Lia's feeling of unease increased as she walked through the Malocchio's corridors to Ama's quarters. A few people she had seen had spotted Luana earlier, in the company of Oriana. Coincidentally, the woman Starbuck and Lu had rescued on the Galactica's triad court was also Empyrean, and now worked on the Battlestar as a sanitation tech. At least it was news to her. Where the women had gone, or even what they were doing together, Lia didn't know. Unfortunately, so far neither did anyone else.
Lia activated the entry chime, and waited until the door swung inward. She stepped into the dimly lit rooms.
"By the Goddess Triquetra, you've taken your time getting here." Ama blurted. "What took you so long?"
"Ama, what are you talking about?" Lia asked, uncomfortable with the necromancer's agitation.
"Luana is missing. So is Starbuck. They need help."
"How do you . . . ?" She paused as Ama glared at her. "Sorry. I know about Starbuck. Bojay's patrol is trying to locate him. I . . . had a feeling about Lu. I've been trying to find her. She came over here this morning with Oriana. I can't figure out where they went to though."
"Bojay's patrol is back. Starbuck is not." Ama told her with certainty.
"They didn't find him." Lia muttered in disbelief. She hadn't heard that they had returned yet, but then again, she was only an ensign and wouldn't necessarily be privy to the news. Still, Apollo knew that Starbuck was like family to her and Lu. Especially Lu. "But, surely Apollo will . . . "
"Not if he believes his friend is dead."
"What are you saying?"
"I don't know the details." Ama shook her head angrily. "You'd best ask your captain why he's leaving his friend out there to rot."
"Apollo wouldn't do that."
"Then he can explain himself. Take me to him. Then we can also begin a search for Luana."
"But she's supposed to be on the Malocchio. Why would we go back to the Galactica to begin a search when we're already here?"
"Because Colonial Security refuses to believe she's missing. They say she has to be unaccounted for for twenty-four centars before she's officially missing. Seems to me that they're just lazy daggits. Kella and some of the other Empyrean Guard are out looking for her, but as yet . . . " She trailed off.
"Ama, tell me what you're sensing." She put a hand on her godmother's arm to still her. "I trust in your instincts. Your abilities. You know that."
Ama studied her eldest goddaughter. As always, there was nothing but sincerity within her brown eyes. The girl had always had faith. Unlike her younger sister, she had never seemed to doubt the true path. But then, Lia had some abilities that she had chosen not to explore or nurture as she should have. . . "Luana is in mortal danger. Starbuck . . . he's alive, but too far away for me to read with any accuracy. I can't sense Oriana at all, but I believe when I try to reach her spirit, it will speak to me from another dimension." She turned away in distress and frustration. "I've sent Oriana to an early demise, and possibly Luana too. Hades, how did Luana even get involved in this? I tried to keep her otherwise occupied."
Lia gently turned Ama towards her. "Lu follows her own path. You know that. If you tried to keep her out of something, she would fight all the harder to plunge headlong into it. Now tell me everything that you know, so I can help."
"Lia . . . "
"Ama, you can't control and manipulate people all the time. It doesn't always go to plan. Only the Gods have the true wisdom and infinite knowledge to guide us." Her eyes met her godmother's seeing the obvious pain reflected on the withered features. Suddenly, the necromancer looked aged beyond her yahrens.
Perhaps it was a message from the Goddess Triquetra herself. Ama had gone too far, trying to outmaneuver or guide the fates. She had taken her role as Necromancer too far, trying to step beyond her limitations, betraying the trust of her people and the Divine. An abject lesson in humility was her punishment. "I have confused my own ego with Divine Right. And I can do nothing about it except ask for help."
"Then let's go speak with the Captain." Lia told her. "If anyone can help us, he can."
----------
Starbuck's pain had receded to a dull ache. His award for a job well done, according to Bex.
"It's very simple. Do as we say: no pain. Disobey: pain." Bex explained as he shoved the warrior ahead of him. "The others will explain your duties on the work gang. Meet your daily quota: no pain. Fail: pain." He chuckled as the man stumbled, quickly regaining his balance. "I should also mention if you fail to meet your quota, the rest of your gang will also be punished. It helps inspire motivation, you might say. A real team spirit." The odious man laughed, clearly enjoying the prospect.
The temperature change had been drastic, plummeting as Starbuck entered the tunnels from the rooms referred to as 'the hot house". His memory regarding how he had arrived at the hot house was vague, and he had been disoriented as to where it was in relationship to the hangar. Alternatively, he was etching the path from the hot house to the work tunnels into his mind, like a patrol route, in particular noting what was obviously a control room situated not far from his humid starting point.
Bex finally stopped at the room, muttering something about deactivating the master cyclatron in ten minutes--a time unit he hadn't heard used since Terra--to the sole occupant who had been gazing with disinterest over data banks and computers. His responsibilities seemed to be the monitoring of the flashing lights with the occasional adjustment of knobs or dials. Frankly, it had boggled the warrior's mind as he stared with interest past Bex, trying to make sense of the numerous systems. Everything had looked so . . . antiquated.
Torg had rushed off to try and find Apollo, based on Starbuck's divulgences under duress. The pirate didn't have a hope in Hades Hole, of course, going in the wrong direction, as well as being far too late. Starbuck imagined he might pay for his little deception later, if there wasn't a rescue party on the way, but he could always plead ignorance.
Ignorance had been a fine defense when Torg had grilled him on Cain's motivations and plans. Torg had come away thinking that Starbuck was just another lowly warrior who knew little of his Commander's schemes . . . which wasn't that far off the truth in most military situations, and therefore, easily believable. Certainly when it came to Cain.
The art of deception; the most believable lies always utilized an element of truth.
The Dynamos were likely monitored and regulated through one of the systems he had seen in the control room. He wasn't sure what a cyclatron was, beyond the literal implications of the word itself, something that "cycles". But it was doubtlessly another regulated system. Environmental control had to be included on that control board as well. Enormous and noisy air exchange systems were positioned throughout what he had seen of their base. Again, they appeared dated, but functional.
Strangely, there was a decided lack of guards between the control room and the tunnels. So far, they hadn't come across a soul. Starbuck couldn't help but think it would be easy to make his way back to try to disable the Dynamos. Too easy. There was a piece missing from this particular puzzle.
"Hold up." Bex ordered him, checking his chronometer. "Just a sec."
"A what?" Starbuck asked.
"Sec." Bex replied with a grin, shaking his head. "You Colonials and your units of time. Friggin' weird, if you ask me."
Starbuck shrugged, looking around and spotting large conductor units far above the ground. "What are those for?"
"You really want to know?" Bex smiled evilly.
"Uh . . . " Now he wasn't so sure. He took a step back, as the pirate pulled a knife from his belt. "Actually, I'm fine not knowing. Too much information in one day just isn't good for a guy whose been blasted by Dynamos and Obediators."
Bex advanced on him with a laugh. "You know, if you weren't one of the bad guys, I might actually grow to like you."
"I'm one of the bad guys?" Starbuck asked incredulously. "You're the pirate, pal."
"I prefer the term . . . buccaneer." Bex smiled. "It's so much more . . . colourful. Don't you think?" His eyes flickered to either side of the warrior as he suddenly lunged forward, slashing from right to left.
Starbuck leapt back out of reach, only to be knocked off his feet with the abrupt eruption of pain to his abdomen. He crumpled to the ground, the breath knocked from him, and doubled over holding his stomach, as the bile rose in his throat.
"Three, two, one." Bex counted down, again looking at his chrono.
It stopped.
Starbuck gasped for air, as Bex kneeled down before him. The pirate tucked the blade beneath his chin, coaxing it up, forcing the warrior to look in his cold, grey eyes.
"The Zone is about three hundred feet long. Try and pass through it, and . . ." He laughed. "Well, I think you get the idea."
Starbuck swallowed the acrid fluid that was burning his throat. No guards . . . because there was no frackin' need for them. That left only one alternative. He hoped he could find Dorado.
----------
It was just a job. As disagreeable as it was, the identification of the wrecked Viper was necessary to officially close the personnel file on the infamous Lieutenant Starbuck.
Well, apparently there would be no triad game that evening.
Oron drew a deep breath and once again tried to reach the twisted, charred piece of metal that would confirm the serial number of the dead warrior's fighter. Stamped beneath the left wing prior to assembly, it was practically indistinguishable to the naked eye. Why they didn't just paint it on the fuselage or the vertical tail as they had in the old days, he'd never understand. Some desire for anonymity? Uniformity? Saving money on paint? Who knew? In retrospect, the charred hunk of metal would have told few tales at a glance. The more senior members of the crew were already cutting up the ship and removing the pertinent parts for Dr. Wilker and his science team to analyze. As the junior member of the ground crew, he was the poor schlub who was assigned the grunt work.
He had already severed the applicable part from the rest of the frame, thanking his lucky stars that at least he wasn't a part of the team that had had to remove the ghastly remains of the pilot from the twisted cockpit. Now, he only had to retrieve the piece from where it had accidentally fallen, and pull it through the wreckage, which strangely enough seemed to be akin to sucking a Battlestar through a straw.
"You done yet, Oron?"
"Almost." He reassured his superior, avoiding Jenny's piercing glance. She had known the lieutenant. Known him a long time. She was not taking it at all well, especially since she had personally overseen the loading of his bird in the launch bay, and its preparation before takeoff. Oron knew that if she considered it necessary, she would personally dissect the fighter, searching for a mechanical answer to its destruction. Perhaps in that way, she might finally ease the guilt that it had been something that she had overlooked.
He retrieved the part, and finally pulled it free. His fingertips could palpate the markings as he wiped the grime from the metal. Before he could even look past the first two digits, she had grabbed it from his grip.
"Blessed Lords of Kobol . . . " Jenny muttered as she stared at the number. It didn't match. It wasn't Starbuck's Viper. But then whose? Her mind clicked over the endless lists of serial numbers on the Galactica. She was positive this fighter wasn't one of theirs. How could it be? There weren't any other missing ships. Or were there? Was command holding back something? That wasn't like Adama.
She needed a database to even begin to identify the corresponding digits, if the records even still had that superfluous information in the databanks. The base number, which corresponded to the fiscal yahren in which the aircraft's manufacture was authorized, showed the fighter to be only four yahrens old. Relatively new in the scheme of things. The ensuing sequence number showed it to be one of the first off the assembly line, number seventeen in fact, and where it was built, but still, she had no idea what this Viper was doing out there. Unless . . . Whooooa, girl!
They had rebuilt a few ships, since fleeing the Colonies, with spares from ship's stores, wrecks, pieces manufactured on the foundry ship, even parts from some Pegasus fighters. She had better be sure, before she dragged the Commander back to the bridge. She reached back into the charred ship, fishing around the underside of the burnt seat. After a few moments, she pulled a small plate free from the chassis. Like the serial number under the wing, this one denoted the yahren of manufacture, the factory, and the unit number. She looked at them. They matched.
Yes!
"I'll be on the bridge if I'm needed." Jenny snapped, turning sharply and breaking into a run. Unlike the previous centar, hope now pounded furiously in her chest. Sagan's sake, the possibilities were astounding. Not only that, but on a more personal level, Starbuck could still be alive!
----------
Darkness, pain, and an overwhelming sense of hopelessness greeted her return to sensibility.
Just when she thought she had faced the epitome of life's little challenges, the Gods had a habit of kicking Luana in the teeth with turbo-charged boots, just to remind her who was really in charge of her destiny.
Some goon with a knife and a laser blaster. At least for the moment.
She couldn't see a blessed thing and she rubbed her head against the cold deck to try and displace the blindfold, her limbs still securely bound behind her. It was soon apparent that the cloth over her eyes covered her entire head. The only fortunate thing about that was it possibly decreased the faint, but horrible odour coming from . . .
The Waste Recycling Center.
Clarity hit her hard. Where else would one get rid of a body without a trace? The thorough process that virtually expunged the collective human waste of the Malocchio Freighter could also effectively obliterate any evidence of Oriana's body. But that was assuming she was still on the Malocchio. She realized that wasn't necessarily the case. After all, Borka could have easily pushed her around in that trunk, moving her anywhere a roving Archimagus might entertain the masses.
A cold shiver ran through her when Lu realized the process would ultimately be her end. She struggled against her bonds once again, flexing and twisting her wrists in a desperate attempt to loosen the cords that refused to budge. She fought hard for several long centons before realizing it was futile. If anything, the cords seemed to be tightening.
Deep breaths, Lu. Assess your situation. Use your senses. The constant hum of the recycling equipment seemed to be her only companion, and despite her fear and pain, the thought was almost reassuring. Something must have interrupted Borka's plan for her premature demise.
She remembered him cutting her throat, and had waited for the breathlessness she was certain would come when he perforated her windpipe. Only it hadn't happened. At the last millicenton, Borka had decreased the pressure, slicing through her flesh, but not killing her as she had expected.
Not that she was complaining.
A guttural cry of human despair had followed, and then a blow to the back of her skull. Nothingness.
What had happened?
Well, as entertaining as the conundrum was, it was hardly her first priority. She made a mental note to search every corner of the Fleet to find the precise answer to that particular mystery, when and if she escaped in one piece. Until then . . .
She began wriggling her way across the surface, attempting to discern any barriers enclosing her, besides the obvious restraints. She tried to remember the number one rule of survival: never give up. The mental fight was just as important as the physical. At times like this, it was more important.
Thud.
By the feel of the lump that at that moment must have been rising up from her skull, she had just found the first wall. Perhaps a little less forward momentum and a bit more caution was in order. Now that's using your head, Lu. She smiled, imagining Starbuck making the quip with his trademark grin and that twinkle in his eyes. He should be back from patrol by now. He'd tear the fleet apart looking for her. He'd know something was up. For sure.
Just keep telling yourself that, Lu.