Part 21
The sudden sound of firing Cylon pulse rifles just about made Apollo lose his balance atop the air duct. Caught up in securing the backpack of solenite and preparing to lower the rope down to haul up the destroyed centurions, he was caught unawares. He abruptly pulled his weapon, but hesitated to fire, as he took in the scene below.
Starbuck had been mid-draw, and turning to exchange fire with the Cylons, but fortunately a quick assessment on his friend's part at the patrol of six centurions made him reassess the situation. Apollo held his breath, knowing that if Starbuck let off even one shot, he'd be dead in a micron as six Cylon weapons sited him.
"Lay-down-your-weapon!" the lead centurion ordered as they fanned out on approach, beginning to surround the warrior. Within four microns, they had the entire passage blocked.
Starbuck's laser was hanging loosely in his grip, his hands partially raised as if in indecision. C'mon buddy, drop it. A captured warrior could be freed. A dead warrior wasn't coming back.
"There-is-no-escape-Human! Lay-down-your-weapon-now-or-we-will-open-fire," the lead Cylon declared.
"All of you?" Starbuck asked, his voice steady considering the situation. His released his Colonial laser, and it clattered to the surface. "Isn't that overkill . . . pardon the pun."
"Silence!" the centurion ordered. He turned and spoke to the soldier nearest to him. "Search-the-area!"
"By-your-command."
Apollo drew a deep breath, weighing the possibilities as the centurions spread out looking for evidence. If he fired on the Cylons and revealed his position, not only would the mission be a bust, but Starbuck would likely end up dead as a result. The risk was too great, the potential benefits meagre at best.
Below, a centurion patted down Starbuck, removing his scanner and communicator. The mechanized soldier glanced briefly at both before handing them to his squad leader. A moment later, another had returned with Starbuck's damaged helmet which the commanding Cylon examined closely
"Are-you-alone?" the centurion demanded of Starbuck.
The warrior glanced at him letting long microns pass before finally replying, "No, I'm surrounded by a half dozen tin-heads, Chrome Dome. How did you guys get this duty out here in the middle of nowhere? Did you end up with reconditioned parts? Too out-of-date for assignment to a Base Star?"
Apollo closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. Starbuck . . . Name, rank and serial number were supposed to be the standard reply to any questions posed by the enemy. To his credit though, Starbuck's eyes remained trained on the Cylons. He didn't even glance upwards. He was probably expecting Apollo would be making his way out of there, onward to the hangar and the completion of their mission while he stalled for time.
"Silence!"
"That's the thing about you guys. You're always contradicting yourselves. Tell me, Metal Mouth, how am I supposed to remain silent and answer your questions at the same time?"
That's Starbuck! If you can't confound them with logic, baffle them with bovine-mong!
The centurion suddenly advanced on the warrior, jabbing him with something which Apollo didn't recognize that looked like a baton. Abruptly, Starbuck yelped, dropping to his knees and then curling into a ball and slumping to the ground. Fury engulfed Apollo, and his trigger finger tightened reflexively, even as he realized from the visor's tracking system that Starbuck was still alive, and apparently uninjured. Evidently, the Cylons had created a weapon to coerce Humans into submission. Or warriors like Starbuck into taking them more seriously.
"Things-will-go-better-for-you-if-you-cooperate."
"You mean . . . it could get worse?"
The lead centurion jabbed him again, and Starbuck jerked violently, grunting aloud. "You-will-cooperate, or-you-will- be-punished."
"Wh-what . . . the frack is that?" the warrior sputtered, as he was pulled to his feet by two centurions. He clearly needed their support.
"Laser-baton," the centurion deigned to answer. "Take-him-to-the-Brig. I-will-question-him-there."
"By-your-command."
"Prepare-the-brain-probe."
"By-your-command."
"Tell-Base-Commander-Kaluga-that-we-have-found-a-Human, and-to-begin-searches-of-all-facilities."
"By-your-command."
As they half pulled, half dragged Starbuck along, Apollo glanced at his communicator, seeing the signal that indicated the munitions dump had been penetrated and was almost ready to blow. He glanced at his chrono, knowing that his first priority should be getting on with the mission. It would only be a matter of time before the team assigned to the Control Centre was also ready. But knowing that Starbuck would soon be interrogated, probably using this laser-baton as a crude torture device, had him truly torn as to his next course of action.
If their positions were reversed and Apollo had anything to say about it, he'd demand that Starbuck would carry out the mission, and hopefully attempt a rescue if time allowed. Meanwhile, Apollo would use all his own training to try to escape and steadfastly refuse to reveal any information to the Cylons about the unfolding mission, as a Colonial air strike prepared to amass, determined to decimate this pivotal Base. They were warriors after all, and the Cylons were the enemy. The job came first, and sacrifice was not only an expectation, but a foregone conclusion.
But all that rhetoric didn't make his difficult decision any easier as Starbuck was marched out of there surrounded by Cylons.