"Koren, I was just trying to help," Aron said. He looked around, gesturing for people to understand.
"The truth!" Apollo cried. "Tell the truth!"
But Aron didn't. No longer able to contain himself, he rushed at Baltar, pushing Koren roughly aside, and grappling with the smaller man. Soon, Aron had Baltar off balance, and had grabbed one of his laser pistols. Shoving Baltar viciously in the ribs, Aron whirled to face the prisoners.
"You die now, Apollo!" he cried, aiming the pistol at Apollo's body.
Troy, Dalton, Trays, Boomer and the other warriors rushed forward. Baltar, recovering, was up and grappling with Aron, forcing the laser blast astray. It hit the Council's seal, splitting it into two neat halves that crashed to the floor.
A few guards rushed forward to defend Aron, but more guards stood aside, their rifles lowered. In the confusion, Apollo nodded to the others, and he and Gar'Tokk ran, leading them off the dais. Apollo guided Koren to what seemed like the best place, behind one of the large, sturdy Council seats. Then, Apollo and Gar'Tokk grappled with some guards who were hesitating, disarming them in moments. Now armed, the former prisoners turned to face the melee.
Baltar was struggling with Aron, who had grabbed Baltar from behind.
"Come on!" Apollo cried. At the last possible moment, Apollo reached the struggling group and deflected a guard's rifle, aimed straight at Baltar.
Soon the chamber was filled with blue laser blasts, smoke, and the sound of screaming fighters.
Koren ran from his hiding place to. Apollo grabbed Baltar's arm, Koren took the other, and they both led him toward the door. A brief glance back showed that Gar'Tokk, the other Nomen, Athena, Tigh, Boomer and Bojay had formed an offensive wedge, backs together with Dalton, Troy and Trays, and they had were moving the wedge slowly forward, laying down heavy fire, slowly, but surely, making their way through the crowd.
They were within yards of the door—Apollo could see it. "Come on," he said again to a limping Baltar.
"We can make it!" Koren cried.
Baltar smiled at the boy, then looked at Apollo. His dark eyes met Apollo's, growing wide. There was no time for words, but for the first time, Apollo really trusted Baltar. All of Baltar's terrible anger, his resentment, and his selfish greed were gone. It was as if Baltar had been purified, in some unknowable way, and all the yahrens of plotting and betrayal had been washed away. Baltar's face was no longer dark and brooding. It shone as if it was lit within, with the goodness that lay within him, though it had been buried deep, for so many long yahrens.
"Apollo—" Baltar said, but they were all stopped short. Aron stood in their way, backed by half a dozen guards.
"You die now!" Aron said.
"No!" Koren cried. He rushed forward.
As if he was in a dream, Apollo raised his pistol, but too slowly. He saw Baltar stepping in front of Koren, saw Aron firing, and instinctively closed his eyes against the blast that was about to come, but it never came. Instead, he felt a body hitting him, and as he opened his eyes, realized that it was Baltar who was slumping back.
Koren cried out again. With a wild yell, Starbuck jumped in front of them and decked Sire Aron with a single, huge blow to his face that landed in a spray of blood.
Apollo supported Baltar under his arms. When Aron fell, the guards behind him lost their courage and turned around, running for the door.
At once, the firing lessened and the immediate danger past, Apollo lowered Baltar gently to the floor.
Koren knelt, tears dripping from his nose, shaking his head and saying, "No, no."
There was no doubting the meaning of the huge, burned wound in Baltar's chest, but Baltar's eyes were still open, and his mouth moved, although no words came out.
Apollo, tears suddenly in his eyes, bent close to the old traitor, former great Lord of the Council of Twelve.
"Baltar," Apollo said.
Baltar tried to raise himself, but sank back into Apollo's arms. He smiled at Koren, then a cough wracked his torn body. Everyone gathered around. For once, Starbuck had nothing to say. Apollo glanced up at him, and Starbuck's face was filled with wonder and sadness. Athena leaned close, as did Tigh, and even Gar'Tokk and the other Nomen, standing behind the kneeling boy, Koren.
"I did—" Baltar said, haltingly.
"You did," Apollo said.
Looking down, Apollo saw that Baltar still clutched the laser pistol he'd stolen from Apollo on the bridge—it seemed like yahrens before. He touched Baltar's hand, and closed the fingers gently around the pistol.
"You keep it, Baltar," Apollo said. "It's a warrior's weapon."
"Do you think they'll choose me as the new member of the Council?" Baltar said, his eyes shining as if he saw right through Apollo and the others to something that lay far beyond, deep in space.
"Sure," Apollo said. "I can't think of a better choice."
Baltar's eyes fluttered shut. His lips curled upward in a peaceful smile. "Good," he said in a whisper. "It feels… wonderful."
And with a final breath, his head fell gently against Apollo's arm.
But not a soul who stood near rejoiced. Not even Tigh. Not even Starbuck, who knelt respectfully beside Apollo as they all linked hands and joined in prayer as Koren wept, softly, touching Baltar's face and hair.
None would forget that moment. Nor did any of them notice the skulking form that crept from the Council chambers, like a fleeing bilgerat: Aron.
Chapter Eleven
THE FRIENDS marched as one to the bridge to retake control of the Galactica and the fleet.
When they arrived, they found the bridge in disarray. Starbuck took a look around, whistling under his breath.
"That Aron was a real Boray," he muttered. There were scraps of cloth, pieces of destroyed equipment, and shards of metal everywhere.
"Looks like he had a tantrum," Tigh commented.
Apollo nodded, wondering what could have caused the incident.
But Sire Aron wasn't there. Apollo hoped that the warriors had found him and thrown him in the brig—the same cell where they'd all suffered. The Council members had regained their senses at last, offering to marshal the Council troops and do a full reconnaissance of those who remained loyal after the rebellion, sending them out on a cleanup mission to find Aron's few remaining supporters in their hiding places and crannies.
"There's something flashing on the console," Athena said, pointing at Tigh's usual station.
"It's a recording," Tigh said.
Apollo leaned close, his eyes narrowing.
"It may tell us what happened," he said. "Play it."
The screen flashed blue, and Baltar's face appeared.
"I must be brief," he said. "Sire Aron is… otherwise occupied." Baltar looked over his shoulder. In the background came sounds of rage. Briefly, they gathered that Sire Aron had encountered some token resistance to Apollo's impending execution from a council member—they heard a tremulous, elderly voice begging for reconsideration.
"So that was what did it—" Tigh said.
"It's all over now," Apollo said. He gathered the others to listen to Baltar's final message.
"If you are hearing this," Baltar said quickly, "That means we succeeded, but I am no longer… among us."
Apollo took Athena's hand and squeezed it tight. Brother and sister looked at each other, quiet respect and grief passing between them. Grief—for Baltar! No one could believe it, but that was what each one felt in their hearts.
"Apollo, now I will warn you," Baltar said, his face darkening. "In these last few centars, I have seen more clearly than in yahrens. There is much you must know, but it is for your ears—Apollo. Your ears alone."
Tigh stopped the recording instantly. Apollo looked at the others.
"I suppose," he said. "I suppose we should respect his wishes."
Each of them nodded, and in respect, they turned their backs, and moved far enough from the console so that Apollo could stand alone, and they would not hear.
"You believe that you are going to have a child," Baltar said. "This is untrue. Cassiopeia carries no child born of man. She has been… impregnated… but by no human. It is Iblis' child that she bears in her body. Protect her, Apollo. Help save her from the dark forces that threaten to consume her without her knowledge."
Apollo's heart jumped in his chest. "Cassi's baby!" he said in an agonized whisper.
He leaned closer to the console, staring at the last reflection of Baltar, the ancient enemy and the fast friend, in wonder.
"Apollo, there is more," Baltar said, once again looking over his shoulder. "I must be brief. This time of respite is fast approaching its end." The yelling in the background was reaching a crescendo, the crashes and sounds of tearing and shredding came to a peak, then slowed.
"The traitor, Aron," Baltar said. "He is no minion of the Cylons. Iblis is… aware of him. He approves."
Baltar scowled. "But he is none of Iblis' doing. His crude manipulations are nothing but the hallmark of a greedy, evil man. I won't even give him the credit that I'd give to myself. He cares only for cubits and luxury and his own needs. Destroy him, Apollo! If you have not already."
Apollo nodded. He remembered Jinkrat then—those few brief moments where they'd stood as one.
All gone—Koren an orphan and the fleet in disarray because of one man's greed and manipulation. But Apollo was not like Baltar. He would not destroy Aron. He would put him on trial—with Koren as the unanswerable accusing witness.
"And Apollo—I know of the Cylon fuel cells that Troy brought back. Have a care with them. They will be of value. Not to your reactors, but perhaps you may find a way out of this trap with them. They are—quite powerful."
Baltar's eyes went wide. "I'm free now, Apollo," he said. "Free at last, after so many yahrens. I'll give you one piece of advice," he said.
Apollo waited. A shadow of Baltar's former darkness crossed his face.
"Don't treat your soul as I treated mine. I was a lonely man, Apollo. I let it consume me. I let the darkness eat me alive. I never meant—" and Baltar's voice became thick with emotion. The corners of his mouth lowered in a deep scowl. "I never meant for any of this to happen. But now I go to meet my fate. In honor, Apollo.
For the Lords of Kobol, I go to meet what fate the Gods have in store for me."
"You died bravely, Baltar," Apollo whispered.
Then Baltar grimaced one last time, looking back on his shoulder. All at once, he spoke in a rapid burst, very low. "But your fate approaches too, Apollo. You must meet it with every ounce of courage that you have. Your father never faced such a challenge. The Cylons are coming, Apollo. Coming in all their might. And I know better than any man how weak the fleet is now. May the Light of the Lords of Kobol shine on you. I will see you no—" And then the screen went black.
In shock, Apollo stood there a moment, digesting what Baltar had said. Cassi's baby! It belonged to Iblis? How? why? What had brought this terrible thing in their midst. Hadn't there been enough death—enough madness?
Then Tigh's voice broke Apollo from his reverie. "We've got a ship, incoming," he said.
Apollo whirled to face the screen, seeing a small shuttle marking an erratic path toward the Galactica.
"We've got its registry," Tigh said. "It's the long-lost barge. And Aron's on it."
"Aron!" Athena cried. "Hasn't he made enough trouble?"
"It's just the barge," Tigh said. "Let's tow him in and put paid to his account."
"I don't think that'll work just now," Starbuck said, pointing at the heads-up display to Tigh's side. "He's brought some friends with him."
"Cylons!" Athena cried.
Baltar's warning echoed in Apollo's ears. The Cylons are coming in all their might. But there was no time to tell the others. Now that the Cylons were here there was no need to tell.
Like vicious red Cylon eyes, the markings of dozens, soon hundreds, of Cylon fighters blinked on the screen in phalanx after phalanx.
"Launch all Vipers!" Apollo cried. Tigh snapped to his station, issuing commands immediately throughout the Galactica and the fleet.
"Let's go!" Starbuck yelled, grabbing Dalton's arm. Starbuck, Dalton, Troy, Trays, Bojay and Boomer, Galactica's best, took off at full speed, headed for their Vipers.
"Blue Squadron, Yellow Squadron," Tigh called. Then he grew quiet, and a shadow went over his face.
He looked over at Apollo, his face a mask of alarm. "I've never seen anything like this, Commander," he said.
Apollo saw it for himself. Beyond the Cylon advance force blinked darker, larger red lights. Two, then three, in strict formation. Three Cylon basestars, and everything they had, was headed — straight for the Galactica.
"How did they get through into this Ur cloud?" Tigh wondered.
"Lords of Kobol only know," Apollo said. "Maybe they've been here with us all along."
Apollo could just imagine Iblis's utterly evil, maniacal laugh. Baltar had known! Yet he had said he was free-free at last. So, he had managed to escape the Imperious Leader's grasp, the old demon's clawlike hand that reached into his mind like evil, cancerous tentacles.
Then Aron's small craft that had led the enemy to the Galactica seemed to hesitate, and shudder in space. A message came through on the comm. "Galactica, help!" cried a desperate voice. It was none other than the traitor, Sire Aron.
Tigh quickly ordered Galactica's big guns to lay down covering fire, and bolts of heavy laser blasts boomed from Galactica's weapons array, firing up the sky beyond the small ship like glowing swords.
Apollo and Tigh watched as the small ship tried to desperately maneuver closer to the Galactica and freedom, but it was cut off by a group of evil-looking Cylon fighters, glittering like silver thumbnails against the Ur cloud.
"No!" Sire Aron cried, but that was the last thing he said.
Tigh and Apollo shuddered as the ship was strafed by Cylon fire, and it began to break up, its hull torn in a dozen places. One of the shots hit its fuel cells, and Aron's craft went up in a huge ball of fire.
"I guess we'll never know if he found them out there and was running away, or he led them here on purpose," Tigh said.
"It doesn't matter," Apollo said, shaking his head, wondering at the last, desperate end of what had once been a leader of their Council. What had his reasons been? Cubits? Power? The chance to make Apollo crawl? To take revenge for years of perceived slights at the hand of Adama? There was no way to know any longer. Aron had told his last lie.
Although, Apollo thought, considering what Baltar had told him, that Aron was no creature of Iblis', the old man had probably just been seeking a way out of the Ur cloud himself, or he'd been hiding in the wrong place at the wrong time when the Cylons did whatever they had to make it out of normal space to pursue the Galactica into the Ur cloud.
In their state, how could they fight this Cylon assault?
He had never seen so many of them. It had to be their entire fleet—and somehow—some way, they'd blasted themselves into the Ur cloud. But, Apollo thought, if they'd found a way in, there had to be a way out. All Apollo knew was that, as weakened as they were, the Vipers had to launch, from Galactica and Daedalus. They had to try. One final time.
"I've got to get out there," Apollo told Tigh. "You stay. Athena—" he said, turning to his sister and taking her hand. "I know you want to get back to Daedalus, but I need you. I've got to get out there with the other pilots."
"I know," Athena said. Tears in her eyes, she kissed Apollo's cheek, and he ran off with the scent of her hair in his nostrils, wondering if he'd ever see her again. But the time for wondering was over. Now was the time for fighting.
Like they'd never fought before.
Galactica's pilots were the bravest and the best who ever flew and ever fought. They formed a line—the Vipers had flown—a thin, glittering barrier like a strand of pearls that was all that stood between the Galactica and
the hundreds of Cylon fighters descending on them, evil crescents shining in the night in their massive assault phalanxes.
On and on they fought, flying like as though they were guided by the Beings of Light, on raw instinct, at the ragged edge of reactions and endurance.
Starbuck targeted a Cylon fighter coming in with a second at his wing. Banking fast, Starbuck feinted, throwing the Cylon off for a micron—just enough time for Starbuck to lock on and blast the Cylon out of the strange white Ur cloud. Stabilizers knocked out by the blast, the other Cylon craft spun out of control.
It wasn't worth going after that one, Starbuck decided.
A whole new group was forming on his screen in the micron it took Starbuck to make that decision.
"On your tail!" came a voice in Starbuck's comm. It was Apollo!
Starbuck barely had enough time to look over his shoulder to see the laser cannon blasts ripping past his wings. He banked, running on pure instinct, and saw the brilliant golden blasts of a Viper's cannons screaming by from the opposite direction. In a flash, Apollo's Viper streaked past, and a brilliant flash signaled that he'd gotten this Cylon and put paid to that tin-can's account.
"Just like old times," Starbuck said.
"You got that, buddy," Apollo said.
"Let's go kick some more Cylon ass!" Starbuck cried, blood streaking through his veins, feeling like he and his Viper were a single, linked killing machine.
Wing to wing, they banked into the Cylon masses, wreaking havoc as they went. Pieces of destroyed Cylon fighters soon littered the space around the Galactica like so many pieces of hot metal confetti.
But there were so many of them. Even Starbuck and Apollo were growing exhausted. It was only a matter of time before they started making mistakes.
And soon enough, they made one, along with the other Vipers.
There was just too much going on; they didn't see the Cylon war cruiser as it slipped past—a special kind of war cruiser, meant to lock onto a battlestar in space, bore a hole in its side, and discharge hordes of waiting Cylon commandos.
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