"Now what is she and what's she doing?"
He restrained his urge to chase after it. He wasn't ready yet to
follow a possible ghost-tanker into possible jeopardy. Not until he had
made every other kind of cheek first. However, as soon as he tried to
punch out a scanner program, the scanner's screen began presenting a
meaningless jumble of symbols. It was as if something inside those
clouds were trying to lure him inside, one of the Space Lorelies so dear
to saloon storytellers. After trying every check he could think of, he
told Zac of the failure of all his sophisticated equipment to get a fix
on the mysterious clouds.
"I get the same mess from a scan of that tanker back of us," Zac
said. "Whatever I try, just a jumble."
"Somebody's jamming us."
"Who? Warbook says they're both unarmed freighters."
"My foot. If they're jamming us, they're hiding something. There's
no choice. I'm going in there."
"But the cloud..."
"I'll take the chance."
"All right, but I'm not sure I like the idea of us flying in blind."
"Not us, kid. You stay put."
"I can't..."
"If I need you, I'll call you to come in after me, Lieutenant."
Apollo headed his viper ship direction into the cloud mass. He
heard Zac's agitated voice over his communicator:
"This jamming's knocking out my scanner now."
Inside the clouds Apollo tried to work his own scanner again, and
received the same jumble.
"Nothing but a harmless cloud cover," he said. "Not heavy at all,
not as dense as it looked. I don't see why they'd send up all that
electronic...uh, oh."
Breaking through the other side of the clouds and looking down, he
suddenly saw why. Below him was an immense Cylon staging area and he had
flown right smack into the middle of it.
"Apollo, what's going on!?" said Zac.
As far as Apollo could see there were Cylon warships, with their odd
curves and arclike limbs. In one of the ships he could see the usual
traid that composed a Cylon fighting crew. Two helmeted pilots sat side
by side. Their tubular shaped helmets covered what Apollo knew from a
closeup examination of Cylons corpses to be many-eyed creatures with
heads that apparently could alter shape at will. In the center of the
helmet was a long but narrow aperture from which emerged frine
concentrated beams of light. No human had ever discovered whether the
light was generated by the Cylons themselves or was some facet of the
helmet's technology. Now, as Apollo stared at this particular trio of
Cylons, he was startled to see one of their helmet lights swing upward
toward his Viper. At the same time the Cylon observer motioned to his
fellows to follow his gaze. Apollo punched a reverse loop on the
directional touch plate. His ship rolled upward and over, and screamed
off in a tight turn. At the same time, he radioed to Zac:
"Let's get out of here!"
"Why?"
He caught sight of Zac's ship as he came out of the clouds.
"I'll explain later."
Zac's viper promptly rolled over to follow his brother's
accelerating craft.
"Apollo," Zac said, "for a couple of harmless tankers, it seems to
me you're buring up an awful lot of unnecessary..."
Zac's voice was interrupted by the sound of explosions.
"What is it, Zac?"
"Ships. Cylon ships. Co me at me. They're firing. Hold on. I'm
coming..."
Checking the scanner, Apollo could make out four Cylon ships
pursuing his brother's plane. He punched in the direct-com line to the
Galactica, but got only static in reply.
"They're jamming our transmission, kid. We've got to get back to
the fleet and warn them. It's a trap, an ambush. They've got enough
firepower to take out the entire Fleet."
"But Apollo, there's the peace mission, the whole Quorum of the
Twelve, they couldn't..."
Apollo heard an explosion through his earpiece.
"What is it, Zac? Are you all right? What's wrong?"
Zac's frightened voice responded.
"Apollo, they zapped my port engine."
"Take it easy. Look, we're not going to make it showing those
louses our backs. I can see four ships on the scanner. How many you
make out?"
"Same. Four."
"Damn them. They only sent four after us. It's insulting."
"Maybe, Apollo, but they're doing awfully well."
"Only because they're behind us. Okay, when I count three, hit your
reverse thrusters and maximum braking flaps. We'll give them a little
surprise. Okay?"
"Okay!"
"One...two...three!"
While the sound of his won craft's reverse thrusting was deafening
in his ears, the subsequent silence of the Cylon fighters flying past him
was disconcertingly eerie. Although he could not see his helmeted
enemies, Apollo was sure they were confused by the abrupt maneuver. He
could picture them scanning the sky, their beams of light going every
whichway, trying to locate him and Zac.
Narrowing his eyes, he put his finger on the firing control button
of his joystick. One of the Cylon ships flew into range.
"Right here," he whispered, "you gallmonging snitrad."
He squeezed the trigger. The Cylon ship disintegrated, transformed
immediately into astral debris.
Zac's fighter came into view, pursuing another of the Cylon ships.
Knowing his brother's moves, Apollo could sense him lining up his target
and firing. The second Cylon vehicle disintegrated. The remaining two
fighters divided and veered off. The element of surprise had gained
Apollo and Zac two direct hits.
"Not bad, little brother," Apollo said. "Okay, you go after the guys
on the right..."
Apollo directed his Viper ship at the Cylon fighter on the left.
Before it could swing around to attack positon, he lined it up on target,
squeezed the trigger, and blasted it to the far reaches of space. As he
swung his craft around he could see Zac again, just in the act of firing
at, and missing, the last of the Cylon attackers. Heck, Apollo thought,
the kid was so often a shade two eager, too quick on the trigger. Zac's
pray veered off, did a tricky loop that Apollo recognized as a skilled
maneuver only the best Cylon pilots could execute. Before Zac realized
what had happened, his enemy had taken up position behind his plane.
"Apollo..." Zac said.
"I can see. Keep them interested just a little longer. I'll be
right with you."
"Interested? Believe me, they're interested!"
As Zac tried to pull away from his pursuer, his ship ws hit again.
"There goes one engine," he said.
Apollo's Viper swooped in on the Cylon fighter from the side,
heading toward it on a perpendicular course.
"Steady," he whispered, "steady. Just
don't look this way, guys."
He thought he saw one of the Cylon pilots become aware of him a
moment too late, just before the ship exploded.
Sighing, turning his ship toward Zac's, Apollo said, "The day those
guys can outfight us without a ten to one margine..."
"Apollo," Zac said, "better look at your scanner."
He looked, saw that a larger attack force had emerged from the
luminous clouds. What looked like a solid wave of Cylon Raiders was
heading their way.
"Ten to one, yeah," he said, "but a thousand to one, that's not
fair."
"What does it mean, Apollo?"
Apollo laughed mordantly.
"It means, little brother, that there isn't going to be any peace.
The peace mission was a trap right from the start. We've got to get
back, warn the Fleet."
"Do it, Apollo. I'm short an engine, you know. I won't be able to
keep up with you."
Apollo was impressed by the note of courage in Zac's voice. He was
a member of the family, all right. But family meant more than just
forced bravado.
"I can't leave you, Zac."
"You have to, Apollo. Hey, I'll be okay. I'll keep ahead of them,
don't worry. I'll put my foot in that turbo and make it back ahead of
them. There's no other choice."
"Okay, partner. Meet me in the ready room, I'll keep the ambrosa
chilled."
"I don't need liquor right now, thanks. I've got enough coming my
way."
"Good luck, kid."
Before the turbo thrusters engaged, Apollo took one final look at
his brother's starfighter. Then the turbo kicked in and the Viper seemed
to vanish immediately from the black, suddenly morbid sky.
*****
The farther away his shuttlecraft took him from the Atlantia and its
unpleasantly cheerful set of buriticians, the more relaxed Adama felt.
It was always good to return to his own ship. He longed to take one of
his famous tours, go down among the crew for some casual chatting and
perhaps a few slugs of the kind of brew that did not often find its way
into command cabins.
"You're thinking the kind of thought you always refuse to tell me
about," Athena said, swiveling her pilot seat around toward him."
"As you were, Ensign. Your commander needs to maintain his
privacy."
She assumed a fake pout, then lalughed as she swiveled back. For a
moment Adama examined his daughter's profile. He knew she was considered
beautiful, especially by Starbuck and the other young officers who
competed for her attentions. However, even as a loving father, he had
difficulty perceiving Athena as beautiful. For one thing, she looked too
much like him and too little like her mother, who was the real beauty of
the family. Athena's face was angular like her father's, but the overall
effect was softer, less granitic. Her nose displayed the same hint of
aquilinity and her mouth the same thin-lipped straightness. Although he
imagined these features as showing the world a firm look of determination
in himself, he didn't think they blended well with Athena's lustrous dark
hair and the one good features she did inherit from her mother, her eyes.
Every time he caught the look of his wife, Ila, in those glowng blue
eyes, he found himself glancing away to avoid the longing that always
accompanied his memories of Ila.
In their married life, he and Ila had been apart for more time then
they had been tighter---this time it had been almost two yahrens since
his return to Caprica---and that enforced separation was the one
requirement of the military career that he had always despised. If it
had not been for the war, they could have had the kind of balanced, happy
life that now came only at well-spaced intervals, although, as Ila often
argued, perhaps their love was intensified by the long disruptions.
Without them, she said, she and Adama might have become dull old married
folks, never really acknowledging each other's existence. Instead, they
remained bedazzled, youthful lovers who still appreciated each other's
virtues. Adama had replied that she was just saying that absence makes
the heart grow fonder, albeit it in a more roundabout and loquacious way.
Of course she said that---and a little bit more.
As he loked as his daughter now, intent on her duties, he saw a
feminine version of himself. Even her body, with its attractive and
clearly sensous features, seemed to suggest useful strength rather than
useless coquetry---or perhaps that was a just a father's biased
point-of-view. He loved her, would always love her, but would never in
the Twelve Colonies of Mankind be able to see her as an object of intense
interest to gentlemen suitors.
The communicator light flashed on and Athena quickly donned her
headset. Her brow furled as she listened.
"Something's wrong," she said.
"What is it?"
"I don't know, but they just put the Galactica bridge on alert."
"On alert, why..."
"Ease up, Father, we'll find out what's up on the old bucket soon
enough. Just let me get this crate onto the landing bay safely.
She engaged the landing hookup and checked out her equipment.
Everything was okay. The landing bay came out of its pod, expanded, and
seemed to ease itself under the descending shuttlecraft. Athena guided
the small craft to the final stopping point indicated by a flashing red
deck light. When the shuttlecraft settled to a stop, both father and
daughter were out of it and running.
On the bridge Adama found his aide, Colonel Tigh, squinting at his
scanners intently. Tigh, a, short, wiry black man who had been through
many battles at his commander's side, was not one to panic easily, yet he
seemed very apprehensive and jumpy at the moment.
"What is it?" Adama said.
"Our patrol ran into trouble," Tigh responded. "We're picking up
signals but we can't make anyting out of them. Jamming of some sort."
"The trouble, what is it?"
"I can't tell yet. Pirates, maybe. Maybe smugglers. Or..."
Adama could read Tigh's real conclusion in the man's eyes. Cylons.
Definitely Cylons! Looking out at the starfield at the placidly drifting
command ship, he ordered the radio man, Omega, to connect him with
President Arcon at once. When Arcon answered, there was still that sound
of partying in his voice. Adama cut that short.
"One of our patrols is under attack, Mr. President. We don't know
by whom."
Arcon's pale face on the monitor altered at the speed of light.
Adama thought for a moent there was interference affected the picture's
resolution. The skulking figure of Baltar, his chubby face showing a
concerned that seemed feigned to Adama, moved into the picture.
"As a precautionary measure," Adama continued, "I'd like to launch
intercept fighters."
Like to? he thought. That was the kind of mealy-mouth
ed phrasing
Arcon expected from the more servile members of the Quorum of the Twelve!
In the old days, Adama would have said he was determined to send out the
intercepts. His stomach churned as he watched Baltar lean in toward the
president and whisper in his ear. Arcon nodded.
"Yes, you're quite right, Baltar. Quite right," he said.
"Commander..." Where did Arcon get off addressing his oldest friend so
formally? Why did he put such official airs in front of the despicable
Baltar? "Commander, as a precautionary measure, I insist upon
restraint."
"Restraint?!"
"Yes, restraint. Commander, if this turns out to be an encounter
with some outlaw traffic, we could jeopardize the entire cause of peace
by displaying fighters when we are so close to our rendezvous."
To Adama the Cylon choice of rendezvou point seemed more suspicious
than ever.
"Mr. President, I just told you that two of my aircraft are under
armed attack."
"By unknown forces. We must receive proper information. You're not
to launch until the situation is clearer."
"Sir, may I at least urge you to bring the Fleet to a state of
alert?"
Adama's throat tightened, unable to believe he was pleading like
this.
"I'll consider it. Thank you, Commander."
"He'll consider it," Tigh said angrily. He had never been able to
keep his feelings in. It had lost him a battlestar command post at least
once. "Has he gone mad?"
"Colonel!"
Tigh looked around. Clearly he was a bit embarrassed at the way the
bridge officers had become ominously silent, listening to them.
"I'm sorry, Commander," Tigh said. "It's just that...well..."
"Yes. What?"
"The patrol under fire. It's, well, it's under Captain Apollo's
command."
"Well, if I can't depend on my own son, who can I depend on?"
"Zac's with him. One of the men took sick and Zac was on the bridge
at the time, and, well, there was a this little matter of a disciplinary
nature, a nurse, and I...I..."
"Enough, Colonel. I understand your concern. But Zac can take care
of himself as well as his older brother can."
He turned away from his aide, afraid that the man might read in his
eyes that he didn't believe a word of what he was saying. In action, Zac
had good instincts, good moves, but was too impulsive---always had been,
ever since he was a wild kid stealing rides from every shuttle or
freighter that he could stow away in. The fact that Zac had raced off on
patrol was stil another of the wrong things that had gnawed at Adama's
nerves from the beginning of this strange peace junket.
For the next few mili-centons, the crew of the bridge worked
silently, aware of the explosive tension that surrounded their commander