Battlestar Galactica 3 - The Tombs Of Kobol

by Glen A. Larson

  "No, you look for them. I'll—"

  "Stow that, Starbuck! I'm going up! Everybody from the class is ready and we're going."

  "Are you crazy? Some of those guys can barely fly, they might shoot each other down."

  Athena glared at him, then said in a low voice that was almost as menacing as the Cylon raid:

  "You do what you want, Lieutenant, but I'm gone. Goodbye."

  She started running toward the viper landing area. Gemi, glancing around unsurely for a moment, hesitated, touched Starbuck briefly on the arm, then scampered after Athena.

  "Lord help us," Starbuck muttered, then set off after them.

  Whenever he had been ill. Boomer had always found recuperation infinitely worse than the disease itself. At the height of sickness, he accepted his incapacity as a rule of the universe and was able to remain still without any tension. But, during recuperative periods, he always felt nervous, ready to go. He would drift off into dreams in which he was back in his cockpit, aiming his laser gun at a point halfway between two lines of fire coming at him. Lying still became a physical impossibility. He discovered hundreds of ways to move his body, shift about, find metal pieces of his bed to touch, twist his neck to look at an area of the sick bay ceiling whose topography he'd already memorized.

  He did not even want to be cared for any more. He had told Cassiopeia several times to pay more attention to the others, who no doubt needed her ministrations more than he did. She always replied that all her charges were equal to her, and that he should stop pulling rank.

  When news of the Cylon raid on the Kobol landing party had spread through the Galactica, messengers continued to rush into sick bay with each new bulletin. Boomer could take his inaction no longer. Straining every muscle, he pulled himself out of his bed and, with great effort, planted both feet upon the floor. Standing up, he felt a wave of dizziness, a blast in his mind like the weakness he had experienced when the disease had first struck him. Gritting his teeth, he concentrated on clearing his mind of confusing images and drawing on his viper jumpsuit. As he zipped the final zipper, Cassiopeia came running into the room.

  "You're not going anywhere, warrior," she shouted.

  He almost wanted to say, You're right, I'm not going anywhere, but instead he shook his head negatively at her and said:

  "No time to argue. I'm going to the command bridge. No, Cassiopeia, don't say it."

  "You lunatics," she muttered.

  "Lunatics?"

  "Yes. You and Jolly and Greenbean and Giles, all of you. Looneys. Everybody in sick bay is trying to stagger out of it right now. Where are you going. Boomer?"

  His voice was weak, but firm:

  "I'm assembling my squadron."

  As he came onto the bridge, Boomer heard Rigel telling Tigh:

  "The Cylon fighters are pressing the attack, taking the advantage again."

  "And we don't have sufficient warrior personnel to—"

  "Yes, you do!" Boomer shouted, his voice not betraying any sign of the weakness he still felt.

  Tigh whirled around and his jaw seemed to drop a foot when he saw Boomer, flanked by Jolly and Greenbean, the rest of the former invalids grouped behind them.

  "What is this?" Tigh said.

  "Colonel," Boomer said, "Blue Squadron, reporting for duty."

  Tigh walked to them, his smile affectionate.

  "Lieutenant," he said softly, "you obviously can't even stand."

  Boomer knew he had the edge now. He just smiled and replied:

  "A viper's flown from the sitting position, sir."

  Tigh glared at Boomer, but the lieutenant had won his point. He almost fell from exhaustion when Tigh ordered that all launch bays be made ready for Blue Squadron.

  "Fly in pairs," Starbuck ordered over the open commline. "Stick to your leaders, protect them! We may have a chance."

  He closed off the commline and muttered:

  "One chance in a hundred."

  Dietra's voice, full of a sturdy confidence, broadcast to all:

  "Starbuck, we'll ionize them!"

  They're still in the mock-flight rooms, Starbuck thought. One success in battle and they think they're indestructible. Don't they realize that previously they had only to contend with the surprised protectors of a single launch pod, and now they're up against a full Cylon task force? Hell, maybe they shouldn't realize that. If you laugh at the enemy, at least you go out in style—that was the warriors' slogan, anyway.

  At least the squadron had been able to launch without any enemy interference. Starbuck figured that was just another burst of the luck he was famous for. Some luck, he thought. Here I've been beaten in battle, captured and taken to a Cylon base-star, and returned here just in time to lead raw troops against a whole task force of Cylon spacecraft. That's luck, all right.

  They were still climbing off the planet when some Cylon ships veered away from the attack on the ground camp and rushed toward the assembling squadron of vipers.

  "They've seen us," Starbuck yelled.

  He leveled his viper and ordered the squadron to come to combat status.

  "Look at all of them," Athena said. "How many are there? Looks like eighty, ninety, a hundred—"

  "Athena!" Starbuck shouted. "You're not on the bridge. Quit counting!"

  "You afraid of the odds, Lieutenant?"

  "Stop prodding me and let's see how you can shoot . . . darling."

  "You got it . . . sir."

  A moment later the sky was a tangled muddle of battling airships. The inexperience of his troops was working to their advantage, Starbuck realized. The pilots of the Cylon craft expected certain flight maneuvers, tactics, the trainees hadn't even been taught yet. This edge allowed the cadet pilots to squirm out from under attack and blast Cylon ships to smithereens by coming up at them bellyside. Vipers whirled and weaved around their attackers insidiously. Cylon pilot after Cylon pilot was caught by surprise.

  Starbuck began to believe their chances were better than he'd thought, then Athena's voice ruined his brief, newfound confidence.

  "Starbuck! It's Gemi. Little Gemi. She's hit, highside. Now another's coming at her. Oh, God, they got her. She's gone, Starbuck, gone."

  He tried to remember which one was Gemi, could not quite place her. But he had precious little time to try to remember. The sound of Athena's crying over the commline was jarring.

  "Okay, Athena, okay. Stay in control."

  "I'm in control, damn you. Don't worry about me."

  He had no time to argue. Two Cylon warships were bearing down on him. With a quick burst of laser fire, a slide to the left, and another shot from his laser, he transformed the enemy vessels into two blazing fireballs settling down onto the desert surface of Kobol.

  "Hit 'em and roll away," he shouted to the squadron.

  The air was filled with fire and the thousands of pieces of shattered craft.

  "Brie," called Dietra, "one on your tail."

  Starbuck tensed. Brie had not shown much skill during training, her shots always just off target, her control of her ship just a bit erratic. Would she blow it this time, become another casualty like what-was-her-name, Gemi?

  "Breaking," Brie screamed.

  She put her viper into a reverse loop. The Cylon raider flashed by beneath her. She came down on his tail and, lasers blazing, blasted him to oblivion. As it burst into flame, both Brie and Dietra whooped for joy.

  In another quarter, Athena bore down on a Cylon warship and blew it apart.

  "Nice going, Athena," Starbuck hollered.

  "I think that was the one that got Gemi, the dirty—"

  She could not complete the curse as she came under fire from a pair of new attackers. Disposing of one with a quick blast, she evaded the other momentarily, before it dived up at her.

  "It's hopeless, Starbuck," she shouted.

  Hopeless or not, she got the drop on this one, too, firing her laser instinctively, achieving a direct hit on the cockpit.

  Starbuck woul
d have congratulated her again, but he had to go to Dietra's aid. Hurtling down on a Cylon ship that was hot in pursuit of her viper, Starbuck nailed him just in time, just before he would have destroyed her with a shattering fusillade. Dietra breathed a sharp sigh of relief before saying:

  "Thanks, Starbuck."

  "Don't mention it."

  "That's the last time."

  He laughed as he pulled his joystick toward him and rose above her. It was hard now to discern anything through the clouds of smoke and the rain of battle. A brief glance downward at the camp told Starbuck that most of it was in flames. People moved down there, however—insects scurrying from their potential exterminators.

  "Starbuck!" Athena yelled. "Watch it!"

  Suddenly he was surrounded by Cylons. It was a pinwheel attack. He put his viper into a spin, the best way to break out of the pinwheel. But, he sensed, he was a moment too late to make it.

  Once inside his cockpit, Boomer felt much better. It was as if the last remaining vestiges of his malady had been left behind in his flight locker. He began to feel confident. Even the omens seemed to be in his favor. Jenny, the flight crew leader who acted tough and scorned all advances, had kissed Boomer for luck. He wondered if she'd be that friendly to him when he returned. He doubted it.

  Rigel's voice gave the final rundown:

  "Two pilots definitely unable to launch. Unconscious in their cockpits."

  Boomer smiled. Only two. That was a good omen, too. Nearly everybody who'd been down sick had found the strength to return to combat.

  "Launch vipers!" Tigh bellowed.

  "Transferring launch control," Rigel's steady voice declared. "Launch when ready."

  "Launching!" Boomer cried.

  Thrust back against his seat and neck brace, Boomer found himself on the verge of blanking out as his ship zoomed down launch tube. He cleared his mind as his ship cleared the outer shell of the Galactica. As he flew his viper into formation, he found he had a tough time controlling it, but somehow he managed it. Style and class were okay, but doing it was better.

  The outer squadron ships joined him in formation and he punched out the coordinates for their flight plan. He hoped they were not too late for the battle. If the Cylons had the advantage when they arrived, his beleagured squadron of semi-invalids could not go it alone. As he performed the necessary checkout of all his systems he noticed that both his coordination and alertness were improving rapidly. It felt like old times. He eased his joystick forward.

  "Are you all right, Boomer?"

  It was the familiar voice of Colonel Tigh.

  "I copy, Galactica. Jolly?"

  "In your wake."

  "Then let's go!"

  Above Kobol, Boomer quickly punched up his scanner for close-range survey and located the area of combat. The Galactican forces were holding their own. If anything, they had the advantage. But how long could inexperienced pilots hold off an entire Cylon task force? Already it appeared that one viper was trapped in a Cylon pinwheel maneuver.

  Time to go in.

  "There they are! Blue Squadron, let's join the party."

  Boomer was amazed at just how good he really felt.

  "I'm in trouble!" Starbuck shouted, when he realized that the spin would not slip him free of the pinwheel. Although he hadn't caught a serious hit yet, laser fire was scarring the superstructure of his viper.

  "Hang on, Starbuck," Athena responded. "I'm coming in!"

  Great, he thought, the hotshot pilot's going to demonstrate her skill again. I'm done for. Why didn't I memorize one of Boxey's prayers before—

  In front of him a Cylon vessel disintegrated. Then another one burst into flame. He was able to blast a third and fourth ship himself. As the other Cylons made a wise retreat, Starbuck realized that the pinwheel was broken. The smoke cleared, and he saw Athena's viper flashing by. She had done it, she had bagged the first two ships and saved his bacon.

  "I'm still alive," he whispered, incredulous. He almost clapped a hand over his mouth, fearful that his whisper had been transmitted over the commline.

  "You all right, Starbuck?" Athena hollered.

  "Fine. Ah . . . thanks, Athena."

  "Four more to port . . . engaging!"

  He was impressed by the down-to-business certainty in her voice. He would have to remember to credit her valor in any report he made of this battle. If he ever got a chance to make a report. Hell, not just her name. The names of all of them. His makeshift combat squadron was really proving its skill today.

  However, even though they had suffered few casualties and had taken out so many of their enemy, they were still outnumbered. Should he order a retreat? Where to? Back on the ground, they would be strafed to a finish. If they returned to the Galactica, they would be putting the mother ship in extreme jeopardy. They could not go anywhere, Starbuck realized. Their only chance was to stay and fight.

  As if reading his mind, Dietra suddenly shouted:

  "We're trapped."

  Starbuck replied grimly:

  "Let's go out fighting. Athena!"

  "On your wing, Starbuck."

  "Good. Just wanted to know where you were. Might need help again."

  "With you, Lieutenant."

  "Regroup above the pyramid. Go into star formations. Then we'll attack!"

  As they all headed for the skies above the pyramid, Dietra yelled:

  "Let's mow 'em down, cadets!"

  Hovering in formation, Starbuck was just about to order the attack to begin when he saw the growing dots behind the Cylon forces. They were vipers! Materializing out of nowhere. All squadrons were down except the one with the landing party. Where did these vipers come from? He thought of the pilots in sick bay and how weak they had all looked on his last visit. He could not believe his ears when he heard Boomer's voice over his commline:

  "The mop-up brigade's here, Starbuck. You want to help or just sit this one out?"

  Starbuck could not help laughing.

  "But . . . but you can't fly a viper, Boomer. You're in—"

  "Neither can you, Chucklehead. I saw you getting your butt saved from that pinwheel. Slop-py!, bucko."

  Starbuck continued to laugh heartily as he ordered his cadet squadron to move forward.

  Tigh wished he could be flying right along with his squadrons. He had often asked Adama to be restored to combat status, but the commander always dismissed the idea, saying he was required on the bridge. Being on the bridge . . . sometimes he hated the bridge. Bridge duty meant standing by monitors and watching the massacre of men and women whom you had come to love and respect. He never could quite accept the helplessness of being outside any battle.

  Omega's voice interrupted his thoughts:

  "Colonel, come here, please."

  Tigh rushed to communications section, fully expecting the worst.

  "Combat report coming in," Omega announced. His face reflected sudden surprise as he read the words on the screen. "Surprise factor is total. Cylons running. Shall we pursue? Boomer."

  Tigh could not help smiling. The battle had been won, by some rapidly trained cadets and a bunch of patients fresh off their sickbeds. That should show the gloom-and-doom soothsayers who said that Galactica could not succeed, that the odds against it spelled out defeat. If we can knock out a Cylon task force with these troops, we can do anything! Tigh felt elated. He looked at Omega, who was still awaiting a response to Boomer's coded message.

  "Negative to Boomer's request to pursue. Bring them home. Any word from the commander or Apollo?"

  "No, sir. Last message said they'd been last seen going into the tomb."

  Tigh turned away, his joy suddenly sabotaged by worry. Was that to be the punchline—a victory followed by the loss of Adama and Apollo? It couldn't be!

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Apollo held the recorder in his hands, one thumb tentatively fingering the defective button. Serina would have wanted him to add to her history, complete the record she was making. But he could not do tha
t right now, not with all the events so fresh and painful in his mind. He was not a newsman, he had no taste for history. Perhaps later, when he had time to be reflective. But not now.

  Shutting his eyes tightly to hold back another outbreak of tears, he began to see images of Serina form, disintegrate, and reform among the elusive dots and lines that swam on the inside of his eyelids.

  —Serina emerging from a group of scarred and dirty Caprican survivors, pleading for an explanation of the destruction all around them. He had recognized her from the video tape he'd viewed of her reporting the Caprican disaster as it happened,

  —Serina rushing at him in a corridor of the corruptly governed luxury liner Rising Star. (In those early times she'd always seemed to come at him out of shadow.)

  —Serina smiling gratefully when Apollo surprised Boxey with an android version of his lost daggit.

  —Serina looking at him with love in her eyes after an embrace.

  —Serina furious with him, acting really feisty over a matter of disputed ethics.

  —Serina crying joyfully at the sealing ceremony.

  —Serina taunting him for not believing she could ever pilot a viper.

  —Serina falling in the middle of that ancient city street.

  He wanted to halt the rush of these memories, put some organization to them, try to discover some sense in what had happened.

  After a long and arduous journey through the tomb's complex catacombs, they had finally found the way out. Adama, still saddened by the destruction of the stele about the thirteenth tribe, led the way. They emerged into a scene of dying fire and debris-strewn air. The colonnade which led to the tomb had miraculously escaped the ravages of attack, but the camp and much of the ancient city had been devastated.

  "The camp's been obliterated," Apollo shouted back to Serina and Adama. "Everybody's gone."

  "Maybe they got away then," Serina said.

  "I hope so."

  Tired and exhausted, they trod toward the remains of the camp. Sand, stirred up by the Cylon onslaught, settled in layers upon their clothing. Behind him, Apollo heard Serina cry: