The Wraiths had come out of nowhere. Sheba wasn't sure why she was so surprised by that, but then she had never come across an undetectable fighter before. Thank the blessed Lords of Kobol that they didn't have the fire power to actually destroy a Viper, or Varick would be a dead man instead of . . . she glanced down at her useless scanner, wondering once again what had become of the ensign.
She bit her lip, rolling her fighter as two beams of light once again shot past her. They had just given their positions away! Idiots! She jerked back her stick, climbing at an angle that would have been intolerable if she was under atmospheric conditions. She continued to arc, following her instincts to return to the approximate point of origin. She narrowed her eyes, visually seeking her targets. Damn! Where were they?
It was the first time she had seen a ship run completely dark. They wouldn't even have sufficient light to see their instruments by. Either they knew their ships so well, that it wasn't necessary . . . or their helmets were somehow wired in as part of their scanning and fire-control systems. Some sort of virtual-reality interface, perhaps? Lords, to be able to bring one of them back to Galactica to take apart!
Exciting thought, Lieutenant, but first you need to ensure the shuttle gets safely out of here, and then hopefully you'll find your wingman. She set her jaw grimly, shaking her head. Unfortunately, Varick wasn't a priority right now. But she couldn't just leave him either. A shiver passed through her as she thought about Ensign Szabo's horrible end. She once again commed for assistance. "This is Viper six, come in. We're under attack. Repeat, we're under attack."
As before the line hissed back at her, reminding her just how alone she was. She had lost communications with Varick and the shuttle just a couple centons before the Wraiths attacked. Then, while she was trying to raise them and adjust her malfunctioning sensors, they had hit.
Varick had been the primary target, and Sheba counted herself fortunate that she had seen the narrow band of light before it hit the ensign's ship. She had immediately started evasive maneuvers, spiraling away towards the shuttle and putting herself between the transport and the pirates. It had obviously surprised them to some extent as she rocketed towards them, lasers blazing, fiercely determined that her old Pegasus squadron mates would get to the Galactica's Life Station in one piece.
She had been playing felix and rodent with them ever since, leading them further away from the transport, and hoping and praying that they would stick with her and allow the shuttle to escape. Unfortunately, how many were with her and how many were otherwise occupied she didn't know. Enemy numbers unknown. Never a good thing. "Hey boys, let's play!" she murmured adding a throaty laugh for good measure as she poured on her thrusters, drawing them further away from the shuttle. . . she hoped. Damned useless navigational equipment!
Starbuck had mentioned he hadn't seen a woman since being towed into the asteroid base. He had some doubts about whether any actually existed, or if they did, they apparently had low standards . . . and no sense of smell. It was almost like the reverse of the Empyrean settlers, who had become a strictly female society. Sheba was hoping some feminine wiles would go a long way in attracting and keeping their total attention.
"C'mon, fellows. I heard from Starbuck that you all fly like women! Well, I somehow doubt that you're really that good!" she laughed lightly once again, even as her chest tightened with apprehension that they had returned to the easier and slower prey of the shuttle. The comm crackled to life, her instrument dials bouncing abruptly to the right before leveling out again. "I hear Bex wasn't."
"Well, my darlin', that sounds like a challenge, it does. Seems they build women a bit differently where yer from." The soft, almost lyrical inflection belayed the fact that it was being spoken by a scum sucking pirate.
"Yes, from flesh and blood." Sheba grinned. "Plastic is a precious commodity, after all."
"Ohoho! You speak the tongue of the she-devil!" Mock indignation filled the line followed by a chuckle of amusement.
"If the tongue fits." Sheba replied, hastily checking her scanners. The asteroids still hampered her sensors, but periodically she could see the blip of the shuttle. She shook her head in self-disgust as she realized she was a few degrees off course from where she had intended to be, and she corrected, nodding as she saw the shuttle following suit, but in direction of the Galactica. The Wraiths appeared as intermittent signals, fading in and out, and she noted with relief that there only seemed to be two. Somewhere out there, hidden by the asteroids, there were at least two more . . . as well as Varick's Viper.
"Sounds as though we have ourselves a spirited one, Koreg."
"Aye, a fiery wench. It will be all the more fun taming her."
The pirate laughed; a cruel, sadistic laugh that made Sheba's skin crawl, even in her cockpit, before adding, "C'mere darlin'."
"Come and catch me . . . darlin'." She taunted in return, hitting her thrusters and blasting ahead of them.
----------
A handful of drunken men sleeping off the aftereffects of 'asteroid whiskey' was all that they could find, as they wandered through the derelict commune of the pirate settlement. Jolly shook his head as he looked around, reminded of the terrible conditions he had seen in the early days of the Fleet as people packed into small spaces aboard the various vessels, with scant in the way of belongings or privacy . . . or, by the smell of it, turbo flushes.
"I see evidence of children, Jolly," Greenbean remarked picking up an old, abandoned rag doll beneath a blanket on a tiny sleeping pallet. "But if they're down here, they're hiding."
"Well, if we're going to blow this place apart, we'd better find them. After seeing what they did to Starbuck, I admit that I wasn't feeling too enamored towards the pirates, but children are another thing entirely." Jolly returned uneasily. "And if there are children, then there must be some mothers about."
"Unless they only want us to think so." Greenbean added hesitantly. "Deception of some sort. Lords know they wouldn't be the first, Jolly."
"So we wouldn't blow it up?" Jolly asked with a scowl. "That's kind of twisted."
"Not much more twisted than the captain getting us to look for hostages so we can get the pirates to concede without a fight." Greenbean shrugged, looking over the worn toy before tossing it to Jolly.
"I admit it isn't exactly glorious, but this is strategy, not diplomacy." Jolly rationalized as he caught the doll. He turned it over in his hands, examining the worn seams and the endless rough stitching that indicated many repairs over the yahrens. He smiled vaguely, recalling his young cousin's similarly cherished doll and its similar appearance. "Looks well-loved to me."
"Maybe." Greenbean nodded. "Any thoughts on how we can flush them out?"
"None that sit particularly well with me." Jolly shook his head. "I suppose we could sic Boxey on them," he added with a rueful smile.
"Uh, I don't think so," the other snorted. "What about the daggit? Can he sniff out children?"
"Just mushies, which is probably why I have a bit more respect for Muffit than I used to." Jolly smiled faintly before shaking his head slowly as he looked around at the undeniable squalor.
t was the filth that really struck him. There seemed to be a centimetron of grime covering everything. A pungent, musty aroma reminding the warrior of an archaic latrine permeated the area. Jolly wrinkled his nose in distaste as he realized that some of the awful smell came from the line full of clothes supposedly drying, which in any other situation would translate into freshly laundered wear. Instead, the tattered, thin, and stained garments bespoke the poverty and poor hygienic conditions of its people.
"Man, and we think some of the folks in the Fleet have it bad." Greenbean vocalized what they were both thinking.
"At least they have some real gravity here," returned Jolly after a moment.
"Whoopee." Greenbean returned unenthused. "Soap would have been preferable."
Jolly heard something, and turned. "Shh!" he whispered pointing the other way. Moving with surprising stealth, he crossed the dimly lit room towards a small, half-open doorway partly obscured by a poorly balanced pile of crates. Slowly drawing his weapon, he moved around the obstruction, and looked over the top. He motioned to Greenbean, and the two warriors took a bead on the door. Jolly opened his mouth to yell out, when someone appeared.
A child of no more than six yahrens hobbled slowly out. So dirty and raggedly dressed was she, that only the long, unkempt hair gave away her gender. At first oblivious, face down towards the floor, she stopped, startled at seeing two strange men with weapons. She opened her mouth, but instead of a scream all that came out was a squeaky choke.
"Uhh..." was all Jolly got out, before she started to back up, retreating into the room she'd emerged from. Both warriors followed her, and then stopped short.
"Sagan!" muttered Greenbean.
----------
Starbuck checked his environmental controls yet again. Lords, sitting in Giles' cockpit was like being naked on Deathpoint Plateau on Arcta! His body actually convulsed as another shiver ran through him, which didn't sit too well with his aching stomach. He adjusted the heat, running it up all the way, realizing that the readings were obviously wrong. There was no damn way the temperature was normal in here. Yeah, there was definitely going to be a di-ethene storm at any micron.
"Lieutenant?" Varick's voice rang in his ears.
"Yo?" He cursed his swollen eye again as his vision blurred, unaware that he had spoken that last bit out loud. It was now official, his eye was swollen shut. He pried at it, manipulating his helmet aside, aware that his peripheral vision would be affected. For just a micron the image of a single glowing red eye crossing his face from side to side seemed like a potentially good idea . . .
"Sir, what are your orders?"
"Orders?" Starbuck asked, readjusting his helmet.
"The shuttle, Sir. She's back on her proper flight path. Do you want to proceed with Lieutenant Boomer, or stay with the shuttle?"
"Starbuck?" Boomer's voice had an edge to it. "What's going on, buddy?"
Starbuck shook his head, not having a ready explanation for missing the chain of events this time . . . unless . . . fooling with the environmental controls had somehow caused the comm to short out intermittently . . . Nice try, Bucko. "I'd better sit this one out, Boomer," he sighed, resigned to the truth. "I'll stay with the shuttle and head for the Galactica." So much for getting back to his base ship in a hurry. He let out a deep breath as his remaining good eye glanced over the scanners. "Any sign of Sheba?"
"Not on the scanner, there's too much interference, Bucko." He checked his instruments again. "But her transponder is reading loud and clear. She's trying to lead them away from the shuttle's course, by the looks of it."
"Go give her a hand." Starbuck nodded in calm acceptance . . . or exhausted capitulation. "Do you want Varick to help you out?"
"No." Boomer responded. "I think Sheba and I can handle two fighters. You better think about whether we should load your Viper aboard the shuttle and hitch a ride back."
"I'm fine." There was still an outside chance that Boomer and Sheba could deal with the remaining Wraiths in good time and they could be on their way soon. "Besides, there's no sense in wasting the time it would take to slow down and dock with the shuttle."
"All right." Boomer sighed. Stubborn son-of-a-daggit! He tried to remind himself that Starbuck knew his limitations and wouldn't put his friends at risk. "You're sure you're okay, buddy?"
"Just fine, Boomer."
"Okay, then why are you about to sideswipe that asteroid?"
"Very funny." Starbuck griped, but checked his scanners all the same. He was a little close on the starboard side . . . where he had no fracking vision. "Get out of here. Go help our damsel in distress," he returned as he corrected his course. He could fly by scanner through the rest of the belt. He'd have to. Once they hit open space though, it would be an easy ride home.
Boomer snorted in reply, before hitting his thrusters and blasting away. "Keep an eye on him, Giles."
"Of course. He is flying my bird," came the spontaneous reply. "And she'd better be clean when I get her back, Starbuck!"
"Like she's clean now," snorted Starbuck. "Smells like a slaughter house in here."
"Uh, that's you, Bucko." Boomer reminded him, irresistibly drawn back into the wordplay although he was already on his way to help Sheba.
"Hmm."