Chapter 23 - Back Again
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Somewhere near the Cylon Fleet, Battlestar Pegasus - August, 2249
Admiral Adama hadn't thrown her into the brig. Instead, he'd put her in a uniform. Sharon Valerii wasn't certain how, but the simple fabric felt far more imprisoning than the cell would have. She stood, in a ramrod straight attention stance, at the Admiral's shoulder in the CIC. He didn't seem to be paying any attention to her, instead considering the DRADIS display and the plotting table, loaded down with 3D representations...models, really...of the Pegasus and all of the Raptors they had out searching. And nothing else.
It was that nothing else which had been increasing the Admiral's irritation by the hour. Sharon had a feeling that the brig still might be in her future. Finally, Adama turned to her. His face was a mask of stoicism, but his eyes were glaring. "You said they would be here."
"And they will," she responded immediately, trying to stay calm. "They have to be. There are only so many designated gathering point systems in this region of space. We've already checked out all of the others. And there's just no way they would ever come to consensus on bringing humans back to the Colony. It's supposed to be sacred and pure. At least, that's what Cavil always told us." She paused. She really didn't want to complete the thought...but it was her duty. "If they're not here… they're not anywhere." A scowl finally breaking through his passive visage, he turned back to the plotting table. She continued in a rush. "Have faith, Sir. There are still three recon squadrons out searching." They had jumped in deep in the Kuiper Belt, not wanting to be detected and so taking a page from the Earthers' book. That had necessitated sending out Raptor recon parties on slow and stealthy search missions.
"Two," interrupted the Pegasus's XO. "Raptor Squadron 7 just checked in. Clear skies in their entire search grid. Not so much as a sensor anomaly."
The Admiral continued to stare impassively at the plotting table. Sharon steeled herself and stepped up next to him, not saying a word, but taking comfort in his presence, and the fact that he still hadn't thrown her in the brig.
And so they waited silently through yet another hour, as Sharon felt the Admiral's mood grow increasingly dark. But, as luck would have it, they wouldn't need to wait on the very last squadron to report in. "Raptor Squadron 3 checking in," the XO's voice rang out. "They've detected the enemy!"
"Were they noticed?" Adama shot back.
"No, Sir. They don't think so. They're returning to the barn. Transmitting recon photography now on tight beam." Images began to download, popping up on a nearby monitor one after another, each taking several seconds to compile. Most of them were blurry due to camera motion, or partially obstructed by planetary debris the Raptors had been hiding behind. One shot finally though came through crystal clear. It showed seven Basestars in a tight snowflake formation. Seven of them. Seven.
"Admiral…I'm afraid there is no way we can overcome this correlation of forces," the XO noted cautiously. And completely unnecessarily.
Adama continued to stare down at the plotting table for several long moments. Then, shockingly, with an angry shout he swept out with his arm, hurling a few of the plotting models, representing the recon squadrons, off of the plotting table and across the CIC. There was dead silence in the room as Adama bent over the table, panting heavily.
"Sir…" Sharon began hesitantly. "Admiral...please. We can't just give up."
"What would you have me do?" he asked without so much as glancing up. "Take this ship and this crew to their deaths in the forlorn hope we might actually accomplish something?"
"Sir...please. We have to try. She's waiting for us." Sharon didn't specify which 'she' she meant. They were thinking of different 'shes' anyway.
Adama didn't respond, didn't say anything at all. Instead, he just turned to once again stare balefully at the images of the Cylon task force continuing to cycle across the monitor. He stood there for several minutes, just staring silently. And then his brow furrowed, and his head tilted ever so slightly to the side. Thoughtfully, he turned and walked over to the scattered Raptor markers, bending to pick them up off of the floor. Sharon darted over to assist him. As they gathered them up, he spoke softly, not meeting her gaze. "Tell me, did you notice anything odd about that formation?"
She hesitated a moment. Then she looked again at the monitor where another clear image of the Cylon task force was currently displayed. She squinted. "There is something odd about it. None of our combat formations are anywhere near that tight. Other than that, though, it's just a standard defensive formation."
"Defensive?"
"Yes. The six perimeter vessels guard the central unit. Usually a command vessel or one given priority for some reason. Though, again, they're usually spread much further apart."
"And why would this particular ship be considered a priority?"
Sharon didn't gasp, but she did feel her chest constrict. She turned and met his gaze solidly. "Because that's where the captives are located."
"How certain are you of that?"
"Not a hundred percent. There's no way to be absolutely certain. But, it makes sense and it fits Cylon doctrine. What I can't tell you is why they've changed to such a tight formation."
He nodded, seemingly satisfied, and walked back over to the plotting table, beginning to replace the markers he had picked up. Sharon joined him, setting down the one she had retrieved. He spoke, "They've tightened their formation because they're afraid. Resurrection means they know exactly how the Nova shattered their other fleet. Hell, some of 'em probably frakkin' lived through it. Or died through it, I guess. That tight formation is meant to be a countermeasure. If the Nova jumps in, all of the other ships duck behind the two or three closest to the Nova, then use the corpses of those vessels as a shield against those monster guns, while they pour out missiles and raiders to try to overwhelm it. Not a bad strategy, given what little they know.
He paused. "Time to get to work, Lieutenant."
Sharon gaped at him, shocked that he would give her Boomer's old rank, in addition to having stuffed her in Boomer's old uniform. He's not confused, is he? "Sir?"
"The Cylons have made a mistake, and you're going to help me take advantage of it."
"And what mistake is that?"
"They forgot about you."
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Cylon Fleet, Command Basestar - August, 2249
With a gasp, D'Anna Biers jerked up from her sleeping pallet. She rubbed at her eyes. She had been dreaming again. Or was it a nightmare? I can't remember. Why can't I remember? It had been like this, night after night, for weeks. She knew that her dreams meant something. That they were the same, night after night. But she couldn't decide if they were joyful or terrifying. If they were about Hera or the Final Five. She snorted to herself. Why would a Three be dreaming about the Final Five? But she wasn't just a Three. She was D'Anna Biers. Trained to ask questions. To uncover secrets.
At least, that's what she had known for a very long time. But that was the dream. Coded memories meant to make her a better infiltrator. A fabricated history for a falsified life. So why does that past feel more real than anything I'm doing now? More real than anything but Hera. And now she was just distracting herself; avoiding any attempts at trying to dig up memories of those dreams. She wanted to remember them...and yet they filled her with dread. Why?
Suddenly, she needed to be away from her pallet, away from the possibility of more dreams. She rose and quickly dressed, then began walking, not paying any attention to where she was going. So it was with some surprise that she realized, perhaps twenty minutes later, that she had wandered into the sections set aside for the humans. She continued to walk, unafraid. The humans had been disarmed, and she could easily handle any that tried to give her trouble. If any were that stupid, she would take a great deal of time showing them just how mistaken such impulses were. And, if they came at her in numbers, there were certainly Centurions stationed within easy shouting distance.
She was walking past another of the featureless rooms, when she stopped, turning to look again. This one was not so featureless. A cloth had been hung across the door, trinkets made from feathers and beads hanging to either side of it. She glanced around, then pushed the cloth aside and stepped inside. The room beyond was dim, with candles burning in the corners. More cloths, painted with religious symbols, hung from the ceiling.
Of course. The temple. She'd heard that the humans had asked and been allowed to set up a temple. Some of the Cylons had been scandalized that such pagan rituals might be allowed upon their ship. Others thought that allowing the humans to maintain some small part of their culture might help to keep them under control. D'Anna hadn't much cared either way, but had heard that the effort had been provisionally allowed. This must be the result.
She stood in the doorway to the temple, looking around. Pushing aside a gauzy curtain, she hesitated, spotting a middle aged human woman dressed in robes sitting in the middle of the room. She wasn't quite certain what to do next.
The woman...priestess or whatever she was...spotted her. "Don't be afraid. I know who you are, what you are." D'Anna glanced behind herself in confusion. Could this human really be addressing her? For some reason, the very possibility made her nervous. She hesitated, but the human was no longer looking at her, having resumed whatever she was doing, which seemed to involve candles, powders, and some small painted stones. "Poor thing," she continued quietly. "You must be terrified." D'Anna looked around uncertainly. The woman was now licking the powder off of her hand. She glanced back up at D'Anna. "You have any candy?"
She hesitated, then smirked. "Candy? No."
The woman chuckled, still licking her hand. "Chamalla's so bitter," she explained. She shook more of the powder into her hand. "Well, Zeus sees all. Sees you, Number Three. Sees your pain. Your destiny. All the gods weep for you."
I should just leave this fool. But she couldn't. For some reason, she needed to hear this. Almost against her will, she found herself walking further into the temple. Closer to the strange female. The strange human. "There is no Zeus. No other god but God."
"Well you don't believe that anymore. You don't know what you believe, and that is why you're here."
"That's not true," she replied dismissively, half turning away. "I don't even know why I'm here." She paced a few steps to the side. "It's the stupidest thing I ever did," she half muttered to herself.
"It's your dream," the woman said confidently...demandingly, "that brings you to me."
"How do you know about that?"
The woman frowned, looking down, waving D'Anna closer. Once the Three had squatted down in front of her, she resumed. "I have a message for you. From the one you worship. He speaks from me to you. Just as He speaks in your dreams," she added almost as an afterthought. "The message is...The Fruit born of two peoples, the child named after the wife and sister of the all knowing Zeus...Hera...is the only hope for the future of the Cylon race. Only she can bring your people into the light. Can give them hope and life. But not all. Many will fall to darkness and shadow. But some, perhaps a great many, can be saved. The path will be hard, the sacrifices daunting. But the one you worship would see that portion saved. And you, Three, you must be her guardian. You must be the guardian of them all."
"That's not true. The child opens up possibilities. But there are plenty of other options open to the Cylons. She's not that special. I'm not special at all."
"You have held her in your arms, and knew for the first time what it is to feel true love. That alone makes you special, but you are so much more than that. She is so much more than that. You will know true love again..many times. You will build a family, the likes of which you can not imagine. And those Cylons you bring into the light… they shall also be your family, as will the child. But you must have the courage to tear down that which you have built… to lose everything you have accomplished." D'Anna was disturbed. These were clearly the rantings of a mad woman. And yet… She felt a tear streak down her face. The priestess began licking more of the powder off of her hand, then looked up. "Wish I had some chocolate caramels."
D'Anna turned and left, without a word.
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Cylon Fleet - August, 2249
The Cylon task force cruised along, comfortable in its dominance of local space. In its tight combat formation and the precautions it had taken against the new humans...those claiming to be of the 13th tribe. This was a designated rally system, and much of the overall fleet had been here when Gina had brought Colonial One to its capture, over a month ago. News of the new humans had shaken the collective to its core, and they had leapt to immediate action. Ships had been sent out, bringing the news to the Colony, the Hub, other rally systems, and to the forces remaining in the Cyrannus system. Ships had also been disbursed to search all of the nearby star systems, on the distinct possibility that there were yet more human vessels moving through this region of space. More of these alleged Earthers. The Ones insisted they were not, but most of the Cylons saw no reason to disbelieve their claims. And finally, a task force had been peeled off to disable and capture at least one of the Earther vessels. Peace and plans could wait. The arrival of these humans presented a threat to the Cylons, both literally and to their beliefs and worldview.
Of course, that doomed effort had only proven just how real the threat truly was. The hunters were being rearranged to reinforce this task force. This process was complicated by the fact that the search forces would now be required to themselves move in more concentrated numbers. But the messages had been delivered to all relevant locations, and the Basestars used to deliver them (in hindsight this was a ridiculous waste of resources, but at the time the message had been deemed important enough to warrant such security), in addition to units pulled from the Colonies, would now be available to reinforce this system as well as to bolster the forces searching for additional contact. The reinforcements could be summoned at very short notice, but for the time being were left out of they system. With the Pegasus and Adama on the hunt, they didn't want the local force to appear too powerful...to frighten the Admiral away.
They would learn to regret that decision.
In a flash of light, the Battlestar Pegasus popped into space...less than a hundred meters directly below the ventral hull of the Basestar at the center of the formation. Her big turreted cannon, having been pre-aimed, opened fire immediately, hurling an equivalent volley of death at each of the six surrounding Basestars. Curiously, her axial primary batteries did not join in the chorus, despite being pointed in vaguely the correct direction of one of the Basestars. Only a single turret swung upwards to fire at the central Basestar looming just above. The heavy pair of cannon delivered point blank fire to a very specific point on the hull.
Raptors, having awaited the transition, launched almost immediately. But they weren't streaming in a row out of the launch tubes. Instead, they had been lined up along the forward edge of each of the flight pods. Lifting off as a group, they fell quickly into formation, breaking up into six separate attack flights and going immediately to full military thrust, each flight heading towards one of the surrounding Basestars. Once again an oddity was noted, as not a single Viper was launched into space.
The Cylons were caught flatfooted, but surprise doesn't last long against cybernetic foes. It was bare seconds before each of the Basestars began to fire back. Heavy antiship missiles spat out first, followed moments later by Raider launches. This included the central Basestar, whose upper pylon weapons systems could range on the Pegasus, and whose Raiders could launch directly into weapons range of the mighty Battlestar. But the Pegasus's CIWS emplacement were hot, and had also begun firing almost immediately. They ignored the missiles and Raiders inbound from the surrounding Basestars. They didn't bother to set up a protective flak shell. They had a different mission. For once, the CIWS emplacements had specific targets, and knew exactly where those targets were. They hosed down the Raider bays and missile launch tubes of the central Basestar...at least the ones they could range on. And those bays and tubes didn't get a single platform into space.
Aboard the Pegasus CIC, the XO looked from the DRADIS screen to his Admiral, doing his best to remain calm. The wall of missiles and Raiders heading for the Beast from all sides made that particularly difficult. Still, he managed to report with aplomb, "All targets have begun missile launch, Admiral."
Adama glanced over and nodded to the man. "So I see. We should respond. Launch nukes."
"Launch nukes, aye, Sir!"
The Pegasus had jumped in with her nuclear missile tubes already open, her missiles hot. Acquiring a weapons lock on the surrounding Basestars had been very nearly their first priority upon jumping in. At the Admiral's orders, six missiles launched from both the port and starboard missile tubes, a pair aimed at each of the surrounding Basestars. The heavy missiles thundered towards the Basestars. Their great acceleration rapidly overtook the charging wings of Raptors. They passed the diminutive attack vessels at very nearly the same time the return Cylon fire swept past in the other direction.
That was the signal for those Raptors to launch their own munitions. A pair of much smaller nukes burst off of the hardpoints of each of the Raptors, streaking towards their Basestar targets. The Raptors them came hard about, racing back towards the security of the Pegasus and away from the charging Wall of Raiders rapidly closing into autocannon range.
With its customary flash of light, that security winked away. But not before that lone turret, firing into the underbelly of the central Basestar, had done its job. Lieutenant Valerii had provided the exact location of the IFF beacon, which had now been destroyed. With the Pegasus having vanished, the constricting ring of Cylon missiles reoriented on the enormous target right in front of them, which was not broadcasting a friendly IFF signal. In a thunderous wave, dozens of missiles impacted on the central Basestar. The Raptors followed them in closely, splitting up and each picking one of the dozens of new massive craters boring through the hull of the Cylon vessel. They dove inside at reckless speed, just as the nukes from the Raptors and the Pegasus struck home against the surrounding ring of Basestars. Only Raptors 7 and 13 failed to enter a breach in time. One moment space was filled with a flurry of pursuing Cylon ships, missiles, and fighters...the next it was the inside of a brilliant new star. A storm of radiant energy and radioactive particles boiled across space. When that storm cleared, all that remained was a ring of broken and expanding rubble, and the scorched and pitted Basestar at the center of it all, floating dead in space.
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Command Basestar - August, 2249
With a shriek, D'Anna Biers was hurled out of her sleeping pallet and bounced off the wall. She rubbed at her eyes, trying to remove the crust of sleep from them and get them open. With a start, she realized they were already open. The room was pitch black. Had someone shut out the lights? She had been dreaming again. Or was she dreaming still? She tried to stand up, only to realize that no part of her was touching the floor. Was something wrong with the gravity? Was there no floor? This isn't a dream. It's a nightmare. "Hello?" she called out. There was no answer.
And then, with a crackle, both light and gravity reasserted themselves, and she crashed to the floor. Thankfully, for both her eyes and her posterior, neither was at normal intensity. In fact, the light was clearly the blood red of the backup emergency systems. The ship continued to groan around her.
It has to be the humans. They're attacking the ship. It was clearly a foolish and desperate act; one which would get them killed, as they so rightly deserved. Probably the captives as well. She was uncertain what to do. Try to lend a hand, or stay put and wait for the all clear.
And then a single thought struck like thunder. Hera. They've come for Hera. She bolted to her feet, still uncertain what to do. Her next thought sent a river of ice coursing down her veins. The nukes. If the humans have a chance of being successful, Cavil will set off the nukes. Hera would be killed. That had seemed like the logical course when she had suggested the contingency not so long ago. Now the very idea filled her with dread.
Her subconscious formed a plan of action without bothering to inform the rest of her mind, and she found herself bolting from the room.
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Laura Roslin stumbled and fell over. She would certainly have hit the floor, if Tigh hadn't caught her. Tigh, with his poor, lonely eye. She couldn't bring herself to look at the eyepatch across from it. For that matter, she was having a hard time seeing at all. The room had grown so dim. "I'm sorry Colonel. It's the Chamalla. Sometimes the effects are nearly debilitating." A month without medical care...the Cylons certainly didn't care to maintain her health...and she had felt a growing sense of illness; what she felt certain was her cancer coming on strong. With neither doctors nor medicine available, she had turned to the one resource at hand. It had turned out that the clergy present for her swearing in ceremony had been travelling with a small cache of Chamalla. Enough for Roslin to resume the drug anyway. It seemed to help, but only a little, and the side effects were often embarrassing.
"Like hell," he snorted. "That was a kinetic impact. Can't you tell we're under emergency lighting? And unless I'm mistaken, the grav plates aren't operating properly."
What? Her eyesight sharpened, and she glanced rapidly around the room, pulling herself out of Saul's grasp. Well, if Bill can call him Saul, why can't I? she thought dazedly. Focus! "Colonel, it's Bill. It's got to be. They're attempting a rescue."
"Which means the frakkin' toasters are likely as not to just start shootin' us all any minute."
"Then we need to be ready. Prepared to move or defend ourselves as best we can. Get everyone gathered up, along with the weapons we've been able to conceal." A few shivs and heavy tools weren't going to do squat to a Centurion...but the skinjobs were another matter altogether. And, one way or another, everything was likely to be decided within the next few hours. She'd rather spend those hours struggling for survival than laying down and waiting for death or rescue.
Saul seemed to agree with her, as he rose and bolted out of the room.
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Under the blood red emergency lights, one more flashing warning light might very well have gone unnoticed...had there been anyone alive nearby to notice it. Instead the warning light, and then the roar of escaping atmosphere as the hatch opened, it's protocols overridden, fell only on the unresponsive auditory and visual sensors of a pair of dead Centurions, and the eyes and ears of a single dead Model Five. Neither did those deceased beings take note of the squad of vacuum suited and heavily armed figures which charged through, weapons at the ready, walking right over the top of the dead Cylons. Finally, one of them closed the hatch, sealing in the remaining atmosphere, and silencing the room.
Checking the panel from which the warning light had been blinking, Sharon Valerii reached up and popped the seals on her helmet. Then pulled it off altogether. "Pop seals, Marines. The air's good in here, and you'll want to save your air supply for emergencies." She then followed up by beginning to strip out of her vac suit, while the Marines spread out to secure the corridor.
The Gunnery Sergeant in charge of the squad, Iglesia, if she recalled correctly, had pulled out and unfolded a large map, studying it intently. He paid no mind to the half naked woman changing outfits just a meter away from him...though several of the other Marines cast appreciative glances her way. Sharon didn't bother to look at the map. She had drawn it. "This is going to be a cluster frak, ma'am. Our forces, those that survived, are spread out all over the ship. We're outnumbered, outgunned, and have no idea where the hostages are...assuming they're all together...or even on the ship at all."
Sharon still couldn't believe that she had been put in charge of this mission. But, she had, and she would need to deal with such pessimism from her troops. "Yes, Gunnery Sergeant, I am aware of the difficulties." He didn't appear the least bit contrite, so she finished adjusting her top and continued. "That's where I come in."
"All due respect ma'am….that plan's frakked. You follow it, you're dead."
"Look, you're right, Gunny. We're split up all over the ship, outnumbered, outgunned. You go toe to toe with the Centurions on this crate, and they'll cut you to pieces. That makes this a recon and scouting force, not a combat force. You figure out where you are. You use the map to find nearby priority search points. And you recon them. But most of all, you avoid notice. You do not get into a fight. We brought plenty of demo. You get spotted, you get into a firefight, then you fall back and blow the corridor. Break contact and evade. Then get back to the search, but stay close to the Raptor. That's your primary point of exfiltration."
"Yes, Lieutenant," he responded, putting more than a little scorn into the rank. "I was at the briefing. But this ship is enormous, and we only had so many Raptors to land forces. And we've certainly lost at least a few teams. It would take a miracle for us to locate the hostages. Again, assuming they are even on this boat."
"And as I said Gunny, that's where I come in. While you are leading your squad on it's recon, I'll be heading for the central control hub of this ship. Why do you think I'm in this ridiculous getup? It's the closest thing I could assemble to what Eights would be wearing walking around this ship. As long as I act like everything is normal, they'll never even notice me."
"Closest? So it's not a perfect match?"
"No. But my other option was to go running around completely naked...and I'm not doing that in front of a bunch of jarheads."
A voice floated back from a small ways down the corridor. "Don't mind us. You do what'cha gotta. Better safe than sorry, that's my motto."
"Private Tucker," Gunny barked, "stuff it!" He turned mildly mollified eyes back to the toaster who was ostensibly his commanding officer. "Sorry."
"Well, I did call you all jarheads, so lets call it even." She paused gathering up her previous train of thought. "Once I get to the Control Hub, I'll find a data interface and use it to locate the prisoners and see what our best exfiltration option is. Hopefully Colonial One will be accessible. If not, we may have to hijack some Heavy Raiders. Taking the civilians out via our Raptors is the last choice, because it would mean splitting up the civies and hauling them all over the ship….and it would also mean leaving a hell of a lot of people behind. But it's available if there's no other choice."
Iglesia nodded. "If it comes to that, ma'am, the Marines will stay behind."
"I know you will, Gunny. I'll make sure it doesn't come to that. I'm planning to hitch a ride with you when we get the hell out of here."
He nodded in approval and appreciation. "And how will we know you from any other…"
"Eight?"
"Yes, ma'am. The boys are liable to be a little twitchy on their triggers."
Instead of answering, she reached across and pulled his combat knife from his belt, then drew the blade across her scalp above her right eye, wincing at the pain. Blood welled up and poured down her face. "Good enough?"
"And what if another Eight has a scalp wound?"
"I'll be the only one who knows the password. You do remember the password? I bet you thought that was just some ridiculous idea thought up by one of the bean counters….given you already know what the Cylons look like."
The Gunny chuckled. "Yes ma'am. 'Gaius Baltar is a skinny weasel.' So you're the bean counter?"
Her only answer a smile, she resumed, "Once I have the civilians located and the egress figured out, I'll direct and coordinate the squads to rescue the civilians and get them to their exfil point. Then advise each squad, based on circumstance, if they are to return to their Raptors or catch a ride out with the civilians. I'll try to rejoin you before everyone jumps out. Now, have you figured out where we are on that map?" Pulling the map over, he pointed to a spot about two thirds of the way down the hull. She drug his finger over a couple of inches. "Check in with the other teams and figure out where they are. But use the radio sparingly. We don't know how long the encryption will remain secure."
"Yes, Lieutenant." There was no scorn in his voice this time.
"And remember that password. I don't want to get shot before I see my daughter again." This last was said over her shoulder, as she was already jogging off down the corridor.
That's a hell of a woman, Iglesia thought, trying not to enjoy too much the sight of her retreating ass. Too bad she's a frakkin' toaster.
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Having first gone to where Hera and Maya, the woman with whom Roslin had fostered the baby, were being kept, D'Anna had assured herself of their safety. The Eight and Six who had been staying with her had left in the chaos and confusion, which didn't surprise her at all. But the two Centurions standing watch over the human and her charge had never wavered in their duty, which also didn't surprise the Three.
Having alleviated the first of her fears, D'Anna now strode into Command Hub, shocked to find it empty, save only for the Hybrid, gabbling away a litany of disasters and shattered systems. But then, assuming the ship was as dead as D'Anna's eyes and the Hybrid's ranting were telling her...perhaps they had felt there was nothing they could do here.
Striding to the nearest interface point, she plunged her hand into the datastream. Reports were scattered. There was a lot of damage...a lot of dead. And some scattered reports from the Centurions...which might indicate the presence of Colonial forces. Rapidly, she shifted focus to the nukes she had placed in the main reactor and at various points throughout the ship.
They hadn't been armed yet. Cavil hadn't yet decided to blow them. She let out a sigh, shocked at the wave of relief that washed through her. Rapidly, she constructed an encrypted lockout program that would prevent Cavil or anyone else from triggering the nukes. She would have to overlay the routine across all of the nukes at once, lest someone notice what was happening, and quickly trigger a detonation. It took an extra moment to prepare, but soon she was ready.
With a rapid pair of barks from a pistol somewhere behind her, D'Anna's knees exploded. She toppled over backwards with a howl, her lockout sequence dissolving with the loss of contact to the datastream. Blinking in pain, she stared up at an Eight with a drawn pistol. "Oh my God, it's you." Sharon ignored her, walking over to a different datastream and plunging her hand in, a look of concentration on her face. "You're betraying your own people. For what?"
"I'm a Colonial Officer now."
"You're not one of them."
"I gave them my word."
"Well that's not what counts. It's who you give it to."
"I'm not going to have to shoot you again, am I?" Suddenly, the Eight's head snapped up in surprise. She called out, "Drawer 378." With a dull rasp, a drawer in the bulkhead sprang open. Sharon strode over and reached inside.
"What are you doing?"
Sharon withdrew a folded cloth case, opening it to look inside. She drew out a Colonial Launch key...the key to Colonial One. She glanced over at D'Anna. "Really? You kept it here?"
"Well, it's supposed to be the most secure area on the ship. We weren't expecting one of our own to betray us." She paused for a moment. "Hera lives," D'Anna stated casually.
Now it was Sharon't turn to pause. "What?"
"You're daughter Hera is alive. Your new friends tell you that?" Sharon looked surprised, taking a few steps closer to the downed Three. "They faked her death and they hid her from you."
"No shit," Sharon retorted, then fired her pistol through D'Anna's hip. "I'm not going to kill you, but you need to be nice and wounded so you can't warn the others."
Now ignoring the writhing Three, Sharon returned to the datastream, and began giving orders to someone over a radio.
D'Anna passed out. The next thing she knew someone was shaking her back to wakefulness. "D'Anna. D'Anna! What happened here?"
With a groan she opened her eyes...and stared right into Cavil's, squatting above her and holding her shoulders, prepared to give her another shake. A Six stood directly behind him. From her choice of garb and her bearing, she would guess it was none other than Caprica Six. "Not exactly the face I wanted to wake up to," she mumbled.
"Well, I guess it's good to see your sense of humor didn't leak out with all of your other fluids contaminating the floor," he retorted. "Now what the frak happened? It looks like you were shot?"
"How observant. That's because I was shot. The humans are here. Sharon Valerii is helping them. Why are you here?"
He dropped her, standing up, and her head banged painfully against the floor. "The ship is in chaos, dead in space. We tried to get fixing things directly, but there's too much damage. We thought we would try getting things organized from here again."
He turned to look at a nearby interface point. "But if the humans are here...if they've boarded the ship...then the Pegasus must be right on top of us. Which simplifies our situation greatly." He looked down at D'Anna. "It seems I owe you an apology, Three. You had more foresight than I. Clearly the Pegasus and the Admiral are more formidable than I ever gave them credit for. Well, no doubt having a Cylon on their side tipped the scales a great deal. But either way, it appears your insistence on contingency plans were nearly prescient. Perhaps you share some traits with our dear Hybrid."
In the background, the Hybrid was still rattling off one damaged system after another. "FTL system check, all systems offline. Diagnostic systems inoperable. The agony exquisite. Running seventeen percent on heat exchanger. Cross cut lateralized. The third dimensional matrix is down. End of Line. New paragraph. Autosensors repairing. Relay to zero zero zero zero five six two. High gradic fluid below minimum levels, causing damage to endometrial matrix. Watch your back One. Gravitational systems three zero five nine two six seven, cascading failure." And on and on. Through her pain, Three barely heard the warning buried in the babble. The other two didn't seem to notice anything at all.
Cavil continued. "Our solution is now simple. We blow your nukes, Three. We take all of the humans and the Pegasus out with us. Elegant." Cavil began to walk to the interface port. D'Anna was barely able to moan out a "no." Caprica, on the other hand, shocked them both. She strode over and placed herself squarely between Cavil and the interface.
"What the hell are you doing?" he asked, perplexed.
"I can't allow you to set off the nukes. It'll kill everyone."
"We'll all resurrect," he responded, truly baffled.
"Hera won't. Don't do it."
"The child is a fluke. More than that. She's an abomination. A mix of human and Cylon? She sullies our good form. Now, get the hell out of my way."
"No," Caprica ground out. "I'll stop you."
"Oh." Cavil seemed more than a little surprised. "Oh, I see." He took a step back. "You know, I have to wonder...what exactly is it that turned your Cylon brain to mush. Was it all that time spent around the humans? Was it the sex with Gaius Baltar? Are the human males right? Is it because all women are just crazy?" He put as much scorn as possible into the last sentence. And then, in one smooth motion, he drew his side arm and levelled it at her head. "Or is it just because the Sixes are a substandard model." He took a deep breath. "I know you keep a gun stashed at the small of your back. Take it out, very slowly, and place it on the ground. Then kick it away. Slowly. It'd be a shame for me to kill you with this gun. You should get to experience the inside of a nuclear blast. Afterall, experience is the spice of life."
Caprica did exactly as he instructed, slowly removing her pistol and placing it on the floor. She then kicked it away and it slid across the floor….practically right into D'Anna's hand. Cavil hadn't noticed at all. "Now get the frak out of my way."
D'Anna drew in a deep breath and braced against the pain screaming out of her hip and knees, then grabbed the pistol and reared up to aim. As Caprica moved, Cavil stepped forward, reaching for the data interface. D'Anna put a bullet through the back of his head.
.
Laura Roslin and her people had gathered all of the Colonials they could find, and shepherded them away from the points of Cylon activity. This hadn't been too hard...the Cylons were in chaos, trying to get their dead ship running again. For that matter, many of the Cylons had been damaged or injured in the initial attack. So had many of the Colonials.
But now, Cylon forces had entered the area in force, clearly looking for the Colonials. Their most likely purpose was to either remove the Colonials to a more secure location, or just eliminate them outright. But either choice was ultimately a death sentence. And so Laura had taken the gathered Colonials and tried to elude them. As it turned out, hiding from your enemy was basically impossible when you were crammed into a relatively small area, all of the exits to which were guarded by the metallic warriors of that same enemy.
And so, Roslin and the Colonials found themselves back in the large warehouse like room they had used as their central gathering place. Most of the Colonials were huddled against the back wall, as though seeking safety in the crowd. Laura, flanked only by Tory Foster, who refused to leave her, stood solemnly in the center of the room. It might ultimately be an empty gesture, but the President would place herself between her people and the Cylons.
Those Cylons strode through the large double doors, a Three in the lead, flanked by a pair each of Fives and Fours. The Three smiled at the sight of them. "Ahh, Madame President. How nice to see you again. Thank you for gathering your people here for us. I'm afraid your continued presence will no longer be required."
"Neither will yours," Roslin responded. The Three smirked at the idiocy of such a response...right up until Tigh and the security officers who had been hiding by the doors fell onto the Cylons from behind, attacking with shivs and tools and any other weapons they had been able to scrounge. The Cylons fought back viciously using their superior strength. But the surprise was decisive, and the attackers drove them to the floor, making sure to immobilize their weapons immediately. Still, one of the Fives, wearing Aaron Doral's constantly smug face, managed to reach up and snap the neck of a member of Roslin's security detachment, and the Three got off a single shot, killing another. But the flurry of stabbing shivs and pummeling chunks of metal quickly overwhelmed even them. Soon enough they were just five meat based toasters, smeared on the floor.
Saul picked up one of their guns as Roslin approached, and quickly searched the body for any additional ammunition. Others around him did the same, sliding blood-stained weapons into pockets or belts while they took up something better. Saul looked up at the President. "These just might be enough to take down a Centurion or two, but I wouldn't want to find out."
"It sounds like we might not have any choice." From out in the hall the heavy metallic tread of a formation of Centurions was rapidly approaching.
"Everybody up against the sidewalls, then down on the floor," Tigh shouted, waving to the civilians to move away from their huddle against the back wall. The same trick wouldn't work twice. Certainly not against Centurions. Their automatic weaponry would turn this room into an abattoir, if people remained huddled together like that. It probably would anyway. Saul arranged himself and the four other men now possessing firearms into a rough semicircle around the door. There were three others possessing hammer like improvised weapons which just might be able to knock a Centurion down. These he placed adjacent to the doors, in the same location where he and the others had hidden to get the jump on the skin jobs. Everyone else was told to get down, and take what little cover was available. The President might have faith in human resilience and ingenuity, but the Colonel had no illusions about how this fight was going to turn out. He was just glad he would get to go down fighting.
Instead of Centurions, it was a fireball which rolled through the doorway, followed by the sounds of automatic weapons fire...a lot of it. Saul dove for the floor. He did not like the concept of char-broiled colonel.
The weapons fire outside didn't last long, and Tigh prepared himself again for whoever would next enter the room. It was a young face which peeked around the jam. A face wearing the helmet of a Colonial Marine. "They're in here!," he shouted. A trio of Marines made their way into the room. Saul let out a sigh of relief...until a Model Eight followed them into the room, packing a heavy machine pistol. "Cylon!" he shouted.
One of the men by the door reared up at the shout, recognizing the threat. He brought up the heavy length of pipe he had been carrying, and stepped forward to bring it down over the Cylon's head. A Marine Gunnery Sergeant stepped through the doorway behind him, also having heard the shout, and brought up his assault rifle. Without a moment's hesitation he lunged forward, sweeping the stock of his rifle around and planting it between the shoulder blades of the pipe wielding security officer, driving the man to the floor. The security officer rolled over and looked up, stunned, at the Marine non-comm who had him nonchalantly covered with his weapon.
"You will not be assaulting the Lieutenant," the Gunny said matter-of-factly.
Saul, who had been preparing to attack the Cylon himself, froze at this pronouncement. "Lieutenant...Valerii?" he asked with some surprise. Surely that couldn't be right.
"Agathon," she responded back flatly. "Marines!" she called back over her shoulder. It looks like we've got them all. Get in here. We've got to get these people out of here!" With those words, a storm of Marines came through the door. Half a dozen squads at least.
Roslin had approached, tight lipped. She carefully ignored the Gunnery Sergeant hovering over the Cylon's shoulder. "All right Lieutenant. You've made it this far. You have a plan for getting us out of here?"
Sharon nodded. "We know where Colonial One is being held, and we've selected a back route that should be lightly guarded."
One of the pilots of Colonial One stepped forward. With the murder of Captain Eversun, the middle aged woman was now the senior pilot. "Colonial One's not going anywhere. The Cylons took the launch key."
In response, Sharon reached into a pocket and pulled out the key. But she didn't move to hand it over. Making direct eye contact with the President, she calmly said, "Bring me Hera."
Roslin's face went stony. "The child's not here."
Sharon's right hand, carrying her gun, twitched, half coming up before she mastered her urge to point the weapon at Roslin. Behind her, the Gunny glanced at her with concern, but did not move to intervene. "Don't frak with me," Sharon spat. "You're not taking my child again. I've lost her too many times already. You want to get out of here? Give me Hera!"
Saul stepped forward, planting himself directly in front of Sharon. Her own eyes went to his empty socket, widening in shock. "I promise you, Lieutenant, she's not here. The Cylons figured out who she was, and they took her and the woman she was fostered with. Be as mad as you want about the situation, Lieutenant, but almost none of these people knew anything about it."
Sharon searched his one eye, and then her face crumpled. She mumbled to herself, "I just assumed she'd be with... I should have checked...while I had the chance." Visibly taking hold of herself, she clearly came to a decision. "Gunny!"
"Yes, Ma'am?"
"You confident you can follow the route I plotted to Colonial One?"
With the barest hesitation he responded, "Yes, Ma'am."
"Good. Get these people there. Full escort all the way. Then set up a half hour timer. Raptor Teams 9, 4, and 12 are to remain aboard Colonial One and ride out with the civilians. All other Raptor Teams should be able to make it back to their craft and ride out that way. If anyone hits too much resistance returning to their Raptors, double back to Colonial One. The Admiral would prefer to retrieve the hardware, but your lives are more important. At the zero mark you all jump together."
"And you, Lieutenant?"
"I'm not leaving without Hera. I'll head back to a data interface and determine her location, grab her, and then join up with one of the Raptors, or steal my own ride out of here."
"That's suicide, Lieutenant. The Cylons are looking for you by now."
"I'm not leaving without Hera," she repeated stubbornly.
Gunnery Sergeant Iglesia nodded, knowing he wouldn't change her mind. Instead he pulled off his battle harness, still half loaded with grenades and demo, and handed it over to her. "Remember what you said...recon, not combat." He paused for just a moment. "We wouldn't have gotten this far without you, Lieutenant. You're not going alone." Raising his voice he called out, "Private Tucker, you're with the Lieutenant. Watch her back."
"Watch the Lieutenant's backside. Will do, Gunny!"
Sharon didn't bother to roll her eyes. Marines! She ran out of the room, past the rest of the Marines milling by the doorway. Private Tucker followed, glued to her tail.
Iglesia turned back to face Tigh and Roslin. "Colonel, Madame President. If you will all follow me, we have a ride to catch."
.
Caprica and D'Anna finally arrived in the room set aside for Hera and Maya. It had taken forever to get here. D'Anna hobbled along, one arm slung over a Centurion, while its arm helped to prop her up. Every step was excruciating, and she continued to grunt through the pain, but she managed to stay mobile despite her trio of wounds. Frankly, it would probably have been a lot faster to simply have the Centurion scoop her up in its arms...but D'Anna's pride would not allow for such a position, and Caprica wasn't about to try to force the issue. The Three still carried her gun.
They had spotty communication at best. The ship was in chaos. There were garbled reports from all over indicating brief but sharp skirmishes with Colonial troops. The small force sent to eliminate the prisoners had never confirmed completion of the task. Frankly, the whole ship was falling apart. The holding cell for Maya and Hera was yet another example.
The room was a shambles. One of the Centurions guarding the room must have been called or lured away. The other lay in two pieces. An explosion had gone off in the hallway outside the room. The nearest bulkhead had been shattered inward. The Centurion had clearly used its body to try to shelter Maya and the tiny infant cradled in her arms. Clearly, the effort had been wasted on Maya. Her body was torn by shrapnel in a dozen places, and she had clearly bled out all over the floor. The exsanguination had left her body appearing pale and waxy.
Caprica feared the worst, until she heard a tiny wail from under the woman's body. Rushing over, she rolled the corpse aside to reveal the infant, apparently unharmed, though covered in Maya's blood. The woman had apparently wrapped herself around the child while the Centurion had sheltered her. Between the two, the child had survived. It was a miracle. Caprica bent down and scooped Hera up into her arms, attempting to soothe the distressed baby.
D'Anna directed the Centurion to assist her to the side of the room where, back pressed against the wall, she slid down to sit and rest on the floor. Next, she directed the Centurion to guard the door then, setting down the gun, held her arms out to Caprica. "Can I hold her?"
Caprica hesitated, not sure if the bleeding Three was in the best shape to be holding a child. D'Anna shook her arms, as though the matter was urgent, so reluctantly Caprica stepped forward and handed Hera to the Three.
D'Anna's face was transformed, staring at the baby as if she was the only important thing in the universe. Caprica wasn't sure she disagreed, the baby getting the entirety of their focus. Which was probably why they didn't notice the enemy approaching until, with a brief burst of automatic weapons fire, the Centurion tumbled over backwards into the room. Caprica stumbled backwards, seeking cover, as a stray round smacked into the wall bare centimeters from her head.
An Eight and a Colonial Marine stood highlighted in the doorway. The Marine had his assault rifle trained on Caprica. The Eight had her sidearm pointed at D'Anna. Caprica knew the Eight's identity immediately. There was really only one person it could be.
"Hand over my child, and I won't kill you."
D'Anna grimaced. "I can't really do that. You see, I'm a little immobilized right now. Somebody shot me in the legs and hip. Besides, this child doesn't belong to you, not anymore. She's more important than you. More important than me. She's the future of the Cylon race. She belongs to all of us."
"She's my child, not yours," Sharon all but growled.
D'Anna paused and took a deep breath, then lowered her eyes. "Of course. Here, take her." She shifted Hera into her left arm and began to half extend it, offering the child to Sharon. Her right arm darted down, scooping up the pistol she had set on the floor next to her, and bringing it up.
Lieutenant Sharon Agathon put a new hole in D'Anna's head, right between the eyes. Then she darted forward before the now slackening arms could drop her child onto the floor.
Rising, shifting the child into a secure hold, she turned her gaze and her gun onto Caprica. Caprica took a step back, raising her arms, knowing that the gesture was futile, that the next bullet would be for her. Hoping that the Pegasus hadn't taken out the nearest Resurrection Ship as well.
Instead, Sharon's eyes widened. "It's you. You're her. Caprica Six." Caprica didn't bother to deny it. She didn't see the point. "Tucker, you like leggy blondes?"
"You know it!"
"Well, this one's all yours. Bind her securely, she's stronger than she looks. Then we've got to get moving. We've got maybe ten minutes before Colonial One and the Raptors jump out of here. Given the shape this ship is in...the decompression event will probably cause the whole ship to break up...and that's assuming it doesn't just cause an immediate reactor breach. Raptor 4 should only be a couple of decks up. Let's haul ass and get the frak out of here. We got what we came for." She gave Hera another hug and waited for Tucker to restrain Caprica's arms. Then the four of them headed out.
.
Unknown System, Battlestar Pegasus - August, 2249
Admiral William Adama stood in the Pegasus's starboard flight pod as Raptor after Raptor was brought in. He clasped hands and patted backs as Marines left their craft; some bloodied, others with the wild-eyed looks of those who'd gotten burned coming through the fire, and still others who simply looked exhausted and glad to be home.
He was here for everyone. But he was waiting for one man in particular. Colonel Saul Tigh, he was told, had insisted on catching a ride out with the Marines. That didn't surprise Adama at all. He had also been told that the Cylons had torn out his friend's eye. Seven dead Basestars weren't nearly enough recompense to pay for that crime.
And then a familiar voice rang out. "Permission to come aboard, Sir." And there was Tigh, battered and bruised but not broken. Being helped down from a Raptor by the ground crew.
Adama strode over to face the man. "Permission granted." He was careful to keep the emotion off of his face; to not stare at the hole where the Colonel's right eye should have been. Bill fired off a salute, which Saul hesitantly returned. "You did it. You brought 'em home, Saul."
Tigh shook his head, exhausted and choked up. "Not all of them."
Bill clasped his friend's shoulder. "I'm sorry."
"The President?"
"Colonial One made it off safely. She's flying in formation with us. We'll all talk again once we get back to the fleet."
He would have said more, but some idiot had started a chant. The hangar crew and Marines were cheering his name, over and over. Adama! Adama! Adama! Adama! The Admiral found himself hoisted up on the shoulders of his well wishers to cheers from across the hangar bay. Cheers from all except those who had fared the worst. The walking wounded like Saul and some of the Marines. Those just hung back in exhaustion and bemusement, unable to join in the revelry. Bill watched them with concern, but this was part of his duty as well. To be a focus for the crew to release their pent up worry and fears in celebration over their victory. They deserved that. He owed them that.
The rest he could deal with once they finally got home. To the fleet. After two such bloody defeats, surely even the Cylons would think twice before coming after them again. Perhaps, just perhaps, they had bought some measure of safety and security. Perhaps now, finally, they had chased the boogeyman out from under the bed, and could finally get some well deserved rest. Perhaps.
.
Unknown System, Minbari Exploratory Fleet - August, 2249
"Dur'alyt Rathnier," called out Hiai'sa Ingati, alerting his commanding officer to his presence, then falling silent and waiting to be called upon. Rathnier studied the man. He could tell from his stance that the news would be unwelcome ...to Rathnier, at least. But his once hotheaded friend wouldn't force the news upon him. That wasn't always the case. Partially, it was that Ingati had grown as an officer. Rathnier took a special pride in having helped along that process. But partially it was also that Ingati had come to respect...perhaps even like...his commanding officer ...despite the difference in their castes. Rathnier was fairly certain that wasn't because they had both been promoted together."
Turning away from the young officer, Rathnier once again studied the holographic display of the system in which they had arrived. An impossible system. A system which shouldn't exist at all. It was here all this time, and we never knew. What else is out there? How far does this trail lead?
He was wasting time. He was fairly certain he knew what Ingati was going to tell him, but he needed to know for certain. It was his duty, and he couldn't put that duty off anymore. He turned back to the Hiai'sa. "Report."
"It is confirmed, my Dur'alyt. The humans were in this system. We have found signatures of their drives, their repairs, and their waste." His lip curled on the final word, but he otherwise made no additional commentary.
"It would seem the humans are capable of greater and greater miracles when their survival is at stake."
"Miracles, Dur'alyt?"
"What else would you call their arrival in this system? Given the time and the technology available to them, the likelihood of them finding this hidden path was truly miniscule. Most would call it simply impossible. And yet...they arrived. They found yet another way to survive."
"Could this not be evidence that they are indeed in league with the Shadows?" To his credit, this idea was clearly worrisome to Ingati. Many of the Warrior Caste seemed to find the idea of refighting a Shadow War to be exciting...glorious. Ingati had matured. He understood the death such a war would bring.
"Perhaps. Or perhaps it is evidence that the Universe itself wishes the humans to live."
Ingati had no response to that terrible idea…so instead he changed tangents. "The planet you ordered be scanned. It bears the same bombardment signature as Z'ha'dum. This would seem to indicate that this was Shadow territory ...at least, back during that last Great Shadow War."
"Long before our people became players on the galactic stage. But perhaps this means that it is your hypothesis, rather than mine, which will prove true."
They both stared silently across the holographic displays for some time, before Ingati ventured another question. "Dur'alyt...what shall we do now?"
"Our duty, of course. We must report back to the Grey Council. The war with the humans...continues."