Chapter Twelve
As his canopy rose, a blast of heat hit him in the face. Starbuck slowly pulled off his opaque helmet, wincing at the sudden glare of the fiery sunlight. The air was hot and dry, the scent very different from Kazakhstan. The landscape was barren, with an enormous salt flat dominating the countryside just north of the base. So far he was getting quite the tour of Earth hot spots. His computer was telling him that there was about a twelve centar time difference between Kazakhstan and this place, which explained the sudden change from darkness to daylight. He took a deep breath of the air, feeling it singe his nostrils as he shakily climbed to his feet while Americans surrounded his ship. The oppressive heat smothered him, making him feel like tossing his mushies, as he broke out in a sweat. Typically, he was still feeling the adverse effects of his trip here and the intense heat didn't help. Man—or at least this man—clearly wasn't meant to be teleporting through time and space. Knocking around some planetary system in an old-fashioned, sublight rocket . . .Yeah, it had a definite appeal about now.
"You're a sight for sore eyes!" Dickins boomed up at him.
Starbuck smiled, unsure what that meant exactly. More likely he was a sight that would give a guy sore eyes, battered, bruised, and sleep deprived. Slowly, he began to climb down from the Wraith, surprised when the normally reserved Earthman jerked him down to the ground, enveloping him in a crushing hug.
On the other hand, it kept him on his feet.
"You're alive . . . you're really alive," Starbuck said, still barely able to believe he had stumbled upon the missing astronaut as he stood back at arms length. Dickins nodded, unwilling to release his grip on the flight jacket, as though the Colonial Warrior would evaporate before his eyes if he let go. Dickins looked as battered as Starbuck felt. The Endeavour captain frowned, his eyes following the trail of bruises that indicated the scrappy old astronaut hadn't exactly had an easy time of it. "Actually, you look like felgercarb."
"You're not exactly looking your best either, kid," replied the Earthman pointedly.
"If you were prettier, I'd have made more of an effort," Starbuck returned deadpan. "Seriously, are you okay, Dickins? Where's Hummer?"
"Right here, Lieuten . . . uh, Captain," the technician replied in Colonial Standard, slapping him on the shoulder from behind. "Congratulations on the promotion."
Hummer also looked a little worse for wear and had certainly lost some weight, but he was still in one piece. These days, Starbuck guessed, it was about the best they could all hope for. He reached out a hand, grasping the other's forearm. "Hummer, if we had had any idea what would happen, we would have never asked you two to . . ."
"Forget it," replied the young man, cutting Starbuck off. "The worst is over now. Thanks for coming for us. Only how in Hades did you do it? How did you get here? How did you even know?"
"It's a long story about necromancers, Covert Operations Ships, alternate dimensions, doublewalkers, sorcery, a race of Espridians and something called the Clavis," Starbuck replied, as a stone-faced officer stepped forward ahead of many others. The officer glanced at the weapon he had on his hip in distrust. Then he looked up at Lucifer, still strapped to the nose of his Wraith. The IL appeared to be deactivated, possibly from the effects of the Clavis' pulsation.
"Same old, same old, huh?" Dickins said, leaning in close and pointing to the IL. "Who's that? Not Malus? You carrying him around with you like luggage now?"
"That's Lucifer, the IL who was in charge of the Base Ship we destroyed at Planet 'P'. He came through the same wormhole as you and Hummer, ending up on Earth's moon." Starbuck told him. "He and I had a . . . a slight difference of opinion. I was using him as my bait before my bird suddenly ended up here."
"Suddenly?" Hummer asked. "You didn't come here intentionally."
"I didn't even know where you were exactly," Starbuck admitted. "We thought you were north of here in an entirely different . . . uh . . . state in some kind of military fortress. I don't even know how I got here."
"Ama brought you," Dickins said, dismissively.
"You know that for a fact?" Starbuck asked, searching the man's face. Dickins had always been a hard man to read. While his friends were effusive and straight ahead, Dickins had mostly kept his thoughts to himself, although the language barrier on the Galactica might have had something to do with that. It was more than a communication issue though. Even with his friends, Dickins only spoke through necessity. Yahrens of Torg's treatment had scarred the man, and Starbuck knew that his friends had worried about his sanity at times.
"Call it a strong hunch," the Earthman replied. "By the way, how'd you learn English so fast? Last I remember, you only knew a handful of cuss words and how to ask for whiskey in sign language."
"Malus has made a lot of progress with integrating Cylon technology into Colonial applications. Medically, he's practically rebuilt Dorado after his accident, has reversed the effects of Commander Cain's stroke, and now we have English in an Instant. It's an implant tapped into the language centre of the brain." Innately, Starbuck rubbed the base of his skull. "Don't ask me anything beyond that, because I couldn't even begin to explain it."
Dickins nodded. "How are my guys?"
"All good, but apparently taking a long java break. They're late," Starbuck replied, turning to face the officer whose presence he could feel behind him like a looming force. He nodded at the man, taking in the incredibly short bristly white hair, the erect posture, the tidy uniform and the highly polished shoes. Even in the dirt, dust and heat, this officer appeared immaculate, almost Cain-like, while Starbuck was about to dissolve into a pool of sweltering misery. The man was studying him, while listening to their exchange, apparently gaining a first impression by the way the Colonial Warrior related to Dick and Hummer. Tactically, it was a smart move, he had to admit. On either side of him stood two other officers, one darker-skinned. "Greetings, Earthlings. I'm Captain Starbuck of the Colonial Ship, Endeavour. I'm here as an envoy for my people, offering our military assistance to defend Earth."
The senior officer raised his eyebrows, starring at him hard. The one to his right actually smirked. Another rolled his eyes.
"Drop the 'Earthling' bit, kid," Dickins whispered, elbowing him. "In fact, anything that Paddy told you to say . . . well, don't say it." He shook his head briefly in emphasis.
"General Roach, Chief of Staff of the United States Air Force." Roach put out a hand, then seemed to think better of it, withdrawing it. "This is Colonel Hundal and Colonel Bradshaw. Welcome to the United States of America, Captain."
"Thank you, General." Starbuck paused, offering his hand despite the other's actions. "Don't worry, sir; I've been deloused, disinfected and washed inside and out. The Russians were very thorough."
Roach raised his eyebrows again and then cracked a smile. He extended his hand again, this time gripping Starbuck's firmly. "Which raises the question, Captain, were you their prisoner or their ally?"
"Well, let's just say that about now I'm hoping that the United States is more concerned about the Cylons than my hygiene. That initial meeting with the Russians was a tough one. My digestive tract may never recover," Starbuck replied wryly, releasing the general's grip to then grasp the other two officers' hands in kind. "Tell me, do you know Colonel General Surkov of the Russian Air Force?"
"I do." Roach nodded. "We've met several times."
"Well, you probably already know this from your intel, but by now the Russians will have launched an attack on a squadron of Cylon Raiders that I was leading towards them into our trap."
Roach's mouth dropped open and his face paled.
"Or . . . maybe you don't know," Starbuck said slowly, suspecting that something strange was going on. How could a high level general not know that an enemy force had breached Earth's atmosphere, especially since Surkov said his president had talked to the American president. "Am I missing something, General?"
"Let's just say that I'm not exactly on speaking terms with the President right now."
"Sagan's sake," Starbuck muttered darkly. Why couldn't it ever be easy? He looked about, but no Baltar. "Care to explain?"
"A misunderstanding, Captain. I'll sort it out."
Starbuck sighed. "Can we communicate with Baikonur Space Centre from here?"
"We can," Colonel Hundal replied. "A sat-link can be established in short order, if needed."
"Surkov is at Baikonur?" Roach asked.
"Damn!" someone said behind him.
"Yes, sir. We need to coordinate our defences, General," Starbuck told him. "I'm guessing this is just the first wave of Cylons. There's a Base Ship out there somewhere that probably has three more squadrons aboard."
"A base ship?" Hundal asked.
"Like a big ole ugly aircraft carrier in space," Dickins inserted.
"With the firepower to destroy your planet and everyone on it," Starbuck added, looking at each man. "In under one of your hours."
Roach grabbed him by the arm, propelling him towards some kind military transport. "Let's go!"
"Are they all okay?" a voice demanded, interrupting. "At Baikonur?"
A hand grasped Starbuck's shoulder, whirling him around to face the newcomer. He looked desperate, his eyes wild and his body tense as he pulled Starbuck a little too close for comfort, until he could feel hot breath on his already hot face.
"Who?" Starbuck asked, recovering his still tenuous balance.
"WASA!" the other exploded. "The Russians must have attacked the space centre!"
"Yeah, they did," Starbuck said, forcibly shoving the man off of him. He'd had enough of being manhandled by this point. If one more person grabbed him, breathed on him, or fumigated him, he'd lose it . . .
"Easy, Starbuck. Down, boy. This is Grae Ryan, Paddy's boy." Dickins interceded, stepping between the two. "He's a little high-strung, but a nice kid once you get to know him."
"Paddy's son?" Starbuck said, letting out a quiet huff of amazement, studying the younger Ryan. Same eyes, jaw line, a little taller, a lean frame . . . yeah, he could see the resemblance. "Jaysus Murphy."
"You know my father?" Grae asked quietly, his entire mien changing in an instant.
"Yeah. He's a good friend, and he's with our crew on the Endeavour." Starbuck watched an array of conflicting emotions cross the other's face. "WASA is working with Surkov now at Baikonur. Orlov, Dayton . . . they're okay."
"Jess is at Baikonur?" Ryan asked. It was obviously news to him. "What the hell . . ."
"Dayton's daughter knows Ryan's son?" Starbuck grinned widely just imagining the indignant look on his commander's face when he heard the news. Ryan would start singing and drinking, Dayton would throw things . . .starting with Ryan. "Oh, please tell me they're sealed or something like that."
Dickins laughed aloud. "I never thought to ask. Are you?" he asked Ryan.
"Sealed?" asked the young man. "Huh?"
"Married."
"No!" protested Grae vociferously, his hands rising before him in self-defence. "We're friends."
He said it just the way Starbuck had with Apollo, way back when he and Athena had secretly started dating. "Gotta work on that poker face, buddy," Starbuck told him.
"Friends," Dickins scoffed. "Men and women can't be friends. Right, Starbuck?"
"Don't I know it." Athena, Aurora, Luana . . . "Just don't tell the women that. They haven't quite figured it out yet and it's a lot more fun that way." Starbuck looked around quickly, but for a change there were none to be seen.
"Sorry to interrupt this tender reunion, but we have to move!" Roach snapped. "Here in the US we have an uncanny ability to walk and talk at the same time. Let's try it, shall we?" Again, he grabbed Starbuck's arm, propelling him forward. "This time if the President doesn't take my call, I'm going to have Captain Starbuck here fly his Wraith over to DC and land on the White House lawn. I might even find Mason, strap him to the nose of my own fighter and go along for the ride."
"Hmm," Starbuck said approvingly, wondering whom this Mason was, "I think you and I are going to get along fine, General."
xxxxx
Parsecs away, the commander of the Abaddon-class Base Ship, Ravager, made ready to leave for the third planet from the sun, and to inevitably commence the attack that would destroy this isolated branch of human pestilence so far from the Twelve Colonies of Mankind.
"We-have-detected-a-spatial-distortion-in-Delta-sector," a centurion reported.
"Identify," Syphax ordered.
"Unable. The-energy-wavelon-has-suddenly-terminated."
"Send a patrol to investigate, Centurion."
"By-your-command."
xxxxx
"This one is mine, Daughter," Iblis declared.
"Your arrogance once again blinds you to the truth," she retorted.
"Ah, but truth is but a perception of reality," Iblis gloated. "Watch and learn, stripling."
xxxxx
Her entire body tingling, Luana let out a shuddering breath as she tried to get her bearings. Once again the Clavis must have pulsated, but this time her Wraith had rematerialised far from where she had been. Not only was Earth completely off her scanner, but so were Rooke and the rest of Phoenix Squadron. Her trembling hand touched her console, confirming she was running on full ECM. A moment later, she checked her position while her equilibrium slowly returned.
"What the . . ." she murmured, picking up an intermittent blip on her scanner. She narrowed the beam, concentrating the scan as she raced towards it. In a couple microns her warbook determined it was an Abaddon-class Base Ship, and as far as she knew, there were only two in this star system. Her hopes leapt, but she tempered her emotions as she checked the geotechnical scan of the enormous planet that dominated her scanner.
A gas giant, the planet consisted mostly of hydrogen, with helium and other trace elements also detected, its upper cloud layers ripped by ferocious winds. Visually impressive, there was a prominent system of cosmic particles, ranging in size from micrometrons to moon-sized, which orbited the planet in a flat, disc-shaped region like rings. Her computer identified the particles as being comprised mostly of ice with a smattering of tholins and silicates. Also notable, the planet had a strong planetary magnetic field.
All in all, it was perfect for hiding a Cylon Base Ship.
"Saturn?" she guessed, her excitement growing as she thought back to her briefing on Earth's star system. It was the sixth planet from the sun, and the second largest after Jupiter. For a moment she hesitated, her throat tightening as her stomach tied itself in knots. After all, she could be anywhere in the universe. If she guessed wrong, she could set herself on a course to disaster, dashing off across the universe blindly. Of course, her other choice was to stay here with the Cylons, which was even less appealing. When they captured her, and they inevitably would, they would torture her, probably using a brain probe like they had on Starbuck. She shook her head in bewilderment as images of the same raced through her mind. She wasn't thinking straight.
What was happening?
Tears welled up in her eyes as she tugged at her collar, sucking in a rasping breath while an immuring panic enveloped her. Shutting her eyes tightly, she clenched her fists and ground her teeth. It was a bleakness she had never felt before, filling her, possessing her. Abruptly, she realized her laser was half out of her holster in her trembling grip. In disgust, she released it as a sob tore loose from her throat.
Don't fash yourself, Dear Heart, I'm here . . .
"Ama!" she cried desperately. "Help me!"
She could feel the chaos ebbing as she let out a ragged breath once again. In its place was a comfort so absolute that Luana could feel her body slumping boneless into her seat. Her body tingled with a mystical purity she couldn't define. With each expiration, her anxieties ebbed, with each inspiration came a healing renewal. In her mind's eye, she was back on her home planet of Empyrean, running through the woods with her sister, the fresh scent of pinus infiltrating her senses, the chattering of a free-flowing stream rejuvenating her spirit.
Better, Child?
"Better," she whispered, letting out another breath and opening her eyes.
A beep drew her attention and it took a few microns for her to refocus. A three Raider patrol was heading her way, no doubt investigating a surge of wavelons that would have spiked off the grid in the Cylon Control Centre. Her uncharacteristic panic seemed a distant memory, and instead she was confident they wouldn't detect her. A routine diagnostic so far had shown everything as nominal. In fact, the Wraith was operating at peak efficiency.
She changed course slightly, verifying once more that her ECM was one hundred percent as the Raiders remained on the same vector. Once again, Espridian technology had come through for them, as had her godmother. All that remained was for her to find the Endeavour and report her findings.
She changed course again, shooting off across the galaxy.
Iblis narrowed his eyes, turning to study her. "A weakness. You should have allowed her to give in to despair. You have a lot to learn."
"It was not a despair of her making, Iblis, it was yours."
"They are playthings, Ama. Why do you value them so?"
"After millennia of watching us, playing with us, you still don't know? Bah! I doubt you could even understand."
"Answer me!" rumbled the Father of Lies.
"They are my family."
"I am your family," he thundered.
xxxxx
Quickly, the team retraced their footsteps through the Barstow Base, which even in its current condition still amazed Dayton and his fellow refugees, by virtue of the fact that it actually existed. In his day, a manned trip to Mars had seemed a pure pipe dream, but an eventual base was an impossibility. Or so the top-heavy bureaucracy kept insisting. It was so well laid out with all the amenities. Rec rooms, personal quarters, science labs, galleys, food storage and hydroponics. It had turned out that Martian soil was well suited to growing a number of Earth vegetables, with the proper supplementation, augmenting the base's food supply. Yes, it was one hell of an impressive achievement, and one long overdue. He gloried over the impressive technology, even as he seethed over the apparent sabotage that had killed so many innocent people trying to achieve their dreams
True to Ama's word, before leaving the crypt they had located the data crystals in a sealed golden box along with an archaic holoreader that had been long subjected to Mufti's Dirt Theory; it didn't work. Regardless, they had brought it along and were optimistic they could get it working.
Once they got Malus working.
The deactivated IL had been loaded onto a hoverstretcher, stretching its weight capacity to the limit, but getting the cyborg en route to the shuttle without breaking any human backs, much to Ryan's relief. So far, all attempts to reinitialise the Cylon's systems had failed. Whatever Iblis had done, they had not yet been able to undo.
Starbuck would kill him when he found out that his commander had broken his pet cyborg while on a mission.
Meanwhile, all survivors of the Barstow Base on Mars were being evacuated up to the Endeavour. They still hadn't discovered who was to blame for the reactor incident, and it was beginning to look even less likely that they would now that the focus had switched to either the incredible treasures, the mystery of the data crystals they had found in the crypt, the return of Count Iblis, or the imminent battle over Earth. The reactor explosion seemed like yesterdays news, even while they were moving past those sealed radioactive areas of the base. Dayton had every intention of confining the crew to the Life Station, the mess or quarters once aboard the Endeavour, treating his ship like the secure military vessel it was.
Dayton's communicator suddenly crackled to life. It abruptly occurred to him he had probably been out of communications range while in the former Kobollian settlement. After all, it hadn't appeared on their scans, so obviously something had obscured their scanners.
". . . mander Dayton, do you read? Come in Commander."
"Dayton here," he responded.
"Commander! Thank the Lords! Ensign Elana here, sir. Captain Dorado ordered us to find you and get you back to the Endeavour. The Cylons have reached Earth."
"Holy shit!" hissed Baker.
"What's your location, Ensign?"
"Barstow Base, Commander. First level, Section Two. It looks like a mess hall."
"Wait there. We're on our way up."
"Understood. This place looks like it was blown to Hades Hole, sir. That reactor . . ."
"Yeah, we saw."
"We also found what looks like an escape craft, sir. It's been sabotaged, looks like."
"Someone was sure thorough," observed Jolly.
"It's a wonder there were any survivors," Giles added quietly, while Dietra nodded her agreement.
"What about contacting home, Commander Dayton?" asked Curtis. "If we can get to the communications centre . . ."
"No time, plus there's still a lot of radiation inside. We can make contact from the Endeavour when the time is right."
"When the time is right?" Curtis' voice rose sharply.
"Trying to talk to Earth would be giving away not only my presence to the Cylons, but my position, Curtis."
"Of course. Sorry, Commander," the Barstow astronaut said. "I'm an explorer, Dayton, not a soldier."
Dayton nodded his understanding. That much was obvious.
Within minutes, they joined Ensign Elana and Cadet Isador. The two hurried them along, casting curious glances at the newest Earthmen, while ensuring they wasted no time in sealing suits and finally evacuating the base to the awaiting Hybrids and shuttle. In a rare occurrence, the third seat in every Hybrid was utilized to make allowances for the additional passengers in the shuttle.
Commander Curtis and Doctor Mufti were among the few who paused to study their ships, slowing their approach to marvel at the alien-built craft, their jaws dropping almost comically. Others merely let themselves be guided aboard woodenly, too consumed in their own shock, illness, or misery to even pay much attention to the different technology.
"All aboard!" Ryan shouted, before taking a final look outside, as though some poor forgotten soul would be running for the transport. Or maybe it was the numerous ones left behind so far from home that were haunting him.
"Everyone's accounted for, Paddy," Dayton told him, taking a last look for himself. He cast a glance across the deck, towards the red cliffs on the opposite side of the canyon that the base was built into. It was getting dark, sunset only a few minutes away. He shook his head, choked at not being able to thoroughly explore this world now that he was here.
"Everyone, but Ama," Ryan replied, activating the hatch closure as the two stepped inside.
"Hey, if anyone can take care of herself . . ." said Dayton, popping his helmet.
"I know," replied Ryan, doing the same. "But it just isn't right, Mark. Really grinds my gears. Especially when Iblis threatened her with so many lives to force her to go along with him. We should have been able to do something."
"Like what? Exorcism?" Truthfully, Dayton had felt a little impotent himself, not being able to intervene. But then again, fighting demons wasn't really his forte. Not exactly tops on the Air Force Academy syllabus, although he was beginning to consider taking it up as a new expertise. "Now, Paddy, you know Ama as well as I do. That ole broad doesn't let herself get manipulated into anything without figuring at least three moves ahead of her opponent. Hell, I showed her how to play chess, and she beat the crap out of me, first time. And every time after that. Her greatest strength is her crazy appearance and carryings on, which make most people underestimate her."
"She's alone, Mark." He sounded so morose. "Alone, with . . . him."
Being alone, more than anything, would scare the hell out of Paddy Ryan. "I don't believe that, Paddy. I think the Ship of Lights Beings are with her, even if Ama has her doubts about that."
"You really think so?" Ryan raised a sceptical eyebrow.
"I do. John and his buddies wouldn't have brought her this far just to let Iblis do his thing with her."
"Well, I hope you're right." Although, he looked far from convinced.
Dayton clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Hope is a good start, Paddy." He looked over to where Cassie was securing one of the wounded. Under their feet, the shuttle began to vibrate.
"Don't go getting any weird ideas about my spiritual development, Dayton."
"I only have weird ideas when it comes to you, Ryan."
Ryan chuckled. "Why, I never knew, Mark . . ." He batted his eyelashes at his commander. "Darrrrrrr-lin'"
"Is there something in the water, back home in Carrot Creek, Paddy?"
"Why carrots, of course!" his friend replied earnestly.
Dayton whacked him in the primary life support subsystem.
xxxxx
"I want to make something abundantly clear, Gentlemen. I am the President," Gibson told the assembled senior staff, noting that the Director of National Intelligence, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the Secretary of Defence all looked vastly unimpressed, if not slightly amused.
"Thank you for that update. Will that be all, Mr. President?" Mason replied over the holographic teleconference link, taking a long drag of his cigarette, the smoke curling lazily over his head. He looked directly at Gibson, and blew out a long puff at him.
"Don't antagonize me, Mason, or I'll replace you. Remember, as Director of National Intelligence you are subject to my authority, direction and control, serving at my discretion. Now, less than an hour ago, President Kuzmin sent me the telemetry on the destruction of that Supersonic jet. As we speak, a squadron of Cylons are attacking Kazakhstan . . ."
"Obviously in retaliation for destroying their ship, Mr. President," Jim Wright told him, the tone one of a man addressing a slow-witted child.
"Which in turn killed three hundred civilians in an unarmed craft, for no reason whatsoever!" Gibson reminded them. "Certainly an unfriendly act, wouldn't you say?"
"Other than the Russians were harbouring a Colonial fugitive, known as Captain Starbuck, as well as holding a high-ranking Cylon representative captive," Mason returned. "If they had gone ahead and executed the Colonial, as well as freed the Cylon, things would have turned out very differently."
"No doubt," Jack Edwards, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff agreed. "If the Cylons wanted world domination, they would have sent a much larger task force, Mr. President."
"Which is no doubt on its way," Gibson returned adamantly.
"Yuri Vladimirovic Borodin . . ." Mason began.
"Is under arrest," Gibson informed him. "His agents tried to assassinate President Kuzmin, whom I spoke to in his private apartments inside the Kremlin before I called this meeting. Suffice it to say, I have a damned accurate picture of what's been happening in Russia and Kazakhstan, as well as right here under my nose after recently talking to General Roach." He saw Edwards frown. "Yes, I've countermanded your orders for Roach's arrest, Edwards. Although, I have an idea where that idiotic idea originated from." He looked back at Mason, wishing the intelligence man was personally in his office, instead of locked away at some unknown location, hiding behind an electronic interface as he usually did. "Now, unless one of you is planning to assassinate me within the next sixty seconds, we're going to do things my way. I've had it up to here with your namby-pamby excuse for advice. Each of you can be replaced, and I'm not afraid to do it." He pulled off his wristwatch, slamming it down on his desk. "Sixty seconds, gentlemen. I trust I have made myself clear?" He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting as each second ticked by. Wright and Edwards squirmed uncomfortably, but Mason never wavered. He just stared at him over the link with those soulless eyes, smoking his cigarette.
Finally, Gibson picked up his watch, slipping it back on. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have get to New York to address the United Nations Security Council. You might want to tune in, if you've nothing better to do."
"Air Force One is standing by, Mr. President," an aide announced.
Mason smiled. "Have a pleasant trip, Mr. President."
Then his link went dark.
xxxxx
"One of yours," Ama observed.
"Yes," Iblis smiled. "One of many. I control the most powerful men and women on the planet, Daughter. Descendents from Kobol. Yahrens, indeed millennia, of manipulation and planning have led to this point. They are mine, as surely as any mortals have ever been." He turned to her, smiling. "Why do you even bother?"
"Because the most glorious tales of history regale us with heroes overcoming adversity."
"Most of them are only that. Tales."
"I'm going to take it for granted that you are lying."
"Impudent pup! Fictions of the delusional."
"Yet," she continued, unmoved by him, "they have inspired the men and women who will beat you this day."
"You have your mother's spirit," he replied, and did not sound pleased about it.
"And my father's power." She raised a hand, embracing the energies of the Oculus once again.
xxxxx
One after another, the blips on the radar screen disappeared as the Kazakhstan surface-to-air missiles destroyed their targets, picking them off easier than anyone could have imagined. Cylons exploded, either falling to the missiles or ripped apart by shrapnel and debris from the other craft around them. The Colonial Warrior may have mysteriously disappeared in his Wraith, the IL Cylon still on its nose, but his plan had worked. The Baikonur Control Centre exploded in celebratory mayhem.
"Baikonur Control, this is Colonel Katko. Three Raiders have increased altitude, evading our missiles. We are pursuing."
"Will they get there in time?" Jess asked Surkov.
The Russian officer had wanted to put some of the tactical data she had obtained from Starbuck to the test. The Colonial had told them that compared to the specs he had seen on the Russian PAK-FAs, the Raiders—designed predominantly for space combat—would be relatively slow during atmospheric flight, reducing their edge. The Colonial had also been intrigued by their use of "chaff", which when spread by their fighters appeared as a cluster of secondary targets on enemy radar. Apparently, neither the Colonials nor Cylons used the countermeasure, thus Starbuck figured it would confuse the Cylons in combat, giving the human forces another much needed edge should the two forces actually engage.
"We shall see," Surkov replied.
"Any sign of Starbuck?" she then asked.
"No, Director," Sadowski replied. "I have been monitoring carefully. He has not reappeared."
Surkov grunted.
"I'm sorry," Jess said, raising a speculative eyebrow at him. "I didn't get that."
"You seem . . . fond of this Starbuck," he said, frowning.
"He's risked a lot to come here to Earth, and help people he doesn't even know," she replied. "I admire that, especially in this day and age."
"He's a soldier, Jessica.," Surkov told her. "Soldiers do what they are ordered to do. Don't fool yourself."
"I seldom do, Alexei."
"A kill!" Sadowski shouted. "Colonel Katko has destroyed one!" He paused at his station. "The other two have sharply increased their speed and climb rate, and are now entering the stratosphere."
Surkov frowned. "The PAK-FAs cannot pursue. They have reached their maximum density altitude. Order Colonel Katko to disengage and return to base," Surkov directed one of his men. "Continue to track those Cylons. I want to know where they're going."
"As do I," Jess nodded, lightly touching Sadowski on the shoulder. "Find me that Base Ship, Stefan. Mirskii, any luck trying to raise Barstow Base?"
"Not yet, Director," she replied. "The carrier's still active, but she's silent."
"Keep trying."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Jess, you're not going to believe this. I have General Roach of the US Air Force on sat-link," Orlov inserted.
"General Roach?" Surkov said. "What rock has he been hiding under up until now?"
"Little Rock," Orlov suggested.
"Bad Rock," Mirskii threw in.
"Hard Rock Cafe," Sadowski suggested.
"Alright, already, time to rock 'n roll," Jess ended it with a smirk. "Put him through, Sergei."
A moment later, an image of the US Air Force Chief of Staff filled their screen. "Director Dayton, I understand there's a . . . a situation in your part of the world. Unfortunately, telecommunications have been down to a large extent since . . ."
"Damn right there's a situation, General," she interrupted him, turning to Orlov. "Have Hayashi kill Killstar. And show Roach the telemetry, Sergei." She waited a few minutes as replayed images of surface-to-air missiles slammed into Cylon Raiders, destroying them. "But last I remember, Roach, you seized my space shuttle and my men, were conspiring to kill my sister, and destroy both Baikonur and Guiana Space Centres."
"I never tried to kill your sister, Dayton. You have my word."
"Who, then?"
"If someone did, it was probably that scumbag Mason. He has vermin in every corner, Dayton. I don't operate that way. In fact, I spoke to LM just hours ago. She set me straight about a few things. She was very persuasive."
"You spoke to Lauren?" Jess repeated in disbelief. Roach was the hero her sister was talking about? Necessity did, indeed, make strange bedfellows.
She shook her head at the image.
"I did. Not quite sure how she got my number, but . . ."
"She's had your number for years, Roach," a familiar voice said in the background.
Speaking of . . . "Where the hell is Grae Ryan and the rest of my people, Roach?" she demanded through clenched teeth. "I haven't heard squat from them in over . . ."
"Ryan's right here," Roach said, "with me."
Then the image shifted, swinging to focus on Ryan. He looked a little battered, a fat lip being most prominent, but that wasn't surprising since he never had learned to keep his big mouth shut. Taunting General Roach and anyone else in a US Air Force uniform would come naturally to him.
"Grae! You're alright?"
"I'm right as rain, Jess, although people keep trying to either kill me or arrest me. Pretty typical day, all in all. What about you?"
"Sounds like my day," she agreed. "But I'm still standing as well, interstellar plots and wars notwithstanding."
"Well, you'd better sit down, Beautiful, because not only is Roach with us, but a Colonial Warrior just landed here at Area 51!"
"Area 51?" Then a second later as she processed the information: "Starbuck?"
"Yes, Starbuck! Not only that, but your father's old war buddy is with us too! Dick Dickins!"
"Holy Mother of . . ."
"Now that Roach is on our side, we need to get our generals in a row, Darlin'," Ryan drawled. "Time's a'wasting with those boilerplated baddies lurking out there."
"Right, but first put Starbuck on, Grae," Jess told him.
The screen switched again, this time the Colonial Warrior's image coming on. "I saw the telemetry. Good job! Any losses, Jess?" he asked.
"You see," Surkov grunted, "the soldier."
"No losses, except for you," Jess replied. "How on Earth did you end up on the other side of the planet, Starbuck?"
"I'm not quite sure myself," the warrior admitted. "But it sure beats some of the other possibilities."
"Are you saying that you don't even have control of your ship when this Clavis thing surges?" she asked, not quite understanding how it could spontaneously dematerialise. Surkov stood behind her, glowering his disapproval and discontent at the situation.
"Remember those you call the Guardians, Jess? Look, all I'm saying that there are powers even more potent than me out there in the universe," Starbuck replied deadpan, and she couldn't help but grin at his bravado. He and Grae would be exchanging stories in short order. "But the Goddess of Luck has been on my side since Sagan wore sandals, so don't worry too much. Now, the Cylons, did you get them all?"
"Two Raiders got away," she told him. "The aircraft can't pursue them outside of the atmosphere, and I'm not sending another shuttle up there. It would be suicide."
"Can you track them?" Starbuck asked.
"We're doing our best. It will depend on available satellites and probes in that quadrant."
"All right," he nodded, glancing upward for a moment. "Put Surkov on. We need to coordinate our offences."
"Don't you mean our defences?" she asked.
"Those too."
xxxxx
"Commander!" Jolly called from the flight deck. "Captain Dorado for you, sir!"
"I'll be right there, Lieutenant!" Dayton returned, turning back to Ryan. "Have a seat, Paddy, and keep an eye on Johnson for me. I don't trust him."
"That makes three of us," Paddy nodded towards Baker, who had already taken a seat across from the Barstow crewman where he was still working on Malus. "No man that consumed with hatred can be thinking straight."
"Like us, when it came to Torg?"
"I never lost my objectivity when it came to Torg. Lost my marbles a couple times, but never my objectivity."
Dayton nodded, squeezing his friend's shoulder. "I hear ya. Anyway, just do me a favour and keep in mind that he's Marilyn Johnson's son. I want you to watch him, not torment him. Meanwhile, keep working on Malus."
"I never get to have any fun anymore."
"What are you talking about, it's a laugh a minute with the Endeavour crew," Dayton replied, heading forward to the flight deck. He grabbed the headset that the lieutenant passed him. "Dayton here, Dorado. Go ahead."
"Good of you to join us, sir," Dorado said from the Endeavour's Control Centre, his tone and expression on screen making it clear that he hadn't appreciated needing to send a patrol to tell his commander to get a move on so they could complete their mission. The quick "in and out mission" to Mars had taken too damn long, and—despite what they had found—everybody knew it.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, sticks and stones," Dayton replied, as the others made ready to depart Mars' orbit. "Apollo?" he checked the frequency, hoping that the colonel who had already launched in his Hybrid would be receiving them. "Are you there? Are you getting this?"
"Yes, Commander," Apollo replied. "Go ahead, Dorado."
"The Clavis is still draining power from our energizers and we can't control it. All attempts to shut it down have failed, and we cannot disengage it from the ship's power grid. It surged twice while you were on Mars and it felt like we had just energized. Thankfully, the first time we came back just slightly off course from where we left. The second time we were parsecs off our orbital position . . . "
"I'm not so sure it's the Clavis doing that," Dayton interrupted, taking a seat in what would once be the flight leader's position, and watching Dietra go through the pre-flight. "Count Iblis might be behind it." Dayton briefly explained what had transpired in the pyramid.
The captain seemed to take it all in stride, unflappable as always. "Well, regardless, it's still a problem. Just checking now. Yes, it's reached fifty-one point four percent. We have about thirty-eight centars until it energizes of its own volition. Unless we get Malus back."
"Ryan and Baker have been working on Mal with no luck so far," Dayton told him with a glance aft. "Go on."
"Phoenix Squadron should be nearing Earth's orbit any centon, but the Cylon strike force got there first."
Dayton could have strangled him for the dramatic pause. "And?"
"Porter," Dorado called on the Earthman who had been monitoring all transmissions coming from Earth.
"The Russians are coming, the Russians are coming," Porter replied with a terrible accent, coming on screen. He put a tactical holographic of the area around Earth up and pointed. "Hope you're getting this." The blips representing Phoenix Squadron were rapidly closing on the planet. "The Russians decimated almost the entire Cylon squadron over Kazakhstan, using surface-to-air missiles, Mark. Can you believe it? Our antiquated junk?"
"Thank God. I was afraid we'd be dead in the water." Dayton chewed his lip as they taxied to the edge of the landing deck. He only half listened as Jolly communicated with Endeavour Control on another line. A moment later, they were lifting off, and heading for their Base Ship. Once outside, they circled the base, then raised the nose of the transport and clawed for space. "You said almost the entire squadron, Dorado?"
"A couple escaped, heading back to space," Dorado replied, indicating the tactical display. Two blips were screaming away from Earth at over fifty k. "Should Phoenix Squadron intercept, sir?"
"Actually, this would be perfect for Lu," Apollo suggested.
"Exactly." Dayton nodded enthusiastically. "Tell Phoenix Squadron to lay low and await my orders. Use that scrambled Cylon code that our pilots hate so much. As far as Lu goes, get her to follow them and track any transmissions they send back to that Base Ship. Full ECM. I want to know where that ugly behemoth is."
"Right here," Ryan said entering the flight deck, draping an arm loosely over Dayton's shoulders.
"Right on cue. I've already seen the Devil today, so it would have to be you this time. Any further luck with Malus?" Dayton asked.
"Plenty. All of it bad, Mark. But I have an idea. That toad needs a prince."
"Toad? Prince? Did I hear that right?" Dorado asked."This is going to be yet another weird 'Earth moment', isn't it?"
"Please tell me you're kidding." Dayton winced at the imagery as the shuttle vibrated beneath them. Out the ports, the sky had already gone black, Mars now a huge red curve below them. Off to the right, he could see the irregularly shaped Phobos, Mars' inner moon. Apollo took up position on the left.
"It's a Disney scene, if ever I did see one," Ryan said. "A couple times I thought we had Malus back, but his optical lights flashed and then just died again. It's like he has no will to live. Face it, these are the wrong baby blues." He batted his eyelashes again.
"He's a robot!" Dayton reminded him. "A glorified poster boy for Radio Shack! Not a real . . ."
"A robot that loves our golden-haired strike captain," Ryan said, crossing his arms and shrugging his shoulders. "I need Starbuck."
Baker was suddenly there behind them. "We could rig something when we get back on the Endeavour, Paddy. We have enough vid-files with Starbuck on them to choke a fan club."
"Just how badly do we need Malus?" Dayton asked, wondering if he could spare the manpower. "Can we manage without him?"
"Remember the Clavis," Apollo said, from his Hybrid.
"Remember the Alamo," Baker added.
"Damn!" Ryan exploded.
"What?" Dayton asked.
"That reminds me, I rented a Chrysler Sebring from Alamo while I was in Florida, and never did return it . . ." Ryan shook his head, suddenly looking sheepish as they all stared at him in disbelief on screen and off. "Not so important. Never mind."
"Commander," Apollo called.
"Yes, Colonel?"
"I'm picking up some strange readings from that little moon."
"Phobos?" Baker asked.
Dayton nodded. "Strange how, Apollo?"
"I'm detecting traces of highly refined tylinium, alloys and other advanced compounds within some kind of massive cavern, Commander. The moon is at least partly hollow!"
"Tylinium alloys?" Dayton echoed, glancing at Baker. "Hollow? Captain Dorado, did you get that?"
"Aye, sir. Scanning, Commander," the captain replied from the Endeavour's Control Centre. He focused the ship's entire sensor suite onto the small satellite, with emphasis on magnetic and mineral scans, as well as tracking and computing the space rock's orbital dynamics. After a few moments, the returns literally raised eyebrows, and he re-ran the whole series.
Due to the small moon's unusually close orbit to Mars, Phobos actually moved around Mars faster than the actual planet itself rotated, meaning that it rose and set twice during each Martian day. The Endeavour had already seen it come and go since taking up its position.
"Holy Lords of Kobol!" muttered Dorado, rechecking his data. "This can't be accurate."
"Captain?"
"Commander, if what I'm reading is correct, there's some kind of infrastructure in there!" Dorado reported. "I'm also reading areas that . . . that are pressurized! Internal atmosphere! Also some strange magnetic readings. Unquestionably artificial, sir."
"Curtis!" Dayton called the Barstow Base commander forward. It was the obvious solution. After all, many had once theorized that going to Phobos would be a natural stepping-stone to finally landing on Mars. "Do your people have some kind of base on Phobos that we should know about?"
Curtis looked at him strangely. "Noooo . . ." He blinked. "Aside from putting an emergency radio relay satellite in orbit around Phobos, we've never visited it, Commander. The idea was pitched a few times, but always rejected by Director Moore and his predecessors. He was the director before Jess Dayton, by the way."
"Do you want us to check it out, Commander?" Apollo asked.
"Do it, but make it quick. I don't want any further delays, Colonel."
"Yes, sir." The colonel's Hybrid peeled off towards the moon.
Dayton looked forward, noticing the Endeavour now dead ahead, as they made their approach. They'd been so consumed with their discussion, he hadn't thought to include the Barstow crew. After all, Cylon shuttles didn't have viewports aft of the flight deck. They couldn't see anything. "Curtis, take a look. You might want to see this."
The other man's gaze drifted forward. "Oh . . . my God . . ." he murmured, leaning forward to drink in the view of the Covert Operations Ship, Endeavour, spinning in space, bigger than anything he'd seen before out there in the great unknown. "It's a . . . a real flying saucer!" Curtis gestured to some of his crew to come forward and look. "Where . . . where in God's name did you get it?"
"Well, actually . . ." Dayton began.
"We stole it," finished Jolly.
"You stole it?" asked one of Curtis' men.
"Conscripted and refitted it, really," said Dayton. "About half a parsec from Planet 'P'."
"Isn't she hideous?" Ryan asked, with a grin. "Talk about one ugly pile of scrap." Unlike the more imposing double saucer shape of the modern day Hades-class Base Star, the single saucer that was the Abaddon-class Base Ship looked almost comical considering the early renditions of "flying saucers" in Earth history.
"A real killer," Dayton said, turning to admire his ugly ship. "You should see the Galactica, Curtis. That's the Colonial Battlestar. She's a beauty compared to this monstrosity."
"Ah, she's not much to look at, but she's home," Baker said with a nod. By now Mars was invisible below them and Phobos had disappeared as the Endeavour filled the ports.
"Commander, are you still there?" Dorado was asking him.
"Sorry, Dorado. Go ahead." Dayton said
"Getting back on topic, my best plan requires Malus, Commander. I was going to use him to deceive the Cylon commander, like we did at Planet 'P' and Morlais. Without the IL, we have a bunch of guys walking around in Cylon armour with vocal modulators. It's fine for background, but not as good for a starring role."
"Understood. Is any of the Cylon armour gold?"
"Yes, sir. We have the parts of the old Gold Command Centurion, and we can anodise more if we have to."
"How soon can we get to Earth?"
Dorado turned to the tactical display and changed the perspective. A course to Earth was displayed, with time and plotting data. "At light-speed, we can get there before we can get the Cylon suits on. But with the Clavis draining so much of our energy, I'm not even sure what we can get out of the Endeavour right now."
"Call Engineering, and find out. Yesterday."
"Yesterday it was different, sir," Dorado replied.
"I meant . . ."
"Yes, sir."
Dayton sighed. "Still no sign of the Ravager?"
"She's hiding somewhere, waiting." Dorado split the screen, Earth shrinking to one corner, the rest swelling to show the entire solar system. "We are sweeping the system continually, Commander. But so far she's eluded us."
"That changes with Lu."
Jolly lined her up with one of the Endeavour's landing bays, holding back until the final Hybrid had landed. Curtis just watched, awe-struck, as they passed between huge sections of the hull, bristling with laser turrets, towards the yawning landing bay doors. The shuttle lurched slightly as the Endeavour took over, and they were guided to their slip. The shuttle powered down and the doors closed behind them. After getting the green light, Dayton led them aft to the hatch. Once down on the deck, Curtis and his people remained silent, taking in the sheer size of the vessel.
"My God," someone finally said, looking up. The ceiling above them was thick with lights, machinery, Lord knew what.
"Yeah," whispered Curtis.
"Okay, posts everybody. Cassiopeia?"
"Yes?" she replied, turning her attention from her new med tech. The Empyrean Healer, Rhiamon, had already begun reassessing the radiated and injured Barstow crewmembers.
"The Central Core isn't going to work with the worst of your patients. After decon, use the ammunition hoist to get them to Life Station." He pointed.
"Right, Commander." She turned towards the survivors of Barstow. "Okay everyone, we'll be heading for Life Station after decon. Just stay calm, and we'll take care of each and every one of you requiring care. Those already medically cleared, please go with Flight Sergeant Giles." She waved a hand towards the warrior.
"Okay, get a move on, we need to get to the bridge," said Mark, heading into decon with Baker and Ryan.
"Control Centre," corrected Baker.
"I may change it," Dayton mused.
"Really? A custom job?" asked Baker. "How about installing a sun roof?"
"Through thirty decks?"
"We could use one of those condensed tylinium tubes we found on Mars," Baker teased him.
"Very funny."
"No? Then what about spoilers? The more I think about it, the more I realize, she really is ugly, Mark. We need to detail her."
"Bob, do I have to remind you that Ryan is supposed to be the verbally incontinent one," Dayton asked, the shadow of a smile playing on his lips. "Not you."
"Right. Sorry." There was a barely detectable smirk. "Now and then I forget."
"No bloody kidding."
"Speaking of sun roofs and spoilers," Ryan piped up thoughtfully, "I wonder if I can still get my deposit back from Alamo."