Author's Note: This chapter picks up seconds after Chapter 17 left off; the timeline will fluctuate as the chapter progresses but the variations will be denoted.
Another Way Chapter 18
The Only Way…
"What the HELL just happened here, Bill?" Tigh barely kept the growl out of his voice as he narrowed his eyes.
"I don't know." Adama didn't have the answer his friend was looking for, but at the moment, that didn't matter. What did matter was that the immediate threat of a BaseStar closing in on them was gone. "But I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. I like my teeth where they are; Cottle's a little short on dentures these days."
Breaking his concentration away from the DRAEDIS display, Bill looked across the board and made eye contact with his friend. The way Tigh was poised – like a cat about to tussle with a dog – was something he could understand. Being denied the opportunity to strike back prickled the retired combat pilot in him. He would have liked the chance to take a swipe at that BaseStar with his Viper-tipped claws.
Each caught up in trying to put the pieces together, an interesting silence stretched between him and his Executive Officer.
Not that CIC was quiet – far from it, in fact. Specialists, officers and attendants were criss-crossing the command space doing their jobs. The klaxons sounding the Action Stations alarm were still going off. Vipers were mopping up the two Raiders that still showed up on DRAEDIS. SAR and Kat were escorting the Blackbird back into to the hanger bay. And there was still the issue of an out-of-control BaseStar plummeting to the surface of the moon endangering everyone and everything in its flaming path.
"Dee." Adama shot his voice directly to the Communications Console. Locking eyes with the young woman, he said, "Raise the mining camp."
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Standing in the yard of the operations compound, Lee visually tracked a BaseStar careening across the lightening sky. The point of impact was going to be where gravity met the rotation of the moon and then multiplied by velocity, no more – no less. The important things were what were on the ground. The ore was stable, but everything else – the vehicles, machinery, everything – ran on tylium and there was no way the Fleet could afford to lose irreplaceable equipment like that.
One part of his mind was already forming a battle plan to defend the site as the other half was running through the scenarios and what it must have cost Galactica to bring down an enemy ship that out-massed the Battlestar nearly two-to-one.
Striding through the doors of the Communications Centre, he watched Corporal Venner place one hand over his ear as he pressed the receiver of the wireless more firmly against the other in an attempt to hear was being relayed. Overhead, the lights flickered and Lee instinctively jerked his shoulders and looked up as debris rained down from above and littered the roof of the building. Seeing Venner make eye-contact with him, Lee pointed to the phone and curled his fingers around the receiver as Venner placed it in his hands.
"Go outside. Find Lieutenant Agathon and Chief Tyrol. Tell them that they are to organize everyone they can find and meet me outside in ten minutes." Bracing the phone between his shoulder and his ear, he added more orders for Venner to obey. "I want you to tell Specialist Cally that she is in charge of those needing medical aid. I want you to find any and all weapons and bring them here. We will be moving out ASAP."
"Aye, aye, Sir," Venner nodded in understanding.
Watching the Geminese man practically run for the door, Lee reached for the communications console and tried to do what Venner hadn't been able to: contact Galactica.
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Hands locked to the console, Bill issued orders from where he stood. So far, every attempt to reach the mining camp had failed and he wasn't going to move until he heard Lee's voice for himself. He had two years to mourn Zak before he lost Kara. Losing Lee and Kara in the same week was something he was not prepared to do, no matter how symmetrical it seemed.
Out of the corner of his eye, Adama could see Dee trying to make eye contact with him from her station.
An almost indiscernible nod to Saul broke their private moment. Flicking his eyes away from his oldest friend he acknowledged the young woman.
"Sir, it's a call from the surface. It's Captain Adama."
"Put him through." Adama ordered. Looking up at the DRAEDIS, as if he were actually looking at Lee instead of just listening to his voice, he watched the last two Raiders blink off the screen.
"Galactica Actual – Apollo; what happened up there?" A scratchy transmission and warbled words transmitted through the wireless.
"We're still trying to ascertain that, Captain. What is your damage report?" Adama asked.
"One ATT destroyed by friendly fire, triage being performed as we speak but no solid numbers to speak of as of yet." Puzzlement underscored the information Lee relayed. "What about you? What is your SitRep? How much damage did you sustain?"
Before Adama or Tigh could answer, a terrific noise filled CIC. Dee pulled her headset off as feedback screeched in her ears and wrapped around the Command Centre.
The first to recover, Gaeta crossed the room and typed a series of commands into the computer. Almost immediately, a printout spat out what happened.
"Apollo! What happened? Are you all right?" Adama shouted. In the hours after the end of the worlds, and further re-enforced by the last words he would ever speak to Starbuck, he'd learned not to hide behind semantics.
"Sir, the BaseStar just struck the surface," Gaeta said quietly enough to be heard by everyone but not so loudly as to drown out what was coming over the wireless.
The sound of the wireless band being re-tuned squawked in the background.
"Galactica Actual – Apollo; the BaseStar you brought down crash-landed. Impact temporarily knocked out communications." Apollo clarified.
Looking at Gaeta who still had his paper in hand and switching his gaze to Tigh, Adama used the moment to put the words together before pushing the consonants and vowels off his tongue.
"That wasn't our kill, Captain."
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Between everything that had happened in the past twelve minutes – from Venner waking him up to the BaseStar crashing somewhere relatively nearby and now speaking with Galactica – he had to have misheard what his father had just said.
"Repeat that, Galactica?"
It was second before he heard the Commander's voice.
"We did not bring down that BaseStar, Captain."
Lee felt his eyes widen and his jaw threaten to drop open.
"What happened up there, Sir? I have a BaseStar full of Cylons in my side yard and you're saying they fell there by chance? "
Lee was interrupted by Tigh cutting into the line.
"Captain – as soon as we know, you'll know. In the meantime, your orders are to protect the mining site and those on that moon. Expect a Raptor carrying ordinance and small arms to arrive shortly along with a pair of medics. Wounded will be triaged and then evacuated to Galactica for treatment."
Drawing a deep breath, Apollo shook Lee from his face.
"Yes, Sir – understood. Apollo out."
Putting the receiver down, he closed his eyes for a brief moment as he let Tigh's curt words go in one ear and out the other.
Hitting both doors to the Communications Centre with both hands with a hell of a lot more force than necessary, he let them clap shut behind him and let go of the breath he was only barely aware that he had been holding.
Looking up ahead, he saw that Venner had relayed his orders to Helo and Tyrol. The three men had found enough staff to make three groups – everyone else was at the refineries or in the mines.
Frak! The miners!
Coming up on the group, Captain Adama took control.
"Okay, change of plans. Listen up people – this is how we're going to do this." Looking at Venner, he said, "Corporal, you're to take as much rope as you can carry and six people with you and you're to check the integrity of the mine shafts and pull out anyone who's in trouble. Because that BaseStar hit so close to here, there's a possibility that some of the shafts could be compromised and people could be trapped."
Venner nodded, turned on his heel and picked out his rescue detail.
Placing Tyrol in the path of his blue eyes, he made it clear what he needed the Chief to do. "I need you to go to the refinery and smelting stations. Make sure equipment is secure and not a danger to anyone or anything. Take as many men as you need to cover all the contingencies. We're gonna need that equipment for another day, Chief."
"Got it, Captain."
Seeing Tyrol agree and choose who he would take with him, he faced Helo.
"You and I – along with everyone else," there were only eight men left, "are going to make our way to the crash site and survey the scene. We're going to establish a perimeter and set up a primary line of defence so that when those Centurions come filing out of that ship, we can keep them contained to that area until our re-enforcements arrive."
"With what, Sir? All we have are a handful of weapons and a couple of packs of demolition-grade charges that we've been using to excavate the ore." Venner asked, concern etched in his face.
"There's a Raptor being loaded as we speak that should be here shortly. It will drop supplies, medical aid, pick up the wounded and take them back to Galactica." Lee touched the eyes of the three groups organized in front of him. "All right people – let's move out! We have a lot of ground to cover and we are working against the clock!"
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For the second time in less than an hour, Lee had to raise his arm to protect his face.
This time, it was due to Racetrack setting down her Raptor. Clouds of orange dust swirled around him, Helo and the rest of his company as she touched down. Uniform buffeted against his body, it was several moments before he could get close enough to hop up onto the skid boards. Impatiently pushing up as the hydraulics opened the hatch, he was along side the ECO station before Margaret could start her power-down sequence. The medics were not in the compartment; she had already dropped the technicians off at the compound.
Tapping her shoulder, he brought his fingers together and swung his wrist back and forth across the base of his neck. Stop, don't power-down. The drone of an engine still running set the floor vibrating, but it was a logistical necessity.
Stepping away from the Raptor pilot, he backtracked to the hatch. Beckoning for Helo, he ordered, "Get the equipment unloaded and see that it gets distributed." Spying several bulky bundles of lightweight body armour he added, "Make sure everyone is as protected as possible. Load the weapons. We're not going to be here long. Got it?"
"Got it," Helo nodded. Looking over his shoulder he called another soldier forward and started pulling out the supplies.
Getting back to Racetrack, Captain Adama made sure he had her complete attention. "Keep the engine hot. We don't know what's out there. Be prepared to puddle-jump and pick us up."
Twisting her neck left and right, looking past him at where Helo was passing back equipment and out the side view ports where the rest of the force had gathered near the Raptor, she shook her head. "Only way I can do that is if I make two trips. There's not enough room in here for everyone, Sir."
"Then you puddle-jump – your job is to get us out of there if I or Lieutenant Agathon gives the word. Do you understand me?" Captain Adama expressly asked in a way that made saying 'no' not an option.
"Aye, aye, Sir," she affirmed. There was no misunderstanding his orders.
"Did they load you with short-range missiles, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, Sir – four were slid into the launch tubes just prior to take off."
A terse nod was all the answer she got and that was all the acknowledgement she needed. Shooting a sitting target wasn't very challenging, but just because the BaseStar was inert didn't mean it was incapacitated. It was still armed and dangerous and she was glad that the Captain hadn't lost sight of that fact.
Walking away from the pilot and making for the hatch, Lee scanned the empty cargo area. All the supplies sent down from Galactica had been unloaded. Stepping down and away from the bird, he saw his men in various stages of loading up. Striding up to Helo more by reflex than anything else, a stack of Marine-grade armour, bullet-proof vest and a pair of guns with spare clips was still left to be donned.
"That's for you." Helo jutted his chin towards pile as Lee got close. Fitting an earpiece into his aural canal he added, "I hope you don't mind the colour – I thought it would go well with your eyes."
A guarded smile touched his lips at Karl's levity. If his words hadn't ended with the larger man snapping a clip into his side arm, changing up Agathon's normal easy-going demeanour to something much more lethal, Lee could picture himself even chuckling lightly.
"Well – at least black is slimming – so I would say it looks good on you too." He shot back, even as he started to pull on his own armour.
Watching with only one eye as the slightly older man stretched his arms and shoulders in an attempt to loosen up the underlying muscles and using the other eye to make sure he got all the buckles and clasps secured properly, he waited for Karl's comeback.
"Yeah, well," he let his voice trail off before he gave Lee a lop-sided smirk. "I also took the Extra Manly-sized gear; didn't want it to go to waste. You understand – right?" The connotation that Helo was sparing his ego wasn't hard to miss.
"Hey – you're the one who's going to have to live with being called 'Starbuck' for the next day or so." Lee glibly returned, reminding Karl who exactly had the biggest stones in the Fleet – besides the Old Man and Roslin.
Snap.
Click.
Pop.
Crack.
Guns were loaded with rounds, spare ammunition was clicked into place, holsters were popped open and the crack of weapons striking armour made any further retort trite.
Looking at the Captain, Karl knew he was the larger man but between the two of them Lee was definitely the more dangerous. Size wasn't an issue when moral conviction merged with justifiable retribution.
"Okay people – we're moving out!"
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In front of him, the free-falling BaseStar had carved a sizable crater out of the terrain. Fires could seen burning on some of the higher levels of the ship and every once in awhile he felt ground tremble as internal explosions radiated out from the parts of the craft that had been driven deep into the surface of the moon by the impact. It was listing on its side. Several of the spiny appendages had snapped off during the crash and by the ragged furrows drawn in the topsoil, it looked like the craft had rolled at least twice.
"Whatcha' think?" Helo asked.
Reaching for his field glasses, Lee peered through the lenses. "No movement. No one – skinjobs or clankers – have come out of there since we got here."
"The scouts reported that there were no tracks leading away from the crash site – so that means that we didn't miss them leaving the ship before we arrived."
"Well, there's something to be said for small favours, huh?" Lee's comment was rhetorical but it still felt good to hear Karl's grunt of approval. Passing the field glasses over to Agathon Lee asked, "What do you think?"
"Well – I think we have learned all we're gonna know from here. We're gonna have to get closer if we're gonna find out what's going on in there and what we're up against." Helo said matter of factly, his own Marine garb making hollow noises as he shifted against the rocks. "On the 'plus' side of things, Racetrack has enough room to land if need be, Captain."
"I agree." This time, it was his turn to grunt.
Picking their way across the plain and approaching the downed spaceship, one question kept cropping up time and again: if Galactica didn't bring down the BaseStar, then who the frak did and what the FRAK happened up there?
Separating from Helo at what looked like a hanger bay Agathon took his group to the left while Lee and his crew branched to the right and began making their way towards the starboard side of the ship. Flicking his eyes to Helo, he knew the other man was just as taken back as he was by the amount of damage sustained to the ship. What they were looking at went beyond a crash landing.
It looked like a war-zone.
Raiders were piled haphazardly against one another along one far wall, as if they had been stacked together and someone had come along and knocked the whole pile over in one fell swoop. The power was intermittent. Showers of sparks would sporadically cascade around them as surges overloaded the circuitry. Support girders were wrenched from overhead, ostensibly by the impact, and the sound of metal creaking under the strain of fatigue underscored the popping of electricity and the whirring of ventilation systems pulling smoke and fumes out of the air. The smell of some unknown cooked flesh made his eyes sting and tickled his gag reflex. He didn't want to know what he was stepping on or what caused the squelching sounds coming up from underneath his boots.
Remembering his training from War College, the state of the space craft was beyond any simulations he had seen as to how a massive Battlestar should look after being shot down and crash landing on an angle that was incongruous to the axis it was built to maintain. The only difference was that this was a Cylon BaseStar and the smell that permeated everything.
"Apollo – look up there." Helo kept his voice low but projected it across the hanger bay.
Following Agathon's line-of-sight, Lee craned his neck and focused on a beam of light streaming in from up above.
"Looks like something crashed INTO the ship." Lee guessed.
"And it landed over there." Helo traced the ray of light with the barrel of his weapon.
Crumpled around itself, ooze and muck were still seeping out of jagged gashes that scored the sides of the Raider. It was an eerie sight while at the same time slightly reassuring. If the Cylons were killing each other then that meant that there would be fewer that his forces would have to deal with later.
"I'd buy the pilot who brought that ship down a round of drinks at the bar of their choice." A Marine from the back of the line-up snorted.
"All I can say is that it must have been one hell of a fight up there." Helo commented, referring to what must have happened in space.
"Can the chatter people – we just got here" Captain Adama snapped. "It's too early in the game to get sloppy."
Another explosion – somewhere deep within the ship – had Lee and his men fighting to keep their footing.
Getting back his balance and flipping off the safety on his weapon, Lee signalled for everyone else to do the same.
Bringing his gun to chest-level, he gave the order. "All right people. Stay sharp – we're going in."
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One Hour Ago…
It had only happened three times before where Kara 'Starbuck' Thrace pulled together the different aspects of her psyche to do what she had to do.
The first time it happened was on the Pyramid court when that idiot blew out her knee. The she-warrior in her demanded restitution while the leader in her felt the need to keep it together. She could actually feel two distinct facets – not vying for control – but making their presence known. Using them both at the same time was what gave her the ability to circumvent the rising crisis and defuse the crowd before the crowd tore itself apart. It might have cost her a career on the professional circuit, but she owned that court that she limped off of because of it.
The second time it happened was when the three nuclear warheads were closing in on Galactica in the first few hours of the war. The calmness that accompanied the officer aspect of her personality allowed her to contact Galactica and not only warn them of the imminent impact, but also give the Battlestar a damage report that they themselves could not ascertain. At the same time, it was the instincts of Starbuck that took aim and plucked out of the sky two out of the three missiles at an impossible range in an antiquated aircraft that hadn't flown in twenty years.
The third time it happened was when Zak hooked her up to the Raiders. By pressing her torn back harder into the 'chair', flashes of pain gave her something to hold onto as the drugs and electrical impulses pulled at her mind and body. Even the most subtle shift in her body accentuated the pain that flared from her back. The more pain she felt, the more 'control' she had. That is, she was able to combine Starbuck's thrill for flying and uncanny ability in the cockpit with the moral responsibility that Lieutenant Thrace carried and only disable Colonial Vipers rather than destroy them; run a defensive play at the same time as she commanded the offensive line. It was enough to make her question her own sanity, and sometimes it was a really ugly situation, but she was out of cards. At least, she was – until someone laid down their trump earlier than he should have.
That was the reason why she made sure that the last 'Spiritual Cleansing' session that Three administered was the most vicious one yet. And it had everything to do with the man who was bent over her, whispering instructions to her fluid-covered ears. Zak's promise to take Lee was something he should have never told her. Now, she had a way to make sure that Zak would never get to the Old Man or Lee ever again. But it was going to cost her. It was going to cost her big time. In order to do what she had to do, she was going to draw on all three of her components. Kara was going to have to surface and stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Starbuck and Lieutenant Thrace for her plan to work.
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There was nothing more she could do.
Sharon had done all she could for Kara. The rest was up to pilot who now stood to lose everything that had been keeping her together over the past seven weeks.
Putting one foot in front of the other, she wasn't entirely convinced that Kara finally believed that Sharon was telling the truth as to who she was and why she was there on the BaseStar. But, even if Starbuck didn't believe her, it didn't matter. The plan, conceived barely a day ago in the showers by a barely coherent woman, was already in motion. Not one that Sharon would have thought of, or would've even considered, but it was a Starbuck plan. Looking at it from a certain point-of-view, it did make sense. The part that made her feel uneasy was the way that the Colonial warrior made her promise to stick to the plan, no matter what happened. She could still see the other woman's hazel-green eyes glittering with fevered sincerity when the Viper pilot made Sharon promise to make it back to Helo.
The one stumbling block Sharon had – Adama's stipulation about Thrace's dog tags – was solved when Starbuck lifted her foot and pressed her toes against Sharon's thigh. A simple silver band was on her big toe. Sudsing up her hands, making like she was washing away the blood on Starbuck's foot and calf – which there was due to Three's 'passion' – Sharon slipped the band off Kara's toe and secured it around the base of her index finger. Adama would not need anything else and Sharon would be safe – once she reached Galactica. On this point, Kara had been adamant, her wet hair moving in time to the vehemence of her words.
Getting there was going to be the hard part. And that was where Leoben was going to come into play.
Making her way nonchalantly down corridor after corridor, she made sure to keep her face as neutral as possible and her thoughts as shielded as she could. It was Leoben's job to 'distract' the Hybrid, to ask the Heart of the BaseStar what she was 'seeing' and to probe for prophesies yet fulfilled. Sharon couldn't run the risk of her thoughts touching the collective information stream.
Entering the hanger bay, she approached the Blackbird. Popping the canopy, her helmet was just where she left it and her flight suit was still balled up and wedged between the seat and the pedals. Around her, Centurions were prepping Raiders for launch. Silently, she gave thanks for the simple programming that was built into the metal soldiers. The memory of a Centurion didn't download to a new body upon destruction. Each Centurion was just as his namesake represented: a soldier built to do a soldiers work, to obey orders without question and never question an order that had been issued. Not that a Centurion couldn't adapt to fulfil a mission, learn about an enemy's strengths and weaknesses. But that was where it ended. If a Centurion had to change direction in order to achieve a directive, then it could. What it could not do was make a decision for itself. That was why she felt secure crossing the hanger bay. The Centurions were ordered to prep Raiders. No one gave them an order to prevent her from getting to her ship. It also helped that, to them – the metal soldiers – she was just another Model. Not someone who had an agenda separate from the Collective Manifesto.
Pulling on the suit and settling into the cockpit, she took one more look around at what used to be her home, her people and the only way of life she knew since she was brought on-line. In front of her, out there in the blackness of space, was the opportunity to live her own life, love the man who loved her, and raise her child to be an individual from the day of her birth, not her 'in service' date.
Blinking several times pushed the soft look in her eyes aside. Squaring her shoulders with the backrest she adopted the stern look she's seen on Viper pilots who were about to launch, knowing that there was no going back. The same was now true for her.
Sliding her helmet into place, she powered up the stealth ship. Scanning her instruments, she was glad to see that her orders had been carried out. The cloaking device had been fixed. Watching as one Raider after another slipped from its hanging-hook and made for the mouth of the hanger bay, she timed it so that she blended into the queue.
Granted that the 'hiding a tree in a forest' strategy wasn't going to protect her for long, but Starbuck promised that the other Models have 'other things' to deal with by the time that happened. She didn't know too many humans who kept their promises, but the feeling of the ring on her first finger somehow made Kara's words carry the sanctity of a vow.
Holding a position underneath one set of Raiders, just like she had been told to do, come Hell or Hades, she turned off the cloaking mechanism.
Playing with the Big Dogs meant no fear – and no going back, for her or for Starbuck.
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It was like she could hear the separation of the Raider, pulling away from where it hung upside down ready for battle. She felt, as if she were lying inside the war craft, the inertia dampeners kick in and prevent her from hitting the deck. The sling-shot principle intrinsic to launching a Viper never came into play. Instead, port and starboard thrusters fired simultaneously, sending her out into the blackness of space as her engines burned across the vacuum.
All around her, she could sense her fellow Raiders spread out and take the formations she projected in her mind. Their target was sitting there, just off the port bow. Between and below them, an orange coloured moon with a moderate atmosphere spun gracefully on its axis. Coming at her was a squadron of Colonial Vipers.
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Six looked around the Command Table. Doral, an Eight, and D'Anna were spread out around her. No one liked this latest plan. To pursue Lee Adama was not a logical objective, but in the wake of the success that Two and Simon demonstrated with Starbuck, they didn't have a counter argument strong enough to prevent the mission from happening. It was with reluctance that they all agreed to proceed.
Placing her hands in the Living Water, she said, "All fighters are away."
Turning to the Eight, Doral gave her an order. "Tell Number Two that his operation can start at his discretion."
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Perched on the edge of her tank, Zak smiled down in encouragement at his Persephone. She wouldn't like what she was going to be made to do. But she would obey. She had to. She wouldn't have a choice. But in the long run, she'd see that he was doing this for her – for them. To bring his family together in a way that should've happened two years ago. By the end of the day, he, Kara and Lee would be together again. Just like it was meant to be.
Behind him, Simon announced, "She's ready."
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Colonial Vipers were coming in hard and fast – but her Raiders were faster. Breaking up the Cylon warships into groups, she could see them arrayed out in front, beside, alongside and behind her. Mentally reaching out to grab onto one rope-like vein that controlled 'roll', she shifted her hips and hit the 'power' ligament. Spinning and dipping down to an attack vector along with the two other Raiders flanking her, Starbuck felt herself roll with the ship. A flash of pain brought a flash of brightness to her eyes. Mentally shaking her head, she took her place in the formation. The Vipers were almost in range.
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Cylons weren't supposed to feel pride. Pride was one of the Deadly Sins that God had warned His Children against. But to see is Persephone in the throes of battle and to know that God chose him, above all other Cylons to bring her to her destiny swelled Zak's soul.
His Kara was beautiful when she slept. She was beautiful when she wept. She was ethereal when she was being defiant. She was God's Avenging Angel when she was doing His work.
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Banking hard to the left, the shot fired from one of the Colonial fighters missed her but took down the Raider flying beside her.
Jostled against the controls by the unexpected end-over-end manoeuvre, another flash – this time longer – of brightness lighted behind her eyes. This time, her sense of smell picked up something beyond the reek of Raider. Levelling out her pitch, she settled back down and adjusted the yaw of her fighter.
On her radar screen, she saw a signature of an enemy ship. The signal was coming from inside her offensive line. There was something important that she was supposed to remember about that plane, though. For some reason, it could not be blown out of the sky.
A pack of four Raiders broke off their attack on Galactica and changed course at her command: pursue the Blackbird.
A sheen of perspiration broke out all over her body. Everything was beginning to hurt. Flashes of whiteness, pain along every square inch of her back, a searing pounding her head were all interspersed with sounds and smells that were never found in space. There was more she was supposed to remember – more she was supposed to do.
Crying out as she pressed her body down more firmly against the floor of the Raider, pain exploded everywhere, and for one split second she could have sworn she saw Zak's face.
But that was impossible – wasn't it? Zak was dead. He died – two years ago. He. Was. Dead. Wasn't he?
Her musings had to wait. A Viper had picked her out of the fray and chose today to engage in a dogfight the Colonial pilot couldn't win.
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Looking on at the aerial battle from CIC, Adama nodded to Gaeta as Tigh locked his hands behind his back.
"Sir, it's the Blackbird. She's being chased by four Raiders." Gaeta didn't know what to make of it. Barely a week ago the Blackbird slipped through their defences and now, Sharon Valerii was high-tailing it back to the Fleet. "What are your orders?"
"Does her transmission code match?" Tigh asked.
"Yes, Sir," Gaeta confirmed.
Seeing his XO about to say something else, he silenced whatever Saul was about to say with one sidelong glance.
"Tell Coda that I want that ship brought in at all costs." Switching his gaze to Tigh, Adama said, "Send a detail of Marines to the hanger bay to secure the bird and its pilot when it lands."
Seeing Tigh reach for the wireless, Bill squinted up at the DRAEDIS console and locked away his emotions. He would need them later, but for right now, impassivity was going to be his best ally against a turbulent heart. There was only one reason why Cylon Number Eight would be returning to the nest.
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Number Six was close to snarling. "What is happening out there?"
D'Anna smacked her palm against the console. "I knew she wasn't to be trusted!"
Aaron Doral was close to losing the control that marked all the models in his line. "I want that ship brought down! Tell Number Two to get his 'pet' to shoot it out of the sky!"
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When she was like this, in her true element doing what she was born to do, she was what the Colonials referred to as a Goddess. Her skin shone and her eyes were other-worldly. She was not Kara when she was like this. She was not Lieutenant Thrace when the smallest movements that the chair allowed her became water-ballet in the opaqueness of her bath.
She was Starbuck. Power and ruthlessness and rage and a breath-taking sensuality that was as unique as the woman who owned the identity.
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It was so much! So much pain, from her back; so much pressure making her head pound; so many things going on at once – but that was the way it was supposed to be. Wasn't it?
Radar was a flurry of activity. It looked liked a Picon snowstorm – no make that a Picon blizzard.
No – wait – where had she thought those words before? Wait – when had she been able to 'think' before? Reaction was what she did, it was only 'before' when she was able to pre-empt scenarios before they could happen.
Frustration made her fingers flex. Aiming for the roof the Raider, she tried to punch it like she would the canopy of her Viper. But, her hands – they wouldn't let go of the 'throttle'. She couldn't let go!
An explosion off her port wing reminded her that there was still a Viper on her tail.
A cramp started to creep up her calf and her knee was starting to ache. If she could only shift a little, to alleviate the pressure… But her legs – they wouldn't move either, it was like they were locked into place.
A sense of panic was settling in. What was wrong?! Looking around her, she saw the inside of a Raider – her reality – wobble and become fuzzy. The more pain and discomfort she was in the more her 'reality' shifted until it looked like she was living two different timelines at the same time.
Flashes of white became more defined – walls of a room came into focus and two men – how can I be in a Raider and in a room at the same time? – talking about her filtered into her ears.
The slime that coated her fingers was something that she expected as she handled the control appendages of her Raider. A prevailing sensation of being saturated made her look down at herself. Her whole body immersed in a tub full of goo. The sight of her hands, body, legs and feet strapped into place made her want to fight her bonds that were invisible in the cockpit of her Raider.
This is wrong, this shouldn't be happening, this isn't right!, she screamed in her mind.
A maelstrom of images, emotions, fears, triumphs, mistakes and a lifetime of memories overlapped and played out against one another.
In the background, growing louder and louder, was Sharon's voice; Sharon her friend, Sharon the Cylon –all one and the same but separate and equal at the same time. She was speaking to her: to Starbuck, to Lieutenant Thrace, to Kara. And, for some reason, Starbuck remembered it was important to listen to what the other female was saying.
"Pain is your friend, Kara. Use the pain, Starbuck. Feel it. Make it hurt more – that is the only way, Lieutenant." Sharon's voice was soothing, reassuring but underscored with an authority that was imperative to making her plan work.
Plan – what plan? Starbuck's vision swayed. The star field she saw out her view port swam in and out of focus as she felt her eyes move side-to-side and dual realities merged and separated.
"Pain is your friend, Kara. Use the pain, Starbuck. Feel it. Make it hurt more – that is the only way, Lieutenant."
Somewhere, she was aware that she had broken away from the rest of the Raiders. Rolling and diving, the safety harness that kept her in place disappeared like it was never there. Bouncing around the cockpit, shooting pains streaked through her body. Sharon's voice grew louder and her words started to make more sense every time the Cylon repeated herself.
"Pain is your friend, Kara. Use the pain, Starbuck. Feel it. Make it hurt more – that is the only way, Lieutenant."
Levelling off once again, the more she followed the instructions of Sharon's voice, the more it hurt. But the more it hurt, the more the Raider she was 'in' fell away and the more Sharon's words seemed to anchor her in the melee that surrounded her. Like those three sentences were put in her subconscious for a reason.
A desperate thought pierced the raging confusion that thrummed every cell in her body.
What if… what if… if she could make her body hurt enough, it could be the one thing that saved her. Saved her? That thought didn't make sense, but she was running out options. The Viper on her tail was closing in and if she didn't do something soon, she was going to be nothing but cosmic dust for another Hybrid to communicate with the next time a BaseStar passed through this section of space.
Throwing her Raider into an impossible climb at an impossible angle, Starbuck felt the g-forces press her deeper and deeper into her own body as breathing became more and more difficult. Awareness flared. Pain like she had never known before exploded through her body to such an extreme that when she went to open her mouth to let it out, all that came out was a bit of strangled air.
Braking off her ascent, the fog in her brain was lifting. Grim determination had her yanking at the controls and nearly robbing herself of consciousness as she changed course, kicked on her burners and pushed her and her fighter back down the same path.
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DRAEDIS was a mass of blips and icons.
On screen, Coda was trying to pick off the four Raiders hot on the Blackbird's tail. The BaseStar was coming about and it would not be long before it was position to fire at will at Galactica.
Icon number one-six-seven was banking steeply as the Raider it chased pulled a last minute evasive manoeuvre. Bill thought about pulling Rat Trap back from the chase, the Raider he was after was out of his league, but watching the Raider suddenly turn around and come back the way it came and head for the moon made his words trite. If he broke into the line now, he would only distract Rat Trap, not help him.
No – the best thing he could do for Rat Trap, and the rest of his pilots, was to make sure they had a home to come back too.
"Colonel Tigh – prepare to fire a suppression barrage." Adama ordered.
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"Pain is your friend, Kara. Use the pain, Starbuck. Feel it. Make it hurt more – that is the only way, Lieutenant."
She knew she had broken the uppermost atmosphere when the blackness that had been before her became various shades of orange.
She also knew she was not in that Raider. She could feel the other Raiders, just like she could 'feel' the Raider she was 'in' just as she could 'feel' every Cylon on the BaseStar. Even the Hybrid, in her own tank far away from where Starbuck was entrapped, lifted her head and acknowledged the Colonial warrior's presence.
She was in that chair.
She was a prisoner of the Cylons.
They had been using her to destroy her own people.
Not they – Zak.
Zak had been using her, and Simon was his accomplice. A tickle of smug satisfaction teased her memories. The last time she had seen a Simon model, she had told him that she would see him in Hell. This was certainly one definition of Hell, and they were there together.
Focusing in on what was in front of her – on two different levels – the sensation of her mind splitting into all three of her different personas sent her reeling while at the same time, it was the sanest thing that had happened to her in seven weeks.
Starbuck – Lieutenant Thrace; now!
Reaching out, using the chair, Starbuck nearly whimpered with the pain she needed to endure to bring the Lieutenant's plan to fruition and prayed that Kara had the strength to do her part.
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Sliding off of the glass partition, Zak crouched down and leaned his head forward until he was looking in her eyes – eyes that were focused on things he couldn't see. Dropping the most feather-light of kisses on her forehead and then pulling back, he gave her the assurance he knew she needed.
"Starbuck, you know what to do. It's time to bring Apollo home."
Watching her close her eyes in concentration as she prepared herself to follow his orders, he was mesmerized by the wide range of expressions his Kara was capable of sharing. Once they were married and living with Lee and his 'father' as the family they all had been denied for too long, he promised God that he would do everything in his power to make sure Kara knew how much she was loved.
Eyelids opening, her gaze fixed on the ceiling, a slight firming of her jaw line was all the warning he had before Kara – not Starbuck or Lieutenant Thrace – snapped him a scathingly disparaging look.
"What part of 'over my dead body' didn't you understand, Zak?"
Before he could answer, an explosion from somewhere along the perimeter of the BaseStar echoed through the lab.
It was the second explosion that actually rocked the BaseStar and knocked Zak, Simon and every other Cylon off their feet.
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"Frakking Starbuck and her frakking plans…" Sharon muttered under her breath.
Evasive manoeuvres in a stealth ship built for agility and speed were accomplished more easily than in a Raptor. However, having four Raiders on her tail while at the same time being corralled by Vipers while said Vipers were intently focused on taking said Raiders out of the sky, was a serious exercise in concentration even for a Cylon.
Scanning her scopes, two of the four Raiders broke off their attack run and changed course. Dipping and banking left to avoid an ammunition round brought Sharon into a one-hundred and eighty-degree turn; she was now facing the BaseStar.
A mighty blast went off in the distance followed by a second incineration.
Unable to stop herself, a pair of tears trickled down her face.
"Frakking Starbuck and her frakking plans…" Inhaling a stabilizing breath, Sharon let it out slowly and said a prayer for the pilot who gave everything she had to give – for a second time.
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Those whose jobs it was to watch the DRAEDIS console did; those whose job was to relay information in CIC did, while they watched Raider after Raider change course and plough directly into the central axis of the oncoming BaseStar.
No one said anything because no one knew what to say as the damage read-out on the Cylon equivalent of a Battlestar began to lose altitude.
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The goop in her tank sloshed side to side even as the Lieutenant Thrace part of her mind pulled Raiders from the sky and careened them into the BaseStar.
The Starbuck in her was still in the cockpit of the Raider, coming up on the surface of the moon with a Viper hot on her burners.
Heading for 'the deck', a group of buildings came into sharp relief. As the image came close and the sonic boom echoed behind her, she could see slightly blurred forms running around below her as the Viper took aim and missed. Looking down, for one split second, she saw a figure in blue standing in the clear – it was Lee. A sudden explosion hid him from view and as the dust swirled away, she saw him pick himself up and look up at 'her'.
Her hands jerked the controls and she felt her ship shudder as the force of her emotions carried across the ship.
Zak would never have him. Not now – not ever.
Making 'contact' with Thrace and Kara, Starbuck shot for the sky.
Accelerating, she flipped the Raider and fired one round at the Viper on her 'six' – play time was over. Spinning away but not exploding, the Viper was taken off of the board.
Flipping back around, she was once again facing front and took aim at the spiny ship. Kicking in her burners, she let every second it took for 'her' Raider to hit the BaseStar be an opportunity to re-live some of the better moments in her life.
Then, everything went black.
Starbuck never felt the Raider cleave the hull of the ship, tunnel through the decks, venting more and more of the BaseStar into space only to tumble end-for-end when she ploughed down and into the cavernous hanger bay.
Starbuck died as she always envisioned she would – in a ball of fiery glory that was a match for her own fiery spirit.
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Sliding on some of the conductive fluid that spilled from his Kara's tank, anger, fury and the need for retribution ignited Zak's face. Persephone was going to pay for her treachery.
"Hard disconnect – NOW!"
Lieutenant Thrace called on every ounce of emotional pain she had ever known, every instance of mental anguish – true mental anguish – that she had ever experienced and every painful memory that she possessed and faced it head on, while at the same time she combined it with the physical pain she had held at bay for the past seven weeks.
Releasing that combined pain even as the needles withdrew and the bindings keeping her in place snapped open, a smug smirk – the last vestiges of Starbuck – spread across her face. Zak was too late.
The bio-feedback was flooded – not with impulses being fed into her body, but pushed out to the rest of the ship – with the pain that three people harboured in one lifetime.
Across the BaseStar, Centurions sparked and keeled over like an internal off switch had been tripped. Humanoid models clutched their heads and looked at each other and saw blood vessels burst in the others' eyes before dropping to the floor. Some died where they fell; others felt their silica pathways become irrevocably damaged. Even the Hybrid, with Leoben by her side, rolled her eyes and her lids fell as she died in her tank – she was free to be part of the cosmos that she had always communed with and cherished.
Not sensing the pulse of the Heart of the BaseStar was when Lieutenant Thrace died, doing her duty and placing the needs of others before hers – for the second time.
It was Kara who made it possible for Thrace and Starbuck to do what they did. Everything hinged on it and Kara didn't let them down. She had to let them go, to do what only they could do, and not pull them back to her when she thought she needed them. That was the crucial element behind Sharon's words. That was the plan that she came up with when she 'ordered' Sharon to implant subliminal thoughts in her subconscious so that when she used the pain from her body to overcome the conditioning and drugs that Zak and Simon pumped into her body, that there would be one more weapon for her to use: her past, the suffering that she endured, the conflicts in her mind that never ceased to end.
Facing Zak did that for her.
On some level, she was aware of the explosions that were tearing the BaseStar apart. But it didn't matter, because everything stopped hurting. She was only vaguely aware of the change in temperature when her glass 'tub' shattered as another Raider slammed into the BaseStar and sent Zak and Simon skidding away from her as the fluid spilled everywhere.
She did feel the impact of the BaseStar crash landing, because that was when she was bounced out her chair and the intravenous line ripped from her hand. Sliding on the muck on the floor of the lab, streaking the fluid with trails of blood from her wounds, she only stopped when her back hit the far wall. One ear pressed to the floor, she could just barely make out the words the two Cylons were shouting at each other to get the extinguishers and find out what was going on from the Command Centre.
That was when her eyes closed. She never saw the support beams that came down from overhead or the fire that started in the opposite corner of the room
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