Substitute
By Susan J. Paxton
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Prologue
“Precisely how did you obtain this?” Adama asked.
Starbuck shrugged. “Well, it was sitting on a console, so I sort of picked it up and shoved it in my flight
jacket.”
Adama turned the harmless-looking crystalline cylinder over and over in his fingers, gazing into its depths as
though searching for an omen. Then he handed it to Dr. Wilker, whose lab they were in. “Doctor?”
Wilker studied it briefly, then said, “This is a Cylon computer memory crystal. Its capacity is well over a
billion units.”
“Can you retrieve the data encoded on it?”
Wilker nodded. “The Cylons who were flying Baltar’s fighter used similar if smaller units in their brains. I went a
long way towards being able to interpret them. Unfortunately I was never able to come up with a way to reprogram them, which was my goal.”
“Let’s get to it, then,” said Adama. Wilker sat down at his lab computer terminal and inserted the memory
crystal into a receptacle. As he set to work, the commander turned to Starbuck and said, “And why, might I ask, Lieutenant, didn’t you inform us of this discovery immediately after you and Apollo returned from your mission, which was a full hectare ago?”
Starbuck confessed, “I forgot it.” Apollo, standing by, smiled.
Adama sighed. “I don’t doubt it.”
Dr. Wilker announced, “I believe I’m getting some access,” and the three Warriors looked at the screen before
him. Meaningless colors and shapes flashed across it, faster than the eye could follow. Wilker said, “The Cylons use a printed and spoken language, but this is the basis of their communication, and of their thoughts. It’s a form of machine code, very highly advanced. It isn’t easy to translate, but I have created a program designed to do precisely that.” He punched in some commands. The shapes and colors changed to rapidly mutating columns of numbers. “This looks like navigational data,” said Wilker. “Possibly their navigational log.” He skimmed on into new data. “This appears to have something to do with supplies… this is a record of how much computer time was being used by various departments on board the base ship. This is… no, wait a centon. What the…?” A form began to emerge on the screen.
“It looks almost human, like a human face,” Apollo observed.
“The associated text says that it’s a simulation, or a reconstruction… something like that, the exact meaning of
Cylon terms is often difficult to translate. The image appears to be clarifying,” he added.
The likeness came into full focus, and the four men watching stared in wonderment.
“It looks like…” Adama began.
“It is,” Apollo said; he, Wilker, and Adama turned to stare at Starbuck.
“How the frak are they doing that?” Starbuck asked, stunned to find a representation of himself stored in a Cylon
computer memory crystal.
“The process is simple, we can do it also,” said Wilker. “It’s simple to create a computer-generated likeness of a
person so accurate and lifelike that it can’t be readily distinguished from the living person. Ours are considerably better than this.”
“But how…?”
Patiently, Wilker explained. “They’re simply reconstructing your likeness from data they’ve obtained. After all, they did hold you in captivity for a brief time and probably obtained many images of you.”
“Yeah, but why?” Starbuck persisted.
“I don’t know. Let’s see if we can find out,” said Wilker, entering some new commands. The reconstruction wavered, almost disappeared until Wilker hurriedly brought it back, then abruptly began to speak, in Starbuck’s familiar voice.
“I was born in an agro city on Caprica which was destroyed in a Cylon attack in 7322,” the image said, sounding
rather bored. “I was admitted to the Caprican Academy as an officer candidate on 8/21/7335. I graduated 218th in my class on 8/13/7337 and was transferred to the Fighter Pilot School on Scorpia, where I graduated fourth in
my class. My first assignment was to the 17th Battlestar Viper Squadron, Red Squadron, Galactica. On 4/27/7342 I was transferred to…”
“Hold it right there, please,” Adama told Wilker. “He studied Starbuck for a centon and then inquired, “Exactly
what did you tell the Cylons when you were in their custody aboard Baltar’s baseship?”
Starbuck was worried. Revealing any data past name, rank, service code and date of birth could be cause for a
tribunal. “I didn’t tell them any of that! Just what I was required to, nothing else. You know I wouldn’t tell them
anything.”
“Commander, if I may,” Wilker interposed. “I’ve been trying to interpret the notes associated with this
simulation. They appear to indicate that this information was reconstructed from data obtained from prisoners of war. They Cylons undoubtedly have captured many people who either knew or knew of Lieutenant Starbuck.”
“True,” said Adama. “And I believe you, Starbuck.” The warrior relaxed slightly, relieved.
Apollo asked, “But what in Hades’ hole is the purpose of this… this thing?”
Wilker replied, “It’s possible that the Cylons were thinking of using an image of Starbuck to fool us somehow. I
wouldn’t be too surprised if they have many such images in storage, waiting to be used if a pilot comes up missing and cannot be confirmed dead. They could use such a simulacrum to lure us into a trap. Evidently the scientist-class Cylons on the basestar that Starbuck and Apollo boarded were working on the project.”
He pressed a control and the “Starbuck” on the screen began to talk again: “…was transferred to the 22nd Battlestar Viper Squadron, Purple Squadron, Atlantia, at which time I was promoted to Lieutenant Second Class. I was promoted to Lieutenant First Class in 7345. I was assigned to the 16th Battlestar Viper Squadron, Blue Squadron, Galactica, in 7346…”
Wilker cut it off again and commented, “A lot of that information was in the public record as well, which the Cylons could have obtained when they took our planets. Nothing mysterious or traitorous about it.”
“No,” Adama agreed. “But a useful warning. And a useful result from the mission. In addition to the primary
result,” he added, smiling at the two Warriors who had enabled the Galactica to destroy the basestar from which the memory crystal had come. “I think we’ll leave Dr. Wilker to continue decoding the memory crystal. If you discover any further information of interest, Doctor, I’ll expect a report.”
“Certainly, Commander.”
In due time, the incident was forgotten. A yahren passed.
*****
“The Cylons will never learn,” Commander Croft announced complacently, leaning back in his chair in the
officers’ club and polishing off his mug of ale in a gulp. “They keep putting these stupid supply outposts ahead of us, and we keep blowing them up. It’s almost no challenge anymore,” he complained, and the others gathered around the table laughed.
“We arrive, we blow the place to pogees, we leave,” Bojay agreed. “I mean, every now and then someone actually
scrapes their skin or something.”
“You’d think that the Cylons would put some warriors at these places to guard them,” Deitra said. “It’s almost a
crime to shoot those Cylon workers. They just stand there and let you do it.”
“Never thought I’d hear you complain about it being too easy to kill Cylons,” Boomer observed.
Captain Miriam, the head of combat flying training, asked, “So the mission was a rousing success?”
“Pushover time, Captain,” Croft replied breezily. “I have more trouble getting out of my bunk and into the
turbowash in the morning.”
“I don’t doubt it,” she commented wryly. “If that is true, then how did Starbuck get injured?”
The other Warriors exchanged looks and smiled, well aware of why she was asking. Bojay said, “Lieutenant Starbuck fell down a flight of stairs,” and everyone except Miriam laughed. She was unimpressed.
“Very funny, very amusing,” she said shortly. “How did it happen?”
“Well,” said Croft, “I sent him to look in this upper room, to make sure it was empty. Coming back, he must’ve
fallen down the stairs. Bojay found him lying there, out of it. Could’ve happened to anyone. He’s going to be okay. I mean, he’s got a little concussion, but he’ll make it. Of course we’ll never be able to tell if there was brain
damage,” he concluded cheerfully.
“Ha ha,” said Miriam. “I’m going to remember this, Commander.”
Croft relented. He liked her. She was steady, mature, and a damned fine warrior, unlike, in his opinion, too many of the other females aboard the ship.“Captain, I’m sorry I was cute about it. But he’s going to be fine, really. Even if he was acting funny as Hades on the way back,” he added.
“Funny?” she asked. “How do you mean?”
“Well, just…funny,” Croft replied with a shrug. “I can’t really describe it. He was sort of half-conscious, and he
was, well, telling jokes. His usual repertoire, you know, we’ve heard them a hundred times. It just struck me as a little wacko to be telling jokes in a delirium. Unique, though.”
Miriam sat back. “He’s always been that.” This produced another outburst of hilarity, much to her dismay. Evidently most of the Warriors had drunk just enough to make everything seem hilariously funny. Since she herself did not indulge she found the situation less than amusing, made her excuses, and left.
Croft pushed away from the table and followed her. He stopped her in the corridor with,“Captain, I really am
sorry.”
“No, it’s all right, Commander,” she replied. “I suppose people do find it diverting, my being involved with
someone with Starbuck’s reputation.”
“Not so much diverting as incomprehensible,” said Croft. “I wish I knew what the guy’s got.”
Miriam smiled. “Commander, you don’t have to worry.”
Croft’s grin did interesting things to the scar on his cheek. “It’s always nice to hear that from an attractive
woman like yourself, Captain. And if you ever get tired of the amazing Lieutenant Starbuck…”
“I’ll add your name to the list.”
“Look, why don’t you do gown to Life Center and see him? He’s probably fairly lucid by now, or at least as lucid
as he ever gets,” Croft couldn’t resist adding.
“I am not permitted,” Miriam said stiffly. “Cassiopeia has something of an advantage in this case.”
“It seems a little out of character for her to have you barred from Life Center.”
“Perhaps she’s trying exclusionary tactics.”
“As a tactician, I can tell her that never works,” observed Croft.
“Well, why don’t you do that?” Miriam suggested. “I’ll see you later, Commander.”
“I certainly hope so, Captain.”
*****
Miriam was working on the midterm progress reports of her latest batch of cadets the next evening when somebody buzzed at her door. “Enter,” she called, looking up as the door slid open. She hadn’t been expecting anybody in particular, but was less startled by the fact of being interrupted than by who was doing the interrupting.
“Captain,” Cassiopeia replied with a slight nod.
“Come in. Sit down.”
Cassiopeia stepped into the room and looked around, curious that such a senior officer as Miriam – she had been a squadron commander aboard the Columbia – would have such a hole-in-the-wall cabin, and on such an unfashionable deck. Her quarters consisted of single room containing a desk, two chairs, a bunk, a tiny closet, bookshelves, and an adjoining turboflush which was shared with the occupant of the cabin to the left.
“You aren’t impressed,” Miriam observed with a slight smile. “This was all that was available when I came
aboard. I could have had something fancier had I complained about it, but this has its advantages. Less to keep clean, for one thing. And it’s safe. We have Life Center above us, water tanks below us, and dry storage holds all around. Not much chance of one’s belongings getting vacuumed into space by the odd stray laser hit. Not that I have much in the way of belongings to get vacuumed, but…”
“I see your point,” said Cassiopeia, sitting down in the chair in front of Miriam’s desk. She was surprised to find Miriam so polite; Cassiopeia had never met her face-to-face and had managed to cultivate a definite aversion towards her. Miriam was not tall – she might have been slightly shorter than Cassiopeia herself – but she was good-looking in the aristocratic Sagittaran way. She was, Cassiopeia had heard, three or four yahrens older than Starbuck, and had been in the same class as Apollo at the Command Academy; rumor had it that she had graduated ahead of him. She was also reputed to be a hellishly good and vicious strike fighter pilot. Looking at her, Cassiopeia found that almost impossible to believe; she looked far too gentle.
“What can I do for you?” Miriam asked when Cassiopeia did not immediately speak.
Jolted out of her thoughts, Cassiopeia collected herself and said, “I need to talk to you. It’s about Starbuck.”
“I’d gathered as much. How is he?”
Cassiopeia hesitated a micron, then said, “That’s the problem.”
Miriam sat up straight, visibly concerned. “What’s wrong?”
“He had a concussion.”
“I’d heard that. What else?”
“He seems to have had some memory loss.”
“How bad?” Miriam asked apprehensively.
“It may be easier if I just show you. I’d like you to come to Life Center with me and see him.”
Miriam saved the material she had been working on, powered down her computer terminal, and rose, saying
efficiently, “Okay, let’s go.”
They didn’t speak on the way to Life Center. Once there, Cassiopeia ushered her back into the tangled warren of
laboratories, wards, operating rooms, and storage chambers to the cubicle where they had installed Lieutenant Starbuck.
Starbuck was sitting up in bed watching a triad game on the vidscreen on the opposite wall. Miriam’s initial
reaction was relief; he showed no visible sign of injury.
“Starbuck?” Cassiopeia asked.
He looked over, picked up the remote controller, and turned the vidscreen off; the game continued in eerie
silence. “Yeah?”
“I’ve brought someone to see you.”
Starbuck shifted his attention to Miriam. He looked her up and down incuriously, and she froze. “And who’s this?” he asked.
Cassiopeia spared a micron for a quick glance at Miriam; the expression on her face was eloquent. Cassiopeia
explained, “This is Captain Miriam. Head of combat flying training. From the Columbia. She’s Flight Officer Omega’s sister-in-law. You don’t know her?”
“I think I’ve heard of her,” Starbuck said cautiously. “Do I know you?”
Miriam clearly did not know how to respond. She shook her head slightly, then abruptly turned and left the
room.
Cassiopeia found her outside Life Center, leaning back against a corridor wall. The depth of her feelings was
painfully obvious, and Cassie couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. She sympathetically laid her hands on Miriam’s shoulders. Miriam inquired, evenly, but with obvious effort. “How much does he remember?”
“Almost nothing past Kobol, just a few things. He knows we met up with the Pegasus, doesn’t remember anything about Terra, knows something about the base ship he and Apollo boarded, a few other things. But nothing detailed. And, frankly, he doesn’t remember a whole lot before that. He remembers the highlights of his career, knows how to fly a Viper, how to write, spell, do mathematics, but his personal memories are either
fuzzy or blocked. In fact, some of them aren’t even correct.”
“Not correct? Such as?” Miriam asked, interested in spite of herself.
“He keeps saying that he and Apollo went to the Academy together, were in the same class. But that’s not true.”
“No, it isn’t,” said Miriam. “They met at the Academy, but Apollo was a junior instructor, not a student, although
you hear the other story a lot – I think it’s become sort of a fleet legend. How strange he should remember it that way. What do the life officers think?”
“They aren’t sure what to think,” Cassie admitted. “Both of them have seen traumatic amnesia before, but never
like this. And Dr. Paye doesn’t believe that there was enough damage to account for any amnesia, much less the amount he has.”
“So, what are they going to do?”
“Physically he’s fine. A few bruises, nothing more serious. They’re going to release him from Life Center in
a secton, and he’ll probably be on light, non-flying duties for some time.”
“Is there any chance that he’ll get his memories back?”
“Probably he will, eventually. But it may take a long time, and I thought you ought to know that.” She added, “I’m sorry.”
And she really was, Miriam saw. She had underestimated the med tech. “Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate it very much.”
Cassiopeia nodded and went back into Life Center.
*****
It was over two sectons before Miriam saw Starbuck again. She had poured herself more than usual into her work, trying to forget and sometimes almost half-succeeding. She did hear from time to time about him; that he had been allowed back on duty, though he was doing nothing more strenuous than filling out forms, that his amnesia was as bad as ever, that his behavior was generally considered strange. Even his best friends, Boomer and Apollo were said to hardly recognize him.
She was in the Officers’ Mess one evening having dinner with Omega when she saw Starbuck and Boomer enter the room. Starbuck was chattering away volubly, Boomer listening with a particular expression on his face, as though he could hardly believe what his friend was saying to him. Omega noticed her attention and said, “I talked to him yesterday. It was… it was like he wasn’t really there.”
“He isn’t,” Miriam replied sadly.
Starbuck and Boomer were standing just inside the door, Starbuck scanning the room. He noticed her and sauntered over, a watchful Boomer trailing behind.
“Hi,” said Starbuck off-handedly.
“Hello,” she replied cautiously, wondering if he was perhaps beginning to remember a few things.
Clearly he was not. “Look, everyone acts like I’m supposed to know you. When’d we meet?”
“About three or four sectons after Kobol. We were assigned to survey a freighter. Do you remember any of that?” she asked hopefully.
“No. I don’t remember much. Maybe it’ll come back to me, maybe not.” He sounded utterly unconcerned about it. “Look, just how well did I know you?”
“Very well,” she replied.
Starbuck smiled, but the smile was nothing like the smile she and his other friends had known – there was no
sardonic, self-mocking charm in it. In fact, there was nothing in his eyes at all, and apart from the smile his face was almost expressionless. “In that case…” he began, and continued on to make a very explicit sexual suggestion.
Miriam flushed, infuriated. She stood up and, inwardly surprised that she would ever do such a thing to anyone – it was too stereotypically female, but marginally preferable to using her sidearm – she slapped him. She hit him hard enough to snap his head back.
The quiet talk in the room cut off as though by a switch; everyone turned to gape at the weird scene. Starbuck was enraged, and he lunged for her. She stepped back hastily, nearly tripping over her chair, but Boomer grabbed Starbuck before he could reach her. In addition, Omega jumped up and pushed her aside.
“What was that, Lieutenant?” Omega snapped.
“This is between me and her, so you buzz off,” Starbuck told him. “Who do you guys think you are? Come on, Boomer, let me go,” he demanded, struggling to free himself and nearly succeeding. But Boomer was a strong man and tightened his grip.
Boomer said apologetically, “Captain, I’m sorry. I had a feeling he was going to try something like that, but I wasn’t sure.”
“What’s he been doing, molesting every woman aboard the ship?”
Boomer replied, “Trying to. I don’t think he can help it.”
“Perhaps not,” said Miriam, regarding with aversion the man she had loved. “I knew he had some problems, but
I never knew how bad they were.” She shook her head, then pushed her way out through the gathered on-lookers.
Omega looked after her, then told Starbuck in a quiet, dangerous voice, “You stay clear of me, Lieutenant. And
especially of her.”
“No problem, Omega,” Starbuck sneered. “You Scorpians make me sick anyway.”
Omega’s angry expression turned to a puzzled frown. “Scorpians? We’re Sagittaran.”
“Scorpian, Sagittaran, you still make me sick,” Starbuck maintained. “Think you’re better than the rest of us.”
“Maybe we are,” Omega replied dryly, and left.
“That,” Boomer said emphatically, “was uncalled for.”
“Oh, fasten it, Boomer, and quit droning at me. You get boring real quick, you know.”
*****
Miriam was in discussion with a group of her advanced cadets in the simulator room a few days later when
Cassiopeia appeared, took her arm, and drew her away from them. “Let’s compare notes.”
“On what?” Miriam asked.
“What else? Boomer told me he made a more or less indecent suggestion to you in the mess the other day.” Cassiopeia immediately regretted her choice of words and light tone; Miriam looked as if she was going to break down in front of her and the watching cadets. But she didn’t; her jaw firmed.
“Let’s discuss this elsewhere.” She led Cassie into the small control room adjoining the simulator.
“I’m sorry,”Miriam said emotionally. “All I’ve been doing lately is crying. It’s insanely out of character. But this is… just too much. I mean, it isn’t even… it’s not even like him. It’s like he’s… someone else.”
“My reaction precisely,” said Cassiopeia. “You’ll be interested to know that he’s been making similar indecent
suggestions to me for some time now.”
“I feel for you,” Miriam said sincerely.
“Mmm. I took him up on it.”
“You’re braver than I am.”
“Maybe. I was curious. Does that sound horrible?”
“Well, not really. I mean, it isn’t as if… um, what happened, or shouldn’t I ask?”
“That’s the interesting part…”
“Interesting?”
“Well, it was different,” said Cassiopeia. “He… well, he more or less didn’t know what to do…”
Miriam looked stunned. “Good grief.”
“He eventually figured it out, but… well, you know.”
“Amnesia is one thing, but how could you forget…”
“Exactly. I have a very nasty feeling about this.”
“So do I. I thought he was demented, but now I’m not even sure it’s him,” said Miriam.
“You think he’s… well, some sort of android or something?” Cassiopeia theorized.
“Surely the doctors would have noticed that right away. No, he can’t be an android. Maybe…maybe they wiped his brain and… put something in its place. Oh, no…” the full impact of that possibility sank in.
Cassiopeia reached out to steady her. “Come on, Captain, I can’t have you collapsing on me. It’d be out of
character, anyway. We need to do something about this. We have to go to the Commander.”
“He’s going to laugh at us,” said Miriam.
“Somehow I doubt he will.”
Adama listened to their story gravely. When they were finished, he said, “I agree with you. I’ve been watching
him, Apollo’s been telling me things, and the more I see and hear the less I think that what we got back is our Starbuck. Your information puts the cap on it.” He reached over and switched on his intercom. In a micron the face of Council Security officer Reese appeared on the vidscreen to the side of Adama’s desk.
“Security, Reese.”
“Officer, I want you to locate Lieutenant Starbuck, take him into custody, deliver him to Life Center, and
maintain continuous guard over him until further notice.”
Reese looked startled. “Yes, sir,” he said, and broke the connection.
Adama glared at the two women. “And now we will get to the bottom of this, one way or another.”
*****
“What exactly does the commander want us to do?” Dr. Salik asked Apollo.
“To identify him. I presume you can positively identify him?” Apollo asked.
“In his case it’s easy. Starbuck underwent extensive genetic tests at the time when that Chameleon person was
thought to be his father. All we have to do is compare the results from those tests to results from new tests. There is no more precise method of identification; you can’t alter a person’s genetic code.”
“Good. Do that,” Apollo said. “And once he’s identified, we’re going to sit him down and interrogate him. Very
thoroughly.” Apollo was disturbed by the affair, but it was not affecting his efficiency or military bearing in the
least.
It took just over a centare for the genetic tests to be administered and analyzed. Silently, Salik handed a printout
of the results to the waiting Apollo.
“Positive to the 99th percentile,” said Apollo, looking the sheet over. “So it is him.”
“Without a doubt,” confirmed Salik. “He still has some lingering aftereffects from the concussion, and he appears to have been under severe stress recently, but it is him.”
“Then we go to stage two,” decided Apollo.
Security guards escorted the sullen Starbuck down to the brig area of the battlestar, where he was placed in an
interrogation room which was fitted with a comprehensive array of sensors and recording equipment. Adama sat down with Omega in the adjoining control room and watched the vidscreen as Apollo, alone with his friend, began the interrogation.
“You know who I am?” Apollo asked Starbuck.
“That,”Starbuck said, lighting a fumarello, leaning back in his chair, and putting his feet up on the table, “is
a pretty stupid question, buddy.”
Apollo smiled thinly. “Maybe. So who are you?”
Starbuck sighed. “I am,” he said heavily, obviously bored, “Lieutenant First Class Starbuck, service number
099-2120-2/32. I don’t know my date of birth, but I was probably born in 7319 or 7320.”
“When did you attend the Academy?”
“From 7335 to 7337. I graduated 218th in a class of 400.”
“Who else was in your class?”
“Well, Boomer was. And you were.”
Apollo’s back had been to Starbuck for the last few microns; now he rounded upon him and said, “But that isn’t
true. I’m four yahrens older than you are, and I wasn’t in your class. I was an instructor; that’s how we met. You don’t remember?”
Starbuck was taken aback. “No… no, I don’t remember.”
Omega said to Adama, “Interesting, Commander. Look at the physical stress graph. It nearly went off the scale just then.”
“Is he lying?” Adama asked.
Omega studied the computer readouts, then he said, “No, he isn’t lying. He genuinely doesn’t know. But the
fact that what he thinks he knows has been proven wrong really bothers him.”
In the other room, Apollo was having Starbuck summarize his military career. “…then I was assigned to the 16th Battlestar Viper Squadron, Blue Squadron, Galactica, in 7346, and that’s been my assignment since. In 7349 I was awarded the Star Cluster which,” he commented complacently, “they do not give out for perfect attendance.
Most of it’s pretty fuzzy past that,” he admitted.
“Okay, we’ll skip the rest for now. Who’s your best friend? Other than me?”
“Well, Boomer, of course.”
“When’d you meet Boomer?”
“At the Academy.”
“Where’s he from?”
Starbuck opened his mouth to answer, hesitated, then finally admitted, “I don’t know.”
Omega said,“He doesn’t know where one of his best friends came from?”
“He has amnesia,” Adama pointed out.
“Commander, that’s the strangest case of amnesia I’ve ever seen. Amnesiacs usually fog out on everything. He
remembers the high points and forgets the detail. And then there’s the way he behaves…”
Apollo was asking, “Who’s your best female friend?”
Starbuck pasted on a self-satisfied smirk and asked, “Like, which ones?”
“The most important one, or ones.”
“Well, Cassiopeia. And Athena, sort of.”
Omega and Adama looked at one another. Starbuck and Athena hadn’t met on anything other than an accidental, casual basis for nearly a yahren.
“Athena?” Apollo asked, hardly able to keep the surprise out of his voice.
“Sure?”
“Who else?”
Starbuck smiled and stalled, “Well, I could give you a list, but you know how it is.”
“I’d like to hear it,” persisted Apollo.
“Uh… well, uh…”
“Let’s try it like this. I’ll give you some names, and you tell me if you know them. Lieutenant Noday? No? Flight
Officer Rachida? No? Aurora?”
“I’ve heard of her,” Starbuck said. “Something about before the Destruction. She’s dead, right?”
“Sort of,” Apollo sighed. “Captain Miriam?”
“Oh, that crazy female, yes. Sometimes… some of these people… I mean, you know these Scorpians.”
“She’s a Sagitarran.”
“Scorpian, Sagitarran, they’re all the same. Look, would you mind changing the subject?”
Apollo asked a few more questions, then brought in Boomer. Boomer was unable to rouse any memories in Starbuck at all, and he probably had spent more time with Starbuck than any other one person. Then Cassiopeia talked to him, with similar results. Then Athena, who was confounded to find him trying to cozy up to her, long after their relationship, such as it had been, was over. Finally there was Miriam, and he refused to talk to her at all.
Afterwards, Adama asked Omega what he thought.
“I don’t know, Commander, except that’s the weirdest performance I’ve ever seen. I don’t care what the life
officers say, that’s either not Starbuck or there’s something very seriously wrong with him.”
“Mindwipe?”
“That would have shown up on any normal brain scan. It has to be something else.”
Adama leaned back a bit and folded his arms. He stared at the now-blank vidscreen for a centon, then he said, “The way he acts reminds me of something.”
“What’s that, Commander?”
“Something I saw on a vidscreen once. Come with me,” he said, and the two men left the room.
“The Cylon computer memory crystal? Yes, it’s here somewhere,” said Wilker, casing about his lab in search. Adama and Omega watched in mild exasperation as the disorganized Wilker shuffled through drawers, rearranged shelves, and emptied some small boxes onto the lab table, sorting through their contents. “Oh, yes, here it is.” He picked it up from plain sight on top of his desk and blew some dust off of it.
“What do you want it for, sir?”
“That simulacrum of Starbuck that was on it. Did you ever determine what it was intended for?”
“Not exactly. According to the information encoded on it, it was a reconstruction of his personality based on
captured records and interviews with human prisoners who either had known him or known of him.”
“What kind of material was included in this reconstruction?”
“Oh, the highlights of his service career. Jokes and stories that he had evidently told to people. Some personal
details, very superficial and largely out-of-date. All of his worst personality traits very badly exaggerated. Evidently the Cylons never captured anyone who had known him all that well, so the simulation was less than life-like, which I presume is why they never used it on us. In fact, it was marked ‘for training,’ so I presume it was largely experimental.”
“Maybe they have used it on us,” Omega said quietly.
“Yes, but how?” Adama asked. “He’s clearly not an android. And how could they have affected his brain in the short time they had him out of sight of Croft and the others? Dr. Wilker, any theories?”
“You’re talking about Starbuck?” The two command officers nodded and Wilker considered. He said, “I’d heard he was behaving strangely, but I’d had no idea… Well, I’m obviously not a life officer or neurospecialist. However, I don’t see how they could have mindwiped him and inserted this construct personality at all, much less in only a few centons. The brain is incredibly complex; memories are stored in several locations, and redundantly, which makes mindwiping a very long, difficult process.”
“Commander,” said Omega, “maybe it doesn’t matter who he is or how he got the way he is. Maybe we should be trying to figure out why he’s here.”
“Indeed,” said Adama grimly. “This reminds me of Corporal Komma’s report that someone attempted to break into the main computer room last night. There have been other reports as well. Until we find out what’s going on, we’d better hold him in custody. I shouldn’t have allowed Apollo to release him after the interrogation.”
He activated Wilker’s intercom and ordered Security to find Starbuck and deliver him to the brig. They had
permission to stun him if necessary.
“Stranger and stranger,” Wilker commented. Adama only sighed wearily.
*****
Miriam was more depressed than before the interrogation, so rather than going to evening meal in the officers’
mess she sequestered herself in her quarters and tried to immerse herself in reports. Often that helped, but this time it did not. Memories of the way he had been before kept intruding – his smile, his affection, the warmth and vulnerability he carefully concealed beneath his casually unconcerned exterior. The contrast between that and the way he was now was an unbridgeable gulf.
Cassiopeia burst into the room without preamble. “Captain, this is terrible!”
“I would agree with that,” Miriam said, more to herself than to Cassiopeia.
“No, you haven’t heard… about a centare ago they put out an arrest warrant on Starbuck. The Commander wants to keep him in custody until he can figure out what’s going on.”
“And?”
“They’ve just found a Security guard shot, down in the Engineering levels. Dead,” Cassiopeia added. “They think
Starbuck did it. They’ve put out a new warrant – with permission to use deadly force if they have to.”
“Frak,” said Miriam, rising. “I’ve got to find him before they do. He may be insane, but he’s still Starbuck, and
I’m not going to let some maniac from Council Security murder him.”
“I don’t know what’s going on, but we can’t let them shoot him.”
“Not ‘we,’ Cassiopeia. You aren’t a warrior, and he may be violent. I may have to stun him.”
“I still want to come with you,” Cassiopeia insisted. “I’ll stay out of your way. I couldn’t hit the side of a
shuttle with a laser, but I can… well, help somehow, can’t I?”
“You’ll be more help by staying in Life Center and being ready in case anyone gets hurt,”said Miriam, picking up
her gunbelt from the back of her chair and putting it on. She drew her laser pistol to check its charge level and asked, “Did that Security guard get a shot off?”
“He fired a stun bolt, but he must have missed.”
“Obviously. And not too surprising,” she added rather unkindly. “Very well, off I go. And off you go, to Life Center.”
“To Life Center,” Cassiopeia agreed. “Keep in touch, Captain.”
“I’ll do that.”
“And good luck,” Cassie added.
Having seen Cassiopeia to Life Center, Miriam paused in the corridor outside to think, wondering where she
should being searching. She briefly thought of starting down in the Engineering levels, where the dead security guard had been found, and where there were thousands of places to hide, but undoubtedly Security had the same idea and was down there in full force. No, if Starbuck were indeed some kind of Cylon plant, he would be aboard for a purpose, and indeed she had heard rumors that a person or persons unknown had been trying to slip past the locks into security areas of late – the computer room, Navigation, Engineering Control, and
Communications.
And now that they were on to him, Starbuck would be racing to complete his mission, whatever it was, before they could catch him. Since it was closest, she decided to try the computer room first.
The main computer room was three decks up and forward, so she went up a lift and started down the central
corridor, walking rapidly but quietly, right hand down by her sidearm. The corridor was darkened, as it was the ship’s ‘night,’ and no one was about. The computer room was located on a side corridor; when she came to it she stopped and very slowly and cautiously peered around the corridor.
She had lucked out; down the corridor about fifteen metrons Starbuck was standing by the door to the computer
room, apparently doing something nefarious to the lock and alarm system. She eased her pistol silently out of its holster and with her thumb slid the setting lever from “safe” to “heavy stun,” then, gripping it in both hands, she stepped out into the corridor, raised it, sighted it, and shot him.
He turned around and looked at her, startled, then went for his own gun.
The stun bolt hadn’t affected him in the least, and she knew, in an instant of illumination, what had killed the
Security guard – the surprise that his reliable weapon hadn’t worked. He must’ve looked down to check its setting, but he didn’t have the time because Starbuck’s reactions were absolutely phenomenal. She didn’t have time either, either time to be startled or time to think; a pause to be surprised at what looked like weapon failure would kill her; if she hesitated to think about what she was about to do she never would have been able to do it.
She shoved the setting all the way down and, before he had turned all the way to bring his own pistol to bear, she
pulled the trigger.
The bolt struck him in the chest and knocked him flat. As he fell, his muscles convulsed in agonized protest; a
bolt fired into the ceiling, followed by a smell of scorched metal and insulation. Then he lay still.
She lowered her weapon, staring in disbelief. He was dead. She had killed him.
Komma and Omega, working in the computer room, heard someone scrabbling quietly outside the door. “Call
Security,” Omega whispered urgently to Komma, who quickly moved to do so. Omega looked around for a weapon of some kind, as neither he nor Komma customarily wore a sidearm. He picked up a thick instruction manual, went to stand by the door, and poised it over his head, intending to brain anyone who came through.
But before the door could be opened he heard a shot, then two more close together, followed by the unmistakable heavy thud of a body hitting the deck. An ominous silence ensued.
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Komma said shakily.
“Security coming?”
Komma nodded. “On their way.”
“You think we should open the door?”
“I wouldn’t.”
Omega was inclined to agree with him. But after a centon the oppressive silence without was disturbed by an odd noise, one he couldn’t quite identify. “What the…?”
“It almost sounds like… well, someone crying,” said Komma.
“I think we’d better open the door. Here, you hold the book, and if anyone comes through, blast ‘em with it.”
“Well, okay…” Komma said doubtfully.
Omega pressed the touchplate by the door, and it slid aside. He cautiously stepped out into the corridor.
Lieutenant Starbuck was lying almost at his feet, a gaping hole burnt into the front of his tunic. He was dead
– probably dead before he had hit the deck, judging from the appearance and location of the wound. Miriam was kneeling on the deck behind him, holding him in her arms, her cheek pressed against his hair, weeping. She said, not looking up, “I shot him. I had to shoot him. I killed him.”
A squad of Security guards came bustling energetically around the corner, carrying everything from laser pistols
to shock grenades to riot guns. Reese was at the front, toting a riot gun that he was clearly itching to use – the dead Security guard had been a particular friend of his. He and the others stopped short at the sight of the tableau before them. Reese handed his riot gun to Omega, knelt, and picked up Starbuck’s pistol.
“It’s been fired twice, both times on full power.” He glanced up at the hole in the deckhead. Then he picked up
Miriam’s pistol from where she had dropped it next to Starbuck’s body. “Fired twice, once on stun, once on kill. You missed too?” he asked, surprised.
“I hit him,” she managed to say, "but he didn’t react, and he was going to shoot me, and I had to…”
“It’s all right,” said Reese quietly. “He would have killed you just like he killed Sonid. Captain, it wasn’t
him.” He stood up and asked Omega, “What the frak happened here?”
“I think he was trying to override the alarm system on the door. He must not have known that Komma and I were working late.”
“Or maybe he just didn’t care,” Reese said. “Maybe once Paye and Salik get their hands on…that,” he nodded down at Starbuck’s corpse, “we’ll find out just who the Hades he was and what he was doing.”
*****
There was a polite tapping at the door; Miriam never moved from her chair, so Cassiopeia rose and went to the
door, deactivated the lock, and let Apollo in.
“How is she?” he asked. Cassiopeia only shook her head, so he asked, “How are you, Miriam?” She looked up at him incuriously. “What on Kobol does Cassiopeia have you on?” he inquired, noting the dilation of her pupils.
“I have no idea,” Miriam said vaguely. “Something she said would tranquilize a tornado. I feel horrible but I
can’t seem to do much about it…”
He could tell that they both had been crying, and he had no desire to ask what they had been talking about for
the past few centares. He said, “I have some news.”
“I suppose you’re referring to the autopsy results,” said Cassiopeia, sitting down again.
“Yes.” He looked around for a place to sit; finding none he perched on the edge of Miriam’s desk. “First off,
Miriam, what you shot was not our Lieutenant Starbuck.”
Had she not been tranquilized she might have reacted; as it was, she merely raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
Apollo couldn’t help smiling slightly. “Really and truly,” he assured her. “While he was genetically identical, he wasn’t the genuine article. Fortunately, Starbuck’s been beat up enough to have numerous traces of old injuries. Every one that he suffered before we found Kobol and he was captured by the Cylons was present; the ones
he’s suffered since weren’t. Starbuck said in his debriefing that they’d given him a medical examination and taken some tissue samples.”
“What you’re saying, then, is that this ‘Starbuck’ was a clone!” Apollo nodded at Cassie, and she continued. “But
that’s not possible. Surely you can’t grow a clone to look like a thirty-yahren old man in less than thirty yahrens, can you?”
“Evidently the Cylons have come up with a way to do just that,” said Apollo.
“Ravashol,” Miriam contributed vaguely.
Apollo had to agree. “I hadn’t thought of that, but that may be where they got their method. Anyway, the level
of stress toxins in his body was incredible, not surprising because they must have grown this ‘Starbuck’ to maturity in less than two yahrens.”
“But what about the real Starbuck?” Miriam asked. “Maybe they’ve killed him,” she added, sounding apprehensive even through the tranquilizer fog.
“Believe me, I’ve thought of that,” said Apollo. “But somehow I don’t think they would. After all, the primary
reason we suspected this clone was because of his behavior. Evidently the Cylons interviewed people who knew him and from the information formed a construct personality that they inculcated their clone with. But the people they interviewed didn’t really know him well. Superficially Starbuck can be a maniac at times, but there’s another person underneath and that person was missing. So I think there’s a good chance Starbuck is alive, and that the Cylons are going to try to use him, somehow, to create more realistic behavior in a new clone or clones.”
“How will we find him?” Cassiopeia asked.
“We’re going to start right back at the base where the clone was substituted for him.”
“Croft said it was leveled,” Miriam contributed.
“It was. But they went through it beforehand and didn’t discover anything out of the ordinary for a supply depot.
I have a feeling that when we go back we’ll discover extensive underground facilities.”
“I would like to be in on that…” said Miriam.
“You will be. You’re our secret weapon,” Apollo assured her.
“Secret weapon?” Cassiopeia asked.
The Captain nodded. “We know one thing for certain about these clones. Starbuck will recognize Miriam, and the clones won’t.”
“Unless he’s been forced to talk,” Cassiopeia said worriedly.
From his expression Cassiopeia could tell that that was a possibility that had been haunting Apollo for some
time. But he said determinedly, “We’ll worry about that if it happens. As it is, we’re leaving in the morning, so I suggest you get some kind of antidote for the Captain, Cassie – we can’t have her floating around the attack transport like a lost spirit.”
*****
It took two sectons for the attack transport – formerly Sire Uri’s yacht and the smallest ship in the fleet to
possess lightspeed drive – to reach the planetoid where the Cylon “supply base” had been. It was an airless rock of a world, only a few hundred maxims in diameter, forcing them to wear Ground Forces armored spacesuits as they disembarked at the site of the destroyed supply depot. The wreckage of the buildings had been scattered far and wide – some of it shot completely into orbit in the light gravity – by the demolition charges left by Croft and his team.
“Okay, let’s spread out,” Croft, in charge of the mission, said, and the Warriors, ten in all, moved out in a
prearranged search pattern, scanners operating.
It was Sergeant Haals who found the entrance to the underground installation after about a centare. It was
camouflaged by a boulder and was evident only because the hatch seal had been damaged or had worn, permitting an infinitesimal amount of gas to escape, invisible to the naked eye but easily detected by the scanner. His call brought the other team members to his side.
Croft sized up the rock. “You’ve scanned it?” he asked Haals.
“Yes, sir. If there’s an alarm system, the scanner didn’t pick it up.”
“There probably isn’t one. But if there is, we may have Cylons breathing down our necks in about a centon, so be
alert, people. Okay, Vickers, Haals, help me move this thing.”
In the light gravity of the small planet it was difficult for the three Warriors to apply enough force to move the
rock. Gradually it shifted aside on cleverly concealed tracks, revealing a hatch inset in the volcanic rock that formed the planet’s surface. Croft scanned it.
“Doesn’t seem to be an alarm on this either. Guess they weren’t too worried about unscheduled visitors,” Croft
commented, sounding slightly surprised. “Open it, Haals.” He drew his laser and aimed it at the hatch in readiness should something be waiting on the other side.
Haals knelt and pressed the unlocking stud. There was a pause, evidently for the airlock to decompress, and
then the hatch cover slid open, revealing steps leading down into a small chamber fitted only with an identical hatch, though mounted vertically rather than horizontally.
“They’re real alert,” said Vickers.
“Hey, I love the Cylons, don’t put ‘em down,” Croft returned. They followed him down into the airlock chamber,
weapons held ready. Once they were all inside Vickers closed the upper hatch, and the chamber automatically
repressurized.
“Normal pressure, breathable mix,” Cassiopeia reported, reading her scanner.
“Okay. Keep your helmets on until we get inside. Never leave your equipment inside an airlock. Open it, Haals,”
Croft ordered. He took a ready pose with his pistol aimed at the new hatch. Haals punched the control and the second hatch opened, revealing an empty corridor tunneled out of the solid rock and lit at intervals by bioluminescent glow tubes. The Warriors sallied cautiously out into the corridor. Croft removed his helmet; the others followed suit. Croft took his scanner, reset it, and examined the results. “This way, Vickers, you and Delos stay here and guard the way out. The rest of you, come with me.”
About twenty metrons down the corridor they found a door set into the rock. Croft checked his scanner,
shrugged, then stepped forward and threw open the door. It was a storage chamber, lined with shelves containing dozens of Colonial Warrior uniforms – boots, jackets, tunics, trousers, and G-suits.
“All these suits for a couple of clones?” Sergeant Voight wondered.
“Maybe it’s a sloppy clone,” Croft returned easily. “Starbuck messy, Captain?”
Miriam, intensely uncomfortable in her pressure suit and feeling almost jealous of those like Apollo who had
remained aboard the ship to guard it, replied, “Not usually.”
Croft smiled. Then he went back into the corridor and continued down it. After another ten or twenty metrons
they came to a crossing. The commander waved his scanner down the three branches. “To the right,” he decided. This corridor was lined with doors, each about fifteen metrons apart.
“Okay,” said Croft. “I can tell from the scanner that there’re people in some of these rooms, presumably our
clones. Captain, I want you and Cassiopeia and Voight to go back to that storage chamber and wait inside. What we’re going to do is bring the clones in one at a time and see how they react. Frak!” he exclaimed in surprise as a worker-class Cylon emerged from one of the rooms ahead.
It looked at them, and then it droned, “No allowed. You must go. You must go.”
Croft sighed, rolled his eyes heavenward, and shot it. It dropped to the tunnel floor with a clang and continued to repeat, “Not allowed… not allowed… not allowed…”until Croft shot it again.
“Silly things. Get going, Captain.”
After the two women and Sergeant Voight had disappeared around the corner, Croft said,“Okay, let’s see what we have here.” He went to the first of the doors, the others following, and opened it.
The room inside was a realistic replica of a bunkroom aboard a battlestar. And inside were at least thirty
replicas of Starbuck, playing pyramid, smoking, lolling about, watching the Starbuck simulacrum on the vidscreens, and talking. And talking and talking and talking. And talking. Loudly.
They found four more rooms just like it.
Miriam leaned back against a rack of uniforms. She was unused to wearing a spacesuit and was sweating
uncomfortably and itching in places impossible to reach, but her physical discomforts paled before the nightmarish parade unfolding before her. After shooting all of the Cylon worker class nursemaids, Croft and the others had lined up the noisily expostulating Starbucks outside the storage room and were bringing them in one at a time. Most of the Starbucks complained, some looked bored, others were singing old Colonial battle songs, but none of them recognized her, though most tried to put the make on Cassiopeia. The Starbucks were then stunned to keep them from going out and telling their fellows what was happening. The pile of unconscious Starbucks in the corner grew higher and higher, and Miriam kept wishing she’d wake up. Unfortunately, this nightmare was the real thing.
“Can I take a break?” Miriam complained to Croft.
“Come on, Captain, there’s only… let me see, forty-seven more,” the man replied.
Miriam sighed, “I really can’t take much more of this…”
“I know how she feels,” sighed Cassiopeia. “I’m beginning to hope I never see him again.”
“This is the most horrible thing I’ve ever been through,” agreed Miriam.
“Come on, this is the lady who bombed six Cylon cities?” Croft encouraged.
“I was younger then,” she claimed. “I also wasn’t wearing a full pressure suit! I hate these things.”
“Take it off,” Croft suggested brightly.
“Very funny,” Miriam replied with dignity. “Okay, bring in the next one.”
“Next please,” Croft called out the door, and Haals and Voight pushed the next Starbuck in.
“Hey, what the frak’s goin’ on? I thought you guys were on my side… hey, come on, hands off… you’re creasing my uniform… this is something else… come on, guys, let’s sit down and play pyramid, or do you want to hear a joke? Ever hear the one about Commander Cain and the Aquarian aquapriest?”
Croft groaned and shot it. “A hundred times. Next.”
“What the frak is this? Come one, guys, let me go… you guys play pyramid? You’re creasing my uniform… I’ve been trained to resist torture, y’know…”
Croft shot it. “Next.”
“Come on, guys, let me go, you’re creasing my uniform… Cassiopeia! Hey, how about you and me, now? I mean, it’s been like sectons…”
Croft shot it. “Next.”
“You don’t have to push. Come on, Voight, lay off, you’re creasing my uniform. Croft, tell these jerks to let me
go, I’ve played along with this long enough. Miriam, Cassiopeia, tell these snitrats I’m the real thing, will you?”
Croft smiled that sideways smile of his and holstered his pistol. “Very good, lieutenant. You just bought yourself a future. Scan him, Cassie.”
Starbuck sagged against the wall in relief. “I thought I’d better let you guys sort me out. Figured you’d be pretty
suspicious if I ran up and started to claim I was the real me. I was worried, though, I’ll tell you that.”
“We wouldn’t have shot you… too much,” Croft informed him cheerfully. “Careful, don’t step on your brothers down there,” he added as the real Starbuck almost trod on one of the unconscious clones sprawled on the floor.
“Brothers? These jerks? Croft, are you nuts? Look, I’ve spent nearly a hectare with these guys, and I thought I was gonna go crazy! All they want to do is play pyramid, play triad, and get laid – not necessarily in that order. I mean, as if I’m like that!”
Croft smiled widely, but said, “No comment. What happened to you?”
“Well, I went up the stairs like you told me to, and an IL class Cylon blasted me with a stunner, and that was
all she wrote. Didn’t know what was going on ‘til I woke up here. You should’ve seen my reaction when I saw that everyone in the frakkin’room looked like me – I thought I’d died and gone to Hades and my punishment was to be tormented by myself. It’s almost enough to make a guy religious, y’know?”
“This is him,” Cassiopeia reported, her scanning complete. “No doubt about it.”
“Hey, was there ever?” Starbuck asked cheerfully. “So now you know what I’ve been doing, namely hanging around this bunch of losers. How’s it been with you guys?”
“Oh, we had a fun few sectons,” said Croft. “You see, the Cylons substituted one of your clones for you. So we
had this clone of you wandering around the ship.”
Starbuck sighed. “I can imagine what that was like.”
“It was horrible,” interjected Miriam. “It was thoroughly obnoxious. Besides which it didn’t know me.”
“Which is how we told you were you,” said Croft. “You recognized her. The clones didn’t. Evidently the people
the Cylons got their information from hadn’t heard of her.”
“Aside the fact that it was a total jerk, what tipped you off?” Starbuck asked.
Cassiopeia and Miriam glanced at one another. “I’d rather not say,” Cassiopeia hedged.
“I don’t think I want to know. What happened to it?”
“I caught it trying to break into the computer room,” said Miriam.
“And?”
“It had been conditioned to resist stun beams,” said Croft.
“I shot it on stun and nothing happened. So I shot it again on full power. I killed it,”she admitted. “I thought it was you.”
“But it wasn’t,” Croft said. “And here you are, so let’s get you into a suit and get out of here.”
“What are you going to do about the clones?” Starbuck asked.
“We have a tactical nuclear device aboard the strike transport. We’re going to vaporize them. I trust you don’t
object,” Croft added dryly.
“Well, I suppose that depends on whether or not you can consider these things to have souls.”
“Starbuck, don’t be asinine,” snapped Croft. “Even if they do, we can hardly unleash a hundred some Starbucks
on an unsuspecting galaxy.”
“A truly horrific idea,” said Haals.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Cassiopeia began considerably. “We could take a few of them back with us…”
“Let’s go,” Croft said, “before we succumb to religious fervor, Starbuck, or lust, ladies.”
“Y’know,” Starbuck suggested, “I could use a couple of these guys myself. You know, to fly extended patrols, do
my paperwork…”
“Out,” Croft ordered. They went out into the corridor where the forty-odd remaining Starbucks were waiting, most of them having assumed bored postures lounging against the wall or sitting on the floor, all of them griping and grumbling about how bored they were.
“Bye, guys,” Starbuck addressed them cheerfully.
“Hey, where the frak are you going?” one demanded.
“Far, far away,” answered Starbuck.
The clones watched him go, then one muttered disconsolately, “And he’s got two female-types with him, too.”
Epilogue
The glass doors slid aside and the IL class Cylon glided into the presence of the Imperious Leader.
“By your command,” it addressed the Leader’s back.
The Leader turned his throne to face the obsequious IL. “Speak.”
“The humans have discovered the forward base and have destroyed it, as you predicted they would. They apparently did recover the genuine Lieutenant Starbuck.”
“Very good,” Imperious Leader said. “Was the data retrieved?”
“All data was retrieved, from the moment we captured him until the moment the base was destroyed by a nuclear weapon. Including a complete mind dump of the genuine Starbuck obtained while he was unconscious, medical scans, interaction of the real Starbuck with the clones, and finally interaction with his comrades when they found him.”
“Excellent,” said Imperious Leader. “The humans believe they have destroyed our little project. They are wrong, of course. They only destroyed the rejects and a few expendable workers.”
“An excellent tradeoff which cost us almost nothing,” the IL observed.
“Indeed. The original had problems,” Imperious Leader mused. “Even though we cloned many Starbucks in the
hope one would develop suitable behavior patterns, a truly authentic one never developed. It might still have worked, but unfortunately they found the clone before it could accomplish its mission. But with the information we now have, we can create a Starbuck that will be indistinguishable from the real one. And they will be unsuspecting, thinking they have destroyed our clone program.”
“It seems a very subtle plan,” the IL approved.
“Indeed. Mass forces continue to fail against the human survivors. Although force has always succeeded against
our enemies, with these humans we must try more indirect methods.”
“I am learning these things,” the IL said. “I am almost beginning to understand the humans, unpredictable as they are.”
“To destroy your enemy, you must first know him,” said Imperious Leader.
“By your command,” Lucifer replied, and glided back out of the chamber.
Epub files can be read on ereaders and computers using free software such as Calibre.
Prologue
“Precisely how did you obtain this?” Adama asked.
Starbuck shrugged. “Well, it was sitting on a console, so I sort of picked it up and shoved it in my flight
jacket.”
Adama turned the harmless-looking crystalline cylinder over and over in his fingers, gazing into its depths as
though searching for an omen. Then he handed it to Dr. Wilker, whose lab they were in. “Doctor?”
Wilker studied it briefly, then said, “This is a Cylon computer memory crystal. Its capacity is well over a
billion units.”
“Can you retrieve the data encoded on it?”
Wilker nodded. “The Cylons who were flying Baltar’s fighter used similar if smaller units in their brains. I went a
long way towards being able to interpret them. Unfortunately I was never able to come up with a way to reprogram them, which was my goal.”
“Let’s get to it, then,” said Adama. Wilker sat down at his lab computer terminal and inserted the memory
crystal into a receptacle. As he set to work, the commander turned to Starbuck and said, “And why, might I ask, Lieutenant, didn’t you inform us of this discovery immediately after you and Apollo returned from your mission, which was a full hectare ago?”
Starbuck confessed, “I forgot it.” Apollo, standing by, smiled.
Adama sighed. “I don’t doubt it.”
Dr. Wilker announced, “I believe I’m getting some access,” and the three Warriors looked at the screen before
him. Meaningless colors and shapes flashed across it, faster than the eye could follow. Wilker said, “The Cylons use a printed and spoken language, but this is the basis of their communication, and of their thoughts. It’s a form of machine code, very highly advanced. It isn’t easy to translate, but I have created a program designed to do precisely that.” He punched in some commands. The shapes and colors changed to rapidly mutating columns of numbers. “This looks like navigational data,” said Wilker. “Possibly their navigational log.” He skimmed on into new data. “This appears to have something to do with supplies… this is a record of how much computer time was being used by various departments on board the base ship. This is… no, wait a centon. What the…?” A form began to emerge on the screen.
“It looks almost human, like a human face,” Apollo observed.
“The associated text says that it’s a simulation, or a reconstruction… something like that, the exact meaning of
Cylon terms is often difficult to translate. The image appears to be clarifying,” he added.
The likeness came into full focus, and the four men watching stared in wonderment.
“It looks like…” Adama began.
“It is,” Apollo said; he, Wilker, and Adama turned to stare at Starbuck.
“How the frak are they doing that?” Starbuck asked, stunned to find a representation of himself stored in a Cylon
computer memory crystal.
“The process is simple, we can do it also,” said Wilker. “It’s simple to create a computer-generated likeness of a
person so accurate and lifelike that it can’t be readily distinguished from the living person. Ours are considerably better than this.”
“But how…?”
Patiently, Wilker explained. “They’re simply reconstructing your likeness from data they’ve obtained. After all, they did hold you in captivity for a brief time and probably obtained many images of you.”
“Yeah, but why?” Starbuck persisted.
“I don’t know. Let’s see if we can find out,” said Wilker, entering some new commands. The reconstruction wavered, almost disappeared until Wilker hurriedly brought it back, then abruptly began to speak, in Starbuck’s familiar voice.
“I was born in an agro city on Caprica which was destroyed in a Cylon attack in 7322,” the image said, sounding
rather bored. “I was admitted to the Caprican Academy as an officer candidate on 8/21/7335. I graduated 218th in my class on 8/13/7337 and was transferred to the Fighter Pilot School on Scorpia, where I graduated fourth in
my class. My first assignment was to the 17th Battlestar Viper Squadron, Red Squadron, Galactica. On 4/27/7342 I was transferred to…”
“Hold it right there, please,” Adama told Wilker. “He studied Starbuck for a centon and then inquired, “Exactly
what did you tell the Cylons when you were in their custody aboard Baltar’s baseship?”
Starbuck was worried. Revealing any data past name, rank, service code and date of birth could be cause for a
tribunal. “I didn’t tell them any of that! Just what I was required to, nothing else. You know I wouldn’t tell them
anything.”
“Commander, if I may,” Wilker interposed. “I’ve been trying to interpret the notes associated with this
simulation. They appear to indicate that this information was reconstructed from data obtained from prisoners of war. They Cylons undoubtedly have captured many people who either knew or knew of Lieutenant Starbuck.”
“True,” said Adama. “And I believe you, Starbuck.” The warrior relaxed slightly, relieved.
Apollo asked, “But what in Hades’ hole is the purpose of this… this thing?”
Wilker replied, “It’s possible that the Cylons were thinking of using an image of Starbuck to fool us somehow. I
wouldn’t be too surprised if they have many such images in storage, waiting to be used if a pilot comes up missing and cannot be confirmed dead. They could use such a simulacrum to lure us into a trap. Evidently the scientist-class Cylons on the basestar that Starbuck and Apollo boarded were working on the project.”
He pressed a control and the “Starbuck” on the screen began to talk again: “…was transferred to the 22nd Battlestar Viper Squadron, Purple Squadron, Atlantia, at which time I was promoted to Lieutenant Second Class. I was promoted to Lieutenant First Class in 7345. I was assigned to the 16th Battlestar Viper Squadron, Blue Squadron, Galactica, in 7346…”
Wilker cut it off again and commented, “A lot of that information was in the public record as well, which the Cylons could have obtained when they took our planets. Nothing mysterious or traitorous about it.”
“No,” Adama agreed. “But a useful warning. And a useful result from the mission. In addition to the primary
result,” he added, smiling at the two Warriors who had enabled the Galactica to destroy the basestar from which the memory crystal had come. “I think we’ll leave Dr. Wilker to continue decoding the memory crystal. If you discover any further information of interest, Doctor, I’ll expect a report.”
“Certainly, Commander.”
In due time, the incident was forgotten. A yahren passed.
*****
“The Cylons will never learn,” Commander Croft announced complacently, leaning back in his chair in the
officers’ club and polishing off his mug of ale in a gulp. “They keep putting these stupid supply outposts ahead of us, and we keep blowing them up. It’s almost no challenge anymore,” he complained, and the others gathered around the table laughed.
“We arrive, we blow the place to pogees, we leave,” Bojay agreed. “I mean, every now and then someone actually
scrapes their skin or something.”
“You’d think that the Cylons would put some warriors at these places to guard them,” Deitra said. “It’s almost a
crime to shoot those Cylon workers. They just stand there and let you do it.”
“Never thought I’d hear you complain about it being too easy to kill Cylons,” Boomer observed.
Captain Miriam, the head of combat flying training, asked, “So the mission was a rousing success?”
“Pushover time, Captain,” Croft replied breezily. “I have more trouble getting out of my bunk and into the
turbowash in the morning.”
“I don’t doubt it,” she commented wryly. “If that is true, then how did Starbuck get injured?”
The other Warriors exchanged looks and smiled, well aware of why she was asking. Bojay said, “Lieutenant Starbuck fell down a flight of stairs,” and everyone except Miriam laughed. She was unimpressed.
“Very funny, very amusing,” she said shortly. “How did it happen?”
“Well,” said Croft, “I sent him to look in this upper room, to make sure it was empty. Coming back, he must’ve
fallen down the stairs. Bojay found him lying there, out of it. Could’ve happened to anyone. He’s going to be okay. I mean, he’s got a little concussion, but he’ll make it. Of course we’ll never be able to tell if there was brain
damage,” he concluded cheerfully.
“Ha ha,” said Miriam. “I’m going to remember this, Commander.”
Croft relented. He liked her. She was steady, mature, and a damned fine warrior, unlike, in his opinion, too many of the other females aboard the ship.“Captain, I’m sorry I was cute about it. But he’s going to be fine, really. Even if he was acting funny as Hades on the way back,” he added.
“Funny?” she asked. “How do you mean?”
“Well, just…funny,” Croft replied with a shrug. “I can’t really describe it. He was sort of half-conscious, and he
was, well, telling jokes. His usual repertoire, you know, we’ve heard them a hundred times. It just struck me as a little wacko to be telling jokes in a delirium. Unique, though.”
Miriam sat back. “He’s always been that.” This produced another outburst of hilarity, much to her dismay. Evidently most of the Warriors had drunk just enough to make everything seem hilariously funny. Since she herself did not indulge she found the situation less than amusing, made her excuses, and left.
Croft pushed away from the table and followed her. He stopped her in the corridor with,“Captain, I really am
sorry.”
“No, it’s all right, Commander,” she replied. “I suppose people do find it diverting, my being involved with
someone with Starbuck’s reputation.”
“Not so much diverting as incomprehensible,” said Croft. “I wish I knew what the guy’s got.”
Miriam smiled. “Commander, you don’t have to worry.”
Croft’s grin did interesting things to the scar on his cheek. “It’s always nice to hear that from an attractive
woman like yourself, Captain. And if you ever get tired of the amazing Lieutenant Starbuck…”
“I’ll add your name to the list.”
“Look, why don’t you do gown to Life Center and see him? He’s probably fairly lucid by now, or at least as lucid
as he ever gets,” Croft couldn’t resist adding.
“I am not permitted,” Miriam said stiffly. “Cassiopeia has something of an advantage in this case.”
“It seems a little out of character for her to have you barred from Life Center.”
“Perhaps she’s trying exclusionary tactics.”
“As a tactician, I can tell her that never works,” observed Croft.
“Well, why don’t you do that?” Miriam suggested. “I’ll see you later, Commander.”
“I certainly hope so, Captain.”
*****
Miriam was working on the midterm progress reports of her latest batch of cadets the next evening when somebody buzzed at her door. “Enter,” she called, looking up as the door slid open. She hadn’t been expecting anybody in particular, but was less startled by the fact of being interrupted than by who was doing the interrupting.
“Captain,” Cassiopeia replied with a slight nod.
“Come in. Sit down.”
Cassiopeia stepped into the room and looked around, curious that such a senior officer as Miriam – she had been a squadron commander aboard the Columbia – would have such a hole-in-the-wall cabin, and on such an unfashionable deck. Her quarters consisted of single room containing a desk, two chairs, a bunk, a tiny closet, bookshelves, and an adjoining turboflush which was shared with the occupant of the cabin to the left.
“You aren’t impressed,” Miriam observed with a slight smile. “This was all that was available when I came
aboard. I could have had something fancier had I complained about it, but this has its advantages. Less to keep clean, for one thing. And it’s safe. We have Life Center above us, water tanks below us, and dry storage holds all around. Not much chance of one’s belongings getting vacuumed into space by the odd stray laser hit. Not that I have much in the way of belongings to get vacuumed, but…”
“I see your point,” said Cassiopeia, sitting down in the chair in front of Miriam’s desk. She was surprised to find Miriam so polite; Cassiopeia had never met her face-to-face and had managed to cultivate a definite aversion towards her. Miriam was not tall – she might have been slightly shorter than Cassiopeia herself – but she was good-looking in the aristocratic Sagittaran way. She was, Cassiopeia had heard, three or four yahrens older than Starbuck, and had been in the same class as Apollo at the Command Academy; rumor had it that she had graduated ahead of him. She was also reputed to be a hellishly good and vicious strike fighter pilot. Looking at her, Cassiopeia found that almost impossible to believe; she looked far too gentle.
“What can I do for you?” Miriam asked when Cassiopeia did not immediately speak.
Jolted out of her thoughts, Cassiopeia collected herself and said, “I need to talk to you. It’s about Starbuck.”
“I’d gathered as much. How is he?”
Cassiopeia hesitated a micron, then said, “That’s the problem.”
Miriam sat up straight, visibly concerned. “What’s wrong?”
“He had a concussion.”
“I’d heard that. What else?”
“He seems to have had some memory loss.”
“How bad?” Miriam asked apprehensively.
“It may be easier if I just show you. I’d like you to come to Life Center with me and see him.”
Miriam saved the material she had been working on, powered down her computer terminal, and rose, saying
efficiently, “Okay, let’s go.”
They didn’t speak on the way to Life Center. Once there, Cassiopeia ushered her back into the tangled warren of
laboratories, wards, operating rooms, and storage chambers to the cubicle where they had installed Lieutenant Starbuck.
Starbuck was sitting up in bed watching a triad game on the vidscreen on the opposite wall. Miriam’s initial
reaction was relief; he showed no visible sign of injury.
“Starbuck?” Cassiopeia asked.
He looked over, picked up the remote controller, and turned the vidscreen off; the game continued in eerie
silence. “Yeah?”
“I’ve brought someone to see you.”
Starbuck shifted his attention to Miriam. He looked her up and down incuriously, and she froze. “And who’s this?” he asked.
Cassiopeia spared a micron for a quick glance at Miriam; the expression on her face was eloquent. Cassiopeia
explained, “This is Captain Miriam. Head of combat flying training. From the Columbia. She’s Flight Officer Omega’s sister-in-law. You don’t know her?”
“I think I’ve heard of her,” Starbuck said cautiously. “Do I know you?”
Miriam clearly did not know how to respond. She shook her head slightly, then abruptly turned and left the
room.
Cassiopeia found her outside Life Center, leaning back against a corridor wall. The depth of her feelings was
painfully obvious, and Cassie couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. She sympathetically laid her hands on Miriam’s shoulders. Miriam inquired, evenly, but with obvious effort. “How much does he remember?”
“Almost nothing past Kobol, just a few things. He knows we met up with the Pegasus, doesn’t remember anything about Terra, knows something about the base ship he and Apollo boarded, a few other things. But nothing detailed. And, frankly, he doesn’t remember a whole lot before that. He remembers the highlights of his career, knows how to fly a Viper, how to write, spell, do mathematics, but his personal memories are either
fuzzy or blocked. In fact, some of them aren’t even correct.”
“Not correct? Such as?” Miriam asked, interested in spite of herself.
“He keeps saying that he and Apollo went to the Academy together, were in the same class. But that’s not true.”
“No, it isn’t,” said Miriam. “They met at the Academy, but Apollo was a junior instructor, not a student, although
you hear the other story a lot – I think it’s become sort of a fleet legend. How strange he should remember it that way. What do the life officers think?”
“They aren’t sure what to think,” Cassie admitted. “Both of them have seen traumatic amnesia before, but never
like this. And Dr. Paye doesn’t believe that there was enough damage to account for any amnesia, much less the amount he has.”
“So, what are they going to do?”
“Physically he’s fine. A few bruises, nothing more serious. They’re going to release him from Life Center in
a secton, and he’ll probably be on light, non-flying duties for some time.”
“Is there any chance that he’ll get his memories back?”
“Probably he will, eventually. But it may take a long time, and I thought you ought to know that.” She added, “I’m sorry.”
And she really was, Miriam saw. She had underestimated the med tech. “Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate it very much.”
Cassiopeia nodded and went back into Life Center.
*****
It was over two sectons before Miriam saw Starbuck again. She had poured herself more than usual into her work, trying to forget and sometimes almost half-succeeding. She did hear from time to time about him; that he had been allowed back on duty, though he was doing nothing more strenuous than filling out forms, that his amnesia was as bad as ever, that his behavior was generally considered strange. Even his best friends, Boomer and Apollo were said to hardly recognize him.
She was in the Officers’ Mess one evening having dinner with Omega when she saw Starbuck and Boomer enter the room. Starbuck was chattering away volubly, Boomer listening with a particular expression on his face, as though he could hardly believe what his friend was saying to him. Omega noticed her attention and said, “I talked to him yesterday. It was… it was like he wasn’t really there.”
“He isn’t,” Miriam replied sadly.
Starbuck and Boomer were standing just inside the door, Starbuck scanning the room. He noticed her and sauntered over, a watchful Boomer trailing behind.
“Hi,” said Starbuck off-handedly.
“Hello,” she replied cautiously, wondering if he was perhaps beginning to remember a few things.
Clearly he was not. “Look, everyone acts like I’m supposed to know you. When’d we meet?”
“About three or four sectons after Kobol. We were assigned to survey a freighter. Do you remember any of that?” she asked hopefully.
“No. I don’t remember much. Maybe it’ll come back to me, maybe not.” He sounded utterly unconcerned about it. “Look, just how well did I know you?”
“Very well,” she replied.
Starbuck smiled, but the smile was nothing like the smile she and his other friends had known – there was no
sardonic, self-mocking charm in it. In fact, there was nothing in his eyes at all, and apart from the smile his face was almost expressionless. “In that case…” he began, and continued on to make a very explicit sexual suggestion.
Miriam flushed, infuriated. She stood up and, inwardly surprised that she would ever do such a thing to anyone – it was too stereotypically female, but marginally preferable to using her sidearm – she slapped him. She hit him hard enough to snap his head back.
The quiet talk in the room cut off as though by a switch; everyone turned to gape at the weird scene. Starbuck was enraged, and he lunged for her. She stepped back hastily, nearly tripping over her chair, but Boomer grabbed Starbuck before he could reach her. In addition, Omega jumped up and pushed her aside.
“What was that, Lieutenant?” Omega snapped.
“This is between me and her, so you buzz off,” Starbuck told him. “Who do you guys think you are? Come on, Boomer, let me go,” he demanded, struggling to free himself and nearly succeeding. But Boomer was a strong man and tightened his grip.
Boomer said apologetically, “Captain, I’m sorry. I had a feeling he was going to try something like that, but I wasn’t sure.”
“What’s he been doing, molesting every woman aboard the ship?”
Boomer replied, “Trying to. I don’t think he can help it.”
“Perhaps not,” said Miriam, regarding with aversion the man she had loved. “I knew he had some problems, but
I never knew how bad they were.” She shook her head, then pushed her way out through the gathered on-lookers.
Omega looked after her, then told Starbuck in a quiet, dangerous voice, “You stay clear of me, Lieutenant. And
especially of her.”
“No problem, Omega,” Starbuck sneered. “You Scorpians make me sick anyway.”
Omega’s angry expression turned to a puzzled frown. “Scorpians? We’re Sagittaran.”
“Scorpian, Sagittaran, you still make me sick,” Starbuck maintained. “Think you’re better than the rest of us.”
“Maybe we are,” Omega replied dryly, and left.
“That,” Boomer said emphatically, “was uncalled for.”
“Oh, fasten it, Boomer, and quit droning at me. You get boring real quick, you know.”
*****
Miriam was in discussion with a group of her advanced cadets in the simulator room a few days later when
Cassiopeia appeared, took her arm, and drew her away from them. “Let’s compare notes.”
“On what?” Miriam asked.
“What else? Boomer told me he made a more or less indecent suggestion to you in the mess the other day.” Cassiopeia immediately regretted her choice of words and light tone; Miriam looked as if she was going to break down in front of her and the watching cadets. But she didn’t; her jaw firmed.
“Let’s discuss this elsewhere.” She led Cassie into the small control room adjoining the simulator.
“I’m sorry,”Miriam said emotionally. “All I’ve been doing lately is crying. It’s insanely out of character. But this is… just too much. I mean, it isn’t even… it’s not even like him. It’s like he’s… someone else.”
“My reaction precisely,” said Cassiopeia. “You’ll be interested to know that he’s been making similar indecent
suggestions to me for some time now.”
“I feel for you,” Miriam said sincerely.
“Mmm. I took him up on it.”
“You’re braver than I am.”
“Maybe. I was curious. Does that sound horrible?”
“Well, not really. I mean, it isn’t as if… um, what happened, or shouldn’t I ask?”
“That’s the interesting part…”
“Interesting?”
“Well, it was different,” said Cassiopeia. “He… well, he more or less didn’t know what to do…”
Miriam looked stunned. “Good grief.”
“He eventually figured it out, but… well, you know.”
“Amnesia is one thing, but how could you forget…”
“Exactly. I have a very nasty feeling about this.”
“So do I. I thought he was demented, but now I’m not even sure it’s him,” said Miriam.
“You think he’s… well, some sort of android or something?” Cassiopeia theorized.
“Surely the doctors would have noticed that right away. No, he can’t be an android. Maybe…maybe they wiped his brain and… put something in its place. Oh, no…” the full impact of that possibility sank in.
Cassiopeia reached out to steady her. “Come on, Captain, I can’t have you collapsing on me. It’d be out of
character, anyway. We need to do something about this. We have to go to the Commander.”
“He’s going to laugh at us,” said Miriam.
“Somehow I doubt he will.”
Adama listened to their story gravely. When they were finished, he said, “I agree with you. I’ve been watching
him, Apollo’s been telling me things, and the more I see and hear the less I think that what we got back is our Starbuck. Your information puts the cap on it.” He reached over and switched on his intercom. In a micron the face of Council Security officer Reese appeared on the vidscreen to the side of Adama’s desk.
“Security, Reese.”
“Officer, I want you to locate Lieutenant Starbuck, take him into custody, deliver him to Life Center, and
maintain continuous guard over him until further notice.”
Reese looked startled. “Yes, sir,” he said, and broke the connection.
Adama glared at the two women. “And now we will get to the bottom of this, one way or another.”
*****
“What exactly does the commander want us to do?” Dr. Salik asked Apollo.
“To identify him. I presume you can positively identify him?” Apollo asked.
“In his case it’s easy. Starbuck underwent extensive genetic tests at the time when that Chameleon person was
thought to be his father. All we have to do is compare the results from those tests to results from new tests. There is no more precise method of identification; you can’t alter a person’s genetic code.”
“Good. Do that,” Apollo said. “And once he’s identified, we’re going to sit him down and interrogate him. Very
thoroughly.” Apollo was disturbed by the affair, but it was not affecting his efficiency or military bearing in the
least.
It took just over a centare for the genetic tests to be administered and analyzed. Silently, Salik handed a printout
of the results to the waiting Apollo.
“Positive to the 99th percentile,” said Apollo, looking the sheet over. “So it is him.”
“Without a doubt,” confirmed Salik. “He still has some lingering aftereffects from the concussion, and he appears to have been under severe stress recently, but it is him.”
“Then we go to stage two,” decided Apollo.
Security guards escorted the sullen Starbuck down to the brig area of the battlestar, where he was placed in an
interrogation room which was fitted with a comprehensive array of sensors and recording equipment. Adama sat down with Omega in the adjoining control room and watched the vidscreen as Apollo, alone with his friend, began the interrogation.
“You know who I am?” Apollo asked Starbuck.
“That,”Starbuck said, lighting a fumarello, leaning back in his chair, and putting his feet up on the table, “is
a pretty stupid question, buddy.”
Apollo smiled thinly. “Maybe. So who are you?”
Starbuck sighed. “I am,” he said heavily, obviously bored, “Lieutenant First Class Starbuck, service number
099-2120-2/32. I don’t know my date of birth, but I was probably born in 7319 or 7320.”
“When did you attend the Academy?”
“From 7335 to 7337. I graduated 218th in a class of 400.”
“Who else was in your class?”
“Well, Boomer was. And you were.”
Apollo’s back had been to Starbuck for the last few microns; now he rounded upon him and said, “But that isn’t
true. I’m four yahrens older than you are, and I wasn’t in your class. I was an instructor; that’s how we met. You don’t remember?”
Starbuck was taken aback. “No… no, I don’t remember.”
Omega said to Adama, “Interesting, Commander. Look at the physical stress graph. It nearly went off the scale just then.”
“Is he lying?” Adama asked.
Omega studied the computer readouts, then he said, “No, he isn’t lying. He genuinely doesn’t know. But the
fact that what he thinks he knows has been proven wrong really bothers him.”
In the other room, Apollo was having Starbuck summarize his military career. “…then I was assigned to the 16th Battlestar Viper Squadron, Blue Squadron, Galactica, in 7346, and that’s been my assignment since. In 7349 I was awarded the Star Cluster which,” he commented complacently, “they do not give out for perfect attendance.
Most of it’s pretty fuzzy past that,” he admitted.
“Okay, we’ll skip the rest for now. Who’s your best friend? Other than me?”
“Well, Boomer, of course.”
“When’d you meet Boomer?”
“At the Academy.”
“Where’s he from?”
Starbuck opened his mouth to answer, hesitated, then finally admitted, “I don’t know.”
Omega said,“He doesn’t know where one of his best friends came from?”
“He has amnesia,” Adama pointed out.
“Commander, that’s the strangest case of amnesia I’ve ever seen. Amnesiacs usually fog out on everything. He
remembers the high points and forgets the detail. And then there’s the way he behaves…”
Apollo was asking, “Who’s your best female friend?”
Starbuck pasted on a self-satisfied smirk and asked, “Like, which ones?”
“The most important one, or ones.”
“Well, Cassiopeia. And Athena, sort of.”
Omega and Adama looked at one another. Starbuck and Athena hadn’t met on anything other than an accidental, casual basis for nearly a yahren.
“Athena?” Apollo asked, hardly able to keep the surprise out of his voice.
“Sure?”
“Who else?”
Starbuck smiled and stalled, “Well, I could give you a list, but you know how it is.”
“I’d like to hear it,” persisted Apollo.
“Uh… well, uh…”
“Let’s try it like this. I’ll give you some names, and you tell me if you know them. Lieutenant Noday? No? Flight
Officer Rachida? No? Aurora?”
“I’ve heard of her,” Starbuck said. “Something about before the Destruction. She’s dead, right?”
“Sort of,” Apollo sighed. “Captain Miriam?”
“Oh, that crazy female, yes. Sometimes… some of these people… I mean, you know these Scorpians.”
“She’s a Sagitarran.”
“Scorpian, Sagitarran, they’re all the same. Look, would you mind changing the subject?”
Apollo asked a few more questions, then brought in Boomer. Boomer was unable to rouse any memories in Starbuck at all, and he probably had spent more time with Starbuck than any other one person. Then Cassiopeia talked to him, with similar results. Then Athena, who was confounded to find him trying to cozy up to her, long after their relationship, such as it had been, was over. Finally there was Miriam, and he refused to talk to her at all.
Afterwards, Adama asked Omega what he thought.
“I don’t know, Commander, except that’s the weirdest performance I’ve ever seen. I don’t care what the life
officers say, that’s either not Starbuck or there’s something very seriously wrong with him.”
“Mindwipe?”
“That would have shown up on any normal brain scan. It has to be something else.”
Adama leaned back a bit and folded his arms. He stared at the now-blank vidscreen for a centon, then he said, “The way he acts reminds me of something.”
“What’s that, Commander?”
“Something I saw on a vidscreen once. Come with me,” he said, and the two men left the room.
“The Cylon computer memory crystal? Yes, it’s here somewhere,” said Wilker, casing about his lab in search. Adama and Omega watched in mild exasperation as the disorganized Wilker shuffled through drawers, rearranged shelves, and emptied some small boxes onto the lab table, sorting through their contents. “Oh, yes, here it is.” He picked it up from plain sight on top of his desk and blew some dust off of it.
“What do you want it for, sir?”
“That simulacrum of Starbuck that was on it. Did you ever determine what it was intended for?”
“Not exactly. According to the information encoded on it, it was a reconstruction of his personality based on
captured records and interviews with human prisoners who either had known him or known of him.”
“What kind of material was included in this reconstruction?”
“Oh, the highlights of his service career. Jokes and stories that he had evidently told to people. Some personal
details, very superficial and largely out-of-date. All of his worst personality traits very badly exaggerated. Evidently the Cylons never captured anyone who had known him all that well, so the simulation was less than life-like, which I presume is why they never used it on us. In fact, it was marked ‘for training,’ so I presume it was largely experimental.”
“Maybe they have used it on us,” Omega said quietly.
“Yes, but how?” Adama asked. “He’s clearly not an android. And how could they have affected his brain in the short time they had him out of sight of Croft and the others? Dr. Wilker, any theories?”
“You’re talking about Starbuck?” The two command officers nodded and Wilker considered. He said, “I’d heard he was behaving strangely, but I’d had no idea… Well, I’m obviously not a life officer or neurospecialist. However, I don’t see how they could have mindwiped him and inserted this construct personality at all, much less in only a few centons. The brain is incredibly complex; memories are stored in several locations, and redundantly, which makes mindwiping a very long, difficult process.”
“Commander,” said Omega, “maybe it doesn’t matter who he is or how he got the way he is. Maybe we should be trying to figure out why he’s here.”
“Indeed,” said Adama grimly. “This reminds me of Corporal Komma’s report that someone attempted to break into the main computer room last night. There have been other reports as well. Until we find out what’s going on, we’d better hold him in custody. I shouldn’t have allowed Apollo to release him after the interrogation.”
He activated Wilker’s intercom and ordered Security to find Starbuck and deliver him to the brig. They had
permission to stun him if necessary.
“Stranger and stranger,” Wilker commented. Adama only sighed wearily.
*****
Miriam was more depressed than before the interrogation, so rather than going to evening meal in the officers’
mess she sequestered herself in her quarters and tried to immerse herself in reports. Often that helped, but this time it did not. Memories of the way he had been before kept intruding – his smile, his affection, the warmth and vulnerability he carefully concealed beneath his casually unconcerned exterior. The contrast between that and the way he was now was an unbridgeable gulf.
Cassiopeia burst into the room without preamble. “Captain, this is terrible!”
“I would agree with that,” Miriam said, more to herself than to Cassiopeia.
“No, you haven’t heard… about a centare ago they put out an arrest warrant on Starbuck. The Commander wants to keep him in custody until he can figure out what’s going on.”
“And?”
“They’ve just found a Security guard shot, down in the Engineering levels. Dead,” Cassiopeia added. “They think
Starbuck did it. They’ve put out a new warrant – with permission to use deadly force if they have to.”
“Frak,” said Miriam, rising. “I’ve got to find him before they do. He may be insane, but he’s still Starbuck, and
I’m not going to let some maniac from Council Security murder him.”
“I don’t know what’s going on, but we can’t let them shoot him.”
“Not ‘we,’ Cassiopeia. You aren’t a warrior, and he may be violent. I may have to stun him.”
“I still want to come with you,” Cassiopeia insisted. “I’ll stay out of your way. I couldn’t hit the side of a
shuttle with a laser, but I can… well, help somehow, can’t I?”
“You’ll be more help by staying in Life Center and being ready in case anyone gets hurt,”said Miriam, picking up
her gunbelt from the back of her chair and putting it on. She drew her laser pistol to check its charge level and asked, “Did that Security guard get a shot off?”
“He fired a stun bolt, but he must have missed.”
“Obviously. And not too surprising,” she added rather unkindly. “Very well, off I go. And off you go, to Life Center.”
“To Life Center,” Cassiopeia agreed. “Keep in touch, Captain.”
“I’ll do that.”
“And good luck,” Cassie added.
Having seen Cassiopeia to Life Center, Miriam paused in the corridor outside to think, wondering where she
should being searching. She briefly thought of starting down in the Engineering levels, where the dead security guard had been found, and where there were thousands of places to hide, but undoubtedly Security had the same idea and was down there in full force. No, if Starbuck were indeed some kind of Cylon plant, he would be aboard for a purpose, and indeed she had heard rumors that a person or persons unknown had been trying to slip past the locks into security areas of late – the computer room, Navigation, Engineering Control, and
Communications.
And now that they were on to him, Starbuck would be racing to complete his mission, whatever it was, before they could catch him. Since it was closest, she decided to try the computer room first.
The main computer room was three decks up and forward, so she went up a lift and started down the central
corridor, walking rapidly but quietly, right hand down by her sidearm. The corridor was darkened, as it was the ship’s ‘night,’ and no one was about. The computer room was located on a side corridor; when she came to it she stopped and very slowly and cautiously peered around the corridor.
She had lucked out; down the corridor about fifteen metrons Starbuck was standing by the door to the computer
room, apparently doing something nefarious to the lock and alarm system. She eased her pistol silently out of its holster and with her thumb slid the setting lever from “safe” to “heavy stun,” then, gripping it in both hands, she stepped out into the corridor, raised it, sighted it, and shot him.
He turned around and looked at her, startled, then went for his own gun.
The stun bolt hadn’t affected him in the least, and she knew, in an instant of illumination, what had killed the
Security guard – the surprise that his reliable weapon hadn’t worked. He must’ve looked down to check its setting, but he didn’t have the time because Starbuck’s reactions were absolutely phenomenal. She didn’t have time either, either time to be startled or time to think; a pause to be surprised at what looked like weapon failure would kill her; if she hesitated to think about what she was about to do she never would have been able to do it.
She shoved the setting all the way down and, before he had turned all the way to bring his own pistol to bear, she
pulled the trigger.
The bolt struck him in the chest and knocked him flat. As he fell, his muscles convulsed in agonized protest; a
bolt fired into the ceiling, followed by a smell of scorched metal and insulation. Then he lay still.
She lowered her weapon, staring in disbelief. He was dead. She had killed him.
Komma and Omega, working in the computer room, heard someone scrabbling quietly outside the door. “Call
Security,” Omega whispered urgently to Komma, who quickly moved to do so. Omega looked around for a weapon of some kind, as neither he nor Komma customarily wore a sidearm. He picked up a thick instruction manual, went to stand by the door, and poised it over his head, intending to brain anyone who came through.
But before the door could be opened he heard a shot, then two more close together, followed by the unmistakable heavy thud of a body hitting the deck. An ominous silence ensued.
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Komma said shakily.
“Security coming?”
Komma nodded. “On their way.”
“You think we should open the door?”
“I wouldn’t.”
Omega was inclined to agree with him. But after a centon the oppressive silence without was disturbed by an odd noise, one he couldn’t quite identify. “What the…?”
“It almost sounds like… well, someone crying,” said Komma.
“I think we’d better open the door. Here, you hold the book, and if anyone comes through, blast ‘em with it.”
“Well, okay…” Komma said doubtfully.
Omega pressed the touchplate by the door, and it slid aside. He cautiously stepped out into the corridor.
Lieutenant Starbuck was lying almost at his feet, a gaping hole burnt into the front of his tunic. He was dead
– probably dead before he had hit the deck, judging from the appearance and location of the wound. Miriam was kneeling on the deck behind him, holding him in her arms, her cheek pressed against his hair, weeping. She said, not looking up, “I shot him. I had to shoot him. I killed him.”
A squad of Security guards came bustling energetically around the corner, carrying everything from laser pistols
to shock grenades to riot guns. Reese was at the front, toting a riot gun that he was clearly itching to use – the dead Security guard had been a particular friend of his. He and the others stopped short at the sight of the tableau before them. Reese handed his riot gun to Omega, knelt, and picked up Starbuck’s pistol.
“It’s been fired twice, both times on full power.” He glanced up at the hole in the deckhead. Then he picked up
Miriam’s pistol from where she had dropped it next to Starbuck’s body. “Fired twice, once on stun, once on kill. You missed too?” he asked, surprised.
“I hit him,” she managed to say, "but he didn’t react, and he was going to shoot me, and I had to…”
“It’s all right,” said Reese quietly. “He would have killed you just like he killed Sonid. Captain, it wasn’t
him.” He stood up and asked Omega, “What the frak happened here?”
“I think he was trying to override the alarm system on the door. He must not have known that Komma and I were working late.”
“Or maybe he just didn’t care,” Reese said. “Maybe once Paye and Salik get their hands on…that,” he nodded down at Starbuck’s corpse, “we’ll find out just who the Hades he was and what he was doing.”
*****
There was a polite tapping at the door; Miriam never moved from her chair, so Cassiopeia rose and went to the
door, deactivated the lock, and let Apollo in.
“How is she?” he asked. Cassiopeia only shook her head, so he asked, “How are you, Miriam?” She looked up at him incuriously. “What on Kobol does Cassiopeia have you on?” he inquired, noting the dilation of her pupils.
“I have no idea,” Miriam said vaguely. “Something she said would tranquilize a tornado. I feel horrible but I
can’t seem to do much about it…”
He could tell that they both had been crying, and he had no desire to ask what they had been talking about for
the past few centares. He said, “I have some news.”
“I suppose you’re referring to the autopsy results,” said Cassiopeia, sitting down again.
“Yes.” He looked around for a place to sit; finding none he perched on the edge of Miriam’s desk. “First off,
Miriam, what you shot was not our Lieutenant Starbuck.”
Had she not been tranquilized she might have reacted; as it was, she merely raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
Apollo couldn’t help smiling slightly. “Really and truly,” he assured her. “While he was genetically identical, he wasn’t the genuine article. Fortunately, Starbuck’s been beat up enough to have numerous traces of old injuries. Every one that he suffered before we found Kobol and he was captured by the Cylons was present; the ones
he’s suffered since weren’t. Starbuck said in his debriefing that they’d given him a medical examination and taken some tissue samples.”
“What you’re saying, then, is that this ‘Starbuck’ was a clone!” Apollo nodded at Cassie, and she continued. “But
that’s not possible. Surely you can’t grow a clone to look like a thirty-yahren old man in less than thirty yahrens, can you?”
“Evidently the Cylons have come up with a way to do just that,” said Apollo.
“Ravashol,” Miriam contributed vaguely.
Apollo had to agree. “I hadn’t thought of that, but that may be where they got their method. Anyway, the level
of stress toxins in his body was incredible, not surprising because they must have grown this ‘Starbuck’ to maturity in less than two yahrens.”
“But what about the real Starbuck?” Miriam asked. “Maybe they’ve killed him,” she added, sounding apprehensive even through the tranquilizer fog.
“Believe me, I’ve thought of that,” said Apollo. “But somehow I don’t think they would. After all, the primary
reason we suspected this clone was because of his behavior. Evidently the Cylons interviewed people who knew him and from the information formed a construct personality that they inculcated their clone with. But the people they interviewed didn’t really know him well. Superficially Starbuck can be a maniac at times, but there’s another person underneath and that person was missing. So I think there’s a good chance Starbuck is alive, and that the Cylons are going to try to use him, somehow, to create more realistic behavior in a new clone or clones.”
“How will we find him?” Cassiopeia asked.
“We’re going to start right back at the base where the clone was substituted for him.”
“Croft said it was leveled,” Miriam contributed.
“It was. But they went through it beforehand and didn’t discover anything out of the ordinary for a supply depot.
I have a feeling that when we go back we’ll discover extensive underground facilities.”
“I would like to be in on that…” said Miriam.
“You will be. You’re our secret weapon,” Apollo assured her.
“Secret weapon?” Cassiopeia asked.
The Captain nodded. “We know one thing for certain about these clones. Starbuck will recognize Miriam, and the clones won’t.”
“Unless he’s been forced to talk,” Cassiopeia said worriedly.
From his expression Cassiopeia could tell that that was a possibility that had been haunting Apollo for some
time. But he said determinedly, “We’ll worry about that if it happens. As it is, we’re leaving in the morning, so I suggest you get some kind of antidote for the Captain, Cassie – we can’t have her floating around the attack transport like a lost spirit.”
*****
It took two sectons for the attack transport – formerly Sire Uri’s yacht and the smallest ship in the fleet to
possess lightspeed drive – to reach the planetoid where the Cylon “supply base” had been. It was an airless rock of a world, only a few hundred maxims in diameter, forcing them to wear Ground Forces armored spacesuits as they disembarked at the site of the destroyed supply depot. The wreckage of the buildings had been scattered far and wide – some of it shot completely into orbit in the light gravity – by the demolition charges left by Croft and his team.
“Okay, let’s spread out,” Croft, in charge of the mission, said, and the Warriors, ten in all, moved out in a
prearranged search pattern, scanners operating.
It was Sergeant Haals who found the entrance to the underground installation after about a centare. It was
camouflaged by a boulder and was evident only because the hatch seal had been damaged or had worn, permitting an infinitesimal amount of gas to escape, invisible to the naked eye but easily detected by the scanner. His call brought the other team members to his side.
Croft sized up the rock. “You’ve scanned it?” he asked Haals.
“Yes, sir. If there’s an alarm system, the scanner didn’t pick it up.”
“There probably isn’t one. But if there is, we may have Cylons breathing down our necks in about a centon, so be
alert, people. Okay, Vickers, Haals, help me move this thing.”
In the light gravity of the small planet it was difficult for the three Warriors to apply enough force to move the
rock. Gradually it shifted aside on cleverly concealed tracks, revealing a hatch inset in the volcanic rock that formed the planet’s surface. Croft scanned it.
“Doesn’t seem to be an alarm on this either. Guess they weren’t too worried about unscheduled visitors,” Croft
commented, sounding slightly surprised. “Open it, Haals.” He drew his laser and aimed it at the hatch in readiness should something be waiting on the other side.
Haals knelt and pressed the unlocking stud. There was a pause, evidently for the airlock to decompress, and
then the hatch cover slid open, revealing steps leading down into a small chamber fitted only with an identical hatch, though mounted vertically rather than horizontally.
“They’re real alert,” said Vickers.
“Hey, I love the Cylons, don’t put ‘em down,” Croft returned. They followed him down into the airlock chamber,
weapons held ready. Once they were all inside Vickers closed the upper hatch, and the chamber automatically
repressurized.
“Normal pressure, breathable mix,” Cassiopeia reported, reading her scanner.
“Okay. Keep your helmets on until we get inside. Never leave your equipment inside an airlock. Open it, Haals,”
Croft ordered. He took a ready pose with his pistol aimed at the new hatch. Haals punched the control and the second hatch opened, revealing an empty corridor tunneled out of the solid rock and lit at intervals by bioluminescent glow tubes. The Warriors sallied cautiously out into the corridor. Croft removed his helmet; the others followed suit. Croft took his scanner, reset it, and examined the results. “This way, Vickers, you and Delos stay here and guard the way out. The rest of you, come with me.”
About twenty metrons down the corridor they found a door set into the rock. Croft checked his scanner,
shrugged, then stepped forward and threw open the door. It was a storage chamber, lined with shelves containing dozens of Colonial Warrior uniforms – boots, jackets, tunics, trousers, and G-suits.
“All these suits for a couple of clones?” Sergeant Voight wondered.
“Maybe it’s a sloppy clone,” Croft returned easily. “Starbuck messy, Captain?”
Miriam, intensely uncomfortable in her pressure suit and feeling almost jealous of those like Apollo who had
remained aboard the ship to guard it, replied, “Not usually.”
Croft smiled. Then he went back into the corridor and continued down it. After another ten or twenty metrons
they came to a crossing. The commander waved his scanner down the three branches. “To the right,” he decided. This corridor was lined with doors, each about fifteen metrons apart.
“Okay,” said Croft. “I can tell from the scanner that there’re people in some of these rooms, presumably our
clones. Captain, I want you and Cassiopeia and Voight to go back to that storage chamber and wait inside. What we’re going to do is bring the clones in one at a time and see how they react. Frak!” he exclaimed in surprise as a worker-class Cylon emerged from one of the rooms ahead.
It looked at them, and then it droned, “No allowed. You must go. You must go.”
Croft sighed, rolled his eyes heavenward, and shot it. It dropped to the tunnel floor with a clang and continued to repeat, “Not allowed… not allowed… not allowed…”until Croft shot it again.
“Silly things. Get going, Captain.”
After the two women and Sergeant Voight had disappeared around the corner, Croft said,“Okay, let’s see what we have here.” He went to the first of the doors, the others following, and opened it.
The room inside was a realistic replica of a bunkroom aboard a battlestar. And inside were at least thirty
replicas of Starbuck, playing pyramid, smoking, lolling about, watching the Starbuck simulacrum on the vidscreens, and talking. And talking and talking and talking. And talking. Loudly.
They found four more rooms just like it.
Miriam leaned back against a rack of uniforms. She was unused to wearing a spacesuit and was sweating
uncomfortably and itching in places impossible to reach, but her physical discomforts paled before the nightmarish parade unfolding before her. After shooting all of the Cylon worker class nursemaids, Croft and the others had lined up the noisily expostulating Starbucks outside the storage room and were bringing them in one at a time. Most of the Starbucks complained, some looked bored, others were singing old Colonial battle songs, but none of them recognized her, though most tried to put the make on Cassiopeia. The Starbucks were then stunned to keep them from going out and telling their fellows what was happening. The pile of unconscious Starbucks in the corner grew higher and higher, and Miriam kept wishing she’d wake up. Unfortunately, this nightmare was the real thing.
“Can I take a break?” Miriam complained to Croft.
“Come on, Captain, there’s only… let me see, forty-seven more,” the man replied.
Miriam sighed, “I really can’t take much more of this…”
“I know how she feels,” sighed Cassiopeia. “I’m beginning to hope I never see him again.”
“This is the most horrible thing I’ve ever been through,” agreed Miriam.
“Come on, this is the lady who bombed six Cylon cities?” Croft encouraged.
“I was younger then,” she claimed. “I also wasn’t wearing a full pressure suit! I hate these things.”
“Take it off,” Croft suggested brightly.
“Very funny,” Miriam replied with dignity. “Okay, bring in the next one.”
“Next please,” Croft called out the door, and Haals and Voight pushed the next Starbuck in.
“Hey, what the frak’s goin’ on? I thought you guys were on my side… hey, come on, hands off… you’re creasing my uniform… this is something else… come on, guys, let’s sit down and play pyramid, or do you want to hear a joke? Ever hear the one about Commander Cain and the Aquarian aquapriest?”
Croft groaned and shot it. “A hundred times. Next.”
“What the frak is this? Come one, guys, let me go… you guys play pyramid? You’re creasing my uniform… I’ve been trained to resist torture, y’know…”
Croft shot it. “Next.”
“Come on, guys, let me go, you’re creasing my uniform… Cassiopeia! Hey, how about you and me, now? I mean, it’s been like sectons…”
Croft shot it. “Next.”
“You don’t have to push. Come on, Voight, lay off, you’re creasing my uniform. Croft, tell these jerks to let me
go, I’ve played along with this long enough. Miriam, Cassiopeia, tell these snitrats I’m the real thing, will you?”
Croft smiled that sideways smile of his and holstered his pistol. “Very good, lieutenant. You just bought yourself a future. Scan him, Cassie.”
Starbuck sagged against the wall in relief. “I thought I’d better let you guys sort me out. Figured you’d be pretty
suspicious if I ran up and started to claim I was the real me. I was worried, though, I’ll tell you that.”
“We wouldn’t have shot you… too much,” Croft informed him cheerfully. “Careful, don’t step on your brothers down there,” he added as the real Starbuck almost trod on one of the unconscious clones sprawled on the floor.
“Brothers? These jerks? Croft, are you nuts? Look, I’ve spent nearly a hectare with these guys, and I thought I was gonna go crazy! All they want to do is play pyramid, play triad, and get laid – not necessarily in that order. I mean, as if I’m like that!”
Croft smiled widely, but said, “No comment. What happened to you?”
“Well, I went up the stairs like you told me to, and an IL class Cylon blasted me with a stunner, and that was
all she wrote. Didn’t know what was going on ‘til I woke up here. You should’ve seen my reaction when I saw that everyone in the frakkin’room looked like me – I thought I’d died and gone to Hades and my punishment was to be tormented by myself. It’s almost enough to make a guy religious, y’know?”
“This is him,” Cassiopeia reported, her scanning complete. “No doubt about it.”
“Hey, was there ever?” Starbuck asked cheerfully. “So now you know what I’ve been doing, namely hanging around this bunch of losers. How’s it been with you guys?”
“Oh, we had a fun few sectons,” said Croft. “You see, the Cylons substituted one of your clones for you. So we
had this clone of you wandering around the ship.”
Starbuck sighed. “I can imagine what that was like.”
“It was horrible,” interjected Miriam. “It was thoroughly obnoxious. Besides which it didn’t know me.”
“Which is how we told you were you,” said Croft. “You recognized her. The clones didn’t. Evidently the people
the Cylons got their information from hadn’t heard of her.”
“Aside the fact that it was a total jerk, what tipped you off?” Starbuck asked.
Cassiopeia and Miriam glanced at one another. “I’d rather not say,” Cassiopeia hedged.
“I don’t think I want to know. What happened to it?”
“I caught it trying to break into the computer room,” said Miriam.
“And?”
“It had been conditioned to resist stun beams,” said Croft.
“I shot it on stun and nothing happened. So I shot it again on full power. I killed it,”she admitted. “I thought it was you.”
“But it wasn’t,” Croft said. “And here you are, so let’s get you into a suit and get out of here.”
“What are you going to do about the clones?” Starbuck asked.
“We have a tactical nuclear device aboard the strike transport. We’re going to vaporize them. I trust you don’t
object,” Croft added dryly.
“Well, I suppose that depends on whether or not you can consider these things to have souls.”
“Starbuck, don’t be asinine,” snapped Croft. “Even if they do, we can hardly unleash a hundred some Starbucks
on an unsuspecting galaxy.”
“A truly horrific idea,” said Haals.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Cassiopeia began considerably. “We could take a few of them back with us…”
“Let’s go,” Croft said, “before we succumb to religious fervor, Starbuck, or lust, ladies.”
“Y’know,” Starbuck suggested, “I could use a couple of these guys myself. You know, to fly extended patrols, do
my paperwork…”
“Out,” Croft ordered. They went out into the corridor where the forty-odd remaining Starbucks were waiting, most of them having assumed bored postures lounging against the wall or sitting on the floor, all of them griping and grumbling about how bored they were.
“Bye, guys,” Starbuck addressed them cheerfully.
“Hey, where the frak are you going?” one demanded.
“Far, far away,” answered Starbuck.
The clones watched him go, then one muttered disconsolately, “And he’s got two female-types with him, too.”
Epilogue
The glass doors slid aside and the IL class Cylon glided into the presence of the Imperious Leader.
“By your command,” it addressed the Leader’s back.
The Leader turned his throne to face the obsequious IL. “Speak.”
“The humans have discovered the forward base and have destroyed it, as you predicted they would. They apparently did recover the genuine Lieutenant Starbuck.”
“Very good,” Imperious Leader said. “Was the data retrieved?”
“All data was retrieved, from the moment we captured him until the moment the base was destroyed by a nuclear weapon. Including a complete mind dump of the genuine Starbuck obtained while he was unconscious, medical scans, interaction of the real Starbuck with the clones, and finally interaction with his comrades when they found him.”
“Excellent,” said Imperious Leader. “The humans believe they have destroyed our little project. They are wrong, of course. They only destroyed the rejects and a few expendable workers.”
“An excellent tradeoff which cost us almost nothing,” the IL observed.
“Indeed. The original had problems,” Imperious Leader mused. “Even though we cloned many Starbucks in the
hope one would develop suitable behavior patterns, a truly authentic one never developed. It might still have worked, but unfortunately they found the clone before it could accomplish its mission. But with the information we now have, we can create a Starbuck that will be indistinguishable from the real one. And they will be unsuspecting, thinking they have destroyed our clone program.”
“It seems a very subtle plan,” the IL approved.
“Indeed. Mass forces continue to fail against the human survivors. Although force has always succeeded against
our enemies, with these humans we must try more indirect methods.”
“I am learning these things,” the IL said. “I am almost beginning to understand the humans, unpredictable as they are.”
“To destroy your enemy, you must first know him,” said Imperious Leader.
“By your command,” Lucifer replied, and glided back out of the chamber.