Time. The longer Starbuck lay there on the cold tarmac waiting for the Colonials and the mysterious Obediator to arrive, the more he could feel the sensation and strength returning to his body. Only, he wasn't about to let them know that.
A sudden burning sensation on his chest caused him to flinch, his hand subtly moving to the area. He gently palpated the scar from the burn he had received on Alrin, while battling with the demonic Alrinachs. Firing his laser at point-blank range had overheated the Empyrean Talisman he had been wearing, resulting in an almost perfect image of the Empyrean Eye being seared into his flesh.
Cassiopeia had mentioned on more than one occasion that he could have laser debridement treatments, eradicating it forever. However, it was just one more battle scar he wore indifferently. It had seemed to bother Cassie more than it ever did him. Hades, maybe from a woman's view, looking at it while making . . .
He rubbed it briefly as thoughts of Luana flashed through his mind. Ama had once told him it would warn him of danger, protect him from evil . . . but he didn't really believe in all that felgercarb. Besides, he was up to his hairline in danger as it was. He hardly needed a warning from some semi-mythical spiritual entity to tell him that.
The pirates seemed to be ignoring him for now, being far more interested in his ship. Obviously they felt that he was no real danger to them lying there like a beached sea mammal. He could see Torg examining his Colonial Blaster. Oddly enough, it seemed to be the only one in sight which seemed strange. Assuming they had captured at least two Vipers, it would reason they would have a couple blasters already in their possession.
Then again, perhaps they hadn't figured out how to recharge them. He smiled as he imagined the pirates shooting off the lasers indiscriminately until they were exhausted. Permanently.
His eyes again fell on the large white ship he had noticed on the way in. Actually, the more he thought about it, the more the ship looked familiar. Disturbingly so. His first thought was that he had seen it illustrated in a children's book, but that would have been at least twenty-five yahrens ago. In the orphanage school, or one of his many foster billets. No, it was more recent than that, he was sure of it.
Two bedraggled men suddenly appeared from the entrance at the far end of the hangar, escorted by the younger pirate who had threatened to kill him . . . and then consume him. Something about the one on the right appeared familiar. Apparently, today was the day for extreme déjà vu.
Starbuck recognized the tattered remains of the standard issue uniform on both prisoners. Neither had a flight jacket or their boots, and their feet were bare and filthy. Both sported beards and unkempt hair that reflected a couple sectars growth . . . at least.
The man on the right stumbled in surprise when he saw Starbuck lying on the tarmac. He tried to cover his action by looking at the ground, intimating he had tripped over his feet. The other prisoner, who appeared gaunt in comparison, and was hunched over with a hand protectively covering his stomach, looked at his cohort vaguely before he even noticed the warrior ahead of him.
"Ah, our guests have arrived." Torg muttered with a curious affectation to his voice as his men broke into laughter. A circle started to form around Starbuck, enfolding the Pegasus pilots as they came to a halt. "What took you so long, Bex?" he asked the younger man.
Bex shrugged. "Had to bloody find them, I did."
Torg stepped up to the warrior on the right, nudging him with the Colonial laser. "He claims to be of your ship. So, he must know your name. And you must know his."
The prisoner nodded guardedly. "Starbuck. Rooke and I know him. He was in our squadron on the Pegasus." He nodded towards his partner. The man gazed blankly at the Galactica pilot. Actually, the man gazed blankly . . . period. His skin was deathly white, and his ragged uniform hung loosely on his frame, as though it was a couple sizes too big. Dark shadows under sunken eyes that closed wearily, bespoke of an illness, or utter and complete exhaustion.
Once again, Starbuck was pulled to his feet, a man either side of him holding him loosely. He weaved, determined to make them think he needed their support. They tightened their grip until he seemingly regained his balance.
Torg glanced at Starbuck. "And his name?"
"Dorado."
It had been yahrens since Starbuck had seen him. Hades, he didn't even realize Dorado had been alive when they had been briefly reunited with the Battlestar Pegasus almost a half a yahren ago. Squadron mates, classmen, and fellow rabble rousers, they had shared some of the best yahrens of their lives at the Caprican Academy.
A million questions burned in Starbuck's brain as he gazed at his friend. Always known for having a healthy appetite, Dorado had lost some substantial weight, bringing him down to something resembling the shape he had been in following their grueling basic training. Starbuck ground his teeth and bit his tongue, as he looked over the man he thought lost at Molecay. "You look like mong."
"Well, that's what we've been eating." Dorado replied with a grimace. "Two and a half sectars of it, as you well know. Did you miss us?"
Starbuck nodded briefly. "The service was short. You would have liked it. Apollo left early and went home. Told all our friends what happened. You know what he's like. I arranged the after party, of course."
"Open bar?" Dorado asked, eyes narrowing.
"No, just two or three kegs. Of course, when the word got out . . . "
"Enough!" Torg growled at them. "I was hoping the presence of your peers would encourage you to stop the beacon. You have one more chance."
"Just do it, Bucko. I don't think Rooke could take another attack." Dorado told him without hesitation.
If only he hadn't said 'Bucko'. But Starbuck knew his old friend wouldn't have used his nickname if he wasn't deadly serious about his message. He really wanted the beacon deactivated.
Surely Dorado had understood Starbuck's coded message. There should be a two or three man patrol on the way, at the very least. Adama wouldn't take a lot of risks for one pilot, but then Starbuck wouldn't have activated the emergency beacon just to save his sorry astrum, especially after pursuing a certain course of action, which he knew the Commander would not condone. Adama knew that, as well as he knew Starbuck.
So why did Dorado want the signal turned off? Granted, it could very well be the obvious condition of his wingman. Hades, if Apollo looked like the walking dead, Starbuck would be doing his all to look out for his wing leader too. But maybe . . . just possibly, Dorado didn't want the others to find them. But why?
"Sure, buddy." Starbuck nodded. "I . . . uh, need some help to get in the cockpit."
Dorado nodded, immediately moving forward. "I'll help him."
"Why don't you simply turn off the signal yourself?" Torg suggested, as Dorado reached Starbuck's side.
"I can't. Only Starbuck can deactivate the beacon. It has a pilot recognition program, which prevents anyone else from disabling it. Hopefully, he'll be able to override the Pegasus' Master Sequencer Defense System." Dorado rambled, as he took the place of one of the pirates. "Do you think you can do it?"
"I'll have a whirl." Starbuck returned, holding back the smirk that was threatening to ambush his face. Memories of their late night ale drinking, where they redesigned the Starfighters of the future in the technical detail that far outdid the average aerospace engineer's imagination, came back to him. "I might need an assist."
Dorado nodded very seriously. "I've got him," he told the pirate, realizing he was effectively taking very little of his friend's weight. "Oomph. What have you been eating? Lead flapjacks?"
"With thallium syrup." He shifted his weight to appear to be leaning more heavily on Dorado.
"Sounds divine." Dorado murmured as they moved to the Viper. Lords, it would be mighty tempting to fire up that baby, turn the laser generators on the bastards, and blast out of there! He could see Starbuck's helmet beneath the fighter, apparently fallen off when he was removed from the ship. But that wouldn't help the others . . . "Move your astrum, Bucko."
"Yeah, yeah." He was doing his best. At least the shooting pains had eased, and he could walk, albeit slowly, as well as function. "Lords, you smell like a felix in heat that has just eaten its young, after rolling in . . . "
"I know!" Dorado interrupted his colourful description. "Get up there." He pushed the affected pilot up towards the cockpit, climbing up behind him.
Starbuck eased himself back into the familiar seat, waiting for Dorado to appear beside him. He reached inside his boot, grabbing the knife that he had kept there since his experiences began with the well-equipped Empyrean women he knew and loved . . . uh . . . He gave his head a shake. Where the frack had that come from? He quickly palmed the knife across to Dorado a milli-centon before Bex appeared on the other side.
"No funny stuff."
Starbuck glanced at him briefly. "Here goes nothing." He pulled the panel off, revealing the intricate system within. "If I crosswire the hypermodular vector board, and bypass the networked defense system, I should be able to shut down the emergency beacon. What do you think?" Guided by instinct, knowledge and a well designed sense of self-preservation, he reached blindly into the guts of his ship, carefully removing a crucial circuit board and reinserting it backwards, effectively disabling her.
"Just be careful. Sometimes there's bimetallic corrosion on the volton regulators." Dorado leaned in low to watch, hiding the knife within the extra folds of his uniform and secreting it away.
"Right." Starbuck replied after a moment. "Good to know." He popped the panel back into place and hit a toggle switch on the console, switching off the emergency beacon. The Galactica would have had ample time to get a fix on his position . . . assuming they could read it all the way across the asteroid belt. There was really no way to tell.
"The flashing red light is off." Bex informed the others.
"Radio control, and see if the signal has stopped." Torg ordered one of his men. He looked up to the Colonials. "Get down from there."
Starbuck nodded at Dorado, satisfied. They made their way down from the fighter, Dorado again supporting him.
"Nice boots." Torg grinned, his blackened teeth turning what could have been a look of joy into something distorted and just plain ugly. Much like Torg himself.
"Thanks." Starbuck nodded, knowing he was about to lose ownership.
"Do you want to take them off? Or should we?" Torg asked malevolently.
"I think I can manage."
"The prisoners can return to the tunnels." The grimy, grey leader told the others.
"Just tell them what they want to know, Starbuck." Dorado coached him as he was pulled away towards the tunnels. "Believe me, it isn't worth . . . "
"Quiet you!"
Dorado hunched over grabbing his stomach as he was pushed forward by another marauder. The warrior spared a quick glance at his wingman, a relieved expression mixing with a mask of pain, as Rooke shuffled woodenly alongside, eyelids half closed against reality.
"As for you . . . " Torg grabbed Starbuck by the front of his tunic. "It's time for you to become acquainted with our Obediator. Then we'll chat over a nice cuppa tea."
----------
"Bojay, I just lost Starbuck's signal." Boomer told him, as he checked his readouts confirming the sudden cease in transmission.
"Well, at least we still have his latest coordinates." Bojay returned.
"What do you think it means?" Sheba asked after a moment.
"Don't read too much into it, Sheba. They probably realized he was transmitting and just turned off the beacon." Boomer replied.
"Right." She replied. Still, a feeling of unease came over her as she looked at her scanner, the flashing signal symbolizing Starbuck's existence conspicuously absent. Blowing up a Viper was one way of effectively ending that transmission. And if Starbuck happened to be in it at the time . . .
No. If it had blown up, there would have been a radio frequency burst to announce the fact. This was just . . .nothing. Then again, with the possible interference from the asteroid belt, it was quite probable that they wouldn't read a thing. Sheba shook her head, as she assimilated all the information. Frack! There were too many unknowns!
"I haven't picked up a single radion wavelon, even with the tweaks that the flight crew made to my scanners." Bojay remarked.
"Probably a good thing, considering what happened to Apollo." Boomer replied.
"Don't you think we'd get enough advanced warning with the adjustments to our ships?" Sheba asked.
"I can't help thinking that Starbuck would have made the same tweaks . . . "
"Thinking the same thing." Sheba finished.
"Exactly." Boomer agreed.
"All the same, the flight crew can make more refined adjustments than any of us can in the cockpit." Bojay offered. "It should help detect the spheroids before they emit the energy wave, by picking up that definitive metal composition Starbuck identified and then transmitted to the bridge."
"Millicentons, my friend. It might all come down to millicentons." Boomer told him.
"That may be all I need." Bojay boasted, his tone light.
"Sounds like a gun fight." Sheba chuckled. "Quickest reaction time wins the draw." Her eyes drifted to her scanner, and then back to the asteroid belt. Apollo had told them to keep an eye open for keg-sized spheroids emitting a subtle glow. The analogy hadn't been lost on any of them, especially considering they were ultimately trying to find Starbuck.
"Starbuck would be putting cubits on this if he was here." Boomer chuckled. "Turning it into a competition."
"I think we can safely say, he's out of the running for now." Bojay returned, his voice serious.
"I remember when you would have taken that bet, Bojay." Boomer reminded him. The Captain had returned from his experiences with the Fifth Fleet and under the tutelage of Commander Cain, a more serious man than when he had been a young Lieutenant newly assigned to the Galactica.
Bojay paused for a moment. "So do I Boomer. Starbuck's influence, of course."
"Hardly." Boomer returned. "Hades, you were as bad as him, if not worse! It was probably a command decision to break the two of you up before any serious damage was done."
"Bojay?" Sheba asked in astonishment. "How did I manage to miss these stories?"
"He's exaggerating." The Captain defended himself.
"Not by much." Boomer replied. "I remember the time . . . "
"We should be coming up on Starbuck's last position in a few centons. Stay alert," Bojay reminded them, cutting off Boomer's trip down memory lane. Young and stupid, he had made Starbuck look like a choir boy at times when he was far enough into his cups. He grinned. It had been some of the best times of his life.
"We're not finished here, Bojay. I'm expecting a full report later in the OC, Boomer," Sheba told him. "I'll take the starboard approach."
"Affirmative, Sheba. Wouldn't miss it. I'll take port." Boomer replied.
"Maintaining this heading." Bojay added as they peeled off. The coordinates wouldn't be precise, considering the asteroids were orbiting around the uninhabitable planet they had scanned, but he had been monitoring the variable change as they had advanced on the position. Finding Starbuck's Viper would be like looking for a honest man at a bureautician's convention. He blew out a deep breath, hoping his old friend's somewhat infamous luck was transferable in times of trouble.