Battlestar Galactica 14 - Surrender The Galactica!

by Glen A. Larson

  Apollo and Starbuck responded to the changes by manipulating their supership with even more skill. Laying down a cover for the Vipers that were exiting the Galactica, they allowed the new ships to get into combat even faster. Any Cylon ships that swooped down toward the SuperViper were more like pesky insects than genuine threats. One pop, and they were space debris. A zap, and they were pieces of shrapnel.

  "This machine is every pilot's dream," Starbuck said. "We can do anything. We can wipe out all these Cylons ourselves!"

  "Don't get too enthusiastic. Our guys are handling themselves pretty well, after all."

  "Yeah. Did you see Jolly zip through that trio? It looked like he knocked them off with one blow. And Boomer and Giles and Greenbean, too. And who's that hotshot in the twister?"

  Twisters were the newest model Vipers put out by the foundry ship. Pilots had given it the name "twister" because of a peculiar corkscrew design in its nose.

  "That's your friend, Cadet Hera, I think," Apollo said.

  Starbuck's voice became suddenly sulky. "No friend of mine."

  "Maybe not, but she's a helluva pilot, Look, she just made space scrap out of another one." He spoke into his commline to the successful pilot. "Great shooting, Cadet Hera."

  Hera's excited voice came over the line. "Thank you, Captain. Nothing to it."

  "Don't encourage her, Apollo," Starbuck muttered. "She's already swell-headed as a—"

  The SuperViper began to vibrate strangely. "What's wrong?" Apollo yelled.

  Starbuck furiously examined the instrument panei. "Can't see anything," he shouted.

  "Watch out!" Hera yelled. "Cylon trying to blindside you!"

  Apollo quickly detected the Cylon ambusher. In spite of the vibrations that were shaking the SuperViper, he was able to keep the starboard gun steady. As soon as the Cylon ship came into range, he shot, hitting it dead on, exploding it. Starbuck didn't even notice the battle, so intent was he on trying to make sense out of the SuperViper instrumentation.

  "Apollo, I'm not sure but . . . I think some rivets have popped from the superstructure and we're beginning to lose pressure. A leak or something. Isn't supposed to happen, but—"

  Apollo, checking the equipment himself, verified Starbuck's findings. "It's liable to blow apart," he said, a strange calmness entering his voice.

  "Can we fix it?"

  "You got the time to climb out on the hull and fool around with some tools?"

  "And be a sitting duck for the next Cylon out for a medal? I see what you mean? Return to base?"

  Apollo shook his head no. "Not enough time. And we could endanger the Galactica."

  "Escape drill?"

  "Escape drill."

  Both glanced inadvertently back to the niches where the escape pods were stored. Starbuck chewed on his lip for a moment, then said, "Apollo, we'll be easy targets out there. We'll never get back to the Galactica."

  "Chance we gotta take, as they say in academy training tapes."

  Starbuck, scowling at the instrument panel, seeing the death of the SuperViper there, nodded. "Okay, I'll ready the pods."

  "You do that. I got business here."

  "What do you mean?"

  "We don't have to make our exit just yet. I'm going to stay on-station as long as I can."

  Starbuck moved quickly to the rear of the compartment, muttering, "Okay, but just make sure you remember to escape."

  "I'll put it officially on my agenda."

  Starbuck pulled at the release lever for each escape pod. Each pod settled onto the compartment floor and slid forward to the ejection hatch. As he worked, Apollo gave him concise reports on the gradual deterioration of the supership. While he talked, he rapidly picked out targets among Cylon Raiders and went about destroying them one by one, and sometimes in twos and threes.

  Adama and Athena, monitoring the SuperViper, had heard Apollo and Starbuck's report on the mechanical failures of the research vehicle. Even at a distance, they could see that the big ship appeared to tremble in its apparently unsure flight, a flight that was taking it into the thick of combat.

  "Why is he taking the ship into the middle of the Cylons?" Adama said. "He should swerve away from them, so he and Starbuck can get out safely."

  "And is that what you'd expect your son to do?" Athena asked. "You know he's willing to go down fighting Cylons, risk his life to save the rest of us."

  The two were startled by a faint intake of breath behind them. Turning, they saw Boxey had again sneaked onto the bridge. Peri and Muffit stood behind him. Athena rushed to her nephew and knelt down beside him, taking his hands in hers.

  "Is he . . ." For a moment Boxey couldn't finish the sentence. "Is he going to get killed?"

  Athena wanted desperately to lie to him, but she felt that wouldn't be fair, not after what he'd been through. "Boxey, it's dangerous out there. They're going to try something that . . . well, that might be too dangerous."

  Peri stepped forward. "Box, you got a hero for a dad. Be proud."

  "Don't call me Box."

  "Oops. Forgot. Sorry."

  "And I am proud."

  "Good for you."

  The escape pods were ready for ejection. The SuperViper was shaking like a volcano about to explode. Apollo could barely hold the controls steady to shoot at Cylon ships. Nevertheless, his aim was good as he wrought havoc among enemy ranks.

  Starbuck, standing beside one of the pods, about to get into it, spoke softly. "Okay, buddy, you earned your ace. Let's get out of here."

  "I'll be right with you."

  Responding to the grimness in Apollo's voice, Starbuck protested, "Apollo, this isn't the time for niceties. Get your tail out of that seat and—"

  "I'm coming. Just one more adjustment." His fingers dexterously manipulated several toggles and switches. Then he pressed the commline button that served as a general alarm for all squadrons, saying, "All Vipers on the right flank, pull out immediately. I repeat, pull out immediately. I want only Cylons in that area." He watched his scanner screen until he saw the ships of his comrades suddenly, with apparent cowardice, retreat from that part of the battle. He smiled with satisfaction, then pressed one last toggle, saying, "There, that should do it. Okay, let's go."

  As Apollo came to the other escape pod, Starbuck asked, "What was that all about?"

  "You'll see."

  They climbed into the pods and closed their small cockpits. The canopies were just big enough to enclose a single occupant. Starbuck activated the controls opening the escape hatch. It whooshed open and the pods were automatically ejected. As they sped away from the SuperViper, Starbuck, squinted back over his shoulder, then said to Apollo over the intervehicle commline, "Looks like the old superbarge is about to go."

  "Not before it performs one final mission," Apollo said grimly.

  The SuperViper headed directly for the right flank of the battle, where confused Cylons were regrouping to pursue the apparently pusillanimous squadrons. Most Cylon pilots did not even see the oncoming SuperViper. The few who did shot at it ineffectively.

  The SuperViper collided with a Cylon Raider, slicing it in half. On the rebound, it slammed against another Cylon ship, which went into a spin before breaking up.

  Then the SuperViper exploded. The explosion was a magnificent sight, tongues of fire reaching outward as massive shards of metal seemed launched from the flames. At least a dozen Cylon ships were destroyed by the initial blast; a few more were wrecked by the shrapnel.

  "Bull's-eye," Starbuck yelled.

  "The SuperViper's final mission, buddy," Apollo said quietly.

  "Well, it was some ceremony—a farewell to a volatile but amazing vehicle."

  Starbuck could not see Apollo's smile. "Like some people I know," Apollo commented.

  "What do you mean by—oh my God!"

  "What is it?"

  "Cylon, coming right for us. He'll get us for sure."

  Apollo checked the distance of the pods from the Galactica. The big ship was too
far away. The Cylon vehicle would intersect their course first. Apollo and Starbuck involuntarily hunched their shoulders, each waiting for the Cylon Raider to shoot the laser beam that had his name on it.

  Suddenly a Viper seemed to appear magically behind the Cylon death ship. Swooping down at it, the Viper pilot ran a laser-line along its fuselage right up to the cockpit where the trio of Cylon pilots sat. Then the ship began to break apart as flames enveloped it.

  On the commline Apollo and Starbuck heard a cackle of joy and triumph. Starbuck twisted around to observe their rescuer. "Hey, buddy, thanks. You saved our lives."

  "All in a day's work, pal," Hera said, her voice gleeful.

  "Hera! It's you!" Starbuck said incredulously. Apollo laughed.

  "You bet," Hera said.

  Starbuck almost choked on his next words. "I owe you one."

  "Oh, you bet, pal. You bet."

  Another Cylon ship bore down on the escape pods. Hera, her growl of anger agitating the commline, swerved toward it and sent it into smithereens just before it would have fired at the pods. Then, saying nothing more but humming rather smugly, she flew a guard pattern for the pods all the way back to the Galactica, picking off a few more Cylon ships along the way. Starbuck, his shoulders drooping, remained silent, and Apollo with an effort resisted teasing him.

  Boxey beamed with happiness as the escape pods arrived safely at landing bay. Peri ran with him as he scuttered off the bridge to go to his father. Adama watched them go, then returned his attention to the battle.

  The tide had definitely turned, in the favor of the Galactica's squadrons, due to the intervention of the SuperViper and Croft's repairing of the Galactica's engines.

  Soon there were no more Cylon ships attacking the Galactica. They were fully dispersed, it seemed. Abruptly they came together at a point just outside the fleet, turned as a unit, and flew away. Under orders from Commander Adama, the Galactica's squadrons did not pursue.

  Adama asked Tigh for the usual reports from all supervisory personnel. Some pilots and ships had been lost in combat, but casualties were small, considering. Croft reported that the engines would need to be worked on around the clock before the fleet could proceed. After he'd heard the reports, Adama looked toward the starfield window, his face filled with worry.

  "Something's wrong?" Tigh asked.

  "Not wrong. Just unsettling. The Cylons keep finding us. They have a depth of resources. We don't. Can we keep beating them?"

  Athena stepped forward. "Don't know about you, sir, but I'm planning on it."

  Adama, buoyed up by his daughter's optimism, smiled. "Tell Research and Development to discontinue work on the SuperViper for now."

  "For now. Aye-aye, sir."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Although it was impossible for a cybernetic creation like Spectre to feel post-battle fatigue, he did sense a systems enervation that might have been his own equivalent of exhaustion. Mainly, he was concerned about the many things that had gone wrong with his combat strategy. Spectre's victory had been won, then it was suddenly lost. How had the humans been able to come back from such great odds? Why did they keep finding ways to prevail? And where had that odd but eminently maneuverable ship come from? It had certainly changed the face of the battle.

  He wondered why the humans had wasted the magnificent ship by exploding it among the Cylon ships. It was possible they had more ships like it and could afford to waste one.

  Perhaps, he thought, he would have to resurvey his combat resources. Certainly, before mounting another attack, he would have to implement his power. The battle had been too costly, and reserves had been severely depleted. Further, Spectre's base-star was now too far from the Cylon main fleet to expect further reinforcements from the quarter. At any rate, the Cylon fleet was now busy conquering elsewhere. In spite of the Leader's obsession with the annihilation of the humans, he had to keep to the Cylon master plan of conquering the universe.

  Spectre was definitely in an awkward position now, a position not improved by the return of the crafty Baltar to the base-star.

  As if to footnote Spectre's thoughts, Baltar now strode jauntily into the command chamber, appearing quite satisfied with himself. Not a pretty picture, in the midst of defeat.

  "Nice try, Spectre, old chum."

  Spectre took grim note of the man's oily amiability, but chose to ignore it for now. He was not in the mood to invoke command discipline. He did not even look at Baltar as he said, "Command staff will meet next duty-period to examine tactics and assess the reasons for loss of combat advantage."

  Baltar's smile had a familiar slyness in it Spectre had not seen since his fall from power. "You mean, find out why our troops got the rivets beat out of them?"

  "You might put it that way."

  Baltar walked right up to Spectre. Spectre felt uncomfortable having Baltar in such proximity to him. He wondered if Baltar affected others that way.

  "Will you suggest leadership failure, Spectre?"

  "Leadership failure?"

  "Yes. A bad plan poorly executed. Except for my part of the mission, of course."

  Spectre was astonished by the man's audacity. "Your part? But the Galactica was restored to power."

  Baltar's reply was smooth and smug. "I never said it wouldn't be. My bomb gave you and your troops all the time you should have needed. If you failed to take proper advantage, it was not my doing."

  Spectre stepped back from Baltar. "You mean to imply that you could have managed the combat strategy better?"

  "I mean to say that exactly."

  "I acknowledge the failure of my strategy. However, your strategies against your own kind met with similar futility."

  Baltar spread his arms outward. His face took on a peculiar innocence. "Perhaps, but in this business, you're only as good as the last checkmark on your fitness report. Yours is in the debit section now, Speck old boy. Mine is next to a job properly done, orders successfully followed. I'm sure Imperious Leader will take that into account when he makes a decision about who's to command this unit from now on."

  Spectre's head tilted sideways in an almost humanlike fashion. "You believe you can win your command back, Baltar?"

  "You're quick, Spectre. Yes, I expect I will. Paperwork is in progress. The Leader will be reading my report soon."

  "You didn't follow the chain of command."

  Baltar's voice doubled in smugness. "Nope. I did not." He turned to leave, then spoke back over his shoulder. "Keep the command chair warm for me, Spectre."

  Watching Baltar leave the chamber, Spectre was flabbergasted by the man's nerve. At the same time, he was considering his own strategy. He had always used strategy well. The best move now, he thought, would be to watch for an occasion to make Baltar look bad, while at the same time turning his own defeats into victories. He had done that before, back on the planet where Starbuck and his troop of children had won the battle while Spectre's reports back to the Cylon headquarters had transformed the disaster into advantage. Perhaps he could do that again.

  Outside the command chamber, Baltar paused. Although he felt he would carry off his coup, he was strangely unsettled. He felt almost sad. Why? The mood seemed to be connected with the loss of Lucifer. He did not even know whether or not Lucifer had succeeded in his part of the mission, the assassination of Adama. Since the humans had won the battle, it seemed that Lucifer had failed.

  Where was Lucifer now? Baltar wondered. Destroyed? In hiding? Had he managed an escape? Was he now floating somewhere in space, an extremely valuable item of space garbage?

  He regretted that Lucifer had not returned. If he did regain command of the base-star, he would miss having Lucifer as his aide. They had, in their odd, emotionally distant way, been a real team. He had not realized how much he missed the old bag of bolts.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Baltar need not have worried about Lucifer's welfare. He had been ensconced in a comfortable cabin aboard the Galactica. Not that comfort was a
n important quality for an ambulatory sentient computer. He felt no comfort just as he felt no hardship.

  The Galactica's scientists had carefully, and with some difficulty, removed his Borellian Noman disguise. After restoring his physical structure, they worked out how to activate him by bypassing his shutoff system. Dr. Wilker, the head of the laboratory, had praised the Cylon skills in implanting the successful disguise. Lucifer wondered if the doctor might perhaps have been even more thrilled if he could have examined Baltar's makeover.

  Someone knocked on the cabin door.

  "Enter please."

  Looking quite jaunty, Starbuck bounced into the room. Lucifer was not sure why, but he felt a cybernetic equivalent of contentment whenever he was in the young lieutenant's presence.

  "How ya doin', Lucy?"

  Lucifer, noting the strange shortening for his name, dimly recalled that Starbuck used to call him Lucy.

  "I seem to be what you people call normal," Lucifer said. "I supervised your scientists in restructuring most of my personality while removing the overlay Spectre had placed upon it."

  "You'll pardon the pun, friend, but things were really hairy there while you were a Borellian Noman."

  Although puzzled by the remark, Lucifer was able to recognize that Starbuck's comment was a joke.

  "I came by to pick you up for the performance," Starbuck announced.

  "Performance?"

  "Yeah. Dwybolt's company. They've scheduled a command performance. Incidentally, the Impresario told me he wished you were back with them trodding the boards, even if you don't look much like a Noman anymore."

  "That is very kind of them. But I do not feel the stage is my destiny."

  "Too bad. Dwybolt said you're a natural. And what is your destiny, do you think?"

  Lucifer's voice seemed to deepen in timbre. "Do you remember, back on the planet called the Joyful Land?"

  "Yes, of course. You almost took my tunic right off me in that card game."