Islands in the Sky

  the call of duty. It had been a nice moment, a fine moment, the last

  time they'd joined in warmth as a family. Now Zac was dead---and Athena

  didn't want ot think deeply about that now.

  She tried to shake the sorrowful thoughts out of her heard by taking

  a reading of her equipment. However, she couldn't help but watch the

  monitors often. Planetside, things were worse. There were fires

  everwhere. Buildings were still falling down. Bloodied and burned-up

  corpses were tucked into doorways and corners of debris as if arranged

  for some sick snitrad's pleasure viewing.

  "First Zac, now this! They trused us to protect them!" She sensed

  her father looking disdainfully her way. "How could we let it happen?

  Why were we guarding a bunch of corrupt buriticians instead of our homes?

  We let it happen. We let it happen."

  She looked toward Adama, saw the pain in his face again, wished she

  hadn't spoken. He was the commander. When she said how could we let it

  happen, she knew that inside he heard why did you let it happen. She

  wouldn't be able to take that back. Yes, it was true, but she wouldn't

  be able to take it back.

  For the next few microns she performed her duties while still in the

  dream state. But all the concentration she oculd work up would not push

  the gruesome memories of destruction out of her mind. If only Starbuck

  were here to cheer her up, she thought---but she didn't even know where

  he was. They had left him behind with the other they had---they had

  abandoned! He had to come back. At least Starbuck had to come back.

  She needed him now.

  Tigh called everybody's attention to the largest monitor screen.

  The Cylon bases ships had now been located. One of them could be seen in

  closeup, the other two in the distance. All of them were launching more

  fighters. Another officer locked in scenes from all of the Colonies.

  Each picture showed Cylon fighters on bombing runs.

  "What are the reports from the other eleven Colonies, Colonel?"

  Adama asked.

  "I'm sorry, Commander. There's no hope."

  "But there's always----what about Sagitara? They have the most

  sophisticated defense system in all the Colonies. Perhaps there's still

  time..."

  "Sorry, Commander. The planet is in flames."

  Athena had never seen her father so pale, so close to fainting. She

  took a tentative step toward him. He saw her and waved her away. He

  turned to Tigh.

  "Prepare my shuttlecraft," he said. Tigh appeared as startled as

  everyone else who heard the commander's request.

  "Your shuttlecraft, sir?" Tigh said.

  "I'm going down on the surface of Caprica, Tigh."

  "That's out of the question, Commander. You can't take the risks."

  "Carry out my order, Tigh!"

  "I can't sir. If the Cylon scanners should pick you up when you get

  out of our camouflage force field, they'll kill you."

  "I'm going with you," Apollo said.

  "Yes," said Athena. "Me, too."

  Adama touched her arm, spoke softly:

  "You stay here. We'll be all right."

  "But I must!"

  "No. You're needed here."

  She capitulated to the firm tone of command in Adama's voice. As

  elder brother, it was Apollo's right to take this particular trip, even

  though it was usually her job to pilot the shuttlecraft for her father.

  "We'll go in my fighter, father," Apollo said. "You're the last

  surviving member of the Quorum. If we run into a Cylon attack ship, at

  least you'll have a chance."

  "The captain's right," Tigh said. "And, since I'm the one who has to

  fill your shoes if anything happens, well, I must insist you go down in

  the fighter, Commander."

  Adama nodded at Tigh.

  "You proceed to rendezvous with the survivors of the Fleet. Make

  all necessary preparation. You must proceed as if I might not return."

  "Not return?" Tigh said. "You'll return, Commander."

  Tigh extended his hand and the two men, old friends as well as

  fellow officers who had served together for more than thirty yahrens,

  clasped each other's wrists as they shook hands.

  *****

  From the Adama Journals:

  Nobody likes being called a coward. I didn't even understand the

  misconceptions placed uponmy withdrawal of the Galactica after the Cylon

  ambush.

  There is a fable that goes back so far in space lore that nobody

  knows its basis. A moon miner in the solar system that contained the

  fabled Earth works the natural satellites of the various planets. A

  miner is like no other space adventurer, braving the desolate areas were

  even warriors would cower in fear, just to dig out those materials vital

  to human progress. Moon miners, according to legend, live more

  ferociously than any other heroes in the space fraternity. At a party on

  some outworld of the system, honoring one of the usual holidays devoted

  to harvesting or history, a group of moon miners party happily.

  Suddenly, their celebration is interrupted by the roar of a loud, ugly

  voice. A strange, ugly man, dressed in a bizarrely colorful variation of

  the basic green mining outfit, strides into the center of the party.

  Nobody has ever seen him before or knows where he comes form.

  Immediately he chides th eminers for their cowardice and offers them a

  challenge. "You should," he says to them, "choose the bravest of your

  number and I will allow that designee a shot at him with the weapon of

  his choice." Our hero, named Solar in many versions of the story,

  springs forward and makes his choice. In many versions it's a vehicle,

  usually a bulldozer equipped with the surface-mining scoop. Aiming the

  bulldozer at the ill-mannered intruder, Solar runs it at him full force.

  With the scoop he knocks the villain so high in the sky that the man goes

  into temporary orbit. But he comes down, lands on his feet, and tells

  the miner-hero that they'll meet again, on the next occasion of the

  holiday, and it will be Solar's turn to receive a blow. "But where will

  I find you?" Solar asks. "It'll be your business to find out for

  yourself," the villain responds. Among moon-miners, the implication of

  cowardice is the worst insult and so our hero spends the next yahren,

  experiencing many adventures, including the usual romantic dalliances, in

  search of the domain of the rude intruder. But nobody he meets seems to

  know where the villain lives.

  Finally, the legend has it, the moon miner co mes to the original

  moon, the one that circles Earth. He's never been there before, never

  known its magical properties, never even glimpsed the legendary home

  planet of the Thirteenth Tribe from the vantage point of its own moon.

  If he finds the villain and lives through the experience, he vows to

  descend to Earth, perhaps spend his remaining days there.

  On the moon his adventures continue, but he begins to despair of

  ever finding the goal of his quest and t
aking the return blow. However,

  on the day fated for their meeting, he encounters an old hag nestled in

  an abandoned scoop within a manmade crater, and she instructs him. The

  villain dwells in an orbiting castle in the sky above the moon, and Solar

  must launc himself there. "Why must I launch?" he asks. "Why can't I

  just hop the daily shuttle or a passing freighter?" She says that the

  boastful villain claims that the miner will prove himself a coward if he

  comes up by shuttle or any safe conveyance.

  Solar secures himself upon the track of a mass-driver, a long

  beltlike device used to launch products of the mines to a precisely

  located receiver-scoop vehicle, called a catcher, where it's transferred

  to an orbiting space station. He sets the mechanism going, and he begins

  to be pushed along the mass-driver track. At first slowly, then faster

  and faster. As his speed increases, he gradually rises a few hectars

  above the trace of the mass-driver, and then a few hectars more, kept

  from flight only by plates designed to prevnt a payloand form being flung

  into space ahead of an exactly computed time. With acceleration he

  speeds up the final launch slope. Restraining plates drop away and he's

  thrown into space, into the dark sky above the moon. A living corporeal

  payload, Solar speeds through the vacuum of space. His rate of speed

  increases to six hundred maxims per centon. In front of him, the

  villain's floating green castle appears, as if out of nowhere. At the

  last micron it puts out its own catcher and rudely interrupts the

  moon-miner's flight.

  Naturally, our hero would have been broken into a million pieces,

  just like a mining payload---but this is a fairy tale, and he awakens in

  the bedchamber of his host. The villain now extends his hand in

  friendship and says that the debt is paid. Solar has verified his

  bravery, he is no coward. And---who knows?---in stories where villains

  are instantly transformed into comradely hosts, perhaps Solar the moon

  miner does realize his dream of visiting Earth.

  There were times when my own apparent cowardice made me feel like

  the moon-miner, as I faced the destination where I might be broken into a

  million pieces. However, I could not count on awakening comfortably in

  my opponent's bedchamber.

  *****

  CHAPTER THREE: WE WILL FIGHT BACK

  When the Galactica withdrew from battle, Starbuck almost fell out of

  his cockpit in anger.

  "What's going on?" he radioed Boomer.

  "Don't ask me. The Commander's calling the shots."

  There was an edge of sarcasm in Boomer's voice, the tone of the

  hardbitten pilot who knows full well you cannot trust anybody in

  authority.

  "But he can't leave us hanging out here like..."

  "Hey, you guys," Greenbean's voice broke into the transmission.

  "What's up? The Galactica's pulling out."

  "You noticed!' Starbuck said. "I don't...it must...there's gotta be

  a good reason."

  "Sure there is," Boomer said. "It's dangerous around her. A guy

  could get...heads up, Greenbean, you've got a pair on your tail."

  "Pull up yourself, Boomer," Jolly's voice cut in. "You're in

  somebody's sights yourself. I'll try to get 'em off."

  As Starbuck zeroed in on the sinister fighters pouncing on Boomer,

  he looked back at the deaprating Galactica and muttered more to himself

  than to anybody who might be listening.

  "There's gotta be a good reason."

  He had scant time to be introspective about the mystery of his

  mother ship's hasty departure as scores of Cylon fighters impolitely

  demanded his attention. Several times he was nearly trapped in one of

  their insidious and dreaded pinwheel attacks, in which a dozen Cylon

  vehicles surrounded their target and each, in a complex, intricate

  sequence of arclike sweeps, bore down on the human flyers. A pinwheel

  was a particularly tough style of attack to evade, but Starbuck had been

  up against evry deceptive tacitc known to the vicious, iniquitous Cylons

  and could time his own moves to match theirs---and wipe out many of them

  in the bargain.

  Time and the fact that the Cylons greatly outnumbered the humans

  took their toll. Soon Starbuck discovered that his weapons charge had

  diminished to a dangerously low level. With no Galactica around to

  return for recharging, he could become a sitting duck for even the

  greenest of Cylon centurions. He searched the sky for another

  battlestar, where he could make an emergency landing for new fuel and new

  armament charges. He found the Solaria, but it was under heavy attack

  from a squadron of Cylon Raiders. Starbuck could see, through its

  portals, the flickering of hundreds of fires inside the battlestar. He

  directed his own fighter toward the besieged Solaria.

  "I'm with you," said a voice in his ear. Boomer, streaking by just

  above him. The Cylon pilots hadn't seen either of them yet. They zeroed

  in on the target.

  "I got him on the left," Boomer said.

  "And me on the right," Starbuck said.

  Boomer and Starbuck released their laser torpedoes synchronously. A

  second later the Cylon ship exploded, leaving thousands of lazily

  floating metallic traces in its sector of space. Another rCylon fighter

  emerged from the far side of the Solaria, took aim at the battlestar,

  fired a massive charge, and hit it amidships. Starbuck could see the

  Solaria begin to split in half as the Cylon fighter pulled away. Cursing

  malevolently, he bore down on the enemy and, relishing vengeance, sent

  the ship to oblivion with what seemed to be the last good shot he had

  left.

  "Nice shooting," Boomer said.

  "Yeah, but a little late," Starbuck snarled, as he watched the final

  stages of the Solaria's disintegration.

  He located another Cylon fighter in the distance and started toward

  it. But his common sense took over from his rage. Testing the firing

  button on his steering column, he heard the faint whine that told him

  that the weapons charge was now below efficiency level. He veered his

  own ship to the right, to escape any attack the Cylon craft might

  attempt. However, to his amazement, the several enemy ships he could

  discern now all went into an abrupt arcing turn and headed away from the

  human forces.

  "What's up?" Starbuck said.

  "Total defeat is what's up," Boomer said. "The Solaria was our last

  battlestar. Minus the Galactica,of course, which seemed to find it

  militarily necessary to turn tail and--"

  "Stow that, Boomer. We don't know what happened yet."

  "Okay, okay. Whatever they've destroyed the fleet, the slimy louses,

  and there's no use hanging around."

  Jolly's voice cut in.

  "They're turning tail. Let's go get 'em!"

  "No!' Starbuck cautioned. "We've barely got enough fuel as it is."

  "To do what?" Boomer said. "To joyride around this sector? Where do

  you propose we
land. Lieutenant Starbuck? There's nothing left for..."

  "The Galactica has left," Starbuck said. "I suggest we try to find

  it."

  "Right," said Jolly, "and when we do..."

  "We shoot it down," said Boomer.

  "Tone it down, Boomer," Starbuck said. "Let's make time to hear

  their side. They must've had a good reason to pull out when they did."

  "Yeah," said Jolly. They're cowards!"

  Starbuck heard Boomer's soft malicious laughter in tacit agreement

  with Jolly's accusation.

  "How do you propose we get to the Galactica, flyboy?" Boomer said.

  "You gonna take us by the hand and guide us home?"

  "We'll find it, don't worry. First, we've got amake it to one of

  the fueling space stations or we're not gonna get off the pot."

  "What make you think the Cylons didn't take out all the fueling

  stations?" Boomer asked. "I mean the question with all courtesy, of

  course, skyrider."

  "We'll just have to find out, won't we Boomer?"

  "If you say so."

  Boomer's plane banked and swept off from Starbuck's portside wing.

  Jolly followed suit. After a moment of hesitation, so did Starbuck.

  Fortunately, the refueling stations, which were hidden from Cylon

  view by camouflaging force fields, were all intact, and the squadrons

  were able to refuel. With the scanner transmission no longer jammed,

  they worked out the coordinates for the Galactica right away. Starbuck

  was puzzled by the fact that the battlestar was in the region of their

  home planet. That location only seemed to support Boomer and Jolly's

  accusation that Adama had taken the Galactica away from the fray for

  cowardly reasons. During the long trek back, as they made two more hops

  to fueling stations, Starbuck convinced Boomer, Jolly, and the other

  fuming pilots of the need for caution----not only to wait to find out

  what had happened, but to save themselves and their planes. Still, he

  could feel his own rage build to the boiling point.

  As they neared the Galactica, Starbuck ordered the flight patterns

  set on a direct line to the battlestar's landing deck. When he pushed

  his own course button, however, sparks from the control panel flew

  suddenly all over the cockpit. At the same moment a piece of the

  instrument panel popped out and dangled from its morrings. The ship

  tried to waver from the dictated flight path. Trying to keep it straight

  manually, Starbuck had to deal with the electrical shorting directly.

  His mind telling him to work slowly, he forced his fingers to keep wires

  apart and try to sort out the problem.

  "Reading you, Red leader one," said a voice on the communicator.

  "From here something appears to be wrong with your craft."