They were not the only thing screaming through space. Cylon missiles arced past in dizzying succession. The enemy fighters, which until now had been standing off from Galactica’s firepower, were closing in for the kill. Only a little farther away, the Cylon base star was unleashing volley after volley of missiles. A lot of them were being stopped by Galactica’s suppression fire; too many of them weren’t. Explosions flashed all along Galactica’s hull.
Commander Adama’s fists were clenched as he watched their progress on the screen. He could see them approaching. The ship rocked with explosion after explosion. The shattered glass of broken screens and lights was everywhere. Tigh had his hands wrapped around the microphone, waiting for the order to Jump. Adama knew what he was thinking: Leave them behind! You have to leave them behind or you’ll lose the ship!
“Come on!” Adama muttered under his breath, gaze fixed to the overhead screen. He was going nowhere without his son and Starbuck. He counted the seconds silently, calculating their progress. When he judged they were close enough, he barked the order, “Close the landing bay doors!” They could make it, in the time it would take the doors to close. He knew they could.
They’d better.
The missiles were flying everywhere, and cannon-fire from Galactica was spraying outward. Starbuck could do nothing but stay her course, and pray that nothing hit them. Galactica loomed in front of them now; she could see the lights of the landing bay, the beautiful landing bay. She was still maneuvering at high speed, way faster than any normal, or even combat, approach speed.
Apollo shouted to her: “We’re coming in a little hot, don’t you think?”
“No-o-o?” she answered, craning her neck to try to see past Apollo’s ship, which was obstructing her view. She hadn’t meant it to come out as a question, but she winced as she saw how fast they were closing on the landing bay. “Not really,” she gulped. Oh frakking gods, I can’t land at this speed.
Ahead of them, she could see the landing bay doors starting to close.
Another explosion shook the CIC. Adama pulled himself to his knees and looked up at the screen. “Come on…”
Across the room, Dualla reported coolly, “They’re coming in.” Adama looked around in desperation, ignoring Tigh’s glare. Was he killing all these people to try to save his son? Just a few seconds longer…
“HANG ON-N-N-N-N-N-N-N!” Starbuck yelled, as they screamed straight toward the narrowing entrance to the landing bay. She struggled to get the bank just right, and the pitch, and popped the thrusters down just a little. In the other cockpit, Apollo was looking desperately left and right, trying to see what she was doing.
Do these doors always close that fast? She popped a little thrust to the left, got the aim just right, and cleared the doors by a breath. “HYAHHHHH!” She slammed on full braking thrust as they came in over a landing strip that was littered with the rest of the squadron. My God, I’m gonna hit somebody! There’s no way I can avoid them—!
The instant the Vipers cleared the doors, Dualla reported breathlessly, “They’re aboard!”
Standing beside Adama, Tigh called, “Stand by for Jump!” They were going to Jump with the landing pod extended. They had no choice.
Adama’s fists were still clenched, his gaze hard on an interior video of the landing pod. He could see the crumpled duo coming in over the tops of other Vipers, flying way too fast. Put her down. You’ve got a space there. Plant it!
He watched as Starbuck did exactly that. When a patch of empty deck opened beneath her, she brought it down hard. The Vipers skidded, sparks flying, out of the range of the camera.
Lieutenant Gaeta looked up from his console. “Landing deck secure.”
Another camera picked up the Vipers, as they slammed into the interior side of the landing deck and careened to a stop.
“Jump!” Adama commanded.
A hailstorm of missiles and raiders converged on the lumbering battlestar. There was no way it could survive this final firestorm unleashed by the base stars. It had just seconds to live before the knockout blow, the final killing punch.
With a flash of white light and a wrenching twist of the space-time continuum, the battlestar vanished. The Cylon firepower converged on nothing, and vanished into the turbulent clouds of the planet below.
CHAPTER
48
Rendezvous Point
Space seemed silent again. Peaceful. The peace of the dead, and of the living. The survivor fleet was gathered around the scorched and battered, yet comforting, bulk of the last battlestar, the one named Galactica. Where they were, no one really knew. The Prolmar Sector. They knew the coordinates, but beyond that, it was unknown, uncharted space.
Where they were going, no one really knew, either.
But the time for that would come.
Galactica, Starboard Hangar
What had once been the hangar deck of a warship, and then the floor of a museum, was now a place of mourning. It was filled to capacity with both the living and the dead. The bodies of those who had fallen on Galactica were lined up with military precision at the front of the great room. Each was draped with the flag of the Twelve Colonies. A row of helmets represented the pilots and others who had died in space, their bodies unrecoverable.
At the very front, standing at the same lectern where Commander Adama had not so long ago delivered his speech at the decommissioning of this ship, was Elosha, the priestess. Her words, songs, and prayers were being carried by live video feed throughout the fleet. But standing before her in person was a multitude assembled from the crew of Galactica and representatives from many of the other ships. At front row center, side by side, stood Commander William Adama and President Laura Roslin, leaders of the surviving free people of the Twelve Colonies of Humanity. Flanking them on one side were Lee Adama, Kara Thrace, Sharon Valerii, and Gaius Baltar; and on the other, Colonel Tigh, Lieutenant Gaeta, Captain Kelly, Chief Tyrol, and Petty Officer Dualla.
The President and the Commander had already spoken in tribute to those had given their lives. Elosha had led them in song and scripture. And now, with the seventh scroll of Kobol unrolled before her, her dark face a strong and captivating presence, she led them in prayer:
“With heavy hearts we lift up their bodies to you, O Lords of Kobol, in the knowledge that you will take from them their burdens and give them life eternal.” As she spoke, those gathered were utterly silent, focused with rapt attention on her words. “We also pray that you will look upon us now with mercy and with love, just as you did upon our forefathers many years ago. Just as you led us from Kobol and found the Twelve Worlds, so now we hope and pray that you will lead us to a new home, where we may begin life anew.”
Elosha looked out over the gathered company. “So say we all.”
The company murmured in response, “So say we all.”
Commander Adama turned around to look in stern dissatisfaction at the assembly. Is that the best you can do? He strode out in front of the gathering again, looking up and down the rows. Finally he repeated, in a firm but controlled voice, “So say we all.”
The assembly echoed his words, just a little louder. Even President Roslin and the staff officers seemed to have little heart for it. They had found victory in battle, but now looked as if they had found defeat in the quiet after the battle.
Adama tried again, louder. He had more than a little annoyance in his voice. “So… say… we all!”
A better response this time. But still not good enough.
He shouted: “So say we all!”
That finally provoked what he was looking for. The voices rose together in solid refrain: “So say we all!”
Commander Adama walked up alongside the first row of the fallen, gazed down at the flag-covered bodies, and looked back at his people. “Are they the lucky ones?” he asked, his voice booming through the big room. He continued walking along the row. “That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?” He spoke as he continued along the outer edge of the fu
neral row toward the front. “We’re a long way from home. We’ve Jumped way beyond the Red Line into uncharted space.” He rounded the front end of the row and faced the gathered crowd again, from near Elosha. “Limited supplies! Limited fuel! No allies! And now—no hope?”
He began walking back down the center, between the rows of bodies. He had their attention, and he kept it. “Maybe it would have been better for us to have died quickly back there on the Colonies with our families, instead of dying out here, slowly, in the emptiness of dark space.” On the faces of his officers, he saw somber agreement. Many of them did feel that way; and who could blame them? They blamed themselves for feeling it. He could see that in their faces, as well. They envied the dead, and they felt guilty for being alive. He had brought their darkest feelings into the open.
He called out the questions: “Where shall we go? What shall we do?”
There was some stirring, as people considered his words. Some of them were probably thinking forward for the first time since the war had begun. They needed something to think forward to. Maybe he could help them.
“‘Life here began out there,’” he quoted.
He paused to see how they would respond to the familiar words. “Those are the first words of the sacred scrolls, handed down to us by the Lords of Kobol, many centuries ago. And those words made something perfectly clear: We are not alone in this universe.” He turned around toward the priest. “Elosha—there is a Thirteenth Colony of Humankind, is there not?”
Elosha responded clearly, but with perhaps a note of uncertainty in her voice. “Yes. The scrolls tell us the Thirteenth Tribe left Kobol in the early days. They traveled far and made their home upon a planet called Earth… which circles a distant and unknown star.”
Adama let that last phrase hang in the air for a moment, before saying, “It’s not unknown! I know where it is! Earth!” For the next several heartbeats, no one in the room drew a breath. Everyone, including Elosha, stared at him in astonishment. “It’s the most guarded secret we have,” he continued. “The location is known only to the senior commanders of the fleet. We dared not share it with the public—not while there was a Cylon threat upon us. And thank the Lords of Kobol for that. Because now we have a refuge to go to! A refuge that the Cylons know nothing about!”
Giving them all a moment to absorb his words, he continued, “It won’t be an easy journey. It’ll be long, and arduous. But I promise you one thing: On the memory of those lying here before you, we shall find it. And Earth… will become our new home.” He looked out over the stunned and hopeful faces. “So say we all!”
“So say we all!” they echoed, still a little uncertain.
Louder: “So say we all!”
And the response came louder.
Finally he shouted the words, as he walked toward them: “So say we all!”
At last it sounded as if they meant it: “SO SAY WE All!”
Commander Adama resumed his position in the front row again, facing forward to Elosha. This time he said it calmly, in benediction: “So say we all.”
Elosha echoed his words, and his tone.
Satisfied at last, Adama stepped once more out of line and turned to face the assembly “Dismissed!”
An enthusiastic cheer went up, as the tension was finally released. Many of the crew hugged one another, or shook hands, or simply shook with relief. Some, a few, stood thoughtful and uncertain, wondering just what this new revelation meant.
One of those wondering thoughtfully was President Laura Roslin. Her smile was tentative and brief. But whatever it was that troubled her, she said nothing about it then; let the moment be what it was, her eyes seemed to say.
CHAPTER
49
Pilots’ Quarters, Deck E
Kara Thrace wrenched off her boots with the jerky strength that comes from deep weariness. She sat motionless on the edge of her bunk for a little while, silently reliving the events of the last day or two. It seemed impossible to believe that they had gotten through it all, and the worst was over. At least she thought it was—for now.
With a long, luxurious sigh, she stretched out full-length on her bunk to rest. She was wound so tightly, she couldn’t relax, though. She reached over her head to grip the headpiece of the bunk, and she pulled, trying to stretch her body. She wished she were a cat; then she could stretch properly. She was exhausted, physically and emotionally. The battle, the crazy rescue of Lee, the aftermath. Following their hair-raising landing, she and Lee had climbed out of their broken Vipers, and then simply clung to each other—she in relief and he in gratitude.
After a minute or so, the discipline had kicked in—and they’d gone all awkward again, not daring to do something as radical as hug each other. But she knew one thing: Commander Adama had risked the ship, holding it for the two of them, and she knew that Lee knew that, too. Maybe things were finally on the mend between the two of them, Lee and his father. That alone would be cause for celebration.
“You look comfortable,” one of her roommates said teasingly, on her way to answer a knock on the door.
“Yeah, if no one bothers me, I may sleep for a week,” Kara answered, shutting her eyes.
There was a brief silence, then, “Kara—Colonel Tigh to see you.”
Bloody hell. She pushed herself up out of bed and into a posture vaguely resembling attention. She made no effort to remove the scowl from her face, though.
Colonel Tigh entered the little cabin area. “As you were.”
“I’m just trying to avoid another trip to the brig, sir,” she said tiredly, tilting her head in question. What the hell are you doing here?
Tigh let out a breath. He seemed very uncomfortable. “Lieutenant Thrace,” he began. His gruff expression softened a little. “Kara. What you did out there today with Lee Adama… it was, uh… a hell of a piece of flying.”
Did he come here to compliment me? What’s wrong?
Tigh nodded, and there seemed to be a slight tic in his cheek as he struggled to make nice with Kara. Well, too frakking bad. Kara didn’t feel like making nice with him.
In his trademarked growl, Tigh continued, “The commander has always said that you were the best pilot he’s ever seen, and… well, today you proved it.” He just looked at her for a moment, and she looked back at him. She didn’t give him an inch.
“Now… about the other day… during the game…” He was struggling now. He looked as if he were about to pop a blood vessel in his head, trying to force the words out. “Well, maybe I was out of line, too. And I just…” He tried to force a smile. The tic in his cheek was getting worse. “I just wanted to say, um… I’m sorry.”
Kara allowed a slight, sarcastic smile onto her face.
“Well, don’t you have anything to say?”
She felt an urge that she knew she should resist. She couldn’t, though. “Permission to speak off the record, sir?”
“Granted.” He shrugged.
She allowed a long moment to pass. Then: “You’re a bastard.”
He began trembling, and shaking his head. “You just don’t know when to keep your mouth shut, do you? I’m offering you a clean slate here.”
“I’m not interested in a clean slate with you,” she said, with a silky smooth edge to her voice. She was starting to feel cocky, and she let it show. “You’re dangerous. You know why?”
His expression darkened. “This’11 be good.”
She laughed softly. “Because you’re weak. Because you’re a drunk.”
“You done?” His eyes were filled with anger again.
She thought a moment, angling her eyes momentarily upward in contemplation. She cocked her head. “Yes, sir.”
“You’re returned to flight status,” Tigh growled. Turning to walk away, he added, “Let’s see how long that lasts.”
Kara watched him leave, torn between wanting to laugh and wondering why the hell it was she couldn’t keep her mouth shut around that man.
Commander Adama’s Quart
ers
Laura Roslin knocked on the metal hatch door to the Commander’s quarters. “Come in!” she heard from the far side of the wall.
She pushed the hatch open, stepped through, and secured the hatch again from the inside. She wondered how long it would take to get used to the awkward system of doors on this ship.
Walking slowly into the room, she glanced curiously around Adama’s living space. It was very neat, with mementoes of service attached to the walls, and a surprising number of books. Old books. She didn’t know why that surprised her. She hadn’t pegged him as the reading type. And yet, why not?
Commander Adama was dressed more casually than she had ever seen him; his formal service coat was unbuttoned, and he was wearing it more like a robe. He was kneeling on the floor at a wide coffee table, eating dinner from a bowl. Noodles and salad. He looked up at her thoughtfully as he sorted stacks of paper on the table. God, didn’t the man ever rest? “I hope I’m not disturbing you,” she said.
“Not at all. Have a seat.”
She sat, a little stiffly, on a bench sofa beside the table. She was aware that she was wearing the same maroon business suit she’d had on since before the start of the war. I wonder if there’s a laundry on this ship somewhere. She shook her head and brought her thoughts back to her reason for coming. “First thing, I suppose I should thank you for deciding to bring us—”
“Listen, you were right,” he said, interrupting her. “I was wrong. Let’s just leave it at that.” He put down the papers in his hand.
Startled, she nodded slowly. “All right.”
He turned away for a moment to lift some books off the floor.
She suddenly voiced the thought that had been on her mind for hours. “There’s no Earth,” she said, a faint smile on her face. “You made it all up.”
[Battlestar Galactica Reimagined 01] - Battlestar Galactica Page 24
