CHAPTER 22
UNFINISHED BUSINESS
"Kara, are you sure you want to do this?"
Athena's gloved hands absorbed another rapid flurry of blows.
"You're damned straight I'm sure," Kara snarled. A thin sheen of sweat had broken out on her forehead. She was nicely warmed up, and her practice jabs were all landing squarely in the center of Athena's upraised palms.
"And just for the record," she warned, "it's Starbuck. Little Miss Angst and Worry is taking the day off." Hunching her shoulders, bobbing and weaving, Starbuck extended her reach and began to put more power into her punches. She wanted to be ready when she stepped into the ring.
"But he's a Cylon, Kara." Athena was accustomed to dealing with her lover's multiple personalities, but she was also accustomed to following the collective's orders. No one on the Adriatic ever acknowledged Starbuck's existence because the bitch had a death wish that could get them all killed.
"So was Leoben," Starbuck grunted as she continued to pour it on. "And in case you missed it, they hauled his ass out of the ring on a stretcher."
Exercising captain's privilege, Kara had been the first to take to the boxing ring, and she had shamed the Two into climbing into it with her. Leoben had cylon strength and reflexes, but it quickly became apparent that he had never fought anyone in his life. He kept his hands too low, and when he raised them to ward off the blows that Starbuck was raining down upon his face, his elbows were too far apart. She had gone after his exposed abdomen, and if a few of her rights had scored a little low … well, Starbuck had never been known to fight fair. Breaking his nose with a particularly vicious short right hook had been infinitely satisfying, and mouth guard or no mouth guard, she was sure that she had loosened at least a few of the bastard's teeth.
So much for Kara Thrace and her special destiny, Starbuck raged. Maybe next time the bastard's in hack, he'll learn to keep his mouth shut.
"But Leoben doesn't know how to fight, and he didn't even try to defend himself. Papa Sam was a professional athlete, Kara; it's not the same thing."
"Just because he was a jock doesn't mean he knows how to fight," Starbuck shot back. "I'm going to beat on him like a drum."
Athena rolled her eyes, and stole another glance at the ring. When Kara had announced her decision to stage a boxing tournament, the Eight had privately wondered whether she was playing nursemaid to a lunatic or a moron. But Kara had been right: resentments quickly built up on a ship in deep space, and giving people a chance to vent had already done wonders for the ship's morale. What had profoundly shocked her, however, was discovering how many of her sisters were eager to settle scores with their fists.
"Kara, let's take a break. It looks like Sharon and Naomi are trying to kill each other."
Starbuck paused, and shifted her attention to the bout that was currently underway. The two Eights were a bloody mess. They had come out of the crèche at the same time, and had received exactly the same programming. Physically, they were mirror images of one another, so without training it was impossible for either to gain an advantage in the ring. And they both wanted Luke Hammond to father their babies.
Naomi came in with a wild roundhouse right, and it scored cleanly on her opponent's left cheek. More blood began to pour out of a cut beneath Sharon's eye.
But the infuriated Eight ignored the blood and the pain. Indeed, the blow only seemed to double her rage. With fire in her eyes, Sharon lunged forward. She put everything she had into a right uppercut, which connected solidly with Naomi's chin. The force of the blow lifted the Eight off her feet, and she sailed through the air to land on the canvas with a deafening thud.
Sharon pounced. She landed on her sister's stomach, and consumed with blood lust, began to pummel her around the face and shoulders. Rather than try and ward off the blows, Naomi was driving the side of her fist into Sharon's left ear, each punch landing with the force of a sledgehammer.
Starbuck laughed, and looking around the makeshift arena, spotted Deitra Symonds. "You're right, Athena; these two really are trying to kill each other. And the way it's going, they're both going to spend the next month in the infirmary. That's when Ponytail will make her move."
Kara gestured to the opposite side of the ring, where Deitra was lingering in the shadows behind a cluster of Sixes, some of whom had their own grudges to settle.
"What? Do you mean that Swordsman has three women keen to lick that well-shaped ass of his? How does one guy get this lucky?" Luke Hammond's chiseled good lucks and affable manner had impressed Athena, but not to the point where she was willing to kill one of her sisters on the off chance that he would consent to sleep with her.
"It's an unwritten rule of the service," Kara laughed again. "All female ECO's are required to fall in love with the jocks flying their birds. Young, old, handsome, ugly … it doesn't matter. The rule's the rule. And as for your sisters …"
Kara halted in mid-sentence, and reached for her glass of ambrosia. She took a large swallow, and crudely wiped her mouth on the back of her wrist.
"All you Eights want to do is frak," she continued. "And you really don't like competition. Personally, I love it. Every time one of you shows an interest in a human, the rest of you start sniffing him out. I suppose you're all trying to decide whether you're missing out on something special, or maybe … hell, I don't know … maybe, you just like stealing one another's men. But the end result is the same either way: I feel like the captain of a cruise liner that's run aground on a desert island. All the alpha females are running around snatching up the few available men, most of whom seem inclined to just stand aside and let the drama play out all around them."
"What a boost to the male ego," Athena exclaimed. "Tell me: do you think my two hapless sisters have any idea what Ponytail is up to?"
"They don't have a clue," Starbuck said dismissively. "Their pheromones are on high alert, but they lack the seductive charms of the average human female, never mind one of the Sixes. You Eights are just too damned transparent for your own good."
"The fight's over," Athena commented with a nod to the ring. Naomi was unconscious, but the referee was still having a hard time getting Sharon off of her.
"Looks like Howard could use some help," Kara judged. "What do you say? Should we give poor Mr. Kim a helping hand?"
. . .
"What do you think," Eric whispered into Six's ear.
"They're dispersed in a standard search pattern," Six whispered back. "Do you see the one that's trailing? If you're in hiding and the rest of the squad passes you by, then you think that you're safe. You move out into the open … and he comes up and takes you from behind."
"All right … yeah, sure … that's a good tactical deployment. But seeing what they're doing doesn't tell us why they're doing it. What in the name of Artemis is a full squad of centurions doing out here in the bush? We're more than a hundred miles upstream from the settlement. What are they searching for?"
"Not what … who."
"Oh, frak," Eric said as the truth suddenly dawned. "They're looking for us!"
"Yes … they're looking for us."
"But why," the young Sagittaron pressed. "I mean … we're not bothering anyone. We can't be that important. Why does anyone even care?"
"Does it matter? They're here, they're looking for us, and they won't quit until they find us. Centurions don't know how to quit. We have to go."
"Maybe they won't search the caves …"
"They will. It's just a matter of time."
"Yeah … yeah … you're right. Frak! Why did this have to happen when we were just starting to get comfortable? Now, we'll have to pack up all of our gear, and there's no way that we can carry all of the meat …"
"No … we'll have to leave a lot of things behind because we're going to have to move fast. Eric, you really don't appreciate how much danger we're in. Centurions are relentless, and unlike us, they don't need to sleep. As long as we're on this planet, they will just keep coming and coming. Eventually, they will achieve their objective—which is either to capture us, or kill us."
"Frak! Six, what are we gonna do?"
"The one thing no one could possibly have anticipated." Six's eyes were on fire with determination and purpose. "I can pilot a Heavy Raider, so we are going to double back to the settlement. We are going to steal a ship, and then we are going to leave. How do your fellow humans like to phrase it? 'We are going to put this rock in our rear view mirror'!"
"And the baby … my gods, if something goes wrong …"
Eric Lackey was absolutely terrified. Six hadn't been able to keep anything down over the past four days, so they were both convinced that she was pregnant.
"Eric, even if they don't kill us, they will never let us keep this baby. Don't you know," she added bitterly, "you're a Sagittaron, and I'm a machine that's short-circuited. By definition, neither one of us is fit to be a parent."
"You're right," Eric conceded. "We have no choice; we've gotta run." A very determined expression washed across his face. "I love you, Six, and I want us to have this baby more than anything in the world. Maybe we'll have problems, but then again maybe we won't. All I know for sure is that we'll face everything that this miserable, rotten universe has to throw at us together. We'll show them … we'll show them all what one Cylon and one human who love each other can do!"
. . .
"Okay," Howard chortled, "that was fun! Now, let's just hope that these two Eights have got it out of their system because we're running short on surgical thread as it is! Anyway, next up is …"
A Six handed Kim a large metal box, and he began blindly to rummage around inside it. He pulled out a pair of highly polished dog tags.
"Kara Thrace! Captain, you're up, so pick your partner."
Starbuck leered knowingly at Athena, and climbed into the ring.
"Who's your partner, Captain?"
"Anders."
"What?" Sam wondered whether his ears were playing tricks on him. He could have sworn that Kara had just called him out.
"Get your butt up here, gramps. You and me … we've got some unfinished business to settle." Starbuck was dancing on her feet, shadow boxing her way around the ring.
A deathly silence descended upon the onlookers. Everyone present knew what this was about.
"Kara, you've got to be kidding me!" Sam was astonished at his granddaughter's audacity. "You're only half cylon, but I'm the real deal. If I make a mistake, you could get hurt real bad!"
"Your first big mistake, Sam, was being born … or have I got that wrong? How did they do it back on the good old home world, huh? Were you … hatched? Or maybe you came out of a test tube … who knows? Hell, I don't even care. Your second big mistake was betraying Caprica Six for a worthless piece of trash like Melania Peripolides. Now, most guys would have been content to stop right there, but no-o-o … you weren't satisfied. Uh-uh … not you, Sammy … no, you just had to go and get your little whore pregnant on top of everything else. So, instead of kicking her sorry ass all over this ring, which I was really looking forward to, I'll have to settle for beating the crap out of you instead."
Sam flinched, and then a hard look settled in his eyes.
"The truth stings, doesn't it, asshole?"
"Sam," Melania was pleading; "don't let the bitch bait you! Don't give her what she wants!"
Ignoring her, Sam grabbed a roll of tape and tossed it to Luke Hammond. He held his fists out.
"Make them tight," he instructed.
Sam looked up into the ring, his anger now easily a match for Starbuck's.
"You want a fight, Kara? Well, guess what? You've got one!"
. . .
Standing in the kitchen of the riverside apartment that she shared with Apollo, nursing a cup of steaming hot tea while she tried to warm herself in the wan morning light, Creusa looked down curiously. Although she couldn't see it, she could feel the liquid that was pooling in the space between her legs. The dampness was uncomfortable.
This is ridiculous. Cylons do not suffer from incontinence!
She clenched her muscles, but the flow refused to cooperate. Now she could feel it dribbling down her legs, and when she stepped aside, there was a small puddle on the floor where she had been standing.
And then, she remembered.
"Shevon?" There was a tremor in her voice. The baby wasn't due for at least another week, and her husband had already been gone for a couple of hours. Gaeta's report had spooked them all, and New Caprica City was alive with rumors. If the Cavils were coming, then it was Lee Adama's job, as he had so colorfully put it to her two days earlier, to batten down the hatches.
The blond prostitute sauntered into the kitchen, and took in the situation at once. "Your water's broken," she casually remarked. "Have you had any contractions?"
"No, not yet … should we … should we go to the hospital?"
"Not unless you want to get some exercise," Shevon laughed. "Cottle isn't going to admit you until the contractions start, and that could be another twelve to twenty-four hours."
"Mommy, is the baby coming?" Paya had wandered in to see what was going on, and she was now staring at Creusa's belly with wide-eyed fascination. Shevon had taken advantage of Creusa's pregnancy to school her daughter in some of the more elementary facts of life.
"Soon, sweetie, soon … but I don't think it will be right this minute. Can I get you something to drink?"
"Juice, mommy; I love juice!"
Shevon smiled at her daughter, and opened the refrigerator door. "Go ahead and finish your tea," she called over her shoulder. "I'll help you change your clothes, and we can fold up a diaper and use it to absorb your flow. It's not going to stop for a while."
"And to think that I was once the most feared warrior in the entire collective," Creusa lamented.
"Ah, how the mighty have fallen," Shevon laughed.
"It's God's will," the blond Cylon retorted in a very firm voice. "He wishes us to create life, not destroy it. This child is a testament to His plans for us all."
"Amen to that," Shevon replied. If Creusa wanted to believe that it took an act of divine intervention to bring a child into the world, the human was not about to rob her of her illusions.
Creusa picked up her cup, and had just started to turn round when the first contraction hit. It felt as if a giant, invisible hand had stolen its way into her uterus, grabbed a hold of the baby, and twisted it hard. She doubled over in pain, the cup flying out of her hand to shatter on the floor. A moment later, she screamed, although more in surprise than in pain.
Shevon was instantly at her side, wrapping her arms around the Cylon's waist to steady her.
"Is that what I think it was," she asked when Creusa appeared to have regained her composure. But her breathing was harsh and ragged.
"I think so," Creusa finally managed. "Now, can we go to the hospital?"
"Cylons," Shevon said with an exasperated sigh. "Why is it that you can't ever do anything the easy way?" She steadied her companion while she thought about what to do next. "Can you walk," she finally asked, "or do you want the centurion to carry you?"
"Now, is 'Rene coming," Paya impatiently asked. She was tugging insistently on the hem of her mother's blouse, demanding attention.
"Yes, sweetheart; she's just told us that, ready or not, she's on her way!"
"I can walk," Creusa affirmed after she took a few, tentative steps. "But why do I feel like I'm about to step on a land mine?"
"That's a pretty good analogy," Shevon grinned; "in fact, it's better than most. Now, normally I'd say that we have at least fifteen minutes before your next contraction hits, but this kid really does seem to have a mind of her own, so we'd better get moving. Paya … grab your coat, honey; this may take a while."
. . .
As he eased his way through the ropes and into the ring, Sam Anders could feel the heavy silence that had descended upon the deck. It was like a shroud, thick and clinging. When the bell rang, his back was turned to Kara. He was waving encouragement to Melania, all but ordering her not to worry.
Sam had a lot to think about. Kara was behaving … well … like Kara. She was an emotional mess, and she never tired of taking out her problems on others. In childhood she would have benefited from rules and parental discipline, but what she had received instead was long years of physical and psychological abuse. The predictable result was an adult personality that was starved for love yet at the same time craved punishment. Rachel and Miriam loved Kara, and they indulged her, but the Sixes had never found the balance. Rather than saying 'no' to their only child, they were relying upon Athena to keep her in check.
But it's not sex that Kara needs … it's a good spanking. Now, how do I give her the whipping that she needs without putting her in the infirmary?
Sam turned around, and a right cross caught him on the left side of his jaw. Kara had put everything she had into the punch. He bounced off the ropes and crashed to the canvas. Dazed, he looked up to see her looming over him.
"Get up, gramps. We're just getting started." Kara danced away, contemptuously allowing him to climb back onto his feet.
. . .
Sixes never seem to be in a hurry, Shevon mused. They don't panic, and no one's ever seen them sweat. There's never a hair out of place. Their makeup is always perfect. Well, until now …
With their ever vigilant centurion in tow, Shevon, Paya and Creusa had begun slowly to walk in the direction of the hospital. They had not, however, made it more than ten meters when another pair of centurions came hustling up to converse silently with their brother. They quickly fanned out in a loose triangle formation, not to protect the pregnant Cylon but to clear a path for her.
Or so, at least, Shevon fervently hoped.
Forty meters later, Paya spotted another Six in the distance, and raced off to share the good news. The long-legged blond listened for a moment before actually rushing to Creusa's side.
Amazing!
Gaping like a fish out of water, the awestruck Six had been on the verge of hyperventilating when Shevon had had a flash of inspiration and encouraged her to run ahead to the hospital.
"Might as well let D'Anna and the Doc know what's happening …"
The Six had torn off as if the Furies were in hot pursuit.
Try amazing times two!
After that, Sixes came running up from every direction … and her party's progress slowed to a crawl reminiscent of downtown Caprica City at rush hour. Shevon soon found herself barking out orders to all and sundry.
"Somebody get on the wireless, contact Lee, and tell him to haul his ass to the hospital RFN! Let him know that he's about to become a father, and remind him that he doesn't want to miss all the fun!"
A good half dozen Sixes had scurried off in search of a wireless.
"I want someone to notify Colonial One of the impending birth, and have them contact Shelly Adama. She wants to witness the festivities!"
Two more Sixes peeled off and hurried on their way.
"Does anyone know where Playa Palacios is? Well, don't just stand there! Go find her! And while you're at it, see if you can locate D'Anna and her cameraman … you know … film at eleven? This is big news, people; move like you've got a purpose!"
Another knot of Sixes detached themselves from the carnival that was slowly winding its way down Main Street, and headed off at her command.
Gods! I never knew that being a general was so much fun!
And then Creusa doubled over in pain as the next contraction hit, this one about three times stronger than its predecessor.
. . .
Sam walked straight into a pair of quick left jabs, and his head snapped back. Kara was well muscled, and she had put in a lot of time on the speed bag. She had catlike reflexes, and she knew what she was doing.
He replied with a left jab of his own, and then telegraphed a slow, roundhouse right, not really expecting it to connect. Sam was looking for information: would Kara slip the punch, or catch it on her gloves or shoulders?
Starbuck ducked beneath the blow, and countered with a devastating combination. She lashed out at Sam's exposed gut with a hard right, and followed it up with a left cross that caught him cleanly on the jaw. Anders went down in a heap for the second time in less than thirty seconds.
"Guess now we all know why you lost that last playoff game to Aerilon," Starbuck jeered. "You were just another washed up jock … a has-been who was hoping against hope that he could hang on to his underwear commercials. You're pathetic, Sammy. You know that? You're frakkin' pathetic!"
"Get up, Sam!" Melania was screaming at him, raw hatred for Kara Thrace distorting her normally placid features. "Show the bloody bitch who's boss!"
"Yeah, Sammy; show me what you got! Show me how one of the fabulous Final Five gets it done!"
Sam climbed to his feet, and with renewed determination closed in. They exchanged ineffectual jabs, and then Kara made her first mistake. Unable to control her temper, she threw a looping right that missed, and left her badly off balance. Sam responded with a straight right to the solar plexus. For once he held nothing back, and Kara staggered away, still on her feet but folding up like an accordion that had seen much better days.
"Yeah," Melania yelled; "hit her again! Go on, Sam … punch her frakkin' lights out!"
"Are you happy now, Kara? Is this what you wanted?" Sam was standing in the middle of the ring, just looking at her, love and disgust mingling with the adrenaline and the sweat, ignoring the blood that was oozing out of a cut on his lower lip. He advanced gingerly, looming over her, hoping that she would have the good grace to concede that she was beaten. But inside, he knew it wasn't going to happen. Kara Thrace Six would die before she would ever admit defeat.
Wordlessly, still doubled over in a crouch, Starbuck dropped her right shoulder and threw a hard left jab into Sam's kidney. Rearing up, she came in above his guard with another short right hook, catching him once again on the chin. Blood streamed out of the cut on his mangled lip, and began trickling to the canvas.
The punch dropped Sam to his knees, but he quickly rebounded to his feet. He circled in, throwing one left jab after another, using up a lot of energy but forcing Kara to back away, trapping her in the corner. She couldn't counterpunch, and he sensed that her guard was beginning to weaken. Slowly, Sam's superior cylon strength was wearing her down.
Starbuck shuffled her feet, and edged to her right. She had to get out of the corner. If she couldn't get off the ropes, she would be at Sam's mercy.
Anders bided his time, willing Kara to use her left. If she overreached, he could end this fight in a matter of seconds.
Still trying to work her way out of the corner, Starbuck finally countered with a series of short, right jabs. She wanted Sam to twist toward her as she continued to ease to her right. Patiently, she waited for an opening—and when it finally came, she lashed out with a left hook.
She missed.
Sam had been keeping his right in reserve, waiting for just this moment. He pounded his fist into Kara's exposed left side, and he could feel the ribs giving way.
Blood exploded out of Starbuck's mouth, and her guard dropped.
Sam went for the kill. He hammered her with another right, and followed up with a combination that left her wobbling on knees that could no longer support her weight. A right hook that landed high on her left cheek sent Starbuck spinning into the canvas. She landed on her belly, gasping for air and desperately trying to claw her way back onto her feet.
. . .
"We've got company," D'Anna calmly announced as she continued to parse the data flowing through the stream. "Two baseships inbound at high speed; they're launching Raiders."
"Break off the attack and recall our birds," Natalie ordered. "Instruct the reserve element to maintain a defensive perimeter 9 MU's out until we're away, then disengage and jump to the standby coordinates."
Leoben acknowledged with a curt nod, and forwarded the command to the hybrid.
"It took them long enough," the Six muttered to Hoshi, who was standing at her side. "I was beginning to wonder whether they had given up the chase."
"We haven't made it easy for them," the XO pointed out. "Dispersed targets … hit and run tactics: it's classic guerilla warfare. The only thing they know for sure is that we're trying to take down the resurrection network. They can't scatter enough assets to protect it against a concentrated attack, so they're reduced to guessing where we'll strike next. We should consider ourselves lucky that they caught up with us this early in the game."
"Two baseships, though," Natalie mused. "We designed this trap for one. Do we have the firepower to deal with two?"
"They're both Mark II's," Bierns concluded, the disappointment evident in his voice. He was openly trolling the shoals of V-world, bait for a trap that was meant to snare one of Cavil's next generation basestars. "Confirming … we didn't attract one of the IIB's; these are the same two that screened the resurrection ship in the last battle."
The First Born had no difficulty locating his hybrid sisters. This time, the psychic spoor that marked their passage through the dimension ships transited in jump space was as visible to him as a lone Raider popping up on Galactica's DRADIS screen.
"What about the next generation hybrids, John?" Natalie was keenly aware of the fact that Cavil could well be baiting a trap for them. "Think it through: is there anything to suggest that those ships are out there, waiting to pounce?" The Six was desperate for hard intelligence; she couldn't afford to lead her small force into another back yard brawl with a tactically superior enemy.
"No … no … and these two aren't behaving as if there's another force in hiding. I can feel them reaching out to one another … coordinating their advance. They certainly believe that they're on their own."
"The hybrids are reaching out to one another?" The Sharon at the tactical console was aghast. "At the start of the war, they couldn't cooperate this way. What have we unleashed?"
"If you believe in the cycles, and take our myths seriously … something like the Titans." Hoshi's response went straight to the point. "The hybrids are a different order of intelligence, something far superior to us because they possess at least one extra sense. If you want to give these two names … call them Phoebe and Rhea."
"They're evolving … adapting … coming into their own." There was obvious pride in John Bierns' voice. He loved his sisters, even if they were fighting for the wrong side.
"Releasing them from Tartarus may well be the biggest mistake we've ever made," Hoshi protested, continuing the mythic analogy. He was convinced that nothing good could come of tasking the hybrids to fight their battles for them. "When lesser beings invite the gods to sup at their table, we mere mortals have a nasty habit of ending up as the main course."
"Unless we love our creations, and keep them close," John retorted. "Ellen Tigh preaches that particular sermon well, and anyone who ignores it does so at his own peril. The Cavils have always treated my sisters like witless slaves. One day, perhaps, their mistake will cost them dearly."
"Gentlemen, this is all very interesting, but I could use your advice here." Natalie was in the stream, following the progress of her Raiders. "We are seconds away from jump. Are we going to spring the trap, or do we give these two a pass?"
Bierns dove back into V-world, searching for one particular signature—and not finding it.
"They don't have a resurrection ship with them … at least, not within range."
"That's odd," Hoshi remarked. "It's not like the Cavils to take to the high wire without a safety net."
"They may have been able to replace some of the servers that we've destroyed," D'Anna suggested. "Remember, our intelligence in this area has never been good because the Ones systematically denied the rest of us access to the system. And what little we do know is now badly out of date."
"Well, they don't have a server in the system where our own resurrection ship is lying in wait, so if they do come after us, we'll have the home court advantage. What do you think, Colonel?" Bierns had a huge grin on his face. "Shall we roll the Hard Six?"
"They won't fall for this trick twice," Hoshi cautiously replied. His head was telling him that they should back away … wait for better odds—but Bierns' enthusiasm was infectious, and in any event Louis was tired of running. "Okay, Major; we'll do it your way. What is it that the spider said to the fly? 'Won't you step into my parlor'?"
"Close enough," John agreed. "Now, let's see if the Ones will blindly follow wherever I choose to lead."
And let's pray to every god we know that their resurrection ship hasn't given us the slip, Hoshi added under his breath.
The coordinates having long since been calculated, as one the Cylons gathered around the central console silently sent the command through the stream.
JUMP!
Natalie's baseship reemerged on the edge of an asteroid field in a star system eight light years distant. Here hundreds of Raiders from Pelea's baseship were already scattered across a vast, three dimensional chessboard, and they were all armed with anti-ship missiles. Natalie instantly launched her own Raiders, further tightening the deadly web that Kat and Leoben had so carefully spun. If the Cavils continued recklessly to harry them, and came out of jump less than 30 MU's from their present position, the trap would slam shut.
. . .
Starbuck was down, but she was damned if she was out—not while there was life left in her. It hurt even to struggle to her knees, but it hurt a damned sight worse to glance up and see Anders standing over her with a triumphant smirk on that pretty boy face of his.
When you fight a man, he's not your friend. How many times did the DI shove that one down our throats? Yeah … and never, ever, give the other guy an even break …
Still down, and with her head bowed in seeming defeat, Starbuck pivoted smartly and leg whipped Sam, catching him squarely above the left ankle. The startled Cylon crashed to the canvas, and he had just started to rise when Kara attacked a second time, kicking him viciously in the side of the head. Pin wheeling through the air, Sam ended up flat on his belly, with the world spinning all around him.
"Oops! Did I break the rules?"
Sam was down … it hurt even to struggle to his knees. But it hurt a damned sight worse to glance up and see Kara standing over him … taunting him, with that contemptuous look on her face. He bounded to his feet and charged straight at her, throwing one punch after another. She caught him in the knee with a second kick, and in the groin with a third.
"Only losers fight fair, Sammy. That's why the Picon Panthers always had your number. 'Whatever it takes' was never a part of your vocabulary."
Starbuck tried to kick him in the ribs, but Sam anticipated the move and trapped her leg in midair. He spun her around and drove his fist into her right kidney before catching her from behind in a bear hug. He tightened his grip, squeezing the air out of her.
"You call this fighting, Kara? I could kill you now, in less time than it's taken me to tell you about it."
Starbuck's only response was blindly to head butt him, and she got lucky. She could feel Sam's nose fracturing beneath the blow. Blood gushed out of his shattered left nostril and began to drip steadily down her back. Twisting out of his grasp, she pivoted once more, and drove a hard right hook into Sam's bloodied face. What was left of his nose dislocated nicely, and Anders went down like a stone. This time, he didn't get up.
. . .
"No-o-o-o … ah … ah … God, why is this happening to me?"
"Is that a rhetorical question," Cottle sarcastically inquired, "or do you want to hear my mini-lecture on the birds and the bees?"
Creusa was still on her feet, but barely, and she was squeezing Apollo's hand so hard that he reckoned it was about one contraction away from ending up in a cast. They'd been at it for hours, so many that he had lost track of time, but perversely the Six had only gotten stronger as she had become more irritable.
And right now she's so pissed that I wouldn't fancy a centurion's chances in an arm wrestling contest.
"Creusa, you've got to concentrate on your breathing! You're not doing any of the things we practiced!"
"You concentrate on my breathing, you bastard! And if you ever come near me again …"
"That's the spirit," Cottle laughed. He was standing at the foot of the bed, arms folded, with Ishay on his left and one of the nurse Eights on his right. "Don't hold anything back, Six. This is your one chance to tell your husband exactly what you think of him!"
"Doctor Cottle … really … don't encourage her!" Ishay never ceased to be amazed at how insensitive Major Cottle could be when his patients were in stress. She kept telling herself that it was all an exercise in carefully crafted reverse psychology that was meant to give them a bit of perspective, but she couldn't shake the feeling that at times he was simply being a callous bastard.
"Creusa, you can do this!" Lee was beginning to get desperate. "Remember … short-short-long … just like we practiced!"
"Lee-e-e-e-e," Creusa shrieked; she would have sworn that her latest contraction had begun over three hours ago.
"Watch me," he yelled. "Just do what I do!" Lee began frantically breathing for the both of them, two short inhalations followed by a long, cleansing breath. He did it over and over again.
"I'm going out for a smoke," Cottle growled, "and then I'm going to look in on a few patients who have real, honest-to-gods ailments. If Apollo hyperventilates, have one of the centurions carry him out to the waiting room. One of his sisters-in-law can hold his hand; gods know, there are enough of them out there!" Sherman walked out in disgust, muttering something about 'drama queens' under his breath.
"You're doing well, Creusa," Ishay said soothingly. "Your contractions are now coming about every two and a half minutes, and this one lasted a full seventy-five seconds. Now, lie down and let me measure your cervix."
Creusa gratefully complied, blessing every second of the relief that she knew would end all too soon.
"Eight centimeters," Ishay announced. "At ten, you will have dilated sufficiently to enter the transition phase. Be patient. Work with Lee, and this will all be over in less than an hour."
"An hour," Creusa yelled in disbelief. "An hour … another hour … I want this baby to be born right this frakking minute!"
"Lee-e-e-e-e!"
"Bear down, Creusa!" Lee was trying to stay calm, but a dogfight with twenty Raiders would have been less stressful. "When the contraction hits, push!"
"No, Lee," Ishay gently corrected; "if she starts pushing too soon, she could rupture her uterus. Creusa, don't push until I tell you, and that won't be until you're in the birthing pool."
"How long, Ishay?" Creusa was fighting for air, taking it in in huge, ragged gasps. She was all but begging for deliverance: "how long?"
Ishay idly glanced up at the observation booth, and nodded silent encouragement to Shelly Adama, whose own delivery date now lay just a few weeks away. Shevon was seated dutifully at her side, her daughter sleeping soundly on her lap. Ishay also recognized Lida, the Six with the improbably long and heavy hair, but the other Sixes attending the birth were just that—anonymous and equally blond copies with little to distinguish them from Phryne, the first Six and the template for their model. The Cylons were all staring in rapt fascination at the scene unfolding beneath them, and the nurse wondered whether some of them were so appalled by the messy and painful process of birth that they would swear off sex for the rest of their lives. Well, she couldn't blame them if they did.
"Not long," she crooned. She looked at Lee Adama, whose eyes had grown so large that they were all but bugging out of his head. "Not long," she repeated sympathetically.
. . .
Standing over the unconscious Six, Howard Kim slowly counted to ten before calling the fight for her bleached blond rival. He figured that he could count to a hundred, and it still wouldn't make a cubit's worth of difference. They'd have to peel this one off the canvas.
"You'd better put an ice pack on that eye," he told the survivor. The Six was covered in blood, some of it her own, and she seemed a bit wobbly on her pins. "And that was one hell of a fight," he added gratuitously.
Howard meant it. An enraged Six was not a pretty sight, and these two had both decided that if Kara didn't have to play by the rules, neither did they. The bout had quickly degenerated into a Tauron style cage match, with the usual assortment of flying elbows and feet, and absolutely no rules. He hadn't even bothered with the bell.
"All right," he finally announced; "the fun's over. Everybody get your booze and your dog tags, and let's get out of here."
"We still have time," D'Anna called out. She slipped easily through the ropes and entered the ring. "What's your hurry?"
Howard looked at her curiously. D'Anna was the only Three on the ship, and she was the quintessential loner. She didn't mingle with the Twos, Sixes and Eights, and she had shown no interest in mating with any of the humans, male or female. She always wore the same flowing white dress, and she never fussed with her hair or bothered with makeup. She was so quiet that it was easy to forget that she was even there.
That was about to end.
D'Anna removed her dress, and draped it casually over one of the top ropes. Howard Kim's jaw dropped.
"Holy frak," he heard one of the male bystanders exclaim.
Yeah … that just about covers it, Howard dazedly thought.
D'Anna was wearing a thin, one-piece jerkin that stretched from her ample bosom to mid-thigh. But fully two-thirds of her creamy breasts were already on display, and the remaining flesh seemed eager to escape the confinement of its leather prison. A few tightly cinched eyelets were all that stood in the way.
The Three kicked off her shoes, and sent them flying out of the ring.
"Oh, shit," Athena mumbled. You didn't have to be an oracle to foresee where this was headed.
"Well … um … yeah … well … uh … okay, sure." Howard Kim had absolutely no idea what was going on. "Who … uh … um … who's your partner?"
"Starbuck."
"What?" Kara was so shocked that the ambrosia she was currently drinking exploded out of her mouth. "You want to fight me? What the hell …"
"That's right, dear," D'Anna calmly replied. "And let's do it your way—no gloves … no shoes … no rules."
"A catfight at the old cylon corral," Starbuck mocked. She yanked off her gloves, tossed them aside, and began pulling the tape off with her teeth. She couldn't count the number of times that she had beaten the crap out of some asshole in a bare knuckle barroom brawl. This promised to be fun. Mentally, she gave herself a quick once over.
A few cracked ribs on the left side … that's no big deal. Just don't let her go there, and you'll be okay. . . . Should I ask if she's got a spare outfit squirreled away? I mean, really, this one's right up there with Six's leather and chains rig, but aunt Three's got the ultimate pair of knockers to go with it. . . . Gods, check this out! Over half the guys on the deck are slobbering all over themselves, and Fischer's hard on is so long you could use it as a spear. . . .
"Nice outfit," Starbuck conceded as she stepped warily into the ring. She didn't even know whether D'Anna was right or left handed. "Did you get to play the Amazon queen back in high school?"
"I was never in high school, Kara, but I appreciate the compliment. And yes … I do fancy myself the Amazon queen."
The two women circled each other. Starbuck was acutely aware of the fact that D'Anna had had ample opportunity to study her fighting style, but in turn she knew absolutely nothing about her opponent.
She's big, but she can't be fast on her feet. I'll dance in, land a few jabs, then dance out of reach … make her come after me. Counterpunch … counterpunch … wear her down …
Starbuck darted in, and threw a right jab. D'Anna turned into the punch, intercepting it with her left shoulder. But instead of backing away or trying to score with a right, the Three continued her turn, and Starbuck found her second jab landing ineffectually in the center of D'Anna's back. Her danger sense kicked in, but it was a fraction of a second too late. D'Anna had already pivoted on her left foot, and as she spun she was also rising into the air, her right leg cocked and waiting well above Kara's guard.
D'Anna struck with the speed of an angry serpent, and her leg kick caught Starbuck squarely in the lungs. The Three came down in a graceful crouch, and rose elegantly to her feet.
Starbuck sailed several feet through the air, and landed on her back in an undignified heap. She was far more embarrassed than hurt, but she opted to stay down and take stock of her present situation. It didn't look good. In fact, it looked downright awful. Memories of the whipping that she had received at the hands of the Six in the Delphi museum coursed uninvited through her mind.
Gods, damn … aunt Three would make mincemeat out of that Six! Yeah, there might once have been something prowling the night on Leonis that could stand up to her, but I wouldn't want to bet on it. Now, how do I get out of this mess with my reputation for being a hard ass still intact?
. . .
"Live, from the stands overlooking the delivery room inside the maternity ward of the New Caprica City hospital complex, this is Playa Palacios! We're here today with Shevon Goodson, everybody's favorite fifty cubit whore, who has been coaching Creusa Adama through the perils of pregnancy and the living horror that is childbirth. Coach, it looks like we're heading into the final period. How's your star player holding up?"
"Well, Playa, I'd have to say that Creusa is doing very, very well. As you know, cylon pregnancies are never easy, but Creusa is truly a team player. She hasn't killed anybody yet, and that's quite remarkable when you consider that she has been having contractions at less than two minute intervals for the last seventeen days."
"Have they found her placenta yet?"
"No, but Doctor Cottle swears that it is still somewhere in the room. The latest theory is that someone mistook it for a plate of spaghetti marinara during that power outage three days ago, and ate it. He's waiting patiently for the guilty party to cough it up. I mean that literally."
"I see … or rather, I don't see. As a long-time believer in the cult of placentophagia, after Hera's birth I took advantage of the opportunity to sample a bit of Sharon Agathon's placenta, and it tasted like strawberries. No one could possibly confuse a cylon placenta with spaghetti."
"What can I say, Playa? Clearly, somebody fumbled the placenta, but this close to the goal it can take a long time to peel off the bodies and discover who has possession. What did you see on instant replay?"
"Well, you can clearly see it coming out before Creusa's knee hit the ground, but after three solid days of reviewing all 127 available camera angles, the booth officials are still waiting for a call from the field. This afternoon, Romo Lampkin filed a writ of habeas placenta in an effort to speed things up."
"So, now it's in the courts? What a relief! The hybrids will surely expedite a case of this importance! We can expect to receive a definitive answer in eleven or twelve years at the most!"
"I don't see Doc Cottle down on the floor. Shevon, how can you run the next play when the captain of your team's taken himself out of the game? Are you really comfortable executing this offense with an untested rookie like Layne Ishay at the controls?"
"We are so fortunate to have Layne Ishay on our team! Yes, she was a sixth round pick, and she was cut by three other battlestars, but she's spent a lot of time studying film. She knows what she's doing, and she's worked hard to improve her game. If Doc Cottle doesn't have enough nicotine in his system to get back in there, I'm confident that Ishay will get this baby onto the board!"
"One last question, Shevon: should we be concerned that Lee Adama has gone completely comatose? Isn't he letting the team down at the worst possible moment?"
"No … no … men can always be counted on to fumble the baby, so from the beginning our game plan has been to park him on the sidelines. After all, men are only good for one thing, and most of them can't even do that very well. . . ."
"Lee …"
Apollo could feel a hand roughly shaking his shoulder.
"Damn it, Apollo, either get your frakkin' head in the game or get the hell out of my delivery room!"
Lee recognized Doc Cottle's voice, and he exhaled a loud sigh of relief. The grouch was back on the field, and he didn't seem any more irritated than usual.
"Lee, you fell asleep, but we need you to assist your wife into the birthing pool. It's time."
Apollo opened his eyes, and discovered that it was Ishay who was prodding him.
"Uh … sorry, Ishay; I must have been dreaming."
"I can feel the crown of Cyrene's head; it's just inside the cervical opening. We want Creusa to push with the next contraction. Two or three more, and it will all be over. I don't think you want to sleep through your daughter's birth."
"Thanks, Ishay; gods, what would we do without you?"
Lee helped Creusa into the pool and then he knelt at her side, close enough to hold her hand and whisper encouragement yet well out of Cottle's way. His eyes never left Creusa's face, and when the time came he urged her to push for all that she was worth.
Time stopped for Creusa Adama. She plunged into the depths of all the caring and love that she found in Apollo's eyes, knowing that he was a good husband and, for all his doubts, would make a good father.
A loud and angry scream interrupted Lee's reverie. He looked up to see Cottle tying off the umbilical cord, while Ishay was gently wrapping the baby in a blanket.
My daughter …
"You did it, Creusa; you did it! We're parents!"
Up in the gallery, Shelly reached out to clasp Shevon's hand. For the first time, a Six had given birth to a child conceived in an act of love.
"Lee? Cyrene? Is she all right? Is she perfect?"
Apollo heard the longing in Creusa's voice. He smiled, leaned in to kiss her gently on the forehead, and then got up to go and take a peek at his daughter.
"One minute, and she scores nine," Ishay said.
"Is everything all right," Lee squeaked. He was desperately afraid that something had gone horribly wrong at the last minute.
"Everything's fine, Lee; ten is a perfect score, but we never grade anyone that high. After all, Doctor Cottle would be very unhappy if parents walked out of here thinking that their kids were perfect. Now, we have to repeat the test at the five minute mark, but would you like to hold your daughter? Do you remember how?"
Lee silently crooked his arms, and Ishay deposited the tiny and infinitely precious bundle in his hands. He stared down at pinkish skin and eyes tightly shut, and in that first moment fell so completely in love that he knew his life would never be the same.
Cyrene … my daughter.
"She's beautiful, Creusa. Dear gods, but she's so incredibly beautiful!"
"Apollo, why don't you go sit down in that chair over there and get acquainted with your daughter?" Cottle's voice was surprisingly gentle. "Your wife and I still have some work to do."
"Can I take her out to the waiting room … show the other Sixes?"
"No, our procedure is …"
Sherman paused in mid-sentence, and looked up at the sea of faces pressed against the glass in the observation booth. If hope was an avalanche, he thought, by now we'd be buried.
"Sure, son, sure … go ahead. Ishay, go with him—but make sure that the little girl is back here at the five minute mark. And while you're at it, find my wife; she can record the vitals."
"Now, young lady," he said as he shifted his attention to his patient, "we need to get you out of the pool and into the bed. You have a few more contractions ahead of you as your body starts expelling the afterbirth. I can give you an injection to speed things up a bit, or you can do this Mother Nature's way—it's your call."
"How … what … doctor, if I want to do this naturally, what am I supposed to do?"
"Oh, it's really quite simple," Cottle said as he struggled to keep a straight face. "When your daughter gets hungry and demands to be fed, you feed her … the old fashioned way."
Creusa's eyes went wide with understanding. "I want to nurse her," she said emphatically.
"Good," Cottle harrumphed; "can't say that I've ever had much use for pills and potions in situations like this. Sometimes, the old ways are the best."
. . .
Laura Roslin sat down at her desk, and pulled out her diary. She had gotten into the habit of penning an entry at the end of each school day. Some of her notes were short, while others were long. A few were profound, some playful, most as prosaic as the life that she now led from one day to the next. But this particular entry, although brief in the extreme, was one that she had thought about with care.
This is the three hundred and eighty-ninth day of the exodus, and the day on which Cyrene Anne Adama was born into the world.
Laura's eyes wandered around the classroom, taking in the sea of empty desks. One day, in the not too distant future, they would be occupied by Hera and Cyrene … by Sherman, Samuel and David … by other hybrid children who would work and play side by side with their fully human classmates. Knowing how cruel children can sometimes be, Laura briefly wondered whether the hybrids would all have to suffer through the name-calling and bullying that had defined the playground from time immemorial. And how would Hera, as the oldest, react to such discrimination? Would the hybrids eventually form a clique of their own—one which no human child would ever be allowed to enter?
Children, Laura realized, were infinitely adaptable, but the basic patterns never varied. She harbored no illusions in this regard. It would, therefore, take at least another twenty years to determine whether Ellen Tigh's master plan to save the universe was actually going to work.