Chapter Twenty-One
Apollo was prone, his debris-covered body deathly still as they gathered around him.
"Give him some air!" Tone ordered, trying to clear the warriors away from his new patient as he dropped down across from Starbuck, his woefully inadequate medkit with its damaged contents abandoned beside him. He started methodically assessing the captain the old-fashioned way.
"Want to tell me where to find some?" Starbuck snapped, his self-control plummeting, until he detected the faint flutter of a pulse beneath his fingertips. "I've got a pulse . . ." His voice was choked with emotion. "C'mon, Apollo! Don't quit on me now."
"Easy, Bucko," Boomer squeezed his shoulder, but his own concern for their friend was more than evident. "How does it look?" he asked the med tech.
"He's breathing and he has a pulse. That's like a full pyramid in my profession." Tone returned. "Captain? Captain Apollo! Can you hear me?"
A faint movement, followed by a groan of pain. "Frack, Dickins . . . I think you broke my arm. . ." Apollo moaned, rolling over onto his back, cradling his arm.
"Dickins? Didn't that happen yesterday?" Luana asked.
"Yeah, in a Hoverhockey game." Boomer replied with a frown. "Apollo. We're on Planet 'P'. Remember?"
Apollo glanced blearily at the faces above him, grimacing with pain, yet plainly perplexed. "What the . . .?"
Starbuck blew out a breath between his teeth, his absolute relief at his friend being alive, overshadowing the fact that he was hurt and disoriented. "Take it easy, buddy. We've got you."
Apollo studied the lieutenant for a micron, then narrowed his eyes, looking around. Dust coated Boomer and Luana. "Right . . . I remember . . . where's that frackin' Cylon?"
"Buried." Boomer replied, motioning towards a pile of rubble. "Looks like the explosion got him."
The captain nodded at Luana. "Good job, Ensign. That was quick thinking, to throw the rifle at the Cylon."
She smiled with pleasure. "Thanks, Captain."
"You did that?" Starbuck asked her.
"Is that so difficult to believe?" she countered with an amused smile.
"No . . . on second thought, I guess not," he admitted. She could think on her feet, and had the survival instinct of a bureautician . . . not that he would ever tell her that.
"She's a good warrior, Starbuck." Boomer gave credit where it was due.
"Well, she learned from the best . . ." He grinned a grin that would 'abracadabra' the Faceman a secure place in history.
"If you don't say so yourself," Boomer chuckled, before moving to help the captain sit up. Apollo hissed through his teeth as his arm was jarred. "Sorry."
Apollo shook his head, squirming in discomfort as Starbuck shifted in behind him, supporting his weight on his uninjured side.
"All the same," Luana added, "I didn't exactly mean for you to get caught in the blast, Apollo. Sorry about that."
"I'd rather be buried by debris, then gunned down by a obsessive centurion any day." Apollo returned wryly. He waved off Tone as the med tech continued to check him over. "I'm fine."
"What is it with you pilots?" Tone griped, looking from Apollo to Starbuck, and back again. "What does it take to realize you're not fine? A gaping flesh wound? Cardiac arrest? A leg or two blown off?"
Apollo smiled, feeling Starbuck moving slightly as his friend chuckled behind him. The lieutenant had already been molecularly disassembled, had been caught in a wildfire, had broken his ankle, and had been knocked unconscious by the Cylons. Then there was his little side trip to Delirium and back. At least he appeared to be back. Relatively, having only had a pulse rifle blow up near him and the ceiling of a tunnel collapse on him, Apollo was in fine shape. "Yeah, pretty much," he agreed. "Right, Starbuck?"
"Absolutely." The warrior looked over his shoulder and muttered to Dayton. "I'd kill for a fumarello right now."
"By the way, are you still seeing superheroes, Bucko?" the captain tossed over his shoulder.
"Yeah, I just tripped over Flat on his Face, Out Cold Man. And, of course, Repeatedly Cracks his Skull Man was hanging out back at the Brig." Starbuck rejoined, distractedly palpating the lump on his forehead while Tone secured Apollo's arm to his side with an immobilizer. "I don't know about you, but I'm about ready to rejoin the Colonial Service. This superhero stuff is best left to guys who have sidekicks with a functional med kit."
"Ah hem," Tone grunted, as he cinched up the immobilizer.
"Not that I'm complaining, but I thought I ordered you guys to wait for us," Apollo grunted, as Tone tightened the field dressing even more.
"Now you know I hate for you to go anywhere without me," Starbuck reminded him.
Dayton simply shrugged noncommittally.
"I thought it was something like that." Apollo returned resignedly. The Earthman wouldn't turn down an opportunity to be back in the action, and Starbuck . . . well, the day Starbuck actually obeyed an order to stay out of the action would be the day that avians would stop flying and bovines would jump over the moon.
"Shh!" Luana held up a hand. "I hear something."
The men all turned in the direction Luana was looking. Starbuck and Boomer hastily helped Apollo to his feet.
"My sensors are detecting the sound of footfalls," Malus added, feeling slightly outdone by the female Human.
"Cylon?" Apollo asked.
"No, Human."
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Sitting across from him in the Commander's quarters, Tigh studied Adama for a long moment. The dialogue had been a combination of straight fact, unguarded speculation, and outright ludicrous metaphysical mumbo jumbo. Wormholes, Ship of Light Beings, the Cylons beating them to Earth, Necromancers, destruction and mayhem, mental images of portents . . . Of course, straight fact had been the least of it all.
"Tigh?" Adama asked, searching the colonel's features, and leaning forward in his seat expectantly.
"Adama . . ." he winced, his reluctance to proceed clear. "All this . . . stuff. . ."
The commander smiled slightly, sitting back in his chair behind his desk, intertwining his hands on his stomach, and nodded. "Go ahead. Say it. That's why I asked."
"It all sounds like so much . . . piffle." Tigh smiled weakly. Apologetically.
Adama raised his eyebrows. "Piffle?"
A sharp nod. "Piffle."
"I see." Adama frowned, seemingly at a lost for words. He opened his mouth and closed it again when his Executive Officer raised his hand.
"I know that Ama seems to be fairly accurate so far about predicting the future in matters regarding individuals—mainly those that she considers her extended or adopted family—but . . . to consider sending our entire Fleet through a wormhole that is purely conjecture . . ." Tigh shook his head, his lips tightening for a moment. He raised a hand, waving it airily. "Even bringing the matter before the Council . . . it seems so . . . outlandish."
"Tigh, I saw it too. These images that the Ship of Lights Beings showed Ama. The total destruction of mankind on Earth. Because of the Cylons finding her before we do." The far away look on Adama's face made it appear as though he was reliving the moment. "I can't . . . just sit back and do nothing."
"Even if we could get there tomorrow, how could we fight them off? One Battlestar? I mean the Pegasus is hardly ready to fight off anything right now."
"It depends on the strength of the Cylon forces. It depends when they're due to arrive. I don't have those answers. At least we could warn them. Show the Earthmen what lies ahead."
"I think we need more information. More solid data. At least something that indicates why the Cylons were out here to begin with, so far away from their home world," Tigh pressed. "Adama, wormholes are theoretical space-time distortions. Like you, I've heard tales of their existence, but nothing has ever been confirmed as fact. They are space anomalies, for lack of a more scientific explanation."
"Tigh, these Beings from the Ship of Lights have more knowledge and power than we can imagine. They are millennia beyond us, yet seem to only have our best interests in mind. I have to believe that if they're pointing me in this direction, that a wormhole to Earth is not only possible, that it exists. And that through these Dynamos, they have somehow harnessed the necessary energy, created the proper conditions, and have stabilized a corridor that could potentially take us safely to Earth."
"Too many 'if's', Adama. I don't like it." Tigh frowned. "If these Beings are as powerful as you suggest, then why don't they simply save Earth themselves? Why involve us at all?"
Adama sighed. "Ah, the age old question. I can't answer it any better than the thousands of philosophers that have come before me. At least with anything tangible, that would satisfy your sceptical nature, old friend." He smiled tolerantly. "Rules? Guidelines? Limitations placed upon them by the Almighty? I can only speculate, and that would get us nowhere."
"Adama, assuming that this is all true—which I admit I have my doubts about—would the Fleet survive a trip through the wormhole? Are you willing to take a chance that the benevolence of these Beings extends to ensuring the safety of the passengers aboard two-hundred-and-twenty-odd ships hurtling through an unknown space corridor? Most of those ships wouldn't hold together at lightspeed—which they were never designed to achieve—never mind while surpassing time and space limitations. They've offered only vague images and have delivered those through an Empyrean Necromancer, of all possible messengers. There are no assurances. There is nothing definitive."
The commander frowned, existing furrows on his brow deepening. "Faith often requires acceptance—and I admit it sometimes does seem like blind acceptance—of ideas that seem contrary to . . ."
"Adama, our first responsibility is to our own people. Not to an overall plan that some advanced society of mysterious Beings may or may not be following, and doesn't seem inclined to show us the details of."
"Is it, Tigh?" Adama let out a deep breath, shaking his head.
"Do I really need to remind you of that? If I do, then you have your head so far up Ama's metaphysical mutterings that you need to step back and ground yourself in reality. The reality is we're responsible for what is left of the Twelve Colonies. Our people." Tigh squared his shoulders. "What if to save Earth, we must sacrifice the ships that likely wouldn't survive such a journey? Them or us. I, for one, am not willing to play God."
"Is that what you think I'm doing?" His face was suddenly devoid of emotion.
Tigh sighed. "I believe you're letting your beliefs get in the way of your judgment."
"My beliefs have always guided my judgment." Adama pointed out. "Isn't that why we started this journey to Earth? Because I believed it was out there?"
"Yes. Yes, you did. And yes, I will admit, Kobol was exactly where you believed it would be, based on those verses in The Book of the Word. I won't deny that."
"And?" Adama prompted, when Tigh fell silent a moment.
"And you thought then that divine providence was guiding you—and by extension, all of us—on this path." Tigh continued. "And now . . ."
"It is still."
Tigh threw up his hands. "Adama, I've always supported your instincts, you know that. But this time, there is just too much . . ." He let out a breath, shaking his head in frustration.
"Piffle?" Adama suggested.
"Yes!" Tigh returned vehemently. "Personally, if I was on Council, and you raised this possibility of voting on whether or not to transport the Fleet through a wormhole that is purely conjecture at this point, based on Ama's mystical meanderings through alternate dimensions with Beings that are made of energy, instead of biological matter, I would be seriously thinking about having a psychiatric evaluation done on our President and military leader."
"Your recommendation, Colonel?" His tone formal.
"Adama . . ." Tigh reached across, briefly touching his old friend's hand. "Let's wait to hear from Lieutenant Jolly or Captain Apollo on that base. Let's see what information Dr. Wilker retrieves from the Cylon Base Ship's databanks. We need more hard data before we make any decisions."
"And in the meantime, if a wormhole should suddenly open up . . .?" He waved a hand.
"If God—or his messengers—have already decided that we will travel through a wormhole in order to prevent the Cylons from destroying the Earth, then there is probably little that any of us can do about it. One way or the other."
"Now, you sound as though you are merely humouring a delusional old man, Tigh." The commander frowned.
"I didn't mean to, Adama." Tigh shook his head, wondering how he could rewind this conversation, and get it right this time. "I'm only considering the possibility that while my entire consciousness is screaming 'piffle', that I could be wrong. You know that I'm no fatalist."
"Nor am I. Which is why I'm pressing you for your input, rather than blasting ahead like others might were it up to them."
Tigh couldn't help but smile. Yes, if this were Cain talking, well, he wouldn't have talked. He'd have ordered lightspeed, and to Hades Hole with the outcome.
Adama continued. "What we do now, may irrevocably alter our future."
"Then let's not make any hasty decisions. Let's wait." Tigh replied, pausing for a moment to reflect upon yahrens of allegiance to this wise and honourable man. "I know that if the time does come, Adama, that you'll make the right decision. That's about the only thing that I am certain of right now."
"I wish I had your confidence, my friend."
Tigh sniffed, smiling at the irony. "I wish I had your faith."
"Which is why we so often need each other, Tigh," replied Adama.
Beep
"Commander? Omega here, sir. I have an update from Captain Sheba on thePegasus repairs."
"Perhaps never more so than now," sighed the colonel.
Adama held the gaze of his executive officer for a moment, then looked back at his monitor, "Put her through, Omega."
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"Captain!" Dietra paused in indecision, her features at first lighting up with relief when she recognized her fellow Colonials and the Earthmen, then shifting to abject horror when she spied the IL with them. She abruptly pointed her weapon at the Cylon. Greenbean and Flight Sergeant Zebulon flanked her, Ensigns Sandor and Elek, along with Dr. Paye, Cassiopeia and Hinnus brought up the rear. "Captain?"
"It's alright, Lieutenant," Apollo motioned, wincing when the movement sent a shooting pain through his arm. Cassie made a direct line for him, her ability to detect pain at twenty metrons, impressive. She briefly squeezed Dayton's hand on her way by, giving him a once over and a warm look. "This is Base Commander Malus. He's . . . changed sides," Apollo added.
"Welcome to my base, Lieutenant," said Malus.
"I see," Deitra replied, but arched an eyebrow. She glanced at Greenbean. "The Cylon might be able to help with that Abaddon-class Base Ship we found."
"Base Ship?" Apollo repeated, feeling his chest hitch. He could hear Starbuck muttering expletives just behind him. Boomer seemed to be holding his breath, waiting. In microns, the blonde med tech was standing in front of the strike captain, running a biomonitor over him from head to toe. She spared Starbuck a glance and frowned, obviously taking in his battered appearance. Then she glanced at the biomonitor again. Digging through her med kit, she motioned Hinnus over. "How close is she?"
"She's no threat, Captain," Greenbean clarified. "She's a wreck. We found her adrift, with a huge hole blown in her side. The last I heard, they thought she'd been there for at least a century. The commander's plan is to salvage her, after retrieving any usable data about this quadrant. The team was having trouble accessing her databanks. We didn't have the necessary codes."
"An Abaddon-class, you say?" Malus remarked, bowing slightly at the new arrivals. "My Base Ship was an Abaddon-class. Very interesting. That might explain why it never returned."
Greenbean hesitated, unsure how to react to being politely addressed by this . . . Cylon.
"What do you think, Mal? Do you know the access codes for your old ship?" Starbuck asked, nodding as Dr. Paye began running a biomonitor over Luana. "Can you help us out?"
"Certainly." Malus replied sardonically. "I live to serve." His electronically-generated sigh was so convincing, it would have been comical anywhere else.
"The rest of Blue Squadron is here too, Captain. We were supposed to rendezvous with Jolly's team." Dietra briefed him, glancing at her chrono. "So far, we haven't met any resistance, but we also haven't found the Control Centre that we're here to take." She held up her portable unit, trying it once more. "Our scanners have been malfunctioning since we entered the cavern."
"Apparently, there are only five Cylons left, Dee," Starbuck added with a smile. "I'd say they're suddenly outgunned."
"Looks like it," agreed the captain.
"Apollo, we've found Cain and his ship," Cassiopeia told him in a whisper, looking sidelong at the IL.
"What?" he hissed in shock, trying to keep his voice down in return.
"I believe the young lady said that they 'found Cain and his ship', Captain Apollo," Malus told him helpfully. He nodded at Cassie. "If you raised your vocal level a decibel, then your fellow Humans would be able to hear you better."
Cassie frowned.
"Have you heard tell of Cain, Malus?" Starbuck asked.
"I have not had the pleasure. But, as I told you, I spent most of my time researching other races. Is he someone of note?"
Apollo nodded at Starbuck, appreciating the misleadingly 'easy-going' lieutenant's attempt to trip the IL up in his story. If the Cylon had truly spent a hundred yahren on the Base, then he wouldn't know who the Juggernaut was. "To our people, yes."
"Apollo, Cain was in bad shape. It started with injuries received during a Cylon attack on the Pegasus, and then over a number of sectars, he had multiple strokes, all left untreated. He was having surgery on his brain when I left. It was touch and go," Cassie informed the young captain compassionately. She touched his arm lightly, as he looked torn about what to do next. "Athena was with Sheba, keeping her company. Sheba asked that I tell you."
She wants you to be there . . . It was unspoken, but Apollo could see it reflected in Cassie's blue eyes. He nodded, squeezing her hand. "Thank you, Cassiopeia."
She nodded. "Now let me take care of that arm." The med tech started to lead him away as Hinnus arrived. Starbuck stepped back, giving them a wide berth, a relieved expression on his face.
"Cassiopeia, who's next?" the second level med tech asked.
"Hinnus, assess Lieutenant Starbuck. He looks a little worse for wear." Cassie smiled at the look of dismay that crossed Starbuck's features. "Something wrong, Lieutenant?"
"I'm fine, Cass." Starbuck insisted, purposely ignoring her formal use of his rank. There was a history between these two men. The first time Hinnus had cared for Starbuck in the Life Station, he had mistaken the lieutenant's delirium for his famed cockiness, and had not reacted very professionally. By the time he had recognized that the smart-astrumed, obnoxious officer was completely out of his mind, the warrior had pulled out each and every carefully inserted medical tube in an attempt to escape the immuring confines of his biobed, and go in search of the forbidden elixir known as water. The second time, and several sectars later, the lieutenant had abruptly vomited all over the med tech's tunic, after being insistently pulled into an upright position, when all he had wanted to do was lie down and bury his head beneath the covers.
"You look it." Cassie replied, shaking her head knowingly. "In fact, I haven't seen you looking this good since those Borellian Nomen chased you down a launch tube. Tone, can you help . . .?"
"Can I do anything to help, Cassiopeia?" Dayton stepped in.
"Yes, Mark. You can," Cassie replied, looking at him thoughtfully. The two men had formed a bond, and the younger warrior had a grudging, but unmistakeable, respect for the Earthman. "Tell Starbuck to sit down and let the med tech assess him."
"You heard the lady, Lieutenant." Dayton growled, then squeezed Starbuck's shoulder. The astronaut had been in the Life Station when the inexperienced med tech—formerly from the Prison Barge's Infirmary—and the lieutenant had last met. "Just don't puke on him again. Huh, kid? It really runs up his cleaning bill."
Starbuck groaned, and closed his eyes for an instant, as Tone, Hinnus and Dayton surrounded him. The slight hum of the biomonitor was his only indication that he was being scanned. He took a deep breath, and wished for it to be over quickly, so he could be a part of the attack on the Control Centre. But maybe they could give him something for his headache before that.
"We need to do a toxicology screen. Not that long ago he was delirious. The Cylon was theorizing it might have something to do with the neurotoxin Starbuck and the rest of us were subjected to, and how the lieutenant reacted to it," Tone offered. "He even suggested that the local insecton saliva might somehow counteract the build-up of toxins, which was possibly why no one else was similarly effected. I thought it had more to do with his head injury."
"Neurotoxin on top of a head injury?" Paye frowned, coming over to check the results. "I don't like the sound of that." He handed Hinnus the equipment for a venipuncture, encouraging the young man to take the initiative.
Hinnus took it reluctantly, and absently warned the lieutenant, "Little prick."
Starbuck averted his gaze, wincing slightly as the instrument pierced his skin. "Really, Hinnus. Calling a guy a 'little prick', isn't exactly the best way to instil confidence in your patient. That should have been in your first level training."
Hinnus paused, the burly man meeting the warrior's teasing glance. "Well, if the combat boot fits, Lieutenant . . ."
Starbuck grinned.
The med tech cracked a smile, and returned to his job.
Tone went on to outline the lieutenant's medical history to Dr. Paye since landing on the planet. It was impressive.
"I'm reading moderately high levels of a compound that is eerily similar to DSP7." Paye commented, as he looked over the bloodwork. "I want a tox screen, electrolytes, and hormone levels on everybody."
"Say again." Starbuck murmured, his brow furrowed while Hinnus targeted Dayton as his next victim. "DSP . . ."
"DSP7. It is, or rather it was, a potent little cocktail that hasn't been used for over a century. The desired effect was loss of consciousness, but it had other unexpected side affects. It's processed in the kidneys." Paye paused, as Starbuck's brow knit in discomfort, absently rubbing his temple. "It was also known, more informally, as piiglin. Headache, Lieutenant?"
"I already have one, thanks."
"I'd give you an analgesic, but your body is already filtering enough chemical felgercarb for the time being. You have a slight concussion, but your brain scan is otherwise normal, by the way, if a little diminutive . . ." Paye continued blithely, smiling as the lieutenant did a double take, "The delirium probably had more to do with your kidney's inability to excrete the toxin and to metabolize the resulting cumulative waste products effectively, because of previous renal trauma suffered in the last yahren."
"I thought you said that I'd completely recovered," Starbuck returned a little defensively, while Luana on one side of him blinked once, and Boomer twice.
Cassie muffled a giggle, meeting Apollo's amused gaze. The lieutenant had acquired a basic understanding of medical-ese, as he called it, while helping her study for her levels.
"Your previous renal failure resolved with treatment, but you still had permanent damage to your nephrons, Lieutenant." Paye continued. "That left you more susceptible than people with a fully functional set of kidneys." He rolled his eyes at Starbuck's scowl of displeasure. "Suffering sweet Sagan, you warriors really believe that each and every time you get ill or injured, that we can just routinely patch you up again, as good as new, and send you back to active duty. Don't you? For crying out loud, you aren't Cylons!"
"Ahem!" inserted Malus.
"Well, Life Station does imply something along that line. . ." Starbuck replied lightly, but was unable to hold the physician's intense gaze for too long. "Uh . . .what exactly does this mean to my career?"
"Here's Commander Dayton's result, Dr. Paye," Hinnus interrupted, handing over his biomonitor.
"Your career." Paye shook his head a little sadly. "It puts you at risk, Starbuck. Much like crashing Vipers and getting shot at by Cylons. Something to be aware of, but you can continue to ignore it until it comes up again." Paye told him with a pronounced professional detachment. The physician was at a point in his career where he had wearied of saving the lives of brave young men and women, only to have them return soon after discharge with yet another injury, all in the name of duty. He kept a mental tally of how many times he'd had to use everything in his bag of tricks and wealth of medical knowledge to cheat the gods . . . or Diabolis . . .of one more soul seemingly eager to meet his end. Simply put, Paye needed a break. If he was still on Caprica he might be able to get it at some privatized Adipose Clinic, giving advice and lip service to overweight and bored women with more cubits than willpower. Ironically though, obesity hadn't been much of an issue in the Fleet. He glanced at the readouts, letting out a breath. "Better. The levels are much lower and quite acceptable." He nodded in satisfaction.
"So insecton bites had nothing to do with the delirium." Tone looked at the IL. "Or the head injury. That was just the point at which his body reacted to the accumulation of waste products?"
"My first guess would have been neurological as well, Tone." Paye reassured the med tech. "And without the biomonitor to rule it out, I can see why you were leaning that way."
"I was unaware of Starbuck's medical history, I'm afraid. I can only offer theories based on the information that I'm given," Malus stated. "After all, we never had the opportunity to run any scans of our own on him."
"Lords be praised," muttered Starbuck.
"Are we done here already, Cassie?" Apollo asked, testing his arm after she removed the portable Bone Mender.
She nodded. "The new and improved model. You only had a hairline fracture, so it didn't take as long." She slid it back into her case.
"Okay. Dr. Paye, what's the word? Is everyone fit for duty?" Apollo asked, unable to prevent himself from looking at Starbuck. He looked a little distracted by Paye's news, then obviously felt Apollo's gaze upon him, and his features immediately transformed into his usual confident façade as he met the searching stare. "We have a Control Centre to attack."
"From what I've seen, Captain." Paye replied monotone.
"Greenbean, you brought some extra fire power. Good man." Starbuck ventured, eying the extra laser on his hip and the hand-deployed charges fastened to his gun belt. He motioned with his hand. "Gimme."
The other warriors also handed out their extra weapons, as the small group prepared themselves once again.
"Let's move out!" Apollo threw back over his shoulder, eager to get this over with and rejoin Sheba aboard the Galactica.
No one noticed the pile of rubble in the corridor shift, or the faint drone that started from within.
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Duty rosters for both pilots and Bridge personnel; the latest on the condition of their remaining Vipers and shuttles; repair work that was either completed, in progress or deferred until the necessary scrap metal and supplies were available; current fuel needs; chronic food shortages; a waste recycling system near to collapse; defensive weaponry; the lack of a Life Station and medical personnel . . .
Sheba closed her eyes and groaned, taking a break from the compilation of data that she had been studying for what seemed like yahrens, but was only a couple centars. Lords, there had been so much neglected, so much ignored, and so much left in disrepair that the immense job of putting the Pegasus back together again—contrary to what she had told her father—seemed insurmountable. Even if she had a fully equipped spacedock, with all the supplies and crew she needed. . . which she didn't.
"Why don't you take a break, Captain? How long has it been since you slept anyhow? A couple days?" Lieutenant Roz lightly touched her shoulder. The lieutenant looked out through the immense viewport on the Pegasus' Bridge, and let out a faint breath as she looked at the Fleet. As she watched, a Hauler from the Foundry Ship was veering away from the Battlestar, hoppers filled with scrap cut away from the wrecked areas. Soon, she hoped, the metal would be back, recycled into hull plates and ready to put into place as repairs progressed. On one monitor, she could see workers in suits, attacking the damaged sections of the hull. She rubbed her eyes, then looked back at her strike captain.
Sheba attempted to dredge up a smile, but just didn't have it in her. "Do I look that bad?"
"Yes." Roz grinned. "If you keep on going the way you are, we'll strap you to our nose, and just scare away all the Cylons between here and Earth."
"Sounds like something Bojay would say," Sheba smiled, wishing her friend and wingmate could be at her side now. He had a knack for cutting through the felgercarb, and making the complicated simplistic. But the Abaddon Base Ship was still a centar away.
"Well, I did tell him that I'd keep an eye on you," Roz admitted, with a dreamy gaze which made it apparent that the young warrior had momentarily left the realm of reality to think about her budding relationship with the lanky pilot. Who could blame her? "So I guess some friendly criticism is part of the responsibility."
"There's a lot here to get done, Roz." Sheba waved a hand at the screen, and shook her head. "Even if we were back home, the sheer amount of work needed. . . Lords, we'd probably be sent to the scrap yard."
"Ha!" Roz scoffed. "Cain would never permit it. He'd bark in ears from the lowliest salvage man right up to the top brass, until everybody from Caprica to Virgon thought that the most important task in the Twelve Worlds was restoring the Pegasus to her former Cylon-annihilating glory." Her eyes seemed to sparkle, as though she could picture it all. "Then he'd plan the parade."
Sheba smiled slightly, nodding her agreement. "But he's not quite up for that now. So it all falls on me . . ."
"Want to tell me why you're so intent on doing it yourself? Don't you know that one of the finer qualities of a good leader is the ability to delegate appropriate tasks to the people qualified to complete them?" Roz leaned against the control panel, combing a hand through her dark hair.
Sheba sniffed. "I guess I feel like I need to prove to myself that I can do this. That I'm up to the demands of the job."
Roz arched an eyebrow. "Really? Are you sure you aren't proving it your father? Or possibly Captain Apollo?"
Sheba dropped her eyes, avoiding Roz's gaze for the moment, and chewing on her lip as she thought about that. As much as nobody liked to discuss it openly, historically, women in the Colonial Service had fought long and hard for command positions. Few had worn the insignia of a Battlestar commander, and none had ever made strike captain at Sheba's comparatively young age. Some claimed it was blatant sexism, others explained that few such candidates for command met the crushing demands. Then there was the fact that only about a third of all recruits were women. But whatever the reasons, here she was, acting as temporary executive officer as well as ship's CO. It was quite the accomplishment professionally. However, she knew that in this case her bloodline was the biggest part of her promotion. She had approached her father, knowing that his need to maintain some semblance of control of the Pegasus during his recovery, would push him into accepting her proposal. And that's exactly how every other warrior in the Fleet would view it. She'd have to prove to each and every one of them that she was worthy of her current rank and responsibilities, and that meant doing it by herself. . .
"You're doing two jobs, Sheba. And both of them are new to you. You need some help." Roz sighed as she recognized that stubborn tilt to the other's chin. "C'mon, it seems obvious to me. Why can't you see it?"
That's when it abruptly hit Cain's daughter . . .
"You've been acting as strike captain since the commander was injured. Haven't you, Roz?"
"Give the lady the big, stuffed daggit on the top shelf!" Roz grinned. "You got it."
Sheba frowned, feeling a little guilty that she hadn't even considered that someone had been acting as squadron leader this whole time . . . but the fact that there hadn't been any squadrons to lead had erased the possibility from her mind. "Why didn't you just tell me that I was taking your job?"
"Because, frankly, at the time, you were welcome to it. But with news about that wrecked Cylon Base Ship, with all that lovely scrap metal on the way, not to mention finding the Fleet again, and now Commander Cain's successful surgery, well, let's just say that I've had a change of heart. We also need to redistribute and reorganize the fighters and pilots between the Battlestars, once we're ready for flight operations again. You worry about repairs and infrastructure, I'll handle reshuffling the pilots. At least for now, until Commander Cain decides who his new executive officer is going to be."
Sheba nodded slowly. "I wonder who he'll choose . . ."
"There are a few captains out there—Apollo, Bojay, Dorado—but I'd say the forerunner is Captain Apollo. Do you think he'd accept the promotion if it meant him transferring to the Pegasus?"
"Lords, I never even considered that as a possibility . . ." Sheba returned, hope flickering to life at the thought of Apollo joining Cain's ship. With her as Strike Captain, and him as executive officer on the Bridge, they might just be able to separate their personal and private lives, not being under each other's feet constantly while on duty. And while the thought that they could maintain a relationship while on two different Battlestars was a possibility, it was also a bit of a pipedream.
"Sheba, I do believe you're glowing," Roz teased her.
"You may be right," Sheba grinned. She picked up a data pad. "Now, let's get to work."
xxxxxxxxxx
The last time Starbuck had been in the Base's Control Centre, it had been as a prisoner of the Cylons, so the elation was indescribable when he burst into the area guarded and 'manned' by three centurions as part of a Colonial task force. Laser fire filled the room as the warriors flooded into the room from two different directions, engaging the enemy in a deadly crossfire. Within microns, the Cylons were a smouldering heap of scrap metal, and the Colonials had suffered no casualties.
"Jolly! I can't tell you what a pleasure it is to see you!" Starbuck grinned as Lia rushed forward to embrace Lu.
"You too, Bucko," Jolly slapped a hand on the lieutenant's shoulder, looking him over and shaking his head in amusement. "I was beginning to think I had a chance of winning at Pyramid for a change, but it looks like that famous luck of yours is holding, after all."
"What can I say?" Starbuck grinned, then paused as he saw Dayton standing before the enormous data screen, starring at the black and white pomon with a symbolic bite out of it in apparent bewilderment. "What?" he asked the Earthman. "Dayton?"
"For the love of Pete . . ." Dayton breathed, scratching his head and looking at Baker. "It's a Mac! It's a bloody Mac!"
"It means something to you?" Malus moved forward, coming to a halt beside the astronaut. He looked from the Human, to the terminal and the cursed screen, then back to Dayton. "Commander?"
"I don't bloody believe it . . ." Dayton continued to mutter, startling when he felt an insistent tug on his arm.
"I need to talk to you. Urgently." Lia hissed. "A message from Ryan."
"But . . ." Dayton motioned towards the screen, reluctant to be dragged away, even for a message from his best friend.
The Empyrean Princess dragged harder.
"Just a minute, Beacon Brain . . ." Dayton conceded, nodding at Malus, while letting Lia lead him away. He frowned when Starbuck and Luana appeared at his other elbow. Meanwhile, Apollo curiously watched the four of them move away while debriefing Dietra and Jolly.
"What's going on?" the Starbuck asked Lia. He just had a niggling feeling he should be in on this, and the fact that Lia looked relieved at his presence only reinforced that feeling.
"Ryan said that you need to get them down here too, Dayton." Lia whispered, though the din in the room was such that no one else could possibly hear them. "Him, Porter and especially Dickins."
"What?" Dayton's brow furled.
"Why?" Starbuck shook his head, then sighed, "Does this have something to do with Ama?"
"Let her talk." Luana inserted, looking from one man to the other impatiently.
"Look, while you were all down here, Dickins ended up in an altercation on the Rising Star. Apparently, Sire Uri was involved. I don't know all the details, but Cassiopeia was there. I'm sure she can fill you in when we have more time, but the end result was that Dick tried to kill himself."
"What?" Dayton gasped, feeling his heart drop into his boots. He tried to catch Cassiopeia's eye, realizing his only exchanges with her were a sentence or two, while they were both focussed on other things. Saving lives, and killing Cylons, respectively.
Lia grabbed his arm, "He's okay. But Ama's had a vision that if Dickins can make it down to this planet, he will be going back to Earth. It's his destiny."
"That doesn't make any sense, Lia." Dayton disputed. "Look, you're a nice kid, but how could . . .?"
Lia tightened her grip in exasperation. "I can't explain it, Dayton, but Ryan believed it. If anything, that alone should convince you it's possible. There's nobody more sceptical than Ryan."
"This is crazy. Stark-raving crazy." Dayton muttered.
"Welcome to my life." Starbuck muttered, raking his hand through his hair, and looking between the sisters.
"This is serious, Starbuck," Lia reprimanded him. "Sagan's socks, Dickins tried to kill himself. Ryan was willing to hijack a shuttle and kidnap Councillors to ensure safe passageway just to get Dickins down here. He really believes that the man will do himself in if he doesn't get home. We need to get them down here, before Ryan's back in the Brig, and Dickins is up on additional charges."
"Why was Ryan in the Brig? What charges?" Dayton asked, letting out a breath when Lia shook her head at him insinuating the long story could wait.
"Sagan's socks?" Starbuck repeated simultaneously, rolling his eyes at the phrase, before adding, "That's not the part I'm having trouble with, Lia. It's how he's going to get home. It's impossible. Earth is God knows how many light-yahrens from here, and we . . ."
"Impossible, like Empyrean curses, mind reading, the Fires of Truth, and foretelling the future?" Lia smiled enigmatically. It was clear she believed it could happen.
"And Beings like John?" Dayton added, mulling it all over. "He's involved in this. Right up to his pristine white collar. Oh, yeah."
"Uh . . .yeah." Starbuck frowned, looking between the two. Since meeting the Empyreans and finding himself irretrievably swept into their lives, he'd seen all those impossibilities that Lia mentioned come true, and a few more . . . but he was still struggling with it. The Colonial Academy just hadn't prepared him for this sort of thing! And when you added the Ship of Lights and John into the mix, it only made everything more complicated. His rational mind just couldn't accept the inconceivable. "Just like all that." He sighed, glancing at Dayton. "What do you think?"
"I know it doesn't make much sense, but sometimes when Destiny comes calling, superheroes have to answer that call, Faceman." The Earthman smiled, then grasped Starbuck by the arms, his face abruptly serious again. "Look, Dick's family to me, kid. Like Apollo is to you. I can't begin to explain it, but it's like we share a part of each other's lives. I . . .I gotta get him down here. I have to help him." Grey eyes begged for understanding. "Especially if what Lia said about him potentially going home is true. I have to take that chance. Like Ryan, I'd do whatever I have to in order to make it happen, but it would sure be a helluva lot easier with your help, Starbuck."
How well Starbuck knew that burning need to help a friend that overcame all else, but still . . . "I don't like it, Dayton. It makes about as much sense as . . . as that symbol on the screen being here." Starbuck muttered, indicating the pomon. He was absolutely certain it was something he'd seen in relation to the Earthmen. Some little gadget. "Care to explain?"
Dayton released him with a sigh. "It was the logo for Apple, a huge American-founded, multi-national corporation that specialized in computers, electronics and software in my time." He shrugged. "I have no idea why it's here, but it does suggest that my people were involved somehow with the creation of this planet. Don't you think?"
"You told me that your people were scientifically retarded." Starbuck returned.
"I'm not sure that I remember putting it quite that way." Dayton returned, crossing his arms over his chest. "But yes, they certainly weren't terraforming planets. At least, other than in the movies. Not when we left."
"Then they either had help, or your people have advanced far past your time period." Luana inserted.
"Yeah, but which?" Lia countered.
"You mentioned John, Dayton. He hasn't come calling on you again, has he?" Starbuck asked, trying to make the pieces fit.
"On me? No." The older man rubbed his chin, thinking about it. "But . . . I wonder . . . maybe on Ryan? Or Dickins? I don't see either of those guys buying into this unless they had their world shaken and stirred."
"Ryan told me it was Ama that convinced him. He didn't mention anyone else." Lia replied, as she watched Apollo and Boomer huddled over the small computer station below the massive screen. A vaguely familiar line of symbols replaced the pomon on the screen, but she couldn't understand them. "Maybe the answers are here, just waiting for us to . . ."
"Unearth them?" Dayton grinned, raising an eyebrow at the screen, and then letting out a breath. "Those symbols . . .that's English. My mother language . . . although Ryan might argue otherwise." He smiled. "It's prompting them for a password."
"So . . . theoretically, you could access the data in those memory banks?" Starbuck asked, his pulse quickening as he recognized more than a few symbols on the screen from the movies and documentaries he had seen among the disks salvaged from the Endeavour.
Dayton blinked. "Well, I was more of a 'Windows man' myself, but Dick . . ." he nodded, smiling at his sudden brainstorm. "Now, Dick knew his way around a Mac better than Jobs and Wozniak."
"In Standard, Dayton." Starbuck groused.
"I am speaking standard, you just need to clear the grinds out of your ears, Light Note." Dayton replied. "Look, if we tell the captain that Dick is our expert on Macs," He nodded up at the screen, "then Apollo will support him coming down here."
"Are you saying that Dick is your expert, or that you just want me to tell Apollo that?" Apollo did everything by the book. And the book didn't have any regs dealing with soothsayers, or people from alternate dimensions, not to mention people operating bizarre alien computer keyboards. The warrior searched Dayton's face, hoping the other man would give him the answer he wanted, no matter whether or not it was true. Misleading Apollo knowingly was one thing, blissful ignorance was another altogether. It was a fine line really, but one he had artfully balanced on for a lifetime.
"What do you think?" Dayton replied knowingly.
"Damn you, Dayton," Starbuck huffed, turning away. The Earthman was going to make him choose. He glanced over at his best friend, wondering exactly how he should handle this. What he should say. How much he should reveal. And how much to keep to himself. He sighed, turning back to the others. "I'm going to talk to Apollo."
"Yeah, but what are you going to say?" Dayton asked, his concern evident. "From what they
. . ." he nodded towards the other warriors, "told us, those Dynamos are getting set up for something. Time may not be our biggest commodity here."
Starbuck shrugged, walking the other way. "I'm going to make it up as I go along."
"I'm not sure I like that approach."
"Really? It's my personal favourite." Starbuck returned over his shoulder with a carefree grin.
"Figures."
Somehow, it was if Apollo was expecting him. The captain turned from where he was leaning over Boomer's shoulder, and watched Starbuck's approach. He casually rested a hand on his weapon, which was never a good sign. The strike captain was mentally preparing himself to do battle.
"What's going on?" Apollo asked, his gaze flickering to Dayton and company who were trying to appear uninterested in what was going on, but were failing miserably as they took turns casting surreptitious looks in Starbuck's direction, while simultaneously filling Baker in on what was happening.
Starbuck winced, internally groaning. "Look . . . this is going to sound crazy, but I have to come clean with you. You're just going to have to trust me on this."
Apollo set his jaw, looking back and forth once more. Then he took Starbuck by the arm, and steered him further away from the others. Finally, he crossed his arms over his chest, and nodded, "Okay. Let's have it."
"Okay?" He realized it sounded a bit stupid, but he hadn't expected it to be that easy.
"It wouldn't be the first time in our friendship you told me something that sounded crazy, and turned out to be true, buddy." Apollo shrugged, a faint smile of amusement lighting his features. "Out with it."
Yeah, this was Apollo. Starbuck had almost forgotten for a moment. His friend would listen, judge what he heard on its merit, and then consider the source. When cards and cubits weren't involved, Starbuck was an excellent source. The lieutenant nodded, letting out a breath, "Well, it's like this . . . we need the rest of the Earthmen down here to help with accessing . . ."
"Captain!" shouted Malus.
Then at that instant, a glimmer of highly polished metal caught Starbuck's eye from the edge of the access tunnel. A Gold centurion was raising its arm . . . no, not its arm, but its weapon, and aiming it straight at Apollo's back. Abruptly, Starbuck hollered out another warning, as he grabbed the captain by his flight jacket, pivoting and throwing him to the side. Fire engulfed the lieutenant's right side. His breath was knocked out of him as he hit the ground beneath Apollo. Laser fire filled the air, and wide, green eyes, stared into his in surprise.
"You okay?" Apollo asked, shaking his head and then biting his lip at the smell of charred flesh, so similar to that time on Kobol. "Starbuck?" his voice sounded choked, as he began to check over his friend. "Please Lord, not again . . . Med tech!"
Starbuck tried to reply, tried to assure him he was fine, but the burning that had started in his side, now seemed to intensify and radiate outward until his chest, abdomen and back were a searing pathway of agony. Lords, maybe he wasn't fine after all. And he couldn't even admit it to Tone. He groaned, wondering absently where the blood that coated Apollo's raised hand had suddenly come from. His vision was narrowing as catching his breath became increasingly difficult. He raised a hand, trying to clear the blur before his eyes. Apollo looked really worried, in a hazy kind of way . . . That couldn't be good . . . He closed his eyes, as lancing pain shot threw him once again making breathing an arduous chore and, therefore, optional.
"Stay with me, buddy," Apollo begged him, before again yelling, "Med Tech!"