Since there is nothing more precious than freedom, when we give it to everyone we'll all be rich. Gerhard Schwanitz Kobol, Tenth Lord of Kobol.
Galactica's normal space thruster engines took a half hour to power up from a cold start. That's too long a delay in wartime, so the huge engines had been thrumming constantly, even when she cruised. She'd always sung to Adama and he'd loved to listen.
The Star Chaser's engine had a song of its own, probably a typical twelve's ratcheting cough, but in her disguise as a dead grypen duck she'd powered down her normal space and ran on batteries. Maya still had the attitude jets lit, but they were so scattered about the hull they made little sound. Accustomed to Galactica's comforting rhythm, the silence had bothered Adama ever since he'd stepped onboard.
The Chaser would sing again, Adama told himself, and he wanted to hear it. But first he had to get Maya and her nephew out of this.
Sitting down in the Chaser's co-pilot seat, he automatically checked the bank of status lights and the draedus. The bridge's tight configuration put those practically in his face. The status panel was a dance of red and green. The draedus showed the surrounding fleet, or at least he thought it did. Without his glasses, he couldn't be absolutely sure for something that close.
"Don't get any ideas, Chief," one of Graham's men told him. Adama thought he was Canby. Wynder had more hair and less of a drooling expression. Wynder would be the one sitting on the watch bunk tending the unconscious Blakeney. The two might be lovers, Wynder had been constantly solicitous of his wounded fellow goon.
Canby must have cleaned up the mess Graham made in the passageway. He had Adama's service pistol in his belt, and his hands had black smudges.
"Just waiting for the frakking broadcast," Adama told him. Maya sat opposite in the pilot's seat. She seemed somewhat refreshed, although her face continued to look a bit tight and dark. Adama's skin still felt her warmth and her scent still filled his head.
Maya held her nephew in her arms. He'd begun to wake up just as Canby had come to fetch them. The spider cat was nowhere to be seen and might be out hunting.
The chrono on the bulkhead said seventeen fifty-two. Graham and the scientist -- was his name Rainier? – hung over the wireless console, muttering to each other. Both wore the highly dangerous power pistols. Adama wondered what rapacious weapons-dealer had sold Graham those. The pistols were illegal in all twelve colonies.
Outside the Chaser's canopy, light from the bridge picked out the canards, antennas and draedus dish. The convoy was cruising a full light year from the nearest sun. The dim starlight of interstellar space barely revealed the Chaser's closest convoy neighbor, less than a quarter klick away. Only the Galactica lit up her hull to assist Viper take-offs and landings. She gleamed well ahead of them at about two o'clock -- to starboard and above their plane of flight -- like a beacon.
Adama felt a sudden pang of pride. "I'd forgotten how magnificent she is. I never get to see her from the outside."
Maya turned to see what he was looking at. "Yeah, she's a great old bird. I swear when she flew out ahead of us at Ragnar, I'd never seen anything so beautiful. I almost didn't mind paying my taxes." Her hand stroked Dehan's bowed back.
Adama laughed. "You pay taxes? Now that's hard to believe."
Maya seemed to be in too good a mood to take offense. "I've been known to pay a port fee now and then."
They grinned at each other like old friends sharing a private joke. Maya hugged her nephew close and kissed his forehead.
Graham clicked on the wireless. It was time to listen to the news.
"Good evening, this is Commander William Adama on board the Colonial Battlestar seventy-five the Galactica at eighteen hundred of the eleventh day of our journey to Earth," Adama heard own voice say. Startled, he had to think a moment. Wasn't that Roslin's bureaucrat, Jerry somebody? Oh frak, if Jerry knew about this catastrophe so did Madame President. It'd take Adama years to live this down. She'd probably want to chain him to a bulkhead. It's what he'd do. He resisted burying his head in his hands.
Jerry was delivering the standard cautions and warnings: Don't space trash or sewage. Keep power, water and food consumption low. Let Galactica know immediately of operating problems.
Canby churned his hand in a circular motion. "Yeah, yeah. Get on with it."
"Please don't forget the gathering that Galactica will host as soon as the Kobol Dream returns, the precise day and hour to be announced. We now have thirty-five commanders who plan to attend the party; and if all goes well, we can expect the Dream back tomorrow. We will announce her arrival immediately and water distribution should be completed within another twenty-four hours. In the meantime, call Colonial One on channel twenty-two if you are completely dry. They will procure emergency drinking water for you. Please, drinking water only."
Adama began to wonder if his announcements were as boring as Jerry's.
"A more immediate concern, however, is the Star Chaser. She has declared engine failure and we will be pushing her out of line at precisely eighteen thirty." Jerry paused and there was some noise off mike. Then he continued, "Don't worry folks, she'll have Viper coverage while she shuts down for repair. We're not leaving anyone behind." He went on to give the Chaser's exact location in the convoy and the intended direction of her exit.
"Now we're getting somewhere," Graham muttered. His cheeks had pinked up a little.
Dehan yawned, stretched and blinked sleepily. He looked around with a puzzled look on his face.
"Finally, with this broadcast we begin a new program. Mother Elosha, formerly the grand high priest at Caprica City Central Temple, is going to give us a reading from the Sacred Scrolls and a thought for the evening. Mother?"
Mother Elosha was in on it too? Oh frak, Adama thought. "Thank you. My reading this evening is from the Golden Scroll and the sayings of First Lord William Lester Kobol. I believe you will find it especially appropriate, Commander Adama." She paused and the microphone picked up the sounds of the scroll opening. "Open your door to the traveler and render kindness to strangers. Don't forget that tomorrow the stranger could be you. It is a great responsibility for all of us, to care for and carry one another." There was a snap as the scroll closed.
"Now that we're all travelers and strangers, let's not forget this important lesson. We are carrying our future with us. Let's leave the past behind. Open your hearts to each other. Nothing else will get us through. I'm suggesting prayers for this evening as follows – four novas followed by one red star then a volley for each Lord. And may they keep us all safe. So say we all." A murmur of "so say we alls" sounded in the background.
Mother Elosha's short sermon had been intended for him, Adama realized. Open the door? They needed him to release a hatch from the bridge. And the prayers – four white stars arranged around a red one – the gravity symbol. They'd understood his suggestion. He hoped the volleys meant they planned to shoot it out because he couldn't do anything from the bridge. All the gravity generator's controls were above its casement at the lowest point of the hull. Although the generators were stable, they were difficult to adjust. Once set, they were pretty much left alone.
"Make your call to the Galactica, Chief Husher," Graham said pulling out his power pistol again and waving it around with an insane grin on his face. "We are going bye-bye."
Rainier skipped around in the narrow spaces between the consoles like a child at a picnic. Adama couldn't decide which of them, Graham or Rainier, was more cracked.
"I need to get my glasses out of my coveralls." Adama started to rise.
Up came the power pistol. Adama sat back down. "Canby, get them for him." Frak! He'd hoped to grab the miniature wireless.
The call to the Galactica didn't reveal much new, other than that Dee answered instead of Kara. She or Lee would probably be piloting the Viper.
Dee told them to standby for a topside grapple. Adama glanced at the status panel, looking for the topside hatch switch. With his glasses on, the formerly blurred lights leapt out at him. His mouth began to dry out. Things could start happening any minute.
"Oh, who are you?" Dehan asked. His eyes were open and fixed on Adama.
"A friend of your Aunt Maya's," Adama said and gave him what he hoped was a friendly smile. The boy smiled back until he caught sight of Graham then he turned to hide his head against his aunt. He was still too sleepy to act even a little grown up.
"Dehan, can you sit in the navigator's chair, honey? I have to help Chief Husher here." The boy looked ready to cry. So did Maya. "Please, honey?"
Outside the canopy Adama saw the dim instrument glow of a Viper cockpit. It passed in front of them and then sunk below. Adama ardently hoped they'd found a twelve schematic in Galactica's archives and knew where to shoot.
A vibration rang through the twelve's hull. "Hello, Star Chaser. This is Workhouse One and my call sign is Boomer. I understand you need a little help. I'm a little underpowered today so I'll need you to shoot your topside attitudes with me for a count of twenty then your bottom-sides to brake for a count of two." It was an unfamiliar woman's voice. Boomer? Wasn't that Tyrol's girlfriend Valerii?
"We're ready and awaiting your count, Boomer," Maya answered, reaching for the controls. She had the attention of all the kidnappers. Adama slipped his hand toward the topside hatch switch.
"Okay then, on my mark." Boomer made a slow count of three. When she said, "Mark." Maya fired her attitude rockets and Adama flipped the hatch switch.
At Kara's feet the Star Chaser's hatch slid open to reveal a well-lit corridor beneath. Standing next to Kara, Lee nodded and smiled. They wouldn't have to use Tyrol and Valerii's plan to short out the Chaser's docker. Tyrol had given it only a slim chance of working. Valerii had disagreed. It was a relief not to have to settle their argument the hard way. Pushing the electro-battery cart away from the Raptor's deck hatch, Tyrol secured it to the deck.
Kara resisted a desire to hug Lee. She hadn't quite forgiven him for pulling rank in their argument. It had been hard ass thing for him to do. But he was, after all, his father's son. Habits like that run in families, and she'd seen the Commander do it more than once.
"We've got an open hatch, Solomon," Lee said into the portable wireless in his combat helmet. They'd had a hard time finding two helmets small enough for him and Kara. Most of them were made for the Galactica's hulking Marines, which was ridiculous. Nothing that big could possibly have a brain worth saving. Captain Kelly and Tyrol had had better luck finding their brain buckets. Those two great lumps being, of course, the exceptions that proved the rule.
"Roger that," Tigh's voice came back. The Colonel had settled her and Lee's argument over piloting the Viper very neatly. He'd taken the spot for himself, saying, "I can't slog in E.V.A. boots like the rest of you and we're not letting anyone else in on this circus!"
Lee had protested that, but Tigh had come back with, "If the old man can have a little fun, so can I. I was flying Vipers before you were born, son. And I'm still qualified. Check your pilot roster."
"Bastard," Lee had muttered when Tigh had turned away. Lee was finally beginning to understand why she hated Tigh so much.
Tigh had relented on his "no new faces" policy and brought in Captain Kelly, who unlike the rest of this frakking half-baked rescue party, had some security experience. But Tigh had absolutely refused to use Galactica's Marines, an intelligent choice in Kara's opinion -- he must be off the bottle today. Mother Elosha had been close to Tigh in the war-room all afternoon which probably explained his sudden drying out. He had looked a little sick, but calm. No shakes or other visible withdrawal symptoms.
Everyone carried hard shot pistols and sonic grenades on their belts. Tyrol had an electro-scrambler for the bridge controls if needed, Kelly a fireball pistol, as lethal as Graham's power pistols but less indiscriminate. Kara and Lee both carried rapid-fires.
Tyrol had removed the tracers and explosive heads from the first three shots in the Viper's starboard cannon. They didn't want the other ships in the convoy to see their rescue and get the wrong idea so Tigh would have only cockpit light to pick his target. He'd have to fire into the Chaser's gravity generator almost blind, and he had to do it carefully to minimize any contact flash. If he didn't get it right, Kara planned to organize a mutiny. Tigh didn't have big enough balls to command the Galactica.
On the trip out, she and Lee had talked about what they might expect to find on the Chaser. The Commander's miniature wireless still fed them nothing but a rumble. At first they'd thought it engine noise, but Dee had decided that it could be interference from wiring under the deck plates or even the plates themselves as people walked about. A fifty-year-old ship develops all kinds of quirks, witness the Galactica, which on a bad day could groan like an old woman.
For some reason Kelly and Tyrol had spent the entire short trip glowering at each other, which really didn't make much sense. Generally the two were good friends. Lieutenant Valerii had sat in the pilot's seat in stony silence, her back turned. Every time Tyrol spoke to her, she snarled.
Valerii had almost finished her count of twenty. " . . . seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty. Cutting my engines now. Please fire your bottom-sides for two."
They'd cleared the convoy, still traveling along with it in the same direction, but now a half klick below its plane of flight.
The engine roar stopped but the two ships stayed locked together. Nice, Kara thought. Very nice touch on the controls. This Valerii's good. Must be half machine herself.
Tigh was now supposed to give them another count of twenty before he fired.
With Lee in the lead, their rescue party of four dropped onto the deck. The hatch above banged shut as a safety measure in case Tigh's shot knocked the Raptor loose. Lee trotted down the passageway in what Kara hoped was the right direction, with her, Tyrol and Kelly following. Gravity still held them to the deck so their boots' electromagnets were turned off. After a few meters they reached an intersection. Two black streaks on the deck led off down the passageway.
"This way," Lee said and beckoned them on.
Tigh reveled in the feel of the Viper around him. It felt like home, more so than even the Galactica. The dimly seen starlit hull of the Star Chaser slipped by as he sunk down to her base.
Lords, he hoped their schematics were right. This bulge at the Chaser's base was supposed to be the gravity generator. He chose an oblique angle and unlocked his trigger, setting it for single shot. On the instrument panel he pulled down the switch that locked out the port cannon.
Over the wireless Valerii's count had reached twenty, around Tigh the bottom-side attitudes briefly fired plumes of white. Taking a deep breath, Tigh started a count of his own.
It went by too fast.
With a final, "Lords be with us," he fired three shots.
Maya had hoped never to hear it: a sharp crack followed by a deep groaning in the fabric of the Chaser's hull, the sympathetic resonation that comes from a hard hit. Something had punched the Chaser in the gut, and she was crying from the pain.
Maya listened for the roaring and screaming sounds of escaping atmosphere or the crash of collapsing bulkheads. There was none. That meant no hull breach.
She looked toward the status lights on Chief Husher's side of the panel. Amazingly nothing showed. Wait. There was something – the gravity generator. Its diode flashed urgent red.
The Chief wasn't looking at the board. He'd thrown away his glasses and had eyes only for Graham and his power pistol. Graham himself was looking around the bridge trying to identify the source of the odd sound.
The Chief jumped to his feet. "What was that?" he said loudly. "Did that workhorse break something?"
"Oh sweet Lords!" Rainier screamed. The Chaser's damaged gravity generator was failing, and he'd started floating up from the deck. Unwisely he began waving his arms and legs, knocking Graham off the deck and into a spin. They grabbed onto each other, legs to face and flapped around in mid-air like a mixed-up ornithopter.
Maya cried to Dehan, "Get on the deck!" If any of the pistols went off, there would be little safety. Looking with wide, fearful eyes at the men floating around, Dehan tried to follow Maya's orders but he started to float up too.
Canby, still standing tentatively on the deck, had the Colonial hard shot pistol out. He screamed, "What the frak is going on?" and fired a random shot in the direction of Chief Husher. Ricocheting with showers of sparks off the instrument panel and two bulkheads, it buried itself in something, possibly the wireless console. The pistol's recoil knocked Canby through the air in the direction of the starboard bulkhead. The pistol fell out of his hands as he flailed for a handhold.
Dehan's spider cat dropped down on Canby's face. She'd seemed to come out of nowhere, but had probably been prowling a ventilation duct. Graham's goons had been teasing her unmercifully for the last few months, and apparently she'd decided on some revenge. Or maybe the zero g had freaked her.
Wynder just clung to Blakeney's bunk, trying to keep them both stable.
Chief Husher braced his feet against the back of the co-pilot's seat and launched himself at the Graham and Rainier tangle. Maya didn't see what happened to him because she was working herself hand over hand to Dehan who floated above the navigation console.
Fine dust, sand, lint and hair from the deck filled the air, but Maya didn't take time to scold herself for sloppy housekeeping. She had Dehan's arm and, desperate to get him safely out of the line of fire, took off for the master cabin's open hatch using the console for her launch pad.
They both made it into the master cabin and as they flew through the hatch, gravity suddenly came back. They dropped to the deck, landing on their stomachs with matching grunts.
Maya scrambled to her feet, pulling Dehan up with her. Tugging him to the bunk, she said, "Dehan, sweetheart, I want you to lie down here and hold on." Like all furniture on the Chaser, the bunk was bolted to the deck. Even in zero g, Dehan wouldn't float away.
"Aunt Maya, you can't go back out there!" Dehan cried. He held onto her hand tightly. Just last week Dehan had lost both his parents. He didn't want to lose his aunt too. Maya could see the question in his blue eyes -- "Who'll take care of me if you're gone?"
From kneeling by the bunk, Maya began to float up. The gravity was coming and going in waves. She grabbed a rail. "It'll be okay, sweetie. I swear it will be okay. Just hold on to the bunk and stay put. I'll be right back." She turned and pushed herself away toward the hatch.
The confusing scene back on the bridge had multiplied. Four new players in combat uniforms and helmets had come on stage, actually walking around on the deck among the floating men. Suspended in about the middle of the bridge compartment Chief Husher had captured Graham and had the old man's arms locked behind his back. Graham flopped about in his hold like an empty sack of skin.
The biggest of the new Colonials had Rainier, who kicked the air spasmodically like a dying rat. Another had Wynder covered. Wynder seemed to have wisely given up without a fight. He just held on to the watch bunk and Blakeney. A third Colonial was trying to untangle Canby from the spider cat, but without much luck. Every time he got two of her legs loose, another pair took hold. The cat had scratched Canby's face deeply. Red droplets of blood floated away to splash against the bulkhead and send out an even finer spray.
The fourth Colonial walked around snatching things out of the air – power pistols, Chief Husher's glasses, tags and coveralls, the military pistol that Canby had used, several empty coffee cups, pencils, papers and route books. It was a mess.
It was over.
"Hush, did you have to put a hole in my ship?" Maya asked.
He just laughed. Handing the limp Graham over to the big Colonial, the Chief launched himself her way. "Come on, Maya. Let's check on Dehan. He must be worried sick."
Chief Tyrol followed Commander Adama into the sleeping compartment just off the Star Chaser's bridge.
The Commander and the Star Chaser's Commander, her name was Godden, had both put on E.V.A. boots. Godden was having a hard time with them. She didn't mass enough to pull them easily free. When the little boy had rode around on her back that had helped, but Lieutenant Thrace had taken him and his pet spider cat up to the Raptor to meet Sharon. At least the Raptor had gravity. Tyrol wasn't all that fond of zero g himself.
The kid reminded Tyrol sharply of Boxey and that made him think of his earlier argument. There was nothing in the universe Tyrol wanted more than a wife and family, but if Sharon didn't want him, then he had to move on.
Captain Kelly had locked all the kidnappers into a compartment and offered jokingly to throw away the key. The Chaser's compartments had no keys, just lock pads. Kelly had then hauled all their unused ordnance back to Sharon's Raptor. They should have known the Commander would have everything under control.
After a few waves of temporary gravity, the generator had completely conked out. Everything in the Star Chaser not tied down floated in mid-air.
But it looked like the whole frakking mess might just turn out okay, except for losing Suben, of course. Damn, that was going to add to the workload.
The Commander wanted Tyrol to explain to Godden what needed to be done to repair the Chaser.
"Commander Godden, ma'am," Tyrol said and stuck out his hand. He didn't have to salute. She wasn't military.
"My, are all the chiefs on Galactica handsome, Hush?" Godden asked as she took Tyrol's hand. She was looking at Commander Adama and smiling.
"Only the best ones, ma'am," the Commander assured her. He had a really big grin on his face.
Tyrol didn't know what to make of that. Although confused, he plowed on. "We're going to fly the Star Chaser into the Galactica's starboard landing pod and repair her there. I think your gravity generator will be no problem if we can scrounge enough refined copper together. You might even have enough on board yourself. It probably will take only a few pounds."
The Commander picked up the explanation. "In the meantime the Raptor up on topside will take you and Dehan to stay on the Tall Doll. I'm going to ride in with the Chaser to make sure she docks okay. You do trust Apollo to pilot your ship, don't you?"
Captain Adama was already at the Star Chaser's bridge controls starting a power up. According to Godden there'd been never been anything wrong with any of her engines.
For some reason the news that her ship would soon be repaired didn't make Godden entirely happy. She probably hated to see the Star Chaser in military hands, Tyrol thought. The Commander had said she was a long-time free trader. They hated any kind of government official. Tyrol changed his mind about that when Godden said to Commander Adama, "Oh, then this is goodbye, isn't it, Chief Husher?"
Chief Husher? Godden still thought Commander Adama was a chief petty officer.
The Commander had a guilty look. "Ma'am, Maya, there's something I really should …"
"You're not married are you, Hush?"
The Commander shook his head. "Divorced, long time ago."
"Then don't tell me, please. Let an old lady hold on to her romantic dreams for a while."
Tyrol felt like he was eavesdropping but he was afraid to move. Godden had taken one of the Commander's hands and brought it up to rub her face. He didn't resist, just gently stroked her cheek. She looked very tired and very sad.
"If this is goodbye, then could I ask for another …" Godden paused for a second. Something obviously had occurred to her. "You know, if Commander Adama will still have me, I want to go that party of his and I need a date. I was wondering if you'd like to go with me?" She looked up at the Commander.
As odd as the situation was, Tyrol had no desire to laugh. When Sharon had looked at him like that, he'd always given her what she wanted. He understood completely when the Commander after a long moment said, "Sure. I'd be happy to."
When Godden slowly walked over to the bunk to get her bag, struggling with unpracticed steps against the grip of the E.V.A. boots, the Commander looked away from her to glare at Tyrol. Tyrol quickly found somewhere else to rest his eyes.
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Every drop of ink in my pen ran cold. Horace Walpole
Another great quote, although in my case it's a keyboard. Drop me a line and tell me what you think of my story.