Chapter Four
Dayton didn't know what to think.
On the one hand, all was going surprisingly well with his new command. The ship was performing admirably on her shakedown cruise, aside from a few minor teething troubles. They went into and dropped out of lightspeed within the calculated parameters. Ship's systems were operating as hoped. Both fire and damage control were going to getting top marks. All offensive and defensive batteries were on-line and working. As far as he knew, the medical department was humming nicely. And of the four squadrons aboard, two, Phoenix and Sphinx, had been certified, and activated. Flight ops were getting up to speed, and the PT program for the newer cadets aboard was going according to the book. In all but the last, Malus the IL had been of enormous help.
However, on the other hand,"the Book", be it Colonial or the U.S. Air Force Academy manual, didn't address the mystical. Oh, he was as spiritual as the next guy, but never in his professional life had he needed to factor in the guidance of a "spiritual advisor" while making tactical decisions. It was clear that Apollo was thinking along a similar vein, and Starbuck was no help, clearly struggling between complete denial that there could be something mystical out there responsible for Baltar's disappearance, and knowing better than anyone that the Empyrean Necromancer, like it or not,had a proven track record. The others were sitting on the fence.
"Recommendations?" Dayton asked of his officers and his valued colleagues, as they met in the War Room. Just how seriously did they take all this? Half a universe away from Earth, he might just have to follow their lead.
"ETA to the calculated source of the signal is seven point nine eight three centars," Apollo reminded them, checking his chrono. "If this really is some kind of trap, and admittedly I'm more inclined to think of Cylons than entities, biological or spiritual, then we should send out a patrol to investigate."
"Any indication of whether or not they, whoever they are, can track us while we're in hyperdrive?" Baker asked.
"Given that we were able to do that of Colonial ships over a centi-yahren ago, and vice versa," observed Malus, "it may well be prudent to assume that whoever is controlling this mysterious energy can do so as well."
"Status of our ECM suite?" asked Dayton.
"All indicators nominal," said Dorado. "We're as screened as we can possibly be, Commander."
"Isolated from the Fleet, and coming in from a different vector, we might just get away with it," said Porter. "They'll think we're Cylon."
"And using that modified electro-larynx that Baker developed, if our patrol communicates with them, they might just fall for it," Dayton nodded. It was Baker that had pointed out that the Cylons sounded almost identical to his uncle, a cancer survivor that had had his larynx surgically removed in the eighties. The medical equipment that had given Earth patients back a voice, before more sophisticated methods came along, was perfect to mimic a Cylon, a necessity for a Covert Operations Ship. Once they had modified it with the Cylon voice modulator, inserting it right into the Hybrids' comm system, it was the perfect deception. Add to that the Cylon code they had all become proficient with transmitting, both the squadrons and Bridge crew were ready.
"Yeah, but what if it's not Cylon?" Starbuck reminded them, raking his fingers through his hair. "What if Ama's right, and this is a trap? Some kind of . . . entity?" He frowned in distaste as he forced the word out. "Luring us in, like an insecton to a crawlon's web."
"What do you mean 'we', pale face," Ryan quipped, clarifying that the greatest risk would be taken by the strike captain's wing.
"Entity, huh?" Dayton tried to get his mind around it. Sure he believed in God, angels, and even evil spirits to a certain extent, but the whole necromancy thing sort of left him feeling . . . uncomfortable. It reminded him of some of those sick puppies back on Earth that practiced various forms of what was termed Occultism. "Might be nice if John dropped by about now, and filled us in on a thing or two."
The "angel" had been conspicuously absent since Dayton's arrival in the Fleet, when John had averted an irrational decision that Dayton had made to destroy the Galactica, using the immense power of the Dynamos at the pirate asteroid. After that, Dayton had discovered that the angel had at one point appeared to Starbuck and Apollo, and as recently as a few months ago to Dickins, before his friend piloted the NASA Space Shuttle, Endeavour, through a wormhole to Earth, assisted by Technician Hummer. Dayton even suspected that John had appeared when he had been nine years old, saving his life under still-mysterious circumstances. The angel's appearances were sporadic at best, and seemed inspired by near catastrophe, rather than desire on the part of any Human for heavenly guidance.
"Yeah well, I wouldn't count on John," Starbuck returned almost caustically. "He's already told us he's not permitted to interfere."
"Let's stick with the facts," Apollo interjected, getting them back on track. "We have an unknown energy source, Baltar's disappearance . . ."
"And an Empyrean Necromancer's word that they're related," Starbuck inserted reluctantly. Certainly apologetically.
"We might be better off to go in with the Endeavour," Dayton pondered, wishing he could just climb in the fighter and fly this mission himself. Putting other men's lives in jeopardy was something that had never sat well with him, and standing on the Bridge watching and waiting would be excruciating.
"Except that any traditional Cylon Base Ship would send out a patrol to investigate something unusual like this," the colonel pointed out practically. "A Covert Operations Ship is what we're supposed to be."
"You're right, Apollo," Dayton sighed, knowing the younger man's council was right on the money. "If we're going to talk the talk, we have to walk the walk." Dayton turned to Apollo. "Time till next course change?"
"Nine point six centons."
Dayton nodded, moving to the tactical board. There, the flashing dot that represented the Endeavour was set against the backdrop of this region of space. According to the plot, they would begin passing through a small solar system in just undersix centons. Interestingly, the system was already in the ship's data banks.
"Okay, we drop out of lightspeed once inside this system," the commander declared, indicating it on the plotting board. "We scan ahead, and see if whoever has found us or not. Assuming that goes well, we launch a patrol ahead, in the direction of the original signal source. If the ships are picked up, it will look like a typical Cylon patrol." He looked around the room, both his stance and expression clearly inviting opinions and questions.
"How soon after we launch do you follow?" asked Starbuck.
"That will depend upon what you learn. If you are detected, I would prefer to keep our . . ." he waved a hand, indicating the entire ship, "presence and exact location a mystery as long as possible."
"Assuming they aren't already tracking us," countered Starbuck.
"True," replied the commander. "But we must select between options, and since there have been no more energy waves since departing the Fleet, I'm picking this one." Starbuck looked between Dayton and Apollo, before finally nodding. He'd put in his two cents, but after all was said and done, Dayton knew he'd follow orders. At least while they were standing right there beside him.
"Alright. Six Hybrids, twelve pilots," Starbuck glanced at his chrono. "I'll brief them. Anything else?"
"Your best pilots, Starbuck. Experience counts," Dayton reminded him.
"I'll take Giles and Lia, but I need to leave Jolly, Dietra and some of the others here to lead and support the other wings, if it comes to that," Starbuck informed them, having clearly thought all this though ahead of time. "I'd take Lu along, but fraternization rules preclude. . ." He sighed, letting the words die a death on his lips. He dredged up a smile.It wasn't his best, by any means. "Those kids have come a long way, we'll be fine."
Dayton narrowed his eyes. Having the right number of bodies to fill their fighters had looked fine when he had briefly examined the roster that his strike captain had thrust in front of his nose at some point, but now, when they were about to go on their first real mission, he could see that experience mattered. He glanced at Apollo, who had an almost imperceptible smile on his lips, as he considered their subordinate officer. That was all it took to make Dayton realize that he'd almost been 'Starbucked'. "Okay. Take Dietra, and put Luana on standby. As far as I'm concerned, if we're in a battle situation, we should be pulling her from the Wraith assignment."
"Aye, sir," Starbuck replied, a glimmer of something in his eyes, that might have been respect.
"Maintain radio silence unless attacked, aside from low-gain Cylon code between your ships, until you are back in range of us. If you do encounter Cylons, bullshit 'em for as long as possible. I know I can count on you for that, Starbuck. For this mission, your call sign will be Cannonball One, Two, and so forth. Ours will be Casey Jones."
"Uhh. . ." Starbuck looked at him like he'd suddenly started speaking another language.
Dayton explained: "If there are Cylons in this area, and they should pick your transmissions on the way back, it will confuse them."
"Just them?" Starbuck returned pointedly. "You know, if we stick to the Cylon code and transmit with the vocal modulator, it shouldn't be necessary. Those kids are going to be nervous enough as it is; this isn't the time to be firing cannonballs at them."
Ryan laughed aloud, abruptly stopping when Dayton scowled at him. "Well, I thought it was funny."
"You would," Dayton returned.
"Actually," inserted Malus. "Since those words do not occur in any language known to the Alliance, they would not be deemed to be of Colonial origin."
"What's your point, Mal?" Starbuck asked.
"That in future, many Earth terms would make good codes. In fact, Yankee Doodle 101 might be worth studying for just such a purpose." Malus paused as Dayton scowled again. "Did I offend you in some way, Commander?"
"Yankee Doodle 101?" Dayton looked at Ryan, who shrugged far too innocently. "Never mind. All right. Point taken. Okay, Starbuck. Get going."
"Yes, sir."He turned to head for the hatch, stopping briefly as Apollo stepped in front of him.
"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Apollo murmured, gripping his friend's arm firmly.
"Like fly into a magnetic void? Or duel with Diabolis?" Starbuck returned, holding the grip and his friend's gaze for a long moment.
"Those didn't actually work out all that well," Apollo pointed out.
"Which goes to show that even the craziest plans can be pulled out of the fire in the long run," Starbuck chuckled, slapping the colonel on the shoulder as he passed by.
"Bridge," called Dayton. Vesta responded. "Take us out of lightspeed now, Ensign. Go to one-third sub-light velocity."
"Aye, Commander," replied the other.
--
On his way to the launch bay, Starbuck could feel the vibration and hear the alarm, as the Endeavour fell below lightspeed and switched over to standard propulsion. At this point, Dayton would be ordering a full sensor sweep, and all passive systems to maximum boost. If all bands remained clear, they would launch soon.
"All's ready, Starbuck!" Jenny reported as soon as he walked through the hatch. The chief warrant officer had officially requested the transfer over to the Endeavour, claiming she was looking forward to the "new challenges", but all the same, it was reassuring that the woman who had been charged with maintaining his squadron's fighters since he had first boarded the Galactica, would be continuing to do so with the new Hybrids.
"Any problems, Jenny?" Starbuck asked, knowing there had been a few glitches with the fighters, and that Jenny—along with the pilots—was most familiar with them.
"These six are the best we have," she replied, falling in alongside him as he paced towards his bird. Corporal Veeno was doing a thorough pre-flight check, which although was customary, Starbuck knew would be redundant when compared to the examination that his CWO would have already performed. The consummate professional, Dietra was doing a check of her own. "If you find anything wrong with them, Captain, I'll guarantee I'll run naked through the OC."
"Hmm . . . Hey, Veeno, anything?" he called, grinning. "Scratch in the paint? Fumarello butts under the seats?"
Jenny whacked Starbuck with a greasy rag, that she pulled from her coveralls. "Hey, I stayed up through my rest period, double-checking every bit of these babies against the schematics, knowing we were shipping out today," she announced proudly. "She's one hundred percent ready to go."
"You pulled an all-nighter? Again?" Starbuck remarked more seriously. "You've done one Hades of a job, Jenny. I owe you."
"You've owed me since you were a greenhorn, Starbuck," she replied with a smile.
"Was I ever a greenhorn?" he reminisced, checking his datapad, then slipping it back into place.
"Oh, you were green, but you were so full of yourself that nobody realized it." She turned to look at Veeno, then back to Starbuck. "Least of all you."
"That was talent, Jenny," he grinned, knowing there would be an inevitable comeback. "Not ego."
"I've found over my career that the two usually go together, and if the pilot survives his ego in the first three sectars, that it usually settles down to something resembling self-confidence. Of course, your ego is more resilient than most." She handed him his helmet, newly equipped to link to the ship's onboard computer, and transmit the Cylon voice modifier.
"Well, what can I say. If you've got it . . ." He looked up as Veeno finished his check, and closed up the ship's starboard engine cowling. The corporal crossed the tarmac, handed Jenny the datapad, and she signed off on it. He saluted both of them, and left.
"A good kid, Veeno," said Jenny, watching him depart. "Used to hotlink hovermobiles for a repo outfit before the Holocaust. Has a natural talent for machines. He qualified as aViper mechanic even faster than I did."
"You always had a knack for picking the best, Jen."
"Yeah? Then how did I manage to miss you?" she winked at him teasingly.
"We started off badly when I kept getting your birds shot up," smiled Starbuck. The first time she had been sympathetic, even concerned. The second time, she'd still been supportive. But the third time, when he'd blown an engine during battle, she'd raked him over the coals, telling him that if he didn't learn to treat his ship at least twice as good as he treated his women, that he'd have to deal with her. He could still picture her standing in the landing bay, hands on hips, and eyes flashing in anger. And I can see right through that innocent smile, Lieutenant, so don't you even try to flash it my way . . . "Cruel fate."
"Yeah. Tell me about it." She looked behind him, and nodded in that direction. "Base to Starbuck, check your blind spot."
"They call it a blind spot for a reason . . ."he glanced over his shoulder theatrically, stopping when he spotted Luana jogging to catch up, an Empyrean Talisman dangling from her right hand. He had tried to catch her after the briefing, but had been distracted by several questions from anxious youngsters seeking reassurance that they were ready, at least in his eyes, for the mission ahead. An inspiring pep talk later—mostly stolen from endless motivational words he had heard over the yahrens from superior officers, and one or two Earth war "moovees" with Colonial subtitles—and the uncertainty from their features was gone, replaced with that naïve determination that buoyed the spirits, and blustered its way past the usual first mission jitters. By then though, Lu had disappeared. "Oh . . . thanks." He briefly touched Jenny's hand, as the chief warrant officer moved on to give the newlyweds some privacy. At least, all the privacy that could be gained in a busy launch bay. "I was . . ."
Luana launched herself into his arms, stopping his flow of words as she kissed him passionately, igniting emotions in him that weren't really supposed to be expressed in a launch bay. There was more than a little desperation in that kiss, and he met it with a little of his own. There was something about having a wife back on his base ship that inexorably changed the way he would look at missions, making him just a little bit more cautious out there, though he certainly hadn't lost his edge. Crew, fighters, and the constant din all but disappeared around them, as they lost themselves for a heavenly moment in each other.
"Sheesh!" somebody muttered.
Luana pulled back slightly, studying him for a moment before she put the leather cord of the talisman, very old and crafted of silver,over his head. With a slight smile, she tucked it under his tunic.
"You forgot it," she murmured, kissing him again tenderly.
"Didn't have time . . ." he returned a little lamely, but the truth was he had forgotten Ama's plea that he wear it, while focussing on the mission. As usual, Ama had rectified this oversight.
"So when you find this energy source, you're not going to try to find some way to bottle it, and start selling it in the Fleet, are you?" she teased him, but her brown eyes were deep pools of concern.
"Hey, if it can replace tylium, I'd be a rich man," he returned, before pressing her against him a final time. He pulled her hair free from the tether that held it in place while she was on duty, carding his fingers through its silky lengths. "And you'd be a rich woman."
"I already am, Innamorato," she murmured, tilting up her face, and inviting another kiss.
He was no fool.
"I'll see you soon," he told her a moment later.
"Not too soon, I hope," she replied, and he knew she referred to their reserve squadrons launching in the event of a large scale attack or emergency.
"Exactly. The Empyrean Ale won't have a chill on it yet, if we get back too quickly," he quipped, and turned to go. Had he ever felt so reluctant to start a mission, or to leave his base ship? Usually, he was champing at the bit to get going. Was his reaction to do with Baltar's disappearance, Ama's warning, or the fact that he was leaving the most precious woman in the universe behind? Starbuck felt Lu press his fingers a final time before she let go, releasing him to fulfil his duty. He clenched his fist, acutely feeling their separation as if they had been rent in two. Oh, get over it, Bucko!
"Attention!" boomed a voice over the PA. It was Pierus,in the Control Centre. "Attention! Phoenix pilots, man your ships. Repeat, Phoenix pilots, man your ships, and prepare to launch."
"Okay, everybody!" he called out to the rest, shouting to be heard over the din. "Let's go!" Starbuck began to move towards his assigned ship, eyes resolutely ahead. Almost unconsciously, he registered several pats on his back from well-wishers as he crossed the bay, a tradition amongst the crew. When he reached the Hybrid and prepared to board, he knew he didn't dare look back.
He could feel Lu's eyes on him still, as he disappeared inside.
--
It was maddening! Damnably so! A short term link with the entity, and then nothing, other than sensing that same entity on three separate occasions afterwards, like a lingering echo in a vermin-filled cave. The first two were so fleeting as to be barely detectable, but the third . . . the third had washed over her, almost knocking her over in its intensity as it approached the Fleet. Ama would know the next time it came . . . and she sensed that there would be a next time.
"I seek your guidance . . ." Ama fanned open her hands, palms up, seeing beyond the metal walls, and into the universe beyond. There had been a time, not so long ago, that she had needed to physically see the heavens, awash with innumerable stars, and with that simple link had felt her powers swell. However, since joining the Colonial Fleet, she had been surprised at the insight that she had gained, and how her powers of necromancy had significantly increased, as though being on the planet Empyrean had somehow limited her, and her connection with celestial Beings.
Several times over her lifetime spirits had connected with her, probing her, letting her know that they were observing, never far away. She was familiar with a golden aura of light, which in her early yahrens she had theorized was the Goddess Triquetra or one of her ethereal messengers. Ama had always welcomed the supernatural force, knowing it watched over her and her people in some mystical fashion. She had sensed only benevolence, goodness and a slight curiosity directed towards her, but only once before had they actually communicated with her. And this was the first time she had tried calling upon them.
Once again, she sensed the Being before she saw it. A golden light, it was both utterly beautiful and deeply inspiring in its simple magnificence. Like a long lost friend, it reached out to her, meeting her own life force, and embracing it.
"Thank you for coming," Ama stated aloud, although she knew it wasn't necessary. It could read her thoughts, recognize her emotions, and probably predict what would happen next. "I have known you for most of my life, yet until I joined the Colonials, I never felt the need to ask your name."
And will you ask now?
"I know what you call yourself when you appear to my kind," Ama replied, as she sensed amusement from the other."Being of Light. Guardian. Or my personal favourite, John."
Then the shimmering light that she knew so well began to transform, taking the shape of a man. He was dressed entirely in a dazzling white, which was a trifle overdone as far as she was concerned.
"I didn't realize you qualified as a fashion critic," John mentioned dryly, before adding, "Are you really sure of that? That they're your kind?"
"Yes."
"Don't you want to think about it for a while longer?" John asked her after a long moment. As ever, he waited, respecting her privacy and dignity.
"You'd think that the thought never crossed my mind, even once since I was born," Ama returned, smoothing down her blue robes.
Necromancers were a fixture in Empyrean civilisation, going back beyond their collective memory. She had been a child still when she'd answered Triquetra's calling, and accepted that her vocation would be that of the mystic in Empyrean society. People had treated her differently from that point, almost with a reverence, tinged with a whiff of fear, and when she had in the fullness of time taken her place in the Imperial Court, her reputation as the most gifted of Empyrean necromancers in recorded history had been solidified.
But that had been almost two hundred yahrens ago.
"Do you remember your parents?" John asked, again after a respectful interval.
"My mother, Annica," Ama nodded slowly. She smiled wistfully, treasuring the tender reflections of the Empyrean woman who had given her both life, and her first taste of knowledge. Annica's beauty had only been eclipsed by her patience and eternal devotion to her daughter.
"And your father?"
Ama smiled. "Arion. A rogue spirit, charming but irreverent."
John raised his eyebrows at that. "Then you do remember him?"
"Those were my mother's words, but she spoke of him rarely," Ama replied with a growing impatience."But enough about my past. I want to know of our future."
"We must understand our past, to face our future, Ama."
"What is this entity? And what does she want with Baltar?" Ama pressed on.
John sighed, glancing upward, before meeting her gaze. "I cannot say."
"Cannot, or will not?" she asked.
He didn't reply.
"Well, then you're not much good to me," Ama replied sourly.
With a look upward, and a nod, he continued. "Ama, listen and contemplate. A very great injustice must be undone, in order for a terrible disaster to be averted.You will play a part."
She smiled, studying him for a moment. "Ah, now I begin to understand the frustration I sense in Starbuck when he speaks of you," Ama nodded, having heard of the vague and nebulous messages that John had delivered to both Starbuck and Apollo, as well as Commander Dayton, when they had encountered him.
"But you cannot interfere, Ama. There are certain things that need to happen . . . "
Ama sniffed derisively, taking a step closer."I am not bound by your rules, John, nor will I sit by and let the people I care about risk their lives needlessly, especially if you won't explain. I am not some nitwit that cannot discriminate between right and wrong. I am Ama, born of Arion and Annica of the Empyrean Imperial House. I am the Empyrean Necromancer, and I also proudly sit on the Colonial Council of the Twelve. The best thing about being the Imperial Necromancer is that I make my own rules, and I live with the consequences."
John looked upward beseechingly. "I tried to tell her, but she isn't ready to listen."
"Oh, tell them to stop their incessant nattering, please! I can hear them too, you know."
John looked at her in surprise, and then nodded slowly. Almost sadly."There is a reason for that, Ama. Your father . . ."
The necromancer waved him off. "I know who I am. What I am. And I know where I belong."
"Do not interfere, Ama. Or the situation might be made even worse."
"Yet, if I play any part whatsoever, will I not be interfering?" she asked wryly. Her expression almost demanded an answer.
"You will know what to do when the time comes."
Ama laughed harshly. "That sounds like some line of drivel I would feed to Starbuck to encourage him when he's feeling overwhelmed."
John looked like he had just sucked on something sour. "Are your words 'drivel', then, Ama?"
"We both know that drivel has its place, but it's not here with me." Ama told him straight up. "Asking me not to interfere is akin to asking me to stop breathing. I really don't know if I have it in me."
The Being of Light looked cautiously optimistic. "Then you'll try?"
"Not very hard," she admitted, smiling as he let out a groan. "Don't fash yourself, dear heart.Have faith."
"I thought that was supposed to be my advice, Ama," said John.
"Although we go about doing things rather differently, I believe we both are striving towards the same eventuality, John. I, unlike you, can interfere to my heart's content. While you can only appear before me, offer me guidance, and hope that I intervene where you cannot . . . much as you have done before with other Humans, while professing your impotence in such matters."
John sighed, looking upward, before returning his gaze to her. "It's a lousy job, but somebody's got to do it."
--
Baltar cradled his still aching head in his hands, trying to rest, while at the same time running through in his mind all that he had come to know of the "troll people". Although much of their conversation had seemed banal in light of how he had felt when he had first "arrived", his bureautician's mind had meticulously filed all the information away, so that he might use it later. A man didn't survive plotting treason, being himself betrayed, a near-execution, imprisonment by both the Colonial Nation and then the Cylons, as well as exile and a planet nearly coming apart and killing him,without honing his survival skills.
Most pertinent was the fact that Baltar had been brought here as a test. General Caradoc had selflessly offered to sacrifice his own life, by risking the dangerous crossing of his Doublewalker, whom Eirys had found through the mysterious powers of something called the Oculus. The troll people believed that the spirits of Doublewalkers—two Beings in different dimensions, linked by a twin spirit—were bound together, and that if one was to perish, so would the other. Baltar's safe passage through the "Nonentity" had established that the crossing could be made without losing both spirits to "an eternal elysian slumber". It was somewhat humbling to know he was merely a rat in a cage being experimented on, and that there was some other Doublewalker in the Fleet that was Eirys' true goal. What she would do with the Doublewalker when she found him or her, the former bureautician had no idea, and as his head was about to explode from tediously and cautiously prying this information out of the troll general as they made their way through the tunnels of their underground labyrinth, he had ceased caring.
For now.
Finally the trolls took pity on him when it became obvious that he was still suffering the effects from crossing "dimensions". After all, they considered him a newfound ally against the Cylons. At that point, they led him to some kind of communal "troll" quarters, that he coined the "Troll Hole". That same repulsive musk that wafted off of Eirys and Caradoc seemed to permeate the Hole, which didn't do much to settle his tremulous stomach. However, he knew he needed to get past the headache and nausea—both which were now waning—if he was going to properly assess the strength of the Cylon forces here, and compare them to that of the trolls . . .
So that he might decide which side he should lead to victory.
--
It was a big ole hunk of metal with no viewports, not even allowing a glimpse of the infinite beauty of space. No, the Endeavour was more like flying a submarine, Dayton reckoned as he carried a quick bite back into the War Room. For a moment, he idly wondered what Dickins, a Navy man,would have made of it all.
"So," said Ama from behind him.
Dayton turned, startled, biting off a curse. How the bloody hell did she do that?. He had neither seen the woman, nor heard her approach.Yet, somehow, her appearing out of the blue did not seem out of character. "Ama . . ."
"They're away."
"Yes. If I'm not being a complete, over-the-hill fool, then we can hope to God they're not flying into a trap."
"God?" asked Ama with a rueful smile. "Any one in particular?"
Dayton grinned, almost a little relieved that she wasn't raking him over the coals for not minding her warning. Sometimes she was as protective of Starbuck as a mother bear with its cubs. "We'll have to discuss that sort of stuff sometime."
"Indeed, preferably when you're unarmed," she smiled.
"Or at least armed with some good booze. Nothing like some good stuff to lubricate the thinking."
"And I happen to have a source," smiled the Empyrean sage."So, what will you do now?"
"Try and conceal ourselves in this solar system, until we have more data." He was staring at the board. As soon as the fighters were beyond the system, he looked at the planets more closely. He "hmm'd" as he reviewed the data.
"What is it?" asked Ama.
"Not sure, Ama." He moved to the telecom "Brid . . . er, Control Centre?"
"Sir?"
"Lay in a course for the third planet in this system. Engage at once. I shall be there, presently."
"Sir."
"And launch a single fighter to recon the planet until we're there. In fact, launch the Wraith." It was time that Luana took that bird out, and it would get her mind off Starbuck. Besides, from what he saw, going in with a ship that was almost undetectable to the usual scanner arrays was preferable.
"Right away, sir."
"What are you up to, Mark-Dayton?" asked Ama.
"We have a saying on Earth, Ama. Good . . ."
"Good things come to those who wait."
Dayton wasn't sure just what to say. He'd heard she could read minds, but for some reason it hadn't occurred to him she'd be reading his. "You're spooky, lady.You know that?"
"Oh, I'm barely approaching 'unnerving', Mark-Dayton." She turned to go. "But alas, I sense that 'spooky' will call again. And I must prepare for her."
He hesitated, taken aback after spending the last hours focussing totally on Cylons, that she was dragging him back to the mystical and metaphysical. He almost felt like he was humouring the old broad when he asked, "Is . . . is she coming now?"
Ama smirked, as though she could see right through him. "Why do you have such difficulty believing, Mark-Dayton. Was your society really so sceptical of such things?"
"On Earth, it was considered fantasy, Ama," he replied honestly. "At least in my circle."
"Yet, your belief in your own God would be considered fantasy by those who do not believe in Him." She raised an eyebrow as he bristled in response. "No, it doesn't feel very good to be so challenged. All that you believe to be true, nay, all that you know to be truth, is questioned and silently mocked."
Dayton dropped her eyes for a moment, digesting that.
"I am not asking you to abandon your faith, Mark-Dayton, only to accept that there are others that believe as fervently in their own."
Dayton frowned a little indignantly. He didn't consider himself intolerant, after all, his best friend was an atheist, and the spiritual practices on Earth were probably even more varied than he had encountered in the Fleet. Still, Ama left him feeling uncomfortable in ways that Paddy couldn't even approach. "I'm going to have to get deflector shields for the brain, I think," he murmured. "I swear you . . ."
"By Triquetra's grace . . ." she cried suddenly, and in a swirl of robes was gone. A sudden, irrational fear made him follow.