Chapter Twenty-Four
The air whooshed out of Starbuck's lungs in a milli-centon when Miller landed on him. In that momentary state of breathlessness where his diaphragm refused to function, he could only wait painfully as his chest ached with the desperate need to draw a breath. Miller's burly forearm wrapped around his throat at the same time as a meaty mitt started slamming his right hand down on the carpet, intent on making him lose his grip on the weapon. Starbuck clawed back over his shoulder with his free hand, desperate to do any damage he could to ward off his attacker while he willed his lungs to work again. He grabbed a handful of ugliness, hoping to gouge out an eye.
"Hold up, Pretty Boy!" snarled Miller, jerking back on Starbuck's throat until he let out a tortured gasp. "Didn't anyone ever tell you it's dangerous to play with guh . . .?"
Clunk!
Miller's dead weight collapsed atop him. Again.
"You okay?" Lauren asked breathlessly.
Starbuck looked up to see her holding a dark wooden tray that she'd obviously clobbered Miller with. Using the tray like a battering ram, she shoved the guard to the side. Miller toppled to the carpet, a brawny leg still draped across Starbuck's lower back.
A slight gasp was Starbuck's best answer as his lungs permitted a small painful breath and then a slightly larger one, while he lay prone on the carpet. As 'places to collapse' rated, it wasn't bad. Dry, cushioned and soft, he could forgive the putrid floral pattern that his face was pressed against, at least for the centon. With a raspy breath, he rolled away from Miller, over onto his back, retaining his grip on the weapon as he looked across at Lauren, nodding gratefully.
"Thanks," he breathed, the air coming blessedly easier now.
"Eighteenth century American Chippendale Mahogany serving tray with original surface," she replied, taking a good look at the now badly cracked tray as she flipped it over in her hands.
"I like the way you serve," he replied, hefting himself up on one arm, then hissing in pain as his right hand throbbed anew. He slumped back to the floor, resting the weapon on his chest as he examined the knuckle that was already beginning to swell and discolour. "Frack, I'm getting tired of this. When I get back to the Fleet, I tell ya I'm due a two-secton furlon on the Rising Star, all expenses paid. Just me and Lu, a big bed and a view of the starscape . . . and not the portside view with the Sanitation Barge, either."
"Lu's your wife?" Lauren asked, taking his hand and looking at it. She pressed on the outside edge of his hand and he sucked in a breath between his teeth, pulling it out of her grasp.
"Hey!" he protested.
"Don't be a baby. You just broke a metacarpal." She rolled her eyes, kneeling beside him.
"A meta . . . Didn't know I had one," he replied, cradling the hand in his other. It hurt. Especially when glib women pressed on it.
"They call it a Boxer's fracture here."
"Here in Congress?" he raised his eyebrows at her.
"Here on Earth." She looked over at Miller, then back down at the warrior. "Now what, Wonder Boy?"
Wonder Boy? The lords of Kobol knew that he didn't feel very wonderful. "How about we break out of here, you leading the way with your Mahogany tray?" he replied insouciantly, still lying on the floor. "They don't stand a chance."
"Very funny." She snorted. "Shouldn't we cuff and gag Miller first?"
Starbuck grunted. "With his resilience, it'd be a heck of a lot easier to just shoot him."
"You wouldn't even have to get up," she remarked pointedly.
"Exactly."
She frowned down at him, crossing her arms sternly before her. "Hey, this had better not be you giving up."
He let out a long sigh, shaking his head slightly. "Lady, it's been a long couple days."
Lauren glanced at her chrono. "I'll give you exactly ten more seconds to whine, then you really need to start doing something more constructive, Buster."
"Well," he scoffed, "I guess that's ten more seconds than your father would have given me."
Miller groaned, moving slightly before slumping limply again.
"Oh, frack," Starbuck said, sitting up and gripping the weapon loosely. His hand throbbed with each subtle movement. "What is it with this guy? He must be part Nomen."
"I could hit him again," Lauren suggested.
"Maybe use the headboard this time." Starbuck nodded towards the bed. He glanced at the weapon again.
"What are you looking for?" she asked.
"Too bad it doesn't have a stun setting." It would have been so easy. Stun Miller. Truss him up like a Winter Solstice bird. No one got hurt. Most especially Starbuck.
"It fires bullets. How could it have a stun setting?" she asked incredulously.
"I know that, I . . . I just wish that it did! That's all!" he defended himself. Instead, now somehow he had to restrain the dangerous Miller, when he knew damn well it would end up with them grappling again. Sure, Miller looked unconscious, but Starbuck had a feeling that just as soon as he was within reach of the killer . . . "Can you fire a gun?" he asked Lauren.
"Y-yes," she said, drawing out the word as she looked at the man lying on the floor, seemingly defenceless. "But . . ."
Starbuck frowned, knowing that overwhelming fatigue and a broken hand were putting him at a decided disadvantage just now if Mason's man recovered again. "Let me rephrase that, if he tries to clobber me again, will you shoot him?"
"If I . . .uh, have to, yes."
"You have to."
xxxxx
Ama could see and sense only bleakness as she looked into the vacuous endlessness of what Eirys had once referred to as the Nonentity.. There was no life, no beauty, no sparkle, no light, utter nothingness. Nothing to stimulate the senses, nothing to do, nothing remotely engaging or interesting here. Any normal person would go stark raving insane within a secton. Overachievers would be barmy in a day.
Her people had been ridiculously inaccurate when they had conjured up the fiery depths of Hades Hole for eternal damnation. With relatively lively and animated denizens, daily toil, fire, brimstone, and an overall sense of purpose and perhaps even accomplishment, Hades Hole was a comparative amusement park alongside this place.
She cackled humourlessly at the irony.
Regardless, here she was fated to remain until the Great Powers sent for her. In fact, after her battle with Iblis, she found it was quite beyond her extinguished ability to summon up the strength to even attempt to probe the boundaries of this prison, never mind trying to escape its immuring force. She was completely out of touch with her loved ones, impotent to help them should they need it.
Triquetra watch over them . . .
The thought came unbidden even as she ritualistically stroked her talisman as she had done countless times before. However, she didn't even detect a shimmer of energy from the symbol of her powers. She let out a sorrowful sigh.
Her spiritual energy had once upon a time seemed limitless, growing within her with each passing moment, reaching an evolutionary peak when she had embraced the powers of the Oculus under the tutelage of her father. Now the boundless energy that had up until now suffused every fibre of her existence seemed completely wasted. Bled out. She was even devoid of emotion. She couldn't even detect a small spark of her Empyrean powers within her breast. Her very essence was seemingly gone. Her battle with Iblis had exhausted her reserves. The Great Powers had done the rest. This was the beginning of her comeuppance for defying those who regarded themselves as the keepers of the universe. If she had the energy she would have wept for the loss of her Empyrean quintessence.
"Are you ready, Ama?"
Ama startled at the sound, abruptly surprised and annoyed that she hadn't sensed the coming of his presence before John had physically materialized. Again, she grieved the loss of that heightened sense of awareness that she used to take for granted. She turned to regard him impassively, almost expecting that he should look different to her in her diminished state. He was as resplendent as ever and just now she found it irksome.
"What happened to Count Iblis?" she asked, knowing the Elders would dictate her father's fate before hers. His powers also depleted by their celestial battle, Iblis would have to yield to their will. "What did they decide?"
"A thousand yahrens of exile. He shall deceive humanity no more."
Ama wondered about that. If Iblis was the foil to goodness and light, then by his very nature his existence in their dimension was necessary. "Exile in a place such as this?"
"Yes." John hesitated a moment. "He asked to see you before he was banished. It is your choice, Ama."
"I will see him." Ama straightened her back, nodding curtly at the Being of Light before her. It would be quite the finale to her day. Confront her father and then suffer the wrath of the Great Powers. Probably she should have just stayed abed. "Take me from this place, John. I am ready."
xxxxx
After all that Technician Hummer had been through since arriving on Earth, it was a relief to once again be able to throw himself into the sort of work he knew best. Right now, he was tapping into Lucifer's memory core, along the way repairing as best he could the damage that had been done when Mason had thrown the IL out of a helicopter, impaling him on a flagpole. Curiously, it appeared that the cyborg had executed several automatic self-diagnostics in the previous centar, but each had failed due to a segmentation fault. Or—as Dickins had pointed out—possibly because of the gaping hole in the middle of Lucifer's chest plate.
"Well?" Dickins asked. Again.
From Hummer's personal translation matrix, he recalled that the word was very often Earthspeak for "Aren't you done yet, Slacker?"
Hummer narrowed his eyes, getting a feeling of anticipation as he made a slight adjustment . . . then grinned widely as telling algorithms began cascading across the screen of his monitor.
"Yeah!"
xxxxx
Centuries of barbarism and revenge had engendered and shaped the world in which Colonel General Alexei Andreivich Surkov lived. As much as brutality was a harsh reality of that world, from the times of Vladimir and Ivan the Terrible up to the present day, Surkov had resigned himself long ago that it was also a necessity when dealing with men like Yuri Vladimirovic Borodin. Following his interrogation, Borodin had confessed fully to his crimes against Russia, not only in writing but also on video. Furthermore, the former director of the GRU had incriminated the Russian Prime Minister, several other key members of both the cabinet and the military, Secretary-General Mason of the United Nations as well as British Joint Intelligence Committee Chairman Whatley.
So far.
In wake of two failed assassination attempts on President Kuzmin, Surkov reflected that it was somewhat consoling that "enhanced interrogation techniques" could right at least some wrongs. President Kuzmin had praised Surkov for his success, as well as his outstanding performance in safeguarding the Rodina during the last few days. Ultimately, Kuzmin had even offered him Borodin's old job as director of their foreign intelligence agency, which Surkov had solemnly accepted.
While the general realized he should be honoured and proud of his achievements, instead of welcoming and celebrating the promotion, he found himself experiencing a great personal emptiness. He longed for the quiet sanctity of his gosdacha in Peredelkino, the tranquil beauty of his small garden, and most of all, he found himself haunted by bittersweet memories of Jessica Dayton.
"Get me Sergei Orlov at Baikonur," Surkov ordered. "Tell him I have some intelligence that his director will be interested in."
"Yes, sir."
xxxxx
Despite spending several months immured in a stockade in the bowels of Cheyenne Mountain, Dick Dickins found himself burbling over with excitement for the second time in twenty-four hours since being briefly reunited with his family in New York City. He gazed hungrily on the animated images of Ryan, Baker and Porter, each of them grinning inanely at him over the digital display linked with the Endeavour, at least until he briefed them on the latest developments down on Earth, adding a little background on the Anakim and Brothers of Eden. That knocked them down a point or two on the fun metre. However, then he had the distinct honour and pleasure to introduce Paddy to his son, Grae, over the comm link. There was wonder and absolute joy in Paddy's eyes when he realized that his son—and daughter too, apparently—obviously had nothing but good memories of their wayward and long-absent father. Dickins had the idea that his old friend had just reached a pivotal moment in his life.
"We knew Starbuck was trying to tell us something with that 'President Torg' crack, but this sounds crazy!" Baker was saying.
"You think?" Dickins replied. "Well, spend a little time walking in our shoes down here on Earth and you'll realize it's changed a little bit since we left, and it ain't gonna win any blue ribbons at the Worlds' Fair. Either that or our eyes are finally open to what really is going on with this Anakim bunch."
"So what's the next move?" Paddy Ryan asked.
"Whatever you do, you can't align yourselves with Mason and the United Nations. The Endeavour is the most fearsome weapon in the star system right now. Whoever controls our Base Ship can control Earth and everybody knows it," Dickins said, hearing a snort of agreement from both General Roach and Leon Goldman behind him. "Mason is trying to make everybody believe that you're backing him."
"Thus that dog and pony show featuring Starbuck," Porter replied. "This Mason's one clever bastard."
"Exactly," General Roach replied over Dickins' shoulder. "You have to admit, it's damn convincing. And believe me, nobody who knows Mason wants to make enemies with him when they know you carry the same pulsar weapon that annihilated Mexico City and Las Vegas. This guy is the sort of lunatic who would murder millions to make a point. If you don't sign up for his globalism and world domination program, you're blasted off the face of existence. Needless to say, world leaders are pussy-footing around him right now."
"So us Colonials are either your best friends or your worst enemies right now?" Apollo asked over the languatron, shaking his head. "Depending on your point of view."
"Most politicians and military leaders are holding a collective breath," Roach admitted.
"Well, let it out. We're here to help, however we can, not to hold Earth hostage while Mason takes power," the young colonel replied.
"Good to know, Colonel," Roach replied.
"So what do you recommend we do now?" Apollo asked.
"We have to support the President," Dickins replied.
"Which one?" Paddy Ryan asked, rolling his eyes. "Torg?"
Ryan's head suddenly snapped forward and he grunted in pain, an indication that not only had Mark Dayton arrived, but also he'd heard the latest remark and cuffed his best friend in the back of the head because of it. An instant later his image replaced Ryan's.
"You okay, Dick?" Dayton demanded briskly of Dickins.
"Where the hell ya been?" Dick ragged him. "When I call a meeting of minds, Paddy's the only one exempt."
"Well, you know how it is. Purloined Base Ships. All those solar systems. Are you okay?" he asked again.
"Of course, Mark," Dickins replied, sensing the worry beyond the crusty façade. He had the feeling that distance alone had just saved him from a—shudder—group hug. A moment later he observed with amusement Dayton's daughter demanding the same of Grae Ryan. There was obviously some history between the two. Moving on, Dickins brought the Endeavour commander up to speed on the latest developments, avoiding any disgustingly emotional scene while stressing that they were safely at the White House and among allies. "Right now Hummer has himself elbow deep in Lucifer's data banks trying to recover any so-called 'memories' of the IL's interactions with Mason. After all, this guy seems to change his spots to suit the occasion, but the average person hasn't cottoned on to that. At least no one with pull enough to do anything about it. If we can recover tangible evidence and show it to the masses . . ."
"Good work down there. You think we can turn this around if we handle it right?" Dayton asked.
"We do," General Roach agreed.
Dayton nodded, rubbing his unshaven chin thoughtfully. "Exactly how much trouble is Starbuck in? Can we get him out?"
Dickins paused. "It's not just Starbuck, Mark. Mason has your daughter too. He has Lauren."
Dayton winced, his jaw tightening with the news as he looked over at Jess briefly. "Do you know . . . is she okay?"
"Short answer: yes," Goldman, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, inserted. "One of our latest reports indicates she's received medical treatment and that your strike captain negotiated for her protection in exchange for his cooperation."
Dayton nodded, barely registering the squeeze of support on his shoulder from Paddy.
"He's difficult to read, this Starbuck," Goldman continued, a shadow of doubt on his features. "I don't know what to make of him."
"Starbuck?" Dayton snorted. "The kid's an open book—unless you're playing cards with him. Or sword fighting. Or . . . okay, he keeps his cards close to his chest when it counts."
"Some people think he's playing both ends against the middle," Goldman suggested.
"Yeah, the people that don't know him," Dickins clarified.
"Don't worry about Starbuck," Dayton said. "He's as straight ahead as the day is long."
"For your daughter's sake, I hope you're right, Commander," Goldman returned.
"What the hell do you mean by that?" Dayton demanded.
"My man reported he demanded sexual favours from your daughter in exchange for protection for you, Commander."
"That's complete felgercarb!" Luana replied, her languaphone seamlessly entwining Colonial and English words together.
"Felgercarb?" Roach asked.
"Absolutely!" Apollo agreed, his eyes flashing angrily at the ludicrous suggestion. "Starbuck would never do that."
Dayton looked like a storm cloud had suddenly ransacked his face. He turned red, veins bulged on his temples. "Protecting me from what?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous.
"Our source says that Mason and Starbuck concocted a plan whereby they'd remove you from command. They didn't think your antiquated vision of Earth would align with theirs," Goldman continued. "That you'd try to block any political shake-up that would favour a World Government, like the Twelve Colonies apparently had."
"Hey, it was never our agenda to force a new political system on Earth," Apollo inserted over the translator. "We came here to eradicate the Cylon threat. That's it!"
Dickins crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head as he watched Dayton try to keep some semblance of control, while Starbuck's supposed betrayal was slapping him across the face. It was like watching a live volcano about to erupt. "Paddy . . ." he counselled, knowing it was time for the voice of reason to insert himself before Mark Dayton and his infamous temper did something they'd all regret.
"Use your head, Mark, this is obviously why Starbuck inserted that crap about President Torg," Ryan said, reaching out to grasp his friend's arm. "Something that only we would pick up on. You know there's more to this than meets the eye."
"There had bloody well better be . . ." Dayton growled, pulling out of Ryan's grasp. He ground his teeth, his nostrils flaring as his hands flexed into tight fists poised to do some damage. "Or so help me God, I'll kill him!"
Luana walked over to the Endeavour commander, inserting herself right in his 'personal space', grabbing two handfuls of his tunic. "You're like a father to him! He wouldn't do this to you or anyone you care about! You know that!"
Dayton sucked in one deep breath and then another, staring into her eyes for a long moment. Finally, he slowly reached up to gently pry her hands from his person. His demeanour had completely changed as he thought it through. Who said old dogs couldn't learn new tricks? "And he wouldn't do it to you either, Lu," he replied confidently before returning his attention to the monitor. "Your man is mistaken, Goldman."
"Perhaps." Goldman shrugged. It was obvious he didn't think so.
"No perhaps about it, Goldman. I'm only here because of Starbuck. I've watched him face down everything from crumbling planets to Cylon legions to save others. He's not going to turn quisling on us now."
"I hope you're right, Commander."
"This man of yours. Is he in a position where he can help them?" Dayton asked.
"Yes." Goldman nodded. "He is."
"Is he any good?" Paddy Ryan asked.
"One of our best. He's been under deep cover for years in Mason's inner circle."
"Well, thank God for that," Dayton replied. "Finally, some good news."
"Commander, we have a live link with Congress," Dorado inserted. "Are you ready, sir?"
"I'm ready. Take care of yourself, Dick, and keep us posted on Hummer's progress."
"I will, Mark. Over and out."
xxxxx
While once the celestial realm of the Great Powers had seemed nothing short of radiant and spiritually sublime, today it filled Ama with a sense of foreboding. The beings around her obviously didn't feel the need to metamorphose into a familiar form for her comfort, thus she was surrounded by an array of entities ranging from the familiar countenances of Baltar and Eirys to a sparkling glimmer of energy that passed straight through her before vanishing beyond her now limited senses.
It was an undeniably beautiful impressionistic landscape composed in glimmering white gossamer. Once she had stood here luxuriating in the spiritual energy. Now there was a cold numbness where her former fiery spirit had dwelt. She had hoped for some resurgence, some spark of her Empyrean light when she had been released from the Nonentity, but there was nothing. She realized now that it had been taken from her, her punishment for defying the Great Powers and exploring the mysteries and the energies of the Oculus. She was mundanely "normal", bereft of her supernatural gifts. It was as though they had ripped the soul right out of her.
"For ignoring age-old, venerable Celestial Law, you have forfeited your powers, Ama, daughter of Arion and Annica, late of the Empyrean Imperial House," the spectral voice of Anshargal the Elder declared, the decree carrying effortlessly throughout the realm.
The Elder had no tangible form, thus it was difficult to judge where to direct her question. "Until when?" Ama demanded, looking around her, but resisting the urge to look above her.
"Until such a time when one much wiser than yourself reinstates them," Anshargal replied.
"Well, that's a little vague," she complained. "Especially on a geologic time scale."
"Ama," John appeared again at her side. "Iblis will be exiled for a thousand yahrens. Comparatively, your punishment is minor, wouldn't you say?"
"It should be! I fought Iblis so goodness and light might prevail over evil. I removed him from the battle, knowing his very presence was like a poison infecting Earth."
"You still broke Celestial Law."
"And I'd do it again, John," she readily admitted.
"Which is why you must forfeit your powers now, Ama, so you will learn to abide by our rules and submit."
"Submit." She shuddered. It was a foreign concept.
"You will still live among your people, Ama."
"But what use will I be to them, John?" Ama replied dourly.
"More than you realize," Baltar told her, taking her hand. "Your powers come from your heart and your spirit, Ama. The Elders can take away your supernatural abilities, but they can't take your wisdom, leadership, courage, kindness or allegiance."
"Nor can they take away the love of your family and friends," Eirys added. "You are truly loved, Ama."
"Oh yes, I feel loved," she replied bitterly, pulling her hand from Baltar's grasp and looking around at those who had come to witness her humiliation.
"Come forward," Anshargal summoned her.
For some reason she had the sense that the heavens had parted and a spotlight was shining down on her, despite the obvious fact that there was no physical change around her. Time seemed to stand still and all attention was now focussed solely on the Empyrean necromancer. Ama stepped forward from her small circle of supporters, catching sight of Iblis as she did so. Wearing his classic white cloak that somehow managed to billow behind him even in the still air, he nodded at her.
"Might I be permitted to bid my daughter farewell before I go?" Iblis asked.
"Ama has consented," Anshargal replied.
Iblis nodded, looking to his daughter. He looked tired as he walked towards her. He appeared surprisingly deflated. Older.
"What could you possibly have to say to me now?" Ama asked him.
"Always be prepared for the worst so that you might accept it gracefully, the alternative being relatively pleasant, of course," Iblis counselled with a wry smile, stopping before her.
"Are you talking about this meeting with you or my forthcoming reconciliation?" Ama asked, unable to resist.
An incongruous mixture of cultured elegance and consummate evil, Iblis huffed in apparent amusement. "Ah, we could have had it all, Daughter."
"Yes, but I couldn't be bothered cleaning it," she replied, shaking her head at the repartee. It was times like this—when he wasn't raving like a lunatic or orchestrating the genocide of the human race—that she had the strangest feeling Arion still lurked somewhere in Iblis' soul. Of course, it was ridiculous. Between the two of them they had ripped apart a world while battling for domination and here she was actually considering that maybe after a thousand yahrens of exile the Evil One might possibly be salvageable. After all, she had never believed in the neatly demarcated lines of black and white. The universe specialized in shades of grey. There was good and bad in every living being, even Count Iblis.
Ama sniffed inelegantly, shaking her head self-derisively, dropping Iblis' gaze. Face it, old girl, you're a die-hard emancipator of souls.
"There was a time so very long ago when I had hopes and dreams for my child." Iblis suddenly said, his usually eloquent voice becoming brittle. "You would curl up and fall asleep on me as we sat in front of the fire, your mother and I. It made my heart ache, so painful was my devotion for you both," Iblis said soulfully.
Ama lifted her head to meet his gaze. Dare she believe this? Dare she believe anything he said? Yet, there was a strange light in his eyes.
"You're a good woman, Ama, daughter of Arion and Annica. Your mother would be proud. Your father is proud." Then he reached up and lightly stroked her cheek, smiling lovingly.
And her Empyrean light flared to life.
xxxxx
Climbing gruellingly to his feet and recovering the cuffs from where they'd fallen at some point that he didn't even remember, Starbuck handed Lauren the gun to cover Miller. He paused, sighing in frustration as Mason's man suddenly rolled over, raising a hand to his skull and groaning. A moment later, Miller's hand drifted down to his jaw, wincing with pain.
"Hands behind your head, down on your face!" Lauren ordered, raising the gun before her with two hands.
"You're making a mistake. I was about to tell you that I'm on your side, Ms. Dayton," Miller said, wiping a trickle of blood away before he held up his hands, sitting up slowly.
"Says the guy who was firing on her from a helicopter," Starbuck reminded him. He'd seen it.
"The shots that stopped the sedan were fired from the chopper's chain gun, not me," Miller defended himself, talking out of the right side of his mouth. Bloody spittle showered the rug in from of him. "I'm a Brother of Eden. I'm working undercover against Mason."
"Against Mason? That must be why you were so helpful to us on the helicopter," Starbuck replied caustically.
"That wasn't the time to reveal myself. This is!" Miller insisted.
"Yeah, I'd be getting creative about now too if I were you," Starbuck returned.
"It's true! I'm a Brother!"
"Prove it," Lauren snapped, holding the weapon on the killer steadily.
The man nodded, again wiping a trail of blood away with the sleeve of his uniform jacket. "Okay. Ms. Dayton, your grandfather was the last Brother of Eden in your bloodline. Barney would have told you that. Your family goes back in the Brotherhood all the way to our beginnings here on Earth. Even before that. To the Valley of Eden."
"Eden where?" she asked.
"On our motherworld," Miller replied.
"Kobol," Lauren said.
Miller nodded.
"Tell her something she doesn't know," Starbuck recommended.
"Your ancestor was a prophet and adventurer, Ms. Dayton. A member of the royal court of the last Lord of Eden," Miller said.
Starbuck's mouth dropped open as Dayton's recount of the Prophet Daton from Lord Sagan's court came back to him. Maybe Miller wasn't adlibbing, after all.
"Starbuck . . ." Lauren murmured uncertainly, lowering the weapon slightly.
"Hey now, don't be so hasty!" Starbuck cautioned her, raising his hands in protest. Even the swollen, throbbing one. "Even if he tells a good tale, personally, I'm not a great admirer of this guy!"
"Me? Hey, I never threatened to rape her!" Miller retorted, still sitting placidly on the carpet, cradling his jaw.
"He was just trying to get me alone. To talk," Lauren explained.
Miller nodded slowly, looking at Starbuck with a new understanding. "I was hoping so. I was actually starting to respect you until it seemed you fell for Mason's lies."
"Yeah? Well I didn't exactly have a lot of options at the time," Starbuck said, still not quite ready to trust the man. "You know this guy, Barney, Lauren?"
"Yes. Briefly. Before he was killed."
"Who else is in this Brotherhood?" Starbuck demanded of Miller. "So far you seem like a bunch of down and out resistance fighters who don't have a lot of clout. I like to know who I'm getting mixed up with, pal."
"Good point," Lauren agreed with his summation.
"But inaccurate. Not only the Speaker of the House, but Leon Goldman, Liz Smythe and Terry Foreman are with us, to name just a few," Miller told them. "That's just the tip of the iceberg. We're just as powerful as the Anakim. We're politicians, military leaders, soldiers, intelligence operatives, historians, entrepreneurs, scientists, religious leaders, CEOs, philanthropists . . . you name it."
"You don't own any java shops, do you?" Starbuck wondered aloud.
"Huh?" Miller looked truly bewildered.
"Never mind. These people you're talking about . . . they're in the United States?" Starbuck asked.
"All over the world," Miller replied.
"Well, I'll be . . ." Lauren murmured.
"Going back, Mother Teresa was one of ours," said the still bleeding Miller. "So were Alistair Cooke, Pablo Picasso and your own professor of journalism, Ms. Dayton, not to mention Carl Fraser of ABC News. Hundreds of names throughout history you'd recognize. Hundreds more that will make history. Even in the UN."
"Carl was with you?" Lauren asked, sounding shaken.
"Yes, ma'am. My condolences. I understand he was a fine man and a good operative."
"Bloody hell," Lauren murmured quietly.
Starbuck gave her a sidewise glance. There were times on this planet that he felt out of his depth. There was just too much about Earth that he didn't know. How was he supposed to know if Miller was bluffing or if he'd acquired the intelligence in some unpleasant circumstance? Maybe all he could do was try to be prepared if that was the case . . .
"You know, Starbuck, if that's true we might actually have a chance in Congress," Lauren said, finally lowering the weapon. Obviously, she wasn't having the same difficulty making up her mind. "I wish I knew what the hell was going on in Congress right now."
"Turn on the live feed," Miller suggested, nodding towards the sitting room. "It's part of the internal programming."
"Of course," Lauren said. "You can get up, Miller, I won't shoot you, after all."
"I appreciate that," Miller replied, slowly climbing to his feet, a weary eye on Starbuck as the warrior took the weapon back from Lauren, tossing the restraints on a table before they all moved into the other room. Lauren headed directly for a piece of furniture and rolled back delicately carved doors to expose a large monitor. A moment later she was scrolling through digital choices and selecting Congressional programming. Meanwhile, Miller rubbed his jaw once again, his hand exploring his pocket, coming up empty. He glanced at Starbuck. "I think you broke something."
Starbuck shrugged, holding up his swelling hand. "I know I did."
Miller snorted. "I meant my jaw. You pack quite a punch . . . for a little guy."
"You know the military," Starbuck replied, not rising to the bait. He was no stranger to knocking out men instead of shooting them whether he was retaking the Celestra or storming the Enforcers from the Eastern Alliance on Paradeen. "Always trying to come up with ways to avoid firing our weapons, saving on ammo."
Miller smiled, his gaze flickering to the weapon again. "Now that I understand." He held out his hand, motioning slightly with his fingers. He wanted his gun back.
"I don't think so," Starbuck replied.
Miller raised his eyebrows. "You don't trust me?"
"Miller, I'm just about at the point that I don't trust anybody."
Lauren took a step back, looking between the two of them and the monitor once again. President Gibson was speaking. She frowned, opened her mouth, and then clamped it shut again. Then she turned up the volume.
"Sounds like you're losing your objectivity, Captain," Miller suggested, his hand still extended expectantly in front of him. "Spend enough time in the field on your own, going without sleep, struggling to survive, and that will happen. Sometimes you have to find new allies."
There was a lot of truth in what he said and Starbuck knew it. "Lately, I take a while to warm up to new allies. One centon they're compatriots, the next they have a weapon against my head." A vision of General Roach came to mind. "It makes a guy a little sensitive, if you know what I mean. Don't take it personally, Miller."
"I won't." Miller motioning with his fingers again. "If you give me back my gun. Face it, if we're to keep up appearances, I'm the one supposed to be armed and covering both of you. You're putting us at risk."
"Am I?" Starbuck asked.
"Yeah, you are," Miller replied, taking a step closer and holding out his hand between them. "You're on my turf right now; you can't do this on your own, Captain. You need me."
Starbuck swallowed down the acrid taste of inadequacy, feeling the still reassuring weight of the weapon in his hand. What were the odds that the facts Miller revealed about Lauren's family were known not only by the Brothers of Eden but also by the Anakim? Was Miller friend or foe? He just didn't know for sure. What he did know was that it felt good to be armed again, to have something between him and the killer to make Miller hesitant and on guard. The fact of the matter was that sometimes alliances were short-lived and incidental, especially here on Earth. Besides that, Lauren still hadn't said a word. She was standing aside, uncharacteristically silent, half her attention on him and Miller, the other half on watching the American president's speech. An internal klaxon went off in his head. After all, if she wasn't giving him the classic Dayton dressing down for this, then maybe . . .
"Yeah? Well, right now your Brotherhood needs my Base Ship even more, Miller," Starbuck returned, wincing slightly as he adjusted his grip. "So you might as well get used to the idea of expending a little more energy trying to get along with me."
Miller frowned, dropping his hand. "Stubborn cuss, aren't you?"
"It's one of my many charms," Starbuck returned wryly with a grin. "Just ask me."
"Are you two finished with the male posturing?" Lauren asked, turning up the volume on the monitor again.
"What is it?" Starbuck asked.
"President Gibson just announced that a message from my father is going to be broadcasted worldwide."
The two men turned their attention to the monitor.
"Before Commander Dayton speaks, I have one more thing to add. This is the two hundred and seventy-ninth anniversary of the day America adopted our Declaration of Independence right here in Congress. Once again in the Cylons we have defeated a mighty foe, yet unbelievably here we sit debating the end of democracy as we know it." President Gibson was concluding his speech to Congress. "Secretary-General Mason earlier quoted Abraham Lincoln. In rebuttal, I find myself compelled to do the same." He paused a long moment, looking around at those gathered. "Lincoln warned us that America will never be destroyed from the outside. If we falter and lose our freedoms, it will be because we destroyed ourselves." Again he paused. "That is exactly what Secretary-General Mason is advocating we do right here on Capitol Hill, senators and representatives. I dispute the suggestion that the military support of our Colonial allies is dependent on Albert Mason's vision of Globalism. That is not the message that Captain Starbuck conveyed to me in New York City, and I am confident that is not the message Commander Dayton will convey to us here today. "
xxxxx
Cassiopeia shook her head silently as she looked at the latest diagnostic results on Xenia in the Life Station. It was nothing short of a miracle that she was still alive.
"Not much longer," Rhiamon murmured, gently brushing the hair back off the medicated warrior's forehead as she looked over at her colleague. Her assessment was based on pure instinct, but it was no less accurate than the readouts the med tech was reviewing.
xxxxx
"Mr. Speaker, Mr. President, members of both the United Nations and the Congress, and citizens of the world, I'm Commander Mark Dayton of the Colonial Covert Operations Ship, Endeavour," Dayton said, steadying the slight quaver he detected in his own voice as he addressed the United Nations, the American Congress, and anybody else who might be listening from the Control Centre of the Endeavour. Millions and eventually billions across Earth would be hanging on his every word, waiting to see what the most powerful man in the solar system was about to do as he hovered above them in his big, bad Base Ship. "I'm in command of the Colonial men and women responsible for engaging and destroying the Cylon capital ship that attacked Earth. For those of you who don't already know, I was actually born in 1970 in Chicago, Illinois. I'm one of you, an Earthman."
"The last time I was in Earth's orbit was back in 2010, when I was the mission commander of the last scheduled mission of the Space Shuttle, Endeavour, on a routine flight to the International Space Station. On July 1st, 2010, the ISS exploded and everyone aboard was wiped out. As best as we can piece together, my ship and crew were hurled across time and space, by forces we still don't fully understand, to the other side of the galaxy where we finally met our Colonial brethren, your newest allies."
"Since coming back to my old neighbourhood to hunt for Cylons, I've been informed that back in 2010, my entire crew was unjustly accused of terrorism—of blowing up our colleagues, ourselves and the future of the American space program." Dayton shook his head in disgust. "I understand we were never actually tried in absentia, evidently due to amendments still upheld in our Constitution, thank God for that. However, I still get the general idea—most often when I'm physically attacked—that none of us are America's favourite sons."
"Furthermore, through discussion with an old and trusted friend—i.e. the only person with the guts to tell me the truth—it has been brought to my attention that after destroying the Cylons, the people of Earth are waiting with bated breath to see what I'm going to do next. There has even been the completely asinine suggestion that I'm up here with my mega-pulsar pointed at Earth, determined to have my revenge on my own home planet by backing some cockamamie bid for a New World Order."
"Well, a wise man once said that a lie gets halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on. The Endeavour was sent to Earth by the government of our Colonial brothers and sisters and their Fleet Commander, Adama, with one sole objective: protect Earth and neutralize the Cylon threat. That threat, as embodied in the enemy vessel, the name of which translated into English as Ravager, has been neutralized. The Ravager has been destroyed. All other reports of domination, threats and general bad manners on my part have been greatly exaggerated."
"I understand that with the aftermath of the electromagnetic pulse from the destruction of the Cylon capital ship, as well as their military strikes on Kazakhstan, Mexico and the United States, that there are areas of complete chaos down there where entire countries have lost their infrastructure, as well as countless lives. This is a time for dedicated and strong world leaders to focus on relief efforts and restoring order, not a time for radical political upheaval by megalomaniacs and usurpers."
"The people of Earth need to understand that even though this particular Cylon threat has been eradicated, we still have to defend ourselves against those who would destroy us and everything we believe in. Never forget that not all threats come from outside. Freedom of speech, freedom of assembly, the freedom to access information and media, universal rights, sovereignty—these are all being threatened." Dayton paused. "However, not currently by the Cylons, but by the newly appointed Secretary-General of the United Nations, Albert Mason, through his vision of a tyrannical World Government."
"I'm here now to declare my support for President Gibson of the United States of America in light of the accusations flying around Congress. My crew and I will do whatever we can to help ease tensions and provide necessary relief. As well, I submit that Albert Mason, instead of being indecorously appointed to the United Nations as Secretary-General, should instead be taken into custody and tried for treason against his country, his President, and his fellow man. As a matter of interest, we have retrieved admissible evidence from the data banks of the IL-class Cylon construct, known as Lucifer, as well as the sworn testimony of former GRU Director of Russian Intelligence, Yuri Borodin, which will corroborate my accusations. Anyone who knows me can tell you, I am not a man who makes them lightly."
"Also, I beseech President Gibson to waste no time in locating my daughter, Lauren Dayton, as well as my strike captain, Starbuck, both reported to be somewhere on Capitol Hill in the custody of Mason's people. Frankly, I am concerned for their safety, and if I have to step in and intervene on their behalf, well, it's inevitable that I'm going to drop in the popularity polls again." He shrugged indifferently, leaving no doubt that he would step in if need be.
"As you consider these things, my fellow humans, I leave you with the words of one of the wisest men who ever graced our world, the Roman statesmen Marcus Tullius Cicero. When his people faced hard decisions, he said: 'a nation can survive its fools, and even the ambitious. But it cannot survive treason from within. An enemy at the gates is less to be feared, for he is known and he carries his banners openly. But the traitor moves amongst those within the gate freely, his sly whispers rustling through all the alleys, heard in the very halls of government itself. For the traitor appears not a traitor; he speaks in accents familiar to his victims, and he wears their face and their arguments, he appeals to the baseness that lies deep in the hearts of all men. He rots the soul of a nation, he works secretly and unknown in the night to undermine the pillars of the city, he infects the body politic so that it can no longer resist. A murderer is less to fear. The traitor is the plague.' "
He waited a beat.
"Expect me within the hour. Dayton out."
xxxxx
As Iblis' power flowed into Ama with the merest touch of his hand, it was like a transfusion, a tsunami of life-giving energy. Her life force swelled within her, suffusing her heart and soul. Then the abrupt establishment of her visceral reconnection with her loved ones was so intense and startling, she gasped aloud, almost collapsing, sobbing with relief. Iblis caught her in his arms.
"Iblis!" Anshargal roared. "It is forbidden!"
"So exile me to an alternate dimension for another thousand yahrens," Iblis replied blithely, setting his daughter back on her feet. "You know as well as I do that you manipulated the child into this, yet you punish her for her wilfulness and freedom of spirit. You wish to see her submit. It pleases you far too much to use my own daughter against me, Anshargal. Whatever I might be, my child does not deserve such."
"You overstep your bounds, Count Iblis. I could reverse it with a wave of my hand."
"You could try," Iblis replied. "Celestial Law, Anshargal. You told Ama that her forfeiture would last until one much wiser than herself reinstated her powers." He smiled egotistically, chuckling aloud. "Simply put, I am that one."
"Dearest Triquetra . . ." Ama murmured, getting glimpses of what was happening on Earth. She gripped her talisman, its warmth and energy grounding her.
"You must go," Iblis told her.
"But . . ." Ama searched his eyes for an instant, for it was all she could spare. "Father . . ."
"I'm feeling generous, Daughter," Iblis told her. He scowled. "Now—before I come to my senses—go!"
"Mr. Speaker!" President Gibson barked, bolting to his feet in Congress as Commander Mark Dayton faded from view on the individual monitors of each representative. Elizabeth Smythe was hot on his heels.
"Sergeant-at-Arms! Take Secretary-General Mason into custody," the Speaker of the House ordered, rising to his feet. The Capitol Police Force was already moving to do just that.
"This is an outrage! I'm the most powerful man in the world!" Mason shouted, almost spluttering, his right hand diving into his pocket. "Guards!"
Two Capitol Police officers seized the United Nations Secretary-General as Gibson paced determinedly towards the seat of the "honoured visiting dignitary". Two hulking men in dark suits and military haircuts, obviously Secret Service, flanked the President immediately. Others rose from within the amassed politicians, moving quickly to neutralize those of Mason's men that were willing to rise to his defence. Others stood down, realizing they were outnumbered.
"As a member of the United Nations, I have diplomatic immunity!" Mason shouted. "You can't arrest me! It's universal law!"
"Universal laws are subject to suspension in a state of emergency," President Gibson replied, nodding at his Secret Service Special Agents. "Proceed."
The agents quickly flanked Mason, replacing the officers.
"Now, where are Lauren Dayton and Captain Starbuck?" President Gibson demanded, moving almost nose-to-nose with the would-be world emperor as the agents searched Mason. One pulled out a slim black box.
"It's some kind of transceiver, Mr. President," the agent told him, turning it over in his hand. "It's already been activated, sir."
"Where are they, Mason?" Gibson demanded again, his voice lower and icy.
Mason chuckled evilly. "It sounded to me as though Commander Dayton's loyalties would depend upon the safe delivery of his daughter and strike captain. What a shame."
"That won't be a problem," Gibson replied.
"Won't it? Are you so sure about that?" Mason sneered. "What are you going to do when you find you have one very pissed-off old astronaut grieving for his daughter and young heroic subordinate? Huh, Gibson? All the Brothers of Eden in the world won't be able to help you then."
"What have you done?" Gibson demanded, a chill running down his spine. He clenched his fists in Mason's jacket, jerking him towards forward hard.
"Starbuck played me for a fool, didn't he?" Mason blew out a harsh breath. "And I don't even know how he did it." His mirthless laugh sounded mad. "But I'll show him . . . I'll show them all!"
"Where are they?" Gibson demanded through gritted teeth.
"Ms. Dayton and Captain Starbuck were in the fifth floor apartments," a Capitol Police officer announced as he penetrated the crowd. "They cleared security an hour ago, Mr. President."
"Lead the way, Lieutenant!" Gibson ordered the officer, thrusting Mason away from him as if he were dripping garbage, and then turning on his heel to push his way through the crowd. He had a very bad feeling about this.
"You're going to be too late, Gibson," Mason yelled at the President's back. "Commander Dayton is wrong if he thinks he's bested me! He'll soon find out differently, and so will you, Mr. President!"
xxxxx
It all happened so fast. One centon Starbuck was reeling from the implications of Dayton's speech to Earth's bureauticians, the next his groin started inexplicably vibrating. Talk about an unexpected distraction . . . With a start, he reached into his pocket, pulling out the slim black box he had taken off of Miller with a questioning look at the supposed Brother of Eden.
"Oh shit."
"What . . .?"
It was all the warrior managed to get out before the door to the suite crashed inward and three men burst into the room, two of them hurling something forward while the other fired his weapon for cover.
"Get down!" Miller shouted, throwing himself to the floor.
Starbuck fired successive shots at the three goons, simultaneously diving sideways towards the floor to evade a cascade of bullets heading his way. He saw one goon go down as he heard a dull thud only metrons away. Some kind of explosive . . .
Lauren screamed.
"Down!" Miller hollered again, well out of sight and behind him.
Then Starbuck's world exploded in a blinding flash of light.