Chapter Sixteen
Dayton had to grit his teeth and force his limbs to move forward when he walked through the hatch and left Starbuck restrained in that Cylon contraption. The fact that he didn't know much about the Brain Probe scared Dayton more than he'd like to admit. Could it do permanent damage? Was his ploy of claiming that Starbuck was an Angylion prince going to backfire, and result in the young man becoming psychologically scarred or damaged? Man alive, he wanted to grab the nearest pulse rifle and blast his way back in there, freeing the warrior that had become like a son to him, and somehow getting him off this tub. It didn't help that Starbuck looked done in, his exhaustion evident after a day that probably went down in history as one of his longest.
Then again, Starbuck was one tough SOB. One of the toughest that Dayton had ever met. Either he led a charmed life, or God Almighty had assigned a team of guardian angels to watch over him. Yeah, the more he grew to know the kid, the more Starbuck reminded him of himself. Smart, resilient, stubborn, resourceful, and more likely to do things accented by his own personal zeal, than to tow the line. The kid would be okay. He had to be . . . because Dayton wasn't sure he could live with it if it turned out otherwise.
He let out an impossibly slow, deep breath, concentrating on his current situation, instead of what was going on back in the Brig. Personal manservant to an egocentric Cylon IL. Good God! It reminded him of the time he'd been snookered into playing slave and ended up cleaning his sister's room for a whole week, when they were kids. Still, this was a good idea. Brilliant in fact, and if it hadn't been so bloody brilliant, giving Dayton some much needed anonymity on the ship, he might have strangled Starbuck on the spot! Where in the hell did the kid come up with this stuff? And how did he know the IL would bite? Then again, Malus followed the young man around like a lap dog—while admittedly Dayton didn't have a lot of time for the cybernetic turncoat—so maybe the strike captain had a better understanding of Cylon psychology than the rest of them. Dayton kept his head lowered as he followed subserviently behind the Base Ship commander, trying to control his natural urge to disarm the nearest centurion and start blasting away. His opportunity would come, but it had to provide him with a chance to do more than kill a few Cylons.
The next thing he knew, he was standing in the Control Centre, trying to appear nonchalant. Droning centurions with roving red eyes went about their duties. It was the closest he'd been to a Red Light District since backpacking around Europe. By the looks of things, they were preparing to launch this baby. Time was running out for the Angylions. Somehow Dayton had to knock out their mega-pulsars, or when the Abaddon reached orbit, she would blow Morlais to Kingdom Come. Hey, overloading a fusion reactor or two wouldn't be a bad idea either. Of course, it would be preferable to be able to get off before she blew, and the only one qualified to fly a Cylon Raider out of Cylon Central was currently getting his cortex scanned.
"Commander, we-are-receiving-a-communications-signal," a centurion reported. "Despite-verification-that-it-is-a-Cylon-Raider, identification-code-is-not-in-our-databanks. It-is-not-one-of-ours."
"Not one of ours?" Mendax repeated, crossing to the panel to verify the information for himself. "Most interesting. Put it through, Centurion."
"By-your-command."
Dayton held his breath as he watched a familiarly naked IL come on screen. Freeing Starbuck was suddenly looking good! How the heck had Malus made it through? And who had he brought with him? How much fire power? Dorado was going to get a commendation, come hell or high water!
"Ah, Commander Mendax. It's been a long time," Malus said.
"Malus?" said Mendax, clearly surprised. From the way his head began flashing, it was clear he was caught completely off guard by this development.
"Yes, it is I. The Imperious Leader had given you up as destroyed, long ago. However, I knew that your unexplained disappearance was worth exploring further. Base Ships don't simply disappear."
"Malus," Mendax replied, still clearly flustered. "How is it that. . .?"
"Admiral Malus," Malus inserted a little testily. "A new rank developed as our Empire expanded. Not only do I command the Harrower now, but every ship in this region of space answers to me. I only answer directly to the Imperious Leader, himself."
"Admiral . . .? The last I heard, it was the Harrower that had gone missing," Mendax replied haltingly.
Malus huffed deprecatingly. "Not missing, Mendax. On a secret mission. You would be surprised to know that there is much our supreme leader withholds from those that are not in his favour."
"Not . . ."
"Now tell me what bay I should land in, and be prepared to welcome me and Commander Baltar properly. Traversing between dimensions is very wearing on my diodes," Malus continued.
"Commander . . . Baltar?" Mendax asked. He scanned his memory banks, then accessed the ship's mainframe. "I have no data on any Commander Baltar. That is a Human name, is it not?"
"That is right, you don't know about Baltar, do you? I will explain further, but suffice it to know that he is a human that has risen in esteem and importance in the last deca-yahren. He has worked alongside the Imperious Leader himself, bringing to an end at last to the Thousand Yahren War."
"An end . . .?"
"Did that not compute, Mendax?" Malus snapped. "Honestly, when was the last time you performed a self-diagnostic? You're as slow as congealed joint lubricant." Malus 'sighed' dramatically. "Then again, you haven't had the benefit of an IL-78 refit, like the rest of us. I had almost forgotten that you're an inferior model."
"IL-78 . . ."
Dayton watched Mendax, as he was called inferior in front of his own troops. The Cylon clenched his hands like an angry school boy.
Malus harrumphed. "Landing bay, Mendax?"
"Gamma Bay, Admiral Malus," replied Mendax, his voice unsteady. "We will be ready."
"Be sure that you are," the IL replied. "I shall be aboard in ten centons. Admiral Malus out."
Mendax looked around the Control Centre, then at Dayton. "Come with me! And bring my cloak!"
"As you wish, My Lord Buffalo Butt."
----------
Lieutenant Rooke entered the Command Centre of the Endeavour, coming to alert before a restless Commander Cain. The tension was palpable, more of it brought about by the presence of the Juggernaut, than by the current situation. At least he suspected so, as he glanced at his former wing leader sympathetically. Dorado nodded at him, moving to join them.
"We haven't found the child, sirs," Rooke reported. Being relegated to organizing a search for Apollo's son, and some droid daggit, wasn't exactly how he thought he would be spending his time on the shakedown cruise of the Covert Operations Ship. "Yet."
"Internal sensors?" Cain asked after a moment.
"Only part of the grid is on-line, sir. It didn't get all connected before we left." Rooke spared a glance at Cain, then at Dorado.
"I'll remember to mention that in my report," said Cain softly.
"Ah . . . yes, sir," replied Rooke.
Cain nodded perfunctorily, frowning at he turned away to look at the scanners.
"He'll turn up, Rooke," Dorado replied, when it appeared that Cain didn't seem all that interested. He began to wonder if this was some kind of ploy for the Pegasus Commander to remain on board the Endeavour, trying to usurp command. Then again, that certainly wasn't Sheba's style. Maybe he'd become jaded . . . from hanging out with Starbuck for too long. "Nothing more boring to a child than to hide, only to eventually realize that no one's looking for you."
Rooke let out a sigh of relief. "Than I can get back to the cadets?"
"Well . . . actually, stand by and . . ."
"Captain! They're coming back!" Coxcoxtli interrupted, from behind the station where the Clavis' control system had been tied into the Endeavour's main systems. He abruptly looked perplexed as he studied the data in front of him.
"What is it?" Dorado asked.
"It's automatically recalibrating . . . looks like . . . a larger load."
"Load?" Cain asked, moving to examine the data.
"A bigger ship," Dorado suggested.
"Then where's the Raider?" Cain asked, then he raised his swagger stick. "Bring . . ."
"Bring the ship to alert!" Dorado interjected swiftly. "We don't know what's coming through. Let's be ready. Scramble Sphinx Squadron!"
Cain smiled in amusement, holding his tongue as the crew responded to the orders. The Control Centre was suddenly bathed in a red glow, the klaxon ringing ship-wide. He folded his arms over his chest and watched the scanner. A sudden blip appeared.
"Sagaris?" Dorado asked.
"War book says it's a Cylon transport, sir," the young cadet replied.
"She's hailing us, Captain," Pierus added.
"Open a line."
"This is Lieutenant Dietra," the familiar voice replied. "Requesting permission to land. We have one wounded aboard and will need a hoverstretcher standing by."
"Cancel launch order. Have Sphinx Squadron stand down. Cancel the alert," Dorado ordered before turning his attention to the shuttle again. "You're cleared to land in Beta Bay, Lieutenant," he told her, with mounting anxiety. After all, his current medical team existed of an Empyrean healer and a psychologist. Please let Cassiopeia be aboard! "Is Cassiopeia aboard?"
"She is, Captain. She's already attending Dr. Ryan and his prognosis is good," Dietra replied, her voice shaky for a moment, before she cleared her throat. "Colonel Apollo wants the Endeavour standing by for interdimensional travel as soon as possible."
"Interdimensional travel?" Cain repeated, raising his eyebrows.
"Report to the War Room for debriefing as soon as you land," Dorado ordered, before adding, "and, Dee . . . I'm glad Ryan's going to be okay."
There was a brief pause before a soft voice replied, "Me too. Thanks, Dorado. Dee out."
---------
The sounds were deafening and terrifying as he was jostled awake, but abruptly he was pulled tightly against his mother's bosom, recognizing her comforting warmth, scent and touch. The din was so loud, he barely heard the soothing words she cooed into his hair, stroking it and kissing it lightly, as she picked him up and hurried out into the night. Moments later, the ground shook as behind them, the world exploded and the entire sky flared with light.
It was cold, startlingly so, and the night sky glowed sporadically with fire and smoke. Intermittently, he could feel intense heat, as the air thickened with stench and smudge. He burrowed his head deeper into the comforting sweetness of his mother. As she carried him heedlessly through the thicket, brambles smacked against unprotected skin, scraping him, hurting him. He began to cry, sensing his mother's growing unease and urgency as screams, klaxons, and so many other loud, unfamiliar and disturbing sounds surrounded them in the darkness of the Thorn Forest, outside Umbra.
"Shh!" she hushed him, almost desperately. "Please be quiet, son. Please." His hand gripped her nightshirt, and balled it into a comforting lump that muffled his cries as he sucked reflexively on it for comfort. She boosted him upward, securing her precious load close to her heart before continuing on.
Onward, she tore through the thickets, breathless, as he whimpered in her arms. She stumbled countless times, but pressed on, refusing to give up. Then he heard a low drone, that from that day forward would forever strike fear into his heart.
"Halt, Human!"
She came to an abrupt stop, gasping sharply, pausing in indecision as she turned to and fro, looking for escape. Then she dashed forward, sprinting through the night as a blast exploded behind them and nearby underbrush burst into flame. Muffling her scream of terror, she raced onward, finally plunging into metrons of thick brambles, oblivious to the thorns shredding her clothes, and cutting her skin, before dropping to her knees, and prying him from her chest.
"Search-the-thicket. Exterminate-the-Humans." Cold. Clinical. Terrifyingly cruel.
"Stay here, son. Don't make a sound, and stay here," she hissed. Beyond, in the darkness, the sound of weapons. Screams.
"Mama . . ." he cried, wanting to hide in the safety of her embrace. She turned away. "Mama!"
He clutched at her, tears pouring down his cheeks as she reluctantly turned back to him. Relenting, she hastily pulled him into her arms, crushing him against her and stroking his hair, while shushing him. She drew an unsteady breath, rocking him back and forth, savouring the moment. Then she pulled back, her eyes brimming with tears as they studied his features intently.
"Look at me, Solarus," she whispered. "Mama needs you to be her brave boy. Can you do that for me?"
He shook his head, unable to answer, only wanting her to hold him and never let him go. He was too afraid to be without her. He didn't want to be left in the thorn thicket, in the darkness. He didn't want to be alone.
"You have to be quiet like a mouse, and brave like a leon, son. Wait here until your father or I come for you . . ." she paused, gasping in a breath as the droning she had earlier heard drew relentlessly closer. It was that sound that would drive her away from him. She cautiously raised her head, looking for the source, before ducking down again. "That's my brave boy," she whispered hoarsely. "Mama loves you, never forget that." She kissed him tenderly, and then put a finger to her lips. "Quiet like a mouse, brave like a leon."
Then with a quick look around, she lurched upward, charging loudly and recklessly through the brambles in a different direction, protecting her son by leading the Cylons away. Too afraid to do otherwise, he cowered on the ground, his arms wrapped around himself as he listened. His stomach hurt and he stifled a cough as a wave of smoke and heat wafted over him. He wanted to call for his mother, to scream her name until she came back for him. But he knew he couldn't. He had to be Mama's brave boy . . .
The droning grew louder, and he dared to peek up in time to see roving red eyes looking in the direction his mother had run. He held his breath as the monstrous Cylons passed him by, and then ducked back down, trying to be courageous and still.
It was dark. Smoky. The smell was awful. He was alone. But his mother would come back. She promised him. Soon she would pull him back into her arms, drying his eyes, and telling him stories, and it would be alright . . .
A scream. A blast. Silence.
Mama!
"These-cortical-images-indicate-childhood," the centurion reported, looking over at the unconscious Angylion prince. He was leaking—fluid beading on his skin, and trickling down his face—which was normal with most human subjects, beyond a certain level of intensity. However, this was the first Angylion to undergo a Cylon Brain Probe, as far as the data in his memory bank could ascertain.
"Refine-the-scan. Recalibrate-the-species-matrix."
"By-your-command." The centurion reached forward, obeying. The equipment hummed, a graphic of the subject's brain on the screen. The subject strained momentarily, before his head once again lolled forward onto his chest.
"Proceed."
----------
Leaning up against a rock behind the jagged natural formations that surrounded the Cylon Base Ship, Prince Glynn studied the "chronometer" that his doublewalker had given him. Apollo had called it a "crash course in telling time", but when Glynn had looked at him blankly while trying to rationalize "microns", "centons" and "centars", while two of the other humans known as Ryan and Baker had kept trying to step in and help, while babbling about "seconds", "minutes" and "ow-ers", Apollo had finally set a "timer" on the wrist piece, telling him with the utmost confidence that when it "went off", it would be time to start the attack. It was a fascinating tool for war, and Llewelyn and General Caradoc had similar timepieces, which would coordinate the attack on three fronts.
But first, the Colonials had to knock out the massive weapons. Instinctively, he pressed himself against the rock as the Raider that carried Apollo, Baltar, Malus, Lia and Luana appeared on the horizon.
Soon, Morlais would be free.
----------
Cold. Barren. Like a vacuous wasteland. Ama couldn't help but shiver as she connected with Iblis' psyche, feeling a chill leech through her, idly threatening to consume her, body and soul, bit by bit. No passion, no joy, no love, only malice and discontent. It was a departure from her connections with so many other Beings during her lifetime. Had she been naïve to presume that she would unite spiritually with her own father, and learn the truth about his life? To finally see through his eyes what had first drawn him to her home planet of Empyrean, and then what had driven him away? Why he had changed from a respected and beloved member of society, into the epitome of evil. She had even entertained the thought of trying to change him, save him, setting him back on the enlightened path, as she had done with Baltar of late, and so many others over the yahrens. Had she overestimated her own abilities? Had she endangered herself by taking such a risk? Every bit of reason in her now was crying, "Yes!". Her instinct told her to retreat, to flee, but instead she held her ground, and waited. Pride demanded it.
Foolish child! Now you are in my domain! And you came willingly!
"Well then, since I'm here . . . how about the two-cubit tour?" Ama returned casually, abruptly feeling the raw force of his power surround her, engulfing her. The energy was so great, it felt as though it could tear her to pieces and devour her. Such was his threat.
He obviously didn't know who he was dealing with.
----------
"Quick! Move!" Apollo ordered, leaping out of the pilot's seat even as Lia was lifting up the floor panel behind the third Cylon seat. Four Colonials and an IL in one Hybrid Raider, it had been quite the ride for Lia and Baltar who had been haphazardly secured with strapping. He started to follow Lia down into the cramped storage compartment below the deck, then glanced up, locking eyes with Baltar. He didn't like the idea of not being near the traitor on a infiltration mission that was so important, but he also realized that Malus and Baltar were the perfect decoys to create enough confusion and fuss for him and Lia to locate the Mega Pulsar's archaic projection matrix system. If they could reverse the energy beam, it would blow the old Base Ship to Hades hole when the time came that the Cylons inevitably fired her up in orbit to destroy Morlais. Then they could concentrate on finding Dayton and Starbuck. Malus had thought that the self-confident and egotistical nature of Baltar would go a long way to making the "sting", as Baker called it, succeed. Well, he could hardly argue with that. "Baltar . . ." he began.
Baltar smiled in apparent amusement. "As much as it obviously pains you, you're just going to have to trust me, Colonel Apollo." Then he shrugged. "Or at least trust that your compatriots will keep an adequate eye on me."
"Oh, don't you worry about that," Luana inserted, pushing down on Apollo's reluctant head, and beginning to lower the panel back into place. "Tuck in, you two. And no funny stuff down there." She grinned at her executive officer's sudden indignant mien as he disappeared into temporary hiding with her sister.
"Let's take a look at you," Baltar said to the young officer, as she stood up, pausing in front of him. She wore a black tunic and pants, compliments of the Angylions, and Dietra's rank pins were on her collar. The once formal clothing of the Angylion Palace Guard had the proper appearance for a uniform that could have come from this fabricated alliance with the Cylons, and the collar pins denoted a rank more appropriate to someone that would be piloting an admiral and commander across dimensions. Baltar nodded approvingly at her. "Looking sharp, Lieutenant."
She saluted smartly while standing at attention, a suggestion that Baker had made, denoting a slight change in the more lax Colonial military tradition. "Thank you, sir."
Baltar returned the salute, slightly more casually. "At ease. Let us proceed."
A moment later, they were descending the ladder, and were stepping onto the tarmac.
----------
"Will you be my wife, Luana? Seal with me?" He blinked back tears, surprised how his emotions had overcome him so suddenly.
"You know I will. I already said, 'yes'. Didn't we just . . . have a celebration?" She replied, her voice also choked with emotion. It was like a beautiful dream come true. She pulled him to his feet and kissed him. He trembled slightly as he then pulled her to him.
"To Ama, the Empyrean Quorum, and the Fleet, you said 'yes'." Starbuck replied, nuzzling her hair. "I needed you to say 'yes' to me, Lu."
"I was only waiting for you to ask me, Innamorato." She whispered to him. "I love you, Starbuck. I'd be honoured to be . . ."
"Inconsequential. Recalibrate."
"By-your-command," the centurion replied, hitting a switch and watching the subject jerk in the chair, his face twisting, before his head dropped listlessly onto his chest again. "Recalibrated."
"I dare ya!"
Starbuck scoffed at Waldemar, glancing through the window out at the big Quercus tree. "No way," he muttered, shaking his head and dealing out another hand of cards onto his bed.
"I double dare ya!"
Starbuck narrowed his eyes, looking out at the tree again. The stakes were getting higher, and they were getting some attention now. A few of the other boys were slowly wandering over, wondering if he'd rise to the occasion . . . like he usually did. After all, the matron had confined him to his room for fighting for the next sectar, the exceptions being instructional periods, worship and meals. You're eight-yahrens old, Starbuck! You should know better!
"Oh yeah?" Starbuck tossed back.
"I double daggit dare ya!" Waldemar sneered, his fat lip just about eclipsing his black eye as it snarled back over his chipped and crooked teeth. The boy could be the poster child for "ugly", especially after their fight yesterday. Still, the way things were going, he would probably still get adopted before Starbuck.
Every young head in the room seemed to hold a collective breath. If he didn't take the dare, he'd never live it down. No one was going to call him a coward!
"Fine!" Starbuck snapped, lurching up from the bed and pacing to the window. The catch was that this particular tree was "child safe". They had lopped off any tempting branches that a reasonable child might decide to use to scale it. However, Starbuck—as they should have known by now—was anything but reasonable.
As the other children gasped in disbelief, he climbed out onto the ledge, grasping the edges of the window frame, and sizing up how far it was to the closest branch. He sidled along the narrow ledge, getting a little bit closer, as young heads stared out the nearby windows in anticipation. If he could just reach that one branch, making to the one above it would be easy, and before he knew it he would be at the top. Who said you had to start at the bottom to climb a tree? Yeah, he'd show them. He'd show them all!
Reaching out with one hand, he pushed off . . .
"Recalibrated." The centurion again glanced at the subject, noting the Angylion's reaction to the abrupt cortical disturbance. His eyelids flickered erratically, and his face was contorted.
"By-your-command."
A trickle of sweat trailed down his temples, distracting him. He blinked and in an instant realized that his heart was hammering in his chest. A slight crack in the immuring haze beckoned to him. If he reached up just a little higher he could get there.
"Stay with me!"
The words echoed through his mind, suffusing the rest of his body until his skin felt as though it was too tight, encasing an unnatural presence, which he fought to dispel. It brought to mind a Gemonese sausage roasting over a fire, its casing about to split open as it expanded under the pressure . . .
"Look at me, Starbuck!"
Her voice was like a cracking whip; his eyes snapped open, again drawn to Ama's riveting stare. "Ama . . . " he rasped, as the walls that had protected and comforted him seemed to cave in from all directions, leaving him freefalling into the brilliant blue glow before him.
"He-continues-to-resist-our-probing."
"This-is-unprecedented-at-this-level."
"Nonetheless-resistance-continues."
"Increase-voltons."
"By-your-command."
A blaring alarm sounded in the cockpit. He cut his power, hitting reverse thrusters, feeling like he would snap in two as he ricocheted backwards. He cut thrust as he closed his eyes against the sudden blinding flash of light, his body jerking, and feeling as though a bolt of energy had just shot through it. The air seemed to be sucked from his lungs, and he gasped, even as he realized his ship was still fully powered up and responding. The problem was, he wasn't. . .
"Recalibrate."
"By-your-command."
An abrupt breath expelled in a tortuous gasp. Starbuck's mouth opened, his breath caught in his throat, as he tried to suck in precious air. His fingers dug into Regus' robes from where they had rested on the man's shoulder. The pain followed a micron later, slowly building from a burn to a searing torment as he looked down between them in morbid fascination. In paralytic shock.
The knife was still inside Starbuck, Regus' hand still clenching it, his knuckles white. Blood oozed from the jagged hole in his tunic, spreading its stain across his uniform. It was surreal. As though time had slowed down to force him to endure every milli-centon of the experience. Starbuck slumped against the wall, his supporting leg giving out beneath him. Regus stayed with him, his grip relentless as he twisted his body to face the warrior. Then the Empyrean pulled back slightly, changing his grip to press against the lieutenant's chest. Starbuck's head lifted and met the older man's eyes. As if that was what he was waiting for, Regus gazed at him balefully, and jerked the blade back out again, twisting it sharply, tearing at flesh anew. An animalistic cry of pain ripped from the warrior's throat. . .
"We-have-exceeded-normal-limits-of-human-tolerance."
"He-is-not-human. Proceed."
The Earthman was out of control.
A growl of fury spewed from Dayton as he pushed himself up from the deck. Starbuck could feel the weight beneath him shift slightly and then suddenly the man had a hold of his hair and was attempting to jerk it out by the roots. The yelp of pain that spontaneously cleared his lips sounded pathetic even to him.
He reflexively clawed at the hand, his neck wrenching painfully as he was pulled forward, and then flipped onto his back, knocking the breath from him. He gazed up into crazed, grey eyes that glared balefully at him for a moment before suddenly widening in recognition.
"Starbuck . . .?" Dayton sputtered.
"He-continues-to-resist."
"Recalibrate."
"By-your-command."
A coughing fit hit him. Tears pricked his eyes, and his stomach reeled as he rested his head against the boulder until the hacking eased. With that racket, he might as well just fire off a flare announcing to the Cylons, here we are! They'd be circling around, and getting ready to surround him by now. For a milli-centon he considered going back and ending it all for Lu. It would be the decent thing to do. Ama would understand. Still, there was some measure of hope, however faint, that help might arrive in time if he could hold them off. Besides, he knew he didn't have it in him. He couldn't shoot Luana, anymore than he could shoot himself. He didn't have the nerve. Some people called it a will to survive, but he knew it by its real name. Fear. And it was choking him now, making it feel as though there was a battlestar resting on his chest, as he shakily raised his weapon once again while the drone of his mortal enemies drew ever closer. . .
"Recalibrate."
"By-your-command."
Starbuck moaned, shaking his head at the obvious reference. "He told you . . ." he whined. The name. What had his parents been thinking? His stomach pitched again, no doubt in empathy. "Ohhhh . . . "
"I think it's sweet." Luana grinned, her eyes twinkling with mischief, as she looked over at Chameleon. "Solarus. The ancient Kobolian sun god." She chuckled at Starbuck's look of dismay.
"Prince Solarus of the Empyrean Imperial Family," Ama inserted with a wry grin, chuckling when he started heaving again. "Is it really that bad?"
"First a Colonial Warrior, and now a prince. And all of it on the level." Chameleon murmured, his voice thick with emotion, despite his teasing words. "You're doing alright, son, considering your humble beginnings in Umbra . . ."
"Refine-the-scan. We are getting closer."
"By-your-command."
---------
Baltar smothered a smile as he walked side by side with Malus, down the aisle created by the Cylon honour guard that Commander Mendax had organized. Luana followed dutifully behind them, her face as expressionless as his own. In his experience, it was always interesting and very often entertaining, to observe two IL Cylons together. There seemed to be a natural rivalry and antagonism, traits that were more characteristically Human than naturally Cylon. He couldn't help but think about Lucifer's dislike, distrust, and jealousy when they had come across the "older model" and commander of the Atilla garrison, Spectre. It fleetingly made him wonder what had become of his former Cylon sidekick, and if he had indeed been destroyed over Planet 'P'.
Then he spotted Commander Dayton standing off to one side, a red garment in his hands waving back and forth to get his attention. Baltar glanced around briefly, looking for the missing Starbuck, before returning his attention to Dayton. The Earthman was frowning at him, raising his fingers to his temples, and briefly rubbing them furiously, while he rolled his eyes, and made hideous faces. His first thought was that Dayton was mocking him. His next . . . either Starbuck was currently being brain probed, or Dayton had lost it.
Possibly all three.
"Admiral Malus. Commander Baltar." Mendax bowed as they approached. "It is an honour to receive you."
The IL was unclad, like Malus, and it occurred to Baltar that for some reason Dayton had been put in trust of his robe.
"Commander Mendax," Malus returned, taking a long moment to look around the bay. "I greet you in the name of our Imperious Leader." At the mention of the Cylon ruler, Baltar and Luana bowed their heads momentarily. "I should like a tour of your ship, ending in an inspection of your troops. Have them congregate in your Alpha Bay."
Mendax seemed to bristle, as Lucifer used to, when he was receiving an order he didn't want to obey. "This may not be the best time for an inspection, Admiral . . ." he began.
"Well, since you're rather overdue for reporting in, Commander, I can't think of a better time," Malus returned indignantly.
"It appears as though the Harbinger sustained considerable damage," Baltar inserted, not even addressing the fact that Mendax had to be dubious, to say the least, of this professed alliance between the Cylons and Colonials. However, Malus was prepared for that. Rather impressively, actually. "How long have you been grounded here, Commander Mendax?"
"Ten yahrens, Commander Baltar," Mendax returned.
"And you haven't managed to get her off the ground yet?" Malus replied caustically. "Why ever not?" The lights in his head sped up, as if making note of it.
"Resources are limited, Admiral," Mendax replied. "Some metal ores we needed were in short supply, here. But since you mention it, we are almost ready to lift off."
"Really? How impressive," Baltar replied with an approving nod, while internally wincing. Thankfully, Apollo been prepared for that eventuality. "We noticed that there's apparently an established society here." He glanced at Dayton. "Is he one of the locals?"
"Yes." Nothing more.
Baltar nodded, finding it strangely energizing to be on the "right side". Not that turning against the Colonials hadn't occurred to him . . . but then that witch's words from sectars ago had come back to him. While your path to redemption may have begun on the planet, your reward will not come until the hereafter. But only if you continue your quest. Could a separate dimension apart from their own be considered the hereafter? It made a certain kind of sense . . . at least to a bureautician. "How progressive. I admit that I thought you would still be exterminating humanoids as per the Edict from your time."
Mendax's lights sped up calculatingly before replying. "You must tell me more about this . . . Armistice. It is difficult to . . . correlate."
"Yes, I imagine it is," Baltar sympathized. "But when the Board first attacked the Twelve Colonies of Man, and then simultaneously the Cylon Empire, the only possible solution was for two ancient enemies to find common ground to overcome the most deadly foe known to either Mankind or Cylonkind."
Malus turned then to consider Baltar. It left the man with the impression he had somehow messed up his role as "good cop" to Malus' "bad cop" . . . the way that Baker had illustrated it when they had expounded on the IL's original idea. Actually, the amount of Earth elements used to pull off this plan was significant.
"The Board?" Mendax asked sceptically. "What is this Board?"
Malus then turned to address the IL. "Not 'Board', Commander Mendax. Apparently you need your auditory receptors replaced. They are the Borg."