Freedom. It had seemed such a simple concept while being imprisoned for thirty years on the pirate asteroid. God, it was something he had prayed and fought for every single blessed day. But as Dayton finally got the courage to undo the seemingly innocuous lap belt that supposedly was sufficient to secure him during the Colonial shuttle's takeoff, he realized that freedom wasn't necessarily the opposite of imprisonment.
Dorado had impatiently sat in the rear of the transport while they launched. As soon as they left the base, he was already up and hovering over Giles in the cockpit. Dayton was a little envious to see the younger man somewhat back in his element. He also knew the Pegasus warrior was anxious to see full medical intervention reached as soon as was possible for the sake of his wingman, as well as Dickins.
Dayton shook his head as he realized that he really had no idea what was ahead of them now. They had worked so hard to find a plan to just get them off the base, they really hadn't given a lot of thought to anything beyond that. How could they have? There was a time where he would have just laughed off his fear of the unknown and taken life as it came, but that was before he had lost everything dear to him. Yeah, so far the unknowns in his life hadn't turned out to be a lot of laughs.
Then there were his men. Despite thirty years of living with them as his equals, he still carried that burden of responsibility for them. He was the man in charge of their mission; their NASA Commander. The shuttle jockey. He couldn't help but wonder as he watched the Colonials in action what kind of people they truly were. They seemed able enough. The way they had assaulted and then secured the pirate's base was practically textbook, but at the same time, had they really been naïve enough to be duped into losing their worlds and their entire civilization to an alien, and from what he gathered, predominantly robotic race? It made him wonder who the hell they had in charge back then. Benedict Arnold?
Yeah, all those thoughts weren't exactly filling him with the elation that freedom had foretoken as he walked slowly towards the flight deck to peer out into open space. The fact that he could actually walk, and not float, his way forward still had him shaking his head. Heck, so did the bottle of water still clenched tightly in his hand as if it was a rare treasure. The finest wine could not compare. He looked up from his boots, to gaze into space again.
The last time he had seen it, it had been on his way to the International Space Station. It still filled him with wonder and fascination that went all the way back to the first time he had seen the reruns of Neil Armstrong stepping onto the surface of the moon in 1969 . . . of course, he hadn't realized they were reruns when he was seven-years-old.
"Commander Dayton, this is Flight Sergeant Giles and Lieutenant Dietra." Dorado introduced them before turning back to answer one of Ryan's questions.
"Commander Dayton." Giles nodded at the older man, who was wearing an standard issued uniform in place of the rags he had boarded with. His long, grey hair and rough, full beard belied his apparent rank. Oh, and the odour coming off him didn't help the first impression either.
"You're really from Earth, Commander?" Dietra asked as she glanced up from the control panel.
"Yes," Dayton replied, looking over the instrumentation and watching them pilot. "A long time ago."
"How far away are we?" Giles shot back over his shoulder, his excitement barely contained. "We've been looking for it for so long."
Dayton shook his head. "I really have no idea." His lips quirked at their apparent surprise as well as the young pilot's concept of a long time. Thirty years was a long time.
"What do you think of the shuttle, Dayton?" Dorado asked, watching the man keep a tight grip on the back of Dietra's seat.
"Sort of like riding a bus." Dayton responded quietly while indicating the windows. It was all just a bit overwhelming now that the adrenaline rush had ebbed.
"A bus?" scoffed Ryan as he joined them. "More like a souped-up Ferrari next to a Studebaker truck, eh?"
"I don't know that the Endeavour is quite as archaic as a Studebaker . . . maybe more like a Valiant with a slant six engine. Gets you where you want to go, and runs forever . . . at least if she has all her parts." He defended his ship with a wry grin at Ryan. He looked back to Lieutenant Dietra. "How about the two-bit tour?"
"Two-bit?" Dietra asked.
"Just an expression from home. Worth little. . . spare change." Dayton shrugged, almost further deflated by the fact that they didn't understand. It seemed to accentuate their differences even more. "How about a demonstration? I did fly a space shuttle once. She was a little different than this one though."
"Yeah, I heard the captain's going to try and bring her back to the Fleet." Giles volunteered.
"When Dr. Wilker finds out, he'll be drooling in anticipation," chuckled Dietra.
"Yeah," Giles agreed. "It'll really be something to get a good look at her."
"What's left of her." Dayton clarified. "The Endeavour's been stripped bare by those . . . " his eyes flickered over the lady co-pilot, "vermin."
"A shame." Dietra murmured. "How much of your crew have you lost?"
"Two. That's assuming Dickins pulls through." He nodded to the rear of the shuttle where the biostretchers were secured and Giselle hovered between her charges.
"Have a seat, Commander." Dietra began to rise.
"No, no . . ." He stepped back, raising a hand to stop her.
"Really, it's fine. I don't do much other than sit here and keep an eye on Giles. Of course, that can be a fulltime job in itself." She smiled encouragingly at him, knowing that he would have seen her in the rear of the shuttle shortly after takeoff assisting Giselle in any way she could. "Our shuttles can really be handled by one pilot for the most part. Besides, if it's been that long since you were on a flight deck, I'll bet you're dying to try it."
"Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that, uhhh . . . Lieutenant . . ."
"Lieutenant Dietra, from Blue Squadron. Most of my fellow pilots just call me Dee."
"Dee." Dayton answered with a slight smile. "All right then."
He took her place, listening intently as she leaned over him pointing out scanner, navigation, communication, engine monitors, and fuel consumption instruments. It was kind of nice having the female of the species leaning over him. He took a deep, hopefully inconspicuous breath as her hair brushed against his face. She smelled . . . clean. God above, how long had it been since he had been near anything clean? He smiled at the realization as her sultry, yet informative voice relayed an array of pertinent information that made him suspect that perhaps piloting this craft wouldn't be so extremely difficult after all. At least the basic principles of flying remained the same.
"So that's Ensign Varick ahead of us," Dayton looked up to get a visual on the Viper as he simultaneously pointed to the blip on the scanner. "And that's Starbuck on the rear flank."
"Exactly." Dietra agreed. "I'm sure it was the same in your day, you're . . . I mean your service . . .I . . ." She blushed, hoping she hadn't insulted him by essentially calling him old.
"No problem, uh, Dee," he smiled. "I understand. You were saying?"
"That it was probably the same for you. You're usually more vulnerable from the rear, and unless you're using your rear scanners, by the time you see the enemy on your tail, it might be too late."
"Which is why your most experienced officer brings up the rear." Dayton added. You needed to have eyes in the back of your head, and that was exactly what these scanners gave them. Hell, it had been a long time since he had done his two weeks at Operation Red Flag in Nevada, but the instincts he had honed after enough years in the US Air Force never diminished. "Which I gather Starbuck is."
Dietra nodded, both in affirmation and in satisfaction, recognizing an experienced combat pilot when she saw one.
"So . . . why is Starbuck falling so far behind?" Dayton asked, not understanding the tactics.
Dietra glanced at the scanner. "Good question, Commander. Giles, raise Starbuck."
"Hey Bucko! You're dallying. What's up?" Giles felt Dietra's glare on the top of his head. He squirmed for a micron, also noticing Dayton's disapproving glance. "Galactica shuttle to Viper Two, come in. Do you read me, Starbuck?"
"What's going on?" Dorado asked.
"Not sure. He's not responding." Dietra replied. She patted Dayton on the shoulder, and they traded seats again.
"I repeat, Galactica shuttle to Viper Two. Come in, Starbuck." Giles tried again. He shook his head at Dietra. "According to our intra-flight data link, the Viper's fully functional. She's powered up, but drifting. Thrusters off." He adjusted a setting on the control panel. "Hmm, the environmental controls seem to be malfunctioning. It's as cold in there as Sagan's tomb." He flicked another switch. "I'm reading life signs though. I don't know what's wrong."
"I do." Ryan spoke up. All eyes turned towards him, Dorado nodding solemnly. "He was in no condition to be flying. Hell, when he left the Zone he was already on the brink of exhaustion after them beating the crap out of him and a full day's work harvesting koivee . . . not to mention that lousy excuse for surgery we did on him."
"Surgery?" Dietra gaped. "For what?"
Dorado pulled up his tunic to reveal a thick, white scar displayed prominently against the skin of his abdomen. "Obediators. Implants the pirates put in us when we were captured. We all have them. They inflict pain at the flick of a switch. Pain like you can't imagine. We cut Starbuck's out of him so he could get across the Zone without it being activated. That's how we made our break."
"Then who in Hades Hole cleared him for flight status?" Dietra asked in horror.
The rest of them looked at each other blankly, shaking their heads.
"Knowing Starbuck, he would have left most of the pertinent details out if he wanted to get back to the Galactica to be with Luana." Giles mentioned pointedly. "Big surprise."
"The captain will lambaste him." Dietra shook her head at the break in protocol. "Maybe Varick can get a tow line on him. How long until we're scheduled to rendezvous with the Galactica?"
"Thirty centons," replied Giles. "Varick, you copy the last few?"
"Roger, Giles. Will try to snag him." They watched as Varick broke position, and moved to close with Starbuck's ship. He flew around it, scoping it out. "Looks okay from the outside," said the other. "Preparing to shoot a line to him."
"Affirmative, Varick," said Giles. He watched the two ships on the scanner, then Varick spoke again.
"I'm getting a red light on the tow line, Lieutenant Dietra," reported Varick. "She's a no-go."
"What?" asked Dietra.
"My tow line is inoperative," repeated Varick. "Must be from that hit I took earlier. Strangely, my diagnostic assessment didn't pick it up. Awaiting instructions."
"Telemetry link?" Dietra suggested.
"Attempting remote telemetry link." After less than a centon, Varick came back. "Negative on telemetry link as well, Lieutenant."
"What? Two systems down?"
"It seems so. Looks like it's on Starbuck's end this time. Maybe those Wraith jamming mechanisms did more damage to our systems than we thought. Awaiting instructions."
"Frack!" snarled Giles.
"What's wrong?" asked Dayton, who was having difficulty following the technical aspect of the conversation.
"Varick's tow line won't launch, and the telemetry link to take over his ship is off-line. We'll have to snag Starbuck another way," replied Dietra.
"Malfunction?" asked Dayton. Computer systems could be finicky in his experience. Then again, this wasn't a personal computer, and Microsoft wasn't a dominating force in this star system. At least he hoped not.
"Looks like it."
"Is that common?"
"No, it has to be damaged from the blast. Our ground crews keep our ships in good working order. Malfunctions are rare." She bent over the controls, and Dayton gave her some space.
"What about a remote?" asked Varick.
"Too far for the Galactica to take her over remotely" said Giles. "And the shuttle isn't equipped for it."
"Okay, so lock on with the grapplers," said Dee. Giles nodded, and they set to.
Dayton watched with keen interest as the shuttle changed course, and pulled alongside Starbuck's Viper, matching its course and speed. Varick backed away, and Giles fired the maneuvering thrusters, bringing the shuttle 'underneath' Starbuck's ship. Slowly and with great care, Dietra fired the jets again, turning the shuttle 'over', till its underside was not two metrons from the Viper's. Even more slowly, she nudged the craft closer, and then Giles powered up the magnetic grappler. There was a dull clang as the two ships connected, and a green light flashed on the panel.
"Okay, here we go," said Giles, slowly nosing the shuttle back on the course for home, and then nudging her speed up gradually. Soon, they were in formation again, headed towards the Fleet.
"That was impressive," Dayton said to Dorado. "Looks like this shuttle is a pretty capable bird."
"Just wait till you see the Galactica," said Giles.
----------
The pirate's retrieval system for bringing an inoperable or damaged ship into the hangar was surprisingly similar to the Galactica's. A hydraulic telescoping beam lift with an adjustable hand-like structure on the end was mounted at the mouth of the hangar. It basically grasped the ship and guided it onto a conveyor belt that sat to one side of the main tarmac within the atmospheric forcefield. The conveyor belt did the rest, bringing the ship within the compound.
Apollo had been a little suspicious when the retrieval operator had approached him and offered to bring the breached Wraith with its dead pilot into the hangar. He wasn't sure what the man was up to, but after the other Wraith landed uneventfully, followed closely by Sheba, he rationalized he had little to lose with taking the man up on his offer.
However, once the operator, Skeff, was far enough away from the other detained men with the captain as his escort, he was more to the point.
"There are women and children in the community. I'll only help you if you promise to find them and evacuate them as well." The man, who looked about the same age as Apollo, looked back over his shoulder. His dark eyes were intent, while his face remained impassive. "This way you have one Wraith to tinker with, and one that will actually fly. " He looked about again, as if afraid someone was listening. "It's a win-win situation for you."
"You think you need to barter your skills to get me to save women and children?" Apollo asked him, using all his will to keep the surprise and disgust from his tone of voice.
The man dropped his eyes from the captain's. "The others wouldn't take it well if they knew I was telling you this."
"They'd leave their women and children behind to certain death, knowing we plan to blow up the base?" The time he couldn't keep the incredulity from his words.
"Well . . . most of them would." He nodded. "There's a couple who hold their children dear." He stopped in front of the lift's control panel, flicking the switches until videcam images of the impotent Wraith, still attached to the tow line of Boomer's Viper, appeared.
"I don't understand." Apollo admitted. "Are you telling me these women . . . are also prisoners here. And their children?"
The man looked at him strangely. "Prisoners? Hell, no. They're not prisoners. We kept the damn prisoners in the tunnels to harvest the koivee and mine the ore."
"Then what? Why wouldn't you tell us right away that there are more people who need to be evacuated?" Apollo demanded.
"Because it's the trump card." Skeff started powering up his equipment. "If you think that there are children still in the tunnels, you might not blow the base. " He sighed, as he flipped up another bank of switches. "Actually, it was Torg's idea. But that's assuming you have more respect for Human life than Torg does." He shrugged seemingly indifferent to the answer.
"Somehow I think most beings do." Apollo returned acerbically, wondering who this Torg was, as he watched the monitor while Boomer released his tow line.
"It's the way of life here. If ya can call it a life." He shrugged. "Beats the hell out of being a prisoner." He maneuvered the beam lift and proceeded to secure the Wraith.
"You were a prisoner?" Apollo asked, admiring the man's expertise while at the same time reminding himself it was all gained through scavenging ships.
"A long time ago. They gave me an offer I couldn't refuse." He met Apollo's eye. "I would have died if I had been down there much longer. That damned Obediator in my guts. I don't like working with the bastards, but at least I'm still alive. Besides . . . Ciaren and the wee ones make it all bearable. If it weren't for them . . ."
"Dada!"
Apollo and the other turned to see a small group of warriors escorting the women and children into the hangar. From as far away as they were, the small boy could still spot his father at his familiar work station and made a beeline across the hangar, oblivious to the uniformed strangers, and the small groups of pirates and hangar crew kneeling with hands behind heads in various locations.
"You already found them!" It was more of a statement of relief than an accusation. The father squatted down beside Apollo to await his boy who wobbled from side to side on bowed legs as he ran as fast as his tiny limbs would carry him. The man gathered the small body tightly to him and stood up shaking his head in obvious relief as he spotted his woman and other children. "Thank you, Lord," he muttered before turning back to Apollo. The Galactica Strike Captain could have sworn he saw a tear in the other's eye. "And my thanks to you as well."
Apollo nodded, deciding there and then that he would keep the women and children separate from the men. Obviously, there were some strange dynamics at play here. He watched curiously as the women kept their children close to them, but very few even looked towards the pirates to assure themselves their men were even still alive. Then again, the closer the women drew to him, the more he could begin to understand why.
While the pirates and hangar crew were all on the lean side, none of them had the malnourished and abused look of the women. Several sported bruises on their thin bodies, and they kept their frightened eyes slavishly downcast as if by habit.
Apollo found himself shaking his head, feeling anger wash over him, his gaze searching instinctually for Sheba. She was waiting for Boomer to climb out of his Viper, having only just landed. She looked agitated. Mind you, if he was a woman and that bunch of tormented souls had just walked in, it would probably upset him too. As it was, he was now simmering with anger and disgust . . . and wondering why the frack he was trying so damn hard to control it. Because you don't want to scare these poor victims any more than they already are, that's why.
He watched Skeff finish his task, suddenly realizing the child had darted back to his mother. Again, Apollo's eyes followed with interest. This particular woman, while still painfully thin, lacked the ritual bruising. She also followed the events with surreptitious interest, peeking out from behind long, braided, raven hair while keeping her head down, her face close to the swaddled infant she carried. One more child clung to her leg, her face hidden in her mother's tattered skirt. The woman met the captain's eyes for a fleeting moment, before glancing away in sudden fear at being discovered in her inappropriate and rebellious behavior.
Apollo's view was abruptly blocked by Jolly's frame as the lieutenant strode towards him, leaving Greenbean watching over their flock. The usually jovial man looked intent as he approached his captain. So intent, the captain left the side of the pirate to meet him.
"Skipper, this is one strange society. Just take a look at those poor people," he pointed back to the women and children. "Frankly, most of them are already jockeying for position for any available Colonial Warriors who would be willing to—and I quote—improve our situation." Jolly shook his head, his eyes still on Liadan and her family.
"I just had a similar conversation on this end." Apollo nodded. "Did they talk to you, Jolly? Any idea if they want to be reunited with the men? I get a strong feeling they don't," Apollo opined.
"I agree with you. And I tried to dig a little on the way up here, but once Liaden realized I wasn't interested in adopting her family, she moved on to Greenbean. And then Sandor, and then Elek . . . "
"I think I get the drift, Jolly," Apollo assured him.
"She was basically offering to let me use her body sexually in exchange for my protection," Jolly continued, horrified at the encounter. "We assured them all that that wasn't necessary, but I don't think they believed us."
Apollo sighed. "I take it that's their way of life."
"No kidding. She went into some graphic detail about her talents," he could feel his face flushing again at the very thought of the woman's crude words. "What are we going to do with these people, Apollo?" Jolly asked a little desperately. "I mean, their value system is so vastly different from our own," he raised his eyebrows, "if you can even apply the word here. Where would they fit in?"
"Perhaps where they came from?" Apollo suggested. "They weren't all born here, and there are no signs of any long-range transports. It only follows that there could be habitable planets out there relatively close by that the Galactica hasn't scanned yet."
"And what if these habitable planets are full of people like ourselves?" Jolly crossed his arms over his chest. "Are we supposed to dump this delightful little group of cutthroats and harlots onto their doorstep?"
Apollo clapped a hand on the big man's tense shoulders, "Jolly, let's deal with that when we come to it. Besides, it's really the Council's call. Not yours and mine."
Sometimes it was good to not be in charge. "Thank the blessed Lords for that."
"Amen," Apollo nodded in agreement. His lips quirked in a smirk. Sire Dracus, the puritan, was going to love this.
----------
A throbbing pain in his right eye and gut reluctantly drew Starbuck away from the blissfulness of lethe. He groaned as he reached for his face, only to be hampered by his flight helmet.
What the frack?
Through the blurry vision of his one good eye, he was certain he could see the star system rolling by. He glanced down at his instruments, blinking to clear his sight. He was moving! As surely as he wasn't in control of his Viper, he was moving. He immediately reached for his control stick when the comm crackled to life.
"Are you waking up in there, Starbuck?"
His instinctive reaction to hit his thrusters and get out of there—wherever there was—came to a sudden halt as he tried to place the familiar voice. "Dee?" he mumbled.
"Yeah, Bucko. It's Dee. You're hitching a ride back to base, so don't you dare try to engage your turbos." She warned him, worrying about how he would react when he awoke moaning in pain and likely disoriented. "Do you copy?"
"Wouldn't think of it, sweetheart," he muttered, wincing as he realized that he was about to do just that. The thought that he could have torn the shuttle apart as his ship struggled against the transport's magnetic pull, only contributed to his persistent nausea. He shut his turbines down and shook his head against the utter misery that had enveloped his body. It would no longer be ignored. "What happened?"
"I was hoping you could tell me, " Dietra replied, her voice changing to a light bantering tone. "And that's 'Lieutenant' to you, Lieutenant. What's your condition?"
"Inverted apparently," he replied in bemusement, putting together the fact that he was magnetically attached to the underside of the shuttle. "Of course, being on the bottom . . ."
"Not what I meant, Starbuck, and you know it. Besides, it's all relative out here." She gave him a moment to compose himself, knowing full well the innuendo was his way of stalling for time as he gathered his wits. "We're on our way to rendezvous with the Galactica. They don't know it yet, but they'll be landing your ship remotely. Got that?"
"Remotely?" he asked, his ire up immediately. He had never been brought in remotely, except in Academy training sims, and he wasn't about to start today.
"Well, at least your hearing is bang on." Dee remarked, hearing the disgust in his voice. "You passed out, Starbuck. According to my passengers, you shouldn't have been flying in the first place. If you think for one milli-centon that I'm going to let you take a chance at destroying the landing bay to assuage your ego, you'd better think again." She paused to let him digest her words. "You'd do the same in my place, and you know it, Lieutenant."
He bit back another groan as his stomach convulsed. His hand found its way beneath his damp tunic, where the skin was as hot as Hades Hole, and seeping with an unknown cesspool of festering microorganisms. He jolted upright as his finger accidentally found its way into deeper tissue. Apparently, Ryan's stitch work had come apart. Yeah, just the mere thought was all it took to turn his traitorous stomach against him and he could feel the agony of his abdomen contracting as his stomach heaved. The small amount of bilious fluid burned all the way up his throat and erupted into his mouth, where, ever mindful of the state of his cockpit, he forced himself to swallow it down again. He grunted in disgust. Giles owes you big time for that, Bucko.
"Oh, tell me that wasn't him puking. Please!" Giles begged, shaking his head at the thought of vomit flying through his cockpit. Hopefully, the flight helmet caught most of it.
"Starbuck, talk to me." Dietra ordered him. She shook her head with rising concern, as she heard him groan again. "We might have to load him in the shuttle's hold, after all."
"We should be rendezvousing with the Galactica in fifteen centons. It would take longer than that to load him, and he's obviously in no shape to help out." Giles returned pragmatically, forcing the disgusting vision of his fighter's interior back to his dark recesses of his imagination. It would take some technical maneuvering by Starbuck to get the Viper into the transport's hold. There was no way they could do it without him. "Starbuck! Report!"
"Can't a guy . . . upchuck in peace?" Starbuck returned, frowning as the comm whined incessantly at him. Pulling his helmet aside, he wiped his mouth with his filthy sleeve and reached for the water bottle. Swishing out his mouth, he paused, and then with an irreverent shrug, forced himself to swallow once more to quell the burning in his throat. "I'm okay," he assured them, readjusting the helmet.
"Yeah, you sound it." Dietra replied sarcastically. "Give it to me straight, Starbuck. How bad are you?"
He sighed, pausing to take inventory. Right eye swollen shut and throbbing so badly he could almost see stars with it; stomach wound red hot, seeping, and probably infected; slightly light-headed and still nauseous; various aches and scrapes which he had been able to successfully dismiss until now . . . Yeah, he'd been a complete idiot to think he could jump in a Viper and continue on as if he was some kind of superhuman fighting machine. But still . . . he had to see Luana. Find out if she was okay . . . Time to cut your losses, Bucko. Let them take in you remotely, and get your dumb astrum to the Life Station ASAP. "Not as bad as you think, but worse than I figured." Lords, Apollo was going to kill him.
"What in Hades Hole were you thinking?" Dietra blasted him. "Not only could you have been killed, but you put other people at risk!"
Starbuck let out a deep breath, immediately regretting it when his stomach twitched painfully once again. "How was I supposed to know you were gonna magnetically . . . " He hesitated in his defense, knowing she was correct in her assessment. He'd based his decision on his desire to ensure Luana was alright, not his physical condition and capabilities. But damn it, he really had thought he could pull it off! His body had never failed him so completely before. Then again, he had never been so overwrought with confusing emotions regarding a woman before either . . . You're a wreck, Bucko. Both physically and emotionally, you're a frackin' wreck. "You're right, Dee. I guess I wasn't being very . . . realistic."
"Well, he did fly a couple pirates into an early grave." Giles added, immediately warding off any uncomfortable scenes of apology and regret. It was beginning to sound frighteningly akin to primetime on the IFB. Not that he would ever admit to watching it.
"You know, his mental capacity for reasoning could be affected by his physical condition." Ryan suggested, standing akimbo next to Dayton and watching the tense situation play out on the flight deck.
Dayton raised his eyebrows, considering his peer's words. "Or, like most pilots, he could just be one stubborn SOB."
Dietra paused to smile ruefully at the commander's acute perceptiveness. The more she got to know him, the better she liked him. "Exactly."