Chapter Eight
Okay, maybe it wasn't the brightest thing he'd ever done, provoking an IL Cylon while he was sick, imprisoned, restrained and naked, lying in some kind of quarantined cell on a planet he'd never been to, but the glimmer of amusement and respect in Colonel Katko's enchanting eyes while he needled the enemy made it all worthwhile.
Until he saw the hypo in Director Borodin's hand.
"Wait just a centon . . ." Starbuck jerked against the restraints once again. "Hey, I'm military! I'm all up to date on my vaccinations!"
Borodin smiled cruelly, taking off the cap of the needle and reaching for the warrior's arm. He paused a moment to lightly touch Starbuck chest, his eyes narrowing and his expression changing. "What's this?"
"Come again?"
"This mark! What is it?" Borodin looked at Lucifer. "Can you explain?"
"It is not something that I am familiar with," the IL admitted. "I would guess that it is a symbolic Colonial mark of some kind."
"Yes? Is this true?" Borodin demanded of Starbuck. "What does it represent?"
The director seemed curiously intrigued about the scar that an Empyrean amulet had seared into him on Alrin, when he'd been on the receiving end of a laser blast. The blast had hit the talisman that Ama had insisted he wear around his neck on the mission to recover Luana and Sheba from a routine patrol gone wrong. It had saved his life, but had left the permanent mark behind which Ama had sworn would protect him. He could have had it repaired, the marks erased with the ease of a Life Station laser treatment, but it had seemed pointless at the time. Besides, if there was any inkling of truth in what Ama had told him, he was always one to stack the odds in his favour . . . especially while fighting Cylons and the like of Count Iblis on a day to day basis.
"If I get two more just like it, I get a free fumarello from Empyrean Tobacconists," Starbuck adlibbed, unsure why Borodin's face twisted into an angry glare as the director again brandished the hypo in his hand.
"This will force you to tell us the truth." Borodin suddenly grinned like a sociopathic street tough. "You will tell us what we want to know."
Colonel Katko jumped up from her seat, stepping forward to intervene. "Director! Has Dr. Sidorenko approved this? Captain Starbuck does not react to our standard pharmaceuticals as other humans do! This might very well send him into another state of psychosis! Or even kill him!"
"Irrelevant. Ultimately, Captain Starbuck will be executed regardless, to prove our allegiance to our new Cylon allies. These orders are coming directly from the Kremlin, Colonel. Stand down now!" Borodin snapped as he pulled on Starbuck's arm, straightening it and palpating a large vein inside his elbow.
"Kill me and you're going to have one very angry commanding officer of a Colonial capital ship bearing down on you, seriously debating if saving our long lost brothers is such a good idea, after all!" Starbuck shouted, twisting and bucking against the restraints as he felt the needle pierce his skin. Abruptly, it was torn away as Katko shoved at the director's arm. Apparently, he'd made a better impression than he had first thought on the attractive officer.
Then a piercing shriek filled the air and Natalya Katko dropped to the floor limply. Behind her Lucifer was holding some kind of weapon that had silently discharged into the woman. It looked like some kind of archaic stun baton.
"What the frack did you do to her?" Starbuck demanded, looking from the fallen woman to the IL.
"Interesting. I thought chivalry was dead. She is merely unconscious," Borodin commented, once again roughly grabbing Starbuck's arm and palpating the now bleeding flesh. "Now, where is this Galactica of which Lucifer speaks? And tell me of this mark on your chest, as well! If you cooperate, I can promise you your death will be swift and honourable. If not, well . . . " He left the threatening words dangling, somehow making the message even more menacing.
"Look astrum-wipe, I happen to know that truth drugs don't work! They may loosen a guy's tongue, but that's about it!" Starbuck taunted the man. After all, it was just over seven sectons ago that Guidobaldo had forced some drinkable variation on Starbuck when he'd been interrogated on the Rising Star. It was possible, of course, that the Earthlings had discovered something that the rest of them hadn't in several thousand yahrens. As the needle again penetrated his flesh and a faint burning spread up his arm, he searched Borodin's soulless eyes, but the man's expression was unreadable. Was he bluffing or not?
"We shall see." Borodin chuckled quietly, standing back to observe.
Starbuck shook his head, feeling as though he was being slowly dragged downwards into a rapacious vortex. He groaned as his stomach roiled at the unexpected physical sensations and he struggled to focus on something—anything that would keep him grounded. A few centons later, his body began to melt into the mattress in reaction to the drug. His vision blurred and he blinked to clear it, as the lighting above turned into a radiant and sparkling expanse that seemed to stretch infinitely onward.
"Sagan . . .this is good stuff," he murmured, letting out a breath as he seemed to rise into the air on a cloud of blissfulness. If he could just get enough altitude, he could fly right out of there . . . Then again, why were the Earth man and the IL floating up there beside him? That didn't make sense. He blinked rapidly, vaguely aware that his head had stopped pounding and he could once again breathe through his nose. Borodin and Lucifer blurred into one another, and he closed his eyes at the hideous image of man melding into Cylon. "Oh, frack . . ."
"What are the coordinates of the Galactica?" a disembodied voice asked.
"You're asking me?" He laughed, finding the idea hilarious. On this stuff, he barely knew where his nose was in relation to his face. They wanted to know where . . . Uh, just what was it they wanted to know again? Laughter burbled up inside of him again. An unpleasant pressure on his shoulder demanded he open his eyes. His laughter died on his lips as he looked at the blurry face gazing down at him with an ingratiating grin. "B-baltar?"
xxxxx
"Captain Dorado, Commander Dayton's landing party isn't responding," Cadet Pierus reported, fingers pressed to his earpiece.
"What?" Dorado asked disbelievingly. "No response?" he moved to the commsuite, pressing the standard hail. There was only static in return. "Have you tried the emergency channel?"
"Yes, but no response on that channel, either. They must be out of range beneath the surface, sir," Pierus replied.
"Right." He looked to scan. "Sweep the base. Try and find them."
"Sir." After a few moments, Sagaris shook his head. "The radion from the reactor is still making felgercarb of our scans, sir."
"Try a concentrated scan. Narrow beam. If that doesn't find them, use overload power on the scanners. If that doesn't work, we'll dip down and make a low pass over the base, next orbit."
"Sir."
So . . . down on Mars Commander Dayton had yet to rescue a group of fellow humans exposed to a power reactor failure, while on Earth Starbuck had somehow managed to blow his cover and warn that world's leaders of an impending Cylon threat that they were organizing against. Logic dictated he stay put, but knowing as he did how Starbuck usually defied logic, it made him abruptly rethink his decision. A compromise was the best he could do for now.
"Contact Phoenix squadron leader," Dorado ordered. "They're to kick in their turbos and head directly for Earth. Let them know that Starbuck has already made first contact.
Keep an eye out for Cylons and assist in any way they can."
"Aye, sir," Pierus replied.
xxxxx
Grae's grip tightened on the butt of the dead guard's weapon, as the herd of stampeding soldiers surrounded him. It was the newest semiautomatic by Beretta with the direct barrel-slide locking system that had regained the five hundred and twenty-five year old Italian firearms company the contract with the US military. Sweet piece. Somehow the name escaped him when there was six more just like it aimed at his head, but hey, such things happen. His hand twitched as he weighed the odds. If he so much as even tried to secure it . . .
"I said, Freeze! If you pick up that gun, you know we're going to shoot you, Ryan. That's a promise!"
"I didn't do it!" Grae protested, desperately looking around him. His heart pounded in his ears as cold, unforgiving faces stared back at them behind their shiny new 9mms. He didn't dare let go of the gun. Not yet. As soon as he took his hand away, one of them would kill him. They wanted to, he could tell. Wanted to so bad. They'd blame it on nerves or a crazed look in his eyes. Anything to finish the job.
"He sure as hell did! He grabbed my gun and shot Moe dead in cold blood!" the surviving guard protested, rolling over and cradling his pulverized hand against his chest. The men surged forward as a unit. "He's a killer! Shoot him!"
"Stand down!" the officer roared, getting even Grae's full attention. It was Colonel Bradshaw, the base commander. He, also, was armed. His men hesitated. "Put them away, now! That's an order! He's unarmed!"
"Not quite," one of them muttered, ever so slowly starting to holster his weapon.
"Do as I say, or you'll be cleaning out latrines on Diego Garcia by the end of the week! All of you!" he shouted, keeping his own weapon pointed at the astronaut. "Let go, Ryan," Bradshaw snapped. "I'm trying to save your life, damn it!"
"He shot the guard. I was next," Grae said, his hand twitching over the 9mm so temptingly close. He looked around, hoping to see some signs of surveillance that could have caught the whole incident. This was Cheyenne Mountain, after all! You couldn't use up the TP roll without it being recorded by someone.
"Liar!" the guard spat. "I didn't see it coming, Colonel! He's faster than . . ."
"Shut the hell up, Morgan!" Bradshaw blared, then turned to his men. "Take Morgan to the stockade until we sort out this mess." He looked back at the astronaut. "Now drop it, Ryan!"
It wasn't like he had a lot of choices in the matter. Grae slowly withdrew his hand from where the gun rested in the dead man's holster. He raised his hands in surrender, squatting back on his haunches. "Look, Colonel, I don't pretend to even think I know what's going on around here, but this man of yours just tried to execute me and make it look like I was escaping. Escaping from what? More questioning? I haven't actually done anything illegal and you all damned well know it!. Besides, where would I go? This is goddamned Cheyenne Mountain! Jaysus Murphy, what the hell would I do? Switch places with the pizza delivery guy?"
Bradshaw stared at him thoughtfully for a moment, jerking his head at two soldiers who in response began to lead Morgan away. "That's my man, Ryan."
"Well, sir, unless you're telling me that you gave him those orders, then I can only suggest his allegiance lies elsewhere," Grae replied evenly, trying to keep his voice steady. "If they're desperate enough to start eliminating loose ends right here inside the Fortress, then I'm willing to bet whoever is giving those orders goes after Dickins and Hummer nex . . ."
"Colonel!"
Both Bradshaw and Ryan looked up to see the soldiers who had been escorting Morgan leaning over the now-supine soldier further down the corridor. One was obviously looking for signs of life.
"He collapsed, sir! Started convulsing!" said the second man.
"Well?" demanded Bradshaw.
"He's dead, Colonel!" the first soldier exclaimed before starting CPR.
"It . . . it was so fast, sir. He just . . ." the other told him, before squatting down to help his fellow soldier.
"What the hell is going on here?" Bradshaw muttered, holstering his weapon. Then: "Get the medics down here now!"
"Colonel . . ." Grae said urgently.
"Right. I want a team in the quarantine unit! Ten minutes ago!" Bradshaw barked. He nodded at Ryan. "You're coming with me, Ryan. Let's move!"
xxxxx
"Well?" Jess Dayton asked Mirskii in the Control Centre of the Baikonur Space Centre. So far, President Gibson hadn't responded one way or the other to their demands and the hour deadline was just about up. Meanwhile, one of the three Cylon fighters in Earth's orbit had just moments ago finished burning up in the atmosphere, and another looked like it would soon follow. The third was still inert. However, they'd received a few visuals from WASA probes that had recorded sightings of more Cylon ships in the star system, but the capital ship over Mars still appeared to be holding position. Surkov had his military forces across Russia at high alert in the event of an attack, but all external sources said from a military point of view he was alone in this. It was only some hard bargaining with President Kuzmin and the "inexplicable absence of Director Borodin" in the last thirty minutes that had achieved this at all.
Anxiously, she looked over her shoulder. Surkov had disappeared to talk to his subordinates on a secure circuit. He had to find a way to reassign the Spetsnaz Forces and mobilize them without Borodin becoming aware too soon. After all, if it came to a battle between the two military forces, it could only turn into a bloodbath. Conveniently, the director of the GRU was still occupied interrogating Starbuck with Colonel Katko in attendance, or so Surkov had consoled her. But Russian Air Force Commander In Chief had also promised her that if she stayed put and took care of her end of things that the Colonial Warrior would be free soon. Surkov didn't give his word lightly.
"Nothing, Director Dayton," Mirskii replied.
"Patience, Jess," Orlov said. "Time is not yet up." He was trying to force a calm that he couldn't possibly feel.
"That depends on your point of view, Sergei," she replied. "If they haven't . . ."
"Director Dayton," Mirskii interrupted. "I have your sister on a private line. Commcircuit veh."
"Put her through!" Jess said, crossing to the station and picking up the headset. "Lauren?"
"Good times, huh sis?" The levity in her voice was so typical of her sister. She swore sometimes the kid would be flippant on top of a live volcano.
"Adrenaline junkie," Jess accused her, smiling. "Are you okay?"
"Fine," Lauren replied. "But I wish I knew what was going on. Guiana just received a digital video file from the White House that they want us to broadcast. It basically has President Gibson reassuring the American public with a bunch of nebulous claptrap that I'm sure will ease Joe Average's mind."
"And?"
"And they refuse to even contemplate our demands until we've broadcasted it and have deactivated Killstar. My sources tell me that Marshall Leach of the UK and General Metencourt of France have forces standing by to lift off. Maybe it's just me, Jess, but that sounds like a blatant military threat. If they hit French Guiana . . ."
"Damn! Listen Lauren, you've checked out President Gibson from his silver spoon days to his inauguration. Give it to me straight, how screwed are we?"
"He's a pretty boy with a great smile and a respectable service record, Jess. Perfect fodder for the Oval Office, if you aren't looking for substance. The top players that put him there never figured him as having much for brains or backbone, so I'm guessing they counted on applying the right amount of pressure and having him fall in line if the time ever came."
"What do you think?"
"It could go either way. If we come up with the right proof to make him realize that someone else is trying to pull those Presidential strings he probably doesn't realize he's wearing . . . well, he might surprise everybody." She considered it a moment. "Yeah. Yeah, he might just come through if we play it right."
"What would that take?"
The line went quiet as LM Dayton considered her answer. "A hero."
"You have one in mind?"
"I do. What about the Presidential broadcast?"
"Play it. Then it will at least appear that we're meeting them part way. Also, follow up that report with another monitoring Leach and Metencourt's military readiness. To the public it will look like they're standing by, but Presidents Gibson and Dupont and Prime Minister Webster will realize that we know what they're up to. Have our ASATs standing by, just in case. We've already landed one Lightning in the drink, we'll do it again if we need to."
"Will do. I'll get back to you." Lauren seemed to think a moment. "Anything further from Mars?"
It was like a splash of cold water that penetrated the sleep-deprived fog she hadn't even realized she was in. It had been so long since she'd actually talked to her sister that she hadn't even told Lauren yet. Then again, it still didn't seem real and certainly not possible. "Not since the last scheduled transmission didn't happen and they went silent. The carrier's still established, but so far . . ." She sighed, absently pushing her hair off of her forehead as she tried to think of a way to break the news. "But there is hope. The Colonial capital ship is in Mars' orbit. And Lauren . . . you'd better be sitting down for this."
Lauren snorted obnoxiously, apparently thinking otherwise. "You always say that."
"Our fa . . . Da . . ."
"You're breaking up, Jess."
"Tell me about it," she replied wryly. The last time she'd seen Mark Dayton she had been five years old. She was a bit well seasoned to be referring to him as "Dada" these days, and "father" just seemed too formal. "Commander Mark Dayton is commanding that warship, Lauren. He's alive."
There was utter silence on the line.
"Lauren? You there?" Jess asked.
"Yeah," came the whispered reply.
"We spotted the ship and thought it was Cylon. Starbuck set me straight. But before that he told me our father and most of his crew are alive. Somehow they ended up light- years away when the ISS exploded, sending them through some kind of wormhole. They got knocked clear across the galaxy, but survived. Captain Dickins is one of the men who came back in the Endeavour two months ago."
"The probability of this . . ." Lauren stuttered. "I mean . . . aw Hell! Our . . ."
"Yeah, I know. But I believe him."
"You believe him? Ms. Cynicism 2025 through 2055." She snorted again. "The one who actually asked the Santa at the Mall for his ID once!"
Jess smiled. "Yeah, that's me."
"Shit, I have to think about this. I have to go. Later, Jess." The line went dead.
Jess nodded, pulling off the headset as her people looked at her expectantly. She knew just how overwhelmed Lauren felt about now. "Stay safe, little sister," she murmured under her breath, before turning to update them.
xxxxx
"It is truly an engineering marvel, Commander," Malus announced as the Earth-style turbo lift descended into the abyss. It had taken long centons to find a way down into the crater, and when they did they had had to bring the transport back up to the upper level. As above, the lighting was dim, but they could still make out the unmistakeable shape of about two-thirds of a gargantuan pyramid jutting out from a wall of crumbled rock. It was the only real intact structure they could make out, although the enormous blocks of rock lying around clearly indicated that surrounding structures had also once been of a mammoth size. At some point something had utterly devastated this area. "The anomalous scans I was picking up were the remains of this condensed tylinium dome which I can only surmise at one time covered an entire settlement here on Mars, encapsulating and protecting it. I would theorize that the tunnels we detected earlier could have connected it with other settlements, as yet undiscovered."
"Cydonia," Baker inserted.
"I would even go as far as to conclude the dome provided encapsulation for an artificial atmosphere congruent with human survival," Malus continued. "I have nothing in my data banks remotely comparable in Cylon history either."
"Why Mars when Earth's atmosphere was already compatible with life?" Apollo wondered aloud, shaking his head in wonder at the results on his scanner.
"I am afraid I do not know, Colonel," Malus replied. "Admittedly, it is a problem I cannot as yet resolve."
"We already know they went to Earth as well," Baker inserted. "But for some reason they settled here too."
"Before we left, there was a lot of debate about whether or not Mars actually had a more habitable atmosphere at one time. That it was warm and wet with an environment that could have been hospitable to life," Dayton inserted. "Granted, not that I gave it much thought back then. I believed the so-called reputable scientists who dismissed it as conjecture."
"Alleged conjecture. Makes you wonder how much bullshit we were actually being fed our whole lives?" Ryan replied. "Someone was lying."
"Or maybe they thought they were protecting us from the truth," Dayton offered. "As in 'you can't handle the . . .'"
"God save me from well-meaning liars," Baker said.
"Exactly," Ryan nodded. "Someone wanted us to go on believing that we were the only intelligent life in the universe, despite these little nuggets of evidence like the pyramids, Easter Island, even Atlantis and Lemuria, not to mention all that crap out by Saturn, that pointed to humanoids from somewhere else in the universe."
"Why?" Baker asked.
"It limits your capacity for development," Lia inserted.
"How so?" Jolly asked.
"Look at our Empyrean civilization," the ensign replied. "Once we parted ways with the rest of the Thirteenth Tribe and gave up our technology and went back to basics on our own isolated and provincial planet, our civilization was scientifically stifled. Admittedly, some of that was by choice. For generations, technology and science were considered almost evil and were spurned by our leaders. It would have led to our ruin if the Fleet hadn't happened upon us."
"Yet once you integrated into the Fleet, your people adapted fairly quickly," Apollo added.
"Ama was very supportive and encouraging," Lia explained.
"Sweetheart, no offence, but even when we left Earth it was a damn sight more technologically advanced than you Empyreans were," Ryan said. "In fact, we had entire institutions devoted to scientific research, for its own sake."
"Yet, the way I understand it, your culture and even your space agency didn't take the existence of alternate sentient life forms seriously. It was all considered folklore or the fanciful ideas of science fiction fanatics," she replied.
"She has you there, Paddy," Dayton told him. "I remember specifically reading about a Hubble sighting of an X-shaped object flying through space at eleven thousand miles per hour." He chuckled lightly. "NASA concluded that it was either a comet or a Klingon Bird of Prey."
"So, of course, we all had a good laugh and assumed it was a comet," said Baker.
"So where does that leave us?" Dietra asked.
"For a start, we know that Count Iblis has been to Earth," Apollo said.
"Yeah, I saw him myself," Dayton nodded. Inwardly, he shuddered, remembering that day. That face.
"I wonder when he first arrived."
"He's mentioned in the Qur'an, the Islamic religious text," Baker inserted.
"Which was written when?" Ryan asked.
"Let me check my pocket edition," Baker replied, dramatically putting a hand onto his buttocks. "Damn spacesuit!"
Ryan chuckled.
"About six hundred AD," Dayton supplied. "Give or take."
"You read it?"
"Know thine enemy," Dayton replied with a shrug. "Sun Tzu." They looked at him questioningly. Even Malus. He explained.
"You seem to know a lot about Count Iblis," said Lia. "More than those aboard the Fleet, even though he was there for a while."
"And while there he proved that if he couldn't lead us, he'd just as soon destroy us," Apollo added. "Go on, Commander. I'd certainly like to hear more."
"Your father and I briefly touched on this once, Apollo. I come from a family of scholars," said Dayton. "As we all know, Iblis has something of a history across this universe, even crossing into other dimensions like Morlais. On my world it's the same. He's known by a variety of names."
"Tell us," said Jolly.
"Indeed," added Malus, as always eager for more data.
"The name derives from an Arabic verbal root, balasa, meaning 'he despaired', so Iblis is known as the one who causes despair. He is also sometimes called Shaytan or Satan, meaning the 'adversary' or the 'opposing one'. In the book Baker mentioned, the Qur'an, it is said that Iblis rebelled at the creation of man when told to prostrate himself before Adam, and then declared that he was better than man. I quote: Iblis said, I am better than him. Thou createdst me of fire while him Thou didst create of clay. For this, he was cursed and cast out of Paradise, and has spent every moment since filled with a vicious hatred of humanity, working to corrupt and destroy."
"Tough crowd in Paradise," Ryan murmured. "I ain't so fond of grovelling, myself."
Dayton smacked him on the back of the helmet, the lesser gravity making the gesture more humorous than intimidating.
"Ow."
"An interesting parallel with how Iblis is known in Colonial history," said Dietra.
"Absolutely," Apollo nodded.
"And he didn't exactly win any popularity contests in Morlais, either," Ryan said.
"So perhaps somehow over the centuries, Count Iblis put some plan in place whereby there was a concerted effort made to brainwash people to deny the existence of life outside of Earth," Apollo theorized.
"He could accomplish his ultimate goal," said Cassie. "That, coming after the Colonies."
"No more humanity," added Jolly.
Apollo nodded thoughtfully. "And so one day when an advanced race of beings comes calling on Earth to warn against an impending Cylon attack, no one believes it."
"One helluva plan, actually," Dayton replied. "Only I'm still having a hard time believing it myself. How can you not believe what is right before your eyes? I mean, hey, a Base Ship on your screen ought to count for something."
"Sometimes truth is based solely on our perception. We won't see what we don't want to when long established beliefs are challenged. We get angry. Confrontational. We close our minds and instead accuse people of being irrational," Ryan returned. "Remember, there was a time when we used to burn witches at the stake. Looking back through a different lens, it looks a lot different."
"You're saying witches were Kobollians? That's a bit of a leap, isn't it?" Dayton countered.
"Salem's sake, Batman, not at all." Ryan snorted. "Remember, at some point in Earth's history ancient beliefs and rituals were either cast aside or more attractively repackaged to embrace the newest religion. People stopped revering the celestial sun to instead revere the Son of God. One son for another. So if you really examine Christianity . . ."
"Keep that line of thought up, Paddy Ryan, and I'll personally throw you off this platform to your death," Dayton growled at him.
"Ah, he illustrates my point. Angry and confrontational." Ryan patted Dayton's shoulder, consoling him. "Down boy. Don't get your knickers in a knot. I'm just tossing out ideas like everybody else. The way I see it, sometimes the difference between gods and witches or demons is barely discernible."
"I swear Ryan, sometimes . . ." Dayton grumbled.
"Think of it like this, Paddy," snorted Baker, "in this gravity, you'll fall slower."
"That's a comfort."
"Hey, I see lights! They're moving towards us!" Jolly interrupted, turning the beam of his illuminator downward as they drew closer to the bottom of the pit. The others did the same.
Below them a small party of astronauts was heading towards the bottom of the lift.
"Does this qualify as first contact?" Baker asked, his voice tense.
"The jury's still out, but I'll let you know soon," Dayton replied. "Malus, get us on their frequency."
"Scanning."