Initially Apollo attended to Boxey as a way of distracting himself from his own grief. Children, it seemed, recovered from painful loss more quickly than adults and Boxey had been a bulwark for Apollo. But what, in return, had Apollo been for the child? A source of anxiety and worry, a hero contributing to Boxey's bad dreams. Perhaps it would have been better to place Boxey with a family somewhere on the fleet, a non-warrior family. Even the orphan ship might have provided the child less anxiety. No, the orphan ship would have been wrong. He'd had to visit the orphan ship several times in the course of his duties and firmly believed that families should be found for the children there. He had, in fact, started a fund for the placement of orphans. But, like many social evils, the orphan ship still existed. Or was it right to call that ship a social evil? Ah, he was too exhausted to think straight, too despondent to see any kind of logic. For the first time he realized how badly he needed the rest everyone had been nagging him to take. He wondered if he could even get to his bunk. If it had been socially feasible, he would have just slipped down the nearest corridor wall and gone to sleep.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The SuperViper was more than twice the size of a normal Viper, and it was designed along different lines. Its fuselage was unsymmetrical and dotted with the many appurtenances that the R&D people said would make it a more efficient space vehicle. The fuselage tip was a bit blunted, not quite coming to the famous Viper point. The whole vehicle looked not quite finished. Its plainness was, of course, characteristic of a research prototype, where frills and fillips weren't very important. Still, its uninterrupted silver surfaces gleamed impressively.
Adama oversaw launch preparations from the bridge, using scanner screens which displayed the SuperViper from all angles. From all sides, above, and at straight angles, he watched Starbuck walk jauntily around the vehicle. Although Starbuck was smiling broadly, his gestures were nervous, the clear jerky motions of a test pilot eager to scramble into the craft and get it careening down the launch tubes.
The commander switched his attention to his son, who stood calmly near the ship, going methodically through the final checks that were the command pilot's responsibility. His keen, and somewhat sad, blue eyes studied the outside of the ship, making sure everything was in place. Apollo had studied the plans the R&D people had brought along with an energy so fierce that the papers he held now had all sort of rips and folds in them. Adama was distressed by all the lines of concern in his son's face. He wondered if the young man could be fully distracted from his worries about Boxey by this extremely difficult duty. The boy seemed to have disappeared completely from the fleet.
Adama turned to Tigh and sighed. "Tigh, I never should have let Starbuck talk us into this."
Tigh, recognizing it was time to introduce a little data into the discussion, said, "The R&D Guidance Specialists say that they have examined every area of the SuperViper a hundred times each in the past two duty-periods. All the precautions they take make it safe enough, I think."
"That's just it. Safe enough. Not the same as safe, not completely."
Tigh's voice softened. "Starbuck and Apollo are the best test pilots we have. This isn't the first time—"
Irritably, Adama interrupted his aide, "I know, I know. It's just I always get a little nervous before any of these tests. I don't like them. We shouldn't have to—"
"It's the only way to improve our technology."
Tigh, a great proponent of technological advancement, was getting edgy himself.
"I know all the arguments, Tigh. The R&D folks have been at me ever since they developed this . . . this SuperViper, as they're so obviously fond of calling it. Why must they always have fancy overblown new names to go with their fancy new creations?"
"They take some pride in their achievements, too."
Adama took note of Tigh's quietly spoken "too." Recalling his own pride at taking part in the Yevran mission, and how he'd been so thrilled to be flying a Viper again, he realized that sensation was easily comparable to what the R&D people must feel.
"Got me there, Tigh. Well, let's make this test a go."
Tigh rushed off, the inevitable papers clutched in his hands, to go through final checks.
In launch bay, Starbuck had ceased his energetic appraisal of the ship and he reported to Apollo, "Looks like a formidable machine to me."
"A destructive machine, a killing machine."
Apollo's voice was as grim as his words. It saddened Starbuck to see his friend still in the grip of depression, and so, trying to lighten up Apollo's mood, he said, "You always do see the bright side."
Apollo nodded. "I know I'm not exactly Mr. Cheer." He glanced around launch bay, as if searching for a rationale for existence. "I don't know. I'm tired of always being on war alert."
"You and a few thousand other guys."
Starbuck's remark got to Apollo. The brash young lieutenant had a way of cutting through the felgercarb. Apollo smiled at Starbuck and patted him on the back. "Thanks, buddy."
"For what?"
"For not taking me seriously. We got a job to do here. What say, let's do it."
"I already started."
The meticulous R&D supervisors and preflight personnel were now finished with their final preparations. The SuperViper was ready to receive its pilots. As they moved toward the ship, Starbuck copied Apollo's back-pat and said soothingly, "Hey, Boxey's going to turn up soon. Any centon now, you'll see."
"He'd better. And, boy, is he going to hear a few words from me."
"Sure. Words like, hey kid, I love ya, and come here and give me a hug."
Starbuck turned to his launch CWO who stood by the wing of the SuperViper waiting for the two pilots. "Okay, Jenny. Fling me."
"Look sharp, bucko," she cried, and heaved his helmet at him with a backhand flip. He caught it by the rim with his right hand, and pain ran up his arm. He grimaced dramatically.
"Boy, does that smart," he said.
"Ah, you're getting soft, lieutenant," Jenny said, as she tossed a flight helmet to Apollo less aggressively.
"Must be all that red meat," Starbuck commented. "Or the blue meat. Who knows?"
Jauntily, he leaped onto the narrow SuperViper wing. With his own Viper his next move would have been his famous into-the-cockpit jump. However, the design of the SuperViper didn't allow that. Replacing the domed cockpit which could fit only the pilot, plus the occasional wedged-in observer, was a larger compartment which could hold up to a dozen persons—the two pilots and any supporting personnel required for a particular mission, navigators, gunners, advisory command. Starbuck wasn't sure he liked handing over duties to other warriors, and he knew he didn't like the way he had to gingerly, and a trifle awkwardly, climb into the compartment to reach his pilot's seat.
There would be no supporting personnel on the test flight, just the SuperViper's pair of pilots. Apollo and Starbuck took their seats carefully, uncomfortable with the large plushy seats. Regular Viper seats were rock-hard. Although they knew the ship's seats contained mechanisms which would enable them to act together in flying the supership, and that all the padding was to protect the equipment and not the flyers, they felt that fighter pilots were not supposed to be comfortable. Starbuck flexed his fingers and began running them over the various controls, following the prelaunch countdown procedures by the book. He wasn't used to going by the book, but, for the good of the test, he had decided to suppress his potentially reckless tendencies.
On the bridge Adama and Tigh directed the countdown procedures meticulously.
Adama's brows furrowed in concern. "That belt they're fitting around their upper arms—that three-tiered affair—what's it for, Tigh?"
"It's integral to the whole muscle-scanning setup. It reads and transmits the muscular movements of each pilot to the other. The R&D bunch says it's almost as if each pilot is contained in the body of the other. They become each other. At any rate, by receiving his partner's physical sensations, each pilot is able to work even more c
losely in the tandem situation."
"That really puzzles me, Why does this SuperViper require two physiologically linked pilots for its operation?"
"The R&Ders say the craft requires too many simultaneous physical movements for one pilot to perform them effectively. On the other hand, the two pilots cannot work independently either. The controls of the ship are too sensitive to allow for the kind of human errors that can come from copiloting. The maneuverability of the machine, its best asset according to the R&Ders, requires precision flying utilizing two pilots executing maneuvers together. The pilots must meld themselves into one unit, performing almost like a single human being."
Adama, disbelief in his eyes, smiled bemusedly. "A tall order, when you come to a couple of independent cusses like my son and Starbuck, especially Starbuck . . ."
Tigh nodded. They both were painfully aware of Starbuck's impulsiveness. At one time or another, most officers aboard the Galactica had had to deal with the consequences of Starbuck's recklessness and trickery. 'To starbuck' had become command slang for the practice of any kind of con game, actual or psychological.
"Prelaunch procedures have been completed," Tigh said. "Launch Officer awaits your signal to initiate countdown."
"Consider it given."
Tigh went into action with his usual swiftness and in moments the already busy bridge became a madhouse of furious activity. Flight Officer Rigel began the countdown. Listening to Rigel's quiet and confident voice through his commline, Apollo rechecked the instruments on the incredibly complicated panel in front of him. He had never before seen so many dials, gauges, levers, toggles on a single instrument panel. Above the panel were the four screens that displayed the views from various points of the ship. Each screen represented the wide area that each gun emplacement could cover. It didn't seem possible that the functioning of a ship, even an advanced technological marvel like the SuperViper, could effectively use so many devices, so much individual effort, so much integration of wildly different innovations.
He took his mind off the imminent launch by looking around the compartment. Except for the instrument panel, little care had been given to design. The rest of the interior seemed dominated by dark gray metal plates, lighter gray rivets, and thin black lines of stripping material. At the rear of the compartment, housed in plain gray boxes, were the Super-Viper's escape pods, small one-man vehicles that could be jetted out of the ship in an emergency. Their presence made Apollo nervous. He didn't like to admit the possibility that the test could fail and that he and Starbuck might have to eject. But progress demanded accommodation, and he would have to adjust. He turned to Starbuck as Rigel continued the countdown: "25 . . . 24 . . . 23 . . . 22 . . ."
"You okay, Starbuck?"
"Me? I'm tiptop, great, first-rate, wonderful. In other words, I'm scared right out of my flight booties."
Apollo smiled, pleased at the way Starbuck could always lighten up a tight situation.
"You think this ship'll be worth it?" Apollo asked.
"Worth what?"
"The danger we're going through to test it."
"There's danger? Let me out of here."
"15 . . . 14 . . . 13 . . . 12 . . . 11 . . ."
Apollo took a deep breath, then asked Starbuck, "Do the tips of your fingers start to throb just before launch?"
"No, but my toes start dancing."
"7 . . . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . LAUNCH!"
With a great whooshing sound that seemed to make the thick walls of the Galactica shake, the SuperViper zoomed forward and down the launch tube. Apollo had never felt so much power from a fighting ship. It seemed to be surging forward ahead of its own pilots' manipulations.
Adama and Tigh, watching the main screen of a set of monitors, saw the SuperViper emerge from the launch tubes, thrusting out of the ship with dazzling speed.
"By the Lords of Kobol," Adama said, "I've never seen a ship accelerate like that at such close range to its launching craft. Is that safe?"
"According to the R&Ders, yes."
"Who are these R&D people? And why are they never around the bridge when a test is in process?"
"I think they're afraid of the ship's commander."
The SuperViper performed a loop whose arc was so tight, the ship itself seemed to bend with the curve. "How the hell did they do that?" Adama asked.
"I don't know, but it was part of the R&D test schedule."
Inside the SuperViper Apollo and Starbuck felt like children on one of the famous Gemonese amusement stations, relaxation areas in orbiting satellites. Their eyes were wide, and they couldn't stop their mouths from dropping open. The loop that amazed Commander Adama terrified them. They were temporarily disoriented by it.
"This baby's got a mind of its own," Starbuck shouted. "Who needs us? What'd we do?"
"I'm not sure, buddy."
"It's like we only have to think the maneuver, then just touch controls with our fingertips, and we've done it already before we know it, and we don't know how we did it."
"An apt description, if not particularly grammatical."
"Heck, this ship's probably got better grammar than its pilots, too."
"Well, if you're the pilot . . ."
"Okay, okay, I deserve that."
Starbuck noticed that, at least for now, Apollo was his old self. During pretest procedures, he had remained glum, but this test appeared to be doing him good. His voice trembled with excitement as he yelled, "Let's try the tactical zigzag that R&D's so fond of."
"Right!"
Adama and Tigh watched the zigzag maneuver with disbelief. The SuperViper jerked frenetically from side to side and up and down with no pattern to its moves that would give the enemy a clear shot at it.
"I never thought a ship could do that," Adama said.
"Until now, no ship could. Look at that!"
The ship had combined a half-loop with an abrupt swerve to its right.
"Can you imagine a Cylon pilot trying to track those moves?" Adama commented. "Like I always say, Tigh, precision flying beats all."
"Like you always say."
Without looking, they each knew the other was smiling. They had been comrades for so long they recognized each other's nuances with the same kind of precision that Adama admired in flying.
Starbuck and Apollo were also smiling. They'd lost their apprehension and were now having a good time putting the monstrous machine through its paces.
"Only one thing wrong with this baby," Starbuck said.
"What's that, bucko?"
"It's so easy that, if I fly it for too long, my muscles'll atrophy. You sure they really need skilled pilots? Anybody could fly this—something's wrong!"
"What?"
Starbuck tentatively tested the controls, quickly going through the R&D-recommended routine.
"I don't know," he said worriedly. "Something feels wrong."
"Yeah, I feel it now. It's like . . . like the ship's trying to separate from us. Like it's really got a mind of its own. What's that?"
"What?"
"There's a kind of trembling, a shaking. Damn!"
Both pilots knew the ship was now out of their control, as if wrested away from them by some outside pilot. Struggling to perform the R&D program, they felt no response at all from the craft. Instead, it erratically began performing maneuvers that had little or nothing to do with the program.
Adama and Tigh at first didn't realize that the ship was no longer performing the preset R&D program. The maneuvers the ship was going through were so impressive that they could only watch them with increasing awe. Then Tigh checked the program printout and said, "They're not following the routine anymore. Are they showboating?"
Adama quickly checked the printout before answering, "I don't think so."
The ship's movements became more erratic. It began to bob up and down in a manner that reminded Tigh of a person hobbling along on crutches. Then it straightened out and zoomed upward in a line that was roughly pe
rpendicular to the course of the Galactica.
"My God!" Adama shouted. "It's completely out of control!"
The entire bridge crew swung into action. Those directly involved with the test worked frantically, manipulating controls with the same frustration that Apollo and Starbuck were suffering inside the craft.
Although the SuperViper's gravitational-stabilization factor made it impossible for the two pilots to feel the abrupt shifting movements of the ship's bizarre and jerky aerial ballet, both felt their stomachs churn with each change they observed on their scanners.
"Nothing seems to respond," Apollo said, flipping a series of toggles.
"I know. What should we do? Wait it out?"
"We're getting too close to the Galactica for that. Concentrate, Starbuck. That's the only way out of this. We have to work together, as a single unit. That's the standing order. Concentrate!"
"I'm trying, damn it!"
As Adama watched, the SuperViper went even more out of control. It zigzagged from side to side and up and down, made illogical loops, swerved in a strange jumpy arc. It sped up and slowed down, almost came to a stop, then accelerated to its highest speed. There were times when Adama thought the metal of the ship seemed to tremble as if about to break apart. He cursed under his breath. After a reverse loop, it appeared to ease into a steady course. The only thing wrong was that this movement set the SuperViper on a collision course with the Galactica. Adama flinched backward, crying to Tigh, "It's going to crash!"
"I see."
"Can't we do anything?"
"Can't even raise Apollo and Starbuck on commline."
Taking slow deep breaths, the two pilots struggled to concentrate, a difficult task with the ship going haywire. "Apollo," Starbuck shouted, "we're heading straight for the Galactica!"
"Concentrate, bucko, concentrate. We've got to mesh."
Starbuck forced his eyes closed. He could feel the SuperViper pick up speed as it neared the command ship. Was it committing some strange kind of vehicular suicide?
Battlestar Galactica 14 - Surrender The Galactica! Page 5