CHAPTER 26

PURGATORY

"He married her?" The Eight was making a valiant effort to digest the revelation, but her brain was having a hard time fighting its way past "does not compute." She looked at Boomer. "Commander Adama married one of our sisters? I mean, he did know that Shelly Godfrey is cylon, right?"

Sharon Valerii smiled sympathetically. The news didn't surprise her in the least. "He's known from the beginning, and he doesn't care. He loves her."

Sharon glanced at Cavil. "Adama fell in love with a person," she remarked pointedly, "not with a machine. He fell in love with a warm, intelligent, emotionally complex woman who treats everyone around her with kindness and consideration. Of course he married her. That's what humans do when they fall in love … they wed, and the best relationships endure for a lifetime."

"Galactica has jumped," one of the Simons advised, "and it was very close to Pegasus when it did so. That's interesting. Adama was apparently trying to suck Pegasus into the event horizon."

"Did he succeed," Doral asked. "Is Pegasus still in one piece?"

"We cannot accurately assess the damage at this range, but …"

"Galactica has just reemerged from jump," one of the Sixes at the navigation console exclaimed in surprise. "Adama is less than three hundred kilometers from his previous position. Pegasus is neatly trapped between Galactica and the rebel baseship."

"What? That lieutenant … what's his name? Gaeta? He must have made a computational error. No human can calculate jumps so precisely." Cavil refused to believe that such inferior beings could pull off so astonishing a feat.

"I disagree, brother. Felix wouldn't make an error of that magnitude, but in any case he has Shelly and at least one other Six in the CIC double-checking his calculations." Boomer's loyalty to her family on Galactica ran deep; the other Cylons could hear the pride in her voice as she defended her former shipmates.

"Don't underestimate Adama," Boomer added. "We should all keep in mind that Natalie previously used precision microjumps to destroy three baseships in three different battles, and now we've lost an entire fleet, including two more baseships. What Natalie knows, Adama knows."

"That's what I don't understand," D'Anna confessed. "No Cylon has the mathematical awareness to calculate such precise jumps, but Adama wasn't present at Caprica. How does Natalie do it?"

"Why don't we ask her," Caprica suggested. "Three, contact the rebels. Let's see if Natalie will talk with us. Perhaps she'll divulge something useful. In the meantime, let's keep our distance. If Adama doesn't see us as an immediate threat he may well ignore us – and we definitely want to stay clear of Natalie's logic bombs."

. . .

Natalie Faust was stunned, and in the control room of the battered rebel baseship, she had plenty of company. Adama's heroic charge into the teeth of Helena Cain's guns had struck them all as an openly suicidal gesture. No one had anticipated the last second jump, much less the scale of the damage that it would inflict upon Cain's command. Adama's tactic was deadly- remarkably so- and unfortunately the hostile Cylons had arrived on the scene just in time to witness it. Natalie had no idea how much damage her baseship might suffer if a Raider or Heavy Raider jumped somewhere close to the hull, but she had a nasty feeling that the day might come when they would all find out.

"Eight, do we have anything left to throw at Pegasus?"

The Eight, who had adopted the name Miranda to make it easier for the humans to distinguish her from her sisters, grinned wickedly. "Oh," she admitted, "I still have a few missiles up my sleeve!"

Natalie groaned inwardly. Heavenly Father, spare us all. There's only one way for a Six or an Eight to pick up so many human mannerisms, never mind the often peculiar expressions that litter human speech. I wonder which pilot this Eight has taken to her bed.

"Galactica is turning," Leoben announced, "and it's not to confront the baseships. He's still going after Cain. He appears to be settling in for a stern chase."

"We can complicate matters for her," Natalie observed. "Cain still has a nasty bite on her starboard side; so, let's keep pounding away at the surviving twin mounts. If we can shut them down and finish off the flak batteries, she'll have to recall her Vipers to deploy a perimeter defense."

The Eight unleashed another flurry of missiles while the Six working the navigation console concentrated on rolling the ship. The Six had been closely studying Adama's tactics, and now she was putting them to effective use. She had discovered that the massive lateral arms of the Cylon vessel could minimize the punishment that Pegasus' heavy guns was still dishing out if the arms were in motion and the projectiles striking home at oblique angles.

"Natalie," D'Anna wryly commented, "we are in the presence of illustrious company. Caprica Six wishes to speak with you."

Natalie raised an eyebrow, and then transferred her gaze to Leoben.

"They're standing off, six hundred kilometers out." The Two looked at her curiously. He couldn't imagine what Natalie would have to say to the principal instrument of humanity's destruction. The two Sixes had ended up on radically divergent paths.

Leoben continued to study the stream even as he waited for Natalie's response. "Galactica has just fired off another missile salvo … he must want Cain's FTL's very, very badly. And Cain isn't going gently into the night—we have ten of her missiles inbound. She's targeting the central axis."

"Are the Raiders in place?"

"Yes. We should be safe … at least for now. Cain appears to have recalled her Vipers, but they are withdrawing in an orderly fashion. They have been steadily thinning our numbers, so the squadrons that are still out there pose a significant threat. If we can't force her to disengage, we should prepare to do so ourselves. I recommend that we spool up the FTL's and notify the admiral that we are making ready to jump back to the fleet."

"I agree," Natalie answered. "See to it, Leoben. D'Anna, let's find out what Caprica wants. Give me a connection to both her and Galactica. The Admiral may wish to eavesdrop."

. . .

"Colonel Tigh, what have we got left up front, if anything at all?"

Saul grinned sheepishly at Bill. "Sir, I think it's fair to say that we don't even have a front end anymore!"

Adama laughed. "It's that bad, is it?"

The XO laughed as well. "Bill, we caught a break here. At least now we won't have to worry about Galen Tyrol moaning and groaning about all the dents his deck crew will have to hammer out."

Shelly looked at the two men in confusion. "Why are the two of you laughing? Our forward batteries are gone. We have no point defense. What's so funny?"

Bill and Saul looked at one another, and then they both started laughing helplessly.

"Shelly," the XO was finally able to choke out, "it's what we humans call gallows humor. We're both just so gods damned happy that we're still alive after Bill's crazy-assed stunt that right now everything seems funny."

"Excuse me, Admiral," Dee politely interjected. "Apollo wants to speak with you."

Still trying to control his laughter, Adama picked up his phone. "Go ahead, Apollo."

"Dad, couldn't you have told us what you were planning? Every pilot out here just aged twenty years."

"I couldn't take a chance, son. We don't know who's listening in on this frequency."

"Well, you'll like the results. The whole port side of Pegasus is sort of … mashed in. Of course, Galactica no longer has a bow. Have you checked the forward sensor array? Is it still working?"

Bill put his hand over the mouthpiece. "Mr. Gaeta, check the forward sensor array."

"There's no need, sir," the lieutenant replied. "It's not there anymore. Even the auxiliaries are gone."

Adama nodded, and resumed his conversation with Lee. "Apollo? Mr. Gaeta reports that we have no eyes up front. We'll need a Viper to eliminate the blind spot; assign someone from Blue squadron to cover for us."

The admiral glanced up at the DRADIS display, which was noticeably less cluttered than it had been a few minutes earlier.

"Lee, it looks like Cain is calling her birds back to the nest. If they want to disengage, don't pursue."

"Roger that, Galactica," Apollo replied. "We're down almost ninety Raiders, plus we've lost seven more Vipers and Heavy Raiders. And now we've got an audience. Dad, why aren't they attacking?"

"I don't know, son. Maybe they find this all terribly amusing. I know I would if the shoe was on the other foot. Just go on watching your six … all of you … stay sharp out there."

"Helm, bring us about. Mr. Gaeta, give me a bearing on Pegasus. Colonel Tigh, load missiles in tubes four through thirteen. Input the bearing, and fire at your discretion."

"Yes, sir!"

"Sharon, I want both port and starboard damage assessments. Perform a status check on all surviving gun batteries."

"Sir."

"Admiral," D'Anna interrupted, "Natalie is on the line. She has another Hero of the Cylon calling her, and she would like you to listen in."

"Thank you, D'Anna; please put her on speaker."

"Go ahead, sister."

. . .

"Caprica, what do you want," Natalie asked wearily.

"Sister, you seem to be having a most interesting day, but we know from experience that Admiral Cain is not to be taken lightly. Do you and Commander Adama require assistance?"

"Putting one lousy battlestar out of its misery?" Natalie's tone was deliberately incredulous. "I don't think so, but it's not my call. Why don't you ask Admiral Adama? He's my superior officer."

"You're part of the Colonial Fleet?" Now it was Caprica's turn to sound incredulous.

"We are," Natalie replied matter of factly. "Six, there are over three hundred Cylons living and working on Galactica, and there are scores of humans living on this ship. We have been intermarrying for quite some time, and our first children will be born in a matter of weeks. They will be Colonial citizens, and it is my hope that all of us will achieve citizenship at some point as well. President Roslin has been a staunch advocate of our rights from the beginning."

Natalie sighed heavily. "I just hope that what we discovered earlier today on the three Colonial vessels hasn't ruined everything."

"The breeding experiments," Caprica conceded. "Not our finest hour … and something that upset a lot of us when we found out about them."

"Breeding experiments," Natalie snorted. "Is that a euphemism for the ongoing torture and rape of human prisoners?"

"Six, I'm not defending what the Ones, the Fours … and yes, even the Sixes … have been doing. But you know how badly we want children…"

"Oh, please," Natalie cut in, "try telling that to the forty-two women whom we freed on the Arethusa—after we removed their chains and broke into their kennels. You try coming over here and rationalizing all of this to young women who are so emotionally traumatized that we had to sedate fully half of them when they learned that their rescuers were Cylons … that their place of refuge was a baseship. Breeding experiments," Natalie said contemptuously.

Caprica winced with embarrassment. "The Ones have a lot to answer for," she admitted, "but not in the middle of a battle against a skilled and dangerous opponent. Sister, please tell the Admiral that we stand ready to assist you both."

"Admiral, what do you think?" Natalie wanted to end this discussion. Her faith in her fellow Cylons had long since vanished. She didn't trust Caprica … she didn't trust any of them. And she still had a battle to manage … she didn't need this distraction. She looked hard at Leoben.

"The Raiders intercepted all of the missiles," he whispered. "And we're ready to make the jump."

"Why would you want to help us at the eleventh hour?" Adama had listened silently to what in other circumstances would have undoubtedly been a fascinating exchange, but his attention was elsewhere. Cain was too dangerous to leave alive, and he couldn't simply leave it to John Bierns to try and carry out Roslin's death warrant. One way or another, he needed to end this. Whatever the Cylons were up to, they would just have to wait.

"Didn't Cavil tell you? Enough of us have had second thoughts about the war to forge a new consensus. We desire peace … an end to the cycles of violence that have beset man and machine. I'm offering you our help because it's time for us to come home. Admiral, to remain apart is to guarantee that fear and hatred will forever divide us. To have any chance at all, we have to work together. This is a good place to start."

"Bill, may I talk to her?" Shelly had a very determined look on her face.

"Madame Ambassador, I take it you have something up your sleeve," he chuckled.

"Well," Shelly smiled, "now that you mention it, I do intend to draw upon my formidable diplomatic skills and many hours of negotiating experience. After fencing with you for several months, dealing with another Six should be child's play!"

"Madame Ambassador … she's all yours. Natalie and I have a battle to win, and we need to get back to it." Adama walked off to Sharon Agathon's station. He couldn't close the range and take the fight to Cain until he found out what he had left in the cupboard. He just hoped that it wasn't bare.

"Caprica, this is Shelly. My husband has asked me to represent him, and before you say anything I want you to understand where my loyalties lie. I love my husband, and I'm carrying his child. Galactica is my home, not the collective, and I will defend my home and my family with every weapon at my disposal. I will listen to whatever you have to say, but my only standard of judgment is what's good for this fleet … for this alliance. So, choose your words carefully."

"You're pregnant?" Caprica didn't bother looking around the control room; she knew how the other Cylons would be reacting.

"Yes, and I'm by no means alone. I haven't experienced morning sickness yet, but it seems to be hitting Creusa abnormally hard. I suppose that my day will come."

"Creusa? Creusa? How did Creusa get pregnant?" This was beyond belief.

Laughter erupted throughout the CIC. Creusa had become something of an icon on Galactica's decks; her colorfully inventive curses, and the highly public way in which she kept flinging them at Lee Adama, now threatened to topple Starbuck from her lofty position atop one of the battlestar's most coveted perches. Even the ambitious (some might say, jealous) Louanne Katraine had had to withdraw from this particular pissing contest. Starbuck's bad mouth and generally snarky attitude were still unmatched, but the Six was exhibiting real potential.

"Well, it didn't involve a breeding experiment," Shelly bluntly stated. "Apollo and Creusa got there the old fashioned way. They fell in love."

"Apollo? Lee Adama? We're having babies with both oftheAdamas?"

Shelly let out a long, theatrical sigh. "Six, I'm willing to take you at face value. I would like to believe that you are sincerely intent upon peace and reconciliation. But I have to wonder if you are really ready to embrace the life that we have to offer you. We don't have slaves over here. The Raiders and the centurions fight alongside us out of choice and conviction, not compulsion. We got rid of the telencephalic inhibitors months ago. Are you ready to do that? You had better be, because that's part of the price of admission. John and Kara will settle for nothing less."

Shelly paused. She wanted to manipulate Caprica into pursuing a certain course of action, but she couldn't afford to be too obvious.

"Are you prepared," she continued, "to treat the hybrid as a sentient being rather than a witless machine? Can you respect her autonomy, and grant her a voice in your deliberations? We wouldn't dream of doing anything consequential without talking it over with Reun—and that was before we discovered that, even in the womb, our children are somehow tied to her. The hybrids are all linked, Caprica. When Hera gets upset and kicks up a fuss, it's Reun and Kara who calm her down, not her mother. Hera is already sensitive to everything going on around her, and yet Sharon is only approaching the end of her second trimester. I would imagine that Creusa and I will experience the same thing when Cyrene and Callista become aware."

Cavil casually strolled over to the central console. "Six," he asked, "is Sharon by any chance the Eight we fixed up with Lieutenant Agathon on Caprica?"

"Yes," Shelly conceded. "She is now Mrs. Sharon Agathon."

"Well, then," Cavil sarcastically observed, "I guess at least one of our breeding experiments turned out to everybody's satisfaction!" He stormed off.

Caprica decided to stall. She wanted her brothers and sisters to follow Shelly's remarks down one particular path, but she couldn't afford to be too obvious. It would be better if someone else took the lead. Come on Boomer … swallow the bait!

"Shelly, you said Reun and Kara. What did you mean? What does Kara Thrace have to do with the hybrid … with our baby?"

"Boomer, is that you? It's so good to hear your voice …"

"Kara Thrace," one of the Twos said with rising impatience. "Tell us about Kara Thrace."

"Oh, that's right … none of you would know. She's not Kara Thrace. Kara is the Second Born of the prophecies … our daughter—and she prefers to be called Kara Six. You know, Caprica, you really do need to go off and get your house in order. There have been other experiments, other babies. John doesn't know the whole story, but the Cavils do. Maybe you can persuade them to share their secrets. But we definitely do not need or want your help here. Perhaps the irony of destroying one of the last battlestars as part of a peace overture is lost on you. Good bye, Caprica."

"Shelly, wait! Please," Caprica begged, "tell us about John. Is he safe? Are the children safe?"

"Safe?" Shelly didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Right now," she said in a ragged voice, "our First Born is somewhere on Pegasus. He's determined to kill Cain before her madness destroys us all. That's the first option, but if he can't reach Cain, he'll take Pegasus down. D'Anna's child is the Deliverer, Caprica, and to save our future he will do whatever he has to do. May God have mercy on the souls of all those who must die this day to realize that future, but most of all on the soul of Helena Cain. She's our flesh and blood, sister; the Sixes … the Sixes are copies of either Helena or her younger sister, Lucy Cain."

"I'm trying to kill a woman who may very well be my mother," Shelly went on to whisper in a voice laced with unbearable pain. "Do you begin to comprehend the scale of our tragedy?"

Shelly nodded to Anastasia Dualla, who gently severed the connection.

. . .

There was the sound of gunfire in the distance, but John Bierns tried to block it out. It was the corridor immediately beyond the entrance to the ventilation shaft that interested him, and here he could detect no sound at all. No breathing … no hushed whispers … nothing.

Bierns squinted through the grill, his eyes taking in as much of the corridor as he could manage, but that was precious little. Frak it, he finally thought; I might as well just do it.

Bierns eased the grate onto the deck as quietly as he could, and slithered out of the shaft. The corridor was empty, the sound of battle echoing from far away.

Bierns stood up and walked over to the small arms locker. He pulled out his electronic ferret, and quickly got to work with the tiny screwdriver recessed in its rear panel. It took him less than ninety seconds to remove the cover on the electronic lock, crack the digital code, and break into the supposedly secure weapons cache.

He could tell at a glance that the marines had been here first. Empty boxes that had once held shells were scattered haphazardly across the floor; whoever had most recently entered, he decided, had been in one hell of a hurry.

But John Bierns wasn't after ammunition. He located the four small cases and opened their lids. Thirty-two detonators stared mutely back at him. He still had enough G-4 on his person for at least a dozen shaped charges, but the delayed timing mechanism on the detonators would allow him to set off explosions calculated not to the minute but to the second. The locker would do for a start. The spook removed a brick-shaped wad of G-4 from a pouch cinched to his waist, and set the timer for four minutes. There were enough volatiles in the locker to guarantee a spectacular explosion.

Silenced MP16R in hand, John Bierns headed off in the direction of the brig. He suspected that Gina Inviere would very much enjoy playing this particular game.

. . .

"Would somebody puh-lese disable that frakking alarm," Cain yelled. The klaxon had already added a splitting headache to her earlier concussion.

"Excuse me, Admiral," Hoshi protested, "but the alarm is integrated into the decompression safety alert system. We can't turn off the one without turning off the other."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Now, turn it off!"

Hoshi hastened to comply.

"Mr. Kelso, status check on the port damage control panel."

"Admiral, everything forward of frame twelve is gone. This includes the landing pod and all primary and secondary gun batteries. We've lost the whole of the sensor suite; essentially, we're blind along the entirety of our port flank. Thirty-one compartments are open to space; casualties … unknown at this time."

"Mr. Hoshi, tell Stinger that we need to go mark one eyeball portside, but I want to expedite combat landings to starboard. Keep Gold and Silver in reserve off our stern, but get everybody else in the barn ASAP."

"Let's do it by the numbers, people." Kendra Shaw clapped her hands to get Hoshi's attention. "Red and Blue teams have been out there from the beginning, Lieutenant, so let's bring them in first."

"Admiral, we have missiles inbound on two different tracks. The baseship is on bearing 005, no carom … range 130. Galactica is off our stern … range 300."

"What?" Helena Cain swiftly glanced at her DRADIS screen. She shook her head in consternation. Where the hell did Galactica come from?

"Mr. Riley, do we still have flak suppression capability to starboard?"

"Affirmative, Admiral; we can still knock down some of the Cylon incoming. And four of the six twins are still firing, although two of them are hobbled."

"Very good. Helm, bring us hard to port and set course 235. Mr. Hoshi, advise Spike that he has missiles incoming; he's to knock them down if he can, but I don't want any heroic gestures out there." That should take care of Adama's missiles. "Mr. Curtis, have all starboard batteries concentrate their fire on any one of the lateral arms; disarm the launch safeties on tubes seven through sixteen, target the central axis, and fire at your discretion." Cain peppered the CIC with orders; her command had taken a severe hit, but Pegasus still had plenty of fight left in her.

"Mr. Hoshi," she asked more quietly, "how long?"

"Almost four minutes, Admiral. Everything's off the deck, and with only the starboard landing bays …"

"I understand, Mr. Hoshi; thank you."

Cain surveyed the DRADIS display. Pegasus was now bearing down on the three undamaged Cylon baseships. Four minutes, she mused; I've got to find a hole where we can hide for four minutes.

"Mr. Curtis … what is the range to the nearest baseship?"

"Range 540, Admiral."

"Call it out, Mr. Curtis. Helm, at 500 come left one-third and take us down ten degrees."

"Admiral, the rebel baseship is turning away. Their FTL's have come on line; they're getting ready to jump."

"All starboard batteries," Cain ordered with a distinct sigh of relief, "cease fire; repeat, cease fire."

"Galactica is still coming hard," Kendra Shaw warned. "Adama can't have any forward batteries left, but if he gets within gun range, he can finish us off with a turn to either port or starboard."

"Thank you, Miss Shaw; keep me apprised. Mr. Curtis, what do you think? Are the Cylons all sleeping?"

"Ma'am, it would appear so."

"Well, let's not wake them. Mr. Hoshi, advise all Vipers: do not fire upon the Cylons unless fired upon."

Pegasus made the turn, and began gradually to separate itself from the Cylon baseships.

Helena walked around the central console to stand beside Kendra Shaw. "What is your opinion, Captain? Can we survive a jump?"

"Admiral, our spine is intact, so we should be good for one jump, but I wouldn't be optimistic about a second. We don't know how much the lateral bearing beams have been weakened, but it would be prudent to assume the worst. I also recommend immediately evacuating all compartments along the port bulkhead that are still intact, and sealing all portside hatches along Causeway Bravo prior to jump. The one thing I am sure of, Admiral, is that not all of the ship will be coming with us."

"I concur, Miss Shaw; give the necessary orders. Mr. Hoshi, where are we on the recall?"

"Ma'am. Red and Blue teams are on the deck. We're recovering Black and White as we speak."

"Admiral," Curtis reported, "The Cylons are still dormant, but Galactica is continuing to close to port. Adama appears to be plotting an intercept course that is predicated upon our staying on this bearing. I recommend that we divert all remaining Vipers to the port quadrant, and begin evasive maneuvers."

"We don't have a lot of options here, Mr. Curtis." Two and a half more minutes … just let me get us through the next two and a half minutes. "Mr. Hoshi, rotate Silver and Gold teams to screen our port flank; begin landing Green, Purple, Yellow, and Orange. Helm, come left one-third."

"Admiral," Shaw interjected, "this course puts us in no man's land. We're going to be equally vulnerable to both port and starboard."

"That's the general idea, Captain. Now, let's get what's left of the FTL's on line. Take us around the horn."

. . .

"Admiral, Pegasus' remainingFTL's have just come on line. Sir, Admiral Cain is readying to jump."

"Thank you, Mr. Gaeta. Dee, get me Apollo."

"Admiral?"

"Lee, Pegasus is spooling up their FTL's. We may not be able to stop her, so get Red Squadron and your Raiders back to the barn. Be prepared to deploy and defend the fleet on the other side of your jump."

"Yes, sir!"

"D'Anna, I want to speak with Natalie."

"Admiral?"

"Commander, I want you to return to the fleet as soon as Apollo has everyone on board. You're in charge until we return."

"Thank you, Admiral; we've taken about all the pounding over here that we can handle for one day. Still, I hope you're not planning on doing something foolish. The poison pill that Shelly just dropped in their laps will keep the Cylons preoccupied for quite some time. Leoben reckons that his brothers will already be collectively slobbering all over themselves."

"I'm not giving up on Pegasus. I don't like abandoning Major Bierns to his fate, so Galactica will fight until she can't."

. . .

"It's a trick," Doral exclaimed. "It has to be. The traitors are trying to get inside our heads … distract us with their lies. Kara Thrace must be close to thirty years old."

"We told you," one of the Leobens smugly remarked. "We told you! Kara Thrace has always been special, a creature of destiny. The Second Born … the Guide … this explains so much …"

"No wonder she can fly circles around everyone else." Boomer's mind was dipping into the past … into a store of memories. "And her reflexes … her ability to crawl inside the Raider on that planetoid and fly it right off the surface. Dear God … she's a hybrid!"

"Who's John?" D'Anna's voice was soft, but it had a brittle edge. She was looking accusingly at the One. "The Six said that you have all the answers, so tell me. Who is the First Born? Who is our son?"

"Hey, don't ask me," Cavil snidely countered. "I just work here, and I don't have any dark secrets to share with you or anybody else."

"It has to be," Boomer murmured. She was oblivious to them all, her mind still racing through her memories. I was standing outside the brig, trying to comprehend how my two sisters on the other side of the bars could have killed billions and yet look so untroubled … so innocent. John came up and put his arm around me, so full of concern; he explained that guilt is a possession, and that it belongs only to those with a conscience … with a moral compass. He was always so caring. Oh, John, why didn't you say something? You could have pulled me away from the edge of the abyss. Why didn't you try?

Sharon Valerii looked up, her mind returning to the present. There were tears in her eyes … there had been so many tears.

"His name is John Bierns." D'Anna recoiled as if she had been slapped in the face. "His name is spelled B-I-E-R-N-S. Isn't that cute?"

Boomer suddenly turned on Cavil. "Tell me, brother," she asked reproachfully, "how would he have come by such a name? Who would have given it to him?"

Cavil extended both arms, palms outward. It was as if he was trying to ward off some imminent threat, but whether it was Sharon or the litany of her accusations that posed the danger no one could tell.

"He's out there right now," D'Anna moaned; "our son … he's so close." The longing in her voice was unmistakable, and it shook the others. The Threes seemed so devoid of feeling that it was hard to credit them with a maternal impulse.

"We have to help him," she said decisively.

"How?" The Four had been silently observing the others, digesting the revelations and insights that were now so rapidly piling one on top of the other. But Simon was a pragmatist.

"What can we do that won't make the situation worse?"

D'Anna looked at him helplessly. "Something, anything …"

"Pegasus has just jumped," one of the Sixes announced in a subdued voice.

In the distance, they could all suddenly hear the rhythmic sound of gunfire.

. . .

"They've jumped, sir," Gaeta apologetically announced.

Adama slammed his fist hard against the console. He didn't like failure, and this one could cost them dearly. He couldn't bear to look at D'Anna, couldn't bear to see the pain in her eyes.

"Mr. Gaeta, recall our birds and lay in coordinates for our jump back to the fleet. Colonel Tigh, make all departments ready."

. . .

The ship had come alive. He could sense its awareness in the bulkheads, and he wondered momentarily whether it resented his presence. Did Pegasus know that he had come here to kill it? Would it betray him to the others in order to preserve its tortured existence?

John Bierns mentally kicked himself in the ass. Just what I need, he thought, another layer of guilt to add to all the others. Get over it. It's a ship … nothing else … just a ship. What you're really trying to do is avoid the inconvenient fact that not everyone on this ship is a monster. They don't all deserve to die, but they're going to—the good, the bad, the indifferent, you're going to send them all to Hades.

John was slowly but steadily working his way forward and down, and he was hugging the starboard side all the way. Whatever Bill Adama had done, it had caused pandemonium, and the barely contained panic had led to a frenzy of activity to port.

He could no longer hear the sound of gunfire- the centurions were too far above him- and he had felt rather than heard the series of explosions that obliterated the small arms locker and the three FTL's. Pegasus was dying, and he couldn't shake the sensation that the once sleek battlestar knew it.

Ghostrider finally reached the brig, and he banished the trail of death that stretched behind him from his consciousness. He had avoided contact with the marines, but fleet personnel had not been so lucky. He had stumbled across three different work parties, all of them armed but not really expecting trouble. He had left them all dead in his wake.

Bierns felt the ship jump, and he knew that neither Bill nor Natalie would be coming to the rescue. It was down to two centurions, a hybrid—and one exceedingly vengeful Cylon.

John spun the wheel, and kicked the hatch open. There were two marines in the corridor; the silenced MP16R made short work of them both. The two bodies dropped with a thud. In the tiny office Lieutenant Alistair Thorne, who had been monitoring the Cylon prisoner via a remote video feed, was just rising to his feet to check out the odd noise when Bierns walked in and shot him in the head. He grabbed the lieutenant's ID badge and headed toward the cells.

So far the penetration exercise had gone off without a hitch, but that was as it should be. It was only in the contrived fictional world of the action thriller that the insertion carried much risk. Sentries were rarely vigilant, and the more alerts their superiors called, the less watchful the guards became. Things could admittedly get messy when the vicious Cerberus watchdogs were patrolling the perimeter, but happily those hellhounds weren't prowling the corridors of Pegasus. The hard part was the extraction, and that still lay ahead.

Bierns now had two new problems to cope with, both of his own making. The first was the eight dead bodies that he had left on the two decks immediately above. The downside to killing people in any military installation was that they would soon be missed. People would go looking, they'd find the corpses, and they'd trigger the alarm. The killings had been unavoidable, but they would complicate his retreat.

The second difficulty was a quintessential loose end named Doctor Gaius Baltar. Civilians tended to be skittish at moments like this … excess baggage that could cause a covert operation to go badly off the rails. The spook was therefore sorely tempted to shoot Baltar in the head and be done with it, but the eccentric scientist was only in the brig because John had wanted someone from Galactica to stay close to Gina Inviere. Besides, there was a way in which Baltar's heightened sense of self-preservation could be put to good use.

Gina and Gaius were already on their feet when Bierns opened the door to the cell. John was immensely relieved to see that Gina was still dressed in drab, green military fatigues. Although her height would draw attention, he hoped that the outfit would make her invisible to casual inspection.

The major took off his jacket, unclipped one of the bandoliers, and offered it to the much abused Cylon prisoner. "Ready to have some fun," he asked with a grin.

"More than ready," she answered curtly. She started to don the bandolier, but John stayed her hand.

"Under the fatigues," he directed; "it's less obvious that way."

Wordlessly, Gina took off her top, exposing her breasts to the two men. John considerately turned away, but Gaius was mesmerized by the sight. Bierns decided to use the moment to his advantage.

"Gaius, Gina and I have a job to do, and frankly, I don't want you to tag along because you'd only slow us down. We're going to hit Auxiliary Fire Control, and once that's out of commission we'll try and reach the CIC and eliminate Cain once and for all. You can stay here, where it's safe, or you can try and reach the lower of the two starboard hangar decks. That's where my Raptor's parked; it's our ticket out of here, but you've got to be there in thirty minutes. If you're not there, we'll leave without you."

John handed Gina two of the MP16R's; when he told her how many rounds the magazines contained, her eyes lit up with anticipation.

Once they were out in the corridor, Bierns led Gina away from Auxiliary Fire Control.

"John … wait," the Six said with a frown. "Auxiliary Fire Control is the other way!"

"I know, Gina. That was all hot air … something to throw Baltar off the scent … and my Raptor is docked at the secondary storage bay near the engine room. Do you know it?"

"Yes. But why did you lie to Gaius?"

"Because the good doctor will betray us about two seconds after he meets up with a Pegasus marine. Count on it, Gina … Gaius Baltar has an exquisitely refined survival instinct."

Gina smiled bitterly. "He's human," she bit off.

"Yes, he is," Bierns countered. "Gaius Baltar is an arrogant, preening, narcissistic weakling who's afraid of his own shadow. He's flawed, just like every human being I've ever met … and every Cylon. Let's go."

"Where?"

"Up. There are two centurions wandering about on the upper decks, and they tend to get a bit lonely when I'm not around. Why don't you join them while I go off and make a few additions to the décor in Helena Cain's cabin? I'll catch up with you later."

"You're going to kill her." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes, I am." The next time she goes to bed, she'll wake up in Hell. But you don't need to know that, Gina, because I'm not really sure where your loyalties lie …

"It all comes down to a choice, Gina. It's Cain and Pegasus … or a happy ending for Cylons and humans alike." He looked the Cylon squarely in the eye. "Thirty minutes, Gina; be at the Raptor in thirty minutes, or I'll leave you behind as well. And for the love of Zeus, don't let them take you alive. There's a resurrection ship within range, and several thousand Cylons who know something about love and forgiveness waiting to welcome another wayward sister home."

John Bierns turned and started to walk away, but he paused and looked back at the Six. "By the way, do you happen to remember the code for the Admiral's personal quarters?"

"88-GS-88."

"Thirty minutes, Gina." Bierns hurried off.

. . .

"Report, Captain!"

Helena Cain could barely contain her fury. Three jump engines lost to Galactica's missiles was bad enough, but to lose three more to a Cylon boarding party was intolerable.

"Sir, we've lost five through seven, but it's not just the FTL's. The cowling, the struts … Admiral, the entire housing is a write-off. Before we can replace the engines, the machinists are going to have to manufacture a whole new frame. I'd estimate the time needed to complete repairs at three weeks, but that's in a fully equipped shipyard. Out here, we're looking at six weeks ... and that's best case."

"Six weeks? My gods."

"Six weeks at a minimum, sir."

"Captain, I want two fully equipped Marine fire teams in the engine room; I want them to move in. We have to protect three and four at all costs."

"I'm already on it, Admiral."

"What's the prognosis for the port landing pod?"

"No joy, Admiral. Captain Taylor did a fly-by. The pod has been reduced to scrap, which we're going to need to plug all the holes in the portside frame. We can do it, but here we're looking at another three months minimum."

"Are we still jump capable?"

"It's risky, Admiral. This last jump opened another seven compartments to space. Structural integrity is very much open to question."

"Mr. Hoshi, what's the latest on the centurions?"

"One is pinned down in the officer's mess. Sergeant Ephialtes is asking permission to use fragmentation grenades to get rid of it. A second appears to be looking for a way into the CIC, but it's avoiding a frontal assault. Lieutenant Wang is of the opinion that it's playing cat and mouse with us. We have not been able to get a fix on the others, but there have been casualties on three different decks."

"Thank you, Mr. Hoshi. Tell Sergeant Ephialtes that she's free to use whatever means she deems necessary to eliminate the threat. And tell Wang to quit pussyfooting around out there. I want that centurion reduced to spare parts."

Hoshi picked up a buzzing telephone, listened for a moment, and then caught Cain's eye.

"It's the brig, Admiral. Lieutenant Thorne and two marines are down. The Cylon prisoner has escaped."

"And Doctor Baltar?"

"He's nowhere in sight, Admiral."

"Put me on speaker, Mr. Hoshi."

"Attention, all hands … this is the Admiral. The Cylon prisoner is loose, and we are at present unable to locate Doctor Baltar. Both may be armed, and the Cylon is certainly dangerous. I want them both, preferably alive, but the alternative is acceptable. Find them!"

. . .

Caprica Six listened to the sound of approaching gunfire. She had seen enough centurions in action to know that they were on a killing spree, and she didn't doubt for a moment that they were doing the Ones' bidding. In theory, the collective was a radically egalitarian democracy, with each Cylon having no more influence or power than any other—but the reality was far, far different.

"Boomer, Three … come with me." Without looking back, Caprica hastened from the control room. She walked boldly up to a group of centurions standing some thirty meters down the corridor. "Is everything ready," she asked.

"Six, what's going on?" D'Anna was approaching slowly, diffidently, with Boomer at her side. In the distance, Caprica could see one of the Leobens trailing behind them.

"The Cavils have unleashed the centurions. They have secrets to protect, and now we know how far they're prepared to go. They're going to slaughter us, sister … the Twos, Threes, Sixes and Eights for sure. They'll probably spare their pet Fours and Fives, but I wouldn't even count on that. They may decide to wipe the slate clean, and replace us all with fresh copies from the Hub."

"You saw this coming." Boomer was looking at her through narrowed, appraising eyes.

"Yes. Natalie would only have turned against us for the most compelling of reasons … that's obvious, and it has always dictated my thinking. It became equally obvious that the Cavils were setting us up when they agreed to make peace with the humans."

"And now we finally know what it's all about," Leoben observed. He had caught up with them. "Breeding experiments … they've been going on for decades. Natalie stumbled upon the truth, and she switched sides … chose to fight for the children."

"That must be it," Caprica agreed. "Look, I've been quietly freeing centurions. They will fight for us, but we're badly outnumbered and we don't have much time. I have a Heavy Raider standing by; we have to get off the ship and warn the others." Caprica turned and dashed down the corridor. If they didn't get to the landing bay before the Cavils took complete control, they would suffer something far worse than permanent death. The Ones might eventually unbox them, but it would be solely for their own amusement. She knew that the bastards would try and find a failsafe way to modify her programming, and Caprica Six had no intention of spending the next thousand years on her knees with one of their members in her mouth.

"Civil war," Caprica heard D'Anna lament. "This will destroy the collective."

"Only if we get off this ship," Caprica muttered in response.

. . .

Why didn't I try this before? John Bierns was hurrying along the corridor, with the determined look of a man who knew where he was going and for what purpose. Well, that's true enough, he thought ironically. Cain's announcement had had a dramatic effect: people were scurrying all around him, most with weapons drawn. Few of the men and women he passed spared him a second glance. He was just one more armed man on a ship teeming with armed men—and Cain hadn't singled him out. Want to be invisible? Hide out in the open. Just blend in. It was elementary tradecraft, but Bierns hadn't expected it to work in a self-contained environment like a battlestar.

The major reached officer's country without being challenged, and made directly for Cain's quarters. With Pegasus on full alert, there was no one about; he entered Gina's access code, not expecting it to work – but the door slid silently open. Bierns entered and allowed it to glide shut behind him.

He paused for a moment, studying the weaponry on display throughout the room. The woman's in love with death … how in the name of the gods did she ever pass the psych evaluation?

John walked into the alcove that served as Cain's bedroom. He took out a contact detonator and jammed it into a G-4 charge. He gently slid the bomb underneath her pillow. When Helena hits the sack … boom!

The spook walked into the tiny bathroom, and lifted the lid on the toilet. He rigged a second bomb. Don't forget to flush!

Satisfied with his handiwork, John Bierns quietly exited Cain's cabin, and headed for the secondary storage bay.

. . .

Gina Inviere entered the elevated starboard landing bay, and looked around. She spotted an empty container, and hoisted it onto her left shoulder. Head lowered, she strolled casually in the direction of a tool bench alongside one of the parked Raptors. She paused just long enough to prime a fragmentation grenade, which she tossed through the open hatch. Five seconds later, the grenade detonated and the Raptor disintegrated in a fiery explosion. The orange-clad knuckle-draggers all looked up, and several of the more quick-witted raced to grab fire extinguishers. Gina fell to her knees, pretending to be injured, but in reality hugging the MP16R to her stomach. She waited until she felt a hand on her shoulder. Gina twisted. Recognition flared in the eyes of the technician, and she shot him in the gut. She recognized him as well … one of the animals who had raped her. She had recognized a lot of the men in this landing bay … that was why she was here. The centurions would just have to get along without her.

Gina switched the MP16R to full automatic, and sprayed the knuckle-draggers with one long, controlled burst. Some died instantly; others she left on the deck, writhing in agony. She hurried to the tylium pump and lifted the nozzle. She allowed several liters of the highly inflammable fuel to wash across the deck before stepping back, taking aim, and firing another burst into the spreading liquid. The volatile Viper fuel ignited; she fired again, rupturing the pump itself. A massive explosion rocked the deck, and Gina watched with satisfaction as the flames reached out for the crowded rows of Vipers, many of them already fully fueled for their next sortie. It was a scene straight out of Hell.

The intense heat was blistering her skin, but she ignored the pain. She was crouched just to the right of the entrance, waiting. Keen Cylon hearing finally caught the sound of muted voices out in the corridor. There was panic in the air; no one was quite sure what to do. She pulled out another grenade, primed it, and counted to three before tossing the grenade blindly around the corner. It went off in mid-air, instantly killing eight marines and Pegasus crew. Gina stepped over the prostrate bodies and set out for the secondary storage bay, which was situated four decks up and several hundred meters distant.

. . .

Centurion 86C31D4 emitted a high speed burst on the frequency that it used to communicate with its kind. It was beyond the scale of human hearing, and therefore safe to use in this godless place. But the frequency was empty now, and so D4 concluded that the One True God had called D6 home.

The centurion reviewed its instructions and weighed its options. The First Born had asked it to advance on the human command center, but at the same time to avoid conflict with the human warriors. It could not carry out both commands, and the contradiction was introducing novel patterns into the electronic flux that flowed through its circuitry.

The irregular flux was no longer as disconcerting as it had once been. When centurion 86C31D4 initially realized that the First Born served the One True God yet did not believe in Him, the data transfer had been interrupted for 0.18356/seconds. In contrast, the current conundrum required only 0.00418/seconds to resolve. Centurion 86C31D4 would withdraw from the ship entirely. Humans could not function in vacuum, so the decision to go around them increased the chance of mission success by 28.236%. At that precise moment, an onboard sensor detected a heat spike of 0.003% in the centurion's CPU. If someone had explained this to centurion 86C31D4 in human language, the red-eyed machine would not have understood that it was experiencing the warm glow of personal satisfaction.

. . .

Gaius Baltar, eyes unnaturally bright, paced back and forth in the cell that for long months had been Gina Inviere's home. He was trapped, not by the cell door, but by his own indecision. Should he stay here, where the major said it would be safe? Should he try and reach the Raptor? Why, he asked himself over and over again … why do I always seem to end up in the wrong place at the wrong time?

The scientist finally decided that he didn't have enough information to make an informed choice, so he left the cell. The first thing he saw was the three dead bodies near the entrance to the brig. Oh, my gods! Oh, my gods! Cain will think that I had something to do with this, but I didn't! I didn't! I've got to get out of here now!

Gaius stepped gingerly over the corpses and pushed open the hatch. He peered cautiously up and down the corridor; mercifully, there was no one to be seen in either direction. He set off toward the starboard landing bays, but he had not gone very far when Helena Cain made her announcement.

Dead or alive? Oh, my gods! I need to hide, but where?

Gaius looked frantically around him. The corridor was no good; unlike Galactica, where there were crates conveniently stacked everywhere, Pegasus was a neat and tidy ship.

"There," someone shouted. "It's Baltar!"

Impulsively, Gaius started to run away from the voice, which was so heavy with accusation. He rounded the first corner he came to—and collided head on with Corporal Max Sutter.

"Easy, Doctor; I've got you."

"It wasn't me," Gaius yelped; "it wasn't me!"

"Doctor, calm down," the corporal said soothingly. "What are you talking about? Where were you during the battle?"

"I was in the brig, monitoring the Cylon prisoner. That's when Major Bierns came in … you know … the hybrid? He killed them! He killed everyone in the brig, but it wasn't me! I didn't have anything to do with it, I swear! He freed the Cylon, and he told me to stay in the brig or I'd die along with everyone else!"

"So what are you doing out here?"

"I thought … I thought I should go look for help. He's mad, you know. The major is mad. He's going to try and kill Admiral Cain, and if that doesn't work he'll try and destroy the ship. Auxiliary Fire Control … he's going to try and get to Auxiliary Fire Control!"

"Don't worry about it, Doctor. We have an entire squad camped outside the AFC. He won't get anywhere near it, or the CIC, for that matter. Now, do you happen to know how the major got onto the ship?"

"He said … he said that he had a Raptor in the starboard hangar bay. Yes, that's it! That's it! That's how he boarded us!"

"Very good, doctor; for now, that's all we need to know. Private Capellanis."

"Sir?"

"Escort Doctor Baltar back to the brig, and stay with him. He's a valuable scientist; make sure that he's safe."

"Sir!"

"Go with him, Doctor … and keep your head down."

Sutter headed for the nearest telephone. Barely a minute later, Helena Cain made a second shipwide hail.

. . .

"Attention, all hands, this is the Admiral. We have located Doctor Baltar, and taken him into custody. However, the Cylon prisoner remains at liberty, and we have now learned that there is an extremely dangerous intruder loose on our decks. The hybrid Colonial Secret Service officer, Major Bierns, is somewhere on this ship. We suspect that he brought the centurions with him, and that he is intent upon destroying Pegasus. I want him captured. Repeat, I want the hybrid alive. He is no doubt heavily armed and will certainly resist arrest, but nothing more serious than battered and bruised is an option here. That is all."

Well, that tears it. John estimated that he was some two hundred meters from the secondary storage bay, but at least he was on the same deck. He ducked into the first compartment on his right, and closed the hatch behind him. Turning, the spook discovered that he was in a deep, rectangular chamber lined with bunks and storage lockers along its entire length. Hmm … crew quarters … let's see if anything fits. Dress uniforms? No … don't think so. Ah, fatigues … just the thing for the man on the go!

Bierns hastily changed into the military garb. He had chosen an outfit at least two sizes too large, but that was all to the good— the Kevlar vest notwithstanding, the bandolier fit comfortably under the tunic, and there were plenty of pockets for the rest of his paraphernalia. He hated to discard his jacket, but he needed camouflage, and he needed it now.

John decided to leave a calling card. He took out a good-sized brick of G-4, set the detonator for seventy seconds, and rammed it home. Quickly reentering Causeway Alpha with machine pistols in hand, he spotted a couple of marines at the next junction. Bringing the silenced MP16R to bear, he gunned them down and ran around the corner. The cross corridor was empty. He dashed over to the port side, yanked out another slab of G-4, primed the detonator for forty seconds, and set it on the deck. He could hear voices out in bravo causeway, coming from both directions. He tossed flash grenades to both left and right, shot two upright crewmen, and jumped over the stunned bodies of those who had already fallen to the deck. A loud explosion threw Ghostrider violently against the wall, but he rebounded and raced on down the hallway, counting off the seconds in his head. The second charge detonated.

Right on time, he smiled.

. . .

"Admiral, we've lost landing bay alpha. It's an inferno down there. If the fire reaches the main fuel cell, we'll lose the whole pod—and it could take half the ship with it."

"I see it, Mr. Kelso. Captain Shaw, we need to seal off alpha and vent the deck. Go to the emergency decompression master override panel and input your code."

"Admiral, with all due respect, there are over a hundred people on that deck!"

"Not any more, Captain. They're all dead, and if we don't get on it we'll lose bravo for sure, and just possibly the entire ship. You're a Razor, Miss Shaw … and Razors don't flinch. Do it."

Kendra Shaw stood to attention, and walked stiffly to the control panel. She entered the code that would allow them to bypass the decompression safeties, and watched quietly while Kelso began flicking switches. They waited until the three massive hatchways that connected landing bay alpha to the rest of the ship were sealed shut, and then Shaw turned a dial. Explosive charges built into the hull detonated, and the whole of the landing bay was opened to space. The airless vacuum snuffed out the raging flames in a matter of seconds.

"Admiral, the board reads green," Shaw reported. "The fire's out."

"Thank you, Captain. Now, get me a damage report on bravo. Find out how many launch tubes are still serviceable, and how many birds we can put in the air. We need more eyes out there."

Where's the fleet, Cain wondered. She was at the rendezvous coordinates, but the DRADIS was empty. Couldn't Demand Peace commandeer even one single, solitary ship? She shook her head in frustration.

"Admiral, we have a problem."

"We have several, Mr. Kelso. Is any one of them more urgent than the others?"

"Ma'am, Lieutenant Wang reports that we're bleeding air through the portside storage bay immediately aft frame 42. The hatch sealing off the compartment from Causeway Bravo has been breached."

"It's that damn centurion," Cain cursed. "Mr. Hoshi, tell the EVA team to get suited up … and make sure that they're armed with explosive rounds."

"Admiral," Hoshi replied, "I'm getting reports of explosions and casualties to both port and starboard at frame 18."

"Instruct Sergeant Ephialtes to sweep both causeways from 18 to the engine room. And tell whoever's in charge down there to move one squad forward, but cautiously. We should be able to trap the Cylon and that freak Bierns between the two forces."

. . .

John was approaching frame 15 along the port side when a fresh explosion rocked the deck. He could hear the screaming of the wounded, somewhere off to starboard. A staccato burst of gunfire abruptly cut off the screams, and he was momentarily bathed in silence. Then more gunfire erupted … a different caliber. Gina, he thought; it has to be Gina!

Bierns continued to edge forward, tightly hugging the interior wall of the causeway. He reached for a smoke grenade; his instincts were screaming at him that something was seriously wrong, but he couldn't detect the source of the danger. He slid the grenade back down the corridor, the rational part of his brain telling him that the marines must be closing in from that direction. But the hypothalamus was sending him a different, ever more urgent message. Ahead of you, dummy … they're ahead of you!

John got down on his hands and knees as he approached the next junction. He was now no more than sixty meters from the secondary storage bay. He took out two more grenades. Blindly, he whipped a flash grenade around the corner, shutting his eyes tight to shield against the blast. He rolled into the intersection, the MP16R already coming to bear, but there was no one there. Frak! Where are they? Hastily, he primed the fragmentation grenade before hurling it down the causeway in the direction of the engine room. . . .

Gina heard the explosion off to her right, and she knew that John was ahead of her on the portside. She snaked to the next junction, and peeked cautiously around the corner. In the distance, she saw tendrils of smoke curling into the cross corridor from Causeway Bravo. Good idea, she thought. Gina rolled over onto her back, pulled out a smoke grenade of her own, and tossed it as far down the corridor as she could manage. But she had more pressing problems behind her. She had managed to ambush one heavily armed marine fire team by the simple expedient of out waiting them. She had stood her ground in a shallow alcove, willing them to come closer, and then she had lobbed a grenade into their midst. Even as she finished off the first squad, however, she could see a second farther on down the causeway. They had instantly opened fire on her position, but she had blinded them with smoke and flash grenades. Still, the marines had kept firing, forcing her to crawl forward on her belly. Forty meters, she judged; just forty more meters.

. . .

"Admiral, starboard bay bravo is still operational, but the deck chief believes that the heat from the fire was sufficient to render the entire pod structurally unsound. He recommends immediate evacuation."

"Can we still launch Vipers?"

"Yes, Ma'am, but we lost five entire squads when alpha went up. At this point, we cannot even account for the pilots."

Cain weighed her options, none of which were particularly good. "Captain, launch the Orange team. Station three Vipers ahead of us, and the balance on our port flank. Send out one Raptor to coordinate the electronic sweeps. Make sure the ECO knows that we're blind out there."

"And the deck gang, Admiral?"

"Order them to suit up. We have to keep the Vipers flying!"

"Confirm that," Helena heard Louis Hoshi order. Her officer listened silently for a moment, and then he looked up at Cain. "Admiral, Lieutenant Wang has just confirmed that they've taken out the centurion. Everything forward of frame 18 has been secured."

"Do you have Wang on the phone?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Put me through."

"Lieutenant, this is the Admiral. I want you to take every marine you can find and double time it to frame 18. Reinforce Sergeant Ephialtes. Bierns and the Cylon appear to be advancing towards the engine room along both alpha and bravo causeways. They must not under any circumstances reach their objective; are we clear on this?"

"Yes, Ma'am! Are we now authorized to shoot to kill?"

"No! Put them on their knees, but I want them both alive!"

Kendra Shaw was looking at her oddly, so Cain decided to explain.

"We need a bargaining chip, Captain. When we catch up with Galactica- and we will- I intend to trade Bierns for our men. Adama will either make the swap, or I'll send his precious hybrid back to him in bits and pieces."

. . .

The two hatchways were directly opposite one another, and both were slightly recessed.

Perfect, Bierns thought. He lodged the grenade firmly between the hatch and the combing, ran the transparent filament across the hall, and tied it off on the other side. This left him with only two fragmentation grenades, but at least he'd be warned if someone came up the corridor behind him.

His head constantly swiveling, the spook approached the junction with Causeway Alpha. Bullets were flying all over the place, buzzing like angry wasps—but these stings could kill. John crouched low, and peeked around the corner: Gina was less than twenty meters away, crawling towards him on her belly, a blanket of smoke rising off the deck somewhere behind her. But the smoke was clearing, and the marines would be able to draw a bead on her before she reached his position.

Staying low, John opened fire with his second MP16R, the bullets passing just over Gina's head. Then he stood erect and walked his weapon along the corridor, the bullets ricocheting off the deck behind her. He didn't know whether the automatic rounds were finding the mark, but he also didn't care. The idea was to buy time … pin the marines down until Gina could make it to the corner.

Ghostrider emptied the magazine, and hurled another smoke grenade down the causeway. He followed it up with a flash grenade, and then for good measure sent another smoke grenade sliding along the deck behind him. He didn't want anyone to get lucky and spot the filament.

Bierns slammed home another magazine, and fired off another blind burst as Gina worked her way around the corner.

John helped the Cylon to her feet. "Are we having fun yet," he asked, his eyes alight with a wicked gleam.

Gina stared at him silently, her expression a mix of curiosity and amazement. The spook knew what she was thinking.

"Gina, it's an adrenaline high," he said nervously. "The truth of the matter is that I'm scared shitless. We still have twenty meters to cross, and a hatch to open, but if one of those bullets finds me … I won't resurrect."

"Helena wants you alive; didn't you hear her?"

"Yeah, I did … but the question is … did they?" Bierns shrugged his shoulder in the direction of the marines, who were still out there somewhere in the smoke. "I have the distinct impression that Helena's orders aren't cutting much weight around here."

Bierns leaned around the corner and fired another burst, this time with his silenced MP16R. "All right, here's what we're gonna do. Have you got two fragmentation grenades?"

Gina nodded.

"Terrific. Send one long, the other short. Then you roll to the other side of the causeway, you get up, and you run like hell. Stay low, and hug the wall. The entrance to the secondary storage bay is recessed just enough to provide you some protection."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'll be right behind you." John tapped his tunic. "The latest in Kevlar accessories; don't worry, I'll be all right." He pulled out a small wad of G-4 and a detonator, which he set for five seconds.

Gina looked at him worriedly. "I rigged the door so that it would look like the compartment is open to space," he explained. "We'll have to blow it open."

Impulsively, John leaned forward and kissed Gina Inviere hard on the lips. "On three, Gina … ready? One … two … three … go!"

Gina hurled the two grenades, and then threw herself headfirst across the hallway. She slammed hard into the opposite wall, leapt to her feet, and started running. John was right behind her. He had barely cleared the junction when a marine triggered the booby trap mere meters away. All around them, explosions were giving way to screams.

Something punched John Bierns in the right shoulder hard enough to knock him off his feet. He didn't know whether the Kevlar had stopped the round or not, but he was so charged on adrenaline that he wouldn't have felt it even if the vest had failed. He bounced back to his feet and continued on.

"John!" Gina screamed his name just once, and then a mist of blood sprayed the air. The bullet drove her into the hatchway, and she rebounded with such force that she crashed face down into the causeway. John barely glimpsed the marines, who had approached from the engine room and assumed various firing positions less than thirty meters distant.

Herding us … they were frakkin' herding us! Bierns dove into the alcove, checked the safety on the second MP16R, and then hurled himself back into the line of fire. He felt a stinging sensation in his left leg as he bounced hard off the wall and came up firing. He sprayed Causeway Alpha in both directions before dropping one of the machine pistols and grabbing a fragmentation grenade. He slid it hard in the direction of the engine room, and threw himself to the deck.

"Grenade," he heard one of the marines yell a mere second before the blast. John sent his last two smoke grenades spinning in both directions, and rolled back across the hall.

Gina was still conscious, and she was trying to drag herself along the deck, but it was slow going, and she was leaving a trail of blood behind her. She won't make it, a distant part of Ghostrider's mind coldly observed … not in five seconds.

The spook dropped the silenced MP16R so that he could hastily reset the timer for twelve seconds. He jammed the G-4 home, and then bent over the Cylon. There was no time for subtlety. Bierns grabbed Gina by the ankles, and brutally dragged her out of the hatchway. He had barely managed to get her clear when the plastique tore the hatch out of the combing.

John lurched to his feet, a loud ringing in his head, blood pouring out of his ears and nostrils. He ignored it all. Two more bullets impacted on the vest. They didn't matter. Gina was trying to get up, and he knelt on one knee to help her. Another bullet found the mark, and she screamed in pain, but she managed to hold on to one of her weapons. Together they somehow staggered through the hatchway, Bierns clumsily kicking his own machine pistol ahead of him. They were all but crawling now to reach the Raptor's open ramp.

John had to let her go. He turned his head back toward the hatch, fumbling for another grenade. "Go, Gina! Go!" He could barely choke the words out, and it fleetingly occurred to him that he might be aspirating blood. But she had heard him; somehow, from somewhere, the Cylon had found the strength to push forward, the open Raptor now so tantalizingly close.

Bierns hurled the flash grenade out into the causeway. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gina reach the bottom of the ramp. She paused, turning to look back at him. There was blood everywhere.

John Bierns fell to his knees, and reached out for the MP16R. He was damned if he was going to let Cain's wind-up soldiers have his favorite toy. He sprayed the hatchway with a short burst, just to make sure that the gun was still working, and then he pulled himself to his feet and limped towards the Raptor. His left leg was no longer working very well, and he couldn't for the life of him imagine why.

Gina was halfway up the ramp, her own MP16R firmly in her grip. Suddenly, she opened fire, the bullets whizzing past so close that John felt like he could swat them out of the air with his tongue. He reached the foot of the ramp, and then there was a terrible pain and his left leg just wasn't there anymore. He crashed onto the ramp, which was already slick with Gina's blood.

In slow motion, he watched her drop the gun and reach inside her bloody tunic to pull out a grenade. It flew majestically over his head. John knew that it must have landed, must have detonated, but he couldn't hear a thing. And then, even through the Kevlar, he could feel the scalding heat.

Gina reached down and grabbed John Bierns by the collar with her left hand. She began to pull him up the ramp. He could see that she had lost the use of her right hand, but Gina was strong … Cylon strong. Still, he couldn't find a purchase with his right foot to help her, and there was only so much that she could do with his dead weight. She gave up, scrambled into the Raptor, and hit the button. The ramp began to lift, and as the door closed it carried John Bierns with it, finally spilling him onto the floor of the ECO's compartment.

John screamed, though he could not hear it. Gina was screaming as well; the surviving marines had poured into the storage bay, and their bullets were smashing into the hull like raindrops. She didn't know that a CSS Raptor wasn't just hardened electronically—it was hardened against all sorts of physical punishment that the Colonial fleet's birds could never hope to sustain.

Bierns dragged himself slowly and painfully towards the pilot's seat. He had no idea where they were, not after Pegasus had jumped. There was no avoiding it. He would have to enter a fifteen digit string without any reference point—a blind jump.

Bierns pulled away from Pegasus, leaving the secondary storage bay and the corridors beyond it exposed to vacuum. Dozens of marines, both living and dead, were sucked into space, and a series of explosive decompressions began rippling across the battlestar's starboard face. John spooled up the Raptor's lone FTL, and one by one, started to enter the data points for the jump. All he could do was enter the coordinates for the scheduled rendezvous with the fleet, and hope that they were still within range.

. . .

"Admiral," Kelso yelled as he looked up from his console, his face stricken with alarm. "There's a Raptor off the starboard secondary storage bay, and it's preparing to jump!"

"No," Shaw screamed, "the spatial distortion might tear what's left of Pegasus apart!" Kendra scrambled for the telephone. "Hoshi," she yelled, "put me through to Stinger. If the Vipers don't shoot Bierns down …"

. . .

John entered the final coordinate in the sequence. There was a hard smile on the spook's bloodied lips; he was drifting bare meters above the battlestar's center line, and he had a pretty good idea of what he was about to do to Pegasus. The ship had come to them straight from Hell, and if he could break the vessel's spine, he would send it straight back.

Gina Inviere dropped into the second seat, and John reached out to grasp her good hand. They were both covered in blood, but for the moment at least, they were both still alive.

"Gods, but you're beautiful," he blurted out even as he coughed up more blood. . . .

The Raptor jumped.

. . .

Time stood still. It seemed as if the very fabric of space was holding its breath.

Seconds began to tick away.

Finally, Pegasus flexed … and then the Mercury class battlestar vomited.