It burned all the way down to his stomach, and then back up again. Lords, if there was ever a time that the cure was worse than the affliction, this was a prime example. A harsh slap on his back only made it worse as Apollo tried to cough up all ten toes, plus several internal organs, bent over with tears flowing down his cheeks.
"Don't fear, Captain. It'll pass in a few microns." Tuija assured him with a grin. By now she had seen the same reaction, admittedly in varying degrees, about thirty times over.
Boomer peered at the contents of the well used shot glass that Tuija was handing around to them. He raised an eyebrow, wondering if the captain would recover, or if this was the end of a brilliant career and friendship. He decided to await the outcome before downing his own dose.
Technician Volk was similarly paused in front of the dismantled control room console watching the end result and weighing the advantages and disadvantages of consuming Asteroid Whiskey.
"Frack . . . " Apollo gasped, wiping the tears from his eyes as he straightened up. He blinked at the ground, almost expecting to see innumerable parasites dropping dead at his feet, hacking out their last gasps, as they let go their vicious hold on him and fell to the ground. Alas, it was not to be. Then again, he was still having trouble focusing. Actually, his eyesight might never be the same, now that he thought about it. "What is that?" he sputtered. "Igniter fluid?"
"Probably would be very effective as igniter fluid, now that you mention it." Tuija smiled. "Either that or a good engine flush for your Vipers." She looked pointedly at Boomer. "Well, Lieutenant?"
"Did you really drink this?" Boomer asked, turning the grimy shot glass towards the light and gazing into the seemingly innocuous golden depths within.
"Yes. And believe me, I've had worse."
"I'll challenge that!" wheezed Apollo.
Boomer let out a sigh, then sucked in a deep breath and downed the foul liquor. He blew out a forceful breath and blinked his eyes as the local hooch lit a fire down to his guts. All the way down. He gratefully accepted the canteen of water that Technician Volk handed him, gulping it down as a chaser. He smiled at Apollo's look of indignation. "It's all in the technique."
"You couldn't have shared the details of your 'technique' with me before my gastrointestinal system started sloughing from the inside?" The captain asked.
"I wanted to make sure it didn't kill you before I even considered that there might be a particular methodology for drinking it." Boomer grinned, turning back to the console. "Now, getting back to business," he sighed loudly, letting out a toxic breath, "we've been able to reestablish the power link to the Dynamos." He pointed to the screen above them which pinpointed the coordinates of each spheroid with a blinking blue dot. "Ultimately, we're thinking that if we can activate and deactivate them from here, then we should be able to over-energize them and blow them up simultaneously without chasing each of them down by fighter."
"The energized particles would expand the mass beyond the limits of the casing." The captain mused.
"Exactly. Like any component when you pump too much power through it, sirs. At least that's the theory." Volk added. "We're still tweaking the system to try and control the amount of energy the Dynamos release. It seems to be at a set rate which is locked into the control system."
"Any particular reason for that?" Apollo asked.
"Uh . . . I actually hadn't given it any thought. I suppose I assumed it was just convenient for the pirates to set these things on automatic and let them take care of themselves." Volk replied, a little chagrined. "These guys weren't exactly big on maintenance, as we've seen."
"What are you thinking, Apollo?" Boomer asked.
"Well, for such a small weapon, the amount of energy it released was astounding. I'm actually wondering if there's any danger to those of us here on the base if we take the power level up to a critical value to blow them all at once." He moved behind Volk, looking at the screen. "Or would all the rock protect us?"
"Hmm. Interesting. With that in mind, I wonder if it would be plausible to theorize that we don't need to blow the base at all using one of the Galactica's missiles." Volk inserted, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
"Well, considering our ongoing problem with limited resources, especially with weapons production, it would be worth pursuing." Apollo added. "Could we set it up to discharge from the Galactica? Blow the Dynamos, the explosion encompassing the pirate base, and all of us safely out of here?"
"I believe so, Captain." Volk agreed, again looking over the antiquated, oft tribunal rigged console. "It's going to take some time."
"How much time?"
"Well, besides being barely a notch above flint spears, this operating system is still in pieces. Lieutenant Starbuck and the others did a masterful job of trashing it. I need to finish putting the pieces back together, then try and update it, and fine tune the controls so we can alter the energy patterns . . . "
"Volk, it's going to be at least another six centars before the mining and salvage crews are ready to pull out." Apollo interrupted the man's contemplations.
"We can be ready in six centars." Volk nodded, taking the shot glass of Asteroid Whiskey that Tuija handed him. "At least if this doesn't incapacitate me, we can."
"In the meantime, we'll see if we can get some answers from some of the pirates as to the specifics of the potential magnitude of the explosion." Apollo added with a wry grin.
"They might not be too cooperative once they find themselves in our brig." Boomer suggested. He smiled slightly as he considered the situation. "Then again, maybe Reece can convince them to tell us what we want to know." Though the incident with Borka and the simian suits had left a bad taste in his mouth, just a fleeting memory of Starbuck when he had first stepped out of the archaic fighter looking like several depths of Hades Hole, and then the condition of the other prisoners, not to mention the women and children, somehow eased his conscience at the thought of Reece and Willem persuading the pirates with a similar technique.
"Perhaps Commander Dayton would be more accommodating." Apollo proposed with a curious look at the lieutenant. He had never thought he would see the day when one of his men would suggest that the Black Shirts might be helpful. "After all those yahrens of imprisonment, he might be familiar with the technology."
"True. Possibly." Boomer shrugged. "Probably worth exploring both sources."
"Yeah, of course. I'll contact the Galactica. I'm sure the Commander would be more than eager to talk to Dayton about it. As to the pirates, well I think that someone like Skeff might be more forthcoming about the information we need, especially if we dangle a reunion with his family in front of him." Apollo mused, not liking the tactics, but realizing they needed the critical information. After all, the pirates had used Skeff's family against him.
Boomer sighed, "I'm beginning to feel like we're sinking down to the pirates' level of conduct."
Apollo clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder. "After a millennium of fighting Cylons, it's a bit of a wake up call to find yourself facing other humans as the enemy, even considering Baltar and the Eastern Alliance. The worst thing is, I'm just not sure about where Dayton and his men fit in."
"You mean friend or foe?" Boomer asked.
"Exactly."
"FRACK!" said Volk at the console. Both senior warriors turned to him. "This pile of junk!" he exclaimed. "If it isn't compatible with half the parts we have available, it keeps giving me fits on the main power readings. How can I possibly set up . . ."
"Power?" asked Apollo. "You mean the mains?"
"Yes. The whole base is pulling power from the main reactor," he pointed to the indicators on the console before him, "but the busses and breakers are threatening to either kick out, or overload! Keeping the power stabilized long enough to set up the Dynamos is like trying to get a daggit to sit still for a veterinary exam!"
"Maybe that's why the Dynamos have a preset energy emission level locked into the system. A fluctuating power source." Apollo mused. "This is looking better and better."
"Apollo!" said Boomer, looking up from the console to his CO. "Are you thinking . . .?"
"Uh huh. We definitely don't need a missile. Volk, can you access the reactor from here?"
"Boomer, do you know where the reactor is, exactly?"
"Oh yeah."
"Then come on. Let's have a look."
----------
You can't do this. You're really not up for it.
It was too much to expect. That he would be at her side throughout a prolonged rehabilitative period that might only result in her partial recovery. Hades, they hadn't even said 'the words' really. Everyone realized the betrothal was a charade. And, even if maybe everybody didn't, well, the people closest to them did.
What about Lu? She'd do it for you, Bucko.
Sagan. He'd never met anyone as faithful, reliable or determined as Luana. There was nothing too big to overcome in her somewhat naïve eyes. After all, wasn't that why she had tried to prove his innocence when he'd been too busy between Empyrean conflicts and duty to defend his own reputation?
He let out a deep breath as he rolled onto his side, gazing across the connected biobeds at her. Part of him wanted to gather her up in his arms and hold her closely to him, whispering words of encouragement, and begging her to wake up so they could escape this nightmare and move forward.
The rest of him was terrified to even touch her. She almost didn't look like Luana anymore, tubes attached to her in places that he didn't want to even think about. The dim lighting of the quiet Life Station cast shadows that made her look deathly pale, at least where she wasn't black and blue. So fragile, that if he touched her, she might break.
Or you might.
Ah, that was it really. He was holding it all together by a thread. Just barely. Balanced on a precipice between making that mental leap that meant really committing to Luana, or falling back on his comfortable and proven life strategy of finding an 'out'.
But how could he . . .?
Ama, Lia and Luana had become an extension of his ever growing, unofficial family. The problem was, while it was nice having them there for you when you needed them, he wasn't as good at the reciprocal part of the arrangement. At least not on this kind ofscale. He could admit—to himself anyway—that he was more the white knight kind of guy who would leap into action to defend truth, honour and the Colonial way of life. Stealth missions aboard Cylon Base Ships, Viper attacks, ground assault missions in unfamiliar territory; truth be known, he ate it all up with more appetite than he had for his primaries.
But this . . .
This required the kind of patience and fortitude that was more closely associated with someone of Apollo's nature . . . or Lia's. A long term struggle where each passing secton might only reveal a hint of progress in the overall picture. The campaign would be hard fought and the rewards but a tiny step forward while slogging across an endless battlefield. It all seemed so . . . insurmountable.
Suddenly a sound escaped Luana's lips. Something between a sigh and a murmur. It startled him. But it was all the motivation that it took for him to scramble across the space that the moment before had seemed like a vast distance between them. He leaned over her, his hand pausing for a micron before he caressed her cheek ever so gently.
"Lu?"
Her head tilted slightly, pressing against his touch. Another faint sigh.
"C'mon, sweetheart. Wake up." Tears flooded his eyes and he drew in what was supposed to be a deep, steadying breath. "Please . . ."
She sighed again, her entire body this time turning slightly towards him, seeking his presence.
Tears spilled down his face and a sob escaped him as he pulled her close. He closed his eyes tightly, cradling her against him, silently offering his strength, his love and anything else necessary to bring her back to him.
----------
Dayton's eyes were glued to the screen, his head slowly shaking in a mixture of morbid fascination and horror at the events unwinding before him as he watched the rather dry collection of data outlining the events of the Destruction of the Twelve Colonies of Man. Ryan sat beside him, sucking back a nutrient drink, flavoured with something that if it wasn't strawberry sure as hell tasted like it, also spell bound by the information before him as they scrolled through the archives that the Colonials had made available and Dorado had showed them how to access.
"Amazing any of them got away. This Commander Adama must be one hell of a man." Ryan mused as he listened to the data about the Cylon Empire.
"He was duped like the rest of them though." Dayton switched to English, speaking quietly, glancing over his shoulder briefly at Dorado and Ama playing a strange card game across the room. "It merely sounds like he was somewhat more cautious about the Armistice, and more prepared for the likelihood of something going wrong."
"Damn good thing too." Ryan replied, automatically falling back on his native tongue. "Otherwise we'd still be rotting on that hunk of rock."
"I wonder . . . "
Ryan looked at his friend. "What?"
"Do you think it's a good thing that these people are looking for Earth?" Dayton asked, his eyes not leaving the screen, now filled with scenes of Colonial cities being leveled by wave after wave of Cylon war machines. He was reminded of old pictures he had seen in school of London, Brussels, or Rotterdam being leveled by the Nazi Luftwaffe, or more somewhat recent scenes of death from the Middle East.
"Doesn't much matter what I think, they are looking for Earth. Not a whole lot a guy from Carrot Creek, Alberta can do about that." Ryan smiled ruefully.
"Hmm."
"What's going through that demented mind of yours, Mark?" Ryan asked, his eyes narrowing as he handed the NASA commander the container of nutrient he had largely ignored.
It wasn't often Ryan called him by his Christian name. It usually meant his trademark jocularity was being temporarily curbed for a serious discussion. "I think we should try to stop that from happening, Paddy." His voice was almost a whisper as he accepted the drink, only to set it down again where he had previously placed it.
"Look, according to what Starbuck said back on the asteroid, their route was given to them by some strange beings that are some kind of cross between angels and advanced life forms." Ryan's tone indicated that the chance that these people would find Earth was rather remote at best in his opinion.
"Still, they're obviously on the right track if what Ama told us is true. Her people set out for Earth millennia ago on this same star path from that planet Kobol that they're supposed to have come from originally. That's when they stopped their journey and decided to settle on Empyrean." Dayton pointed out.
"Well, how do we know if the others made it to Earth? Maybe they perished on the way. Maybe they never found it. After all, there was no one back home thousands of years ago zipping around in spaceships." Ryan reasoned, chuckling and then adding as an afterthought, "Unless Erich von Däniken was right about his 'ancient astronauts'." He grinned at Dayton's answering snort of derision, knowing full well how the son of a renowned Egyptologist felt about the speculative notion that aliens were responsible for the most ancient civilizations on Earth. "And besides, if angels are guiding them on their way, who are you to try and stop them? Doesn't that go against your usual doctrine?""Dayton! Ryan! Baker!" Porter called out to them from his biobed, from where he was also flicking through the archives, but effectively getting very little out of it until then since his grasp of their language was minimal. Only now he was bouncing up and down on the biobed like the New York Stock Exchange.
"What?" asked Dayton, again handed the drink by Ryan, and eyeing it suspiciously. He looked back to Porter. "You okay?"
"Look! You guys gotta see this!"
The men joined him and one by one fell silent. The silence was followed by gasping when they saw the images of the pyramids before them. Dayton grabbed the controller, turning up the volume, and time seemed to reverse as he was drawn back to his early years when his father taught Egyptology at the University of Chicago for the department of Near Eastern Languages and Civilization.
"What the hell?" Dayton murmured as he gazed at the structures that appeared almost identical to the Great Pyramids of Egypt. Three massive structures in a row, the third smaller than the other two. "Just like the pyramids of Khufu, Khafre, and Menkaura. That's impossible . . ."
"That ain't Giza, my friend." Ryan commented.
"Don't I know it." Dayton muttered, completely mystified by how he could be looking at an ancient civilization unknown light years away from Earth, that had the same monuments . . . the same desert setting . . .
Hieroglyphics?
He must have been in Egypt almost yearly from the time he was old enough to walk up until he was mature enough to consider the ancient ruins boring, preferring to spend his time cruising with his friends in his beat up old Mustang, hanging out at Charlie's, or the beach. But the ancient Egyptian civilization was five thousand years old . . .
"What is it? What's wrong?" Dorado asked from behind the absorbed men. He had to tap one on the shoulder when he received no answer.
"What is this place?" Dayton demanded, pausing to repeat his question in Standard after receiving a blank look from the Colonial Warrior.
"Kobol." Dorado informed him, looking over the data display. Ancient records described the civilization in detail and it was taught to school children throughout the Twelve Worlds. "The mother world of humanity." His voice sounded almost rapturous.
Dayton looked up. "When were the . . ." he motioned towards the screen, not knowing the Colonial Standard word for 'pyramids'. Oddly enough, it hadn't come up before. "These structures. When were they built?"
Dayton sniffed, "Lords, you're stretching my school boy memory. Hades, it was millennia ago. I'm not even sure when exactly.
"About eighty-five hundred yahrens ago." Ama piped up from across the room as she watched them curiously. "Approximately, that is. No one really knows for certain anymore."
"But that's impossible!" Dayton murmured again, shaking his head. "No way!"
"What does it all mean?" Ryan asked him, recalling his von Dänikencrack of a few moments before . . .
"I don't know," Dayton replied, feeling inexplicably shaken at this unpredictable link with these people that his consciousness was rejecting with every single neuron. It made what he needed to do, even more difficult.