THE LOST YEARS
by Soledad
PRELUDE: CROSSROADS
Disclaimer: see Introduction.
Rating: 14 and above, for this chapter – just to be on the safe side.
Author's notes:
This chapter turned out a little longer than the average, so I simply divided it in two. And no, I have no idea how Dr. Wilker's virus works. Sorry.
The version on my website has an additional chapter before this one -- look it up if you are interested. Url is in my profile and at the end of the Epilogue.
CHAPTER 11: THE GREAT BATTLE Part 1
After performing the mesq rite, a new couple usually spent eight full days in complete isolation. Uhura and Tigh, unfortunately, couldn't take this time right now. Barely two days after their bonding ceremony, the probes placed at the border of the singularity signalled the arrival of an entire armada. The Cylons have reached the tear in the stuff of the world before it could have closed.
"I don't ask you not to go," said Uhura when Tigh, wearing the pressure suit of a colonial pilot, was about to leave her quarters, "but I expect you to be very careful."
"I'll do my best," the colonel promised. "I do have good reason for doing so, after all. A very… personal one."
Uhura laughed, hiding her pain with great self-discipline. She didn't want to burden him with her fears, not now when he had to focus his attention on the battle before them.
"Go with my blessing," she said, "and come back to me, safe and sound. Now, be gone! Don't make your people wait."
"You are the strongest, smartest and most wonderful woman I've ever met," Tigh murmured, hugging her tightly for one last time. "I wonder how I was able to live without you so long."
"You didn't have any other choice," Uhura replied soberly. "Now go!"
Tigh left for the shuttledeck obediently, where his small ship was ready to start. Uhura returned to the bridge. This wasn't her shift, originally, but now, with the great battle before them, Kirk needed his best, most experienced people around.
"All phaser cannons are loaded and ready, Captain," the voice of Angela Martine-Teller, the best phaser technician was sounding through the intercom when Uhura stepped out of the turbolift onto the bridge.
"Keep this channel open, all the time. Kirk out. Oh, Uhura," the captain swivelled around with his chair, "good that you're already here. I need a conference circuit with all ships, including the Galactica."
"Aye-aye, sir," Uhura took over the comm console from Liv Palmer, her fingers dancing across the keys. "Connection established, Captain."
"Good. To all ship commandants, this is James T. Kirk from the Enterprise. You all have the battle plan filed in your board computers. We'll stick to that, unless something unexpected happens. In which case you'll be informed by Fleet Commander Adama, who will be coordinating the attacks from the bridge of the Galactica. We'll keep this conference circuit open during the entire battle. Please use the new codes developed by Lieutenant Uhura. Kirk out."
On the shuttle-deck, Boomer and Masters were doing the last routine checks. Scott was standing at the nose of the Antares and scratching the nape of his neck, with a concerned look on his face.
"I hope everything will work out, colonel," he said, for the fourth time in ten minutes. "I mean, we've checked everything twice and thrice, of course, but we're just human beings. If something goes wrong…"
"Nothing must go wrong," Tigh replied quietly, with great emphasis. "Our people will need every shard of technology that we can take from the Cylons. I'm not willing to start a new life from a lost position. These basestars are the guarantee for our safety in the future."
"You know, of course, that I'm risking my job by helping you," Scott said glumly.
Tigh nodded. "I know that, Mr. Scott, and I'm extremely grateful for it. I'd have preferred to do these things on the official way, but our Quorum of Twelve isn't any better than your diplomats. I must make my move during this state of emergency, as it's highly unlikely that I'd ever hold such a position of power again, not even temporarily."
"I understand that," the chief engineer replied, "although I wonder how you've managed to win Captain Suvuk from the Intrepid for your plan."
"That wasn't me," Tigh laughed, "that was Sire Solon. He's a law expert. Apparently, he argued very logically."
"He needed to do so if he was negotiating with a Vulcan," Scott grinned. "But do you have at least the support of Commander Adama?"
"His and that of two other members of the Quorum," Tigh nodded. "And Captain Hunter said the Aerfen would be willing to help us as well."
"That's not a small thing," Scott meant before turning to Masters. "Are you ready, Charlie?"
"As ready as I'll ever bee," Masters, also wearing a pressure suit, came forth from behind the little ship. "We can start any time you want, Colonel."
"Get on your way, then," Scott, following the old pilot superstition, patted the side of the ship for good luck. "I'll be monitoring the pressure balance."
The Antares took off, leaving the shuttle bay, and aimed towards the Galactica, steered by Tigh's expert hands.
"Switch to the special code, Corporal Rigel," the colonel ordered.
"Are you sure that the Starfleet ships won't be able to tap into our communication?" Rigel asked in concern. Tigh shrugged.
"Uhura did her best; the rest is beyond our control. Give me Dr. Wilker on the Galactica."
"Yes, sir." Rigel pressed a few buttons, and the youthful face of the greying Scorpian scientist appeared on the small viewscreen.
"We are ready, Colonel," Wilker reported calmly, as if they weren't preparing for the riskiest part of their entire plan. Out of courtesy towards Masters and the other Starfleet people, they were all using Federation Standard.
"Are you sure that your calculations are reliable, doctor?" Tigh asked. "Should you have made a mistake, we'll not only destroy the rest of our people but drag the Federation ships with us."
"I'm aware of that, Colonel," the scientist replied seriously, "but I think we agreed that we shouldn't exchange a life of eternal fugitives for a life of mindless dependence. Or don't you trust me anymore?"
Tigh sighed. During his long military career, this was the first time that not only the fate of the fugitives depended on his decision, but also the fates of many other, helpful people – including that of the woman he loved.
"Of course I trust you, Dr. Wilker, you've always been right so far. Besides, you know the inner design of Cylon basestars better than anyone in the Fleet, with the possible exception of Baltar. But it's one thing to destroy one basestar. To cripple six of them in the same time, so that we can seize them, is something different."
"All you need to do is to get close enough, so that you can enter the interference signal directly into their comm system, and we've won," Wilker replied. "The brains of the Cylons will burn out completely, and all that remains will be a great deal of excellent raw material. Without their brains they are barely more than a heap of sheet metal. They've upgraded themselves with cybernetic implants for so long that they got completely overwhelmed by their own technology. What little organic components they still have, we'll be able to clean out easily. It's certainly not enough to keep them alive."
"Or so we hope," Tigh murmured. "Are Captain Apollo and the others ready?"
"As it has been arranged," Wilker nodded. "Tell me, Colonel, is it true that you intend to lead the attack against one of the basestars personally?"
"I can't demand from my people something I wouldn't be ready to do myself," Tigh replied dryly. "Don't worry, doc, I'm determined to stay alive. I've got certain… plans regarding my future."
"I'm afraid it's not a pure case of determination," Wilker said pessimistically; then he glanced aside, at another viewscreen somewhere out of the focus of the transmission and became even grimmer. "It's time, Colonel. They're here."
Inside the rift in space-time, which had shrunk to a shard of its former diameter during the recent weeks, now six, still tiny objects appeared: six grim-looking, iron-grey double discs like horrible spinning tops, cruel toys of a dark power. With grim elegance they drifted through the rift, in tight formation like at the times of the old, great war. The united Federation and Colonial Fleet was still hiding behind the asteroids, and Tigh mentally thanked the Lords of Kobol that the slow and clumsy civilian ships of the ragtag fleet had long gone to the safe, well-protected territory of the Federation.
"We need to bring the Galactica into position, Colonel," the tense voice of Captain Apollo said through telecom; "and soon, if we want to cut off the Cylons' escape route."
"I know," Tigh answered, just as tensely, "but not yet. We have to wait a little longer."
"What for?" Apollo asked impatiently. "They've passed the rift, all six of them."
"I can see that, too, Captain. I still think that we need to wait a little more."
"Tigh, if we miss the crucial moment, our entire battle plan will collapse," Adama intervened, clearly worried.
"I'm aware of that, Commander. Give me another few microns. Please."
"What are you counting on, Colonel?" Boomer inquired. He had served under Tigh's command long enough to know that his senior officer never did anything without a very good reason.
Tigh pointed at the viewscreen, where a seventh basestar appeared in the middle of the rift. And then an eighth one.
"On that, Captain. I was counting on that. Galactica, have you located the newcomers?"
"Yes, Colonel," Omega replied. "You were right… like it had been the case often before. Had we brought the Galactica in position prematurely, we'd have walked straight into a deadly trap. But how could you know…?"
"I didn't know it, Omega. I just had an uneasy feeling about the whole situation. Call it an instinct, if you want. The formation of the six basestars was too perfect, too much according to the rules. Cylons usually don't make such an open show out of their strength."
"They must have taken into consideration that we might get some help," Adama added, "and wanted to forestall a possible pre-emptive strike from our side. Of course, they could not recon with the superior technology of the Federation; and that is fortunate for us."
"Just as we could not recon with the appearance of two additional basestars," Tigh gritted his teeth in frustration. "This won't make our work any easier!"
"Do you suggest that we should call off Plan Delta?" Adama asked, his disappointment clearly visible.
"No," Tigh said determinedly. "We are going to win these basestars for us. We can't afford to lose eight potential space stations. If needs be, we could even live aboard these monstrosities… for a while anyway."
"But are we going to receive the proper support from the side of the Federation?" the old commander asked in concern. He could feel that his old friend and aide was just about to succumb to the terrible, cold wrath so characteristic for Librans, and he was afraid that Tigh would lose his clear overview of the situation.
"The Vulcans are with us," Tigh told him, "and so is chief engineer Scott from the Enterprise and the squadron of Captain Hunter. Besides, you've been given supreme command over this battle, Commander. You have every right to change the battle plan any time you want."
"Very well," Adama sighed. "Let us spring the trap, then, before it's too late."
"Agreed," Tigh glanced at Rigel over his shoulder. "Conference circuit, Corporal."
"Ready, sir."
Tigh cleared his throat, and – since he was about to speak to the united Colonial-Federation strike forces – he acquired a more official tone. "To all: this is the Antares. The eagle is landing now, I repeat: the eagle is landing."
"All ships are acknowledging, sir," Rigel reported.
"Good," Tigh nodded. "Then let's go. Take care of the weapons controls, Captain; we have to do precision work here. First, we have to take the basestar at the rear end to task. As soon as we've shot its laser turrets to shards, I'll go to full thrusters, until we got far enough from the rift to warp. Then we'll fall back into normal space, right before the seventh basestar and slam our photon torpedoes directly into its drive. It's of utmost importance that we distract these two basestars and so keep the backs of our people free. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," Boomer answered calmly.
Aboard the Galactica, Commander Adama was leaning heavily against the console of his watching post and glared at the large viewscreen intensely.
"Tactical view," he told Athena, without looking back. His daughter nodded nevertheless, while switching the screen from visual to the tactical computer graphics.
"Tactical, sir," she reported crisply.
Adama watched with narrowing eyes as the schematic displays of the Cylon basestars – they looked like a handful of cogwheels on the tactical view – slowly reshaped their formation, building an elongated wedge now. The last two fell considerably behind. It was time now for the experienced Viper squadrons to take action.
"Pilots, prepare for start," he ordered.
"Pilots, prepare for start," Omega echoed, his long fingers practically flying across his keyboard, while the entire command platform turned with him, so that he, too, could face the tactical screen. "Catapult start in 60 centons."
His voice, coming through the intercom, echoed along the corridors of the Galactica. At the same time, the alarm sirens got off as well. The pilots, waiting in battle-readiness already, put their helms under their arms and ran off, jumping onto the slowly moving, broad transport platforms that carried them to the launching bays.
Their Vipers were waiting for them, freshly tanked. The pilots slid into the narrow cockpits with practiced ease; the mechanics closed the lid over the cockpit and patted the side of the Vipers for good luck.
"Commander," Omega looked up from his console, "all squadrons are ready for launch."
The pilots started the engines. The familiar humming tone signalled to them that the machines, with which they practically became one out there in space, where they couldn't count on anyone else, became alive.
"Start all Vipers!" Adama ordered. Omega connected his microphone with the intercom system.
"Red and Blue squadrons," he said in the same calm, disciplined tone as in hundreds of other occasions during the recent years," you are free to start. Silver Spar squadron, stand by."
Captain Apollo pushed the start button atop his joystick. The sudden pressure of the catapult start pressed him helplessly into his seat for a moment, and the lights along the launch tunnel flew bay with increasing speed, until finally the Viper, as if ejected from a rifle, flew out into space. Apollo engaged the engines and took his appointed place in the formation. Behind him, the other Vipers started in a long row, like a cloud of shiny, quick and deadly arrows, to protect the remains of their people.
"Commander, all our squadrons have started," Omega reported. Adama nodded.
"Direct them to sector Delta-Five; and be careful with the locating of the target. The smallest mistake could be lethal."
"Sector Delta-Five," Omega, ever the perfect bridge officer, repeated; after a short while, he added. "Order executed, sir."
Meanwhile, the Galactica had maneuvreed itself into the right position above the rift and aimed its laser cannons at the two basestars at the rear.
"Common code, Athena," Adama ordered, and when his daughter nodded, he spoke into the telecom in Standard. "To everyone: this is the Galactica. The circle has been closed, I repeat: the circle has been closed."
"Galactica, this is Hunter," a calm female voice answered. "Operation Locusts has started. Affirmative: the locusts are on their way."
Over there, in sector Delta-Five, Captain Apollo switched to the closed circuit that connected the Vipers with each other.
"Viper squadrons, this is Captain Apollo. You know what you have to do: lure the Cylon raiders away from the basestars. As soon as they got into the fire carpet of the Starfleet ships, turn hard around to avoid getting caught by friendly fire. Understood? Then let's go."
The Vipers switched to turbo drive and flew by the Cylon basestars like silver arrows, with the overwhelming numbers of stingray-shaped Cylon raiders in hot pursuit.
"Commander, the long-range radar shows that our squadrons have engaged the enemy," Omega reported.
"Put it on my monitor," Adama ordered, and the bridge officer nodded.
"Already done, sir."
The bridge crew, sitting or standing at the battle stations, watched the viewscreens and the readings of their instruments in growing concern. Following Adama's orders, the main viewscreen displayed the live feed from the cockpit of Blue Leader. Everyone tensed up as the far-away dots grew to grey specks, which then approached enough to make out the flat-looking, although two-levelled Cylon raiders.
The first Cylon shot was aimed at Blue Leader, and everyone on the bridge flinched, because for a moment it seemed that the shot hit. In the next moment, however, the blackness of space was filled with laser fire and the deadly blooms of soundless explosions, whenever one of the fighting parties landed a direct hit. Two Cylon raiders broke through the protective line of Blue Squadron and steered directly at the Galactica.
"Reshape protective line," Adama ordered.
"Galactica to Blue Leader," Omega said. "Attack!"
One of the Blue Vipers left the formation and swept away the two attackers with a spectacular roundshot, turning them into blue fireballs, the flames of which leapt at each other, entwined with each other and became united in a single, blinding white explosion, illuminating for a moment a broad triangle of ships: the current formation of Blue Squadron.
"The sheer numbers of the Cylons are overwhelming," Athena commented, her face deathly pale at the sight of the criss-crossing red Colonial and blue Cylon laser beams on the viewscreen.
"It won't take long now," her father said encouraging. "As soon as they reach the attack wedge of… there! There they are!"
"The Federation ships!" Athena cried out, overjoyed, seeing the white ships leaping forth with amazing elegance.
"Battle stations!" Adama shouted.
"Yes, sir," Athena, now doing Tigh's actual duty, replied crisply, and she bent over the intercom. "Battle stations! Secure all sectors!"
The alarm sirens went off again, and the normal lights on the bridge went out, giving room for the opaque red illumination used in battle situations. The viewports darkened as the heavy, protective armour plates were closed before them; now they were completely dependant on their radar.
In the meantime, the Starfleet ships had opened fire at the Cylon raiders. They swept the battle area with broadly faceted phaser beams, and the Colonial squadrons turboed away, not wanting to get into the spray.
Hunter's squadron ploughed through the upcoming waves of Cylon raiders with a velocity that barely remained under light speed and approached the basestar leading the attack wedge.
"Shields at full power," Hunter ordered aboard the Aerfen. "Aim at their operations centre, Ilya Nikolaievich, and don't wait for my command. Fire as soon as you get a secure lock at it."
"Aye-aye, Ma'am," her golden-maned Russian weapons officer stared at the tactical console. "Target locked on. Phaser beams bundled… and fire!"
The beam of the Aerfen's phaser cannons, tightened to the smallest possible diameter, cut through the thick metal plates on the basestar's narrow middle section like a razor-sharp spear. Ilya guided the beam with surgical precision, following Dr. Wilker's instructions, to disable everything in the basestar's operative centre.
"Direct hit, Captain," he reported after twenty-two seconds. "The basestar is unable to maneuvre anymore."
"The other basestars are taking up attack formation," the astrotelemeter warned. "Captain, we won't be able to withstand a coordinated attack."
"We don't need to," Hunter replied calmly. "Helm, retreat. We need to cover the locusts' backs."
"Commander," Omega said aboard the Galactica, "it seems that the last two basestars haven't detected us yet. Should we sneak up to them?"
"Yes," Adama replied. "As soon as Colonel Tigh has destroyed the laser turrets of the last basestar, Sheba will land on it with the captured Cylon raider, and Athena will inject the virus program into their communications chain. The closer we are, the better the odds."
"There, sir," Omega pointed at the viewscreen. "The Antares."
And indeed, at that very moment, as if out of nowhere, Colonel Tigh's graceful little ship appeared in the middle of the battlefield and zoomed onto the outer laser turrets of the basestar in a steep angle.
"Phaser cannons ready, Colonel," Boomer reported. "At your mark."
"Just a micron more," Tigh grabbed the joystick of the Antares with both hands; little as his new ship might be, it was a lot more difficult to handle than the one-man fighters he used to fly as a young pilot. "Now, Boomer!"
Boomer fired the phaser cannons, and the laser turret of the basestar exploded into tiny metallic shards. Tigh was already turning aside the ship in a sharp angle, directly toward the next turret. That, however, was ready for them, and the Antares shook with the impact of the laser beams hitting it.
"Shields at eighty per cent," Lieutenant Masters reported from her engineering console.
"Fire," Tigh replied, and Boomer fired again.
"Phaser Two is empty, sir," he reported. "We have to wait until the banks upload themselves again."
"We don't have the time for that," Tigh answered. "Slam six photon torpedoes into the operations centre of the basestar. After that, we'll retreat far enough to go to warp."
"But the Galactica…"
"A crippled basestar won't be a problem for Commander Adama. You have your orders, Captain."
To Masters' surprise, Boomer stopped arguing and shot six photon torpedoes in a row into the middle of the basestar. That didn't lame the flying monster entirely, but crippled it considerably. The Antares shook violently after each shot but kept going nevertheless.
"Dilithium crystals undamaged," Masters reported, making a mental note to buy Scotty a big bottle of best Aldebaran whiskey. "We can go to warp, sir… in a few miles from here."
"I have a fix on our drop point," Tigh answered. "Full impulse. Prepare to go to warp."
"Warp engine ready, sir."
"Going to warp… now!" Tigh engaged the jury-rigged warp engine that Scott had built for the Antares from the scratch to execute the carefully calculated maneuvre.
"If Mr. Spock has made a mistake, we'll return to normal space as indefinable biomatter," Boomer murmured, giving Masters a – hopefully not last – glance.
"That's highly unlikely," she smiled at him. "Spock is virtually infallible. As far as mathematics are concerned, that is."
Tigh didn't let himself be distracted by their chatter.
"Twenty microns until the return to normal space," he said in a dampened voice. "Fifteen microns… ten… five… and dropping out!"
He took the warp engine offline, and the Antares fell back to underlight speed – and into the Einstein-universe – shaking heavily.
"Report!" Tigh demanded.
"We are exactly where we are supposed to be," Boomer reported in obvious relief. "With some luck, we can land on the basestar and leave unnoticed again."
"Have you copied the virus program?"
"Yes, Colonel."
"Good. Give me the data chips."
"I was supposed to get out," Boomer protested. Tigh shook his head.
"No, Captain. This is my fight. I will secure this basestar for the people of Libra… this is the only way to help my people. I have the authorization to do so. You haven't."
"Very well, Colonel, it's your duty, and I understand that you don't want to transfer it to anyone," Boomer answered. "Any further orders?"
"Land the Antares on the Galactica. Then take your Viper and go help the locusts. Our pilots know what to do. As soon as the virus has spread through all Cylon comm channels, we're going to seize the basestars."
"Can you do that?" Masters asked in surprise. Tigh nodded.
"Captain Apollo, Sheba, Dietra and Jolly have the authorization from the Quorum. They get the direct order from Commander Adama, as soon as you land on the Galactica. The rest depends on Athena… and on me."
"We've reached optimal distance, Colonel," Masters reported. "Phaser cannons are at full energy level again."
"Good," Tigh said. "We'll do the same as before. I'll try to maneuvre faster, and when both phaser cannons are empty, I'll land on the basestar. Boomer, you take over the Antares. You'll have approximately ten microns to get away. Don't tarry!"
"Yes, sir," Boomer replied crisply; then he bent over the targeting scanners with narrowed eyes. "Ten degrees to starboard, if I may ask."
"As you wish," Tigh changed course accordingly. "Fire!"
Boomer destroyed the laser turret with an expert hand, but in the next moment, he had to grab his seat, because Tigh made such a sharp curve that he nearly landed on the floor. But the maneuvre was successful: the high-energy laser beams of the other turret missed the little ship.
"Fire," Tigh ordered.
Boomer shot the other phaser cannon empty. The glowing metal shards of the laser turret were still flying all around them when the colonel made another sharp curve with the small destroyer, aiming at the landing bay of the basestar.
TBC