On Capitol Hill, President Gibson studied the surveillance feed yet again as it showed Mason's men bursting into the fifth floor suite, just before the explosion that abruptly filled the corridor with smoke and debris.
"Again," Dickins demanded for the third time. "Slower."
There had been no indication that the Colonial strike captain or WASA journalist had escaped from the room prior to the attack. Gibson simply didn't know what Dickins was looking for.
"Ah," Dickins said, a slow smile curling his lips.
"Ah!" cried Hummer.
"What?" Grae Ryan asked.
"The bright flash of light . . . There! Did you see it?" Dickins asked, pointing to the screen. The old astronaut was almost out of his seat.
Several of them shook their heads and once again the surveillance feed was replayed, now slowed down to the machine's limit. Almost undetectable to the naked eye, they could now see a bright flash of light that preceded the advance of smoke and debris into the hall.
Almost.
"What of it?" General Roach asked.
"Remember when Starbuck suddenly appeared in his Wraith over Roswell all the way from Kazakhstan?" Dickins reminded the general. The NASA astronaut nodded at the camera. "Look familiar?"
"I remember," Roach replied, looking at the screen. He signalled to one of the techs, and the image was enlarged and enhanced via several formats. "The brightness just about knocked the eyeballs out of my head."
"Well, our boy, Starbuck, has a sort of guardian angel watching over him." Dickins glanced at his watch. "What I'm trying to tell you is I think they made it."
"Guardian angel?" asked Gibson, raising his eyebrows. Then again, just a quick mental review of all the near-death scrapes that Starbuck had narrowly escaped from since arriving in New Mexico would almost support the outrageous statement.
In God we trust . . .
xxxxx
"Honestly, Mal, I can't even leave you alone for a couple days without you getting yourself possessed by the first demon that happens along," Starbuck berated the IL as he took a step back to watch power once again suffuse the Cylon. "What am I going to do with you?"
It was a calculated risk and one that Starbuck knew he had to take, not only for the sake of an unconventional friendship, but also because Malus was an invaluable member of the Endeavour's crew. At least this time there was no way for the IL to arm himself, and if necessary, Dayton and Luana could shoot him if he came out of his mechanical dormancy straight back into Cylon Psychosis, preferably before he got too close to Starbuck. However, Cylons weren't exactly known for their agility and speed, and Malus was no exception with his ungainly IL build. This should be relatively straight forward, or so Starbuck reckoned.
Click.
The lights in the IL's head surged to a static life, and his glowing blue eyes—changed only days ago to emulate Starbuck's own—oscillated only once before his head turned slightly to face the other. They locked on the Colonial Warrior who was looking at him uncertainly.
"Oh fra . . ."
Malus' torso shot upright and he reached out. Starbuck jerked backwards, but too slowly. Malus grabbed the young man, pulling him forward. Cold metallic hands wrapped around his neck as the warrior fell against the IL, off balance. Then the IL series Cylon stood up, pulling the young man against him and further upward, using Starbuck as a shield between himself and the others.
"Are you out of your cotton-pickin' mind?" Dayton roared from behind them. "Son of a . . ."
"Starbuck!" Lu shrieked at the same time.
"Colonial Security to the Science Lab!" Arcadius was yelling, presumably into a telecom.
xxxxx
"I'm going back."
The shock and outrage on John's face was almost comedic, Ama decided, feeling an unrepressed joy burble up within her at her proclamation and his reaction to it. She cackled loudly, watching as John winced with the sound of her laughter and no doubt the sight of her gapped-tooth smile, while Baltar and Eirys stood by in silent amusement.
"B . . . back? But you can't go back!" John informed her. "You simply can't!"
"Why not?" she asked, settling hands on her ample hips.
"Well . . . no one has ever just gone back before," John claimed indignantly.
"Then it's about time that someone did!" Ama replied reasonably. "I've existed among your kind long enough to know that I'd rather live with my kind."
Unlike Baltar or John, Ama had not evolved to this celestial plain through the death of her human body and the release of her spiritual energy; instead she could exist in either realm because of her supernatural abilities inherited from her father, as well as her "method" of transition.
It was rather liberating, especially after the month she'd had.
"But Ama," Baltar said, holding out his hands in a grandiose fashion. "How do you ascend to this and then go back to . . . them?"
"Well, first of all I didn't ascend, it was more in the nature of a temporary visit." Ama smiled again, her future seeming so much clearer than it had before she had stood on trial before the Great Powers. "And second, I like them better. You're all a bit too stuffy for my liking with your Celestial Law."
Baltar raised his eyebrows and then laughed out loud.
"I will not forget this," John said, apparently feeling slighted.
"Nor will I, my celestial friend," Ama replied, sensing it was time to go. Unbelievably, Starbuck was in trouble again. She really needed to have a talk with that boy. "Nor will I."
xxxxx
Teetering on his tiptoes, Starbuck was well aware that the IL Cylon could easily snap his neck should he choose to. Fortunately, the current pressure on his neck was bearable, keeping him more off balance than actually choking him, but Starbuck innately gripped the cybernetic hands anyway, trying futilely to pry them loose. The lights in Malus' skull were sparkling in strange patterns, like a laser ice carving pageant during Winter Solstice, but the Cylon's customized eyes remained locked on Starbuck's, indicative that the Viper pilot had the IL's undivided attention. Sections of the "brain" blazed, while others remained dark, the illumination shifting from area to area, giving the IL's cranium the appearance of a garish advertisement. Through Starbuck's peripheral vision, he could see Dayton making his way to the right and Lu to his left. With weapons drawn, they were flanking the IL. Malus turned slightly towards Dayton and Starbuck lost his footing again, gurgling aloud as his airway was briefly occluded, while his feet scrambled for purchase. He clung to the IL, his toes scraping the surface as he tried to regain his balance and his voice.
"Ho . . . hold your fire!" Starbuck rasped, feeling the pressure decrease ever so slightly. "Mal, it's me. C'mon, Mal. I know you're in there somewhere! If you have to, for Sagan's sake, then run the gall-monging self-diagnostic that's overdue! Maybe that'll set you straight about who your friends are!"
"Starbuck," Dayton growled, his displeasure obvious in his tone.
"Trust me, Old Man!" Starbuck said, and then abruptly corrected himself. "Trust Malus! Put the weapons down!"
"Kid, it was holoptics of you that put Malus into kill-mode the first time around!" Dayton suddenly informed him, his weapon still seeking a clear shot. "We figured it was some kind of plan of Iblis' to kill you!"
"Oh, thanks! You, uh . . . you couldn't have mentioned that little detail before, huh?" Starbuck said nervously, staring into the glowing blue lights that he just couldn't read. Was Malus listening? Was he computing? Was he even Malus? Was the personality matrix he had come to know even in charge anymore? Did it even still exist, or had the most basic of Cylon programming, the directive to kill everyone and everything, taken over, and "Malus" was merely a shell? "Okay, Mal. Here I am in the flesh. What ya gonna do, buddy?" A couple microns later there was no response, but those cranial lights kept firing. "C'mon, Mal, we're sort of in a hurry here. I have plans for next sectar! Do the goddamned calculation already! We have work to do and we need your help!"
One diode at a time, the glowing blue eyes began oscillating, brightening as they did so. Agonizingly slowly, each one lit in sequence, moving inwards, then out, gaining speed with each cycle. Then, they began cycling at the usual speed, and the pattern of flashing lights in Malus' brain shifted, returning to "normal". Squeaky noise came from the IL's speaker grill, faster and then slower, high and low pitched, but no words he could recognize. Obviously, Mal was re-initialising his internal systems. After a moment, the pressure on Starbuck's neck eased ever so slightly. The Cylon set the Colonial Warrior back down on his feet.
"Welcome back, Starbuck," Malus said, pausing for a moment before pulling the warrior tightly to his chest plate, which felt a lot like being slammed into the side of a landram. "I missed you horribly."
Right on cue, four heavily armed warriors raced into the room led by Apollo. They staggered to a halt, eyes wide in surprise.
"Starbuck?" Apollo asked. "Commander Dayton? Luana?"
"I think . . . we're okay," Dayton said tentatively. "Kid?"
"I'm alright."
After the initial shock wore off, it was still a little uncomfortable being hugged tightly by a cyborg, but Starbuck could only smile in relief as he was pressed into the hard, cold metal, wondering awkwardly where exactly to put his hands. He waited several microns, but the pressure didn't cease. His hands flailed as the IL suddenly started a rocking motion side to side. He drew the line at slow dancing with cyborgs, even those recently returned from the cybernetic hereafter. "Mal? Could you let me go?"
"I am experimenting with my recently installed tactility sensors, Starbuck," Malus explained. "Recalibrating the pressure feedback and thermal input analysers is crucial at this stage. It allows me to experience an embrace as a human might do. Right now I am calibrating my sensors to optimise my flow of pseudo-endorphins. Oh my, that feels good!"
"Pseudo-what?" Starbuck asked, stiffening even more.
"Pseudo-endorphins. They are dynamic stimulating impulses that radiate to my pleasure centre. Did you know that there are those who theorize that humans need a baseline minimum of four hugs a day to survive?" Malus continued. "Humans need eight hugs a day for maintenance, and twelve per day for growth. I believe I could achieve considerable emotional and spiritual growth with only one from you, Starbuck."
"Really," Starbuck replied flatly, hearing Dayton begin to chuckle off to the side.
"At least it's not physical growth," Dayton said, deadpan. "I wouldn't have believed it, Café Loco, but that incredibly stupid, asinine, harebrained, impetuous, rash . . . did I say idiotic?"
"No," Luana replied. "But I sure will."
"Make that bloody idiotic stunt you just pulled . . . well, you actually pulled it off."
"Did you ever," Luana added, putting her weapon back in its holster. "Welcome back, Malus."
"Thank you, Luana. But where did I go?" the IL asked.
"You don't remember?" Apollo asked.
"Mal!" Starbuck protested again, pushing against the IL's chest plate as the pressure again increased. "Let me go! I have lungs, you know! They need to expand!"
"As you wish, Starbuck," the IL replied, releasing him. He turned to address the fact that his primary power cells were now bypassed, and he was drawing energy from an auxiliary source. He made some internal alterations, adjusting to the slight variance in volponage and current values, as his back-up cells charged up.
"What's the last thing you remember before Starbuck turned you on, Neon Noodle?" Dayton asked.
"Turned him back on," Starbuck clarified.
"You sure about that, kid?" Dayton ribbed him. The IL took a moment to access the appropriate data banks. "Well, Malus?"
"We were in the pyramid on Mars . . ." Malus' voice trailed off and his lights sped up again. Slowly, he looked around the lab, even while he disconnected himself from external wiring, switching over to his newly charged cells. "Oh my . . ."
"Do you remember now, Malus?" Apollo asked.
The IL hung his head low. "I am so ashamed. I knew for yahrens that there was a latent defect in my programming, but each and every time I considered initiating a diagnostic evaluation, I instead deferred it. I believed the defect to be the source of my individuality, and feared I would become like every other IL series Cylon were I to correct it. The likelihood of it being an aberrant program source code meant to destroy the very human who changed my existence was in actual fact about nine nonillion. . ."
"Then it was meant to target Starbuck?" Dayton interrupted the IL. "We were right about that?"
"Yes. I am horrified to admit that I was programmed to terminate one specific individual, the one who has become, in spite of the incredible improbability, my best forever friend, which presupposes . . . presupposes that my creators knew I would one day meet . . . Starbuck." He fell quiet for a long moment, staring at the table that had been his place of repose for so long. Then he raised his head. "Does that validate destiny, I wonder? It is certainly is a concept which I have never concluded had credence before. It is so . . . metaphysical. What do you think, Starbuck?" The IL turned to him.
"But that doesn't make any sense." Starbuck shook his head, struggling with the concept. "When Malus fell on his head off the assembly line, my own father wasn't even born! Commander Adama was in sleepers! That was well over a centi-yahren ago!"
"Obviously, Iblis installed some kind of safeguard to get you out of the picture, kid, just like he tried with me when I was a little kid," Dayton replied.
"And Apollo the first time we encountered Iblis," Starbuck added, nodding at his friend. "But . . ."
Apollo frowned. "For some reason, buddy, you're a major threat to Count Iblis and his plans."
"But is it because of what you have done or what you've yet to do, Innamorato?" Lu asked.
"You mean there's more?" Starbuck said, dropping his astrum wearily onto a workbench. "Oh God, there's more."
Apollo smiled, nodding. "Maybe—despite your obvious reluctance—you're destined for greatness, Starbuck."
"The only destiny I'm interested in right now is some quality time on my bunk," Starbuck returned, running a hand wearily over his face. "Besides, the Beings of Light implied that you were the one destined for greatness, Apollo, not me. I'm just your trusty sidekick with the 'unrestrained spirit'."
Apollo chuckled, reaching over and gripping his friend's shoulder. "Actually, they never implied that at all. That's just your interpretation, buddy. I guess we all have our part to play in the battle against evil."
"And face it, none of us are going to be on the guest list for Iblis' birthday party," Dayton added.
"Starbuck, I apologize profusely for what I did," Malus said. "I assure you that I would never intentionally harm you . . ."
"But you didn't hurt him, Mal," Luana pointed out, shaking her head. She moved closer and smiled at the IL. "You didn't."
"I could not. Once I touched him and actually experienced the wonder of him for the first time beneath my new tactility sensors . . . well, he was so soft and yet so hearty and vigorous at the same time. I am uncertain if all humans are the same, having hugged only Starbuck since my latest upgrades, but he is a wonderful juxtaposition of sensory data that made my pseudo-endorphins clim. . ."
"Enough already, Mal!" Starbuck insisted, covering his ears and shaking his head. He really didn't want to hear anymore.
"For Starbuck you somehow managed to override your own programming, Malus," Dayton said with a wide grin as he watched Starbuck squirm. "Now that's love."
"I believe you are correct, Commander," Malus agreed. "Although my latent programming was driving my actions, I knew that deep down in my central core that it was wrong. I could never hurt Starbuck. Never."
From grieving the IL's loss to wishing him dead all in the space of five centons, such was Starbuck's relationship with Malus. "Mal, why don't you get to the Control Centre? I hear they had some problems with the Clavis. If we're going to get back to the Fleet anytime soon, you'd better take a look." He noticed Dayton avert his eyes. Later.
"If you are certain you do not need me here, Starbuck?" Malus asked.
"I'm certain. After all, no one has amassed the amount of data on the Clavis that you have. You're invaluable in the Control Centre. Especially now. Right now, Mal."
"Thank you for not giving up on me, Starbuck, and for putting your trust in me, as I have put my trust in you forevermore. I will never forget it," Malus averred, turning to go before hesitating a moment. He turned again to engage them. "I suppose it is true what they say."
"What do they say?" Apollo asked.
"Trust does not rust."
"They didn't exactly leave you out in the rain, Mal," Starbuck replied, beginning to lose his patience. He stood up, pointing towards the corridor. "Control Centre. Now!"
"Yes, Starbuck." The IL bowed briefly before disappearing through the hatch.
"How the Hades do you do it, Starbuck? You played that just like it was a pyramid hand! How did you know?" Apollo asked, turning back to his friend, shaking his head and letting out a small laugh. "I mean, I assume you wouldn't have taken the risk without some kind of hunch . . . right?"
"I took a chance." Starbuck shrugged, not wanting to dwell on his belief that Mal just wouldn't hurt him. After all, a Cylon taking a liking to a Colonial Warrior didn't really make a whole lot of sense to most of them, including Starbuck. He turned to Dayton. After all the flack he had taken over the last yahren for not admitting his limitations to his commanding officer, this time he was going to be completely honest. "Are you sure you need me down on Earth again, Dayton? I don't know what use I'm going to be to you. I'm done in."
"All I need is your presence, kid, and maybe for you to change into a slightly less dusty uniform," Dayton reassured him, draping an arm over his shoulders and leading him back to the corridor. "Earth needs to see that their newest superhero is still in one piece and that the Endeavour is no threat. Just paste on that mega-watt smile of yours and look pretty."
"You mean devastatingly handsome," Starbuck corrected him, letting his commander urge him forward once again.
"That's just your interpretation, Macchiato Man," Dayton replied, propelling the strike captain down the corridor with an obvious spring in his step. "Besides, I'm home. I'm actually about to set foot on Earth again for the first time in over thirty years. It's my turn to show you around my old stomping grounds. After all we've been through together, you have to be there." He paused a moment, and then shrugged. "It would mean a lot to me, kid."
"Well, in that case I wouldn't miss it, Old Man."
xxxxx
Dickins shaded his eyes against the sun, searching the sky, waiting on his friends. Shifting from foot to foot, he couldn't help but think that it had been a complete shit show from the time he'd left Planet 'P' with Hummer in the partially refitted NASA Space Shuttle Endeavour, right up to when that luxury suite on Capitol Hill had blown apart. Everything that could go wrong had. Despite it all, his little group of Hummer, Grae Ryan, and General Roach were all standing there at Joint Base Andrews ready to indulge in both pomp and ceremony with world leaders, several levels of American politicians, media, civilians and military security all coming out the yin yang. As soon as Dayton and the gang arrived there would be a political tongue wag, followed by a respectful memorial for the dead, culminating in a victory celebration over the Cylons. And they had managed to get it all together in record time while simultaneously putting out fires in Congress. Not bad for government work. In fact, it was bloody amazing.
"Dick?" Hummer asked, nudging him. Concern was pooled in the other's dark eyes.
"I don't know, Hummer," Dick admitted, shrugging his shoulders expressively, trying to convey that there wasn't anything specific bothering him.
"Anna?" Hummer asked.
"No, it's not Anna." Dick smiled sadly. He had waited thirty years to be reunited with his beautiful Anna, and when at last he had been, he hadn't known what to say or what to do. That first meeting had been exquisite, but then they had lapsed into an uncomfortable silence when finally left alone. What did a battered and scarred old astronaut talk about to a fragile wife he barely even knew how to relate to anymore? She had seemingly expected him to catch her up on his news, to be deliriously happy to be home, but what he'd barely lived through wasn't fit to share with his family and it took a heck of a lot of Asteroid Whiskey these days to make him "happy". He was a shell of the man he used to be.
When he'd found out back at the UN Complex that Starbuck was in trouble and needed his help, it had been a relief to make his excuses and extract himself. When his grandson, Mitch, had volunteered to help out, it had been a pleasant enough diversion, but Dick now realized he was much better at relating to compatriots than women these days. And a thirty-year bond between old friends left him with a more urgent desire to be reunited with Dayton, Ryan, Baker and Porter again than to be returned to the awkwardness of family relations waiting in New York City. To be among his friends was a secure haven that he longed for. No expectations. No judgments. No questions. Unconditional acceptance.
He swallowed anxiously when he spotted the glimmer of sunlight reflecting off the nose of the Hybrid shuttlecraft as it broke through the cloud cover. With all that had happened so far, a jaded old guy couldn't help but wonder what was coming next. Whatever it was, he'd be there, ready and waiting. Maybe a bit too eagerly, in retrospect.
xxxxx
As the hatch of the shuttlecraft opened, Mark Dayton stood poised on the threshold. The anticipation was almost enough to shoot his blood pressure back up into space. It was a lot like re-entering Earth's atmosphere in a spacecraft. He knew the motions he would go through, but there were still elements of apprehension and risk involved, stepping back into territory that was both familiar and foreign to him after an absence of thirty years.
"What are you waiting for?" Ryan asked him, poking him insistently in the back.
"Just building the anticipation," Dayton replied, glancing back at those in the shuttle.
"Move your ass, Geraldo Rivera," Baker said, "I'm not waiting through another commercial break to see Al Capone's vault."
Ryan, Baker and Porter were practically prancing in excitement to get out there. Meanwhile, consumed with curiosity, Apollo, Luana and Lia were looking out a viewport, taking in everything they could see, while Jolly and Dietra remained on the flight deck. Dayton's daughters and their WASA compatriots were on their feet, impatiently waiting to disembark. Then there was Starbuck. The strike captain was burrowed into a seat, stifling a large yawn as he returned to the living from a brief snooze he had stolen on the way down.
"Hey, kid," Dayton said to Starbuck with a fond smile, "we keeping you up?"
"As a matter of fact . . ." Starbuck returned, arching his back and stretching as he raked his fingers through his recently trimmed hair. He looked up at his commander. "Better get out there, Old Man, or they're going to start to wonder if you're having second thoughts about this alliance."
"Not without you, Starbuck. Remember, there are a lot of people out there who think you and Lauren are dead." Dayton shook his head. "We're all in this together, Cappuccino Cowboy."
The younger man shook his head. "No. This is your moment. All of yours." He nodded towards the other Earthers. "It's your homecoming. We'll follow soon enough."
"Starbuck's right," Apollo said, now also fitted with a languaphone for easier translation while he was down on Earth. "I'll bet there were times when you thought you'd never see your home again." The colonel glanced at his best friend and then Lu and Lia, and it was clear that all the Colonial Warriors were thinking of their own beloved home worlds, now star systems away. "I can only imagine how you must feel right now."
"Bloody impatient, mostly," Porter replied with a teasing lilt. "Move it, Dayton, or your first appearance on Earth will be less than dignified when we bodily pick you up and carry you out the hatch!"
"Come on, Dad," said Lauren. "Time to go where no Dayton has gone before."
"That's boldly go, Sis," said Jess.
"Actually, I was here once back in . . ."
"DAD!"
"Alright, already!" Dayton chuckled, stepping out into the daylight, a nearby camera zeroing in on him.
"Commander Mark Dayton!" a loudspeaker announced like he was the first of a starting line-up for game night.
Dayton had already seen the civilian crowd that was amassed to welcome them at Joint Base Andrews, but he couldn't help but swell up with pride when they roared their approval, fists and victory 'Vs' pumping into the air, the air crackling with excitement and celebration. A second later the loudspeaker announced his friends in kind as the four men walked down the few steps together and then stepped foot on the tarmac, pausing there a moment to take it all in while the crowd whipped themselves into a barely-controlled hysteria.
The media was prominent, capturing the moment and simultaneously telecasting it on an enormous screen so the crowd and everybody else around the world could see the infamous Endeavour astronauts returning from the past, either live or in recaps. The screen split and part of it showed live footage while the other was displaying a history of the missing NASA astronauts with a brief summation of recent events so there was no doubt in even the most out-of-touch person's mind about who these men were. Dignitaries and grandstanders that were mostly unknown to Dayton stood aside on a podium, waiting patiently to get an official ceremony underway. Meanwhile, three men strode forward, separating themselves from the others. Dayton could tell even from a hundred yards away that it was Dickins, Hummer and Grae Ryan.
There was an inexplicable tightness in his chest and the backs of his eyes prickled, warning Dayton of an impending emotional overload as he gazed upon his old friend. Behind him, Ryan let out a whoop of joy, darting past the commander with his arms dramatically outstretched like a cartoon character as he raced towards the lost members of their flock and his son. Dayton couldn't help but laugh at his best friend's antics, as Ryan practically tackled his boy and then Dickins in turn, enveloping both men in a collective bear hug before turning to pump Hummer's hand energetically.
Moments later it was almost surreal as Dayton pulled a grinning Dickins into a hearty hug, slapping him on the back. The atmosphere was electric, the noise unbelievable.
"You have Starbuck and Lauren?" Dickins shouted in his ear.
"We do!" Dayton assured him, wondering how Dick had known.
"In that case, welcome home!" Dickins said before he turned to embrace both Baker and Porter.
Then Dayton greeted Hummer and the younger Ryan, before standing back to just enjoy the moment.
Finally, the crowd's energy slightly abated, only to once again whip into frenzy as the loudspeaker began to announce the names of those now departing the Hybrid shuttlecraft.
"WASA Director Jess Dayton; the celebrated and renowned journalist and obviously very much alive, L.M. Dayton; recently rescued from the Barstow Mars Station, Commander Tom Curtis; also from Barstow Station, Professor Ahmed Mufti; WASA astronauts, Alan Carter and Dillon Trent."
They were all getting their moment in the limelight as they moved to join the old NASA astronauts. Once again the screen split, showing the history of the evolved WASA with their very own website information about Barstow Station, including its recent destruction and the rescue by the Endeavour crew. Once again the crowd showed their support, almost making those in WASA forget that they had once been ridiculed and victimized by politicians who had thought that the space agency had their collective heads in the clouds. For far too many years WASA had fought an uphill battle to continue space exploration and development in a bureaucratic environment that no longer supported it, after the Anakim's adroit linking of NASA in the media with the International Space Station terrorism event of 2010. Both Dayton and Ryan noted with interest the intimate embrace Jess and Grae exchanged, and Mark adeptly deflected the elbow that Paddy directed his way.
Finally, there was another ebb in the hullabaloo and Starbuck finally emerged from the shuttle, Apollo evidently choosing to let his friend have the spotlight. If it was possible, the energy level shot up another notch, people screaming in adoration, jumping excitedly, and then beginning to chant, "STARBUCK! STARBUCK! STARBUCK! STARBUCK!"
"Obviously, needing no introduction, and also alive and well, the Colonial Warrior who led our squadrons against the Cylon threat and has laughed repeatedly in the face of death . . ." the loudspeaker decreed as military personnel joined the civilians in their tribute.
"STARBUCK! STARBUCK! STARBUCK! STARBUCK!" the amassed crowd shouted, some waving coffee cups, while the lone Colonial Warrior descended the stairs, turning about in apparent amazement as the obvious devotion of those gathered swept over him. There was a boom in the distance, and within seconds the Blue Angels—the US Navy's aerobatic team—soared in from the east, flying in spectacular formation. It was a tribute that the impeccable timing decreed was for Starbuck alone.
"Leave it to Starbuck to steal our thunder!" Ryan hollered into Dayton's ear, a big ole grin on his face as he watched the aerial display, while a blonde bombshell in short shorts and high heels carrying a fur ball of some sort suddenly threw herself into the handsome young warrior's arms, pressing herself against him as his hands helplessly clawed the air in surprise. It was almost comical.
"Might need the Jaws of Life to separate them, Paddy," Dayton said. A moment later his mouth was agape as the big screen began a chronicle of Starbuck's time on Earth, captured through sometimes-candid shots. It occurred to him that at some point Starbuck had rescued this young woman from a bridge in New York. Dayton shook his head in disbelief as he watched a death defying replay of the two's narrow escape from a collapsing bridge deck, which his young friend had actually glossed over in his apparently spotty and possibly condensed debriefing. Yeah, with what Starbuck had gone through, the kid deserved every little bit of Rock Star status that he had achieved.
"STARBUCK! STARBUCK! STARBUCK! STARBUCK!" the crowd roared again. Dayton punched a fist in the air in time to their chant, joining their exuberant cheering.
From the threshold of the shuttlecraft, Apollo, Jolly, Lia, Luana and Dietra stood, shaking their heads in disbelief and amusement while Starbuck extracted himself somewhat from the young woman's embrace, taking her more innocently by the hand and leading her to meet his friends and wife.
"Lu's going to kill him," Ryan laughed.
"I don't think so," Dayton replied, watching the curvaceous young blonde press a small puppy into Luana's arms. The commander had noticed in the Life Station that Luana had made quite a mental adjustment since this mission had begun. Not surprisingly, when faced with potentially losing her husband on Earth, she had worked her way past the pain and resentment of her infertility, realizing what she already had instead of dwelling upon what she might never get.
"Ethan Dalrymple Gibson, the fifty-second President of the United States of America," the speaker announced.
"That's our cue," Dayton said, turning in surprise to suddenly find himself face to face with the American President who had come down off his podium to greet them eagerly.
The political leader of the United States reached forward, offering his hand in fellowship amid the slightly more subdued applause of the crowd. "Welcome home, Commander Dayton. And God bless you all for your timing."
"Thank you, Mr. President," Dayton replied, turning as Starbuck and his fellow Colonial Warriors finally joined them.
Emotion once again threatened to overwhelm Dayton when a military band started playing the Star-Spangled Banner. It had been so long . . . Proudly, the Endeavour commander stood erectly, turning instinctively towards the flag of his homeland, endless memories racing through his mind, as the anthem filled him up with something that he hadn't even realized had been missing. As an almost forgotten patriotism suffused him, his chest hitched and tears welled in his eyes. He tried to clear his throat, but he found himself unable to join the singing throng all around him.
Beside him, Paddy gripped his shoulder, not surprisingly sensing his distress.
Dayton sucked in a deep breath, trying to get a hold of himself. It was quite the moment and one that he would never forget for as long as he lived. His tattered reputation had been restored, he had been hailed as a returning hero, he had been reunited with his family, and he had his best friends around him.
They had made it.
"Hay, Strawman," Paddy Ryan said in his ear. To anyone else it would have been cryptic. "Your stuffing is falling out."
Dayton smiled, turning to his friend in complete understanding. "Ain't it the truth, Toto." His voice was gruff with feeling. "You know, Paddy, as crazy as it might seem at times . . . there really is no place like home."
xxxxx
With his eyes closed, Starbuck let out a long, slow breath, sinking luxuriously into the leather upholstery in the stretch limo that he was riding in. It even smelled good, reminiscent of a fine new ride he'd one appropriated as a kid on the streets of Caprica City. Smiling, he was soon in that state of mind between wakefulness and sleep where voices became barely distinguishable murmurs.
"I love you, Innamorato," came Luana's dulcet voice as she snuggled up against him. In her lap was the baby daggit that Snow White had given them, apparently part of a litter her own daggit—make that dog—had sired. What Starbuck was going to do with a live daggit on a spaceship he wasn't sure, but Lu was already smitten with the tiny creature, and he couldn't help but wonder if it could somehow satisfy her nurturing instinct, maybe in part filling the void that he darn well knew he couldn't.
The ticklish sensation of the daggit lathing his hand drew him once against back from the sweet edge of oblivion, and he opened his eyes long enough to stroke the soft fur, smiling slightly at the near-black lop-eared whelp that was creeping into his lap.
"What are you going to call him, Lu?" Dayton's voice came from across the seat. Beside him sat President Gibson, and on the other side his daughters.
"That depends on whether you're going to allow him on the Endeavour," came his wife's pragmatic and direct response.
Apollo sniffed in amusement from Starbuck's other side. "I once heard that interacting with daggits can actually be therapeutic, lessening anxiety and stress," the colonel inserted.
"Until you interact with the pooper-scooper, that is," Jess retorted.
Apollo chuckled across at her.
Starbuck opened his eyes, waiting for Dayton's answer, and it wasn't long before their eyes met. Dayton let out a long sigh, obviously stringing together the same thoughts that Starbuck had earlier. This wasn't just about a daggit on a Base Ship; it was potentially the saving grace for his wife. But then again, Dayton was a hard case when it came to the rules, which meant that Starbuck usually needed to find a way around them. But how?
Idly he wondered if Dayton had had a daggit as a kid.
"Let me give it some thought, Lu. No promises," Dayton allowed in a softer voice.
"Fair enough."
They were in the last of three cars in the motorcade transporting the entire group to the White House, where there would be more meetings of minds before a formal alliance was drafted between the Twelve Colonies of Man and Earth. By and large they had broken almost every guideline that Commander Adama had laid down at the outset of the mission. Starbuck could just imagine how outraged the Council would be when they found out the Endeavour crew had not only revealed themselves to the Earthlings, but they had also skipped over waiting for a bureaucratic envoy. Commander Cain would be in his glory throwing accusations at Dayton for disobeying orders that he probably would have ignored as well. Lords, if only Ama could show up just now. As a member of the Council she could bail them out of a sketchy predicament, and maybe even grant Dayton a little more time with his family . . .
A blinding light nearly knocked his eyes out, and he threw up an arm as a shield.
Bump! Bump!
"What the hell was that?" Dayton demanded, as the vehicle seemed to bounce over something.
"Driver! Stop the car!" Gibson ordered, the brakes shrieking as the car swerved to a stop. Almost before the car had stopped, the hulking security guys had their weapons out, and were checking in with their fellows.
Starbuck almost butted heads with Dayton as the two leapt up at the same time to jump out the door. Not feeling particularly gracious, Starbuck grasped the commander by the shoulder, pushing him out of the way as he opened the door and cleared it. He found himself standing at the side of a road in front of a java house, a light breeze blowing through his hair as the security guards surveyed the perimeter. About half way between him and the front door was Ama.
"Hello, Son of My Heart."
It was unexpected to say the least, and he stood there mutely for a long moment, drinking in the sight of the Empyrean necromancer that he had lost track of. There were times when he'd thought her dead or evolved as John had once described those beings on the Ship of Lights. Leave it to her to disappear and then return in a flash of light like nothing had happened.
"Lu!" he called behind him, as Dayton stumbled to a stop beside him.
"Well, I'll be a . . ." the commander muttered, while others began climbing out of the car. "Did we run over her broomstick?"
"Starbuck, what's going . . .?" Lu asked, emerging from the vehicle. "Ama!"
His wife flew into her godmother's arms, while Starbuck followed more slowly. Ama watched him almost cagily as he drew closer, the baby daggit following along like his shadow. There was something different about the great lady that he couldn't put into words. From the beginning, she'd always been there for him. But now, inexplicably, he had the sense that it was their turn to comfort her.
"Ama?" he said. "Are you alright?"
"Well, I look a darn sight better than you do," she announced, but her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "You and I need to sit down and have a heart to heart. I swear you're getting more reckless these days."
"Hey! I recognize her!" Lauren announced from behind them. "She helped me out when I was evading Mason's men at Fullerton Station! Who is she, Dad?"
"Starbuck's godmother-in-law. At least that's the simple answer, sweetheart."
Starbuck took Ama's hand, gently drawing her out of Luana's embrace. Then he stood before her, reaching behind her head and bowing his own down to hers until their foreheads met. He gazed into her grey eyes, searching them for answers. She seemed so fragile and delicate, like a flower that would bruise and die if treated too harshly.
"That only works for me, Dear Heart," she said in amusement. "Although after all this time, I certainly appreciate the sentiment."
"Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn't," he replied, leaning forward and gently brushing his lips against hers in a chaste kiss. "I don't know what you've been through, but until you're ready to tell us I just want to say that you're home now, Ama. We have you."
"Sweet boy, I was hoping you'd say something like that," she replied, her eyes welling with tears of gratitude.
He pulled her into his embrace, stroking the wild white hair as if she were a child. He was sure he could feel her tremble. Lu joined them, her arm wrapped around the older woman protectively.
"Would you look at that?" Dayton said behind him, pointing over their heads.
That was when Starbuck noticed the green and white logo behind him, portraying a likeness of . . . an image that looked remarkably like himself. Apparently, they had come to a stop in front of a Starbucks coffee house, and all the rumours about the business switching its logo to honour Earth's newest superhero had been true.
"Did you arrange this?" Starbuck murmured down at Ama. He nodded towards the sign.
"Me?" she asked innocently.
"That's what I thought," replied Starbuck.
"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't," she replied, pulling away, but keeping an arm around Luana. "Well?"
"Oh, we have to go in!" Dayton enthused, turning to the President who was looking at him incredulously, security men swarming about him. "He's the original Starbuck!"
"Well, Melville might have something to say about that," Lauren inserted with a smile.
"Melville's dead," Jess replied.
"Then we're off the hook. What do you say, Mr. President? Can I buy you a coffee?" Lauren asked.
Not surprisingly, Gibson looked at his watch, before looking up again at the small group who waited expectantly. When did presidents take precious time out of their busy day to sit in a coffee shop? The President sniffed aloud, shaking his head. The other cars had carried on without them on Gibson's orders. "Oh, what the heck. I could do with a double cappuccino, half-caf, non-fat milk, with just enough foam to be aesthetically pleasing, but not so much that it leaves a moustache. You, Starbuck?"
Which lead Starbuck to one of the most comfortable chairs he had ever experienced, waiting drowsily to be bought "coffee" by the President of the United States. One thing he could say about this place was that it was comfortable. Oh, and he loved their decorator. Framed art of himself was featured in several places on the walls. Dayton was sitting beside him, regaling him with java anecdotes while picking up various periodicals and magazines that featured Starbuck, front and centre. The girl brought their orders, proclaiming it was "on the house" and then found some excuse, like most of the rest of the staff, to linger near the great ones assembled there.
"What part of 'covert' exactly was it that you didn't understand, Demitasse?" Dayton asked, holding up today's copy of TIME. On the cover was a shot of Starbuck at the U.N. with the headline "Star Man?" On the table in front of them he was also featured on Newsweek. There was another shot of him on a third cover, purloined somehow from Russia. According to Jess, the cover translated as "Saviour From The Stars?"
"What part of 'you will do everything possible to prevent being detected by Earthmen' did you let slip by, Old Man?" Starbuck countered, sinking a little further down into his chair. He closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh of contentment. He just had to get one of these for his duty office. Of course, it was almost as big as his office.
"Some might say we're both guilty of disobeying Adama's orders," Dayton said, his voice sounding further away. "Okay, okay. Yeah, I made contact with Barstow Station. But you attacked the Cylons."
"Seemed like a good idea at the time," Starbuck mumbled sluggishly. "After all, that's what I do." He opened his eyes long enough to sip . . . ahhhhh! . . . and then closed them again.
When Dayton replied, his voice was throaty. "Look, kid, you saved Jess' life when you attacked those Cylons. And later on you saved Lauren's when you negotiated with Mason." A long moment of silence passed. "I don't quite know how to thank you for that."
Lords, a humble Dayton was a terrible thing to behold, and was to be averted if at all possible! Starbuck's eyes snapped open, as a way out presented itself. "Let Lu keep the daggit."
Dayton paused for a moment, leaning over the arm of his chair and regarding him sourly. He shook a finger under Starbuck's nose. "That's low, even for you. A dog on a Base Ship! It's ridiculous."
"You're the one who wanted to thank me. Or so you said, Old Man," Starbuck replied with a shrug as Dayton sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. "What's it going to be, Dayton?"
"Keep the bloody dog."
"Maybe we'll name him after you."
"You do and I'll lock you in a room with Malus, and you two can test drive his new tactility sensors. Exhaustively."
"Or . . ." Starbuck reconsidered. "We could call him Shadow."
"Shadow. Much better. Now drink your damn coffee before you fall asleep in it."
Starbuck grinned. Humbleness averted, Dayton was back in form. "Yes, Sir."
"Captain Starbuck?" asked a voice.
Starbuck looked over to behold an attractive young woman, one of the servers, all wide-eyed and agog. "Just call me Starbuck."
"Starbuck," she repeated, flushing prettily. "Can I have your autograph?
"Uh, my . . ."
"And maybe get you to pose for a picture with our staff?" She nodded towards a group of eager young girls, all standing by excitedly, awaiting his answer.
With daggit in lap, Lu gave him a look, rolling her eyes before smiling in a grudging acceptance. Fortunately a bunch of young girls in a java shop wasn't exactly anything for her to get excited about, and they both knew it.
"My pleasure," Starbuck replied, unwinding his lithe frame from the chair and giving her his best "mega-watt grin". Maybe Earth wasn't such a bad place, after all. He just needed to give it a chance while he wasn't under fire . . .
"Hey, kid," Dayton called after him.
"Yeah, Old Man?" Starbuck replied, accepting the young woman's hand and letting her lead him across the java house.
"I was just thinking," Dayton chuckled, raising his mug to the warrior, "it's a damn good thing your name isn't Hooter!"