Chapter Seventeen
Starbuck had a powerful urge to rip the weapon out of Roach's hand and feed it to him muzzle first, as a loose circle of soldiers gathered around him and Lu. He'd trusted the Earth general, and instead of returning that trust, Roach was instead treating him with the same aggressive histrionics as the rest of his ilk. Starbuck clenched his teeth, biting down on his anger before he spoke.
"Roach, I've had enough of your pushing me around. I'm here to save your planet, not mine!" he snarled. "Put your fracking weapon away before I shove it down your throat!"
The answering glint in the general's eyes lent a guy to believe he hadn't taken long enough to consider his words.
"I don't think you quite understand just how important your presence is to Earth right now, Captain," Roach said, lowering his weapon slightly so it was no longer pointing at Starbuck's forehead. "I've just arranged the most wide scale military coupe in recorded history, ignoring the United Nation's international laws. What happens next is either going to make us heroes or villains. My allies are not going to appreciate me just letting you just fly out of here, possibly never to return. You don't fully understand the public relations drive happening behind the scenes right now, granted all of us have been too busy to see it. You're our poster boy for this initiative, Starbuck. Myself, my President and my people fully expect you to lead our American task force when the Cylon forces infiltrate our airspace, as you stated you would," he reminded the warrior. Then he snorted. "Starbucks Corporation is bloody well asking for permission to replace its logo with that shot of you when you arrived at the UN, for Christ's sake! Whatever happens to Earth and our people is going to happen to you too, goddamn it!"
"And it will, General. But I need to know what the frack is going on up there." Starbuck nodded skyward. "I'm responsible to my own CO, as well as for hundreds of lives aboard my ship. I'm the Endeavour's strike captain, which I prioritise above my duties as your gallmonging 'poster boy' . . ."
"You're not listening, Captain," Roach growled, holstering his weapon, but reaching forward to grab a handful of Starbuck's shirt.
Starbuck jerked backwards, innately avoiding the hostile posturing. Rip! "Oh, for Sagan's sake . . ." Starbuck muttered, looking down at the tatters of his shirt as he took another step away from the American flag officer, putting some much-needed distance between them before he decked the Chief of Staff. He needed to get control of both his temper and his squadron, but it was just as clear to him that Roach wasn't going to allow that. "How do you get yourself into these fixes, Bucko?" he muttered, carding a hand through his damp hair.
"It's a gift," Lu responded, stepping forward, inserting herself between the two men to diffuse the situation. She deftly pushed Starbuck's torn shirt to the side, examining another large bruise over his ribs. "Allies, huh? An Orion hasher would treat you better." She looked at the general dubiously. He had the grace to appear chagrined.
"It's a long story." Starbuck sighed as she deftly pressed on his tender flesh. He winced at the resulting ache, but let her continue her gentle probing, knowing she needed to satisfy herself that he was really all right.
"No doubt another fascinating Starbuck story behind this," she suggested, tugging the ripped shirt off his shoulder to take a better look at the damage. She sighed heavily as she followed the purple and yellow tracking even further, pulling the wet shirt off his other arm and removing the garment completely while she continued her examination.
While he didn't mind having his wife rip his clothes off, somehow this just didn't seem to be the time or the place. A few female soldiers were suddenly paying rapt attention, including the one who'd diagnosed his apparent concussion. He smiled. Then again . . .
"It will be after my third Empyrean ale in the OC," he replied over his shoulder as his muscles involuntarily contracted beneath her touch. It was difficult to explain, but he was selfishly enjoying her constant touch and concern, not to mention the attention of the female half of the American Air Force. It was kinda nice not to be treated like daggit droppings for a change.
"Can we not give the 'shirtless Starbuck scene' a miss on at least one mission?" Dickins griped from out of the blue, about to climb into a transport with his grandson, but obviously waiting to see what transpired first.
"Not if I can help it," Luana grinned, circling around Starbuck, one hand on his flesh almost possessively until she finally came to a halt in front of him. It seemed that she was laying claim to her territory, which was a little unsettling to the Colonial Warrior at the same time as it was amusing. "Let me go up there, and find out the situation. I'm low on tylium, but if your fuel is adequate, we can take some from your ship."
He considered it.
"Full ECM. I'll be practically invisible," she reminded him.
The truth was now that she was with him again, he didn't want her to go. He could almost hear Dayton in his subconscious going on about fraternization rules and how he'd treat Lu differently from his other subordinate officers. He glanced over at Dickins in the dim light, using the man as the only reasonable sounding board he had down here. If all the doubts in his mind were unfounded, the Earth astronaut would let him know in short order. Dickins nodded at him. Yeah, Starbuck had known what was right, but it didn't make it any easier . . .
"Yeah, until you establish communications. Then they'll be able to track the signal," the strike captain griped. "Ten to one they're going to be looking for you, Lu, especially after you detected them at Saturn."
"It's my duty," she replied pragmatically. "At least that's what my old flight instructor used to tell me."
He raised an eyebrow. "I'm your old flight instruct . . . Hey, who you calling old?"
Her answering grin was contagious.
Starbuck turned to Roach. "Would that satisfy you, General? If I send my wife, Ensign Luana." Yeah, he'd stressed both her low rank and her gender. Maybe chauvinism had gone out of style on Earth, but amongst most military men it was still a latent tendency.
Again, the Chief of Staff looked suitably uncomfortable. "It would, Captain."
Starbuck nodded, looking back at Lu. "Take my ship. There's plenty of fuel and you'll have the dynamo; you'll be armed."
She nodded, smiling slightly at his overprotective nature and his instinctive reluctance to put her in danger, when he figured it should be him going into harms way. However, she knew he was just as protective of the other young officers and cadets under his command. Well, almost . . .
"Captain, just what are you going to fly if your wife's ship is out of fuel?" Roach asked.
Starbuck turned, setting his sights on one of the F-35s that were on display. "How about that?"
"That's the most sophisticated fighter known to man, Captain. Our pilots log over two thousand hours in a simulator before they get to even think of turning an actual wheel on the real thing."
"Begging the general's pardon, but the most sophisticated fighter known to man is actually on a Battlestar, half a galaxy from here," Starbuck corrected him. "I've made my living, such as it is, flying one, and I have over two hundred kills to my credit, not counting Base Ships." Roach sighed. "Look, from what Ryan tells me, I'll be right at home in your fighter. Both a helmet-mounted and a touch screen display, along with a hands-on throttle and stick, and a speech recognition system more effective than our CORA program, thank the Lords for that!" Roach raised an eyebrow, but Starbuck didn't explain. "And from what Ryan said, the basics of starting up, getting airborne, flying and landing are easy." He glanced at the WASA astronaut as he came over to join them. "What did you say, Ryan? That you'd have to be a special kind of stupid to not be able to fly this bird?"
"Something like that," Ryan replied with a grin. "Only after that car ride through the cornfields, I'm not entirely sure what kind of stupid you are!"
"It's a hundred million dollar machine," Roach argued, looking over at the Lightning as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Tell him, Ryan."
"It's a hundred million dollar machine," Ryan obediently echoed. Then he grinned. "You'll love it, Starbuck. She's the only thing I miss about the Air Force."
"A hundred million, huh?" Starbuck patted down his pockets. "I seem to be a little short. Can I borrow a few till payday, Ryan?" The WASA astronaut turned out his empty pockets. "Tell you what, General . . . you have my permission to let your java shop use my picture as their new logo. With all the shops we saw on the way here, that's gotta be worth something. Besides, Ryan here gave me the low-down on your bird when we were on our way here. And I have a certain reputation as a pilot who can fly anything. I'll be fine."
Roach stared at him in disbelief. "You don't take 'no' for an answer, do you, Captain?"
"No." Starbuck grinned, unable to resist baiting the officer. "It's just an opening for further negotiations until I get my way."
"Yeah? Well then it's no little wonder that my favourite conversations are the ones where my weapon is pointed at your forehead," Roach returned heatedly. "Is this why your superior officer sent you down here on your own? To drive some other poor fool half mad?"
"Just half?" Starbuck rejoined pointedly.
"Ohh . . ." It came out as a growl as Roach flushed angrily.
"General, do you have an F-35 simulator here at the base?" Ryan asked, inserting himself into the situation like Luana had before him.
"Of course."
"Then let the simulator decide," Ryan suggested. "If Starbuck crashes, we could always find him a weather balloon to lead the attack." It was an irresistible mental image, and more than one officer around them couldn't help but snicker. "I'm sure President Gibson would be very understanding about why you didn't see fit to clear his poster boy for the F-35."
"Smart ass," Roach said. It was the clincher. What the President wanted, the President got.
"It runs in the family." Starbuck chuckled, slapping a hand on Ryan's shoulder as he turned to see off his wife before heading to the F-35 sim.
xxxxx
To come all this way only to at the last moment be informed by a mere . . . patrol leader from a Base Ship Syphax hadn't seen for a hundred and four yahrens to cease and desist! It was irritating at the very least. Oh, how very tempting it was to go ahead with the attack on Earth and to ask questions later.
"Commander!" said a centurion.
"Speak."
"We-have-detected-a-vessel-on-the-scanner."
"A vessel?" Syphax crossed to the station to look at the coordinates. "From where?"
"Unknown. It-appeared-suddenly-and-correlated-with-a-spatial-distortion."
"Another spatial distortion? Similar to the one we detected at the ringed planet?"
"Affirmative-Commander. However-this-anomaly-was-more-powerful."
"Identify vessel, Centurion."
"Scans-indicate-it-is-Cylon."
"Cylon?" repeated Syphax, moving to the other's station.
"Confirmed, Commander. It-is-a-Base-Ship. Abbadon-class."
"Interesting," said Syphax. "The Harrower?"
"Identity-code-transmission-verifies-it-is-the-Harrower."
Syphax shifted his processors into accelerated mode, wondering what the other Base Ship was doing here in this system. Did they truly carry news from the Imperious Leader? New orders? What would necessitate an order countermanding the Edict of Extermination? This mystery consumed his processors for nearly four microns.
"Commander," said the first centurion. "Both-Mega-Pulsar-batteries-report-ready-to-fire. Awaiting-your-order."
"Hold, Centurion." He turned to the other functionary. "Hail the Harrower, Centurion."
"By-your-command."
xxxxx
The Endeavour had abruptly appeared in a frenetic burst of pan-spectrum energy wavelons, but thus far was not responding to their hail. It was kinda . . .
"Spooky," Ensign Alecto remarked. "Just like when Ensign Luana disappeared in her Wraith without warning."
"Yeah," Rooke replied, his stomach still silently churning over the fact that he'd lost Starbuck's wife while in command of Phoenix Squadron. When he finally faced Starbuck, he reflected, his stomach might become the least of his worries. Truth be told, he was never very comfortable with the Clavis technology. "The Ravager is hailing her as well. I'm not up to specs about the rules of Cylon etiquette, but if Commander Dayton doesn't respond soon, they're going to get suspicious."
"Just when was Malus going to cover Cylon etiquette?"
"I think it follows Cylon Residential Economics 101."
The communicator crackled to life.
"Harrower-Patrol-Leader, Commander-Yugra-is-not-responding. Explain."
"Here we go," Rooke said, reaching forward to activate the vocal modulator once again. "Commander-Yugra-is-no-longer-in-command, Ravager. Commander-Malus-is-commander."
There was a slight hesitation. "This is Commander Syphax, Patrol Leader. Regardless, your Base Ship is not responding. Tell me, by what mechanism did it suddenly appear in this quadrant when it previously was not on our scanners?" the IL demanded.
"By-your-command, Commander. We-utilize-Beemeeup-technology-to-traverse-large-regions-of-time-and-space."
"Beemeeup technology?" the IL replied. "I am not familiar with it. Explain."
"I-am-a-Patrol-Leader-not-an-aerospace-engineer. Direct-inquiries-to-Commander-Malus, Commander."
"Really . . ." the IL replied haughtily. "I will be discussing your impertinence with Commander Malus."
"Not-unless-communications-come-back-on-line, Commander."
"Hmm."
There was a momentary pause that made Rooke wonder if he'd been a little too flippant. Then again, in their experience centurions that had been out in deep space for over a centi-yahren did seem to acquire a few quirks in their programming. Hopefully, Syphax's crew was not the exception to that theory.
"Is it customary, Patrol Leader, that communications fail with Beemeeup technology?" Syphax asked.
Rooke glanced at Alecto and shrugged. "Negative."
"Well, have your patrol land on the Harrower and investigate. Tell Commander Malus I am impatiently awaiting his communications."
"By-your-command, Commander."
xxxxx
"What are you doing, Ama?" John demanded, his voice coming from all around her. "Ama? Ama, answer me!"
Ama felt invincible. Amazing. More powerful than she could ever possibly have imagined. A divine energy filled every fibre of her being, permeating her existence so thoroughly that she felt self-indulgently sated. Almost. She had taken on the immortal entity that had claimed the Clavis, and through powers that she was only just beginning to understand how to wield, she had overcome it. Devoured it, in a metaphysical sense. Was this what her father had been speaking of? Perhaps back then in the relative infancy of her development she couldn't even comprehend what he'd intended when he promised her the universe . . .
"Don't you see what he's doing, Ama?" John cried. His form coalesced in front of her, "standing" in the void. "He's using you! You're breaking rules and exceeding boundaries that you're not even aware of! He's coercing you to his side by appealing to your ego. By letting you exercise the power he offers! The Elders demand that you stop! Now! Do you not realize the danger?"
"You exaggerate, John." She was certain of it.
"Exaggerate? Would that were true! The last time Count Iblis wielded such power, it created a catastrophe on Earth that has been immortalized in their holy books and their culture, Ama. Even worlds and cultures far across the galaxy heard tales of it!"
"Your Great Powers played a part in that as well. A punishment for the sins of man, I recall," Ama reminded him. Through the Oculus she'd seen the battle between good and evil that had heralded doom for the early Kobollian settlements on Earth and Mars, as well as early Earthmen. It had made an indelible impression, the utter carnage that had wiped out countless lives and sent Earthmen back to the Stone Age, leaving only a few pockets of survivors living in everlasting fear of the 'gods'. "Because of it your kind proclaimed you could no longer directly interfere with mankind, no matter their struggles."
"My kind," John repeated. "Do not set yourself apart so quickly, Ama. You are one of us."
"If you truly believe that, then stop me yourself, John, or have your Great Powers do so!" she dared him. Then she laughed at him, repelling his insistent but increasingly irritating presence with her mind.
"Ama! No! He will destroy you. One way or the other, you will be destroyed!" he protested as he faded from both her vision and her consciousness.
Leaving her to luxuriate in her newfound supremacy.
xxxxx
Meanwhile, in the Control Centre of the Endeavour, rolling over was an Olympic-class event that clearly not all the competitors were physically prepared for. Slowly, motor function was returning to the crew, but an overwhelming light-headedness and nausea was persisting, and there was nothing their recumbent and pallid med tech could do about it.
Dayton used a console to laboriously pull himself somewhat erect, clinging to it for support, as his head spun and mouth watered unpleasantly. He laboured to take in deep breaths, trying to clear his head, forcing himself to try and focus on the instruments. The readouts blurred and then gradually cleared to the point that he could almost make heads or tails of them. He glanced over at Apollo, who had actually progressed to the point of standing unsupported and focussing on instruments. The colonel was a gold medal contender, to be sure.
"Well?" Dayton asked, relieved he was sounding less dysphasic. At this rate, he would advance to sounding like he was being strangled by days end.
"We're being hailed," Apollo replied as he propped Pierus up at his station, "by an Abaddon-class Base Ship. ID beacon identifies her as the Ravager." He dragged himself over to Sagaris' station, stepping over the cadet who was dry heaving noisily. "Holy frack! I think . . . "
"Thanks be to God that somebody can think," Porter opined, propped up against a console, pale as a ghost. "What is it, Apollo?"
"I think we're in Earth's orbit!" Apollo exclaimed, double-checking the scanners. They were returning to life as well. On screen before them was a planet. Blue, with white clouds, and dark landmasses. It looked almost identical to Planet 'P'. On the tactical screen, the flashing red dot that denoted the enemy's position was plain to see. "So is the Ravager!"
Dayton let out a breath of disbelief. "How about that? The boys are back in town." He shook his head. "Over twenty million miles in . . .How in hell's half acre did Ama . . .?"
"Don't strain your brain too much on that, Mark. Just be glad that the spooky old broad's on our side," Ryan returned, grabbing a hold of Dayton's leg and using it to pull himself upward.
"Still, makes a mere mortal wonder, Paddy." Dayton grabbed his friend's arm before he lost his pants, his muscles quivering as he helped the other achieve a vertical position. A wave of fatigue rippled through his frame.
"Ta very much," Ryan said, leaning over the console beside him for support. "Uh, if the Ravager wants to talk to us, she obviously thinks we're Cylon. Baker-Boy?" he said.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Baker replied, dragging himself to a console. "Man, I feel like I just went nine rounds with a case of whiskey . . . and lost."
"That's whatcha get for buying the cheap stuff," Ryan returned.
"Now that I realize how awful he must feel, I'll never laugh at Starbuck again after we energize," Jolly sniffed, up on all fours.
"Sir, Phoenix Squadron is landing."
Apollo blew out a breath. "They must be running on fumes by now!"
"Commander!"
"Pierus?" Dayton asked.
Pierus straightened his askew head set with a shaky hand. "It's Commander Syphax of the Ravager, sir. He wants to speak with Commander Malus."
"Commander Malus? Now where did that come from?" Dayton asked.
"Flashback to Morlais," Baker snorted aloud.
"No, it must have been Rooke playing Cylon. He doesn't know about what happened to Malus," Dorado replied.
"Yeah, too bad old Bulb Head's in pieces in the science lab," Baker said.
"Can you rig something, Bob?" Dayton asked.
"For an IL? Not that quickly. But we could resurrect that gold Command Centurion in the lab and use the vocal modulator we integrated into the unicom," Baker replied, looking at Porter. "That's the nice thing about Cylons, no lip synching necessary."
"What was the name of it?" Porter asked.
"Yugra," Apollo replied.
"Right. Yugra."
"Good idea. Go get Yugra. And have Lieutenant Rooke report here on the double when he lands. I need to know what cock-and-bull story he told Syphax," Dayton ordered. "Every minute that we sit here not responding, we lose credibility with the Ravager."
"No reason we couldn't respond and just omit the vid-feed," Dorado suggested, checking their systems out further. Gradually, it was coming back on line. "After all, it looks like they've been trying to raise us for a few centons."
"Of course!" Dayton shook his head. "My brain must still be short-circuiting," he groaned. "Respond with a low-gain text-only message, Dorado. Say our comm system's high-gain transmitter array is malfunctioning, and we are effecting repairs."
"Right, sir. We . . ."
"Commander! The Ravager!" Apollo cried. "She's just fired her mega-pulsar at Earth!"