Chapter Twenty
"We need to get Starbuck out of here, Lightning Lid, and over to the Endeavour," Dayton ordered, as he looked over the unconscious officer, while in the corridor of the Cylon Base Ship. It felt like days ago that they had started this mission, trying to track down and retrieve their missing strike captain. Starbuck had been to Hell and back during that time, especially after almost being executed, and then going through a Cylon Brain Probe. And you couldn't protect him. Any more than you could Lynn or Ben . . . The warrior was spent, both mentally and physically. Dayton sniffed. Not getting any younger, he wasn't far off that himself. Besides, it was a little weird the way that Malus was holding the insensate strike captain against him, cradling him like a child . . . or lover. Being overprotective and possessive. Being Malus.
"His condition is hardly emergent, Commander," the IL told him. "He merely needs our support and love."
"Love," Dayton repeated monotone.
"Yes, Commander. I understand it is difficult for the male of your species to discuss love amongst brethren, but I know that you love Starbuck. As does Colonel Apollo. As do I."
"Oh, man . . ." Dayton rolled his eyes.
"Malus, this isn't the time to explore your feelings for Starbuck," Apollo told him, "or anybody else's, for that matter. We just destroyed an entire Cylon patrol." His hand swept over the destroyed centurions. "Check in the with the Cylon Control Centre and tell them that Prince Llewelyn is wounded, and we're taking him to the Harrower for treatment."
"Perfect," Dayton praised him. "Then I'll catch that flip back to the Endeavour for the big show," Dayton added, knowing that his place was on the Bridge when all this went down.
"Yes, sirs," the IL replied, immediately crossing to a comm station. He shifted Starbuck gently in his arms, while activating the system. "This is Admiral Malus. There was an unfortunate skirmish in place when we arrived, Commander Mendax. Most of your centurions were destroyed, and Prince Llewelyn, the only surviving humanoid, was seriously wounded. I am going to take the prince to the launch bay for immediate transfer to the Harrower's Life Station in my Raider. I require you to clear one more of my fighters to land in the bay, as I have no intention of thumbing for a ride when it comes time to go." The squadron had maintained position near the Harbinger under the pretence that they were protecting Mendax's Base Ship while it was still vulnerable.
"Thumbing for a ride . . .?" Mendax repeated.
They could hear Baltar in the background. "An old Renaissance saying, Commander."
"I see. Then the manservant, Dayton?" Mendax asked. "He was killed?"
"Yes," Malus replied with a glance at Dayton. "It seems you will need to mend your own cloak, Mendax."
"I can recommend a seamstress on Piscon," Baltar inserted from the Command Centre. "We are ready here, Admiral. I imagine you want to be present. Captain Dorado on the Harrower just reported his Shatner scanners picked up concentrated energy signatures resembling interdimensional transport that are likely indicative of Borg vessels approaching. ETA thirty centons. They also reported that Doctor Ryan, his med tech, and a child were abducted by Angylions from the Life Station. It seems they're on Morlais. We're running out of time, Admiral."
"Oh my," Malus replied. "I will be there shortly, Baltar. Admiral Malus out."
"Cassiopeia . . ." Dayton groaned. As much as he tried to keep her safe, she kept getting thrust back into the thick of it. "Damn!"
"A child?" Apollo asked, tense and expectant.
Sheba let out a long breath. "Boxey stowed away on the Pegasus before we shipped out from the Fleet. I think he also stowed away on the Endeavour when we intercepted her," Sheba explained. "We still haven't found him."
"You lost my son?" Apollo clamped his mouth shut, immediately shaking his head in regret. "I didn't mean it quite the way it sounded."
"I'm sure you didn't," Sheba replied evenly.
"He's probably in the Rejuvenation Centre playing Starhounds," Lia added optimistically.
Apollo winced, not convinced. "I wish. Okay, I have to get down to Morlais. I need to find Boxey. If the Angylions went after Cassiopeia, somebody was hurt badly. This has Eirys' signature all over it. They must be at the battlefield."
"I'm coming with you," Sheba told him. "We're probably going to need a shuttle to get everybody back from the surface."
"If I had my druthers, I'd go too. I'd like a word with that sorceress about popping in willy-nilly to nab members of my crew whenever it suits her," Dayton told them, letting out a breath of frustration at not being the one to collect Cassiopeia. "But, unfortunately I need to get back to my ship. I belong on the Bridge, especially now."
"Yes, sir," Apollo winced.
"Apollo, if that was my kid down there, I'd be going too," Dayton intervened before the young colonel began to second guess his decision. "We'll be fine. Just do me a favour and see to Cassiopeia for me once you find Boxey."
"I will, Commander."
"Do we have time to drop off Starbuck and the rest of the crew on the Endeavour and then continue on?" Sheba asked, glancing at her chrono.
"No, we'd end up launching in the thick of it," Apollo replied with a frown.
"Like Commander Dayton, Coxcoxtli needs to be back on the Endeavour," Malus added. "We'll need his technical support in the Command Centre, and he knows the sequences that Baker and Porter will run."
"Well, that settles it. The shuttle will head for Morlais. Coxcoxtli, Starbuck and I will go with Luana and . . ." Dayton paused, until Lia held up her hand. "Lia. It'll be a bit tight, but if you could squeeze five in there for the trip over, we can do the same for the trip back. To the Cylons it'll just look like we're transporting Prince Llewelyn, and with the average centurion denser than a brick shit house, no one will be any the wiser." He paused for questions, glancing at Starbuck who looked the part of the injured prince. "Sparky, have you got things wrapped up here?"
"Of course, Commander," Malus replied, heading down the corridor towards the launch bay. "I will remain with Baltar, Bakon and Eggz in the Command Centre to continue the charade. The rest of the team should be returning to the landing bay any moment."
"Bacon and eggs?" Dayton couldn't help but snort. The levity was a welcome reprieve, however brief. "Just make sure you all get out in time."
"Of course," Malus replied.
"Let's move, people!" Dayton ordered.
---------
Keeping Mendax occupied while Malus was gone was proving to be difficult. Baltar had used every skill of bureaucratic persuasion he had ever learned to circumvent the Cylon IL from accessing Starbuck's cortical scan and exposing their ruse. Sadly, destroying the Brain Scan unit itself did not destroy the data. Normal procedure had it transferred to the ship's main data banks upon completion. Yes, Baltar had weaved magnificent tales of battle and conquest, utilizing some of his own adventures, greatly embellished upon, while he was a Cylon commander on a Hades-class Base Star. Overall, he had seemed successful in deterring Mendax from finding out more about the "Angylion prince" now that Starbuck was parenthetically out of the way. But he knew it was only a matter of time before the blatant omission of concluding the interrogation would prod the IL into action. However, for now the inevitable attack of "the Borg" took precedence over the motivations of a prince of a people they would soon leave behind.
"So you will be staying to engage the enemy?" Mendax asked.
"Why, it would hardly be responsible of us to upgrade your technology and then abandon you to figure it out for yourself without even running you through a simulation," Baltar replied reasonably. To maintain the ruse, and run the program, they had to be present. Baker had been certain that they could create a believable illusion if he could orchestrate it from beginning to finish . . . up until their successful escape, which Baltar was feeling a little unsure of. It was a relatively long way from the Command Centre to the launch bay. Precisely the same distance as aboard his own ship, in fact. Their extra crewmembers were now reporting to the landing bay in preparation for their return to the Endeavour. Of course, Baltar knew that his own delivery to that ship would mean his inevitable return to incarceration. But remaining here would be certain death, unless he suddenly switched sides, which was an option that oddly didn't sit will with him at this point. Even so, a victory by Mendax was very problematical, given the condition of his ship, compared to Dayton's. He had to admit, the pistol on his hip felt very good right now. If only there was some way . . . "You need our expertise at this point, and as we've said before, Portex and Bakon are the foremost authorities."
"And Admiral Malus as well?" probed the IL.
"Admiral Malus has adopted a somewhat human-style approach to command with our alliance. It inspires confidence in our forces to have him on the Bridge, especially when we're introducing state-of-the-art technology in battle that many look at sceptically until they finally see it in action for themselves."
Mendax nodded slowly. "I admit, the data that Admiral Malus gave me requires even more somewhat elusive data for me to correlate exactly how it all works."
"Which data?" Baltar asked slowly. He glanced at his chrono wishing Malus would hurry up. Then he winced as he caught himself relying on a starry-eyed IL Series Cylon with a definite hiccough in his programming.
"What exactly are dilithium crystals?" Mendax asked.
----------
With "Admiral" Malus leading them, they weren't questioned once as they headed for the launch bay. Once there, Luana motioned for Lia to precede her into the Hybrid Fighter, walking over to gently caress her husband's cheek.
"Innamorato?" she called quietly.
"He's still unconscious, but his life signs are stable," Malus told her, once again shifting the Colonial Warrior in his arms as the others made to board the shuttle. He ran his multi-spectral scanners over the insensate human several times, assessing his injuries and vital signs. Despite all he had been through, and the serious neural trauma he had suffered via the Brain probe, the warrior's physical state was surprisingly good. The rest of the crew had arrived with their array of technological equipment for the newly "implemented" Shatner Technology. Now, only Baltar, Baker and Porter remained in the Command Centre. "I admit that I am curious, Luana . . ."
She looked up at the IL. "About what?"
"Will you go with Starbuck to the Life Station, or take part in the battle? After all, you are a reserve pilot under Colonel Apollo's direct command."
Luana smiled. "Once I see Starbuck to the Life Station, I'll be out there with the rest of the warriors. You're right, I am a reserve pilot, but unless these Raiders are as low on tylium as we suspect, they'll need every available pilot we have out there. We only have two functional squadrons."
"I have trouble reconciling that you are willing to leave him, knowing that he was captured by the enemy and brain probed as well. From what Colonel Apollo mentioned on the way here, he was disoriented and emotionally distraught."
"Mal, Starbuck's in good hands. I know that," she replied, glancing at Dayton and Apollo talking by the shuttle. Dayton paused to watch them for a moment before clasping Apollo's hand and heading towards them. "And as much as I'd like to stay with him, I have my duty."
"Starbuck is your husband. Surely that rates higher than duty?"
"Mal, there isn't a scale."
"Unfortunate. As I would study it and learn for myself why you would abandon my Starbuck when he needs you most."
She raised her eyebrows. "You're a good friend to him, Malus. I'm honoured that you care so deeply for him that you would even bring this up."
"But you are still going to leave him."
She nodded. "I don't want to, but I have to."
Malus nodded, running this data through his "Human Cultural Database" files. The results were less than satisfying. "I admit that I do not understand, and I conclude that I would certainly choose differently were our positions reversed." He looked down at the human that he carried, the one who had made it possible for him to change his life so completely, and to begin to fulfil potentials that he had once thought impossible under Cylon rule. One man who had made it all possible just because he had believed in Malus. The human who had become so . . . so inexpressibly dear to him, despite what had once seemed like an unbridgeable gulf between them.
Malus was an IL Series Cylon, designed, built, programmed, and equipped to fulfil but a single purpose: to forward the Alliance's inflexible and unchangeable goal. Destroy all Humans. Yet, despite all, despite the destruction of Starbuck's civilization at Cylon hands, and the slaughter of billions of his fellow beings, the young man had believed that even a Cylon had the potential to deny his programming, to rise above mere lines of algorithms and code, to reach for the stars and to follow his dreams. To have dreams. It was so entirely inspiring and poetic that Malus would have cried had it been technologically possible . . . as he watched the boarding continue, he figured he might just engineer some artificial tears for such an occasion . . . maybe after he changed the colour of his optical sensors to blue. And the illumination circuitry for his vocal modulator was currently blue, which when he gazed down at Starbuck, he realized was all wrong. It should be red, like human lips. He had to turn the two colours around in order to fit in better with humans. He might even consider getting some . . . clothes . . . Starbuck fidgeted, his eyes fluttering open, his head lolling like a drunken man's as he murmured incoherently. Within mere millicentons, all other thoughts were brushed aside, every fibre of Malus' existence focusing on the human.
"Rest easy, Starbuck. You are safe."
---------
All in all, Ryan decided that he didn't recommend transport by Oculus, and in the future would do all he could to avoid it. He stumbled, feeling disoriented as he heard the voices of countless Angylions on the battlefield that Eirys had directly transported them to. Rubbing his bleary eyes, he remembered to secure his Life Station gown, when a childlike cry of terror just about tore out his heart.
"Dad!"
The sound of a mechanical dog working itself into a frenzy only added to the hysteria, as Angylion soldiers hesitated between destroying the beast that was obviously cybernetic—which they understandably equated with Cylons—and approaching the grieving child.
Boxey had thrown himself on the wounded Glynn, the Angylion prince unconscious and obviously close to death. All of seven-years-old and transported via a magical sphere by a sorceress to another planet where everybody looked like an angel or demigod. Chiselled, burly, handsome, most of these soldiers looked like they had just flown down from Mount Olympus on their winged stallions.
Pegasus? No, that would be just way too weird.
"He's not your Dad, Boxey," Cassiopeia was there in a micron, peeling the wailing boy off the prince. "Just like Prince Llewelyn looks like Starbuck, Prince Glynn looks like your Dad." She cradled the shaken boy to her breast, screening the view of the bloody wound. "But he's not your Dad. I promise." She looked directly at Ryan then, silently begging him to intervene.
"But he does need Cassie's help, Boxster," Ryan told him, lifting the small boy in his arms, and ignoring the ensuing chuckles and gibes as his gown flapped open in the breeze. "She's gonna do everything she possibly can, to save him. You and I are going to take a walk . . . maybe find me some pants . . . How about you call your dog?"
"Dawg?" Boxey sniffed.
"Muffin?" Ryan asked, nodding toward the droid. Cassie was already working on Glynn, Llewelyn keeping watch.
"Muffit," Boxey replied quietly. "He's a daggit." The droid followed along behind, dutifully.
"Muffit the daggit. All right." Jaysus Murphy, I'm arguing terminology with a kid who still has baby teeth! It's enough to drive a man to drink . . . if he knew where the hell to get one around here! "How about I tell you where your Dad is, and what he's doing to help Starbuck and Commander Dayton right now?" Ryan looked far above them, to where he figured the Base Ships would roughly be, give or take a few hundred thousand clicks. His eyes narrowed when he heard a strange sound, like wind rushing through a narrow channel. He turned to see shooting balls of light speed across the sky.
"What are they?" Boxey cried.
"I'm not sure, kid," Ryan replied, feeling his guts twist with discomfort as he searched his memory for a story that Starbuck had told him at some point. Why did those kinds of stories always come out after he was halfway under the table? It had something to do with that Ship of Lights, he was almost tentatively uncertain.
Then the lights were gone.
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He felt like a kid again. Warm, comfortable, safe . . . soaring through an endless field of stars without a fighter, it was every child's dream and the ultimate in freedom. It gave Starbuck a familiar feeling of security as though he'd been here before . . . dreamed this before. He stretched out his arms, turning his body in consecutive spirals, almost laughing aloud at the joy of it as he chased a shooting star and overtook it. It was better than a high stakes card game, a fine ambrosa, the best fumarello. It was almost as good as sex . . . but not quite.
Starbuck . . .
The beckoning voice was barely discernable, yet his flesh raised with a sudden inexplicable apprehension. He drifted through the heavens, straining to pick up the sound once again, wishing for a moment for a Viper with a scanner . . . after all, this was his dream and he should be able to manipulate it by will.
Starbuck!
"Ama?" he called, knowing beyond doubt it was the Empyrean necromancer, as surely as he knew his own name. But how did Ama get into his dream? "Where are you?"
Then the field of stars abruptly disappeared, leaving him in a deep, dank cavern. A sudden chill infused him, and he automatically reached for his weapon, only to find his holster empty. Swallowing down the lump of fear in his throat, he looked around to see two altars side by side, but both split jaggedly down the middle. Dust hung in the air, water dripped somewhere, and debris cluttered the ground of the chamber that he knew had been the Angylion Holy Sanctum.
"Ama?" he called again, and this time the echo of his voice eerily answered him. A faint, but distinctly foul scent permeated the air, wafting down a tunnel that should have led to the mine. A step in that direction, and the air grew even cooler. He was sure he could see the vapour from his breath, and he clenched his hands into fists against the chill as he hesitated on the edge of some imaginary precipice, reluctant to proceed.
Star-buck . . .
The spectral whisper lured him forward, while a tendril of light weaved a mesmerizing path towards him, as though coming to greet him. He was moving closer to it, drawn like a moth to a flame, before he even realized he'd taken a step. At first transparent, it seemed to increase in substance as it wound a serpentine path through the air towards him. Sinuous and alluring, it tempted and teased, even as his internal klaxons warned of the danger.
Come . . .
Well . . . it was only a dream. What harm could it do?
He slowly reached out a hand, feeling the tendrils tickle his fingertips, nipping at them, freezing the ends . . . then an icy grip jerked him forward, and he was plunging headlong through the biting cold, yelling in horror. The roar of the wind filled his ears, as his stomach jumped into his throat, and he reasoned he'd lost control of this dream. Time to wake up, Bucko . . .
A baleful laughter pummelled his senses, even as he collapsed to the frigid surface in the darkness. He gasped for a breath, forcing himself to all fours, before a faint glimmer from only a metron away caught his eye. As much as he knew it couldn't bode well, he felt compelled to go, to find out . . .
He crawled forward over the jagged surface, tentatively reaching for the shiny object. It felt warm in his hand, and when he picked it up, it began to gleam, casting a luminous glow. It was just enough light to see the crumpled figure nearby.
He sucked in a panicked breath, finding his feet and skittering to her side. She was face down, her limbs at odd angles. He gently rolled her over, hearing the sickening grinding of her bones, and shuddering at the moan torn from her throat. Then he gasped in horror at the sight of the wizened old woman with the haunted grey eyes staring vacuously back at him.
"Ama!"
Starbuck lurched forward, coming to a sudden stop, as restraints across his lap held him secure. Letting out a ragged breath, he gasped in astonishment. The backs of two heads, the starscape through the viewport, the Endeavour looming ahead . . .
"You finally awake? Is that what it takes to have a Cylon get the hots for you? Lots of rack time, Sleeping Beauty?" Dayton asked wryly from the jump seat behind him.
Starbuck's heart was beating so hard, it was sure to jump through his chest at any moment. He let his head flop back, and caught his breath, trying to reorient himself, as he squeezed his hand around the warmth within it. Slowly, he uncurled his fingers . . .
"On final approach, Commander," Lia reported.
". . . you are cleared for approach,Phoenix One,"squeaked the speaker.
"They have us."
"How are you feeling, Starbuck?" Luana looked back over her shoulder, pausing as she took in his ashen appearance. "Starbuck?"
Within his hand was a deformed, melted silver hunk of metal with a leather cord attached to it. It glowed every so slightly, still warm in his touch.
"We have to find Ama!" he croaked.
"Right after we blow up Mendax . . ." Dayton started to reply.
"NOW!" Starbuck roared, feeling a rising foreboding. "She's. . . in trouble!" He felt the bile rise in his throat. "She's hurt. I'll bet that Iblis . . ."
"Whoa now! Where's this coming from?" Dayton asked tolerantly, as both sisters and Coxcoxtli turned to regard him anxiously.
Starbuck held out the piece of metal. "I had a . . . a dream . . . something . . . I don't know what to call it," he told them as Luana reached back, taking the object from his hand. He took several deep breaths, trying to make his mind stop spinning.
"Holy frack . . ." she muttered in disbelief. "It's Ama's talisman, or at least it was. It's as though it's been melted down . . . Where did you get it? How . . .?"
"You're asking me?" he murmured, drawing in another steadying breath. "All I know is she's somewhere near the Holy Sanctum . . . sort of."
"Sort of?" Lia replied sceptically. "That doesn't sound good."
"Listen, kid, you're not going anywhere except to the Life Station."
"Wanna bet?" Starbuck growled. "She's in trouble, Dayton. Sagan sakes, we left her with Diabolis!"
"Damn it, Starbuck, for as long as I've known you you've had trouble accepting your limitations . . ." Dayton began to rant.
"Well, that might sound a bit more definitive if you'd known me longer than seven sectars . . ." Starbuck countered, feeling his defences go up full force in reaction to Dayton's criticism. Shortly after meeting him, the Earthman had born witness to Starbuck losing consciousness in his fighter. Mainly because he was too stubborn to admit he was in no condition to fly, and in too much of a hurry to get back to an injured Luana on the Galactica.
"Commander, whether or not Starbuck's coming, I'd like permission to go investigate the Holy Sanctum. Either way, we need to find out what happened to Ama," Lia told him as she smoothly brought the fighter in for a landing.
"Count me in," Luana added, her hands running over the controls as the Hybrid Raider came to a stop.
"Now wait just a gollmonging micron! There's no way you two are going anywhere near Iblis without me!" Starbuck averred, releasing his harness and climbing out of the seat. Surprisingly, he felt . . . good. As though his weird dream had been as therapeutic as it was a warning.
"You in particular, or anyone with more experience?" Luana asked, looking him up and down doubtfully.
"Me in particular!" Starbuck replied heatedly, trying to calm himself down, and knowing he wasn't being especially convincing in his present state of turmoil as his commander looked at him dubiously. "Look, I have nothing but my gut instinct to go on . . . but I get the feeling that I'm supposed to be there. That it's important." He shook his head in annoyance, as Lia tilted her head in apparent amusement. The transformation was complete. He was officially Empyrean-ized. If Ama wasn't lying in a crumpled heap somewhere, he was sure she'd be cackling in glee. Lords . . . he'd do anything to hear that cackle coming from that gapped-tooth grin once again. To hear her call him Son of my Heart. "That woman's the closest thing I've had to a . . ." his throat tightened with emotion, but he pressed onward, ". . . a mother since I was a child, Dayton. I have to help her. I can't just cower in a thorn bush . . . Not again."
"Bloody hell, kid," Dayton murmured, as he climbed out of his seat. He glanced at his chrono, and took a step towards the young strike captain. "Are you trying to tell me that somehow in this dream Ama communicated with you and actually managed to give you her talisman?" He looked down at the savaged sigil. "As a kind of message?"
"Or proof that it happened. As crazy as it sounds, that's what I'm telling you," Starbuck nodded, meeting his commander's eyes. "Dayton. She didn't look too good."
Dayton sighed, closing his eyes slightly and nodding, seeming to have come to some kind of decision. "Look Starbuck, I want you to take a minute . . . centon to really think about this. If you truly decide that after being hauled through dimensions by Eirys, forcibly aligned with Baltar, almost sacrificed to raise your Doublewalker from the dead, thrown from a runaway mine cart, almost executed, then brain probed . . . if after all of that you really think you're up for leading your wife and her sister on a mission to save not only a woman that loves you like a son, but is also a member of the Council of the Twelve . . . well then, I give you my permission to go back to Morlais. But son," he put a hand on Starbuck's shoulder, pausing to study his reaction, "you'd better understand that you're putting more than yourself at risk if you're not up for this." He squeezed Starbuck's shoulder. "It's your call. And you'd bloody well better be right, Captain. Because if you end up dead because of this, I'll kill ya."
Starbuck nodded, meeting Dayton's grey eyes for a long moment before the commander turned to go. It struck him how alike in colour they were to Ama's . . .
Ama.
"How's our fuel?" he called forward. If he did this, he'd need a weapon . . . not that it would work on Iblis. At least a laser wouldn't . . .
"Eighty-percent," Lia called back.
A gentle hand settled on his shoulder, tugging ever so slightly. He turned, and Lu slipped into his arms, pressing herself against him. It took a moment for him to allow himself to awkwardly return the embrace, feeling strangely apart from her in a way he didn't understand. He breathed in her scent, felt her curves press against him, heard her softly murmur, "Innamorato". It chipped away at the numbness that held him prisoner, keeping him an emotional step away, even as she held him close. A sweet agony swept over him, penetrating his defences, and he melted into her embrace. Tears pricked his eyes, but for the life of him, he didn't know why.
"Lu . . ."
"I love you," she whispered, tilting up his chin to search his eyes when he didn't respond. "Whatever you decide, I trust that you're making the right decision."
He chewed on that a moment, then nodded. "Then let's go find Ama."
----------
With the aid of the search light from the shuttle as well as several fires on the ground, from the air Apollo could see tiny Cylon and Angylion bodies strewn across the battlefield that had once surrounded Mendax's Base Ship. His militarily-trained eye could pick out the three fronts that the Angylions had advanced from, and where the centurions had engaged them. A few tents had been erected in various locations, probably to treat the wounded, but when he noticed a black tent, the shade of the Angylion Palace Guard, banners fluttering from its top, he gave orders to set down nearby. That's where he would find Cassie, Ryan . . . and Boxey.
The hatch couldn't open quickly enough, and he ground his teeth together wondering what he would find as Sheba lay a supportive hand on his arm. Through a viewport, his eyes ran over the crowd that had gathered to gape at the Cylon transport, unsure whether to attack it, or applaud it. Angylions lowered their swords as they spotted the human crew within. Apollo was torn between his fear for Boxey and wanting to ream the boy out. Then there was the fact that he was exhausted, having gone virtually non-stop since they had left the Fleet on their shakedown cruise. It didn't exactly leave a father in the best frame of mind for dealing with his rebellious seven-yahren-old.
"Dad!"
A sharp mechanical bark added to the shouts of his son. Letting out a breath of relief, Apollo jumped off the shuttle, racing towards the small figure darting towards him. Boxey leapt into his arms, and Apollo hugged him tightly, realizing the boy was all right. His son clung to him, murmuring something he couldn't quite hear.
"What?" Apollo asked, pulling his son back so he could look into his eyes.
"You're really okay," the boy sobbed, his face tear-stained. "I thought it was you. Ryan and Cassie told me it wasn't . . . but I thought it was you."
"Shh," Apollo murmured, pulling his son close once again, although a little confused. Sheba caught up to them, her own relief plain.
"Prince Glynn was wounded, Apollo," Ryan said as he approached. The Earthman was slightly hunched over, his hand guarding his abdomen. Still wearing his Life Station gown from his brief rest on the Endeavour, at least the man had found some much needed pants. "When Boxey saw Glynn, he thought it was you."
"What happened?" Apollo asked, stroking his son's hair as Ryan explained to them how Eirys and Llewelyn had used the Oculus to find them on the Endeavour, and had begged for help to save Prince Glynn. Apparently, Boxey had "stowed away" once again, as the sorceress used her magic to take them back to Morlais.
Apollo winced, sharing a frown with Sheba before looking back at the boy. "Boxey, do you know how lucky you are that you're still in one piece?" He fought to keep from shouting, whether from anger or relief he did not know. "What if something had gone wrong?"
"Nothing did," the boy sniffed, still clinging to his father. "I'm alright. Just like Arcta."
Apollo bowed his head, raking a hand through his hair. "Boxey." Yeah, just like Arcta. I could have lost . . . The boy had accepted Apollo into his life so easily and readily after the Destruction, that the officer hadn't been prepared when Boxey had started giving him so much trouble during these last few sectars. He had thought that the cooperative program would be the answer, and maybe it would help, but it still wasn't going to take the place of having his father there with him. It was one of those times in his life where he fervently wished that Serina could be there, even more for their son's sake than for his own. She would have known just what to say, justwhat to do. She always seemed to know instinctively what the boy needed. Then again, if Serina were alive, none of this would have happened. Their son would have had at least one parent with him. While Serina wanted to do her part for the Fleet, like everyone else in uniform, she was hardly a "lifer" in the Colonial Service. They had talked about finding a balance between career and family . . . of course, before they had discussed it in any detail she had been gunned down on Kobol.
"Jaysus Murphy, Boxster Boy, if Mother Ryan was in charge here you'd have your ears boxed, your hide tanned, and you'd be grounded until the cows came home, which didn't happen a whole lot in Carrot Creek, Alberta. Mostly they wandered away and were eaten by our neighbours," Ryan told them. Ever helpfully.
Rolling her eyes at the Earthman, Sheba kneeled down beside the father and son. "Boxey, as difficult as it is to understand at times, your father makes decisions that are meant to keep you safe because he loves you. It was no different when he was your age, and Commander Adama had to go on missions, or when I had to watch my father leave. Yes, it hurts, and yes, I wanted to follow, but . . ." She took a deep breath. "Landing in the aftermath of a battle between a race of humanoids and the Cylons wouldn't be high on my list of places I'd want you to visit either." The boy turned to look at her and she wiped a streak of dirt from his cheek. "Your Dad cares about you . . . we care about you. We want you to be safe. To have as normal a childhood as the circumstances can provide. We want you playing with other children and going to instructional periods, not sneaking around battleships and being subject to sights that ideally we try to protect our children from. There will be plenty of time for stealth missions when you become a fully fledged Colonial Warrior, Boxey. But part of being a junior warrior is abiding by the rules."
The boy paused, looking between the three adults. "Am I grounded?"
Apollo smiled slightly, pulling his son back into a tight embrace. The boy wanted to get to the crux of the matter. "Till the cows come home . . . whatever they are."
Ryan grinned. "I believe you call them bovines. Apollo, Llewelyn's been waiting for you. Eirys mentioned that blood from Glynn's Doublewalker would probably save his life."
"Llewelyn knew I'd come . . ." Apollo murmured.
"Well, it's not like he knew Boxey was your son, but when he found out . . ." Ryan shrugged, glancing back towards the tent. "Yeah, it followed you'd be here quick like Speedy Gonzalez. Cassie's doing her best, but hey, when in Rome, do as the Romans do."
"Quick like Speedy Who? And Rome?" Apollo asked, his brow furrowed as he stood up, grabbing his son's hand. Was there no end to these Earthisms?
"Hail Mighty Caesar, and pass the Clamato!" Ryan replied, heading for the tent and motioning for them to follow.
Apparently not.
----------
Dayton strode into the Endeavour's Control Centre, slapping a hand on Dorado's shoulder as the captain updated him on the situation and readiness of their crew. Much as he'd expected, the vast creativity and knowledge of his team had flourished when push came to shove, and they had come up with something completely unorthodox, with which to baffle the Cylons. When he had started recruiting this crew, he hadn't wanted warriors who were simply going to follow orders, but instead thinkers, doers, and risk takers. The Covert Operations Ship was an entirely new concept in the Colonial Service, and for it to succeed as Starbuck and Dorado had first envisioned, it had to deviate from the traditional command structure at several points. "Great job, everyone," he told them, crossing to where Coxcoxtli manned his station. "Now tell me how this is going to work."
"How about I show you as well, sir?" Coxcoxtli replied, as the chrono on the control panel counted down ever closer towards 0000.
"You have my undivided attention, Corporal," Dayton nodded, watching the young man bring up an image on screen. A screen capture from Star Trek that had been digitally altered and enhanced, it showed three Borg vessels frozen in space and time.
"It will work just like a simulation, Commander. Malus wrote a program, inputting it into the Harbinger's mainframe that will completely subvert their sensors and scanners. All real inputs will be completely ignored while this program is running. The Earth 'moo-vee' you see here is essentially for our reference, but as our simulated Borg vessels figuratively enter this dimension, the Cylons will be receiving correlating data in their Control Centre to register that."
"How the heck did Malus have time to put that together?" Dayton asked, amazed at the IL's achievement.
"It's only a five centon simulation, Commander," Dorado inserted. "That's all we had time for, even at the speed Malus can work. Then it will essentially start to repeat itself, which might give us a few more microns until the Cylons realize they've been duped. By then the Endeavour will be in position, and ready to attack."
"And our people are intrinsic to facilitating the ruse?" Dayton asked, frowning. "Why?"
"We're trying to keep Mendax busy, so he won't review Starbuck's cortical scan until it's too late to be of any help to him. Leaving our people in place makes that more likely. And, of course, Malus will be guiding Mendax through proper procedure as the sim runs," Dorado explained.
"And somehow Malus, Baker, Porter and Baltar are supposed to get to our only remaining fighter in the launch bay unhindered, and escape while all this is going on?" Dayton asked incredulously.
Coxcoxtli winced. "Not exactly, Commander . . ."
"Not exactly?"repeated Dayton, with a whiff of ire. "Corporal, give it to me, and I had better like this! I don't leave my men behind!"
---------
"I don't understand how . . . but I think he's going to be okay now," Cassie murmured to Eirys and Apollo as she ran her biomonitor over Prince Glynn once again. By the time she'd reached the young Angylion prince, he'd been near death from trauma and extensive hemorrhaging. She'd lost him twice during surgery, and even volume expanders and blood transfusions hadn't seemed to matter, as though Glynn was destined to die on this night. Although initially rebelling at the very thought, she had been beginning to lose hope . . .
Then his Doublewalker had arrived.
With the first milliletrons of Apollo's blood transfusing into Glynn's body, his life signs had improved with his pulse, respiration, and even brainwave patterns slowly returning to a baseline condition as Eirys had promised. After a full unit of the precious fluid, the prince was finally resting soundly, all bleeding from his wounds having ceased, as the Endeavour's only fully qualified medical officer pondered the miracle in silent disbelief.
"There are a lot more injured warriors that I could be helping right now," Cassie told Apollo, finally satisfied, as she started repacking her medical kit. Ryan was already out there treating minor wounds much as he'd taken care of the Earth space shuttle's crew during their yahrens on the pirate asteroid. "How much time do I have?"
"We're not getting in the middle of a battle between capital ships," Apollo replied, glancing down at the prince. The Angylion's eyes were opening. A micron later his brother, Llewelyn, was leaning down beside him reassuring him. It was so bizarre to be gazing on replicas of himself and Starbuck, knowing that in this dimension the men were brothers. "Especially in a shuttle. Go ahead, Cassie."
She nodded, turning to go, and sparing a look at Boxey, now curled up in Sheba's embrace, catching up on some much needed sleep. His trusty daggit watched over him.
"Thank you for your understanding and assistance," Eirys offered with a smile. "You kept our prince alive until Apollo could arrive. Iblis was once again denied the fulfilment of his evil desires thanks to your skill."
"Yes, thank you, Lady Cassiopeia," Llewelyn quickly intercepted her as she began to leave. He bowed before her, taking her hand, and lightly caressing the back of it with his lips. Her skin tingled, as though enervated by his touch. She felt her stomach flutter. "I am forever in your debt for what you have done for my brother."
Cassie smiled. He may have looked like Starbuck, but he was certainly far more charming than the Colonial Warrior . . . and every other man that she had met in her lifetime. "I'm . . . I'm glad I could help, Llewelyn. And I'm glad you realized you could come to me for help when you needed it."
"Your generous spirit and knowledge of the healing arts are as beguiling as your breathtaking beauty, Lady," Llewelyn smiled, and the effect on her was a little overwhelming. "If only you could stay . . ." He sighed sadly, leaning forward and whispering conspiratorially, "I fear you have stolen my heart . . . but I part with it gladly, knowing you will keep it safe. And alas, once you have left me behind in Morlais, I shall have no further need of it."
Recognizing the mischievous sparkle in his sea blue eyes, Cassie giggled at his blatant flattery . . . then abruptly put a hand over her mouth, stifling her school girl reaction. She didn't miss Sheba's little smirk or Apollo's dubious glance in her direction, but she was having far too much fun to let it impact her. Ignoring them, she leaned forward and kissed the prince on the cheek, feeling her own flush warmly as she did so. "Take care of yourself, Llewelyn. And your brother."
Once again, Llewelyn kissed her hand, and then reluctantly released it as she turned to go. He held up the flap of the tent for her to pass through, and continued to watch as she disappeared into the shadows of the firelight. "Your commander is a fortunate man, Colonel Apollo."
"He is," Apollo replied with a smile in Sheba's direction. His own lady's eyebrows were raised, and he knew she was pondering the attraction that the young prince had for Cassie, and drawing a parallel between Starbuck and Cassie in their own dimension.
"Ah, welcome, Mouric! You took so long getting here, I was concerned you were dead!" Llewelyn suddenly announced, as a dark-haired man stepped into the tent, rushing to Glynn's side. Built like the others, he was tall, muscular, with long hair trailing down his back. A fresh field dressing, Colonial in origin, covered his right upper arm, and the contrast between the white bandage and the dirt and sweat-covered individual was stark.
"Glynn! How are ya faring?" the young man asked while Apollo felt his jaw drop open. "In faith, tis good to see ye hale!"
"Zac?" Apollo gasped as he gazed upon the likeness of his younger brother.
----------
Starbuck raced up the hill leading to the Angylion Holy Sanctum, wincing at the evident devastation since he had last been there. Shattered trees, many still burning or smouldering, littered the landscape. Rocks were smashed, destroyed centurions were strewn about, and craters peppered the landscape everywhere. Admittedly, some of the destruction had been due to the attack of a Cylon Raider's strafing runs, but the rest could only be attributed to the inevitable duel between Ama and Count Iblis. His guts twisted, all too aware that the Empyrean necromancer wasn't exactly rushing out to greet them. His "dream" had been horrifying, and he had the worst feeling that it would somehow come true. Unconsciously, his grip tightened on his sword hilt.
"Blessed Triquetra," Lia murmured at his side, as a plume of dust hung in the air outside the cave entrance. All the usual sounds of nature conspicuously absent, the lingering silence bespoke of a warning.
"Ama!" Luana called out, unable to contain her own anxiety as she fingered her godmother's talisman in her left hand. She pulled her laser.
"Might as well throw rocks," Starbuck told her. "I shot Iblis when he . . ." Saying the word was always difficult. "When he killed Apollo. It didn't have any effect on him, Lu. He's not from our realm."
"So how are we going to protect ourselves from him?" Luana replied.
"Well, assuming he's still around, he's probably not big on Kobollian chants," Starbuck offered, moving closer to the mouth of the cave. He pulled an illuminator out of his pack. "Not that they would hurt him exactly, but they'd probably annoy the Hades out of him."
"Do you have anything more useful?" Lia glanced at him.
"There are rules for his kind," Starbuck sighed, since he didn't happen to have an elusive copy of the Beings of Light Regulation Manual. "One thing we learned though was that he can't hurt us unless we give him dominion over us."
"It's that easy?" Luana asked.
"I never said it would be easy, just that we needed to do it. And he'll use every deception there is to trick you into handing him dominion," Starbuck replied, remembering being on the Rising Star for the celebrations after Boomer's triad team had defeated him and Apollo, and then having a drink with Count Iblis which had turned into a few too many. It had almost completely incapacitated him when an alert had been called. And he hadn't been alone. Even good ole reliable Boomer had been flat on his back, and had actually needed Apollo to help him stand up straight. Starbuck drew in a breath, taking a step into the thick, obscuring dust and coughing as he sucked it into his lungs. "Life masks."
A moment later the three of them entered the cavern with life masks in place. A chill ran down Starbuck's spine as he spotted the two altars split in two, as they had been in his dream. Crumbled rock littered the ground, and he could almost imagine Iblis throwing lightning bolts at the Empyrean Necromancer with a wave of his hand. The strike captain shone his light around the chamber, checking for signs of life, and not finding any. He cursed.
"Holy frack . . ." Lu murmured.
"Ama!" Starbuck called, not the least bit surprised when she didn't answer. He pulled his scanner off his belt, not leaving anything to chance. The scan was negative for life forms.
"You mentioned the tunnel," Luana reminded him of the details they had dragged out of him on the way there. She pointed in that direction.
"Yeah," Starbuck murmured, reluctantly heading in that direction, wearily watching for tendrils of light with direct portals to Hades Hole.
----------
A living, breathing Zac.
The image of his own brother, alive and looking at him, in a dimension far removed from their own. The frenzied emotions sweeping over Apollo were overwhelmingly painful in their intensity as he explained in a hoarse and at times choked voice to the Angylions, that Mouric, one of Glynn's friends from early childhood, was his deceased brother Zac's Doublewalker. By now General Caradoc had joined them, catching up on the events.
"Then that disproves the legend!" Llewelyn stated, glancing over at Eirys. "How long have we thought that the death of a Doublewalker will result in the death of a kindred spirit across the Infinite?"
"Long have I believed that many of those legends and prophesies passed on through the generations were actually myths, Prince Llewelyn," Eirys returned. "Put in place to prevent us from testing the powers of the Oculus."
"Prevent you from testing it?" Apollo asked, shaking his head. "I don't understand. You used it to bring Starbuck and Baltar here."
"For eight millennia before that it sat in its tabernacle upon Mt. Cadoc in the Holy Sanctum, merely watching over us, or so we were led to believe. Its powers were said to be immense, and dangerous, and we treated it with reverence and due respect. It was forbidden to be handled by all but the most senior of palace sorcerers, one of which I most definitely was not. Then, one night, unseen by any, I . . . I betrayed my vows, taking the Oculus to uncover its secrets. It was then that Iblis came to Morlais. What happened then you already know. Over the years, I have passed long hours in the archives, pouring over ancient records, trying to discover the true secret of the Oculus."
"And did you?" Apollo asked.
Eirys smiled enigmatically. "While I was both raised and trained to believe that the Oculus was watching over us, it was in fact the opposite. We were the designated Keepers of the Oculus, entrusted to us by the Mystic, Llyr."
"These Mystics," Apollo posed, his eyes once again falling hungrily on Mouric. In Morlais, Mouric was Glynn's friend, fellow warrior, and sometimes squire, but Llewelyn was his brother. A slight twist of events from Apollo's dimension, and one that made him appreciate all the more the brother he had chosen in life, since his own brother had died in a barrage of Cylon salvos, the victim of treason. "I wonder if they're the same Beings that we refer to as the Beings of Light, or others have called the Guardians."
"Is Iblis one of these Guardians?" Glynn asked.
Apollo nodded. "Possibly. We never really did get a straight answer to that one. However, he seems to work in opposition to everything they stand for. Lies, corruption, inflicting misery. But, as far as I have seen, the Beings from the Ship of Lights act to protect humanity from Iblis' influence."
"If these Guardians are so powerful, why can they not stop him?" Mouric asked.
"Because they cannot interfere with freedom of choice, not even Count Iblis'. There are rules they must abide by, but we never did understand them very well. They were kind of cryptic."
"They sound rather impotent for Beings so powerful," Llewelyn frowned sceptically. "Does one of them not own a sword?"
"Llewelyn," Glynn admonished him, while Mouric laughed, obviously agreeing.
"Do you view these Guardians as good? Altruistic?" Eirys asked Apollo.
"Yes, certainly," Apollo nodded. "From what we've learned of them, they seem to have the ability to transcend time and space, even life and death. Their powers are significant." He glanced at Sheba. "Yet, I only sensed something good, pure and caring about them when we did encounter them up close."
"The light of goodness and truth," Sheba murmured, nodding. "Like Princes Glynn and Llewelyn, Count Iblis struck Apollo down. We believed he was . . . dead." She drew a deep breath, keeping herself composed. "The Beings of Light brought him back."
"You are favoured then, Doublewalker," Glynn nodded approvingly. "To be struck down, and yet see the sun again."
"As are you," Apollo nodded.
"But who are they exactly?" Llewelyn asked. "And where were they when we needed them?"
"Ten years as Odreds," Mouric hissed.
"We believe they are celestial Beings fighting against the forces of darkness," Apollo replied. "I suspect much of their war is on a different plane than the one we inhabit. Only occasionally does it spill over into our realm of flesh and blood. I admit that I don't understand it all that well." He sighed, glancing upward briefly. John showing up about then would have been helpful . . . and was therefore highly unlikely.
"Ah, the eternal struggle throughout the Infinite," Glynn added sombrely. "Truly it has been said, there are more things unseen, than seen."
"So you're basically saying that these Guardians help those that help themselves," Llewelyn suggested, his eyebrows raised.
Apollo let out a short breath of disbelief. "Starbuck once said that exact same thing."
"Then he's as wise a man as I," Llewelyn grinned infectiously. "Though, blessed as he is by Heaven, I would expect no less." He lay a hand on his heart. "Yea, truly hath the sages said . . ."
"Spare us, little brother," Glynn returned with a fond smile.
"Tell us, Eirys," Mouric inserted. "After all of your studies, did you discover why we were assigned as the Keepers of the Oculus?"
"To keep it safe for eight thousand years so that destiny might be fulfilled."
"Eight thousand?" asked Sheba. "Seems a long time."
"Indeed, indeed yes," said General Caradoc.
Apollo nodded slowly, thinking about it. Eight thousand years . . . seven thousand yahrens since leaving Kobol . . . allowing for variations in . . . what if . . .
"Our forefathers left Kobol, our planet of origin, roughly seven thousand yahrens ago. I wonder . . ." Sheba murmured, echoing Apollo's thoughts, and pausing to think about it for a moment. "Eirys, what destiny were you speaking of?"
Eirys paused a moment, frowning slightly. "If only I'd understood earlier when I left the White Witch alone in the Holy Sanctum with Iblis . . . I now believe that the Oculus has the power to destroy Count Iblis, and that is why he was seeking it, even willing to kill our royal family for it, and enslave our race. That is why it was such a closely guarded secret, disguised so innocuously and subtly right out in the open for eight millennia, but in a dimension apart."
"Hidden from Iblis for eight millennia?" Mouric frowned. "Are you saying that Iblis is over eight thousand years old?"
"And doesn't look a day over a hundred," Llewelyn quipped, although the concern shadowing his brow betrayed the lightness of his words.
"Mystics are immortal, Mouric. Apparently, that legend is true," Eirys told Zac's Doublewalker. "We know firsthand of his evilness. I believe that is the real reason that we find ourselves united now. The fates have brought us together to destroy Count Iblis. It is written in the stars, my friends."
"Then tell us what we can do to help destiny become reality," Llewelyn told her.
"Yes, often fate needs a gentle nudge in the right direction," Mouric grinned.
----------
A glance down at his chrono, and Baltar knew that it was time. Instinctively, he took a step closer to the hatch, and then stopped himself, exerting a self-control that had baffled the most experienced of bureauticians and military men during his lifetime. This was it. He was probably going to die on this ship. The Empyrean witch no doubt was off somewhere cackling in glee that he would die in the service of the Colonial Nation after helping to save a society of humanoids from the Cylons. He sniffed bitterly, as an image of Eirys came to mind. Strong, determined, with a sense of duty and allegiance, all characteristics that a young, idealistic Baltar had once epitomized. At least he would die knowing that in this place, this dimension, he had recaptured those qualities, and had again become a man that someone like Eirys could admire. The truth of his past would astonish her . . . and he hoped fervently for a micron that she would never find out that Commander Baltar was the most hated man in the history of the Colonial people.
"Scanners-picking-up-approaching-Borg-vessels," Bakon reported from where he and one of Mendax's centurions were manning their station. "Dropping-out-of-light-speed-now."
"Range?" demanded Malus.
"One-hundred-six-microns," replied Bakon.
"ETA?"
"One-centon, Commander."
"Battle stations!" Malus ordered.
It had begun.
"How many, Centurion?" Malus asked as Mendax crossed to that station.
"Three-Cubes."
"Defensive shields up. Get me Captain Dorado on the Harrower," Malus ordered.
"By-your-command. Standing-by," the centurion reported from the comm.
"Captain Dorado, we are picking up three Borg vessels on transdimensional approach."
"We have them too, Admiral," Dorado replied, his image on screen. "Our remaining fighters are scrambling and we're moving into position to intercept. Is Microsoft OS operational?"
"Bakon? Portex?" Malus asked.
"Affirmative," both replied.
"Fully functional, Captain."
"Should we launch our fighters?" Mendax asked, as he watched the scanner pick up tiny blips that could only be the remaining Harrower fighters. Intriguingly, their numbers were small.
"Negative. Your fighters are not equipped with Shatner Technology, Commander," Malus replied. "On that note, have Giles launch from the Harbinger to join our squadrons."
"Uh . . . Admiral, that would leave us without a transport back to our ship," Baltar pointed out. Oh, he'd already ruled out the possibility that they would ever reach the launch bay, but to actually send their only chance of escape out into "battle" went against every self-preservation instinct he had developed over the yahrens.
"No need to concern yourself, Commander Baltar," Malus replied indifferently. "He can return later to pick us up."
"Of course." Baltar crossed his arms over his chest, emitting a confident patience he didn't feel. This was supposed to be just one more battle in a long string of battles where the "Microsoft OS and Shatner Technology" would be used to overcome the Borg. He controlled his reaction as he watched three enormous vessels appear on the scanner. Even knowing they were a computer generated illusion, he still felt an instantaneous quickening of his pulse.
"They-are-scanning-us, Admiral," Bakon reported.
"Activate Microsoft OS!" Malus ordered, then said aside to Mendax. "It will infect their scanners, returning corrupted data that will start to disrupt their operations."
"Normally, at this point they would attempt to board an unprotected ship, assessing technological capabilities and deciding whether it is worth assimilating. However, they already know our ships," Baltar pointed out. "Boarding will not be deemed necessary in this case." And was impossible to achieve in a simulation they had orchestrated in such a hurry.
The screen fizzled; an enormous cube-like ship replaced the image of Captain Dorado. Then a cybernetic creature, Borg-like in origin, came on screen.
"Holy-Picard, Batman," Bakon exclaimed.
"We are the Borg. Disarm your weapons and prepare to be boarded. You will be assimilated."
"Give it your best shot, Brain Wipe," Malus retorted, sounding conspicuously like Commander Dayton for a moment. "Cut communications! Get Captain Dorado back!" A moment later a tense looking Dorado was back on screen.
"Sensors are picking up distorted subspace signals as the Borg Cubes try to communicate with each other. Microsoft is working!"
"Blue-screen-of-death, here-we-come!" Bakon inserted from his station.
"We will take the one on the left," Malus reported to the Harrower.
"I have the other two, Admiral," Dorado replied. "Lock on targets. Stand by to fire."
"Lock on targets. Stand by to fire!" Malus ordered the Harbinger's crew.
"By-your-command."
"Fire!" Malus ordered.
Laser turrets, "adapted" with Shatner Technology let loose with a barrage of firepower. Sensors registered hits on ships that didn't exist as lasers were emitted into dead space. A moment later, the Borg vessels appeared to be returning fire.
"Shields-depleting, Admiral," Portex reported.
"Recalibrate, Centurion!" Malus replied.
"By-your-command."
Baltar startled, suddenly noticing that Mendax was looking at a separate screen apart from the action. He slunk over to the station, recognizing the data from a cortical scan, although not making any sense of the algorithms crossing the screen. The IL's lights were firing furiously, and froze for a moment. At which point he had become suspicious, Baltar didn't know. Abruptly, Mendax suddenly turned back to regard the battle in progress. After all that time with Lucifer, Baltar knew that pattern. That posture. That look. They were in trouble. He pulled his weapon.
"It is a deception! Take them!" Mendax ordered.
Baltar drew his weapon and fired at Mendax, just as the whole ship rocked, knocking him to his knees.