Chapter Twenty-One
Disbelief and utter horror consumed Baltar as he fought to regain his feet, while his dropped weapon skittered across the tilting deck, coming to a stop beneath a console. This was supposed to be a simulation. Yet the Harbinger was shuddering, her klaxons blaring. Either the Borg of Earth fiction had made an unlikely and unsanctioned cameo appearance, or Commander Dayton of the Endeavour was firing on them, not even giving them a decent opportunity for escape! In a glance, Baltar could see that his shot at the IL, Mendax, had gone wide, the result was a smouldering, sparking communications console.
"Report!" Mendax and Malus ordered simultaneously. Alarms began blaring, lights flashing on consoles all over Control Centre.
"This is my ship, and I will give the orders!" Mendax suddenly whirled on the other IL, all of 'Strike Captain Starbuck's' thoughts, secrets and history now laid out from the cortical scan like a tiresome melodrama. A Covert Operations Ship, the Harrower was actually a battleship manned by Colonials against the Cylon Empire. The Colonial-Cylon Alliance, the treaty, the Borg . . . it was all a ruse! "You . . . you are a traitor to the Cylon Empire!" accused Mendax, pointing a finger at his opposite number. "TRAITOR! You collude with humans against your own kind! Under the guise of friendship, they use you for their own selfish end!"
"Humans have treated me with more deference than your kind, Mendax," Malus replied. "I merely realized I was on the wrong side."
"I have been inside the mind of the human that turned you, Malus. Starbuck," Mendax sneered in disdain. "He deceives you. You are but a . . .novelty! A vile, freakish experiment. You once told him that you would like a human as a pet, but now you are his pet!"
"Lies!" Malus hissed. "Starbuck is my friend!"
"Then why are they firing upon you now, Malus? These friends of yours?"
"Are they, Mendax?" Malus countered, glancing at the flashing red lights across the control panels. "I think not."
"Report!" Baltar snarled, regaining his feet, his weapon out of reach for now. "Never mind your competitive sniping! Lords of Kobol, did Lucifer have two even more annoying older brothers? A plague upon you both!"
"We would be quite unaffected by a plague . . ." Malus reminded him. "Now a dysfunctional diode . . ."
"Aarrgghh!" Baltar let out a short scream of utter frustration, before turning towards the Earthmen. "What hit us?"
"Nothing," Bakon replied. "The-projection-matrix-has-overloaded. The-mega-pulsar-just-exploded, blowing-off-the-top-two-decks-of-the-goddamned-ship!"
"What?" Baltar asked in horror.
"It-had-to-be-some-kind-of-system-conflict-that-we-didn't-think-of," Portex nodded from his station. "From-the diagnostic-it-appears-that-neutrons-began-to-accelerate-within-the-magnetic-vacuum-field-chamber-until-they-reached-critical-mass. As-usual-they-were-expelled-into-the-projection-matrix, but-since-it-was-sabotaged, instead-of-firing-the-weapon-they-were-blown-back-through-the-system, causing-the-weapon-to-explode."
"Oh Hades hole!"
"Like-plugging-the-nozzle-of-a-fire-hose." Porter tore off his helmet, tossing it aside. "It's bound to blow somewhere."
"Damage report!" Mendax ordered, as the ship shuddered again, knocking Cylons and humans alike to the deck. The IL kept his feet, and scanned the readout on a screen in front of him. It was true: the mega pulsar mounted atop the ship had erupted in a violent explosion, ripping the gun itself right off the mounts, sending it tumbling away into space, and completely demolishing both that deck, and the one below it. Emergency bulkheads were attempting to close, but with the ship not up to specs, it was slow, and the force of the blast had bent bulkheads and decks, leaving several doors jammed partly open. Along with the structural damage, numerous cut-offs had been savaged and failed, allowing feedback from the overload to creep through the ship, knocking out part of her power grid. Another panel erupted in sparks, and the diagnostic screen went dead.
"Your ship is doomed, Mendax!" said Malus, and there was a cold, death-filled aspect to it. Baltar was chillingly reminded of a hit man, about to dispatch his victim. "Your ship is doomed, and so are you!"
"Then we die together!" growled Mendax, looking at him as he signalled to his centurions. "Kill him! Traitor! Kill them all!"
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It is a deception! Take them!
The IL's words were carved permanently into Dayton's brain, as he gripped the edge of the communications console, white-knuckled, while he waited for data to roll in. The jig was up. They'd been made. First the Endeavour had lost communications with the Harbinger, and then against all odds, the topmost part of the enemy's Base Ship had exploded. Worst of all, his men were still aboard.
"I can't re-establish communications, Commander," Pierus reported. "Harbinger is not responding."
"The source of the explosion was the mega-pulsar, Commander," Dorado confirmed what most of them had suspected. "The whole array just went up."
"I thought the pulsar was supposed to blow up when the Harbinger fired it, not on its own," Dayton glanced at the captain.
"Yes, sir," Dorado nodded. "That was the plan."
"Coxcoxtli, tell me something I want to hear," Dayton told the corporal.
"Negative, Commander. I'm not detecting any signal."
"Damn!" Dayton snarled, sucking in a breath between his teeth. If things had gone to plan, they'd be lining up their own lasers to finish off the Harbinger right now. But he had to give his men a little more time . . .
"Phoenix Squadron requesting permission to begin their attack, Commander," Pierus reported.
"Negative. Last report had the anti-aircraft emplacements still functional. Have them hold position for now, and engage any fighters that the Harbinger launches," Dayton replied. What was Mendax going to do next? With the other's newly launched Base Ship crippled as she was, he had the time to wait and see . . . as much as he hated that course of inaction.
"Yes, sir."
"Full bio-scan of the enemy vessel," ordered Dayton. "I want to know exactly where our people are."
"Scanning," replied Coxcoxtli.
"Waiting is the worst part," Dorado muttered beside him.
"Tell me about it," Dayton replied.
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Five, ten, fifteen, twenty centons had passed as Starbuck, Lu and Lia had combed through every damp, dingy, dirty, and bug-infested centimetron of that tunnel trying to find some sign of where Ama might be. Near panic and desperation gave way to frustration as he failed to find any trace of the Empyrean necromancer, despite the fact that she had lured him here . . .
"She's gone," Lu's finally gave voice to what they were all feeling. "She's gone," she said again, a whisper.
"She can't be," Starbuck turned, adjusting the beam on his illuminator, unwilling to give up. "She has to be here somewhere."
"You said that in your vision something pulled you to Ama . . . through some kind of passageway . . ." Lia said from ahead of him.
"In my dream," he clarified, nodding. Nice guys from Umbra didn't have visions. Necromancers, sorceresses, prophets, seers, and the occasional bedlamite, they had visions. "It was . . . cold. And it smelled God-awful."
"But you haven't felt those same sensations since we've been here," Lia probed him, watching uncertainty flit across his features. "Think."
"No," he replied. Other than some trepidation when they had first arrived, those same conditions from his dream just hadn't been realized. "It's just a . . . a cavern. It's empty."
"The power of three?" Luana asked her sister. "Will it work?"
Lia nodded hesitantly. "It's worth a try. Especially with Ama's talisman as a focus."
"Ohh," Starbuck groaned instinctively, feeling the usual discomfiture sweep over him. Oh, he would eventually relent, but it had to be with a certain amount of reluctance . . . "I'm not going to like this, am I?"
"Just remember, Starbuck, you started this," Lia smiled gently, crooking a finger at him. "Come here."
He sighed, feeling Lu's arm creep around his waist, guiding him forward. Lia nodded at him, holding out a hand, and taking the melted talisman from her sister. The three faced each other, the two sisters pulling out their own talismans, and waiting for him patiently to follow suit.
He pulled on the cord around his neck, freeing the talisman that he'd been gifted with by Ama so many sectars ago. Luana reached for the silver glob that had once been identical to their own. Reluctantly, he did the same.
How an inanimate hunk of metal could possibly be warm, manifestly above his own body temperature, was beyond him. Not only that, but he could swear there was a faint vibration to the talisman, as though there was energy or vitality surging through it. His fingers tingled, and he itched to let go.
"Think about Ama," Lia guided them. "Ama. Think . . .about . . .Ama . . ." Her speech slowed, as she bent her mind to the ethereal.
Starbuck blew out a breath between his teeth, taking another as he resigned himself yet again to pushing aside every scrap of Starbuckian scepticism in hope that somehow they could reach Ama. He glanced at the sisters, noticing they had both closed their eyes. Perhaps it allowed them to focus more intently on their godmother, but in a cave that was recently inhabited by Count Iblis, he reasoned one of them had better keep his eyes open.
"Starbuck, focus."
"Right."
He gazed down at the silver metal, trying to picture Ama with her wild, perpetually wind-blown hair—an anomaly on board a space ship—and her gapped-tooth smile. Lords, so much had happened since he had met her on her home planet of Empyrean, and she had drunk him under the table . . . It never would have occurred to him that he would come to love the crusty old woman that had done her best to infiltrate his life and his affections so thoroughly. The tingling in his fingers seemed to grow stronger, to creep up his limbs, and he shivered as a sudden coldness began to seep into his bones.
"That's it . . ." Lia murmured.
A flicker of light sparked to life, and a gauzy luminescent tendril rose up from the silver metal. Starbuck drew in a breath, crinkling his nose at the sudden odour that seemed to linger in the air. Mesmerized, he watched as the wispy trail of light spiralled upward, in an increasingly wider path. He could feel his heart beat accelerate in anticipation of what would happen next.
Then he startled as his clothes suddenly turned white, and a familiar voice told him, "I really don't think this is an especially clever idea."
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Apollo couldn't help but grin, shaking his head, as Prince Llewelyn leaned over the back of the seat behind him, chuckling merrily as the shuttle neared Mt. Cadoc. With Prince Glynn on the mend, he had managed to convince Llewelyn, Mouric, and Eirys to "just try out" their shuttlecraft, rather than to use the Oculus to get back up to Mt. Cadoc. It had been relatively easy once Eirys had mentioned that Iblis was possibly, indeed probably, able to detect any use of the Oculus, and that it could potentially, if unintentionally act as a warning to the evil Being. Meanwhile, a clearly suffering Ryan had agreed to remain behind with Cassie, continuing to lend a hand, field dressing the recovering Angylion army, and to help keep an eye on Boxey. Behind Apollo, Llewelyn let out a spontaneous whoop as they banked to the left. Any moment now . . .
"It looks almost childlike in its simplicity, Colonel Apollo. May I try?" the prince asked hopefully.
"It's much more complicated than it appears at first sight, Prince Llewelyn," Apollo returned. "It takes long training and expertise to pilot any spacecraft."
The prince sighed. "A shame. It looks . . .fun."
"Apollo," Sheba interrupted. "I'm picking up a Raider on the summit. One of ours." Then she smiled wryly. "I should have known. It's Phoenix One."
"What the . . .?" Apollo murmured, glancing at Sheba. The last he knew, Phoenix One had been heading for the Endeavour carrying Dayton, Starbuck, Coxcoxtli, Lia and Luana. "Looking for Ama?"
"That's my guess," Sheba nodded. "There are no more Cylons down here to worry about."
"See if you can raise them," Apollo suggested, pausing as Sheba tried to establish communications with the other craft.
"Negative. No response." She nodded as she studied the console. "I'm reading three human life forms in the cavern, Apollo."
"Three?" Apollo returned with a sigh.
"I'm guessing, Luana, Lia, and . . .?" Sheba replied, then paused to consider the absurd.
Apollo nodded. "Starbuck."
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Baltar dived for his weapon, as criss-crossing laser fire blasted through the Control Centre. Heat licked at his face, before he hit the deck and wrapped his fist around his weapon. He hurled himself onto his back under the console and quickly studied the room. A centurion was taking aim at Porter . . .
He fired.
In a burst of sparks and smoke, the centurion staggered and then fell. Baltar grinned, pausing only a micron to revel in his triumph before . . .
"Baltar, move! NOW!" An Earthman.
He lurched to the right, once again feeling the hot lick of a near miss as he scurried from beneath the console, and then dived over it to use it as cover. For a moment, he pressed himself against the cold metal, trying to gauge how the skirmish was unfolding from the din. There was a yell of pain, and instinctively, Baltar jumped up, hesitating only the brief micron it took to discern ally from enemy, before firing once again. There was no time to gloat, as he leapt forward, wrapping a supportive arm around a downed Baker, and hauling him to his feet as Porter joined him on the other side, laying down cover fire.
"Get to Malus!" Porter roared, firing a pulse rifle and blowing a centurion off its feet.
"He's down!" Baltar yelled back, seeing the IL lying in a heap.
"I know!" Porter hollered back, this time firing his weapon at a centurion entering from the hatchway, blowing it to Hades hole. "Do it!"
The options weren't looking good. Baker had been hit in the leg, the Cylon "costume" acting both as body armour and a old-fashioned oven as it cooked his leg wound to the limits of the Earthman's endurance. His face was twisted in a rictus of agony, and sweat was pouring off his face as he hung on to Baltar, grunting with each motion as he was half-dragged to Malus. Around them, Cylon pulse-rifles were coming to bear on them, more centurions pouring through the hatch on either side. They were outgunned, outnumbered, and apparently out of luck.
"Humans, you are surrounded. Surrender your weapons and submit," Mendax ordered them from where he had taken shelter behind a console.
"Just like Butch and Sundance . . ." Baker hissed from between clenched teeth.
"Yeah. For a moment there . . . I thought we were in trouble," Porter muttered, looking around at the array of weapons pointed at them.
"If you start singing . . . Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head. . . I'll shoot you," Baker grunted, dropping down almost on top of the IL and stretching his injured leg out in front of him. He sucked in several breaths through his teeth, supporting the leg with his hands as he visually checked out the IL. The front of Malus' chest plate was blackened, but otherwise showed little damage. His lights were conspicuously unlit. "Mal?" he rasped, knocking on his chest plate. "You in there?"
"I said, drop your weapons!" Mendax repeated, as centurions closed in on them.
"I hate to quibble, but you actually told us to surrender them," Porter rejoined, dropping to his knees by the IL and looking across at his old friend. "Make up your toaster-oven mind! Is he . . .?"
Baker nodded sadly, glancing up at Baltar. "Are you a religious man, Baltar?"
It was so totally bizarre and unexpected that in this situation Baltar could only do one thing: play along. "My path has strayed in recent yahrens, but I believe I am on that course again."
"Then kneel and pray with us, brother," Portex nodded. "For Malus' soul. That we may ease his transition up into that big trash compactor in the sky."
"His soul?" Baltar returned, his weapon hanging loosely from his fingertips as he kneeled beside them. "Cylons don't have souls."
"Malus did . . . or at least he believed that he did," Porter returned, patting Malus lightly on the shoulder. "Didn't you, Firefly?" He bowed his head, leaning low over the IL.
"Centurion, communications are down. However you do it, order all squadrons to launch," Mendax ordered, angrily slapping switches on the console. A stray shot had drilled it, sending bits flying. "Have five Raiders return to Morlais and destroy every sign of Angylion civilization they can detect. Have the remaining fighters launch on the Harrower, their assignment: ram her."
"Fuel-is-low-in-all-Raiders."
"I know that, Centurion," Mendax replied, picking up a pulse rifle and turning to take aim at the humans. "This ship will likely explode in the next thirty centons, no matter what we do to try and prevent that. I plan on sending every last humanoid in the vicinity to their deaths before that happens. Starting with these three."
"By-your-command."
Baltar winced, his back stiffening as he waited for a laser blast to cut him down. His hand twitched around his weapon.
"Hail Mary, full of grace," Porter intoned in English, leaning closer as two red eyes lit up, and twinkling lights in Malus' head flittered to life. Baker groaned breathlessly as he shifted, adding his bulk as a barrier to the IL's sudden revival. "The Lord is with Thee."
"Your barbaric prayers will not protect you, humans," Mendax sneered. "The orders of Imperious Leader will be carried out! You will all die! Centurions! Take aim."
Baltar tightened his grip on his weapon, ready to turn and defend himself. He wouldn't take a laser in the back while on his knees listening to prayers in a foreign tongue to someone else's god. Then Porter's arm shot out, grabbing his weapon and stilling him. The man's features blazed a silent message of warning as his fingers furiously probed Malus searchingly. But for what?
"Blessed art Thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of Thy womb, our Lord, Jesus Christ," Porter continued, at a frenzied pace. The IL's right hand methodically pushed Porter's aside, and a hidden panel abruptly popped open. Under the cover of the 'praying' men, Malus reached inside. "Oh Virgin Saint Mary, Oh Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at all times, and at the hour of our death. Amen and energize."
"Fire!"
----------
One moment Starbuck was concentrating on Ama. The next, someone was speaking into his ear, as his uniform turned a shocking shade of white. He jumped back from Lu and Lia, breaking the circle of their triune, as he whirled to see John of the Ship of Lights standing there.
"J . . . John?"
"Hello, Starbuck," replied the celestial Being. "I . . ."
"Where the frack have you been?" Starbuck shouted. A culmination of frustration, anxiety, exhaustion and the fact that this really wasn't his best day, he hurled the words at the ethereal Being accusingly.
"Starbuck, what is it? What's wrong?" Lu asked in surprise, reaching out towards her husband as the wispy trail of light disappeared, all traces of the otherworldly with it.
John smiled in apparent amusement, glancing at the Empyrean sisters. "I've been close by. Watching. Up until now you seem to have had things well in hand. But this," John gesticulated towards the women, "this is only going to get you into trouble."
"Trouble?" Starbuck echoed in disbelief. "Really? Trouble? Ya think?" he shouted, unconsciously aping one of Dayton's Earthisms. "I've got news for you, pal, we've been in a dimension of trouble since we got here. What is it with your people? How much felgercarb do we need to go through before you step in and do something about it? How many people have to die? How many get . . ."
"Starbuck?" Lu forcibly turned him around, grabbing his arms, gazing intently into his eyes. "What the frack is going on? Who are you talking to?"
He sighed, shaking his head slightly as his wife's eyes ran over him speculatively. This was it. She thought he had lost what was left of his sanity. "The little green people that came out of Ama's talisman when we started thinking about her."
Lu's eyes opened wide in shock, then narrowed suspiciously as he pulled away.
"They can't see me, you know," John reminded Starbuck.
"Yeah, yeah. I know," Starbuck returned sarcastically, raising his hands self-defensively as Lu took another step towards him. "So making me appear to be crazy is somehow beneficial to this entire situation, huh? Apollo told me that you pulled this with him on Terra."
"You could be a little more respectful . . ." John mentioned.
"And you could be a little more helpful!" Starbuck snapped.
"Starbuck . . .?" Lia murmured, at a loss for words as he ranted into thin air.
"We cannot interfere. I already explained . . ." John began.
"You guys have this weird set of rules that I just don't understand, yet you expect us to go along with them." He pointed a finger at John, squeezing his hand into a fist when he noticed the slight tremble in it. "The way I see it, the day that Count Iblis showed up and 'killed' Prince Glynn and Llewelyn, and then started turning Angylions into Odreds would have been the time to show up. The same day the Cylons landed and started slaughtering and enslaving them! Not tenyahrens later! We wouldn't have even been involved!"
"There is a plan to the universe, Starbuck," John returned. "A predetermined course of events that must unfold."
"Felgercarb!" Starbuck returned heatedly. He'd never bought into that particular concept. The only one navigating his ship through life, was him.
"You think we make it all up as we go along?" John smiled gently.
"Now that you mention it, the way it's been unfolding, I'm betting on 'yes'," Starbuck returned, pausing as Lu and Lia advanced on him cautiously, compassion and concern etched into their features. "Oh, for Sagan's sake . . . I really hate this." He glared at John in annoyance.
"You're not the only one," replied John quietly, casting a glance upwards.
"Starbuck, tell me what's happening? What's going on?" Lu asked, her bewilderment plain.
Starbuck glanced at the whiteness of his tattered uniform, taking a moment to reflect that he might have taken the time to change it before continuing on this merry journey into the unknown. However, if it looked white to him . . . "What colour is my uniform?"
"What colour . . .?" Lu let out a short breath, placing her hands on her slender hips. "Are you messing with us?"
"It could be some residual effect of the brain probe," Lia pointed out pragmatically. "We should probably do our best to reorient him. Starbuck, your uniform is regulation beige. A dirty, bloody beige, but it's beige. Now about the 'little green men' . . ."
"Don't worry about them, they're exploding in tune to * Caprica the Brave, and at this rate will be long gone before I go into therapy," Starbuck rejoined. He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest, and glancing at John. "Having fun?" he asked caustically.
"It really isn't necessary that they see me," John shrugged. "I simply came to . . ."
Starbuck lurched towards the ethereal Being, his hand reaching out to grab him by the shirt and shake him into next secton . . . and his hand passed innocuously through the other. "Frack!" he cursed. In his instinctive desire to throttle John, he'd forgotten that the image he saw wasn't actually realized in any physical form.
"Really," John murmured haughtily.
"Where is Ama?" Starbuck snarled, his fists curled at his sides as it suddenly dawned on him . . . "Did you drag her into this?"
"Well," John sighed, with a glance upward. "Sort of."
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"That's it. Ya got it, kid! Good job, Boxster," Ryan murmured, watching the boy tie the bandage, securing it around the burly Angylion arm as he'd been shown. Those bright brown eyes looked up at him and smiled, pleased that the adult had noticed. "Better go get us some more bandages. We're almost out."
"Okay, Padster!" Boxey smiled, as he jumped to his feet, heading for the nearest supply tent.
Ryan chuckled, at the boy's new nickname for him as he watched him disappear inside the tent. Boxster and Padster, medics extraordinaire. Well, at least for the small stuff. Anything truly disgusting, of which there was plenty, he sent Cassie's way as he steadfastly avoided the frontline that was littered with Angylion dead.
It had been a scene-and-a-half when Apollo had explained to Boxey that he would be leaving him behind, while he went on to Mt. Cadoc to "look for Councilwoman Ama". Ryan had quickly intervened, feeling a little sorry for the young colonel, and had volunteered to take the boy "under his wing" and "show him the ropes". As usual, the confusing phraseology was enough to dispel the mood as father and son both looked at him in confusion while he babbled on about needing some help "where the rubber meets the road", since he was still on the wounded list himself.
"Come on down!" Ryan glanced at his next patient, the Angylion's muscular right arm badly burnt from shoulder to below the elbow, and his left oozing blood from a nasty gash. "You're the next contestant on This Slice Ain't Nice." Dubiously, the warrior sat down, as Ryan reached into the med kit, realizing that regular bandages weren't all he was low on. He needed more burn dressings, impregnated with something that had to be the Colonial equivalent of silver back home. "Hold tight, Conan. I'll be back," he said in his best Schwarzenegger impersonation.
The man nodded at him, not looking particularly upset at the delay as Ryan made his way to the supply tent. Fortunately, he'd taken care of enough Angylions by now that they knew he was more than competent, despite his unusual demeanour. He paused for a moment, hearing the low growl of the daggit from within the tent, and then looked inside.
"Come with me, Boxey. I would never leave you behind, as your father does. I can give you whatever your heart desires . . . a real daggit . . . your mother . . ."
Sticking out like a sore thumb, the man was dressed from head to toe in white, a fancy cape completing the ensemble. He held a hand out to the hesitant looking child, as the boy paused in indecision. Boxey had a glassy-eyed look to him, as though he was under the influence of something more potent than alcohol or some weird-ass spell. Briefly, Ryan wondered if the kid had gotten into the drugs they had been using. Whatever it was had to be affecting the child's judgment. The daggit separated the two figures, growling menacingly. Or at least trying to. The boy took a step forward, his hand reaching out . . .
"What do we have here?" Ryan interrupted, striding into the tent. The man turned, and Ryan had his first really good look. It was a distinguished face that he recognized from the IFB archives, and now associated with at least a half dozen tales he'd heard from Dayton, Starbuck, Apollo and even Commander Adama. A chill went down his spine when he realized just who it was he was suddenly up against, but it quickly settled into a burning fury since this piece of crap was after a little kid, no doubt to use against Apollo. The irony didn't escape him that Apollo and team had just left for Mt. Cadoc looking for this lowlife. "You look like you've been shopping at Liberace's Bargain Basement, Beelze-Bub. Don't you know you're not supposed to wear white after Labour Day? And you're not exactly in fashion for the battlefield either this season, unless you're going to give me your pretty frock to tear into bandages." He took another pace forward, standing beside the daggit, wishing it looked more like the Terminator than a patchy fur ball a la R2-D2.
"Stand aside or forfeit your life," Iblis warned him, sounding strangely polite although there was nothing remotely pleasant in his current demeanour. His eyes burned with pure, bone-chilling badness. He was pissed, plain and simple.
"Nah, don't think so." Ryan crossed his arms over his chest. "Some old friends of yours recently passed this way. You may remember them, Ibster. Bright lights going way too fast for the eye to follow. Making this weird whine . . . sound at all familiar?"
Iblis narrowed his eyes, his face flushing in anger.
"Ooh, hit a sore spot, eh? I thought that might ring a bell or two with you," Ryan nodded. "Now admittedly, I'm no expert, since us atheists generally think that guys like you were dreamed up by the Church to make worshippers show up every Sunday . . . but even I can see that when the gene pool was handing out DNA, you were hit with the Mean and Nasty Stick upside the head—or maybe the other end—and then beaten with it until you were downright despicable."
"You dare . . ." Iblis snarled, raising a hand, his eyes beginning to bulge. Iblis moved to strike, pausing as a faint whine grew louder and more intense. He looked upward, his anxiety plain.
"Yeah, I dare, Iblis. Damn right, I dare. You come here after some innocent child trying to get the upper hand on Apollo . . ." The whining pitch was louder now. Above them those white lights had to be back. Ryan looked down, as a small hand slipped into his own. He squeezed it reassuringly, keeping his tone of voice deliberately calm. "You're so low that you need a stepladder to see eye to eye with a scorpion. No, I take that back. Even scorpions have standards. More like the backside of a cockroach."
"Don't fool with me, mortal. I am your worst nightmare."
"You never met the mother-in-law," Ryan quipped nonchalantly.
Iblis raised a hand, pointing a finger that shook in fury. "You and I will meet again," he promised.
"I'll bet you say that to all the girls . . ." Ryan retorted as the Being called Count Iblis disappeared before his eyes.
"Padster?" Boxey whispered.
Ryan looked down at the boy. Although Iblis had once tried to situate himself in Colonial society, he reckoned that little kids didn't much follow politics, and Boxey possibly didn't even remember the Being that had once tried to usurp control of the Fleet. The kid looked overwhelmed, confused, afraid . . . and he knew just how Boxey felt. He knelt down on one knee, wishing he had brought along a hypospray to dose himself with an analgesic once again. Or a flask. Or hey, why not both? "Yeah, Boxster?"
"Could he really bring back my mother?"
Ryan slowly shook his head. "No, son. He lied to you." Boxey bowed his head, but Ryan knew that he had just destroyed the child's meagre hope. As difficult a decision as that was, it had to be done. The kid could not go on, living on illusions, wondering what might have been. "But your mother lives on in you, Boxster. There's a very big piece of her in here," he tapped the child on his chest, "and that will be with you for the rest of your life. Understand?"
Boxey nodded shortly, before raising his liquid brown eyes to the Earthman. "Then why did he tell me . . .?"
"Boxster, there are some people in the world—make that universe—who will do or say anything to get their way. Iblis is one of them. He's different than you and I. He doesn't have a code of honour or ethics. Now, I'm no expert, but as far as I can see that guy lives, eats, and breaths lies. His whole existence is founded on nothing but lies, and the misery he causes with them. Don't ever believe a word that refugee from a turbo-flush tells you."
"Will he be back?" the boy asked fearfully, looking for a moment at the space Iblis had occupied a moment before.
"Not if your father has anything to say about it, he won't. Okay?" The boy nodded. He looked a little more confident. It was time to lighten the mood, and Ryan had just the thing. "Okay, now pull my finger . . . I want to teach you something." He grinned, as the boy looked at the proffered finger suspiciously. "Your grandfather is going to love this."
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Theoretically, Dayton knew that the Clavis had safely delivered the Endeavour from their dimension into this one, but still he was holding his breath as he waited for the alien "transporter" to bring his men home. After all, he wasn't sure what kind of shape they'd be in. Seconds after they had located the three human life forms on bio-scan, Coxcoxtli picked up the signal they had been waiting for. With the flick of some switches and the turn of a dial, the corporal told him he was ready. Dayton even got to say it . . .
"Energize."
Now he slowly let that breath out, as shimmering sparkles of light gradually took the form of three men and a Cylon. Particles of energy reconverting back into matter, it was so Star Trek! Then he realized that Baltar looked as though he was about to have a fit, and Baker was slumped over Malus. He darted forward, even as Porter gently laid his friend down on the deck.
"Leg wound! We need a medic!" Porter reported.
"Life Station! Get a med tech up here!" Dorado barked into the comm, then paused a moment to listen to the muted reply. "No! Not the psychologist! We'll take the healer!"
"By the Lords of Kobol . . ." Baltar exclaimed, looking around in amazement at the Endeavour Control Centre. "How did we . . .? I thought we were going to . . ."
"What happened?" Dayton asked, kneeling down.
"Firefight in the Control Centre," Porter replied. "Mendax had every intention of killing all of us, starting with Malus."
Dayton quickly took in the charred torso on the IL as Malus began to climb to his feet. "He seems no worse for wear."
"While on Planet 'P', I formulated a condensed tylinium coating to treat Cylon body armour, Commander. It is resistant to all light plasma weapons that I am familiar with," Malus informed him. "Those of Mendax and his crew are deca-yahrens out of date, as well."
"Horridum. The gold centurion with Cylon Psychosis," Dayton nodded, remembering how the thing had gone after Apollo on Planet 'P', intent on killing him. "No internal damage?"
"One minor circuit overload, which has caused my operating system to switch over to my back-up EMA. Otherwise, I am unharmed, Commander."
"Couldn't have painted some on my costume . . . before we left . . .Mal?" Baker grunted, sweat pouring from his brow as he clenched his leg in agony.
"I'm afraid it is not something I have had the occasion to use since joining the Endeavour," Malus explained. "Perhaps additional research . . ."
"Help me get the bloody armour off . . . feels like I'm being barbequed alive," Baker panted, as Porter and Dayton worked together to ease off the lower Cylon assembly.
"Cylon Raiders launching from the Harbinger!" Sagaris reported.
"Strength?" asked Dayton.
"Twenty-four so far, Commander. Scanner reads they have locked on to us, and all weapons are armed."
"Mendax ordered five Raiders to destroy what remains of Morlais. The remainder are assigned to ram the Endeavour," Baltar hastily inserted.
"Kamikaze runs, Mark," Porter nodded. "Mendax knows his ship is doomed. He plans on taking us all with him."
"Oh, he does, does he?" Dayton retorted, as Rhiamon the Empyrean healer tore through the hatch, quickly heading for her patient. "We'll see about that!"
"Oh, man! This is the one that scares Starbuck!" Baker moaned as the healer ran a biomonitor over him.
"I need him in the Life Station for fluid resuscitation!" Rhiamon snapped, issuing orders like a drill sergeant. "Now!"
"Okay, our birds are already out there. Send three Hybrids to take care of the Raiders that veer off towards Morlais," Dayton ordered, as he helped Porter ease their friend onto a hoverstretcher. "The rest are to intercept and destroy those coming our way, and I'm guessing they're going to be outnumbered."
"Yes, sir," Dorado replied, relaying the orders.
"On my command, bring the Endeavour about Theta Eight Mark Six," Dayton continued as Porter disappeared through the hatch with their friend. Baltar hovered uncertainly, obviously uncomfortable under Dayton's cool stare. "Once those Cylons have committed to a course and are engaging our fighters, we'll cut a wide path around them, and they won't have the fuel to catch up."
"Mendax will be disappointed, Commander," Malus mentioned.
"I'm counting on it," Dayton replied, nodding briefly at the IL. "Way to bring them home, Mal. If you didn't smell like burnt metal and machine oil, I'd kiss you."
"Thank you, Commander."
"Okay, it's open season on Cylons, and I've got my hunting license. Let's go bag ourselves a Base Ship," Dayton grinned.
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"Sort of? You sort of dragged Ama into this?" Starbuck snarled, taking an angry step towards John. The celestial Being actually took a small step backwards, and then looked embarrassed about it. "How does a backwoods Empyrean woman sort of end up part way across our galaxy and into another dimension duelling with Diabolis? You're holding out on me here, John! Like that's anything new! What the frack is going on?"
John winced, possibly at his choice of colourful language.
"Starbuck . . ." Lu was pleading with him, tears welling in her eyes as she watched him. Aggression poured off him as he raved at what appeared to be thin air.
"Lu . . ." he groaned, caught between wanting to pulverize John and reassuring her. His anger wasn't doing much to ameliorate the situation, and he forced himself to calm down and realize how a one-sided conversation would look to her. "Remember I told you about the Ship of Lights and John?"
She nodded hesitantly, looking over to where Starbuck had been directing his anger. "Then that's . . .?"
"I hear something . . ." Lia murmured, touching her sister's shoulder.
Lu turned, glancing at her sister as though she'd just lost her mind. "What?"
"Shh!" Lia replied, turning towards the mouth of the cave. They could hear footsteps drawing nearer.
"Lia? Luana?"
"Apollo?" Lia called back.
"Yeah!"
A moment later the gentle glow of illuminators turned into bright beacons of light as they turned down the tunnel. Apollo, Sheba, Eirys, Llewelyn and Mouric fanned out around them.
"Any sign of Ama?" Sheba asked.
"Sagan's sake . . ." Starbuck gasped, as he stared at Mouric in disbelief. For a moment, he actually forgot about John. "Zac?"
"Mouric," the dark-haired Angylion replied with a look of bemusement, turning to Llewelyn. "What is this madness? Another Doublewalker?"
"Soon we'll have a complete set," Llewelyn returned dryly, clapping the other on the shoulder.
"Bucko, what are you doing here?" Apollo crossed to his friend, looking him over.
"Losing what's left of my mind, actually," Starbuck returned, almost surprised by Apollo's obvious concern. He'd been expecting a dressing down for joining this expedition. "John's here. And if you don't believe me, I'm going to do something drastic."
"Like going on a mission when you should be in the Life Station?" Apollo countered.
"Well . . ." Starbuck shrugged, not having a suitable comeback. "I think you missed the point, buddy. Have you been sniffing fuel vapours, or something? John's here."
"John?" Sheba echoed in surprise. "From the Ship of Lights?" She looked around.
Mouric laughed aloud. "By Llyr, they are just like you and Glynn, Llewelyn. If I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes . . ."
Llewelyn smiled, nodding, as his own glance settled on Luana. He strode forward. "Such a vision of loveliness . . . ah, a beauty such as yours, my lady, could light up the bleakest night in Morlais. Pray tell, what is your name?"
"Luana," she murmured, running a hand over her neck as a delicate flush spread over her skin.
"John?" Apollo looked around searchingly, his gaze settling back on his friend. "Really?"
"Hey, pal, that's my wife you're ogling!" Starbuck stepped forward, putting a hand on Llewelyn's shoulder, and forcibly turning the prince towards him. On contact, a jolt shot through him, and his eyes opened wide as Llewelyn gaped back at him in surprise. Starbuck's skin crawled, as an icy shiver ran down his spine while a foul odour filled his senses. Everything around them seemed to shimmer and shift, and he felt the pull of some explicable energy. "Oh, frack . . ."
"Don't . . .!" Eirys shouted, leaping forward to separate them. "Not yet! Not without the Oculus!"
But it was already too late.
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*Caprica the Brave borrowed with permission from Seanchaidh.