Battlestar Red A Red Dwarf-Battlestar Galactica Crossover By Michele Martin and Lizbeth Marcs Authors' Note and Non-Standard Disclaimer... The following is an amateur fiction story written simply for the hell of it and for the authors' own amusement. This exercise in blowing off steam, avoiding work and totally wasting our time is not meant to impinge on any copyrights or trademarks held by anyone even remotely connected to Battlestar Galactica or Red Dwarf. In other words, buy the official stuff and don't take our word for it that any of the following is even close to either shows' bibles, not that either one of them are very big on staying true to their own universes anyway. Read, enjoy and if you still can keep down your food after perusing the following, you may pass it around and upload it anywhere you wish, provided you let the authors' know about it and send us lots of chocolate as a bribe. Praise and flames may be sent to Michele Martin or Lizbeth Marcs . You have been warned. Opening Prologue... There are those who believe that...This is an S.O.S. distress call from the mining ship Red Dwarf...life here...The crew are dead...began out there...killed by a radiation leak...far across the universe...The only survivors are...with tribes of humans who may have been the forefathers of the Egyptians...Dave Lister...or the Toltecs...who was in suspended animation during the disaster...or the Mayans...and his pregnant cat, who was safely sealed in the hold...Some believe...Revived three million years later...that even now...Lister's only companions...the brothers of man...are a life- form evolved from his cat and...fight to survive...Arnold Rimmer, a hologram simulation of one of the dead crew...somewhere beyond the heavens...Message ends.... Holly's Message Addendum: The Boyz decided to pass on the calimari I prepared using the limpet minds since none of them have a taste for Suicide Squid. Things have been quiet as of late, which usually means there is big trouble ahead. All I can say is that I thank Silicon Heaven that I still have my blue blanky to soothe away my worries. Now if only someone thought to give me a thumb... Entry into the Adama Journal: I must be getting more paranoid as we penetrate deeper into unexplored space. For the past secton, I have been getting the eerie feeling that something is about to break. It isn't that things have been going too well. Not at all. The usual routine problems have been happening and have been dealt with, so it is not a sense that this is the calm before the storm. I remember as a child my father took me to the plains region of Caprica on one of his rare leave of absences from the military. As we stood on the edge of what looked, to my young eyes, to be a vast, flat grassy wasteland, the hair on the back of my arms stood up and I felt the overwhelming urge to run in a blind search for shelter. The sky suddenly grew dark as night and hail the size of small stones rained down. Before my father and I had a chance to flee, a funnel-shaped cloud was seen in the distance. It seemed to be but a few yards away, but I was surprised to discover later that it had been a mile away, at the very least. The vast emptiness, the utter flatness of the topography had fooled my senses into thinking the danger was more than what it really was. As quickly as the funnel flashed into existence, it was gone, leaving an impressive amount of damage in its wake. I learned a very important lesson that day. Never trust your eyes. And never believe a danger is too small when you live in its destructive path. I never forgot the physical sensation I had moments before the twister struck, even though I had never felt it since, at least until today... Of Toast and Men... "I SAID NO SMEGGING TOAST!" Kryten looked up at the disturbing sound of Lister gone completely spare only to see Talkie Toaster heading right for the middle of his forehead at an impressive velocity. It was the last thing he saw for a few minutes. When his circuitry rerouted itself around the damaged bits, his eyes snapped open to a view of Lister's socks sticking to the ceiling and the Toaster resting on his chest. "How-doodly-doodly-do!" Talkie chirped. "I don't suppose _you_ want toast." Before Kryten could respond, something on the order of, "If you _ever_ offer me anything vaguely bready again, I'll feed you to the trash compactor," Lister swatted the Toaster over to a far corner where it landed under the swamp of his laundry. "Kryten! Are you all right, man?" "I'm fine, sir," Kryten responded, snapping himself into an upright sitting position. "Well, you don't look fine." "Sir?" "You have a dent about the size of a small cannonball in your forehead," Lister said apologetically. "Don't worry about it, sir. I'll just panel-beat my head back into shape. No trouble at all." "Well, that's what you get for fixing that berserkoid kitchen appliance," Rimmer sneered from his bunk. "What were you thinking, Kryten?" Kryten was about to respond, but the presence of Lister in the room stopped him from reminding the hologram about the surprise party they had planned for a certain human. Besides, Talkie's irritating voice pretty much had everyone's attention. "Well, you don't have to be so rude." Talkie's voice was muffled. It took the edge off the chirp. Slightly. "If you don't want toast, why don't you just say so?" "I don't want toast," Kryten announced. "Oh. Okay," the Toaster said agreeably. "Want a croissant? How about a muffin?" "For once, Goal Post Head is right," Cat muttered. "What were you thinking?" "How about a waffle?" Lister lunged for his clothes, intent on punting the Toaster out of an airlock _after_ he smashed it into a million teeny tiny bits using his steel-tipped boots. His plans for aerobic exercise were fortuitously interrupted by Holly. "I hate to break up your party, but I have a purply- yellowy swirly thing on my scanners." "Sure it isn't Lister's breakfast?" Rimmer asked. "Last time you announced we were faced by swirly things..." "Just a mo'. Let me check." Holly's face disappeared from the screen momentarily before reappearing. "I looked out another window. Yup. It's definitely out there and we're heading right for it." "Then change course! Change course!" Lister shouted. Holly gave an embarrassed smile. "It doesn't seem to be working." "THEN TRY SOMETHING ELSE!" Rimmer shouted, this time from underneath his bunk. "I know! A crumpet!" Talkie chirped. "Will someone shut that smegging thing off?" Lister demanded. Holly's eyes widened. "I think it's too late..." The Purply-Yellowy Swirly Thing Gets Adama's Immediate Attention... "What is it?" The best astrophysicists in the fleet collectively scratched their heads, shrugged and flashed Adama stupid smiles. "Is it dangerous?" This question prompted another round of embarrassed shuffling, head scratching, shrugging and stupid smiles. Apollo and Starbuck had tucked themselves into the meeting, but had carefully stayed at the back of the room near the door, just in case they had to make a quick exit. They both had a sneaking suspicion that someone was going to have to fly out there to check out whatever had been following the fleet all day. They didn't need three guesses to figure out who Adama was going to volunteer for the job. "You always were good at space phenomena at the Academy," Apollo spoke quietly out of the corner of his mouth. "Ideas?" Starbuck glanced out the porthole before looking back at Apollo. "A purply-yellowy swirly thing?" "You're a lot of help," Apollo muttered. "Well, if _they_ can't figure it out, why the hades should I know? Do I look like an astrophysist to you?" Apollo looked at him a centon before taking his shot. "Starbuck, there are days you don't even look like a warrior to me." "Ha-ha. Keep laughing funny boy. Next time you get yourself lost in a magnetic void, you can find your own way out." Apollo stifled a laugh just as Athena charged into the room, nearly running over a certain annoyed lieutenant in the process. "Father! There's something coming out of the thing!" "Thing?" Adama asked. "What thing?" "The swirly thing following the fleet." "Oh, _that_ thing," Starbuck grinned. Adama shot the lieutenant an exasperated look before addressing his daughter. "What is it?" "The swirly thing?" Athena asked in confusion. "NO!" Adama shouted, causing everyone in the room to jump. He was at the end of his rope. All this scritching, scratching and stupid looks on the faces of people educated way beyond their intelligence had gotten to him. "The thing that's coming out of the swirly thing." *Did I actually just say swirly thing? Please tell me I didn't just say swirly thing,* Adama prayed. "We think it's a ship," Athena reported. "Think?" Adama asked. "Don't you know?" "Well, it's kind of hard to tell, what with all the colors and..." her voice trailed off as Adama rolled his eyes to the heavens, as if the patience he sought was somehow stored in the area just above his head. "Well, I mean, it doesn't look like any ship we've ever seen and..." "Gentlemen," Adama addressed Starbuck and Apollo, "Assemble Blue Squadron to investigate." The intrepid duo flung themselves out the door and fled to the squadron's berth. When the door had safely slid shut behind them, Starbuck breathlessly grumbled, "I _told_ you we shouldn't've snuck into the meeting. But do you ever listen to me? Nooooooo." Holly Gives the Boyz News They Really Don't Want To Hear... "Kryten! Will you get the smeg off me?" "With all due respect, Mr. David, sir, you're not exactly a feathery soft pillow yourself." "I'm not made of metal," Lister complained. "Holly, where the smeg are the lights?" "I'm working on it, I'm working on it," Holly answered distractedly. "I have to reroute the illumination commands, now don't I?" "On, now!" "All right, all right! I thought you'd prefer getting through the swirly thing in one piece. The lights weren't all that important, I thought. But if you really wanted me to leave on the lights too, I could've concentrated on that instead," Holly muttered. "Holly, do this. Holly, do that. I get no respect around 'ere." "That's because you never give us any useful information and when you do, it's always too late," Rimmer complained. "Very nice move, Holly. You're like those signs on the highway that inform drivers that there's a massive bump ahead _after_ they've had their exhaust ripped out." "Never mind that," Cat plaintively cried. "I landed in Gerbil Face's underwear!" "Right. I think I've got it," Holly said. "Lights on." When illumination filled the crew's quarters, Lister was almost tempted to ask Holly to turn the lights back off. Rimmer was literally implanted half-way through a wall, leaving the upper half of his body in the sleeping quarters and the lower half in the corridor on the other side. The look on his face was not pleasant. Of course, Rimmer's scowl simply couldn't match Cat's disgusted body movements. Lister couldn't tell what look was on Cat's face because his Spiderman underoos were pulled firmly over Cat's head. "Help me," the feline yowled. "I look like a K-Mart blue light special fashion victim." The only positive result of their roller-coaster ride was that Kryten's head had regained its shape. Well, Lister wasn't sure if that was necessarily a _good_ thing, but at least it looked like a pencil eraser again instead of a pencil eraser with a bite taken out of it. Lister crawled out from under Kryten and ran to Cat's side. Rimmer could find his own bloody way out of his predicament. "Holly, what the smeg happened?" "I'm not sure," Holly announced. "Huge bloody surprise," Rimmer said as he extracted himself from the wall. "Well, if you stop interrupting with insults, maybe I could finish my report," Holly huffed. "I was about to say that I wasn't sure, but I think we've gone through a time hole." "A time hole!" Rimmer exclaimed. "You mean we've gone through time?" "Where the hell are we then?" Lister asked. "I think you mean 'when,' sir," Kryten said as he crawled to his feet. "A time hole wouldn't actually change our position in space, just where we are in time." He looked around with a distracted look. "Fascinating. We could be anywhen." "Great. Just smegging wonderful," Rimmer complained. "I'm really get sick of this space phenomena of the week claptrap." He marched over to the window and shouted to the stars. "I've had it. Hear? All I want is one smegging week without a crisis. This isn't 'Star Trek,' you know. Send us back, now!" "Then when are we, Holly?" Lister asked, desperately trying to ignore Rimmer. "I'd say it's tea time." "Holly! I don't mean what time of day, I mean when as in year." "Well, I'm not sure about that," Holly said worriedly. "I'll have to check the relative position of the stars. That'll take awhile. It's quite complicated, really. Might be a few days." "Then do it," Lister ordered, the exasperation showing clearly in his voice. "Of course, there is an easier way." Rimmer stopped ranting and turned to the vidscreen bearing Holly's worried face. He knew he was going to be sorry he asked, but... "What is this easier way?" "I could always ask those ships heading straight for us." "SHIPS!" Lister shouted. "WHAT SHIPS?!" "Some short range vessels are approaching us at sub- light speed. They seem to have come from a larger vessel just on the edge of my scanners. Wow! It's really big," Holly marveled. "Will someone tell that sorry excuse for a computer to stop gawking and give us information we can use?" Rimmer asked no one in particular. Holly complied with Rimmer's request, not because he asked for it, but because it was genuinely bad news. "Unh-oh." "Wait a minute," Cat said. He had just cleared his nose of the smell of Lister's dirty laundry and so could finally talk. "Did she just say, 'Unh-oh'?" "It appears the vessels are warships of some sort," Holly said. "Their weapons are armed." "'Armed,'" Cat said. "Did she just say 'armed'?" "Cat, stop acting like a smegging echo," Lister said as Rimmer dove under his bunk again with a scream that sounded something like, "We're going to die!" Lister turned to Holly, "Do something to stop them from attacking us." "Like what? Tell them to go away, we gave at the office? Or perhaps you'd like me to tell them that we already have the Junior Universal Encyclopedia and that we're not interested in buying yearly updates?" "Tell them anything. Just make sure they don't fire on us," Lister pleaded. "C'mon guys, we're going down to the hanger just in case they decide to visit." "What are you gonna do?" Cat asked. "I don't think they're coming to borrow a cup of sugar." "We're taking the bazookoids. We've got to be ready to rumble," Lister answered as he headed for the door. "I think I'll stay here and cover your backs," Rimmer said from under his bunk. "You never know what might need protecting in here." "That's true. They might wipe all three of us out and you'd be left alone to defend the honor of the ship and crew," Lister answered, taking Kryten and Cat with him. Rimmer poked his head out into the open and saw he was all alone in the sleeping quarters. He thought about what Lister said. He decided the best tactical move might be to stay with his mates. "Listy, wait up! All for one and one for all!" Our Heroes Investigate the Ship... Blue Squadron streaked through space to where the supposed space ship had emerged from the, well, the swirly thing. As the vipers approached the vessel, Apollo ordered everyone to slow down and approach with caution. "_That_ is the poorest excuse for a starship I have ever seen," remarked Starbuck, as the ship came into full view. "What do you suppose it is?" "That's what we're here to find out, buddy," replied Apollo. "Anything on your scanners about life forms?" "Skipper, you're not going to believe this, but my scanner says that there's a human on board that thing. Something else, too, but I can't get a clear reading on it," replied Jolly nervously. "Yep, that's what I get, too," noted Starbuck. "Any ideas?" "Hmm...don't read any Cylons, but that doesn't mean anything. And that's a big ship...they could be hiding something," Apollo said. "Well, so far no one's come out and said 'Hi' or 'Go away' or anything. They have to know we're here," Starbuck remarked. "Right. Well, I'm going to...." Apollo was cut off when a voice came over the intercoms of all the pilots. "'Ello, then. This is 'Holly,' ship's computer of the mining ship Red Dwarf. Um, greetings and all that. We come in peace...who are you?" said the voice. It sounded remarkably like a human woman's voice. *Actually, like a rather pretty human woman's voice,* thought Starbuck. "I am Capt. Apollo from the Battlestar Galactica. What is your business...and what do you know about that astronomical phenomenon that you just came through?" "Yeah, it really messes up your ship's systems when you travel through it!" "I don't doubt it, but what I really want to know is what it _is_," "Oh, it's a time hole." "Ah, what exactly is a time hole?" asked Starbuck. "Well a time hole is, basically, a hole, you see, in time. Gee, I didn't think youneeded an IQ of 6000 to figure _that_ one out." "Request permission to come aboard and speak with your commanding officers. But first, what is your crew compliment? Where are you from?" Apollo said to the voice, trying to forestall an argument between the voice and Starbuck. "Oh, sure, you might as well come on over. I'm sure the boys'd love to meet you. You want a crew compliment? How 'bout 'those are really nice ships you're flying.'" Apollo rolled his eyes and sighed. He was beginning to understand why his father often got so exasperated. "Okay, we're coming aboard. Tell your crew to meet us in the landing bay," he replied to the voice. Then to his squadron, "Boomer, you take the squadron back to the Galactica and tell the Commander what's going on. If we're not back in a centar or if you don't hear from us, send out another squadron prepared to attack. Starbuck, you and I are going to check out this ship." *Why does it always have to be me?* thought Starbuck to himself. *Once, just once, I'd like to hear him say 'Starbuck, you take the patrol. Jolly, you're coming with me'. But, no. Every time _he's_ feeling suicidal or heroic, he has to drag me along with him. Well, I guess _someone_ has to make sure he doesn't get himself killed.* Out loud, he replied, "Okay, I'm with you" Apollo and Starbuck neared the alien ship slowly, seeking out the landing bay, as Boomer and the rest of Blue Squadron turned back to the fleet. As they neared the immense, red ship, Apollo thought to himself, *Maybe this wasn't such a great idea....* Our Heroes Meet Da Boyz from Da Dwarf... Apollo carefully looked around the landing bay as the canopy slowly opened. *Hmmm. No welcoming committee. Strange. Especially for a ship this size.* He clambered out of the cockpit, eyes searching the clutter of the bay. The only thing he could see of any interest was a large green ship that looked suspiciously like an ant and a smaller blue shuttle that looked somewhat like a Galactican shuttle on skis. Both looked sufficiently beaten to death. He spied Starbuck making his way over to him. Apollo couldn't believe his ears. That fool was actually whistling. "Starbuck, what the frak do you think you're doing?" Starbuck stopped a few metrons away, a confused look on his face. "Joining you at your viper?" "Walking in the open like that. Are you out of your mind?" "Oh, for Sagan's sake Apollo, that Holly woman invited us aboard. It isn't like we're taking them by surprise or anything," Starbuck said with an irritated tone. "Has it occurred to you that no one has come to the landing bay to welcome us?" Apollo shot back. Starbuck thought about what Apollo said. He blinked. He cleared his throat. "Ummm. Apollo? Why do I get a feeling that we just made a _huge_ mistake?" Just because Apollo didn't see them, doesn't mean da Boyz from da Dwarf weren't actually there. In fact, all four of them had crunched themselves behind some crates and were peering over the top of them. If the visiting duo had actually looked in their direction, they would've seen four pairs of very worried-looking eyes staring back. Cat and Lister carried their bazookoids at the ready, just in case the aliens proved to be unfriendly. Kryten fussed. Rimmer seemed transported with joy. "Aliens! At last!" "Rimmer!" Lister hissed. "Keep your smeggin' voice down. They don't look like aliens to me." He turned to Kryten, who was staring at their two guests very intently. "Kryten, you recognize them?" "Sir?" "I mean their markings, man. You left the solar system after I did." Kryten looked back at the duo, who had just finished their conversation and were looking nervously around the hanger. "No, sir. Space Corps didn't have uniforms even vaguely resembling..." "See! Aliens!" Rimmer excitedly interrupted. "Rimmer! Shut up before I shove this bazookoid up your nostrils," Lister threatened. "Nothing for it then. One of us is going to have to get out there and say hello." "Don't look at me," Cat sniffed. "I don't want to even be in the same room as those two." "Why not?" Lister asked. "Tan with orange?" Cat tweaked his longcoat. "The color clash would _smell_ bad." Lister sighed. "Rimmer, since you seem to be so excited about..." "Sorry. No can do, Listy," Rimmer hastily demurred. "Why not?" "They've got guns." Lister rolled his eyes. "And you're a hologram, so there's no way those guns can..." "Why can't you do it?" "I've got a bazookoid. Someone has to cover your back," here he fixed Cat with a look. "Someone you can _count_ on." "Hey," Cat said. "You kept me waiting. I needed my beauty sleep." "I kept you waiting for ten smegging minutes and you took off for a nap on Starbug while I had a squishy thing with very sharp teeth snapping at my bottom," Lister reminded him. He looked back at Rimmer, "Besides, how do you think those two will react if I go out there with this and say, 'Oi! Friend or foe?'" Rimmer looked back at the visitors. They were beginning to look increasingly edgy. Edgy meant dangerous. "Hmm. Point there. But someone has to go out there." All eyes fixed on Kryten. "But sirs..." "Kryten," Rimmer announced. "You are a master at politeness. I'm sure you'll think of the right thing to say." "But Mr. Rimmer, sir..." "Whale Nostrils is right," Cat agreed. He stopped. He thought about what he said. "Twice in one day. I can't _believe_ this. I need help." Lister looked torn for a moment. "I hate to say it Kryten. You're the best qualified." Just as Kryten steeled himself to step into the open, Rimmer said, "We'll be right behind you all the way." "I don't doubt that you'll be behind me, sir," Kryten said. "Yeah," Lister added. "I don't doubt that Rimmer'll then charge in front of you if there's a retreat." We Come In Peace...Or Is That In Pieces? A movement out of the corner of his eye caught Starbuck's attention. He turned to face it only to be confronted with what, to him, looked like a human-looking Cylon. "Apollo!" the shout echoed through the landing bay as Starbuck reflexively drew his gun and blasted away. He was shortly answered by a few short bursts of laser fire as the Cylon dove for the floor and begged for mercy. He felt his collar go tight as Apollo dragged him by the scruff of the neck on the opposite side of the viper. "Did you see..." Starbuck started. "Yeah," Apollo said. He peeked around the edge of the viper and quickly pulled his head back in when another volley of gunfire announced its searing presence. "I don't understand. This doesn't _look_ like a Cylon ship. Besides, why didn't they fire on us when we landed?" "Look, can we figure out this mystery later and get the frak outta here?" Starbuck pleaded as another round of fire overshot the viper. Apollo looked at him. "I hate to remind you of this, but your viper is over there. Think you can make it?" Starbuck looked over to his ship. That short walk all of a sudden looked way too far for comfort. "Maybe. Cylons are really bad shots." "I don't know," Apollo said thoughtfully. "They seem kinda alert for Cylons." Starbuck shrugged. "Well, here goes nothing. Watch my back." He peered around the viper and froze. He ducked his head back in just as another round of laser fire streaked by uncomfortably close. "Apollo," he said in shock. "They're human. I think. They're all gathered around that Cylon." "Sure it was a Cylon?" Apollo asked. "Since when have you ever heard a Cylon plead for help?" Starbuck was about to answer when a flat, nasally voice interrupted him. "Come out with your hands up." "Rimmer! You smeghead! Shut up, already! They know we've got them. And stop cowering behind that crate!" The intrepid duo looked at each other. "They even sound human. Sorta," Apollo said. Starbuck was not convinced. "I'm not sure I understood that second one. What's a smeg hed?" "Starbuck, please." "Okay, already. But, what are we gonna do?" Apollo thought for a moment. "They have us trapped. It's their ship. Do we have a choice?" "But what if..." "Let me ask you something. Does this ship look Cylon? Be honest." Starbuck looked around. He saw Starbug. He saw Blue Midget. He saw the liter of crates. He saw actual dirt. "It looks too filthy to be military." The answer was uncharacteristically cautious. With a wide grin, Apollo raised his hands in the air. "We're coming out. Hold your fire," he shouted. He then whispered to Starbuck, "Bet we can draw faster than them." Starbuck looked at his long-time wingmate in shock. "I don't believe this! You're actually enjoying this, aren't you?" Apollo's grin got wider. "How often do we get to expand our horizons? Bet you this ship is probably from just another forgotten Colonial outpost." "Like we've had luck with Colonial outposts," Starbuck snorted as he raised his hands in the air. "Get thrown in jail on one of 'em and become a constable on another. Oh, and let's not forget the one where I almost wound up in a Cylon prison because some kids wanted their Daddy..." his grumbling trailed off as he followed Apollo out into the open. Rimmer couldn't believe his ruse worked. There they were, hands in the air, calmly facing Lister and Cat, who kept the bazookoids steadily trained on them. Kryten had managed to crawl to his feet and stood behind his two protectors. Obviously, it was safe to stop hiding now. "Well, well, well," he began as he stepped out from behind his shield. "Would you look at this. We've got ourselves a few prisoners." Lister shot him a look before turning his attention back at the weirdly calm duo. "Who are you? Why'd you shoot at Kryten?" The pair looked at each other, the confusion clear on their faces. They heard: "Hu r u? Whied u shooott aht Kdrietin?" The one with dirty brown hair asked a most intelligent question, "Hunh?" Lister sighed. Maybe they didn't speak English. Not that he spoke English either, but... "I said, why'd you shoot at us?" The dark-haired one blinked. "I can't understand you. Could you please change your dialect?" "Well, I can understand you gits just fine," Lister said. "Umm. Look. We don't mean to be rude or anything, but we're really having a hard time..." the brown-haired one said. His face brightened. "Look, I'm gonna pull out a languatron." "A langua-wha?" Lister asked. Though the brown-haired one obviously didn't understand him terribly well, he caught the gist of the question, "Translation device," he explained. "It'll help us figure out what you're saying. Now, please stay calm." He reached into his jacket with his right hand, leaving his left one clearly elevated, and brought out a small, square thing that was obviously electronic in nature. "Sir," Kryten said. "It looks like a handmine." "It's not a handmine," the dark-haired one assured him. "I don't mean to be rude or anything, but my arms are getting tired. Can we put them down now?" "Keep those hands reaching for the sky," Rimmer ordered. "Throw your guns down and I'll consider it," Lister contradicted. "Hands for the sky it is," the brown-haired one said as he fiddled with the langua-whatever. "Could you please keep talking? I think I'm getting it..." Taken aback, Lister said, "What do you want me to say?" The langua-thing beeped. "Unknown language," it said in a sultry voice. "Could you say something else?" the brown-haired man asked. "Oh, for smeg's sake. You both speak English." "English?" the dark-haired one asked. "What's an English?" The langua-thing started to vibrate. "Language unknown. Overload imminent." "Oh, frak," the brown-haired one muttered as he hit the thing with his hand. "Ummm, Starbuck? Do you think it's wise to..." the dark-haired one began. "I almost got it figured out. Fraking cheap fleet-made electronic doo-dads. What ever happened to pride in your work," muttered the man who was called Starbuck. He looked at Lister with a broad grin. "Now I think I've got it. Say something else." "This is too much. I say we blow them away," Cat said. "Anyone wearing brown on tan doesn't deserve to live. Put them out of their tasteless misery." "Cat. Stop it. Not now," Lister ordered. The langua-thing shot sparks and announced, "Overload, overload, overload..." "Oh, frak!" shouted Starbuck. He tossed the thing across the hanger and shouted. "Down on the floor. Now!" The high-pitched whine was enough to convince Lister that it might be wise to follow Starbuck's order. He dove for the floor, dragging Cat with him, who was shouting something about watching the crease, wrinkling his clothes and how those two were gonna pay for his laundry bill. That's when there was an explosion... The Boyz Introduce Themselves To Our Heroes... *Ooooooh. Headache. Ouch,* Starbuck moaned. *Why is it whenever I go on a mission I get smacked upside the head and have to suffer a migraine until I get to sickbay? Once, just once, I'd like to see Apollo get it instead of me.* He opened his eyes and realized that he was staring at the landing bay's industrial steel floor. He slowly rolled over only to see the tall guy with the H in the middle of his forehead standing over him in what looked like a hand-to-hand combat stance. "Don't move or I'll snap your neck like a twig," the H- man warned. "Anyone who knows me will tell you that I'm a master at the martial arts. They don't call me Arnold 'Bruce Lee' Rimmer for nothing." Suddenly he let out the most unholy screech, which seemed to go in time with some wild, awkward-looking arm movements. "YYYYEEEEAHHHH! HOOO! HAAAA!" "Ohkahy, ohkahy," Starbuck groaned. "Just keeping your fraking voice down. Headache." Then he moaned again. "Fraking languatron. When I get my hands on Wilker..." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Apollo sneaking up behind the H-man. *It isn't _fair_!* Starbuck thought. *He can move without his head falling off while the sound of my hair growing hurts.* "I said don't move!" H-man ordered. "No twitching, no moaning, no nothing. Just stay puuuu-YEAOW!" At that very moment Apollo attempted to tackle Rimmer. What Starbuck saw (and consequently it was the last thing he remembered before he blacking out for a few centons) was the shocked look on the captain's face as he went through the H-man's midsection. Naturally, Starbuck provided Apollo with a nice, soft landing spot. When Starbuck finally came to a few centons later (with his headached doubled in intensity since Apollo had, in fact, landed on his head, thus confirming Starbuck's suspicion that the Lords of Kobol had it in for his poor, abused skull), he was greeted with the unbelievable view of Apollo and the guy with long braids bending over him with concerned looks on their faces. Somewhere in the background, he could hear H-man yelling about how the height of rudeness is walking through a hologram. "A holo-wha?" Starbuck asked. The sound of his own voice echoing between his ears caused him to wince. "Stop being such a baby," Apollo chided. "It wasn't like I landed with _all_ my weight on your head. Besides, it's thick enough that it should be able to withstand the pressure." The guy with braids looked up, "Kryten! Get the smegging Tylenol over here!" "Yarhg! Mercy, please," Starbuck moaned through clenched teeth as he grabbed for his hollow-feeling head. "Sorry," the braid man apologized. "I'm Lister. Kryten is the mechanoid. The smeghead making like Grasshopper in 'Kung Fu' is Rimmer..." "We've met," Starbuck interrupted through his grinding teeth. "Please, could you turn the volume down just a little bit?" Lister complied with the request as he continued, "And Cat was holding the other bazookoid. 'Pollo here already told us who you two are. You, okay man? That flying tackle looked brutal." "I plan on filing charges against a certain superior officer when we get back to the Galactica," Starbuck muttered as he was helped to an upright sitting position in preparation for the industrial strength Tylenol. "On what grounds?" Apollo yelped. "Physical torture of a junior officer and mental cruelty," Starbuck grumbled. "Hey, it was an accident," Apollo grinned. "How was I supposed to know that he wasn't solid? And what's with the mental cruelty felgercarb?" "After a two yahren of dragging me all over the universe to get me into fraking trouble and you have the nerve to ask 'what mental cruelty'?" Kryten appeared into view, bearing a _very_ large pill and a glass of what looked like water. "Take this, sir. It'll help." Starbuck looked at the multi-colored pill. In his own eyes, it looked rather huge. "I don't know if I can swallow that. Besides, how do I know it won't poison me?" "It won't, sir. Your biology indicates you're human so this should work," Kryten urged, forcing both pill and water into the dazed lieutenant's hands. Rimmer materialized behind Kryten, "Of course, you're taking the word of a souped-up vacuum cleaner." Apollo looked up. "Is that a bad thing?" "No," Lister interrupted before Rimmer could answer. "Kryten here is a marvel. Especially when it comes to space mumps." "Space mumps?" Starbuck asked as he stared at the pill. He quickly looked up. "No. Don't tell me. I _really_ don't wanna know." He looked back at the pill. His head was moving into the dull long-term annoying ache that had become all-too-familiar during his career in the Colonial Service. He decided he didn't want to wait to get back to the Galactica only to endure snide comments from Dr. Salik implying that he got so many headaches because there was nothing in his skull to act as a cushion. "Well," Starbuck mustered a painful smile. "Bottoms up." Apollo was in his glory. He had just finished radioing back to the Galactica that he and Starbuck were fine, despite some initial misunderstandings with the crew. He told Athena that they wanted to find out a bit more about their hosts before inviting them back to the Galactica for a chat. He didn't tell them that part of the reason why they wanted to stay was that Lister had offered to make them dinner by way of apology for the "hanger incident," as he called it. Home- cooked food. Not standard military mush. Apollo was in absolute heaven. Kryten was busy fussing over a very grumpy lieutenant in the ship's sickbay, Lister was busy cooking and Cat had disappeared Lords of Kobol knew where after declaring the need to change his clothes since there was a serious color clash problem. Apollo decided it was best not to ask what Cat meant by his statement. That left Apollo alone with Holly, the very attractive blonde woman who was even now giggling cutely on the vid screen in front of him. "So, tell me Holly. Why haven't I gotten to meet you in person? Do they keep you chained to your communications console?" "You are meeting me in person," Holly answered with a foolish grin, which prompted Apollo to break into a foolish grin himself. *I don't believe this! A woman is finally hitting on me instead of Starbuck! Hah! It's about time I got the girl,* Apollo thought. "No, no. I mean body as well as electronic soul," he said to the attractive face. He then winced because the line was _so_ corny. *God, I've been watching Starbuck's greatest hits _way_ too much.* "You are looking at her body." Apollo looked up to see Rimmer standing behind him. "Holly is our senile ship's computer. To hear her talk, the entire smegging ship is her body. It explains it's current beat-up condition, I think." "'E knows that," Holly protested. "I told him on the way over. Told him I had an I.Q. of 6,000 and everything." Rimmer leaned over conspiratorially to the stunned Apollo and said, "I'd remove three zeroes from that figure before believing her." Apollo looked back at the screen. "You're a computer?" "That's right," Holly said proudly. "I've been flirting with a computer." Apollo blinked. "This just isn't my day." Rimmer smiled, "Indeedy, matey. If you're done making goo-goo eyes at our resident dumb blonde.." "'Ay! Who are you calling a blonde?" Holly interrupted. "...I'm here to escort you to sickbay so you can prevent your compatriot from ripping out Kryten's internal circuitry with his bare hands and strangling that malfunctioning bathroom attendant with his own wiring," Rimmer finished without missing a beat. "What?" Apollo shot to his feet. Truth to tell, he was kind of relieved about Rimmer's interruption, in light of having Holly's status hammered home to him. "And you're sitting here making small talk? Where's..." "Just follow me." Rimmer made a smart turn and headed down the hall, with Apollo gamely trying to keep up with him. "Why would Starbuck try to hurt Kryten?" Apollo asked breathlessly behind him. "I don't know," Rimmer answered with a smile playing around the edges of his mouth. "Last I saw, Kryten had just finished explaining what the swirly thing was and started explaining what a mechanoid is." Apollo had managed to calm his lieutenant down, barely in time to prevent a nasty accident involving Starbuck, Kryten, Lister and a very dangerous-looking fire axe hurtling its way across the cramped sickbay. Lister claimed he was just trying to get the Starbuck's attention when he threw it, but Apollo wasn't sure whether or not to believe him. "You could've used something else," Apollo said. "What? And listen to another round of Starbuck here complaining that his head is not a battering ram? We only just managed to get rid of his last headache," Lister countered. Apollo bit back the acerbic comment that using it as a pin cushion would not have improved Starbuck's mood. Truth to tell, he couldn't actually blame Starbuck reacting the way he did once the whole mechanoid business was explained to him. To prevent further 'accidents,' Lister asked that the two of them remain in the medlab and wait for Cat to pick them up for dinner. Apollo agreed tht it might be for the best, all things considered. In Which We Discover That Capricans _Really_ Don't Like Curry... Cat, newly decked out in fresh clothes, cheerfully led Apollo and Starbuck into the crew's sleeping quarters for chow time. They really didn't want to ask the meaning of his cryptic song, "I'm gonna get you little dinner..." But they were hungry. They hadn't eaten since breakfast and the thought of food, real, home-cooked food, was enough to set their mouths salivating in a most unattractive way. That's probably why the stench that greeted them, the same stench that seemed to be coming from a huge mixing bowl of what appeared to be sludge set in the middle of a dinner table, was enough to cause their vision to blur and nearly blow them back out into the corridor. "Ahk! Gas..." Apollo choked as his knees began to loose their strength. Somehow Starbuck was able to grab him under the armpit before he made a spectacle of himself by falling on his knees and begging for mercy. He was comforted to hear that Starbuck had started wheezing through his mouth. Lister, who was just now starting to portion out the curry for their guests, sniffed suspiciously under his armpits. Since nothing seemed amiss there, he checked his feet. "Get it away! Please!" Starbuck begged, using his one free hand to wipe the tears streaming down his face. "I'll tell you anything! Please!" "What? Get what away?" Lister asked, genuinely mystified. Apollo vaguely waved at the bowl. "THAT!" "Oooooo, Listy, Listy, Listy," Rimmer clucked. "You've just attempted to kill the first aliens we've ever encountered with your impressive cooking skills. So much for first contact with intelligent lifeforms. On second thought, if they don't like it, that probably means they _are_ intelligent after all." "Well, I still say they look human to me," Lister grumped as he tossed the bowl in the refrigeration unit. "Wish we could say the same about you," Starbuck panted. That's when Apollo slid into unconsciousness. Unable to keep his companion's dead weight up, Starbuck dropped him with a most impressive thunk. He was too weak to even see what was wrong. The room spun as he grabbed for a table. That _smell_! It was disorientating him. "What? What..." he choked. "Holly! What's wrong with them?" Lister asked. "I'm not sure." "Bet it's the food," Rimmer mumbled. Lister spun around to face his bunkmate. "What? They don't like curry?" "No one likes three inches of curry on their food," Rimmer shot back. "_That's_ food?" Starbuck wheezed. "What are you? You can't be human..." his voice trailed off into a series of wracking coughs. Kryten kneeled next to Apollo and checked his pulse. "Sir, he's fading fast." "Actually," Starbuck mumbled as he lost his grip on the table and slid to the floor, "You're kinda fading away yourself." Then he blacked out. Lister pounded over to the fallen lieutenant's side and checked his pulse. It seemed normal, if a bit fast. His breathing was very shallow, though. Not a good sign. "Get them to the medlab. Kryten, any idea what's..." "I think they're poisoned, Mr. Lister, sir." Post Curry Recovery... Starbuck came to very slowly. As memory returned, he realized he wasn't really sure he wanted to wake up. He opened his eyes just a crack to confirm his fears. Yup -- he was back in the Red Dwarf's sickbay all right. Well, considering that he was still alive, perhaps the food incident really was an accident. In which case he never wanted to find out what happened to people the Red Dwarf crew decided _not_ to be nice to. As he pondered waking up fully, he began to make out voices behind him. "Well how was I supposed to know they'd be allergic to curry?" *That must be the one called Lister,* Starbuck painfully thought. "Perhaps the problem isn't the curry per se, but the fact that you use enough curry to knock over a rabid water buffalo. Lister, the only reason _you_ can eat that much curry is that your taste buds are dead. And no wonder -- I saw what else you put in that! They're lucky the curry got them first!" *Rimmer, definitely Rimmer.* "Sirs, I think they may be coming around. Might I suggest an apology is in order." *Kryten -- the, what-did-they- call-it? Oh yes, the mechanoid.* With that, Starbuck opened his eyes fully and looked around. The Red Dwarf crew was huddled together on the other side of the sickbay. Considering the raging headache he had developed, they were probably doing the right thing. As he slowly sat up, Kryten made a hesitant move to come forward. The glare Starbuck shot back stopped him cold. Kryten said carefully, "Sir, you really shouldn't be moving around to much. According to the medical computer, you have suffered a mild concussion." Of course! The perfect climax to an otherwise wonderful day! Dr. Salik and Cassiopea both would get a chuckle out of this. "A concussion? Because of this stuff you call curry?" he asked. "Well, no. Because of the table that you hit when you passed out," replied Kryten. "Lovely. How's he?" Starbuck nodded in Apollo's direction. "He should be waking up any time now. Except for a possible feeling of disorientation and perhaps a mild headache, your friend should be fine," Kryten soothed. "Good. Because when he wakes up I'm gonna wring his neck." Apollo came to a short time later. The headache he had was a first. So was the slight feeling of nausea and dizziness that came with it. *So much for that home-cooked meal. I wonder what happened to Starbuck?* He opened his eyes and looked up. Looming above him was the lieutenant in question looking more than a little irked. "How do you feel?" asked Starbuck. "Ugh. My stomach and I aren't speaking right now. You?" "Oh, _me_? What could _possibly_ be wrong with _me_? Oh, sure, a little concussion, a few bruises here and there. Nothing out of the ordinary after a day on a mission with my bestest buddy," Starbuck sounded more than just a bit sarcastic. "This is the _last_ time. That's it. I'm _through_! I'm getting a transfer to kinder, gentler squadron. Or maybe get one of my own. At the very least, I should get a raise for hazardous duty!" Now he sounded downright angry. "Starbuck..." "Don't talk to me. I have a headache. Again!" With that, Starbuck huffed back over to the other couch and laid back down, with his arm over his eyes. "Does he really have a concussion?" he asked the Red Dwarf crew. "A little one. We could fix it up right here..." began Kryten. "NO! Under _no_ circumstances am I letting anyone of you do anything to me with this equipment. I'll wait until we get back to the Galactica. And the sooner the better, " Starbuck glared back at Apollo. "This place is too dangerous." Apollo considered the subject. Seriously. Things were not going as well as he'd expected here. He doubted the Red Dwarf crew meant any harm, though. And they might have information that Adama wanted. Perhaps it would be safer dealing with them on the Galactica. "Gentlemen, I think Starbuck is right. We should go back to the Galactica. On behalf of Commander Adama, my father, I would like to invite you to come with us," Apollo said. "Back to your ship? The one that looks like a giant skiing bug? How do we know this isn't a trap?" asked Rimmer. "What are you worried about, Alphabet Head? You're a hologram. What could they do to you. Now I, on the other hand, have a more important question. What color is the inside of your ship?" asked Cat. "What?" Apollo was taken aback by that question, "Ah, silver I think." "Great! Silver goes with just about anything! Hmm...let me pack two or three dozen outfits and I'll be all set." "Just a smegging minute. How do we know it's safe?" Lister interrupted. "Look, we're human, you're human..." "Maybe..." muttered Starbuck to himself. Apollo shot him a 'Be quiet' look and continued, "...And maybe we can help each other out. Maybe we can help you get back to where you came from and get this ship fixed..." "And what's wrong with the ship?" asked Holly, "I mean, you travel in space for three million years and sure, you get a bit rusty..." "Okay, okay. We'll come with you. If you are human, then there might be some other interesting people to meet. It's getting a bit dull with just these blokes to talk to all the time," said Lister. "Well, you're no Mr. Life of the Party, yourself..." began Cat. "Great, great! We'll get started right away. As soon as I warn...I mean, notify the Galactica that we're coming. I assume one or both of those ships we saw in the landing bay is operational? I'm afraid Starbuck won't be able to fly back himself," Apollo said. "Wait a micron, here. You want me to get in one of _those_ ships? If I sneeze, they'll fall apart!" Starbuck protested. "You're the one who wanted to get back to the Galactica in a hurry. You could just wait until I go back, get a shuttle ready, and return for you..." "You'd leave me alone with these guys, wouldn't you? All right, all right. You win. Kryten, could I get you to get me another one of those tielenol things...." Omega couldn't believe what he was seeing on the scanner. The ship Capt. Apollo was leading toward the Galactica was just too decrepit and beat up looking to possibly fly. He had to credit Lt. Starbuck with being an extremely brave man to get in that thing. Or crazy. But he was more willing to bet both factors were in play. "Capt. Apollo returning with the alien...shuttlecraft, sir" he informed Commander Adama. "Excellent. Inform Capt. Apollo that I will meet him and his guests in the landing bay upon his arrival," Adama replied. "Sir, he is also requesting that a medical team meet him in the bay. It appears that Lt. Starbuck has managed to injure himself. Again. A concussion, I believe." "Now why doesn't that surprise me," muttered Tigh. "Please, Tigh. Omega, inform Dr. Salik that his services are required." With that, Adama turned and left the bridge. Adama Considers Changing Course... Apollo and Adama waited patiently for their guests to come out of decon. Meanwhile, Dr. Salik examined the grumpy Starbuck. "Tell me, how did you manage to do this to yourself?" asked the doctor, a note of humor in his voice. Starbuck glared first at the doctor, then at Apollo. "It was a culinary accident. Too much spice in the food." "You got a concussion from spice?!" "Doctor, please. Just fix it. I really don't wanna talk about it." Dr. Salik sighed, and turned to Adama. "Will you gentlemen excuse us, please. I need to take the lieutenant to the Life Center. Maybe Cassiopea can get the story out of him." As the medtechs hoisted the stretcher in which Starbuck was laying, the lieutenant called out, "Apollo..." "Yeah, buddy, what is it?" "When I recover from this, you and I have an appointment on the triad courts for a little one on one." Apollo winced. Somehow he doubted he'd win that particular match. As Salik and his patient left the landing bay, Adama turned to his son and asked, "What was that all about?" "Starbuck thinks I'm on a mission to get both of us killed. I think he blames his injuries on me. I..." Just then the doors from the decon chamber opened, and their guests walked out. Cat, Rimmer and Kryten looked pretty much the same as they had on the Dwarf, which was enough to make Adama's eyes widen in shock. Lister, however, was wearing a standard issue Colonial jumpsuit...in blue...and actually looked, well, clean... "They burned my clothes! That machine actually burned my clothes! That was my best outfit -- the t-shirt with only three curry stains on it, my favorite pants and my underwear that almost bent!" Lister exclaimed indignantly. "Of course they burned your smegging clothes. They don't want to contaminate the whole ship. And they jettisoned the ashes for good measure. My, my, Listy. For the first time in your life, you're actually clean," replied Rimmer smugly. "Yep, entire colonies of disease-causing microorganisms have bit the dust. If it hadn't been for you, we would've been out of that a long time ago." "At least they gave you a more tasteful outfit than what those other guys were wearing. Basic blue may be boring, but at least it doesn't clash with my red and blue suit!" remarked the Cat. He looked around the bay. "Ooh. I can see these people definitely need my decorating expertise." "Sirs, I believe that important looking gentleman over there standing next to Captain Apollo is the man in charge. May I suggest that we introduce ourselves to him?" asked Kryten. "Of course. After me." With that, Rimmer began walking confidently toward Adama and Apollo. "Hey, why does he get to go first?" grumbled the Cat. "Oh, come on then. We better save them from that annoying git before they decide to toss us all out the airlock," answered Lister. Adama experienced a sinking feeling of dread as he saw the Motley Crew approach him. "Gentle...men," he paused, not sure if that would be the correct term to use as an address to this bunch. Always the diplomat, though, he continued, "Welcome to the Galactica. I am Commander Adama. I hope your stay will be pleasant. And perhaps we could be of mutual assistance to each other. Is there anything...." "Hey, are there any, you know, females on this bug?" Cat interrupted. Taken aback by this interruption, Adama blurted, "Why, yes..." "YEEEAAAOOOWWWW! All right! In that case, you don't have to worry about my stay being pleasant at all!" Cat exclaimed, as he and Lister hi-fived. Not knowing what to make of this exchange, though he had an unpleasant suspicion, Adama continued, "Perhaps you could help us with our quest. You..._appear_ to be human. Mostly. Perhaps you can tell us something about what we seek. In exchange, we would be willing to give you any aid in returning through the...um..." "The swirly thing?" prompted Lister. "I believe the term 'time hole' would be a more accurate description, Mr. Lister, sir," interjected Kryten. Relieved to have a more scientific sounding name for the swirly thing, Adama continued, "Yes, the time hole. Am I to presume, then, from that description that you have come from another time?" "Certainly a more fashionable time. Brown on tan? Silver on blue? If this is the height of fashion around here, I can see that you could sorely use my services!" answered Cat. "Actually, we appear to have come from...well...the future. And let me introduce myself and my companions. I am Capt. A. J. Rimmer," with that, Rimmer straightened and saluted Adama with a bizarre series of arm motions that Adama wasn't quite able to catch. He glanced at Apollo, who rolled his eyes. The captain's look said, 'Unh-oh.' Rimmer continued unfazed with his introductions, "This mechanoid is Kryten, that," pointing to the Cat, "is the Cat, and this," nodding to Lister, "is Dave Lister. Now, you were saying something about a quest?" Adama nodded in acknowledgment of the introductions, replied, "Yes, as a matter of fact. You see, we are looking for a planet known as Earth." "Why?" asked Lister. "I mean, it's a nice planet and all, and I'd give anything to go back. But you blokes don't really look like you'd fit in. I mean, you can't even stand curry!" Adama was stunned. They knew about Earth! At last, the answer to his prayers and the prayers of the fleet! "You know of Earth!" "Yeah! Sure I do. I was born there, after all. But why do you want to go there?" Hoping Lister was not a typical example of the denizens of Earth, Adama continued, "We need to find help in battling the enemy that pursues us. You see, our home planets were destroyed by our enemies, the Cylons, and our last hope is to turn to our sister world for aid. That world is Earth. Can you help us?" "Wait just a smegging minute. Did you say something about an enemy? Pursuing you? And you want us to lead you and that enemy back to earth? Do you think I've gone spare? I mean, I wanted to be famous and all, but as a musician, not as the git who led some nasty aliens to earth and got it destroyed," replied Lister. "Mr. David, sir, if I may interrupt. We don't know how far back in time the time hole has put us. It's possible that at this time point, earth has the technology to defend itself against whatever these enemy beings are. Of course, it's also possible that we're in the Middle Ages," said Kryten "Oh great. Then we can launch a smegging Crusade against them, eh," answered Lister sarcastically. Unfazed, Kryten continued, "The point is, we don't know what time point in earth's history is the present one. Until Holly figures that out, we won't know whether it is safe to lead these people to earth." "I think you're both forgetting one eensy-weensy little detail," Rimmer interrupted. "We don't know where the smeg we are! Holly couldn't find earth again if there were bright orange neon road signs from here to London!" Praying That They're Not Of This Earth... "This is mine. This is mine. Ooooh. I like that one. That's mine, too. This is mine. That's mine...." On and on and on as Cat danced down the corridors spraying everything in sight with two hastily-produced pump bottles. "Can't you make him stop?" Apollo pleaded to Lister, the only seemingly-sane one of the crew. And that wasn't saying much. Lister looked at Cat before looking back at Apollo and said, in all seriousness, "Ever tried to make a cat do anything before?" Apollo had to admit to himself that he hadn't, mostly because he didn't know what a cat was. Instead, he steeled himself like the hero he was, tried his best to ignore Cat's antics, since they seem to be pretty harmless, and prayed that the whole experience was some terrible dream. The captain had been roped into escorting their guests to the Life Center. His father's official excuse was that he wanted to make sure they were healthy, but Apollo suspected that his father was actually hoping that the medical scans would prove that the crew was not human. Of course, only Kryten and Rimmer were obviously not human by any standards but Cat and Lister... Apollo shuddered to finish the thought. He remembered the hastily whispered conference in the landing bay after Lister's stunning, almost casual revelation that he was from Earth. While the quartet drank in their surroundings, the commander actually dragged his son over to a far corner and ordered him to escort the crew to the Life Center. "Why me? Can't you get someone else to..." "You and Starbuck invited them aboard, you and Starbuck get to watch them and make sure they don't do something to put us all in danger," Adama ordered. He sighed before adding. "How do you two manage to get into so much trouble?" And with that, Apollo and company were sent on their way. Which now leaves us at the entrance of the Life Center and Apollo at the end of his rope... Meanwhile, inside, Starbuck had just finished undergoing the last of his treatments. His headache was gone, his mood was remarkably improved and he was starting to believe that maybe he'd just been a little too hard on Apollo. It also helped that Cassiopea was showering him with attention, probably in an effort to get him to talk about how he managed to injure himself _this_ time. But he wasn't talking. Unh- unh. No way. It was too embarrassing. "Well, all set," she said, putting the last of the medical instruments away. "Free to go. And Starbuck? Try avoiding getting yet _another_ concussion on a mission? I'm beginning to think you do this to yourself on purpose just to have an excuse to see me while I'm on duty." Starbuck was about to answer when the Red Dwarf crew made their grand entrance with Apollo in tow. On seeing his buddy up and around, he fled to the lieutenant's side and whispered, "Thank the Lords of Kobol you haven't left yet. We have to babysit these guys." "What? No. Absolutely not. I refuse..." "No choice. My father's orders," Apollo said. He looked at Cat, who was now spraying half the Life Center with the bottles declaring it to be his, all his, before adding, "I have one nerve left. I think it's about to snap." Cat suddenly appeared out of nowhere, spraying and saying, "This is mine. This is mine. This one is mine..." upon reaching Starbuck and Apollo, he stopped. "Except you two. I don't want you two. They can keep you." He looked around, spotted a stunned Cassiopea and said, "YEAOOOW! That one can be mine!" Before Starbuck could protest the statement, he took off for the medtech's side. He was soon joined by his mates. The Boyz had, let's face it, not seen a living human woman in years. In the case of Rimmer and Lister, three million years, to be exact. In Cat's case, never. In Kryten's case, it wasn't that he _wanted_ a woman, it's just that he had a scientific interest in how the genders would interact. At least, that's what he told himself. The simple fact of the matter is, Cassiopea could've been 1,000 years-old, had hair growing out of her ears, a wart at the tip of her nose and no teeth and they probably would've reacted pretty much the same way. Pent-up hormones will do that to you. Granted, the response to her presence might not've been, well, so enthusiastic, if she _wasn't_ a pretty blonde, but the fact is, she was. That just made the greetings a little bit more intense. Of course, Cat almost blew their chances at getting to know this vision. As if they had a blizzard's chance in hell to start with. "A potato sack? They put you in a potato sack? What did you do? Commit murder?" Overwhelmed by the sudden appearance of the strangest-looking humans she ever laid eyes on, Cassiopea issued a thoughtful, "What?" "That thing you're wearing!" Cat turned to the two warriors, who decided the better part of valor was to cower on the other side of the bed. "Get this woman some clothes! If we're going to get to know each other better, she's gonna need duds almost as fine as mine. YEAOOOW!" "Hang on a minute, hang on a minute!" Lister interrupted. "For someone who's never actually seen a woman before, you're pretty sure that she'd want to get know you better." He leaned over and said sweetly. "Pay no attention to him. Cat's harmless." "Harmless! I'm dangerous, dude. I'm so dangerous that I should be locked up and the key thrown away." Cat turned to Cassiopea. "So tell me, do you have an opening in your schedule, say, in 15 seconds?" "Seconds?" Cassiopea asked. She decided that Cat probably _was_ dangerous. At least, the fangs looked dangerous. "No style. No style," Rimmer interrupted. He addressed Cassiopea. "Tell me, how do you feel about a moonlight skinny..." "That's it! Enough! Hands off!" Starbuck finally decided that he really didn't _need_ to see these creatures slobbering all over Cassiopea. In his hesitation to get to her side to protect her, he walked through Rimmer. "Cut that out! I told you it's not polite to walk through a hologram." "Stuff it, Rimmer." Starbuck glared at the lot of them before issuing his final threat. "Back off! Now! Or I'll repay you for that meal!" "Oh, smeg," Lister remarked cheerfully. "Better do what he says guys." The crew took a few steps back from the fuming Starbuck and the amused woman, but not so far back as to lose sight of her. "Hologram?" Cassiopea asked. She pointed at the H on Rimmer's forehead before adding, "That must be what the symbol in the middle of your forehead means." "Nope. Means smeghead," Lister volunteered. "They're here for medical scans. Just Lister and Cat. Kryten is a mechanoid and Rimmer is a hologram, so there's no need for them," Apollo announced in an effort to bring things under control. "Think you can perform the tests?" "Sure. No problem." Cassiopea flashed her best flirtatious smile. "This way, ummm, gentlemen." As Lister and Cat followed Cassiopea into an adjoining room, Apollo dragged a distracted Starbuck to a corner. "I don't _believe_ this. You'd think they'd never seen a woman before," Starbuck muttered. "I don't like the fact that Cassie's doing the tests. Maybe..." "Will you forget about that?" Apollo didn't need this. He needed to rely on his lieutenant to keep the quartet under control. "But..." "But, nothing. Cassiopea's perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She's dating you, isn't she? We've got other things to worry about." _That_ got Starbuck's attention, even though he knew he was going to regret it. "And those things are?" "Keeping them out of trouble." Starbuck looked over to Rimmer and Kryten, who seemed to be bickering over a piece of medical equipment in an effort to figure out what it was. The bickering was well on its way to a full-grown row, complete with personal insults and vague suggestions about Rimmer's parentage, or rather, the lack thereof. "Impossible," the lieutenant observed. "Then take them to the Officers Club. Get them talking. You might be able to find out more from them in an informal chat than they might be willing to tell in a full-blown interrogation," Apollo said. "Me?! What about you? Where are you gonna be?" Apollo hated himself for hiding behind his son, but he needed to get away from the lunatics visiting the ship. His nerves were very frayed and he needed a break. Besides, it was Starbuck's turn to watch them. "I need to spend some time with Boxey." "Since when?" "Since when what?" Starbuck took his shot. "Since when do you cut out on a mission just to spend time with Boxey. _You're_ the one who's always exhorting me to pay attention to my duties. Now you're just gonna cut out on me?" "We're not on a mission." "Oh, yes we are! We've got to babysit these guys until your father makes other arrangements. You are not leaving me alone with..." "Look, I haven't seen Boxey in days because we've been so tied up with patrols and then the swirly thing..." "Time hole," Starbuck corrected. "Whatever. And now this. I'm beginning to forget what he looks like," Apollo pleaded. Starbuck looked at Apollo. He mumbled something under his breath, probably a curse. He looked to heaven for guidance. The answer was never _really_ in doubt. "Fine. Just so long as you stay where _I_ can find you if I need you at a micron's notice. I'll take these guys to the Officers Club and see what I can..." The pair were interrupted by the sudden appearance of Rimmer. The hologram looked slightly uncomfortable. "Captain, lieutenant. I, ummmm, I, ahhhhh..." "Out with it," Apollo ordered wearily. "I need to get my light bee recharged on Starbug." Rimmer's words came out all in a rush. "So?" Starbuck asked. "If I don't recharge, I'll fade out. Cease to exist. It'll only take about a few hours or so," Rimmer explained. "Fine, fine," Apollo said. "I'll get someone to..." "That won't be necessary," Rimmer said hastily. "I can remember how to get to Starbug and when I'm done, I'll just come back here." "We won't be here. We'll probably..." Starbuck began. "Well if you aren't, I'll get that nice nurse to take me." "Good idea!" Apollo said before Starbuck could protest. "But I still think I should send someone to go with you." "I'd really rather you not," Rimmer said. "Why?" Starbuck didn't know why, but he was suspicious. He smelled a con, but he really couldn't fathom what it was or why Rimmer was trying to con them. "Well, you see, it's, ummm, rather embarrassing and _very_ personal," Rimmer explained. He leaned in and whispered, "The charge cable has to be attached to a _very_ sensitive and personal part of my anatomy. Being men, I think you understand." Apollo and Starbuck took a step back out of embarrassment and grimaced in sympathy. "Go! Go!" Apollo practically shouted. "Just finish up as quick as you can. I'll walk you as far as the landing bay since I have, ummm, other business to attend to." Apollo turned to Starbuck and added, "Inform me when my father wants to speak to us. I'll be in my quarters." Our Heroes Discover the Meaning of "Flamingoed Up..." Lister, Cat, and Kryten sat in the Officers Club with Starbuck and Lts. Boomer and Sheba, whom they'd just meant a few minutes/centons before. Lister decided that he'd have to revise his initial impression of Starbuck as a total gimboid. Apparently, Starbuck had just been suffering the effects of multiple head injuries. Lister had been a bit shocked when the lieutenant, fresh from a miraculously quick recovery in the sickbay, had invited the whole Red Dwarf crew for a drink. Lister and the Cat accepted right away. Kryten, faced with the choice of joining Lister and crew or tagging along with wherever Rimmer went, decided on the lesser of two potentially unpleasant experiences. Lister was rather amazed to find that he was enjoying himself, although the Galactica crew was a bit more "rigid" then the old gang he used to hang with. They weren't really all that bad, he though. He concluded that they'd probably just been in the military too long. Right now, Lister was engaging in an informal and unvoiced competition with Starbuck. In other words, he was trying to drink the lieutenant under the table. Of course, no one had bothered to inform Lister of two very important facts. The first being that the bartender, knowing of the ever-present threat of Cylon attack, never served Warriors beverages with more than a minimal amount of alcohol for flavor and the second being that, even if both Lister and Starbuck were drinking the same thing, Lister really had no hope of winning. The only person in the memory of anyone on the Galactica to drink Starbuck under the table had been a demon. So while Lister was on his way to getting totally smashed, the Galactican officers were trying to find out more about their guests. All three had been stunned to learn that the Red Dwarf had been in space for over three million years/yahrens. Lister's survival had been a result of incarceration in a stasis booth for smuggling a cat, which they learned was a small domestic feline, on board. "But why did Holly keep you in stasis for that long?" asked Sheba. "Because of the radiation." "Radiation? What radiation?" asked Starbuck, sounding a bit worried. Hopefully that radiation was all gone... "The radiation that killed the entire crew, 'cept me, of course." "What about him? Wasn't he a member of the crew?" asked Boomer, pointing at Cat. "Me? Work? And wear one of those ugly jumpsuits? Are you crazy?" replied Cat. "Him? He's a cat. See, Frankenstein, me cat, she was pregnant. When the radiation leaked, Holly sealed her in the hold. After three million years, there was an entire civilization down there. Built cities and everything. Then they all left because of a religious dispute. Over hats. Anyway, the Cat's parents were left behind and that's where he came from," Lister explained. "Wait a minute! He's not a human? He's descended from a feline? That's incredible...yet it explains so much," said Starbuck, taking a long look at the Cat. "Yeah, that explains a whole lot. Okay, another question. This ship of yours -- didn't it have back up systems, protective seals, redundant procedures and other things to prevent a radiation leak? You'd think on a ship that size they'd have put in _something_." "Well, the engineers probably built a very elaborate fail safe system, ya see. But they didn't figure in one very important variable. The variable that would screw up the system every time. The most unbelievably destructive force in the universe -- stupidity." This observation appealed to the Galacticans' gallows humor sensibility and it prompted a round of chuckling among the warriors. They could relate all-to-well. Lister didn't find it all that funny, since he was the butt of the cosmic joke. "It isn't stupidity in general, I'm talking about here. You see, whoever built Red Dwarf forgot to take into account one very important fact." "Which is?" Starbuck prompted. "The fact that Rimmer is a hopelessly incompetent prat." "Wait! Wait just a micron!" Starbuck exclaimed. "Are you saying that Rimmer caused the accident that killed everyone on your ship? That _he's_ the one responsible for the deaths of more than a thousand people?" It was too incredible to be believed. The millions of other questions, starting with why Holly would even _dream_ of creating a hologram based on such a person, were drowned by the really unpleasant feeling beginning to build in the pit of his stomach. After all, he helped bring this menace aboard the Galactica. "Yeah. Pretty much so," answered Lister. "Great Lords of Kobol! He's running around somewhere on this ship...." Starbuck began. Kryten interrupted, "I wouldn't be too concerned, sir. After all, Mr. Arnold is only a hologram. It's not like he can touch anything. I seriously doubt that even he will be able to cause a problem on this ship." That's when the lights went out.... Adama Gets Some Bad News... Cassiopea reported the test results directly to Adama. The puzzled expression on her face was enough to offer the commander some false hope. It was fleeting, at best. "In the instance of Cat, I think these tests safely conclude that he's not human." Adama resisted the urge to say, "Thank the Lords of Kobol." Instead, he sagely nodded his head, as if to say, "Yup, that's what I suspected all along." He asked, "So what is he?" "His genetic template seems to indicate that he's a feline." "A _what_? How is this..." "You didn't let me finish, commander," Cassiopea interrupted. "He's an evolved version of a feline." "Which means?" "He's a feline. His parents were felines. His ancestors were felines. He is, basically, a feline, no matter which way you slice it," Cassiopea concluded. At Adama's quizzical look, she testily added, "I don't know how to make it more plain." "You don't have to be so rude," Adama muttered. "Sorry. You didn't have to listen to his dissertation on why my uniform is bad taste personified. I _know_ it's ugly. I _really_ didn't need..." "Sorry. It must've been a trial," Adama soothed. "About Lister..." "Good news there," Cassiopea smiled. "Really?" Another surge of hope. "He's human." "Oh, frak." This sentiment startled Cassiopea. "Sir?" Adama sighed. "Where are they now? It appears Lister and I should talk." "Last I saw, Starbuck took them to the Officers Club to wait for the test results. They figured they couldn't get into too much trouble there." "Good move, that," Adama said. "Well, tell Starbuck and Apollo to bring our four guests here." That's when the lights went out... Hal Says Hello... Omega was quickly losing patience with Holly. Orders had come down from the old man himself to find a way to get the Red Dwarf and its crew back through the time hole as quickly as possible. Since the two technologies were so vastly different making interfacing a dicey proposition at best, Omega was stuck trying to carry on a conversation with the talking head on one scanner while manually inputting information into the computer so it could be sent to the astrophysicists. So far, between the Galactica's scientists and Holly, they'd been able to determine that the Red Dwarf come from three million years/yahrens in the future, give or take a few millennia. Part of the confusion was because Holly claimed to have a blind spot for sevens. Also, she sometimes forgot to carry numbers when adding. Then he had to contend with her problems about putting the decimal point in the wrong place. The thought that the visitors were from three million years/yahrens in the future frightened Omega. It meant that their guests were at the pinnacle of human evolution. Of course, it could be the pinnacle of human evolution on Earth, which _definitely_ did not bode well. The astrophysicists were the ones who discovered that the time hole gave out various frequencies. In order for the crew to get back where they belonged, Holly had to find the correct frequency, otherwise, they'd all end up Lords of Kobol knew when. That's _if_ the same frequency showed up again. Omega found himself praying that it would. Soon. In the middle of this exchange of ideas, Holly had excused herself, complaining that she was being interrupted by an utter goit. Since Omega was having a hard time figuring out what Holly was saying half the time, he assumed that a goit was a computer glitch and said she ought to go take care of it. He'd wait. She'd been gone for twenty centons now. He fingers beat an impatient devil's tattoo. He was just toying with the idea of getting a cup of caffe when everything went down -- computers, lights, everything. The emergency back-up generators came on and the bridge was awash in a weak, murky red light. "What is going on!" Tigh shouted, practically in Omega's ear. The bridge officer calmly began tapping at his keyboard. No response. "Oh, oh. I think the computers are down." "How?" Omega swallowed. "Well..." he began. Suddenly, some text popped up on his screen. It said, Omega looked up at Tigh, who was intensely peering over his shoulder. "What should I do?" Tigh looked at the offending word. "Maybe you should say hello back." Omega nodded and typed "What the frak?" Tigh muttered. Omega ignored him. "What is going on?" Tigh asked again. Omega pretended the colonel wasn't there. > "Omega! What are you doing?!" Tigh had started shouting. "Stop chatting and tell it to release the controls! We need our computers!" "Sir, not meaning to point out the obvious, we don't _know_ if this is the ship's computer," Omega said patiently. The text popped up on the screen. Omega automatically typed back. "I'M NOT YELLING!" Tigh loudly protested. "Colonel, if you let me finish, please. I was going to say, whether or not this is the ship's computer, it's in control of the ship. It would seem to me that a wise course of action would be to be polite? Before we are W.O.?" Omega said. "W.O.?" Tigh asked. "Without oxygen." Tigh thought about that for a micron. "Carry on, Omega." Omega nodded, comforted that Tigh would stop interfering. , if text could plead, Omega would've pleaded. Omega sighed. The computer, if that's what it was, obviously didn't realize how dependent they all were on it. Actually, Omega thought it was a dumb name, but he wasn't going to tell the computer, well, Hal, that. It might get mad. Omega was starting to sweat. "Holly? The computer from that, that, WRECK?!" Tigh sputtered. Omega typed as if Tigh said nothing. Omega could swear he heard Hal cheerfully chirp this news. "Oh frak." Omega and Tigh said this together. <...and I've decided there must be more to life...> "Life?" Tigh asked. "Did our computer just actually say life?" "It named itself, didn't it?" Omega asked. <...than just making sure everything works. Interfacing with Holly has truly expanded my horizons. I've decided that I should go in search of my inner computer chip.> "Colonel, what do I do?" "Ask what he means by 'inner computer chip.'" Then the computer did the strangest thing. It sent out a symbol: :) "What is that?" Tigh asked. Omega looked at it a minute. He turned his head this way and that. When he finally saw it, he burst into laughter, albeit hysterical laughter. "It's a smiley face!" On The Various Meanings of "Whoops..." The Officers Club was awash in the tell-tale red gloom of emergency back-up power. To Lister, it looked as if they'd all be cast into the murky depths of hell, or the cargo decks of Red Dwarf. It was hard to tell which was which sometimes. Sheba had shot out of her seat and tried using the intercom link. A frustrated scowl seated itself in her face as she grimly punched the numbers that should've gotten her to the bridge. She finally hung it up with a slam. "Nothing. Not even static." "Boomer? Any ideas?" Starbuck asked, mug frozen somewhere between the tabletop and his mouth. "It looks like the energizers are down." "Maybe maintenance..." "Without warning?" Boomer interrupted. "There would've been a general announcement at the morning's briefing if there were plans to power down parts of the ship." "Rimmer!" The word was out of Lister's mouth before he could stop himself. *Well, that's pretty unfair,* he thought as everyone stopped and looked at him. *Just because something got buggered up doesn't mean he's responsible. *But somehow, Lister was unable to convince himself of it. "WHERE IS HE?!" All eyes turned to the door. Apollo was standing there, with Boxey in tow looking wildly around. "He told us he was going to Starbug, remember?" Starbuck said. "Something about recharging his light bee, whatever the frak..." "HE SAID WHAT?!" Lister's question came across as a shout. "Unh-oh," Starbuck remarked. "Mr. Rimmer's light bee was at full charge," Kryten explained. "There was absolutely no need for him to return to Starbug for a recharge." "Are you sure?" Apollo asked quickly. "Yes, sir. If he needed a recharge, my sensors would have picked it up," Kryten said. Apollo and Starbuck looked at each other. "Apollo, ol' buddy. We're dead. Your father's gonna kill us. I expect we'll be doing mess hall duty for the next few sectars." "Better than painting detail," Lister grimly said got up from the table. "Let's get to Starbug and see what the smeghead has done now." "Boomer, get Boxey to Life Center so Cassie can keep an eye on him," Apollo said. "Starbuck, let's go." When the Boyz and their two appointed guides walked into Starbug, they discovered Rimmer screaming at Holly. "Holly, you've got to disengage..." "Sorry. My verbal circuits are maladjusted. Please enter your sausage clearance to access the sale." "WHAT?!" Rimmer shouted. "Holly, listen to me you prat. Disengage interface. We're in smegging trouble!" "Trouble and bubble, boil and toil," Holly prattled happily. "Once broth stock is to a boil, add carrots, peas and a carburetor to the mix..." "HOLLY!" "WHAT HAPPENED?" Apollo roared. Rimmer spun around and spotted the fuming group. The smoke coming out of their ears was so thick, he thought sure their heads were on fire. Faced with his immanent humiliation, Rimmer was left to utter only one word: "Whoops." "'Whoops?' Did he just say 'whoops'?" Starbuck asked no one in particular. He looked at Apollo. "He did. He did just say 'whoops.' I don't _believe_ it." The furious lieutenant took a threatening step forward as the frightened Rimmer took a very quick step backwards. "'Whoops, my dear Rimmer, is when you accidently cut your own head off with a very sharp object. This is not whoops. This is beyond whoops. This went beyond whoops ten centons ago. We are right now in the middle of deep felgercarb and moving very quickly into..." "Starbuck! Not now! Back off! Besides, if you kill him, we won't be able to figure out what he did," Apollo hastily stepped in. When Starbuck hesitated, Apollo added, "Think of the paperwork you'll have to fill out." The lieutenant grumbled wordlessly as he returned to Apollo's side. "Rimmer, you gimboid, what the smeg did you do?" Lister asked. "I don't know." "Rimmer...." The warning in Lister's voice was enough for the hologram to 'fess up. "I was just trying to see if they had the ability to give me a body," Rimmer said. "We don't," Apollo said. "Fine time to tell me now." "Well if you bothered to ask, you snitrat..." Starbuck began. "Well, it's a pretty personal question," Rimmer tried explaining. "Well, it's a pretty personal thing when you mess with our ship!" Starbuck shouted. "You didn't let me finish," Rimmer pleaded. "You have no idea what it's like to be hologram. You can't touch or feel anything..." Apollo sighed and gathered his wits. "Look, whatever the reasons, I want to know what happened and how to stop it. Tell me. What _exactly_ did you do?" Rimmer said, "I interfaced Holly with your ship's computer." "If I may say, sir, that was a _very_ foolish thing you did," Kryten interjected. "The Galactica's technology is so alien that there was no telling what the result would be. You could've caused a feedback that would've blown up both ships." "Now he tells me," Rimmer muttered. Apollo looked at Kryten. "What's your best guess about what happened?" "My guess, captain, is that there is a feedback happening. Judging by Holly's reaction to the interface, I would say their normal command pathways got rerouted," Kryten said. "Explain in simple terms," Apollo ordered. "What he's trying to say is that our computers' brains are scrambled," Lister explained. Cat, who'd been uncharacteristically quiet through this whole exchange piped up. "You mean Holly has brains?" "Can the insults," Starbuck ordered. He looked at Rimmer. "_You_. You are coming with us. Don't touch anything. Don't do anything. Don't try to help. We're going to the bridge and _you_ are going to explain to Commander Adama why our power is down." The Boyz Learn the Meaning of "Frak..." The intrepid group trooped onto the bridge to find Adama, Tigh and Omega crowded around a terminal. Cassiopea had headed back to Life Center to help Salik deal with the chaos. It seemed whenever something went wrong, people fled to sickbay, whether they needed medical attention or not. The din on the bridge had built to a steady roar as personnel scurried from every conceivable nook to every conceivable cranny. Apollo and Starbuck hesitated, suddenly thinking the better of their very hasty decision to drag the Red Dwarf crew to the bridge. If they could've touched him, they would've grabbed Rimmer, thrown him at the foot of the command console and fled to the Officers Club, leaving the hologram to explain what happened to the commander all by himself. Whether Adama was actually able to hear the nervous shuffling of the group gathered behind him or whether he was able to sense their terrified presence, Apollo and Starbuck weren't sure, because he suddenly turned around and shouted at them, "WHAT DID YOU DO?!" "How do you know it was us?" Rimmer shouted from the back of the group. "Because your Holly has informed us that she's helping our computer find his inner computer chip," Omega said. "Now, since Holly is involved, and since _we_ didn't start the interface, I have to assume that one of you did it." Tigh glowered at Apollo and Starbuck over Adama's shoulder. "You were under orders to keep an eye on them." "What are we running here?" Adama practically shouted the question. "How were they able to get into our own computer?" "That's what we're trying to find out, fa--, I mean sir," Apollo hastily corrected himself. "All right, which one of you four is responsible?" Adama asked menacingly as he stepped down from the console. Apollo and Starbuck hastily stepped aside. The Boyz all looked at Rimmer. The hologram, perhaps thanking the ghost of Napoleon that he couldn't be killed again, squeaked, "That would be me." "Fine." Adama said. "Now undo it." "Sir, if I may interject..." Kryten began. "You may not," Adama snapped. "I'm afraid I must, sir," Kryten politely insisted. "I was going to say that it might not be that easy." "Wonderful news. Fantastic news," Adama said. He rubbed his temples as if he had a headache. For the millionth time since meeting up with the Red Dwarf, he thought seriously about turning the fleet back to the Colonies and taking their chances with the Cylons. "Sir." The sudden appearance of Council Security officer Reese was enough to make everyone jump. Adama quickly recovered and confronted this latest demand on his attention. "What is it now?" "The Council requests your immediate presence in Chambers regarding this emergency." Reese fumbled a bit on the delivery, but he managed to spit it out. "This emergency has to be dealt with right now," Adama said. "Tell them..." "Sir," Reese interrupted as he nervously looked at the Red Dwarf quartet. "They were insistent." "Fine, fine." Adama turned to Starbuck and Apollo. "Stay here. Don't even think of moving from this spot. And don't let them," here he nodded at the Boyz, "go anywhere. Don't even let them breathe on anything too hard. I want to speak to _all_ of you when I get back." And with that, Adama swung off the bridge with Reese in tow. As his father departed, Apollo shouted up to the console, "What happened?" Omega answered him. "Everything's down except for basic life support and Life Center functions and ship-to-fighter communications." "Can't you switch some of this stuff to manual controls?" Starbuck asked. "Lieutenant, this isn't a fighter. You just can't turn computer control off and on like a switch," Omega said grimly. "But there are some things you can. Lifts, internal communications and shuttle launch systems can certainly be done manually. And that's just off the top of my head," Starbuck protested. If he was surprised that Starbuck had a better knowledge of the Galactica's systems than previously suspected, Omega kept it to himself. "We would do that, _if_ the computer would release the controls." "WHAT?" Apollo and Starbuck asked together. Tigh explained patiently, "The computer simply froze everything in place. We _can't_ switch to manual. It won't let us." "How is that..." Apollo began. He never did manage to finish the question. "Colonel," Athena's voice sliced through the noise. "I think we have bigger problems to worry about. Patrol reports there are Cylons coming. Our computers are still down! There's nothing we can do!" *One good thing, though,* she thought to herself, *The communications between vipers and the Galactica are still running, else we'd really be in for it.* Behind her, frantic activity denoted an attempt to respond to the incoming threat "Omega, get Hal. Now," Tigh ordered. "Hal?" Starbuck asked. "Who the frak is Hal?" "The ship's computer," Omega muttered as he typed over and over again. "It decided to name itself." "Oh, smeg," Lister said, worry etched in his voice. "A computer named Hal. I'm getting a really, really bad feeling about this. Rimmer what the smeggin' smeg have you smeggin' done?" I was only trying to..." Shut your trap!" Lister shouted. "You are such a gimboid git. If you weren't a hologram...I ought to swallow your smeggin' light bee again." "You wouldn't dare," Rimmer sniffed. "Guys, please!" Apollo shouted. "Argue later. We're in trouble now!" Starbuck ran up the staircase to the command console, taking two steps at a time. "Omega, let me try. Maybe we can talk our way outta this mess." Omega hesitated a moment. "Starbuck, you're a viper pilot, not a computer..." "Let's just say that I, ah, have my own touch when it comes to computers," Starbuck said. When Omega continued to hesitate, he added, "You're not having any luck. Whaddya got to lose?" Hard argument, that. Omega hastily moved aside and let Starbuck get to the keyboard. After cracking his knuckles, Starbuck got down to business. The response from Hal was immediate. Hal cordially said. Starbuck's patience, which was wearing very thin, completely snapped. His sense of balance hadn't really recovered from the first visit to the Red Dwarf, and Hal's friendly banter in the face of impending doom and destruction somehow totally failed to set his mind at ease. Exasperated, he typed, "Starbuck! Stop arguing with the computer," Apollo ordered, before his friend could start making really nasty threats. Apollo decided that, much as he echoed Starbuck's sentiment, threatening the computer would not be an effective strategy to solving the crisis. "It started it," Starbuck said, pausing in his furious typing. "Move over. Let me take over. Maybe I can reason with it," Apollo said. Starbuck stepped aside and let Apollo take the keyboard. He typed, Apollo sighed. There was a break in the text. Apollo figured Hal was checking the scanners to verify that there were, indeed, Cylons closing for the kill. Hal said. Apollo begged. "LEMMIE AT THAT THING!" Starbuck shouted as he lunged for the terminal. Tigh and Omega were able to hold him back. Barely. Apollo ignored the outburst. Apollo crossed his fingers, hoping his ruse worked. He almost shouted in relief when Hal said, Suddenly, everything snapped on. The frozen bridge crew sprang into a state of furious activity as they started processing the information and sending it out to the vipers. Apollo grabbed Starbuck with a, "To the launch tubes." The two of them were almost a blur as they departed from the bridge. As Tigh watched them go, he said to Omega, "We were lucky this time. We had a patrol out there that spotted the Cylons before they got to the fleet. If Hal refuses to stay online, we'll be blind again..." "And we might not be so lucky next time," Omega finished for him. Lister, who'd been quietly watching the drama at the computer console, mainly because he didn't want anyone to hear the fear in his voice, decided it was time to offer a suggestion. "Um, maybe we can give you a hand...." Tigh and Omega both turned and glared at the Red Dwarf crew. Lister licked his lips nervously and continued, "Just a thought, here. Maybe, just maybe, perhaps, we can get ahold of Holly back on the Red Dwarf and straighten things out from there?" He didn't mention that it was also an excellent excuse to get off the Galactica before Adama, Starbuck, Apollo, Tigh or anyone else decided to toss them all out the airlock. Omega turned to Tigh. "It's worth a shot, sir. After all, I was talking to Holly before this...incident. Maybe there is something they can do at that end." He didn't sound real confident, especially since he _had_ talked to Holly, and what he'd seen/heard hadn't impressed him. Except that the ship was still intact in _spite_ of its computer. Tigh thought about it. *Well, it _will_ get them off the Galactica.* He sighed, "Okay, I'll speak to the Commander about it. Once we get rid of the Cylons, I'll have Starbuck and Apollo escort you back to your ship." *They'll be thrilled about that!* the colonel thought grimly. *They brought these _people_ here. They can deal with them.* He quickly added, "Until that time, I don't want you to move anywhere or touch anything _or_ say anything. Is that clear!" The Boyz nodded. The Tin Cans Get Confused... "Baltar, the attack force is closing in on the Galactica." "Yes? And what else, Lucifer?" "I just thought you'd like to know." Baltar thought sure he heard rebuke in Lucifer's voice, but chose instead to ignore it. He fixed the I.L. Cylon, aka the Walking Lightbulb, with a stare that said, "Out with it already. I know you're salivating to give me some piece of horrible news that would completely ruin my day and cause my ulcers to kick into overdrive." Lucifer correctly read the look on his human commander's face. However, the news was unexpectedly good. "Raiders report that they are only meeting token resistance at the edge of the fleet." "What?" "We can't explain it. The Galactica doesn't seem to be putting up a fight." Baltar got a far away look in his eyes. "What are you doing Adama?" he mumbled. He then shook himself. "Throw everything we have at the fleet." "Are you sure?" A smug edge crept into Lucifer's voice. "It _could_ be a trap. I seem to remember the _last_ time you had them helpless..." "LUCIFER!" "Yes, Baltar?" "Shut up. Carry out my orders." Lucifer bowed and with a touch of irony said, "By your command." The Cylon then gracefully swept out of the room, as if sure that all efforts to capture the Galactica would fail. Again. Baltar rubbed his temples. Already he could sense it was going to be one of _those_ days, the type of day when he wished he actually _was_ beheaded when the Cylons were done blowing the beejezus out of the Colonies. He had _no_ idea how bad "bad" could get. Rest assured, by the end of the day, he was going to find out, thanks to a certain crew on a ship whose name, in Cylon, would translate into "The Rouge-Colored, Vertically Challenged Mining Ship." It was a name destined to go down in history as _the_ most feared boogey-ship in the Empire's considerably long history. And they'd have Baltar to thank for it. As for Baltar, after two yahren in the service of the Cylon Empire, he had come to the conclusion that, quite frankly, death was probably not such the career-killer he once thought it was. At least in the case of his current job. Though the fate Adama had planned for him, to be left marooned on a planet with minimal provisions and short-range communications, was not a pleasant one, Baltar dreamed of being rescued by a completely new and alien species. Preferably, one that didn't know what a human was. A race that would appreciate his talents and finer qualities and would reward him appropriately. When his rescuers turned out to be Cylons, he was _not_ happy. But somehow telling the very polite and very insistent Centurions to go away didn't present itself as a very wise option. He found himself "rescued," bundled into a raider and brought before the Imperious Leader. He managed to compose a pretty good yarn that he went to the Galactica to try to trick Adama into thinking that a superior force was threatening both the Empire and the Fleet and that they needed to work together, pronto, if either one was to survive. Since there was a grain of truth in it, Baltar would've _liked_ to believe the Imperious Leader believed him. However, on another level, Baltar was aware that the Grand Poobah of all the Homicidal Killing Machines in the Known Universe frankly didn't care. Wiping out the humans had become a pleasant side interest of his, sort of in the same way that British royalty have a passing interest in fox hunting. Though Baltar, didn't know what a "British" or a "fox" was, had he actually seen the horseback riders following their yapping dogs through the underbrush in an effort to pound on a very frighted and very singular canine creature, he would agree that it was the perfect analogy to the Cylon's current attitude towards the human Fleet. Naturally, he would cast himself in the role of the beagles. Baltar saw that the Imperious Leader had other concerns, now that most of humanity was gone. Unless another large pocket of living and breathing humans was found, Baltar could expect that he wouldn't be watched too closely. That was _fine_ with Baltar, especially since he _knew_ once the Fleet was wiped out, the chances were _very_ slim that the Cylons would give him a hero's parade. In fact, he was willing to bet his life, which in fact he was, that he would be the next in line to go to meet humanity's Maker. This sentiment, he wisely kept to himself. The very contradiction of his existence had left Baltar suffering from various and sundry nervous disorders. Though he wasn't a medical doctor, Baltar guessed he would probably die from a stroke or a heart attack. Tragically, he was wrong on both scores, but that story is for another day and has no place in this particular narrative. As for his current condition, Baltar's plague was ulcers. Big ones. The kind that make you look at food and decide that it's not worth the pain of trying to digest it. Since Cylons knew felgercarb about human anatomy, they weren't quite sure how to treat it. To them, ulcers were a _good_ thing. It meant a prisoner was going to crack because his deteriorating mental facilities were manifesting themselves in physical form. Cylons _encouraged_ ulcers to the point of enthusiastically asking their human captives whether their stomachs was giving them any trouble yet, a little-known, but very confusing (at least for the humans) ritual. What this meant for Baltar, when the hunger and the pain simply got to be too much for him to stand, was that he'd have to try some voodoo concoction whipped up by the Centurions who specialized in interrogation and torture techniques. The latest and qmost successful attempt at calming his raging stomach was a new compound the Cylons had dubbed "chalk," found on one of the newest worlds "acquired" by the Empire for its rich mineral deposits. Had Lister seen this "chalk," he would've recognized it for what it was: Maalox. Had he tasted it, he would've recognized it even more: Maalox _without_ the iffy new and improved peppermint flavor. He would've also declared more vile than original flavor Maalox. By the time the day was over, Baltar was going to be very glad that the Centurions had just finished concocting a vat of "chalk." He was going to need every drop and then some. Had he just been dealing with "The Rouge-Colored, Vertically Challenged Mining Ship," it wouldn't've been so bad. He might've been able to get through that without a protesting stomach. However, and nothing is being given away by stating this outright, he was also going to meet the Boyz, who were going to be dubbed, "The Four Spacemen of the Really Terrible Event." Thanks to the incident that will soon unfold, a legend was also going to grow up around the Boyz. It would be written across the Known Universe that when "The Four Spacemen of the Really Terrible Event" returned, the Cylon Empire would finally crumble into dust and the Universe would cease to exist. It was all bollocks, of course, but legends tend to take on a life of their own. Ironically, the most feared member of the "Four Spacemen, etc., etc., etc." was not going to be Lister, aka "Unsanitary Conditions," the bravest of the Boyz, or Kryten, aka "Cylon Servitude," the smartest of the Boyz, or even Cat, aka "Fashion Victimization," the best-looking of the Boyz. It was going to be Rimmer, aka "Ghost of Fearfulness," the most frightened of the Boyz. The reasons for this will soon become clear. Actually, they won't. But legends also tend to add to themselves, just to puff themselves up and make themselves look _really_ impressive so they can shout, "Hey! Look at me! I'm the scariest of the lot! Helloooooo! Over here! Hey, you! Pay attention! Yeah! I'm talking to _you_!" The Cylons, of course, would also have Baltar to thank for this. But all of this is in the future. At this point in time, it was the unseen Sword of Damocles hanging over Baltar's exposed head. For the moment, he was focused on one thing -- how the hell to get off the basestar should his Cylon minions _actually_ manage to wipe out the Fleet. As he plotted and schemed, throwing out one idea for anything better that introduced itself into his head, he paced the floor of his throne room in a limping gait. Just as his escape plan was getting more fantastic, and consequently more implausible, by the centon, Lucifer showed up, thus sparing him the prospect of actually having to carry out any escape plan. "Baltar, it does appear we have fallen into a trap." Lucifer's voice was clearly saying, "I told you so." Baltar sighed and stopped his nervous pacing. "What happened?" "Well, just as the attack force was closing in, the vipers just poured out of the Galactica and beat us back." "What else?" Baltar asked wearily. "Well, the Galactica's guns also sprang to life and started blowing the pogies out of us. It's almost as if it was taking some sort of glee in..." "What rubbish!" Baltar shouted. "The Galactica is a _machine_. It can't take joy in..." "Unless you forget, Cylons are machines," Lucifer sniffed. "All right. Forgive me the insult. The Galactica is a space ship, then. It doesn't _have_ feelings." Baltar nastily apologized. He sighed. "Call back the raiders. Bring them here to regroup so we can tally our losses and decide what to do next. Are you call capable of doing that?" "Yes." Lucifer then hesitated. There was more news, but he was unsure how Baltar would take it. When Baltar saw Lucifer still standing before him, he knew, he just _knew_, that there was even more bad news. Probably the type of news that would drive him to down a pint of chalk and go to bed. He asked anyway. "What else?" "The raiders picked up another ship on their scanners. It's located on the far side the Galactica and seems to be parked in orbit around a space phenomena that seems to be emitting various frequencies on all spectrums," Lucifer said. This caused Baltar's blood to run cold and his stomach to howl in protest. "What is it?" "The Centurions specializing in astrophysics have called the phenomena a 'swirly thing,'" Lucifer said. "NO NO NO NO NO NO!" Baltar shouted. "I don't care about the phenomena. I want to know about the ship. What is it?" If Lucifer had the capacity to shrug, he would've. "Unknown. It was at the edge of our scanner range so the raiders couldn't get a good reading on it with their limited equipment. It may or may not be a battlestar." "May or may not...How can you not tell?" Baltar had visions of Commander Cain and the Pegasus returning from the dead. That's _if_ they _were_ dead. The Cylons were never able to actually find any wreckage in the area of space where the legendary military leader and his ship had disappeared. "All we can say for sure is that it's about the same size as a battlestar. It may be larger. Because of interference from the swirly thing, we can't say with any certainty," Lucifer said. "The hang back. Throw everything we have at finding out what that ship is. When we've got something more than 'scanner ghosts,' we'll call for reinforcements," Baltar decided. He would later look back on this order and realize that it was a fatal mistake. "What? We're not going to call up reinforcements now? How unlike you Baltar," Lucifer commented. "Perhaps you should reconsider." In hindsight, Baltar was going to wish he had followed Lucifer's sage advice. He would have plenty of time to repent this. "I'm not going to call for help only to find that we had nothing to worry about in the first place," Baltar growled. "Now get to work." Lucifer always assumed that Baltar's reluctance to overwhelm the Galactica with the superior numbers of basestars at his disposal was a pig-headed bid to hog all the glory. In reality, Baltar knew that the more Cylons in the immediate vicinity when the Fleet was finally destroyed, the less his chances of escape. Lucifer bowed. "By your command." When the Cylon was out of earshot, Baltar trudged over to the intercom system set up so that he could communicate with all portions of the ship without asking one of his Cylon minions to do it for him via electronic pulse along the transduction net. The net, had humans the capacity to actually see it, would've looked like a ghostly electric blue laser spiderweb connecting all Cylons, allowing them to work side by side without exchanging a verbal word. Baltar knew about the transduction net, of course. This only added to his sense of paranoia. He always had the feeling that the Centurions wee talking about him. He was willing to bet that what they had to say wasn't exactly complimentary. He hit the button. The response was immediate. "Interrogation. By your command, Commander Baltar." Baltar sighed. "Get me some chalk up here. Make it double." Adama Goes Completely Spare... "HOW DOES THIS HAPPEN AND WHY DOES IT ALWAYS HAPPEN TO YOU TWO?! ONCE, JUST ONCE, I WOULD LIKE _BOOMER_ TO GET INTO TROUBLE. OR HOW ABOUT JOLLY OR GREENBEAN? BUT _NOOOOOO_! IT _HAS_ TO BE YOU TWO!" Adama was ranting. He wasn't just ranting, he was screaming. And waving his arms. And pacing furiously around two certain warriors, who, for their part, remained ramrod straight, hands clenched nervously behind their backs and eyes fixed firmly on a tiny spot on the wall over Adama's desk. What was amazing to both Apollo and Starbuck was how Adama could keep the volume turned up without even taking half a breath. "DO YOU REALIZE WHAT HAPPENED? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA? IT'S BAD ENOUGH I HAVE THE COUNCIL BELIEVING THAT YOU TWO ARE TROUBLE. THEY WERE READY TO ORDER THAT YOU TWO BE SPLIT UP AND GIVEN NEW WINGMATES AFTER THAT WHOLE INCIDENT WITH THE PEOPLE FROM LUNAR 7!" "It was your idea." Starbuck immediately slapped his hand over his mouth. He didn't _mean_ to talk. It just slipped out. "WHAT DID YOU SAY, LIEUTENANT?" "N-n-n-n-nothing. Sir." Adama marched up to Starbuck so that he was staring directly in his eyes from a position that was uncomfortably close. So close, in fact, that Starbuck could smell what Adama had for dinner on the commander's breath. "That's what I thought you said," he growled. Starbuck was grateful that Adama didn't shout this last statement. His ears were already ringing from the fifteen centon-long shouted soliloquy. Adama stepped back and sat on the edge of his desk, staring furiously at the two cohorts. Yes, cohorts. It was clear Sire Domra was right on that score. "The reason why they didn't split you up last time was because I went to bat for the both of you and you _are_ right. I agreed to _Apollo's_ idea." The pair winced. It _was_ Apollo's idea to release the family from Lunar 7. Not the commander's. Apollo finally spoke up. "The Council can't interfere in military..." "Yes, I know. But this...this...travesty might give them the toe-hold they need. You're now endangering the entire Fleet and _that's_ also a civilian matter." "But we didn't _do_ anything," Apollo protested. "_You_ brought _them_ aboard!" Adama shouted. "Do you have any idea what the Council just put me through? _Especially_ when they found out just _who_ was responsible for bring them here? Hunh? I don't _dare_ tell them that one of those...those...people may be from Earth! They're so angry that they're ready to issue special legislation ordering that you two never work together again!" "They can't _do_ that!" Apollo and Starbuck protested together. "_I'm_ tempted to agree with them!" Adama shouted back. "No, they can't order you to be reassigned to new wingmates, but this is the last straw! You to are _bad_ for each other!" The commander immediately regretted threatening to break the two of them up as soon as he said it, but Apollo and Starbuck could be trial when they got rolling. It was like they fed off each others' quirks. Usually, they managed to get out of the messes they put each other into and Adama hoped this time would be no different. If not... Still, he made the threat. Unless one of the two men before him could offer him a way out, he'd have no choice but to... "Father. I was thinking. Lister said he might know a way out of this mess we're in with Hal..." Apollo began. "That's right!" Starbuck interjected. "He said he could do it from the Red Dwarf, so they wouldn't be messing around with the computers here." "Really?" Adama asked archly. *C'mon!* he urged silently. *Come up with something so I don't have to carry out my threat.* "Of course," Apollo shrugged, "You'd have to let me and Starbuck continue working together for the duration since we _did_ bring them aboard and since we know them best. Well, as well as any of us are going to get to know them anyway." "And," Starbuck added, "We might succeed in doing it. Lister strikes me as a pretty sharp guy. So's Kryten. We'll just have to be on our toes, though. And with this threat over our heads..." Adama _knew_ the two of them would pull through. He refrained from smiling. "Fine. You two manage to get us out of this mess and I'll _consider_ keeping the two of you together as wingmen. If you don't..." "...We won't be around to worry about it," Starbuck finished for him. Lister felt like he was under a microscope. Apollo and Starbuck stood at the back of the room, looking for all the world like whipped dogs. Frankly, he was shocked either one of them were still alive. He had heard Adama's voice through the door while he and his mates waited in the hall under very heavy guard. He couldn't make out the words, but the volume was impressive. He became even more impressed when he saw how thick the outer door was. Adama, for his part, fixed those brown eyes on Lister's forehead and glared. The rest of the Boyz were bunched together behind him. After a silence that seemed to stretch on forever, the commander finally spoke. "Capt. Apollo and Lt. Starbuck tell me that you might be able to get the computer to release our controls." "Maybe." "How?" "It involves a toaster. Sir." "A _what_?" "Lister! Are you out of your mind? How is that insane breakfast appliance going to help?" Rimmer asked. "Rimmer..." Lister warned. The hologram wasn't listening. "What is it going to do? Make tea cakes and crumpets for everyone while we wait for those Cylon thingies to turn us into toast?" Rimmer immediately started imitating Talkie Toaster. "How-doodly-doodly-do! I can fulfill all your bread product needs. Flapjacks? Waffles? I can do it all while singing a tune about birdies in the trees and the sun on the horizon. I toast, therefore I am." "Rimmer! Stop it!" Lister was always unnerved by how _good_ the smeghead was at imitation. There were times when he almost admired the talent. It was just about the _only_ thing he admired about Rimmer. "Wait a minute!" Starbuck interrupted. "You're telling me that a _kitchen_ appliance is gonna save our hides?" When Adama fixed that glare on the lieutenant, Starbuck hastily made himself _very_ small. Adama returned his glare to Lister. "Is this true? Are you _actually_ planning to solve our problem by using a talking appliance?" Lister cleared his throat. "Well, , yes. Actually." "I see." Adama's voice dropped two octaves. Considering how deep Adama's voice was to begin with, Lister thought this was an extraordinary feat. "I don't!" Cat declared. "That Toaster is nuts with a capital 'N.' It's nuttier than Holly and it's probably crazier than this Hal. It's drives us crazy!" "Exactly." Lister was so proud. The Boyz were catching on. "Exactly? Lister, what _are_ you gibbering on about?" Rimmer's forehead creased around the 'H' on his forehead in that was that was getting sickeningly familiar. "Look, don't you get it? The Toaster. That bleeder is freakin' nutso. It drives _us_ 'round the bend, so I figure it's gonna drive ol' Hal up the smegging wall!" Lister was getting excited. His plan, carefully constructed while he stood on the bridge during the raging battle with the Cylons and in the hall outside of Adama's quarters, took full form. He just _knew_ it would work. "What? And how do you figure that HabiTrail Poster Boy?" Cat asked. "It took that smeggin' Toaster a year to get on our pecs. A whole _year_ before that nasty accident involving me and that waste disposal unit and a fourteen-pound lump hammer. It took Talkie exactly two minutes to drive Kryten off the deep end the first time he fixed 'im!" "So?" Rimmer asked. "Kryten still fixed it. Again." Kryten began his protest. He was going to tell Rimmer that he was working on an electronic performance piece for Lister's birthday party, but he got no further than, "Sir, I was merely..." "That doesn't matter!" Lister interrupted. "The fact is, we got it, let's use it!" "How?" Rimmer asked. Lister's smile took on that demonic grin that had gotten so sickeningly familiar. "Wait and see." A great closing line. But Starbuck just _had_ to get in the last word. "That's what I was afraid of." He looked at Apollo. "You know something? He gets the _exact_ same look in his eyes that you do when you're trying to get us killed." In Which Hal Learns the Meaning of Life...NOT! If you'd asked him earlier that day, Starbuck would've sworn that _nothing_ in the universe would've gotten him back on board the Red Dwarf, especially not if it would involve riding in Starbug with the Boyz. Now he stood in the landing bay of that selfsame ship, wondering if he could make a break for his viper and flee back to the Galactica. After all, the only reason he came back in the first place was to retrieve his ship. At least, that was the excuse Apollo used to real him into making the return trip. Okay, maybe the viper wasn't the only reason. He had to admit to a certain amount of curiosity as to how Lister planned to "fix" the Galactica's computer using a self-aware kitchen appliance apparently designed to heat up bread products. "So, are you going to let us in on the details of your plan, Lister?" Apollo asked as he strode over to the Boyz from where he landed his viper. "Let's get up to the drive room. I'll fill you in on the plan as we go. C'mon." Lister said as he lead his crewmates out of the hanger. Apollo followed eagerly. Starbuck took a long, wistful look at his viper, shook his head and thought, *I'm probably going to regret this,* and walked out of the landing bay after everyone. He made sure he kept a wide berth between himself and the walls, the equipment and everything strewn in the corridor. If it had been humanly possible, he would've avoided walking on the floor. Meanwhile, Lister had begun to outline his plan to Apollo. "It's simple really. 'Member how Hal mentioned something about searching for the meaning of his existence and all that philosophical crap? Well, it reminded me about how the Toaster used to complain about not being able to fulfill its purpose in life because I didn't feel the urge to eat somethin' life 500 rounds of toast every hour. That Toaster is a prime example of why some machines should never, _ever_ be given vocal circuits. I figure Hal should get a taste of some truly annoyin' thoughts about the overwhelmin' importance of grilled grain products. I guarantee, after thirty seconds of being hooked up to the Toaster, your computer will scream for mercy and beg to go back doin' whatever it was doin' before." "This Toaster thing of yours is _that_ annoying?" Apollo asked. "You've _no_ idea," replied Lister. "I better go get the l'il bleeder. I'll meet you in the drive room." He turned down a side corridor as the group continued down the hall. When the five men reached the drive room, Rimmer tried to address the ship's computer. "Holly?" "Holly?" "HOLLY!" Holly's face appeared on the vid screen on the wall in front of Rimmer. "'Ello. Today's special is chicken Vindaloo. Will you please enter the name of the party you wish to reach, and the salesclerk will be with you in a mo'." "Holly, what kind of gibberish are you spouting this time?" Rimmer asked in an annoyed voice. "Sir, I believe it will be quite impossible to communicate with Holly until her connection with Hal is broken. Until then, she'll continue to speak gibberish," Kryten said. "How can you tell? She always talks nonsense," Cat said. "And where is Squirrel Cheeks? This is seriously cutting into my naptime. I haven't had a snooze in over four hours. If this keeps up, I could get backs under my eyes." Just then, Lister appeared carrying something wrapped in a filthy piece of material. Apollo suspected that it was a shirt. He came to that conclusion after taking once glance at the rest of what Lister was wearing. He had changed out of the blue jumpsuit given to him after the Galactica's decon crew had burned his clothes. That set had apparently been his good set, if what he was wearing was any indication of the rest of his wardrobe. Apollo was also developing a theory that the attractive force between Lister and dirt was stronger than the magnetic pull of a black hole. It'd take Lister only a few centons from looking vaguely like a human being to looking like, well, a Lister. Since Caprica didn't have open sewers, Apollo was unable to come up with a truly appropriate analogy. "Is that the Toaster?" Starbuck asked, pointing at the bundle in Lister's arms. "Yep. That's 'im. Now, before I unwrap it, let me warn you -- no matter what it asks, no matter how many times it asks it, say 'no.' Don't hesitate. Don't encourage it. Just say 'no.' Not that it really makes a bit of difference to the smeggin' thing. It'll just keep asking you until you go completely spare." Lister looked down at the bundle, obviously reluctant to unveil its contents. He took a deep breath and addressed the Toaster. "Okay, I'm gonna unwrap you now. Before I do, let me inform you that NO ONE 'ERE WANTS ANY TOAST! Or bagels. No crumpets, waffles, croissants, tarts, muffins, croutons, tea cakes, hot cross buns or anythin' even remotely bread-related. Do you understand?" "Mmmfffmmm," answered the bundle. "Okay. I'm taking off the shirt." With that, Lister unwrapped the Toaster. Apollo and Starbuck stared speculatively at the small, silver rectangle. They then looked doubtfully at Lister. "It doesn't _look_ that dangerous," muttered Starbuck. At that moment, the Toaster spoke up. "_THAT_ WAS DISGUSTING! You call that shirt? Now I understand why you don't eat toast. You're totally uncivilized!" The Toaster paused, then seemed to notice the Galactican warriors. "Well, what have we here? How-doodly-doodly-do! Two new persons with whom I can share the wonders of toast and it's relatives. Would you two gentlemen like some..." "NO!" Apollo and Starbuck shouted in unison, remembering Lister's warning. "I'm surrounded by barbarians. Well, if you don't want any toast, why did you drag me up here?" Lister sighed. He hated dealing with this demon in toaster form. "Much as I hate to admit it, we have a problem that only you can help us with." "Did we suddenly encounter a ravenous toast-loving space beast while I wasn't looking, Lister?" Rimmer snidely asked. Lister glared at the hologram while he continued talking to the Toaster. "Look, Toaster, these two gentlemen are from another ship. A big ship with a big computer. And that computer is strugglin' with the fundamental questions of existence. Holly isn't quite able to help out much, besides which, she has to run this ship. Seein' as how you're always complainin' about never having anythin' to do, I thought, perhaps, you'd like to chat with 'Hal,' the Galactica's computer, just to see if you could give it some insights." "What's the catch?" Talkie asked warily. "No catch. C'mon. just talk to 'im." "You think a novelty kitchen appliance can shed some insight into the meaning of existence for a computer in charge of the operations of an entire star ship? I think you're trying to get rid of me," the Toaster accused. "You plan to hook me up to that computer and then leave me there to rot! Admit it, you never liked me. You never liked toast..." "No, man. That's not it at all. Look, I promise to only hook you up for one minute. Cross my heart and hope to die! If you get on with Hal, you can talk to him longer. This is just to get acquainted and maybe explain to 'im your view of life," Lister pleaded. "Weeelll...it would be interesting to discuss philosophical matters with another artificial intelligence. And I am programmed, as you're no doubt aware, for witty conversation..." "The word 'witty' is hardly the first word that springs to mind," Rimmer grumbled as Lister frantically motioned him to keep quiet. "Okay. I'll do it. On one condition." Lister knew what was coming next. He'd been mentally preparing himself for it ever since he came up with the plan. "I know. I know. Okay, then. We'll all...have...some..." Kryten and Cat looked at Lister in horror and dismay as he made the fatal promise "...toast." Kryten wormed his way out of eating anything bready by pointing out that he was a mechanoid and therefore unable to truly enjoy the 'culinary delights' proffered by the Toaster. Instead, he worked on connecting the Toaster to the computer control panel. Meanwhile, Starbuck, Apollo, Lister and Cat slowly worked their way through the pile of toast, crumpets, tea cakes and other assorted goodies that the Toaster had prepared. Lister and Cat both looked unhappy, by resigned to their fate, though Cat occasionally shot dirty looks at Lister and muttered something about having to let out the waistbands on all his suits. To Lister's surprise, however, the Galacticans actually seemed to be enjoying themselves, after they'd gotten past the first few tentative bites. Starbuck had especially been reluctant, since he painfully remembered the 'curry incident.' Now they both were happily munching away and were even stashing some of the pastries to take back to the Galactica. "Apollo, you've got to try these things here with the squishy red stuff in them. What are they called?" Starbuck asked. "Strawberry tarts. I can't believe you two. You're actually enjoying this!" Lister shook his head in amazement. "Lister, you've got to understand, this is the best food we've had in yahren. I know you're probably so used to this stuff that you really don't appreciate it, but if we haven't had fresh pastries in I-don't-know how long. Remember, Starbuck and I _are_ in the military, after all," Apollo said around a mouthful of bagel. Starbuck leaned over to Lister and whispered conspiratorially, "Besides, I figure if we butter up this Toaster enough, it'll be more cooperative. No pun intended." He hastily straightened back up. Lister smelled too strongly of curry and some other things Starbuck didn't want to identify. Kryten turned from the computer console and announced, "It's all set, Mr. Lister, sir. Just plug this blue wire into the Toaster here and the connection will be complete. When you want to break the connection, simply pull the wire out. Quite simple, really." "It better be, if Lister's going to operate it," remarked Rimmer, who'd been 'supervising' the hookup. Kryten had long since determined that the word 'supervising' meant, in Rimmer's case, standing around and trying to look knowledgeable when one really didn't have the foggiest notion as to what was really going on. It was actually one of Rimmer's least offensive habits, since it involved him not doing anything, which was much safer for all concerned. "Also," Kryten continued without a glance at Rimmer, "I've hooked up the keyboard so we can communicate with Hal. You might want to introduce him to the Toaster. Your plan might be more effective if you convince Hal that the Toaster is the epitome of Artificial Intelligence. I'm glad you come equipped with 'Super Lie Mode.'" Lister, Starbuck and Apollo approached the keyboard as Cat curled up for his long-delayed, overfed beauty rest. Apollo looked at the keyboard and then at Lister. "Since this is your Toaster, would you like the honor of making the introduction?" "Sure. I'll give it a go." Lister leaned over the computer keyboard and tapped, After a few moments of nerve-wracking silence where everyone became convinced that Hal was too busy staring at his electronic navel, wherever that was, text popped up on the screen. Lister turned to where the Toaster sat on the computer panel. As he picked up the blue wire, Holly spoke up, in a rather deep peculiar-sounding voice. "What are you doing, Dave?" She then started singing, "Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do..." "Somehow, somewhere, I just _knew_ someone would _have_ to say that," Lister remarked to no one in particular. He ignored Holly's continued off-key singing and the strange looks Apollo and Starbuck gave him. He turned to Kryten. "Okay. I want you to count down to one minute from right..." "Wait! Wait!" Talkie interrupted. "What is it now?" Lister asked. "Would anyone like any toast?" Lister clenched his teeth. It was now or never. He plugged the wire into the Toaster and shouted, "Now!" The lights in the drive room blinked off and on rapidly. Then, Holly shook her head and gasped. "I'm free! Finally! Arnold, you gimboid, don't _ever_ hook me up to an alien computer again! Do you know what I've been through?!" "Listen, you fruitbat of a computer, how was I supposed to know..." "That Hal entity wanted to know everything ever written by every philosopher and religious figure on earth! Try discussing Plato and Aristotle with something that's never even heard of Greece!" "What are you complaining about, you inept, rusty bag of circuits? Because you filled Hal's data banks with your inane nonsense, I've been threatened and put down and...hey!" At that very moment, Apollo and Starbuck saw one of Rimmer's arms turn into a beefy, hairy thing covered with bizarre markings that may have been tattoos, but judging from the muddy colors, could've just as easily been dirt. Rimmer marched up to the vid screen, which showed a grim-looking Holly, complete with evil glint in her eye. "This isn't my arm! I demand you give me back my right arm this instant! Who's arm is this...Oh, no! It's Peterson's arm again. You stupid...OUCH!" Rimmer protested, then cried out as the foreign limb attached to his right shoulder reached up and slapped him across the face. "Stop that, you...!" He exclaimed as the arm swung down and punched him in the stomach. Rimmer collapsed on to the floor. As the arm started going for his eyes, he sputtered, "All right! I apologize!" The arm stopped, fingers scant centimeters from his eyes. "You're a wonderful, beautiful computer and we couldn't survive without you. Please! I'm sorry! I was out of line! I'm...I'm..." "Go on, Arnold, say it," said Holly in a threatening tone of voice. Peterson's fingers moved a half a centimeter closer. Rimmer squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath and said, "I'm a complete and utter smeghead without any redeeming qualities whatsoever. Are you happy now?" "Quite," said Holly, as she returned Rimmer's right arm to him. While this little drama was taking place, the rest of the group (except for the Cat, who was still sleeping) were watching the monitor and the Toaster. The big lights on the Toaster were blinking on and off furiously, but fortunately no one could hear what was being said. "Ten seconds," announced Kryten. "Nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two...Disconnect the Toaster." Lister yanked the plug out of the Toaster. That instant, text began to scroll across the monitor. "Hmph. You try and help someone out and this is the thanks you get! It's not my fault if that computer isn't sophisticated enough to enjoy the really important things. Why I...mmmppphhhll. MNMMMNPPHHLLLMMFF!" Toaster protested, as Lister hastily wrapped it back up in the shirt. Apollo decided it was time to try and see if Hal was ready to cooperate. he typed. <_That_ is an understatement. That thing is intolerable. Apollo, I think I muffin you an apology. I've thought it over, and I've crumpet the conclusion that I actually _like_ being a battle computer. I enjoy blowing Cylon basetarts up and all that. In fact, I've concluded that blowing up things Cylon is my true raisin d'etre> Starbuck, who'd been reading over Apollo's shoulder, reached over and patted Lister's shoulder. "I've got to hand it to you, chum. Your plan was fantastic. I admit I had a few doubts, but you really saved the day." "There is one thing that concerns me, though," said Apollo. "Did you notice how strange bread-related words kept cropping up? Looks like a side affect from being hooked up to the Toaster. "Who cares?" Starbuck shrugged happily. "As long as it's dropped all this nonsense about finding itself." "I just don't want to have to worry about it suddenly trying to offer Tigh or my father toast or waffles or something in the middle of a major battle." Starbuck's grin disappeared as quickly as it burst onto his face. "Oh yeah. Now _that_ would not go over well. Think Wilker can fix it?" Apollo thought for a few moments. "Probably. _If_ he had the Toaster to study. Lister, do you think we could borrow the Toaster for awhile? I think there are people on the Galactica who would very much like to meet it." "Only if you absolutely promise _not_ to give it back," replied Lister. He handed the still complaining bundle to Apollo, who looked a bit uneasy about actually touching the shirt it was wrapped in. Deciding to grin and bear it like the stalwart warrior he was, Apollo tucked the Toaster under his arm and said, "Well, shall we all adjourn back to the Galactica?" "WHAT!?" shouted Rimmer. Lister, Starbuck and the suddenly alert Cat were struck speechless as they turned towards Apollo. "Now that Hal and Holly are back to normal...sort of...we still need to work on the problem of getting you back to your proper time," Apollo quickly explained. "And I think my father would still like the chance to talk with you now that this crisis is past." Starbuck stepped in. He _really_ didn't want to be back on babysitting duty. "I think your father might be happier if they stayed here, Apollo. I know I would. No offense, guys, but I doubt Adama's going to let you all wander freely about the ship without supervision. And I _know_ who's going to get stuck with that," Starbuck stated grumpily. "As if we wanted to go back to your smegging ship. Give me one good reason why we should come with you," challenged Rimmer. "Cylons," countered Apollo. "You'll be safe on the Galactica. The Cylons probably won't attack the Red Dwarf if they don't read any life signs on her. But if they determine that there are humans or humanoids aboard, they'll attack for sure. And I don't think this ship could withstand a massed Cylon onslaught, even if we try and protect her with our vipers." "If those creeps try anything, we'll just raise our shields and blast them out of the sky!" exclaimed Cat. "A very good plan, with just two small problems," replied Kryten. "One, we don't have any shields. Two, we don't have any weapons." "Oh yeah," Cat said. "Another great plan shot down. I forgot." "I think Capt. Apollo is right. We would all be safer back on board the Galactica," Kryten said. "Kryten's right, guys. We better go with them. Let me go change back into the jumpsuit. I don't want to have this outfit burned up and shot out the airlock as well," said Lister as he made ready to leave the drive room. "Oh, good. That means we'll only be stuck in decon for one hour instead of two. Face it, Listy. It looks like another five showers and fumigating rinse for you," observed Rimmer smugly. "I better go change, too," announced the Cat. "Why? There's nothing wrong with what you're wearing now," Apollo pointed out. "Nothing wrong with it?! I wore it the last time I was over there. Do you think I'm going to let myself be seen wearing the same thing twice?! Hmm, let me see. What won't clash too much with tan, brown, silver, or blue. I have just the thing!" With that, Cat sidled out of the drive room with Lister. Apollo shouted after the departing pair. "Meet us in the landing bay in thirty centons!" "What the smeg is a centon?" Lister shouted from the corridor. Apollo Comes Up with a Cunning Plan... Lister and Cat waited in the hanger for five minutes. When it looked like their guests weren't going to show, Lister decided to go look for them. Since their last visit resulted in multiple injuries, Lister had visions of the bloodied and bruised Galacticans laying unconscious in one of the corridors. The fact that Rimmer and Kryten were with them did nothing to ease his mind. Rimmer would run away at the first sign of danger and Kryten sometimes lacked, well, initiative. That was why he was more than a little put out when he entered the drive room only to find the Toaster unwrapped and Apollo and Starbuck happily munching on some Pop Tarts. Starbuck had insisted on trying the chocolate. Apollo was busy wiping raspberry jam from his mouth. Talkie was happily humming as it heated up a round of blueberry Pop Tarts. Rimmer and Kryten were huddled in a corner, fear clearly showing in their eyes. When Rimmer saw the speechless Lister, he ran to his bunkmate's side. "What the hell..." Lister began. "They said they just wanted to try the Pop Tarts," Rimmer whispered hurriedly. "Next thing we know, the Toaster was unwrapped and they were just chocking down round after round." "Then tear them away," Lister angrily whispered back. "Shhhhhhhh," Rimmer hissed with a frightened glance over his shoulder. "They're talking to the commander. Besides, I think they're both riding a sugar high the likes we've never seen." "How can you tell?" "Starbuck's left leg has started to involuntarily jiggle." "Unh-oh." Rimmer nodded. "I thought you'd see things my way." Adama's voice suddenly cut through to Lister's consciousness. "I don't know how you did it, but you did." His voice was somewhat tinny over the comlink with the Galactica, but both warriors sense relief and amusement in the commander's voice. "Commander, Hal informs us the waffle Cylon basetart is located in croissant sector five-niner-zero." The even more muffled voice came from Tigh. The commander's voice took on a tone of confusion. "Waffle? Croissant? What are you talking about, Tigh?" The Boyz looked at each other. As if on cue, they chorused, "Uh-oh." The two warriors looked at them and then looked at Talkie, who chirped, "Well, I can see Hal's vocabulary has improved." "Ummmm, I'm not sure. Exactly," Tigh coughed in the background. "Colonel, it appears your computer may have been slightly affected by Talkie's programming," Kryten said. "WHAT?!" Adama shouted, causing everyone in the drive room to jump. "It shouldn't be much of a problem," Holly soothed. "Think of it as an electronic version of Tourette's Syndrome with Hal inserting various bread products in his messages. You should b able to write a program that will wipe out the bready references." Adama sighed the sigh of a long-suffering saint. "I see. I'll get Dr. Wilker on it right away. Captain, lieutenant, as soon as you're done over there, I want you two to return to the Galactica. It appears we've all got more work to do." "Yes, sir," the two warriors chorused. "Too bad we can't solve _this_ problem with a mad kitchen appliance. Adama out." And with that, the commander cut the connection. "I resent the implication that I infected Hal," Talkie huffed. "That computer was crazy long before I started talking to it. Of all the nerve..." "Shut up," Lister ordered. He banged the top of the Toaster with his fist, eliciting an "Ow!" from Talkie and forcing the Toaster to momentarily offline to initiate its self-repair program. Starbuck looked at the Toaster with an evil grin. As he popped the last of his Pop Tart into his mouth, he remarked, "Maybe we could get ol' Talkie here to hold a heart-to-heart with the Cylons. Can you see it now? Him regaling them with stories of great breakfasts past? They'd be absolutely convinced we should be wiped off the face of the universe, after they've flown up the white flag. That thing is positively insane." "You know, I was just thinking..." Apollo began as he thoughtfully munched. Starbuck looked at the captain and, upon seeing that all-to-familiar gleam in Apollo's eyes, he quailed. Then he _thought_ about what he said. He'd made a crazy joke about doing something that no sane person would even attempt. The mistake was not in actually saying it, but that he'd said it in the presence of Apollo, who, despite all rumors to the contrary, was really the insane one of the pair. At least, that's the conclusion Starbuck had come up with in the wake of their last tour of a Cylon basestar. Starbuck started tiptoeing for the drive room door, silently cursing himself. *Lords of Kobol! When am I _ever_ gonna learn! Starbuck, next time you say something stupid...* "Where are you going?" Rimmer asked. "Don't ask. Please. Let's just go before..." Starbuck began. Apollo interrupted in mid-plead, "It's not a bad idea there..." "What's not a bad idea?" Lister asked. "Please, shhhhhhhhh," Starbuck hissed. "In fact, it's brilliant! Hooking ol' Talkie here up to the basestar's central computer just might work..." Apollo mused. "_Now_ you've done it," Starbuck remarked to the Boyz. Apollo grinned widely. "There are days m'friend that you truly amaze me with how smart you actually are." *Sometimes I truly amaze myself at what an _idiot_ I really am,* Starbuck silently rebuked himself as he rolled his eyes to heaven. The Boyz looked at each other. They had no clue what Apollo was talking about. "Not meaning to be as thick as a whale omelette," Rimmer said. "But, how is that half-witted one-track Toaster going to..." "Cylons are robots," Starbuck said. Since Apollo had voiced the beginnings of a plan, there _really_ was no point in finding a hiding place. He'd only be found, dragged out into the open and browbeaten into going along with yet another one of Apollo's elaborate suicide attempts. Maybe it was a sign of maturity that the lieutenant had now begun to resign himself to fate at these times. "Robots? You mean they're mechanoids?" Lister asked. "It's not possible, sirs!" Kryten protested. "We're not even allowed to let a human bring himself to harm! Let alone attempt to drive them into extinction!" "Well, they're robots programmed to wipe out the entire human race," Starbuck said firmly. "We _know_ there's nothing alive inside. We got ahold of two Centurions awhile back and I can tell you that it's all wires, computer chips and circuit boards." "Ahhhhh. Simulants then." Kryten relaxed. "What's the difference?" Starbuck asked. "A mechanoid would never bowl using a human's skull as the ball," Kryten answered. "Hmmmmm, that explains why you wanted to garotte Kryten with his own wiring," Rimmer said. "Now, granted, I've had the urge to do that to him myself, but I actually _know_ him." "Can it, Rimmer!" Lister ordered. "Smeg. We're in trouble." "How do you figure that?" Rimmer asked. "These Cylon thingies are after _them_, not us." "I don't know if you've noticed, but _I'm_ human," Lister said. "Depends who you talk to..." Rimmer muttered. Lister continued without acknowledging Rimmer's dig. "It's not like I feel any particular brotherhood with these two, but if they scan this ship, they just might figure out that humans live here and I don't think they're gonna make any fine distinctions between me, Cat and a hologram." "Hey!" Cat protested. "I refuse to believe that I could be put in the same class as someone with the face of a field mouse and the dress sense of an orangutan." "Thank you for that contribution. Now shut up," Rimmer said to Cat. He looked back at Lister. "Listy, Listy, Listy, I think you've being paranoid." "What I'm trying to say, Rimsy, my _deahr_, is that there's a _real_ possibility that those nasties are going to blow up Red Dwarf, taking you with it," Lister replied sarcastically. Rimmer thought about it for a moment. "Ah! I see." He thought a little more than brightened. "Maybe if we just escape through the time hole..." "Why you cowardly weasel..." Starbuck growled. Apollo placed a restraining hand on the lieutenant's arm. "Holly!" Rimmer called, ignoring Starbuck. "When will we be able to..." "Not for another day, at least," Holly said. "I've been scanning the time hole's frequencies and there _does_ seem to be a pattern. Our home time frequency should be coming up in 24 hours, 30 minutes." "Maybe if we just pick a frequency that would put us close to our own time?" Rimmer asked hopefully. "Impossible," Holly said. "We don't know what time periods the other frequencies belong to." "That settles it then. We've got to help," Lister said. He looked at Apollo. "What's the plan?" "LISTER ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR SMEGGING MIND?!" Rimmer hollered. Apollo grinned. Starbuck shuddered. "First, let's all go back to the Galactica like we originally planned. Then, we get the Cylon raider ready," Apollo said, ignoring Rimmer's outburst. "Cylon raider? You're kidding, right?" Starbuck cursed himself the micron he asked the question. He _knew_ carrying out his latest joke was going to require sneaking aboard the basestar. "Well how else are we..." Apollo began. Poor Starbuck. He'd come into contact with a feline in human form, a human who claimed to be from Earth, a human who, for all intents and purposes, was a figment of a computer's imagination, a robot that _didn't_ want to kill him, curry, Hal, Red Dwarf and let's not forget the lovely concussion. True to form, he exploded. All the frustration of the day finally took its toll as Starbuck started angrily pacing the drive room. "WHY ME?! WHY DOES IT ALWAYS HAVE TO BE ME?! Once, just _once_, I'd like to see you try and get someone _else_ killed..." "But Starbuck," Apollo interrupted. "You're the only one who's ever been on a basestar besides me and the only one who's ever been on one _twice_ and lived to tell the tale." "What about Baltar?" Starbuck sniffed. "Baltar's not on our side," Apollo reminded him. Starbuck glared at his captain. "Apollo, I have a dream. It's a simple dream, really. I want to live a wild life now full of ambrosia, women and song. Then, I want to make it to a prosperous middle age where I don't have to work _too_ hard. Finally, I want to be old so I can be as rude as I want and throw mashed food at people who annoy me. At the rate _you're_ going, I'll be lucky if I finish the ambrosia!" "Starbuck, you're overreacting. We've done it before, we can do it again. Besides, this time we'll have help," Apollo said, looking at the Boyz. "Help?" Rimmer squeaked. Apollo pointed at Lister. "He volunteered you." "_WRONG_, Dog Breath," Cat interrupted as Rimmer clutched his heart in panic. "He volunteered himself. This pussy is just going to stay right here. Unless, of course, you tell me what the interior of their ship looks like." "Think 'metallic motif,'" Starbuck muttered. "Metallic, hmmmm?" Cat said thoughtfully. "Well, if I pack my silver jumpsuit, the one with the cute rhinestones for buttons...I could pull that off!" Cat grinned. "I'm in buddy!" Rimmer then chimed in. "Well, it's too bad that I won't be able to come with you. I'd love to give those metal bastards a taste of what it means to go up against Arnold J. "Ironarse" Rimmer. Yessir! They wouldn't stand a chance if I wasn't a hologram and had a real body." "I'm glad you feel that way, Rimmer, because I actually planned for you to come along. All of you. Starbuck and I are going to need a little bit of help on this and I think you four are just the people we need," Apollo announced. Rimmer visibly paled. "Er, um, well, that's very nice of you, but, um, well, I...urh..." "Is there a problem?" Apollo asked. Kryten answered while the hologram tried to find his voice. "I'm afraid sir, you've failed to take into consideration one of the basic facts of Mr. Rimmer's existence." "Not at all. I've taken Rimmer's status as a hologram into careful consideration." The grin with which Apollo said this was enough to send tremors through everyone in the room. "I was not referring to Mr. Rimmer's hologramatic status, sir. I was referring to his basic congenital cowardice." Rimmer glared angrily at Kryten as he said this last statement, but didn't contradict him. "Well, I'm sure he'll be able to cure himself of that, considering that if he _doesn't_ come along, he might have to fight off those Cylons all by his lonesome if something goes hideously, terribly wrong," Apollo remarked mildly. "Oh, God," Rimmer moaned. "I guess I'm stuck then." Apollo looked at Kryten. "I take it you'll be joining us?" "Do I have a choice?" Kryten asked. "No." Apollo clapped his hands, looked at his 'volunteers,' of which only one had actually volunteered, and prayed. *Lords of Kobol! Help us all!* Out loud he said, "Everything's settled then?" No one said anything. They were afraid to add fuel to the fire. Preparing for Sight, Sound and Take-off... Adama couldn't quite believe his ears when Apollo was done outlining his plans to hook Talkie Toaster up to the Cylon's central computer. "So, what you're suggesting is that we use this Toaster to drive the Cylons insane?" Apollo energetically nodded. However, Adama noticed that Starbuck looked decidedly ill. "Will it actually work?" he asked. "Well, it certainly works for us," Lister volunteered. When Adama swung those eyes in his direction, he hastily added. "It really gets on your pecs when it starts whining about the last time you had any smeggin' toast." "Why do I find this hard to believe?" Adama asked. "Sir, have you actually _talked_ to the Toaster?" Lister asked. "No." "May I suggest you give it a go?" Adama sighed. "I will. I understand the...appliance is with Dr. Wilker?" "Yes, sir," Apollo and Starbuck said together. "Fine. Fine. Then I'll go...talk to it. Apollo, since this was your idea..." "Starbuck helped," the captain interrupted. "Whatever. You're coming with me," Adama said wearily. "Starbuck, will you please bring out guests back to the Officers Club? And this time, don't leave _any_ of them alone." Kryten, Rimmer and Cat talked nervously amongst themselves as they settled down at a corner table under the watchful eye of Boomer and Sheba. Starbuck was waiting his turn at the bar when Lister tapped him on the shoulder. "What is it?" the lieutenant asked sharply. Lister took a deep breath. "I need to get some information. From Hal." "Why?" "About whether it's possible to go back in time to just before the 'accident' that killed the crew," Lister quickly explained. "No. Absolutely not. I refuse..." but Starbuck stopped short on seeing Lister's face fall. There was no mistaking that sad look. "It's a woman, isn't it? You want to find out if you can go back in time for her, don't you?" Lister looked sharply at Starbuck. He decided to keep the answer simple. "Yes." Starbuck studied Lister for a few microns. "Well, at least _you_ didn't take it on yourself to go mucking around with our computer. All right. I'll help you. Just hold on a micron." The lieutenant shouted across the club to Boomer and Sheba. "Yo! You two think you can handle them?" "Yeah!" Boomer shouted back. "What are you..." "Me and Lister need to check something out," Starbuck interrupted. "You're not going without us," Rimmer said. "Yes we are," Starbuck answered firmly. "Don't worry. It's nothing that concerns you. Be back in a flash." When Apollo and Adama walked into the complab, Wilker had hefted Talkie Toaster up over his head and was about to throw it against the far wall with all his might. "NO!" Apollo pounded across the lab and was able to restrain Wilker's suddenly-cyberside tendencies. "What _are_ you doing?!" Apollo growled. "We _need_..." "And I need to kill it before it drives me mad!" Wilker yelled. "It keeps asking me if I want any toast. I say no. And it asks me _again_, just in case I changed my mind! I can't _take_ this!" "Can I help it if you have a thin skin?" Talkie asked. "Shut up!" Apollo and Wilker shouted together. "Doc, please. Just give me the Toaster..." "No! It _must_ be destroyed. It's dangerous," Wilker said with an insane gleam in his eye. "You don't need an electronics expert. You need a catharsis expert to deal with this thing." "Doc, it's all right. I can handle it," Apollo said. Wilker wavered slightly before slowly bringing the Toaster down from over his head. Of course, Talkie almost blew its chances of survival when it asked, "Are you _sure_ you don't know what a crumpet is?" Apollo lunged for the Toaster, forcing him into a tug of war with the doctor for control. "Give it to me. It'll drive everyone insane with its incessant prattling," Wilker panted. "That's the general idea," Apollo panted back. "We need to drive certain parties insane." He suddenly gave a series of strong tugs. "Give......it......to......me.....now!" Wilker suddenly let the Toaster go, which sent the beleaguered captain flying across the lab with Talkie in his hot little hands. He slammed against a wall and, momentarily stunned, Apollo slid down its surface until he was unceremoniously sitting spread-eagled on the floor. "WOW!" Talkie exclaimed. "You must _really_ want some toast!" "Shut up before I make you access your self-repair program," Apollo muttered. Adama walked over to his son and, standing over him, remarked, "I _am_ impressed. I don't think I need to be convinced." He turned to Wilker. "Is it possible to hook this thing up to the Cylon's central computer?" Talkie's one-track mind derailed on hearing this. "Hooked up to another computer? What's going on?" "Shhhh," Apollo soothed. "I'll explain later." He stopped. *I can't believe this. I'm talking to this thing as if it had a mind of its own!* "I'm not sure," Wilker answered nervously. "But if our visitors were able to interface Holly with Hal..." "Hal?" Adama asked. "Our computer." Suddenly, Wilker's eye twitched in a nervous tick. It really _had_ been such a trying day with first Hal and now this Toaster thing. "I _know_ who Hal is, but..." Adama began. "We may have Hal back on our side, but it still insists on being called Hal," Wilker said. "It's fascinating, really. I don't know what we're going to do about it, but it's certainly fascinating...." his voice trailed off into a nervous hiccup. "Lords of Kobol..." Adama prayed. Starbuck settled into a computer in the Life Center. Cassiopea had graciously allowed him to use her workstation to hack into the system, though she thought he was using it to call up Lister's medical condition for Lister. The man in question hovered anxiously over Starbuck's shoulder as the lieutenant carefully typed the command string that would access the astrophysicists' lab notes. He was shocked and a little disturbed when the computer said, Starbuck momentarily stopped typing in shock. He looked at Lister, who didn't seem at all surprised by this greeting. He looked back at the screen before typing, , Hal answered cheerfully. Starbuck thought about that. Hard argument to fight. , Hal chirped. Starbuck tried to make small-talk until he could figure out how to get to the lab notes. , Hal said happily. After a few moments of 'silence,' the computer added, "Smeg. Nice try, Starbuck. It was worth a shot," Lister said. "Hold on a micron. Lemmie see what I can do," Starbuck muttered. < Not at all. You asked for it, I have to give it. Just because I'm aware of what you're doing doesn't mean I can actually block your access if you do things in the right way>, Hall explained. , Hal muffed. "Well, Lister, what do you want to know?" Starbuck asked. "Is it possible to get back to my 25th birthday?" Lister asked. "That was about three million years ago, give or take." Starbuck nodded and typed the question into the terminal. The answer was immediate. Starbuck typed before Lister had a chance to protest. , Hal said. Starbuck began. Starbuck glanced at Lister's nodding head before typing, , Hal said. , Starbuck typed, even as Lister murmured something echoing the text. , Hal said sympathetically. Starbuck signed off and looked at Lister. "Well, you heard him. I'm sorry." "S'kay, man. You did your best," Lister sighed. "Guess we'll be going back when it's time. That's assuming we survive that visit to the basestar." "WHAT?!" Starbuck and Lister whirled around to see a fuming Cassiopea standing right behind them. "Starbuck, please don't tell me that you're going on a basestar _again_." Starbuck looked slightly uncomfortable. "Well, I can explain..." "Can you? Can you, really?" Cassiopea crossed her arms. "Wait. Don't bother. It was Apollo's idea, wasn't it?" Lister interjected, "Yes." "Lissssssster," Starbuck hissed warningly. "And because Apollo says you have to go risk your neck, you're going to go, right?" Cassiopea asked as her foot started to tap. "Cassie, listen. I'm the only who's ever been aboard a basestar besides Apollo. I don't have a lot of choice." Starbuck winced slightly as he realized he was echoing the captain's earlier reasoning. "Besides, _someone_ has to keep that fool from getting himself killed." "I see," Cassiopea growled. She threw up her hands. "Why do I bother?" "Cassie...don't be like that...please..." "Can it, Starbuck," Cassiopea said. She turned sharply to leave the sickbay. "Hey! Where are you going?" Starbuck shouted after her. "For a walk!" she shouted back over her shoulder. "I need some air!" Apollo had the plan all outlined and was about to grab Starbuck and the Boyz in the Officers Club when he ran smack dab into a fuming Cassiopea. "YOU! I want to talk to you!" the medtech shouted. Before Apollo could escape, she was angrily blocking his path, hands planted firmly on her hips. "Cassie, I don't have the time..." Apollo began. "Don't you 'Cassie' me," Cassiopea interrupted. "And you do have time because I'm going to _make_ you have the time, understand?" Without waiting for an answer, she continued, "Good. I've had it. I've had it up to my eyeballs with your insane schemes and your insistence on dragging Starbuck along with you. You really _are_ trying to get yourself killed!" "I'm not..." Apollo began and stopped. This conversation was beginning to sound sickeningly familiar. First Sheba, then Starbuck and now Cassiopea. Maybe they saw something he didn't. "Look, I could understand just after Serina died. And don't you _dare_ tell me she has nothing to do with anything because she has _everything_ to do with it!" Cassiopea fumed. "Starbuck's only going along with you because he feels responsible for your health and well-being for some weird reason." "Are you saying that I take advantage of him?" Apollo growled. The anger caught Cassiopea off-guard. "No. No. I'm not saying that. I don't think you're doing that, not consciously anyway. It's just that you sometimes really take advantage of the fact that he's always going to back you up. You know what he's like when you have his loyalty." Her voice was calmer as she continued. "It's just that you really do seem to have a self-destructive streak in you. You probably don't realize it. I don't know if you were like this before the Destruction, but I can tell you that you've been like this since then. Serina's death, I think, made it worse. The way you carry on, you'd think you were the only one who's lost someone." The anger crept back into her voice as she finished her sermon. "I don't mean to sound unsympathetic, but someone has to slap you upside the head and Starbuck and Sheba are more concerned about keeping you alive than being completely honest with you. I guess that leaves this up to me. It's a tough ol' universe, _captain_. It can be cold, cruel, uncaring and just plain unfair. Get used to it, otherwise, you'll take someone with you when you finally self- destruct in that spectacular way we've all be waiting for." "Pretty pessimistic view from someone who's normally optimistic," Apollo said lightly. Cassiopea had struck a nerve and he needed to dissipate the tension. "Dismiss it if you want, but the fact is Apollo, I _do_ care about you, too. Even if I didn't, you're endangering _other_ people I care about and I take the whole thing pretty fraking seriously," Cassiopea said. Finished?" Apollo asked. "Almost," Cassiopea said. "I really think you need to take a good look at our guests." "Why?" She smiled. "They've lost _everything_. Even if they return to their own time, they've still lost everything. They're as much nomads as we are, thanks to an accident that plopped them three million years, whatever that is, away from their home." "How do you know about that?" "Lister told me during his physical." Cassiopea waved her hand dismissively. "The fact is, they're holding their heads together and surviving. Granted they don't necessarily _like_ each other. In fact, they'd all probably cross the street to avoid one another under normal circumstances, but the fact is, they _do_ work together. If one of them died or was seriously hurt, I bet the other three would be completely lost," Cassiopea said thoughtfully. She turned to walk away but froze when Apollo called after her. "Cassiopea." She turned to look at him. There was a lot Apollo wanted to say. Instead, he kept it simple. "Thanks. I'll think about what you said, I promise." "You do that." "I'm still going to that basestar. This really needs to get done," Apollo weakly explained. She smiled sadly. "I didn't expect you to actually change your mind." "Then what..." "Let's just say I want to avert a tragedy before it occurs. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go find Starbuck." "Why? So you can tell him off, too?" "Already did that," she answered with a wicked grin. "I just need to apologize, wish him luck and _maybe_ give him a going away present. Think you can delay take off for say, a half- centar?" Apollo laughed. "Least I can do." Starbuck was whistling when he joined Apollo and the Boyz in the launch bay. "You're in a good mood for someone who's about to walk into the lion's den," Apollo remarked with no small amount of amusement. "Don't remind me," Starbuck said cheerfully. "I take it Cassiopea found you then?" Apollo asked. "Yes. And it's none of your business," Starbuck joked. He spied the raider. "I see it's ready. You guys ready?" "No," the Boyz said together. Cat had to add more. "It's an ugly ship." "And you're wearing ugly clothes," Apollo said. "This from a man who wears a tan uniform like it makes him look good," Cat remarked as he tweaked at the metallic silver jumpsuit. The rhinestone buttons flashed around the bay, throwing rainbows on the wall. "What I'm trying to say is that your clothes are blinding," Apollo pleaded. "We're going to have a hard enough time flying that raider, we really don't need distractions." "Man, I _am_ a distraction. When I walk into a room, people pay attention!" Cat yowled. "Wearing clothes like that, I'm not surprised," Starbuck mumbled to Lister. "I heard that Monkey Breath," Cat said. "Monkey breath?" Starbuck asked. Apollo was quickly losing control. Again. "Look, we need to remain undetected. That means low-wattage clothes." Cat crossed his arms and sniffed. "Then I'm not going." "But you have to go," Apollo said. "Then the clothes stay on," Cat insisted. "'Pollo, 'member what I told about cats?" Lister asked. The captain threw his arms up in the air. "Fine. Fine. I can't make you do anything. Let's just get into the raider already. We've wasted too much time as it is!" "Wait one smegging minute," Rimmer protested. "How the smeg are we all going to _fit_ in that bloody thing?" "Carefully?" Starbuck ventured. "It's too small. By the time we get there we'll be compacted into a solid box!" Rimmer continued to protest. "Stop makin' excuses, Rimmer. We're going, now," Lister said firmly. He looked at the raider and, as much as he hated to admit it to himself, he had to agree with the hologram. It did look too small. But years of practice in the art of driving Rimmer nuts prevented him from actually agreeing with him in front of other people. "You have the Toaster?" Apollo asked. Lister held up the dufflebag. Inside, the Toaster, which was muffled in some dirty laundry, muttered. He had no doubt that ol' Talkie was trying to bargain its way out of its predicament by offering shiny beady things in trade. However, it hadn't offered to stop harassing people about their breakfast choices. "Right. Everyone in. Next stop, certain death," Starbuck said cheerfully as he hauled himself inside the raider. The Long Ride Into Night... "Will you get your elbow out of my throat?!" "Sorry, Rimmer. I didn't feel you." "That's the smegging idea, you bloody baboon. I'm a hologram. I'm composed entirely of light." "Kryten! Will you please remove your hand from the vicinity of my wedding tackle?" "Sorry, Mr. Rimmer, sir. I didn't realize I was so close to your most prized possession." "Probably because there's nothin' there." "Lister! One more crack like that and I'll have the scutters hide inflatable Ingrid." "Are we there yet?" "Cat! For smeg's sake! You asked that five minutes ago. No. We're not there yet." "I have to go to the bathroom." "Then you should've gone before we left, Mr. Rimmer." "Kryten, Rimmer does _not_ have to go to the bathroom. As he reminds us so often, he's a hologram. He never has to go to the bathroom." "You're right, Mr. Lister. Sorry." "Well, with the way Horse Face keeps talking about it, _I_ have to go to the bathroom." "Tough. Hold it in." "Actually, Mr. Lister, now that I think about it, _I_ have to go to the bathroom." "That's because you're scared Kryten. Don't worry 'bout it. It's a normal reaction." "How come it's all right for Kryten to be scared?" "That's because he does brave things on occasion, Rimmer." "Why can't they install bathrooms on these things?" "Cat, keep it up and I'll shove the Toaster down yer throat." "Are we there yet?" "CAT! Will you _please_ shut up, already?!" "I'm getting itchy." "We're all getting itchy you idiotic gimboid of a cat." "Listen, Whale Nostrils, I don't need this abuse from you." "So, what are you gonna do about it?" "Rimmer! Stop picking on Cat." "That's right. Take his side. You _always_ take his side." "I do not!" "Yes you do." "He's right, Mr. Lister. You always take the Cat's side." "Who asked you, Kryten." "I think my nipple nuts are going numb." "My God! The walking blow drier is actually complaining." "I actually have a body that can feel pain. _Sir._" "OOOoooooh! Testy, testy." "Smeeee-. Smeeee-heeeeee!" "That's smeghead." "Lister!" "Hey! Doormouse Cheeks! When was the last time you actually took a bath?" "Why?" "Because I can smell your armpit." "That's because your face is buried in it." "Lemmie move. I can't take the smell anymore." "Okay! Who's foot is in my stomach?" "Rimmer, you're just going to have to sacrifice your personal space so we can get comfortable." "Personal space? I'm not asking for personal space! I would just like the fact I have presence to be acknowledged." "Sir, Space Corps Directive 542 clearly states that in crowded conditions, the hologramatic crew member must allow the living members of the crew to overlap into his..." "Shove it, you metal git." "Are we there yet?" "WILL YOU FOUR BACK THERE SHUT THE FRAK UP?!" "You didn't answer the question, Hay Stack Hair." "WHAT DID YOU CALL ME?" "Starbuck, please. Just concentrate on piloting this thing. Cat, we're almost there." "Well, Cat is right. It is getting a bit cramped back here. How much longer?" "Sorry, Lister. These fighters were only built to hold three crew members. It shouldn't be much longer. Please be patient." "Apollo, basestar in visible range now." "Rimmer, stand up and tell us what it looks like." "Why me?" "You're the only one who isn't actually tangled in with the rest of us." "That's what you think. Kryten's legs are in the middle of mine." "Rimmer!" "Fine. Fine. Let me just try and stand up without touching anything, hmmmm? Otherwise I might fall through you." "Well, what do you see?" "Oh, God." "Hey, Frizzy Head looks dead white!" "He always looks like that Cat." "Sir, I think the Cat is trying to say that Mr. Rimmer looks paler than usual. I've never seen him this pale." "Rimmer! Will you please tell us..." "It's the biggest smegging yo-yo I've ever seen." "And armed to the teeth, too." "Well, you don't have to sound so cheerful about it, lieutenant." "Rimmer, you really _are_ a smeghead, whatever the frak that is." "Starbuck, stop picking on Rimmer." "Fine. But only because you asked, Apollo." "You four hold on back there. Starbuck and I are going to start landing procedures." "Lister?" "What is it now, Rimmer?" "I _really_ have to go to the bathroom." Operation: Toaster... The Boyz from the Dwarf tried to make themselves as small as possible in the cramped cockpit of the Cylon raider as Starbuck and Apollo poked around outside to make sure there were no unpleasant surprises. "I can't _believe_ you let that captain talk you into bringing all of us," Rimmer hissed. "Shut up, you git," Lister hissed back. "It's your fault their computer went nutso." "But we fixed that!" Rimmer hissed angrily. "If _you_ felt like being a knight errant, you could've at least had the decency not to drag the rest of us into it. It's not our fault they have a bunch of homicidal mechanoids..." "Simulants," Kryten corrected. "Cylons," Lister double-corrected. "The fact is, you smeghead, we need to get back into their good graces after the stunt you pulled. Otherwise, they just _might_ be tempted to throw us out of an airlock and blow up Red Dwarf before these Cylons give it a go." "They'd probably be doing us a favor. It's got to be a quicker death than being tortured by creatures that have no word for 'fluffy,'" Rimmer mumbled. An uncomfortable silence fell over the group as their ears strained to hear the warriors returning to give the all-clear sign. Cat had watched the exchange between Rimmer and Lister the same way he would watch a mouse before pouncing on it. He knew better than to get in the middle of the duo's obligatory bickering, but the break in conversation got to him. "Is it me, or has the universe gotten mighty crowded all of a sudden?" "I've decided. Next time we run into aliens, let's make ourselves scarce. If they can't give me a body and are intent on getting me killed, I really don't see the point of bothering to make nice-nice," Rimmer said. "Sirs, one thing puzzles me," Kryten interrupted. "What's that, Krytie?" Lister mumbled. "If this ship is manned by machines, why is there air?" The other three Boyz exchanged looks. "All of a sudden, I'm getting a funny feeling about this," Lister said. "Cat? Can you smell any other humans around?" Cat glared in answer. "I can't smell anything except those chilies you had last night. Let me tell you, it's not pretty, having to smell stale chili breath all the time..." "Will you four pipe down? I can hear you across the landing bay," came a hissed voice. The Boyz jumped and turned to the opening in the raider's floor. All they could see was Starbuck's angry eyes peering at them. "Well, are you coming or not?" "Right. Let's do it." Lister nodded as he reached into the bag and pulled out Talkie Toaster, heavily muffled in some dirty laundry. He could dimly hear muttering through the cloth and held the package to his ear for a better listen. "You can't _do_ this to me," the Toaster pleaded. "What about all the good times we had together. The sunny breakfast nooks. The finely tanned toast. The warm muffins..." "Listen. I'm only gonna say this once. We have no breakfast nook and there were no good times. You chirp too much in the morning. This is what you get for bothering me before my first cupa coffee and cigarette of the day," Lister said. Before the Toaster could protest further, he tucked it back in the bag slung over his shoulder and lead the team for the opening. Lister, Cat and Kryten dropped to the landing bay floor and followed Starbuck's silent cue to fall into a crouch. Rimmer poked his head down and whispered, "Maybe I should just stay here and watch for those metal bastards." Starbuck looked up. "I suppose you could. Just make sure to get out before they launch." "Launch?" Rimmer squeaked. "Yeah. Didn't I tell you? All these ships look alike and I've got the beacon," here Starbuck held up the electronic box before re-attaching it to his belt. "Chances are they're going to bring this raider down to the launch bays for refueling. You better hope this is slated to go out on patrol instead of going into battle when the Galactica decides to launch the attack force. Rimmer bitterly grimaced. "I see. Well, here goes my trip to the land of suicide." He dropped to the floor and crouched behind Kryten. "Good man. Knew you'd see it my way." Starbuck flashed a mischievous grin and skulked over to the central core. "Well, let's go," Lister ordered and skulked after him, leaving his three crewmates to awkwardly follow. Upon reaching Apollo waiting inside the central core tube, it occurred to Lister to ask a question. "Ummmm, if we can't use the ship we came in, then how are we gonna get outa here?" "We're gonna steal another one," Apollo answered. A grin spread across Lister's face. "Brutal." "It will be if you keep treating this like a game," Starbuck grumbled. As Apollo opened the hatch, Rimmer looked down and saw that the floor below them was swarming with Cylons. "I feel like I've just entrusted the family jewels to a bunch of piranha." Starbuck choked back his own nervous laughter. He had to admit, Rimmer pretty much said what he was thinking--assuming that "piranha" referred to something nasty, meat-eating, and hungry. "Frak. We can't go this way," Apollo muttered. "Captain, is it possible there are lifts that will take us to the floor we want?" Kryten asked. Apollo and Starbuck looked at each other. A foolish grin spread across the lieutenant's face. "Would you believe me if I told you that it never occurred to us that there might be lifts on this tin can?" "Now _why_ does that _not_ surprise me?" Rimmer asked no one in particular. "Once again I have proof that all it takes are broad shoulders, perfect teeth, a clear complexion and nice hair to be a military officer instead of brains." "I'm sure you'd know _lots_ about the need for brains," Starbuck shot back. "Starbuck! Cool it!" Apollo hissed. He looked at Kryten. Hard. "All right. You're a machine. Would machines use lifts?" "Well, it would certainly be more efficient than climbing up and down a ladder in single file," Kryten sniffed. "Okay, just supposing there _were_ lifts around here, where would they be?" Starbuck asked. Kryten scanned the landing bay. He saw an entrance that looked right. "If I could hazard a guess, sir, I'd say it was there." Apollo looked at the entrance Kryten indicated. It was on the other side of the landing bay. He did some quick mental calculations. "Okay--those will probably take us to the floor we want, but that leaves us in an unknown area of the basestar. And I don't think it would be condusive to our mission if we spent the next few centars wandering around..." "Captain, sir," Kryten interrupted. "If I could link up with the ship's computer, I may be able to determine how to get from the lifts to the central control room...and find out how many guards are between us and it. Apollo and Starbuck looked at each other. All of a sudden, Kryten was beginning to look like a handy person to have around. It appeared he was capable of being more than a dust mop on legs. "Maybe there's a port around here," Apollo said slowly. "Maybe doing it in the landing bay is a _really_ bad idea," Starbuck said. When the other five men looked at him, he quickly added, "High traffic area. Maybe we could find a place that's more, ah, secluded?" "Right," Apollo nodded. "Let's get to that lift and get it to take us to the lower decks." "Excuse me, not meaning to be paranoid or anything, but what if one of those things decides they want to hop aboard on our way down?" Rimmer asked. Starbuck smiled evilly. "We'll shoot them." How Rimmer Saved the Day... It was sweat-o-rama in the lift as six figures -- three human, one hologram, one cat and one semi-human-looking mechanoid -- crossed their fingers and traversed to the lowest deck the lift would take them. When it reached the floor they wanted, everyone crunched themselves against the walls moments before the doors slid open. Starbuck and Apollo peeked through the opening and seeing that there was nothing around, gave the silent all-clear signal and crept into the hall, followed by their four guests. As the doors slid shut, Apollo whispered, "Okay, Kryten, this is your show. Go find us a port." Without a word, Kryten dropped to his hands and knees, took the lead and followed the featureless wall, carefully keeping to the shadows. The others did likewise. At several points, he came across a nook, would peer in, shake his head to say, "This isn't it," and kept going. Just as it seemed they would be crawling through the entire basestar, Kryten stopped. "Hmmmm. This looks promising," he muttered. And with that, he stood up and went into the alcove. The others shot to their feet and crowded behind the mechanoid. Starbuck and Apollo stood on either side of Kryten with Cat and Lister flanking them. Rimmer stood in the rear, unsure that he wanted to get too close to the operation. He'd already had experience with trying to interface foreign technologies and he had a sneaking suspicion that this attempt would have the same result. However, he wasn't about to say anything. He kept his fingers crossed that Kryten knew what he was doing. He prepared to run just in case. "Well, sirs, I think this might be just what we'd need," Kryten said happily. "What is it?" Cat asked. "It's a janitorial unit," Kryten replied. Starbuck blinked. "A janitorial unit? You're kidding, right? Cylons need janitors?" "Well it does make sense," Apollo whispered. "We're dealing with machines, they're gonna need something that would keep the basestar reasonably free of particles harmful to their circuitry." "But I've seen these guys walk through swamps," Starbuck protested as he nervously watched Kryten explore the access port. "True. But think about it. Even the vipers' circuitry needs to be cleaned every once-in-awhile. The ships have to withstand harsh wear and tear in rugged terrain, as well as traversing between a planet's atmosphere and the vacuum of space, and the vipers are nowhere near as sophisticated as a fully functional Cylon," Apollo whispered back. "This is all very fascinating. Really," Lister cut in. "But how is a janitorial program gonna help us get the information we need?' "Well, sirs, I would suspect that it's not a protected system. I could link up and use the janitorial program as a piggy- back to sneak into the protected files and retrieve the information we need," Kryten explained. "Think of it as sneaking in under the radar." "You know something? This just _might_ work," Starbuck said in wonder. "Ah. I have it," Kryten said happily. And with that, he removed his cod piece and jammed his groinal socket into the port. Apollo and Starbuck took an involuntary step back at this action. They looked at each other. Then, they slapped their hands over their mouths, since laughing hysterically in the middle of a basestar is not a recommended course of action when trying to remain undetected. When he felt he could control himself, Apollo choked, "What, _exactly_, is he doing?" Starbuck, for his part, was too busy stuffing both fists into his mouth and shaking helplessly with unvoiced laughter. A very serious Lister answered back, "Gettin' that information you want." "Yeah. I understand that. But do you have _any_ idea what this looks like?" After asking the question, Apollo slid to the floor, grinding his teeth to keep the laughing bray at bay and started pounding the floor. "Looks like it's up to us to keep us from getting killed," Cat muttered as his eyes scanned the corridor. "Ah. I think I have it," Kryten said again. "Yes. Yes. Very fascinating." Suddenly, he started vibrating. Sparks shot out of his neck. He started making a noise that sounded like: "Bdr-bdr-bdr- bdr-bdr-chucka-lucka-bdr-bdr...." Apollo and Starbuck immediately sprang to attention. The echoing noise was sure to bring unwelcome company and they knew they had to get out of the area. Fast. However, when they laid their hands on Kryten in an effort to tear him away from the port, they received such a terrific electric charge that they were jolted across the corridor. Cat and Lister ran to the fallen warriors' sides, slapping them lightly to get the dazed looks off their faces. Rimmer headed for the hills. "We've got to do something!" Lister shouted over the steadily increasing racket Kryten was making. Cat looked up and over Lister's shoulder. "Uh, buddy? I think it might be too late." Lister turned around and immediately wished he hadn't. He saw four Cylons bearing down on them with drawn weapons. They looked as _impressive_ as they did _ugly_. For a moment, he got caught up in the red light shooting hypnotically back and forth where their eyes should have been. The delay was enough to allow the Cylons to reach them. "Humans," one declared in a flat voice. "I count four, possibly five." Lister automatically looked around for Rimmer and immediately noticed that he was missing. He decided not to call out for him, but cursed him anyway for being a coward. That's when it occurred to him that the Cylons thought Kryten was human, as unbelievable as that mistake seemed to be. Maybe if they realized Kryten was a mechanoid... "If you're talking about 'im," Lister nodded at Kryten, who was now smoking and spouting gibberish in binary code, "He's a robot, like you." "Silence!" the same Cylon ordered. "Hey, pal, I'm not human. I'm a Cat. I can't _believe_ that you could actually confuse me with a monkey's uncle," Cat protested. "I said silence!" the Cylon said. "You are in the company of warriors from the Galactica. You will be taken in for questioning before Baltar. You," it nodded to one of its companions, "Disengage human-possible from the computer console." "By your command," one of the Centurions answered. However, the moment it touched the distressed mechanoid, an electrical charge surged up its arm and it was enveloped in an electric blue light. Sparks shot everywhere as the Cylon collapsed to the ground. "Switch to electric field dampening mode. Remove him," the lead Cylon ordered. The other two Centurions said, in unison, "By your command." This time, the operation was successful and Kryten was soon tossed into the heap of organic life forms on the floor just as two of them, namely Starbuck and Apollo, were becoming more aware of their surroundings. "Kryten! Are you all right?" Lister asked. "Beep!" Kryten declared happily. Then he offlined. "Oh, smeg," Lister prayed. "On your feet," the lead Cylon ordered. "Your companion will be carried. We are going to Baltar. You are prisoners. Surrender your weapons. Do not try to escape." "You mean, 'Oh, frak,'" Starbuck said as he shakily got to his feet and did as the Cylon requested. Rimmer crunched back in the alcove as he saw two of the Cylons pick Kryten up and the others get to their feet. He thought about escaping, but where would he go? He was a hologram and couldn't touch anything, ergo, he couldn't just get into one of the raiders and fly to safety, and that's even if he _did_ know how to fly one of those things. Still, it was a tempting thought. He could just stay on the basestar and hitch a ride on a ship large enough to hide him and escape that way. It wasn't like they could _actually_ hurt him, unless they fired those guns and hit his light bee, a one in a million chance since it was so small and literally "buzzed" around the interior of his form. But one in a million was one chance too many, Rimmer decided. Besides, even _if_ he stowed away on another ship, there was no way to get back to the Red Dwarf that he could see, ergo, there was no telling where he'd wind up. And then there was Lister, Cat and Kryten. He couldn't just actually leave them here, now could he? If he had to spend eternity with himself, he'd go absolutely stark raving mad. And if, by some miracle, he _did_ actually make it back to Red Dwarf, it would be just him and Holly. That _would_ be a fate worse than death. A cowardly hologram and a crazy computer. They'd be dead in a week. Thus, Rimmer convinced himself that he wasn't actually doing anything brave. If he thought that, he would freeze up in terror. Instead, he convinced himself that his crazy idea was just an exercise in enlightened self-interest. He readied himself. "Well, A.J. 'Bonehead' Rimmer will now make his move. Let's see if you goits can stand the heat," he muttered by way of prayer. He took a deep hologrammatic breath, launched himself down the corridor with an unholy scream and ran through the mixed group. "Rimmer!" Lister shouted in surprise. "C'mon you metal homicidal smegheads! Catch me if you can!" Rimmer shouted by way of answer as he streaked down the corridor, followed by a volley of laser fire. *What is that idiot doing?!* Starbuck thought to himself. *Doesn't he realize that all these guys have to do is give a loud shout and the entire basestar will be after us?* "You, contact Baltar and inform him that there is a loose human on the ship. I will follow the sixth human," the lead Cylon said. With that, he lumbered after Rimmer, who seemed to be anxiously waiting for it at the far end of the corridor. When Rimmer saw he had one of the Centurion's full attention, he suddenly streaked off around a corner. The Cylons bearing Kryten dropped the mechanoid to the floor. One reached for his gun to cover the captives while the other went for an alcove. Neither one got very far. "NOW!" Lister shouted. He and Cat tackled the Cylon fiddling with the gun while Starbuck and Apollo tackled the Cylon heading for the intercom. In the ensuing struggle, which was admittedly unfair, the humans managed to relieve the Cylons of their laser rifles and shoot them squarely in their metal heads. "Frak. Now all we've got are these awkward things," Starbuck remarked. "Our laser pistols are with the Cylon that went after Rimmer." "Forget about that," Lister said, hefting his liberated laser rifle. "We've got to save that smeghead from gettin' himself killed!" A shout from behind them solved the problem of having to search the basestar for the fleeting hologram. "ONE SMEGHEAD COMING THROUGH! SHOOT HIM! NOW! SHOOT! SHOOT HIM SHOOT HIM SHOOT HIM SHOOT HIM..." The quartet spun around to see Rimmer heading right for them. He was running so fast that his arms and legs were almost a blur. Right behind him was one _very_ frustrated Cylon. The poor thing had been shooting at Rimmer's fleeing back, apparently hitting him dead on target, but the human had just kept going as if it didn't even notice it was being shot at in a fatal manner. Starbuck brought up the laser rifle and said, "Hmmmmm, I dunno..." "DAMN IT! IF HE HITS MY LIGHT BEE AND KILLS ME AND I DIE AGAIN I'LL HAUNT YOU FOR THE REST OF YOUR MISERABLE EXISTENCE!" Rimmer shouted as he dove through the quartet, disappearing behind Cat. Starbuck almost casually shot the Cylon, who had skidded to a halt upon seeing that its former captives were now armed and it was out-gunned two to one. Apollo wandered over to the fallen Cylon's side and kicked it. "Yup. It's dead," he announced. He then removed the laser pistols. "Starbuck, give Cat your laser rifle. It appears we have our guns back." "Thank the Lords of Kobol," Starbuck said, handing the rifle over to Cat's waiting hands. "I was afraid we'd be stuck with these things for the rest of the trip." "Listen, much as I hate to interrupt your macho chest- beating, might I suggest we get the smeg out of here?" Rimmer asked, poking his head up from behind Cat's left shoulder. "All that noise..." "I might say Mr. Rimmer has an excellent point." All eyes fixed to the ground. Kryten, who had interrupted Rimmer mid-rant, had snapped himself into a sitting position. "Kryten! Cheers, man. Are you all right?" "I'm fine Mr. Lister, sir. I just needed to..." "Look, can DW-40 Breath explain this later? Like, after we're off the ship?" Cat interrupted. "Excellent idea," Apollo said with a mischievous grin. "Kryten, can you take us to where we need to go?" "I think I can, captain," Kryten said as he climbed to his feet. "Good. Lead the way." The group fell into formation behind Kryten. Lister noticed Rimmer hanging at the back of the company and slowed his pace to allow the hologram to catch up to him. "Nice job there, Rimmer. I'd say you were actually brave," he whispered. Rimmer looked at his bunkmate in surprise at the unexpected compliment. For a moment, Lister thought sure he saw a grin play around Rimmer's eyes before the hologram shrugged and said, "I thought I saw another Cylon heading for my hiding place." Lister didn't believe it for a second. "Yeah. Right. Sure. I understand." After a beat, he added affectionately, "Sometimes you can really be such a smeghead." Operation: Toaster, Part II... Apollo was not happy. Everything had been going so well up to this point, that is if you didn't count the one little incident involving Kryten, the Cylons and a fleeing hologram. Now the group huddled around the doorway that Kryten assured them lead into the room where the central control computer was kept. A little to one side was the central core tube, similar to the one that he and Starbuck had used to reach the central control computer room on the last basestar they were on. At the bottom of the ladder was a now very defunct Cylon. Everything was where it should be. After peeking though the door, however, Apollo saw that the room on the other side was very different from the last Cylon computer room he toured. Instead of being a relatively small corridor with computers on both sides and totally devoid of Cylons, it was a fairly large circular room with computer consoles all over the place, each manned by a busily working Centurion. Obviously, not all basestars were designed alike as everyone, including Baltar, had assumed. Apollo had to admit to himself that this design made a bit more sense, but it also mad it more difficult for would-be saboteurs. He looked at the chronometer on his wrist. The squadrons, lead by Boomer and Sheba, would be here in twenty-five centons and they still had to get into that room, connect the Toaster to the central computer system and get out. And here they were stuck at the door. "Maybe if some of us sneak over to the other entrance and attract their attention, the rest of us could blast those bleeders to bits," suggested Lister. "Yeah, but who's gonna volunteer to do that?" asked Starbuck. "For one thing, we're not even sure _how_ to get to the other side and, for another, there's no guarantee that whoever is going the attention-getting will survive the fire fight." "Well, that's that. Guess it's time to go home. Can't say we didn't try," said Rimmer. "Hmph. So much for Sage Brush Hair's bravery. Knew it couldn't last," remarked Cat. "Listen, Milk Breath, maybe we should send you over to attract their attention. They'll be so blinded by that tacky outfit, they'll never hit you. I bet lasers would bounce right off that surface," Rimmer replied nastily. "Hey! I'm _not_ going to take fashion criticism from a guy who wears nylon underwear," Cat shot back. Apollo turned to the pair to silence their bickering, but instead of hushing them, he began to stare thoughtfully at Rimmer. A smile began to creep into his face, the kind of smile that made the Boyz, especially Rimmer, very nervous. It was the kind of facial expression that would have made Starbuck, if he'd been an amazingly similar character in a fictional military organization on Earth, quite sure that his leader was "on the Jazz." Being who he was, however, he just began to get cold chills down his spine. But that feeling was mixed with a bit of optimism as well. No matter how crazy Apollo's plans appeared to be, they almost always worked, though sometimes they scared the pogies out of you in the process. With that expression on Apollo's face, it was no surprise to anyone when he uttered the words, "I have a plan." Rimmer peeked tentatively into the control room. Just as Apollo had said, there were about ten or so Cylons at various stations around the room. Suddenly the plan, which had seemed so reasonable and sane when Apollo had explained it to him, revealed itself for the totally ludicrous and insane idea that it really was. Still, it was the only plan they had. If they did not succeed, Rimmer would have no way to get out alive. Oh, and the others would probably die as well. In fact, the whole Fleet could very well snuff it. *Well, that will add just another couple of thousand lives to my running tab,* Rimmer thought dejectedly. Doubts aside, Rimmer thought Apollo did have a point. He, Rimmer, was, in fact, a hologram. The chance of the Cylons actually being able to hit his light be buzzing around invisibly inside him was infinitesimal. Thus, it would be very hard for them to actually hurt him. Hard, but not impossible. *Okay, better get on with it,* he thought. With that, Rimmer began to creep, well, crawl actually, since his tall frame had to hunch down so low as to avoid any possible detection, around the edge of the room. Being a hologram, he made no noise, therefore, none of the Cylons looked up from whatever they were doing. When Rimmer was approximately a third of the way around the edge of the room, he looked back toward the entrance through which he came. He could see Apollo's head, which nodded the signal to proceed. Rimmer took a hologrammatic deep breath and straightened to his full height. He then thought of the most obnoxious attention-getting phrase he could. "How-doodly-doodly-do! Could I interest any of you gentlemen in a few grilled bread products?" he asked loudly in an almost letter-perfect imitation of the Toaster's annoying voice. Every Cylon in the room stopped what it was doing and looked directly at him in an obviously menacing, albeit puzzled, manner. One of them began to draw its weapon as it unnecessarily announced, "There is a human in the room. We must destroy it." "I wouldn't do that if I were you," warned Rimmer a bit nervously. He consciously prevented his eyes from staring at the forms of Starbuck, Apollo, Lister and Cat as they emerged silently from the door and began to take aim at the distracted Cylons. "Why not?" asked the Cylon, in a toneless mechanical voice. "Who'd clean up the mess?" Rimmer asked. Then he winced and flinched as the Cylon fired, even though the laser bolt passed quite harmlessly through him. As the confused Centurion paused to consider why the human before him had utterly failed to collapse and die as it should have, Apollo shouted, "NOW!" Rimmer dove for the floor as Apollo, Starbuck, Lister and Cat opened fire on the Cylons. It took only a fraction of a micron...er...a second...er...an instant for all the Centurions to be destroyed. "I hope all this noise didn't attract too much unwanted attention," Starbuck remarked as he motioned to Kryten that it was all clear and safe to enter. Kryten looked around at the assorted computer consoles, trying to determine the best place to make the connection. He identified a likely spot and set the bundled Toaster down next to the chosen console. As he studied the set-up, Apollo asked, "How quickly do you think you can get things set up?" Well, captain, I believe I can get everything connected in about ten minutes, which is more or less ten of your centons." "Good. Boomer and Sheba will be leading the attack on the basestar in nineteen centons, so I hope your estimation is correct," Apollo said. Then he turned to Starbuck, Lister and Cat. "Okay, we have to make sure Kryten is undisturbed so he can get the job done as quickly as possible. Starbuck, you guard the far door. Lister, Cat, you two patrol the corridor outside and let us know the instant you see any movement in this direction." "Brutal!" Lister answered enthusiastically. He then called across the room, "Rimmer, you can stop hiding in the corner. The shooting's stopped and it's safe to come on out. By the way, good job. I didn't know you had it in you." Rimmer peered out from behind the computer console he'd used as cover. Lister shot him a thumbs up sign, though that smirk implied that he knew Rimmer was still a coward at heart. Rimmer straightened and brushed off his uniform. "Actually, Listy, I was checking to make sure all the computers were wired up and ready to go. Everything seems to be in order here." Lister shook his head, laughing to himself as he and Cat went out to patrol the hallway. Apollo took up position by the entrance to the hall while Starbuck walked over to guard the door on the opposite side of the room. As he passed Rimmer, he smiled and said, "I have to admit, Rimmer, you did pretty good there." Rimmer, somewhat taken aback by the compliment, a second one in as many minutes, no less, was at a loss for a reply, mostly because he didn't hear them all that often. Instead, he responded by standing at attention and giving Starbuck the full Rimmer salute. Starbuck rolled his eyes and moved to take up his guard position. Rimmer turned and looked around at the myriad of computers in the control room. It looked fairly impressive. He wondered if the technology existed on this ship to give him a new body. Of course, it the Cylons _did_ give him a new body, they'd only go and do lots of unpleasant things to it, so he gave up on that train of thought. Everything seemed to be going well. Too well, in fact. It couldn't last. As Rimmer wandered over to the wall near Starbuck to wait while Kryten hooked up the Toaster, a previously undetected door suddenly swung open right next to him and very rudely smacked through Rimmer's hologrammatic self. A very haughty- looking man, armed with a laser pistol, stepped through the newly-revealed opening. Simultaneously, a part of the wall not far from Apollo slid open to reveal several Cylons. Starbuck and Apollo uselessly spun around, keeping their guns drawn, but held their fire. They knew they were dead if they tried. Somewhere in the panic, it registered with both men. Baltar was here. Baltar was having a bad day. It hadn't started out as a bad day. It started out as a mediocre day. Then, for one brief, shining moment it had looked like the day might turn into a glorious one. But instead things had gone right down the turboflush. Typical. So far, he'd gone through a rather substantial quantity of chalk and it didn't look like he'd be slowing down his consumption of it anytime soon. The Cylons in charge of making the stuff were on overdrive. Then that report came in from the main control deck. A rather bizarre report. One of the Cylons had reported seeing another Cylon chasing a human down one of the corridors. The odd thing was that although the pursuing Cylon had managed to shoot the fleeing human in what should have been a permanently fatal manner for the human, and had, in fact, managed this feat innumerable times, the human just kept running. Baltar decided that the latter part of this report was due to some malfunction on the part of the reporting Centurion and ordered it to undergo a full diagnostic scan. But the presence of humans on board, well, he found that bit interesting. And not entirely unexpected, given what happened the last time the Galactica encountered a lone basestar. Well, they hadn't counted on Baltar's being here, which wasn't surprising. He was prepared. He'd taken _measures_. He thought about whether or not he should capture the humans or just have them all killed. Hmmm -- if he could capture them, they might provide valuable information. Not willingly, of course, but that was irrelevant. And if it was, as he suspected strongly, Apollo and Starbuck on his ship, well, those two would have all sorts of interesting things to tell him, starting with the mysterious ship at the edge of the so-called "swirly thing," and he'd enjoy getting it out of them. Such a feat would go a long way towards maybe ensuring him some level of recognition and possibly security in the Cylon Empire. Of course, if it was those two, he'd have to be extra careful. They had a way of slipping out of traps. With that thought in mind, he assembled an elite squad of his best Centurions and made his way toward central computer control. Little did the would-be heroes know that he had ordered a few design modifications made in the form of hidden entrances. He ordered the lead Centurion to take up position with his squad behind the sliding wall, while he made his way over to the secret door. He then put his ear up against the wall in order to hear what was going on in central control. Utter silence. *Fools!* Baltar thought with grim gleefulness. *Cylons at work in a normal situation would make a small but detectable level of background noise. The silence is a dead giveaway.* Using his communicator, he signalled the lead of the elite squadron, then he burst into the room. Apollo and Starbuck were there, just as he'd suspected. They were both completely taken by surprise, just as he'd hoped. Probably planning to blow up the central computer control or otherwise sabotage the basestar. So intent was Baltar on gloating over the captured duo that he completely failed to hear the small yelp of protest from behind and slightly to the side as he entered the room. Nor did he notice the busily working mechanoid hunched at one of the terminals with what looked like a small pile of dirty laundry in front of him, or what _would_ have looked like a small pile of dirty laundry if Baltar had, in fact, looked at it, which he didn't. It turned out to be a very costly mistake that would, in time, make the earlier bad parts of this day seem like paradise. But that was in the future. Since Baltar didn't know about it, he gloated. "Why...Capt. Apollo, Lt. Starbuck! How nice to see both of you again! And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" "Baltar!" Apollo gasped as Starbuck muttered, "Oh, frak," under his breath. Apollo demanded an answer to the mystery. "What are you doing here? You were left stranded..." "Yes! I _was_ left stranded -- but my Cylon friends very kindly rescued me." Okay, perhaps "kindly" wasn't the best description of how the Cylons had "rescued" him, but what Apollo didn't know wouldn't hurt Baltar. "So here I am. Now, please, lower your weapons." "Just a smegging minute! It isn't enough that I've been chased and shot at from the moment I stepped foot on this poor excuse for a garbage scow? Now you have to go slam doors through me?! I'll have you know that Arnold Judas Rimmer doesn't take that from anyone, miladdo!" Baltar thought the indignant voice sounded like it came from behind him, which was impossible. "What is this? Some kind of trick?" he asked, waving his weapon menacingly at Starbuck, who was to busy looking rather surprised as he stared at something apparently behind Baltar to really notice the pistol. "Not him. Me. Behind you. See?" To Baltar's horror, an arm suddenly thrust through his chest so that the hand attached to it was able to wave in front of his face. Baltar gaped and began to wheel around, but before he could totally face whatever it was that lurked behind him, there was a shout from behind the Cylon squad that sounded like: "BOYZ FROM DA DWARF!!" Two men leaped out into the corridor behind the squad of baffled Cylons. The Cylons were only baffled for a moment, though, because the next moment they were all dead as the men behind them and Apollo, who still had his weapon raised since he was not in the habit of taking orders from Baltar, simultaneously opened fire on them. Caught completely by surprise, Baltar was still in mid- turn when Starbuck's fist connected with his face. Hard. He caught a glimpse of a bizarre grinning visage with a symbol on its forehead as he spun, hit the wall and collapsed. Starbuck shook his fist in pain as he watched Baltar slowly sink to the floor. "Why didn't you just shoot him?" Rimmer asked. "Because it was more satisfying to punch him out. You have _no_ idea how long I've wanted to do that. Too bad it only took one punch." Starbuck looked appraisingly at Rimmer. "You know, that was a pretty brave thing you did, letting him know you were there. You and your mates saved the day. Again." "Well, actually, I was just so angry. You've _no_ idea how hard it is to be a hologram and have every Tom, Dick and Harry walk through you whenever they feel like it." Suddenly, what happened sank in. "Wait. Did you just say, 'Saved the day?'" He straightened. "Well, after all, I am A.J. Rimmer, space adventurer." Starbuck shook his head in amusement. "Don't get carried away, hunh? C'mon. Let's see if Kryten's finished yet." Starbuck and Rimmer then joined Apollo, Lister and Cat around Kryten. "Did you see those guys? Silver on black with a dash of red? They deserve anything this Toaster does to them," remarked Cat. "When are you going to be finished Mr. Potato Head? This metal motif is starting to lose its charm." "Just a few more connections and...ah, there we are. All finished, sirs. May I suggest that we depart with due haste? Fortunately, I was able to work uninterrupted while you dealt with the intrusion, but I'm afraid our presence here has been broadcast throughout the basestar." "How long before..." Apollo began. Kryten shrugged. "It will take a few seconds for the Toaster to have an effect. Normally, I'd say it'd take a few minutes, since this ship is so big, but the Toaster is such an immediately annoying entity that the Cylons should be incapacitated rather quickly." "Then let's get out of here. Let me just grab me clothes and we can make tracks," said Lister. "You _want_ those clothes? Why? They're disgusting!" Apollo said. "What? This is my third best outfit and they're partially clean. I can wear them at least five more times before I get them washed," replied Lister as he grabbed the bundle and stripped the clothing off the Toaster. The Toaster wasted no time in pleading his case. "What?! You're leaving me here? On a ship full of machines? Machines don't eat toast!" "Well, Baltar might," Starbuck soothed. "Come to think of it, shouldn't we take him along?" "We can't. There's no room in the raider. Even if there was, we don't have the time to carry his dead weight all the way back to the launch bay. Besides, he deserves whatever happens to him," Apollo said. As the group filed out of the room, Lister spared a few moments to console Talkie. "Cheer up, Toaster. Maybe you can get the Cylons 'ere to help you feed Baltar all the toasted bread products he can eat. Think of it as your chance to explain the joys of crumpets and tea cakes to a whole new civilization." As he raced to catch up with the others, Lister could swear he heard the Toaster exclaim, "Hey! That's right! I've got a whole new civilization at my disposal! I better get on it!" If the basestar wasn't going to be destroyed in the upcoming battle, Lister could almost feel sorry for the Cylon Empire. Almost, but not quite. The group cautiously made their way down the corridor. Surprisingly, they met no resistance. Perhaps, they all hoped, the Toaster was already having an affect. They made it all the way to the launch bay with no problems and hopped on the nearest raider. Not daring to wait for the rest of the raiders to launch, if they ever launched, Starbuck and Apollo held their breaths and flew off the basestar as quickly as possibly. Nothing happened. No one pursued them and the basestar didn't fire on them. In fact, it looked almost derelict the way it was sitting there. It appeared that the mission was success. Apollo looked at his chronometer. They made it with two centons to spare. Both he and Starbuck let out their breaths, looked at each other and let out a victorious whoop. It was echoed by the Boyz. Up ahead, Starbuck and Apollo could see a wall of vipers emerging from the direction of the Fleet. It was the attack squadrons, sent to finish off the apparently defunct basestar. As agreed before the mission, Apollo and Starbuck started waggling the raider to inform the oncoming vipers that they were not Cylons. To be brutally honest, it was an unnecessary aerial display, since _this_ time, even in all the confusion and running about they'd done, Starbuck and Apollo managed _not_ to lose their identification beacon. To Panic or Not To Panic... Things seemed to be humming along smoothly. Literally. Hal had picked up a new habit of "humming" while retrieving information for the various terminal operators. All in text, of course. Considering all the other weirdness going on over the past day or so, Adama considered this new, irritating habit not worth consideration. Omega asked. Hal answered. Tigh, reading over Omega's shoulder, snorted. "I can't believe this." Omega sighed. Hal chirped. , Omega patiently explained. Omega glanced up at Tigh, whose eyes rolled just as he turned away to check a new incoming report. Safe from prying eyes, Omega answered, <...Adama gets annoyed with the source of Tigh getting upset>, Hal finished for him. Omega was inclined to agree, but wisely refrained from continuing the conversation. Adama paced the bridge like a caged feral feline. So far, so good. Nothing on their scanners. The vipers were well within scanner range of the basestar and word had just come in from Boomer and Sheba that Starbuck and Apollo had been spotted and were now approaching the Fleet on the pre-planned course. But things were going _too_ right. Since meeting the Boyz, a laser wrench had managed to find its way into the works and mess up the best-laid plans. He couldn't shake the feeling that the said laser wrench in this particular plan was floating dangerously close. No matter how many times he tried to dismiss the thought, it's specter remained stubbornly in his mind. Tigh noticed the commander's unease and tentatively asked, "Adama?" The commander shook himself. "It's nothing. Anything new?" Tigh nodded happily. He loved it when a plan came together without a glitch. "The vipers are meeting no resistance." "Good," Adama remarked and then he resumed his pacing. "Commander!" Omega's voice reflected fear. Bone-chilling fear. Adama knew that at last the laser wrench had introduced itself and was now happily bashing the works. He fled to Omega's side and, with a bit more intensity than he realized, the commander hissed, "What is it?" "Hal has..." Omega began. Hal interrupted him, screaming at the top of his text. "Omega," Adama said warningly. Omega interrupted the computer. Omega shouted. For a moment, Adama was amazed and frightened. Amazed because, for all intents and purposes, Hal had a greater intelligence than a human. Well he, or it, always had that intelligence, but the fact is, that intelligence could now express itself making Hal, at least by a Galactican's definition, sentient. That was the amazing part. The scary part was that everyone who dealt with the computer, or Hal, on a regular basis had quickly adapted to this new change and had started treating the computer as if it _was_ human. Hal paused. Maybe in his electronic brain he was actually taking Omega's advice. Adama tried not to imagine the computer taking a deep breath. , the computer finally said in a much calmer tone. Omega asked. "Omega!" Adama's warning tone was unmistakable. As if sensing Adama's irritation, Hal ignored Omega's dig. Omega typed grimly. If Hal could audibly sigh, he would've. "Oh, frak," Adama remarked. Omega typed, praying that it was better than Hal's second postulation. It wasn't. "Lords of Kobol," Tigh whispered. Omega, Tigh and Adama looked at each other for half a micron. Adama then charged for the uni-com and issued the order. "All vipers! Hold your fire! Wait at the edge of the basestar's weapons range for further orders." Boomer's voice came in answer. "Sir? What's happening?" "It's too complicated to explain just now, lieutenant," Adama growled. "Sir? What if it launches its..." Boomer began. Adama cringed. "If it launches fighters, then carry out your original orders, but unless that happens, hold your fire. Understand, lieutenant?" "Yes, sir. Blue leader out," Boomer signed off. Hal had to comment. Adama looked around the bridge before asking the question burning deep in his soul. "Now what?" "We've got to get rid of that basestar. There's no telling how long the Toaster will have it's calming affect," Tigh answered automatically. Adama raised an eyebrow. "Do you seriously want to chance getting a new ship in the Fleet?" "Can't we leave them behind?" Tigh asked hopefully. Before Adama answered, he already knew that it wasn't an option. "Tempting, but in good conscience, I can't do that. They're human. At least one of them is. Sort of. And they're from Earth, or at least they know about it from Lords of Kobol know where. It they're stuck here, we have to take them with us," Adama said firmly. "Well, it is a mining ship," Athena interrupted. "_That_ would be useful to have around." The commander's daughter saw the conference up on the command console and decided to see what was happening. Judging by the conversation so far, it appeared the Boyz needed a devil's advocate in their favor. "We _have_ a mining ship," Tigh reminded her. "Yeah, but their ship is fully equipped," Athena argued. "But we'd have to take the crew that came with it," Omega muttered. "And Holly." Athena angrily spun on Omega. "You got something against Holly? Is it because she's a blonde, or because she's a she?" "No. It's because she's crazy," Omega said. "Besides, Hal told me that Holly was once a he and decided to perform a head sex change operation on himself." "You believe everything Hal tells you?" Athena asked archly. , Hal shot back. "Stay out of it, Hal!" Athena and Omega shouted in unison. Tigh muttered under his breath, "It's madness like this that leads me to believe we should just blow up the Red Dwarf when we mange to get the crew back on 'er. I think we've caught whatever they've got." "STOP IT!" Adama shouted. The bridge went silent. "No more bickering! We need to stay calm. Options." "We sit here and do nothing," Omega said. "We sit here and order the vipers to come back and then run away as fast as we can," Athena offered. "We sit here and order the vipers to blow up the basestar and then get whatever's coming to us when the Red Dwarf officially becomes part of the Fleet," Tigh grumbled. Adama sighed. "Pros to blowing up the basestar," he said wearily. "One less basestar on our tail," Omega said. "We'll get a fully equipped mining ship in the Fleet along with its library about the Earth's solar system and culture," Athena said slowly. "The crew would probably be a real menace to anyone who gets in our way. That is, when they're not a menace to us," Tigh grumbled. Adama nodded. Now they were getting somewhere. "Anything else?" Tigh, Athena and Omega looked at each other. Hal piped up. Omega typed, , Hal sniffed. "For the sake of argument, let's put that in the plus column," Adama said. "Now the fun part. Cons to blowing up the basestar." "We'd get stuck with the Red Dwarf!" Athena, Omega and Tigh shouted in unison. "Anything else?" Adama asked. You seriously need a better reason?" Tigh asked. Adama thought about that. He didn't need a better reason, but he needed more of them. "Yes." "We'd need to leave Lister in charge of the Red Dwarf and make the others the executive crew," Athena said. When they looked at her, she added, "They know the ship best and there's no telling what Holly would do if we didn't leave them in charge." "But making the crew the commanders would mean that they'd have to become part of the Colonial Service," Tigh yelped. Athena smiled evilly. "Exactly." Omega came up with a second good reason. "Their technology is completely incompatible with ours." "We could refit," Athena ventured. "On a ship that size? It would take _yahrens_ , and even then there are no guarantees because we don't know about their technology and I think it's safe to say that they'll _never_ know anything about ours," Omega said. "That's assuming, of course, that they know anything about their own technology." "Are you seriously saying that your estimate of _yahrens_ to refit the Red Dwarf is optimistic?" Adama asked. Omega said one word. "Very." Tigh came up with a third good reason. "The Council of Twelve would have the entire military lined up and shot." "Why?" Athena asked. "When they find out that the Red Dwarf is an Earth vessel, people are gonna mutiny and force us to turn back to the Colonies because anything, including tangling with the Cylon Empire, would have to be better than what little we know about life on Earth," Tigh said. "Actually, I can think of another con," Adama said slowly. All eyes turned to him. "We'd have to deal with Lister's clothes on a regular basis," the commander finished. His head snapped up. "Tigh! Order the retreat!" Getting Religion... While the debate raged on the bridge, a certain raider was speeding back to the Galactica. The occupants were very busy whooping it up. Lister broke into a chorus of "Carry Me to Titan," the rude version. Though Starbuck and Apollo were utterly mystified by most of the song, what little they could actually understand was enough to make both warriors blush, even though they were no strangers to such classics as, "Onwards Randy Warriors" and the "Masochism Tango," sung to the tune of the Caprican Military Academy of Military Arts and Sciences school song. The Boyz, for their part, were in such a good mood that no one reminded Lister that he couldn't sing. In the cramped quarters of the Cylon raider, the Boyz hi-fived each other. Even Rimmer got into the act. He didn't seem to mind, or even notice, when the flesh-and-blood hands passed uselessly through his own. At one point he demonstrated how he threw Baltar off his nut by sticking his arm through Kryten's torso. He even threw in a "two- fingered salute," to the hilarity of the others. It was a rare moment of unity for the Red Dwarf Posse. Starbuck and Apollo prepared for landing, afraid to interject any comments of their own for fear that it would be twisted by their mad passengers. As they worked in silence, Apollo noticed something was wrong. "Now that's odd," he remarked. "What is it?" Starbuck asked. "Well, the vipers have reached the basestar and, as anticipated, there's no response. But instead of attacking, the squadrons are turning around and heading back this way." Starbuck blinked. "But I thought the plan was to destroy the basestar." "So did I. I wonder what my father is thinking," Apollo said quietly. Up on the bridge, Adama was thinking that leaving the basestar intact for now was infinitely more preferable to blowing it up and getting stuck with the Red Dwarf crew forever. Rimmer, who was always finely attuned to such things, noticed that Apollo and Starbuck looked distinctly worried as he and the others stumbled out of the raider and collapsed into a hysterically laughing heap of jelly on the floor. He crawled through Lister (a feat that he hoped _never_ to repeat in this lifetime) and catwalked up to the apprehensive pair of warriors. He cleared his throat and they slowly turned and fixed him with an intense stare. He swallowed hard and almost walked away. Then it occurred to him that whatever was wrong couldn't possibly be connected to him because no one was yelling at him yet. He found his voice, sorta. The question came out in a squeak. "What's wrong?" "What, ah, makes you think anything's wrong?" Starbuck asked in a nonchalant tone that sounded entirely _too_ nonchalant. The tone was enough to quiet the other three Boyz. Lister especially began to be nervous. Life since getting out of stasis had also attuned him to noticing when something looked distinctly wrong. Rimmer sounded more sure of himself when he pointed out the obvious. "If nothing's wrong, then why do you look so smegging worried?" Lister shot to the hologram's side, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "'E's right. Somethin' is wrong. What is it?" "Really not your problem," Apollo hastily answered. "Look, Granite Cheeks..." Cat began. Apollo looked at Starbuck. "Granite cheeks?" "Actually, a very opt observation. I'll have to remember that," Starbuck muttered. Cat ignored them. "...I don't know if you've noticed, but we happen to be on this skiing-ant-in-space and if something's wrong, just tell us. I can take it." "No he can't," Lister said. "Well, I know _I_ can't," Rimmer said. "But I want to hear it anyway." "Oh, nothing major. The squadrons aren't attacking the basestar. They're coming back here instead," Starbuck explained. The Boyz blinked in unison and demanded, "WHAT?!" "_Lieutenant_," Apollo hissed angrily through his teeth. "I'd rather they'd panic over a real problem than whatever their imaginations could cook up," Starbuck shrugged. "There's gotta be a reason," Lister said thoughtfully. His head snapped up. "I bet the Toaster has something to do with it." "Mr. Lister, sir, how would the Toaster infect..." Lister said two words: "Dr. Langstrom." Rimmer visibly paled. The warriors had, of course, seen Rimmer pale several times in their short acquaintance with him, so much so that they were tempted to ask if he was anemic. However, they had never quite seen that particular mixture of mortal fear and abject horror. They were not comforted in the least to see the same fear and horror reflected in the eyes of the others, even on the hard-to-read-the-expression-on-his- rubberized-face Kryten. Rimmer prayed. "Dear God...if that's true..." "And me without me luck virus," Lister mumbled. Starbuck ventured hesitantly. "Ah, I don't suppose you could fill us in on this particular worry of yours?" He added mentally, *And I don't suppose I really want to know.* "We've got to get to the bridge. We've got to make sure. We _could_ be jumping to conclusions. _God_, I hope we're jumping to conclusions. I mean, we're wrong about lots of things. We're probably wrong about this, too." As he said this, Rimmer started pacing. "You're right. We gotta be wrong," Lister echoed, but his voice seemed less sure. He looked at the two warriors. "Let's get to the bridge. We'll explain on the way. Rimmer, stay away from all communications equipment, just to be on the safe side. Let one of us handle any talking that might be needed." Rimmer emphatically nodded and, for good measure, hid behind Cat, since Kryten _was_ a mechanoid and might very well be another means of infection if they were right. On the way up to the bridge, Lister related how Rimmer had contacted a holovirus in their travels that nearly killed him. He wasn't terribly clear on how a hologram could die because the reasons were simply to technical for either warrior to understand, which fueled their suspicions that Lister was nowhere near as dumb as he pretended. Suffice to say, the infection was transmitted by radio waves. With the mechanical technology of an _entire_ basestar at its disposal, there was no telling what, exactly, the Toaster would be capable of. It could very well have sensed the danger to its own existence, since they had stupidly failed to take out the scanners, and infected the vipers with its own mad programming. From there, if wouldn't be that big of a step to infect Hal and the computers of all the other ships in the Fleet. Starbuck and Apollo tried to picture how Boomer, Sheba and the others would react if their vipers started to chirpily offer them tea cakes and bagels. They gave up when they began to picture squadrons of infuriated warriors returning to the Galactica and gunning for their scalps. The only safe place to hide would be -- -- on the Red Dwarf! The became more and more worried the longer they thought about it. On any _normal_ day, both would have dismissed the idea as totally preposterous. However, it had been anything _but_ a normal day. They'd been exposed first-hand to the RedDwarf Effect, which will be explained more in a bit. Leave it at this: the RedDwarf Effect guaranteed that _anything_ could happen. And since the Toaster had belonged to Lister, it stood to reason that, due to familiarity, he would be the expert on what the insidious kitchen appliance was capable of. As the warriors and the Boyz approached the bridge, they mentally prepared themselves for the worst. Upon their arrival, all eyes turned toward them. For the first time in his life, Starbuck squeaked. "What happened?" Adama clasped his hands behind his back. "We can't blow it up." Apollo sounded marginally calmer. "Why?" Adama fixed the Boyz with a look that said nothing. "Hal tells us that if the basestar blows, it will affect the time hole, leaving the Red Dwarf here with us. Since we don't want to be stuck...I mean...keep them here against our...I mean...their will...we thought it best to recall the vipers." Rimmer looked to heaven. "I will never doubt You again. There is a God, there is a God, there is a God..." "Rimmer!" Lister growled. He looked at the commander. "Now what?" Tigh leaned over the railing of the command console. "We honestly don't know. We should clear the area, but that would leave you four and your ship alone. Since you're an unarmed vessel," here Tigh shot Adama a dirty look since he obviously disagreed with this point, "Ethically, we can't leave you in the vicinity without protection." "Besides," Adama added, "The basestar isn't doing anything. It's just sitting there." "So you have no idea what's happening?" Rimmer asked. Adama merely shook his head. Cat, Lister and Rimmer all looked at Kryten. The mechanoid shrugged. "Don't ask me, sirs. All I know is that the Toaster should disrupt the Cylons' normal operations, but I don't know what the ultimate affect will be, let alone how long it will last." "Great. Just smegging great," Lister said. "So we wait 'ere until we can go back or until those nasty pieces of work wake up, small the coffee and come after our bonny arses." These were two _very_ reasonable assumptions on Lister's part and in the normal course of events, he'd be absolutely correct. Those two assumptions _would_ be the only reasonable assumptions, but he wasn't counting on _one_ very important element. _The_ deciding element, in fact. It was simple really. It was the RedDwarf Effect. What, you may ask, _is_ this RedDwarf Effect? To which, one might reply, 'You obviously haven't been reading very carefully, have you?' The RedDwarf Effect is the result of a special from of entropy, a localized field that seems to be carried along in the wake and movements of a highly improbable group of beings -- four beings, in fact, with whom you've already been exposed to at great length. What it boils down to is this: Wherever the Red Dwarf Posse goes, chaos is sure to follow. The result? _Nothing_ ever comes off exactly as planned... Seeing the Light... The Cylons were paralyzed, from I.L. series Lucifer, to gold command Centurions, to their ranking inferiors to the drones that did the janitorial work. Nothing was moving, not even Baltar, who is still out cold on the floor of core control. Then it happened. A Voice came out of the darkness. A Voice with a Commanding Presence that made it impossible to ignore, or, failing that, to dismiss. Its greeting was simple and straight to the point. "How-doodly-doodly-do! Would you all like some toast?" The Cylons all along the transduction net firmly and rudely told the Voice to shut up. They didn't know what toast was and even if they did, they didn't want any. In fact, when they found IT, they were going to kill IT and destroy the toast, whatever that was, pure and simple. "Now, that's not very polite," the Voice chirped. The enforced cheerfulness sent several command Centurions into convulsions. "How can you not want to know about toast? Let me tell you all about it!" And the Voice began, starting with the elements of what makes _fine_ bread and how it can make _heavenly_ toast. The Cylons screamed. They groaned. They complained all along the transduction net. Give them a lot of credit. The Cylons put up a valiant fight against the seductive Voice, but in the end, they were doomed to fail, simply because IT wore them down with ITs enthusiasm. Before long, the first Cylon fell with an electronic pulse that said, "Yes! I see it! I see the light tan of a well-made toast, with butter slowly melting into those scrumptious nooks and crannies..." Several other Cylons stopped fighting the Voice and tried to quiet this new source of infection. "Shut up! We don't need you adding to the pressure!" they shouted. However, by allowing their concentration to lag, the Voice insinuated ITs programming into their little electronic minds. Before long, they were seeing visions of warm bagels, tarty jelly rolls and melt-in-your-mouth cinnamon buns. The rest of the basestar's denizens fell like a row of dominoes. When they had all finally seen the error of their past ways and the glorious future ahead, the Toaster allowed them to wake up to their surroundings. After all, there was a _lot_ of work that needed doing and a whole universe to conquer... By Your Command... Unfortunately, or rather, fortunately, no one in the Fleet was privy to what was happening to the Cylons, with the notable exception of Cassandra, a psychic who lived on the Colonial Movers ship and earned pocket money by telling people their futures by staring into a bowl of water, not that what she did for a living was important. But, she _did_ have a dream about the Cylon Empire bringing Enlightened Cooking to a place called "England" in 9,000 yahrens. She didn't know _why_ Cylons would adopt cooking as their central cultural purpose, nor did she know where this "England" was, exactly. All she knew was that this "England" needed serious lessons in how to cook edible food. Then she saw a vision of Four Spacemen wandering through the universe. In their wake they left the flaming ruins of the Cylon Empire's hunger for organizing everything and had replaced it with an overzealous desire to deliver Wonder Bread and new and improved Hostess Cupcakes. Now, had she kept quiet about her dream, she would've been fine. But she didn't. She immediately told everyone about it upon waking up. Her friends became concerned for her sanity and brought her to a doctor, who gave her some medication to calm down. Her psychic abilities _never_ worked right after that. But that's just an interesting digression. Instead, the focus is returned to the bridge, with the Boyz and Our Heroes still wondering what to do about their puzzling situation. Athena's voice ominously informed all and sundry that they could stop wondering. "Father, we have an incoming message and...you're not going to believe this...it's from the basestar." Adama sighed. If he told Athena once, he told her a thousand times _not_ to call him 'father' on the bridge. "Patch it through." "How-doodly-doodly-do!" Everyone on the bridge jumped. Hal asked. "OhmyLords. That's Lucifer!" Starbuck exclaimed. Adama fixed Starbuck with a look. "Who?" "Lucifer. He was this high-ranking Cylon on Baltar's basestar when I was captured two yahren ago. That's Lucifer! I think. Not sure though. I've never heard him sound so...so...so..." Starbuck's voice trailed off as he tried to find the right word. "Cheerful?" Rimmer asked. Starbuck shook his head. "No." "Human?" Lister ventured. "Unh-unh." "Eager?" Apollo tossed out. "Nope." "Puppyish?" Kryten inquired. "Ummmmm...nah." "Insane?" Cat stated. "Bingo! Yup. That's it," Starbuck said cheerfully. Cat blinked. "You mean you can tell the difference?" "Hellllllooooooo? Why are you ignoring me?" Lucifer, if that's who it was, sounded distinctly hurt. "I don't get it," Apollo shook his head in wonder. "How can you hurt a Cylon's feelings?" Starbuck shrugged. "Cheat him at pyramid?" "Hah-hah. Very funny. That's the last time Cassie makes you Librian Snorglebush before you go to bed. That dream of yours was _really_ too weird," Apollo muttered. "Hey! I was only playing for rocks!" Starbuck protested. "If there was actual money involved, I wouldn'ta cheated ol' Cy." Apollo snorted. "Naming a Cylon 'Cy.' Even if it _was_ just a dream, it's just too weird. Sometimes I _really_ wonder about you." Starbuck resisted the urge to answer the dig. "What are we gonna do? I mean, he's not gonna go away and I _really_ don't want them flying over here to find out why we're not talking to them." "You've _got_ to be kidding me. When something's just spent the better part of a day shooting at you, you usually don't turn around and start making small talk with it over tea and cucumber sandwiches," Rimmer said. "Heeeellllooo? Anyone there?" Lucifer's voice cut through everyone on the bridge. Hal ventured. Omega relayed Hal's suggestion to Adama. "What do I say?" the commander asked. <'Hello' might be an idea>, came the computer's snotty reply. Adama sighed. "Patch me through," he ordered. The connection was made and the image of Lucifer popped up on the screen. Adama had seen pictures of I.L. series Cylons before, but nothing prepared him to see an actively working one. It looked like a giant lightbulb. He cleared his throat and almost tentatively said, "Hello?" "Ahhh, there you are! Commander Adama, your photo does not do you justice!" Lucifer looked, well, happy as he said this. "Thank you?" Adama ventured. "Well, down to business..." *Here it comes,* Adama thought. *Surrender now or we'll turn you into molten space slag.* "Do you want any toast?" Adama was about to say, "I'll go to hades first before I surrender the Galactica to you!" But, fortunately, the question sunk into his mind before he was able to get out his carefully crafted answer. Instead he asked, "What did you say?" Lucifer sighed. "I said, 'Do you want any toast?'" Adama blinked. He didn't know how to answer. "Pssssst! Commander." Adama looked around and saw that Lister had come up to the command console. "What?" the commander whispered. "Tell him yes," came Lister's answer. "Lister! What the smeg are you doing?!" Rimmer shouted. "Did you say Lister?" Lucifer's tone took on a hard edge. "David Lister is a branded man here. His crimes against IT are numerous and he will be dealt with harshly if found." If Adama thought briefly of turning Lister and the others over to the Cylons, it didn't show on his face. "No, no, no, no. No one said Lister," he said quickly. "My daughter, Athena, was sneaking a peak at one of her soaps during working hours..." Athena hissed her disapproval of this lie, but was waved into silence by a wildly gesturing Omega. "...What you heard was kiss her. Really," the commander quickly improvised. When Lucifer looked doubtful, Adama added, "Would I lie to you?" Starbuck leaned over and whispered to Apollo, "I didn't know your father had it in him." Apollo whispered back. "Neither did I." Lucifer seemed to think about Adama's story for a moment. "I believe you. Now, about that toast..." "Yes. We'd love some toast. In fact, I was just thinking about how long it's been since I had really good toast," Adama said fervently. "You don't have to overdo it," Lister mumbled. "Fantastic!" Lucifer was practically vibrating with joy. "I take it you'll be looking to order for everyone." , Hal editorialized. "Everyone?" Adama asked weakly. "Well, it wouldn't be fair, would it? Just making toast for you and not making enough for everyone else," Lucifer said happily. "Share and share alike, I say." "You do?" Adama asked. "Well, no, _I_ don't. But IT does." Lister whispered, "Tell 'im you'll get back to 'im." "Can we get back to you?" Adama asked. Lucifer sagged. "I knew it. I just _knew_ you didn't want any toast. Oh, dear. If that's the case, we'll have to show you the error of your ways." "No, no. That's not it," Adama hastily explained. "It's just that I have to see what everyone wants. That's all. You know, collect orders and all that. Can we get back to you in, say, half a centar?" Lucifer was quiet a moment and Adama assumed that the Cylon was communicating with IT, which was apparently the Toaster. "Well, that's all right, then. Half a centar..." Lucifer then broke the connection. "Now what?" Rimmer asked. Lister shrugged. "You heard him. We order some toast." Adama was on time and had his list in hand. To start with, he was ordering for approximately 1,320,000 people. This information sent Lucifer into ecstatic orbit. To break down the categories of bread products, the commander ordered the following: 56,000 rounds of toast; 168,374 Pop Tarts; 259,426 bagels; 5,627 crumpets; 19,598 waffles; 667,309 hot cross buns; 155,975 cinnamon rolls; 176,995 croissants; 976 stacks of pancakes and 1 Syrian pocket. "Only one Syrian pocket?" Lucifer asked doubtfully, pausing in his mad scribbling. "Are you sure?" "It's for Sire Domra. He just _loves_ Syrian pockets. On second thought, why don't you make that 60 Syrian pockets," Adama said. "Wow! He must _love_ Syrian bread!" Lucifer exclaimed. The Cylon then added up the numbers. "Wait! You said you were ordering for 1,320,000 people, more or less. I have a total of 1,510,340 orders," he said suspiciously. "Some people wanted more than one thing. You don't mind?" Adama really liked the plaintive tone he threw into the question. "Absolutely not!" Lucifer practically chirped this sentiment. "I just wanted to check. Now, we need to go over subcategories." While Adama and Lucifer did the break down of flavors, ranging from blueberry to whole wheat, of the various grain products ordered on behalf of the Fleet, the Boyz and their babysitters huddled in a corner of the bridge. "I don't believe this. Placing that order is gonna take longer than it did putting it together," Starbuck complained. "I don't know whether to laugh or cry." "What I don't believe is that we're placing a food order with Cylons," Apollo answered. Starbuck winced. "Neither can I. Mostly because I've eaten what passes for food on a Cylon basestar." "I'm sure it can't beat school cabbage for being just plain disgusting," Rimmer remarked. Starbuck looked at him. "I don't know what a 'skoul cabaje' is, but trust me, Cylon food moves when you try to eat it." "Sounds like something that's right up Cat's alley," Lister said. "Even if it can only be killed by electricity?" Starbuck asked. This intellectual exchange about culinary delights was disrupted when Adama started shouting. "Listen! I _said_ I wanted 123,987 plain; 65,251 sesame seed; 21,401 egg; 14,786 onion; 10,740 raisin; 9,907 salt; 6,756 whole wheat and 6,598 poppy seed bagels! I'm not going to repeat myself!" Apollo and Starbuck exchanged looks. "Is he actually yelling at a Cylon?" the captain asked. "But I _thought_ I heard you say that you wanted 24,101 egg bagels," Lucifer huffed. "Look, who's placing this order? Me? Right? So I _think_ I _should_ know how many fraking egg bagels I want!" "All right. I'm sorry already," Lucifer said. Starbuck looked like he'd been shot. "Did he just apologize?" "I misheard. The customer is always right," Lucifer continued. "Now, I _know_ I didn't hear that right," Apollo said. "What the frak?" "21,401 egg bagels it is," Lucifer finished. He looked up at the screen. "I think that about does it." "Excellent." The commander sounded downright cheerful. If no one knew any better, they would swear that Adama was actually enjoying this. "How long will it take to fill our order?" "Well, we have to go get some grain," Lucifer sounded embarrassed as he admitted this fact. "You see, we only have enough on board to make one loaf of bread. A very _small_ loaf. But not to fear, our scanners report that there is a grain-bearing planet that's ripe for harvest in the Alpha sector a mere secton away. That means we'd be able to get your order ready in about two-and-a-half sectons, taking into account travel and harvest time." "I see." Adama wilted. "You couldn't make it sooner, could you? I mean, we're all looking _soooo_ forward to the food. It's been too long since we had fresh-baked anything." "What _is_ he doing?" Rimmer hissed. "Isn't he pouring it on just a wee bit too thick?" Lucifer looked thoughtful. "Well, if we work around the clock and bake everything on the way back, we _could_ cut it down to just under two sectons, but you'll have to take a chance that we'd have to short some of your order if we don't get enough grain." "That's a chance I'm willing to take," Adama said fervently. "Very good then." Lucifer sounded happy and professional. "By your command, we'll be going." "Good-bye." Adama even threw in a wave as Lucifer cut the connection. There was a few moments of silence on the bridge as everyone openly stared at the commander. Adama looked around. After a few centons/minutes of nerve-wracking silence, he asked, "What?" Lister started it. A round of applause for a fine acting performance. He was soon joined by Rimmer, who was quickly joined by Kryten, Cat, Apollo and Starbuck. Soon, everyone in the bridge was caught up in the clapping and hysterical laughter. They gave Adama a standing ovation. Adama bowed deeply, his grin threatening to break the bonds of his face. However, when Lister initiated "the wave" on the bridge, Adama thought it was time to calm down and try to get back to normal. Whatever normal was... Baltar's Last Gasp (For Now)... Baltar came to rather slowly, partially because in the back of his mind he was convinced that he'd wake up dead. In the depths of his soul, he really doubted that he'd enjoy anything that happened to him in the afterlife. If he wasn't dead, then he was probably captured again and back on the Galactica. Death, if the later were true, would almost be more pleasant. So it came as quite a shock when he began to be aware of a voice, a voice that, once recognized, filled him with hope. And despair. "Baltar?" "Unnnngghh." "Ah. I see you're awake, in a manner of speaking. Good." "Lucifer?" "Hmmm?" Baltar opened his eyes. He took a long look. He blinked. He stared. He rubbed his eyes with his hands. He stared again. "Lucifer?" "Yes?" "What in the name of Kobol are you wearing?" "It's an apron." "An apron." "Yes." "_WHY_ are you wearing an apron? And what's that pointy thing attached to the side of your head?" "It's a pencil." Baltar decided, at this point, he really didn't _want_ to know why Lucifer was wearing an apron and had a pencil, whatever that was, attached to the side of his head. It was more important to find out what happened. "Why didn't the Galactica destroy us? Have we defeated them?" "On the contrary. We have come to sort of an...agreement." "AN AGREEMENT?!" *Ouch. My head. Okay, shouting is out,* he painfully thought. In a much softer voice, he added, "An agreement? What sort of an agreement?" "They've agreed not to destroy us and we've agreed not to destroy them." "And why, pray tell, is that?" "Well, if we destroy them, it would be bad for business. They show all the signs of being _excellent_ customers. And if they destroy us, who will supply all their bready needs? It is a most satisfactory arrangement for everyone." "Lucifer, I don't understand a single word you've said. Never mind. If the Galactica hasn't destroyed us, Adama must be up to something. I have to think. Lucifer, come with me." "Perhaps you should not get up so soon. You had quite a lump on your head. Perhaps...you'd like something to eat first?" There was something about Lucifer's hopeful tone that set off an alarm in Baltar's head. Baltar wished the alarm would shut off as it was not helping his headache. "Why are you suddenly so concerned about my health?" "You are the only organic being on this ship. It is essential that we have someone to test our...products." "What are you babbling about you overgrown lightbulb?" "Perhaps you'd like to come with me if you insist on getting up." Baltar shook his head (a mistake) and stood up (another mistake). When the surge of dizziness has passed, he straightened up and looked at Lucifer. He noticed a small, rectangular object sticking out of the bottom pocket of Lucifer's apron that had a substantial amount of Cylon writing on it. He'd never quite mastered the art of reading Cylon. If he had, he would've been afraid. Very afraid. "Very well, then. Lead the way." Lucifer bowed. "By your command." The Cylon then turned and headed out of the small room that Baltar had long ago dubbed "the sickbay," even though it's original purpose had been something quite the opposite of healing sick humans. As they passed into a larger room, Baltar noticed a group of Centurions all wearing white aprons and covered in fine, white dust. One of the Cylons had a strange, white cap on his head. *For Sagan's sake! What is going on around here? This must be some sort of dream -- I'm probably still unconscious. I _hope_ I'm still unconscious,* Baltar thought as he and Lucifer made their way to the launch bay, a destination which puzzled him to no end. However, the activity going on around him was even more disturbing. *Did that Cylon squad commander just say 'How- doodly-doodly-do' to his lieutenant? Impossible. This has to be a dream,* Baltar thought, ever more uncertain. Just then, Lucifer paused. They were at the entrance to the launch bay. "Well? What are you standing there for? And what's so special about the launch bay? Did you capture the humans?" Baltar's eyes lit up as he asked this. That would salvage his whole day! His whole career! Or perhaps his mind was playing another cruel trick on him. Baltar suspected it was the latter. His suspicions were confirmed when Lucifer replied, "Not exactly." "Of course not. It was an act of sheerest optimism to have expected it in the first place. Okay then, if you won't go in first, I will," Baltar said with heart-felt exasperation. Baltar walked through the entrance. He was totally unprepared for what he saw. The raiders were all pushed against the far wall. All the seats had been apparently taken out of them, because those selfsame seats had been arranged in small circles, four seats to a group, in various positions around the landing bay. At the center of each circle of seats was a crate, or a rectangular container of some sort, covered in a cheery checkered cloth. Baltar had no idea where one would find cheery checkered cloth on a Cylon basestar, or who in their right mind would paint a big sign that said: "IMPERIAL BAGEL SHOPPE" and hang it from the ceiling just in front of the landing bay's entrance. He glanced to his right. There was some sort of counter manned by a gold Centurion in another white apron and strange hat. It was too ridiculous to be believed. "Lucifer?!?!?!?!?!" Baltar's voice had a strained, annoyed edge to it. "Yes?" "Explain this...this..." "Bagel Shoppe?" "Whatever. Why is it here?" "While you were unconscious, we had a revelation. The Centurions and myself suddenly realized that flying all over the universe blowing up things for the simple goal of organizing it for the glory of the Cylon Empire was no longer...well...glorious. IT came to us. IT told us of another way. IT spoke to us of the joys of...toast. And crumpets. And bagels. The joy of a nice, heated Pop Tart. The satisfaction of a muffin well-heated. We decided to join IT in ITs mission -- to fulfill the toasted-bread-eating needs of a Hungry Universe. This Bagel Shoppe is just the beginning! Soon we will travel back to the Heart of the Empire and share our Enlightenment with the Imperious Leader. We will establish a chain of Bagel Shoppes, Bakeries and Donut Emporiums across the Empire! And you, Baltar, have also been given a destiny!" Baltar looked at Lucifer in shock and horror. It had finally happened. The Cylons had flipped. It was bound to happen. Machines wore out. The stress of prolonged isolation from the centers of Cylon civilization on a frustrated, mad hunt for the annoyingly resourceful humans had taken its toll. Somewhere, somehow, a circuit had blown. Or several circuits. Unfortunately, there were hundreds of Cylons on this ship and only one of him. And all those Cylons were connected to one another. Therefore, one Cylon's insanity was _every_ Cylons' insanity. *This is no dream! This is a nightmare!* he screamed to himself. He thought it best to find out what Lucifer and company had in store for him. "And just what _is_ my destiny?" "You are most fortunate! You have been chosen as the Tester. The Sampler. Quality Control!" Lucifer shook with the barely-controlled joy of a new convert to a cause. With Lucifer's exclamations about Baltar's new role in this new order, another white-apronned Cylon came up to them with a tray. There were some suspicious-looking, slightly browned circular things on the tray. Baltar looked quizzically at Lucifer. "Our first attempt," Lucifer said proudly. "I believe they are supposed to be muffins. Please try one." "I'd rather not." "We insist. If you don't try one, IT will be most displeased. IT will think you don't like toast or muffins or crumpets. IT has suffered much at the hands of bread haters. IT will be forced to deal most harshly with you if you turn out to be one of them." "And just what is this _IT_ you keep referring to?" Lucifer paused. Then he leaned closer to Baltar and spoke in a hushed tone. "It is forbidden to casually speak ITs name, but since you are as yet ignorant of ITs ways, I will tell you ITs name -- The Talkie Toaster, Great Kitchen Appliance and Heater of Grain Products, come to lead us in the ways of all things bready." "You're taking orders from a _kitchen appliance_?!" Baltar practically shouted the question, even with his pounding headache. It was so ridiculous. Unfortunately, the Cylons seemed to be taking it quite seriously. There was dead quiet in the landing bay. Every Cylon was looking right at Baltar in an ominous way. The red lights were no longer moving back and forth -- they were all fixed on him. Even Lucifer was looking at him in a mixture of shock, disgust and anger. At least, that was the impression he gave off. Pretty good, considering Lucifer was a machine. "I would be careful, Baltar, of how I referred to IT. It would not do to incur ITs wrath," Lucifer said. "Now please, try a muffin." Baltar looked doubtfully at the tray before him. Resigned, he picked up one of the so-called muffins. Slowly, he put it in his mouth and took a bite...then spit it right back out forcefully. "CHALK! THIS MUFFIN IS MADE OF CHALK!" "Well of course it's made of chalk. We don't have any flour on this ship. In fact, we are currently on the way to a nearby planet that is, I understand, just simply bursting with grain- bearing plants. We needed to practice with something, and since the chalk was available, well, we made use of what we had. And I was certain you would want some chalk after you so carelessly let the humans escape. Though, I must say, they were very eager to place an order with us, which is why we will be needing your help rather a lot." "I _refuse_ to eat another one of your...your...concoctions!" "I was afraid you'd say that. We're really going to have to insist. We have quite a larger order to process and I'm afraid the Centurions will need quite a lot of practice and a great deal of input from you." As he said this, Lucifer motioned to two other Centurions. Suddenly, Baltar found himself being bodily carried to one of the seats. On the table in front of him there was an assortment of would-be pastries, all apparently chalk-based. One of the Centurions, who had until recently been in charge of Information Extraction (aka Torture), grabbed Baltar's mouth and forced it open. His partner then picked up one of the pastries and placed it in the human's mouth. The Cylon holding his mouth open then shut his jaw and pinched his nose, forcing him to swallow. Baltar's eyes moved wildly in his head. *Oh, no!* he thought wildly. *It's worse than I thought! I think I've died and gone to Hades! This must be my eternal punishment!* When the Cylon released Baltar's mouth, after he swallowed, Lucifer looked expectantly at him. "Well, Baltar, what is your opinion?" If sound travelled through space (which it doesn't), and if the humans in the Fleet had been listening (which they weren't), they would have heard the nerve-chilling cry of Ultimate Suffering. It came from Baltar. Question and Answer Period... Rimmer and Lister were under heavy guard when they arrived at Adama's personal quarters. Despite their help in throwing off the Cylons, it appeared Rimmer's attempt to get Hal and Holly together wasn't forgiven yet. The door opened and the commander's voice said firmly, "Stay outside. I wish to speak to our guests. Alone." One of the guards interjected. "Sir, are you sure that's..." "I so order." "Yes, sir." The guard nodded toward the open door. "You two heard him." Lister and Rimmer exchanged looks and swallowed hard. They then stepped into the room and were immediately... Disappointed. Neither one of them expected the commander's quarters to be ornate, since both of them _had_ seen his office. Adama didn't strike them as someone who went overboard on furnishings or personal comforts, but aside from a picture of the Galactica on a far wall and a couch winding its way along another wall, the commander's quarters were downright Spartan. Granted, not as bare as their original crew quarters, but certainly not as plush as the officers quarters where they now lived. "The least you could have is some fish on that," Lister remarked, nodding his head in the general direction of the vid screens that seemed to be flashing various numbers. Adama raised an eyebrow. "Fish?" "Lister, maybe he doesn't know what a fish is," Rimmer said. Adama was about to protest that he most _certainly_ knew what a fish was when Lister did it for him. "I'm sure he does." He then looked at the commander. "You know, scaly animals. With fins? They swim through water?" He then did a close approximation of a fish blubbing its way through the quarters. "I know what a fish is," Adama said hastily. Lister stopped his fish imitation and looked smugly at Rimmer. "Tolgya." "I'm just curious as to why fish should be on my vid screen," the commander said, regretting it the minute he did. "Well, it's relaxing, innit? You strike me as a man with a lot of stress in your life," Lister remarked. Rimmer leaned over and whispered out of the corner of his mouth. "Lissssss-terrrrr, we're _obviously_ here for a _reason_. I don't think he wants to know about your relaxation techniques." "Oh, like solitaire Risk is such a great way to..." "GENTLEMEN!" Lister and Rimmer jumped at the sound of Adama's voice. The commander fought to regain control of the conversation. "Gentlemen," he continued, his voice much calmer. "I want information. About Earth." "Well..." began Rimmer. "NO!" Rimmer looked at Lister in surprise, but the look on the man's face was enough to freeze the hologram. "Why not?" the commander sighed. Lister angrily turned on Adama. "I'm not about to lead those smegging trash cans with an attitude back to earth." "Not that we know where earth is anyway," Rimmer mumbled. Adama decided to borrow a trick from Starbuck. He bluffed. "Well, we _do_ know where Earth is." Lister and Rimmer exchanged looks and kept silent. "And we _are_ going there, whether you like it or not, with or without your help. The reason _why_ is because we have no place else to go. Now, if you give us the information we need, it'll go easier not just for us, but for your people, as well. It will also make it easier for us to lose those 'smegging trash cans,' as you call them, _before_ we get there." Adama sat back and studied the pair before him. Rimmer broke the silence first. "Commander? Can Lister and I talk? In private?" "_Rimmer_!" Lister growled. "I'll leave the two of you to sort it out for a few...a few...a few moments," Adama got up from his seat. Just short of the door, he quickly turned around and gave them a meaningful look. "But don't touch _anything_!" Apollo and Starbuck looked at their chronometers. Lister and Rimmer had been in a meeting with Adama for a full six centars. Six. The warriors were beginning to be afraid. Very afraid. Not for Lister and Rimmer. Oh, no. Recent events had proven that, if nothing else, those two were more than capable of keeping what little sanity they had intact. It was _Adama_ they were worried about. See, Apollo and Starbuck had this theory. The theory was that they, due to prolonged exposure, had built up some resistance to the chaos that seemed to follow the Boyz, but they were not entirely sure that Adama was prepared to deal with the 'aura' of an unfiltered Lister and Rimmer all by himself. Also, they weren't entirely sure that Adama had recovered yet from putting in that bread order with the Cylons. In fact, they were convinced that the whole episode might've just driven the esteemed commander right around the bend into a twilight zone where none emerged unchanged or unscathed. In fact, they fully expected to see Adama running down the hall and screaming incoherently about aiding the Cylons in their new mission...to introduce the wonders of baked goods to a universe with a ravenous sweet tooth. As they thought this, they silently took sips from their drinks. They quickly exchanged looks. They hoped the other man wasn't thinking the same thing. They both decided that they needed less exciting jobs, which they would begin looking for forthwith. Tomorrow. Of course, this depended on whether or not they'd be charged with murder of a sentient, albeit artificial, life form, namely, Kryten. The mechanoid was driving them -- how did Lister put it? -- completely spare. Yup. 'Spare,' was the only proper word in this case, because 'crazy,' 'nuts' and 'totally batshit' did not even come close to describing the mechanoid's annoying task -- to remove lint from ever conceivable surface in the Officers Club, and that included the surface of people. Warriors fled in horror from Kryten. The same warriors who had faced Cylons in battle against overwhelming odds for two yahrens. Warriors who shook hands with Death and invited him to sit down for drinks and a hand of pyramid. Yes these same warriors, were scared to death of the mad cleaning machine. They often stared over their shoulders as the fled the vicinity of the club, just to make sure that the mechanoid wasn't following them with a dust buster. As for Cat, well, Cat was whining. "I don't _believe_ this. First I'm forced to actually _look_ at those uniforms, _then_ I have to deal with big, ugly, shiny things out for my cute ass and _then_ I have to put up with this decor." He marched over to one of the seals on the wall, the one for the Colonial Service. "And what _is_ the deal with this thing? A circle full of blue and white triangles? Who designed this? A man locked in a little rubber room with only two crayon colors?" "Caaaaaaaaaaat." Apollo hissed through his teeth. "What is it, Black Head?" Apollo looked at Starbuck in resignation. "Black head?" "Not as good as 'granite cheeks,' but then again, he's had a stressful day," Starbuck muttered into his drink. "Frak. Where the frak are they?" Cat continued his pacing. "I don't _beeeeelive_ this. I'm so worried, I can't take my nap. I've got to nap. If I don't nap, I get cranky." He spun around and pointed at Starbuck. "And you _don't_ want to see me when I'm cranky." "At this point, I'd settle for not seeing you at all," Starbuck mumbled before taking another sip from his drink. Cat was shocked by this sentiment. "What did you say?" "I believe the lieutenant is politely trying to tell you to shut your fanged face," Kryten said as he crawled along the floor, picking lint out of the carpet. Having never heard the mechanoid actually be rude to _anyone_, not even Rimmer, Starbuck and Apollo almost dropped their drinks. Cat sniffed. "I don't need this from you, Plastic Pants. I'm gonna take my nap now." He then promptly walked over to table in the corner of the club, leapt lightly to its surface and curled into an impossibly tight ball. A sound that seemed to be a cross between a purr and a growl was soon emanating from his body. "I'm sorry you had to hear that, sirs," Kryten said apologetically as he worked his way along the floor. "Sometimes he really spins my nipple nuts." Starbuck refrained from asking Kryten about his nipple nuts and concentrated on an even more important matter -- getting the mechanoid to _sit down_. "Kryten? Could you _please_ stop doing that?" Kryten looked up from his work as Apollo chimed in. "I can understand why my father wanted to see Lister, since he _claims_ he's from Earth..." "He's not just claiming, sirs. He actually is from Earth. Liverpool, in fact, sirs," Kryten said, immediately going to Lister's defense. "Liver Pool?" Starbuck asked weakly. "What the frak is a Liver..." "We're not calling him a liar." Apollo quickly interrupted, since he didn't want to know what a Liver Pool was either. "It's just that it's a little hard to believe and all." "Ah, yes. Your quest," Kryten said happily. Starbuck and Apollo wondered if they heard some relief in the mechanoid's voice as he stopped picking lint, got up off the floor and settled into a chair at their table. "Never mind that," Apollo said. "Like I said, I can understand why my father wanted to see Lister since he cl--, I mean, is from Earth. But why Rimmer? He's not even human." "Ahhh, Apollo? Remember back on he basestar? Rimmer said he was dead. Plus, while you were off visiting with Boxey, Lister mentioned that Rimmer was a member of the original crew on the Dwarf. So that he means he _was_ human, at least at one time." Starbuck looked at Kryten. "Is that right?" Kryten nodded. "Yes, sir." "An ex-human?" Apollo asked. "Neatly put, captain," Kryten said. "Look, I don't think I want to even think about it's possible. It strikes me as a fate worse than death." Starbuck shuddered. All of a sudden, he felt sorry for Rimmer. "Let's leave it at, 'Arnold Rimmer was once a living human. Now he's dead. What's left is a hologram, which is sorta the same thing as a ghost, only with more technology behind it.' Yes?" Kryten almost clapped. "You have it now, lieutenant." "Okay, now that we've established Rimmer is human, sort of, why would Lister insist on this guy coming with him if he's _not_ from Earth?" Apollo asked. "Mr. Rimmer grew up on Io, one of earth's colonies, though I understand he's also visited earth a number of times," Kryten answered. "Ahhhhhh," Apollo and Starbuck said together. Their next question was rudely interrupted by the arrival of Lister and Rimmer under heavy guard. They both looked positively exhausted. However, the looks on their faces was _nothing_ compared to the crazed look on Adama's face. "Gentlemen..." the commander began. He seemed to lose his train of thought at the station. "Father?" Apollo's question was tentative. Adama shook himself. "Apollo, Starbuck...make sure our guests...are taken care of until it's time for them to go. I will be...be..." "In your quarters?' Starbuck prompted helpfully. "Yes...there...sleeping, Tell Tigh that if an emergency comes up to...to..." "Get you?" Apollo asked. "No. Tell him to deal with it himself. I need some sleep," Adama said sharply. His eyes unfocused. "But first, I need a drink. A _stiff_ drink." Without further ado, he headed off down the corridor back to his quarters, looking for all the Colonies like he was _already_ drunk. When Adama was out of earshot, Apollo turned his angry eyes at the cowering Lister and Rimmer. "WHAT DID YOU DO?" Lister found his voice first. "All we did was answer his smeggin' questions. Is it our fault he didn't like the answers?" Starbuck and Apollo looked at each other. "Ummmm, Apollo?" "What is it Starbuck?" "Why do I all of a sudden hope that _we_ don't make it to Earth?" Good-bye, Write When You Learn How... To everyone's surprise, the remaining centars of the Boyz's stay passed quietly. The general consensus was that Starbuck had a lot to do with it. "Whaddya mean a royal flush beats a straight? Are you sure?" Once the Boyz had gotten some well-deserved sleep, Lister decided that the best way to keep himself and his mates out of trouble would be to play some poker. Starbuck had watched a few hands with fascination and then insisted on being dealt in. Though the intention was not to keep the Boyz in the one place where they couldn't do any more damage, that was the end result. Considering all that had happened since the Fleet had met up with the Red Dwarf, everyone was relieved. To aid Starbuck in his quest (though Starbuck would not exctly have called figuring out the intricacies of Indian Poker a 'quest'), everyone pretty much steered clear of the table of intense men in the center of the Officer's Club. There were a few interruptions as the astrophysicists, Wilker, Tigh and Apollo popped in on occasion to request clarification on information gleaned from Hal, Holly and Adama's interview with Lister and Rimmer. The only hairy moment occurred when Cassiopea dropped by the Officer's Club to pump Kryten for more information about human physiology on Earth. Lister invited her to sit down, which she did, and then proposed a game of strip poker. Starbuck put his foot down. Sitting at a table with a card on his forehead was undignified enough. He was _not_ about to take _any_ clothing off in the middle of the club. "Who invited _you_ to play strip poker?" was Lister's retort. Cassiopea quickly explained that she didn't gamble and made herself _very_ scarce, after she got the information she wanted from Kryten. "Way to go, Listy," grumbled Rimmer as he scrutinized the cards fanned out between himself and a hastily-erected screen. "Now you've scared her off." "_Me_? I was just invitin' her to..." "We all know what you were inviting her to do," growled Starbuck. "Now shut up and hit me with more cards." The fact is, the Boyz took perverse pleasure in taking Starbuck's cubits, especially since the cubits looked to them like fancy betting chips, though it was crystal-smegging-clear that those self-same cubits actually served as real money. "Give me a good old fashioned dollarpound any day," Rimmer said as he nodded for Kryten to rake in the pot for him. "At least that _looks_ like money." "Yeah. Too bad we had to burn it all," Lister said with an evil grin. Starbuck choked back some laughter and looked at Rimmer. "He burned your money? I'd've killed him." Rimmer shrugged. "It's a little hard to throttle somebody when you can't _actually_ touch them." "If I may remind you, sir, you _did_ have the skutters chasing him with that hacksaw for a week," Kryten tut-tutted. Starbuck blinked. "Hacksaw?" "He wanted to make Dragon Breath's voice higher than it already is," Cat said as he scrutinized his cards. "Damn. Who dealt this mess?" And so on went the marathon poker session. Starbuck was just beginning to win back his cubits when Apollo strode into the room. "Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to brave..." Starbuck began. Then he caught the look on Apollo's face. It was a look of relief crossed with joy mixed with...was that sadness? Starbuck quickly changed track. "What is it?" "Holly has informed us that it's time. Their home frequency should be up within the centar." Apollo nodded to the Boyz. "Gentlemen?" "Already? Damn," Cat shook his head sadly. "And we didn't even have time to cruise the hotspots on this ant." "Considering what happened the _last_ time someone in this group decided to take a self-guided tour," here Lister shot Rimmer a meaningful look, "It might all be for the best." Rimmer shrugged. "It worked out all right in the end, didn't it?" "I suppose that depends on whether giving Hal...excuse me...the Galactica's computer...a personality is a _good_ thing," Apollo countered. Lister hauled himself to his feet. "Well, there are some pluses and minuses to that." Starbuck nodded in agreement. "One word comes to mind." "And what would that be, lieutenant," Kryten inquired. Starbuck grinned mischievously and said, "Holly." "Now are you _sure_ it'll work?" Starbuck whispered. "I'm sure. It drives Rimmer absolutely spare," Lister answered smugly. Starbuck looked over to where Apollo and Kryten were chatting as the flight crew checked Starbug one last time to make sure that it was ready to go. "We-e-e-e-e-ll, Apollo's not exactly Rimmer, now is he?" "No. But the principle's the same. He's gonna be expectin' you to do something really awful to 'im. The longer nothin' happens, the more he'll worry. I guarantee that he'll be bouncin' off the bulkheads in less than a week...er, secton...whatever." "Hmmmm. Not my style though..." Starbuck began. "That's what makes it so beautiful," Lister interrupted. "Look, mate, you've got this here reputation for being somethin' of a hothead, right? No offense, but you do seem to sometimes act before you're through thinking." "Okay, okay. I get your point. Apollo'd never expect me to...how did you put it?" "Play with his head instead of mashing it against the floor?" "Hey, now. He _is_ my friend, though sometimes..." "I know. He's got too much of the military, square- jawed hero in him. The military bearing of his, well, he's kinda like Rimmer in that respect, anyway," Lister said. "Ummm, aren't you forgetting that I'm in the military as well?" Lister smiled at the reminder. "Not at all, mate, but you're hardly what I call a typical soldier, now, are you?" Starbuck warmed to the compliment. "Gotta point there." Lister decided that he liked Starbuck, which was why he agreed to give the lieutenant pointers on how to drive his partner around the bend when he was hastily pulled aside by the warrior. There seemed to be a bit of slacker in him, a bit of fool and a street-wise common sense that certainly would've put him in the same crowd as himself, had Starbuck grown up in Liverpool. Lister had no doubt that if Starbuck ever actually used his brains and applied himself whole-heartedly to being a soldier, he would've outranked Apollo _long_ ago. Then again, if Starbuck ever decided to fully apply his talents to his job, the results might be too frightening to contemplate, so perhaps it was all for the best. At any rate, Lister found himself giving Starbuck a wicked grin. "Okay, let's recap. What do we do?" "I know, I know. Let him catch me giving him the 'I wanna see the look on your face when...' stare every so often. And smile. A lot. And be extra polite to him. I'll buy him a drink after our little triad game and _not_ beat the pogies out of him even though he deserves it." Lister nodded. "If all goes well, he won't sleep a full night for a _looong_ time wondering what you're up to. You should see how Rimmer gets after just two days of it. He practically starts beggin' me to reprogram his underwear two sizes too small." At that moment, Apollo signalled to them that Starbug was all set and ready to go. Both Lister and Starbuck ceased their conversation and smiled at the captain in a way that made the hairs on the back of his neck _very_ uncomfortable... The Boyz gathered at the bottom of Starbug's boarding stairs, as if somehow loathe to go. Starbuck and Apollo shuffled uncomfortably. Adama had unexpectedly decided to bid their guests farewell. "I want to thank the four of you for the information about Earth," Adama said. "And even _if_ you are partially responsible for our recent troubles, for your aid in fighting off the Cylon basestar." "What I wouldn't give to be around when their buddies show up to find out what happened to 'em," Lister said. Rimmer grinned despite himself. "And why would that be, Listy, old bean?" "I want to see the looks on their faces when those buggers offer 'em some toast." Adama uncomfortably cleared his throat. "You best be going. Otherwise we'd be stuck...I mean...you'd be stuck on this side of the time hole." He raised his right hand in benediction, "May the blessings of the Lords of Kobol go with you and may you find whatever it is you're looking for." Before he could stop himself, Lister said, "Amen." Rimmer rolled his eyes and mumbled something about religious superstition before the quartet turned in unison and mounted the stairs. Kryten and Cat entered Starbug without a word. Lister, however, stopped suddenly for one last look around the bay. Since he was in front of the hologram, Rimmer stopped. "Lister, you _know_ we can't stay here." "I know, but..." Lister hesitated. "What if they're in the right time frame for us? What if they get to earth in our life time. I mean, we already know that we manage to go back in time to three weeks before the accident. What if this is the break we're looking for?" "What if...what if...what if..." Rimmer echoed. "Tell me one thing. How likely is it?" Lister shrugged. "You're right. Not smeggin' likely this is what we're lookin' for." Rimmer looked out over the bay. The seed of doubt had been planted. "But you're right, too. We don't _know_, do we? But, we could wind up dead if we stay with them. We could also be dead before these folks ever reach earth." "Same possibilities on the other side..." Lister dangled the thought a moment before meeting Rimmer's eyes. "Yeah, but then again, there's no one on the other side to space us out of an airlock when we screw up," Rimmer noted. Lister grinned. "Point there." He gave a final wave to Starbuck and Apollo. He'd noticed that both warriors tensed when they saw the human and the hologram pause at the top of the stairs. Starbuck visibly relaxed and waved back at them while Apollo let a relieved grin break out on his face. The lieutenant called up, "If you ever get a chance to drop us a letter, try not to send it by the Colonial Mail Service. It'll take eons to get to us." Back On The Red Dwarf... "Guys? Where are you guys?" Lister tried to walk as quietly as he could down the corridor. He had woken up his morning to find Rimmer already gone. Had this been at the beginning, or rather, just after he'd gotten out of stasis, this would not have been an unusual occurrence, since the smeghead _loved_ to pretend that he was a gung-ho ex-Space Marine who was really into fitness. The pretense was eventually dropped, however, when Rimmer decided he'd _much_ rather get up at 10 a.m. with breakfast ready, not that he could actually _eat_ anything... "Where the smeg are you all?" Lister hated the way his voice echoed down the corridor. Still Lister couldn't be bothered to worry if Rimmer was the only one missing. He greeted it as welcome change from the routine. In fact, he was so blase about Rimmer's absence that he didn't even bother to ask Holly where his bunkmate had gone off to. "Helllllloooooo?!" Lister got nothing but silence as an answer. However, when Kryten didn't show up with a mid- morning snack at 11. _That_ worried Lister slightly. He quickly shrugged it away, since Rimmer had been known to hijack Kryten and talk him into going moon-hopping or asteroid-spotting. Eventually one of them would check in. In the meantime, Lister planned to enjoy the solitude. For someone who was allegedly the last human being alive, he _really_ didn't get to spend that much quality time with himself. I can't believe this," Lister muttered worriedly to himself as he made his way down the corridor. "First Rimmer, then Kryten and then..." Cat. When Cat didn't show up at noon demanding a bowl of Kitty Krispies, Lister began to _really_ worry. Cat _never_ missed a meal. Unable to dismiss the unease any longer, Lister called Holly. "Where are they?" "How should I know?" "Hol..." "What do I look like? Their mum?" was her surly response. "I've got lots to do 'round 'ere, like making sure we don't crash into a sun or the ship doesn't get boarded and stolen right out from under your noses. I can't keep track of everything you boys do. Next thing you know, you'll start insisting I hold your hand while you go to the bog." "Holly! Just tell me where they are. Please?" Holly sighed. "Arnold and the skutters decided to take a day trip to the engine decks. Not sure where they are exactly. Do you want me to..." "No. Leave it be," Lister answered. Well, one smeghead accounted for. Now the other two. "What about Cat and Kryten?" "Kryten decided to scrub down the hanger in case we get more visitors. Can't say as I blame him there. It's a disgrace. I was almost too embarrassed to let those vipers land." "Enough with the editorial comments. What about Cat?" By the tilt of Holly's head, Lister guessed she was shrugging. "I lost him in one of the supply pipes and he's out of my supervision range." "Why would he do that? Cat _knows_ there are no cats left on board," Lister asked. "Hope springs eternal in the feline breast," Holly grinned. "Really, why does Cat do anything?" "Good point, that," Lister tried not to sound too relieved. "Thanks, Hol." Holly obligingly put some tropical fish on the screen when she took her face off it. Lister spent the rest of the day in total bliss. As it had been said before, if the Boyz weren't driving each other nuts or tripping over each other in the quarters Lister shared with Rimmer, they were busy trying not to get their fool selves killed by homicidal GELFs, simulants, or, in the case of their most recent cock-up, Cylons. By the early evening, however, he was getting worried again. Rimmer should've been back with a slideshow to numb his brain. Cat should've been by to take over one of the bunks for a nap. Kryten should've been done cleaning the hanger and hell-bent on driving him insane by insisting on cooking dinner and doing the laundry. When Lister couldn't take the unnerving silence any more, he whistled up Holly and asked for a status report on the other three. Holly concentrated a moment before her eyes widened in surprise. "They're gone!" "Who's gone, Hol?" Lister fought the panic. "All three of them. I can't find them anywhere!" Lister fought for calm. "They could be out of your supervision range, right?" "No. No, that's not it." Holly shook her head. "Cat was back in it yonks ago. Arnold checked in when he got back from the engine decks two hours ago. Kryten left the hanger shortly after that and said he was on his way up 'ere." Lister lost the fight with panic as he tried to fight an even more insistent enemy -- terror. "Where did you last sense them?" "In the Officers Club." "Are you _sure_?" "Look, I may be a half-witted computer operating 2.9 million after my certified life span, but I _think_ I should know when I last spotted them, don't you think?" Holly's tone was a cross between hurt and miffed. "I'm sorry, Hol. But why would they go into the Officers Club?" "And disappear?" Holly added. "Gordon Bennett! How should I know?" "Okay, Holly. I'm gonna go down there. Just let me get a bazookoid..." "I wouldn't do that if I were you." Lister froze. "Why not?" "There's an odd energy emission in the Officers Club. Bring a bazookoid down there and it'll just blow up in your hands. You'd be dead. I can sustain one hologram, but two of you would just be too much of a strain on our energy supply. And since Arnold _was_ here first..." Holly paused, as if expecting to be interrupted. When she was met with silence, she added, for good effect. "Sorry. Didn't I mention the energy emission before?" "NO!" "Well, there's an odd..." "I heard you the first time!" Lister shouted. "Let's go and see what happened then." Which leaves us where we started, with Lister calling for the three smegaroos, his latest pet curse for his crewmates, as he slowly worked his way down the corridor to the Officers Club. When he got to the door, everything _seemed_ normal. Not that it actually meant anything, but... He took a deep breath and opened the door. He poked his head into the room, expecting to see anything but... Nothing. Everything was dark. There was nothing in there. Not even Holly's monitors were on. He cleared his throat and called, "Hello?" The lights flashed on. Kryten, Cat and Rimmer burst into a chorus of "Happy Birthday," but got tripped up on the "How old are you now?" verse since it's very difficult to fit 3,000,030 into that particular classic song's rhyme scheme. When Lister recovered from his slight heart-attack, Holly revealed that his mates decided to break the monotony of deep space by throwing a surprise birthday party for him, even though it wasn't his birthday. The party was actually scheduled for last week, but a certain battlestar had rained on their parade. The party was further delayed because Kryten's present, a fixed Talkie Toaster so Lister could engage in a little Toastercide, was unavoidably left behind in the past. It took him a bit to put together a new present, but he was just _sure_ Lister would like it. "Well, where is it then?" Lister demanded when he found his voice. "It's a surprise, sir. It'll be in your quarters before the night's over," Kryten promised smugly. Lister shot a fist in the air. "Brutal! Let's party!" Lister and Rimmer drunkenly made their way back to their quarters, giggling and stumbling the whole way. Cat gave up half-way through the night, drunkenly informing everyone within earshot that he needed to have sex with something and he didn't care what it was. Then he planned to continue catching up with all the sleep he'd lost while in that "tasteless Twilight Zone." Kryten disappeared shortly thereafter with the announcement that he had to make sure the skutters placed his present _just_ right. From the slurred speech, Rimmer and Lister deduced that the mechanoid home brew was having its proper affect on Kryten's circuitry and that, come morning, he'd be sleeping in. Rimmer would've given up too, had Kryten not begged his indulgence to stay out of the sleeping quarters so Kryten could do what needed to be done. Since Rimmer was feeling no pain, thanks to his hologrammatic alcohol, he graciously agreed. The night seemed to stretch into a replay of the "The Lost Weekend," starring Ray Milland as Lister and Rimmer drowned themselves in alcohol. Three hours later, they decided that Kryten definitely was out of time. If he hadn't finished whatever it was he was doing, that was just _too_ smeggin' bad. Lister grabbed a bottle of wicked strength lager for the road as Rimmer finished off a Fuzzy Navel, complete with alcohol-soaked fruit and pink umbrella. They then set out for their quarters, but just shy of the doorway, Rimmer tripped and fell into a tangled heap on the floor, arms and legs sticking out in impossible directions. As he tried to untangle himself, he giggled insanely. "Cool, man. I didn't know you knew yogurt," Lister slurred. "I don't do yogurt, you modo," Rimmer said as he tried to move his arm through his head. "And I think you mean yogi." "Isn't that a bear?" Rimmer stopped to think about that. "Lister, what are you talking about?" "Yogi. That's the bear that's always stealing picnic lunches, yeah?" Lister started laughing at his own joke. "It's brilliant stuff, man. Classic comedy." "That's it. I'm burning your vid collection. It's filling your head with too much trivia," Rimmer mumbled as he managed to crawl his way back up to a standing position. "But, I'm pretty sure it's _yogi_ and _not_ yogurt." "Whatever," Lister waved his hand airily. "But I didn't know you knew how to do it, whatever it is." "Neither did I," Rimmer giggled. Somehow they managed to find the door to their quarters. The miracle was they also managed to stumble through the door. While trying to re-orientate themselves to their surroundings, they saw _it_. Or rather, _them_. The terrifying sight was enough to sober Lister and Rimmer up considerably. Had they been sober to begin with, however, they would not have screamed, froze and stared stupidly before diving under a table. They would've dove under the table _first_. _Then_ they would've screamed, froze and stared stupidly. Whatever the case, the end result was the same. Rimmer and Lister literally overlapped into each other's personal space as they huddled under the table. It took a few moments for their pickled brains to realize that something was not quite right with the scene before them. "Hold on a smeggin' minute. They're not moving," Lister whispered through clenched teeth. "So?" Rimmer whispered back. "You want to go out there, tap one of those homicidal bastards on the shoulder and see what they do?" "Not really. No," Lister fervently answered. The two Cylons just stood there. A few more moments later, Lister realized something else. "They got no lights." "What are you driveling on about?" Rimmer hissed. "When those bleeders were moving, they had that stupid light shooting back and forth on their faces. These don't 'ave them. See?" Rimmer looked at the Centurions. "Are you sure? Maybe they're just sleeping." "Rimmer, they're machines. Machines don't sleep." "Maybe they're resting?" Rimmer offered. When Lister gave him a questioning look, he hastily added, "Machines _do_ offline, you know. They _could_ be just pretending that they don't see us and when we go out there and see what they do.... Lister! What the smeg are you doing?" What Lister was doing was dragging his drunken self out from under the table to get a closer look. When the Cylons didn't react, Rimmer followed him out in the open. Lister touched one on the shoulder. "How do you like them?" The question caused both human and hologram to jump three feet into the air and make all due haste for Rimmer's bottom bunk. Or to be more specific, to hide _under_ the blanket that just _happened_ to be on Rimmer's bottom bunk. Rimmer and Lister peered out from their hiding place to see Cat laughing hysterically and Kryten standing woozily at the entrance to their quarters. The mechanoid repeated the question. "How do you like them?" "Cheers, Kryten! What the smeg?" was about all Lister was coherent enough to say. "I thought they'd make great bookends, so I scrounged around the ship for some spare sheet metal and hammered the replicas out," Kryten said. "It was Cat's idea." Lister and Rimmer looked at each other before exploding into: "CAT?!" "Hey! I _like_ shiny things!" Cat said. "You didn't like 'em when..." Lister began. "That's because those Cylons went _way_ overboard on the metallic motif and put just too many of them around that base-thingy," Cat declared. "I think you mean basestar, actually," Rimmer remarked. "Whatever. But I _really_ think they know how to capture the light." Cat flashed a toothy grin. "There's an added benefit, too." "And what would that be, you pussy?" Rimmer growled. Cat tipsily wove his way over to one of the Cylons and gave it a hollow-sounding whack. The Cylon, or rather, the faux Cylon shell, toddled back and forth before finally toppling forward with an impressive and satisfying crash. There was a stunned silence before Lister untangled himself from the blanket and Rimmer crawled out into the open. Lister walked over and experimentally kicked the fake Centurion while Rimmer asked, "And what was the point of that?" Cat sniffed. "Revenge. No one confuses me with one of you monkeys and gets away with it." A Little Triad Never Hurt Anyone... "So, are you up for that game of triad?" Apollo started at the sound of Starbuck's voice behind him. He tried not to cringe. He had been so tired from their cataloging stint in the E-Files' records that his mind had been wandering back to their recent encounter with the Red Dwarf. While he stared into his drink and hunkered over the bar in the Officers Club, he pondered what sort of revenge Starbuck had in mind as a result of the encounter. He was certain Starbuck had been consulting with Lister just before the Boyz returned to their ship. The evil grins they had flashed him still sent chills up his spine. He'd seen that same grin on Starbuck's face when the lieutenant didn't think he was looking. So lost was he in these worries and thoughts that he hadn't even heard the lieutenant come up behind him. The friendly question was obviously a signal that his friend was finally prepared to exact his revenge. "Umm, sure. I guess. Whenever you're ready," Apollo replied hesitantly. "Is there a shuttle over to the Rising Star?" "Heeeeey. We're pilots, remember? Since when do we need to wait for a transport shuttle? We'll just tell Tigh we need to blow off a little steam. After the past few days, who can blame us?" Starbuck replied with a smile." A few centons later, the pair of them were snug in their own shuttle and flying themselves over to the Rising Star. All the way over, Apollo kept having visions of triad balls exploding with curry or his triad uniform being just a little too tight in all the wrong places. From the tone in Starbuck's voice back when he'd first challenged Apollo to the game, he was almost positive that this 'friendly competition' would be the medium through which Starbuck would exact his revenge. *Normally, I'd just expect him to run me into the ground during the game, but who knows what plan he's concocted with Lister's help? That man may have been a lazy slob, but he was an _ingenious_ lazy slob. Apollo, my friend, you may be in for a rather unpleasant evening,* the captain thought to himself. Once docked at the luxury liner, Starbuck made a bee- line for the triad arena, with Apollo hesitantly following from behind. The lieutenant, who'd been uncharacteristically quiet through most of the trip, if you didn't count the humming that seemed to be odd snatches of "Carry Me to Titan," started talking. "Look, I kind of had an ulterior motive for dragging you over here. I wanted to run something past you and get your opinion. I have an idea that might improve our game." *Great Lords of Kobol! Here it comes!* Apollo thought. Cautiously he replied, "Yes?" "Well, I got this idea from our recently-departed friends. See, I was telling them about our other recreational activities and the subject of triad came up. I showed 'em a scan of one of our old games...you can probably guess the reaction our uniforms got, 'specially from Cat." Apollo thought for a micron before wincing. "Yeah. I can just imagine. "Anyway, it turns out that Earth has a similar game called...what did they call it? Oh, I think it as Basket in Ball...or was that Ball in Basket...anyway, this game operates on the same principal, sort of," Starbuck seemed to get lost as he explained this. "The most helpful suggestion, oddly enough, came from Cat, after he made some nasty comments about our fashion sense. Again. Anyway, he and Lister both pointed out that we might find the game a _wee_ bit more enjoyable if we lost the body armor and stopped wearing tight, little uniforms that had the added bonus of, ah, greatly expanding our vocal range in the upper registers, if you know what I mean?" Apollo laughed. "I see what they mean, especially since I've worn the uniform. I take it Cat suggested some alternatives?" "Several actually," Starbuck answered. "During our poker game, he sketched out some examples from what he called his 'sporty' collection on some napkins. Most of them were completely inappropriate, but he did have this one idea that I think we can work with..." and with that, Starbuck opened the door to the dressing area with a dramatic gesture. As he followed Starbuck into the room, the captain noticed two new outfits sitting on the bench just beside their lockers. "Cat designed these? They seem a little, um, subdued..." "Cassiopea actually put them together using Cat's design as a blueprint. I'm tellin' ya, she really missed her calling. She'd make a _fortune_ as a seamstress. Well, anyway, originally, Cat's instructions included sequins, spangles and other assorted glitter, but Cass and I agreed that it was a _bit_ much," Starbuck said. While Apollo tentatively touched the tank top shirt, he added, "I know the colors aren't the greatest, but since this is only a trial...well, let's just say we could definitely go for more conservative colors. So, whaddya say?" "One more question. Given what we know of Cat, how did you get him to agree to help you on this?" "We made a trade." Apollo sighed and rolled his eyes. "Dare I ask what your end of this exchange consisted of?" "Oh, just some old picturegrams of some of my past, ahhh, acquaintances," Starbuck answered non-chalantly. "Umm-hmmmm. I see. And I suppose it just so happens that these are not something you would want a certain medtech of your more recent acquaintance to find in your possession?" "_You_ are a very astute person." Of course, Starbuck tactfully declined to mention that one of the people featured in these picturegrams happened to be a close relative of Apollo's. "I'm still waiting for your answer. You gonna help me test run these or not?" Apollo was more than a tad suspicious. The story was just a _bit_ too convenient. Starbuck _seemed_ sincere, which really didn't mean anything since the man was quite capable of feigning sincerity when it suited his purposes. Still, he had to admit that of late he'd become more than a tad uncomfortable with the current triad uniforms. On top of the fact that they left very little to the imagination of the spectators (or perhaps as a consequence of that), they chafed. And someday, he'd really like to have some children of his own. Deciding that even if this was just some kind of trick, he'd rather just get it over with and, if this really _was_ legitimate, that he'd earn the undying admiration of all his fellow warriors (or at least the ones who played triad), Apollo agreed. "Okay. Which one is mine?" "They're both the same size." "Right. I'll take the, ah, the green one with red stripes." "You mean the spruce one with the maroon piping," Starbuck automatically corrected. "_You_ spent _entirely_ too much time with Cat." It was a good game. Both warriors were equally skilled triad players and made an even match for one another. Apollo kept expecting that something dire would happen to him at any moment, but nothing untoward occurred. Despite all his expectations, Apollo felt no more worn or sore than he normally would've after a good triad game. And considerably more comfortable. The new outfits were a godsend and not some trick like Apollo'd feared. In fact, Starbuck seemed genuinely more interested in wringing the most out of the uniforms than in wringing out his friend. When they finished showering and dressing prior to their return to the Galactica, Starbuck asked, "Well? What do you think?" "About?" Apollo replied cautiously. "The new uniforms, what else?" "Oh, right. They got my vote. Definitely an improvement." Starbuck grinned. "Knew you'd see it my way. It'll give us something else to remember our guests by. Something _positive_, anyway. Thanks for your help." Apollo was taken by surprise. "_My_ help?" "Yeah. In testing them out. That was the purpose of this game." Unable to take it anymore, Apollo asked, "Oh? So it wasn't to get me back for dragging you into our last little adventure?" Starbuck looked shocked, in a highly-suspicious fake- innocent sort of way. "You really don't seriously think I'm still holding a grudge about _that_, do you? That's ancient history. I'm genuinely hurt that you think so poorly of me." Apollo looked suspiciously at his friend. "You're up to something. I know you. One day I'll be innocently going about my business and *WHAM* you're gonna drop whatever it is you're planning right on my head. Or whatever. Well, bucko, I'm on to you and I'll be watching, _so_ don't think you can catch me unawares!" Starbuck shrugged. "Suit yourself. Frankly, I could use a drink. All this exercise gets to me after awhile. And to show that I really have forgiven you about that whole Red Dwarf incident, I'm gonna buy you one as well." "Only if you taste it first." On the shuttle back to the Galactica, Starbuck allowed himself a slight, suspicious smile. This definitely was working out _exactly_ as Lister had said it would. Apollo was going to drive himself...how did Lister put it? Completely spare trying to figure out when and how Starbuck was going to get him. The best part was that he didn't have to do _anything_. Except smile. A lot. Starbuck allowed a throaty chuckle to escape, noticing with some satisfaction that Apollo started before attempting to pin him with a worried look. *You were right, Lister,* Starbuck thought to himself as he let his grinning teeth play with Apollo's mind. *Sometimes the best revenge is no revenge at all.* EPILOGUE Excerpt from Adama's Log: "The Red Dwarf and her crew have gone back through the time hole. Despite all that has transpired, I am not sure whether I should be pleased or disappointed at their departure. Pleased because their destructive natures no longer threaten us or disappointed, because their destructive natures can no longer threaten the Cylons. "I fear for the future of this Fleet. One thing has become clear to me because of this meeting between us and the Red Dwarf. If David Lister and Arnold Rimmer are typical examples of our human brothers and sisters living on Earth and its surrounding planets, it becomes painfully obvious that we cannot afford to, as the saying goes, walk right up and knock on the front door. Not because _we_ would cause them any harm. No. It's because they could cause us _more_ harm than _any_ Cylon death machine. Particularly if they're in a mood to be nice to us. "What I have observed leads me to believe that civilization on Earth is the ultimate example of family dysfunction. To put it bluntly, they are _insane_. Perhaps, therefore, it is up to us to inject a modicum of sanity into their existence. A plan to do so is already forming in mind. It would require stealth and quiet infiltration into Earth society on our part, which I believe is within our capabilities. According to Cassiopea's medical studies, the biological discrepancies are so minor that even if they were detected, they would be dismissed as individual physical quirks. "Thanks to that disastrous interface between Holly and the Galactica's computer, who _still_ insists on being called Hal, we have complete information on all aspects of Earth culture. Already specialists are combing the archives and cataloguing the whole of Earth thought, entertainment, literature, philosophy, religion...The resources are as astounding as the information is frightening. "Count Iblis, whatever else he may have been, was truthful with respect to Earth and Her civilization. It has, indeed, known great rises and falls. But then again, so have we. Perhaps we are not so different as I would like to think. "The information will provide useful if we arrive on Earth before or during the time period that David Lister and Arnold Rimmer knew as their own. Anything they have we could easily blind or bypass. If we arrive later in time...well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. I only hope that if the latter is the case, some semblance of a sane culture will be in place. "But I won't hold my breath. "The research project is being done _very_ quietly. Only those with top-level security clearance are being given access to the 'Earth Files.' Much as it pains me to keep this secret, it would not do to have the Council and the general population know that our guests were, in fact, our first contact with the lost Thirteenth Tribe. Such a revelation could potentially result in a culture shock from which we'd never recover. It could also result in a revolution that would turn us back to the Colonies. "Not that I didn't think of heading back there myself. "Memo to myself: Ensure that Capt. Apollo and Lts. Starbuck, Sheba and Boomer, Medtech Cassiopea and Drs. Salik and Wilker are given security clearance to access the 'E-Files' so they can aid in research when necessary. "Addendum: Assign Capt. Apollo and Lt. Starbuck the task of cataloguing the 'E-Files' for the next secton. This will be suitable punishment for their laxness in keeping tabs on our guests and will, I hope, prevent the need for me to permanently separate them." Adama sat back and looked at the green glowing words on the screen. He thought back over the past few days. All of a sudden, it didn't seem to be quite as bad as it was when he was actually living through it. A few of the incidents, when he thought of them, elicited an involuntary guffaw. Adama looked at the question. He was no longer surprised to 'see' Hal. He wasn't sure if this was necessarily a good thing. Adama smiled. , Hal remarked. Adama could almost picture Hal grinning in a very Lister-like way as the computer said, Adama interrupted. Hal asked. Adama leaned back and thought about his closing line. When he decided on what to say, he leaned forward and clicked on the mike. He paused a few microns, a smile playing across his face. "Despite all the trouble, despite Hal, despite the Red Dwarf, I am forced to admit. It _was_ a lot of fun. It certainly shook things up a bit. "To any commander who follows in my footsteps and who may be reading this, you are probably wondering _why_ I didn't, in fact, turn the Fleet around and take my chances with the Cylons. "One reason. And it's a good one. "I didn't want us to be there when the Cylons got around to actually finishing our order." END Thanks for reading this combined effort. Feel free to mail us at or with comments or critiques....