Chapter Five
Apollo ran a hand along her sleek lines, glorying in her magnificence. A dark charcoal-grey, she would be almost impossible to spot with the naked eye once launched. Her size and lighter composition balanced her smaller engines, while still giving her speeds comparable to that of the Vipers, but with superior manoeuvrability. Add to that her jamming capabilities, and superior scanner array, the Wraith made the ideal reconnaissance ship, especially in a region where they had already detected Cylons, and were now dealing with a potential new threat. He smiled ruefully, as Jenny shook her head in amusement while pointing at him from across the bay. Pilots and their ships. It was a relationship that most non-military people didn't understand, and couldn't even begin to conceptualise.
"You look like you're getting that urge, Apollo," Luana teased him, a sparkle in her eye as she slowly climbed up into the Wraith. She settled herself into the open cockpit, and then reached forward, grabbing her helmet.
"I never lost it," Apollo admitted, scaling the ship to come face to face with his subordinate officer. Through flying he could become one with his ship, almost becoming one with the stars themselves. For a little while at least, he could forget about leaving behind Boxey and Sheba. He didn't feel that same cohesion between man and machine on the Bridge. Er . . . Control Centre. It took a lot more than one man to fly a battleship.
"You miss it," Luana nodded. "Flying fighters, I mean."
He smiled. "Is it really that obvious?"
"To me it is."
"Because of your Empyrean ancestry?"
"No, because Starbuck's mentioned a time or two that he can't believe that someone with your piloting skills is now stuck on the Bridge."
"Stuck on the Bridge, huh?" Apollo grinned. He could almost hear the words coming out of Starbuck's mouth. "I suppose he would see it that way. But there's a certain amount of satisfaction being the executive officer of your own ship, and a new class of ship at that. It's like having the opportunity to write your own manual."
"Didn't Starbuck do that anyway?" Luana laughed, slipping her helmet on. She fastened the helmet strap.
"No, he only chose to ignore the standard one when it suited him. But to the best of my recollection, it saved my life a time or two, not to mention a lot of others, so I'd be the last to complain about it . . . at least to anybody but him," Apollo chuckled. Other than their sword training with Dayton, Starbuck and he hadn't had much time to simply relax over a drink as they had done countless times in the old days. Their busy schedules had taken over their lives, but it wouldn't last forever. "Are you ready?"
"Yes, sir," Luana nodded, plugging in the helmet to the port that would link her in to the Wraith's systems. The cockpit was entirely blacked out, thus the pilot had to rely on the interface between the helmet and ship's computer to read all instruments. She reached down, and flipped a bank of switches. Slowly, the turbines began to spin, as the engines revved up. Her running lights came on, and her scanner array lit up.
"Alright. We want atmosphere, composition analysis with geotechnical surveys if it looks promising, and any indication of sentient life. Also, make sure you make a priority of giving us detailed scans on the coordinates that the Control Centre sent you, all in real time telemetry. Stay out of sight though. If there are living Beings or Cylons down there, we'd just as soon they not know about us."
"I understand," she replied with a "thumbs up".
He patted her helmet in return, climbing down again, and jumping back from the ship as the Wraith's canopy lowered. Apollo moved behind the blast screen, and watched as the Wraith taxied towards the open bay doors. Moments later her relatively quiet engines roared to maximum, and in a scream of power, the recon ship was gone.
It took another moment for Apollo to make that mental leap. Part of him still felt that it should be him out there, either leading Phoenix Squadron, or test flying the recon ship on her first real mission. After all, this was really the first day that his transition from the Galactica's strike captain to the Endeavour's executive officer left him with a . . . not really a desire to return to his old job, but a melancholy sense that he would be missing out on some of that front line excitement that pilots tasted more frequently than Bridge Officers.
You forget how different it is out here . . .
"What the frack . . ."
It was Jenny's shocked tone of voice, more so than her choice of words, which made Apollo abruptly turn in her direction. The CWO was backing up from the bulkhead, slowly retreating from whatever it was she could see. The normally nervy woman was shaking her head in bewilderment as she retreated, while fanning her arms wide, as though that physical barrier alone would prevent anyone else from passing. He quickly jogged over.
"Jenny? What's . . ."
"Colonel, stay back!" Jenny warned him, grabbing his arm as he tried to get a look at whatever it was.
The wall was undulating.
"Sagan . . ." Apollo murmured, for a moment drawn back to that moment on the Galactica when he had been in the turbo lift. In horror he realized he hadn't been overtired, but that this could be the entity . . . "Jenny, call the Bridge. Have security report to Beta Bay!" He pulled his weapon, pushing Jenny towards the commlink. "All internal sensors focused here! And get Ama down here too!"
"Yes, sir!"
A luminescence seemed to slowly suffuse the bulkhead, putting Apollo in mind of the northern polar lights of Caprica. Like them, it was utterly silent. Magnificent in a spectrum of colour, and seeming to almost embody tranquillity, it seemed far too beautiful to be either ominous or dangerous. As softly sparkling bodies of light swirled together, magically a form began to take shape, until the figure of a beautiful woman materialized. She was breathtaking, perfect, the most exquisite, delicate creature that he had ever seen, with hair that flowed far down her back, reminding him ever so slightly of Serina. Like an angel sent from God, her very presence bespoke goodness and light.
Eyes that seemed to see through to his soul, and beyond, trained on him, and she held out a hand. Apollo holstered his weapon, realizing this delicate creature could be no threat to him. Every single emotion she felt could be read plainly on her face. Apprehension. Sadness. Hope. She held nothing back.
My people need your help . . .
The words were silent, heard only within. Obviously telepathic, yet his subconscious still insisted on gifting her with a soft, lilting voice . . . like Serina's. It felt as if they were the only two in the entire universe, but he knew that couldn't be so. Around him, everything else seemed to fade into the background. It simply wasn't important. But she was. Longingly, her hand rose higher, and her face betrayed the tragic desperation she was feeling. He could feel his chest hitch in sympathy.
Please . . . just take my hand. I know you can help . . .
And the truth was, Apollo wanted to help. He nodded at her, stepping forward. Her aura seemed to gently enfold him as he drew closer. It was warm, inviting, blissful . . . and he could help her. It raised his spirits, giving him a purpose, replacing an emptiness that he wouldn't readily admit to feeling since leaving Boxey and Sheba behind. Apollo could erase that sadness in those shimmering eyes, right the wrongs that had been done to her . . . He reached out his hand to her, their fingertips almost touching. Then a raging flash of silver came between them, and the gentle creature shrieked horribly.
"By Triquetra, begone!"
Ama's voice shot through Apollo with such strength, that it felt like a bolt of energy had just torn him in two. He gagged as an overpowering loss hit him, so real in its intensity that it left him breathless. Momentarily blinded, he staggered for a moment feeling as though he was being tossed in a whirlwind. Strong hands grabbed him, and it hit him, as his vision cleared, that he was lying on the deck. Dayton was gazing down at him in concern, as crew members surrounded them. Jolly, Lia, Ryan, Jenny, as well as various techs and cadets, all watched in horrified silence.
"Are you okay?" Dayton asked, glancing at the bulkhead wearily. It had returned to normal. "Apollo? What . . ."
"I . . . uh . . ." Apollo muttered, closing his eyes and trying to make some kind of sense of it all. The experience had seemed so ethereal while it was happening, but now he was getting the idea that he'd barely escaped by the skin of his teeth. He let out a shuddering breath that he could be so easily duped. Then strong hands cupped his face, and he felt himself drawn upward into a sitting position. A comforting warmth touched his forehead, and when he opened his eyes, he was gazing into the dark grey eyes of the Empyrean necromancer. "The entity?"
"Yes. That was close, my boy," Ama told him, studying him as though she could read the previous moments like the pages of a book. "She's a tricky one, isn't she?"
"She said . . . that she needed my help," Apollo told her, as the Necromancer sighed and nodded. "Lords, she reminded me of . . ."
"And if you'd taken her hand, she would have had you," Ama replied quickly, pulling back slightly from the shaken colonel. "She would have pulled you into her dimension with your permission."
"What did you throw, Ama?" Dayton suddenly asked, disconcerted. "What did you hit her with?"
"Huh?" Apollo asked.
"She threw something that came between you and the . . .the creature," Jolly said uncertainly, glancing at Ama almost reverently. "It looked like . . . well, like molten silver arcing through the bay. Ama saved you, Apollo."
"You saw her? The creature?" Apollo asked in surprise, examining each face in turn. Slowly, he got to his feet, Jolly and Ryan helping him up. "But why didn't you do anything?"
"We couldn't. It happened too fast. One micron she appeared, and the next you were reaching out to her." Jolly shook his head anxiously. "We couldn't reach you in time."
"But . . . centons had passed. Two, maybe three. At least it seemed like . . ." Apollo replied in bewilderment, looking to the necromancer for enlightenment. How had the entity suspended time?
"Your talisman, Ama," Lia suddenly exclaimed. "Where is it?"
"Gone," Ama replied, standing up and placing a hand on her chest where the Empyrean Talisman usually hung. "I had to break her hold on Apollo. From across the launch bay, only my talisman could do that."
"But your powers!"
"The talisman is a symbol of my power. That is all." Ama smiled enigmatically. "And through it, I can find her."
"You have one hell of an arm, lady," Dayton told her approvingly. He'd seen Ama hurl something towards the shimmering creature that had held Apollo spellbound. "Molten silver" had been a good description. Now he was relieved to hear it was the Empyrean Talisman, when his imagination had almost convinced him it was a beam of energy sent to do battle with evil. Like Zeus' thunderbolts. "The White Sox could use someone like you pitching on their team."
"The White Sox could use someone like me pitching on their team," Ryan mentioned. "Or even Chameleon."
Dayton frowned. "At least they made it to the World Series in the last decade while we were on Earth. Toronto didn't."
"World Series," Ryan sniffed. "Why do you call it that, when you only invite one other country? Huh?"
"Sympathy," Dayton rejoined.
"Next time, send a card," Ryan flung back.
"Stop it, you two!" Ama reprimanded them. "I need to think, and I can't do it with your constant bickering. You're worse than doddering old women!"
"That's because we're doddering old men," Ryan returned with a shrug. Dayton whacked him in the shoulder. "Well, it's true."
"Speak for yourself," Dayton returned, dropping his voice slightly.
"I thought I was," Paddy replied, finally shutting his mouth when the Empyrean Necromancer stood in front of him. For a moment, he looked as guilty as a second grader, about to be sent to the office.
"Are we shaking your foundations again, Paddy-Ryan?" Unpredictably, she stroked a gentle hand alongside his unshaven cheek. "What do you make of all this, Dear Heart?"
"There's one advantage of spending thirty years in a hole, Ama," Ryan told her, his voice tremulous. "A man finally gets to the point where he's resolved all philosophical, spiritual and moral issues, beyond doubt. At least within himself."
"And when you poke your head out of the hole? And take a good look around?" Ama asked.
"Well," Ryan's voice was muted, "sometimes I feel like going back in . . . and we'll probably get six more weeks of winter for my trouble."
Dayton let out a breath, squeezing his friend's shoulder in support. "I know just how you feel, Paddy."
----------
Eirys shrieked, the noise piercing Baltar's aching head, as the glowing light that had shrouded her abruptly disappeared, and she was physically thrust metrons back to land in a heap on the ground. Caradoc immediately moved to her side, the torchlight in the cavern illuminating them subtly.
"Eirys! Are you hurt?" the larger troll demanded, as he assisted her to sit. "Eirys? Eir . . ."
"Give me a moment, Caradoc," she instructed him, as she retrieved a metal orb from her lap. She examined it meticulously, nodding in satisfaction before tucking it into some pocket that only she could find in the vastness of her skirts. Then she turned, rising on her knees to examine something on the ground that Baltar couldn't quite see. Ever so slowly she retrieved it, picking it up by a thick cord, as if it was a venomous serpent apt to strike. Baltar sucked in a breath when he recognized it. It was the medallion that the Empyrean Witch wore, much as Baltar had once worn the Seal of the Lords of Kobol.
Why Baltar had been allowed to bear witness to the ceremony, he wasn't sure. Perhaps it was to prove to their newest ally that the grimy, stinky troll indeed was a powerful sorceress. However, from his perspective, she had failed in her task. She had intended to bring another "Doublewalker" into her dimension, but instead a silver streak of light, seemingly from nowhere, had hit her, striking her down like a laser, and foiling her plans. It was completely bewildering, and Baltar held his tongue, reluctant to offer any further information until he understood what was happening more clearly.
"Eirys, the eye . . ." Caradoc murmured.
The medallion was circular in design with the elongated shape of an eye within. A long, thin brow extended over the eye and a pupil was centred at its crest, making the eye appear to be looking up towards the heavens.
"I see it, Caradoc," Eirys hissed in reply, once again taking the orb from her pocket, and holding the two items side by side. "The eye is almost the same . . . but how could that be?"
"Indeed," Baltar inserted, moving closer to them. The similarities in design were startling. "Where did your orb come from?"
"According to the Telling, the Oculus came from the Nonentity with a Mystic millennia ago," Eirys replied.
"This Mystic. What was his name?" Baltar probed, wondering if Iblis would come up again. His own confusion over Iblis sharing the same voice of the original Imperious Leader a thousand yahrens ago still lingered, festering and demanding a reasonable explanation. One he had yet to find. But perhaps his definition of "reasonable" needed altering in light of both Empyrean and Troll witches becoming part of his existence.
"Llyr," Caradoc replied.
"Reputedly," Eirys inserted.
"He set us on our path." Caradoc continued. "Many of our most ancient teachings come from Llyr."
"Are these Mystics . . . are they God's messengers?" Baltar asked, hesitating as they exchanged puzzled looks. How else could Iblis have done the things he did? "Are they omniscient? Omnipotent?"
Eirys frowned. "I admit that I do not know the limits of their powers. It has been contested throughout our history by academics, sorcerers and spiritual advisors alike. According to Lore, they had always seemed to be benevolent Beings until Iblis . . ." she dropped her head, shaking it violently.
"But your broke Mystic Law, Eirys, using the power of the Oculus to enter their realm. You attempted to tread where you are forbidden. Perhaps Iblis would never have come if you had left well enough alone. Perhaps he is the Defender of Mystic Law!" Caradoc criticized her. "Even now you risk again offending them!"
"The past is the past, Caradoc. I cannot change what is done, and can only now seek to repair the damage. To right my wrongs, if wrongs they truly were," Eirys argued. "Tirelessly, I have researched the Telling and other ancient scriptures, and there is only one way! Stand with me now and risk the Mystics' wrath, or knowingly consign the Angylion people to an eternity as Odreds! Only know that I will proceed with or without your help, General. I avow that the Kings will rise again, as long as my lifeblood courses through my body!"
"Calm yourself, Eirys," Caradoc soothed her. "I merely seek to warn you that this plan of yours isn't without its risks. Twice you have been thwarted, trying to bring across Doublewalkers. Some Being of significant power has declared itself your enemy in their dimension."
The troll lifted her arm, holding the talisman up by its cord. "But she conceded me this in return, Caradoc. I sense that it carries great powers, and that hers are now diminished."
"By Llyr," the troll grasped at the air separating them, then roughly slapped his mouth with his hand, and spat on the ground. "Then rid yourself of it! Hurl it into the molten crater of Mt. Hwynt!"
Eirys shook her head slowly. "I think not, for I believe it will bait my trap quite nicely." Then she glanced at Baltar with eyes that seemed to see straight through to his soul. "What can you tell me of the Sorceress who wears this amulet, Baltar?"
"Well . . . I . . ."
----------
The six Hybrids were in tight formation, following their wing leaders, and maintaining communications silence as ordered. On scanner, Dietra continuously monitored for any company while Starbuck narrowed in on the energy source. Even within the fighter, things seemed tense. She glanced at her strike leader who was unusually quiet, as his eyes flickered between instruments while he tracked his ships, simultaneously waiting for data that might explain what this mysterious energy force was that had seemingly apprehended Baltar. So far, all was clear.
"What do you think it is?" Dietra asked. She had been accustomed to a constant yammering from Starbuck during training runs, and even on the rare patrols they had pulled together back on the Galactica. The fact was, things were never boring when you flew with Starbuck. He seemed to attract the unusual, unexpected, and unpredictable. When he had flown as Apollo's wingman, the two together had been a magnet for trouble.
"Nothing that our instruments can make any sense of," he replied, pointing ahead to a shimmering region of space in which blues and greens danced together like swaying curtains in a light breeze, as one colour flowed into and out of the other. "Doesn't look dangerous."
"It's beautiful, actually," Dietra replied, also glancing at the instruments.
"Reminds me of those deep sea creatures that attract prey with a sparkling light, and then eat them when they get close enough."
"Hmm," Dietra frowned, glancing aside at him. "So much for beauty."
Starbuck grinned. "Sometimes the most beautiful creatures are the most dangerous."
"Really?" Dietra snorted. "Are we talking women now, or alien life forms?"
"Can you differentiate between the two for me . . ." Starbuck chuckled, receiving a smack in the arm for his efforts.
"Keep that up, and I'll tell your wife."
"Remember Dee, what is said in the cockpit . . ."
"Stays in the cockpit," she finished with a nod. "I've reached the conclusion that you implemented that rule to get away with saying whatever you please."
"Ah, that hurts," he teased, holding a hand to his chest. "It had more to do with developing trust between wingmates . . ."
"Starbuck you're so full of . . ." she grinned as he cleared his throat noisily. She was enjoying the repartee much more than the previous silence.
Starbuck reached over to adjust the scanners and then shook his head as he looked ahead at the shimmering area that grew with each passing moment. "This is weird. The scanners aren't even reading it. It's like some kind of void."
"Are the scanners working?" She waited while he ran the instruments through a quick diagnostic.
"Seem to be," he grunted. "They just haven't encountered anything like it before."
"What do we do now?" Dietra asked, looking from him to the canopy. They were coming up on it—whatever it was—pretty fast.
"We probe it. We have to find out what's inside, if anything."
"Wish we had one of Wilker's PMU's," Dietra replied. The Portable Mobilization Units had been used with good success in the last sectars, replacing Viper pilots with mechanized probes in potentially dangerous situations. This would have been a perfect opportunity to send one into the field, but the new technology had a Colonial stamp all over it, and couldn't be used by a Covert Operations Ship that was trying to emulate Cylons. Malus was working on developing a Cylon version that they could use.
"Ah, but this will be so much more fun. Besides, what's the worst thing that could happen?" Starbuck replied, with an edge to his voice that betrayed his true feelings. He reached for the comm, automatically activating the Cylon vocal modulator. "This is Patrol Leader. Alpha Wing will enter void. Beta Wing will hold on perimeter." Curt, concise, and to the point. He was becoming a master at speaking Cylon Centurion.
"By-your-command, Alpha-Leader," Beta Leader replied, the vocal modulator changing Gile's voice eerily.
With a dubious glance at Dietra, Starbuck nodded once, and changed course for the centre of the blue-green void.
"Starbuck. Getting something now, on the scanners." Dietra alerted him. "Take a look."
"Lords . . ." he murmured. "What the frack . . ."
The scope, previously blank, was now beginning to dance with fluctuating streaks of light. While the main scanner suite still read nothing, something was definitely going on.
"Our deflection grid now says there's something there, but the scanners say there isn't."
"Radion?"
"Negative. The whole band shows totally clear, Starbuck."
"That doesn't make any sense, Dee."
"Don't I know it. Whatever it is," she replied, "contact in thirty microns."
----------
"Commander Dayton," Cadet Pierus reported. "We have an incoming message from Wraith One."
"Go ahead, Luana," Dayton said, with a glance over at his executive officer. Since his run in down in Beta Bay, Apollo had been looking a whiter shade of pale as each subsequent moment passed. The young officer briefly closed his eyes, his hand raking through his dark hair, massaging his skull gingerly. He was beginning to look as bad as Starbuck had not long after his massage . . .
"Commander, I've scanned the planet, and completed my second orbit," Luana reported, coming on the main screen. Her face filled the screen, her helmet almost obscuring her identity. "She's borderline Delta/Epsilon Class, making her almost compatible with Human life. The atmosphere is considerably lighter though, than the Caprica standard. But she does show life, sir. Seas. Rivers. The works. In fact, from the data I'm receiving, it appears there was a civilisation down there at one time. Entire cities, in fact."
"Okay, feed us your telemetry, Lu." Dayton moved to the console, watching the data come in. "Borderline Delta/Epsilon Class?" Dayton glanced to Apollo.
"It has to do with the composition of atmospheric gases surrounding the planet," Apollo swallowed, a trickle of sweat running down his temple that he wiped at distractedly. "Ideally, Humans breathe approximately seventy-eight percent nitrogen, twenty-one percent oxygen . . . "
"As well as argon, carbon dioxide, and other trace elements," Malus added, when the Colonel paused.
"Sounds a lot like Earth," replied Dayton. "So, borderline means . . .?"
"Just what it says," Dorado added. "She's more habitable than a true Epsilon Class, but not as fully as a Delta Class world. Chemically, the surface and crust are also very similar to both the Colonies, and many Cylon worlds, as well."
"But we could survive down there?"
"Oh yes," interjected Malus again. "The lighter atmosphere reads as dense enough for Human existence, and I believe that over generations, you would adapt."
"I see," said the commander. He studied the information from Lu's ship. The planet not only looked fairly Earthlike, it also had almost the same land-to-water ratio, had a rotation rate only thirteen minutes less than his own world, and a strong magnetic field. Her tilt was similar, too, although her atmospheric pressure was barely three-quarters what Earth's was. "Are you reading any life signs, Luana?" Dayton asked.
"Plenty. Trees, animals, birds, sure. None that could be considered sentient so far . . . but . . ." she hesitated.
"But?" No answer. "Go ahead, Ensign," Dayton encouraged her.
"I know this is going to sound crazy, Commander, but when I entered the atmosphere, characters suddenly began scrolling up my main screen, and an automatic program started in the Wraith. One that we were previously unaware of. I get the feeling that this is some basic programming, hard-wired into her from her construction, and that this is home. She's gone on some kind of auto pilot, and I can't unlock her system." In the background, they could hear switches clicking. "She's taking me down."
Oh, just perfect! The Ristretto Kid would kill him if he lost his bride on her first mission! Dayton exchanged looks with Apollo, determined that it wasn't going to happen, as he swallowed down the anxiety that threatened to climb up his throat, jump out his mouth, and tell her to get out of there.
"Can you regain control, Luana?" Apollo asked.
"Not so far." Her tone was dispassionate, but with an obvious undercurrent.
"What have you tried?" Apollo leaned forward, listening as she reviewed all her futile attempts at bypassing circuits, and even shutting down systems. Nothing had worked.
"Malus."
"Yes, Commander?"
"Get down to the hangar bay. Try and see if you can dig out this program that Lu's talking about in the other Wraith's computer. If there's a program, there has to be a password, or a stand down code, or whatever you want to call it. Get as many people as you need to help you, and make sure Paddy's in on this. Top priority."
"Yes, sir," said the IL.
"Okay, hop to it." Malus did a short double-take, then he sharply turned, and left the Control Centre.
Hopping.
Dayton just shook his head. "Lu? Any luck?"
"Not yet, Commander Dayton," she replied. "I thought that since I can't detect any current sapient life signs, that it might be interesting to see where I end up. Maybe we're finally going to find out who designed these ships, and what they were doing way back on a pirate asteroid, half way across the last star system. With your permission, sir," she added, almost as an afterthought.
"Sounds like my permission isn't needed, Lu," replied Dayton. "Someone or something else is calling the shots here."
"So it seems, Commander," responded Lu.
"It could be that switching to auto-pilot on approach to their city was standard procedure when this civilisation was thriving," Apollo suggested. "She might regain control once she lands."
Dayton nodded, hoping that was the case, assuming that where she was supposed to land was still in one piece. "Okay. Keep telemetry open, Lu. On the low-band channel. We'll enter planetary orbit in . . ." he looked at the chrono, ". . . thirty centons."
"Hope I'll be able to rendezvous, sir."
"If you can't, Princess, we'll be down to collect you. That's a promise."
"Thanks, Dayton . . ." she murmured.
"Holy. . ." began Xochiquetzal, biting off the rest of the sentence. While he was easy-going off-prime, while on duty, Dayton was not tolerant of "rough language", as he called it. "Sir!"
"Yes?"
"Receiving visual telemetry from the Wraith, sir." She punched it up on the main screen.
"She was right," said Apollo, by now leaning on a control panel for support. "A city."
"You mean it was a city," said Dayton. "Before somebody nuked it."
"Nuked?" asked Vesta. Dayton explained.
Lu had just flown over what had once been a city. From the size of it, it was somewhere close to the size of L.A. or Chicago, back home, although the buildings had their own distinct character that was hard to identify at a glance, setting them apart from Earth's. However, this city was shattered. Blasted. A heap of rubble. Once-tall buildings were sheared off, or crumbling to the ground, many overgrown with plant life run wild. Dayton freeze-framed, and zoomed in. Many of the decaying structures were blackened and charred, whole sections melted, as if fires had run wild for weeks, if not months, when the city had been struck. He moved ahead, and sure enough, near the centre of the city, was a huge crater of glass. Now filled with water and God-knew what else, it had clearly been caused by whatever had consigned the place to oblivion.
"Enhance this area, here," he ordered. Xochiquetzal complied. Stripped of its cover, it was plain: this was ground zero. A deep scan of the rubble and soil confirmed his fears. "Yeah. She was hit from orbit." He began punching keys on a control panel, and data scrolled by. He nodded, pursing his lips as his gut feeling was verified. "Poor suckers never had a chance."
"Who destroyed them?" asked Apollo, squinting at the screen. His strained features either meant he already had a good idea, or he was about to get sent to the Life Station. Possibly both.
"We did," said Dayton. "Or rather, this ship did, according to her data files, about a hundred years ago.
"Huh? I mean . . ." said Apollo, massaging his temples.
"According to the data banks, this ship bombarded the surface, wiping out whatever civilization was down there. I can't read all of this Cylon gobbledygook, but I'm sure Malus can fill us in."
"Yeah . . ." Apollo replied quietly. He leaned hard against the console.
"Get yourself to the Life Station, Colonel," Dayton murmured, putting a hand on the young man's shoulder. "You look ready to collapse." Apollo didn't move. "Consider that an order, Colonel."
"Came on sort of gradually," Apollo replied shakily, holding a hand to his head, and wincing, as he stumbled a couple steps towards the hatch. "Feel like I was hit by a shuttle . . ."
"Hell's bells, Starbuck looked just like this . . ." Dayton put a supporting arm around Apollo, not wanting to follow the train of thought his mind was taking when he put two and two together and got "spiritual" interference on both counts. He needed to talk to Ama! If this entity had tried to apprehend Apollo, had it also tried to mess with Starbuck earlier on? And how did that relate to Baltar's disappearance from the Prison Barge? Was it some kind of random thing, or was "it" being selective in its choice of victims? And why on Earth—or off of it—did he expect that the Empyrean Necromancer would know these answers? "Dorado?"
"Commander."
"Take the conn. I'm taking Apollo to the Life Station. Call ahead and notify them that I'm on the way."
"Sir."
"And have Ama meet us there! Steady as she goes until further notice."
"Yes, sir!"
---------
The air in the cockpit was suddenly charged with an inexplicable energy, as the Hybrid fighters penetrated the blue-green shimmering void. Starbuck's skin tingled, and it felt as though every hair was standing on end. It was like being in a tempestuous storm, while strapped to a lightening rod. There was a faint hiss, or crackle, that seemed to surround them, but come from nowhere in particular. He also noticed that he could no longer hear the noise of the ship's engines. It was. . . creepy.
"Make sure you keep your navigational fix going in, Dee," he told her, looking out the port. There was only swirling, fluorescent soup. "I'm keeping her on this bearing, unless I come up with one Hades of a good reason not to."
"So if we have to, we turn around one hundred and eighty degrees, and go straight back out again," she surmised with an approving nod. "We still have navigation, Captain. Phoenix Two and Three are following in chevron formation."
"I wouldn't trust navigation, Lieutenant," he muttered. He thought back to the space near Kobol, when he and Apollo had penetrated a mysterious black Void. Doing a one eighty there had been possible as well, but tricky, at best. "If it isn't some kind of electro-magnetic force making every hair on my body stand up, I don't know what it is."
"So if we have navigation, it's probably not accurate . . ." she muttered in frustration.
"And I'm willing to guess you can't scan the other end of this slop. . ." he added, as the glimmering iridescence flowed around them, fading from one colour into another.
"Correct," she verified, switching wavelons. "Either its boundaries are beyond our scanner range, or our data is complete felgercarb."
"Take your choice," he returned. "Are you still picking up the original energy source?" He glanced at the mounted chrono. "Weren't we supposed to be making contact. . ."
Dietra hesitated, shaking her head. "I'm not getting the same readings . . . just a lot of interference and static."
"Optical band system?"
"Nothing. Same on the attack scanner. It's like staring through a blizzard with an illuminator."
"Multi-spec?"
"Same thing, Starbuck. Total mud." There was a sudden burst of sparks from an instrument at the far end of the panel. Dee swore, and checked a switch. "And our flight data recorder just went dead."
"I'm not getting a good feeling about this, Dee," Starbuck murmured, his fingers itching to turn that bird around, and lead them back out. As if reading his mind, the ship bounced, as if they'd hit a bump. She bucked again.
"That's good enough for me, Bucko," she replied, looking over at him. "I get the feeling that . . ."
"What?" he asked, looking back at her, but she wasn't moving. Wasn't reacting in any way. He swallowed the sudden lump of fear in his throat. "Dee?" He snapped his fingers in front of her face. Nothing. He patted her face. "Dietra!" Nothing. She was as lively as a rusted centurion.
Around him the air seemed to spark with energy. He could count each beat of his heart, it was pounding so loudly in his ears. Then, molecule by molecule, the ship and Dietra seemed to slowly disintegrate around him until he was sitting in space. No seat, no ship, no co-pilot. He was impossibly suspended within the void itself, completely alone. "Sweet Lord, I'll do anything you ask . . ."
Come to me!
It was the same vision that he had beheld in his dream, the same magnificent siren that had beckoned him forward once before, only this time she seemed to stride towards him purposely, her long blonde hair billowing out behind her, as her white robes swirled around shapely legs, and delicate bare feet peeked out beneath her garments. Against the backdrop of the shimmering lights, appearing like radiant spirits dancing in the Heavens, he was powerless to resist.
Or at least it would make one heck of an excuse in his report. . .
Come. I need you.
"Well, the thing is I'm married, and she carries an Empyrean blade . . ." he murmured, licking lips that were dry, and not sure if the words even passed his lips as she suddenly paused only centimetrons away. He found that he was now standing, though he had no memory or awareness of having risen to a standing position. He looked "down" at his legs, his feet impossibly framed against the swirling energy of the . . . whatever it was. Shaking his head, he looked back up.
She smiled at him beguilingly, holding out a hand. You will raise a King, and save a people.
It sounded like something Ama would have portended, only this wasn't Ama. Not by a long shot. All else aside, this person had all her teeth. His hand seemed to lift of its own volition, and it took every bit of self-control he had to pull it back, clenching it tightly into a fist. It trembled. "Actually, heroics aside, I'm in a hurry to get back to a card game . .."
She grinned then, and abruptly waved a silver amulet at him, dangling it tantalisingly, as the light reflected on the highly polished silver of the Empyrean Talisman.
Ama's! But what . . .?
Starbuck gasped, instinctively grabbing for the Empyrean Necromancer's amulet, and feeling a searing heat tear up his arm as his hand wrapped around it. He tried to drop it, but his hand refused to obey, keeping the Talisman in a fiery grip. Rising upward and outward, the heat engulfed him in a violent fury, wracking his body in a tortured agony, tearing at him viciously, while she watched.
He couldn't escape it, the link between them was unbreakable, no matter how he tried. Energy shot into him, filling him up painfully, while a deafening roar hammered him, until he felt like a star about to go supernova. His grip tightened on the talisman, using it as a lifeline, even as it burned a hole straight through to his core. In a blinding culmination of both pain and luminosity, he exploded into a billion tiny shards of light . . .