Another Way Chapter 19
Promises Kept: Part One
Waves after waves of dizziness were making the chin of her helmet bounce off her chest. The pin-points of light that made up the surrounding starfield alternately shrank to nothingness and expanded into large fiery balls with every loll of her head. It was like the aftershocks of a tectonic quake. But instead of the ground shaking, the vibrations were strumming the faint link between her and those trapped on the Cylon BaseStar.
"Blackbird – this is Kat. I repeat. Straying from the specified flight path will result in your immediate destruction." There was no mistaking just how badly Kat wanted an excuse to blow her out of the sky.
Force of will and controlled blinking cleared her vision, but vertigo was challenging her sense of direction. The bio-mechanical connection that was used to make Raider after Raider collide head-on with the Cylon equivalent of a Battlestar was still affecting her. Galactica was looming in front of her, but it was impossible to gauge her distance and pitch. Landing had never been Boomer's forte, and what she knew was based on what the Raptor pilot had learned and passed on to her fellow Models.
"Galactica – patch me through to Actual."
Gorge rose and fell at the back of her throat. Acidic fumes singed the inside of her nose as she breathed through another reverberation spearing her silica pathways, compounding the damage already afflicting her systems. She needed to put more distance between her and Starbuck's valour.
Starbuck.
Oh, God.
She did it.
She actually did it.
One woman, one warrior, one pilot brought down a whole frakking BaseStar.
Tears spangled her lashes as the same feelings of loss and guilty gratitude washed over her for a second time. Blinking her eyes clear, there was still nothing she could do for Starbuck. But maybe, just maybe, she could still do something for those who loved her.
"Colonel, I need to speak with Galactica Actual."
Authority backed her every word and Colonel Tigh's voice filled her helmet.
"Why the hell would I allow that, Blackbird?"
Sharon felt the sting of – gratefulness? – for the 'no way in Hell' treatment she was receiving from the XO. Butting heads with Tigh was giving her something to focus on, making her put everything that she didn't need to get onboard aside for the time being.
"Tell Actual that I… Tell the Commander that I have…" Why was it so hard to say such simple words, to keep the promise she made to a woman who had it within her to give up her life for a second time? "Tell him that I retrieved the artefact."
It was an even longer moment before she heard an answer crackle over the wireless.
"Galactica to Kat – you are ordered to escort the Blackbird and its pilot to Airlock F-Thirty-Eight, starboard."
Pulling on the stick, Sharon changed course even as she heard the glorified nugget acknowledge Tigh's missive.
Swinging around the far side of Galactica in a gentle arch, putting the Battlestar between her and the weakening ripples of feedback that were damaging her synapses helped stabilize her a bit. The vertigo subsided enough so that her reflexes had a chance to kick in just in time to bring in her ship. A persistent beeping from her 'threat display' confirmed that the Viper pilot didn't break weapons-lock until the airlock seals fell back into place. The landing might not have been text book, but the ship was in one piece and neither she – nor anyone else – was a smear that needed to be hosed off the deck.
Blinking away the brightness of the light flooded airlock – large enough to be a shuttle landing bay – the dull thud of a ladder being set against the carbon-composite shell of the Blackbird was her signal to pop her canopy and shed her helmet. Slipping the metal collar off her neck, the need to hurry made sure she didn't waste any time extricating herself or climbing out of the ship. Picking her way down the steps, even before her feet touched the deck, the sensation of someone standing behind her had her sliding her eyes to the far right. Gunny was there, weapon drawn and safety off, poised and ready to fire. Ignoring the way the deck was swaying underneath her boots or how she could feel irregularities in the major life-sustaining areas of her body growing, Sharon made herself find her feet as she stifled a deprecating comment about human foolishness.
"You'd better start talking." Colonel Tigh rolled a threat, a promise and a frayed thread of hope into one sentence.
Squaring her shoulders, she fortified her impatience with the solid conviction. She was not going to be intimidated by this man and he was definitely playing with someone out of his league. But, if forcing his hand was going to get her to who, what, and where she needed to go, then so be it.
"The only way you're going to be hearing about what happened today is if you're lucky enough to be standing next to Adama when he debriefs me." High-handed, she made sure Tigh understood exactly what his options were and where he stood.
"Who the hell are you to say something like that, huh?" Attempting to feed the Marines around him from the same dish of superiority that he was trying to serve to her, Saul countered her cavalier stance with justifiable indignation. "What ever you need to tell the Old Man, you can damn well say to me."
"Then you can tell the Commander – for me – that YOU'RE the reason why SAR got there too late to bring Starbuck home." The strength of a woman, pilot and warrior, who out-endured, out-planned and conquered adversaries greater than the officer standing in her way, pulsed underneath Sharon's tongue. Competing against a clock – not some stubborn man's pride – stiffened her spine, making it crystal clear that today was not the day to frak with her.
The truth of her words and the amount of clout she put behind Starbuck's name changed the air in the landing bay.
The armed guards still had their weapons trained on her, but the way their eyes slid to the older man… she wasn't the one who was pinned in their crosshairs. Recalling each of their names, there wasn't one among them who hadn't been on a mission with the absentee Viper pilot. Pale skinned by nature, a face that hadn't felt the warmth of a sun for months blanched for a moment before a flush of colour spread from the collar of his uniform and wrapped around the back of his head. His lips pursing, she could see the struggle to make the correct decision harden the older man's eyes. A flash of insight softened her heart; Saul was being obstinate because he was trying to protect his friend. Each man knew what it meant for her to be back onboard. She would set them straight later, but right now Starbuck didn't have time for Sharon to tip-toe around feelings. Instead, she locked her empathy away for safe-keeping. She could offer it another day – maybe at Starbuck's memorial. At the moment, she had to make sure she didn't give Tigh any quarter as she waited for him to make up his mind.
Seconds crawled by before she saw an impatient hand gesture. Signalling to the Marines who had taken formation around him, two stepped forward. The sound of body bindings being unravelled and the interlocking stays on a bullet-proof vest being pulled apart were muted as orders were given and instructions confirmed.
Sharon made herself stay still as the cold lengths of chains rolled her shoulders forward and minimized her stride. She was being bound because of the fear others had of her and that was their problem, not hers. And the reason she lifted her chin as the metal cuffs clicked shut and met anyone's eyes who tried to gauge what was between her and Galactica's OX was directly because of Kara Thrace. For six days she was privy to the other woman living the difference between subjecting oneself to a certain situation made by choice and refusing to be subjugated by a situation perceived to be futile. Translating her insights to Starbuck-speak, she could practically hear Starbuck braying her motto from the cockpit of her Viper with the kind of resigned conviction that comes from one who lives and dies by her beliefs: you gotta pay to play and you can't bitch about the price if you already know what it's gonna cost.
Chancing a look at the few people that moved aside as she, her Marine detail and Colonel Tigh made their way to the command deck, the cold, disdainful treatment she'd been given barely a week ago by the crew was now directed at the Executive Officer. What she'd picked up on when she defied Tigh was ship-wide. Perceptions had shifted over the past six days. Nearly stumbling when her insights broke her stride, she made a mental note to ask Helo about it the next time she saw him.
Oh, God – Helo!
It wasn't that she'd forgotten about him – far from it. It was the fact that she couldn't take the chance to think about him while she was on the BaseStar. The Hybrid would've certainly picked up on how important the man was to her, no matter how carefully she veiled her thoughts. Escaping from the BaseStar and following Starbuck's plan required every bit of guile she had. Remembering the past six days, the fact that Starbuck never asked her about Helo and only mentioned the Adamas that one time was something that she didn't understand until a mere two hours ago. It wasn't until she was making her way to the Cylon hanger bay that she fully understood why the only time Kara ever spoke of anyone on Galactica was when she gave Sharon her last possession, the one that guaranteed Helo would see the birth of his child first hand. Just like Kara giving herself up to the Cylons was a conscious and deliberate decision, the same was true of her and the way she walked away from her people. Getting into the Blackbird and beating the path – paved by Starbuck – back to Galactica meant that she could never go back to her brothers and sisters. Her child was half Karl's and half hers – not community property to aid in the Cylon war cause or a demi-deity to be prayed to and lauded. She'd need her wits about her now, but not to the same extent as being a double-agent on an enemy vessel. No. For the moment, all she had to do was go toe-to-toe with the Old Man, keep putting one foot in front of the other and manage her increasingly debilitating symptoms. Been there – done that. But being back on Galactica meant she had just enough latitude to let personal feelings creep through her defences.
A sudden veering to the left caught her by surprise but already being in-step with her protective guard had her taking the turn before she could say anything.
Pausing momentarily in front of a pair of glass and steel reinforced double doors that read 'Ops Planning', she and her group crossed the threshold, leaving two Marines to stand guard outside.
The room was large and dark – but deliberately so. Wall sconces provided diffused light, but the primary illumination came from a large table bisected by a broad, vertical Planning Board. Three different layouts had been prepared. On one side of the table was a navigational chart highlighted by Galactica, the few support ships that were still nearby, and the area of space that previously held the attacking BaseStar. The other half of the table was the tactical layout of the moon as it pertained to – what looked like – mining operations. The final segment, the vertical Planning Board, displayed – in cross-section – what Colonial Intelligence believed represented the schematics of a BaseStar. Four gold dots, clustered in two different areas, were moving deeper into the superstructure. She watched as the image of the Cylon ship scrambled and reconfigured only to wobble seconds after it stabilized. Interference from the moon and the BaseStar was impeding the two-way signal. Standing near the Board, with his hands clasped behind his back, a very silent, rigid, Adama gave the impression that he was trying to improve the quality of the transmissions by sheer force of will. Minutely turning his head, Adama broke his vigil long enough to watch his XO and resident Cylon claim floor space on the opposite side of the Board.
Tigh gave a salute that the older man barely nodded in response to – his eyes were fixed on hers. His gaze, heavy with the veneer of command, was one she returned in equal measure. They each had a job to do and they both were going to see it done. There were a lot of things she learned from Starbuck over the past six days, and the value of conviction was another one of those lessons that she knew she would carry for the rest of her life. An even briefer hand motion had Gunny kneeling behind her and taking off her leg irons.
Shifting her legs, more to keep the weakness she was feeling at bay rather than restore circulation to her feet, she rested her bound hands against the board. Tilting her head slightly to the side, the room wasn't as silent as she initially thought. Mounted close to the ceiling were multiple DRAEDIS displays flanked by a set of speakers. Chatter was playing in the background. Specifically, two indiscriminate voices she couldn't identify due to poor sound quality were trading information back and forth at regular intervals. Scanning the board didn't do any good nor did it tell her anything. She needed information and there was only one voice she wanted to hear filling in the blanks. Refocusing her attention on Adama, she started another round of The Waiting Game.
A garbled transmission struggled to be heard. "… We are coming up on an intersection now."
"Copy that." Static overwhelmed whatever else was said. "We're still making our way down this frakking corridor… looks the same!" Frustration was palatable, despite the scratchy relay.
"Same here; every intersection, every stretch looks exactly the same." Screeching feedback strained everyone's ears just before the audio cut out altogether. Adama flicked his eyes to the officer manning the communications console. Seconds later, the first voice was picked up again, in mid-sentence. "…is making it impossible to get our bearings. Have you encountered any functioning Cylons or Centurions?"
"Negative…clankers and skin jobs seem to be dead or dying." Heavy breathing, not interference, made the words hard to understand.
"Copy that; same here." A deep rumbling could be heard over the wireless, followed by intermittent static. Within seconds, the line was dead.
Adama's eyes went to the Specialist. "Find that frequency. Fast."
There would be only one reason for Adama to be so domineering to a subordinate. Apollo was off-ship and probably somewhere on the surface of the moon. And with Starbuck being dead, there would only be one other officer Apollo would have watching his back. Shifting her attention between the table and the Board, the men were at one of two places: the mining camp or the downed BaseStar. The only place Apollo would need Helo to watch his back would be onboard a crash-landed BaseStar. Logic kicked in and she fit the pieces together. The moving gold dots were Helo and Apollo leading two different teams through the BaseStar and the voices over the wireless belonged to Lee and Karl. Mentally superimposing their location with her knowledge of the actual layout of a BaseStar, they were too far away! If she could only talk to them, she could guide them.
Stifling another accusatory remark, her wide eyes skewered the Specialist currently bent over the communications console. "Where is the primary feed?"
Twisting and turning dials under Tigh's glare, the Specialist didn't answer her question.
"Tell me where the primary feed is!" Louder and more forceful, her question was fired at Adama. Helo and Apollo were down there, as well as Starbuck, and these two humans were ignoring her. Yanking off her flight gloves and dropping them to the floor, the coolness of the room bit into her fingers. An effortless toss carried a single object across the room.
The clattering of metal bouncing, settling and eventually becoming still had all eyes on the Planning Board. A small single circular shape meant to be worn by a man loomed as large as the table and Sharon felt all the air in the room being used up in one collective breath.
Starbuck's ring – something less than an inch in diameter – dwarfed everyone and everything in the room.
Her eyes flashing with exasperation, using the oxygen in her lungs she explained, "Hooking me up to the primary feed means that I can boost the signal."
Waiting for some kind of response as the need to breathe grew for everyone standing in Ops Planning, she prayed that she could keep herself on her feet long enough to do what she was demanding they let her do
Adama's nod to Gunny was like an air-vent being opened. "Make it so."
"I'll need two things." Sharon told them her last two stipulations. "I'll need the use of my hands and something sharp to cut with, Commander."
Making no move to retrieve Kara's ring, his father's wedding ring, he looked to his left one more time, "Give her your knife, Marine"
Xxx Bsg Xxx
More than once, Helo contemplated pulling his ear piece from his aural canal, grinding it underneath the heel of his boot and feigning innocence as to what happened to it. Between the static, the screeching feedback and the way he had to press the blasted thing almost to his other ear just hear what was being said, he wouldn't surprised if Cottle fitted him for a hearing-aid once he got back to Galactica.
At the moment, fighting the urge to claw at his molars as a burst of static made his teeth itch, the lack of any type of markers was superseding his hearing problems. Every corridor looked like the last and with the radiation badges gradually darkening as the ship's internal explosions became more pronounced and making bearings impossible to take, he wouldn't be surprised if he found out that he and his team had been walking upside down and backwards. His initial idea of keeping track of where they went by the bodies they passed proved to be futile when he saw the same clothes on the same bodies over and over again. Never in a million years did he ever think he would get sick of seeing a hot blonde in an even hotter red dress.
Stepping over an short, older man – some model he somehow never saw on Caprica – he pressed himself flat against the wall as two of his men moved forward and scouted ahead, leaving him to bring up the rear. Guarding against anything that might come up behind them, he waited for the signal. A brief hand movement had him moving forward with another Marine, each staking out one side of the hallway. Striding past where the previous two soldiers had stopped, turned, and covered his advance, they waited for his signal to move further down the corridor as he and his point-man covered their collective 'six'. Leap-frogging since separating from Apollo, no one on his team had gotten hurt and as far as he knew, their presence was still undetected.
Ready to leap-frog again, his teeth suddenly stopped itching.
"SitRep, Helo?"
Apollo's voice was coming through loud and clear.
"Just taking in the sites but making new friends is proving to be tougher than I thought." A single, controlled shot to the head of a writhing Leoben model stilled the skinjob for good. Nodding to the Marine who gave him a 'thumbs up' for the clean shot, he asked, "What about you?"
"About the same, only it's been a while since we've seen anything." A tenor of being prepared for the worse to happen at any moment rounded out Lee's report. "Where are you?"
"No idea – but I know how to get out, if that means anything. What about-"
"Galactica to Insertion Team – standby for in-coming communications from Galactica Actual," a disembodied voice cut Helo off in mid-sentence.
"Go ahead, Actual." Apollo answered for both of them.
The gravelled voice of Commander Adama flowed into Helo's – and by extension – Lee's ears. "Apollo, your mission profile has changed."
"Acknowledge that Actual. What are our orders?" Helo heard Apollo ask for both of them and wondered what he could give to see the perplexed look on Lee's face right about now.
"Helo, Apollo – listen carefully. You are in-"
Being interrupted before, it was Helo's turn to cut in as he placed the voice that was coming in over the mikes. "Sharon?"
"Yeah – it's me. Listen – both of you – I'm gonna talk you through this."
Helo, and by extension Lee, could hear the deep breath she drew.
"Helo – you are on the border of the lower right quadrant of the BaseStar – three levels below Apollo and his team. Apollo – you and your men have crossed over – for the lack of a better word – to one of the outer branches of ship. You need to change direction and go back the way you came."
"Galactica Actual – still standing by to receive new orders," Captain Adama words were firm and clipped.
"You don't have time, Apollo. Listen to me-"
"Galactica Actual – I repeat," Lee barrelled through what she was trying to say and attempted to drown out Sharon's urgency.
"Llll… " It was the strained voice of a father who lost one too many children, not the stoic Commander Adama, who gave the answer that Lee demanded to hear. "Come on home, and bring her with you."
Stunned silence had him opening and closing his mouth – he could just imagine what Lee was doing.
"Sharon – what the hell is going on?" Karl needed to know that what he just heard was what he just heard. "Talk to me!"
"Apollo, Helo – it's true. How do you think I made it back?"
Helo didn't need to see her face to see the tears glistening in her dark eyes.
"Where is she?" Apollo ground out. By the terseness of his words, it sounded like his lips barely moved.
"Apollo, you need to know something. When you find her, she's going to be… How much gauze do you have in your medkit? You're gonna need something to… cover her… during transport."
Harsh breathing of a man struggling to control his emotions cut off what she was going to say, "Where is she!"
Interjecting, Helo kept his tone even but the need to know where to find his best friend pitched his voice low, "Sharon – who can get to her first – me or Apollo?"
"Apollo, you're closer." The ambient sounds of Lee rousing his men didn't make him miss what Sharon was saying. "Turn around and head back the way you came." The change in her voice told him she was speaking to him now, but for some reason her breathing was harsher than it was a moment ago. "Helo, you are going to have to keep going straight until you see…"
The rise and fall of Sharon's voice as she gave directions and course adjustments made him think that there was something else wrong that she wasn't telling them – him. Following her directions was the easy part – the hard part was keeping himself from emotionally going where he knew Lee was at the moment. Lee was pure Captain Adama, possessing a mission profile that he would fulfil. There was a second set of orders that Helo always carried, and those were given to him by the one person who cared about Lee more than Lee cared about himself: Kara. Lee spoke of a pact that existed between him and Kara, but what Lee didn't know was that when they were all sitting in that conference room, reviewing the playback of Starbuck's surrender that first time, Karl made a promise to the best friend a man could have in one lifetime. He promised Kara that he would do what she couldn't any longer; he'd make sure Lee always came home to the Old Man as alive as possible. Part of that deal was going to involve making sure Lee had a private place hurl his accusations at the universe after they personally delivered Kara's body to Galactica's mortician.
The harsh staccato of gun fire had him slipping off his safety and cocking his weapon to his chest.
The sounds weren't coming from his immediate area – they were coming from his earpiece.
Apollo was in trouble.
Barking into his mike, Helo held up his hand to signal his men to stop as he pressed a hand to his ear. "Apollo – SitRep!"
The sound of a fresh clip being chambered wasn't something he wanted to hear, but the familiar voice speaking around the gunfire told him Apollo was still with him. "Two skinjobs – maybe three – and a clanker; clanker's functional but erratic. Hard to see, it's spraying bullets everywhere. I think it's blind."
"Sharon – talk to me. Get me to Apollo's position!" Helo called out. He knew how fast a corridor could fill up with smoke and debris when survival was on the line. They would need everything they had to fight what was in front of them and nothing left over to watch their backs.
Static bloomed in his ear and his teeth started to itch again.
Oh, frak!
"Sharon?" Calling out again, he tried someone else. "Apollo!" Frustration shortened his temper. "Somebody had better answer me right frakking now!"
"The two skinjobs are down and the clanker has a gaping hole in its head. If there was a third, I don't know where it went." Adrenaline ran his Captain's words together. "Two men are hit; administering medical aid. Standby."
"Acknowledge – standing by, Apollo." Helo braced his hands on his hips to keep from yanking out the blasted earpiece. Another wail of high-pitched feedback had him closing his eyes and jerking his head to the side trying to get away from the noise.
An ugly feeling, a lot like the one he had as he watched Kara take off the day she gave herself up, crawled between his shoulder blades.
"Apollo – SitRep?"
No answer.
"Captain- SitRep?"
No answer.
The dread that he failed his best friend when she was counting on him the most squeezed his chest and that ugly feeling became uglier.
"APOLLO – ANSWER ME!"
Xxx Bsg Xxx
A gaping hole made in haste by a huge knife stretched from the inside elbow to the cuff of her flight suit. Thin rivulets of blood were trailing down her inner arm from where she cut into herself in order to make an insertion point for the primary feed.
Crouched next to her where she collapsed into unconsciousness and having yanked the cord out of her sub-dermis data port, the communication specialist had Sharon's wrist cradled in his fingers.
"Her pulse is there – but it's weak." Looking up at the Commander and the Colonel, he didn't know how much more he could tell them. Running his other hand over her forehead and cheek, he added, "Her skin is clammy but she isn't hot – you know – as in fever."
Adama looked up, but Gunny had already picked up the wall-mounted phone.
"Page Doctor Cottle. Tell him to report to Ops Planning with a full trauma and natal team. Cylon Number Eight, Sharon, is unconscious and non-responsive."
Bsg Xxx Bsg
Something was nudging her. Someone was trying to keep her awake, telling her that she couldn't sleep. Not just yet. There were still things she had to do and promises she had to keep.
The thought that Artemis, Athena, Ares and Aphrodite had rallied to their Daughter's side as, one by one, each whispered words of encouragement and made assurances of everlasting peace was what she saw in her mind. Slowly awaking, the cold smoothness at her back told her it was the wall. The echo of a near-distant blast shook the room and rolled her against the wall.
Cracking open her eyes, forcing her crusted eyelashes to separate, all she could see were various shades of fuzz. Trying harder, sounds sharpened before her sight came back into focus. Blearily, she could just make out the colour of a pair of pants and the thick soles of a pair of boots staggering for the entryway.
Closing her eyes, trying to muster some energy, the memory of looking down at Lee through the view port of a Raider as she 'flew' overhead, flared into living, breathing colour.
She had to get up. She could do anything until she got on her feet.
Trying to stand landed her on her hands and knees and her insides pulling back to touch her spine. The harshness of bile and the strong metallic tang of blood seared a path from her stomach to her lips. The drugs that Zak and Simon had administered were still coursing through her systems and the sensations of being dead in a Raider, dead to the rest of the world, clashed with the reality of the moment. Vicious dizziness squeezed her stomach again and a cold sweat crept up underneath the layer of slime that coated her body as another wave of dry-heaves blazed along the same path, this time getting snagged on internal sores and bruises.
Scrounging around in her mind for some inkling of what was wrong with her – beyond the obvious – it took several seconds before she gave up trying. She didn't have to be frakking Cottle to know that three things were certain. Something was wrong with her frakking heart, something was up with her frakking blood pressure, and she was seriously frakked-up all the way around. Her heart was pumping too hard and every now and then it would race only to slow to a plodding thud that hurt like hell. That's when she wasn't being swamped with sudden, overwhelming, bouts of weaknesses that nearly had her doing face-to-deck implants. Taking in the shaking that wobbled her upper arms, the amniotic-like ooze that wasn't sticking to her skin was pooling at her knees, feet and wrists. The bright red colour of fresh blood trailing down from different areas of her body and marbling the goop was something that she couldn't think about at the moment.
"Get. Up. Thrace!" Growling at herself, she pushed herself to her knees and slowly rose. The slime that covered her naked body was still wet and made the journey upright dangerous. The least the Gods could've done was warned her about this part.
Clutching at the support beams that had come down, the cabinets bursting into flame and the popping of glass medicine vials had her shielding her face from the heat of the fire that was quickly engulfing the room. Gagging on a bit of bile that was trapped at the base of her throat, woozy vision and overall bodily weakness made the doorway seem awfully far away. Spitting and clearing her mouth, there was nothing for it. Plan 'B' – staying where she was and self-medicating her way to some semblance of being somewhat functional – wasn't an option.
Step-sliding into the corridor, she looked left and right. The smart thing would be to head for the hanger bay and find a way out of the BaseStar. The smeared hand print on the wall told her that what she had sworn to do lay in the opposite direction.
"Okay – just keep walking. Put one foot in front of the other. That's all you have to do."
Keeping one hand the wall for support, step-lurching was the best she could manage as 'the smart thing to do' became the one thing she wouldn't do.
The mental images of rounds being fired out of the gunports of 'her Raider' merged with the sounds of a weapons exchange taking place somewhere nearby. Her toes squeezed the carpeting underneath her feet but in front of her she saw formations Raiders flanking their 'leader' and felt the blood-lust for battle tingle her skin as incoming Vipers emerged from the surrounding starfield. Not trusting herself to stay upright if she shook her head to stamp down the memory, she kept her eyes on the contrast between where her pale hands trailed along the side wall of the corridor and the dark background of the wall itself.
The sound of an explosive round detonating connected her with the sensation of riding out the shockwave of an exploding Raider as it tumbled across her flight path.
Stopping and rolling forward until her forehead and the points of her shoulders rested against the cool wall, she slapped the wall again and again with an open palm. Reality, induced fantasy, physical pain and the hell of being a Cylon weapon for the past seven weeks made that little bit of her psyche that was always just a little bit crazy look like a viable place to spend the rest of her life.
Now that was a thought. Oh yeah – she could be happy living in Droolville. She would get her own 'I love myself jacket', everything would be nice and white and, if she was lucky, even the walls would be padded. She could jump against them all day and it would never hurt! And drugs – can't forget about those wonderful Happy Pills.
Maybe.
Frowning, a sudden drawback popped into her head. What if they didn't let her go out in her Viper and blow stuff up? That wouldn't be very much fun. How could a girl be happy being beyond insane if they took away all her toys?
Maybe she could?
Maybe she couldn't.
But not yet.
If the Gods told her she couldn't rest yet, then she couldn't go completely nuts just yet either.
Opening her eyes, she knew she was 'back'. The only sounds she heard were those of the BaseStar slowly self-destructing. The only thing she saw was the expanse of the corridor. She had taken too long to get her head together. The gun fire had stopped. That meant that someone won and someone lost. Her lips curled at the thought of Cylons killing Cylons. Go ahead - annihilate each other – be her guest. The more they killed each other, the fewer she had to fight her way through to fulfil the Blood Rites she claimed.
Shoulder intermittently to the wall and the palm of her hand helping to push her along, each step built on the last until she managed to create an unsteady gait. Tracking her prey, a prevailing coldness was seeping into her bones even as intense heat radiated off of her back. Every bit of her from her nape to her coccyx felt like it was on fire. Whether it was due to blood loss, low blood pressure, infection or being wet and naked was anyone's guess. But it looked like the Gods' sense of irony had returned as, for the past forty-eight days, she'd been surrounded by Cylons and now, when she needed one, there wasn't one to be found.
Taking a left at the next junction, something was lying in the corridor. Getting closer, a big, dark blur of 'something' became several dark blurs of 'some things'.
Bodies were crumpled heaps on the ground up a head and smoke from a smouldering Centurion hugged the ceiling.
Three black clad forms clogged the hallway and recognition traded the concentration she was counting on to stay upright for the need to know if her fellow Colonials were alive or dead. Crouching down next to the nearest one, two bullets were causing blood to barely seep from wounds in the Marine's upper arm and lower hip. Wiping her hand against the carpeted floor to get rid of as much residual slime as she could and reaching for an artery of the next soldier, she couldn't distinguish between her heartbeat and his, but his skin was warm and pliable and he rolled when her weight fell against him as she lost her balance. The third was struggling to regain consciousness, but it would be a while before he fully roused. All three were alive, but there was nothing she could do for them. Not in the state she was in and she couldn't wait for them to come to their senses – she didn't have enough time for that.
The sound of gurgling and the rattling of lungs fighting to expand a ribcage drove her to her feet only to collapse next to a prone form. More woozy vision made it impossible for her to see who she was checking out, but the squelching sound of her hand sinking into blood soaked carpeting she would know anywhere. Who ever she was touching was a goner.
She was kneeling next to a Simon. Nearby, a Doral lay with a chest full of bullet holes. The lack of blood pressure made the lines of his suit jacket rest slackly against his body. By the looks of things, both Cylons were depending on the destroyed Centurion to defend them.
Realization sharpened her vision and not because she was tending to a Simon. It was 'her' Simon. She knew it the same way that she could separate Leoben from all the other Leoben Models. This was the one who treated her like a lab experiment and facilitated the devastation she wrought.
Adrenaline, the precious fuel of Mortals, filled her veins.
Grabbing his plackets, she hauled him semi-upright and growled in his face, "You son of a bitch! I know these men!"
Eyes glazed with impending death, the blood seeping from his ears was what was killing him but didn't stop him from gasping out, "Told you we'd get him."
"What are you saying, you frakker!" Shaking him, she promised, "Tell me or I swear by the Gods you'll beg to never be downloaded again."
"Got the second-stringer Starbuck," Simon gloated.
"Your third sentence had better be, 'just frakking with you, Starbuck', because-"
"Your Gods can't touch me." Simon cut her off. "Anyway, once he gets him off-ship you're never going to find him. He'll make sure of that."
Convulsions pulled him from her grip and nearly folded his body in half.
Weaker, paler, and with a fine sheen covering his face and neck, the bastard had the nerve to look smug as death rolled his eyes into his head.
Death and incapacitation made for an eerie silence.
Sitting on her heels, it was a fight to keep her mind on task. Second stringer? Who the hell was a second stringer? What the frak was that frakker talking about?
Summoning the will to force herself to her knees one more time, something small and light coloured stood out against the dark carpeting. Saving to her strength for when she did rise, she crawled several yards. Intermittent static reached her ears before her fingers could curl around it. Without a second thought as to where it came from, she hooked it into her ear.
"Apollo – SitRep?"
No answer.
"Captain- SitRep?"
No answer.
"APOLLO – ANSWER ME!"
Sitting up on her heels, Simon's words clicked into place as drag marks, made by a pair of Colonial issued boots and dead-weight, came into sharp relief.
Apollo wasn't going to answer. Whoever was hollering into the earpiece was better off saving their breath and using it later on in life. Palming the communicator, the sensation of Ares, Artemis, Aphrodite and Athena lifting her to her feet was surreal. So was walking over to one of the downed men and stripping him of his two guns and chambering fresh clips.
Coming back to Simon and running her eyes over Simon in his dress-shirt and tie, she justified herself to the corpse. "I need these more than you do."
Reaching for the button-down shirt, it was a few minutes before she could get it off his body. Easing the oversized shirt over her shoulders and doing up the buttons, she picked up his tie and cinched it around her waist. One gun she braced near her right hand, the other at the small of her back. The fabric stuck to the muck that coated her body and glued itself to the gashes between her thighs and nape. The earpiece she slipped into the small front pocket of the shirt.
Fingers, seemingly not her own, brushed her hair off her face and steadied her body.
Simon was wrong when he said that her Gods couldn't touch him.
While she lived and breathed, she was the chosen warrior of Ares, Aphrodite, Artemis and Athena.
What lay between her and Zak was between her and Zak alone. Involving Lee, kidnapping Lee with the intention of doing to him what he had done to her, only made what she had to do all that much easier.
Guided by the Gods and instinct, she headed for the one place she would go if she needed to get off a crashed spaceship with an unconscious hostage in tow.
Zak should have remembered that one of the things he said he 'loved' about Kara 'Starbuck' Thrace was that she never made promises she couldn't keep.
Bsg………. Xxx……….Bsg……….Xxx……….Bsg……….Xxx……….Bsg