Luana had exceeded all of Dr. Paye's expectations as she repeatedly pushed her limits, and apparent abilities, while she completed her first round of physical therapy. Completed? More like fought her way through it tooth and nail. Now, centars later, she was justifiably asleep.
Starbuck clumsily fingered a deck of cards, impaired by the medical wraps of his regeneration treatments targeting not only his hand lacerations, but every other knick, cut or wound on his body. Ama had brought the deck to him as she returned from isolation to check on her goddaughter. Lia had also checked in on her sister, but had grudgingly given in to Dr. Paye's request that they limit the length of their visits and allow the ensign to get some much needed rest. The truth be known, Lia needed some rest herself. Now the lieutenant was forced to twiddle his thumbs, about all he could perform with any alacrity, as he watched Luana murmur and toss as she relived in her dreams what she couldn't seem to remember while awake.
Damn, it was frustrating! He had seen by the look in her eyes that the truth of what had happened lay just beyond her cognitive grasp, and she had practically vibrated with pent up feelings and vexation that constantly overwhelmed her emotionally when he had again asked if she remembered anything. At one instance he had recognized it as pure rage. Rage against the empty caverns of her memory, and at those who had left her this way. And, of course, her tenuous grasp on her control made it even worse. Luana was not accustomed to falling apart, or bursting into tears at the slightest bit of angst, and no matter how many times Dr. Paye told her it was part of her brain damage and would improve with time and treatment, Starbuck could see her battling to maintain both her control and her fierce determination as her anxiety and disappointment enveloped her.
The part that was really difficult for him was he seemed to be experiencing it with her. He didn't quite understand how he had been sucked into the vortex of her conflicting emotions, but he was well and truly living every excruciating moment of it with her, almost as if they shared a single brain.
Hades Hole, if this was love, no wonder he had navigated clear of it for most of his life!
Oh, he had fancied himself in love a time or two . . . or—ahem—three. He and Aurora. And Athena, right before the Holocaust. Cassie just last sectar. But now looking back he wasn't so sure about that anymore. Mind you, based on that track record, Bucko, you might find yourself repeating that sentiment next yahren.
Still, he had never felt so . . . what exactly was it? He shook his head trying to identify the instinctive need he had to be near her. To comfort her when she was upset. To congratulate her when she excelled. To encourage her when she was disheartened. To share with her everything that he loved. He shut his eyes and groaned internally.
Lords, it sounded so fracking cheesy.
It was time to move on. He needed to know what Willem and Reece had found out when they interrogated that . . . that snitrad's astrum, Borka. Surely they would know who gave the directive to kill Oriana and Luana. He had to stop dwelling on emotions and expectations and get his mind wrapped around solving this mystery, just like figuring out strange or conflicting scanner readings in a cockpit. Focus, Bucko. Focus.
Before he had to change his name from Starbuck to Starstruck.
----------
Adama spun a tale like the folklorists of old, or at least like some of the University Professors Dayton had known as a young man. The commander had an engaging presence, and Dayton and the others couldn't help but sit mesmerized as he told them the story of the exodus from dying Kobol, the Twelve Colonies, the Destruction, and their resulting odyssey to find Earth.
Of course, the drink of something that Adama called ambrosa didn't hurt the atmosphere either. It was as smooth as a summer's rain, yet filled Dayton with a warm glow, which was so much better than the bone-shaking shudder and intense heartburn he'd been getting with the Asteroid Whiskey all these years. Adama's brother-in-law, so he said, had been in the business of making the stuff, and the Colonial commander had a few precious bottles of the best vintages tucked away.
By the time they had poured their second round, Dayton had taken center stage, telling their own tale in kind. Occasionally, Ryan would insert something relevant, but for the most part Baker and Porter sat by, still amazed by the Languatron which translated everything for them, only occasionally missing the odd word, or making heavy weather of some idiom. If only the damn thing would stop making the men sound like some sultry vamp selling her wares in the Red Light District. Adama had raised his eyebrows at the annoying inflection. It seemed they were all the butt of someone's little joke. Probably Dorado's. Or perhaps Ama had done something unintentionally. Evidently, the commander of the Battlestar had a better sense of humour than most of Dayton's commanding officers of the past.
"Gentlemen, some time ago we intercepted a couple of long-range transmissions on a gamma frequency," Adama explained. "The first was unfortunately destroyed during a battle with the Cylons, and was never really analyzed adequately, but the second—received sectars later—has become the topic of heated debates between scientists and bureauticians alike that have seen it."
"What kind of transmissions, Commander Adama?" Dayton asked, swirling the golden contents of his glass.
"Images and sounds of an unidentified spacecraft . . . or a small base of unknown derivation."
"Can we see them?" Ryan asked, leaning forward.
"Of course," Adama replied. Opening a folder, he set a series of holoptics before them. "All that survive of the first transmission are these six screen captures. As you can see, the quality is quite low." He slid them forward, and was greeted with a series of wide eyes, and gasps.
"My God!" said Porter, followed by an expletive from Ryan. Dayton stared with burning eyes at the images.
"I take it you recognize the object," said Adama, his eyebrows raised as he awaited their response.
"I sure as bloody hell do!" said Dayton, never lifting his eyes from the pictures. "It's a LEM!"
"A what?" asked Adama, brows furrowed. Obviously, they were at last getting somewhere.
"A LEM," repeated Dayton. "That's NASA terminology for the 'Lunar Excursion Module'. It's the first craft to land men on the Moon. That's our Moon behind it." He indicated the barren, crater-pocked world below the spacecraft.
"I see. And when was this?" Adama's brow furrowed as his excitement at the revelation that this was really a transmission from Earth, mixed with his disappointment that their technology was so archaic.
"Back in '69," replied the other. He noticed another quizzical eyebrow. "That's over seventy years ago." Dayton turned to his comrades. "It's an Apollo ship!"
"Excuse me? A what sort of ship?" asked Adama, stopping with the glass half-way to his mouth. "Did you say . . ."
"Apollo, yes," said Ryan, recalling meeting a warrior of that name. A somewhat determined one. "That was the series of missions that culminated in the Moon landings, with Apollo 11."
"Curious name," said Adama, mind reeling.
"Yeah, it was named for one of our ancient Greek gods."
"It is also the name of my son, gentlemen." For a moment, the room was silent.
"I think we met him on the asteroid base." Ryan inserted to break the mood. "No offense, Commander, but he didn't look or act much like a God. But then, I have limited experience in that realm . . . "
Dayton shot him a 'look' before returning his attention to a slightly bemused Adama. "It does look like there is indeed some sort of connection, Commander," he said slowly, as he wondered about the Commander's name as well. Adama. Adam. Could there be . . .?
"You said there was a surviving video, Commander?" asked Baker through the languatron.
"Yes, there is," replied Adama, turning his screen towards them. Drawing a memory chip from the folder, he inserted it into the monitor on his desk. "Commander Dayton, since receiving word of your . . . existence, I've reviewed the recording numerous times, and I am almost certain your name—or something very close to it—is part of this transmission." He studied the Earthman closely for his reaction.
Dayton was certain the bottom of his stomach had just dropped into in his newly acquired Colonial style boots, but he was also as sure that no one else in the room—with the possible exception of Ryan—was aware of it. He kept his eyes on the contents of his glass, slowly raising it to his lips and purposely taking a small sip before meeting Adama's searching gaze. "Captain Dorado mentioned this recording that you believed was from Earth. He thought you might want our opinion on it." However, never in a million years did he think he would be looking at a clip of himself.
"News travels fast." Adama smiled slightly, hitting a key and sitting back as the transmission started to play.
It was unbelievable. Almost dreamlike in quality. Dayton watched the footage of the International Space Station and listened to the sound of his own voice, and occasionally Baker's, as they communicated with the ISS on their approach over thirty years ago. It pulled at his consciousness and he had the sense that if he closed his eyes he could almost transport himself back there, at least mentally.
"Hey! This is Commander Dayton on the Endeavour. C'mon you loafers! Wake up! Remember? It's delivery day."
"Oh, so you're the guys with the groceries! Finally! We wondered when you were going to get here! Did you remember to bring my T-Bone steak, Mark? Medium rare, with pepper sauce, and mushrooms?"
"Oui, oui, Madame! And ze endive salad, and ve have brought ze wine as Madame has requested! A fine Shiraz from . . . Bolivia."
"Bolivia!" A light laughter filled the line. "Sacrilege! Alright, garçon! I'll fire up the grill. Hey, Endeavour, I. . ."
"Oh My G..."
"Endeav..."
Then a fiery blast blew thelargest, most sophisticated, and most powerful spacecraft ever built in the history of mankind—at least that of Earth's—to space dust in the blink of an eye.
----------
There had been little time on the mission for Sheba to talk to Apollo alone. She could feel his eyes upon her repeatedly, had met his gaze to recognize his concern and unspoken support as she did her best to maintain her professionalism while thoughts of her father intruded constantly. The moment in the hangar with Bojay had been bitter sweet, as she embraced her longtime friend and wing leader. Yes, her father was alive, yet they still didn't know where he was, and questions as to why he wouldn't have contacted her—not to mention the Fleet—raced through her mind.
It was like walking a tightrope in a carnival. She was doing her best to keep her balance, but between feelings of elation, confusion, and even betrayal, she was having a hard time trying to maintain that artificial front of decorum Add to that the run-in with the Wraiths and the death of the young pirate pilot, and she knew she was on the brink of teetering off the straight and narrow, and plummeting into the darkness.
Unfortunately, the darkness—the loss of her control—scared her more than staying the course, and it was with determination and resolve that she lifted her chin and strode purposefully to meet the captain as he cleared the tunnels and entered the hangar.
"We're almost ready to head out," Apollo told her as he approached. He scanned the hangar for the remaining stragglers that were packing up gear and stowing it aboard the shuttlecrafts. "We're just awaiting the go ahead from Command to blow the remaining Dynamos and get out of here."
Sheba swallowed the turbulent emotions that seemed to be forming the strangest lump in her throat, now that the Strike Captain was close by. He looked as tired as she felt. It had been too many centars without sleep since they had first 'lost' Starbuck. Truth be known, the previous night hadn't been too restful with the Malocchio Conflict, nor the one before when Starbuck and Cassiopeia had split up and she had comforted her friend. No wonder her eyeballs felt as though she needed to pull them out and soak them in astringent to remove the layers of sand that resided on them. She nodded at him.
"How are you holding up?" he asked, briefly touching her arm and gently squeezing it.
"Fine," she murmured, refusing to let him see how far from the truth that was. She wouldn't allow him to think that she wasn't fulfilling her duty right now. Or that she couldn't put aside her personal issues as well as any other warrior.
Apollo studied her intently for a moment. "Ensign Haya was hurt helping to set up one of the Mining Stabilization Units."
"What happened?" she asked.
"Apparently, it wasn't stable."
Sheba blinked, a slow, involuntary smile overtaking her features reluctantly. "Are you kidding?"
Apollo grimaced. "No. They hadn't anchored the unit before they started drilling. It's only minor, but she won't be able to pilot the shuttle on the way back."
Sheba frowned, catching the gist of where he was heading with this. "Boomer would be happy to take over for her. Ensign Drina could take his Viper . . . " She could see that familiar set to his jaw. "What?"
"I was actually thinking that you could pilot the shuttle."
"Wait just a centon, Apollo." She raised a hand, holding it before her like a shield. "I sat back and took it graciously when you had Silver Spar Squadron backing up Blue instead of attacking the asteroid base, when you knew I was waiting to find out about my father. I even kept my mouth shut when you told me I'd be escorting the shuttle on the way back to base instead of being part of the expedition." She saw a flicker of discontent crossed his features at how that had turned out. "But I'm not going to pilot the mining shuttle when I'm perfectly capable of flying my own bird back to base." She reigned in her anger and smiled sweetly. "Why don't you do it?"
"Because I'll be activating the charges that will blow the main reactor after everyone else is out of here."
She looked at him blankly, standing stone still for a micron. "Of course you will. " She smiled, almost the way the psychiatrist smiles at the patient who talks to pink Cylons in the flower gardens, and waters them regularly when they aren't dancing. "How absolutely stupid of me."
"Sheba . . . " It was more a breath than a word. "Please. This isn't . . ."
"What was I thinking? You couldn't possibly take a nice, safe assignment like flying the mining shuttle when there's a hazardous one available." Her voice rose with her ire and she pushed back the hair that had cascaded into her face as she tossed her head with anger. "After all, with another forty warriors at this position, why not pick the one who was up all night filing reports on the Malocchio Conflict, and who then still insisted on going on early patrol during which he was blasted by a Dynamo and lost consciousness for almost a centar! Lords, and I heard that you intended to dress Starbuck down for not admitting his limitations and collapsing in his cockpit! For heaven's sake, Apollo! Look at yourself!"
"I'm too busy looking at you," he responded quietly, knowing there was some truth in her words, but also knowing he could handle his responsibilities. "I know you're on edge, Sheba. It must be overwhelming to discover your father's alive . . . "
"Damn right, it's overwhelming, but I can still perform my job, Apollo!"
"You proved that when you took on those Wraiths." Apollo nodded, still watching her intently. "You've proven it a hundred times. You don't need to prove it again, Sheba. Not to me." He took a breath, his face reflecting his conflicting emotions as to whether to approach her as lover or subordinate. He glanced at the waiting shuttle. "All the same, I need someone with experience since your co-pilot is going to be effectively disabled."
"Not my co-pilot. Oh, no!" she refuted. "What is it with you and this instinct you seem to have to protect me? I've been on active duty almost as long as you have, and I have even more experience in combat and ground assaults!" She reminded him of the time she spent pummeling the Cylon Empire with Cain as her Commander, while he was otherwise occupied escorting the Fleet towards Earth. She frowned as he momentarily turned away, just as he had done in the cockpit of the Cylon Raider all those sectars ago. "Well?"
"I," he began, voice rough, as if it was hard to speak. He looked about the hangar, anywhere but at her, as if the words he sought were hovering there for him to pick out of the air. "I . . .cannot command if I'm not willing to take the most dangerous assignments myself." He let the words hang in the stale air a few moments. "I only know how to lead by example."
"I don't think so, Apollo." Sheba grabbed his arm, forcing his gaze back to her. "This is not about how you make the average command decision with just any warrior, this is about how you treat me differently. Hades, you let Starbuck—who looked like he'd been run over by a landram, I might add—get back in a Viper. Now, if you want to give me a detailed explanation of how I look worse than him, you go right ahead."
It was almost like they had gone back several sectars to when they were constantly at each other's throat. That entire Cain versus Adama climate that had been created when the two Battlestars had reunited and had climaxed in a stand off in the landing bay of the Pegasus seem to once again hang over them. Eldest child of Adama, versus only child of Cain, each warrior standing behind the father, steadfast in the opinion that their commanding officer was right.
Apollo took a deep breath, knowing he was close to losing his own temper as she questioned his authority and judgment. The trouble was he still wasn't sure how to handle a personal relationship with one of his senior officers. The problem had also come up when Serina had become a Colonial Warrior, however, her premature and tragic death had concluded that scenario before they could really address it. How could he separate the professional from the personal? It just didn't seem possible. Not for him anyhow. And it was hardly something he could speak to his father about. Adama was from a separate generation in which fraternizing was dissuaded.
"I'm waiting," Sheba reminded him, catching herself with one hand hovering over her weapon instinctively. She shifted, letting go of his flight jacket and crossing her arms over her chest, hoping he hadn't noticed.
He had.
"Sheba, I was wrong to let Starbuck fly. He has this . . . ability to pull the wool over my eyes on occasion. He knows me too well, and he used that to his advantage." Starbuck had basically manipulated him into allowing the injured lieutenant to fly, also averring that he was 'okay'. Apollo could understand why his friend had done it—Starbuck had made a point of explaining how desperate he was to find out about a loved one, knowing Apollo had been in that situation more than once—but he sure as Hades wasn't going to let him get away with it. "I'm not going to let that happen again with you now. By making a bad decision, I could have lost one of my best friends. He could have put others at risk as well. I'm not going to make the same mistake with you."
She sighed deeply, turning from him. "You said you needed to lead by example, Apollo. If that's true, do it now." She turned back to him, reaching for his hand, and then abruptly changing her mind and dropping her own to her side.
"What do you mean?"
"You think I have too much on my mind to stay focused on a mission right now, and you want me instead to pilot the shuttle that's ready for takeoff?" She waited for his response. A cautious nod. "Well, I think you're about ready to collapse after running full tilt for two consecutive days without sleep. I don't think you should be the one who activates the main reactor, and then races for his ship, before it blows. Mistakes happen far more often to the distracted and exhausted." She saw him open his mouth and then abruptly close it again. "Yes, I know that can mean me as well as you."
"Sheba, you're negotiating with me," he stated the obvious.
"It's what two people who care about each other do when they have a disagreement, Apollo."
He paused as he tried to put into words what he was really thinking and feeling. Truthfully, he wished he could simply pull rank on her and order her to the shuttle, but he knew that that would only further stress a relationship that seemed to teeter between thriving and flailing.
For some reason, he was drawn towards strong, determined women who both knew what they wanted, and weren't afraid of walking all over his male ego to get it. Both Serina and Sheba had met him head on, not hesitating to let him know exactly what he had done wrong, or what he could do to remedy it. Yet despite his attraction to Sheba for her vivacity, tenaciousness, sense of duty, and that childlike wonder that seemed to burble from her unexpectedly, they seemed to be having issues of late mostly related to their professional relationship.
He thought she spent too much time second guessing his motivation. She thought he spent too much time considering her assignments. The smartest thing he had done was to leave her in Silver Spar under Bojay's command. At least on a daily basis, Bojay was responsible for her from a military perspective.
"Well?" she asked again, her bottom lip turning upward in a frown of disapproval. "Look, if this is going to be a . . ." She broke off as an unfamiliar droning filled the hangar. At once, both snapped back into 'warrior' mode.
Apollo grabbed his commlink. "What is it?"
----------
Hinnus had finally conceded to Starbuck's demand that the med tech comm Security and have Reece or Willem come to see him. The lieutenant needed to know what had gone down with Borka and Kaden, and just whose payroll they were on. The medical team had once again separated the couple, however only by a couple metrons, so the med techs could monitor Starbuck's treatment without interrupting Luana's rest.
Luana continued to sleep restlessly, and it tore at him to be there watching helplessly as he was confined to the biobed during his treatment. The upside was that Dr. Paye was predicting his imminent discharge with a strict regimen of rest, proper nutrition, and twice daily returns to the Life Station for antibiotic and regeneration treatments until the shiny, reddened, new skin layers on his abrasions and wounds were less fragile and the physician was satisfied that no lingering infection remained. Of course, the downside was that he wouldn't be there for Lu on a constant basis, but he had already discussed with Ama a schedule of sorts for their rotating support network, including Lia, as the injured ensign continued her physiotherapy and neural stimulation treatments.
Rooke and Dickins had been moved into the main Life Station ward, and Med Tech Tone was in constant attendance as he moved back and forth between the two men, clearly up to his eyeballs reading medical reports and test results and responding by furiously reprogramming bio-monitors and life support equipment. He had assured Starbuck that both men were holding their own and that the level of care provided was normal in their condition. Neither man had awakened, and in fact, looked to be sedated beyond caring as far as the lieutenant was concerned.
"I understand his highness wanted to see me."
Starbuck turned to see the rather annoyed countenance of Reece striding towards him. The Security Officer looked as tired as everyone else on the Battlestar.
"This better be good, Starbuck. I was about to crawl into my bunk for the first break I've had in the last thirty-six centars." Reece griped, pulling up a chair and flopping wearily into it beside the warrior's biobed His hair was standing on end on one side, and his uniform was wrinkled suggesting that he had actually achieved the horizontal position—obviously fully clothed—before being called back to duty.
"Boomer said you guys interrogated Borka and Kaden. Who are they working for?" Starbuck asked, his skin crawling at the strange sensation of the bio-sleeves enhancing the re-granulation rate of his body's natural healing process.
Reece sighed, looking over at Luana, her breathing soft and regular. "We don't know. Borka told us where Luana was, but he refused to crack about who is giving them their orders."
Starbuck snorted in disgust. "How persuasive were you?"
"Ask your friend Boomer, we were pretty damn persuasive." Reece replied defensively.
"Why don't you let me try to convince him?" The lieutenant's face lit up, as though there was nothing in the world he would prefer to do right now . . . even encased like a mummy in regeneration sleeves.
Reece chuckled. "I hear you're in enough trouble as it is with Command. You sure you want to add assault to insubordination?" he replied, his smile stretching from ear to ear as Starbuck's own grin slipped from his face.
"Well, if Borka and Kaden won't give up a name, they must either be very loyal to their boss, or afraid of him. Which is it?" Starbuck asked the man.
Reece nodded, his expression serious once again. "That's the question. Frankly, I don't see loyalty as a character trait for either one of them."
"Then who's powerful enough out there to instill that kind of fear in their subordinates?" Starbuck smiled ruefully. "Besides Commander Adama, that is."
"That doesn't seem to stop you, does it?" Reece retorted. "We have a couple suspicions, but we're hoping that Corporal Komma gets somewhere with Oriana's computer files and we can find out for sure. In the meantime, I don't want you going off half-cocked and poking your nose in where it doesn't belong. This is a Security issue, and our jurisdiction, Starbuck. You'd do well to remember that."
"And I thought we were making headway with interdepartmental cooperation, " Starbuck mocked him. "Honestly, Reece, you disappoint me."
Reece leaned forward, studying the warrior intently. "What are you getting at, Starbuck?"
"Between you and me," Starbuck dropped his voice, "I'm on leave until I get medical clearance and I intend to find out who's responsible for this. Now, I'm not exactly in touch with the criminal element, though I could easily find a couple contacts from the old days who could help me out." He smiled smugly at the surprise on Reece's features. Since the Destruction, Starbuck had spotted a few old acquaintances in the civilian population from his days in the orphanages of Caprica or on the streets of Caprica City. He was well aware that a few of them were involved in nefarious activities, though he tended to believe it was more likely something minor like the Black Market, rather than anything serious. He had never burned those bridges, had in fact done his best to make sure his old mates were in a decent situation if possible. As such, he had a few markers he could call for favours and services rendered. Just another capstone in his impressive repertoire.
Finding out who Borka and Kaden were really working for should actually be child's play the more he thought about it. The Security Officer glared at him and he simply shrugged in return. "So despite your warning to the contrary, my nose will be so deep in the mong that I don't really see myself coming up for air until this is resolved. I can do it with your help, or without it. It's your call."
Reece let out a deep breath running his hands through his already mussed hair, making it even worse. "Well, I guess if you're in, you're in. I have something I need to tell you anyway." He looked away from the warrior to glance regrettably at Luana.
Starbuck nodded slowly, a little surprised at the Security Officer's calm capitulation. He had a feeling that he wasn't going to like this.
----------
At the time that the International Space Station had exploded, the ensuing series of events that Dayton and his crew had ultimately decided had been a trip through a wormhole of some sort had preoccupied his initial reaction at the loss of the existing ISS team, not to mention the absolute horror of the hundred billion dollar series of multi-national scientific research projects being destroyed. It had been a long time before the Endeavour's crew had the luxury of trying to put the facts together and surmise what might have happened. Torg and the other pirates had kept them otherwise occupied.
"What happened?" Adama asked after the recording had run out, realizing he had been right. The voice on the recording had been Dayton's. The stricken faces of the men before him clearly confirmed it.
"The International Space Station I told you about. That was it exploding just before we were scheduled to dock." Dayton explained after a moment, his voice slow and unsteady. He looked at his men and every one appeared shaken.
"My God!" whispered Ryan, shaking his head. "After all these years . . ." He looked up at his skipper, and slowly put a hand on his shoulder. "Mark, hey, I . . .I'm sure it was . . . it must have been . . . it was quick for her."
"Yeah," said Dayton, face tight, the sadness in his eyes obvious to all. "Yeah, I know Paddy. I know." He squeezed his eyes shut. Although he had figured out long ago that she had been a victim of terrorism, somehow hearing her voice brought back all the disbelief, pain and anger all over again.
"I'm afraid I . . . " began Adama.
"The female voice you heard," said Dayton, swallowing hard and regaining control of himself, "that was . . . Marilyn Johnson, Commander."
"A friend, I take it?"
"Yes, Commander. An old and dear friend from my early university days." The room was silent for a moment again as Dayton took a moment. "She was in the astronaut corps too. Just finished up three months on the ISS, and was coming back to Earth with us. Not only was the Endeavour being retired, so was she. Back to civilian life."
"You have my condolences, Commander Dayton," said Adama.
"Her and Frank were going to get a small ranch," Dayton went on, memories for a moment taking over. Marilyn and Frank visiting almost a year before the incident. All the kids playing in the backyard as their parents sat on a patio enjoying a fine bottle of South African Shiraz. Marilyn's favourite, at least for that week. Dreams and real plans for their future were discussed in detail. "A place up near Omak. Couple hundred acres. They were just about to close on it." He stopped any further reminisces by downing his drink in one go.
Adama nodded soberly. Hoping to lighten the mood a bit, he leaned forward to top each glass up with his best ambrosa as he pondered the incredible occurrence. It was as though the intercepted transmission was a portent of the Earthmen's coming . . . Lords, Adama, you're starting to sound like Ama! Still, the coincidence was too remarkable for some higher power to not have intervened. "Gentlemen, I truly believe that you are here to inspire and encourage us at a time when some of our people are losing their faith and patience with our search for your home world. There are those who believe that Earth is purely the rambling musings of ancient prophets more interested in manifestations of their deities than of any accurate scientific information or explorative discoveries. Those would prefer to settle on another habitable world and abandon our quest."
"Quest?" Dayton smiled, seemingly quite himself again. "You make it sound very . . . romantic. Almost holy, like the Knights Templar or something. I thought it was ultimately the survival of your people that concerned you, Commander. What would be wrong with settling on another habitable planet and beginning anew?"
"Well, there is the matter of the Cylon Empire still pursuing us." Adama mused. He would ask about the 'Knights Templar' later on.
"So you would lead them to Earth to potentially destroy another civilization as well. Mine. Did you not learn from your mistakes as your people prepared to celebrate a peace accord not so long ago?"
"Commander Dayton, I believe I explained about the celestial beings that are guiding us on our journey," Adama explained patiently. "They have intervened twice before that we are aware of. I strongly suspect your arrival here now is also by their doing." He thought about the upcoming elections for the Council of Twelve. For the first time since the Fleet had congregated, the general population would be voting on their representatives, not a hasty assembly of the upper class as had occurred after the Destruction. More than one upcoming bureautician had a platform that included exploring the option of abandoning their trip to Earth and settling on a planet with sustainable resources.
"Commander Adama, with all due respect, we came through a wormhole thirty years ago, not yesterday." Ryan inserted. "Surely to God, if some benevolent angels were intervening on the behalf of mankind, they could have timed it a bit better to avoid dumping us off in that cesspool of malignant malevolence for a generation."
"I suspect that in time, it will be revealed that there was a greater purpose to even that," Adama returned slowly.
"Yeah?" Ryan laughed, sharply. "Well, unless your celestial friends are also passing on your technology to our people, then it will be a cold day in Hell before we'll be able to assist you to defeat your enemies. We don't have that kind of weaponry, not to mention our spaceships move a damn sight slower than yours. They'd massacre us." Ryan retorted.
"We're willing to share technology," said Adama.
"That's reassuring," replied Ryan drolly.
"Dr. Ryan, the gamma frequency that this transmission came in on indicates that this recording could have taken place hundreds of yahrens ago," Adama explained. "You said yourself that the older craft was over seventy yahr . . . years old by your reckoning. I'm certain that your people would have surpassed your technology by now, at least the way you remember it."
Dayton shook his head. "I'm not so sure about that, Commander Adama. That Space Station was a hundred billion dollar project . . . " He watched as Adama's brow furrowed, the languatron obviously failing him in its interpretation. "It cost an astronomical amount of currency."
Adama frowned, but decided that the Languatron's rendering 'money equal to the stars' obviously needed some work. He'd talk to Wilker.
Dayton continued, "There were also a couple of technical problems in that it required far too much maintenance, and in particular too much maintenance by risky, expensive EVAs; and its orbit was too highly inclined, making it difficult to reach from the Earth's surface in an economical way. A lot of critics complained that it was a waste of both time and American tax money, inhibiting progress on more useful projects. For instance, they claimed the money could have been better spent on dozens of unmanned space missions or for space exploration in general or even on social issues in our own country. I'm not even sure that they would have rebuilt it."
"A turning inwards, you mean? A slowing of space exploration?"
"Yes, at least manned space exploration. And even if not, your Battlestar is centuries, if not more, beyond anything we had. It is unlikely Earth will have equaled it."
"Again, Commander Dayton, we are certainly willing and able to share technology." Adama continued, seeing the Earthman take a deep breath, preparing to press his point. "Besides, it could very well be that a thousand of your Earth years has elapsed since your time. I'm afraid we have no way of knowing how far that transmission has traveled, or how long ago it was transmitted, at least not right now. In any event, I believe that we are being guided to Earth for a reason. We are meant to be reunited with our long-sundered breathren. There is some greater purpose to all of this." He held his hands expansively before him.
"But you have no way of knowing for certain, Commander Adama." Dayton leaned forward, his features tight, his gaze intent. "Earth could very well be so far behind you technologically speaking that it would be logistically impossible to build a space force capable of resisting these machines that destroyed your worlds. The time, the resources, the training, the language barrier . . . not to mention the absolute shock to our people that there really is intelligent life out here . . ." He didn't miss Ryan's sudden smirk. "Your enemies could be upon us before the United Nations decided on where they were going to hold the blasted reception."
"You're assuming the worst case scenario, Commander . . ." Adama replied, shaking his head in silent refute.
"I have to. It's what I know to be true. It's what I left behind. These are my people.
My wife, my children, perhaps their descendents . . . I can't know for certain . . . All I do know is that you showing up could mean extermination for all of them." Dayton posed vehemently.
"You know," Ryan added quietly, "with the state of things when we left, the people of Earth might very well have blown themselves to Smithereens. One more extremist terrorist group attacking the States, destroying the Space Station. Just remember what happened after the World Trade Center . . ." he shrugged almost apologetically for raising the issue as Dayton's eyes met his, wide with sudden comprehension.
"Holy crap . . . it didn't even occur to me . . ." In his mind, Earth was frozen in time, just the way he had left it. Dayton was intent on protecting her, but what if there was nothing left of her to protect? Then again, if these Cylons showed up, there would be nothing left of his beloved planet in either scenario save ashes. He slumped back in his chair shaking his head at the possibilities.
"Commander, if this other Battlestar, the Pegasus, is still out there, what about trying to destroy these Cylons before you attempt to take your people to Earth?" Ryan suggested. "I can understand that it might not have seemed realistic while you had the sole responsibility of protecting your fleet, but now that you know there's another warship out there with the same firepower as yourself . . . " He recalled Lieutenant Dietra's rundown on the mind boggling weapons arsenal that the Battlestar carried.
"Dr. Ryan, two Battlestars by themselves cannot possibly take on the full might of the entire Cylon Empire." Adama returned patiently. "Unlike our own, their resources are unlimited. They simply build new machines to replace the ones we destroy."
Dayton stared at him in shock. First, Ryan points out that there might not be a Earth left to protect, and now . . . He could feel his glass slipping through his fingertips and struggled to regain his hold, but it tumbled to the floor despite his clumsy efforts. The glass shattered and the silence that ensued only heightened the overwhelming feeling of disbelief as his men looked at him with varying degrees of empathy. This was the most sophisticated and advanced craft they had ever seen, and Adama had just informed them that with another one just as powerful, they were still impotent against their enemy. "Sorry," he muttered to the Colonial Commander who shrugged it off as inconsequential, and poured him another drink in response.
Ryan cleared his throat to draw the attention from his Commander and friend. "Well, it seems to me that if one Battlestar can escort two hundred odd ships safely across Star Systems virtually unscathed, that with two you could blow them to space grunge. There must be some way to beat them."
Adama took a further sip of his ambrosa, nodding his understanding. "Long have I wondered how we managed to safely assemble what was left of our people under the looming Cylon occupation immediately after the Destruction. Logically, their forces should have intervened and destroyed the fleeing ships, not to mention followed them to, and subsequently destroyed the Galactica long before we could even have reached Carillon." More furrowed eyebrows. He explained. "It was not to be. Since then, we have narrowly escaped annihilation time and time again, even encountering the Pegasus and finding vast stores of fuel and equipment at the very moment we needed them most. And while some would attribute it to tactics, experience, and wisdom, and a few to just plain luck, I believe that divine intervention has given us the edge we needed in most situations."
"The same divine intervention that is leading you to Earth." Ryan added with a grim countenance.
Adama nodded. His telecom beeped. "Yes?"
"Commander, the sappers on the asteroid base need some information from the Earthmen regarding the Dynamos." Omega informed him. "It's critical as to how they decide to blow the base. Lieutenant Boomer standing by."
"Put him through." Adama replied.
"One moment, Sir," Omega responded and a long moment of slightly strained silence ensued as they awaited the transmission. "We're having some trouble maintaining the signal from where they are deep in the base with the interference from the asteroid field. As well, some kind of warning klaxon just went off and Captain Apollo is investigating. He'll return to the hangar when he's ready to report. Also, Commander, the salvaged Earth shuttle is now aboard."
"Thank you, Omega. Put Captain Apollo through when he contacts the bridge."
"Yes, sir."
Dayton sat forward again considering the man before him. "I get the idea, Commander Adama, that you're a man who's intent on his chosen path." His jaw clenched as he reviewed in his mind their conversation. Adama was clearly a zealot who would not even consider his concerns regarding his home world. While part of him was disappointed, the realist within him knew that it was unlikely his unsubstantiated feelings of impending doom for his people would be taken seriously. Especially when he looked like a Dennis Hopper look-alike from Waterworld.
"You said it yourself, Commander Dayton. I also prefer an open line of communication, and no misunderstandings. As president of the Council of Twelve and military Commander of the Fleet, I have a responsibility to my people first and foremost. I understand your concerns, but I also feel strongly that Earth is not only a part of our people's ancient history, it is also our future. I hope that in the time to come, we can discuss our peoples' histories, and perhaps find more threads of similarities that could help us discover what became of the thirteenth tribe that landed on your planet millennia ago."
Adama smiled benignly, his fingers entwined and his arms resting on the desk before him. The bureaucrat's slough off. Dayton could feel his body tensing. Then the telecom beeped again.
"Yes?"
"Captain Apollo, Sir."
"Put him through."
A pause and a click, followed by some static. "Commander, Captain Apollo here."
"Report, Captain."
"Sir, the secondary warning alarm for the life support systems has alerted us that this base will soon be uninhabitable." The captain relayed with a slight undertone in his voice that only his father would recognize. His son was agitated.
"Apollo, did you say 'secondary' warning alarm?" Adama asked.
"Yes, Commander. The primary alarm network probably shorted out long ago. It certainly is off-line now. It had been re-wired and patched so many times, it looked more like a mass of balled up duct tape than anything we would recognize as an operable system. Even the control unit was corroded and missing a couple of parts. That fairly accurately reflects the entire life support system. It appears that it's held together for the last number of yahrens with a prayer and a hope."
Adama nodded, looking meaningfully at Ryan and Dayton. Surely they wouldn't miss the fact that their rescue at this moment in time had saved most of the pirate base from certain death. Once again the fates had intervened in the favour of humanity. "What's the situation?"
"Volk and his team think we have a couple centars before the air is no longer breathable and we lose the artificial atmosphere. We're preparing to move out and should have the majority of the team away in under a centar."
"And preparations for blowing the base and the Dynamos?" Adama asked.
"We have a couple ideas about how to blow the base without needing to use a missile from the Galactica."
"Yes, Apollo. Colonel Tigh has briefed me. You need to know if there's any danger to over-energizing the Dynamos to destroy them."
"Yes, sir." Apollo replied.
"Do you know, Commander Dayton?" Adama asked him. "I realize you may not have been cognizant of the technical aspects of their weaponry . . ." He paused as Dayton raised a hand.
"Actually, I've been in their control room on more occasions than I'd care to remember." Dayton answered distastefully, remembering how he was forced through the torture of his men to help with repairs on archaic systems that he felt more comfortable with than the pirates did. Of course, a lot of the Endeavour's parts had been scavenged to replace some of their own decaying circuitry. He raised his voice, looking at the commlink. "What exactly are you planning to do, Captain?"
Apollo briefly explained how they planned to simultaneously overload the Dynamos, and subsequently destroy them. "We noticed though that they had an energy control system of some sort preprogrammed into them. An upper and lower limit of the current they will accept, without either shutting off or going over the top. Our concern was why?"
Dayton paused, feeling Ryan's eyes upon him. He looked over to his friend who was watching him intently. He took a slow, deep breath, appearing to think it over. "That's simply because of the energy fluctuations from the base's main reactor. It's about as reliable as a drunken watchman on a Saturday night. The safety lock prevented the Dynamos from either shutting down if the reactor output dropped too low, or inadvertently activating due to power surges, and blowing themselves to Kingdom Come."
"We suspected that might be it. Thank you for your help, Commander Dayton." Apollo replied.
"No problem," he replied, concentrating his gaze on the ambrosa before him as Adama continued a dialogue with his son that the NASA Commander no longer heard. He had made his decision based on the information at hand. He too had to put his people first and foremost. He had theorized already that he would have to do something to stop them. Now, here was the answer thrown into his lap. He had no other choice.