The thing about boxing with shadows is that they never hit back. Meredith Fitzgerald Kobol, Seventeenth Lord of Kobol.
Maya watched in awe as Chief Husher stumbled awkwardly down the passageway, hands behind his head. The power pistol's explosive blast had thrown the Chief against a bulkhead, but within a few minutes he'd struggled back to his feet. Blood trickled slowly down a cheek and if he lived long enough, he'd have a new scar to add to his collection. The flash had dazzled him – he was blinking rapidly and shaking his head -- but, although the Chief had been disarmed, he didn't seem afraid or even very disturbed. He looked to be one tough bastard. And here she'd thought him to be a lowly paper pusher.
Graham followed behind the Chief holding the power pistol in his hand. The old billionaire had gotten in touch with his inner killer. He warily walked along like he expected someone to jump out at him from every hatch and cross passageway.
The Chief's body had shielded Maya from the worst of the concussion. Firing his power pistol at maximum, Graham had killed both Suben and his own man, both of whom were now little more than long sticks of carbon. A splash of shiny black grease coated the bulkheads, the overhead and the deck. Power pistols made a disgusting mess out of living tissue.
Maya and Blakeney followed Graham, Blakeney's left shoe squishing and leaving behind a trail of blood. The Chief's tool cart had done a real number on that leg, its corner ripping through the pants and plowing a nice furrow in Blakeney's meaty calf. Maya, as the Chaser's commander, usually pulled medic duty, but the bastard could find someone else to doctor him. Maybe she'd get lucky and he'd pass out.
"No funny business, Godden," Blakeney growled in Maya's ear. "Graham can kill the Chief up there really easy. Then maybe he'll let me have a little fun with your nephew." He had his right arm over her shoulders. "Let's take it slow and easy now." The edge of the flash bubble had singed Blakeney's hair. That acrid stink and the sickening odor of burnt flesh made the air hard to breathe. If Maya had had anything in her stomach, she might have thrown up.
Chief Husher led them flawlessly to the bridge, even taking the shortest route. It seemed likely he'd spent time on a twelve back in the first Cylon war. He looked almost old enough, although not nearly as old as Maya's dad. Maybe he'd signed on as the war wound down. Colonial Fleet had decommissioned all the twelves not long after that.
"Be careful, you damned bitch!" Blakeney screamed. His staggering had forced Maya into a bulkhead and they'd almost gone down. Her back was screaming. Together they struggled down the last few yards of the passageway in a reeling, sloppy stagger. In the bridge compartment, Blakeney fell into the navigator's chair, the closest one to the hatch.
"My holy Lords!" Doctor Rainier, the scientist, exclaimed. He wrung his hands like a vid. stereotype of an old woman. Graham's two remaining goons popped out of their seats like they'd been ejected. One grabbed the MedicKit.
Relieved of her heavy burden, Maya tottered uncertainly on for several steps only to trip over something, probably her own feet. She fell against Chief Husher. Dropping his arms to catch her, the Chief held Maya tightly against his chest. She leaned into him. It was either that or fall to the deck. "Are you okay, Commander?" the Chief whispered in her ear. She looked up. The trickle of blood on his rough face had already begun to dry.
"Gimme a second," she paused to gulp air. "Frak, that bastard needs to go on a diet."
Laying her head against the Chief's convenient shoulder, Maya panted and groaned. The pens and things in his chest pocket gouged her small breast. He felt warm and solid. The man was a rock. "What the hell's been going on here?" he asked softly.
Insanity, that's what, Maya thought. She shook her head. "Graham's crazy. He wants to go back home …" she gasped in a few breaths "… Been stalling him as best I could." She nodded at the master cabin hatch. "They've got my nephew." Maya shook from the effort of hauling Blakeney up here as well as a two-day payload of anxiety, and no food or sleep.
"Don't worry. We'll get you out of this."
Yeah, right. Typical male bravado, but what else would you expect from military? Although Maya tried to snort, she didn't have enough breath. But despite herself she believed him. If anyone could save her and Dehan, it'd be the Chief.
One of the goons had cut away the leg of Blakeney's pants to reveal a pulped, bloody mess. Blakeney looked at his leg and then away. Gray as stellar drift, he twitched spasmodically as his fellow goon began to wash the wound and press on bandages. "Damn!" Blakeney gasped. "Gimme a pain shot, Wynder!"
Wynder turned to the Medickit to comply, only to be blocked by Graham. Graham and his pet scientist Rainier had been arguing quietly, Graham gesturing and snarling, Rainier trying to placate him with petting motions and a downcast face. "How bad is it?" Graham asked.
Graham still had that power pistol in his hand and he looked ready, maybe even eager, to use it. Maya could see his rockets flaming for a takeoff. Graham was about to go back into full psych-out orbit, and this one looked like it was going to be really high. Firing a power pistol on the bridge could kill them all.
"He killed Jenson! Bastard just burnt him down!" Blakeney said and grunted as he tried to straighten up, but the hike to the bridge had taken all his strength. He seemed terrified. With one hand he tried to find the grip of his power pistol. Wynder hastily stood and backed away. The other goon groped behind his back for something.
Oh Lords, it was going to be a power pistol fire fight. Maya ducked her head against Chief Husher's neck. She couldn't bear to watch anymore. She could feel her skin crisping already. One of the Chief's arms dropped away from her. His balance shifted forward. He seemed to be considering an attack.
Behind her Doctor Rainier spoke. Actually, he squeaked. "Aren't we losing sight of our goal here, Mr. Graham? I mean we still have to get back to Caprica. Think of what we've found! The importance to modern space archeology! You've found a piece of the true ark. It'll make you famous forever." The moment stretched. Nothing happened.
Maya dared to look again and tried to speak. She had to cough a few times before any words would come out. "Chief Husher here can call the Galactica for us, tell them we've got a gremlin. That we have to pull out and go dead. They'll believe him." Maya looked to see if the Chief was going to back her up. His deep brown eyes were focused on Graham. He'd completely let go of her. She stepped away. She could almost stand up straight on her own.
The Chief nodded. "I'll call them. I haven't been buying Commander Adama's frakkin' story anyway. Left me some unfinished business back on Picon. A man owes me ten thousand cubits and I don't mean to let him off the hook."
Tension on the bridge eased off. Wynder and his fellow goon went back to work on Blakeney, who had fallen back in his chair and seemed to have passed out.
"Fine," Graham said. "Do it." He waved at the wireless with the pistol. "Don't forget I'm here."
Chief Husher stepped forward, his hand going to his chest pocket. Graham's pistol came up, but the Chief only pulled out a pair of glasses. "I can't remember, Commander Godden, is the new emergency frequency sixteen?" he asked looking at Maya with demanding eyes and a thrusting jaw that said, "Agree with me."
"Yes, sixteen." Actually, it was twenty-two. Sixteen was one of the bands reserved for Galactica's communications needs. Maya wondered what the Chief had up his sleeve besides his arm.
He put on his glasses and fiddled with the tuner. Picking up the microphone, he spoke, "Galactica, this is Star Chaser."
A woman's crisp voice answered immediately, "Galactica here. Are you declaring an emergency, Star Chaser?" It wasn't the usual wireless operator whom everyone knew as Dee. The Chief smiled. He seemed relieved.
"Hi, Kara. This is Chief Husher. These folks have a twelve here with a really nasty gremlin. We need to drop out while I work on it."
The woman's voice came back. "Hi, Chief. We've really been missing you around here. The CAG just came by CIC asking for you. Says you, uh, haven't finished fixing his Viper and that he's got a good mind to chase you with it. I'll have to get Actual's permission on that dropout. Can you hold?"
"Tell the CAG I'll get to his Viper when I can, but not now. I'll hold for Actual. Hurry back."
Graham's pistol had begun to drop. He looked almost as gray as Blakeney and as old as the original Big Bang. The Chief watched Graham. Maya watched them both.
The wireless spoke again, this time a man. "This is the XO, Chief Husher. Actual is, uhm, tied up. What do you need?"
The Chief's smile grew broader. He actually seemed to be enjoying this. "We've got a situation here, sir. They've got a gremlin eating up their engine. I think if we drop her out and power everything down, even the gravity field, we can kick him out." Typical solution for a static gremlin, except for the gravity generator. That would have no effect one way or the other.
The wireless rattled. "Hold on a second, Chief."
Chief Husher looked at Maya with dancing eyes that invited her in on some joke. She tried to make her own eyes ask, "What's going on?" But he just ever so slightly shook his head and shrugged.
Graham had plopped down in the pilot's chair, the power pistol hanging limply from his hand. Wynder and his fellow goon were hauling Blakeney over to the watch bunk built into the bridge's aft bulkhead. Blakeney seemed to be completely out. Maya used the bunk when she had to fly alone, which over her twenty-year career had happened more often than she had liked. It had actually been nice having a shipload of refugees for company this past week. Crowded and smelly with all the unwashed bodies, but friendly, and they'd never questioned her leadership. That was more than Maya could say of some of the crewmen she'd hired over the years.
Doctor Rainier had begun to pace around, muttering to himself and an invisible audience. Maybe Graham wasn't the only nut on board, Maya thought. "I didn't sign on for this," she heard him say. "Murder? We have to get away. We're in too deep." Graham must have told Rainier what had happened. From what Maya had seen over the last few months, the doctor lived inside his head, and she doubted there was much in there but bones and dusty books. Violence had messed up his neat stacks of ideas and theories.
The wireless came back to life. "Star Chaser, we're arranging a pusher to get you cleanly out of line and some protection for you while you're in repairs, but it's going to take a bit of setup time. Here's what I'd like you to do: Listen to Commander Adama's evening news broadcast then call us back on this frequency. I'll have some final instructions."
The Chief looked around for the Chaser's chrono. "I make that to be in, uh, about two hours, sir. Is that right?"
"Two hours and twenty minutes, Chief. News will be at eighteen hundred tonight."
"Yes, sir. Star Chaser out."
Graham had jumped back to his feet. "You were supposed to get us out, not get us a couple of watchdogs!"
"Trust me, sir, we won't have any trouble losing them. They're sending us a workhorse and a Viper, neither of them FTL. Commander Godden can just jump us back a few light minutes right along our route. They won't be able to keep up." The Chief looked Graham steadily in the eye. It was the same trick Maya had seen him use earlier in the passageway. Although the old billionaire still held the power pistol, he looked to be on his last legs, his sad old body sagging, his face drawn into a death mask. He backed down.
Gesturing at his two goons with an arm that seemed to weigh a ton, Graham said, "Wynder, Canby, lock Chief Crusher and Commander Godden in with the boy. I need to get some rest." They straightened up, ready to comply, but Graham had another thought. "Wait. Take that coverall off him. I want to make sure he's not hiding any surprises."
The Chief stood as still as a sculpture of a warrior as the two goons stripped him down. Under his coverall he wore standard military knit undershirts, slacks and soft ship boots. A long chain with two ID tags hung from his neck. "The tags too. I don't want to be garroted in my sleep." Wynder yanked the chain off the Chief's neck and threw it on the deck with the discarded orange coverall.
"In there," Wynder said and indicated the master cabin hatch his fellow goon Canby was busy unlocking. The two of them shoved Maya and the Chief through and the hatch slammed shut.
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Talk of mysteries! Think of our life in nature – daily to be shown matter, to come in contact with it – rocks, trees, wind on our cheeks! The solid earth! the actual world! the common sense! Contact! Contact! Who are we? where are we? Henry David Thoreau, The Maine Woods, Ktaadn
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