The missile closed—and exploded in a hail of cannon fire, as a Viper shot past him. And Starbuck’s voice screaming with delight, “Wheeeee! C’mon, bassstard!” And arcing right, then left, she destroyed the Cylon that had launched the missile. She turned back toward him. “Looks like you broke your ship, Apollo!”
“I’ve had worse!” he lied, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. “But thanks!”
His joy was cut short, though, as he looked to his left and saw another white streak—and the fiery blaze of a direct hit on Galactica.
CHAPTER 47
GALACTICA, COMBAT INFORMATION CENTER
Commander Adama wasn’t sure how much longer the ship could take this kind of pounding. The CIC was shaking as if an earthquake had struck, and consoles and wiring were flaring and sputtering. Colonel Tigh was making his way across the center. “Function check on the damage control panel!” he shouted to the two nearest crewmen.
Tigh reached Adama’s side as another hit threatened to crush the ship. Grimacing in pain, Adama pulled himself up as Tigh reported, “We’ve got multiple hull breaches. They’re targeting the landing bays. We’ve got to get the fighters back on board, retract the pods, or we won’t be able to Jump.”
“Fleet status!” Adama shouted.
In the monitor, one last large ship vanished in a flash of light. Gaeta turned. “Last civilian ship’s away!”
“Recall all fighters! Stand by to secure landing bays!” Adama ordered.
Dualla’s voice rang out, “Galactica to all Vipers, Break off, come on home. Repeat! Come on home!”
Apollo’s call reinforced the message. “All Vipers, this is the CAG! Return home at once! Starbuck, that means you, too!”
“Frak that, I’m coming after you!” answered Starbuck.
“Starbuck, shove the heroics and get home!”
“Save your breath! We go back together!”
Starbuck’s fighter continued to maneuver protectively around Apollo’s disabled craft, raking one Cylon after another with her cannon fire as they came too close. The other Vipers of the squadron were obeying the come-home order and were flocking back to Galactica.
In the port landing bay, wave after wave of Vipers came in hot, holding together in shaky formation. With a thunderous, rhythmic pounding spread along the entire length of the landing bay, they slammed down in emergency combat landings. They all came down hard; many of them bounced and some collided. But in they came, wing after wing of fighters, half of them with battle damage. The last few came in hotter than the rest, and had to brake-thrust violently to keep from plowing into the Vipers ahead of them.
Many of them broke something in landing. But their pilots came home alive.
In the CIC, Gaeta and Dualla were frantically tracking the IDs of the returning Vipers, getting a count.
Gaeta straightened up with his clipboard. “Forty-three. Ship reports ready for Jump as soon as landing bay’s secure, sir.”
Adama squinted up at the monitor, his stomach in knots. All back. All that were alive. Or were they? In the monitor he saw a spread of Cylon missiles, too fast for the gunners to handle. The ship quaked from the impact.
Dualla called, “Two Vipers still out there, sir! Starbuck and Apollo!”
Colonel Tigh strode past Adama, reaching for a microphone. “We can’t stand toe to toe with those base ships.” He grabbed the mic. “Retract the pods!”
Adama picked himself up from where the last impact had thrown him against a table, and looked anxiously from one monitor to another. Pods retracting, and Starbuck and Lee still out there? They’d lost Lee’s signal, but Starbuck was still out there with him. “I can’t leave them here,” he muttered. Raising his voice, he called, “Stand by on that pod retraction!” and to Dualla, “Patch me through to Starbuck!”
“Yes sir.”
He picked up a slender headset and held it to his ear and mouth. “Starbuck! What do you hear?”
The universe was going insane. Starbuck had shot up more Cylon raiders than she could count, and still they kept coming. She continued maneuvering around Apollo, keeping him alive until he could troubleshoot his machine, kick it in gear, and head back home. As another raider exploded at pointblank range, she heard a voice in her headset: “Starbuck, Galactica. What’d’ you …’ere …”
“WHAT?” she shouted, over the intense cockpit noise, with just about everything running or firing at once.
The next time it came in clearer. It was Commander Adama, astoundingly calm. “Good morning, Starbuck. What do you hear?”
At that instant, her canopy was pelted by a hail of tiny bits of debris from a shattered Cylon. Another time, she might have been worried about being holed. But just now she could only grin crazily and answer, “Nothing but the rain.”
“Then grab your gun and bring the cat in.”
The pelting continued. “Aye-aye, sir! Comin’ home!” She pitched up and over, potting another Cylon on her turn. “Let’s go, Apollo! Can you move that crate yet?”
From the Viper behind, she heard Apollo’s voice: “I’m losing power. I’m not gonna make it, Starbuck! It’s over. Just leave, damn it—that’s an order!”
“Lee, shut up and hold still!” Frakking hell with his orders. Starbuck fired her nose and belly thrusters and launched her ship up and over, in a completely reckless flip into an inside loop. “Whhaaa-HAAAAAHH!” Watching Apollo pass by her in an inverted position, she gave it one more second, then yanked back on the stick and repeated the maneuver and rolled sharply to complete the loop. She was now in front of Apollo’s ship, aiming straight at his nose.
“Oh no,” she heard Apollo murmur.
Starbuck kicked in power, hard, then eased back. She had to do this exactly right, or she’d kill them both. Apollo’s ship loomed in front of her. “YAHHH-HHHHHH!” She tickled the yaw ever so slightly to the right, banked a hair—and slammed into Apollo’s Viper, nose beside nose, jamming the root of her left wing hard against the tip of his nose. She threw the mag-lock switch, praying that it would help hold the ships together.
“You are beyond insane!” he shouted as he flew backwards toward home, propelled by her engines. His canopy was maybe half a dozen meters ahead of hers, and she could see him gesturing and trying to look around behind him.
“Kickin’ in the burn!” she cried gleefully, hammering in full power. Together, one forward, one backward, they screamed through space toward Galactica.
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 funeral 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.”
Battlestar Galactica Page 24
