So far, the Wraith which Luana was piloting had gone completely unnoticed by Earth's defences, its advanced ECM far beyond anything that the more primitive planet's technology could detect. She smiled, realizing that by Empyrean standards, Earth was actually quite advanced beyond her home planet. From naïve Empyrean princess to Colonial Warrior, wife and reconnaissance pilot on the first Covert Operations Ship, Lords, her life had changed so radically and she'd learned so much since becoming part of the Fleet just over ten sectars before.
Has it only been that long?
Once again, she checked the readouts on the Wraith helmet's integrated display. As ordered, she'd covered the first part of her assigned grid, collecting and recording data. Hungry for information regarding Earth, she listened in on various sources through her languaphone. Despite the sedentary aspect of the mission, it was exciting, as well as a real honour to be entrusted with it. All in all, the reconnaissance patrol had been largely uneventful, which meant that Luana could either take the opportunity to put herself into a higher orbit and go into sleep mode for a while, or she could let her mind wander. Unfortunately, when she did that she ended up thinking about her husband.
Starbuck was a good man—heroic, fun, impulsive, honourable, ambitious, brave, not to mention easy on the eyes—but he could also be so damned . . .insensitive at times. He hated to dwell on anything problematic and would rather search for compromises or what he deemed to be potential solutions, rather than just let her grieve over a loss that he clearly didn't understand. Conversely, he had an underlying vulnerability that didn't appear often, but had once again surfaced when she had told him she didn't want to adopt, in lieu of having a baby of her own blood. Yet, he'd characteristically risen above that to assure her that beyond everything else he merely wanted her to be happy. Still, how could he possibly grasp what was happyfor her when he was an orphan, seeing kids come and go over his lifetime like shadows on the wall?
She sighed, adjusting the frequency to decrease the distortion on the latest transmission she was picking up. If Ama was still around, the necromancer would tell her to cherish what she had instead of dwelling on what she didn't.
We have been given what we have been given, child. Can fretting make you taller or make the rain come sooner or give you a moments more life? Some things we must accept and learn to live with.
It had been a way of life for her at one time, one that she probably needed to return to.
Sweet Triquetra, how she missed the old crone . . .
". . . at last report, the Colonial Warrior known as Captain Starbuck was sharing critical information with WASA director, Jessica Dayton, as well as Russian Air Force and Intelligence Agencies. At this point we can only surmise that President Gibson and other world leaders will soon be involved to uniformly devise a plan to defend Earth from the Cylons. . ."
"What the frack . . ." Luana sputtered. "Sagan's sake, Starbuck, what have you done now?"
xxxxx
Drop!
The single word came from seemingly nowhere, penetrating Grae's brain and forcing him to obey, as if he was still an officer in the Canadian military. He dropped to the floor, rolling to the right and knocking a guard off balance, just as the silenced blast of a handgun penetrated his senses in that isolated offshoot of the corridor.
The guard on the left dropped to the floor, dead, taking a bullet in the temple that was meant for Grae. The other fell hard. Grae scrambled for the gun that was still loosely gripped in the surviving guard's hand. He straddled the man, at the same time grabbing him by the throat with his free hand. They hadn't come to bring him to General Roach, they had come to execute him!
Gee, shot while trying to escape. Now there's an original idea!
Grae pulled the trigger, repeatedly firing off bullets into the wall as he struggled with the guard. Who had ordered the execution? Roach? Bradshaw? Mason? The President? There was no real way of knowing. The only thing he knew for sure was he'd have to write the Canadian Consulate and file a complaint!
Once, twice, three times he smashed the guard's hand onto the floor, trying to dislodge the weapon as the man grunted and growled beneath him. Damn thick neck! Was that a recruiting point? If time had run out for him, did that mean that it also had for Dickins and Hummer? He had to get back there! Had to do what he could to help . . .
The clapping of boots down a corridor announced the arrival of more soldiers. The problem was Grae didn't know whose side they were on. With a grunt of determination he smashed the guard's hand on the floor once again, this time the weapon skittered out of reach. Then with a lunge, he bolted back towards the dead man. He needed to reach the gun if only to defend himself . . .
"Freeze!"
xxxxx
"We're over a barrel, General!" President Gibson spat, his face reddening with anger, obvious even on the holographic display. "Right now, WASA is telling the entire world that there's an imminent 'Cylon threat', but that we're organizing a defence with these supposed visitors from another star system coming to our rescue! For Christ's sake, every goddamned sat-phone in the country rang fifteen minutes agoalerting us to the same thing! They had a complete monopoly on our phones for an entire ten minutes! They're still monopolizing television. How on Earth did they even do that?" He looked off-screen for a moment. "Shut up, Monroe. That was a rhetorical question." He sat down heavily on his desk. "Listen, General, if we shut WASA down and the media goes dark, after news like that the world will panic. It will be War of the Worlds all over again. And if we allow them to continue, we're validating everything they say. Who's to say, they won't pirate the whole communications net again?"
"Mr. President? LM Dayton on line one, sir," a secretary interrupted.
"What?"
"Requesting a press conference, sir. Televised."
"Oh, for crying out loud!"
"I realize all that, Mr. President," General Roach pressed on with practiced patience. "Sir, we've all seen the footage of this supposed space battle between Captain Starbucks and the Cylons . . ."
"Is it real. Yes, I know. If it's real, then we had better find this Captain Starbuck, and fast. If it isn't, they're playing us for patsies. But to what end?"
"Starbuck's in Kazakhstan, Mr. President," Mason suddenly announced quietly. Roach almost leapt out of his skin, the intel man had slipped in so quietly. "Director Borodin of the GRU has questioned him, determining the authenticity of these reports. I spoke to the director not long ago in conference with Chairman Whatley of Great Britain and Commandant von Silenen. . ."
"The Swiss Guard?" Roach asked, his eyebrows raised. "What the hell . . .?"
"Surprisingly, the Cylons are real," Mason continued, "and they have one at Baikonur to prove it."
"Suddenly changing your tune . . ." Roach commented. He waved off one of Bradshaw's men who had just entered the room and was trying to get his attention.
Mason pressed on, ignoring the others. "One that WASA has kept from us since their ship crash-landed on the moon almost two months ago, Mr. President. According to this intelligent, thoughtful being, we have it backwards, Mr. President. The Cylons are not our enemies. In fact, sir, they have come to offer us a peace accord."
"And Captain Starbuck?"
"He has confessed, Mister President. He's an insurgent sent to deceive us all. As a symbolic sign of our allegiance with the Cylons, he must be executed."
xxxxx
Dickins sighed, sitting up and dangling his legs off the edge of the bunk. This was it. It with a capital I. Obviously, Grae Ryan was dead and now it was his and Hummer's turn. He sighed again, running a hand over his unshaven face. Sorry, Paddy. I tried to warn him. Maybe if you'd been around to teach him a few things . . .
The two men opening the cell door had an air of death about them. Just as had the two that had taken away Paddy's son. An instinct to survive battled with an overwhelming disgust; a grief at what this world had become. He couldn't stand to look at Hummer just now. Poor kid. Come clear across the galaxy and for what? What the hell had he sacrificed his life for? Nothing! A total zilch! The more he came to know about this day and age, the more he figured that maybe they were both better off dead. If only he'd been able to see Anna again first . . .
Slowly, he rose to his feet, ready to face death head on. He sucked in a steadying breath and let it out again. Vaguely, he wondered what had happened to Ama. Or maybe that had all been a dream.
"What happened to last words?" Dickins asked as a weapon raised to sight him while the cell entrance slid open.
The man nodded briefly, lowering the weapon ever so slightly. "Go ahead."
"The Lord is my shepherd. . ." Dickins bit his lip. Although he'd never admitted it to his friends, he'd given up that way of thinking long ago. There was no absolution to be found to atone for what he'd done over the years. There was only justification. A man could either live with what he'd done or he couldn't. There was no going back. No second chances. He looked up at the soldiers, meeting their eyes. "Go ahead. Do it."
The man raised his weapon and pulled the trigger.
Nothing.
Ama, I could kiss you!
Dickins sprang forward.