CHAPTER 13

LÊ XUÂN

Natalie's control room was in chaos. Preliminary reports indicated that two of her vessel's lateral arms had suffered heavy damage. And according to Racetrack, Cynthia's baseship was in even worse shape. Despite the open wound that had once been its trailing dorsal, Cavil's lead ship had continued to close the range on its chosen prey, and its rate of fire was turning out to be far above computed norms. Missiles were literally hemorrhaging out of Cavil's launchers, and the Raiders on Cynthia's point defense were being chewed up by the dozens. The baseship itself had been pummeled, taking at least four solid hits at various points on its vast fuselage.

Emmanuelle Bronte hadn't waited for Boomer to give the order. As one, the Pegasus squadron had hurled itself onto the backs of Cavil's Raiders. The latter clearly tasted blood in the water, and like frenzied sharks, they were swarming in schools around Cynthia's increasingly vulnerable craft. For better or for worse, this baseship was their home, and Puppet's squadron wasn't going to lose it without a fight.

"We're holding our own," Leoben shouted. He reached over, yanked the phone out of D'Anna's hand, and brutally pulled it out of its socket. Mara's screams, and D'Anna's, abruptly ceased. "Two of our missiles have struck home, including one on the central axis. Natalie, we need to launch our Vipers and reinforce our sister's defenses. Cynthia can't take much more of this!"

Hoshi needed no further encouragement. He grabbed his phone and passed the order to Racetrack. Every Viper pilot on the ship was suited up and in the cockpit, a reserve force that had been on high alert from the beginning. He knew that they would be entering the thick of the battle in less than sixty seconds. . . .

Daniel Novacek shot out of the launch tube, and he didn't waste time looking for his wingman. Bulldog turned hard to port, and raced off to enter the fray. If he could just convince Cavil's Raiders that the real danger was behind them, then they might be distracted in sufficient numbers to buy the baseship the precious seconds that it needed to regroup. . . .

"Come on, you mother frakking sons of bitches!" Thumper was firing continuously now, the Raiders swarming in such dense packs that there was no possibility of missing. There was so much red goop on her canopy that her vision was badly degraded, and she was beginning seriously to entertain the possibility that the barrels of her twin mounts would melt. . . .

A gigantic explosion rippled across the base of the pylon on Cynthia's ship. Debris went flying, some of the chunks large enough to impale Raiders on both sides unfortunate enough not to get out of the way. A steady stream of bodies suddenly began to spill out of the massive gash where the lower decks had been opened to space. . . .

"Catbird … on me," Puppet screamed. "We're gonna make a run at the baseship's central axis … deck 22. I'm gonna try and kill its hybrid!"

The two female pilots abruptly reversed course, and tore off at high speed in the direction of the lead baseship. The desperate manoeuver drew the attention of scores of enemy Raiders, who came about and rushed off to deal with the threat to their nest.

Hot Dog hurled his Viper into the gap that suddenly yawned wide in the enemy's ranks, and punched it hard to starboard. He wanted to give the mother frakkers chasing Puppet and Catbird a whole new set of problems to think about. "BB," he yelled, "on me! Let's send these bastards to Hell!"

. . .

One hundred and fifty MU's in the distance, Captain Louanne Katraine watched in horror as huge geyers of flame spewed out from the ruptured hulls of the four gigantic baseships. She didn't know it, but she was gripping her Cylon husband's arm so tightly that it would turn purple with bruises during the night. She ached to get into the fight … to make a difference … but she knew better than most that the resurrection ship could never be left unguarded. She had drawn a steel cordon around her two vessels. Everything at her command—Raiders, Heavy Raiders, Vipers … even Raptors … was now on the board. She had nothing left in reserve: if it could fly, it was in near space.

Kat was about a week into the sixth month of her pregnancy, the baby now kicking constantly. Leoben reached over to stroke her swollen abdomen, fearful as always that the raging torrent of his wife's emotions would somehow result in a miscarriage.

Louanne's thoughts raced. Sharon Bierns was somewhere on Natalie's ship, her own pregnancy fast approaching its seventh month. Larissa Karanis would be with her, and they would both be guarding the children, trying to keep them calm. Kat prayed as she had never prayed before that the One True God would keep Melpomene and Pyrrha, Julia and David … that He would keep all of their children safe.

. . .

Another loud explosion rocked the ship, and a heavy crossbeam broke loose and crashed to the deck, crushing the centurion who had been standing in the entryway. A ball of fire surged along the corridor, the tongues of flame curling into the bedchambers, relentlessly searching out anything that would combust.

Larissa Karanis wrapped her body still more tightly around little Julia Ferrin, who was by far the youngest child on the ship. She waited for the heat and flames to scorch her back, but what assailed her instead was the stench of roasted flesh. Mercifully, however, the screaming had ceased … screaming that had made it abundantly clear that Cylons could not in fact switch off the pain. If they survived the next few minutes, Larissa knew that they would find the charred husks of Sixes and Eights littering the corridor. In the misshapen world of their nightmares, the children would be condemned to relive the sights, the sounds, and the smell of this awful day for years to come.

. . .

"BB, on your seven, coming in high … break right and climb!" Redwing waited for the pursuing Raider to enter his sights, and then blew it out of the sky. Paolo McKay didn't see why Puppet and Hot Dog should have all the fun; if he was going to die this day, and that was beginning to look like a pretty good bet, then taking an entire baseship down to Hades with him also seemed like a pretty good epitaph.

All around them, other Viper jocks were rapidly coming to the same conclusion. In ones and twos, Galactica and Pegasus pilots were starting to come to grips with the realization that they had wandered into the ultimate FUBAR, and they were all deciding that hurling themselves against a baseship was a better way to commit suicide than most. Spontaneously, they began turning away from their increasingly desperate defense of Cynthia's baseship to make runs against Cavil's. And the very spontaneity of their charges threw Cavil's Raiders into confusion.

But there was a fatal weakness in this impromptu strategy, and Boomer saw it right away. The Vipers were all armed for combat with enemy fighters, and their ordnance wouldn't even put a dent in the baseship's hide. But her Raptor was equipped with ship-to-ship missiles … she could do some real damage. And it wasn't like she had a battle to manage because her pilots weren't paying attention to her anyway. Boomer shoved her throttle to the firewall, and tore off in pursuit of the crazy heroes that she was so proud to call her shipmates.

. . .

"Beautifully played, Six … beautifully played! But we've lost our audience, so for the time being you might as well let D'Anna keep the rest of her fingernails." Cavil was strolling restlessly around the control center with his hands clasped behind his back when another of Natalie's missiles struck home. He had to fight to stay on his feet and retain his balance.

Through the red haze of her own pain, D'Anna tracked the One with hate-filled eyes. Baseships weren't built to withstand this kind of punishment, so it could only be a matter of time before death brought her a temporary respite from the torment that her brothers were inflicting upon her.

"It looks like our sister is paying you back in your own coin," the Three smirked. The ship was groaning now, and she was also fighting to stay on her feet. But the shackles had deprived her of the use of her hands; it was hardly surprising that Mara, off balance, had already crashed to the deck.

"Oh, never fear my dear … we'll survive this day." Cavil paused in mid-speech to savor the moment. He wanted to remember the look on his sister's face when the truth dawned—wanted to remember it forever.

"You see, this new generation of baseship really is state-of-the-art. The cartilage is stronger … more flexible. Rather than resisting the energies being thrown at it, the ship absorbs them … uses them to accelerate the healing process. Wounds that used to take months to close will now require only a few weeks. It's a shame, really," Cavil went on with an exaggerated sigh, "that Kara isn't here to orchestrate our triumph. Our hybrids are so … old … so … outdated. But Kara … Kara's potential is limitless. All that baseship DNA that we poured into her … truly, Three … Kara was born for this!"

"It must be so hard for you," the Six purred with feigned sympathy, "to discover that your precious son just doesn't measure up." She was also studying the Three closely, reveling in her pain. "Granted, there's not much to work with there, but I'm patient. He's got to be good for something. With time and training, perhaps one day he'll be up to the job of polishing my boots—with his tongue."

"Be careful what you wish for, Six." Mara was staring up at her sister from the floor; D'Anna's courage had emboldened her. "I know John. He'll take your boot … and shove it down your throat."

"I don't recall giving you permission to speak," the Six countered as she viciously kicked Mara in the ribs. With practiced efficiency, she locked her gag back in place.

"Would everyone please calm down and pay attention," Cavil interrupted. "To summarize: Natalie is in the process of blowing a relay, and Hoshi and Bierns are wallowing in angst worthy of a Tauron tragedy. In short, nobody seems to be minding the store over there, and in war bad things tend to happen to the troops when their leaders become this disoriented. Really bad things . . . .

. . .

"New contact," the Six screamed. In the smoke-filled chaos of the control room, she didn't know who was paying attention to what. "It's another baseship, and it's sitting right on top of Cynthia! It's less than ten MU's out!"

Hoshi picked up the phone, and patched through to Kevin Riley. There was no way the new arrival could be a friendly.

"Kevin, another baseship's jumped in … into your blind spot. Spool up your FTLs … you've got to get the hell out of there!"

"The hostile is bringing its missile batteries on line." In the stream, Leoben was watching as Cavil sprang the trap, and his voice had gone numb.

"Olivia, get out of there!" John Bierns was screaming at his sister, and he neither knew nor cared whether it was in the silence of his mind or at the top of his lungs. But the hybrid seemed wholly unaware of the Sword of Damocles that now hung over her ship. Caught up in the fury of battle, her attention riveted on assessing damage already suffered while keeping her Raiders in the fight, she had yet to process the threat.

"Oh, frak," Riley said in resignation.

Dozens of missiles erupted from Cavil's batteries, and it took but a few seconds for them to cross the narrow gap between the two ships. Multiple explosions rippled across the superstructure, and Cynthia's baseship began to come apart. There was nothing stately or majestic about the spectacle, and there was no time for heroic last messages. The ship disappeared inside a ball of fire.

And then it was gone.

. . .

Author's note: for those of you who are wondering, the title of this chapter is Vietnamese. It means "The Tears of Spring." For centuries, cautious parents in Asia have been giving their children inauspicious names, in the hope that this would deflect the anger and jealousy of the gods. This is to be read, therefore, as a person's name. If you were to be talking about the tears of Spring in the literal sense, the Vietnamese phrasing would be quite different.