Chapter Seventeen
Dayton had done his best at keeping quiet and unassuming, well other than to try to communicate to the others that Starbuck was having his brain virtually dissected by the Cylons. He was also unsure of whether to laugh or spit. Here he was, aboard a ship full of cybernetics constructs that had the capability to destroy this planet and every living Angylion on it, and Malus was role-playing out of Star Trek: The Next Generation.
Great. First I'm Captain Kirk, now I get to be Picard. Only it's Starbuck that's getting assimilated!
Surrounded by seemingly endless Cylons, he could hopefully fade into the background when and if needs be. Still, it was hard to go completely unnoticed when you were over six feet tall, dashingly good-looking, and carrying a shimmering red cape that would have Liberace panting in ecstasy. If only he could sneak inside the Hybrid Raider, then he could at least arm himself and try to knock out the mega pulsar, then get back to Starbuck. After all, with most of the surviving centurions being summoned for inspection—a brilliant plan that he'd have to commend Neon Noggin on—the way around the Base Ship would be relatively clear and easy. However, it was not to be. When the time came to leave the landing bay, Mendax still insisted that he tag along, leaving Dayton wondering if Mendax was really as buffaloed as they'd hoped, or was still suspicious. Suspicion and downright paranoia seemed to be common with these IL guys, from everything he'd studied. Even if the IL was snowed, he decided that if he heard, "Dayton. Come, and bring my cloak" one more time, he'd make the IL eat the ragged cloth.
Irritatingly, he found himself standing in the hatchway of the Control Centre while Malus prepared to brief the Cylons on the Borg. The inspiring idea had Baker's signature all over it. Dayton was looking for an opportunity to slip away unnoticed when Luana passed him by. Smooth as silk, a cold metal gun butt was slipped into his hand, swiftly hidden beneath the red cloak. Suddenly, being relegated to Mendax's manservant had taken a new turn. To the princess' credit, she didn't even acknowledge him as she passed by, the holster on her left hip now empty . . . and he hadn't even noticed until now that she had been wearing two guns, so amazed he was to see them.
"The Borg are genetically and cybernetically modified humanoids," Malus began to explain. "They function as a collective made up of thousands of species, from across both the universe we know, and transdimensionally, who have been assimilated into a single hive-mind. In their collective state, the Borg are utterly without mercy, or fear . . . driven by one will alone: the will to conquer. They are beyond redemption . . . beyond reason."
Without even asking for consent, the IL plugged in the smallest digit on his right hand, interfacing with the Harbinger's mainframe. Dayton hid a triumphant grin, wondering what else the IL would be doing while plugged into the Harbinger's systems. The devious bugger could rewrite access codes, deactivate weapons, and cause all kinds of chaos. It gave him a new respect for the turncoat Cylon . . . and made him glad Malus was on his side.
On screen, a cube-like ship appeared, with no apparent propulsion system. A moment later, the image shifted to that of grotesque humanoids. Their skin tone resembled that of a human corpse of several days vintage, and various electronic modifications were apparent plugging into their skulls and bodies. An eerie sound bite started as further holoptics of the Beings were displayed on screen. Dayton recognized them as being from the Borg Documentary that they had recovered from the Endeavour. Actually, even Malus' words seemed reminiscent of the Sci-fi documentary, but that last statement was definitely a quote from Captain Jean-Luc Picard.
"We are the Borg. Lower you shields and surrender your ships. You will be assimilated. We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Your culture will adapt to service us. Resistance is futile."
"The main goal of the Borg, Commander Mendax, is to perfect themselves by consuming and assimilating technology," Baltar continued. "They accomplish this task by conquering other races, assimilating both the species and its technology. However, they only attempt to assimilate those species and technologies which they consider relevant, that is, advanced enough to be of use to their goal for technological perfection."
"And they still attacked Humans, Commander?" Mendax asked, somewhat sarcastically.
"And Cylons alike, Commander," Baltar replied diplomatically, turning to Luana. "Lieutenant."
"Sir," Luana acknowledged. "The Borg can function in environments normally harmful to organic life-forms, such as excessively high or low gravity planets, toxic atmospheres, and even the vacuum of space." She stepped forward, indicating the continuing holoptics. "As you can imagine, this provides them with a huge advantage in battle, as it allows them to both repair their own ships and sabotage ours, often simultaneously. Another advantage that the Borg have in battle is that the have a collective consciousness that allows for both almost infinitely accelerated computational power, but also virtually instantaneous adaptations to both shield and laser frequency modulations."
Dayton leaned closer, shaking his head in amazement while the Cylon commander watched a number of Borg drones take repeated hits from both Colonial and Cylon infantry weapons. One drone fell, sparking and smoking, followed by another. Then, each and every one seemed to field a force screen, brushing aside subsequent shots like blows from a feather. As they advanced, both "human" and "Cylon" soldiers went down before their firepower. The "Cylons" were rendered smoking junk, the "humans" were pierced by needles, beginning the process of assimilation into the Borg Collective. Dayton wasn't sure how they'd pieced the presentation together so quickly and realistically, but it sure as hell looked convincing to him.
"As you can see, after a few shots, the Borg adapt, rendering standard-issue assault weapons useless," Lu continued with a frown. "It gives them an ability for quick adaptation, which protects both Borg drones and their ships from sustaining most major forms of damage during battle."
New images came up. Pieces of shattered space vehicles and destroyed hulks littered the region around a star, floating aimlessly in the void. Dayton recognized the scene, suitably altered. Along with Trek ships, there were suitably generated "pieces" of Battlestars, Base Ships, and various other military craft, human and Cylon, in various stages of obliteration. What remained of a Viper drifted by, along with bits of a destroyed Raider.
"An entire fleet destroyed?" asked Mendax, openly shocked. "Full Base Ships? But how?"
"Their weapons are almost unstoppable," replied Baltar. "This battle took place almost nine yahrens ago, near Pineas Prime. A single Borg cube was met by a task force of a full score of Allied vessels. You can see the results for yourself, Commander."
"But how?" asked Mendax again, a trace of anger seeping into his voice. "Even Colonial Battlestars are not so easily overcome."
"By capturing and assimilating some of our own," said Malus.
"They . . . collaborated?"
"They were assimilated," corrected Baltar. "Once done, they had no choice." Next to image of "Picard", Malus put up the image of another IL Series Cylon. Baltar could barely contain the delicious irony of using the image of Lucifer, his one-time aide and annoyance, fitted with numerous Borg "attachments".
"One of us?" said Mendax, taking a step closer to the screen.
"No longer," said Malus. "Once Commander Lucifer was integrated into the Borg Collective, all he knew became a part of them. They used his knowledge, as well as that of the human you see here, to overcome every defence the task force possessed."
"And this . . . human?"
"A Commander . . . Picard, as I recall?"
"Yes, sir," replied Lu. "Originally of the . . .uh, Federation, if memory serves."
"They sound almost . . . indestructible," Mendax ventured. He sounded worried.
"It certainly seemed so upon first contact," said Lu, her features tight and controlled as her missing husband obviously preyed upon her mind, which lent to the believability of her performance. "And when any Being is assimilated, human or Cylon, everything it knows, every memory, every bit of data, is instantly known to the entire Borg Collective."
"Which is why the Cylons and humans were forced to unite against them," Malus replied. "They are patently the most malevolent and relentless force in the entire Star System. Can you imagine any other scenario where two races bent on each other's destruction for a millennium would agree to a cessation of hostilities, and form an alliance?" Malus made a noise that sounded like a snort. "I cannot."
"This alliance . . ." Mendax began.
"Pay attention, Mendax," Malus "sighed", as an entirely new series of images crossed the screen. It was original footage of the Armistice unfolding in Caprica City, before the Cylons had attacked. Artfully edited into that were archival holoptics and what had to be computer generated images that gave every appearance that the Cylons and Colonials were celebrating their newfound alliance. It made Dayton wonder if Malus had an infinite amount of those kinds of files saved in his memory banks, and while he knew of the IL's obsession with humans, in particular Starbuck, he hadn't known Malus had seen or digitally stored any Earth movies or documentaries. "We expect the Borg to appear in this quadrant, and despite your ineptitude and obvious lack of decorum and respect, which I shall be mentioning to the Imperious Leader in my report, we have still decided to come to your assistance. We need you and your troops, Commander. The Alliance needs you." Malus made it sound so . . . desperately heroic. "Even one Allied ship taken by the Borg would be one too many. And the data you have collected on this entire region of space would be invaluable to the Borg, Commander. Indeed, the key to their victory, or ours, may lie in your data banks."
"And the race of humanoids that you are protecting must also be considered," Baltar added.
"Protecting . . ." Mendax murmured, his lights blinking rapidly as he looked at Dayton. "Dayton, go about your duties. Report back to me when my cloak has been repaired to my satisfaction."
"Yes, my Lord Hemorrhoid," Dayton nodded, slipping out through the hatch, counting his blessings that Baltar had given him the chance to get out from under Mendax's watchful electronic eye. The Cylon IL would not want Admiral Malus and Commander Baltar catching wind of the fact that they were presently brain probing one of the humanoids that they were apparently "protecting". It was definitely time to get the manservant out of sight. He hesitated just outside the Control Centre, getting his bearings. Mega Pulsar or Starbuck . . . ?
He thought furiously, going back to his earliest days in the service, and the missions he and been on. The Mission. Complete the mission objective! People fall in war. You cannot allow yourself to be distracted by personal feelings. The enemy must be neutralized to the fullest extent possible. Complete the mission!
But thirty years in a hellhole, with only his friends to keep him sane had a way of altering a guy's perceptions . . . messing with his priorities . . .
"Okay," he breathed, and began to move.
"How exactly will you assist us, Admiral?" Mendax was asking.
"The Harrower will be joining us shortly, so we should proceed to Alpha Bay for the inspection of your troops," Malus informed him, waving a limb towards the hatch. "Our Base Ship is armed with the only thing we have developed so far that can defeat the Borg."
"And what is that?"
"The Microsoft OS."
----------
"Well?" Lia asked, crammed up against the colonel in the tiny storage compartment beneath the deck of the Hybrid fighter. There was a time when she would have wished for just such a situation, having had quite a crush on Apollo. His gentle nature, his subtle charisma, his instinctive need to watch over others . . . and all in such an attractive package. However, it hadn't taken her long to realize that the warrior's heart belonged to Sheba, and that she was just another cadet that he was paying a little extra attention to because she had become the unofficial charge of his best friend. Then, after a long time of committing herself solely to her career, she had realized that love came in many packages, and would appear when you least expected it. Thus began her relationship with Jolly. "Colonel?" she prompted him again, as he adjusted a dial on the optical display that was relaying the surveillance feed from the scanners in the Hybrid's cockpit. She spared a thought for her godmother, wondering what was happening in the Angylion Holy Sanctum, before returning her attention to the job at hand. Ama could take care of herself.
"They're gone," Apollo whispered in reply.
Neither of them had been surprised that a pair of centurions had boarded and examined the interior of their fighter. In this instance, the modifications made to the Hybrid Raiders, combining both Colonial and Cylon technology, ironically substantiated their story of an Alliance.
Lia nodded as Apollo did a final sweep, then set down the scanner, undoing the hatch that locked them into their hiding place. Tentatively, he lifted the cover, cautiously peeking out before slowly swinging the hatch open wide. She nimbly climbed out past him, pausing to lean down and offer him a hand up.
He frowned at it, and she couldn't hide the smile when he shook his head and cumbersomely, yet determinedly, climbed up out of the hold under his own steam, despite cramped limbs. He glanced at her, frowning.
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing," she replied, crossing to look out through the port. "Looks quiet out there. I can't see any centurions."
"Even when Starbuck and I landed on that Base Star last yahren, the landing bay was almost completely empty of centurions after they had disembarked from their fighters. We didn't even see any maintenance crew."
"Well, I guess we're about to find out if they're consistent," Lia remarked, heading for the outer hatch and ladder. For whatever reason, the inspecting centurions had left the hatch open, reducing any potential noise upon deplaning. "Thoughtful of them," she quipped, gesturing towards the hatch.
Apollo nodded. "Well, if Malus' plan worked, they should all be gathering in Alpha Bay," he told her, then lightly touched her arm. "I'll go first."
"Right behind you," she replied, pulling her weapon.
A moment later she saw he was on the deck, squatting low, minimizing himself as a target, and sweeping the landing bay with his weapon. In a micron she had joined him. So far, so good. No Cylons. He nodded at her again, a mysterious smile playing on his lips. She decided she'd have to ask him about it later, as they headed for the Central Core.
It was an incredible advantage coming from an almost exact replica of this ship, considering they'd made some necessary modifications for conditions suiting humans. They scaled the ladder confidently, knowing which level to get off on, and where to go to find the Mega Pulsar's projection matrix and power control systems. It was almost too easy, as they slunk down the deserted corridors before finally reaching their destination.
"Clear," reported Lia, scanning the area.
Once again, Apollo led the way, staying low as he paused at the controlled hatchway. "Let's hope this works," he murmured to Lia, punching in an override access code that Malus should have inputted by now, if he'd interfaced with the mainframe as planned. He held his breath for the brief instant it took for the hatch to thunk open. A moment later they entered the control station for the immense weapon, bursting through, prepared to do battle.
"Clear," Lia said again in disbelief, finding the room unguarded.
"How about that," Apollo murmured, closing the hatch behind them, and taking a moment to get his bearings.
However, "clear" didn't last long. No sooner had they entered, and the hatchway sealed, then another loud thunk at the hatch indicated the arrival of centurions.
"Triquetra's Trousers . . ." cursed Lia.
Apollo grabbed her, pulling her back into a recessed ladderwell in the bulkhead. Microns later, both centurions entered the room behind them, and moved to their positions. Apollo signalled to Lia, staying out of sight as he raised his weapon.
And none too soon. One centurion turned, and saw them. Before it could draw its own weapon, it had called out to the other.
Lia blasted away, hitting the centurion directly in the chest. There was no margin for error in here. Any collateral damage could be detected in the Control Centre. The other fell a few microns later, belching smoke and sparks.
"Must have been change of watch," said Lia, as together they pulled one centurion from the seat at the controls, dumping it behind the energy exchange pump. Apollo followed with the other. She seated herself at the panel, and began studying the controls. "Okay, now how do we . . .?"
"Like this," said Apollo. He leaned over her, pressing several controls. A schematic came up on a screen. He pointed out the vital system. "We sabotage the energy exchange pump. When they try to fire, and the feedback will overload the whole weapon. It'll blow itself to Hades hole."
"Works for me. So what . . .?"
"Upper-pulsar-station,"came a voice, suddenly, over the intercom. "Auxiliary-power-test-in-three-centons. Acknowledge."
"Apollo?"
"Frack . . ."
"Upper-pulsar-station, acknowledge."
---------
Dayton paused in indecision, looking down the corridor that would take him back to the Brig and then up the ladderwell that would end at the station for the Mega Pulsar. His first priority should be destroying that pulsar . . . then again, Malus would be planning and scheming with that in mind, as well. Besides, even though he hadn't seen Apollo, it wasn't like his executive officer to sit back and let a princess, a traitor and a reformed Cylon run this show. Hell, he wouldn't! No, Apollo had to be somewhere on this ship. That was most likely why Malus had demanded an inspection of the Cylon troops, to clear the way for the colonel to get to the terrifying energy weapon.
That decided, he headed for the Brig.
The corridors were mostly empty, and he had to remind himself that Mendax had cleared him to be wandering the Base Ship, presumably in search of needle and thread. He almost laughed at the thought of mending tools aboard a Base Ship, but instead took a deep breath, steadying his nerves, and trying to get back into character as a manservant . . . which was difficult with his right hand wrapped around the butt of his Colonial weapon, hidden beneath the cloak.
As he reached the Brig, he faltered, as the hatch opened and he found himself face to face with a centurion. Within he could hear Mendax's voice through the comm, "Very well. Take the prince to his . . . quarters. I will examine the scan later. I will be in Alpha Bay for the inspection. Report there as soon as the prince is . . . recovered."
"By-your-command," came the reply.
Two centurions, minimal. Right.
"Hi there," Dayton smiled tremulously up at the Cylon that emerged from the hatch. "Commander Mendax told me to fix his cloak," he raised his arm slightly in illustration, and hastily continued. "But I think I dropped my Singer serger back here. You know, the one with the treadle on it? And, well . . . that will never do." He peered into the Brig past the centurion. Starbuck was still strapped into that chair, but appeared unconscious. The Cylon probe was rising up slowly, obviously just having finished sucking whatever images it could out of the young man's brain. Dayton could feel his guts knotting up when he caught sight of the pale warrior, his hair plastered to his head with sweat. Thankfully, he could see the steady rise and fall of his chest.
"Singer-serger-does-not-compute," the centurion replied, as Dayton squeezed past him. "Treadle-does-not-compute."
"Well, don't bust a bobbin, bub," Dayton replied, stepping into the room. Yeah, there were two walking garbage cans guarding one restrained and unconscious Colonial Warrior. A little unfair. "It's around here somewhere, I'm sure of it. I never leave home without my trusty sewing machine, although it can get a little cumbersome sometimes." He made a show of looking around. "My vision's not what it used to be, too much squinting when I thread my needles . . . can you see it?"
"There-is-nothing-that . . ."
The hatch clicked shut as the centurion stepped inside again, and Dayton pivoted, firing his weapon point-blank into one centurion, and a split second later, the other. Both staggered on the spot, as sparks and smoke shot out of them. One toppled towards him, and he leapt out of the way. The other fell back against Starbuck's chair, not even shifting the seat bolted down, before it crumpled to the deck.
---------
Apollo felt like a fool, glancing again at Lia, trying to think of another way. Any other way. "I don't believe this."
"Do it!" she growled, a fierce intensity in her brown eyes. The Command Centre had been waiting for a reply for almost the full thirty microns that they had been arguing about this.
Just like when you were a kid . . .
Apollo pressed against his throat, speaking into the comm, and a natural vibrato that almost sounded convincing to his ears was transmitted. "This-is-upper-pulsar-station. Acknowledging-power-test-in-three-centons."
The resulting pause seemed eternal.
"Received."
He let out a breath of relief, glancing at her gleeful smile. As usual with Lia, it was infectious. "How did you even think of that?"
"Baltar," she replied with a smirk. "He does actually come in handy, sometimes. Now let's booby-trap this baby, and get out of here."
"You can say that again."
"Let's booby-trap this baby . . ."
---------
Enslaved trolls, doublewalkers, sorcery, Cylons in another dimension, a heroic Baltar, a mystical duel between Ama and Count Iblis, and a transformed race of Angylions that looked like angels out of his mother's old Book Of The Word . . . and that was before the fabricated "Alliance" and the attack of the "Borg". It was so completely absurd that even Commander Cain was seemingly struck dumb, shaking his head as he paced, while Baker, Jolly and Dietra finished their debriefing.
"Either Commander Mark Dayton is completely mad . . . or he's the most daring and brilliant tactician this side of the Cosmora Archipelago," Cain decided.
"Oh, he's mad," Baker shrugged, then added more seriously, "But I have to give credit where it's due. Malus thought of most of this when Dayton and Starbuck were taken captive. The rest of us had some input, including Baltar, but the gist of the plan came from our own Mal." He grinned at Porter. "That walking/talking mainframe is coming along nicely."
"That he is," Porter agreed.
"Hmm," Cain grunted, considering one final option. His implant had blown all its circuits, and he was really in a mental asylum. Well, if that was the case, it was best to play along . . . He glanced at Sheba. She had squeezed her way into the Endeavour's War Room not long after the meeting had started. Evidently, she had thought she would have more luck finding Boxey herself, and had flown over from the Pegasus to do just that. "Did you find the boy?" he asked her.
"Not yet," she shook her head, returning her attention to the others. "This story is bizarre. And I definitely don't like the idea of Count Iblis being down there, anywhere near Apollo." She shuddered visibly, wrapping her arms around her.
"It's bad sci-fi meets even worse fantasy," Baker replied. "Apollo wants us approaching this as though we're about to help defend the Harbinger against the Borg. We're coming to her rescue, after all. And, until our people are off that ship, that's the scenario we're going with."
"The timing is crucial," Dietra added, glancing at her chrono. "We need to get back."
"I'm going to need you in the Control Centre as my Borg specialist, Baker," Dorado told him. "I haven't seen Starbuck: The Next Generation."
"Freudian slip, Captain?" Baker chuckled. "That's Star Trek."
"Right," Dorado winced, shaking his head slightly, rubbing at the throbbing behind his artificial eye. Lords, whatever happened to the simple life? Flying a Viper, blasting Cylons, quaffing ambrosa with his buddies? Huh? What happened? "Okay everybody, let's get ready to . . . uh, energize."
"Aye, Cap'n!" Baker put on the brogue, turning to head for the Control Centre. "I'll just go check on the dilithium crystals!"
"Dilithium . . .?"
"It's a Trek thing," Porter shrugged in way of explanation, before following.
Dorado nodded, before turning to the Juggernaut. "Commander Cain, can I escort you to the launch bay, sir?" he asked, as the others filed out. He didn't miss Cain's look of surprise and annoyance.
"Captain, you know that I can assume command of this vessel at any time based on your rank, and especially your inexperience," Cain warned him. It looked as though he was seriously considering it.
"Commander Cain, I'm about to take a ship that even our enemies know should have been decommissioned a hundred yahrens ago into another dimension using a science that I don't even truthfully understand," Dorado returned. "I'm not even sure if the Endeavour will hold together, sir. However, what I do know is that as both a military leader and icon, you are too important to our people to risk sacrificing on a mission that hinges on a plan put together and executed by a reformed Cylon as well the most notorious traitor of our time."
"Of all time, Captain," Cain snorted, considering the cybernetically enhanced warrior before him that had once been an able and talented young officer aboard the Pegasus,back when Sagan wore sandals. "Son, I was blowing smoke at superior officers when you were still in swaddling clothes . . ."
"Commander," Dorado cut in, his voice surprisingly brittle. "I need this chance . . . no, I deserve this chance to prove to you . . . " He paused, sucking in a breath and rubbing at his prosthetic eye, and then glancing back at Sheba who had paused behind him. Having a grace her father often lacked, she began backing out of the room. Lords, she understands! "Strike that, sir. I have to prove to myself . . . that I can do this." He drew himself erect, meeting Cain's penetrating stare. "Sir."
Cain narrowed his eyes, looking the young man up and down appraisingly. Dorado had lost an eye, an arm, both his legs, and what else down on that planet? He was rebuilding his career and his life. Well, after his own cranial implant and enough medical leave to make Cain sick, it struck just a little too close to home . . . "Can you? Can you do it?"
"Damn right. Sir," Dorado replied softly.
"I can't hear you, Captain . . ." the Juggernaut replied.
"Damn right, Sir!" Dorado returned sharply, snapping to attention.
Cain nodded. "Then get your astrum to your Command Centre, son. I can see myself off."
"Thank you, Sir," Dorado nodded.
"Just don't make me regret it."
"I won't," Dorado replied, now heading down the corridor with a spring in his step . . . which was feasible considering his new "bionic" legs, as the Earthmen called them.
"Dorado!" Sheba hollered after him, suddenly there again. She'd been waiting.
"Yo?" he turned.
"I want to come with you! I haven't found Boxey! If I let anything happen to Apollo's son . . ." she shook her head, her features tight with worry. They both looked to Cain. Wordlessly, he nodded.
"Welcome aboard, Captain!" Dorado called back to her, before heading for the Control Centre as quickly as he could.
----------
Trapped within Iblis' domain—the darkness, the terrifying blackness that was his soul—the energy was so intense and raw that Ama involuntarily cried out as it pummelled her. Not only did it flow around her, it penetrated her existence like a storm, threatening to tear her apart. Still, she had to submit to this, at least for now. She had to give him a chance, if only for the sake of her mother. However, as her strength waned, in the far recesses of conscious thought, she could detect Iblis. Watching. Waiting. Assessing.
Like a crawlon.
In that instant she knew that he was her birth father only. Any trace of the man that Arion had once been was gone. There was no hope for this creature of darkness that would attack his own child so mercilessly and cruelly.
The truth, however painful, grounded her.
"Oh Holy Mother, lend me your strength . . ." she cried, lifting her hands upwards, seeking Triquetra's guidance . . . her presence. She could feel a familiar tingling in her fingertips, and she focussed intently, feeling her own powers swell as her goddess listened to her plea.
Iblis laughed derisively, and the sound penetrated her body and soul. Instead of deflecting it, she instead embraced it. Energy was vitality, no matter its source. One only needed to know how to manipulate it.
"There is no goddess Triquetra," the scornful words penetrated her like spears. "There is none but me! Ridiculous child! Impertinent whelp! You are alone! You are mine!"
"I belong to my children, my people!" she hollered back at him, as her life force surrounded her, basking her in an invigorating radiance, as she refuted his lies. "I might have been yours, had you acknowledged me before now, Iblis. Had you stayed with us, my mother and I. But not now," she avowed. Then she smiled triumphantly. "Now . . . since you invited me in, Evil One . . ."
"Evil One . . ." he breathed in contempt.
With a deep breath her powers expanded, until it felt as though she could embrace the entire universe from within Iblis' soul. Triquetra, Annica, and surely the Beings of Light had to be with her now, all lending their limitless powers to her cause. She could hear Iblis' roar of rage, as she delved into his consciousness, and images raced through her mind.
A youngster, curious and rebellious, he had ignored the limitations put on him by the Guardians of the universe. It seemed preposterous, having the ability to wander the universe at will, being perceived by inferior Beings as a god, and to not interact with them! Iblis had not been content to observe, but had instead found a simple pleasure in interfering and influencing, breaking the laws that the Elders had implemented upon their own kind eons ago. Actually, breaking their ridiculous rules was as rewarding as being idolized, or feared, by mere . . . peons, depending how his mood struck him. Watching the universe unfold before him was becoming mundane and tiresome, and better suited for more intellectually inferior and insipid creatures. He would rather leave a mark on the moulding of the galaxy, playing with planets, suns, entire solar systems, manipulating the development of entire races, societies, empires. Then, he had discovered a race that was easily seduced by his lies. Man. Yet, for all their weaknesses and frailties, ironically, Mankind came eventually to distrust him, considering him evil, and turning away from him. Moving on, he manipulated a quarrelsome and aggressive Reptilian race to build a cybernetic army, which eventually consumed them. Then for his further amusement, he turned them on the humans that had grown to despise him, ungenerously characterising him as Diabolis.
At that point, the Guardians had searched for him, seeking to punish him, and to diminish his powers. That was when he'd found the sleepy little planet known as Empyrean. There he had lived as a mere man, lying low, and against all odds, finding love with a gentle and beautiful creature called Annica. It was a pleasant diversion while it had lasted. His time with her was something he treasured, but after several yahrens he grew bored with the tedium of a daily routine on a backwater planet. He began to disappear for short periods, stretching his powers once again, and exploring the universe. Annica hadn't been content with the change in their relationship, not accepting his sketchy explanations, and demanding what he could not give.
All of him.
She began to pray to her goddess, seeking answers. Her pleas were heard, but by the Guardians of Light. Through Annica's pleading—her betrayal—they found him, removing him from Empyrean, and exiling him from contact with impressionable and malleable Beings.
They were gullible enough to think he would actually obey . . .
"NO!" Iblis roared, repelling Ama's invasion.
Abruptly, the images of his life disappeared, as though a black curtain had fallen over them. She could feel his power clashing against her own. A roar filled her ears, but she refocused, reaching further . . . gathering the forces of light and truth within her . . . seeking answers that he tried to shield from her . . . a little bit further . . . there was something more that she knew she had to see . . . their very survival might depend upon it.
---------
"Okay, get me a fix. Where in Hades half hectare are we?" Dorado called out as he blinked to clear his vision. The scanners were still coming back on-line after their trip between dimensions, and the gravity was having hiccoughs. Frack! So were the rest of them after feeling as though they had been strapped naked to a Viper and launched at full turbos! Most of his face was still somewhere behind his ears, and he was sure he'd left his breakfast somewhere on the interdimensional highway . . .
"We're . . . somewhere . . .sir . . ." Sagaris muttered in confusion. "I don't have a reference point, Captain."
"Somewhere," Dorado repeated. "Great. Just great." He drew in a deep breath, letting it out as Sheba stood up unsteadily beside him. He reached out an arm to steady her. "Okay, reset the navigational reference point to indicate Alpha Zero, Cadet. Just like in the sims we do in class. We'll start again."
"Yes, sir," responded the other, moving as if he were at least a hundred.
"Sometime before my nap, Sagaris," Dorado reminded him after another moment.
"Aye, Captain," the cadet replied, trying to pick up the pace. After a few moments, his reset board began to give data on the surrounding region of space. Navigational references, physical data, the works. He smiled. "We are in a new solar system, sir. Single sun, Class Gamma-Three. And . . ." Click, click. "I'm picking up a planet, Beta ten mark four. Range . . . sixteen point six million kilometrons."
"Good man," Dorado smiled. He turned to the helm, and ordered the ship brought about, heading for the planet. Then, turning back to Sagaris: "What've we got?"
"Delta class, sir. Mass point oh nine four of Caprica norm. Breathable atmosphere. Compatible with Human life, and . . ."
"My favourite," grinned Dorado. "What else?"
"There's a big ole Base Ship down there, Captain!" Sagaris grinned, putting the scans up for Dorado to see. fter a few moments, the image of a Base Ship on the surface grew clearer as they approached. "We've found them!"
"Never doubted we would for a centon," Dorado returned, shaking his head at Baker.
"Of course, you didn't," the Earthman returned. "Helm, ETA orbit attitude?"
"Orbit insertion in four centons, sir," replied the other.
"All right, people. This is it," Dorado pointed to Pierus at communications.
"Showtime!" grinned Baker.
---------
There had to be close to three hundred and fifty Cylon centurions in here, all standing in perfectly straight rows, all rigidly at attention. Baltar continued to nod his approval, his hands clasped behind his back, as he accompanied Malus and Mendax. A fine bead of sweat trickled down his back. It was time.
"Let me see that, Centurion," Malus said, taking a Cylon Pulse Rifle and looking at it closely. "It isn't fully charged." He glanced at Mendax. "Is it not procedure to fully recharge all pulse rifles?"
"Of late, we've been diverting our energy elsewhere to get our systems up and running, while we prepare to lift off," Mendax explained. "And with our . . . ahem, good neighbour policy with the locals, maintaining fully charged weapons hasn't been a priority."
"Reasonable," Baltar replied. "I overheard you mention that you have a member of their royalty aboard. A prince, I believe."
"Prince Llewelyn," Mendax nodded. "Unfortunately, he was stricken with some. . . malady, shortly after coming aboard, and is quite ill. We have been trying to do what we can with our limited medical knowledge of their people to save him."
"Will he survive?" Malus asked sharply.
"I will be examining his medical scans shortly, to ascertain just that," Mendax replied.
"I . . . see . . ." Malus stuttered.
"I'm sure they're doing all they can, Admiral," Baltar added, his tone compassionate.
"Are you, Baltar?" Malus replied flatly.
A centurion approached from the right, coming to a stop before them. "By-your-command."
"Speak-Centurion," Baltar ordered, falling all too easily back into his previous role.
"The-Harrower-has-contacted-us-from-orbit."
"Ah, they've arrived," Baltar nodded, his relief camouflaged behind an unctuous smile. "Very good." He looked at Malus.
"And-an-army-of-Angylions-is-attacking," the Cylon continued.
"Attacking what, Centurion?" Mendax asked.
"Attacking-us."
---------
"Kid!" Dayton said, discarding Mendax's smouldering cloak, and quickly moving to Starbuck's side in the Brig. He patted the warrior's cheek, gently grabbing his face and studying him, making sure he was okay . . . or at least as okay as you could be after being brain probed. A low groan escaped Starbuck's throat and his eyes flickered open, unseeingly. He gazed blankly at Dayton, blinking a few times, his breathing suddenly ragged.
"Easy, Café Ole," Dayton murmured, wincing at the bruises and scrapes on Starbuck's wrists as he squatted down before him, while eying the restraints that secured hands and feet. The kid had been fighting. Dayton smiled. From Starbuck he would expect no less. "Don't worry, I've gotcha."
He studied the restraints that appeared to be part of the chair itself. The shackles were tight, and he couldn't open them. From the looks of the blinking box on the right arm of the unit, he could tell it was some sort of centralized electronic lock. Input the code, and it would pop all four bands. Well, he wasn't going to waste time searching for either code or key. He hefted his weapon again, and pressed the gun against the control pad—Mendax's robe wrapped around it—and fired. It blew apart in a ball of sparks, and the shackles popped open.
Abruptly, the warrior went rigid, then violently shoved against Dayton, hurling him to the deck with a strangled, "NO!"
What happened next might have been funny in any other circumstances, as the young man bolted upward from the seat, unbeknownst to him, his ankle snagged by one partially opened restraint. He leapt forward, a crazed look in his eyes, and then was stopped short, tumbling to the deck. Yeah . . . that first step was a doozie.
Dayton leapt towards Starbuck, quickly straddling him, and grabbing his wrists as the warrior fought frantically in his grip, possibly caught in some kind of flashback or waking nightmare. Lord knew what was going on in his mind, but he definitely wasn't in the here and now, as he cursed a blue streak that would make a teamster blush.
"I don't know. . ." the young man snarled between clenched teeth, bucking like a bronco, straining beneath Dayton's weight. "I don't know the . . . frackin' command code . . . you mong-eating piece of festering felger . . ."
"Starbuck!" the Earthman yelled, battling to just keep a grip on the struggling warrior. "It's me! It's Dayton! Listen to me!" He leaned down close enough to stare him in the eyes. "Starbuck!" he hollered again.
Then, as if by some kind of miracle, awareness slowly entered the strike captain's eyes. His struggles gradually decreased in intensity, and then ceased altogether as he gazed up at his commander, his breathing rapid and shallow.
"Dayton . . .?" he rasped, licking dry lips, a slight tremor running through him. He clenched his hands into fists, as he looked around uncertainly. His eyes locked on to the Brain Probe for a long moment, his jaw clenching tightly, before returning his attention to Dayton.
"Yeah, it's me," Dayton returned softly, loosening his grip on the pilot. "How ya doin', kid?"
Starbuck visibly struggled to compose himself, taking several more moments, before replying shakily, "I'd be better if. . . if you'd get off of me." He pasted a wan smile on his face. "You could stand to miss a meal or two, Old Man."
"God, you sound like my sister!" Dayton sniffed in amusement, climbing off the younger man. "Well, you seem to be your contrary self . . ." He put a hand down to help Starbuck up.
Weirdly, Starbuck stared at the outstretched hand suspiciously, as though it was something venomous waiting to strike.
"You want I should wash it?" Dayton quipped, raising an eyebrow.
The answering smile wasn't one of Starbuck's best. Reluctantly, the captain gripped the hand, and was abruptly pulled to his feet. He swayed for a moment, paling, his eyes growing wide as he grasped at Dayton.
"All right?" Dayton asked in concern, transferring his grip to Starbuck's arm to support him. He'd almost forgotten about the concussion.
"I'm . . . I'm fine." The younger man nodded dismissively, dropping his gaze from his commanding officer and waving the hand off. Then he looked around at the fallen centurions, automatically relieving them of their weapons. "Not too bad," he murmured, hefting a rifle.
"Not too bad," Dayton returned with a snort. "You should have seen it. I told them I was looking for my sewing machine . . ." he grinned, but then paused when he saw the look on Starbuck's face, as the warrior hesitated before the control panel for the Brain Probe.
It was as though he was in a trance, standing staring at the interrogation device. He'd tuned Dayton completely out, that was for sure. Then Starbuck's eyes narrowed calculatingly as he regarded the instrument they had just used on him, and then the dome that they had lowered over him. A slight shudder ran through him, and he drew another deep breath, sucking it in noisily between his teeth. If looks could kill . . .
"Starbuck?" Dayton asked, getting a bad feeling.
Without even acknowledging the voice, Starbuck aimed the Cylon pulse rifle at the control panel and fired, blowing a hole in it the size of a centurion. Dayton jumped back, covering his face as sparks lit the machinery up like the Fourth of July, while smoke spewed into the room.
"What the hell are you doing?" Dayton roared.
Aiming this time at the dome, Starbuck pulled the trigger again. Nothing happened. With a look of disgust, he dropped the first weapon and grabbed up the other pulse rifle, firing. The dome burst into a million fragments that flew across the room.
Whooooooooooooop! Whoooooooooooooop! Whooooooooooooooop!
"Shit!" Dayton yelled, as the alarm sounded. He grabbed Starbuck by the arm, giving him a rough shake. "Who do you think you are! Me?" He pushed him towards the hatch. "Let's go!"