Chapter Twenty-Five
"Commander!" Sagaris said suddenly. "Sensors are picking up unusual energy wavelons heading this way. Fast!"
"Origin?" Dayton asked, and then abruptly shut his eyes, shielding them with his arm as a flash of light and a wave of pure energy rocked him where he stood. It seemed as if the entire vessel shook for a moment. "Battle stations!"
"Starbuck!" Luana cried as the klaxon began to blare.
When the spots in front of Dayton's eyes cleared, he realized that his strike captain had abruptly materialized in the Control Centre, as well as two other bodies. All three appeared either unconscious or dead. Apollo and Lu were rolling Starbuck over, while Dorado, Jess and Ryan were doing the same to the others.
"He's alive!" Apollo reported.
"Here too!" Ryan said, attending one of the strangers. A man.
Apparently Dayton's friend had recovered about the same time he had. There were only two ways the three individuals could have been transported here, and they certainly hadn't used the Clavis.
"Ama?" Dayton murmured, looking around. The necromancer was somewhere about. He just knew it.
"Oh my God," Jess muttered.
"Jess?" asked Dayton, moving towards her. The still woman before her was . . .
"Lauren!" cried Jess, looking down at her sister.
Dayton felt fear slam into him like a battering ram. Just knowing that the daughter that he hadn't seen since she was a toddler was now lying here on the deck of the bridge, unmoving. "Laur . . ." he began.
"Oh, God! She's been shot!" Jess announced hoarsely.
The words terrified Dayton and his chest tightened with panic as he grasped his younger daughter's hand. She was pale, but her chest was rising and falling in a gentle reassuring rhythm. "Get a medic!" he shouted, simultaneously hearing Pierus on the commlink to the Life Station.
"On her way, sir!" Pierus replied.
"Report!" Dorado yelled out.
"Energy wavelons have stopped," Sagaris said.
"Then kill the klaxon!" Dorado ordered.
"Yes, sir." A moment later it seemed eerily silent.
"How bad?" Dayton asked Dorado, his fingers automatically moving to find Lauren's pulse. It was strong.
Using his cybernetic hand, Dorado easily ripped the jacket fabric covering Lauren's bleeding arm, exposing the wound halfway up her deltoid. The captain let out a sigh of relief. "It's superficial, Commander. Just a graze."
Dayton nodded, even as his own eyes and hands sought to confirm it was indeed true. Then he watched the young bridge officer begin to field dress the wound expertly from a med kit. It was hard to believe that this was his baby girl . . . all grown up. After all this time, she was still riding her wagon like a bat out of hell down playground slides when no one was looking. Dayton leaned down, gently brushing Lauren's cheek with a kiss. Then he turned his attention to the others.
"How are Starbuck and the other fella?" Dayton asked, squeezing Jess' shoulder in reassurance as he glanced beyond the stranger to his young strike captain.
"Starbuck's coming to," Apollo replied as a low groan emanated from his friend. "He looks stable, but I'd just as soon have a biomonitor confirm that." The colonel paused a moment. "Sagan's sake, Commander, he looks like he's been grappling with a team of Orion Hashers! I think his right hand is broken, Lord knows what else . . ."
"You oughta . . . see the other guy . . ." Starbuck muttered from the deck.
"I think this is the other guy!" Ryan announced, kneeling above the stranger. "The left side of his jaw is broken, a perfect match for Starbuck's hand! He's also been shot in the chest! Where's Cassie?"
"Here!" the med tech replied, racing into the Control Centre with her med kit, a few conscripted warriors following. "What do we have, Paddy?"
"Sucking chest wound and broken jaw here, m'lady," Ryan replied, already applying pressure to the wound. "As near as we can tell it looks like they all hitched a ride with either an absentee necromancer or the Clavis is striking out on its own again. Either way, they're in the usual post-transit semi-comatose soon-to-be-retching condition. Hope you brought a few hoverstretchers and some barf bags."
"I did, but I'm going to need some help," she replied as people readily moved to expedite the transfer of the wounded while she ran her biomonitor over Ryan's charge. "We're already stretched to overcapacity in the Life Station from the Barstow crew, so consider yourself recruited, Paddy. How are the other two?"
"Mark's daughter has a minor flesh wound but is still unconscious," Ryan replied. "Starbuck's a bit battered and broken, but seems okay."
Cassie looked up sharply. She obviously hadn't realized. "Starbuck?"
"Is Xenia still with us?" Ryan asked, meeting her gaze across the patient.
Cassie nodded, looking at Luana and Apollo. "It's a dying woman's last request. Get Starbuck to Life Station! Now!"
xxxxx
"Well?" President Gibson demanded, a smudge of soot on his face as he paced back and forth like a caged beast, waiting with Elizabeth Smythe.
They had all heard the explosions and felt Capitol Hill shudder well before they had arrived at the inferno that had become the fifth floor apartments. Two of Mason's hit squad had been apprehended trying to escape; the other two had apparently perished in the explosion . . . along with the Colonial Warrior and L. M. Dayton.
The triumph Gibson had felt when Commander Dayton had thrown in his lot with the beleaguered president had been short lived. The outstanding condition of that alliance was that Gibson was to ensure the safety of Starbuck and Dayton's daughter. He had failed.
"They're still trying to contain the fire, Mr. President. But there's no way anyone could have survived it, sir."
Gibson looked at Smythe. "So . . . do we tell Commander Dayton now or wait for him to show up?"
"We wait for him to show up," Smythe replied, her voice brittle. "And offer to put him in a room alone with Mason."
xxxxx
Sometimes a guy had the strangest feeling that he was racing through life on full turbos and couldn't disengage them, no matter how hard he tried. One moment Starbuck was sure he was about to get blown to Hades Hole in an apartment on Capitol Hill, and the next he found himself collapsed on the deck of the Endeavour, feeling much like he did when he was transported via either the Clavis or Empyrean necromancy. All the same, he had just about kissed the deck, he was so glad to be back amongst his own. Apollo had said the abrupt relocation had nothing to do with the Clavis, which left Ama as the only alternative he was aware of. It made him wonder where the heck she was?
Despite being snatched out of harm's way of the explosion, the wounded Miller had been rushed to Life Station for emergency surgery because of a bullet to the chest. Due to a superficial flesh wound and the residual effects of the supernatural translocation, Lauren would be on her way by now as well. Meanwhile, Starbuck was being half-carried and half-dragged through the ladderwells and corridors of the Endeavour, supported between his wife and his best friend. In their infinite wisdom, they had decided that negotiating ladderwells on a hoverstretcher was too slow, too tedious. Starbuck's head throbbed, his stomach heaved, and his rubbery legs were just trying to keep up. No, it wasn't exactly his idea of how his heroic return to the Base Ship should play out. And where was Malus? Surely the IL should be offering to carry him there . . .
"She's dying, Starbuck," Apollo was saying about Cadet Xenia. He quickly relayed the story about the cadets boarding the Ravager.
"And seeing you is her last dying wish," Lu pointed out as they neared the Life Station. "What's going on, Innamorato?"
"Nothing, Lu," he assured her, wincing against the bright lights that stabbed right through his eye sockets and into his skull.
"Then why does she want to see you?"
He shook his head, instantly regretting the small move, which made it feel like his brain was ricocheting around his skull. "Honest, Lu. I don't know for sure."
But he had a pretty good idea.
"Finally!" Rhiamon announced as the three squeezed through the Life Station hatch. The former Empyrean healer, now med tech, waved a hand, summoning the small group towards a private cubicle. "There's not much time."
Moments later Starbuck was propped up on a seat beside Xenia's biobed, leaning over the cadet as Rhiamon dosed her with a medication to revive her from her drugged stupor. Xenia let out a low moan, her face contorting with the pain she was experiencing as her eyes flickered and her mouth gaped open. Rhiamon began adjusting the medication infusion, trying to achieve the ideal state between comfort and alertness.
"Do you want me to leave?" Lu asked behind him. Apollo had already discreetly distanced himself from the scene.
"Hades, no," Starbuck replied, meeting Lu's eyes, knowing his wife had suspicions about him and Xenia that couldn't be further from the truth. If he sent her away, now . . .
Then a coarse voice said in surprise, "You came."
Starbuck looked down again at the cadet, nodding. "Of course, I came. As soon as I found out." He paused a moment, not sure how to approach this. Xenia had a chip on her shoulder about the size of Caprica, and no matter what reassurance he had offered her in the past; she had never been able to get past . . .
"You look like mong, hero," she muttered, seeming to delight in it as her mouth curled up at the corners.
"You're no picture of health yourself," he replied, glancing over at the biomonitors and medical paraphernalia. "Sagan's sake, Xenia . . ."
"Tell me the truth," she said, her hand suddenly reaching out and gripping his. Of course, it was the broken one, all purple and swollen. He choked back a yelp of pain. "I want to know. I need to know."
He sucked in a breath, pulling his hand from her grasp, replacing it with the other. "Xenie, I told you . . ."
"Don't call me that!" she snapped.
Starbuck clamped his mouth shut, gritting his teeth, feeling the waves of aggression and resentment roll over him. The truth was he hated confrontation, especially with women. He would do whatever was necessary to avoid it. Confrontation with men was so much easier to deal with. Give them an opening, let them punch you in the face, and all was forgiven. Well, in most instances, anyhow.
"Please, Starbuck," Xenia pleaded with him. "They're all dead. State secrets and military confidentiality don't matter anymore. Tell me the goddamn truth, for Sagan's sake. Whose fault was it? Or was I right all along?"
Starbuck heard the little indrawn gasp from his wife and felt her hand settle on his back. So far Lu had been uncharacteristically reserved about her feelings on this. Apparently, she was giving him the benefit of the doubt, which was kind of nice for a change.
"Look, Xenie . . . Xenia," he hastily corrected himself, "I was only an ensign back then. They didn't exactly let me in on the overall plan over Sibellius. I told you that."
"What I want to know is why you came back and Orion didn't! You were his wingman! You were supposed to be watching his back!"
He swallowed hard, reluctantly swept back into the battle that over nine yahrens ago had taken the life of far too many pilots, one of them his good friend, Orion. The Columbia had been Starbuck's first battlestar posting, and fitting into his new squadron had been no problem for the unrestrained and gregarious greenhorn. Not surprisingly, he'd soon found a cohort in the brash Lieutenant Orion, who played cards and chased women with the same aggressiveness and self-assurance that he flew Vipers. They had been two of a kind and it wasn't long before Strike Captain Gienik had made it official, assigning Starbuck as Orion's wingman, the start of a beautiful friendship.
With the boisterous encouragement of the rest of their squadron, the two had fallen into a friendly rivalry, informally competing on everything from Cylon kills to female conquests, racking up vast numbers of both, and generally trying to outdo each other at every opportunity while having one Hades of a good time. Orion had never tempered Starbuck's wild side; in fact he either encouraged or surpassed it. Starbuck could still picture his old friend relaying for the first time and many times thereafter, "I live by one basic rule. Don't do anything that I wouldn't do." It had turned out that there was very little that Orion wouldn't do.
Actually, those were some of the best times of Starbuck's young and irresponsible life, such that he could have filled a tome with tales of their exploits, both personal and professional. However, such verifiable details at that time could also have been considered admissible evidence, of interest to their superior officers, various port officials, their lovers and every Kobollian priest that had deemed himself responsible for safeguarding a young warrior's procurable soul.
Looking back, there must have been a designated Lord of Kobol working in continuous rotating shifts watching over both of them for the six sectars that Orion and Starbuck kept company. Starbuck's old flight instructor had once told him that there were three qualities every fighter pilot should have: an aggressive spirit, a joy of action and the passion of the hunter. Well, his strike captain aboard the Columbia had also accused him and Orion of ego, vanity, immaturity and utter stupidity. They had rationalized it by saying it was all in good fun, but eventually even exceptional combat records couldn't cover for their wild ways and indiscretions out of the cockpit.
Some times it had seemed that the only single bit of lucidity in Orion's life was his twin sister, Xenia—or Xenie, as her friends and family called her. She was as straight-laced and cautious as her "little" brother was rash. Also a lieutenant on the Columbia, and one of the rare female Viper pilots in the service at that time, with her intelligence, skill and leadership abilities, it had been obvious even to the Viper jocks that she was destined to be promoted far up in the ranks. And it had been said "the further, the better".
Starbuck had grown to know her fairly well, finding that she fell for his easygoing charm with an indulgent sisterly approach. Generally, they had had some good times; however, she had berated both warriors for not taking their careers more seriously, telling them they had a misguided sense of purpose when each battle came down to who had acquired the most kills
Listen, you two heroes, battles aren't won by individuals, they're won by teams!
"What happened?" Xenia demanded, pulling him back to the present. Her voice was growing weaker, her colour ashen.
"We thought we were surprising them, but they were ready for us the micron we cleared the atmosphere, Xenie. We were outnumbered three to one, with them hitting us from three directions while we were still climbing out of Sibellius' gravity well. With those odds, every man in the squadron thought we'd be ordered to fall back, but instead they ordered us to continue with the primary objective. I guess we were the decoys."
A secret mission to rescue four members of the Council of Twelve that had ended up stranded on Sibellius, a desolate planet in the Suomi System, had gone badly from the start. The Battlestar Columbia was diverted from her regular patrol route to facilitate their rescue. Somehow, somewhere, just how was never revealed, Cylon intel had learned of the mission. They dispatched a force to intercept the Colonials and cripple the Council at the same time, a move that would have in essence decapitated the Colonial government. The bulk of Columbia's Viper pilots, without backup, never knew they were basically piscons in a barrel.
It had been a fracking massacre, and he still remembered the fear that gripped him by the throat when on the scanner he saw his friends and fellow warriors decimated one after the other. The expendables. Colonial heroes were blown out of the sky, bits and pieces of their machines raining down on the planet, leaving fiery trails as they burned up on re-entry. He and Orion had dropped all pretence of outdoing each other, their birds flying in perfect synchronicity as they hunted Cylons, coming to the rescue of many a fellow pilot while covering each other's back. He still remembered that powerful sense of immortality and euphoria that had enveloped him against the impossible odds. Somehow he and Orion both eventually ended up in simultaneous pinwheel attacks, while exploding laser fire filled the air around them. By some miracle, Starbuck managed to escape, crash landing his damaged Viper on a plateau in the planet's southern desert continent, barely surviving the ensuing strafing run meant to finish him off.
Orion hadn't been so lucky. Dozens of kilometrons behind Starbuck, he'd gone down. The last his wingman had seen of him, Orion had been tumbling into a deep canyon, belching a trail of black smoke behind him. A flash of light and a distant boom confirmed his worst fears.
"You weren't watching each other's backs, were you?" Xenia demanded. "You had to get one more kill than him, had to outdo him . . . Was that it? You had to be the hero, just like you're still teaching cadets like Acastus and Trevanian." She paused, searching his features for a moment. "Or was it Command, Starbuck? Did they sacrifice Spatha Squadron? Was the squadron just . . ."She broke off, coughing. Then: "Were they just laser fodder so they could get the Council members safely off Sibellius?"
Ironically, the mission was considered a success, the casualties just another statistic of war. Xenia, assigned to Scimitar Squadron, had been deployed elsewhere, completely unaware of what had befallen Spatha Squadron as Xenia helped escort a shuttle carrying Council members to the relative safety of the Columbia. Something inside of her snapped when she had discovered her beloved twin had been killed in battle, and she demanded tough answers to hard questions that Command wouldn't give up to a subordinate officer who was so out of line.
Then she had come after Starbuck.
Swathed in field dressings, dazed and disoriented, he hadn't been prepared for the attack when Xenia had arrived in Life Station demanding explanations as though he was the tactical commander in charge of the battle. Before his eyes, Xenia emotionally exploded, going so far as to verbally attack him, accusing him of selfishness and betrayal, and assuring him he'd never be trusted as any Colonial Warrior's wingman ever again.
It had shaken him even more than the battle, realizing that the loss of Orion had caused such bitter hatred and resentment in his sister. It was as though some intrinsic piece of Xenia had died along with her brother. Not long afterwards, she was medically discharged from the service entirely. Not too surprisingly, guilt had spent many a rest period haunting Starbuck's dreams as he tried to come to terms with his friend's death and questioned his own possible role in it. A proposed transfer to the Galactica with a lacklustre evaluation attached to it then propelled Starbuck into stepping back and revaluating the previous six sectars.
Well, the rest—as they said—was history. At least until a bitter cadet who looked at him with hatred simmering in her soul had joined up a few sectars ago, obviously still obsessed with her brother's death. She'd spent nine yahrens wondering who to ascribe blame to—either Starbuck or the high command—never once considering that it should be placed squarely on the Cylons. It seemed such a damned waste, especially knowing how much potential she'd once had as an officer. Most had assumed, after all, she was slated for her own ship one day. Combat Stress Syndrome: it was an enemy almost as destructive as the Cylons.
"Tell me!" she pleaded with him, her voice breaking. "Tell me."
Starbuck let out a sigh, bowing his head in apparent defeat. "It was my fault, Xenia. Orion was trying to save my astrum when he got caught in the crossfire of a couple Raiders. I owe him my life. You were right all along. I was too reckless, too fracking determined to play the hero."
"I knew it . . ."
He gritted his teeth, biting back the urge to refute the lies he'd just told. It hadn't been his fault or High Command's, but he just wasn't prepared to spend the last few moments of Orion's sister's life refuting something she'd been obsessing on for all those yahrens. Looking back, while he'd been as angry as every other surviving Viper pilot, the Cylons had simply outmanoeuvred them. And Starbuck's vindication in Xenia's eyes just wasn't important to him anymore. He'd never considered himself responsible for Orion's death, although he'd wondered long ago if there was anything he could have done to prevent it. It was a normal grieving process he'd gone through time and time again when he'd lost friends in battle.
Just maybe it would ease Xenia's mind if she believed her convictions all these yahrens were justified, that Starbuck was far more worried about his image than he was his friends, and that it was his fault Orion had died that day. Maybe she could finally stop spewing bitterness and cynicism and simply succumb to the sweet allurement of the ever after, where she might even be reunited with her brother again in some way, shape or form. Then maybe, just possibly—if a guy could really believe those things—then conceivably Orion could tell her the truth.
"Starbuck," Lu whispered.
Starbuck looked up. Xenia's unseeing eyes stared back at him. She was gone.
xxxxx
"So . . . let me get this straight. According to Toffee Nut Latte's ramblings before he got carted away to the Life Station, everybody on Earth probably thinks that Starbuck, Lauren and this Miller guy were blown to Kingdom Come, but nobody's jumped on the horn to tell us so. What the hell's that all about?" Dayton asked, following his daughters into the Life Station. The medical centre was packed to capacity and then some, anyone with medical training helping out in any capacity they could.
"Well, to be fair, most probably it's only a select few on Capitol Hill that are sifting through the wreckage," Porter returned, helping Jess move the hoverstretcher into an empty space. "I don't really think we can vilify everybody else on the planet in this latest conspiracy."
"That's big of you," Jess inserted wryly.
"And there was that, shall we say, thinly veiled threat you made about what you would do should something happen to them," Baker added, looking around for some help as Lauren groaned, hand to her head. "Fessing up would be like painting Washington, D.C. with a big ole bull's eye."
"Easy, sweetheart, it'll pass," Dayton assured Lauren, checking the dressing on her arm. She was still suffering with the after effects of being zapped from Washington, D.C. to the Endeavour, by means unknown. Aside from that her field dressing on her arm was soaking through. He looked around for Cassie and Rhiamon, but neither was available.
"Who's racing?" Lauren muttered quietly, disoriented. She tried to focus, then frowned as her father came into view. "D . . . dad?"
"Yeah," smiled Dayton, despite her condition. "Yeah, it's me, baby."
"What are you thinking?" Porter probed Dayton. "That the President has something up his sleeve?"
"I don't know," Dayton admitted, shaking his head. "After all, I presume these Brothers of Eden are backing the President now, but what's their agenda? Did we just oust Lex Luther from power to put in Doctor Doom?"
"Dad," Lauren groaned. "Christ, it feels like my skull is going to crack open."
"Can we get some help here?" Dayton demanded to the room at large. Several heads turned around, most of them going back to what they were doing. "That's an order!"
"On my way, Commander Cranky, sir! Keep your shirt on!" a familiar voice replied.
"Oh, great . . ." Dayton groaned, seeing Ryan heading their way.
"Dad, people have been talking about the New World Order for over a century," Lauren pulled him back to the conversation, while grimacing in discomfort. "The Anakim fit the profile perfectly. I don't exactly know how the Brothers fit in, but they're definitely determined to stop Mason."
"Just like Hitler was determined to stop Stalin," droned Baker.
"From what our experts pieced together on Mars," Jess said, "when the Colonials arrived in our star system they settled what history or folklore talks about as Atlantis and Lemuria, as well as started settlements on Mars and Phobos, probably with intentions to terraform. Ultimately, after trying to dominate the Earth's primitive inhabitants into worshipping them as gods, they ended up splitting into factions and eventually warring. They basically blew each other to Kingdom Come, and a lot of our ancestors with them."
Lauren nodded. "That lines up with what Fred and Barney told me. The war completely destroyed all of those settlements, leaving behind the legacy of two Houses: the Anakim and the Brothers of Eden."
"And those survivors obviously heavily influenced the ancient Sumerians, the Egyptians, yada yada yada," Ryan inserted as he arrived. Dressed in a white tunic, he inserted his hands under the sonic cleaner before turning to Lauren. "Now, tell Dr. Ryan how you're feeling, darlin'?"
"Like I was shot just before a room blew up, and then pulled by the head with a burning set of hot tweezers through the eye of a needle," she replied.
"Whatever kind of drugs she's on, I want some," muttered Porter.
"Hmm, you might have something there," Ryan replied, grabbing a hypospray and turning back to his patient. "Let me guess . . . headache, dizziness, nausea?"
"In spades," Lauren replied, closing her eyes.
Ryan nodded. "Yeah, it seems to play havoc with the inner ear causing those symptoms, although some people suffer worse than others, and Ama's ride is always worse than the Clavis." He applied the hypospray to her arm and it emitted a whooshing noise as it discharged its medication. Then he began unwrapping her arm.
"Ama? Clavis?" Lauren asked, opening her eyes. She blinked a few times, assessing how she was feeling. "How do those work?"
"Think Star Trek's transporter, then replace Scotty with some wacky psionic energy force," Dayton replied.
"Psionic what?"
"And a weird-looking lady with wild hair and bad teeth."
"Holy crap, I must be completely zonked."
"Welcome to my world," Dayton replied, wincing as blood began running down his daughter's arm and Ryan started cleaning the wound. "So what are your feelings on the President, Lauren?"
"Give him the benefit of the doubt," Lauren replied. "Personally, I think there has been enough negative reaction as the result of inaccurate assumption around here to last a life time." She paused a moment. "Dad, I have an idea. Why don't you take Starbuck and I with you when you go down? Imagine the impact it will make, especially if they think we're dead." She smiled, and then startled as Ryan touched a sensitive area.
"Speaking of Starbuck, don't you think you should tell him about Mal, Mark?" Ryan mentioned, applying some granulation acceleration gel before binding up the wound again. There wasn't time for a full-scale regeneration treatment just now. "After all, we broke him."
"Iblis broke him," Dayton replied as right on cue his strike captain appeared from a private cubicle, his arm slung loosely around his wife. Starbuck's eyes found Dayton's as if he knew they were talking about him. The young man hesitated a moment before reluctantly heading over.
"Iblis? Count Iblis?" Lauren asked, obviously shocked. "The same Count Iblis that orchestrated the destruction of the ISS?"
"He did?" Jess asked.
"Care to explain that?" Dayton said, although he'd suspected that for some time now.
"Let me go back a bit," said Lauren. "For almost a year now, I've been secretly interviewing Eckandar Shahhosseini, the former leader of the Islamic World Front."
"What?" asked Dayton, stunned. Even before the he'd joined NASA, he had, like everyone else, heard of the infamous 'Titan of Terror'. "You met with him?"
"Ah, so he's your Pulitzer," Jess commented, shaking her head in disbelief. "He led the IWF when they claimed responsibility for blowing up the ISS," she reminded everyone.
"Holy shit, child!" exclaimed Dayton, clearly upset. "That bastard is . . . Hell's Bells, why don't you just go waltz with a goddamned tarantula, huh? Maybe juggle some scorpions? Wouldn't want to do anything dangerous now, would we?"
"I was trying to find answers, Dad," the younger sister replied. She sat up, swinging her legs off the hoverstretcher, feeling much better. "In my job, to find the truth you go to the source."
"You never could play it safe, Lauren," growled Dayton. "Even as a kid."
"Runs in the family, I guess," she replied, looking him directly in the eyes.
"I thought Shahhosseini died in Pakistan a decade ago," Jess said, trying to keep the anger out of her voice and calm the coming inter-generational storm.
"Twelve years ago actually. He's been living in the States in hiding."
"What? We're harbouring a known terrorist?" Jess asked, looking outraged.
"Yeah. He's the one who turned me into Mason, by the way. His organization was useful to powerful men over the years; men that I would now suggest were members of the Anakim. He specifically mentioned Asar." Lauren replied. "Those same powerful men are now repaying his years of service."
"The Feds always did have a good retirement package," Ryan quipped.
"Son of a bitch!" hissed Dayton, his face red. "You know where he lives, Lauren?"
"I think you're missing the point, Dirty Harry," Lauren told her father. "Shahhosseini and the Islamic World Front didn't orchestrate the destruction of the International Space Station, the Anakim did. The IWF was just the convenient scapegoat, the mysterious terrorist cell for the public to direct their anger and hatred toward. Remember, the government cut funding to NASA when they claimed it was teeming over with terrorists. And I think we all realize now that Iblis was the driving force behind the Anakim."
"Because with NASA out of the picture and the space program set back, Earth wouldn't have had a chance at defending herself when the Cylons arrived," Baker inserted.
"Iblis wasn't counting on WASA evolving from all that," Jess pointed out. "Or the Guardians helping out. Or the Endeavour arriving . . . either of them."
"The Guardians . . . right, John and his bunch," Porter realized as Starbuck reached them. The strike captain's eyelids were hooded with fatigue and discomfort. "Do you have a dose of that stuff for Starbuck?" he asked Ryan. "He looks like he needs it."
"Sit yourself down, Low Fat, Double-Caf," Dayton told him, pushing him into a seated position on the stretcher beside Lauren. "How's Cadet . . .?"
"Xenia," Starbuck supplied, shaking his head. It was all the answer they needed.
"Sorry, kid." Ryan reached over with the hypospray, dosing the warrior. "Hey, at least you made it in time, eh?"
"Yeah, the Lords were watching over me as usual," Starbuck replied dryly, closing his eyes partly and rubbing his forehead. "Thanks, Ryan. I needed that."
"Unrequited love?" Ryan pressed, still curious as to Starbuck and Xenia's relationship.
Starbuck snorted, shaking his head as though the very idea of Xenia feeling anything the least bit affectionate towards him was absurd. "Hardly. Her brother was a good friend. It's a long story, and not one of my favourites."
"What about Starbuck's hand?" Luana asked, changing the subject. "Will you take a look, Paddy?"
"Let's see," Ryan said, taking the warrior's hand and turning the swollen limb over. He grabbed a biomonitor, running it over the injury. Both female Daytons watched the alien instrument with curiosity. "It's broken, alright. I can reset it and bone mend it before you go to the science lab."
"Science lab?" Starbuck asked, letting out a sudden yelp of pain as Ryan manually reduced the fracture without warning. The strike captain jerked his hand back as if stung. "Damn, Ryan!"
"Oh right. I guess I forgot . . . take a deep breath and let it out, Starbuck," Ryan said too late, looking over at the Endeavour's commander, raising his eyebrows.
Dayton sighed, taking a step forward and putting a hand on Starbuck's shoulder. "Kid, there's something I need to show you . . ."
xxxxx
Dickins had seen the smoke and destruction from a distance and had heard the sketchy news reports as his group approached Capitol Hill, but strangely a feeling of utter calm descended upon him when he woodenly followed them into the smouldering building, finally hearing personally from President Gibson that Starbuck and Lauren Dayton had been killed in an explosion.
"Any forensics, yet?" Dickins asked, feeling several sets of eyes look at him in various states of concern. "Did you see the bodies?"
"Not personally, no. They just finished extinguishing the fire, Captain Dickins. The smoke is still too intense to allow anyone except fire fighters in," President Gibson replied sympathetically. "I'm afraid that Mason already had accelerants in place and a team armed with explosives standing by. As soon as Commander Dayton exposed Mason for what he really was, the madman gave the order electronically. There was an explosion, and the suite and the adjoining rooms were engulfed in flame. We never had a chance to get to your friends."
"That part of the wing has been reduced to rubble," Elizabeth Smythe added. "A national landmark blown to . . ."
"That heartless bastard would level the whole goddamned world . . ." Gibson bit off his words, obviously trying to contain his anger, supposedly not befitting a president.
"Do you have video?" Dickins asked, more upset about Starbuck and Dayton's daughter than a hunk of architecture, no matter how well known. "In our day, they had cameras everywhere."
"Not in that particular set of rooms," President Gibson replied, still simmering. "We only have digital surveillance on the corridor."
"Then let's see it."
"Uh . . . Captain Dickins, we were hoping you would be good enough to accompany us to the airbase to meet Commander Dayton," Elizabeth Smythe inserted.
"I'd be happy to, and so would Hummer and Ryan Junior here, but not until I see that video."
"Let's see it, Mrs. Smythe," said Gibson. "I want to know, too."
"Yes, Mister President."
xxxxx
Amidst the scorch marks, holes, and the worse than usual mess of the Science Lab, Malus was lying supinely on a workbench, unmoving, not an oscillating light in sight nor a mind-numbing detail passing through his vocal modulator. If he'd been human, Malus would have looked like he was laid out for some funereal ceremony. But he wasn't human. There was nothing the least bit organic about him. He wasn't even a "he". He was a Cylon.
" . . .then Count Iblis spoke this phrase, and Malus just shut down. Iblis said it was some sort of kill-switch program, buried deep inside his operating system," Dayton was explaining. "We tried to reboot him when we got back here, but when Ryan and Baker fired him up, he went completely ballistic, kid. He shot up the lab, the holo-reader for the data crystals we found on Mars, and he just about shot Ryan too . . ."
"Frack . . ." Starbuck muttered, now understanding the destruction all around him. Then he added numbly, "Thank the Lord that everyone's alright."
There was probably something seriously wrong with a guy when he was more moved by the end of a Cylon's "life" than he was by that of a fellow Colonial Warrior like Xenia. However, as much as Xenia had been consumed by endless resentment and bitterness over her twin brother's death, Malus was driven by a humbling desire to not only learn about humans, but to actually attempt to emulate their finer qualities. In retrospect, it had almost inspired Starbuck to want to live up to the IL's impossibly high standards. As much as the IL could be annoying at times, especially with the often inappropriate "affection" he had for Starbuck, Mal had proven himself to be a trustworthy ally and a good friend since the Colonial Warrior had convinced him to switch sides on Planet 'P'.
"Starbuck?" Lu said, putting a hand gently on his arm. "Are you alright?"
"Nothing that a secton's worth of sleep won't cure," he replied, stepping forward to take a closer look at his former 'cybernetic daggit', even as a new wave of weariness washed over him. Now he sort of knew how Boxey felt when the little boy lost the original Muffit during the strafing runs over Caprica City. Ironically, Malus was the closest Starbuck had ever come to having the unconditional adoration of a pet. Only there would be no replacing his faithful IL with the indefinable glitch in his programming that had moved him to start idolizing a brash young lieutenant in place of the fanatical loyalty usually reserved for his Imperious Leader. Mal was one of a kind. Curiously, as Starbuck gazed down on him, the IL looked unmarred, as though if they activated his power cell, Malus would sit up and start regaling him with data regarding the overall effect of sleep deprivation on humans, and how one could not "make up" for lost rapid optical movement cycles.
"Hey," Lu said, pulling on his arm until he turned to face her. "Don't shut me out. I know how fond of Mal you are."
Shutting her out? He shook his head at her in bemusement, not following. He didn't have the energy left to grieve just now, not for Malus, not for Xenia, nor for the millions of Earthlings lost during the Cylon attack on Earth. "I'm not shutting you out, Lu, I'm just tired, that's all. Tired of all . . ." he shook his head, waving a hand in the general direction of Malus and the scorch marks in the lab, " . . . I'm tired of all this felgercarb."
She nodded at him, tilting her head slightly to the side and studying him. He sighed, feeling a bit like he was back in Russia, under examination once again.
"I'm sorry, kid," Dayton said. "I wish there was more we could do. As sceptical as I was when old Bulb Head signed on, Malus proved himself over and over."
"It was a safe bet," Starbuck replied. Somehow he'd just known it was worth the risk. It had been instinctual. He glanced at the auxiliary power source hooked up to the IL. No, it was too crazy . . . Thoughts of his old friend, Orion, again came to mind. I live by one basic rule. Don't do anything that I wouldn't do.
"Commander?" Technician Arcadius said, approaching him a little reluctantly.
"Arcadius." Dayton nodded at him. "Did you get anywhere with the holo-reader?"
"I did rig something together, Commander, but there was something we hadn't factored in, sir."
"What's that?" Dayton asked, following the young man back to his station. Sure enough, the tech had managed to replace several parts of the reader that had been destroyed when Malus had shot up the lab with Jolly's laser. Lu followed, but Starbuck remained with Malus, noticing that both Dayton and Lu were armed, as usual. Idly, his hand found his own empty holster.
"This, sir," Arcadius replied, pressing down a switch. He turned up the volume.
". . . mem em amenit er saa neheh. Set uta set kui, maki er saa heh. Ari en thu enen her ma mest tu em nub er au-f."
"To me it sounds like complete gibberish, Commander, even if I have to admit the sound quality is surprisingly good," Arcadius added as the alien tongue continued to fill the air.
Dayton winced, closing his eyes for a brief moment and listening carefully before finally shaking his head. "Looks like we're going to get more out of going back to Mars and reading the hieroglyphics than we will trying to figure out this babble unless someone else can make head or tails of it. What language is it? Do you even know?"
"I can only guess it's some ancient Kobollian dialect, Commander," Arcadius replied. "But I'm no linguist, sir."
"Reminds me of some of the ancient Egyptian my father knew, but I can't make anything of it either," Dayton said, watching Luana cock her head to the side, listening intently. "Lu?"
"There are a couple of words or sounds that seem familiar. Maybe from some ancient Empyrean rites Ama used to perform when I was growing up," she replied, smiling slightly. "I guess I was paying more attention than I thought."
"You think Ama will understand it fully?" Dayton asked.
"I don't know for sure," Lu admitted. "But . . . Ama also knows how to read ancient Kobollian script and so does Commander Adama. Together they translated much of an ancient Empyrean logbook that we found on Alrin. I can't help but wonder if either of them know bits or pieces of the spoken language."
Dayton frowned. "That could be a long shot."
"Speaking of long shots," Starbuck suddenly said to get their attention, "I hope your lasers are charged, because I want to try something."
"Huh?" Dayton replied. Then his strike captain reached for the auxiliary power switch on Malus. "Kid, no!" he cried in horror.
Despite the warning, Starbuck fired up the IL one last time.