"Holy Carrot Creek!"
The sight that met Mark Dayton's eyes was quite simply astounding. For the moment he was struck dumb with amazement, while behind him Ryan let out a low whistle. Two larger than life-sized sentinels stood facing each other at the entrance to the pyramid's inner chamber, dressed in golden kilts and sandals, and armed with mace and staff. Within was a collection of ornately carved chests, a golden throne, decorative headdresses and jewellery, alabaster vases, detailed carvings of various animals, symbolic weapons, religious artefacts, musical instruments, and furniture—upon which, at second glance, rested several of the injured Barstow astronauts. Despite this, Dayton could feel his pulse quickening, bearing witness to treasures that until recently hadn't been seen by mankind for millennia. They had hit the mother lode here on Mars and no man was immune to a little gold fever.
Especially the son of an archaeologist.
Behind him, Cassiopeia slipped through the opening hatch of the air lock. Once it sealed behind them, she checked her suit readout. It blinked green. She doffed her helmet, pausing only a moment to take in the splendour. Then, as someone groaned, she immediately moved towards the small group of injured people with her med kit in hand. Even from the meagre distance, they looked like crap.
"Who . . ." began one of the injured, trying to straighten up in a chair that must have been worth almost a billion cubits. Cassie spoke, but he heard only gibberish.
"She's a medic. She's here to help," Curtis added hastily, removing his own helmet, as the Colonial woman repositioned her languatron and pulled out her biomonitor. Quickly he briefed his people on who the Colonials were. "Which means, people, we have a ride home."
There was a quiet answering murmur of enthusiasm from those who had obviously lost hope as they lay there surrounded by burial treasures that had to make more than one man wonder about his own transition into the afterlife.
"Magnificent, isn't it?" Dr. Mufti said.
Dayton had been around enough archaeologists and scholars in his time to recognize the glow in the eye of the discoverer. Mufti was positively radioactive. "Could have given a guy a little warning, Doc. I thought we were going to be looking at symbols, not all this," he murmured, turning in a slow circle. The rectangular room had elaborate symbols and drawings on the walls, depicting scenes in the afterlife. Cameras, laser scanners, holo-recorders and other equipment littered the room, which had obviously been used to record images of the archaeological find. Dayton saw a table piled with objects and picked up an archaic illuminator, turning it over. Several objects appeared to be fashioned from gold, and many others were beautifully inlaid with gems. There were diamonds the size of hen's eggs, and r ubies as big as golf balls. Emeralds. Fire opals of incredible brilliance. Sapphires and myriad other semi-precious stones. There was everything an ancient lord, or whomever had ruled this settlement, needed to ensure a prosperous afterlife.
"Wow," Baker said briefly, turning around in a circle. "Just . . . wow."
"I'm looking at an eight-foot tall statue of a solid gold man, with a weird goatee," said Ryan, quietly. "I'm guessing that's important."
"Eat your heart out, King Tut," Dayton added.
"Except Dr. Mufti said they'd found no burial chamber," Baker said. "And I don't see a sarcophagus here."
"Then what's all this for?" Dayton replied.
"Maybe it was supposed to be the resting place of their lord, but the settlement was destroyed before the lord died," Apollo hazarded after removing his helmet. The air was a bit cold, but the oxygen content seemed adequate.
"Or at the same time, by the look of the damage," Baker added.
"Apollo, the tomb you found at Kobol," Ryan asked, "was it decked out the same way?"
Apollo shook his head, gazing around in wonder. "There had been tomb robbers at Kobol. But I would have never guessed that it was supposed to have all of this . . . I wish my father could see it."
"Mine would be stuffing his pockets about now," Ryan muttered, running a hand lightly over the gold inlay on an ewer.
Malus' scanners declared that it was made of an incredibly thin layer of muscovite mica,interwoven at a molecular levelwith some kind of organic material at the boundary layer. Possibly the shell of a bird's egg, however in hell they did that. Ryan tore his glance away, calling over to Cassiopeia, "Do you need help, Cassie?"
"I'll let you know if I do, Paddy." She spared him a glance. "But thanks, Doctor Ryan."
"Your servant, darlin'."
"He's a doctor too?" asked one of the injured, a dehydrated woman with a blood-stained bandage on one hand.
"Yeah, but I'm sure my licence has expired by now." Ryan winked at her, handing her his canteen. There was no point in explaining that he had a doctorate in electrical engineering, not medicine. "But hey, I won't tell the CMA if you don't." Ryan glanced over at Mufti. "Now a guy has to figure that all this scratch would get Earth's attention in a big way. Nothing gets the old salivary glands frothing like treasure."
"Yes, Dr. Ryan," Mufti agreed. "But as you can see, our excavation of this site had barely begun. We weren't ready to reveal our discovery to Earth quite yet." He looked expectantly at Apollo. "Is it Kobollian, Colonel? What do you think?"
"Definitely. The chamber is almost identical to the way the ninth lord's was laid out. However, on Kobol this room was a type of mausoleum." He pointed to the centre of the chamber which featured some kind of shrine. "And beneath it, about here, was hidden the sacred crypt of the Ninth Lord of Kobol."
Malus turned his scanner in that direction. "There is nothing indicating a hidden room below this, Colonel." He turned slowly, assessing the rest of the chamber. "My scanners show only solid stone for hundreds of metrons."
"No, we already determined that," Mufti agreed before waving a hand at the symbols on the walls. "These hieroglyphics tell of a fractured group of spacefarers that arrived on Earth, the bulk of them settling on two large continents."
"Only two?" asked Jolly. "Doesn't Earth have several continents?"
"Yes, but the Anunnaki . . . sorry, the Kobollians seemed to choose to isolate themselves, at least at first. We do believe the continents they initially settled to be Atlantis and Lemuria."
"Atlantis and Lemuria?" Dayton asked incredulously. "Oh God, do you hear that?"
"What?" asked Mufti.
"That noise was my old man rolling over in his grave."
"Yes," smiled Mufti, understanding his reaction. "Do you realize that back in 1882, during a time of ignorance and total disbelief in things extraterrestrial, scholar Ignatus Donnelly in Atlantis: The Antediluvian World wrote that the gods and goddesses of ancient mythologies were actually the kings and queens of Atlantis, a pre-Flood high-tech civilization from which sprang all subsequent human societies."
"I guess I missed that one," Dayton shook his head.
"We're more familiar with the Disney version," Ryan told them.
"Most people are," Mufti smiled. "And in 1909 Frederick Soddy, the British Nobel Prize-winning chemist, wrote that he believed that there had been civilizations in the past that were familiar with atomic energy, and that by misusing it they were totally destroyed. Unfortunately, just how this settlement on Mars evolved is still a mystery. There is nothing telling that story, or if there is, its message escapes me."
"Kind of strange in a people that chronicled their history so consistently," Dayton remarked. He looked at the unfinished areas of text. "But then maybe they never got the chance to." He looked over to his lady. "How are the patients, Cassiopeia?"
"Surprisingly good. I've medicated them to treat some early symptoms, but we've reached them in more than enough time to reverse any permanent damage," she replied, looking from her biomonitor to him. "We can finish the complete series of treatments back on the Endeavour."
"You mean we're going to be okay?" one woman asked tremulously.
Cassie smiled, lightly touching the woman's hand. "You're going to be just fine."
"Here's the symbol that I wanted to show you," Mufti told Dayton, crossing to where two more larger than life sentinels stood. Etched into the wall was a round hole about the size of an amulet, with rays shooting out all around it like beams of light. Inset in the hole was a symbol. Lia gasped.
"The All-Seeing Eye," Ryan said.
"Yes, very good, Dr. Ryan," Mufti nodded enthusiastically. "You know your symbology," Mufti said. "A God of the sun."
"Sagan's sake," Apollo breathed. "That symbol . . . it was at Kobol! On the outside of the pyramid. Let me think now . . ." He paused, running a hand over the hieroglyphics. "It was slightly different. The rays of light were only beneath the . . . the eye, as you called it."
"That sounds like the ancient Egyptian symbol for Aten, the god and sun-disc," Mufti added, nodding excitedly. "Please go on, Colonel."
Apollo nodded. "My father carries an amulet, the Seal of the Lords of Kobol, that represents his status as one of the members of our Quorum of Twelve. He placed his amulet into the stone and it opened the concealed crypt. But this imprint looks a little different. More like . . ."
"We've scanned these walls, Colonel Apollo," Curtis told him. "There's nothing concealed within them."
"Scans of Mars were reputedly done thirty years ago that didn't show any signs of this settlement either," Dayton pointed out. "Or so we were told."
"We have theorized that there is some intrinsic property in the dome that concealed all this," Curtis explained. "Like trying to do an x-ray through a block of lead."
"Some people wanted to rule out the theory that NASA just lied," Curtis added a little resentfully.
"So what makes you think a concealed chamber in this pyramid couldn't have been similarly hidden?" Dayton asked.
"The Dirt Theory," Mufti replied with a shrug. "As I said earlier, the machinery wouldn't work. It doesn't make sense."
"There comes a time when we should go on faith instead of science," Lia inserted, stepping forward. In her hand was her Empyrean talisman, which was unusual since the young woman seldom took it off and usually wore it around her neck. "This All-Seeing Eye . . . doesn't anybody notice how similar it is to our Empyrean talisman?"
"May I?" Dr. Mufti asked.
Lia nodded, handing it to him.
"The Eye of Horus," Mufti said, eyes widening as he held the talisman up. "Horus was an ancient Egyptian sky god, pictured in the form of a falcon; note the cheek markings around the eye denoting this. This symbol was historically used as protection against evil and purportedly gave the mummy the ability to "see again", this time in the afterlife. Curiously, it was also used in Buddism where Buddha was referred to as the Eye of the World."
"In our own tradition, the talisman represents protection and wisdom. It's supposed to give us an ability to see with clarity and truthfulness," Lia told them.
"Light-years away . . ." Ryan murmured in wonder.
"I understood that the All-Seeing Eye or the Eye of Providence was supposed to be the eye of God watching over us," Baker said. "It was on the reverse side of the dollar bill, if you remember."
"Part of the Great Seal of the United States used to authenticate certain documents issued by the government," Dayton nodded.
"The semi-circular glory—or the 'rays of light' that Apollo referred to—is well-known Masonic iconography that can be traced back to about 1800," Ryan inserted. "Boggles the mind that it's also on Kobol." He shook his head. "At least this mind."
"Well?" Dayton asked, rolling his eyes. "C'mon, I just know you're bursting at the seams to bring up another conspiracy theory, Paddy."
"Nice segue, Oh Glorious Leader," Ryan chuckled. "Well, it is interesting, don't you think, how these things start? And of course people who study iconography eventually decided that the Eye of Providence or the All-Seeing Eye depicted atop an unfinished pyramid on the Seal of the United States . . ."
"Great Seal," Dayton inserted.
"Great Seal of the United States," Ryan continued, "indicates the influence of Freemasonry in the founding of the US of A. What the heck was a pyramid even doing on the seal?"
"It was a symbol of strength and duration," Dayton replied.
"And not exactly one that the world associated with the United States," Ryan retorted.
"Remember the movie National Treasure?" Baker reminisced. "Wasn't that a ride?"
"It was a bloody movie," replied Dayton. "Like Hangar 18 and twaddle like that. The Great Seal took six years and three committees to design, and only one member was a Mason."
"A confirmed Mason." Ryan nodded. "Ben Franklin. But George Washington is also on the dollar bill. I once heard that thirty-three of his generals during the American War of Independence were Freemasons."
"Where did you hear that, Paddy?" Baker asked.
"You Tube, I think," replied the astronaut with a grin.
Dayton snorted. "National Treasure. God spare me!"
"Even so, Mark," began Ryan, "Did you know that one of the most notable Freemasons of all time, Albert Pike, wrote a book that he called the Book of the Words." Ryan chuckled as the Colonials seemed to collectively gasp at the almost identical wording to their holy book, the Book of the Word, while Dayton scowled. "It was about the hidden Masonic meanings of significant words in the mysterious Scottish Rite. Does make you wonder, eh?"
"Makes me wonder, all right. Makes me wonder about your sanity," Dayton ribbed him good-naturedly. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Tell me, Paddy, just how far back does Freemasonry date?"
"Not officially as far as the pyramids, if that's what you're getting at," Ryan returned. "Renaissance, I think."
"Late thirteenth or fourteenth century, depending on the source," Mufti told them. "But many believe that Freemasonry grew out of even earlier traditions of the Rosicrucians."
"Interestingly . . ." Ryan began.
"I feel a shudder go down my spine every time he says that word," Dayton remarked.
Ryan snorted. "Then I'll say it again. Interestingly, Rosicrucian philosophy can be traced through Plato and Pythagoras right back to ancient Egypt, some fifteen hundred years before Christ." He waited a beat. "At least."
"I'm impressed, Dr. Ryan," Mufti nodded his obvious approval. "You're quite right. A Masonic author named Mackay even claimed that the Craft of Masonry was invented at the building of the Tower of Babel, and then traced it to Euclid, who established it in Egypt ,whence it was brought by the Israelites into Judea, and there again established by David and Solomon at the building of the Temple, then to France, and then England . . ."
"Interesting," Baker said. "Ryan being right, that is," he added after a beat.
"So this symbol could have actually been passed down from Kobol and resurrected millennia later on Earth," Apollo said. "Perhaps something found in an archive . . . something pointing to a link with another world, another star system."
"Enough to inspire conjecture and theories, but not enough to get the scientific respect it deserved," Curtis added, looking around him. "Until now."
"Yes. Quite," Mufti nodded in enthusiasm. "Getting back to the Eye of Horus, I must add that there was a hieroglyphic in the Egyptian Temple of Edfu that depicted Horus flying through the heavens on a winged disc."
"Egyptian gods were often depicted travelling the sky, Earth and underworld in some sort of celestial boats," Dayton added, nodding slowly. "More evidence pointing to the ancient astronaut theory." He paused. "I wonder . . . was someone trying to purposely destroy the evidence? To sever the ancient link with Kobol?"
"Why?" Apollo asked.
"Have you heard of the Brookings Institute and its Proposed Study on the Implications of Peaceful Space Activities For Human Affairs?" Mufti asked.
Dayton nodded. "Yeah. Go on."
"It was a NASA sponsored study carried out in the late 1950s," Mufti said, "authored by, among others, the anthropologist Margaret Mead. Its stated purpose was to identify long-range goals of the space program and their possible impact on society. The most disturbing part of the report to policy makers was its thinly-veiled authoritative warnings regarding what could happen to our civilization if NASA's 1950s-style extraterrestrial predictions were confirmed. It stressed that anthropological files contained many examples of societies sure of their place in the universe, which had disintegrated simply from knowing that we're not alone. Then it discussed what to do if the space agency, at some point in the future, actually made such a momentous, world-changing confirmation of extraterrestrial intelligence or even of their ruins and artefacts. The report implicitly asked: How might such information, under what circumstances, be presented to or withheld from the public, for what ends? What might be the role of the discovering scientists and other decision makers regarding release of the fact of discovery?"
"And in 1976 a bunch of anomalous objects were discovered in the Cydonia region, here on Mars," Curtis added. "And NASA explained away each and everyone of them, dismissing any possible connection with life on Mars."
"What did you find there? In Cydonia?" Ryan asked.
"Ruins. Traces of another settlement, different from this one, but no less incredible. Most of the so-called conspiracy theories weren't far off. If only Richard Hoagland was still alive to see it. However, most of it was annihilated with very little left to tell a tale. It was either a nuclear explosion or some kind of cataclysmic impact. But what's left of this settlement, against the odds, was actually intact."
"Don't get me wrong, I find it interesting, but I'm like a daggit on a sunspot waiting to find out what will happen next!" Jolly inserted. "Lia, try your talisman. Maybe something will open!" He held out his hand, taking the talisman from a clearly sceptical Dr. Mufti to return it to the ensign. "Frankly, I don't even understand why you took it off. How . . .?"
"I just had this feeling that I needed to be able to put my hands on it, Jolly," Lia replied, moving towards the All-Seeing Eye on the wall that so closely resembled another at Kobol. "I know it doesn't make much sense, but I had to follow my instincts, like Ama always told me." Hesitantly, she reached out, her empty, gloved hand resting slightly above the stone. "There's an energy here," she murmured almost reverently.
"Energy?" Curtis asked. "What do you mean? There's nothing detectable on our instruments."
"And I have scanned it as well," added Malus, "on every wavelon and frequency I possess. I read only stone."
"That's not the energy I'm referring to, Commanders," the young Empyrean ensign and abdicated princess of the Empyrean throne replied. She lifted her talisman, placing it over the centre of the "eye", but not yet inserting it fully. "Dearest Triquetra, reveal your secrets," she whispered, her hand hesitating for a moment.
"Oh, Mighty Isis," Ryan added for good luck.
"Shazam," Baker said.
Abruptly, the talisman dropped to the ground. Lia jumped back as if struck, losing her balance and tumbling to the floor. Even then she scrambled backwards on all fours.
"Lia?" Jolly asked uncertainly.
"There's something wrong, Jolly," she replied, shaking her head, looking at the symbol on the wall in sudden fear.
"What?" he asked, kneeling down beside her. "What is it?"
"Lia, what's going on?" Apollo asked.
"Oh, the hell with this!" Johnson snapped, snatching up the talisman and slamming it into place.
"No!" Lia screamed. "Don't!"
A moment later there was a vibration in the floor. It was followed by a loud grating noise that filled the chamber. An immense stone began to retract as the entire pyramid began to shake.
"What happened to your Dirt Theory, Doctor?" Dayton asked Mufti, diving for cover as pieces of the structure began to crumble and dust filled the air.
"As you Americans say," Mufti cried, his arms covering his head, "back to the drawing board!"
xxxxx
Ama had always said that patience wasn't exactly one of Lu's virtues. Finally, after long excruciating centons, she was in communication range of the Endeavour's Hybrid fighters.
"Phoenix Leader, this is Ensign Luana! Do you read?"
"Lu?" Lieutenant Rooke's voice came over the comm, sounding like sweet music to her ears. "I hear you, but I don't see you. You're not on my scanner."
"They don't call it a Wraith for nothing, Rooke," Lu replied, grinning.
"What's the situation? The Endeavour picked up some pretty strange Earth media reports about our fearless strike captain."
"Speaking of the Endeavour, where is she?" Lu returned. "I still haven't picked her up on my scanner?"
"Rescuing a small colony of Earthmen on Mars," Rooke replied. "Report, Ensign. What's the situation?"
"How long does it take to rescue a small colony of Earthmen?" Lu replied. "Rooke, I've been picking up patrols of Raiders from here to Earth! I haven't spotted their Base Ship yet, but with the amount of firepower they're sending, I'm guessing they're preparing to launch an attack!"
"Frack," came the muted reply. Then, "I picked up something fleetingly on the edge of my scanner range, so that's answers that question. How many Raiders?"
"At least a squadron," she replied.
"I'll notify Endeavour. Alright, Phoenix Squadron, there are more of them then us, but that's nothing new. From here on, let's stick to the Cylon vocal modulators. Maybe we can surprise our cybernetic targets. Lu, you maintain communications silence and full ECM."
"Won't vocal modulators scare the Earthmen if they pick us up?" Lu asked. "They'll think we're Cylon."
"Commander Cain taught me never to give away the tactical advantage," the former Pegasus pilot replied. "I'm guessing Earth will forgive me once we start incinerating Cylons."
"I'm guessing you're right," she replied wryly. Rooke had come a long way since being rescued on the pirate base with the Earthmen and Dorado. In fact, all of them had. She adjusted her course to rendezvous with Phoenix Squadron, pausing to take a deep breath as her vision blurred and her body started tingling all over. She closed her eyes, suddenly feeling dizzy and slightly nauseous. "What the frack . . ."
" . . . Lu! Come in, Luana! Do you read? Are you there?"
Lu sucked in a deep breath, feeling the dizziness and tingling begin to recede just as suddenly as it had appeared. Her vision sharpened and she checked her display.
"Come in, Lu!" Rooke demanded.
"I'm . . . I'm here," she told him shakily. "What happened?"
"You tell me! We picked up some kind of energy wavelon spike, sort of like when Eirys was using the Oculus for her interdimensional kidnapping last secton."
"Kind of felt like that . . ." she murmured, running a diagnostic on her bird. It had happened before that some kind of Espridian programming had overrode her manual capabilities on the Wraith. "Everything is nominal, Rooke. Whatever it was . . . well, it's stopped."
"Ensign, you just lit up the scanner like the Caprican Summer Solstice Festival."
"I'll have to take your word for that, Rooke," replied the Empyrean.
"We're trying to maintain a low profile here, Lu."
"I got that. I'll do my best to not radiate any further wavelons, Lieutenant."
There was a brief silence on the line. "You're spending way too much time with Starbuck . . ."
"Yes, sir," she smiled. "I've heard that."
xxxxx
General Roach had four stars on each shoulder. He had graduated top of his class at the Academy. Hell, he was the Chief of Staff of the United States Air Force . . . and suddenly persona non grata at the White House. Every attempt to reach the President had been met with road blocks. He'd been hung up on so many times he was beginning to feel like a telephone solicitor. He hated to say it—hated it so much, in fact, that he felt sick just thinking about it—but it had all the indications of some kind of conspiracy in National Intelligence that went all the way to the Oval Office.
Did the President know what was being done right under his nose? What if . . .
"Problems?" Grae Ryan asked him.
The man could be so annoying. Make that damned annoying, but his reputation spoke for itself. Not only that, but Ryan seemed to have the right contacts. What was a general who suddenly found himself on the outside to do? Start making plans to open up an inn in Vermont? Hope that some Crosby and Kaye wannabes would come through with a floor show when it didn't snow?
"I, uh . . . appear to have been ostracized," Roach admitted, slowly hanging up the phone. Colonel Bradshaw looked at him, mouth agape. For the moment, Roach felt completely overwhelmed. Every usual avenue had been closed to him. Even the other Chiefs of Staff weren't accepting his calls. One snarky bitch had actually asked him if he'd found Elvis Presley yet. Another had inquired who had really shot JFK. "I can't get through to the President."
Ryan nodded soberly, looking back at Dickins and Hummer, both still sifting through the Cylon artefacts. "We gotta get out of here while we still can, General."
"I'm not going into hiding, Ryan!" Roach replied indignantly. "I'll stand and fight!"
"I'm not suggesting you hide, General. I'm suggesting we get away from a secure military base that Mason probably has more clout at than you do!" Ryan said. "I'm all for fighting, but I'd rather do it when I have half a chance!"
"Remember Sun-Tzu, General. Pick your battlefield," Colonel Bradshaw said quietly.
"I can't believe this is happening!" Roach said, only half hearing the other. "It's like some kind of Twilight Zone nightmare."
"Hey, I've been saying that most of my adult life, General," Ryan replied. "You'll get used to it."
xxxxx
"What the frack was that?" Dorado demanded in the Control Centre of the Endeavour, as he reached out a shaky hand to steady himself. It was an ingrained human reaction, probably needless in this case. His eratz mechanized legs, with their internal micro-gyros, had begun to stabilize him almost before he was aware of it. But he still felt slightly nauseous, his equilibrium upset, like he'd just been doing Academy high G training. The ship and everything aboard it had spontaneously rippled, leaving him feeling as though they had just shot through another wormhole, or had crossed between dimensions. A cold shiver ran down his spine as his stomach roiled. He swallowed down the acrid taste of bile in his throat. "Get me Coxcoxtli!" he barked. A moment later he was connected with Engineering. "Report!"
"It was a spontaneous surge from the Clavis, Captain!" Coxcoxtli cried over the comm, his eyes wide with astonishment and fear on the vid-feed. "I was trying to shut it down, sir!"
"Turn the knob the other way next time, kid," Porter suggested, trying to lighten the mood.
"Captain, I'm really out of my depth, sir. I need Malus," Coxcoxtli admitted.
"Acknowledged. But he doesn't happen to be in my back pocket."
"Captain, we've shifted position in orbit slightly. Two degrees to port, sir," a pale looking Sagaris said from his station. "Also, our altitude has increased by twenty-three kilometrons."
"That seems to be the least of my worries," Dorado murmured quietly, nodding at the young man. Scouts had picked up no signs of the Abaddon Base Ship, but had spotted several Cylon patrols, only just managing to stay beyond their scanner range. Recent improvements to the scanner array based on more advanced Colonial technology had boosted their range by almost a full ten percent, giving them a slight edge over their more antiquated Cylon counterparts. He hoped it was enough. "Pierus, anything from the Mars Base?"
"Nothing, sir. Our signal just isn't getting through."
"I can't believe they didn't leave anyone with the shuttle!" Dorado exclaimed, shaking his head. Something could have gone wrong, and at this point, he had no way of knowing. "Try and remotely activate the shuttle's comm-relay."
"Already tried, sir. All I get is dead air."
"Keep trying."
"I . . . Captain, we're receiving an encoded message from Phoenix Squadron Leader."
"Rooke," Dorado nodded, feeling marginally better that his old wingman was the one leading a squadron of relative greenhorns on their way to Earth. "What's he say?"
"They've rendezvoused with Ensign Luana, sir. She reported a Cylon force heading for Earth. A squadron of Raiders, Captain. Phoenix Squadron is en route."
"Okay, enough is enough. Send a patrol of two Hybrids to the surface to locate Commander Dayton. We need to get our team back here ASAP!"
xxxxx
Baltar's face was one of tortured agony as he shook his head despondently at Starbuck while the Cylon Raider bore down on the civilian airliner. Even having someone inquire if he was a Colonial god hadn't cheered him up. "There's nothing I can do," he said, "however much I wish it was different, Starbuck."
Starbuck let out a cry of anger and frustration, curling his hands into fists and slamming one down on a console as he watched and listened, one of more than twenty people impotently witnessing the horror. Baikonur Control had picked up the commercial flight's frequency and the panicked voices of the pilots flooded the room. Newly accessed satellite imagery, split-screened with real-time vid feed from the airliner's nose camera, showed the Raider diving on the JAXA Supersonic Transport from one o'clock. She screamed in, a volley of suddenly erupting laser fire cutting through the airplane. One engine burst into flame, half the wing sliced off, and the plane listed ever so briefly to the side. Then a second blue spear of light sliced the fuselage in two. With a bright flash, the airliner exploded in a fiery cloud of smoke that obliterated all else.
"Dear God . . ." The voice was choked.
"At least it was . . . quick."
"How is it powered, this fighter?" Surkov asked slowly, his voice impassive.
It took Starbuck a moment to find his voice. How many times had he heard a life snuffed out over his own comm while in combat? But hundreds of civilians dead, all because of one Raider that he hadn't managed to neutralize . . . He shook it off, trying to convince himself that he'd done his best, that it wasn't his fault. This was no time for self-recriminations. He blew out a breath. "It's powered by two high energy . . ." he stopped, realizing he was speaking Caprican Standard by the look on Surkov's face. He consciously switched to Earthspeak, wondering if something was malfunctioning with the implant. Maybe he'd sneezed too hard . . . "Two high-energy fusion reactors, fed by a tylium energizer. Each one of those lasers pack approximately twenty-five to thirty of your megawatts." The colonel general frowned at him in confusion. Again. Then it hit him: "She's running hot, if that's what you're asking. Surface-to-air missiles . . ." He prayed it would work, that their firepower was powerful enough.
"Contact Aktobe. Destroy it," Surkov barked to Katko. She abruptly relayed the order. They all remained glued to the screen, watching the available telemetry.
"You were right, Starbuck," Jess said quietly from beside him, tears tracking down her face.
"About what?" he asked, absently rubbing his fingers over the scar on his chest. It was tingling.
"Cylons do wake up cranky," she replied, wiping her face. She raised her voice, turning to address those assembled. "Over three hundred people just lost their lives so our so-called world leaders would know beyond doubt that this is what the Cylons are offering us." She clenched her hands, which were shaking in impotent fury. "There is no allegiant truce. There is only death." She turned to Mirskii. "Get me Hayashi in Guiana. If he doesn't have this file, send it to him. We need to forward it to every world leader we can reach."
"Of course," Surkov nodded. "I'll contact President Kuzmin." He strode to another station.
"Tell me more of these Cylons ships, Captain Starbuck," Katko demanded. "Strengths, weaknesses, what will it take to defeat them?"
"Well, first you have to understand that the average Cylon centur. . ."
"Shh! Repeat!" Orlov was speaking into his head-set, holding a hand to his ear. "That cannot be!" He turned to stare at Starbuck, shaking his head in apparent disbelief at the information he was receiving. "It's impossible!"
"What now?" Starbuck asked.
"Your ship, Captain," Orlov said. "They say it just disappeared and then reappeared again a moment later."
"But . . . Who was . . ."
"Nobody has been able to access it, Captain. We did nothing," Katko immediately defended her commander, before turning to Orlov. "Still, he is right. It is impossible, Orlov."
"The Clavis," Starbuck murmured quietly, dread sweeping over him as he abruptly thought about Luana's safety. Both the Clavis and the Wraiths were Espridian, and there was still a lot that they didn't understand about the technology of the psionic beings that the Cylons had exterminated over a hundred yahrens before. He remembered the report recording that Lu's Wraith had gone into autopilot over the Espridian planet. Was there some connection between the Wraith ships and the Clavis as well? "There's another ship out there, like mine . . ."
"No longer, Starbuck. Luana has left Earth's orbit," Baltar told him.
"What? For where, Baltar?" Starbuck demanded.
"Eh?" Orlov asked frowning. He glanced at Jess, tapping the middle of his forehead. "Is he quite right?"
"I'm not even going to inquire," she replied. "This other ship, Starbuck, we would have picked it up on radar . . ."
"I doubt it, it has the most highly advanced electronic countermeasures I've ever seen," he told Jess before returning his attention to Baltar. "Well?"
"She's safe, Starbuck," Baltar assured him. "That's all I can tell you."
Starbuck ground his teeth together, sucking in a breath between his teeth, and fighting the urge to get in a debate with Baltar. After all, it would only end with all these people thinking he was smoking plant vapours. The wannabe angel smiled at him wryly, likely drawing the same conclusion and finding it highly amusing. The strike captain turned away from 'the smile', preferring the view to his immediate right. "Then she must have gone to rendezvous with my base ship, Jess." He rubbed at his throbbing temple, turning towards Katko, suddenly realizing he was flanked by two terrifically beautiful women. Lords, you must be slipping, Bucko, to have only now noticed . . . "Have they fired the missiles yet, Colonel?"
"Da," she replied, studying the telemetry. "It's away."
"Okay, tell me about the missiles you just used. Everything. What kind of tracking scanners do they use?" Starbuck asked the colonel. She stared at him indignantly and he realized her own demand that he tell her all about the Raider's specs had been lost in the moment of his disappearing Wraith. She stood erect, crossed her arms, and opening her mouth. Marriage had taught him one or two things about women, especially when they no longer found him irresistible. Quickly, he inserted, "I have an idea that could work, but I need your input, Colonel Katko. We need to work together."
She narrowed her eyes for a micron, studying him, before visibly relaxing. "Alright."
He listened intently as she began to fill him in on the Russian missiles and their defensive network. What were the odds that this would work? And if it didn't what else could they do in the limited time they had? He threw his brain into tactical mode, recalling and computing every bit of minutiae he'd ever learned about Cylon tech, especially that concerning historical upgrades from one class of Raider to the next, keeping in mind how they had refitted their own Hybrids.
A burst of Russian streamed from an officer at his station, and the room deflated with disappointment. It seemed the WASA employees consistently used "Earthspeak" while the military spoke their own "Russian" language.
"What?" Starbuck asked, innately knowing the answer.
"Telemetry indicates destruction of the missiles by the enemy ship," Jess told him. "No hits."
"Well, Captain?" Katko demanded. "What is your idea?"
"These Raiders are about a century old, Earth time. Obviously, there have been a few developments since then," the warrior said, while Surkov joined them. "Colonial scientists discovered way back when that strong microwave bursts on certain frequencies would momentarily blind their scanners. Does that make sense to you?"
"It does," Surkov nodded, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "But what about the missile targeting system?"
"Colonel Katko indicated that your missiles target with a multi-spectral scanner, rotating randomly across the electromagnetic spectrum to avoid any possible attempts at jamming. So it shouldn't interfere."
"It might work," Katko nodded, looking to the colonel general. "It is worth a chance."
"What frequency?" Surkov demanded, already crossing to a station to relay the strategic information to the Aktobe Base.
"Between .01 and 0.22 of your centimetres, at a frequency of . . ." Starbuck trailed off, dredging up something from a first-year Academy class that he'd desperately wanted to sleep through at the time. "A frequency of approximately 234.0077 Gigacycles. I think you call them . . . Hertz." Someone tapped his shoulder and he turned around. A young woman was there, pressing a steaming cup of dark liquid into his hands. It smelled like java. "Thanks."
"You have not tasted it yet, Captain Starbucks," she replied wryly in what he realized now was a Russian accent.
"So it comes with a warning?" he smiled at her, noticing that several people were watching with interest. "What do you call it?"
"Coffee," she replied, flushing prettily under his scrutiny. "I hope it is acceptable? Yes?"
He took a sip. The coffee was a bit sweet, but it had been so long since he'd had any sustenance that it tasted heavenly. "Ah, yes. Giver of life." He nodded at her, taking another sip, while the people watching them started smirking in apparent amusement. He'd missed something, but at least it was providing them all with a much needed diversion in a tense situation. He was willing to play the game. "What's your name?"
"Lara."
"Lara. That's a pretty name. Does it mean something?"
"Not that I am aware of. It is a . . . a character from a famous historical novel." She tilted her head, smiling. "What does 'Starbuck' mean in your culture?"
"It doesn't mean anything, either." He shrugged. "It's just a name . . . which you Earth people—and my commander—seem to associate with . . ." he held up the cup, "coffee. Why is that?"
"Well . . ."
"Director, just in from the Sentinel Eight probe!"
"Put it on screen," Jess ordered, gasping as the probe transmitted the data. Waves of Cylon Raiders filled the screen. On another screen the video telemetry from one of the Russian missiles was displayed. The Cylon Raider grew larger, filled the screen, then it all went blank. One of the techs whooped as the telemetry confirmed a kill. The Raider that had destroyed the supersonic transport exploded in a vast plume of fire and smoke. A missile had found its target. Even with the small victory, the control room was absolutely silent in the face of this impending attack. .
"Frack," Starbuck muttered, raking a hand through his hair. He moved to a console, checking the Mars situation. The Endeavour was still in orbit. Unless they screamed this way at light-speed starting now, there would be no help from that quarter anytime soon.
"And then some," Jess added, then turned to a WASA tech. "How far out?"
"482 799 miles."
"How long have we got?" Jess asked Starbuck.
"What's their speed?" he asked, taking another drink of the sweet java, feeling the combination of saccharine and caff surge through his blood. He frowned at the answer. Almost 800,000 kilometres or half a million miles per hour. He did a quick calculation into Colonial units. He frowned again.
"Starbuck?" she asked again.
"About a centar . . . uh, hour."
"What are our chances?"
"That depends."
"On?" Surkov asked.
"On how quickly can you pass the word to the rest of Earth's military about the microwave bursts. And if their missile tracking systems are sufficiently similar to yours."
Surkov snorted. "We do not have a universal military, only hundreds of individual ones that do not work together. Our politicians will need to coordinate anything of that magnitude, and we don't have the time to await them."
"Then we need to bring the Cylons to us," Starbuck decided.
"How do we do that?" Jess asked.
"We start by getting their attention," Starbuck replied, looking at Baltar and grinning. "You're going to love this."