Part 36
The ground vanished under Starbuck's feet, and for an instant he'd thought that he'd inadvertently started a landslide as he pushed Saraesa hard to the side. But as his astrum hit the wet, slippery mud, and the back of his head collided with the ground, sending his loosely fastened helmet flying off into the darkness, he tried to thank each and every lucky star that peeked out from the black cloud of the night sky that he had merely slipped and fallen, taking a spill down a slick and miry hillside that seemed to go on for endless metrons.
He tried to hold tight to Apollo, knowing that the last thing his friend needed was to roll down a mountainside just now. Then they hit a natural dip in the sludgy chute, and they were abruptly airborne. Starbuck's hands flailed for the brief micron it took to lose Apollo, and when he landed flat on his back, the impact stole Starbuck's last breath, leaving him gasping for air like a piscis out of water. A micron later, his head collided with a rock the size of a planetoid, and when he finally came to a stop in the murky, gooey dampness at the bottom of the hill, he lay there in a daze, feeling the soothing pattering of the rain on his face.
"Starbuck! Apollo! Are you guys okay?"
It was Saraesa. By the sound of her voice, she was quite a ways back up the hillside. Which was just as well, since he was still struggling to draw a breath, and was having trouble making anything above his toes respond to his mental commands. Somewhere nearby, Apollo was probably lying in a crumpled heap, in even worse condition after their latest wild ride. He opened his mouth to call for his friend, realizing abruptly that the squadron leader hadn't responded to Saraesa's call. However, only an incomprehensible gurgle came out.
"Apollo!" Saraesa called sharply.
Her voice was closer this time, maybe only a half dozen metrons uphill, at best, so she had to be moving quickly in the darkness. By the sounds of it, she had found Apollo. Difficult to tell with mud oozing into your ears, Bucko. Starbuck would have held his breath, waiting to hear his best friend's response, but he hadn't really started breathing quiet yet, at least that he could recall. His lungs felt near to bursting, and he managed to squeeze a painful gasp of air into his chest. Then another. One more. Each breath became easier, and slightly deeper, until he was reasonably sure he had relearned the art of respiration. Now if he could just move. Or talk. He tried to lift his head to overhear what was happening uphill . . .
A jagged pain shot through the back of his skull, making him feel like he would toss his mushies again. It was a small comfort that there was nothing left to toss, although his stomach was making a valiant go at it, nonetheless. Momentarily, he felt guilty for insinuating to Apollo that it was he who had vomited all over the landing bay. It had seemed amusing at the time, but now, in retrospect, it was just a cheap shot between friends. He'd have to fess up . . . over a game of pyramid and a grog, the very next time they were on furlon together. Then, as Starbuck tried to turn his head, the throbbing reached a new height. He closed his eyes tightly against the pain, hearing a faint moan, and vaguely realizing it was his own.
He just wished it didn't sound so bovine.
"Starbuck! Are you okay?"
Yeah, it was Apollo's voice, but all the same, when he opened his eyes, he was somewhat surprised to find his friend leaning over him. Apollo was in no shape to be scurrying over mountainsides with that leg. Saraesa leaned in from his other side, concern in her lovely eyes. Oh, and a hint of impatience, as she grabbed Starbuck's wrist, and glanced at his chrono. Once again, he opened his mouth, trying to form the word 'yes'. Then it hit him that he was probably wrong.
"Easy, buddy," Apollo told him, his hands lightly running over him, searching for injuries. "You're going to be okay. Saraesa, find the biomonitor."
"Hades Hole, what is it with you guys?" Saraesa inserted. "You're fine, Starbuck's okay . . . I'd hate to see your definition of bad."
"Cute," said Apollo, voice strained. "Really cute."
Saraesa glanced at Apollo, cocking her head to the side, as she pulled off the backpack and started rooting through it, pulling out equipment, and discarding it. "Are you guys brothers, or just friends?"
Apollo smiled slightly, as his fingers made their way behind Starbuck's neck. "Both. In a way."
Well, it was a nice sentiment, and he knew that Apollo meant it, because the squadron leader never said anything he didn't mean. If Starbuck took a milli-centon to think about it, he felt the same. Not that he knew what having a real brother was like, although in his limited experience, they seemed to spend more time scrapping and arguing, than doing anything really fun. All the same, he would go to Hades Hole, and claw his way back up out of it again for Apollo, without hesitation. There weren't many people that had earned that kind of loyalty from Starbuck in his lifetime.
Apollo's fingers were combing through his mucky hair, his face only twenty or so centimetrons from his own. Starbuck closed his eyes and gasped with pain as the fingers found the spot that had collided with the rock.
"You hit your head?" Apollo confirmed.
Starbuck tried to nod, but his head was going supernova with the meagre effort. His mouth watered unpleasantly, trying, no doubt, to put something in his stomach that he would just have to throw up again. "Yeah . . ." he managed to gasp, sounding more like a wheezing whistle than a man.
"Is this it, Apollo?" Saraesa asked, handing him an electronic device.
"Frack," Apollo muttered a moment later, as he slammed the medical analyser into the palm of his hand. "It's dead."
"Can you move, Starbuck?" Saraesa asked, her features stiff, and her tone subdued.
"Give me . . . centon," Starbuck murmured. His voice sounded thick and muffled.
"What?" she asked.
"Give him a centon," Apollo repeated, grabbing his friend's hand. "Squeeze my hand, Starbuck." Concern—real concern—radiated from Apollo's eyes.
"Umm, okay," Starbuck breathed, his voice stronger, but still raw. "Maybe two centons. Let's not rush into things."
The thought that he might not be able to do it was more terrifying than Starbuck was willing to admit. He felt the cold hand in his own, and saw Apollo trying to will him to move. Starbuck's body felt asleep, but he wasn't sure if it was from exhaustion, the numbing cold, or from hitting his head. With more effort than it should have taken, he managed to weakly squeeze Apollo's hand.
"Nothing to it . . ." he murmured.
"Then squeeze the other one," Apollo replied, nodding his encouragement.
"Apollo . . . we're running out of time here." Saraesa told him.
Apollo's eyes flickered from Starbuck, to the girl, and back. "Squeeze my hand, buddy."
This time it was a little easier. It was as if, slowly, Starbuck's motor control was returning.
"That's it," Apollo encouraged him.
"Apollo, if there's an air strike coming, and we're caught on this mountainside . . ." Saraesa began, her tone more insistent, as she stood up.
"What do you want me to do?" Apollo snapped, glaring up at her. "Leave him?"
It felt like Starbuck had been sucker punched, as he looked up at his friend. Leave me? Somehow it never occurred to him he would die as a result of 'friendly fire', left behind because he was a hindrance to the mission. He closed his eyes, swallowing the huge lump in his throat that threatened to choke him. His chest seemed to tighten inexplicably, even though he had told himself time and time again that he would bravely and graciously sacrifice his life in the name of the Colonies. Well, brave and gracious both looked a whole lot different when a guy was lying helplessly up to his astrum in the muck and mire. . .
"I have to get these data crystals to the President, Apollo." Saraesa returned, her voice cold. "I can't do that if I get blown up in an air strike."
"Sagan's sake, Saraesa! He helped you escape a Cylon Brig!" Apollo returned angrily.
"That's what Colonial Warriors are sworn to do," she reminded him sharply. "Just as I'm sworn to deliver the details of the alliance with the Darthinians, no matter the cost!" As though conjured from mid air, a medallion suddenly appeared in her hand. There was no mistaking its origin. It was a Seal of the Lords. Just like the one Apollo had seen countless times on his father. There was no longer any doubt that Saraesa was truly an envoy, representing the President and Council. "I don't like it any more than you, but it's our duty, Apollo. We have about twenty centons to find our ride out of here and get airborne, before this whole mountainside is blown apart. There's no chance in Hades Hole that you can carry Starbuck with that leg of yours all torn up, and I need you to lead me to the ship. There's no other way." She held up the medallion, aware that its presence was like an edict from their ultimate commander. "You have to leave him."