Towering more than seventy metrons above the surface of Phobos, the dust-covered, tylinium-reinforced obelisk that Apollo and Dietra had spotted from their Hybrid fighter on their first pass over the moon was still stubbornly keeping its ancient secrets. Initially, after scanning the monolith, they had assumed it to be a place of ingress, but the airlocks and sensor arrays within had turned out to have more to do with constructing and protecting the mammoth structure than actually entering it from outside the space dock.
Millennia ago, a control centre at the base of the tower had once functioned by collecting and processing power generated from an unknown source deep within the moon, hundreds of metrons below them. The energy was then funnelled upwards, a conduit stretching towards the top of the obelisk to a star chamber, the condensed tylinium capstone at the apex putting Dorado in mind of the Celestial Dome on the Galactica, with that same feeling of vacuous openness. However, the difference here was that instead of looking around inside and gazing upon stark grey battlestar walls and antiquated utilitarian equipment, the chamber was a feast for the senses, covered with ancient Kobollian hieroglyphics, myriad features as yet unidentified, as well as having thousands of tiny crystals embedded in the walls. Once the accumulated space dust of countless centuries had been cleared off the transparent outer capstone, the starlight from above had been free to once again reflect off the crystalline surfaces, creating a mystical vision of sparkling light. It made the chamber seem almost sacred, and indeed, initially they had presumed this was a holy place.
However, holy places didn't generally require control centres and power sources, nor did they usually feature a translucent conduit running bottom to top, its length skewering the chamber at its centre, its surface delicately encased by a single sturdy golden thread, weaving its way artistically and endlessly in seemingly no particular pattern or purpose, other than to bemuse the admirer. Dorado couldn't help but wonder what it would look like when presumably some current of energy shot upward through the clear surface towards the outlet, the crystals refracting the radiance in a shimmering spectacle of powerful light.
To add to the puzzle, according to Dr. Mufti, the ancient hieroglyphs so far deciphered bespoke a connection between the Phobos space dock, the settlements on Mars, as well as the Earth colonies of what he deduced were once Atlantis and Lemuria. All data leaned towards the theory that ancient Kobollians had experimented in using quantum physics and esoteric science, both advanced far beyond the wildest fantasies of modern knowledge, to transport virtually anything or anyone from place to place. Had they actually crossed dimensions, exploring time and space continuums, as the Espridians once had? Had the squabbling over such technological advancements and power in any way contributed to the war that had erupted between the settlements, ultimately destroying them? And what was the source of the power that could generate enough energy to manipulate time and space to the extent that dimensions could be crossed?
"I can't help but wonder if the legendary Firestone of Atlantis had something to do with it," crackled a voice in reply over the suit radio.
Dorado looked up at Dr. Mufti, not realizing he'd actually spoken his last thoughts aloud. Beside him, Grae Ryan snorted loudly in apparent incredulity, the sound echoing over their frequency.
"Cayce? That ding-dong? You gotta be kidding me!" He snorted again. "Dingier than a wooden watch!"
Dorado couldn't help but smile at the disbelief in the WASA astronaut's tone. It was reminiscent of the early Dayton period, before necromancers, Great Powers and Empyrean talismans had become routine.
"Yes, of course, Cayce," Mufti replied, a faint smile of amusement belying his incredible patience.
"Who's Cayce?" Dorado asked.
"A long-dead American psychic," Mufti replied. "He became quite famous for his channelled readings back in the early to mid-twentieth century. Barstow Station's Commander Curtis actually mentioned one of Cayce's theories, the Halls of Records, when we first met your landing party on Mars. Since then I've studied his readings more thoroughly, in particular those related to Earth's legendary Atlantis. There are some interesting parallels to the stories we've heard from the Brothers of Eden about Kobollian history on Earth."
"Go on," Hummer encouraged him, looking up from where he had been studying his data pad, its images reflecting off his faceplate. The technician had been on Planet 'P' when they had cracked the code on another mysterious control centre, ultimately used to transport the NASA Space Shuttle, Endeavour, along with Hummer and Captain Dickins, back to Earth. The technician was almost certain that this ancient technology was also capable of opening a portal through time and space.
"Well, according to Cayce's readings, before its destruction, Atlantis was once a continent with an advanced technology whose refugees later peopled ancient Egypt as well as pre-Columbian America. You know of whom he's speaking, of course."
"The Kobollians," Hummer said.
"Yes, but further to that, Cayce described their society as being divided into two long-lived political factions—a 'good' faction called the 'Sons of the Law of One' and an 'evil' faction called the 'Sons of Belial'."
"You're suggesting that these clowns were the Brothers of Eden and the Anakim?" Grae asked.
"It would seem so," Mufti replied. "Now in Jewish and Christian Apocrypha, Belial is either one of the four crown princes of Hell or a demon. Sometimes it is loosely used as a name for the devil himself."
"Which again fits with the Anakim being influenced by Count Iblis," Dorado said. "What about the Sons of the Law of One?"
"Cayce said that they held to the belief of the one God as the creator of the universe and of mankind. In contrast, the Sons of Belial were said to worship themselves, interested only in accumulating wealth and power into the hands of a very few, the result being social stratification, with an elite group ruling over millions of slaves. According to the readings, a major source of turmoil was the desire of the Sons of Belial to exploit what he referred to as 'sub-humans' . . ."
"Early Earthmen . . ." Hummer interjected.
". . . and the movement to protect and evolve them by the Sons of the Law of One," Mufti continued over the repartee. "It finally led to war and the destruction of Atlantis."
"And presumably the settlements on Mars and Phobos, as well as Lemuria," Grae inserted with a nod. "Cayce's readings are also in line with the ancient Sumerian texts and the Anunnaki. It's the same plot with different characters."
"What's this Firestone you mentioned, Doctor?" Dorado asked.
"According to Cayce, it was a giant crystal on Atlantis that was reputed to be its main power source."
"A crystal?" Hummer asked, his gaze drawn to the small crystals embedded in the walls of the tower. He ran a gloved hand over them.
"Yes. I have read many interpretations, but as I have discussed with Hummer, of particular interest it was said that the Firestone could concentrate the energy emanating from the sun and other stars, storing it and then releasing it to open interdimensional portals that, in this case, linked Kobollian settlements."
"Like the Clavis?"
"Or the Oculus," Mufti replied. "Both of the orbs have surfaces that are intriguingly covered with these seemingly infinite metal threads, almost like a Celtic knot, one gold, and the other dull metallic in appearance." He took a step forward, his hand lightly touching the never-ending golden strand that adorned the energy conduit. "Yet, nobody seems to know what element is contained within them, only that they radiate a life force or energy all of their own. Also . . ."
"What?" Grae urged him.
"Atlantean crystals were also said to store information, as well as energy. They were used to send the human voice and images over long distances just like modern day television."
"And like Colonial data crystals," Hummer added. "That technology, or so they say, is 'as old as Kobol'."
Mufti nodded. "Some say that Atlantis was a highly technologically developed civilization that came to a sudden cataclysmic end due to the misuse of these powerful crystals."
"Do you think . . .?" Grae hesitated, looking upwards as the sun "rose" over the edge of Phobos.
"Yes, Major Ryan?" Mufti prompted him.
"Well—I feel like I just stepped into a comic book plot—but do you think that the giant Atlantean Firestone could be the source that the Oculus originated from?"
"Actually, I'm wondering if when they refer to the word 'giant' that it could be a slight misinterpretation. It could also mean 'powerful' or 'mighty'," Mufti mused aloud.
"You're wondering if the Firestone and the Oculus are one and the same?" Dorado asked. "After all, the Prophet, Daton, was its Keeper when the Kobollians first settled on Earth. The timing works."
"That might be it, Captain," Mufti conceded. "However, there were descriptions of the Atlantean Firestone that don't exactly support that theory. It was supposed to be immense."
"Mankind does have a propensity for exaggeration. The legend of the Firestone's size could be more myth than fact . . ." Ryan paused mid-thought, giving himself a visible shake before snorting aloud. "I don't believe I just said that."
Mufti chuckled. "I do. When you string together the many fibres of this web, it does have a way of entangling one within the possibilities."
"Go on, Doctor Mufti. You were saying about the crystal . . ." Hummer encouraged him.
"Ah, yes. It was located in a dome-like structure referred to as a powerhouse. The building had an upper portion that could roll back, exposing it to the stars, making the transfer of energy through the air more efficient."
"Much like this," Dorado said, nodding at the vista they were currently admiring in the Phobos Tower. Was it coincidental that the apex of this tower was also a threshold to the heavens? Or was it merely a Kobollian architectural feature that had continued to be passed down through the millennia, as evidenced by the Celestial Domes of yore?
"Yes, I should imagine it was very much like this."
"But wasn't the Keeper of the Oculus supposed to hide it away and keep it safe?" Hummer asked. "Not use it for his society's gain? Obviously, the Kobollians used its power to help establish a thriving civilization once the Thirteenth Tribe arrived."
"And isn't it said that only the most pure of heart can use the powers of the Oculus without fear of it turning them into what they most despise?" Dorado added. "I got the idea from Starbuck that even Ama fears its power over her."
"It's possible that whatever happened at that juncture might never be revealed to us," Mufti replied a little sadly. "Or maybe we have yet to discover the answers somewhere else, either here, on Mars, or even long hidden on Earth. After all, if Cayce was right and the ancient pyramid of Giza and the Sphinx were Halls of Records, then perhaps there are still more mysteries of history yet to be solved. In any event, according to the readings, the technology of the ancient Kobollian Firestone invariably found its way into military use. The Sons of Belial began experimenting with forbidden technologies from what was known as the 'nightside of life'. We've already learned of the war between the Kobollian factions, resulting in a catastrophe that intriguingly could coincide with the Biblical Deluge. So at least we know how it all ended," Mufti concluded.
"Soooo . . ." Dorado said, drawing out the word. "From extensive analyses, Hummer
has concluded that if we fire up the control centre at the base of the tower, that there's a fair chance this thing will come to life. The question is . . . would the data stored there show us a star chart for some kind of teleportation grid . . . or that this tower was used as some kind of weapon in the war between the Brothers of Eden and the Anakim?"
"A weapon that could fire on Earth from here?" Grae elucidated. "That's at the very least some thirty-five million miles away!"
"That's not . . . possible. Is it?" Mufti asked.
"The more I learn in life, the less I seem to know," Dorado replied philosophically. There was so much he'd been witness to that he'd never expected to see. And when he considered that for his people Earth was once a mere legend, bordering on the fantastical, it certainly gave a man pause before he dismissed the improbable prematurely.
"What if the weapon was used in conjunction with the star gate? Could you imagine the potential?" Hummer extrapolated. "Using a weapon something along the firepower of a mega-pulsar and then somehow targeting it through this . . . star gate."
"How could an enemy defend themselves against that? We could destroy Cylon and retake the Colonies," Dorado replied, his heart thumping with excitement at the prospect.
"Gentlemen, this is all conjecture at this point," Mufti reminded them.
"The doctor's right." Grae Ryan grinned rakishly. "I vote we fire it up and find out. After all, what have we got to lose?"
"One problem," Hummer admitted. "Like on Mars and Kobol before her, there seems to be a Kobollian Seal required for us to initiate the systems."
"Dorado?" Ryan cued him, knowing he carried Starbuck's Empyrean talisman.
"It's all just so damned convenient . . . almost too good to be true," Dorado said quietly, fingering the amulet that his old Academy friend had so fortuitously given him. He still remembered the moment when they had parted company in the Endeavour's launch bay, the strike captain uncharacteristically uneasy about not being assigned to Phobos himself. Unexpectedly, Starbuck had slipped the talisman into Dorado's hand, closing his fingers over it, and telling him that where he was going he was bound to need it more than the strike captain. Had Starbuck instinctively known the part it would play? Had some of that infamous Empyrean prescience rubbed off on the brash Colonial Warrior? Or was Dorado rebreathing a little too much carbon dioxide and simply needed to check his life support?
"How do you mean?"
"Well, if we find out that this is some kind of Kobollian star gate, then the Endeavour could return to the Fleet with news that they've not only saved Earth, but have also discovered the means to transport our refugees here potentially yahrens before anybody thought it possible."
The others nodded eagerly at the Colonial captain. He continued.
"And if it's a weapon targeting system that transcends space, we could actually conceive a plan whereby we could destroy Cylon and recover the colonies."
"Or maybe it won't work," Mufti inserted. "There is the Dirt Theory, after all."
"The Dirt Theory?" Grae asked incredulously, before looking back at the others. "I don't even want to know what that is. Let's turn the bloody thing on and find out. What do you say, Dorado?"
"Well . . ."
xxxxx
"My time as Keeper of the Oculus is coming to an end," Eirys explained to her husband, after returning from her summons before the Elders. As usual, before her she carried the Oculus, cradling it safely against her bosom, like a new-born.
Baltar raised his eyebrows in surprise, not missing her bowed head or the way her shoulders drooped. "Yet you watch over it still," he replied. "That's . . . interesting."
"I don't know why I thought my guardianship of it would be an eternal assignment, when I knew that others, both mortal and immortal, had taken their turn," she said softly, a melancholy note in her tone that skewered the very soul of the former traitor of Mankind. So much of Eirys' identity had evolved through her role as Keeper. This would be a blow to even a woman as gentle, trusting and understanding as his wife.
"What possessed them, I wonder?" Baltar mused aloud, his gaze drawn to the Oculus.
"Well, I haven't taken very good care of it, have I?" she replied after a moment. "First I betrayed the secret trust, using it on Morlais, and thereby bringing the wrath of Count Iblis down upon the Angylion people. Then I used it again to kidnap you, my love, as well as Starbuck, ultimately luring the White Witch to my side, desperate for her assistance. Then I lost it to Caradoc, precipitating a celestial battle between Ama and Count Iblis that ripped apart the planet Empyrean. I need not mention what almost happened to the planet Earth and her people . . ."
"Still, it could have been worse . . ."
She raised her eyebrows at him. "How?"
"I was, after all, responsible for the death of billions," he defended his statement.
Eirys sighed softly, stepping into her husband's embrace. "It is difficult for me to think of you in that light."
"It's the burden I'll bear for all of eternity," he said, pulling her close, his hand stroking her silken tresses, flowing down her slender back. He could feel the warmth and bulk of the Oculus between them.
"But not alone, Baltar. Never alone."
"I alone am responsible."
"Never alone!" she reiterated, softly yet insistently.
There was purity, innocence and a unshakeable faith in Eirys that Baltar had never witnessed in any other being. She had the power to inspire him, making him strive to try and become the man she actually believed him to be. "Yes, my love," he surrendered.
She looked at him searchingly, her eyes sweeping slowly over his features for a long moment. "They've asked me choose my successor, Baltar," Eirys said, stepping back from his embrace.
"They asked you to do what?" He frowned, shaking his head when he realized the connotations. "Ama? They're forcing the issue. They want you to choose Ama!" He gripped her arms, staring intently into her eyes. "It will destroy her. You must know that Eirys."
"It is my choice, Baltar. I will do my utmost to make it wisely."
xxxxx
A cool breeze struck Starbuck, and he automatically put an arm around Luana, pulling her to his side. In response, she wrapped her own around his waist and she tucked herself in close, the scent of her hair enveloping him briefly, before another surprisingly chill breeze swept the alluring wisp away.
"Brrr! Where did that come from?" Luana murmured as she popped a delicacy into his mouth, smiling up at him.
People on Earth had a knack for coming up with an endless array of tasty and tantalizing victuals that they could stick on a "cracker", which, as he had found out, was a generally dry and tasteless conveyance mechanism. He much preferred the "potato chip" or the "nacho", both much more flavourful. He shook his head at the bounty before them. Eating for pure pleasure, it was a luxury that only the elite in the Fleet had been afforded since the Destruction, and then only with a measure of caution, or so he liked to hope. Yeah, it was probably a good thing the Endeavour was shipping out. After all, with the overabundance of delicious food, and the lack of opportunity for exercise, he was going to exceed the capacity of his uniform soon if things didn't change.
"Probably Canada," he replied around the delicious mouthful, grinning at Paddy's look of mock outrage. He wiped away a few crumbs, glancing at his chrono, well aware they should be heading out, but he was waiting to bid Dayton farewell.
"It's coming off Lake Michigan," Paddy replied, munching on a handful of savoury snacks, glancing up at a dark cloud rolling in from the east. "It cools down those lazy hazy crazy days of summer. But that . . . that was downright icy."
Starbuck nodded his agreement, idly noting that a few metrons away, Ama had also turned to consider the approaching storm clouds. The Councilwoman shivered, rubbing her arms, before looking around in a concerned manner. Had something spooked Ama?
". . . maybe Costa Rica. I always liked Guanacaste," Ryan was saying. "I keep thinking about this little place in Brasilito that served the most amazing cheeseburgers and ice cold beer."
Starbuck tore his gaze away from the necromancer, returning his attention to the Earthman. "So you're staying, Ryan?"
Paddy grinned, reaching over and patting Starbuck's cheek in a paternal fashion. "Face it, kid, Mark would be lost without me. Forlorn, even."
Theirs was a friendship forged through surviving the horrors of thirty years of slavery. Dayton and Ryan were opposites in so many ways, but just like Starbuck and Apollo, their bond transcended any personal, philosophical or moral differences. It was difficult to imagine any of the Endeavour Space Shuttle's original crew parting ways with their charismatic commander. All the same, Baker and Porter were considering just that, torn between contributions they could make to the Covert Operations Ship versus those that could impact a radically transitioning Earth post the Cylon attack and newfound Colonial alliance. After all, here on Earth they were considered to be senior citizens, while in the Fleet—with its different demographic and life expectancy—they were still vibrant men with meaningful contributions to be made.
"Who would be lost?" Dayton's familiar timbre taunted from behind them. He situated himself between Ryan and Starbuck, casually draping an arm over each man's shoulder.
"He hates to admit weakness," Ryan whispered conspiratorially. "But he relies on me. Without my sage advice and constant companionship, he'd be a mess . . . no, no that's not quite the right word." He paused dramatically, scrunching up his face in apparent concentration as he thought about it.
"Whatis the right word?" Luana played along, reaching for another tidbit.
"You're feeding into this Canucklehead's devious plot," Dayton inserted playfully. "But then all Canuck plots are devious, stemming from that time they burned down our White House and raised the Union Jack over it. It must be all that Loyalist DNA." Dayton paused for a bite of food. "Or was it moose?"
"Well, I'm so glad you asked, me darlin' girl," Ryan ignored his friend, smiling at Luana and speaking with an affected lilt. "Without my influence he'd be an asshole. Yes, I believe, asshole is the word I be lookin' for."
Dayton raised his eyebrows before replying, "I love you too, Paddy . . . you miserable waste of skin."
Ryan grinned happily, batting his eyelashes at his old friend. "Give us a kiss."
"Lords, I hate it when he does that," Starbuck muttered uncomfortably, taking a step to the right, and putting some distance between himself and the effusive astronaut.
Approaching them slowly but purposefully from the swing were Jess and Lauren with their mother, their eyes trained on him with a female determination that both mystified and concerned him. What were they up to? And why did he suddenly feel like a tasty plump porcine being hunted by a pair of hungry feral felixes? Instinctively, he took a step backwards, only to have Dayton slip an arm around his shoulders once again. The old man was looking at him a little strangely, as though Starbuck had some of that sour cream and chive dip on the end of his nose, or something to that effect. Not far away, Ama was now watching them whimsically.
"What?" Starbuck asked.
"Kid, before you go we want to get a picture . . . just the five of us," Dayton said, his gaze meeting Starbuck's briefly, before flickering back to his family.
"Only if I get a copy," Starbuck replied, almost surprised at his abrupt urge to be able to place that image among his keepsakes. By and large, he was a man who lived life, not one who captured holoptics of it to look back on later. Most of his "mementos" and "keepsakes" lived in his memories, his kit back on the Endeavour a meagre collection of basic necessities not even close to being reflective of the life he'd lived or the man he was.
"Of course," Dayton agreed, slapping him on the back and pushing him towards his wife and daughters.
It was surreal as he stood there with Dayton and his family posing for pictures in the backyard of that grand old house in residential Chicago. The atmosphere was casual, Jess and Lauren sharing some story while shovelling more victuals his way, poor sweet Yvonne fondly called him "Mark", and Dayton gathering them all together like some mother poulon. Then unexpectedly, Yvonne demanded that Luana join them, opening her arms to his surprised wife, and inviting her to join their "family portrait". For a poignant moment in time, the Caprican orphan with sketchy memories of his childhood and no real home suddenly felt like he was truly surrounded by family. It made it all the more difficult to leave.
The skin prickled on his forearms as that cold wind blew in off Lake Michigan again. Ama stepped in front of him, startling him with her sudden appearance. She gripped him by the shirt, propelling herself right into his personal space, the way she usually did when she wanted to get his complete attention.
"It's time," she said. "We must go."
xxxxx
The Endeavour and her crew were as prepared as they could be, should the Clavis suddenly self-initialize and transport them back through time and space for the mysterious purposes of the Beings of Light. Now all that was left for Colonel Apollo to do was to wait and see if the teams from Mars and Phobos, as well as those still on Earth, would rendezvous with the Base Ship on time.
According to the scanners, it appeared that the hastily amassed squadron of Hybrids would make it back, but Apollo was beginning to worry about Starbuck, Ama and the others. At this point he didn't even know whether or not Commander Dayton would be returning, however, he tended to agree with Starbuck's instinct that the Earthman would remain behind with his people, continuing to liaise between the Colonials and Earth even while the Fleet was yahrens away from finally arriving at their ultimate destination. Already he couldn't help but wonder who would get command of the Covert Operations Ship in Dayton's absence. Tigh was definitely in line, but Cain would jump at the chance to get back in the action, not content to be relegated to essentially escorting the Fleet along with theGalactica.
At one time, it would have been Apollo's dream assignment to be working under the Juggernaut. Now, he had to admit that the unconventional command model put in place when Dayton had taken command of the Endeavour, due to the Earthman's unfamiliarity with Colonial technology and military protocol, suited him. It gave him more responsibility and challenged him as a leader. Somehow he doubted that Cain would present him with many opportunities to take over command of the Base Ship in the Juggernaut's absence, nor would he be seeking the opinion of his subordinate officers in military matters, when customarily no one knew what Cain was really planning except the Juggernaut himself.
Starbuck would certainly see it similarly. Apollo's friend had once volunteered to join Cain's crew in the face of almost certain death when the Pegasus had been about to take on three Cylon Base Ships near Gamoray. However, Starbuck had grown both personally and professionally since then, and had Cain-like tendencies of his own in how he liked to perform as an officer, not rigidly adhering to "'the book", frequently adlibbing situations instead of finding ways to follow what any other officer would interpret as clear and concise orders from a superior.
Speaking of which . . .
"C'mon, Starbuck, don't be late," Apollo murmured, checking the readouts from the Clavis once again against the ship's chrono. Malus' initial projection was that they would have approximately another centar; however, the Clavis' rate of acceleration now seemed to be increasing every few centons, and Malus was once again recalculating the expected time of self-initializing.
At the top of the agenda when—or if—they did get back to the Fleet would be whether or not the Clavis should be scrapped. Twice on this assignment, it had endangered the crew and their mission. However, once again, Apollo could see Cain leaning towards wanting to evaluate the Espridian technology for himself, probably dismissing all that had happened in Earth's star system. Was it worth the inherent risks to have a technology that man had previously only dreamed of, unless Dorado was right and the Kobollians had experimented with it before their ancient settlements on Earth and Mars had been destroyed millennia ago? Could it be that man simply wasn't meantto defy the limitations of time and space for his own purposes? Had the Beings of Light guided them towards finding the Espridian Clavis only to use it to manipulate them here and now? Or had it been part of some convoluted, tangled Iblis plot? Unfortunately, his hope that Baltar would appear on demand, or some other Being of Light, and enlighten him as to what was going on behind the scenes hadn't exactly worked out.
"Colonel, I have an amended estimation of when the Clavis will energize," Malus said, interrupting the Colonel's thoughts.
"Yes, Malus?"
"At the current rate of acceleration, the Endeavour will energize in fifteen point six centons."
Apollo's mouth dropped open and he checked the scanner once again. "Malus, that doesn't leave enough time for either Starbuck or the Hybrids to make it back."
"Correct, Colonel."
"Pierus, any word from Captain Starbuck or Commander Dayton?"
"Negative, Colonel. All attempts to reach them have been unsuccessful. It's almost as if something's blocking our signals. I can't explain it, sir."
"Solar flare activity?"
"None detected," said Malus. "Earth's sun is fairly quiescent at the moment and the planetary magnetic field also. There is nothing natural known to us that could be causing this interference, Colonel."
They had set up a series of communications satellites, replacing those the Cylons had destroyed, specifically so they could communicate with Dayton at any centar of the Earth day while he was planetside in Chicago. It had been seamless until now.
"Damn!" Apollo considered the limited options. "Boost transmitter to maximum power, Pierus. Try and punch through. In the meantime, Helm, set a course to intercept our squadron."
"But, Colonel," Sagaris said. "Captain Starbuck will never be able to catch up to us in the shuttle."
"Last time I looked he hadn't even launched yet, Sagaris. Besides, Starbuck at least has another way of getting back to us, while Giles and the others don't."
"Colonel? Sir?" Sagaris asked doubtfully.
"Don't forget about Ama," Apollo replied. "One thing that I know we can count on is that she won't let Starbuck down."
"You're sure about that, Sir?"
"Sure enough to risk losing him."
xxxxx
Life wasn't fair.
They raised you to believe that it was. They tried to teach you that every person you met would treat you with respect and dignity, and not any better or any worse than the person next to you. All you had to do to succeed at life and to live happily-ever-after was to do your best, to apply yourself and contribute to society in a positive manner. But he hadn't found his happily-ever-after yet, no matter how diligently he worked and how many volunteer hours he put in. And those around him treated him like an oddball when they paid him any mind at all, simply because he didn't have the ability to paste a carefree smile on his face and to make wisecracks for no apparent reason.
That had all been taken away from him when he was a child.
Children were cruel. However, at least they were honest, which was more than he could say for their adult counterparts. Adults lied consistently, trying to perpetuate the myth of fairness as being an intrinsic part of humanity. However, if fairness really existed, they wouldn't need a justice system. If fairness really existed, guilty men wouldn't be exonerated for murder and instead regaled as heroes. If fairness really existed, his beloved mother would still be with him.
The sound of throaty laughter assaulted him and he could feel a burning intensity envelop him. Bitterness burbled up from deep inside him, boiling over when he caught a flash of that despised devil-may-care grin, and then saw a carbon copy of it on younger faces. Happy faces. What gave them the right to be happy, when he couldn't be?
At least he had a sanctuary. Deep inside of him was a place he could retreat to. In the peaceful darkness he would find his equilibrium once again. He could get away from those grinning inanely all around him. And when he came out again there would be fairness.
xxxxx
As Dorado stood before the ancient Kobollian Control Centre on Phobos with the Empyrean talisman in hand, it occurred to him that once upon a time it would have only been elite members of society that would carry such an amulet. After all, of the original twelve Seals of Kobol, ten had been lost in the attack at Cimtar. Fleetingly, he wondered what had happened to Baltar's. Did the Cylon Imperious Leader now carry it as a prize of war? Was ole Bug Eyes aware of its potential power? Or had it simply been discarded as Colonial junk when Baltar had been picked up by the Cylons on the planet where he'd been "released" by Commander Adama, contingent on him revealing intelligence that had allowed Starbuck and Apollo to board and sabotage a Cylon Base Ship's scanners, blinding it to the Galactica's approach during their attack?
He glanced down at the silvery talisman, the "eye" seemingly staring back at him. He wondered why the Thirteenth Tribe carried a different amulet from the other twelve. Was it a conscious departure from Kobollian tradition? Did they think they were breaking away from existing rituals and developing their own, however similar? They had seemed to wreak nothing but havoc, leaving mayhem, destruction and intrigue in their wake, unlike their more peaceful counterparts that had settled the Twelve Colonies. Were these Kobol's bad seeds? Is that why the Empyreans and several others had parted ways with them on the journey to Earth?
"Phobos to Dorado, come in, Dorado!" Grae Ryan's voice suddenly interrupted him as they stood in the lower portion of the Phobos monolith. "Did you zone out there, buddy?"
"C'mon, Captain," Hummer added behind him. "I'm going to die from the suspense!"
"I too am eager to see what happens," Dr. Mufti admitted, "after so many eons of silence."
"Okay, okay," Dorado conceded, raising the talisman and inserting it into the inlaid portion of the control panel. He took a step back, swallowing a sudden lump in his throat. Glancing at the gloved hand that had been holding the talisman, he noticed a scorched outline of the amulet now replicated on fabric over the palm. He frowned. He wasn't aware that it could heat up . . .
Suddenly, the control panel began to come to life, the conduit before them—piercing the tower from bottom to top—lit up from a power source that they still hadn't pinpointed and didn't understand. A panel slid open noisily, a grating sound filling the chamber, as it revealed an ancient Kobollian keyboard for inputting data. Hummer used a short, gentle blast of compressed air to lightly dust off the keys, revealing hieroglyphics mirroring those he had discovered in other parts of the base. Those same hieroglyphics had been suspiciously similar to those found covering the ruins on Kobol.
"Okay, tell me your secrets," Hummer said, after a few moments scanning the instruments. Then, satisfied, he reached out, lightly touching a master switch, his skin prickling at the intensity of the energy suddenly surging through the age-old conduit. Across the board, screens came to life, displaying data and graphics that he had come across while working in the rest of the space dock. Some were familiar, obvious to any engineer, some took a few moments of study, but others completely eluded him. Meanwhile, the entire control centre lit up as a beam of energy shot upwards. Every man in the room was wondering what the upper chamber, reminiscent of the Galactica's Celestial Dome, would look like, with a beam of energy illuminating it, the light reflecting off of thousands upon thousands of crystals embedded in the walls.
"Do you think it's safe to go check out the crystal room?" Ryan asked, looking upwards.
"Depends if you're comfortable with the idea of suddenly being thrust through space to some unknown destination if I accidentally get locked into an algorithm that I can't get out of," Hummer replied quietly, bringing up another series of screens. If he was reading it correctly, one of the screens was displaying a menu, with myriad options and subroutines, but he had virtually no idea what they were.
"Locked into an algorithm, eh? Sounds like marriage," Ryan joked. "So you think it's actually some kind of transporter?"
"The database shows some kind of log." Hummer touched a screen icon, and one tiny square expanded, filled with symbols and images. One, which itself expanded at a touch, showed what looked like a tactical display of the inner solar system. It had lines demarcated by numerals that criss-crossed the whole region centring on Mars.
"A log?" asked Ryan.
"Yes. Unless I'm way off, it contains a history of coordinates that were input thousands of yahren ago," Hummer replied, frowning as data disappeared off the screen and then flickered back to life a moment later. "As to their actual use . . ."
"Coordinates to where?" Dorado asked. "Earth?"
"Does it actually give coordinates for Atlantis?" Mufti asked excitedly.
Hummer glanced at him briefly before returning his attention to the screen. "I'm still trying to figure out the data, Doctor. It looks like . . . it looks like they were using the plane of the ecliptic as a reference base for their coordinate system, so I should be able to figure this out. Date of reference on the Old Kobollian Calendar is . . ."
"Well, considering the ecliptic plane is constantly changing, that doesn't make a hell of a lot of sense." Ryan replied. "Whatever you get would be thousands of years out of date, wouldn't it?"
"Colonials still use the ecliptic as a celestial reference system," Dorado replied, shielding his eyes with his glove from the growing intensity of the light in the room. "Granted, it does require a date of reference as well as an accurate ephemeris. . ."
"It's an out of date system," Ryan replied. "There's too much margin for error, especially when we factor in any solar system dynamics."
Hummer looked up briefly at the other man, an idea forming. "What do you use on Earth?"
"The International Celestial Reference Frame. It's more stable than the old ecliptic system. It uses declination, right ascension and distance from the barycentre, rather than the plane of the ecliptic."
"The barycentre being . . .?"
"The barycentre being the centre of the solar system," Ryan replied, now also shielding his eyes with his gloved hand. Even with the self-adjusting tint to protect against glare, it still was growing uncomfortably bright in there. "Summarily, we changed from a dynamical to a kinematic defining motion, from bright stars to extragalactic reference sources, from a precession of the equinox to a more stable fiducial point, and from a reference frame moving with time to a fixed reference frame independent of date."
"Makes sense," Dorado commented, as he began to feel a faint tremor beneath his feet. "So Earth has a more precise coordinate system, yet at this point have only sent a manned mission as far as Mars, while Colonials, both historically and currently, have crossed the universe, settling several new planets, admittedly bumbling along and calculating positions with more chance of error on the plane of ecliptic, yet apparently not getting lost all the same . . ."
Hummer chuckled, turning to grin at Ryan.
Behind his faceplate, Grae Ryan's face crinkled in mirth. "Point conceded. Of course, it wasn't us who pissed off the Cylons."
"Don't you just love how Earthlings concede a point!" Dorado mentioned.
"Earthmen, not Earthlings. Okay, I'll shut up now." Ryan leaned forward, peering over Hummer's shoulder where figures were streaming across the screen, relative to input from the technician. A navigational screen superimposed itself, showing an image of continental land masses surrounding a massive body of water. It was clearly Earth, but just as clearly there were two additional landmasses. "Is that . . .?"
A light began flashing.
"Oh . . . frack," Hummer said, his fingers tentatively finding their way across the keyboard, data coming up on screen as the flashing light increased in frequency, a graph coming up indicating some kind of power signatures. Levels were rising into the red.
Fast.
"What?" Dorado asked.
"Remember when the Clavis self-initiated until it reached the point where it almost launched us across the universe?" Hummer asked.
"Yeah," Dorado replied measuredly.
"Well, turning this thing on seemed to have reinitiated the final inputted settings."
"Final?" asked Mufti. "Like a computer, going into hibernation mode?"
"Exactly. Whatever was put in last is still in here, and we woke it up! I think it's powering up to . . . uh . . . well . . ."
"Yes?" Dorado said more insistently.
"To blow something up."
"On Earth?" Ryan squeaked, looking at familiar charts now updating through sensitive scanners, and showing Earth's oceans and continents more traditionally. "You mean we're about to launch some kind of nuclear attack on Earth?"
"Didn't you ask what we had to lose by doing this?" Mufti commented, crossing his arms.
"I didn't hear you objecting at the time when we fired this baby up, Mufti!" Ryan snapped.
"Quiet! Both of you!" Dorado ordered them. "Hummer! What's going on? Are we about to attack Earth?"
"Well . . . not necessarily, Dorado," the technician replied, still accessing data.
"Come again?"
"If this thing was working right, then we'd be about to attack Earth," Hummer said evenly. On one screen, a set of coordinates, arranged in a circle, had focused on Earth. The planet was magnified, filling the targeting scope.
"But it's not working right?" Ryan clarified. "So we're okay?"
"Actually," Hummer sucked in a deep breath. "It can't strike Earth from here."
"But if the coordinates are set for Earth, what's . . .?" asked Ryan.
"According to this," Hummer pointed to a schematic, whereon a large . . . something, was flashing red. An alarm was sounding, and a voice from the speaker grill was repeating the same word over and over. "According to this, the main emitter array for the weapon is off-line; it hasn't initialized." He tried several controls. "Remember the Ravishol Pulsar on Arcta?"
"I wasn't with the Fleet then, but I remember hearing about it," said Dorado. "They blew up the energy exchange pump; the gun went up like a volcano."
"Exactly. This contraption is built along similar lines, although a Hades Hole of a lot more sophisticated. The main emitter diode bank is dead." He tried again, touching the icon for the bank. Nothing he tried seemed to have the slightest effect.
"Meaning?" asked Mufti, who knew next to nothing about physics and electrical matters.
"Meaning it's like plugging the barrel of one of your chemical slug-thrower firearms or a high-pressure hose. The energy can't get out, and will continue to build up until . . ."
"It bursts," said the old scholar.
"Exactly. What's going to happen here is that the power will keep building up in the capacitor bank until the whole damn thing reaches overload. There's no way to discharge it."
"Can you stop it?" asked three voices at once.
"If I had a few centars, then maybe."
"Bottom line, Hummer," said Dorado sharply.
"Bottom line," he said, looking at his commanding officer. "We don't have that long. We're about to blowourselves up."
xxxxx
Ama had a way of glaring at Starbuck impatiently that made a few centons seemingly stretch into centars. Strangely, the skin prickled at the back of his neck as he stepped out of an embrace with Jess Dayton only to be jerked into another final one with her father. In the front yard of the Chicago home, Dayton slapped him on the back, and then squeezed him tighter than an Aquarian Constrictor, holding him for a long moment. The commander's voice was coarse with emotion.
"Take care of yourself, kid. After all, I won't be around to do it for you."
Starbuck swallowed hard at the words, sensing a finality to them that didn't sit altogether well with him. The unwelcome heaviness in his chest was painful, and he was overcome with an intensity of emotion that he fought to temper. After all, goodbyes were practically a way of life with him, and relationships were largely transitory, he reminded himself. That's why it was important to keep the number of people around you as large as possible, so you were less impacted when you inevitably parted ways with someone you really cared. . .
"Starbuck!" Ama hissed at him from several metrons away. "Now!"
When he looked up, Baltar and Eirys had suddenly flanked the Councilwoman. The Beings of Light looked at him expectantly and almost regrettably as he spied them over Dayton's shoulder. Now what were they doing there? Mason and his Anakim goons were exposed and defeated; what could they want now? And was he the only one who could see them besides the necromancer? He began to pull back from the old man's embrace, his instinct and scepticism putting him on guard.
It was already too late.
"Starb . . ." Dayton began.
The sound of the shots ricocheted through his stunned mind even as Dayton's body jerked in his arms. The old man clawed at Starbuck's tunic, his grey eyes wide with disbelief and pain, and his breath catching audibly before a loud groan was torn from his throat. Then his weight fell forward, almost knocking the younger man off balance.
"NO!" Starbuck screamed, supporting Dayton as he lowered him to the hard ground. His commander arched his back, his lips gasping for a breath as he maintained a death grip on Starbuck, their faces only centimetrons apart.
"S-son . . ."
Dayton coughed harshly and Starbuck blinked in reaction as he felt a warm wetness spray his face. The sanguineous spittle on the old man's lips told him how serious the situation was.
"Cassie!" Starbuck roared desperately, amid screams of horror and angry shouts of disbelief as Jess and Lauren dropped down to their knees beside their stricken father, seemingly paralyzed in horror, and shrieking insensibly.
Through a staggering haze of grief, Starbuck caught a glimpse of Bruce Johnson pointing an archaic pistol in their direction from the front door of the house. Their eyes locked for a brief moment, the vague and horrified realization entering his mind that the weapon—an old "German Luger" Dayton had called it—had come from the den of collectibles. Apparently, Johnson had entered the house and had liberated the old firearm, using one of Mark Dayton's beloved antiques to fulfil some twisted dream of "revenge" for the death of his mother on the International Space Station deca-yahrens before. Not an hour before, Johnson had been partaking of Dayton's hospitality, filling his face with barbequed ribs and drinking Milwaukee brew, seemingly one of those attending that the Earthman called friend. Bruce smiled thinly at the unfolding scene, and Starbuck tensed, suddenly overcome with an all-encompassing need to avenge his friend and mentor, despite the risk. He wasn't armed, but it didn't matter. He'd tear Johnson limb from limb with his bare hands, unless, of course, Paddy Ryan got there first. With a growl of malignant intent, Starbuck moved to rise, beginning to pry himself loose of Dayton's unceasing grip.
"No . . ." Dayton gasped, his hold on Starbuck unrelenting. Blood leached through the Earthman's shirt at an alarming rate, as friends began tearing around the side of the house to behold the spectacle. "Don't be a . . . an idiot. . .Starb-b-b . . ."
"It's done," said Johnson, still holding the ancient sidearm. "Justice is done."
With a strange expression of calm acceptance, "Brucey" wedged the pistol under his jaw and fired again, a milli-centon later dropping to the porch lifelessly. With the looming threat so unbelievably eliminated, Starbuck slumped back down beside the old man, his shaky hand covering Dayton's as it continued to tear at his tunic.
The whole horrific scene had taken barely ten microns.
"You're going to be okay," Starbuck said, the words sounding hollow as he watched the life seep out of his friend. "Hold on, goddamn it, just hold on . . ."
"Dad!" Lauren said through a veil of tears, embracing her aunt, who was likewise crying. "Just keep breathing! Help's on the way!"
"Bastard!" hissed Jessica. "Damn that bastard to hell, he . . ."
Dayton grimaced, a wave of pain gripping him, as Cassiopeia fell to her knees beside them with a cry of dismay. Her face was stricken, her head shaking from side to side, her eyes filming over with tears. The consummate professional was gone, replaced by a crumbling female, sadly and conspicuously bereft of her biomonitor and med kit.
"Mark," she lamented, brushing the hair from his face. "Mark . . ."
"Do something, Cass," Starbuck begged her, "please!"
Shakily, she pulled open Dayton's shirt, getting help to roll him over to expose the wound, burbling with bloody fluid. She swallowed hard and straightened her back, trying to regain her composure as she began to apply pressure with a wadded up piece of cloth, then allowed him to settle supine. An abrupt howl of anguish from a devastated Ryan filled the air, as the breathless Earthman arrived from the backyard, collapsing on his knees beside her.
"Now what'd you go and do that for, Cowpoke?" Ryan babbled incoherently, his voice strained as he took in the scene. "Getting yourself all shot up, and ruining a perfectly good party . . . puts me off my drink, it does . . ."
"Can't have that, Paddy," Dayton replied, blood staining even white teeth as he struggled for his next breath. He was growing paler with each passing moment. "You going on the wagon? Why do I feel . . . like . . ." He coughed harshly, bloody frothy spittle forming on his lips.
"Like what, Mark?" Cassie asked him, her voice calm and reassuring, but her eyes wide with fear. She checked his pulse, and shook her head in silent protest. The bullet had obviously punctured a lung, but with the amount of blood loss, a major vessel also had to have been damaged.
"Like . . . like I'm . . . uh . . . hosting my own funeral," he rasped in return, looking at those gathered around him through a haze of pain. "I didn't prepare a eulogy . . ."
"You're not dying!" Ryan protested fearfully. "Do you hear me? You're not bloody dying!" His voice broke, even as he shook his fists impotently, and swore like a drunken sailor. "You can't . . . !"
"I . . . think . . ." Dayton rasped. Paddy leaned close. "I think . . . I'd like a priest, P-Pad . . ."
"Yeah, Mark, of course," replied his old friend and favourite atheist. "You got it, old friend." Ryan turned, yelling over his shoulder, "Someone go get Father Nikokavouras! He lives six houses down! Look for the huge fountain and the statuary!"
"Ryan!" Dayton protested. "Father Nikokavouras . . . he's Eastern . . . Orthodox."
"Just how many priests do you think I know in your neighbourhood?" Paddy countered. "He's a good guy, Mark, with an endless supply of Retsina. Besides . . . if there's really a god, I'm sure he'll understand."
Dayton smiled slowly, rolling his eyes in disbelief. "Thank . . . thanks, old . . ." He coughed, his breath ragged. "Jess? Laur . . . Yvon . . ." Slowly, his eyelids flickered shut, and he descended into silence.
Raw fear gnawing at his gut, Starbuck sat back on his haunches, looking desperately over at the Empyrean wise-woman who had been a surrogate mother to him since he'd been adopted into her heart and her family. Could Ama intervene with some Empyrean magic, giving Dayton some advantage as he waited for emergency services to arrive? Starbuck's intense need to do something, which had driven him since childhood, was almost as strong as his desire to escape the emotional miasma buffeting him. Warriors were supposed to die heroically and abruptly, incinerated by laser fire or in hopeless planetside fire fights with murderous phalanxes of Centurions, not bleeding to death on the ground, choking on their own blood, their friends and family standing helplessly around them, gunned down by someone they'd known since childhood. When he'd shot himself, Bruce Johnson had even robbed Starbuck of the opportunity to redirect his labile emotions. Oh, how he ached to unleash the fury consuming him as he considered the unjustness of this atrocity. His hands shook and he felt like he was going to explode, as he finally cried plaintively, "Ama!"
The Empyrean's eyes darted from the wounded Dayton back to Baltar and she rubbed the back of her neck, an occasional sign of stress that she'd affected of late. She looked trapped, like a feral beast desperate to escape, as Baltar and Eirys spoke at her passionately, their miens and gesticulations filling Starbuck with a new concernment. His fear for Dayton aside, it made him suddenly suspect there was more going on here than met the eye.
Lu put her arms around him from behind, and he squeezed her hand briefly, welcoming her warm support. Idly, he wiped at the warm wetness trailing down his cheeks, unbidden. He forced himself to his feet, feeling his wife's hands release him as he lunged forward. His feet felt leaden as he narrowed the distance between Ama and himself, reluctantly preparing himself to tackle whatever new calamity was about to confront them.
Starbuck grabbed the necromancer by the shoulders, gently but forcibly turning her around to look at him. Uncharacteristically, she seemed to cower beneath his scrutiny, actually bowing her head to avoid his penetrating gaze. Amidst his anguish, he looked appraisingly at Baltar and Eirys, wondering what they had said to her. What machinations had those from the Ship of Lights put into play this time?
"What the frack's going on? Ama? Baltar?"
"We have a . . . a situation," Baltar said, typically evasive in his role of Being of Light.
Starbuck clenched his jaw, releasing Ama, feeling a profound urge to grab Baltar and pound the information out of him. "Baltar," he growled in warning.
"Starbuck, at this moment the Phobos space station is about to explode, the Clavis is poised to return the Endeavour to the Fleet without the remainder of her crew, yourself included, and Commander Dayton is near to death," Eirys announced matter-of-factly, stepping in front of her husband as if protecting him from the tylium-hot fury of one mere mortal. "If Ama doesn't command the Oculus . . ." her summary trailed off, the unspoken words hanging between them like a taskforce of launching Base Ships.
Starbuck knew that Ama feared wielding the Oculus, certain it would seal her fate as Count Iblis' replacement as an immortal agent of evil. Its limitless power was its dark lure, and such omnipotent power had a way of corrupting all but the purest of individuals, of which Ama had never claimed to be. Hades Hole, Starbuck could live with being left behind on Earth, even if it meant he might never see an aging Chameleon ever again. But Phobos exploding, taking a contingent of both Colonials and Earthmen with it, and Dayton dying . . . it was simply unacceptable, especially if there was something that he or anybody else could do about it.
"Please, Ama," Starbuck said again, reaching out for the necromancer and pulling her to him, his hands grasping her shoulders, perhaps a little too tightly. She grimaced. "If you can save them . . ." He swallowed hard and his chest hitched with renewed emotion, simmering deep inside him, threatening to boil over. Futilely, he tried to block out the heartrending sounds of those attending Dayton. In the distance he could hear the wail of a siren approaching. "I'll do anything you ask, Ama." He bargained with her, recalling another time he'd made an offer to the Beings of Light. "If it's a soul they're after, then I'll even trade places with him . . . please, Ama." He heard Lu's gasp of protest behind him, but the truth remained that Dayton had forged solid relations with the people of Earth that the rest of them could have never hoped to achieve. They needed his presence here to ensure there would be a world ready to welcome them when the Fleet arrived. "He means too much to his people . . . to our people." His last rambling words were almost incomprehensible, his face wild with desperate frenzy.
"As do you, Dear Heart," Ama replied, her features softening as she reached up and stroked his face ever so gently.
Starbuck shook his head. "Warriors like me are a cubit a crew, Ama. We burn up all the time! Take me instead!"
She smiled up at him. "Mark-Dayton would deny that as loudly as the rest of those that cherish you, son of my heart. Know your true value, Starbuck, for one day your name will be recorded throughout the annals of human history."
She smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling in amusement at his words. "No, as the military leader that inspired and then led the first military strike against the Cylon home world in over seven hundred yahrens. You will be heralded as one of the Great Emancipators of the Twelve Worlds of Man."
Starbuck's jaw dropped open in utter shock. To date, he'd been more of a Constipator than an Emancipator.
"Think, boy! Why do you suppose you were spared time and time again to follow the path of the warrior? To be mentored by Adama and Mark-Dayton, to have the fellowship of men like Apollo, Boomer and Dorado, to have the moral guidance of your own personal necromancer?" He was silent a moment. "It was no mere chance that the Cylons attacked Umbra, just then, Child. You are appointed a great future, and your specific role in that evokes great fear in some quarters. You were spared, Starbuck, to fulfil a mighty destiny. One of such a magnitude that it would strike fear into a lesser man's heart."
"But . . . I'm . . ." He stopped, his heart struck by fear, for a moment images from the massacre at Umbra flashing across his mind. The noise, the screams, the stench of immolated bodies. "I'm nobody! I'm an ambrosa guzzling Viper jockey. I'm no . . ."
"You are a good man, Starbuck. One day you will be a great one."
Meanwhile, a shout of alarm and the abrupt start of chest compressions on the former Endeavour commander brought the situation to a head.
"Oh Lord! Ama, please help him if you can!" Starbuck begged her, plunged back into the crisis. He wanted to shake some sense into her, but a Colonial code of conduct prevented that. Barely. "What do I have to do?
"I suppose you just did it," she replied, easily twisting out of his grasp and reaching for the Oculus. She held it reverently for a moment, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath, raising it above her. "Through the powers of the infinite . . ."