Prologue

Sagan sakes, but it hurt.

A gradual pain that built in its intensity, bringing him back from the edge of oblivion, gripping every fibre of his being, determined to squeeze the very life from him. He could feel his muscles straining with his reflexive attempt to scream, but even that was denied him. He coughed. He choked. His chest heaved with the attempt to draw one more breath. Just one more, you can do it. He tried to open his eyes, the bright lights blazing, blinding him, yet strangely beckoning to him, promising him relief as his mangled limbs screamed in endless torment.

He attempted to focus—to remember how this had come to pass. The flash of a salvo. The scream of jarring metal. His chest exploding in agony. Well-known voices bellowing in his ear, giving him useless advice as his ship plummeted towards the surface, out of control. He jerked up his stick, desperate to get his nose up as the ground, the planet, and several depths of Hades Hole all seemed to rush up to meet him at once.

Then pain. Excruciating pain. And darkness.

Suddenly, or so it seemed, soothing hands were on him, stroking his hair almost lovingly and touching his neck, his chest, his arm, his cheek. A wisp of breath wafted against his skin, touched his lips, and he gasped in response, seeking the familiarity, the reassurance, the promise of comfort. His heart pounded furiously, each thud, each beat, pulsating through his entire body, keeping pace with the yahrens flashing before his eyes. Still the pain grew worse and he gritted his teeth, just short of begging the Almighty for it to stop. A voice murmured reassurances in his ear. Told him he would be 'alright'. It was fracking hard to believe.

Another stabbing pain in his chest, like a Cylon sword penetrating his flesh, sliding between his ribs. He tried to cough, but couldn't even draw enough breath to do so. Something covered his face, and he pulled at it instinctively, desperate to fill his lungs with air. His hands were pulled away, and he fought against the effort, his strength fading with each passing micron. Then darkness descended, dragging him downward, swallowing him up in an immuring void as he struggled against it, refusing to surrender. In a split micron he realized that in the end, his spirit, his indomitable will to survive, would mean nothing when pitted against the frailty of his traitorous body.

Then an intense flash of light penetrated his awareness, and his body jerked painfully, as though he was being torn apart. The heat, the smoke, the smell of charring flesh. A helpless cry of terror. Was it his own, or someone else's? Regardless, he knew it was too late. He was beyond help.

"STARBUCK!" The voice so far away.

Then an inexplicable calmness began to envelop him, slowly spiralling upward, caressing him gently within and without as it promised release. His breath caught in his throat as the pain began to fade, not entirely, but enough to make him wonder what was next . . . if anything. The universe seemed to stand still, as if hesitating . . . waiting for a mystical decision that should be made by some omnipotent Being.

Ironically, it wasn't a comforting thought.