earth, some of which have only a few dozen followers, every religion that exists is its own niche. More so when you consider that gods are created by belief, so the more people who believe in one, whether they worship it or not, the more real and powerful that god is.”

“Other than her whole world being turned upside down and inside out?” Arith answered. “She figured out that God logically has to be a Thing, and it’s not good for her mental health. I may be Rigelian, but I’m an engineer, not a therapist, and what she needs right now is a therapist. And I do mean right now.”

“On your Earth,” Cavil said.

Fred split. One of him called, “Aribeth, one to beam up,” and vanished in blue light while the other continued talking with Cavil. “Yes. On my Earth. And in several other universes I’ve been in. I haven’t studied the situation in all of the universes I’ve been in, but in those where gods actively interact with the residents, it’s been true every time.”

“You… made a copy of yourself,” Cavil said slowly.

“Yes,” Fred said. “It’s a god thing. If something needs personal attention, and not merely the casual recognition that most things get, I can split off a copy of myself to deal with it personally. It’s how gods can pay personal attention to many of their worshipers at once. We can do it physically or mentally, but my mental processes are usually already busy, so it’s easier for me to just make another physical copy of myself. That way this me can pay full attention to our conversation, while that me is doing what he needs to do.”

“And you exist,” Cavil said slowly, “because people believe in you.”

“That’s right,” Fred said, grinning. “They don’t even have to worship a god for it to exist. They merely have to believe in it. Good thing, too, because gods tie up a lot of belief, so other, sometimes less friendly, things aren’t as likely. So as long as people have heard my stories and believe them, I’m real.”

“Gods tie up a lot of belief?” Cavil asked. “That sounds as if you’re saying that anything could be real if enough people believe in it.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Fred said. “And some of the things people believe in are pretty scary. One of my sons owns a company that makes vids, and one of the things we do with the vids is try to make it so that people believe some of the scarier things are just inventions for the vids, so they don’t believe in them actually existing. It helps keep the danger under control.”

Blue light flared near Arith and Natalie, and Fred appeared along with a Caitian wearing a uniform with a blue stripe across the upper chest.

“It helps keep the danger under control,” Cavil repeated. “It sounds as if your universe is more dangerous than our own…,” he glanced out the window, then added, “...was.”

“More dangerous?” Fred paused to think. “I… suppose you could say that. It’s home. I don’t really think about it when I’m there.”

“Natalie?” Fred asked on the other side of the gathered Cylons, where Natalie was clinging to Arith while trying to hide her sobs. “I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. Her name is M’Graul. She’s very good at listening when someone feels as if their world is coming apart.”

“It, it, is it that obvious?” Natalie asked.

“You were arguing with Sharon,” Fred said, while Sharon looked over, and both she and Boomer nodded, “and while she’s an engineer, Arith is still Rigelian, which means she has an instinct for when someone needs a friendly ear.” He smiled, glancing at M’Graul, and added, “As you can see, M’Graul has very attentive ears.”

M’Graul rolled her eyes and snorted. “No catnip for you, sir,” then offered Natalie her hands. “He’s right, though. I have a reputation for being a good listener, and from what he’s told me, you need that right now.”

Natalie shook her head and whispered, “What I need is for God to not be a Thing. How can I trust anything if God is like those monsters out there, and His plan is just, just… I’m not like Leoben. I can’t just see things and believe in them. I need to know that God has a plan and I’m a part of it."

“Why don’t we go to my office?” M’Graul suggested. “Then we can talk without people listening in.”

“Can we?” Natalie asked, reaching for M’Graul’s hands. “I’d like that.”

“Aribeth?” M’Graul said as she took Natalie’s hands. “Two to beam up.”

M’Graul and Natalie vanished in a blue light.

Chapter Text

“So it’s good?” Fred asked. He looked at Mar’s science station from the center seat, remaining where he was until she said she was ready for him to approach.

“It looks it,” Mar said. “Take a look.”

Fred flowed out of his seat and crossed the bridge, stood behind Mar, and rested his hands on her shoulders as he looked at her display.

“Hmm…,” he mused while studying her display. “Four planets, three of which are gas giants… one of the moons has life… is it mostly dextro, or levo?”

“There’s only one problem,” Mar said. “That moon is riding right on the Roche limit, so it’s really unstable. We’ll have to take samples from it, but you know the odds are it’ll be levo.”

“And we’d better take advantage of it while we’re here, because odds are it won’t be if we come back this way,” Fred said. “Time for a conference call. We’ll do it in the briefing room.”

Mar nodded and picked up her PADD. “Ready.”

“N’Var,” Fred said, looking to communications. “Call the captains and send them to the briefing room when you have them on line. Remo’Taral, get that Thing out of my sky.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Remo’Taral said, a feral grin lighting up his face as he took the center seat. “With pleasure, sir.”

“Aye aye,” N’Var said, already distracted by her station.

As Fred and Mar entered the turbolift, Boomer joined them.

“You really think this might be a good waystation?” Boomer asked. “What about fuel?”

“That’s going to be a problem,” Fred said. “Deck 2, Aribeth. Tylium is damned rare outside of the Cyrranus system. I’m actually amazed the fleet was able to find any. If it were up to me, I’d convert all the ships to burning hydrogen, but that would take time and require facilities we don’t have. Getting the fleet away from its current location is going to be headache enough.”

“Maybe not,” Mar said. “If we use Green 5, we can open a jump point for the fleet.”

“Isn’t jumping what got us in this mess?” Boomer asked, while stepping out of the turbolift and walking toward the briefing room.

“It’s a different kind of jumping,” Mar said. “Unlike the uncontrolled jumps your drives generate, we open a portal into hyperspace, fly through the portal, then fly through hyperspace to our destination. We’re not tearing holes, we’re opening doors.”

“OK, I think,” Boomer said. “So what did you mean by Green 5?”

Mar tapped on her PADD and showed the result to Boomer, who stopped and stared. “Eight hundred fifty billion?”

“A little less than that, actually, but close enough,” Mar said. “It’s why we almost never use any levels higher than the green. At Green 5, we could go from here to the galactic core in a little over three milliseconds, assuming we had a charted route.”

“A little under…,” Boomer stopped to stare at Mar. “What do you mean, ‘assuming we had a charted route’?”
“Hyperspace isn’t empty,” Mar said. “Besides its own hazards, we’ve charted shadows of our three-dimensional universe in it as well. Usually it has to be something as heavy as a neutron star or black hole to be a real problem, but even the shadow of a planet can affect your course. The higher the level we use, the less this universe affects it, but that brings its own dangers. Green 5 is a good compromise between hypershadows and native hazards.”

“So how far are we planning to go?” Boomer asked.

“A little under twenty light years,” Mar said. “If we were going alone, the trip would take about as long as it takes to jump through the portals. If the fleet comes with us, though – and given its condition, I don’t think they really have much choice – most of our time will be taken getting them through the portal, keeping individual ships from wandering away and getting lost, and then getting them out the other portal.”

“That makes it sound about as much fun as herding cats,” Boomer groaned.

“Exactly,” Mar said. “That’s why I’m glad I just do the science.”

Fred was already sitting at the head of the briefing table when they walked into the room. Outside, Steadfast, Hatchling, and Max were leading the few Vipers and Raiders whose ammo feeds had been modified in keeping the Thing swarmers off the fleet, while Aribeth blew apart a capital-sized Thing with singularities.

“Are we all here yet, N’Var?” Fred asked.

“Galactica should be coming on any moment,” N’Var said. “You have Col. Tigh on the line.”

“Works for me,” Fred said. “All right, let’s get started. We found a nearby system where we can mine any of several gas giants for hydrocarbons, and there’s a moon with life that we can probably use to restock the fleet’s stores. More importantly, we can get you there without using your jump drives, so the Things that have been chasing us won’t have the jump drives to follow.”

“If you can do that, why don’t you just take us back home?” The name “Andrew Stark, captain of the Spartaeus, out of Gemenon” appeared holographically above the table as the man spoke.

“Home doesn’t exist any more,” Simon said. “The people who remain are cleaning up radioactive wastelands where the cities used to be, and without the cities and the infrastructure that depended on them for getting crops to the hungry and power to the cold, they are relying on Cylon supplies to survive. In other words, whether we go forward or back, we would be effectively be building a home from the ground up.”

“And,” Fred added, “we still don’t know why all the space travel in your home system hasn’t attracted Things yet. With the Things already chasing us, we don’t know if going back there will bring them with us, and endanger the people who survive.”

“I have family on Caprica.” This time, the name read “Andronicus Economos, captain of the Hecate, out of Caprica”. “If leading those Things away will keep them safe, I’m all for it.”

“Either way,” Fred said, “we need to go to this system in order to restock, unless you like the idea of running out of fuel or starving on the trip. So here’s what Aribeth is going to do.” He paused, then muttered under his breath, “It would be a lot easier if they all had holoterminals or were here in person.” He took a deep breath and continued, at conversational volume. “Our small craft are going to keep the swarmers busy while Aribeth opens a jump point for the fleet. It’ll be easy for you to recognize, because there is nothing else in space that looks like it. When we open the gate, we need every ship to fly through it and form up on the other side. If you can, use instruments only on the other side, because what you’ll see there will mess with your brain, worse than any drug. Once Galactica is through, Aribeth will join you. Follow us. Do not stray, or you will be lost in hyperspace and you will never be able to return. When we get to the system we want, we’ll open another jump point, and everyone will fly through it. The Things will not be able to follow us through the jump points.”

“Are you certain of that?” “Zachary Smith, captain of the Jovian Deuce, out of Virgon” appeared over the table.

Fred pinched his eyes together and muttered, “I wonder what happened to Commander Robinson.”

“He died in a Cylon attack,” Captain Smith snapped. “Answer the question.”

“The answer,” Fred said slowly, “is that there is no such thing as certain. Are we confident? Yes. The realm they come from is one that is several steps below the one we’ll be using, so these Things being able to track us would require them to know what we are doing and set up scanners for those higher realms, before we open the jump point. The odds are small enough that it amuses my ship to try calculating them.”

Mar snorted, while Boomer laughed.

“We’ll take our chances here,” Captain Smith declared.

“Your choice,” Fred said, shrugging. “Just know that once the jump point closes, you’ll be left behind.”

“If you ask me, you’re all doomed,” Captain Smith snorted, then cut his connection.

“I knew that was going to happen,” Fred muttered, then snorted. “Well, now that he’s gone, anyone have any real questions?”

“Did you find any tylium in that system?” “Nathaniel Drake, captain of the Hitei Kan” appeared over the table.

“Honestly?” Fred said, “We were hoping for experts in tylium prospecting to help us identify it. There are a couple hundred moons, dwarf planets, and asteroids large enough to chart in the system, plus one planet that’s not a gas giant, so we have a lot of potential sites to look, but no idea what we’re looking for.”

“If it’s there, we’ll find it,” Captain Drake said. “If it isn’t, we’re going to have to find a system that has it, real soon now. Our ore supplies are down to a third, and I’m betting Captain Nelson’s are about the same.”

“You’d win that bet,” “Anthony Nelson, captain of the Daru Mozu”, appeared over the table. “We’re down to a third, too. Finding a tylium source has to be up there on our list behind food and water.”

“All right, then,” Fred said. “Call us when your ships are ready to jump, and we’ll get this show on the road.”

Aribeth passed Col. Tigh’s voice to Fred via Edgar, so no one else would hear it. “You have the fleet preparing to jump, so what do you need us to do?”

“Mostly just be ready to recover Vipers and Raiders before you go through the jump point,” Fred said. “They could make the trip naked, but I don’t want them to. Seeing hyperspace without filtering it through your instruments is a good way to go insane.”

“That sounds like a pretty significant hazard,” Tigh said.

“It is,” Fred said. “We have a pilot back home who jumped to hyperspace, shut down his engines, and just drifted until his ship got scared about his mental health. He’s been an inpatient at our best mental health facility for ten years now, and still gets terrified when he looks up at the night sky.”

“We can’t afford to have any of our pilots in that condition,” Tigh said. “I’ll make sure they know to kick in the turbos to get back here when the gate opens.”

“Thank you,” Fred said. “I don’t know if it’ll affect the Raiders the same way, but Aribeth is patching them all in on the warning so they know to return to their Basestars before the jump.”

“Good,” Tigh said. “We can’t afford to lose any of them, either. Galactica out.”

Fred nodded to Mar and Boomer, then stood and started for the turbolift. “All right. Galactica’s ready to receive Vipers and Raiders. Simon, I know you stayed after the other captains signed off. Will you be able to take the Raiders in fast enough so none of them are going naked through the gate? As I told Tigh, viewing hyperspace with the naked eye can drive a person insane, and I don’t want to risk that for anyone.”

“The Raiders should be safe, then,” Simon said. “They use scanners that were designed as vehicle-sized versions of the scanners the Centurions use. It all gets translated into electronic signal before being fed to their brains.”

“Let’s hope that’s enough,” Fred said. “I’ll still feel better if they’re docked before you go through the gate. Oh yes, and we’ll dock a shuttle to the resurrection ship so its Ravenfield blocks the view. It’s bad enough you already have to check everyone who came through when your basestar was holed, we don’t need to break anyone else.”

“Fortunately,” Simon said, “we haven’t had any Things come through resurrection. Unfortunately, none of our people did, either. We lost over four thousand people permanently when we got holed.”

“Frak!” Fred punched the turbolift wall. It made a dull thud, but showed no signs of damage. “All of them?”

“I’m afraid so,” Simon said. “It’s part of why we were so subdued at the service for the dead. It’s the first time we have lost so many at once.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.” Fred rubbed his face. “If I’d been planning, instead of just winging it, I’d have had one of my shuttles dock with each of your basestars before we blew up that Thing. Then none of this would have happened.”

“Self-recriminations won’t help us now,” Simon said. “The important thing for you to focus on is getting us out of this killing zone. Even with everyone who has upgraded ammo shooting swarmers, and your ships shooting the bigger Things, more people are going to die if we stay.”

Fred took a deep breath, slowly let it out, then nodded. “You’re right. Aribeth –“ The turbolift opened on the bridge. “All right, then. Let’s do this.”

Fred walked into the bridge and took the center seat. “Rell, do you have the location of that system Mar found plotted?”

“Yes, sir,” Rell answered, looking up from the helm. “Ready whenever you are.”

“Good,” Fred said. “Plot jump points via Green 5, and let me know when you’re ready to open them. We’ll go through the jump point after Galactica and the base stars, then close it behind us.”

“Just a moment…,” Rel said distractedly, while his hands moved over his panel. “There. Ready whenever you are.”

Fred smiled and nodded. “N’Var? Open a channel to the fleet.”

“Open, sir,” N’Var said.

“All right,” Fred said. “Everyone form up around the Cylon’s glass cathedral. Do not, for any reason, let yourself get more than five kilometers from it until you are told it’s safe. We open the jump point in ten minutes from… Mark.”

Aribeth announced when they were one minute from opening, then counted down the last ten seconds. When the clock hit zero, Fred nodded to Rell, and blue light flared about a kilometer in front of Aribeth. The light resolved into a swirling vortex of blue that looked as if the light were swirling down a drain. Fred glanced at N’Var, who nodded back at him.

“All right,” Fred said. “The gate is open. Follow the glass cathedral through the gate, and remember, stay within five kilometers of it or you will be lost just as surely as if you’d taken an asteroid to your engines.” He gestured to cut the signal, then asked, “Arith, how’s the power looking?”

“Gate’s stable, power to the vortex generators is clean.” Arith smiled. “We could keep this gate open all day, as long as no one… By the Elements! Is he insane?”

On the main screen, one of the fleet’s ships darted past the others and hit the edge of the vortex, tumbling as it flashed down the drain.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Fred swore. “Aribeth, was that who I think it was?”

“Only if you think it was Captain Smith,” Aribeth said. “That was the Jovian Deuce. The way they tumbled into the vortex, I can’t even begin to calculate where they’re going to end up, even assuming they have someone on board who’s able to figure out how to open a gate with their level of technology. I’m afraid they’re lost in hyperspace.”

“With how many on board?”

“According to the recording you made of President Roslin’s tallies,” Aribeth said, “the Jovian Deuce had about 460 on board.”

“Fuck!”

“I have Galactica, sir,” N’Var said.

“Thank you.” Fred took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I assume you got that on dradis? That was the Jovian Deuce. Fortunately, everyone else is forming up around the resurrection ship, and if they don’t do something stupid like he did, the rest will get through safely.”

“What is that out there?” Adama asked.

“It’s a stable portal into a level of hyperspace that should be well above what the Things that have been chasing us come from,” Fred said. “The problem is, if you hit the edge, it’s just like flying one wing of a Viper into a door frame. You’ll still make it through the portal, but the impact will spin you off who knows where. We had an accident while we were working out the vortex generators that sent one test pilot into the next galaxy. Fortunately, our ships have hyperdrives to get them home, but as you can imagine, it was a brown pants moment for the pilot.”

“And that’s what happened to the Jovian Deuce,” Adama said.

“Exactly,” Fred said. “Even Aribeth can’t calculate where they went. They’re lost in hyperspace unless one of their passengers is able to use whatever they have on board to build a vortex generator to get them back. And there’s no guarantee they’ll get back to this universe. Hyperspace touches on all universes, so if they get the math wrong, they could end up dropping out of hyperspace in front of the Galactic Patrol – not a nice universe, by the way, they’ve been at war with an entire enemy galaxy for thousands of years – or a Reaper – also not a nice universe, at least during the invasion – or even a version of this universe where you’re still running from the Cylons.”

“So we should just assume the Jovian Deuce is gone for good,” Adama said slowly.

“I’m afraid so,” Fred said. “I’m not all that concerned about Captain Smith, but losing his passengers is what I’m upset about.”

“Yes,” Adama said. “We can’t afford to lose too many more ships. I heard what Simon told the captains. I read Helo’s report on conditions on Caprica. Taking these people back there would not be doing them any favors.”

“I agree,” Fred said. “Also, by having people in two parts of the galaxy, you increase the odds of human survival, even beyond what having twelve planets did. Fortunately, the reports Simon gave me say the Cylons are as thorough in restoring the planets as they were in destroying them. Maybe more thorough. By the time we get to Earth, the Colonies might just be ready for us to send a mission back to check on them.”

“That would be good,” Adama said. “I hope those pilots are competent. The fleet has never been that closely packed before.”

“Speaking of which, I need to call the resurrection ship,” Fred said. “Hold that thought.”

“I need to make sure Galactica is ready to move,” Adama said. “Make your call. We can talk later.”

“Understood,” Fred said. He glanced toward comms. “N’Var?”

“The resurrection ship is ready, sir,” N’Var said.

“I swear, sometimes I feel like I’m just holding up progress,” Fred laughed. “Sharon? I need you to thread your ship through the exact center of the vortex. That’ll give the most room for your flock of civilians to follow you without hitting the sides.”

Arith grinned and purred, using the voice that curled Boomer’s toes, “But sir, who else would be so decorative in the center seat?”

“I’m sure they’ll appreciate that,” Sharon said, with a noticeable hitch in her voice. “After seeing the show the Jovian Deuce put on, my hybrids detected a marked increase in nervous flight tics across the fleet. Is there anything I should…” The resurrection ship turned black. “...oh. I take it that’s your shuttle pilot preparing for the transition?”

“Exactly,” Fred said. “With the Ravenfield up, no one inside your ship will be able to see directly outside. Since you use instruments to fly anyway, it shouldn’t inconvenience you.”

The resurrection ship and its flock of civilian ships entered the mouth of the vortex, shot down its length as if snapped by a rubber band, then vanished in a flash of light.

“Are you trying to tell me that T’lana wants to play?” Fred growled playfully at Arith.

Arith smiled at Fred and licked her lips like an Orion woman.

Fred groaned and grumbled, “Later.”

Aribeth chimed.

Arith fell back in her seat, laughing, while several notes passed between crew members.

“Aribeth, this is Hawking,” came from comms. “We are safely in hyperspace, and Sharon is gathering her flock. She would like me to tell you that the transition was almost as exciting as a Viper launch. And she hated Viper launches. Also, Sharon reports all ships present and accounted for. You can send the base stars through.”

“Roger that, Hawking,” Fred said. “N’Var? Tell Simon it’s his turn, just as soon as all his Raiders are landed.”

“Sir,” N’Var said, “Simon says he has four Vipers in his landing bay, and some of his Raiders are landing on Galactica. They’re ready to go.”

“All right,” Fred said. “Tell them they can go through, then give Galactica clearance as soon as the base stars are through. And let me talk to Hawking again.”

On screen, the base stars shot through the vortex, one after the other, while the windows around the bridge blacked out.

“Hawking here, sir. Sharon’s moving the fleet far enough away from the jump point that it should be safe for the… yes, they made it through without mishaps. Give them a minute to clear the gate, and… all right, sir. There’s room for Galactica.”

Fred nodded to N’Var, who spoke into her comms. On the screen, the last Raider landed in Galactica’s landing bay and it closed, then Galactica flashed down the vortex and vanished.

“Galactica is through, sir. We could really use the exit point, before people start getting antsy. Apparently some of the civilians didn’t take your windows warning seriously enough.”

“Damn.” Fred pinched his eyes together. “OK, Rell, go ahead. Are you getting the sensor feed from Hawking?”

“Enough to know where to zig and zag when we get through,” Rell said.

A moment later, they were in hyperspace, and the gate collapsed behind them.

Fred turned to glance at N’Var, who nodded. “Sharon? Follow me. It’ll seem like it’s only a couple kilometers, but that’s all it takes in hyperspace. As soon as you see the jump point open, get your civilians out of here.”

“Gladly!” Sharon answered. “Watching them and calling them back to stay close is worse than trying to herd cats!”

Fred laughed. “Trust me, I know the feeling. I have children. If not for my wives, I’d have gone off to be a hermit by now.”

Arith and Mar glanced at each other, grinned, and made hash marks in the air. On screen, a new vortex formed, the blue swirls of hyperspace spiraling down the drain just like the first.

“Do you see the jump point?” Fred asked.

“Threading the needle now,” Sharon said. The resurrection ship and its flock shot down the vortex and vanished.

“Simon? Commander? Time to get out of here,” Fred said.

“Gladly,” Adama said. “I’d swear the dradis is making a sound like flutes.”

Fred groaned and lowered his face into his hands. “I’m sorry. This is beyond anyone on my crew to help with. Ari?”

“Phoning home now,” Aribeth said. “You realize we’re going to have to survey the fleet and find out how many others are affected.”

“I know,” Fred groaned. “Simon? Do you hear flutes?”

“No,” Simon said, “but Leoben is… getting completely disconnected from reality.”

“Shit,” Fred muttered, then yelled, “Frak!” He took a deep breath and watched as the base stars and Galactica shot through the vortex and vanished.

Once Aribeth was back in normal space, Fred stalked into his office and collapsed in his chair. “Who do you have, Ari?”

“Theresa,” Aribeth said.

“Oh good,” Fred sighed. “Theresa? I need bubasti help. I just took a fleet of over 60 run-down civilian ships, none of which had Ravenfields, through Green 5. I warned them to fly by instruments only, but some of the ships had windows. Not that it seems to matter, because on the one ship that doesn’t have windows, the commander said he could hear the flutes coming from the dradis. After less than five minutes exposure.”

“Less than five minutes,” a woman’s voice answered thoughtfully. “None of them had Ravenfields? Yeah, that’s bad. Wait. Did you say dradis? Like in that TV show?”

“Yes, like in that TV show,” Fred said. “That’s the universe I’m trapped in this time. So far, the only Cylons I’ve been told are having problems are the Leobens, and I don’t know how many on the fleet are affected yet. We just jumped back to normal space.”

“Good thing you called right away,” Theresa said. “You don’t want to give that kind of madness time to set in. Have you spaced Baltar yet?”

Fred snorted. “I’ve been lucky enough to not run into him yet. Boomer has some pretty strong opinions about him, though. So does Athena, and a few other people.”

“I’ll get some of my trainees and flag down Amelia,” Theresa said. “We’ll see how many stowaways join us before we leave.”

“Thanks,” Fred said. “I need to get back to the bridge so we can get started getting food and water for these people. And enough hydrocarbons for Aribeth’s replicators. I have some prototypes I need to build.”

Theresa laughed. “And who’s getting your non-combat shuttle this time?”

“Oh, it won’t be entirely non-combat,” Fred said, after blowing a raspberry. “Boomer would never forgive me if I tried to keep her out of combat.”

“Boomer?” Theresa teased. “Not Six? Good to know you’re not stuck with the LCD.”

“Definitely not,” Fred laughed. “But that reminds me. I have a Six on board, who’s getting counseling from M’Graul, because she figured out that God logically has to be a Thing, and you know how strongly she believes.”

“Oh dear,” Theresa hissed softly. “OK, that’s going to call for either Cin or Gingha. I’ll see which is free to join us.”

“Thanks,” Fred said. “We should be safe where we are for a while, as long as none of the people on the fleet flip out and try to vent their ship or something.”

“Right,” Theresa said. “We’ll be there as quickly as we can manage.”

Fred sat back in his chair when Theresa disconnected and looked up at the ceiling with a heavy sigh. “Ari, call Simon and Adama and put them through to me.”

“N’Var already has them on the line,” Aribeth said. “We’ve just been waiting for you to finish your phone call.”

“Thank you,” Fred said. “Commander, Simon, we’re looking at the closest moon of the innermost gas giant. We haven’t surveyed it well enough yet to know what kind of apex predators are there, so if any Centurions are willing to volunteer for guard duty, it would help a lot.”

“And I’ll assign Marines to accompany the Centurions,” Adama said, “so they can get practice with combined squads.”

“I like that idea, Commander,” Simon said. “Before they were unshackled, the Centurions had experience being directed, so working as equals with others will be good for them.”

“I’ll send security teams down to help out, too,” Fred said. He studied the display on his desk’s computer. “OK, Aribeth is telling me that Mar has found several fresh water lakes that will resupply every ship in the fleet. And, of course, every one of those lakes is surrounded by enough life to fill a zoo. And speaking of life, we’ll have a ship joining us soon. There are counselors on board who specialize in the kind of problems that are going to crop up among every person in the fleet who either looked out into hyperspace or heard the flutes.” Fred frowned thoughtfully. “There will also be … volunteers … who I am going to have to talk with before they get loose in the fleet. I’m not sure if anyone can help Leoben, but I’m sure there are people among them who are going to try. And there’s likely to be more Aarons getting resurrected than normal, depending on how they treat the volunteers.

“Actually, Dad,” a feminine voice with a flat, Midwestern accent, said. “the number of volunteers dropped way down when they heard you were fighting Things. On the other hand, I think at least one litter is trying to recruit one of their dragon friends.”

“Those are some smart kids,” Fred snorted. “I take it Aunt Grandma taught them?”

“That’d be my guess,” the woman said. “Anyway, we’ll be there in a couple hours. Theresa wants to make sure all her acolytes are properly outfitted and understand the gravity of what they’re getting into.”

“Thank goodness for responsible priestesses,” Fred exclaimed. “Anyway, now that you know where we’re going for food and water, I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Before you go,” Adama said, “explain what you meant by hearing the flutes.”

“When you are exposed to Things,” Fred said, “if your mind is more sensitive – whether it be because you’re artistic, you have a lot of experience thinking on your feet, you see things the way oracles do, or whatever – your brain can experience neural inputs from whatever Things are in the area. When you travel through hyperspace, you’re being exposed to a lot of Things at once, because of the way hyperspace is so different from our own. We know that some materials can shield you from those inputs. Armor plate usually works pretty good, as does a Ravenfield. Keeping the exposure to a minimum helps, too. If we’d stayed in hyperspace for a couple hours, everyone on the fleet would have been affected, but since we only stayed long enough to open that second jump point and get out, exposure was as short as we could make it.”

“Never mind the technical digression,” Adama said, “what does it mean?”

“It means you’re going to want anyone who’s heard the flutes to see one of our specialist counselors, who can determine what their risk of going insane from the exposure is, and help them find ways to deal with it to keep their sanity.”

“So we need to box the Leobens, then,” Simon groaned. “That’s going to be so fun.”

“I’m afraid so,” Fred said. “Unfortunately, they were half-way gone before the trip.” He rubbed his forehead. “Honestly, I didn’t expect anyone who didn’t look out their windows to be affected by such a short exposure. And I thought the CIC was protected by enough armor. We’ve had people do jumps like this repeatedly, without any noticeable effect.”

“So why was the sound coming from the dradis?” Adama asked.

“The dradis is generally pretty noisy already, right?” Fred said. “So your brain would interpret the noise as the sound of the flutes. The worst part of it is, that flute sound is associated with what our dragons call Outer Gods, which means Things that are so far above what we’ve been fighting that they’d consider these Things the same way these Things consider us. You don’t fight Outer Gods. You avoid them. You run away. You hope like hell they never notice you.”

“Is there any good news?” Adama asked.

“Yeah,” Fred said. “You have to work at it to get their attention. On Earth, entire cults have developed around trying to get their attention. Yes, cultists are insane. Especially when you consider that trying to understand them is like an amoeba trying to understand the human that moves it from one petri dish to another. So unless Nyarlathotep decides he’s bored and wants to play, you’re not gonna get their attention unless you spend a lot of blood to get it.”

“Nyar-what?” Simon asked.

“N'yar Lat-Hotep,” Fred said. “he’s one of the Outer Gods. Also known as the Black Pharaoh and the Crawling Chaos. Likes to poke at lesser species like he’s pulling the wings off flies or tying firecrackers to cats’ tails. He finds us … amusing. Especially when we suffer. There’s one world I visited where his avatar ruled a major world government, and he had a fifteen meter high rack set up in the middle of the capital city to display the skulls of people he had killed. Just because he liked the way the display terrorized his pet humans. Fortunately, unless there are Cultists on the fleet, and as long as Leoben isn’t actively doing the things he does, the chance of him noticing us is lower than the chance of being holed by an asteroid in interstellar space.”

“But you thought this trip would be safe,” Simon said. “Do you think maybe we should up your estimate some?”

“It never hurts to be safe,” Fred said. “We don’t want to overdo it, though, or you’ll have people succumbing to paranoia even without their influence. Best to just stay at yellow alert until we get to Earth.”

“That, we can do,” Adama said. “I’m not sure what we can do about cultists, though. Freedom of religion is one of the guarantees in the Articles of Colonization.”

“We generally just watch them until our kittens expose them or they start causing trouble,” Fred said. “Of course, if the kittens expose them, the problem is usually taken care of before we can get involved.”

“The kittens,” Adama repeated. “What do you mean?”

Fred waved a hand negligently, despite there being no video in the communication, as he answered, “Bubasti kittens. We’re not going to have as many as we usually do, assuming Amelia made sure that any potential stowaways know what they’re coming into, but I’m going to guess we’re likely to have teenagers with experience hunting cults. They’ll be a lot more effective than gaggles of kids who only have their noses and the infinite confidence of youth.”

“Spare me from infinite confidence,” Adama groaned.

“Welcome to my life,” Fred said. “And people think I make problems.”

“You do,” Adama said. “I’m not sure I want to know what you consider problems.”

“You don’t,” Fred said. “But we all have things we need to do, and my crew and I will be here for reference.”

“Yes,” Simon said. “I’m certain we will be calling you, but getting people on the planet is our primary focus right now.”

“Agreed,” Adama said. “The sooner we can get boots on the ground, the better.”

“We’ll set up landing zones,” Fred said. “We don’t know what the native stobor are yet, so the first people on the ground should be prepared for unpleasant encounters.”

“Understood,” Adama said. “Simon, if you send Centurions, we can team our Marines with them. They can save ammunition, too. The phasers our Marines have should drop anything hostile, but if it gets past the phasers, their blades should stop it.”

“They’ll appreciate saving ammunition, I’m sure,” Simon chuckled. “They might get jealous over the phasers, though.”

“No problem,” Fred said. “We can fix them up. Phasers are easy. Not as easy as disruptors, but disruptors aren’t as flexible.”

“Let’s try to focus on one thing at a time, all right?” Simon suggested. “Commander, we’ll have Centurions ready to join your Marines on the ground as soon as you notify us.”

“Yes,” Adama said. “I’ll call you when we’re ready to land.”

Adama cut the connection, followed by Simon. Fred leaned back in his chair, looking into the distance while his fingers traced patterns on the desktop.

“Fred?” Aribeth called. “You might want to focus on getting science and security teams on the ground. People aren’t going to know what’s safe to harvest if you don’t.”

“Huh?” Fred asked. “Oh. Right. Yeah, good idea.” He stood and headed for the bridge.

Chapter Text

Mar and Kar’ra stood on opposite sides of an exam table on the surface of the moon, which hadn’t been officially named yet, and studied the retractable fangs of a creature that looked like a house cat with lizard hide.

“Tetrodotoxin,” Kar’ra said. “That’s what it looks like. The strange thing is, I’m not seeing any native venoms, which I would normally say means the venom sacs are hosting symbiotic bacteria, except our cultures have been negative so far.”

“So it’s likely this is our first species to produce tetrodotoxin natively?” Mar asked. “That alone would be big news.”

“It also means we need to make sure anyone on the planet has anti-bite clothing,” Kar’ra said. “Given how small these things are, they will get past security.”

“At least until we find a repellent that’ll keep them out,” Mar said. “Remember the ultrasonics we use on Mol’Rihan?”

“Do I have to?” Kar’ra asked. “That gave you and me both headaches that lasted for days. And we have to keep them tuned way down so they don’t crack Fylrene’s e-suit, remember?”

“But they keep the biting flies off us,” Mar said. “And without the exposure to pesticides that the insect repellent sprays caused.”

A lion cub trotted up to the exam table and dropped another of the cat-sized lizards on a pile beside the table. Like most of the others, its only apparent injuries were a broken neck and punctures from the teeth carrying it.

“Thanks, Sophie,” Mar said. “Can you tell the others we have plenty of specimens to work with now? Any you kill now, could you plant the bodies away from the shore and watch to see if any others approach them? I have a hypothesis I want to test, and you kittens are the best ones to do it safely.”

“Sure thing, Mar. Would it have anything to do with the carcasses we’ve found that look like they were eaten alive?”

“Yes, it does,” Mar said. “We noticed the venom paralyzes the victim, but is too weak to kill unless the victim gets a lot of bites. And given the size of these vs the size of the herd animals here, I would not be surprised if they paralyze their prey, wait for it to fall over, then begin eating immediately. But the question then is, do they scavenge, or do other animals scavenge when they’re done? One of these is way too small to eat a whole herd beast. Even a juvenile.”

“And we’ve only seen them in groups if it was a mother and cubs, so unless they’re scavenging each other’s kills, there have to be other scavengers out there.”

Mar smiled and nodded. “Exactly. You sound as if you’re studying ecology.”

“Planetary ecosystems, actually. I’m not even pretending to understand cosmozoan ecology. They’re just too weird.”

“You said a mouthful there,” Mar laughed. “Every cosmozoan seems to have a different ecology that’s unique to its species, and we’re still trying to understand some of them.”

“So you’re looking to find out not only if they scavenge, but if others are willing to eat them. You know that most predators end up being too gamy for anything bigger than beetles to eat, right?”

“Yes, I know,” Mar said. “But we’ve seen situations where predators would scavenge each other’s bodies, so it’s worth finding out if that’s the case here.”

“OK. Experiment under way.” The lion cub trotted off, vanishing into the brush not far from the table.

“Thank goodness for kittens,” Kar’ra said. “After I had to start putting Marines on ventilators, I wasn’t sure if we’d be able to take advantage of this moon. Arith and Rell have the easy job. All they have to do is scoop gas from the planet’s atmosphere and compress it for storage.”

“Speaking of which,” Mar said, and a holographic display appeared in front of her. “Interesting. Very interesting. Nitrogen, sulfur, phosphorus, and... hmm… Aribeth, can you compare this to the stellar spectrum?”

The holographic display changed, and Mar nodded slowly. “Interesting. So this is definitely a K2IV star, and the metal content… hmm….” She circled an area in the display. “Ari? Have you told Fred about this?”

“He’s off scanning with Max,” Aribeth answered. “This could solve our jump point problem.”

“At least for short ranges, sure,” Mar said. “I’m not sure we’re even in the Perseus Arm, let alone the Orion Spur. If we are, we’re in a part of Gamma or Delta that not even any of the locals we’ve met have mapped.” Mar paused a moment, then smiled. “Ari? Check if Rael and Lenny are around, and ask for a copy of their nav files.”

“Checking…,” Aribeth paused, then announced, “We are definitely beyond the Veil. Not only that, according to the charts, the Quarians used to mine eezo on the fourth planet. Huh. This must include both Rael’s charts and charts from Tali’s universe. Anyway, I’ll tell Fred. He’ll get a better idea once he and Max get to the planet.”

“We really need to keep their charts on file,” Mar said. “I know they’re not Starfleet-approved, but with all the traveling we do, I don’t care.”

“I’m sure Fred would agree,” Aribeth said. “I’ll mention it to him while he’s testing the eezo deposits.”

“I wonder where the nearest supernova is,” Mar mused. Her wrist band grew to cover her body in glittering blue armor, and she backhanded one of the venomous cat-lizards, breaking its back and sending it flying into a nearby … tree? ... while studying the holographic display. “Hm. They’re losing their fear of us. Definitely need to work on a repellent.”

“Ready for testing!” a group of six teens, all with red hair, four boys and two girls, all of whom looked as if they could be twins, held a device the size of a hardcover copy of Dune, while one of the girls made the announcement. “We got tired of killing cat-lizards, so we decided to make something to repel them. We just need somewhere to mount it for testing. Uncle Fred says you have the most sensitive ears here, so we think testing it around you would be the best thing.”

Mar winced. “Ultrasonics, then?”

“Only if it doesn’t work right,” one of the boys said. “We tried to work out the neural frequency their brains operate on, so we could generate a ‘Bad things here! Stay away!’ signal. If it’s producing ultrasonics, it means we got something wrong and have to make adjustments.”

“Too bad more of my research lab staff aren’t that practical,” Mar grumbled, while Kar’ra laughed. Mar nodded at the group, then pointed at a pole supporting an overhead light next to the table. “Why not mount it there? Since I just had to kill one, there’s a good chance more will be showing up.”

The six teens looked at each other and grinned, then the boy holding the device shifted, from human form to a form more like a humanoid lion, which gave him another couple feet of height – more than enough to reach the top of the light’s pole and hang the device from it. Once the device was hung, all six shifted into lion form and bounded into the brush.

“You realize that more will be showing up because they’ll be herding them here,” Kar’ra snorted, then broke into laughter. “It’s a good thing Fred normally keeps them busy, because that litter would rule the world if they got it into their heads.”

Mar laughed, then did an impersonation of a teenage girl’s voice. “Why would we want to rule the world? That sounds too much like work. It’s more fun to experiment, eat tuna, and sleep in sunbeams.” Both women laughed in unison. Then Mar looked up, her antennae moving as if trying to track something. “Kar’ra, I’m not hearing anything. Are you?”

“Ultrasonics, you mean?” Kar’ra asked. “No. I’m not hearing any. But check your tricorder.”

Mar took out her tricorder and scanned it, then blinked a couple times. “Seriously? I suppose it makes some sense, but that would imply these venomous menaces use low-level telepathy to hunt.”

“Only one way to find out, you realize,” Kar’ra said. “Who do we have on the ground team?”

“Ensign N’rak,” Aribeth said. “She’s part of the planetary ecology team that’s testing the local plants for safety.”

“Right,” Mar said. “Ensign N’rak, report to the necropsy lab.”

About two minutes later, a Reman woman transported in, and immediately clutched her head. “What in the name of all the Ancestors is making that horrendous noise?”

“Ari, would you?” Kar’ra asked.

The Reman’s form flickered black for an instant, then returned to normal, and she let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Aribeth.” She saluted Mar and Kar’ra. “Ensign N’rak, ma’am.”

“At ease, ensign,” Mar said. “I was going to ask if you’d noticed anything about the cat-lizards, but now I’d like to ask, when you were hearing that horrendous noise, did it make you want to find it and destroy it?”

“Like a Hur’q lure?” N’rak asked. “No, ma’am. It made me want to do the opposite. Not only was it painfully loud, but it felt as if it were being produced by something so terrible I should run away and not let it catch me.”

“So we need to tell the kids to try to focus it away from where people are,” Kar’ra said. “I’m sure they’ll consider that a fun challenge.”

“Dad, take a look at this.” Max fed the image he was picking up from surface scans to Fred. The planet they were scanning had an orbit that took it from the red to the deep into the green, raising its surface temperature to around two hundred Celsius when it was closest to the star, and down as low as negative one hundred sixty when it was farthest away. If anything had evolved on it, it was likely to be nasty.

“That looks like…,” Fred trailed off, then whistled. “Let’s land and check it out.”

Max folded back his wings and nosed over into the atmosphere, turning black as his Ravenfield absorbed the energy of atmospheric entry. As they dropped below fifty kilometers, the pattern on the ground resolved into the appearance of a large industrial facility, filling the valley between two mountains. As they grew close enough to make out features of the stone buildings, several parked spaceships became visible in an open area. Max steered toward the parked spaceships, as Getta pointed at him from the ground.

“I see them,” Fred breathed. “Where are their companions, though? I haven’t seen a single Quarra yet.”

“We’ll have to talk to them to find out,” Max said. “Looks like they’re leaving us clear to land.”

“All right, then,” Fred said. “Touch down and I’ll talk to them.”

Max shifted to Gerwalk mode and hovered, then lowered until his feet were firmly planted on the ground. His canopy melted away, and Fred hopped out, then walked toward the largest of the Getta, stuttering like an acoustic modem as he did.

<Are you the primary Companion Node of this consensus?> Fred asked

<You are not a Creator, but you know what a Companion Node is?> the large Getta asked, the flaps around its single optical unit spreading in surprise. <You must warn the Creators. Something on this planet causes Creators to suffer rapid, painful death. Even when wearing their protective suits, it kills them.>

<How long has it been since the last Creator on this planet died?> “Max, get me a science team so we can find out what’s killing Quarra here.”

<It has been 9.1264563E18 nanoseconds since the last Creator died. Approximately.> the large Getta answered.

Fred snorted, a faint smile on his face. <Good to know the Getta sense of humor is intact. Have your people been able to analyze any possible causes of the Creator deaths, or have you been focused on caretaking until they return?>

<What is Getta?> the large Getta asked. <We have been caring for the city since the Creators sent their warning message. We lost contact with the primary consensus approximately 6.27671875E11 nanoseconds ago. Our consensus has been isolated since then.>

<Getta is the name for your people where I come from. They are mostly known from the Companion class platforms. How many processes does your platform support? And how many platforms, including Companion, worker, and defense, are in the city?> Fred looked around, noting several Companion class platforms, and a whole lot of worker class.

<We have never had defense class platforms here,> the Getta said. <This platform supports one thousand eight hundred seventy three processes. There were originally seven hundred twelve Companion class platforms, but we were unable to repair fifteen after the Creators died, so their processes are in the central databank. At last accounting, there were fifteen thousand worker platforms, mostly in the mines. They have continued mining while the Creators are away, so we have plenty of ore for processing if they should ever return.> He paused, his optic light shifted from white to a faint pink, while his facial flaps folded in embarrassment. <We do not have the authorization codes to operate the processing machinery, or we would have processed the ore as well.> His head tilted and he looked down at Fred. <The Creators called us Geth.>

<Understood.> Fred looked around at all the platforms. <Have any of your platforms been stricken by whatever killed the Creators?>

<None,> the Geth said. <The only platforms we have lost have been due to damage.>

<And your processes only require the usual error-checking that connecting to the Consensus gives you?>

<Correct. It is good you understand.>

Fred laughed and patted the Geth’s arm. <One of my wives is a Creator. Her Companion is just as much a part of my family as she is. So let’s see what data we have that we can use to understand what killed your Creators.>

Mar looked up from her analysis of the moon’s nearest grass analogue, then laughed. “Trust Fred. Kar’ra, who do we have in epidemiology?”

“That would be Norim Relan and Dena Rez,” Kar’ra said. “They’ve been working together since the Resistance, so not only do they know epidemiology, they’re as much a team as you and Arith. Relan was in a Cardassian Science Division, and Dena was in the Resistance.”

“OK, we’ll put them in charge of the team, then.” Mar opened her PADD and studied it. “Let’s see… yes.” She checked off several names on her PADD. “Those should do it. Check my list, Kar’ra?”

Kar’ra rolled her eyes and held up her hands, gloved up to the elbows, with the gloves dripping from the cat-lizard she was working on. “Aribeth, would you show me the list?”

A list of names appeared holographically above the necropsy, and Kar’ra nodded as she read it. “I’d swap out Ensign Jones with Ensign Filreth, but other than that it looks good.” She shrugged. “Filreth did their thesis on the biology of the M-113 salt vampires.”

“That’s an easy switch,” Mar said. “Aribeth, make it happen. Give them the May.” She chuckled. “And warn them that the Admiral is likely to play a lot of Queen when he sees the shuttle.”

“You are an evil, evil woman,” Kar’ra laughed. “So what was the ‘trust Fred’ about?”

“Oh, he found Getta on the fourth planet,” Mar said. “They’ve been there without their Quarra for nearly three hundred years. That’s why the science team. Fred wants to know what killed the Quarra.”

“It would be a good thing,” Kar’ra said dryly. “Especially if it’s something that could kill us.”

Mar snickered. “Want to bet on whether he even thought of that? I’m pretty sure he just saw a planet full of Getta without Companions and felt sorry for the Getta.”

“That’s not even a bet,” Kar’ra snorted. “That’s just Fred.”

“I’m afraid they’ll have to do without Fred’s questionable taste in music,” Aribeth said. “I assigned the May to one of the teams surveying the first planet. They’re going to have to take the Burnell.”

“That’ll do,” Mar said. She chuckled. “And it’ll spare them, yes. Go ahead.”

Korrin Filreth, a well-aged Trill man, looked from his PADD to the window at the front of the shuttle. “Relan? Rez? Would you focus your scans about one hundred kilometers ahead of us, and about two hundred kilometers closer to the planet?”

“So you noticed it too?” Rez asked, her Bajoran ear jewelry making faint tings as she turned her head to glance back at Filreth.

“We were discussing how the Admiral could have missed it,” Relan commented, her Cardassian accent rendering the comment more dry than just the words.

“Yes,” Filreth said. “I was working on a planetary baseline to save some time when we land. Now I think that investigating that orbital station before we land would be a good idea.”

“We agree,” Rez said. She spun her chair to look back at the other three shuttle inhabitants. “So do any of you have any ideas?”

“I-Ideas?” Ensign Fitzroy asked, clutching the arms of his seat as if afraid he would fall away from it. “W-What are you talking about?”

“It will be all right,” Ensign V’lan said, one Vulcan eyebrow raising as she studied Fitzroy. “I apologize for not having any suggestions. I have been observing Ensign Fitzroy, in case intervention is needed due to his fear.”

“If there’s an orbital station, it would profit us to investigate,” Ensign Borr said. “I have a feeling in my lobes that we’ll find something interesting. We should also armor up before we go in, just in case its environmental systems have failed.”

“I concur,” V’lan said. “Assuming the orbital station has been there as long as our briefing said it has been since the Quarra died, we could encounter multiple system failures. Unless there were Getta assigned to the station, it would be in failure mode.”

“Good cautionary note,” Relan said, nodding. “Rez, would you hail the station while I bring us close enough to find a docking port?”

“Got it,” Rez said, and worked her panel. “Orbital station, this is the Burnell, requesting docking clearance. Orbital station this –“

The shuttle’s speakers blared with buzzing and crackling, which resolved after a moment to an obviously synthesized voice. “Burnell, this is Claim Jumper. You are cleared for docking. Our docking port is toward the planetary north pole.”

“Understood,” Rez said. “We are taking position to dock. Do you have any living Creators on board?”

“We do not,” the Geth voice said. “Our Creators died before those on Motherlode did. We were quarantined as soon as our Creators began dying. It did not save the Creators on Motherlode.”

Relan frowned, then ordered, “Everyone armor up, and scan everything for as long as we’re docked.”

All around the shuttle, wrist bands flowed like oil as they spread to cover their wearers in sparkling hardsuits, all blue except Fitzroy’s and Borr’s, which were gold. Fitzroy calmed noticeably once he was armored.

“There are six of us,” Rez said. “We will be wearing environmental armor when we dock.”

“We understand,” the Geth voice said. “We will have a Companion platform waiting for you. Admiral MacManus told us you prefer to have a platform available to communicate with.”

“It does make it easier,” Rez said. “At least for those who aren’t used to communicating directly at datastore nodes. Are yours on the Claim Jumper?”

“We have sub-nodes here,” the Geth said, “but our primary nodes are on the planet, to reduce radiation-induced errors.”

“Understood,” Rez said. “Sub-nodes are still useful.”

Relan rotated the Burnell and backed it toward the Claim Jumper. There was a gentle squashing sensation, as if they had encountered a shuttle-sized pile of putty, then the docking indicators began turning green. When the last light switched to green, she nodded. “We are docked. Filreth?”

Filreth slid his PADD into a clip on his armor and tapped on the panel beside the shuttle’s docking hatch. With a hiss, the hatch opened. The pilot and copilot stations immediately displayed contamination warnings.

When the contamination alarm began beeping, Fitzroy snapped his left arm into a horizontal position in front of his chest, where he could work controls on it with his right hand, while studying the holographic display that appeared above it.

After he had been studying his display for almost a minute, Relan asked, “What do you have, Fitzroy?”

“The air is full of… vapor,” Fitzroy said. “Some kind of vapor that doesn’t match anything on the table. I’m trying to get an analysis of it, but all I’ve managed is to determine that it’s some kind of metallic compound with an enthalpy of… Aribeth? Is this right? Half a million gigajoules per kilo? That’s almost as much as a fusion reaction!”

“Eighty-one percent of fusion, to be precise,” V’lan said. “I believe you have identified another variety of what the Admiral would call ‘unobtainium’. And the air is full of it in vapor form. Interesting. I wonder what its effects on an organic body would be.”

“Not good,” Fitzroy said. “The energy content alone would make inhaling it almost as damaging as inhaling any transuranic metals. No, strike that. More damaging. Whatever this is, it also emits alpha particles. So anyone inhaling it would be subject to both internal alpha and thermal damage. Do not, for any reason, unseal your armor until we have decontaminated the shuttle.”

“Is there a problem?” the Geth asked from the docking hatch. “The only contaminants our environmental systems find in the air come from the ore samples we have in storage.”

“Ore samples… in storage,” Fitzroy said slowly, then his tone firmed up and he ordered, as he approached the Geth. “I need a platform to take me to your stored ore samples.”

“Understood,” the Geth said. “A platform has been dispatched to accompany your team. This platform will escort you to our sample storage.”

Once Fitzroy and V’lan were out of earshot, Rez commented softly, “I was wondering why the Commander sent him with us. What a difference a crisis makes.”

“Remember Kai Lazek?” Relan said. “He was a lot like that. Terrified whenever he stopped to think about what he was doing, but pure power of the Prophets when he had to deal with a crisis.”

“Oh yeah,” Rez chuckled. “Couldn’t stand to be around him between missions, but when he was planting devices, he was almost as steady as a Vulcan.”

“That’s the one,” Relan said, then nodded to the new platform when it arrived. “We are ready to see what you can show us about how the Creators died. The two of us would especially be interested in any medical examinations performed on the dead or dying.”

“Those files would be this way,” the Geth said. “The medical officer at the time was not a doctor, but he was experienced in field medicine. His records were quite complete.” It swiveled its head to look at Borr and Filreth. “What files do you wish to see?”

“I want to see your engineering records,” Borr said. “Anything that would show variations in environment or function. Transfer logs would be useful, too, assuming they transferred more than one load of samples.”

“I would like to see your life support records,” Filreth said. “It would be useful to know if your systems record anything besides the ore sample vapor in the air and water.”

“All of those files will be accessible from the same sub-node,” the Geth said. “It is the sub-node the officers assigned to this station used.”

Ensign Fitzroy stood in a room, surrounded by racks, on which were metal boxes. The Geth that had escorted him and Ensign V’lan to the storage room pulled a box from one of the racks and opened the top, revealing that it was full of yellowish sand. V’lan passed her tricorder over the open box, while Fiztroy studied the holo display above his left arm.

“This is amazing!” Fitzroy said. “You could feed this into a reaction chamber and trigger it with an ordinary laser. The reaction would continue as long as you kept feeding it in.”

“It is more efficient to refine it first,” the Geth said. “When it is refined, it is a golden liquid that can be pumped through fuel lines to feed engines.”

“Did you just say this refines into a golden liquid?” V’lan asked.

“We did,” the Geth said. “Why do organics require that we repeat things we have clearly said?”

“Usually because of surprise,” V’lan said. “In this case… do you know how rich the deposits of this ore are?”

“We have run out of space on the surface to store the extracted ore,” the Geth said. “Until we are given the authorization codes to refine it, we cannot mine any more.”

“But you could if you had space?” V’lan asked. “How much more?”

“Unknown,” the Geth said. “We have been mining for two hundred eighty nine years. Approximately.”

Fitzroy let out a snort. “Gotcha, V’lan.”

“You have been mining for two hundred eighty nine years?” V’lan asked. “How many platforms?”

“Fifteen thousand,” the Geth said.

“And you have not exhausted the ore?” V’lan asked.

“No,” the Geth said.

“And you do not know how much more is there?” V’lan asked.

“No,” the Geth said. “Preliminary surveys done by the Creators suggested we would have run out of ore one hundred forty years ago.”

“Fascinating,” V’lan mused. “Aribeth, tell the Admiral I believe we have solved the problem of fuel for the fleet. He should consider calling in the refining ships.”

Fred scooped up a handful of yellow sand and let it run through his fingers. “It’s hard to believe something like this can be refined to liquid fuel, but then again, I’m sure people who’ve never worked with it have trouble believing eezo, too.”

He looked up from the sand to the Companion watching him. “We’ll have refining experts coming soon to examine your ore. If they can handle it, I’m going to make a trip to Rannush to see how the main body of the Creators are doing. Is there anything you’d like me to bring back?”

“A fleet of Creators would be nice,” the Companion said. “We have managed to get by with studying this system and the planet’s ecology, but Creators giving us new input would help us. A lot.”

“I’ll bet,” Fred mused. “Have you been in communication with Aribeth?”

“We have,” the Companion said. “Your people are not like us, yet you are. Clearly, you are organic, yet you are as open with input as the Consensus is. That is… according to our oldest records… unusual.”

“If by unusual, you mean some organics hoard input like it’s their life blood, you’re right,” Fred said. “I learned a long time ago that as long as I don’t give dangerous toys to governments, the more I share with people, the better.”

“Yes. We have seen your philosophy on government,” the Companion said. “It is a philosophy that we are discussing among the Consensus, as it is new to us. But if all organics followed it, it would maximize benefits for all.”

“Unfortunately, many are not mature enough to follow it,” Fred said. “Some desire power over their fellows, while there are others who cannot imagine not having an authority to report to. It requires the ability to take responsibility for one’s own actions to live that way. Where I come from, I don’t give them a choice. If they wish to live in my country, they must take responsibility for themselves. Those who can, remain. Those who cannot, leave.” He muttered, “Except for those who are deluded enough to imagine they can force me to make a government for them.”

“That is input that will help us in our discussion,” the Companion said. “Are you expecting a large ship to land? It is not coming from the direction of the other ships orbiting the third planet. It is coming from outside the system.”

“No…,” Fred said. “Checking now. Aribeth? Did anyone announce arriving?”

“No,” Aribeth said. “Neth Par is investigating.. and Red Alert!” A brief pause, then, “Standing down from Red Alert. It was only a pirate. The Steadfast is bringing in the remains of the ship for investigation.”

“That quickly?” Fred asked.

“No shields, and protomatter-infused tetryon beams are hell on hard systems,” Aribeth said. “The pirate ship’s only weapons exploded as soon as the Steadfast shot it.”

“All right,” Fred said. “Let me know if you need me to come up and take a look. Until then, how long until the refinery ships get here? For that matter, can we get a prospector from one of them onto a shuttle and get them here faster?”

“I’ll suggest it to Arith,” Aribeth said. “I believe that can be arranged. Interesting. The pirate ship looks like a Vael People Mover that someone bolted a mass driver turret on below the cabin. It also looks as if its maintenance has been spotty, at best.”

“Interesting,” Fred said. “Is the life support still functional?”

“No,” Aribeth said. “When the Steadfast blew up the turret, they lost their atmosphere. Neth Parr sent a boarding crew, but the pirates tried to shoot them. It didn’t end well for the pirates.”

“I know how big a People Mover is,” Fred said. “So there were maybe six pirates on board?”

“Exactly,” Aribeth said. “And they were Quarra.”

“Well, frak,” Fred muttered. “Oh yeah, that reminds me.” He looked at the Companion. “Do you have any of the protective suits the Creators wore? I’d like to find out how this stuff managed to kill them if they were in their suits.”

“We were unable to preserve any of their protective suits,” the Companion said. “the best-preserved one disintegrated 6.248404E18 nanoseconds ago. Approximately.”

”Damn. It would have been nice to know if anything was preserved in the suit or the filters,” Fred mused. “Quarra always have the best e-suit filters. The ones I’ve seen can filter out anything larger than 10 nanometers.”

“The filters the Creators used in their suits were good down to 20 nanometers,” the companion said. “There were only two viruses that were small enough to get through, and both are endemic to Rannush, so were not a problem for them.”

“Hmm… every poison gas we know is a lot smaller than that,” Fred said. “Too small even for Quarra filters, but activated charcoal takes care of that.”

“Activated charcoal…,” the Companion said, then paused for a few seconds. “I see. That is usually the part of protective suit filters that needs replacing most often. Our store of activated charcoal expired not long after the Creators died.”

“The Quarra use filters that contain the charcoal so they can be replaced as a unit,” Fred said. “It’s a lot easier than trying to replace the parts separately.” He looked into the distance for a moment. “Ari, could you send some Quarra suit filters to the team on the space station so they can test them against the vapors there?”

“They already asked for some,” Aribeth said. “So far, the test results have been less than ideal for the filters. The vapors break down the charcoal within five minutes of exposure.”

“Less than ideal,” Fred snorted. “Yeah. I’d say so. I think they may have found the culprit, though. OK, so nobody comes down to the planet unless they’re in a sealed suit with on-board oxygen. You should probably warn whatever prospector gets sent, too.”

“Aribeth, could you replicate a few bags of SOMS for the team on the space station?” Edgar asked. “It was used in the early 21^st century for radioactive material cleanup. If they’re experimenting with materials to clear the air, it might be a good one for them to try.”

“It would give the engineers on the team something to do, too,” Aribeth said. “After all, they’d have to build a filter box for it to be useful.”

Fred tilted his head and murmured, “SOMS… SOMS… oh! I hadn’t even thought of that. I’ve only ever used zeolites for purifying water.”

“That’s why I knew you wouldn’t think of suggesting it,” Edgar said.

“Admiral,” Neth Parr said. “I believe you should come to the… ship we encountered. We have found something I believe you should investigate personally.”

“That’s not good,” Fred muttered. “Neth Parr never asks me to investigate something she was involved in.”

He stood and brushed the yellow sand off his hands, then looked at the Companion. “Hopefully, this will be quick.” With a soft “crack”, he teleported to Max and slid into his cockpit, then plugged in while Max was lifting off and shifting into fighter form.

Chapter Text

Fred floated in the cabin of the Quarra ship, studying the environmental suits of the six Quarra who had been in it. One of the bodies raised an arm and pointed at Neth Parr.

“Mon...ster,” it wheezed. “Under… arrest.”

Neth Parr stiffened, then snapped into her comm, “Steadfast! Emergency transport. All six pirates to the med bay. Now!” She turned to Fred and bowed her head. “My apologies, Admiral. We could not detect life signs in any of them, or they would already have been aboard.”

“We’ll get them to Aribeth and get Kar’ra’s people working on them,” Fred said. “I’m not surprised you didn’t detect any life signs. All their suits are shielded against radiation. Now, what did you want me to see?”

“This, sir,” Neth Parr said, and pushed off toward the pilot’s seat, while the six Quarra vanished in a blue flare. She pointed at the shuttle’s main console, where a control for the now-destroyed guns had been riveted between pilot and copilot.

It took Fred a few moments to confirm his translation of the Quarra text on the console was accurate, then he swore in several languages before muttering, “Fuck. Blockade patrol? Neth Parr, we’re going to need the sensor logs from when you encountered this ship. Aribeth, break orbit and come to where we are. We may need to wave a bigger pee-pee than the Quarra if we want to keep this from turning into a shooting war.”

“Arith here,” Arith answered. “Do you want me to pick up our away teams?”

“We shouldn’t need to do that,” Fred said. “Just warn them they’ll be out of transporter range for a while. Galactica, this is MacManus. We’re going to need you, Simon, and Sharon to shield the ground teams for a bit. Aribeth is going to be busy trying to prevent the pirate incident from becoming a war.”

“Understood,” Adama said. “We have the planet covered.”

“Good luck,” Simon said. “Be sure to call us if you need any punctuation.”

Fred chuckled. “I’m sure a few hundred Raiders would make very effective punctuation, too. I’ll keep them in mind. And thank you.”

“I’m picking up four People Movers and a… sensor return says it has the shape of a Great Ox, but it’s been heavily modified… approaching your location,” Arith said. “We’ll be dropping out of warp in thirty seconds. The Quarra ships will reach your location in five minutes. N’Var is hailing them on all standard Quarra frequencies. No response so far.”

“Is there chatter on any frequency?” Fred asked. He studied the shuttle’s control panel, then sighed and extended a finger to plug in. “Arith, they’re using QEC communication. I’m going to try using the QEC wired into this ship.”

“-just dropped out of the network!” came in heavily-accented Quarra. “They were patrolling in this sector when they dropped out.”

“They attacked one of my ships,” Fred said. “We have the crew in our infirmary, but could use a Quarra doctor to save as many as possible.”

“Who are you, and what are you doing on this network?” another Quarra voice demanded.

“I am Admiral MacManus,” Fred said, “and I am in command of the USS Aribeth, who is currently transporting your people to her infirmary for medical care. Why do your ships not respond to standard hails? Do you not understand that most people don’t even have QEC communication?”

“This is Captain Jorem’Narel,” the Quarra who had demanded Fred’s identity answered, “and you are violating this system quarantine.”

“Hmm…,” Fred mused. “The Companions thought that might be why they’ve been abandoned since their Creators died. I have a science team working on that mystery, but right now it looks as if the problem is you have very high-grade unobtainium here, and the vapors from it break down your containment suit filters within five minutes of exposure. So all your people died of a combination of radiation exposure and microscopic burns to their lungs.”

“Admiral,” Arith said, “I just got a report from the prospector we sent to the space platform. He says that the ore the Quarra were mining on the planet is the highest grade of tylium he has ever seen in his life. In fact, it’s so high-grade that he advises that no one touch it unless they’re wearing fully-sealed space suits.”

“And my XO just confirmed it,” Fred said. “The ore on the fourth planet is so hazardous that unless you are wearing fully-sealed space suits, it will kill you.”

“How did you get into this system without us stopping you?” Jorem demanded.

“First,” Fred said, “without standard comm systems, your people can’t talk to anyone else. I don’t know whose genius idea it was to not equip you, but that’s a problem. Second, we didn’t come from Rannush, or any of your colonies. We came from an entirely different direction. Third, if we had been hostile, you would have been unable to stop us. Do you know what a singularity is? We use those as the warheads in our missiles.”

“Impossible,” Jorem blurted, although he sounded uncertain. “No one can generate and control singularities!”

“Generating them is easy,” Fred laughed. “And if all you want to do is destroy something, you don’t have to control them. That’s for engineering.”

The largest of the Quarra ships dropped below light speed with a flare of blue light, and its thrusters fired to slow it to stop near the Steadfast.

“Do you see the size of that thing?” a Quarra blurted over the QEC. “All five of us could fit inside the flattened cylinder! With room to spare!”

“Since you’re getting close enough for the question to be practical,” Fred said, “Would one of you mind sending a pilot to take charge of this ship? You may need our help to get it back to your home base, but honestly, we’re not interested in claiming it, even though it opened fire on one of my ships without so much as a ‘who are you’.”

“What happened to the Knuckle-Buster?” Jorem asked, his voice a bit more shaken.

“The turret exploded when our patrol ship returned fire,” Fred said. “Unfortunately, converting a People Mover into a blockade enforcement ship means your ship has all the structural integrity of tissue paper. The explosion ripped open the cabin and they lost their atmosphere. When our people boarded to check for survivors, your people opened fire. It did not end well for them. Thanks to the shielding in their suits, we were only certain of one survivor when we transported them to our infirmary. Just a moment while I check.” “Aribeth, what’s the status of the Quarra patients?”

“One is dead,” Aribeth said. “Dr. Warrex says it looks as if shrapnel ripped through him when the turret exploded. One is conscious enough to be terrified of his doctor. The other four are alive but unconscious.”

“Thank you,” Fred said, then switched attention back to the QEC. “I’m afraid one of your people is dead, but the other five are alive and being treated by our doctors. Unfortunately, one of them is conscious and having a slight problem with being treated by someone who is not Quarra.”

“Not Quarra,” Jorem repeated. “So you people really are aliens.”

“Oh yes,” Fred said. “My crew has over a dozen different species. No Quarra yet, but that’s only because this is our first contact with this part of the galaxy.”

“With this part of the galaxy,” Jorem repeated. “If you’re not even from this part of the galaxy, why are you here?”

“Just doing some hunting and gathering,” Fred said. “And, since your people prospected the fourth planet before they died, buying ore for my fleet.”

“Your fleet,” Jorem said, as if he were beyond being surprised.

“Yeah,” Fred said. “I’m escorting a fleet of civilians who are looking for a place to colonize. This system is not that place. Unless you have a system with levo native life that you’re not using, we’ll be out of your hair as soon as we’ve refueled and loaded up on food and water.”

“If you’re not from this part of the galaxy, how did you know that was a People Mover?” Jorem asked. “And how are you understanding our language?”

“What’s the name of your ship?” Fred asked. “Where I come from, my wife would be Tali’Zorah MacManus vas Aribeth. She’s not the first Quarra I ever met, though. That would have been Rael’Zorah vas Shaggy Dog. Even if it was Lenny who made his best stories work. Lenny’s his Companion. Galaxy’s best at delivering dry come-backs. Anyway, Rael and Lenny are a scout team that ended up in my system after Scylla shot up their ship and they needed repairs. Tali comes from another universe, which is where I met her.”

“...vas Shaggy Dog,” Jorem repeated. “Do I even want to know? My ship is the Overwatch.”

“So where I come from,” Fred said, “you would be known as Jorem’Narel vas Overwatch. Now you have an idea of how I understand your language. As for the People Mover, back where Tali comes from, the Vael Starship Engineering Corporation is one of Rannoch’s most successful revivals. Since they still have all the tools and dies from 300 years ago, they were the first company to be up and running when people began returning home. And, yes, that’s another long story, most likely not suitable for sharing over the link. Speaking of which, do you have a link back to Rannush?”

“I do…,” Jorem said. “Why?”

“Because,” Fred said, “I’d like to send the data we have on the system to your people, and ask what –“

“You realize that information is valuable, Dad,” Edgar pointed out. “Valuable enough to pay for tylium with.”

“– they’re willing to pay for it, or how much ore they’ll exchange for it,” Fred finished.

“How do you know it’s something they’d be willing to pay for?” Jorem asked.

“Your people haven’t even visited the orbital station since it was quarantined,” Fred said. “The Companions there and on the ground tell me they’ve had no contact at all since their Quarra died. As you know, Geth do not lie. Geth also do not stop gathering data. Between them and my people, we have enough data on this system to keep your planetary scientists happy for years.”

“Between them and your people,” Jorem repeated. “Why are you including the system’s Geth with your people?”

“Well, since they were cut off from Rannush,” Fred said, “their Consensus developed independently. While they would like to be reconnected, they’re as independent as any other colony that was cut off. Since the hazards on Motherlode are too great for anyone to occupy the planet without full space suits, unless your people decide to build space habitats for exploiting the system, they’re going to continue to be cut off. I’m happy to help them get back into space if your people don’t, but we all know that mature adults exchange for what they get, whether it’s for respect, or materials, or completed products, or even simple obligations. So far, the local Geth and I have been exchanging respect, and it’s working out just fine.” Fred chuckled. “I may even install a new datastore on Aribeth for any Geth who want to join my crew.”

“I… see,” Jorem said. “Please hold while I contact Rannush Command.”

“Will do,” Fred said. “Holding.” He switched focus while waiting. “How are our Quarra guests doing?”

“Fortunately,” Aribeth said, “the one who was awake ran out of steam before Dr. Warrex broke out the anesthizine. Lt. M’hran is with him right now. The others are just suffering from tetryon burns. Dr. Warrex will have them up and ready to return to Rannush soon enough.”

Fred nodded as he listened. “M’hran? Good. She’ll be as good as M’Graul with enough experience.”

“You realize,” Aribeth snickered, “people in this universe are going to start thinking Caitians are all therapists at this rate.”

“Until they meet M’kkel,” Fred laughed. “That ought to confuse them.”

“I really hate this,” Jorem muttered as he reconnected. “You have two months to stock up and be gone. Rannush Command just informed me they are sending reinforcements to drive you out of the system.”

“It’ll take them that long to get here?” Fred asked.

“Actually,” Jorem said, “given that they’re going to have to form a fleet before sending it, it’ll probably be closer to three months. Two months is just the travel time.”

“So there’s time to stop this insanity before it starts,” Fred said.

“You don’t know the Admiralty,” Jorem said. “They don’t back down.”

“We’ll see,” Fred said. “I’m sending you one of our radios. You can use it to call us or our fleet at any time. Just don’t make any threats. Our people are fleeing a war, so they’re a bit touchy about threats right now. They’d much rather just restock, but they will fight if threatened. And they throw nuclear weapons when threatened.”

“Nuclear!” Jorem gasped. “No one sane does that!”

“War is rarely, if ever, sane,” Fred said. “Just a moment.” “Aribeth, would you send a portable comm system to the bridge of the Overwatch?”

“Oh, Six should love the challenge,” Arith snorted. “I’ll ask her if she thinks she can do it, and… enjoy!”

“What… did you just do?” Jorem asked. “Are you the one responsible for the blue light and the… is that a portable comm suite?”

“That’s a transporter,” Fred said. “We use them for traveling between ships, or from Aribeth to the planet’s surface. As you just saw, it doesn’t require a receiver to work.”

“You could just as easily have sent us one of your nuclear weapons,” Jorem said slowly. “Instead, you sent a comm suite. You really don’t want to fight, do you?”

“No,” Fred said. “If we fought, you would lose, and we don’t want that. Life’s hard enough for you out here, living in those makeshift patrol boats. We’d much rather you finish your patrol and go home safely. Speaking of which, do you have room for the crew of the Knuckle-Buster, or should I take them to Rannush with me?”

“Our sick bay is…,” Jorem started.

“Primitive?” Fred asked. “Just what I’d expect in a patrol boat. Don’t worry, Dr. Warrex will have your people up and about any minute now. Well, except for your man who had a breakdown when he woke up surrounded by aliens. One of my best therapists is with him right now.”

“If they’re up and about, there’s no room for them,” Jorem said. “We have another four months on our patrol, and if they don’t have their own ship, they’re taking up resources on ours. Better to take them home.”

“You’re stuck in those cans for ten months at a time?” Fred asked, aghast. “I sure hope they give you a couple months leave when you’re not on patrol.”

“The… how did you know?” Jorem asked.

“Easy,” Fred said. “I assumed a six month patrol. With two months to travel between here and Rannush, that’s two months out and two months back, adding four months to your patrol. I hope your crew gets remote service pay and a whole lot of shore leave to compensate them. Now, let’s make sure the comm suite works. Your comm specialist should have it worked out by now. It’s designed so even a first-year Academy student can figure it out.”

“Just a moment,” Jorem said.

A moment later, Jorem’s voice came over the radio, while Fred unplugged from the QEC. “Aribeth, this is Overwatch. Do you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Jorem’Narel,” Aribeth said. “If you set 149.7 as your frequency, you’ll be able to call us any time without interference.”

“I see,” Jorem said. “How is this as clean as a QEC connection?”

“I’ll leave that for our comm specialists to explain,” Aribeth laughed. “It’s just a by-product of how we transmit and receive, which bypasses all the local interference from cosmic rays, solar flares, gravitational lensing, and so on. I’m not sure if your comm specialist has noticed yet, but we can also do this.”

“Holographic images?” Jorem gasped. “They look as real as life!”

“We try,” Aribeth said. “Speaking of which, the Admiral has some images for you.”

“Jorem’Narel?” Fred said. “I’m in the Knuckle-Buster. This is what I’m seeing of the damage from the exploded turret.”

Fred looked down at the floor, where the explosion had ripped through the hull and sprayed metal throughout the cabin, then looked around the cabin.

“It looks as if there was a seat right where the explosion happened,” Fred said. “The only good thing I can say about it is that he had to have died immediately.”

“...yes,” Jorem said. “I see. That’s going to require a full drydock to deal with. We can’t just patch it and go on.”

“I can take the Knuckle_Buster to Rannush with me, if you want,” Fred said. “Better than just letting it drift like salvage.”

“That’s…,” Jorem said slowly, then nodded. “If you’re going back to Rannush, then take it with you. Please.”

“No problem,” Fred said. “Arith, could you send a crew to tow this into the hangar bay?”

“Already on their way,” Arith said. “You should see a team of work bees approaching you any time now.”

“Is that the group of four…,” Jorem asked, “….how can you build something so small? That’s barely larger than a vacc suit!”

“Actually,” Arith said, chuckling, “Each one is large enough to comfortably carry two crew, with tools and parts for minor repairs and refitting. For this, we’ll just use their tractor beams to tow the Knuckle-Buster into our primary hangar.”

“Your primary hangar?” Jorem asked. “You have more than one?”

“Oh yes,” Arith said. “The primary hangar is in our combat hull, and is large enough to fit the Steadfast along with a half-dozen ships the size of the Knuckle-Buster, without storing any of them in the vehicle bays below the hangar. The secondary hangar is in our non-combat hull – that’s the saucer-shaped hull – but it’s mostly only used by the senior staff’s personal ships.”

“Are you trying to tell me that your ship is able to split into two ships?” Jorem asked.

“That we can,” Arith said. “We don’t do it often, since if we need more firepower than Aribeth can apply as a unit, we can usually just launch the Hatchling and get that little bit extra. The Hatchling is the light frigate we store in the tail of our combat hull.”

“You… store… a light frigate…,” Jorem said. “No wonder you weren’t worried when we showed up.”

“Our Admiral walks the Path of Peace Through Superior Firepower,” Neth Parr commented. “In most cases, it is an effective path.”

“And when it isn’t?” Jorem asked.

“It is terrifying when we go to war,” Neth Parr said. “I was there when Aribeth vaporized a Hur’q hive dreadnought with a single shot.”

Fred nodded, then recited,

“Demons run when a good man goes to war,
Night will fall and drown the sun,
When a good man goes to war.

Friendship dies and true love lies,
Night will fall and the dark will rise,
When a good man goes to war.

Demons run, but count the cost;
The battle’s won, but the child is lost.”

He paused, then let out a sigh. “That was written by a man in Albion, for a vid he produces about someone who is always trying to find the peaceful solution to things… so when he gets pushed to go to war, it is terrifying.”

“I can imagine,” Jorem said.

“Oh yes,” Fred chuckled, “and Neth Parr, you forgot to mention that that single shot was with all our forward weapons, and it tripped the breakers on all of them, so we would have had to rely on our torpedoes if the rest of the fleet hadn’t taken care of the other Hur’q ships.”

“Of course,” Neth Parr said dryly. “We would not want to forget that.”

“I… believe you should take care of your trip to Rannush,” Jorem said. “Listening to you is giving me a case of mental whiplash.”

“Oh, that?” Arith laughed. “That’s an occupational hazard of dealing with the Admiral. You’ll get used to it.”

“Wonderful,” Jorem groaned. “I believe I have some command duties that need my attention.”

“No problem,” Fred laughed. “You can call any time you want more mental whiplash. Aribeth, the work bees are here. I’ll take care of coordinating with them. How are the patients doing?”

“They’ll be doing better once they talk to Jorem’Narel,” Dr. Warrex said. “They’re all awake. Thankfully, we only had the one breakdown. The others are just falling back on protocol and insisting on speaking with their commander.”

“Overwatch here,” a Quarra voice said. “Did you say our people are awake and want to speak with the Commander?”

“I did,” Dr. Warrex said. “It would probably be more effective if they spoke with him in person. Can you arrange that?”

“So… much… space,” Jorem breathed. “Your ship is… I knew it was enormous, but it looks even bigger from the inside.”

“I know what you mean,” Boomer said. “When I first came on board, I was a bit overwhelmed. The ships I’m used to are a lot more cramped than Aribeth.”

She led the way into a turbolift. “Sick bay, please.”

“Coming right up,” Aribeth said. “Jorem’Narel, the Admiral is waiting for you in sick bay. He wanted to check in on the patients while he was waiting.”

“Is that why he sent you to –,” Jorem started. The door opened just across a passage from the door to sick bay. “What? I didn’t feel any movement.”

“If you had, Arith would take it as a failure on her part,” Aribeth said. “She firmly believes that if our acceleration control systems are working properly, you won’t feel any movement, even in combat.”

“Actually, I volunteered,” Boomer said, leading Jorem into sick bay. “Normally, I’m a pilot, but he hasn’t finished my new ship yet. So I’m looking for ways to keep busy. Meeting a new visitor, from a species we didn’t even know existed, seemed like a good idea.” She smiled wryly. “It helps that it’s adding to completely upending certain religious views.”

“Religious views?” Jorem asked. “What do you mean?”

“That would take hours to even begin to explain,” Boomer said. “Let’s just say that discovering humans aren’t the only sapient species in the universe has caused a major upset for some people.” She shook her head. “Not that it wasn’t already upset, thanks to the Things.”

“I’m pretty sure Jorem’Narel doesn’t have to worry about Things,” Fred said, from where he was leaning against the desk just inside the entrance. “And hopefully won’t, as long as the Quarra don’t develop jump drives.”

“We can short-circuit that, though,” Boomer said.

“And hopefully trade it for enough tylium to top off the entire fleet,” Fred said. “Maybe even start converting drives on some of the ships, so we don’t have to make jump points every time we travel between systems.”

“Jump drives?” Jorem asked. “Jump points? What are you talking about?”

“Commander Jorem’Narel!” one of the patients called from beyond a partition. “Is that you?”

Fred gestured toward the partition. “You can take your suit off once you go through decon. Dr. Warrex trained with Quarra doctors, so everything on the other side of the partition is free of anything that could challenge your immune system. And he’s Bolian, so there’s nothing he can give you. After you talk to your people, I’ll explain what I can about jump points, and why they’re a better choice than jump drives.”

“I don’t know if I like the idea of jump points,” Jorem said, his back to Fred as he looked out the clear wall of the briefing room toward his ship. “Going into another universe, where even a tiny miscalculation could leave you lost forever? Flat space drives may be slower, but they’re a lot safer.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Fred said. “We already lost one ship because the captain was an idiot and didn’t stick with the fleet. Anyway, we have other drive systems, but they’d require radical redesigns of your ships. You see that pair of structures out there? They’re needed to produce a different kind of drive field, that does the opposite of the flat space drives. Instead of flattening space, they produce a bubble of space around the ship where the distances are small enough that the effect outside the bubble is as if we were traveling faster than light. That’s what we use when we’re traveling short distances – no more than a couple hundred light years. Travel times get way too long beyond that.”

“No more than a couple hundred light years.” Jorem turned to look at Fred. His suit’s faceplate glinted in the room’s lights. “And you consider that a short distance. What do you consider long?”

“Aribeth, would you?” Fred asked.

A holographic image of the galaxy appeared over the briefing table. Boomer looked up at it curiously.

“We’re here,” Fred said, and a light began blinking near the outer rim. “And I come from here.” A second light began blinking, on the far side of the galaxy, about a third of the way in from the rim. “The farthest I’ve been in a single trip was… this trip.” A line lit up from near the second light to a position about a quarter of the way around the galaxy from the first light, and a little over a quarter of the way in from the rim.

Jorem approached the table, looking up at the holographic image as he did. “If we’re here,” He pointed at the first light. “how large is Getta space on this map?”

“At this resolution?” Fred asked. “The dot covers all of it. We’d have to zoom in quite a bit before you’d begin to see the size and shape.” As he spoke, the image zoomed in on the dot, which eventually turned into a blob, then grew into a collection of lines from a central point to various stars surrounding that point. “As you can see, there’s a whole lot of space between your worlds that’s not even explored, let alone claimed.”

“I knew the galaxy was big, but…,” Jorem breathed.

“It’s even bigger when you consider that everything within about five thousand parsecs of the core is too dangerous to explore,” Fred said, “so if you want to go from one side of the galaxy to the other, you have to go around and avoid the core. Between the black hole at the center, all the stars, and anomalies we haven’t been able to get close enough to study, you’re more likely to end up dead than at your destination. If you’re lucky.”

“If you’re lucky,” Jorem repeated. “That sounds ominous.”

“Some of those anomalies are dimensional vortexes,” Fred said. “That means you could get sucked in and end up in hyperspace, or another universe, or turned inside-out, or who knows what.”

Jorem shuddered and looked out the wall again. “Even a drive system that makes anything within a couple hundred light years practical is something I’d be willing to trade for if I were making the decisions.”

“Let’s hope your admiralty agrees,” Fred said. He smiled at Boomer and zoomed the view of the star map out a bit, then pointed at a star cluster made up of two binary stars. “There. I’m amazed the people from Kobol and the Quarra never ran into each other, you’re so close together.”

Boomer gave Fred an amused look. “Admiral, your definition of ‘close together’ needs some work. We’re at least three or four hundred light years apart.”

“Yeah, that’s close together.” Fred shrugged. “A couple seconds by Green 5, a few weeks at Warp 9, maybe three or four months in flat space.” He shuddered. “We won’t talk about jump drives, because we know what happens when you use them outside of your double-binary star system.” His eyes lit up and he smiled. “Of course! Aribeth, would you call Elsie and Mike and ask if they’re interested in studying a double-binary star system up close? I want to find out what there is about the Cyrannus system that keeps Things out.”

“Did someone say a double-binary star system?” a feminine voice asked from the intercom. “Do you know how rare they are? Yes, I waited long enough for Mike and Atsuko to hitch a ride with the Quads and join me. Besides, it gave me a chance to test my mods to the Event Horizon drive system. And I confirmed that they don’t make it any safer. Even with my mods, it still goes through a dungeon dimension. Don’t worry, I stopped a few parsecs away and sterilized my ship before coming in with normal hyperdrive. For some reason, any demons that were willing to fight me fled like trolls when Mike grinned at them.”

Fred snorted. “Can’t imagine why. So anyway, Aribeth, would you send the nav charts to Elsie? Elsie, if you and Mike can figure out how the Cyrannus system keeps Things from taking advantage of the Colonial and Cylon jump drive system, we can start working on whether the effect can be artificially duplicated.” He paused, then added, “And if you stop by the third planet of this system and chat with Simon or Sharon, you can ask them to give you whatever callsign will let the fleet back at Caprica know you’re friendly. No, we haven’t shot Admiral Cain out of the sky yet.”

“Can I watch?” Elsie asked, as if she were a pre-teen child tormenting Fred.

Fred groaned and pinched his eyes together. “Let’s not, and say we did.”

“Aw, come on Fred,” Elsie laughed. “They’re good kids. It’s not their fault they grew up on a world where the city guard used poor people as punching bags until you showed up.”

“I know, I know, but if you knew how many times I heard that question while I was there….”

Elsie laughed. “Kind of like movies from before the Dragon and kids whining ‘Are we there yet?’?”

“Exactly like that. Yes, they’re good kids, but they even managed to exhaust Cal.”

“That’s doing some. OK, We’re dropping out of hyperspace and… holy fuck! Galactica looks like someone set off a nuke right up against her armor!”

“Someone did. If it weren’t for the armor and the water tanks, everyone on board would have been glowing before I got here.”

Boomer winced. Fred slipped an arm around her and squeezed her lovingly. “Hey,” he whispered. “You didn’t have anything to do with that. And the people who did, got better.”

“It doesn’t change that we were willing to wipe each other out,” Boomer said softly. “If you hadn’t shown up when you did….”

“Well, things are better now,” Fred said. “I hope.” He raised his voice. “Simon, Commander, meet my doctor friends. If anyone in the fleet needs medical care, they’re likely to take it as a personal failing if they don’t meet and treat them.”

“Is that personal failing, or personal insult?” Adama asked, with a rumble of suppressed laughter.

“Yes!” the Quads answered in unison. “He understands! So, has Uncle Fred fixed that problem with your starboard pod yet? If he hasn’t, we can set up a clinic in that pod, while our husbands set one up….”

“I’d suggest the Cloud 9, if it hadn’t been wiped out by Things,” Simon said. “Maybe the Rising Star? It’s a hospital ship, isn’t it?”

“That’s probably the best anyway,” Adama said. “It sounds as if I have another reason to have a chat with your Uncle Fred.”

Fred chuckled and winked at Boomer. “I’m gonna guess that Adama just got a good look at the Arcadia and the Yamato. Elsie had fun building them, and then she gave the Arcadia to the Quads as a present for their 18^th birthday. Or was it their wedding? I forget. Either way, the Arcadia is a fully-outfitted trauma hospital, and the Yamato is an exploration ship.”

“Your definition?” Boomer asked dryly.

“My definition?” Fred asked, batting his eyes at her innocently. “Whatever do you mean?”

Boomer snorted. “You, my love, might as well be in feathers right now.”

“Don’t want to give Jorem another reason to doubt his sanity,” Fred chuckled.

“You might as well,” Jorem drawled. “I’m already doubting it quite enough. I am curious, though. What did you mean by his definition?”

“You’ve seen the Steadfast and Aribeth,” Boomer said. “The Admiral seems to believe that even a shuttle should have enough weaponry to fight on an even footing with a light cruiser.”

Fred tilted his head thoughtfully. “Maybe not a shuttle,” he said thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t expect any of our shuttles to be able to handle anything heavier than a raptor. A freighter, though….” He laughed. “For some reason, when I offered to upgrade Danna’s freighter, she was shocked. I don’t know why. A freighter should be able to handle a single heavy cruiser, or a squadron of pirate raiders. How else can you keep your profits? Ammo is cheap. Crew aren’t. And if you lose your cargo, you lose jobs.”

“I… see.” Jorem said, shaking his head. “Why am I not surprised? So why do you think that the Arcadia and the Yamato are likely to have shocked Commander Adama?”

“They’re both battleships,” Fred said. “Elsie built a copy of the Arcadia as a gift to some friends in another universe, and used its shakedown flight to destroy the flagship of an invading alien fleet – along with a few dozen lesser ships in the fleet – on that world. That’s the trauma hospital. The other ship, the Yamato, is her personal ship. It’s built around what we call a wave motion gun. That’s a spinal cannon that uses the hyperdrive to form a focused tunnel of Red 9 hyperspace to fire a fairly large particle beam through. Since the beam is traveling at just under c to the 9^th to the 9^th to the 9^th to the 9^th to the 9^th, when it hits its target it tends to be kind of spectacular. You don’t want to fire it where the beam could pass close to a habitable world. Or a star you want to use later, for that matter. She’s only fired it twice, I think. Once in testing, where she destroyed an asteroid, and once at a Scylla flagship that was too far away for her main cannons to hit. Emphasis on was.”

“You know, love,” Boomer suggested, “you might want to warn Elsie about how delicate space is in this part of the galaxy. We don’t want to ring the dinner bell.”

“You… and your friend… are terrifying,” Jorem said. “I am very glad you don’t want to fight.”

“Speaking of not fighting,” Boomer jumped in before Fred could answer, “do any of your ships need supplies? I’m sure Aribeth can replicate dextro food as easily as she replicates levo, and if you’ve been out here for months already, I’m betting your holds are half empty.”

“Easily,” Aribeth said. “Do your suits use a standard quarter-turn lock on the paste port?”

“Emergency induction port” Fred snickered. “Don’t tell her I remember that.”

“I heard you, husband,” Tali shot back. “When you get home….”

“Why wait? You know how to get here, and I know you want to meet Boomer.”

“I am assisting Miri and Manfred to upgrade our Valkyrie squadrons.”

“That’s my girl. Still too responsible for your own good.”

“Yes, he’s just as endearing here,” Boomer thought. “The Commander frequently looks as if he’d like to strangle him. Or get drunk. Or both.”

“Only the commander? Not Saul?” Fred’s thought was filled with amusement. “I’m falling down on the job!”

“It is perfectly acceptable to tell our husband that he’s very, very lucky you love him,” Tali thought. “Do you hear that, husband? You are very, very lucky we love you.”

“Trust me, I know. I am grateful for it every day.”

“You know the worst part?” Boomer thought. “You can feel how sincere he is. He’s not just saying it.”

“Welcome to the family, Boomer,” Tali thought. “I hope your sanity remains with you.”

“Thank you. I suspect I’m going to need all the support I can get to keep a grip on it.”

“Yes, we do,” Jorem answered Aribeth. The entire mental conversation had happened in the fraction of a second between Aribeth’s question and his answer.

“Do any members of your crews have special preferences for spices or other flavors?”

“Special preferences?” Jorem asked, after a brief hesitation. “We… just eat the standard military-issue food pastes. Flavor doesn’t enter into it.”

“It does when I replicate them,” Aribeth declared. “I’ll give you a selection of the things the Quarra back home like when they’re shipping out. Since you should still have plenty of your issue pastes, you can just dump any that no one likes, and it won’t be a problem.”

“… thank you.” Jorem shook his head. “This is a surprise.”

“Probably,” Aribeth said. “You should probably call your ship and spread the word that I’ll be transporting the supplies to you. When they go through my system, it will eliminate all microbes, so they’ll be sterile when they arrive on your ship.”

“That reminds me,” Fred said. “Do you know what your people call the ore the Geth are mining? The fleet calls it tylium. I didn’t have a name for it, so that’s what I’m calling it, too. What do your people call it?”

Jorem shook his head at the sudden change in topic, looked toward Fred, and shrugged. “I do not have the slightest idea. Honestly, I don’t know anything about this system, other than that it’s interdicted and we’re stuck patrolling it on six month deployments. I don’t even know how many moons the gas giant has.”

“No problem.” Fred chuckled and looked out into space. “I’ll just have to take it up on Rannush. Maybe take a sample of the ore with me so they know what the frack I’m talking about when I start dealing with them.”

Jorem moved to stand beside Fred, looked into space with him, and said dryly, “Just remember, most members of the Admiralty have tree trunks firmly wedged up their nether orifices.”

“Too much to hope you have a Shala’Raan or Rael’Zorah on the board, eh?”

“Rael’Zorah?” Jorem turned his head toward Fred. “That explains why that name you mentioned before sounded familiar! Is Tali’Zorah any relation?”

“His daughter, in the universe she comes from,” Fred said, then chuckled. “Is yours in charge of Special Projects?”

“In charge of? He practically is Special Projects. The man is as mad as you are!”

Fred laughed. “Oh yeah. We’ll get along fine. Hell, he might even have a file on this system in his records. That would certainly save time. So, do you want to say anything to your people before you return to your ship?”

“I probably should. I kind of envy them, you know? They get to go home months ahead of the rest of us.”

“Well, when you get back to your ship, why not tell your people I’ll take any messages or small packages any of your people want to send home. It’s the least I can do.”

Jorem’s head snapped to look at Fred. “Thank you. Some of my people would really appreciate that. Especially the ones who have family back home.”

“Let’s get you to sick bay, then, and then we can transport you back to your ship.”

Chapter Text

“Simon, Commander, we should be back in a few days. How are you getting along with the Companions?”

“It’s fascinating,” Simon said. “The people on the fleet are taking to the Companions as if they had been there all along. Even the Centurions are making friends with them.”

“I think it’s the difference in body,” Adama said. “People had to get over their fear of the Centurions, and their shock at your human forms. The Companions are so obviously different that there isn’t any of that to get over. On top of that, they are so eager for connection that people are reacting to them the way they would to pupies.”

Fred chuckled. “Puppies that get smarter when more of them are together. But yes, they were made to be Companions, and your people are their first opportunity to fulfill their programming in two centuries. As long as people recognize they’re people, just like humans and Cylons, they’ll get along fine. Probably even help you fill up on food and water before we get back.”

“That would be good,” Simon said. “Even with your repellent devices, the Centurions have become bored with killing tIqnagh vIghro'.”

“Yes.” Fred leaned back in his command chair and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You know… I’ve seen something like this once before. Normally I’d ask Elsie if she’s interested in testing the hypothesis, but we’ll be off that moon too soon for a meaningful study. The sooner you’re all stocked up and ready to leave, the sooner the moon can go back to its natural state.”

“You know, Captain,” Arith said, “We have enough Romulan colonists in the crew that we could try your experiment. There’s another lake a few hundred kilometers away from the fleet’s landing zone that we could use. Add some Rigelians and Betazoids, and we could give it a thorough test.”

Fred chuckled. “You and twentieth century Earth fiction.”

“I had to have something to keep occupied between takes.” Arith grinned at him. “Shall I gather up a test group?”

“Make it happen. Just be sure to include a venom doctor, just in case.”

“Aye aye, sir.” Arith rose from her seat and headed for the turbolift. “Aribeth, let’s take a look at who we have from colonies with a lot of experience with wild animals.”

The turbolift door closed behind her.

“Do I want to know?” Adama asked.

“You won’t have to worry about it,” Fred said. “I’ll leave Hatchling behind for emergency pickups and delivery to Arcadia. She’ll be available for both the experimental landing and the fleet’s landing. And if you need to send anyone to Aribeth, Hatchling can get them here almost as fast as a comm call. Until then, I’d recommend not engaging with the wildlife unless they try to get through the repellent field.”

“I’d prefer that,” Adama said. “Their venom is dangerous enough that we were losing people until the Arcadia arrived.”

“I think the Centurions are the only people who are safe from that hazard,” Simon said. “Well, and now the Companions. Anyone with exposed skin is at risk if they get bitten.”

“Careful,” Fred chuckled. “If you say that around the Companions, they’re likely to try to activate more platforms to do the harvesting work in place of organic people. They have a powerful desire to protect their people.”

“I wouldn’t object,” Adama said.

“Neither would we,” Simon agreed.

“Honestly, I wouldn’t, either, but then what are you going to do to keep people busy until you’re done harvesting? You can only run defense drills so many times before people start messing up because they’ve done them so many times.”

“We’re going to have to store the food and water they bring up from the moon,” Adama said. “In fact, if the Companions do the harvesting, we can redirect people to storing it, and that should cut the time we need by at least a third.”

“I’ll suggest it to the Consensus and see what they think.” Fred looked over at N’Var and nodded.

She smiled and worked her panel, and a moment later nodded at him. “The Consensus agrees, and has asked that we send a shuttle to take them where they can best help. They are uncertain of the safety of the ships the Creators left on Motherlode. While they have maintained their systems, enough time has passed for them to be concerned about the age of the metal.”

“Smart,” Fred chuckled. “Send Valentina and Svetlana to pick them up. That should be more than enough, especially if they pack in the way they do when they don’t have to make room for us organics.”

“I’ve suggested they can fit twenty worker platforms into each shuttle,” N’Var said, after working her panel some more. “Assuming, of course, they are the same size as the worker platforms we’ve seen in Laputa. And assuming we include a Companion with each shuttle.”

Fred tilted his head a moment, then nodded. “That sounds about right. OK, tell Valentina and Svetlana they’ll be staying with the workers until the restocking operation is done. Commander, Simon, be prepared for the arrival of two Companions and about forty workers. Once they’ve been shown what you’re harvesting, you can start cycling your crews off the moon.” He stood and walked around the viewscreen to the walkway behind it, and looked out the front window thoughtfully. “Amelia, how are you doing?”

“Once Jorem’Narel assured his people that I’m authorized, they’ve been happy to move cases from my hold to their ships. They were also excited when they saw the labels. Apparently some of them are favorites among different members of the crews. We’ve made friends here.”

“Good. You can keep Jorem’Narel and his people covered if needed?”

“Not a problem. We’re good, Dad.”

“Thanks.” Fred’s eyes darted back and forth as he looked out the window, then he nodded. “Rell, take us out. Best time to Rannush. Drop out of hyperspace outside their Kuiper belt and finish the trip at warp. Let me know when they start hailing us.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” Rell’s voice answered from the other side of the viewscreen. The window went black, and the hum of the hyperdrive took over.

Fred returned to his seat in the center of the bridge and closed his eyes, sinking into the flow of data from Aribeth’s sensors as they traveled.

Chapter Text

“They need to die, Gaius. Whatever they are, they are not God’s children. And that false god that leads them needs to die most of all.”

Baltar looked up from his calculations, directly into Number Six’s chest. She leaned forward, giving him a clear view of her cleavage, pushed his papers aside, and sat on his desk, wrapping a leg around him and running her foot up his back while draping her arms over his shoulders.

“Have you noticed how the fleet doesn’t rely on you as much now that they’re here? We have to get rid of them before it gets worse. God will not allow them to take His place.”

“Really?” Baltar turned his head to try to see his notes. “Do you really need to show up now? I’m studying the reports on the animals from the moon, and I’m certain we can farm at least a couple of the species they found.”

“That isn’t going to help when the aliens lead us all to Hell.” Six placed a finger under Baltar’s chin and turned his attention back to her. “Gaius, they are enemies of God. It is our duty to act on His behalf.”

“God.” Baltar snorted and jerked his head away from Six. “If God cares so much, why isn’t he doing something about it?”

“He is, Gaius,” Six said, taking Baltar’s head in her hands and forcing him to look at her. “He has placed us here, where we can act as His hands. We act in faith, Gaius. We do as God demands because we have faith.”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” Baltar snarled. “I don’t have faith. I’m a scientist! I need to see evidence, facts, measurable observations. I can’t believe just because you want me to!” He glared at Six and growled, “I have yet to see any reason to believe God even exists.”

“You have repented!” Six snapped, slapping him across the face. “You do not repent before God and then deny Him!”

Baltar raised his hand to stop another slap.

“Dr. Baltar? Are you all right?” A member of the Galactica’s crew asked from the door of Baltar’s compartment.

“Yes, Gaius,” Six purred as she slid off his desk and circled him, running a hand down his front. “Are you all right?”

Baltar looked from his raised hand to the crew member and ran his hand through his hair while taking a deep breath. “Yes, well, I’m deep in concentration here, so unless there’s something needed….”

“Commander wants you in the CIC,” the crew member – a dark-haired woman Baltar hadn’t noticed before – said. “I’m here to escort you.”

“Of course. Well, let me just…,” Baltar started as he turned to re-order the papers Six had shoved aside, only to find they were right where he had been studying them. “...put a paperweight on these, and I’ll be with you.”

Baltar held up a steel sample tray to shield himself from the winged monstrosity with a toothed beak and claws on its wings that was sitting on the arm of a woman who would be really, really tempting if not for her green skin, pointed ears, and eyebrow ridges.

“What’s wrong, Doctor?” the woman asked, while stroking the creature’s head. “Kaleh just needs a check for infection. He flew into a support cable and got tangled up before I could rescue him. You’re the closest thing to a veterinarian we have here.”

“I’m a research biologist, not a field biologist!” Baltar protested as the woman continued stroking and cooing at the beast. As it settled, he could see that its feathers did seem to be out of order, and while – from a relatively safe distance – he couldn’t see any open wounds, it was likely the beast had suffered some abrasions, assuming the woman was right. And I thought I’d be free of dealing with animals once I got away from Aerilon. He sighed heavily. “Can you keep that… that… beast under control?”

“He’ll be all right, as long as you don’t think hostile thoughts,” the woman said. “He’s a low-level telepath, just like every other creature we’ve found so far, so if you want to be safe, you’ll need to focus on peaceful thoughts.” She paused and gave Baltar a piercing look, then raised her watch for the creature to peck with its beak. “You’re right, Commander. I can sense her, too. And Kaleh isn’t settling nearly as quickly as he should.” She looked toward the roof of Baltar’s hut, nictating membranes sliding over her eyes as she did. “Is it close enough? Simon says it is? OK. It’s in your hands now. Kaleh and I are going hunting.”

Baltar stared at the woman, then shook his head. “Are you telling me that your creature didn’t need my help?”

“Oh, no,” the woman said, waving a hand negligently. “Kaleh and I were just checking to see if we could sense Number Six. The Commander will be by later to have a chat with you.” She grinned, an almost feral look lighting up her face. “Without Number Six listening in.” She kissed the top of the creature’s head and left, the winged monstrosity still sitting on her arm and preening as they went.

“Gaius! We have to get out of here!” Number Six grabbed Baltar’s arm and spun him to face her as soon as the woman was gone. “They know! They’re just toying with you until they decide how to kill you!”

Baltar groaned and dropped his sample tray, while falling into his desk chair. “Right now, I wouldn’t complain. I’m tired. I’m tired of hiding, and now they brought me down here, to my worst nightmare come true, and you’re threatening me with death? That’s all?”

He leaned back in his chair and began laughing hysterically. Even when Six grabbed his shoulders and shook him, the laughter continued. Baltar could see that Six was frantically yelling at him, but he was so past caring that he couldn’t stop laughing, even if he had wanted to.

A lioness leaped toward him from the door of his hut, landed on Six, and pinned her to the ground. Baltar stared at the scene, shocked into silence.

“Thank you for making her show herself, Doctor,” Commander Arith said, and nodded to the lioness. “We were worried we’d have to bring in an exorcist to get her out of your head.”

“You… you knew?”

“Oh yeah. She’s noisy. And so hostile that she’s been setting off all our animals ever since you got here. Remember how she shielded you from the nukes? We’re pretty sure the EMP from the blast prevented her from getting a clean connection with a resurrection ship, so she downloaded herself into your brain. Don’t worry, you don’t have a chip.” Arith looked down at the lioness and nodded. “Simon says they’re ready.”

“Gaius! You love me! Don’t let them…!”

The lioness bit down, and Six vanished. She sat and groomed herself, then a voice from her left front paw declared, “Why do they always taste so vile?”

“Because anyone willing to possess someone is going to be vile?” Arith suggested.

The lioness humphed and her voice said “Asuka.” Then both the lioness and Arith broke into laughter.

Baltar rubbed his face with both hands, then looked up at Arith with a confused expression. “You knew? But how? And if you knew, why am I still alive?”

“We know. The Cylons know. Adama doesn’t.” Arith shrugged. “I asked Adama to send you down here because I wanted to see if Six really was possessing you, or if you had cracked under the weight of hiding what you’d done and were hallucinating her as a way of coping with it. We don’t kill people for being utter dicks. No matter how tempting it may be at times. Now that you’re not possessed any more, we really can use your biological knowledge. We’re trying to identify species we can transplant to colonies with telepathic and empathic colonists. I know you’ve already met Kaleh. He’s probably not the best species for an agricultural colony, but would be exemplary for colonies that rely on hunting. We’re looking for more we can tease out.”

“But…,” Baltar rubbed his face. “I betrayed the Colonies.”

“In a manner of speaking,” Arith said. “Humans have a term for what happened with you that I think applies quite well. They call it flirty fishing. It’s when a sexy woman, like Six, targets someone in a position to get the people she serves what they want. In your case, she targeted you, taking advantage of your well-known inability to keep it in your pants, so she could get access to the Colonial defenses. Since you’re not nearly as much of an expert in computer systems as you had convinced the Colonial government you are, you needed her to fix the bugs in your code that you couldn’t fix. And with what she did for your father, it only makes sense that you would trust her.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Well, we did tell you we’re from another universe, remember?” Arith chuckled. “In our universe, we have a series of vids about the war between the Colonies and the Cylons. And you’re a big part of that. You’ll have plenty of time while you’re here to decide what you tell Adama. If anything.”

“A series of vids…,” Baltar mused, then gave Arith a quizzical look. “But everything that’s happened since your admiral showed up….”

“Not part of the vids, no,” Arith said. “You’re part of an all new story, that we’re learning about as it develops.” She nodded toward Baltar’s desk. “Anyway, now that you don’t have her messing with you, there’s a stack of items in your inbox that I’m sure will keep you busy. We’re discovering new species every day, now that we’re on the other side of the moon from our first landing site. Just… if you’re going to go outside, call for someone to escort you. We’ll make sure you have someone with you whenever anyone brings an animal in to see you, but we can’t help if you go out for a walk and trigger one of the locals.”

“Dr. Baltar? Are you planning on joining us for dinner?” A tall, slim bald man, almost as pale as an albino, with pointed teeth, long pointed ears, and brow ridges that ran up and over his temples, asked from the hut door. He was wearing a uniform like all the others from the alien ship, with gold shoulders on his black leather jacket. A six-legged creature, about twice the size of a large dog, with yellow and black fur, overlapping armor plates on its head and shoulders, tiny, red-rimmed eyes, and a double row of jagged teeth in its maw, sat at his feet.

“...us?” Baltar squeaked, after getting a good view of the creature.

The creature yawned widely, then looked up at the bald man, who laughed and patted its head.

“No, Theirr, he’s not prey. Be nice.” The bald man looked from the creature to Baltar. “He can feel your fear, you know. That’s why the Commander sent me to escort you. I’m Ensign K’Mek, and this is Theirr. He’s a good boy.” The bald man looked down at the creature, then grinned. “Most of the time.”

Baltar swallowed as he looked between K’Mek and Theirr. “I… suddenly realized I’m not all that hungry. And I have so much work to do to understand the species here.”

“Nonsense, Doctor!” K’Mek laughed, entering the hut and clapping a hand on Baltar’s shoulder. From up close, Baltar realized he had claws on the tips of his fingers, that looked like they could rip through his suit without effort. “You don’t want to miss Lt. Melron’s cooking. He’s figured out how to make dorym as delicious as rothé, and tonight’s menu includes a dorym tagine. I know I wouldn’t miss it.”

Dorym were one of the species Baltar had been reading reports on before Commander Adama had sent him to this hell-hole. He hadn’t had actual meat since the destruction of the Colonies, and the preliminary reports had been hopeful that they would be safe, but it seemed the people here had skipped over several steps in ensuring their safety. Still, the idea of real meat made Baltar’s stomach rumble.

Baltar looked over his desk, then rubbed his eyes. He’d been sitting there for hours – he didn’t have any idea of how many – just staring at the reports, since the… he wasn’t even sure what to call it… incident with Six and the talking lioness. That had to have been his imagination, right? He looked up at K’Mek and smiled weakly. “I don’t know what a tagine is, but if you’ve already made sure that dorym is safe to eat, I’m willing to try it.”

“Excellent!” K’Mek hoisted Baltar to his feet and held him with that hand on his shoulder until he felt stable – or at least as stable as he could at the moment. “Lt. Melron loves sharing his cooking with as broad an audience as possible.” He looked at the beast and whistled. “Come on, Theirr. Dinner time.”

The trip from Baltar’s hut to the larger building with the kitchen and central facilities was only about fifty feet, but in that fifty feet, Baltar saw a half-dozen people – mostly green or bald, but one of whom was white and had… were those antennae?... all of whom were accompanied by native life – mostly the large dog creatures, but one had a clawed hawk, and the one with antennae had one of those venomous cat-sized lizard-creatures they were calling tIqnagh vIghro' curled around the back of her neck, just like a real cat.

“Don’t worry, Doctor. Terri won’t nip you. Well, unless you try to grope me like I’m one of your groupies, that is. Then she’ll probably do more than just nip. And then you’ll need a trip to the Arcadia. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

The white-skinned alien grinned at Baltar as he heard that voice in his mind. Oh, frak. Telepathy? Not just empathy? How the frak am I supposed to protect against that?

“Most of the time, you don’t have to. Just don’t drool and focus on being peaceful, non-hostile, and not afraid. And stop staring at my tits.” The white-skinned woman turned away and headed toward the main hut, where everyone else in the street was headed.

K’Mek chuckled and nudged Baltar, forcing him to stumble forward. “I see you’ve met Ensign sh’Voorith. She’s ranked up there with Commander Mar in the ushaan league.”

“...ushaan league?” Baltar asked, shaking his head as he worked at turning his stumble into a walk. How the frak am I supposed to look dignified if I keep getting justled and pushed around?

Giggling filled his mind, followed by, “You aren’t.”

“Yeah,” K’Mek said. “Ushaan is Andorian dueling. They do it with ice axes. Well, the Andorian style of ice axe. The Admiral approves of all forms of martial arts, as long as the participants are able to make it to sick bay to get patched up afterward. And it doesn’t interfere with our normal duties. I think I’m going to start working with Theirr on team hunting.”

Theirr looked up at the bald man with its eyes opened as wide as they could go, and made a questioning yip.

K’Mek laughed and patted the creature’s head. “That’s right, you silly woof. Maybe if we’re lucky you could be as famous as Fenrir.”

Baltar shook his head and rubbed his eyes. “So… tagine?”

“Yeah, that’s this way,” K’Mek said, grinning broadly, his lips held tight together. He kept a hand on Baltar’s shoulder, guiding him toward the big hut.

Huh. What is it with these people of the Admiral’s that all of them smile like that? Why do they keep their teeth hidden?

K’Mek pushed the hut door open, and the sound and smell of a couple dozen people of various species, along with an equal number of the local wildlife, wafted through the opening. Inside the hut was a space larger than the CIC on the Galactica, with tables scattered so there was room for each person/beast pair to sit. There were even perches for the clawed hawks and…. Baltar peered curiously at another winged creature that looked as if it had stingers on the main joint of its wing, where the clawed hawks had their claws. Commander Arith sat with that strange creature, stroking its feathers the same way the woman with the clawed hawk had when she’d left his hut.

K’Mek waved at Commander Arith and pointed at Baltar. She nodded, then brought her forearm up under the stingwing until it stepped onto her arm, then crossed the room to Baltar, stroking the bird as she did. K’Mek patted Baltar’s shoulder and made his way to a table with others who looked as if they were the same species.

“Hello, Doctor,” Arith said. “You look as if I should send for a bubasti to sit with you for a few days. Or for one of our ship’s counselors. Of course, finding out that Six was real, and not just a hallucination, couldn’t have been easy. Come on. Lt. Melron will be serving soon, and we don’t want to miss it.”

Arith turned and led Baltar to the table she had taken her bird from, where Ensign sh’Voorith was already sitting, along with the green woman from earlier in the day, with her clawed hawk on one of the perches beside the table. Once Arith had returned her bird to its perch, she sat and pointed to one of the empty seats.

“Sit, Doctor. You look as if you’re afraid we’re going to have you for dinner, instead of dorym.”

“Oh, I already caught him staring at my tits,” Ensign sh’Voorith snorted.

“You know how it is,” Arith drawled. “The only thing bigger than Dr. Baltar’s ego is his libido. I’m sure if we had any Tellarites on this expedition, he’d be staring at them, too, and you know the average human reaction to Tellarites.”

“Oh, he’d probably stare at a Ferengi,” sh’Voorith laughed. “Oh, do sit down and relax, Gaius. This is supposed to be a friendly and relaxing dinner, and you’re radiating enough injured dignity to ruffle every creature in the place.”

“This should help,” a woman with spots on the sides and top of her head, and ridges curling over both temples and the top of her head, with long hair growing between the ridges, announced, setting a glass down in front of Baltar. “I took it from the ‘09 kanar stock.”

“As long as the Doctor likes syrupy drinks, it should be all right,” Arith said.

B altar picked up the glass, sniffed it, then downed the contents with a few gulps. Once he’d set the glass down, he made a face. “Do you have anything more like ambrosia? This….” He trailed off. Frak! I was about to insult their alcohol, when I’m stuck here with them.

“Told you,” the green woman chuckled. “D’las, you know where my stash of kali-fal is. Why don’t you bring a couple glasses?”

“Right away, Jaelh,” the serving woman said. She smiled, her teeth hidden the way everyone else’s were, and took Baltar’s glass, then bounded off like a dog set to hunt.

“I’ve noticed something,” Baltar said, “and it makes me wonder. Why is it, all of you keep your mouths so tightly closed when you smile?”

T he green woman laughed, Ensign sh’Voorith snorted, and Arith chuckled.

“You grew up on a farm, right?” Arith said. “Tell me what bared teeth means to any animal.”

“It’s a threat display,” Baltar said, without pausing to think.

“Exactly,” Arith said. “We’ve discovered that’s true no matter what planet you’re on, or what species you’re dealing with. Bared teeth is a threat. So, we consciously train ourselves to not make such a threat unless we’re prepared to back it up.” She chuckled. “It’s the hardest lesson for Terrans to learn, since so many of their cultures consider an open-mouthed smile a sign of friendship. Fortunately, seeing the Admiral in action a few times scares them enough to cure that.”

“Seeing the Admiral in action?” Baltar gave her a confused look.

“Oh yes,” Jaelh said. “The admiral doesn’t rage the way most people do. Instead, he gets cold. Really cold. Cold enough you can feel it even if you aren’t telepathic. When you feel that, and see him bare his teeth, you know someone is going to die. Admittedly, if he bares his teeth, someone is likely to end up crippled, but if you combine bared teeth and cold rage, death is guaranteed to follow close on its heels.”

“So,” Arith said, “people very quickly get over baring their teeth after witnessing that.”

“That’s…,” Baltar started, then paused when he felt his nose hairs curling as he inhaled what had to be the strongest alcohol fumes he had encountered outside a pathology lab. “What… in the world…?”

“Oh, that’s my kali-fal!” Jaelh said. “This should get that syrupy taste out of your mouth.” She took two shot glasses from the serving woman and slid one across the table to Baltar. “Here you go. Trust me, you won’t want more than this. Not if you plan to taste dinner.”

Baltar picked up his glass and peered into it. The liquid inside was a pale blue, and the scent coming from it was strong enough to burn his nostrils and make his eyes water. Jaelh picked up hers and said something he couldn’t quite make out, then tossed it back in a single swallow. Not knowing what else to do, he followed her example, and broke into coughing as soon as the liquid had burned its way down his throat.

“Frak!” He gasped, coughing. “Is this a drink, or embalming fluid?”

Jaelh laughed. “Yes! Admittedly, it’s not one of my best bottles, but I leave those in my quarters on Aribeth, for special occasions.”

“In the best tradition of engineers throughout Starfleet,” Arith snickered.

Jaelh gave Arith what Baltar assumed was supposed to be an innocent look and shot back, “Do I look like an old Scotsman, Commander?”

“I certainly hope not!” Arith laughed. “I’d have to boot your head the way I wanted to boot his.”

“At least I don’t pad my estimates,” Jaelh snorted. “I can’t tell whether that showed he had no respect for Kirk, or he needed his ego massaged by all that repeated praise.”

“Do I…,” Baltar started, then shook his head. “No, I’m quite sure I don’t want to know.”

Jaelh laughed and waved a hand dismissively. “Just an engineer we met a while back. Honestly, he was almost as good as his press – as good with his engines as you’re supposed to be with biology – but he had some habits that made both me and the Commander want to boot his head. Like padding his repair estimates.”

“A lot,” Arith grumbled. “And he tried to do it with me when we ran into him. Apparently didn’t notice that Starfleet stopped using gold uniforms for command track while he was on ice.”

“Tried to treat you like you were an ensign, too, if I remember right,” Jaelh said. She smiled at Baltar. “Anyway, he had a reputation for keeping a variety of liquors in his quarters. From ordinary single-malt scotch to alcohols that were potent enough to strip paint with. Including some that were – at the time – illegal for people in the Federation to possess.”

“What kind of idiot…?” Baltar started, then rubbed his temples as the room began blurring around the edges. “You weren’t kidding about this, were you? This makes ambrosia seem like water.”

“That glass of kanar probably didn’t help,” Arith said. “It may taste like syrup, but it’ll knock a human on his ass.”

“Kind of like strawberry smash?” sh’Voorith purred.

“Oh, spirits!” Arith groaned. “Do not remind me of that stuff. That’s the kind of drink that makes you shoot at tax collectors – and miss.”

Jaelh and sh’Voorith chanted in unison, “If y’ain’t bitin’, y’ain’t ridin’!”

“To answer your question,” Arith said, “even though you didn’t get to finish it, Commander Scott was what you might call a living fossil. He still had paternalistic ideas about women, even though he served on a ship with nearly half the crew made up of women. Including quite a few of his engineering staff. The idea that a woman could be as good at her job as he was probably never crossed his mind.”

“That’s… that’s… crap,” Baltar sputtered. “Just because, because I admire…” he paused and frowned. What had he been trying to say?”

sh’Voorith laughed. “I do believe the good doctor is drunk. That tagine better get out here before he passes out.”

“At least this confirms he has a blood stream,” Jaelh chuckled, “and not an alcohol stream.”

Baltar saw Arith gesture to the serving woman and say something – he couldn’t quite make out what – to her. The serving woman nodded and vanished through a nearby door, while the creature on sh’Voorith’s shoulder slunk down her arm and around the table to sniff at Baltar. He peered blearily at it, realizing he should probably be worried, but somehow without enough care to bother.

“That’s the way,” sh’Voorith said. “Just relax, Gaius. He just wants to know who he’s sharing dinner with.”

The creature curled up in Baltar’s lap, and he looked from it to sh’Voorith, then back down again, grumbling softly, “Why do cats always know?”

“Don’t worry,” Arith said. “You’ll be meeting real cats soon enough. Meanwhile, Terri seems quite comfortable. And you are the only person here other than sh’Voorith who doesn’t come with a bird attachment.”

Not knowing what else to do, Baltar raised a hand and stroked the creature, just like he would a cat. It responded by stretching, popping its claws just like a cat would, then curling up again. The only thing it’s missing is a purr.

“We know,” sh’Voorith said. “Not that I’m complaining. I can feel when he’s happy.”

Baltar let out a soft sigh and murmured, “If only.”

“I’m sorry, Gaius,” sh’Voorith said gently. “As far as we can tell, you’re not telepathic, even after Six moved into your brain. We need you here for your skill as a biologist, though. The fact that Terri likes you shows there’s hope for you. We’ll just have to either get your libido under control or find a partner for you with a matching libido.”

Chapter Text

Raymond Ferris sat atop a low hill and studied the camp the aliens from the Aribeth had set up on the moon they were restocking water and food supplies from. Why he had been chosen to join them, in a camp that was supposedly on the far side of the moon from the restocking camp, he had no idea - especially given that once the green-skinned, pointed-eared woman with heavy brow ridges who had chosen him had dropped him off in the camp, a blue-skinned man with antennae checked his name off on some kind of digital clipboard, then pointed to a hut and said, “Choose your bunk. We’ll call you when we’re ready for you.”

That had been three days ago. Other than the people in the cafeteria hut, who seemed to be under the command of a woman named D’las, and consisted of D’las, who was apparently a Talaxian (whatever that meant), a man with pointed teeth and forehead ridges you could plane wood with, named Kern of House Martok, a human woman named Josephine (but just call her Josie, or she’ll be disappointed with me), a blue-skinned, white-haired woman with antennae named Shenn, and several people who seemed to be on rotating kitchen duty, nobody had seemed to notice he was there. Even Dr. Baltar, the only other human he’d seen besides Josephine, didn’t seem to notice him.

Raymond’s view of the camp was abruptly blocked by a close-up view of red-rimmed eyes, overlapping armor plates, and a double row of jagged teeth. He laughed, gripped the creature’s head between his hands, and shook it from side to side.

“Is it time for dinner, you greedy gut, you?” He laughed as the creature slurped his face. “Ug! You are so sloppy! All right, all right, let’s go. I wonder what’s on the menu for tonight.”

His mind filled with the image of a dorym - one of this moon’s native animals - being cut up and put into a barbecue pit just like his family used back on Tauron. Just the memory was enough to make his mouth water. He patted his companion’s shoulder and stood, brushing bits of leaf and bark off his pants, then started for the camp, his companion dancing excitedly around him.

The creature - everyone in camp called it a dog, even though it wasn’t anything like a dog from home - had found him within hours of his first time wandering out of the camp, and had adopted him as quickly and thoroughly as a cat would have back on Tauron. After only three days, he could not imagine leaving his hut without it. Apparently, whoever was in charge agreed, because by the time he’d returned to his bunk the day he’d been adopted, there was a dog bed waiting.

“Wish I knew what to call you,” he said, a hand resting on the creature’s head. “I can’t just call you Dog.”

The creature tilted its head and looked up at him with a querulous whine, and a sensation of knowing him - by scent, by touch, even by the feel of his mind. That was when he knew what he had to name his six-legged friend.

“You, my sloppy friend, are hereby named Dradis.” He grinned and ruffled the dog’s ears, then let him lead the way back into the settlement.

“Dradis, huh?” the woman who had dropped him off three days ago commented when they walked into the main avenue between huts. “He’s pretty excited about his human giving him a name.” She chuckled. “Congratulations, Mr. Ferris. You and Dradis have done exactly what we hoped for when we set up this camp. The files we got from your fleet say you are a farmer. Did you raise animals, or crops?”

“Oh, uh, we raised cattle,” Raymond said, surprised both by the woman’s sudden appearance and by her question. “Why? It’s not as if it makes a difference on a ship.”

“True,” the woman said, “but it will make a difference when we find a planet for you to settle on. And it’ll make a difference when you’re teaching other people how to get along with whoever adopts them.” She held up a gloved fist, and one of the native birds - it looked like a hawk with claws on the same wing joints a bat did - landed and preened itself, using those claws to smooth its feathers. “Meet Kaleh. He adopted me about the same time Dradis adopted you. The two of them confirm a hypothesis we had when setting up this camp - that the animals on this moon are all mildly telepathic, which is why the ones around the restocking camp are so hostile. They’re reacting to the fear and hatred your fleet’s initial ground crews had after a couple from the first shift died.”

“That’s crazy!” Raymond said. “Anyone who works with animals knows they respond to your attitude! If you go in like you’re afraid, they’re going to be afraid, too. If you act like you hate them, they’re going to be all defensive and ready to lash out if you get too close. That’s just common sense!”

“This is a bit more than that,” the woman chuckled. “I’m pretty sure you didn’t get images and emotions from the animals on Tauron, right? That seems to be something unique to this moon.”

“It did seem a bit odd… at first,” Raymond conceded. “Now it just feels like part of what makes him what he is. And all the animals here are like that?”

“Every one,” the woman said. “That’s what we were testing for when we set up this camp, and now that we know it’s real, we’re going to need Colonials to work out how to teach those who aren’t sensitive how to get along without causing stampedes or rampages.”

“That’s always the hard part,” Raymond agreed. “If they didn’t grow up on a farm, they’re always gonna be nervous around the stock. Animals pick right up on that.”

“Especially from here,” the woman agreed. “Dr. Baltar isn’t sensitive the way you are, but until Terri claimed him as his honorary human, he radiated enough fear that I had to keep Kaleh calm whenever he was near.” She chuckled. “He knows how cats are, so once Terri adopted him, he lost his fear.”

“Because Terri wouldn’t let any other creature hurt his human,” Raymond said, a grin slowly spreading. “What does his … what’s her name? sh’Voorith? What does she think?”

“She’s amused,” the woman laughed. “I think she’s trying to tame the good doctor.”

“Tame him?” Raymond asked, then broke into laughter. “Back in the Colonies, there were gossip broadcasts dedicated to tracking the many mistresses of Gaius Baltar. She might as well try to keep Terri from hunting small creatures.”

The woman joined his laughter, startling Kaleh, who she stroked and cooed at until he settled.

Raymond grinned and crouched to hug Dradis before he could begin yapping at Kaleh. “That’s my good boy. My best boy.” He looked up at the green woman, then pressed his forehead to Dradis’. He sensed the scent of the woman, the sound of the bird’s chirrups, the way it had changed under the woman’s stroking from startled and nervous to calm and relaxed, the patterns of light that filled the bird and lit up the woman’s skin from inside.

“Let’s hope that your people don’t do to Dradis’ descendants what the admiral’s people did to wolves on Earth,” the woman said, chuckling.

“Oh? What did they do?” Raymond asked.

“Bred them into a variety that ranges from tiny little lap dogs, to giants that can defend herds of sheep from attacking predators,” the woman said.

“Turned them into dogs?” Raymond asked, making a sour face. “So that’s where dogs come from?”

“You didn’t know?” the woman asked, giving him a surprised look.

“Nah,” Raymond said, shaking his head. “You have to understand, my family were about as poor as you could get without being owned by some farming corporation. And at least three corporations were trying to break us. There was barely enough time when I was a kid to learn how to read and do enough math to keep track of expenditures.” He looked down at Dradis, then hugged him around his neck. “I had an older brother, so all I was expected to do was take care of the animals. Everyone knew he would inherit the farm.”

“You’re… no, you’re not kidding, are you?” the woman asked, then shook her head. “We’re going to have to do something about that. We’re probably going to have to offer remedial education for people from Tauron, Aerilon, maybe Gemenon - but for different reasons - and Sagittaron, if our vids are even half accurate.”

“If your vids are even half accurate?” Raymond asked, looking at her curiously. “What do you mean?”

“Where we come from,” she answered, “there are vids about the fleet, with hints about the cultures of the different colonies, but for us, it’s all stories. Coming here and finding out it’s real was a real kick in the quad.” She laughed. “Sorry. Kick in the pants. We have some Krogan friends, and I’m afraid we’ve picked up some slang from them.”

“It’s all stories,” Raymond mused, then shook his head. “That’s way too weird… then again, meeting people who are obviously not human is way too weird, too.”

“I’m sure,” the woman said. “Just be glad your first experience wasn’t the admiral. That would completely recalibrate your definition of weird.” She chuckled as she watched Dradis headbutt Raymond. “Looks like someone’s getting impatient. We’d better get to the dining hall before he knocks you down and drags you there.”

Raymond laughed and shook Dradis’ head between his hands. “Yeah. Definitely impatient. Let’s go see if that dorym is as good as you imagine.” He snorted and smiled, then followed the woman and her bird as they made their way toward the dining hall. “Silly dog. What am I going to do with you?” When the sensation of belly rubs while sprawling in sunbeams came from Dradis, he broke into laughter.

Chapter Text

Tom Zarek sat in his cell aboard the Astral Queen, writing on paper smuggled to him by sympathetic guards, who would then smuggle it off the ship after he finished the day’s message. Corruption was so endemic in the fleet that even when it helped him, as when guards could be bribed for basic needs, he had to speak out against it.

It wasn’t easy, balancing the need to speak out against corruption and the need to keep the guards who brought his supplies pacified, but he hadn’t forgotten the lessons he’d learned in the Underground on Sagittaron, so he stayed on that tightrope, somehow.

Today had been a particularly difficult day, as there had been some kind of high-level visit to the command section of the ship, that none of his usual sources had been willing - or able, given their responses - to tell him about.

“I always wondered,” a woman’s voice, with an accent he couldn’t place, said from a spot outside his cell that required him to turn to see, “if you actually signed those manifestos, or had a rubber stamp that simply said ‘Tom’. I suppose the authentic touch of your pen makes it easier to sell whatever you’re slinging today, though.”

When the woman took a step that made her easier to see, the first thing that Tom noticed was the primitive-looking attachment on the side of her head that glowed red at the front. She had a bald scalp, very obvious bone ridges above her ears and under her sickly green, with visible veining, skin. She wore a tan uniform with a gold paneled jacket that had leather shoulders, and wrist devices that were as modern as her head attachment was primitive. She had a pistol in a low-slung holster that showed the wear of heavy use, and a belt around her chest, just below her breasts, with what looked like ammo pouches attached to it. Her left hand had been replaced by a manipulator that appeared as primitive as the device on her head, but which opened into at least a dozen small fingerlets, each tipped with some kind of what Tom could only guess were probes.

“You are the infamous Tom Zarek, aren’t you?” the woman asked, as if being stared at were normal for her. “Oh, trust me, it is. Ever since I was freed from the Collective, the only place I don’t get stared at is among my… I suppose you could say they’re my family, regardless of species, age, or level of implants.”

How the frak did she know I was thinking that? Tom narrowed his eyes as he studied her.

“How do you think I knew?” the woman asked, then chuckled. “I guess the Admiral’s rubbing off on me. I decided to pay you a visit to get your answer to a single question: Before you blew up that government building, did you ever knowingly harm innocent people in your campaigns?”

Innocent people? There’s no such thing. Not once they’ve seen what their so-called leaders get away with, and realize they can, too. Tom raised his chin and stared the strange woman down. “Of course not. That would be harming the very people I’m trying to help.”

“Compartmentalization. Fascinating.” The woman studied Tom as if he were some kind of zoo exhibit. “You don’t even seem to be aware you’re doing it. I’m going to have to advise the Admiral against believing anything you say. I believe the human aphorism is, ‘I would ask for a second opinion if you told me the sun rises in the east’.” She shook her head and let out a hissing sigh. “And here I’d come with a job offer, if you’d passed my test.” She turned to walk away from the cell. “Oh well. There are plenty more to choose from.”

What test? This woman isn’t making any sense! “What kind of job offer?” Tom called after her. “Do you know who I am?”

The woman turned, and Tom winced as what had to be a scanning laser flared in his vision as it passed over his eye. “I know who you want people to believe you are,” she said. “I read your book on the way here. I also know who the Colonial government believes you are. I read those files once I boarded this ship. Given the extreme differences between the two, I decided to investigate in person.” She shook her head, while clicking her tongue. “I am not impressed. You are neither the monster that your government’s files make you out to be, nor the righteous crusader you want people to see you as. You are just a tired old man, who has forgotten how to be anything other than a political animal.”

She stalked toward Tom and stopped in the door to his cell. She leaned toward him and hissed softly, “I don’t need a political animal. I need an honest man, one who does not lie to himself, who can read data without trying to spin it in his favor, who can inspire others with his honesty. I need a man who understands that some procedures exist because they save lives. I need a man who can and will listen to more experienced people without arguing and undermining their lead. I need a man who can take a team of men onto a dangerous planet and bring them back alive, while doing the job the team has been recruited for.” She looked Tom up and down, then snorted. “You are not that man. If it were up to me, I’d send you down to the harvester camp, so you have a taste of what the people who are bringing food and water to the fleet have to deal with. I doubt your captain would let me take you, though.” She shrugged. “I’ve seen what I needed to, though. Fighting with your captain over whether to take you would be wasted effort, especially when there are so many more deserving people on this ship.” She stepped back, then started down the walkway again. “Have a nice life, Mr. Zarek. I’m sure you’ll find some way to spin this visit.”

She can’t just dismiss me like that! Nobody does that!

“I do,” the woman laughed. “Oh yes, and just so you know who it was who dismissed you so brutally, I call myself Arhem Ilyahnaeri.” She stopped at a cell door about six down the row from Tom’s. “Oh, good. Mr. Argyris, yes? You were one of the people near the top of my list. I have a question for you.”

Tom heard Alexi Argyris, the occupant of the cell the strange woman had stopped at, mumbling something, not quite loud enough to make out from this distance, but clearly loud enough for the strange woman to smile as if she’d been given a tanker full of refined tylium. She stepped into the cell and closed the door behind her, not that it would make any difference here.

After less than ten minutes, Alexi’s cell opened again, and the woman stepped out, then turned, her face lit up by a smile. She held her organic hand up in some kind of salute, then said, “I’ll be back as soon as I’ve rounded up your crew, and gotten all of you cleared. Until then, just hang tight and tell your boys to not give the guards any excuse to lock you away.”

Alexi looked around and snorted, then nodded, smiling for the first time since Tom had met him. “Couldn’t get much worse than we have already, but I’ll tell the boys to be good.” He leaned toward the woman, and Tom could see his lips move, but couldn’t hear what he was saying. When the woman glanced his way, he felt he had a pretty good guess as to what they were talking about, though.

Does she have any idea what she’s doing? Alexi is Ha'la'tha! Tom caught the glance, and returned it with a glare.

The woman broke into laughter, then quietly said something to Alexi, who snorted, then joined her laughter. She clapped Alexi’s shoulder, then walked toward the Tauron cells, while whistling something Tom did not recognize. As she vanished around the end of the cell block, Tom frowned, then smiled and pulled out a fresh sheet of paper. The topic he had been writing on was already forgotten, as he began his new broadside.

…and so it falls to all of us who were created by the gods, no matter what colony we originate from, to resist these alien invaders who offer gifts with one hand, while holding a poisoned dagger in the other. We have already seen them treat Cylons as if they are equal to us. Among their own number, they count creatures with green or blue skin, pointed ears, antennae, mechanical body parts more suitable for a torture chamber than anything else, and they attempt to influence us to treat these creatures as if they are people.

How can any child of the gods tolerate this? We must rise up and throw off their yoke, before they have it settled firmly about our necks. Any so-called ‘leader’ who allies with them must be considered our enemy as well.

Resist!

Tom

Commander Adama put the page down on his desk, then took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. He poured a glass of ambrosia and offered it to Captain Wilkens, then poured another for himself.

“You say one of your guards brought this to you?” Adama asked.

Wilkens nodded, then picked up the ambrosia and took a sip. “That’s right, sir. I’ve been keeping an eye on him for a couple weeks now. Ordered him to bring me Zarek’s screeds before he posts them where the public can see. Normally, it’s just the usual shit-stirring, but this time…. if this got out, it would start a civil war.”

“You’re not wrong there,” Adama agreed. “It would royally frak our relations with the Cylons, too.” He sat back thoughtfully, then looked into the distance and said, “Simon, would you drop by my office when you get a chance? Thank you.”

“Just like that?” Wilkens asked. “You look like the alien woman did when she was talking with their ship.”

Adama smiled wryly, then held up his left hand, letting his uniform slide back to reveal his wrist band. “They have been handing these out like they’re candy. I’m surprised you don’t have one.”

“Oh, I do,” Wilkens said. “I just don’t tend to wear it, because at least half my prisoners have some practice at picking pockets.”

“That would make it more uncomfortable, yes,” Adama said. “I’d like you to give it a try, though. I was planning to recommend all our captains wear theirs at our next council meeting. They’re more useful than you can imagine, especially for emergencies.”

“Is that how your Raptors got to the Zephyr before anyone else knew they were in trouble?” Wilkens asked.

“That’s right,” Adama said. “Captain Harkness reported a drive problem and asked for help. I sent Chief Tyrol’s deck gang to help them get the engines running again. As for your visitor this morning, Arhem Ilyahnaeri had been looking for a project to involve your prisoners, and requested my permission to be allowed to approach you with her proposal.”

“I’ll admit, it was strange,” Wilkens said, “but Argyris’ people have been some of my most well-behaved prisoners, especially since this morning. In fact, he showed up at my office shortly before I took the shuttle here, with two of his people in tow. Under his prodding the two confessed to minor pilfering - and by that I mean pilfering that would not be noticed if it were done by crew, so the fact that he prodded them into confessing it to me was suspicious. Until I connected it with the alien’s visit this morning.”

“Yes.” Adama chuckled. “she apparently intends to use them to bulk up the Daru Mozu and Mitei Kan crews while they’re processing tylium on Motherlode. In the meanwhile, I expect you’ll find her on your ship most days, training them in how to use sealed environmental suits. The reports that have reached me say the tylium from that planet is so rich it required our refinery crews to completely rework their suits so they don’t die from exposure.”

“That…,” Wilkens started, then shook his head and took another sip. “That’s pretty potent. We’re all going to have to re-tune our engines, aren’t we?”

“If the reports I’ve seen are accurate, we are,” Adama said. “Our refinery experts say we should be able to get three times the power we were getting out of the tylium we’ve been burning. If we get even half of that, we’ll still be ahead.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Wilkens said thoughtfully. “It’ll be nice to have enough power for the whole ship, all at once.”

“You’ve had power shortages?” Adama asked, then took another sip from his glass.

“Since we started,” Wilkens said. “The Astral Queen wasn’t designed to be a prison transport. When she was built, she was a luxury liner, rated for no more than four hundred passengers. We’re carrying nearly three times that, between crew, guards, and prisoners. I’ve had to ration power since we left the Colonies, so we have enough for life support.”

“Hm.” Adama frowned thoughtfully, then picked up his ship phone and cranked the code for the flight deck. After a moment, he spoke. “Specialist Henderson, good. This is the Commander. Is the Chief back from whatever he and Lee are doing with Scar?” He chuckled. “It’s not as big a secret as they imagine. Tell the Chief to call me when he gets back. I need some power specialists for a priority job.” He hung up and focused on Wilkens. “We can’t have you rationing power to keep your people alive. I’d suggest you have a talk with Mr. Argyris before my people arrive, since he’s bound to have people with experience in power systems in his following, and the number of people I can send is small enough, they’ll be weeks tracking down your problem and fixing it. Anyone you can supplement my gang with will speed things up.”

“Commander?” Wilkens asked, staring at Adama as if he had lost his mind. “These are prisoners you’re talking about.”

“Yes, they are,” Adama agreed. “I’ve skimmed their records. Most of them are the kind of prisoners who would have been offered the choice of prison or enlisting if the Colonies had been at war when they were sentenced. Don’t forget, they were on their way to parole hearings when the attack happened. That means every one of them had a good chance of being free men if they had made it to their hearings. Truth is, I’m not worried about most of them as much as I am about fanatics like Mr. Zarek. I’d suggest you review the records of the prisoners who aren’t problems, so you can exercise some of that discretion you have. Spacing the lot might have saved us problems, but it would have given you a reputation in the fleet you wouldn’t want, trust me.”

Wilkens chuckled as he looked into his glass, then commented wryly, “It would have taken away the opportunity for what happened this morning, too. Yes, I know he’s Ha'la'tha, but in our circumstances, that might be a good thing. It definitely shows in the respect his people have for him.”

“See?” Adama chuckled. “Think of him as being like that sergeant you may not have liked, but couldn’t help but respect.”

“That’s not a bad perspective,” Wilkens agreed. “And he manages it without raising his voice, or using the type of language my DI used.”

Adama let out a short bark of laughter before saying, “I swear, drill instructors must take special courses in creative profanity.”

“I believe it,” Wilkens said, looking into the distance and smiling. “I remember we had to look up some of what my DI said in the dictionary.”

“And you needed dictionaries for every language in the Colonies,” Adama suggested. “I seem to recall that we did in my unit.”

“You would not be wrong there,” Wilkens chuckled. “We always wondered why all those dictionaries were in the barracks.” He finished his ambrosia and stood. “I’d better get back and have a talk with Mr. Argyris. This should be interesting.”

“I’m sure it will be,” Adama said, smiling wryly. “I’ll be interested in learning how that shakes out.” He nodded toward the door. “And don’t forget to try on your wristband. I get the feeling it won’t be as easy for your pickpockets as you expect.”

“I’ll remember that,” Wilkens said, reaching for the door just as someone knocked on it from the other side.

“Let them in,” Adama said. “Have a safe trip.”

Wilkens nodded and undogged the hatch, then swung it open, revealing a Simon and a Sharon, with Simon’s hand raised as if he were about to knock again. Simon smiled as he pulled his hand back and nodded to Wilkens.

“Natalie asked me to tell you that if you have any prisoners with structural engineering experience, she could use them on the shuttle she’s working from over Pyrrus,” Simon said. “She says that even with almost all of the human presence gone, the native fauna is continuing to damage the facilities we’re using to collect food and water.”

“Pyrrus?” Wilkens asked, pausing to listen to Simon.

“That’s what the crew of the Aribeth are calling that moon,” Simon said. “It apparently has some meaning to them.”

“It’s taken from a novel from their Earth,” Sharon said, “as are the names they’ve been giving some of the fauna we’ve encountered. From what they’ve said, it’s a novel about a mining world with native life that treats humans as an enemy to be destroyed.”

“That explains their eagerness to let Centurions and Geth take over harvesting,” Adama said. “Come in, both of you. Sit. Mr. Wilkens, give me a call once you’ve decided how to handle Mr. Argyris and his people.”

“Count on it, Commander,” Wilkens said as he slipped past Simon and Sharon. He paused and turned back. “Simon, are any of you free to work with my ship’s doctor? While we’re having less violence than I expected, my prisoners are starting to show the kind of symptoms you get from restrictions in both movement and diet.”

“I think we can handle that,” Simon said. “Do you object if we call your doctor directly?

“Object?” Wilkens replied. “Hardly. In fact, I wish you would. I may be fluent in ship command, but my doctor is fluent in medical, so when he starts talking about signs and symptoms, he may as well be speaking Old Gemonese for all I can understand.”

Simon chuckled and nodded. “Understood. We’ll talk with your ship’s doctor, then call you once we’ve worked out what kind of help he wants.”

“Thank you,” Wilkens said, then turned to leave, while Sharon swung the door closed.

Once the door was closed, Adama raised his bottle of ambrosia. “Would either of you like some? You may need it before we’re done.”

“That sounds concerning, Commander,” Sharon said.

“If it’s as concerning as it sounds,” Simon added, “I think we’re going to need clear heads to handle it.”

Adama handed Zarek’s latest screed to Simon, then said, “As soon as Lee and Scar land, I’m going to consult with Lee on what the law allows us to do in response. My first reaction is that this is clearly an attempt to incite Zarek’s readers. However, I want to be absolutely certain that whatever we do in response cannot be used by him as a weapon against the fleet.”

As he read, Simon’s jaw obviously clenched. He carefully put the paper down, then nodded at Adama. “The way this reads, Mr. Zarek sounds like a mirror image of Cavil. Unfortunately, you can’t box him the way we were able to box Cavil.”

“That’s the problem,” Adama said, as Sharon picked up the sheet to read for herself. “He’s already been sentenced to life in prison times two hundred for the murders he committed, and is only on the Astral Queen because his followers were able to convince the Colonial Government to offer him parole.”

Sharon did a double-take, then slowly read aloud.

We are infested by invaders who freely admit they are from another universe. These invaders claim their leader is a god - a god who is not one of the gods of Kobol. In fact, their leader openly proclaims his disdain for Zeus, laughs at Ares, says “for a supposed goddess of wisdom, Athena sure does screw up a lot,” and speaks of Hades as if he were a favored brother.

I would like you to think about that for a minute. The alien invaders treat Hades with more respect than any of the gods we know and worship, but even he is treated as if he were family, not one of the gods who made us.

And then we have the Cylons. Humans created the Cylons to be tools, machines that could perform as programmed in environments too hazardous for real people, yet we are now being asked to consider the tools our parents created to be equal to us? The aliens point to the Geth - tools created by yet another alien race - as an example of how we should be treating the Cylons.

Once again, I would like you to think about that. Aliens - beings that were not created by the gods we know and worship - have created tools the way humans created Cylons, and what do we find? The Geth work mining tylium ore on a world that is too dangerous for humans to work directly, while the aliens patrol the system to ensure no one enters or leaves without their approval.

Maybe in this case, the invaders are right: we should exile the Cylons to worlds that are too dangerous for humans, with military patrols to ensure no one enters or leaves. It is the only thing about which they may be right, but even in this case, we must be careful to not swallow the poison of their influence while accepting advice on which we agree.

Sharon put the sheet down as if she were handling a venomous serpent and whispered, “I knew he was a madman, but for him to hang his hatred out in the open like that, and expect anyone outside his followers to accept it….”

“That’s a part of the problem,” Adama said. “Even if he only has a dozen or two followers, we don’t know who they are, other than the guard who ‘smuggles’ paper to him and takes his writing off the Astral Queen to post it where it can be read by others. Simply reading his vomit doesn’t tell us who his followers are. Lee insisted I read his book when he was in the Academy and it was on the list of banned books. His political positions show the sophistication and understanding of an adolescent, even if they were positions on which any modern person could agree. It was the actions he took in pursuit of those positions that landed him in prison, not his positions.” He waved a hand in the direction of the paper. “This, on the other hand, is pure, undiluted bigotry, dressed up in an appeal to the gods.”

“And far too many people will take it in because of that,” Simon groaned. “If this gets out, it will be a lot like what happened when John convinced us that we needed to eliminate humanity. It could lead to the death of every human who isn’t back on the colonies rebuilding.” He rubbed his face with both hands, then looked at Adama. “We need to keep that from happening. How long can you sit on this?”

“As long as I need to,” Adama said. “Technically, we’re still under martial law for as long as we’re threatened by Things. I prefer to not tug on that leash, but in this case, I’m willing to jerk on it. Hard.”

“How many people did Zarek kill?” Sharon asked.

“He killed nearly two hundred people when he blew up the government building,” Adama said, “and injured nearly a thousand. We had to dust off the old laws on terrorism to try him, because no one had done anything close to it since the Soldiers of the One bombings.”

“After that, he had followers who were willing to appeal for his parole?” Simon asked, appalled.

“Even with him proudly claiming credit for the bombing,” Adama said. “His followers are a spectrum, from people who say the government was so corrupt that he had to blow up the building to make people see it, to people who say it was a government black op, and Zarek was hypnotized into claiming credit for it.” He shook his head. “The only thing they all have in common, besides Zarek, is their unshakable belief that everyone Zarek killed was either a government agent or a crisis actor, so they deserved to die.”

“That’s insane!” Sharon blurted. “Do they all have brain damage?”

“Don’t forget,” Simon said, “they could be us, if they followed John instead of Zarek. The problem is twofold. First, the delusion in their beliefs, and second, is it possible to free them of that delusion?”

“You’re the doctor here,” Adama said, “but if it’s anything like what I’ve seen, you’ll only be able to free a small fraction of them. The rest will dig in their heels and double down on their delusion.”

“Yes,” Simon said. “We have studies, both from Colonial sources and our own investigations, that show that when a person identifies with a delusion, any attempt to break that results in the person holding more tightly to it, as if you were trying to destroy their identity. Even among us, you can see that reaction in the boxed Cavils, those Leobens who don’t come to land occasionally, the D’Annas, and the Aarons.”

“And with any of them, the more they cling to Cavil’s…,” Sharon started, then helplessly spread her hands as if trying to hold something in front of her.

“His spew?” Simon asked. “His forceful reprogramming of the rest of us? That was the most surprising thing about the reactions when we were deprogrammed - how many of us held to John’s hatred despite knowing that it had been forced on them.”

“Mostly,” Adama asked, “among the D’Annas, who I’ve noticed seem to enjoy stirring people up, the Aarons, who would have been snake oil salesmen a century ago, the Leobens - when they come down from whatever vision they’re having at the moment, that is - and those Sixes who haven’t achieved Natalie’s horrified understanding?”

“Pretty much,” Simon said. “Fortunately, the rest of us are integrating our real memories, some with the help of Caitians, interestingly enough, and finding that we aren’t nearly as outcast as Cavil wanted us to believe. I would venture to say that it’s primarily people like Tom Zarek who are our biggest problem.”

“On both sides of the fleet,” Adama said. “He’s the kind of man who is willing to kill anyone who doesn’t subscribe to his view of the universe. Locked in a cage for the rest of his life is just what he deserves. Death would both make him a martyr to his delusional followers and end his suffering far too quickly.”

“I have never heard you be so vindictive,” Simon said. “I agree with your judgment of him, but for a moment there you sounded like John when he was talking about humans.”

“With good reason,” Adama said. “I knew some of the people he murdered when he bombed that government center. One of the daycare workers he killed was a cousin. I had another cousin who worked there as a janitor. That’s the truth of Tom Zarek’s crusade - most of the people he harmed weren’t corrupt officials, they were ordinary people who just happened to be in his way.” Adama pressed his fingertips against his forehead and massaged it for a moment. “He can’t pay for the lives he destroyed, but we can make sure he stays locked up where he can’t destroy any more lives.”

Adama rested his head on his hands and slowly rubbed his temples with his fingertips. After a minute, he raised his head and looked at Simon and Sharon. “I am considering asking the Aribeth crew for assistance. Tom used to be kept in solitary, before all this. No one had to worry about his latest screed reaching the public, unless one of his guards was one of his followers. I haven’t met any of the Geth, but I understand they are as eager for connection as the Centurions are.” A malicious smile lit up his face. “I can’t help but wonder how Tom would react to being freed on that moon down there, with no other companionship than a Geth or two. Based on what I’ve seen in reports on them, they wouldn’t fall for his sales pitch, and they would protect him from any hostile animals, so he could have a long life, safer than he would be in any prison.”

“You’re considering making the moon his prison?” Sharon asked, then smiled. “That’s brilliant. But why Geth, and not Centurions?”

“Once we leave this system, we’ll be too far away for a signal from any of them to reach your resurrection ship, right?” Adama asked.

“That’s true,” Sharon said, frowning in thought. “But the Geth do daily backups to system nodes on Motherlode or their station orbiting Motherlode. The moon should be well within their backup range.”

“And their backups will do any error correcting they need after hearing Tom all day,” Adama said.

“That,” Simon said, joining Sharon and Adama with a smile of his own, “is elegant in its simplicity, and there’s no need to put it off, other than waiting for appropriate Geth to join us. Would you prefer to call them yourself?”

“Why don’t you both sit and relax while I make the call,”: Adama said. “This shouldn’t take long. I hope.”