Dorado sighed from the Control Centre on the Endeavour as Porter drilled his fingers on the console once again. The older man's patience was wearing thin while he continued to listen in on transmissions they were picking up from Earth..
"Any word?" the Earthman asked again.
"None," the captain replied, glancing at his chrono. "No word for the last . . . twenty-three centons, Doctor."
"What the hell is taking them so long?" Porter demanded, as much of the air as of the other man. "We've got places to go, people to see, bad guys to find."
"A ruptured reactor vessel. It must be a mess down there. You said so yourself."
"Did I imagine Sir Gala . . . Mark saying 'quick in and out'? That was our fearless leader, wasn't it?"
"It was," Dorado agreed, turning his attention to Coxcoxtli to quell his own rising anxieties. "Any progress on the Clavis?"
"None, sir. What's worse, it seems to have embedded itself in the Endeavour's systems somehow." The others turned to look at him in stunned silence. "Almost like an organic being. Or some kind of virus that I'm not figuring out."
"Come again?" Dorado asked, his heart rate quickening. "How can that be?"
"I'm . . . I'm not sure, sir," the young man replied, his face drawn as he pulled at his Colonial collar. "I've never seen anything like this before. Maybe Malus . . .?"
"Whoa, Nelly!" Porter suddenly announced, his hand to his headset.
"Excuse me?" asked Dorado, once again left befuddled by an eruption of non-standard Earthspeak.
"I'm picking up some pretty bizarre stuff from Earth."
"Put it on, Porter," Dorado replied. Porter punched a key and the speakers hissed to life.
". . . peat, we stress that there is no need for panic. Our world leaders have things well in hand. Soon they will be meeting with Captain Starbucks of the Colonial Nation. We will overcome the Cylons and prevail!"
Porter quickly translated.
"Oh, frack!"
"Get me the landing party. Now!" ordered Dorado. "Go to Yellow Alert! Repeat, all hands, Yellow Alert!"
xxxxx
"We're over a barrel!" President Gibson spat, his face reddening with anger, obvious even on the holographic display. He glanced over at Wright, the Secretary of Defence, who had facilitated this emergency meeting. A hold-over from the previous administration, Wright was a bit of a mystery. Turns out he knew about the supposed Cylon threat, but had waited until he could sit on it no longer before informing his new Chief. That bloody rankled, and if things weren't so tense now, he'd have considered sending the fellow packing for his presumption. The President turned back to the holo-unit. "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 scowled at a comment from his right. "Shut up, Monroe. I do know how it works. That was a rhetorical question." He sat down heavily on his desk. "They're demanding we free the Unity and Space Shuttle Endeavour's crews, as well as this Captain Starbucks, and they're insisting on a tele-con with President Kuzmin, Prime Minister Webster and myself."
"Then let's shut them down, sir," Secretary of Defence Wright said. "This is terrorism, Mr. President. We don't negotiate with terrorists."
"Listen, Secretary, 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 in the East Room, 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 . . . at least up until the weapon he used knocked out every satellite within range . . . "
"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 an official 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 a specimen 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. "A Cylon that WASA has kept from us since their ship crash-landed on the moon almost two months ago, Mr. President. According to this rather compelling 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. I maintain that WASA is still trying to mislead you. We cannot cooperate with them. We cannot give into their continued terrorist threats. As the principal advisor to yourself, the National Security Council and the Homeland Security Council, I recommend we accept this peace accord with the Cylons."
It was a complete one-eighty and President Gibson really couldn't have been more surprised. "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
A cold shiver of what he figured must be apprehension enveloped Starbuck, as he tortuously waited long centons for Director Borodin to get suited up before the Russian could enter his cosy little isolation chamber with Lucifer. The pressure in Starbuck's head and sinuses from this "common cold" he'd contracted was unbelievable. At least he thought that was what it was. It had first been described to him as "a minor rhinovirus infection", which his languaphone rendered as something about a large horned animal invading a computer . . . which sounded about right. The second attempt offered up "communal chill". Well, whatever it was, it felt like a tylium energizer about to explode. Abruptly, he jerked upright as an overwhelming tickling sensation from the front of his face erupted into a convulsive expulsion of air from his mouth and nose. To his horror, his nose began running like a raging river bursting its banks. He groaned in disgust, looking over with watery eyes at the attractive colonel and realizing he looked about half as appealing as the Boray leader, Nogow. Maybe even less so. Fat chance that he'd be using his famous Starbuck charm to get Colonel Natalya Something-or-other Katko on his side before Borodin started in on him.
Another hacking cough gripped him and his chest burned with pain once again. He could feel the sweat breaking out on his body, joining the steady stream of mucous that was gushing from his face. He struggled to catch his breath as spasm after spasm racked his starved lungs. His chest heaved with the effort and his head swam from the exertion.
"Drink," the colonel again told him, pressing a straw insistently against his gasping lips. "You must remain flooded." He shook his head, deciding that either he was delirious or his languaphone was.
He hacked as he pulled on the proffered straw, coughing anew when the cold water went down the wrong way. He doubled over, his body convulsing. She lightly slapped him on the back, as if she thought he was choking on something . . . other than humiliation, of course.
"Sagan's sake . . ." he gasped as the burning in his chest finally eased off. He didn't fight against the steady pressure of the colonel's hand against his chest pushing him backwards, collapsing against the waiting pillows. The chill air prickled his sweaty skin while he lay there catching his breath. He began to shiver slightly. Lords' sake, he couldn't remember ever feeling this bad from the usual mundane Colonial viruses before.
A cool cloth wiped his face and he sighed in pleasure, closing his eyes for a blessed moment of comfort. His raw wrists burned where he'd been pulling at his restraints. It felt as though several centons had passed, but a quick glance towards Borodin showed the director still suiting up and on the other side of the isolation chamber airlock.
"Thanks, Colonel," Starbuck said thickly to Katko, clearing his throat. He needed the answers to some questions and fast. He lowered his voice. "Is Director Borodin . . . is he your superior officer?"
"It is I who am supposed to be asking the questions," she replied indignantly.
"Tell you what, I'll give you one for one. An even exchange, Colonel." He smiled at her before eying the director's progress once again. "Is Borodin your superior officer? He's not in uniform."
She considered him for a moment, also glancing in Borodin's direction. Drawing upon a lifetime's experience in reading people, his assessment of the situation gave him the impression she didn't trust the Russian man. Well, he didn't exactly have a warm fuzzy feeling about him either.
"No, I am a colonel in the Russian Air Force. He is the Director of the GRU . . ." Katko paused as he shook his head in confusion. "The Main Directorate of Russian Intelligence." Borodin had introduced himself that way on the landing strip. Katko narrowed her eyes. "Who are you really?"
"I already told you." He coughed again, willing the maddening tickle in his throat to desist. "Captain Starbuck of the Colonial ship, Endeavour. My mission is to help defend Earth from an imminent Cylon attack. I'm here to help." Dubiously, he glanced at his restraints. "Although it's more difficult while bound to an examination table."
"It is a big ship, this Endeavour?" she asked, digesting the information.
"Bigger than anything you've got," he nodded. "But that was two questions, Colonel. My turn. Why do you people treat folks who are only trying to help you like some kind of science experiment?"
"We do not grant trust easily." Her voice was clipped.
"I understand that to a certain extent, lady. Where I come from, we earn trust. But we generally give strangers the benefit of the doubt." He couldn't help but think about Dayton. Lords, they hadn't accused the Earthmen of lying about their origins when they had picked them up on the pirate asteroid. They hadn't locked them up, restrained them, probed and studied them. Although a time or two it might not have been a bad idea . . .
What the Hades Hole is it about Earth?
"And where I come from we don't call colonels in the Air Force 'lady', Captain." She stressed his lesser rank. "Can you prove who you are? Where is this ship? Your crew?"
"Is that what it would take? You want us to land the Endeavour on your front lawn and give you a laser show?"
"Seeing is believing," she replied as she sat down on a chair, crossing her arms over her chest.
"I'm getting that," he replied, his gaze swinging to the door as it slid open. Borodin and Lucifer stepped inside.
"Well, Lieutenant Starbuck. What a curious surprise. You must tell us how you came to be here . . . and the coordinates of the Galactica, of course, " said the IL.
Starbuck at once noticed the other was using Earthspeak, rather than either Cylon or Colonial Standard. "Been a long time, Lucy," the pilot replied in kind through the technological magic of English In An Instant. "Actually, I was hoping you'd been incinerated over Planet 'P' with the rest of your crew when we destroyed your Base Ship." He flashed his most ingratiating grin at the Cylon.
The IL's lights seem to speed up for a moment. "It will go better for you, Lieutenant, if you show a little respect. I am not the one restrained here."
"I'm a captain now, Bubblehead. And you're still a mong-raking Cylon."