"Both President Gibson and Prime Minister Webster's offices are . . . uh . . . 'taking our complaints under advisement', Director Dayton," Batalova reported in WASA's Guiana Space Centre, one hand to her earphone. She glanced at the digital display as it clicked over to 2346 hours. They'd wasted hours trying to go through proper channels. "Neither Gibson or Webster are available, at present. The late hour, they tell me."
"Why am I not surprised?" Jess let out a long breath. The American President and British Prime Minister usually didn't deign to return her calls at the best of times, which these certainly weren't. "Did you get a hold of my sister?"
"I'll try again, Director," Batalova replied. "She cut communications at our last brief contact."
Jess nodded soberly. A freelance journalist, Lauren Dayton had gained a fearless reputation in her earlier career while reporting on the "conflicts"—nobody had the balls to call them "wars" anymore—in Iran, Pakistan and North Korea. In the last five years, however, she had taken the post of media relations with WASA, which she had described as being as "tenuous and dangerous" as any of her former foreign correspondent jobs in the field, "but with far more cool toys". By and large, world opinion hadn't changed much since WASA's inception. While the space agency was recognized for its technological achievements, their mandate, largely self-given, of preparing Earth for an imminent attack against a race of mechanical beings known as the Cylons lumped them politically in with 9/11 Truth Group, Kennedy assassination radicals, people who monitored "chemtrails", those who believed in the New World Order, and the rest of the world's "conspiracy theorists".
Please, let her be okay . . .
"LM Dayton on line three, Director," Batalova abruptly announced, the relief in the operator's voice more than apparent.
"Lauren!" Jess cried. "You're okay!"
"I'm on the move, Jess! You wouldn't believe the traffic!" she sounded out of breath, the brief image up on the plasma from her Sat-Phone shaky and distorted, before she switched to whatever hands-free system she was using. Aside from the shoulder-length dark hair and the slight age difference, no one could mistake the two for anything but sisters. Honking horns and shouts in some unidentified Babel of languages filtered through in the back ground, while at the same time a dignified male voice with a lilting Irish accent was apparently giving her directions on what had to be her vehicle's GPS.
"Turn right at the next intersection, please, me darlin'. Distance now twenty metres and increasing."
From the current image relayed over her Sat, she seemed to be in a car, moving . . . who knew where. "Yeah, I know. Big surprise, Sis. All of the major networks are blowing me off like a tsetse fly in a cyclone, except that one guy, who never showed up." From her expression, it was clear Lauren had no illusions as to why.
"Begorrah! Proximity alert on the right!"
The tires squealed and the engine accelerated. "Most of the Alternative News sites on the Net have picked it up. Above Top Secret. Coalition of the Obvious.Wake up and Smell the Coffee, America. Meanwhile, some big, ugly guys are tailing me. You know, the kind with sunglasses and no necks. It seems that they want to take me out . . . and I don't mean for drinks!"
"Shit! They're tracking the chip on your phone! I can't believe you didn't debug it!"
"I did debug it!" her younger sister retorted with a snort. "I wasn't born yesterday you know, Jess. They've been watching me since you first told them about the Cylon. By the way, about an hour ago I . . .uh . . . a friend sent me a shot of an Orbiter shuttle in one of the hangars at Edward's." Her tone shifted minutely as she addressed the GPS. "Seamus! Initiate!" There was a pause, and then her image came back on screen. "I'm uploading it now. Should be there in a flash. Process of elimination, Jess. It's really the Endeavour!" She was smiling triumphantly, then the image went askew. There was the sound of a loud crack,and shegasped, then let out a sharp breath.
"LAUREN?"
"Seamus, you idiot! Manual override! That's it! Next time I'm upgrading to the Formula One edition! No more cheap Microsoft knockoffs!" The tires squealed again. "Still here, Jess. Looks like the fresh guys are back. Trust me, next time, I'm skipping the three-cylinder electric, and going gas all the way! Something in an old V-8, me thinks." She had a penchant for rambling when she was stressed. "Okay, sis, bet your bottom dollar I'm going underground. I'll be in touch. Looks like . . .Holy Crap!" The line abruptly went dead.
Jess hesitated as the Sat-Phone in her pocket vibrated. She pulled it out, activating it, and staring blankly at the image of the Space Shuttle Endeavour, miraculously returned to Earth forty-five years after it had left. It was true. It was really here. Banged up, scorched, and looking like she'd been ill taken care of, but she was here. So many unanswered questions. So much speculation. She could feel every eye in the room on her, as she sent the image to Batalova's station, and the operator put it up on the main screen in the control centre. The room seemed to take a collective gasp. Once more WASA's intel had been validated. Jess then sent the same image to General Roach, with the text, "I have the Cylon. You have my crew and theEndeavour. Imagine this pasted across every news outlet in the world, along with your picture. Call your dogs off my sister, now! It's time to negotiate, General." She turned to Hayashi. "I have to get to Kazakhstan. Somehow we have to get the truth out of that Cylon."
"Take the Venture."
Jess smiled wryly. "Overdoing it a bit to take a Guardian series space shuttle to Baikonur, don't you think?"
"American and British fighters can't touch you until after re-entry. I think it's safest," Hayashi returned. "Besides, Carter is just itching to try out the new ECM suite." He grinned widely. "Get some sleep. I'll call you when we're ready to launch."
"Well, bless your paranoid soul, Atsuo . . ." Jess murmured, touched by his concern for her personal safety.
"I'll ask Orlov to speak to Colonel General Surkov about a personal escort," Hayashi added.
"Can we trust the Russians on this, or will they throw in their lot with the Americans and British?" Jess asked, realizing he could no more predict the future than she could. "Your opinion."
"As if anyone can ever figure out the Kremlin," said Batalova.
Hayashi nodded at her words before replying, "At this point, we have no choice, Dayton. We have to trust somebody."
"Can we pick someone else? Generals, in general, aren't high on my list just now," she returned sardonically.
"You're too damn cynical, Dayton," Hayashi retorted.
"Isn't that why you nominated me as Director?"
"You have a point."
xxxxx
"There is no possible way that someone on the outside could have penetrated our security!" Roach averred, looking at the sat-file of the old space shuttle, clear as day, sitting on the tarmac at Peterson Air Force Base next to an F-22. If it wasn't for the serial number on the jet fighter that could be traced to coming off the assembly line only twenty years before, they might have been able to slip it by the masses. But LM Dayton would be sure to point out that particular tidbit if she took this to the media.
"Then someone is working on the inside, General," Mason replied. "WASA is making inroads. They must be dealt with."
"The media will have a field day with this!" Roach growled. "This whole thing is coming apart!"
"The media will do as they're told," Mason replied in a soft voice. "I'll handle this."
"What about LM Dayton?" Roach asked. "She's not the "keep-quiet, do-as-you're-told" sort. Besides, whoever her source is . . ."
"I told you, I'll handle it, Roach." Mason lit another cigarette. "Just calm down. You do your job. I'll do mine."
xxxxx
"Okay, Colonel. Yes, granted that three days isn't much time . . ." Dayton began.
"To find a Base Ship, destroy it, and get back home again," Apollo inserted soberly, striding forward to look over their navigation board. New data was being inputted, and an image of Earth's solar system was taking shape.
"Assuming Malus doesn't figure out what is wrong, and can fix it," Dorado added optimistically.
"We have to start with Earth." Starbuck stepped forward, tapping his index finger on the board. "It's the obvious solution."
"How's that . . ." Dayton began. He was mildly surprised to hear that coming from Almond Cappuccino, especially after Adama's explicit orders to the contrary.
"Go on," Ryan encouraged the strike captain, nodding thoughtfully. And transparently. "Let the kid talk, Mark."
"Uh huh," Dayton replied with a sigh.
"While we're sending out our patrols, looking for that Base Ship, we can use the Wraiths for reconnaissance on Earth. Our own scanners can't detect them, and to Earthlings they'd likely be virtually invisible," Starbuck explained. He saw Dayton scowl. He hurriedly moved ahead. "Anyhow, that probe we saw, Dayton. Your people must have several."
"Well, that probe we saw over Sedna was launched years before we left, Starbuck. It's as outdated as wire wound around an oatmeal box."
"Good to know," Apollo nodded, deciding to ignore the obscure reference for now. "Even so, at this point, if the Cylons are nearing Earth, your own people are more likely to be aware of it than we are."
"So even if they can't defend themselves against an Abaddon Base Ship, they might still detect one. Of course." Dayton rubbed a hand over his unshaven chin. "I was so busy thinking about how crude Earth technology would be compared to Colonial, I overlooked what they did have." He glanced at Ryan. "Paddy, you figured you could tap into Earth's communications net through some of the Wraith's systems that the Espridians used to record data for observation. How's that looking?"
"Oh, I know we can," Ryan agreed. "It might require some tweaking in the air, but nothing our pilots can't handle . . ."
"That's what I like to hear," Dayton nodded, before turning to the IL. "Malus, didn't you mention some old Earth communications you'd found in the Espridian archives? The ones where you retrieved enough data to confirm that the planet they visited was Earth?"
"Yes, many of them. Most of the files were geological and environmental scans, and overviews of various cultural groups. Among the recorded transmissions were many of a military nature, and encrypted, although the Espridians easily deciphered them. In particular I enjoyed one in reference to the wreck of a crashed alien ship at some point in their past. According to the numerical designation used in Earth time, it occurred in the Earth yahren one thousand, nine hundred and forty seven . . ."
"Lord Thunderin' Jaysus!" exclaimed Paddy.
"Excuse me?" replied the IL.
"1947?" Baker echoed.
"Yes," the IL nodded. "It caused quite a commotion on the Earth intelligence networks that the Espridians were monitoring . . . although the eventual public broadcasts seemed to contravene initial data . . . something about a . . . weather balloon, although I'm not quite sure what that is. It was a fascinating study in human culture, Doctor, although a tad confusing."
"Roswell?" Dayton breathed quietly. He looked at his fellow Earthers, then back to the IL. "It was Roswell, right?"
"Roswell, New Mexico," Malus added, nodding. "Yes, that was the place." The IL brought a holomap up on the board. "Here, in this western region of this continental landmass. A highly arid region."
"You still have the Espridian archives, Mal?"
"Oh . . . somewhere around here," Malus waved a hand nonchalantly, immediately putting them in mind of the disaster that was usually Starbuck's duty office. The War Room was a stark contrast.
"Malus," Dayton's tone was sharp. "I can live with the blue 'eyes' and the red 'lips', but if you try to adopt that particular trait of Starbuck's, I'll pry off the top of your head and use it for a glow-in-the-dark ashtray. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Commander," replied the IL, tolerantly.
"What landed in Roswell, Mal?" Ryan interrupted, his face rapt with fascination. "Who were they?"
"I was uncertain, Doctor Ryan. The reports were somewhat nebulous, lacking in detail, as though they were primarily concerned about breaching security. I admit I was wondering if it was Espridian in nature. . ." the IL posed.
"Well, that would make sense . . ." Baker interjected.
"Although I wouldn't mind knowing what would cause one of their Wraiths to go down, especially if I'm going to be flying one in the same area," Luana inserted soberly.
"Good point, Lu," Starbuck nodded. "Any data on that, Mal?"
"Only conjecture that did not sound very plausible to my more discernible ear."
"You don't have ears, Mal," Dayton reminded him. "Paddy, what were you going to say about tapping into the communications?"
"From some of our field tests in the Fleet, we can zero in on specific intelligence targets, receiving signals and data that we consecutively record."
"You tested this in the Fleet?" Dorado asked, his eyebrows raised.
"Where else?" Ryan shrugged.
"How did you manage to talk Ensign Luana into that without running it by me first?" Dayton frowned, glancing at her. She squirmed under his eyes, inadvertently swinging her gaze towards her husband.
"She . . . well, she wasn't the test pilot."
"Really?" Dayton replied, starting to get a sneaking suspicion he had been played like a fiddle at the county fair. "Who was?"
"I was," Starbuck replied with a careless wave of his hand.
"Ah," smiled Dayton. He looked from husband to wife, then back to Ryan again. "This is starting to make a lot of sense in a 'set up your commander' sort of way. I take it there's more?"
"Well . . ."
"Why am I not surprised?" the commander returned with a sigh. "Okay. Hit me. I can take it."
Ryan patted his friend on the shoulder. "You should know by now that we're full of surprises. Using my new languaphone and Malus' EIAI, the pilot can actually . . ."
"Wait a centon," Apollo interrupted, his brow furrowing. "Languaphone?"
"It's an improvement on your original languatron," Baker inserted. "Malus helped develop it. The EIAI is a complimentary unit that taps into the main speech and language centres of the human brain that we haven't tested yet."
"EIAI?" Apollo asked.
"English In An Instant. Pretty catchy, huh?" Ryan raised an enquiring eyebrow at Starbuck. "Now, the languaphone is an implantable device that goes in the inner ear, and the EIAI gets implanted in . . ."
"Implantable?" Starbuck winced, taking a step back, immediately reminded of the time he'd had a transceiver implanted under his skin to infiltrate Fausto's office not long after they'd picked the Earthmen up. Then there was the Obediator, about which he still had nightmares every time he overate. Neither had gone well. "Now wait a centon, Ryan, you didn't say anything about implants . . ."
"Hey, they're not those kind of implants, kid," Ryan teased him.
"Never much saw him as the Dolly Parton type, Paddy," Baker agreed with a chuckle. "Anyhow, Starbuck and Luana can weed through pertinent information the whole time that they're accessing intelligence, and if necessary, can hold a coherent conversation in English."
"Wouldn't you have to be able to hold one in Colonial Standard, first?" quipped Apollo.
"Kick me when I'm down," retorted Starbuck. "Yeah, it's pretty funny when they want to put implants in me . . ."
The colonel grinned in agreement, ribbing his friend. "A laugh a centon . . ."
"Starbuck and Luana . . ." Dayton crossed his arms over his chest, interrupting the banter. "How do you figure that? Luana is on the Wraith project, notStarbuck."
"Well, we have twoWraiths. Fully checked out, and ready to go, and approximately a hundred and forty-nine billion square kilometres of land to cover," Ryan concluded, catching Dayton's scowl. "Okay, roughly fifty-seven and a half billion square miles." Dayton shook his head, and the other smiled slightly. "Besides, we armed the second Wraith, and Starbuck is the only one who's familiar with the new Dynamo interface system."
"Dynamo weapons system?" Dayton glanced at Apollo. When the Dynamos energized, they not only knocked out a fighter's system, leaving it defenceless, it also left the pilot on the receiving end of it paralysed from the intensity of the energy wavelons. Apollo knew that first hand. "Did you know about this?"
Apollo hesitated just a micron too long.
"That's what I thought. Always the last to know." The commander turned on his strike captain. "You know how I feel about you and Luana flying together. Do I have to go over Fraternization rules again?"
"I know," the young man replied, holding up his hands conciliatorily. "But we'll probably be separated by half a planet, or at least a continent or two, if it makes you feel any better." He glanced at his wife who was regarding him coolly, giving him the distinct feeling that she was okay with the temporary and vast separation.
Dayton blew out a breath of disbelief. "That's stretching it, to put it mildly." He blew out a shot of air. "How the helldid this even come together? We've only been back for just over a week!"
"The Wraith projects have been ongoing, since we started rebuilding the Endeavour," Ryan explained. "Same with the languaphone and EIAI. When we got back from Morlais, we realized it would be perfect for Earth, assuming we got a chance to get here, but we didn't have a chance to outfit Lu's ship similarly."
"How complicated is the weapons system?" Dayton asked. "Compared to the standard Viper or Hybrid configuration." He moved to a console, and began calling up the specs on the machine. He snorted. "Why couldn't another pilot take it down? Why does it have to be Starbuck?"
"There are only three pilots currently qualified on the Wraiths, Mark," Baker reminded him. "Luana, Starbuck, and Apollo." The Earthman glanced at the colonel. "As much as I know that Apollo is a damned fine pilot, he's logged only about a quarter of the hours that Lu has, and only half of what Starbuck has, since our golden-haired boy started bombing around the Fleet, testing out our recon equipment. After Luana, Starbuck's the best pilot for the job. This is no time to make mistakes. You know how much will be riding on this."
Apollo nodded in calm acceptance, mildly amused to be called a mistake. Starbuck looked at him in obvious amusement, puffing out his chest dramatically, and clearly enjoying the moment. "Starbuck should go," Apollo inserted.
"Really? You think?" Dayton snorted, rounding on the Endeavour's strike captain. "And if you're on Earth, Captain, and the Ravagercomes calling, just who's going to lead the squadrons?"
The blue eyes looked back over his commander's shoulder pointedly, as a familiar grin crossed Starbuck's features. The one that said he was holding the capstone. Dayton turned again to regard the colonel.
"I will," Apollo replied, a matching smile on his face.
"He comes highly recommended," Starbuck smirked.
"This came together so well, you'd think we planned it," Ryan chuckled. "Sounds like a win-win situation all the way round."
"Doesn't it just?" Dayton conceded, with a resigned smile. He shook his head, as if both disgusted, and relieved. Either way, they had him, and he knew it. "Starbuck and Luana, prepare your ships . . ."
"They're ready to go," Ryan notified him.
"Gee, what a surprise!" Dayton replied sardonically. "We need to close the distance between us and Earth before you launch. That goes for the patrols, too, Apollo. There's no point in wasting time sightseeing, when we have a deadline."
Ryan grinned at his friend waving a finger at Starbuck and Lu. "Now, don't forget to stop by the Life Station so Cassiopeia and Malus can insert the implants . . ." Then he smiled evilly, raising and lowering his eyebrows. "Or I could do it. A couple of shots of asteroid whiskey and you won't feel a thing . . . "
"Life Station it is," Starbuck hastily inserted.
"Okay, you two," Dayton added. "Remember! Under no circumstances whatsoever are you to break communications silence or betray yourselves. That's an order."
"Yes, sir," Luana nodded.
"That goes double for you, Starbuck," Dayton insisted. "Is that clear, Cappuccino Cowboy?"
Starbuck nodded. "Recon. Nothing more, Commander."
"Why do I feel like you're humouring me when you call me 'commander'?" Dayton smiled slightly, clapping the younger man on the shoulder. "What I wouldn't give . . ." he murmured quietly.
"I know," Starbuck returned, realizing how difficult it must be to get this close to your home planet and instead be stuck on a hunk of metal way out in space. Hades Hole, he'd feel the same if it was Caprica out there. He looked at all three of the Earthmen present. "It'll come."
"Hey, we've waited this long, Mark . . ." Ryan shrugged, then scowled.
"Get out of here," Dayton told the two pilots, jerking his head towards the hatch, "before I detail you to . . . to checking tire pressure on the ships in the landing bay!" He smiled at their bewildered looks, then waved them ahead. Meanwhile, Apollo was watched him compassionately. Too compassionately. "Colonel, I believe Phoenix Squadron is awaiting their flight leader's briefing. We don't have all day."