Battlestar Galactica-03-Resurrection

by Richard Hatch

  "You and your bloodline will finally be terminated and I… will be reborn," Iblis said, and raised his hands, palms-up before him, in a delicate gesture. "The Lords of Kobol were right, at least, about one thing: time and chance will either curse or bless you, and with all eternity at my disposal, how can I help but be blessed? Farewell, Apollo."

  Iblis laughed, but even his laughter was a sad, desolate, despairing sound. And then he was gone. Apollo wasted no time, but opened his comm-line to Starbuck. "Wait for me," he said. "I'm about to send you an experienced pilot."

  "You could've saved us all a lot of trouble if you'd have just done that in the first place," Starbuck chided him.

  "Where do you think you're going?" Sheba asked.

  She had just finished tending to Boomer's wounds, applying a hasty bio-plasteen patch to a nasty gash on the side of his throat, put there by the shrapnel of his exploded canopy. Another centimetron and the shrapnel would have torn through his jugular. Even so, he had lost a frightful amount of blood, and really should have been in a med-unit, receiving proper care, instead of just slapping a patch on the wound and going back out to engage the enemy. Sheba's own injury, sustained in the battle with Cylon ground troops, was quite painful, and her arm had just about gone numb, but what else could she do? They needed everyone out there they could muster, and unless both arms went numb, she decided that included her.

  "Boomer?" Apollo began, wincing at the amount of blood that stained his old teacher's jumpsuit.

  "You should see the other guy," Boomer said, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

  "I'm about to," Apollo said, and quickly briefed them on the situation and the plan.

  "Vipers," Boomer repeated, "taking on a basestar." He turned his head, stiffly, looked at Sheba. "Can you believe one of my former students would be so foolhardy?"

  "I learned from the best," Apollo said, and clapped Boomer on the shoulder. He offered his hand, and helped Boomer, who had been sitting on a tool chest while Sheba patched him, to his feet. "You up for this?"

  "Sure," Boomer said. "I haven't done anything stupid in about five centari."

  "Then, you're overdue," Apollo told him.

  He and Sheba ran for the training Vipers that had been prepped for them, while Apollo made his way to his own fighter. Trays looked up from the Viper he was working on as Apollo approached. The commander stopped, looked at the benched pilot, and said, "Hey, Trays, can that Viper fly?"

  Trays brushed away a lock of hair that had fallen in his eyes. "Yeah, I think so."

  "You think, or you know?"

  Trays studied the commander's face, understood what he was asking, and nodded. "I know it can."

  "Then let's go."

  Trays let out a cry of joy and jumped to his feet, then bounded onto the wing of the fighter and swung his legs into the cockpit, settling into the seat. Apollo, Boomer, and Sheba were already racing down the track toward the launch aperture and, moments later, Trays was following closely after.

  Apollo settled at once into the easy rhythm of his Viper; each fighter had its own feel, its own personality, and he felt as if this one responded best to his pilot's skills, just as Starbuck favored the Scarlet Viper. He needed to be at the navi-hilt of a Viper as much as he needed to be on the bridge of the Galactica. He could never be wholly satisfied or fulfilled if he devoted himself to just one or the other.

  "Keep in tight formation," Apollo told the trio of pilots flying with him. "Sheba, keep an eye on Trays, and Trays, if you say one word, I'll order you back to the Galactica … am I clear?"

  "Clear," Trays answered succinctly.

  Apollo winced at the incessant buzzing in his ear… except, it wasn't actually in his ear. It was in his brain, humming like a friz-zort. He checked his instrument panels, but it was nothing external. About to fly into pitched battle was not the best place to receive incoming messages, he knew, but Apollo allowed his mind to clear enough that whoever or whatever was trying to contact him could come through without interference.

  The moment he took a step back from his consciousness, Apollo heard the musical language once again. Over and over it played, and he understood what it was telling him. He broadcast a top priority scrambled code back to Athena, Tigh, and Cain; if the Cylons intercepted the message, it would be useless to them without the decryption program. "Everyone, be prepared to receive and program coordinates into the QSE devices," Apollo said.

  He listened for more, but the musical language had fallen silent. Apollo chewed his lip; he hadn't received a whole set of coordinates. Without them, the QSE was useless. Still, he passed along the incomplete settings he had received, and told them the rest would follow. He had faith they would.

  Starbuck's Viper soared up alongside Apollo's and they gave one another the thumbs-up signal.

  Bo jay brought his Viper into formation with the rest of the fighters arrowing for the base star. "Hey, Starbuck, if we survive this, could I borrow a couple of your women for the night?" he asked.

  "Bo jay," Sheba purred across the comm-line and straight into his ear; "if we survive this, I'll sleep with you."

  "You're on!" Bo jay shouted, and clapped his hands together. "Now I really have something to fight for!"

  The Viper Duet roared up, filling out the formation. "Sorry," Troy said. "We lost communications temporarily, but we were able to fix it."

  Apollo and Starbuck both breathed a sigh of relief at the same moment, and both rolled their eyes heavenward in thanks. Far, far above, twinkling brighter than a star, was a light both Apollo and Starbuck knew quite well. "Do you see what I see, Apollo?" Starbuck asked.

  Apollo smiled, unable to take his eyes off the light. "Oh, yeah, I see it," he answered. "I guess they didn't want to miss the show."

  "Well, let's make it a good one, then," Starbuck suggested, and puffed on his fumarello. "Wouldn't want to disappoint the viewing public. I've already been canceled once, and that's nothing I want to go through again, any time soon."

  The squadron of Vipers, led by Apollo, raced onward.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  STARBUCK FELT a cold chill slither from the base of his brain to the small of his back as he approached the Cylon basestar. It looked different, with its weapons system trailing out long beneath it like a scorpion's tail. It was too much like the Chitain warship that he had destroyed, the act that had cost him his life. He looked again at the hard, brilliant light far above, and wondered if the ship were there not to view the battle so much as to collect the souls of the brave Warriors who would die here this day. Was his resurrection nothing more than a reprieve and not a full pardon?

  Starbuck gripped his navi-hilt a little tighter between his sweat-slicked hands and told himself it didn't matter. Whether pardon or reprieve, he knew he was brought back for a purpose. Certain events cast certain shadows, and he felt they were in the shadow of some great and portentous event cast long ago. He was beginning to believe the universe was not as random as he had once thought, and that some things happened because they had to. "All right," he muttered around the fumarello clenched in his teeth, "all right. I get the message: there's no frackin' with fate. Got'cha." But he was still badly frightened. Being dead was nothing he was in a hurry to repeat.

  The sky around the basestar was filled with enemy traffic; they did not wait for the little squadron of Vipers to get too near before they began their attack. The first wing of Raiders came at the colonial fighters, and Starbuck was, thankfully, able to push his concerns aside and let instinct take over. He knew, if the Cylon brain ever did evolve to the point it had the same instinctive capabilities as the human one, they would be an even more formidable foe. As it was, they weren't exactly the shiniest cubit in the fountain, but there were enough of them that it didn't make much difference.

  Starbuck piloted his Viper perilously close between two Raiders, who fired simultaneously at him. Their lasers destroyed each other in a flash of fire. Nope, not the brightest, at all.

  "I li
ke this new breed of Cylon," Bo jay observed. "They do the job for us. A few more like that, we won't even be needed."

  But the maneuver had cost Starbuck, as well; as he passed between the Raiders, the aft wing of the nearer ship sliced through his canopy, and he only avoided decapitation by flinging himself forward, just beneath the scythe that ripped through his protection. Plastiglas flew around the small cockpit like angry skreeters, tearing into Starbuck's back and arms and hands. Blood trickled from dozens of lacerations, flowing more freely from deeper gashes.

  Starbuck sat upright in his seat, surprised to learn his head was still attached to his neck and shoulders. A spike of twisted steel had punched its way into his arm, tearing out through the other side, and he winced at the sight.

  "That's gonna hurt like a son-of-a-daggit in the morning," he observed. Assuming there was a morning for any of them.

  Trays kept an eye on the info-stream on the inside of his helm. He had been in skirmishes before, of course, but this was pure pandemonium. He forced himself to remain calm, even as red plasma bolts sizzled past just above his canopy, so bright he had to throw an arm up to shield his eyes from their brilliance. Blinded, Trays panicked and fired his turbolasers, narrowly missing the Viper Duet as it swung around to blast the Raider dogging the new cadet.

  "Hey!" Dalton's voice thundered across their comm-line. "Haven't you done enough already without trying to shoot us in the back?"

  Trays blinked the world back into focus and saw at once what he had almost done.

  "You'll be all right, Trays," Troy told him. "Just stay calm and you'll be all right."

  "I don't need you to—" Trays began, and caught himself. Whatever differences he and Troy had, they had on the ground. No one could afford to be at odds with anyone else up here, in the middle of all this chaos. "Thanks," he said.

  "No problem."

  Shrapnel filled the air.

  Exploding Vipers, Stingers, and Raiders were all around Apollo, in the heart of the worst of the battle, and he saw a huge piece of Raider tail assembly whickering upward, toward his fighter. He banked hard, avoiding the worst of it, but the trailing wreckage still banged into the bottom plates of the Viper. Plates buckled and crinkled like ancient parchment, and Apollo felt the impact strike his right leg, and the blinding pain that followed. He gasped, felt himself starting to gray out, and held onto consciousness by a supreme effort of will Apollo looked down, afraid he would be minus a limb, and was crazily relieved when he saw he still had both legs. He tried to move his right, and a dazzling pain shot through him. Broken. Well, better than missing in action, he told himself. Beneath his feet a section of hull had been laid open, and he could see the clouds and faraway face of Kobol race past underneath his ship.

  He shifted his leg, carefully, using his hands to lift, and placed it so his foot rested on firmer ground. He groaned, and pushed the pain aside as best he could. He didn't think anyone was going to escape this battle unscarred.

  * * *

  Athena watched the Pegasus burn, and knew she could do nothing to help them.

  The Daeddus had moved into position to protect the other, injured battlestar, but Cain still valiantly used his own ship to protect the last of the fleet as it emerged from the fissure and made its way toward open space. The Pegasus continued to fire at Cylon and Chitain fighters that slipped past the Vipers and came at the fleet, and continued to take hit after hit from the enemy craft.

  The Daedelus did her part, its artillery blasting at many of the fighters before they could reach the damaged ship, but there were too many for one battlestar to contain, and the best Athena could do was try to minimize the injuries the Pegasus suffered, while Cain, in turn, defended the fleet. It was all she could do, but her best felt woefully inadequate to Athena. Perhaps, she thought, if the attack slowed, ever for a moment, she could get a shuttle over to Cain, begin evacuating the dying ship. She had already ordered a shuttle craft prepared for take-off, and would go over there and drag Cain back herself, kicking and screaming, if that was what it took.

  "How are you faring, Athena?" Cain asked her. He looked weary and haggard. A rill of blood ran from a wound on his forehead, and more blood ran from the corner of his mouth. He looked old… mortal.

  "We're coping," she answered. "The last of the fleet is through. If you can just hold on a few more microns…"

  Cain nodded. Behind him, gouts of fire leaped and capered about the bridge, and the bodies of wounded and dead crewmen lay scattered about. It was as if someone had opened a window to hell and let Athena look in. "You know I'll do whatever is necessary to safeguard the fleet," he said.

  "I know," she said. "I was asking if you can hold on, get the Pegasus space-borne."

  The old legend smiled, softly. "Of course," he replied. "You and your brother won't be rid of me that easily."

  "He respects you," Athena blurted. Something told her to say it now, or risk never saying it at all, and for once, she listened to her intuition, logic be damned.

  "And I respect him," Cain admitted. "I respect both of you. I watched you grow up, and love you both as much as if you were my own ch—"

  Another blast rocked the Daedelus, making the image sputter and swim and finally dissolve. Exterior sensors showed the other battlestar was still there, but the flames were spreading, the hull integrity compromised. The battlestar's weapons were useless slag, reducing the Pegasus to little more than just one more civilian ship.

  And still the Raiders and Stingers came.

  The cogitator known as Lucifer watched with Lord Schikik as the little squadron of Vipers began their first assault on the basestar's weapons array. The plasma cannons primed and fired at the fighters, but the Vipers were fast and had superior maneuverability, while the cannons could only be trained and fired. They were not designed for dealing with such annoying, gnatlike objects, but for greater targets, such as battlestars and civilian ships and hapless civilizations.

  From afar, the only battlestar still remaining in the fight continued to fire its long-range artillery, scoring solid blows against the bas star, while the Vipers harried the basestar's weapons system.

  "They fight on, despite impossible odds," Schikik observed.

  "Let them believe they have hope," Lucifer said. "Their defeat will only be that much more crushing and dispiriting when it occurs."

  And if Lucifer could have smiled, he would have.

  Sheba stared out her starfield, watched the face of the basestar loom larger and nearer. The rest of the squadron had made its pass, and it remained to her and the Viper Duet to inflict what damage they could.

  The plasma cannons were powering up for another barrage, but she knew this time they wouldn't try to destroy the Vipers, but would instead train their deadly beams on the fleet. On her pass, Athena flew directly in front of the cannons, firing her turbolaser as she went, some shots scoring direct hits, traveling directly down the massive bore of the barrel. Deep within the basestar, muffled explosions could be heard, like some giant clearing his throat, even over the chatter of the Viper's sensor system.

  And then, she was past the basestar and the Duet was making its pass.

  "We've got a tail," Troy warned Dalton.

  A Stinger had followed the Viper and was closing the distance between them with alarming speed. Its weapons tail was beginning to angle forward, to blast the fighter.

  "Hang on," Troy said, and gripped the navi-hilt. "And trust me… please."

  He jammed the navi-hilt hard to the left, before Dalton could ask what he had planned, bringing the Viper within a hair's breadth of the outer hull of the basestar. Over his comm-line, Troy could hear Dalton gasp and begin to swear at him. Troy reckoned he hadn't heard anything yet, because it was about to get worse.

  The tier of plasma cannons protruded from the imposing face of the basestar like quills set in an orderly line, with the space of perhaps an eighth of a metron between them. Troy threw the Viper at the first barrel, and pulled back on the hilt at th
e last moment, bringing the fighter up and over the cannon, then dived beneath the next, weaving in and out of the obstacle course like a slalom racer.

  The Stinger fired its tail weapons at them and missed, slagging one of the cannons instead. Troy goosed the little Viper to move faster still, forcing the Stinger to increase its speed to keep up.

  Troy dipped the Viper at the last moment, narrowly avoiding the weapon's barrel directly ahead of them. The Stinger was not so fortunate, and slammed full-bore into the cannon. The resultant explosion vaporized the cannon and peeled back a section of the basestar's hull, exposing the weapons bay and the weaponeers within. Some of them had been wounded grievously by the explosion. Others hurried to take their place, not stopping to tend to the fallen.

  The Duet veered away from the basestar, and Troy was laughing as if he'd been sniffing plant vapors.

  "Nice flyin', hotshot," Dalton congratulated him, and added the sound of her laughter to his.

  Despite their best efforts and their heroic flying, the Viper squadron was falling short of their goal. The big ships continued to close the distance to the colonial fleet, while the last of the fleet made its way into open space. Trays' Viper had been struck by one of the stray blasts from the Chitain ships, and he was having difficulty maintaining altitude. He looked at the info-scroll on the inside of his helm, saw his gyro-capacitator had been damaged and was on the verge of failing altogether.

  Still, he thought he could push the little fighter a bit harder, at least finish his pass, when the ship began to shudder violently, as if it were in the grip of a grande mal seizure. "I'm losing altitude," Trays reported. "I think I'm going to have to drop out."

  "Head back to base," Starbuck ordered him. "This party's about to break up anyway."

  Trays banked sharply and started back to the landing bay, his Viper shaking harder by the moment. His proximity alarm began to sound, and his monitor showed a Cylon Raider on his tail. Through his canopy, Trays could see the Galactica, but she was still many metrons away. A crimson splash of energy scorched his starboard wing, another beam just skipping beneath the port.