"Uh, tell me again what kind of doctor you are?" Starbuck asked Ryan from where he lay on the cot, as the Earthman held out his hand for the cup of distilled koivee. Dayton had told him his simple plan for both of them getting to the Control Center. The Colonial Warrior didn't like it, but there was really no other way. Now . . .
"I," said the other, leaning back on his heels, "have a doctorate in Electrical Engineering, and a bachelor of science in Engineering Physics." Ryan told him as he wrinkled his nose at the harsh smell of their special home brew.
"Uh . . . look, Pal, where I come from that doesn't exactly qualify you to do surgery."
Ryan held the cup in front of him with a grin. "It's my experience that qualifies me, not my education."
"You mean you've done this before?" Starbuck asked hopefully.
"Uh . . . well, actually I mean I'm an Honorary Fellow of the Canadian Aeronautics and Space Institute; a Member of the Association of Professional Engineers of Nova Scotia, and the Navy League of Canada; an Honorary Member of the Canadian Society of Aviation Medicine; a Graduated Member of the Four H Club; a perpetual Boy Scout of Canada; and a Member of the International Academy of Astronautics. Not to mention my lifetime memberships in the Radio Shack Battery of the Month Club and the Tim Horton's Coffee Club, and . . . " He puffed out his chest in pride, "I even have a special discount on DVDs coming at Crazy Mike's Video because my card's almost filled up. All right?"
Starbuck winced as he heard the others break into laughter. "Just great. What was that medicine part again? Give me some hope, Ryan."
"Remember Starbuck, this was your idea." Ryan reminded him as he put the cup to his lips and tossed back the shot of alcohol.
Starbuck let out a deep breath as he watched the man choke and sputter, then pound his chest and wheeze, "Christ Almighty, I needed that." Then, "You better have one too, Starbuck."
"Dayton . . . " Starbuck muttered anxiously.
"He's just jerking your chain, Lieutenant. C'mon, Ryan. Get on with it." The NASA Commander ordered.
"Just waiting for my vision to clear, Commander." Ryan grinned as he poured some alcohol over the knife to clean it.
"Ryan . . . " Dayton growled.
"Okay. I can see again." Ryan reassured them. "I'm going to clean off your stomach. This is probably going to sting like Hell."
"I take it Hell's a bad thing . . .?" Starbuck sucked in his breath as the alcohol hit his exposed tissues. "Frack . . . maybe you should give me a shot of that stuff. What do you call it?"
Ryan poured out another dose. "Asteroid Whiskey. It's not Crown Royal, but it's the closest thing we have to it." He handed the cup to the warrior. "It's all in the breathing technique. Exhale through your mouth before you take a shot, then breathe in your nose afterwards."
Starbuck looked at him skeptically, suspecting a special breathing technique could only denote an especially evil concoction. "What's the alcohol content?"
"One hundred and eighty percent." Ryan grinned. "Bottom's up."
"Come again?"
"Just drink it."
He blew out a breath and tossed it back as directed, reflexively sucking in another gasp of air as the vile substance hit the back of his throat. The heat went straight to his gut, but then back up his throat as he gagged and coughed, sputtering while trying to catch his breath. Tears poured from his eyes and he became aware of someone pounding him on the back.
"I said, breathe in through your nose." Ryan chastised him. "You really need to work on your technique."
"Lords . . . " Starbuck gasped as he felt the man push him back against the cot.
"All right. Let's get this over with. You better hold him still, guys. It's been a long time since I dissected that fetal pig in high school." Ryan told the others.
Dorado, Dayton, Baker and Porter moved in, flanking Starbuck. He could feel hands pressing down on his shoulders, arms and thighs. Dickins watched from his cot, shaking his head with a look of revulsion on his face. Rooke was already asleep, oblivious.
"Try and take deep breaths, Lieutenant." Dayton told him.
"Just be quick." Starbuck replied, trying to relax his body. He watched Ryan pour another full measure of Asteroid Whiskey on his hands to clean them.
Porter muttered something indecipherable and Dayton nodded. He took a raw piece of koivee and held it up to Starbuck's mouth.
"Bite down on that."
"That? What the frack for?"
"Because we're out of bullets," said Ryan, deadpan.
"Don't happen to have a rock instead, do you? An old rag? A dead lizard? A Cylon blaster rifle?" Starbuck asked ruefully, even as the Commander shook his head and wedged the root into the warrior's mouth.
"Here we go." Ryan muttered, pressing down on Starbuck's abdomen and palpating the lump that he knew was the Obediator. He took a couple deep breaths, wondering once again how being a farm boy qualified him to do this. Helping a few cows, sheep and horses deliver their young was a far cry from sticking a knife into a human being. "It hasn't migrated far from the insertion site. Just about three inches."
Porter asked a question in his native tongue. Ryan replied in kind, nodding.
"Wha . . .?" Starbuck asked from around the root.
"He suggested we try and push it back from the outside. There will be less of an incision that way." Ryan replied. He applied pressure to the lump, trying to coax it to move. He could feel the Colonial Warrior tighten up his abdominal muscles and suck in a breath in response. "Breathe."
Starbuck let out a breath and quickly drew in another as his abdomen burned in discomfort. On the plus side, it was one Hades of lot less painful than the Obediator firing.
"It's stuck. I'm going to press harder, but it'll be better than slicing you open another four inches." Ryan told him, meeting the man's eyes. The smaller the wound, the better chance the warrior would have of recovery. If they could pull this off without stitches, all the better. After all, the only 'needle' they had was old, dull and brittle. He lay one hand flat on Starbuck's stomach to steady himself and pushed hard towards the insertion site with the other, manipulating the Obediator as he went with his fingers. The warrior tensed from head to foot, and gasped in pain. "It's working!" Ryan encouraged him, as he felt the sudden tearing of metal from tissue, and hoped he hadn't done any serious damage.
"Fr . . k." Starbuck mumbled around the root, feeling tears once again course down his cheeks and sweat beading on his body.
"Give him a minute, Ryan." Dayton asked.
Starbuck shook his head furiously. He spat out the root. "Do it."
Ryan nodded, watching Dayton reinsert the koivee. He met the Commander's eyes and muttered in English. "I felt a tear. I just hope . . . "
"It's kind of like childbirth; there's no going back. Finish it, Ryan." Dayton replied, also in English.
Ryan nodded, resolved. He switched back to Standard. "This is it, people. Hold him tight." He positioned the knife at the wound and sliced through already raw tissue, extending the entry site by about half an inch to facilitate removal. He could feel Starbuck react to the pain, arching his body as he moaned aloud, but Ryan pressed on, manipulating the Obediator to the site, and applying pressure with the edge of his hand in a scooping motion. The piece of metal popped out. "Got it!"
He held the red-stained implant up to the light. It had a number of tiny filaments extending from both ends, which seemed to retract into the nucleus, but was otherwise smooth on all sides. From experience he knew the projections conducted some kind of shock wave from the main unit which essentially stimulated any sensory neurons to cause pain.
The others released the warrior, and he drew up his knees and rolled on his side, reflexively guarding his stomach with both hands as he spat out the well bitten root. Blood trickled through his fingers, as Starbuck took deep, steadying breaths while gazing up at the implant. "I don't know what a fetal pig is," he muttered between gritted teeth, "but I can sure sympathize with the bugger."
----------
The heavy metal door clanging into place had choked off Borka's 'answers' in the interrogation room of the Security Office. Boomer stood outside the door with an eye on his chrono and waited.
This was not how he normally did things, but then he didn't usually deal with civilian scum like Kaden or Borka either. Five centons, he promised himself. That was all. Then he'd go back in. Mind you, four men could do a lot of damage in five centons.
Willem had insisted it wouldn't take that long to terrorize the hoodlum into talking. He was already nervous, and the added suggestion that Kaden was pinning it all on him would be enough to put Borka over the edge. Apparently, Caprica City Civil Security handled things a little differently than the rest of them. Whatever it took to get the information they needed, Willem seemed more than willing to do it. Of course, this wasn't Caprica City, and the head of Security might have something to say about it. Then again, Brogan was suspiciously absent, so perhaps not.
The door swung open, and a burly simian stepped out, shutting it behind him. A black, furry hand pulled the mask from his head, revealing Reece. He was sweating profusely.
"How'd it go?" Boomer asked, noting the constant babble in the room while the door was open and the blatant cessation of screaming.
"He cracked like a Skorpian nut." Reece grimaced, wiping the sweat from his face. "Oriana's dead. Kaden got rid of her body at the Malocchio's Waste Recycling Facility. Ensign Luana's still there. Borka was supposed to finish her off, but apparently discovered his 'conscience' as he was doing the deed."
"Then she's alive?" Boomer asked, suddenly hopeful.
"I don't know for sure, Boomer. The fracker welded her into an old corroded waste pipe which was due to be transported to the Scrap Ship. She was bleeding badly when he dumped her there." He started to climb out of the heavy costume.
"So he wouldn't kill her himself, but was willing to leave her there to die. What a humanitarian." Boomer snarled, suddenly regretting not staying to help with the simian persuasion techniques. "When are the pipes scheduled to be moved?"
"No idea. I'll comm Castor and get him on it. Ensign Lia is still with him."
"I need to run. I have a final briefing before launch. When you find her, can you send word to the bridge to let us know?" Boomer asked.
"Of course. And Boomer . . . thanks for your help with this. It wouldn't have had the same impact if one of us had set it up. It had to look like revenge."
"I understand. I don't necessarily agree with it, but I understand it. How is Borka?"
"Barely a mark on him. He was telling us all we needed to know before . . . " Reece stopped his narrative. "Suffice it to say, he's fine." He lowered his voice. "Look, I don't usually operate this way. You know we're breaking regs here . . ."
"I don't know what you're talking about, Reece." Boomer assured him as held up his hands, turning to go. "I didn't see a thing."
----------
Bex stomped around the Viper as their mechanic squirmed in the cockpit, trying to figure out why the ship wouldn't start up. Qamar had been at it for hours. Hours that Bex could have been racing through space in an ultra-modern state-of-the-art fighter. "Well?" he yelled up for the third time in fifteen minutes.
A muffled voice shouted something back at him, but he didn't catch it. He clambered up and stuck his head inside. "What?"
"You know I'm still learning these birds! Give me some time to figure it out." Qamar had gone back and forth between this new ship and one of the others to compare them. He suspected the Colonial Warrior had done something to stymie him, but he was determined he'd figure it out without anyone else's interference.
"If that festering piece of crap did something to this ship, he'll bloody well die regretting it, he will." Bex snarled as he looked at the ship's innards. The control and side panels were out of place, and the interior systems were laid out for all to see. He scratched at his beard, pulling a gnarled piece of koivee fiber from it. "You do know how to put all this back the way it was, don't you, Qamar?"
His answer was a cool glower. Then he spoke: "Bex, if you kill him, then he's useless to us. It's not like we have a lot of ships to prey on out here. We need the labour." Truthfully, they would likely need the Colonial's expertise with the fighter, but not until Qamar had exhausted a few more possibilities.
Bex considered his words before responding. "I'll give you another hour. Then I'm dragging his sorry ass back here to fix it." He retreated back to the flight deck.
----------
Apollo leaned against his fighter as Silver Spar Squadron launched. He checked his chronometer, knowing they would be following shortly.
Bojay and Sheba's wings would plant the decoys, allowing sufficient time for the pirates to leave their base to investigate. Then Blue Squadron would move in. They were betting on the pirate forces being limited, since the spheroids appeared to do their fighting for them.
He could see Boomer and Jolly talking quietly by the shuttle. They both seemed more agitated than usual before a mission. Then again, they still hadn't found Luana.
Castor had arrived at the Waste Recycling Facility on the Malocchio as a multitude of old, corroded pipes were being loaded for transportation. Of course, he had put a stop to it immediately, but then came the bad news. They had already sent out two loads. One had made it to the scrap ship, Hephaestus—on a transport where they was no pressurization in the cargo hold—and the other was still in the loading dock.
Ama had apparently gone ballistic.
Security had split their forces, sending half to the loading dock while the other half searched the remaining pipes in the waste facility. The Empyrean Guard joined the effort. There was no point in searching the Hephaestus for now. Luana couldn't have survived if she made that journey.
Apollo sighed as he grabbed his helmet and started climbing up into the Viper. His was still being assessed system by system for possible damage which evidently took longer than the human variation of the exam. He squeezed his hand into a fist as he climbed into the cockpit, thankful that the residual tingling was finally gone.
He could see Boomer give him a thumb's up as he scaled his own fighter. Soon, they would be on their way to invade an enemy base, with nothing to go on but the data from Sheba's scan. A full frontal ground assault with no idea where Starbuck or any of the Pegasus pilots might be, if indeed, they were even there. They were taking a lot for granted on this one, simply to find out about the fate of the Pegasus and the legendary Commander Cain. Oh, who are you kidding?—he thought, knowing the fate of the missing Battlestar could be vital to the Fleet's ongoing journey and ultimate survival, but it honestly wasn't the foremost thing on his mind.
Finding his best friend was.