Chapter Nineteen
There was a definite weak link in their plan, and Baltar wasn't sure how they were going to explain how a supposed alliance between the Colonials and Cylons could somehow result in a centurion-deficient crew. He drew himself erect, feeling Luana's curious eyes upon him once again, as he worked to come up with a believable story. Charged with "keeping him honest", she had been attentive, yet never overbearing . . . unlike her more celebrated husband.
"I'm thinking of changing my optical sensor to blue, Lieutenant Luana. What do you think?" Malus asked, seemingly to pass the time as the "Harbinger" shuttle's engines shut down in the landing bay. In centons the Colonial team would disembark.
"Blue?" Luana replied, a faint smile flitting across her features. "You're sure?"
"Oh, indeed," replied Malus, in a tone reminiscent of a human setting eyes on a feast-laden table. "Very sure."
"Why blue, Admiral?"
"It would set me apart," Malus replied thoughtfully.
"Seeking individuality is a human characteristic," Baltar inserted.
"Very true, Baltar," Malus replied, before adding, "I believe I am partial to blue eyes."
"Me too," Luana grinned at the IL. "Can you do that? Just change the colour?"
"It is not as easy as changing a bulb, as it would require some disassembly on my part, but I believe it would be . . . pleasing to me." Malus "sniffed" dramatically. "And that is the point, after all, is it not? However, I would have to find the right blue."
Baltar turned to regard the IL, not quite believing they were having this conversation. At times the IL seemed as ruthless and cunning as Lucifer had been, and at other times, he seemed a few diodes short of a central processor. "The right blue?"
"Oh, yes," Malus replied, warming up to the topic. "Some blues are cold like ice. But the blue that I seek is enticing like the sea, unfathomable like the sky, full of sparkling life and vitality like a beautiful gem." He paused, then turned to Luana. "Like Starbuck's eyes."
Then again, Baltar decided, maybe there were two weak links in their plan.
----------
Frack.
One word that summed it up so succinctly. Not only had Starbuck been powerless to resist the Cylon Brain Probe, but he had endangered the mission, not to mention revealed everything they had come to know about Earth, and how the Colonials had sent Hummer and Dickins there ahead of time to prepare the technologically backward planet for an inevitable attack by the Cylons.
Oh, and as an added bonus, he now knew that he was also probably responsible for his own mother's death. Not exactly one of his best days . . .
"What now?" Dayton was asking.
"We get out of here," Apollo replied. "Rendezvous with the shuttle. They'll be wearing black fatigues. We can blend in." Unlike Dayton's rather compromised infiltration fatigues and Starbuck's tattered standard issue uniform which were barely discernable, Apollo and Lia's uniforms would be identical to the rest of the team's, by design.
Dayton grinned. "Personally, I don't blend well. I prefer my suits privately tailored. How about you, Macchiatto Man?"
Starbuck let out a breath of disbelief. "We have to destroy this ship."
"We have that covered, Starbuck," Apollo reminded him, his brow furrowing in concern as he reached out a hand . . .
Instinctively, Starbuck moved, putting a little distance between them, not wanting to be constantly touched, stroked, reaffirmed, reassured . . . it was getting fracking annoying. Oh, what he wouldn't give for a moment of solitude . . . soaring in a Viper, his only companion, the stars. Then again, his Viper flying days were over, with his long list of past injuries and medical concerns. He let out a breath, trying to remember why Apollo was looking at him so expectantly . . . Oh yeah, Apollo had mentioned something about sabotaging the Mega Pulsar. "Well, maybe you feel differently, but if the Endeavour is really here, I'd just as soon take the initiative to blow this ship up, here and now." It was a waste of time, sitting on their astrums waiting for the Cylons to be obliging, and blow themselves up, should they decide to use the Mega Pulsar against the Angylions. He had to make amends for his lapse . . . his failure . . . had to set it right . . . destroy the extracted evidence . . .
"With us on it?" Dayton asked softly. "That would kind of . . . end badly."
Starbuck paused to glance at his commander as the words sunk in. Any other time he would have scoffed or ignored it as stating the obvious, but he knew he wasn't thinking straight. Why was it so difficult to stay focussed? Couldn't let them know . . . He sniffed, pasting his trademark grin on his face. "Well . . . maybe Baltar . . ." he tossed back idly, running a hand over his hair before adding, "I'm not proposing a suicide mission. Just getting off the ship, and then attacking."
"That's the plan, buddy," Apollo told him slowly, glancing at Dayton and Lia.
Glancing at them as though he was the class idiot. "You . . . you already told me," Starbuck murmured, closing his eyes, rubbing his temples. He pressed against the throbbing pulse of his headache, willing it to go away and leave him alone.
Apollo again moved to put a hand on his friend, pausing when Dayton shook his head. He pulled it back. "Starbuck, remember when we rescued Cree from Arcta?"
Starbuck nodded, opening his eyes, meeting Apollo's steady gaze. "Yeah. They'd tossed him in a cold cell, afterwards."
"Good point," Dayton added. "How long did it take for Cree to get all his ducks back in a row?"
Starbuck groaned. "I'll pass on the quackers joke, thanks."
Dayton chuckled aside to Apollo. "I think maybe he's heard that one before."
"Maybe more than once . . ." Starbuck added quietly. "What about it?"
"Cree was disoriented on and off for at least a couple sectons," Apollo reminded him. "Nightmares. Headaches. Flashbacks. You're not immune, buddy."
"There's no shame in this, kid. None. Remind me sometime to tell you about what Dick went through for me. Torg and Bex . . ." he paused, drawing in a deep, thoughtful breath before continuing. "Look, what I want you to know is we've got your six. Let us take care of the details. You just focus on staying with us, and I'm not talking physically. You got that?"
Starbuck nodded. Oddly, it was almost a relief . . . until he looked into Lia's eyes, and could hear her unspoken concerns about a missing Empyrean necromancer, almost as if she had given them a voice. "Where is Ama?" he asked her. The last he remembered, Ama had told him he couldn't protect her. That taking on Iblis was her "destiny". Nobody had breathed a word about her since.
"We don't know, Starbuck," Lia told him soberly. "But we do need to find her."
Starbuck nodded slowly in acknowledgement. They'd left an old woman to Diabolis, although admittedly if any old woman was up to the task, it was Ama.
"We will," Dayton told them. "All in due time. One of our six impossible things to get done. Before breakfast. Don't worry; she's a tough old doll."
"Yeah, she is," Starbuck agreed, trying to best decide how to commandeer a Cylon Raider and return to the Angylion Holy Sanctum with lasers blazing. Then from the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of . . .
"Halt-Human!"
----------
The impact was unexpected, her breath whooshing out of her lungs like a small explosion, as Ama crumpled against the rocks, wondering vaguely how she had arrived there. One moment on Earth, and the next dragged forcibly back here, Iblis had torn her from his mind, rejecting her as vigorously as he had first tried to consume her. Pain wracked a body that she had almost forgotten could be subject to physical force, so long had she concentrated on embracing and developing her psychic powers. The Angylion Holy Sanctum was dark, and she lay panting against the cold rocks, listening for Iblis, while hearing the faint drip, drip of water somewhere, even as she sensed his presence all around her. Omnipresent. Malignant. Predatory.
It was meant to be intimidating. A lesser individual would be terrified, and indeed fear fluttered within her breast before she tempered it down, squelching it before it flamed to life. While Iblis was hideously strong, his powers were nonetheless limited, his realm defined. The Elders had declared that this was so. Free will would be Ama's faithful companion, and though she knew that he had been influencing the impressionable for millennia, corrupting individuals and infecting whole cultures with his malignant influence, any final decision would be hers alone to make. Ama would take ultimate responsibility. It buoyed her spirits.
Slowly, she rolled over, a razor sharp agony cutting across the right side of her chest. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized the extent of the damage. She had several broken ribs and severe bruising and lacerations of the surrounding tissue, and it took some effort to gather her strength and quell the fiery pain with her powers, as she did so easily for others. Ignoring Iblis for the moment, she persisted until she could breathe normally.
"Even with your powers, you're only mortal. Surely you realize that, child?" Dispassionately, Iblis' voice seemed to come from all around her, even flowing through her. "Yes, you're lifespan is longer than that of lesser bloodlines, thanks to me. But in the end, you will die, all the same."
Ama grunted, climbing resolutely to her feet. It was a game of strategy. With Iblis she had to be thinking two or three moves ahead of where they were, at all times, and even then there was no guarantee. She had to be prepared to deflect any attack, and to strike back even more powerfully than he thought she was capable of doing. "I am not impressed by your charlatan tricks, Iblis. Show yourself."
A low laugh rumbled through the cavern, bouncing off her broken bones as surely as it did the rocks. Then a glimmer of light flared to life, and a micron later Iblis was standing before her, the torches around them lit once again.
"I cannot let you leave here," Iblis murmured, raising his hands as his still pristine cloak billowed out around him. "You know too much."
"I wasn't seeking your permission," she returned grimly, taking a step closer to him, and smiling when his eyes narrowed suspiciously. Approaching him, even knowing what he was capable of, unnerved him. He expected her to keep her distance, to scurry away like a timid creature. "I can see why my mother fell for your charms. You are a . . . handsome devil," she observed nonchalantly, smirking slightly as he raised his eyebrows upon her words. "Little wonder impressionable humans have always followed you so readily."
"I give them what they want. Effortlessly," Iblis smiled benignly.
"Or what they think they want."
"Is there a difference?" smiled the Evil One.
"If there wasn't, you wouldn't have so much to smile about," she shot back.
"I can give you want you want, Ama."
"I want you to stop interfering with mankind."
"And just how do you propose to stop me? Pray tell."
"Asking nicely won't do it, then?" she asked sardonically.
He smiled at that, considering her a moment. "What if I vowed to leave the tedious, insipid creatures alone . . . in exchange for your . . ."
"For my what?" she pressed, after a few microns of his diseased smile. No, he had not intended for her to discover that their attempt to prepare Earth for the coming of the Cylons had failed, when both Dickins and Hummer had been incarcerated. Now he had to find a way to prevent her from interfering . . . as was her want.
"Your companionship." He never lost the smile, and it made her feel . . .soiled.
"My what?" she scoffed, placing her hands on her ample hips and laughing aloud.
"Your companionship, daughter." He smiled, and it wasn't the least bit attractive. "There is much I can show you. More than you could ever imagine, in twenty human lifetimes. The universe is vast, unlimited."
It was strangely compelling . . . at least to a woman who liked a challenge, and had a life-long thirst for knowledge. Yet, she realized that it also appealed to her insufferable ego. What marvels would she behold? What places could she go to that far surpassed her current limitations? Would humanity flourish if Iblis left them alone? It was a troublesome thought, considering she had been leading the Empyreans by the proverbial nose for as long as she could remember. But the Guardians would be watching . . . the very same Guardians who had likely driven Iblis to become the beast he had through their once rigid idealism.
"Think of it as a sacrifice, if it suits you, Ama," Iblis coaxed her, holding out an inviting hand. "A selfless sacrifice to once and for all ensure that I leave the human race to their unimaginative, insect meanderings. Two great minds, two formidable powers, together." He waved a hand towards her, and she felt the pain in her ribs cease, and a strange tingling spread through the damaged area. "You see? I can be benevolent, Child. Benevolent, and so much more." Iblis smiled once again, and she felt the warmth of it suffuse her body, as though she'd had a little too much ambrosa. His eyes promised that same intoxication of mind and spirit if she would just reach out and take the proffered hand. "Just think what a pair we could make . . . the universe could be ours."
She smiled her gapped-tooth grin, and curtsied deferentially, seeing his eyes glow with an eerie quality that she couldn't quite define. Satisfaction? Triumph? "I'd sooner be torn limb from limb and boiled in tylium, Dear Heart."
For a moment, the Father of Lies stood frozen to the spot, his face a mask of shock. It was as if he could scarcely believe what he had just heard. Then, he began to scowl, his face darkening with fury. His eyes glared at her, filled with rage and contempt.
"That, stripling," he hissed, "can be arranged!"
---------
Who knew that one of Ryan's practical jokes in the making could turn into such a stroke of luck? Within the shuttle aboard the Harbinger, Baker nodded at Porter who was wearing one of the other two centurion "costumes" that Ryan and Baker had been working on for the last couple months. Salvaged from the derelict Abaddon-class Harrower that had been almost destroyed by a solar storm, there had been an abundance of fried and burnt-out centurion husks to work with, but only three had been chosen for the prank. Ryan, now recovering from his injuries in the Endeavour's Life Station, had been devastated that he couldn't be involved.
"Hey, I think it's a great idea, but . . . what about this?" Jolly pointed out the Canadian pale that Ryan had stamped on each centurion's breast plate, yielding to his irrepressible and sometimes unique sense of humour. Beneath the Canadian standard, the English words "Made in Canada" were unavoidably noticeable, however, admittedly indecipherable to those that didn't understand the Earth language.
"If they ask, we'll tell them it's a squadron insignia. An ancient dialect," Baker shrugged. "Beaver Fever, or something like that. We'll make it up as we go along."
"You mean like we've been doing so far?" Jolly replied.
"Worse comes to worst, we'll tell 'em they're part of our hover-hockey team. The Centurion Maple Leafs," Porter laughed.
"Let's stick with that first idea," Jolly replied amiably, not even trying to figure it out. It was another "Earth moment" that was better left unexplained, and making things up as they went along was one the Earthmen's talents. "Okay, put your helmets on and we'll confirm the vocal modulators are working. We didn't have a lot of time to pull this off."
"We need Cylon names for these guys," Dietra mentioned.
"I'm Bakon," Baker replied, winking at Porter. "You should be Eggz."
"Bakon and Eggz, huh?" Porter chuckled. "I like it. All we need now is 'Hashbrowns'." He glanced pointedly at Rooke, the third Cylon.
"Hashbrowns?" Rooke twisted his mouth around the strange word, as the two Earthmen chuckled, having way too much fun considering they were about to go undercover on a Cylon Base Ship. "I don't think so."
"Let's stick with the plan. Bakon, Portex, and Rooka," Jolly inserted. "I don't need Commander Dayton losing it when you start with your Earth jokes."
"I really don't get why they call you 'Jolly'," Baker shrugged.
Together, the three men pulled on their Cylon helmets. Sectons before, Baker had rigged two of the "Cylons" to give them a vocal capacity utilizing the same technology used in the Hybrid Raiders, but hadn't finished the third by the time this whole crazy idea came about. Unfortunately, he had been detoured by Ryan plying him with Asteroid Whiskey and trying to teach him and Porter the "cancan", while finding appropriate lingerie to dress up the centurions for their dancing debut in front of their commander. After all, there was a possibility that the men might need an entertaining distraction during their shakedown cruise, and making fun of Cylons seemed to be a worthwhile pastime.
"Baker, you might want to take off that garter belt before you go out there," Sheba said, glancing out a porthole, and seeing the assembled delegation including Baltar, Luana and Malus. She turned back with a smile, as Dietra leaned down to remove the offending item.
"Cylons-In-The-City. It's-so-Kim-Cattrall." The vocal modulator was working perfectly, giving Baker's words that distinctive centurion affect. "It's-just-so . . . so-in-this-season-on-IFB. We-have-to-make-everything-sexier-than-it-really-is."
Someone groaned, and it sounded strange, through the voice modulators.
"What-I-wouldn't-have-given-to-have-seen-the-look-on-Dayton's-face-had-we-actually-pulled-it-off. Cylons-dance-the-cancan. It-would-have-been-beautiful," Porter added.
"Try to do away with contractions and perceptions, and make it more stilted," Dietra coached them. "Cylons below the IL class don't use them. Even the ILs do so rarely."
"Good advice, Dee," Jolly added, looking to the third centurion. "Let's hear it, Rooke."
"My processors are in overload . . . frack. It's not working," Lieutenant Rooke groused, pulling the helmet off again. He reached inside, fiddling with the circuit, and then shook his head in disgust. "Bloody thing, made on Pineas, I'll bet . . ."
"Sorry, Rooke, there's no time" Jolly shook his head, watching the lieutenant nod and hastily replace the helmet. "We'll leave you with the shuttle, but let Dietra do the talking. At least we have a 'Cylon' presence, besides Malus."
"How well can you see?" Sheba asked.
"Well-enough-to-cancan," Baker replied.
"The-strobe-light-is-distracting, but-it's-doable," Porter added.
"Just don't trip over anything," Jolly told them ruefully. He turned around, calling back to the pilots, "Open the hatch."
A moment later, they were filing out into the Harbinger's landing bay, a few of them remaining by their transport, as the others moved towards toward their welcoming committee. Like Luana, they were dressed in black, however, the entire "human" contingent of this team wore black leather infiltration gear, aligning them with the distinctive black tunics and pants of the Angylion Palace Guard. Somehow, none of them thought that Mendax would quibble over the slight difference in uniform.
"Admiral. Commanders," Jolly saluted them smartly, a human and centurion flanking him on either side. "Reporting as ordered."
"You brought Microsoft OS, Lieutenant?" Malus asked.
"We did, sir."
"Vista-edition," Porter added through the vocal modulator inserted in his faceplate. "Service-Pack-Two."
"Once we update the weapons systems, the Harbinger will be refitted sufficiently to repel the Borg," Jolly added, nodding at Mendax.
"I will be curious to see how this works," Mendax replied.
"It-is-the-latest-of-advances-in-a-long-line-of-Shatner-technology," Porter told him. "The-real-McCoy."
"Oh?" asked Mendax, uncertainly.
"Right-out-of-the-Gates, sir," Baker added.
"You are fully rated in this new technology?" asked Mendax.
"Centurions Portex and Bakon are two of our experts in . . . Shatner Technology, Commander," Jolly explained.
"Shatter?" asked Mendax.
"Shatner, Commander. A-research-centre-in-the-Roddenberry-System," replied Bakon.
"I have never heard of it," replied Mendax.
"It is a very long way from here, yes, and we do our best to keep its whereabouts classified," said Sheba soberly.
"I see. So this . . . system has been combat tested?" asked Mendax.
"It-has-been-completely-tested. On-the-Shatinator-Scale-it-is-rated-as-full-of-Shat," Portex added.
"The-highest-ranking-achievable," Bakon elucidated.
"Portex, Bakon and Corporal Coxcoxtli will be in charge of the refit," Jolly inserted. "The rest of our techs will be under their supervision." He nodded towards the others who were carrying various pieces of technological equipment.
"As you can tell, we've done this many times," Baltar inserted, nodding at the Endeavour's crewmen. "The interfacing of systems should be a fairly quick and simple process, Commander Mendax."
"Admiral Malus, there is an encoded communiqué on board the shuttle from the Imperious Leader, sir," Jolly informed him.
"Ah, I have been expecting that. Very good, Lieutenant." Malus nodded. "Commanders, I will join you in the Command Centre. Proceed with all haste, as we discussed."
"Of course," Mendax replied.
---------
Dayton had to admit, when he'd first heard the sound of the centurion warning them to "halt", his training kicked in, and his initial instinct was to protect his men. The adrenaline surged through his bloodstream, snapping him straight back to Torg and that Hellpit he'd survived, at least for an instant. He pivoted sharply, spying three centurions, all armed and heading their way. He lifted his weapon, but by then Starbuck had already raised his Cylon pulse rifle and was charging the centurions, firing his weapon and yelling like a berserker of Norse legend.
"Starbuck . . ." Apollo growled, unable to find a clear shot with his friend in the way, as laser fire started flying down both ends of the corridor. He dove for cover, dragging Lia to the deck.
It was as though the Goddess Fortuna was riding shotgun, as the Cylon shots miraculously missed Starbuck, and the first Cylon fell under his fury, belching sparks, and toppling into the one next to it. Starbuck snarled, coming to an abrupt stop in the middle of the corridor and taking aim on the next. He fired, cursing as his pulse rifle remained conspicuously quiet.
"Triquetra's Teeth!" Lia spat, climbing to her feet. "What's he doing?"
"Going Rambo on us!" Dayton replied, slamming himself against a wall, and laying down some covering fire to Starbuck's right, as the warrior charged again. Dick had done this a time or two under extreme duress, and the only thing his old friend had been aware of at that point was the enemy. Everything else had ceased to exist. It was the old "flight or fight" response, built into the DNA from day one. Obviously, like Dick, Starbuck was a fighter.
"Starbuck! Get down!" Apollo shouted, climbing to one knee, and throwing himself against the opposite bulkhead. He fired with deadly accuracy. The second centurion toppled as one leg was shot to pieces, then did the Herky-Jerky in its death throes. Starbuck quickly looked back, looking almost surprised to see them standing there.
"Down!" Dayton yelled again, terror wrapping her cold claws around his throat as the third Cylon sighted Starbuck. The kid dropped like a rock, his training kicking in with his selective hearing, as a laser volley split the air above him.
"Behind us!" Lia hollered, turning with her laser in hand, and starting to fire.
"Surrender-humanoids!"
Dayton fired again before the third Cylon adjusted his aim, the Endeavour Commander's shot hitting the centurion's pulse rifle. It exploded in a blinding burst of light and smoke, blowing the Cylon's hand off. Shielding his eyes from the blast, he felt the shock wave rock them. Then he fired again, hitting the cyborg directly in the face, before turning to check their newest threat.
"There's too many of them!" Lia hollered as a full patrol advanced on them.
"Retreat!" Dayton agreed, turning to fall back as Apollo lay down covering fire . . . only to groan in disbelief as he saw Starbuck disappearing around a corner, a Cylon sword in his hand. Damn fool kid! "Starbuck!"
Dayton tore off in pursuit, turning the corner to find the warrior dodging the downward strike from a centurion's blade. Sparks flew from the metal as they met, and Starbuck twisted out of the way. Sensibly, for the Cylon had far too much power behind him to try and block a blow like that. It would be pointless and stupid. However, the kid had learned from the best, or at least the only guy who'd seen the original Highlander more than five times, and thought that Adrian Paul was a pussy compared to Christopher Lambert. Yeah, Starbuck was poetry in motion; Dayton couldn't help but admire his "pupil" as Starbuck turned, causing the top-heavy Cylon to overbalance. Then the young man feinted, and turned in a full circle as he arced back around, bringing his sword down on the centurion's exposed neck. He took the Cylon's head off with one blow. Sparks spewed from the severed head and torso, and the Cylon fell, twitching and shaking, to the deck, the head rolling to bump up against a bulkhead.
"Thought I told you to never turn your back on the enemy," Dayton told him tonelessly. The corridor ahead was clear. However, he wasn't sure where Starbuck's head was at as the young man stood there panting, his face a mask of rage as he gazed on the decapitated cyborg. But, this was not the time to start counselling. "It's flashy, but foolish."
For a moment, Starbuck stood there quietly, closing his eyes slightly, before looking back at his CO. "I like flashy," he returned breathlessly, as Apollo and Lia rounded the corridor.
"Go!" Apollo yelled, turning and firing once again.
"I'll try to remember that for your memorial service," the Earthman told Starbuck pointedly, grabbing him by the arm and thrusting the younger man ahead of him as they raced down the corridor.
----------
Llewelyn raced towards his brother, his heart in his throat as he wondered if he would make it on time. He'd been told that it was a mortal wound. A lethal blow. That Glynn had fallen bravely in battle against the steel demons, and that nothing short of a miracle could save him. Well, sometimes a man had to make his own miracles, since they were generally in short supply, especially in desperate times.
Just ahead, he could see that Eirys had arrived. She was leaning over the Angylion prince, muttering incantations, spells and likely a prayer or two. Llewelyn skidded to a stop and dropped onto his knee beside her, automatically touching his fingers to his forehead, and murmuring scraps of Holy Writ, more out of habit, than any deep, serious faith in it. Then he glanced down at his brother's wan face, cringing as he saw the seepage of blood spreading over Glynn's tunic.
Llyr forfend! He can't . . . no! He swallowed, steadying himself.
"Ah, lying down, I see!" Llewelyn managed to get the words past his tight throat. "How very typical. Just because you're first in line doesn't mean I have to do all the work," he gently berated his brother, grasping his cool hand tightly.
A faint smile touched his brother's full lips as his dark lashes fluttered open. "Work? You spent far more time . . . avoiding work, than doing it, little brother." He grunted, unable to contain the pain. "Mother spoiled you. Let you get away with bloody murder."
The younger prince squeezed his brother's shoulder, leaning close, willing him to live. "It's call delegating, Glynn. Any man can work, it takes a true leader to delegate," he returned lightly, glancing at Eirys in concern. There was no need to ask the words. She knew. She shook her head.
"Della-what? Is that a . . . a woman's name?" smiled the other, his breathing too shallow and quick.
"Jealous, brother?" Llewelyn shook his head, feeling tears prick the backs of his eyes. There had to be some way. "It doesn't become you, Glynnie."
"And no doubt she had flaxen hair . . . blue eyes . . ." Glynn teased, ignoring the childhood nickname, before coughing weakly. He cringed, tensing from head to toe as he splinted his wound against the sudden pain.
"Maybe she does . . ." Llewelyn returned quietly, as an image came to him. And an idea. "Eirys! We'll use the Oculus." His tone brooked no argument. "If you can journey across dimensions, than by Llyr, you can take me to the stars so I can find Cassiopeia. We heard of the magic she worked with Ryan. She's my brother's only hope."
"Llewelyn . . ." Glynn whispered, beckoning the young prince closer to him still. "The Mystics may have decided that it is my time . . ."
"Then they'll have to take me first, brother," Llewelyn replied stubbornly. "I'm not ready to part with you quite yet."
---------
"Commander-Mendax, Humanoids-in-gamma-sector-confirmed," a centurion reported as the humans and Cylons filed into the Command Centre.
"Ah, Prince Llewelyn and his manservant. Very good. Have them brought here at once, Centurion," Mendax replied, as Malus entered just behind them.
"They-are-unconstrained."
"Then constrain them!" Mendax ordered irritably. "They are only two humanoids, one of which is nothing more than a domestic servant! How difficult can it be to subdue them?"
"Between-the-guards-in-the-Brig-and-those-in-gamma-section, they-have-destroyed-at-least-eight-centurions."
"Eight?"
"Two-additional-humanoids-have-been-reported-with-them. Identities-unknown."
"Two additional . . ." Mendax glanced at Malus. Had they managed to board the ship before it took off, or was Malus up to something? This was really not going well. "Human or Angylion, Centurion?"
"Humanoids-all-look-the-same, Commander."
Admittedly, Mendax also had trouble telling them apart. Reportedly, the Angylions claimed to have some kind of energy field around them that they called an "aura". However, it was undetectable to Cylons. "True." He turned to the other IL. "Don't you find this unusual, Admiral?"
"That your 'good neighbours' are destroying your centurions? Yes, I do, Commander," Malus replied. "Especially since Prince Llewelyn was taken ill."
"Is there something you wish to tell us, Mendax?" Baltar asked, crossing his arms over his chest, and frowning. He poured on the "Baltar Glare" that he'd used on Lucifer many a time.
"Perhaps we could be of some assistance?" Sheba offered, giving the IL a way out. "After all, if there are unresolved . . . disputes between these humanoids and yourselves, then possibly we might be better received?"
"My centurions are quite capable of . . ." Mendax attempted.
"Your centurions will require the Shatner Technology upgrades to equip them for dealing with the Borg, Commander Mendax. As I have said before, time is of the essence, Commander." Malus turned towards Luana. "Lieutenant. You and Sheba find these Angylion people, and use all reasonable means to subdue them. As a gesture of good will to our old friends, welcomed into our fold, we must accept that Commander Mendax knows how best to deal with these Angylions."
"Yes . . . of course," Mendax murmured in surprise. Maybe he just might manage to get out of this mess with a full set of cover plates . . . "Flight Leader Subventus will accompany your officers."
"As will I," Malus added, seemingly as an afterthought. "Portex, Bakon, Coxcoxtli. Are we ready to upload Microsoft OS?"
"By-your-command," Bakon replied.
"Proceed."
----------
He clicked into alertness, before he even opened his eyes. Something was out of place. Ryan could hear the familiar sounds of a Colonial Sick. . . er, Life Station, having spent enough time there between visiting Dickins, Starbuck, Porter, and Dorado during their various stays, but there was a sense of subterfuge in the air.
Someone was skulking.
"You're like a bull in a china shop, son," Ryan quipped, turning his head to catch sight of the brown head ducking below the bio-stretcher. "Next time leave the Energizer Bunny at home, or at least give him a lube job before you break into the Life Station, Boxster." He winced slightly as his stomach reminded him it had recently been blasted open. The amazing thing was he was still alive.
"Boxey," a quiet but resentful voice murmured, before a head and shoulders became visible.
Ryan smiled. "Ah, the Porsche Boxster. A German roadster that combined good looks and fantastic power from its mid-mounted flat-six, with direct injection. The 'S' had the new dual-clutch transmission known as PDK, which dispensed with the traditional clutch pedal and allowed you to shift through seven gears as smooth as butter via sequential paddle shifters." He grinned, hearing and recognizing the love in his voice. Ryan had promised himself a black 2011 once he touched down again, even had his name on the list at the dealership in Miami, but had never made it back for the test drive. "A man has to chase his dreams, Boxster."
The child smiled, glancing down at his daggit, his hand resting on its head.
"Now how the hell did you get aboard the Endeavour?" Ryan couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. The ingenuity it took to get from the Fleet all the way to a separate dimension to catch up to his father, was damn impressive.
Boxey shrugged, glancing over his shoulder, before returning his attention to the Earthman. "It wasn't right for him to leave me behind."
Him. Not father or dad. Oh, the kid was still angry. "Well, rules are rules . . ."
"And can be broken," Boxey finished indignantly.
Ryan nodded. "True. But in the military, the rules aren't generally established to suit the individual, just the majority . . ." He paused, seeing a twinkling light flare to life in the middle of the Life Station.
Boxey turned, backing up against the bio-stretcher when he saw the light expanding, until it formed a swirling ball. "What is it?"
"I'm hoping it's Glinda, the Good Witch of the North, since I'm fresh out of buckets of water," Ryan replied calmly, wrapping his meagre Life Station gown more tightly around him, before hoisting his legs over the side of the bio-stretcher. The child froze beside him as the daggit began growling in warning. Ryan cringed as his guts twisted in pain.
"Ryan . . .Boxey!" Cassie's voice suddenly cried out haltingly as she walked out of her office, the Empyrean healer, Rhiamon, beside her. They gawked at the light. "Eirys?" Cassie whispered.
"I vote we fire up a hoverstretcher and ride it out of here," Ryan grunted, as Cassie rushed to his side, ever the competent clinician. "Get Boxster out of here, Cassie. Now!"
Then a flash of light just about knocked his eyeballs all the way back to Earth. When the shooting stars receded, Eirys and Llewelyn were standing there before them.
"Star . . . Starbuck?" Boxey asked uncertainly as he gazed upon a likeness of his father's best friend, but with a gossamer radiance. However, the ethereal glow couldn't hide bloody and battle-torn clothes, an enormous sword in its scabbard, and wildly strewn hair. He looked about, as if astounded by what he saw. The woman beside him, much tidier in appearance, looked like an enchanting angel. A very tired enchanting angel.
"Llewelyn?" Cassie murmured, seeing his anguish written so clearly upon his handsome features that she could feel it herself, her heart tearing jaggedly in two. "What happened? What's wrong?"
The prince swallowed, then let out a ragged breath as he strode forward, dropping to a knee in front of her, scabbard and armour clunking on the deck, as he took her hand in both of his. He looked up at her, his glistening blue eyes pleading with her. She felt familiar heartstrings tug as she momentarily lost herself in those eyes, so achingly familiar. It was a maelstrom of emotions that she could do without just now. "Sweet, Lady Cassiopeia, I seek your help. Glynn has been wounded. Badly. I know of your skills, your magic. Please . . .I beg of you . . ." A guarded hope shone from his eyes as he awaited her answer.
Even his voice . . .
Cassie nodded, dropping to her own knees, feeling an instinct to comfort this young man who was so terrified of losing his brother. A brother that was Apollo's doublewalker, and she couldn't help but wonder if that was somehow significant. Her eyes rested briefly on Boxey, before replying. "Of course, I'll help, Llewelyn."
"Thank you, Lady," he whispered, kissing the back of her hand, before he rose, pulling her to her feet. She crossed to grab her medical bag.
"We could fly you there . . ." Ryan attempted.
"The Oculus will be quicker," Eirys replied.
"Why did I know you'd say that," Ryan groused, reaching over and grabbing a hoverspray. He quickly dosed himself. "I'm in."
"You need to rest," Cassie told him. "You are hardly fit to be going to the OC, let alone on a mission!"
"I'm been debrided, evacuated, irrigated like a bloody cornfield, repaired, and regenerated. That kind of rest I can do without," he returned, securing his grip on his revealing health care gown.
"Are you going to wear that?" Eirys asked with a faint smile.
"Well, Oscar de la Life Station had a small line this year. Maybe we can find some Diane von Furstenburg down on the planet. Let's go."
"Boxey, you stay here with Rhiamon," Cassie told him. "Don't worry, we'll make sure you see your dad."
He nodded quietly, backing away from the adults.
"Gather 'round," Eirys told them, pulling out her Oculus and holding it above her head as they stood with her. Quietly at first, and then more loudly she began uttering incomprehensible incantations. The gilded metal of the orb began to glow eerily, becoming more like a translucent crystal, as though effected by some inexplicable energy. Then a strange light began to expand outward, enveloping them all.
"Come on, Daggit!" Boxey suddenly shouted, taking a running jump, and leaping into the middle of the mystical ball of energy.
"Boxey!" Rhiamon yelled.
Then with a brilliant flash, they were gone.
---------
Cylons. Cylons everywhere. Every corner turned, every hatch they passed through, everywhere Starbuck looked. More frackin' Cylons!
They had to get to a landing bay. Had to commandeer a Raider or shuttle. If they didn't get off this ship they'd be dead. But centurions were coming out of the mong-raking bulkheads; Hades Hole, he could even see them with his eyes closed! Skittering over the entire ship like some kind of infestation, intent on consuming them, destroying them. When one fell, it seemed as if six more replaced it. He was almost ready to carve his own hatch through the hull with the Cylon sword he brandished, but that might be misconstrued as crazy. He pulled at the collar of his tunic. Needed air . . .
Surrounded. Penned in. Apollo ahead of him, Boomer continually dragging him alongside by one arm . . .no, not Boomer . . . Dayton. Frack! A guy didn't need a doctorate to know he wasn't doing too good mentally, when he could confuse an old white guy with a young black man. Boomer would laugh himself into the next star system if he ever caught wind of it. Starbuck tugged at his collar again, barely able to catch his breath, as his heart battered against his chest, and the walls closed in on him. Even his skin felt too tight . . . ready to burst like a Gemonese sausage . . . curling and peeling back at the charred edges . . . the smell of burning flesh . . .
"Surrender-humans!"
The drone.
Rage surged through his body, revitalising, energizing, and he raised his sword, tearing his arm free from Dayton's grip and racing forward. A half a dozen pulse rifles took aim, ready to mow him down. He faltered, aware that Dayton and Apollo were both shouting at him, trying to get him to stand down. A glance over his shoulder, and he realized they were completely surrounded.
Surrender or die, Bucko. Wasn't one much the same as the other?
The insistent droning grated on his last nerve, back and forth, over and over, the oscillating red eyes punctuating the maddening noise that was etched painfully into his brain. Had been since childhood. What he wouldn't do for a Colonial multi-pulse blaster right now, for a chance to blast out one red light after the next until they were all lying in a smouldering junk heap, like some weird, obscene sacrificial offering to all those who had died by the will of Cylon. Blessed silence, an end to the madness . . . an impossible wish.
"Easy now. . . this would be a really bad time to lose your cool, kid," Dayton hissed in his ear, gripping his shoulder tightly.
He tore free, still wielding the sword, as he whirled on the Earthman. "Stop grabbing me, or I swear I'll rip off your arm and shove it up your ast. . .!"
"Centurions! Hold your fire! This is Lieutenant Luana of the Base Ship Harrower! In the name of the Admiral Malus, I'm ordering you to put down your arms! Now!" a voice roared from behind the Cylons, as a small figure forced its way through.
"Hold-your-fire," a centurion repeated. The pulse rifles didn't waver, but they didn't fire either.
Frozen to the spot, Starbuck could feel his chest heaving as the voice ricocheted around his brain. He gazed into Dayton's eyes, searching for elusive answers, as the Earthman slowly, but steadily raised his hands and weapon in the air.
"Put it down, kid," Dayton murmured out of the side of his mouth.
Starbuck could only shake his head in bewilderment as he tried desperately to correlate the voice with the orders. Admiral Malus . . . Base Ship Harrower . . . The Cylons were obeying her. Didn't make any sense. What the frack . . .??? Not ceding his grip on the sword, he turned reluctantly, afraid of what he'd see, but prepared for anything. This had to be some kind of joke . . . or nightmare.
Yeah, he'd definitely gone off the scanner this time. Deep space.
Lu swept past the centurions, wearing a black tunic and pants, her hair tied back as usual. Her Colonial laser was on her hip, and her hand rested on it lightly as she paused, and looked him over. She drew in a sharp breath, before straightening her shoulders, and stopping a pace away. Her liquid brown eyes were dark with concern, her body taut with tension as Starbuck held his defensive stance, his sword looming over her.
"Innamorato . . ." she whispered for his ears only, her love for him shining like a beacon of hope. A lifeline.
It penetrated his numbness, and his sword clattered to the deck, leaving him naked and undefended. Salvation was only a step away, but it seemed like a bottomless chasm separated them. All he had to do was reach out, and pull her into his arms. But he . . . couldn't . . . He let out a shuddering breath, and Lu's face contorted, before she stepped forward, holding out her hands to him. "Starbuck . . ." she coaxed him gently.
"Lower your weapons! That is an order! Centurions and humanoids alike!" an unclad IL suddenly ordered, drawing Starbuck's attention. "We are allies! It is time to unite against our common foe and destroy them! They are drawing close, even as we waste time here! It is time to act! Do you understand?"
"Lower-your-weapons!" Flight Leader Subventus repeated.
Feeling raw and exposed, Starbuck tried to collect himself, as the IL turned to regard him. In a glance, it occurred to him that he . . . he knew this Cylon. But how? Images once again came flooding back, and he let out a choking sound, taking another step away from both Luana and the IL, as he tried to ward off another onslaught of unwelcome memories. He raised his hands defensively. All around them, the centurions had obediently lowered their weapons.
"We have been looking for you for some time," the IL told him. "It heartens me to see you are well."
"Am I?" Starbuck rasped, winded. His hand clutched at his chest as it tightened intolerably.
"My sensors detect an unusual fluctuation in your life signs, however. If you were a cybernetic Being, I would suggest that you are about to short circuit," the IL took a step closer. "Three."
"Huh?" Starbuck muttered, backing himself into a bulkhead.
"Two," the IL added.
"Now!" Dayton roared suddenly, as the Colonial Warriors suddenly drew their weapons, and opened fire on the centurions. Subventus went first, his chest erupting in sparks, then an arm flying off, before he fell, belching smoke. Those next to him followed suit rapidly, heads exploding, and limbs ripped to bits by the sudden volley of weapon's fire.
Starbuck didn't have time to react as the IL threw himself against the warrior, crushing him against the bulkhead, and shielding his body from the battle. The sound of laser fire filled his senses, even as he fought impotently against the crushing strength of the IL, while yelling obscenities. It was just enough to put him over the edge that he had been precariously balanced on for far too long. His ears rang and his vision blurred, while cold arms engulfed him, and a surprisingly gentle voice assured him, "I have you, my dearest friend. I will not let you come to harm. I give you my word."
"Mal . . ." He stopped struggling, stopped raging, feeling himself go limp with exhaustion as the last laser discharged, and the last centurion fell. A moment later, Malus caught him, lifting him easily in his arms. His vision narrowed, his hearing diminished. It occurred to Starbuck that IL's didn't drone . . . It was kinda nice.
"Starbuck!" Luana cried, putting away her weapon, finally free to throw her arms around him amidst the carnage of the smoking Cylons. Sheba had remained on the far side to flank the centurions, catching them in a carefully constructed crossfire. When they had obeyed their flight leader's order, lowering their weapons, the Colonials had quickly decimated them.
Luana brushed back his hair from his forehead, and he gripped her hand lightly. Her touch wasn't the least bit threatening, or unwelcome, he realized as darkness descended.
"I'll take him," Dayton told the IL, as Sheba launched herself into Apollo's waiting arms.
"You have already had your chance, Commander," Malus replied, holding the warrior a little closer to him. A scorch mark ran across his flank, suffered while protecting his self-delegated charge. "I have this watch."
Dayton winced slightly, then nodded. "Fair enough. What now?"
"Our brilliant escape."
"Brilliant?" asked Sheba.
"Of course," said the IL.
---------
The skies erupted with a sudden flash of light, which illuminated the immuring grey clouds that had settled over Morlais. In a sudden heavenly explosion, rain poured down on them, soaking all within moments. All Angylion eyes were drawn to Mt. Cadoc, as lightning sundered the sky over the mountain peak with a violence that could only be otherworldly. Tendrils of the heavenly wrath arced and snaked across the bulk of the sacred peak. A faint tremor shook the ground, growing in intensity until it seemed Morlais would be ripped apart, and left in ruins. Then an ungodly shriek ripped through the air, chilling each and every Being present to the bone.
Daunting, was the utter silence that fell.