The buzz of the comm sounded unnaturally loud in the studious silence. Starbuck glanced up from his computer screen for a micron, not sure if Gem was still at her desk in the outer room. When the irritating noise cut out, and the murmur of Gem's voice reached him, he went back to his reading. A centon later, she appeared in the doorway, wearing a distracted frown.

"Salik needs us in Life Center."

His startled expression asked her, quite clearly, Why?

"Croft thinks he may have found the thing that attacked you, down in the devil's pit."

Starbuck shuddered slightly, his features tightening with some emotion Gem couldn't name, and his suddenly shadowed eyes dropped to avoid hers. She crossed the room to his desk and watched as he closed the file he'd been reading. With a blank screen in front of him, he typed out, What do you need me for?

"To identify it."

It was pitch dark down there. I never saw its face.

"Any little thing you remember could..."

I don't think I can help, he typed quickly, cutting her off.

Gem's frown deepened. "Don't you want to know for sure if we've caught the right person...or whatever it is?"

He shook his head emphatically. If you're so curious about the creature, talk to it.

"We can't. It's dead."

Dead? Starbuck glanced up at her, unaccountably upset by this news. How?

"Croft killed it, accidentally, while he was trying to capture it."

What was he doing down there, anyway? Starbuck demanded.

"I asked him to find it."

Why didn't you talk to me, first? Why didn't you ask me if I wanted it found?

The anger in his face bewildered his wife. "I don't understand! What did I do to upset you so much? I only wanted to catch the thing that attacked you and find out who or what it was! Is that so terrible?"

I just wish you'd left well enough alone. It wasn't hurting anyone, hiding out down there in the dark.

"It hurt you."

No, it didn't. Not really.

"Starbuck, it tried to kill you!"

I don't think so. He stared grimly at his hands on the keyboard, a dark and difficult memory plain in his face. It wanted something else.

Gem now looked thoroughly confused, both by Starbuck's words and his bleak mood. "What did it want?" she asked, mystified.

'It' was a 'she', he answered, hesitantly. I think she planned to rape me.

Gem's breath hissed between her teeth, and her fists clenched reflexively. "What?! Why didn't you tell me this?!"

He looked up at her and shrugged. I didn't know what she was doing, and I had no way to tell you, even if I had understood. By the time I figured it out...it didn't seem to matter anymore.

"It sure as hell matters to me!"

She didn't mean to hurt me, Gem. And she taught me something.

"About what?" Gem ground out, her voice dripping with bitterness and frustration. "Sexual brutality? That was a lesson you could have done without!"

About love.

Gem swallowed the hard knot of pain in her throat and asked, "What does rape have to do with love?"

Nothing. Starbuck's eyes softened, and he reached out to catch her hand in gentle fingers. After a still moment, during which he felt the rigidity drain from her body and her fingers tighten around his, he squeezed her hand lightly and let go of it to continue.

I don't know exactly how to explain this, but what she did to me made me feel things. Things that I knew belonged to you, even if I couldn't remember why. From the centon I woke up afraid, in pain, with that disgusting creature pawing at me, all I could think of was finding you again. I knew you'd protect me, take the pain away, and take me home where I was safe. I knew, somehow, you'd help me understand the things I was feeling. And you did.

"When we made love?"

Yes, but even before that. When I heard your voice calling me, chasing her away, when I saw you running toward me...I finally understood what you meant when you said you loved me.

Gem just stared at him, her eyes bright with tears.

She helped me find my way back, Gem. I know she was a sick, disgusting, brutal creature. I know she nearly raped me and even more nearly killed me. But I can't hate her.

The doctor gazed blindly at his words on the computer screen, fighting tears, her mind trying to grapple with the bizarre revelation that Starbuck was grateful to his attacker. She could not feel gratitude, or even pity, for the abominable creature that had done such violence to him. She could not be sorry that it was dead. But she understood his feelings and, strangely enough, respected them.

After a long, silent struggle, she murmured, "I'm going to Life Center. What do you want me to do about...about her?"

He shrugged sadly. Don't let them do anything nasty to her. Just let her be.

Gem stared down at the huddled form on the gurney, trying to see it through Starbuck's eyes. It was obviously female, but extreme age, malnutrition and years of grime had destroyed nearly all traces of humanity. As a doctor, she should have felt pity or regret at the sight of this shapeless bundle of tattered cloth and desiccated flesh. Instead, she felt only detached revulsion.

Croft, Apollo and Salik were all waiting for some comment from her. She could feel their eyes boring into her back. Without lifting her gaze from the dreadful object in front of her, she asked, quietly, "How did it happen?"

"She jumped me, up on the catwalk," Croft explained.

"Hm. Just like Starbuck."

The security officer nodded grimly, his own eyes moving toward the dead creature, dwelling on the unnatural angle of its head against the cushions. "I threw her off, and she hit the railing. Snapped her neck clean through." At Gem's grim frown, he added, "I'm sorry, Doctor. I didn't mean to kill her."

"You had to defend yourself." She rubbed her eyes tiredly and turned her back on the gurney. "I wish that Starbuck had been able to do as much, then none of this would have happened."

Cassiopeia materialized beside her, eyes bright with sympathetic tears, and clasped her shoulder in comfort. "At least the mystery is solved and Starbuck's attacker is caught."

"We don't know that, for sure."

"Yes, we do," Salik assured her. "We found Starbuck's skin under her fingernails. Perfect genetic match."

Gem shuddered and clenched her eyes shut. The bloody scratches on Starbuck's shoulder, torn by those grotesquely curved, yellowed nails, had only just healed, leaving vivid scars. Gem could still remember running her fingers over the scratches, wondering how he'd gotten them, wishing she could read his mind and uncover the truth about his encounter in the devil's pit. Well, now she knew, and she had no one but herself to blame, if the truth was unpalatable.

"Doctor?"

Croft's gruff voice recalled her to her surroundings. She glanced up at him, fighting back the shadows to focus on his familiar face.

"Are you satisfied, Doctor?" She nodded. "Then I'll consider the matter closed."

For the first time, Apollo spoke up. "I wonder who she was?" he murmured, thoughtfully, gazing down at the still form with no emotion in his eyes. "All those people down there...those outcasts...they're hardly human anymore. But they weren't always that way. What was she, before she disappeared into the devil's pit?"

"Give me a little time, and I can probably tell you that, Commander."

Salik reached for a scalpel, but when he made a move toward the body, Gem held out her hand to stop him.

"No! Don't mutilate the body. Please." Everyone gaped at her in surprise. "Starbuck doesn't want her...disturbed."

"I'll just run a few tests. Take some tissue samples." Salik cocked his head at her, his eyes narrowed speculatively. "I won't mutilate her."

"Thank you." Gem turned to Apollo and fixed him with a carefully neutral gaze. "When Salik is finished, what do you plan to do with her?"

"I hadn't made any plans."

"Will you..." She broke off, struggling against conflicting emotions. After a tense micron, loyalty to her husband overrode her own revulsion, and she continued, "Will you allow me to arrange a quiet, civilized burial for her?"

Apollo's eyebrows scaled up his forehead in surprise. "If that's what you want."

"It's not," she answered truthfully, "but it's what Starbuck wants. And I do agree that, regardless of what Salik finds out, regardless of who she was before, she's entitled to that much."

"Shouldn't you wait for the test results, before you make that assumption?"

Gem hesitated, then shook her head. "This isn't about who she was. It's about what she did for Starbuck."

Amazed silence met this announcement. Cassiopeia found her voice first, gasping, "For him? Don't you mean, to him?!"

"Please, Cass, don't. This is between Starbuck and...and her. I'm only trying to respect his feelings and honor his decisions. Besides," she asked, a trifle sadly, "what would you have me do? Stuff her down the trash chute? Even a lifer on the Prison Barge merits a decent burial."

"Don't you even want to know her name?"

Gem shuddered and cast a glance full of disgust at the body on the gurney. "No. The less I know about her, the better." Turning her back on the circle of confused, worried faces, she headed for the lift. "Let me know when you're finished," she called over her shoulder, as she stepped into the lift. "You can reach me at home."

*** *** ***

Starbuck paced the confines of the room, his movements as graceful and restless as a caged animal's and his eyes as desperate. His long strides covered the distance from door to wall in a matter of microns, while his gaze slid unknowingly over the room's other occupant. It seemed, in this dark, manic mood, that he had completely forgotten Apollo's presence, though he had come here specifically to see the commander.

Apollo watched him prowl ceaselessly back and forth and wondered what had driven him here. These days, Starbuck avoided him, unless ordered to attend a strategy meeting or dragged to a social gathering by Gem. The once gregarious pilot had become increasingly moody, unpredictable and reserved, till he bore little resemblance to the man Apollo remembered so well.

Apollo had watched this deterioration helplessly, watched his oldest and dearest friend retreat into a defensive shell that defied every effort to reach him. Only Gem could still elicit any response, and at times, even she failed. Apollo understood some of what caused it, and he had tried his best to stop the alarming trend, but Starbuck had eluded him.

At first, it had been a struggle for him just to communicate with others, but Starbuck had quickly overcome that barrier. He developed a language all his own, built of hand signs, scattered words, and the occasional facial expression, that was often more eloquent than speech. And he could type at lightening speed, when the need arose. But even as he learned to articulate his thoughts more freely, he became increasingly reticent about them. He never missed a session with the neuro-specialist, Dr. Dayan, and he worked tirelessly to regain what he had lost, but as the sectons trudged by, the walls only grew thicker. The man Apollo knew and loved, the man he desperately needed beside him, to help him carry the burden of command or simply to lighten it with his ever-present humor, just drifted farther and farther away.

The change in his physical appearance mirrored the change in his personality. In the yaron since his return, Starbuck had regained little of the weight he'd lost on the prison planet, leaving his body lean and lithe and his face angular. When he moved this way, his gestures full of barely restrained violence, he reminded Apollo of a half-starved predator. He had also, strangely enough, continued to let his hair grow. It now hung well below his waist in a fat, gold-streaked braid that Apollo found very distracting and incongruous. Even his subdued civilian clothing added to the eerily familiar, yet utterly strange picture.

As Apollo watched this silent apparition prowl the floor, he thought back to his meeting with the new recruits that morning. It was a standard part of their introduction to flight training – their first meeting with the fleet commander. Apollo usually enjoyed this opportunity to assess the quality of his future warriors.

They were as bright-eyed and eager a batch of youngsters as he'd ever seen, and just looking at them made him feel old. One of them had dropped a casual reference to Starbuck, wondering if they would ever meet the legendary Blue Squadron leader. Another jumped in, asking what interest he had in a civilian. The ensuing discussion made Starbuck sound like an out-dated fighter plane that had been broken down for spare parts.

Apollo had to bite back caustic words and swallow his outraged pride, in order to maintain some kind of decorum. These arrogant children had no concept of what warriors like Starbuck – like Boomer and Sheba and Apollo himself – had accomplished in bringing the human fleet this far, against incredible odds. The man they shrugged off as useless, because he no longer sat at the controls of a viper, had built a legend of bravery, brilliance and heroism that they would not equal if they lived to fight a thousand yarons. There would never be another warrior like Starbuck. The human race couldn't produce two like him.

This thought flared in his mind afresh, as he followed Starbuck's restless pacing, and his heart filled with furious, wounded loyalty. Apollo jumped to his feet, consumed by an overriding need to actually reach his friend. He could take no more of this. He'd lost Starbuck once, and he'd rip the stars from the heavens before he'd lose him again. Striding around the desk, he caught Starbuck's arm and halted his movement.

"Stop it, Starbuck."

Starbuck glanced up at him, startled, and Apollo saw the briefest flash of recognition in his face, as if his old wingmate had looked out of those shadowed blue eyes at him for one micron, then quickly withdrawn.

"You didn't come here to wear holes in the deck. Tell me what's wrong."

Starbuck's mouth tightened in a hard frown, but to Apollo's surprise, he did not lift his hands to speak. Instead, he took a deep breath, clenched his hands into defiant fists, and forced the words out of his mouth. "I c-can't..."

Apollo waited for him to continue, then prompted, softly, "Can't what?"

"...do this. Anym...more." When Apollo turned questioning eyes, full of sympathetic pain, on him, Starbuck ground his teeth in rage and shrugged off the other man's hand to say, I can't stand it anymore, Apollo. I've tried and tried, but I just can't do any better than this. And this isn't good enough. It isn't good enough!!

Apollo winced at the frustration in his words and the bitter self-hatred in his face. "I know you've tried, and I know you're frustrated. But you have to give it time! Dr. Salik warned you..."

No! I don't care what Salik said! I can't live this way anymore – only half alive, only half human. There has to be another way.

"Why...why is this so hard for you? You don't have any trouble communicating with us, so why can't you be a little patient and give yourself some time?"

Starbuck ground his teeth in fury and turned away from the fear and pity in Apollo's eyes.

"Please, Bucko," Apollo urged, "tell me what's going on! I only want to help!"

I thought you understood, Starbuck answered, his face full of hurt surprise. You're the one who told me.

"Told you what?"

That I can't lead my squadron till I learn to speak again.

"By the Lords!" Apollo whispered. "Is that what all of this about?"

What else is there? Starbuck spun away from him and began to pace again, making it difficult for Apollo to follow his rapid gestures. I'm a warrior. A pilot. It's the only thing I've ever known. I have to fly, have to fight, or I might just as well have died on that damned prison planet!

"Don't say that! Even as a joke!"

Joke? You think this is a joke?!

"No, that's not... Starbuck, you talk as though your life is worthless if you can't fly with your squadron, and that's just not true! Look at y..."

Starbuck cut him off, sharply. Don't give me the speech about my loving wife and wonderful family. I know exactly how lucky I am to have them.

He abruptly stopped pacing and fixed his burning eyes on the commander. Look at me, Apollo. Look me in the face and tell me you don't understand. You've given up everything you loved, accepted a job you never wanted, out of duty to a dead man. Tell me you don't ache for the chance to go back. Just for one day...one battle.

Dead silence answered him. Finally, Apollo sighed heavily and whispered, "You know I do."

You made your choice, and you can't go back. But I didn't choose, Apollo. I don't have another job to do. I'm a pilot with no wings. What am I supposed to do?

Apollo bowed his head to hide the sudden stinging in his eyes. He shook his head in defeat, afraid to meet Starbuck's gaze and expose himself. He couldn't remember when he had last shed a tear in front of another person; Apollo did all his weeping in the sheltering safety of darkness. But the pain of their combined loss overwhelmed and betrayed him.

"I'm sorry," he finally rasped out. "I don't know what to do."

Starbuck touched his shoulder, drawing Apollo's eyes back to him, and answered, Help me find another way.

"To do what?"

Talk to the other pilots. I can't fly with the squadron unless I can talk to the other pilots.

Apollo sighed again, knowing his words would only upset Starbuck more. "You just have to keep working with Dr. Dayan. It's the only way, Bucko."

Apollo, you know I'm not getting any better. My speech hasn't improved in sectons.

"It's a slow process."

And sometimes it just doesn't work. The doctor agrees that I'm not learning anymore. The repatterning techniques aren't working, because the nerve damage was too extensive. Don't you understand? This is as good as it gets!

Apollo's eyes widened in horror. "Are you sure? Is...is the doctor sure?" Starbuck just stared at him, and Apollo turned away from the raw intensity of his gaze. "I guess I never considered the possibility that you...that..."

He fixed his eyes sightlessly on the deck, trying to grapple with the unpalatable truth that Starbuck would never learn to speak again, that the best pilot ever to take to the stars would never lead a squadron into battle again. Could it possibly be that the smart-ass recruits were right, and Starbuck's unmatched legend was nothing but a fading memory?

The commander looked up again, into his friend's face, and suddenly knew that they were wrong. They were all wrong, if they thought this warrior had lost his wings. Apollo's spine stiffened, and his eyes gleamed with determination.

Blinking away the telltale moisture from his eyes, he spoke with total authority that would brook no argument, "If the cylons can invent a way to fry your brain, we can invent a way to rewire it. I'm not going to lose my best pilot, because they got a little too creative for us." Turning a look on Starbuck that reminded the lieutenant forcibly of Commander Adama, he added, "I'm not going to lose my best pilot, or my best friend."

To Apollo's amazement, Starbuck smiled – the first smile he'd seen on his face in countless sectons.

I knew I could count on you.

*** *** ***

Gem paused in the open door to gaze at the figure standing on the far side of the room. Starbuck leaned close to the mirror to adjust the insignia on his collar, then straightened up and settled his flight jacket more precisely across his shoulders. From her vantage point, Gem admired the perfect fit of his uniform and the pride in his bearing as he studied his reflection. His shoulders were square and straight again, his head held high with the half-serious, half-mocking arrogance she remembered so well.

Starbuck caught sight of her in the mirror and smiled at her image. He turned swiftly to face her, and even the swing of his braid against his back seemed jauntier than before.

Hello, Beautiful.

Gem laughed and crossed the room quickly. "That was my line." She stepped in close to him, lifting one hand to finger the small, gleaming medal at his throat. "Been a long time since I've seen that. I missed it."

Me, too.

"When is the final test?"

In a centar. His glowing look dimmed momentarily, as his confidence slipped ever so slightly, then the micron of doubt passed and his smile lit up the room again. CORA is getting restless.

Gem cocked an eyebrow at him, taking in his flight suit and insignia with one sweeping glance. "You're pretty confident." Starbuck nodded emphatically. "Well, you certainly look the part."

The pilot twisted around to study his reflection again, a frown of dissatisfaction pulling at the corners of his mouth. Gem watched, baffled, as he continued to glower at himself, turning one way and another, as though trying to get a different angle on his appearance. Suddenly, he reached over his shoulder and flipped his braid forward to hang down his chest. As he fingered the end of the braid, his frown lifted and a determined light sprang up in his eyes.

That's it.

"What?"

It's got to go.

"Your hair?" Gem followed his progress with some curiosity, as he moved over to the utility locker and began rummaging through it. "What're you going to do?"

Cut it off.

His wife looked more than a little perturbed at this statement. "No! Why?"

The note in her voice attracted his attention, and he abandoned his search to look up at her clouded face. You don't want me to?

"I like it this way. I've gotten used to it."

I'm sorry, Gem, but it just doesn't feel right.

She smiled lopsidedly and remarked, "Not very military, huh?"

He shook his head. And it won't fit in my helmet.

Gem moved over to the locker and nudged Starbuck out of the way. "Allow the professional a little room, please." He backed off obediently, while she produced her emergency medical kit. After a moment's search, she produced a laser scalpel with a flourish. "Ta da!"

A scalpel?

"Surgery is surgery. Bring that chair over here."

Starbuck seated himself in a chair in front of the mirror, and Gem moved up behind him, fingering one of the gold clips he used to fasten his braid. While Starbuck waited, trustingly, she positioned the clip at the top of his thick braid and cinched it closed. Then, she switched on the scalpel, wrapped the braid around her left hand, and sliced it neatly off above the clip. Her eyes studiously avoided his image in the mirror, as she rolled up the long switch of hair and laid it on top of a tattered, faded, fragile pair of breeches in her clothing locker.

She moved back over to the chair to find Starbuck staring at his rumpled, hacked off hair, his nose wrinkled in disgust. She couldn't help laughing at him, which only deepened his scowl.

"Stop that, and hold still." Her hands flew, wielding the scalpel expertly, and Starbuck's expression gradually softened into one of approval.

As she worked, Gem let her eyes dwell on the faint scar that decorated his left temple. In another secton, it would fade completely, and there would be no outward evidence of the surgery Salik had performed three days ago. Her finger brushed the scar lightly, bringing Starbuck's eyes up to meet hers in the mirror. He smiled in understanding at her uncertain look.

So much hung in the balance. So much depended on a tiny chip implanted in her husband's brain and the vagaries of a temperamental computer. Starbuck's career as a pilot, his future with his squadron, his self-respect, pride and confidence – perhaps his very life. Everything rested on his ability to communicate with CORA.

Gem knew that the implant worked. She had heard the words come out of CORA's speaker - Starbuck's words, formed in the undamaged part of his brain, intercepted as electronic signals by the implant, then transmitted to CORA, who turned them into coherent speech. Only the final, official test flight remained to prove that he could communicate with other ships. Then, with CORA as his voice, Starbuck could reclaim his place among the warrior elite.

That thought started an incredible ache in her chest, and she had to fight to hold her hands steady. It was inevitable that he would reach this point. She had never seriously doubted it, no matter how long and hard the road back. Nothing could keep Starbuck grounded for long. But she would never again be able to watch him climb into a viper, without feeling this pain in her heart and remembering three yarons of desolation.

She gave a last, deft flick of her scalpel, then stood back to study the effect, still avoiding Starbuck's gaze. Setting down the scalpel, she combed her fingers through his gleaming hair, settling the short, neat layers into place. "Now you look like a warrior again."

Starbuck didn't answer, just watched with troubled eyes as Gem bent forward to rest her cheek on his hair, her hands sliding down his torso and her arms holding him tightly. She closed her eyes and inhaled the familiar, comforting scents that clung to him, trying to draw enough strength from his closeness to face what was coming.

Starbuck's fingers fastened around her wrists, and his soft voice demanded her attention.

"Gem."

She slowly lifted her head.

You're afraid, aren't you?

"Yes."

His face darkened with pain, while his eyes begged her to understand. I'm sorry. The last thing I want is to hurt you.

"I know that."

I would give anything to make this easier for you. But, Gem, this is who I am. I'm a warrior and a pilot. I blow up cylons. I protect the fleet. I do my share to keep the human race alive for another yaron. Without my uniform, without my viper and my squadron and cylons to fight, who am I?

"My husband," Gem murmured and dropped her head again to bury her face in his hair. After a long, tense pause, she continued, in a muffled voice, "But I understand why that's not enough. I honestly do. And I love you too much to watch you suffer anymore."

Don't ever think you're not enough!

"I'm not." She smiled sadly at him. "Don't look so horrified! You think I didn't know? Angel, you and I are two of a kind. I'm a doctor, the same way you're a pilot, and I could no more stop being a doctor than I could stop breathing. So how could I not understand?"

But you're still afraid.

She held him for another centon, struggling to subdue the inner demons she knew he could never conquer for her, as hard as he might try. Finally, she stepped back from the chair and pasted a calm smile on her face. "On your feet, fly-boy. Don't want to be late for your own party."

Starbuck stood swiftly and turned to catch Gem in his arms. For a moment, she stiffened and tried to pull away, afraid to relax her grip on her own emotions. Then the familiar warmth of his embrace softened her resistance, and she melted willingly against him. They stood, still and silent, fears temporarily forgotten in the comfort of holding each other.

Gem felt Starbuck take an unsteady breath and heard him whisper, "Love you...Gem."

She tightened her arms around him for a micron, then gently pushed away. "Let's get down to the flight deck before one of those snot-nosed cadets decides to take CORA out for a joyride."

Her voice was back to normal, full of the wry humor and unwavering strength Starbuck had come to depend on so completely. He fell into step beside her, chuckling.

"It's way past time you put those babies in their place. Time to show 'em how the big boys operate."

Don't you think I'm getting kind of old for that sort of thing?

"Yeah, right!" Gem snorted. "The great Lieutenant Starbuck! You're just dying to get out there and start showing off!"

I don't know. All those centars in a cockpit...my joints start aching, my bad back goes out...

Gem's laughter floated back up the corridor, as they stepped into the lift together and sank rapidly out of sight.

*** *** ***

The viper crouched at the end of the launch tube, a thing of power and grace and deadly intent. Her hull gleamed redly in the overhead light of the bay, throwing the freshly painted Blue Squadron emblem into stark relief. The normal activity of the flight deck, always frenetic before a launch, was magnified by the presence of nearly every off-duty pilot in the fleet and a good portion of the Bridge crew. Safety precautions required that unauthorized personnel stay behind a barricade and well away from the probe craft, but so many people had come to watch Starbuck's flight, that they spilled past the barrier and onto the main flight deck, causing more than one technician to mutter a sour curse, as he dodged an errant gawker.

Only muted sounds penetrated the closed canopy of the viper, allowing the pilot to ignore his large and exuberant audience. Starbuck had always enjoyed the spotlight and loved to play a crowd, but today, he felt strangely uncomfortable under all those eyes. It was with a soundless sigh of relief that he watched Jenny seal the cockpit, leaving all his well wishers on the outside.

Once safely strapped into the acceleration couch, his helmet firmly on his head and his right hand curved familiarly around the control stick, he felt much of his nervousness and doubt fade away. This was where he belonged, his first and forever home. And here, if nowhere else, he was completely in control.

A throaty, sultry, slightly petulant voice issued from the speaker on the instrument panel. "Well, lover? What are we waiting for?"

Starbuck opened his mouth to answer, then remembered that he didn't have to speak to CORA. He only had to think at her. His answer was inaudible, but the computer obviously heard him. She gave a wounded sniff and began to hum tunelessly. Starbuck grinned at the light display that he always thought of as her face.

Opening the commline, he hailed the Bridge.

"Core Command, this is Blue Leader. Probe craft prepared for launch." The voice that came from CORA's speaker, and carried over the comm to the Bridge, was distinctly feminine, with CORA's throaty timbre, but it spoke with Starbuck's inflections, cadence and modulations.

On the Bridge, Athena grinned over at Colonel Tigh. "Is that Starbuck or CORA?"

"Humph," CORA answered, the voice now unmistakably her own. "You don't think this space-happy stick jockey would let me handle a launch, do you? Even if I am much m..." She broke off abruptly, and everyone listening knew that Starbuck was calling her sharply to order.

When she spoke again, Starbuck was back in control. "Blue Leader requesting launch."

"Acknowledged. Blue Leader cleared for launch," Athena answered. "Switching launch control to probe craft."

"Blue Leader launching!"

In the next heartbeat, Starbuck's thumb hit the turbos. With a surge of noise and power, the tiny ship catapulted down the tube, gaining speed every micron. As they exploded out of the launch tube into open space, Starbuck felt an incredible rush of elation. The cold ache in his stomach, the nagging pain of loss was gone, swept away in the backwash of the roaring turbos.

Almost before he cleared the hull of the battlestar, the pilot pulled his viper into a smooth roll, for the pure joy of feeling the agile ship respond to his touch. Tears spilled down his cheeks, but he was laughing breathlessly at the same time. CORA's sensor told her that his life signs were haywire, and she began to beep in concern.

"Starbuck, honey, what's wrong? Are you ill? Should we land?"

No! His words reached her clearly, through her specialized receiver. I'm fine! I'm wonderful! CORA, we're flying!!

"Of course we're flying. Isn't that why we came up here?" She sounded thoroughly disgusted with his uncharacteristic emotional display. "But you'd better straighten up and fly right, or you'll make a spectacle of yourself in front of the entire squadron."

The squadron? Starbuck glanced at his scanner and was startled to see a whole array of ships arrowing up from the battlestar to join him. By his count, it was an entire squadron – or more.

Before he could open the commline to question the new arrivals, he heard Boomer's voice fill his cockpit. "Blue Squadron launched and in position!"

"Boomer! What's going on? Who's supposed to be my wingman?"

"You're talkin' to him. Sir," he added, as an afterthought.

"Don't call me 'sir'. We're the same rank!"

"You're in command of the squadron today, which makes you my commanding officer. So, where're we going, Sir?"

"What is this felgercarb? I'm supposed to test my communications link with one wingman, not lead a whole..."

"Hey, guys!" Boomer bellowed into his pick-up. "Can you hear 'im?"

"Yessir" "Yo" "Aye, aye, Lieutenant" the answers came back, all competing to be heard on the busy circuit.

"Guess it works," Boomer commented. "Think the Old Man'll give you your job back?"

"Why are you all out here?" Starbuck demanded.

"Because Apollo left it up to us to assign you a wingman, and we couldn't agree."

"What, nobody wanted to fly with me?"

"Nobody wanted to stay behind, Bucko."

Starbuck fell silent, as the sudden tears in his eyes blurred the scanner image of his squadron forming up behind him. After a long moment, he answered, softly, "Thanks, Boomer."

"What, now I get thanked for condoning a mutiny? C'mon, pal. Let's give those slackers on the Bridge a show."

Starbuck laughed and was about to respond, when Athena cut in on the circuit. "Blue Leader, this is Core Command!" The tension in her voice immediately silenced the pilots' chatter.

"Go ahead, Core Command."

"We have multiple targets just coming into scanner range. Can you confirm?"

Every pilot in the squadron immediately turned to his cockpit display, hunting for any sign of trouble. Questions flew from ship to ship, as the warriors speculated on this surprise development.

"Are they for real?" "Thought this was a test flight." "Have you got anything on your scope, Greenie?" "Maybe the Commander's playing some kind of joke!" "Five gets you ten it's a drill."

"Cut the chatter!" Starbuck ordered. "Fun's over, boys and girls; time to earn our keep. Core Command, this is Blue Leader. We confirm multiple targets, headed this way."

All the pilots could now see the ominous wall of blinking lights at the edge of their scanner screens. The tiny ships pulled into a tighter pattern and seemed to strain forward, eager for battle.

"They're cylons, all right!" Sheba called out.

Suddenly, Apollo's voice filled their cockpits. "Do what you can to hold them, Starbuck! We'll get you some help as fast as we can scramble the pilots."

"Help?" Starbuck laughed, bringing knowing grins to the faces of his wingmates. "This is Blue Squadron you're talkin' to! Who needs help?"

With that, he hit the turbos and sped toward the wall of cylons, his squadron in perfect position around him. In a matter of centons, the cylon raiders were no longer blips on a screen, but looming metal menaces, ablaze with laser fire.

"Assume battle positions!"

The squadron broke into pairs of wingmen and loosened their formation, preparing to attack. Starbuck waited till the deadly fire was streaking past his canopy, lighting up the velvet of space, then he switched to the combat channel and called out,

"Hey, Boom Boom! A bottle of ambrosia says I get more cylons than you do!"

"You're on, Bucko!"

The first of the cylon raiders swooped into range, weapons blazing. Starbuck let out an earsplitting howl of defiance and slammed his control stick forward in its mountings. The viper went into a screaming, twisting dive, headed directly for a cluster of enemy ships, and, with another bloodthirsty battle cry, Starbuck began blowing cylons out of the sky.

FINIS