Now that he had gotten all that off his chest, Tigh settled back into his chair. Adama cocked his head quizzically and asked:
"What if we had a reference point to guide on in the void?"
Tigh shrugged. "But there is none."
From the surface of his desk, Adama picked up a tattered and yellowed book.
"This volume, the Koboliana, sometimes called the Book of the Word, tells us of a great star that guided the people of Kobol from their withered and desiccated planet across what is described here as an endless black sea."
Tigh leaned forward.
"This endless sea, you're saying it's the void?"
"It could be. I think it is."
Tigh sat back again, looking puzzled.
"Commander, I'd—I'd like to be sustained by such faith as yours. You know I've never been able to—to make my peace with the doctrine in that book. I'd like to believe that the twelve worlds originated on some forgotten planet somewhere, and that its peoples found it necessary to flee as their sun died and their homelands dried up. But, I'm sorry, to me it's all legend, myth. The kind of supportive values that make up a religion. I'm sorry, I really am. I feel a heretic's pain whenever this subject comes up."
Adama continued to stare at his aide, who felt that the power of his commander's eyes might just be as bright as the legendary star he had referred to.
"Adama," Tigh continued, "even if I accept your idea of the mythic void and the bright, beaconlike star, there are, well, there're probably as many voids in the universe as doubtful ideas. Who's to say if this is the same one? And even if it was, how can we be sure that your interpretation of the data—and that of the Koboliana, for that matter—is at all accurate? Our ancestors tended to view all events as manifestations of deities rather than science."
"You don't believe it really happened?"
"I merely think that what appeared as a great guiding light might have been some kind of astronomical phenomenon not at all connected with the beliefs that have been attributed to it. Perhaps it was not a beacon of faith but merely a fortunate star or sun that they followed because a discovery of science indicated they should. Forgive me, Adama, I am just not a believer, you know that."
Adama thought over Tigh's comments for a moment, then he opened a drawer of his desk and took out a box. Raising the lid of the box delicately, as if its contents might be radioactive, he removed a breastplate, a roughly circular piece of dark blue stone encased in a gold-tinted metal setting.
"Old friend," Adama said, "this breastplate contains a stone which legend says was carried from the home planet Kobol. I may wear it as a member of the council, but it is also the symbol of our faith, representing the old Lords of Kobol and their beliefs. I must respond to it, must follow where its spirit impels me."
"Its . . . its spirit?"
"Yes, Tigh." Adama's voice had grown more impassioned. "I can feel its powers even as I hold it. I cannot deny it, turn my back on the inspiration which delivered our people once before. Why do you look at me like that?"
"It just occurred to me that you might be crazy."
Adama laughed. A quite sane-sounding laugh, as it happened.
"No, I'm not crazy. But men moved by such overwhelming forces usually appear crazy to the people around them, I'm told."
"So do people who are just plain crazy when they talk about . . . about forces that don't exist. With all due respect, sir—"
"We will enter the void."
"I realize that. I only hope that you're right."
"Trust me."
"I always do. And it always works out. It's just that the time it doesn't work out may be the end of everything."
"I understand that as well as you. But we must take the risk."
"Yes, sir."
The relaxed tone of a talk between friends had gone out of Tigh's voice. He was all duty now. Adama wished they could have stayed calm and intimate, discussing the volatile subject in an abstract, gentlemanly fashion, but there were times when it was best to restore the sense of Galactica's hierarchy. After Tigh had saluted and left, Adama stayed behind, staring at the breastplate as if it might suddenly reveal its truth to him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SERINA: Serina here. I don't know where to begin this time. I don't even know what I feel. Or should feel. I've had my first taste of battle. The hard part, the part I don't know how to deal with, is that—for a short while at least—I liked it. I blasted a Cylon raider out of the skies. Just like a hotshot pilot. And I liked it. I felt a sense of elation. I was happy when I got back to the Galactica. Serina, flying ace. The Joystick Cutie of Blue Squadron. All of us were hysterically happy. In the ready-room we babbled about our maneuvers, our kills, as if they were matters of gossip at a tea party. Myself included. I led the chorus. Now I'm not so sure I feel good about it at all.
I'm a warrior, I guess.
So much for lingering doubts and troubled reflections, on with the report. We headed straight for the asteroid where Boomer and Jolly had detected the Cylon outpost. Apollo, as flight commander, led the way. As soon as he had the asteroid on-scanner, he tightened the formation, holding the escort squadron out of possible Cylon artillery range. Then he announced he would attempt a low-level approach from a different angle, to catch the Cylons by surprise before they could scramble fighters.
"If I get lucky," he said, "we won't have to risk the squadron."
My heart was in my throat, I was so afraid for him. All I could think of was why did we have to risk so much? My thoughts then strayed to more selfish levels. Cynically, I wondered if it was right for our life together to depend on the insignificant, rocky, hideous asteroid below us. I realized how important the research mission was, but I was angry that Apollo was planning such an enormous risk.
Dietra, the cadet who's displayed the most talent for leadership, questioned Apollo's decision, saying that our best shot at surprising the Cylons was to all go down there together. She told me later that she thought Apollo, Starbuck, and our other instructors were mollycoddling us and she resented that. We deserved our chance to prove ourselves; we were capable of handling it. Apollo suggested that Dietra demonstrate her abilities by following orders, then he went in. His viper seemed to diminish in size to a tiny dot as it descended toward the asteroid. I don't think I ever felt so frightened in my life. For a moment I was certain that I wouldn't see him again.
I didn't have much time for such self-indulgent emotions, because Brie broke commline silence by informing Starbuck that she was picking up a blip on her scanner in a rear quadrant. At first he made light of her observation. Brie, after all, had exhibited a strong slant toward emotional thinking and action all during training. Starbuck thought she had just, in her overeager way, mistaken the medical shuttle for some other craft, and he told her so. There was a long silence, during which I thought I heard Brie make a couple of stuttering starts toward another communication. Finally, in a terribly meek voice, she said she didn't think it was the shuttle and, not only that, it was closing in on us. Starbuck, still believing it was the medical ship, angrily shouted that he'd ordered Salik's crew to hold position. Finally, he analyzed the image on his own scanner and realized that the tiny blip inside one of its squares could not be the shuttle, after all. Brie had been right. (I must admit I felt a small sense of triumph for the cadet class.)
Starbuck cursed and flew off to engage the intruder. Athena pulled her ship out of formation and followed him. She told me later that, when she'd drawn up even with him, he had been quite irritated. He asked her what she thought she was doing and started to read her out royally. Well, that got Athena's back up but she kept cool anyway. She informed him that she was, after all, his wingman, and wingmen were supposed to protect each other. He muttered something, and told her to stay out of his way. That really got her, she said, and she started repeating to herself, "Keep it up, Starbuck, just keep it up." She was somewhat soothed by the chantlike aspect of the utterance.
Then the Cylon
raider zoomed into physical view. As Athena tells it, she and Starbuck immediately forgot their differences and acted in concert like the well-trained team they were. Athena went highside, while Starbuck dropped to the low position. The Cylon ship, used to this kind of trap, changed course and made to slip away from the double-pronged assault. Both Athena and Starbuck had anticipated the enemy move. They knew the Cylon crew would maneuver into a position where it could return fire, while Athena and Starbuck worked their controls adjusting to the shift. Catching the Cylon fighter with simultaneous bursts of fire, they watched it explode. Since they were aware that the Cylon crew had had time to warn the outpost, Starbuck and Athena had no time to admire their victory. They headed back toward the asteroid and the squadron.
At the same time Starbuck was informing us of impending danger from the outpost, Apollo was just setting his viper into its low-level approach on the enemy stronghold. Before we could warn him off, the rock-wall camouflage of the Cylon base pulled away and raiders started roaring out. Apollo said later it looked like bursts of fire suddenly erupting from the surface of the asteroid. The lead ship flew in his direction but obviously did not suspect the presence of a vanguard that close to base. Apollo was able to get the enemy ship in his sights and fire. The disintegration of the Cylon craft alerted the next one in line and it turned toward Apollo. The advantage of surprise still with him, Apollo destroyed that ship, too. As he whipped up and over the hole in the rock wall that was the Cylon launch site, he briefly feasted his eyes on an entire squadron of Cylon raiders, all moving toward the opening.
I can still hear his voice coming over the commline:
"Blue Squadron. Apollo. They're launching. The sky here is about to be full of enemy ships. Return to Galactical Repeat, return to Galactical"
Dietra said, "Ignore the order. We can't leave Apollo behind. No way!"
She pointed her ship downward. A moment later, the rest of us hotshots followed suit. My feelings at that moment were definitely mixed. I wanted to be down there helping Apollo, desperately, but I was scared stiff for myself. Fortunately, in battle situations one has little time to consider the psychological limits or philosophical ramifications of such a problem. The next thing I knew, I was part of a phalanx of ships zeroing in on another phalanx of ships.
"I ordered all of you back," Apollo yelled.
"After this run, Captain," Dietra said. She sounded as if she were smiling.
I didn't have much time or opportunity to monitor the actions of my fellow warriors in the aerial combat, for a Cylon fighter was heading right at me immediately. Fortunately, I automatically clicked into battle mode and my thumb moved quickly and instinctively to the middle button on my joystick, the one governing my laser weapon. One blast, one simple blast, and that Cylon ship became fragments of metal flying in all directions, some right at my cockpit, it seemed. For a moment, I thought of the spark of life that I took away from the three Cylon pilots, and I hated myself for turning killer, no matter how justifiable the cause. I wasn't able to contemplate this particular moral dilemma at length, however, for there was another Cylon ship nestling into my sights. I got it, too, split it into its prime components with one steady on-target shot. The second killing was easier. I felt happy. I had proven myself. All those doubts about me and the other cadets being qualified to fly vipers were fading fast. I had little time to enjoy my elation because another Cylon ship was sweeping toward me. It should have knocked me right out of the skies, but Brie had seen it first and she hit it just before it would have destroyed me. Later, I could not stop thanking Brie.
As I was busy qualifying for fighter-stripes on my flight helmet, Apollo had recovered from his surprise at our arrival on the scene and had formulated his plan. Streaking toward the Cylon post, he shouted for us to stay on the enemy craft while he went for their launch bay. Opening fire on the hole itself, he first disintegrated a new pair of Cylon raiders about to launch. Then he flew dangerously close to the hole, firing wildly. His shots hit something. As he pulled out of the dive, fire and exploding fragments suddenly erupted outward from the Cylon base.
The rest was just a wipe-up operation. All of us came through with flying colors, shooting down most of the remaining Cylon fighters. We missed only a trio of ships, that swept away from us and out into space, evidently to carry the news of our whereabouts to another Cylon post or base ship.
As Apollo realigned with our formation, Dietra congratulated him for his splendid shooting, and I was pleased by his gracious response. None of the Starbuckian brashness for my husband-to-be. He called my name, and I acknowledged: "Right here, Apollo," and he seemed relieved to hear my voice. He then congratulated the squadron on a job well done.
Well, the report's not in yet on what the medical team found on that desolate asteroid. They're doing tests right now, and I'll dutifully record their findings later.
After we got back here, we all seemed to feel the need for release and we gathered in the Galactica"s officers' club. Drinking, singing, and generally raising hell like seasoned veterans. Dietra kept talking of the number of Cylon ships she'd destroyed personally. Brie was amazed she'd functioned at all. Carrie could not get off the subject of how well she'd maneuvered her ship. Gemi, her small, chunky body looking taller and stronger, kept asking us if she had performed all right, and we kept telling her that destroying three enemy craft, as she had done, was at the very least an adequate display of her warrior skills.
When Apollo and Starbuck joined us, I think they felt left out. Here we were, green cadets, bragging about our conquests—and there they were, two pilots who'd been through more battles than there are dents on a transport ship, discussing the preparations for the wedding between Apollo and myself. As he mentioned the bargain he'd received in trading for a pair of curtains with a weaver aboard the colonial mover's freighter, he sent me an overtheatrical wink. I sobered up a bit from my combat binge. Before the disease struck the Galactica's squadrons, my thoughts had centered on my love for Apollo and the wedding. Now I was so concerned about what a cracking good pilot I'd become that I'd forgotten all that, momentarily at least. I went into a temporary funk, stirring out of it only when I realized how Brie was telling me in great detail how, even with the G-suit, her vision had grayed at the edges in one sweep. And Sorrel was going on about how the real attack was nothing like what we'd experienced in the simulators.
Suddenly I knew I had to getaway. I felt so sad. I returned here and started recording. I feel better now. Not good, but better.
CHAPTER NINE
Lucifer glided along a corridor to the base-star command chamber, moving much more quickly than usual. He was unusually eager to view Baltar's reaction to the news he brought. The human had been so sure of himself, it would be intriguing to see how he would respond to a major setback. Lucifer's interest was quite academic. He had been studying Baltar for so long now, the man had become his special project, one whose reactions must be observed and recorded.
Lucifer entered the command room at such a high speed, he almost forgot to decelerate. He might have collided with the base of the pedestal if he had not transmitted through his ambulatory circuits the message to apply the brakes to the treads at the bottom of his nether limbs.
"By your command," he said, as soon as he had come to a stop. His bow toward the pedestal was abrupt and hardly sincere. His obsequious overlay personality seemed to be decaying rapidly. He would have to see that he monitored himself much more severely in the future.
"Speak," Baltar said, his diction so precise it seemed to be providing its own echo.
"Vipers from the Galactica have attacked and destroyed our outpost."
There was no response from the human. Instead, he mulled over Lucifer's report before speaking again:
"Then the Galactica is on her way over the outpost now!"
"No."
Baltar's bushy eyebrows raised.
"No?" he said.
"She is entering the void."
Baltar sa
nk back into his throne, his eyes darting around, as, if trying to find an answer printed somewhere on the blue-gray metal walls of the command chamber.
"Is something troubling you, sir?"
"Yes. Why do they bother risking detection by destroying the outpost if it was not to be part of their route, if they had no intention of moving in that direction? It makes no sense. Unless perhaps . . ."
"Perhaps what, Baltar?"
"Adama must have needed something from that asteroid. Food? Fuel?"
"Anyone searching for food or fuel on that particular asteroid would be disappointed."
Baltar gripped the arms of his throne tightly.
"We will have to consider that question further. Is there anything more to report, Lucifer?"
"Well, there is one other curious matter, one I don't quite know how to compute."
"Out with it! What?"
"It seems that the colonial vipercraft reportedly flew in other than their normal fashion."
"Other than normal? What do you mean?"
"At times they did not seem in complete control of such elementals as formation and aerial maneuver."
"Evidently they flew well enough to destroy your base."
"It was a small outpost. Caught by surprise, since you determined the Galactica would not strike there."
Baltar smiled sinisterly.
"Do not fence with me, my friend." The way he said my friend did not, to Lucifer, indicate any genuine comradeship. "Everything is still proceeding well enough. What of your part? You have not captured one of their pilots as I ordered."
Lucifer, expecting the question, had his answer ready.
"To assure such a capture, we would have to risk being discovered. Therefore, the order contradicts an earlier one, that we keep our ships out of the Galactica's scanner range."
Baltar's eyes widened in anger.
"They send out patrols, do they not? Capture one."
Battlestar Galactica 3 - The Tombs Of Kobol Page 9