Chapter Nine
Main Entry:
1har·bin·ger
1 archaic : a person sent ahead to provide lodgings
2 one that pioneers in or initiates a major change
A spray of deadly Centurion firepower fanned across the width of the corridor, each blast sinking its teeth into the bulkhead, the floor, human flesh.
Kara slammed Lt. Dualla down to the ground with her hand spread over the back of her head, shielded the smaller woman with her body. The last marine to accompany Dee from the CIC fell to the ground beside them with a final cry to testify of pain.
Kara threw a quick glance back over her shoulder, slung back her outstretched arm, glistening with sweat; fired off several rounds. She rolled all the way over and shoved off the floor with her palms, heading for the corridor to the right at a dead run. She looked back at Dee, still on the floor, and made a corralling motion with her hand.
"Move, move, move!"
She leaned around the corner and covered Dee's retreat. She had long since shed her flight suit, needed to breathe, needed the agility. When they were both reunited Kara swiped the beads of sweat off her brow with the inside crook of her arm, still holding onto her weapons-a small sidearm, and a CX4 courtesy of a fallen marine. Dee skidded on some blood as they picked up the pace. They weren't just running now, they were racing for their very lives. And everyone else's.
"Starbuck!"
Dee grabbed her by the arm and slammed her back against the bulkhead. The two women turned to look at each other, breathing hard, backs to the wall.
"There are two of them, dead ahead, behind that bend in the corridor, " Dee relayed in her husky whisper, "They didn't see us. They're facing the other way."
"Is there a better way to the CIC from here?"
Dee shook her head, "It'll take too long. This is the quickest route."
"We have two sidearms and a prayer, Lieutenant," Kara ground her teeth together, "What does that tell you?"
"It tells me that grabbing this off of our brave marine friend was a good idea."
Kara looked down at Dee's unfurling fingers. A small explosive was cradled in her bloody palm.
In another time Kara might have made a wisecrack in response, some smart-ass remark, now all she could do was exhale a shuddering breath and nod gratefully.
"Okay then. You throw the explosive directly at the first one's head and I'll follow. Don't come out until the situation's neutralized." Kara pushed off the wall.
"Starbuck!" Dee shouted after her, "Kara!"
"Now, dammit!"
The small destructive device flew by Kara's head and made contact with the back of one of the centurions' helmet-like skull with surprising accuracy, exploding and knocking it clean off its shoulders.
Kara was only a second behind, she sprinted through the gap between the collapsing centurion and the intact one and threw herself onto the ground on a turn, skidding on her back and aiming for the second one's eye with arms and weapons stretched forward. Shards of metal from the explosion cut into her face and arms, the floor rasped along her back as her tanks bunched high, exposing her skin.
The weapons' recoil quivered through the muscles of her arm, she felt the punch of it lodging in her chest. It felt satisfying, almost good, to release some of the anger, some of the pain.
She was still firing off rounds, sparks flying when she felt Dee's arm hauling her up and forward.
"That's good enough, Captain. Hurry."
A stray round ricocheted off the bulkhead and sliced into the muscle of her upper arm. Sightless or not, that damn toaster was still capable of inflicting some serious damage.
Kara hissed and swore fiercely, but in truth the pain barely registered.
Dee glanced at the wound as they turned another corner, passed more dead bodies, more people they each had served with for so long.
Kara tripped over one of them, stumbled forward and turned back to see. A mistake.
"You okay, Starbuck?"
Kara ignored her, bent at the waist and breathed in ragged tears. Weapons fell to the floor. She wrapped her arms around her middle, held it all in. The renewed horror ravaged her insides. She was gutted.
Helo. Oh, gods. Not him, too.
Who would be left to care about? To care about her in return?
Dee laid a trembling hand on her shoulder, voice choked and huskier than ever, "We're almost there, Captain."
"What's the point?" Kara managed, palms on her knees, bent to the cold, hard floor.
Dee shook her head, "I don't know. I really don't know."
Kara looked up at the other woman. There were tears streaming down Dee's still face, and she didn't even know the worst.
Kara nodded and wiped at her mouth with the back of her trembling hand, picked up her weapons.
"Okay."
They truly were almost there, it was only a matter of moments before they stopped running and pulled up in front of the hatch. A marine spun the wheel for them and they entered, Kara leading the way. Bright consoles and bleeping computers surrounded her. Crew members were speaking rapidly into headsets. There was an air of the inevitable, of the end, about the room.
The Admiral looked up from where he stood next to a preternaturally calm Laura Roslin. Saul Tigh stood a little off, mostly ignored but not forgotten. Restored but not forgiven.
He met Kara's gaze with a nod-like an encouragement.
She turned to the Admiral, saw the look on his face. He was broken, a man undone. The ugly thought came to her, unbidden, that it had to come to this for him to hand her the reins. To trust her.
Was it even trust if you had to be brought this low to invest it?
And he doesn't know… he doesn't know the worst of everything...
She felt her expression crumple, had to turn away.
Kara wouldn't tell him now even if there was time. She never wanted to tell anyone.
Adama took a deep breath that lifted his chest and turned to look in the direction of the FTL station, then back to her, trust and hope amidst the devastation in his gaze. He was putting his faith in her. Rolling the hard six.
It was too late. Too frakking late. She wanted to charge him, grab him by the shoulders. Shake him and make him see. Stubborn. Too stubborn.
She understood that trait, more than anyone. But in that moment, she hated him for it.
Kara marched over to the FTL, slamming her weapons down on top of the station and piercing Lt. Gaeta with a hard stare.
"I need you to transmit a new set of emergency jump coordinates to the rest of the Fleet."
His eyes narrowed but he nodded under the Admiral's watch. Kara braced against the console, allowed it to bear her weight for a moment. She was exhausted, faint. Her eyelids felt heavy.
Blood from her wound continued to trickle down her arm, slid over the inside of her arm, dropped from her wrist…
A splash of crimson, rippling out in a circle. Like candle wax before the Memorial Wall. Like flying through the storm, a swirling mass of angry colors: clouds shaped in the form of a childhood painting.
…But you and I, we've been through that…
Like breaking into pieces of shredded metal and dying fire before the one who loves you most.
…And this is not our fate…
There was a man in a bar who played. Like a father before he left without saying goodbye to his daughter. His words echoing in her thoughts, coming from a childhood memory she'd forgotten was there.
"Play the one I taught you, Kara. Do you remember?" She did.
…There must be some kind of way out of here…
Hera lifted up the paper, circles on a page. Notes on a graph. Keys on a board. Equations of time, distance, length, speed, and weight. It seemed so simple now. So maddeningly clear. Play the song, plot the course.
…No reason to get excited…
"Keep your fingers relaxed, Kara, and they will anticipate where the next note is going to be."
Kara reached a trembling hand to the console. Her fingertips fell on the keys, lightly, gently. In time to music only she could hear.
One…one...two…three…six…five…three…six…five…three…two…one…two…one…four…eight…
Three.
She hit the last key, and opened her eyes. The Admiral was watching her with a grim, almost desperate expression. He met her gaze with a nod-like an apology.
"Transmit, " she snapped.
The hatch flew open with inhuman force, it crashed against the wall, torn from its hinges. Three Centurions entered with weapons drawn and armor gleaming beneath the splatters of her shipmates' blood. Kara's breathing came hot and fast, rushing in her brain, roaring in her ears.
She fell into a crouch, her hand slipped along the console above, searching for her weapons. She found the grips, held them tight and leveraged herself back up on the console by her elbows. Leaning over it to release a barrage of gunfire into the chaos, aimed at anything that reflected the light. Nearby, Geata did his best to coordinate the fleet amidst the confusion.
She could just see Dee and some of the other CIC officers out of the corner of her eyes diving for cover. There was rapid gunfire, crunching metal and shouts, a woman's scream, a man's command. Consoles sizzled and spit. There were war cries and cries of pain.
A different kind of warfare sounded as additional marines stormed the hatch, armed to the teeth. The boom and crack of explosions filled the air. The weapons lockers must be nigh to wiped clean by this point. How many more Centurions could they take on?
Gaeta glanced over at her from where he knelt nearby.
"Galactica is finished spooling up. The coordinates you gave us have been transmitted to the rest of the fleet. They're standing by."
Kara stood slowly. One by one, the centurions had become nothing but grotesque, twisted heaps of metal emitting staccato, dying gunfire.
She watched as the last of them died in pieces, torso here, limbs there. The red dot sputtered and faded. There was a momentary silence. The kind you were afraid to trust.
Her glance fell to the floor. Laura Roslin was laid next to the bloodied, bullet ridden body of William Adama. Tigh's broken body lay on its front only feet away from them, his arm over the Admiral's chest as if he'd been trying to shield him. Sparks still flew from consoles. Men and woman she'd served with for years began to mourn in anger and disbelief.
Kara was blinded, immune. She had finally shorted out. It was too much.
Only duty remained.
"Mister Geata- Start the clock."
He falteringly did so, rattled in the face of so much loss and her unearthly calm.
Kara slid the key, glowing bright and blue and deceptively hopeful into the slot, staring straight ahead. The blood smearing her palm made her grip slippery, she adjusted her grip. Emotionless.
Stubborn.
"On my mark."
5 ...
4 ...
3 ...
2 ...
1 ...
She turned the key and shouted.
"MARK!"
Spins and turns, angles and curves.
The world folded over, pulling them in and turning them inside out.
Intruders swarm like flame, like the whirlwind; Hopes soaring to slaughter all their best against our hulls.
Kara saw in her mind's eye the battle outside the ship's walls as if she were out in the midst of it. As if distant stars flew by so fast they were like streams of light, the sky was littered with debris, filled with the sounds of war and death.
The children of the one reborn shall find their own country.
Colors and sounds and memories of love and loss.
You are the harbinger of death, Kara Thrace. You will lead them all to their end.
Clocks spinning and space collapsing. Time renewed and second chances.
Find the perfect world for the end of Kara Thrace. End of line.
Time stopped rushing past and slowed to the present. Kara caught her gasping breath and looked around. It was so quiet. Too quiet.
"The Fleet is checking in…" Dee began, from her post at the communications center, the first to break the silence. She finished hesitantly, "The Pyxis only. So far all the rest are unaccounted for…"
Kara's brows drew together, her muscles quivered in fatigue. Wrung out.
"A few more are checking in…Colonial One, the Zephyr, the Astral Queen…" Dee turned slowly to look at her, "Captain…they're reporting…numerous disappearances…fleet wide."
"What does that mean, Lieutenant?" Kara returned as clearly as she could around her raw throat.
But Dee wasn't paying attention, she had just looked up and was staring at the center of the CIC.
"They're gone," she whispered.
Kara scowled, uncomprehending. She swung back to Gaeta.
"Any sign of the cylons?" she bit out.
Another moment passed, Dee stood slowly and came up to stand nearby.
"No, sir. Dradis is clear…However, it would seem we are hovering above a fully inhabitable planet, Captain," there was a slightly frantic, hopeful edge to Gaeta's voice now.
Dee finally spoke, "Starbuck…" Her voice shook, "They. Are. Gone."
Kara finally looked around. Dee. Gaeta. Herself. A handful of the CIC crew.
That was all.
The centurions weren't there lying on the CIC floor like so much discarded metal, and yet, there was blood and the smell of death. And their bodies-the Admiral, Tigh, some of the marines, some of the fallen crew. And Laura Roslin. Gone.
Kara slowly came down and stood next to command and control, spun around.
She held a hand to her aching head, there was the still the insistent sound of the hybrid's rambling humming in her subconscious.
You are the harbinger of death, Kara Thrace. You will lead them all to their end.
"Mister Gaeta, is there…is there life down on the planet?"
A moment of silence, "There's really no way to tell, sir. We'd have to send down a recon team…"
Kara shook her head slowly.
"No," she turned to Dee and the others, "We all go down together."
No one seemed to question her authority, though their eyes question her sanity.
"What… is going on here, Starbuck?"
Kara felt a hot rush of emotion behind her eyes, it felt like pain but was most likely hope.
"I don't know."
Dee and the others were watching her, scrutinizing her. She didn't care.
Maybe…Maybe she'd come back for the ones she'd left behind…All the children she'd lost after being reborn…
She thought of the moment of her last return. Of returning to her viper and that fateful flight. Of pulling up in time before her humanity was lost forever.
…Maybe she was one of the children.
Perhaps this was the final journey, the last destiny fulfilled. To gather the dead and bring them home. All the lives that had been needlessly lost.
Kara knew all about meaningless death.
She looked around. Her audience looked deeply skeptical, concerned. She honestly didn't give a frak.
Kara bent and began gathering weapons, there might still be Centurions aboard. She looked over at the small dark-haired woman who had died the first time because of no hope.
"We need to gather everyone up. We're all going down to that planet," Kara barked, snapping them all out of their shock in the only way she knew how. Some of the remaining crew members began to stir.
She marched towards the open hatch, weapons heavy at the end of her arms. A Damage Control officer grabbed her arm with a vice-like grip as she passed by.
"And what about everyone who disappeared, Captain Thrace? What happened to them?"
"I said I don't know," Kara snapped and pulled free. She stepped through the hatch, the door hung loose on one hinge, rocking ever so gently.
Kara gripped the handle of the right-hand armored door over the observation deck window. She gave a sharp pull, grunting, arms and muscles trembling with the struggle to lift it. It hardly budged. She studied the place where the two doors met.
The left and right side doors interlocked, it was almost as if you had to open them simultaneously.
Kara tried again to no avail, she threw a disgusted look over her shoulder. Several people had gathered behind her in one massive, disorganized line that snaked right out of the observation deck and ran down Galactica's corridor. No one immediately stepped forward to help. She didn't see anyone she knew all that well but still, didn't they want off this frakking ship? Was everyone too dazed and confused to understand that this was it? End of Line. Earth.
Kara narrowed her eyes, prepared to intimidate someone into helping her. There was a groan and a screech of metal; the handle jumped beneath her hand.
She looked across the sealed window's expanse to the Eight who was giving the left-hand door a sharp tug with a set, expressionless face. No uniform. Not Athena. Boomer.
She looked around her, several crew members were throwing the cylon model distrustful glances. Kara glared at a few of them and turned back to the other woman. Help was help.
"On three?"
Boomer nodded.
"One," Kara adjusted her grip.
"Two," Boomer placed her boot up against the side wall.
"Three."
Kara threw her weight back, pulling with all her strength. Boomer did the same. The heavy, armored doors fell open, revealing broken glass and a rainy planet vista.
Kara kicked at the jagged shards of glass that remained in the frame, the few pieces that had survived the battle.
Several of her audience stepped in now as if they'd come awake at the sight of all that green grass and gray sky. They helped her clear the way, kicking out glass, wrapping their hands in cloth to pull pieces free.
When the way was clear, Kara walked through the opening they'd made; away from Galactica, out into the rain.