"Trays!" Troy cried. "Heads up—eleven o'clock." The evil, crescent-shaped Cylons whizzed by, intersecting Troy and Trays' trajectory.
"Frack!" Trays yelled. Troy grimaced as he saw a Cylon bolt glance off Trays' wing. At these speeds, the least thing would cause instability.
Trays spun wildly, his Viper totally out of control. Like vicious flies going for rotten mushies, the Cylons were gathering.
Heart pounding, Troy banked and tried to get behind the Cylons.
"Don't fail me now," he said, as he targeted each of the Cylons in turn. They were stupid, he told himself. They just saw Trays, and they didn't see him. He hoped.
"Fracking Cylons!" Trays cried.
Troy watched as Trays finally gained control of his Viper, but too late. A pair of Cylons were right on him, their lasers intersecting wildly, the deadly, brilliant bolts coming within microns of Trays' wings.
"I'm coming!" Troy called. And he pulled his Viper around, pulling untold G's with the force of it, and from above, flew down on the Cylon pair, blasting them both away, one right after the other.
Troy's comm crackled, but he couldn't make out any words from Trays, just ragged breathing.
"They're gone," Trays said after a moment.
"Yeah," Troy said. He didn't expect Trays to say anything else.
But after a moment, Trays did.
"You saved my life," Trays said. "I owe you… Troy… I owe you a lot." And tough, arrogant Trays' voice was full of real emotion.
"Just remember that the next time—" Troy said, about to say, "the next time you think about messing with Dalton," but he was cut short by an unbelievable sight.
Ship after ship, massing behind the Cylon line. Converging on the Cylon battlestars.
"Chitain!" Trays cried.
"You got that right," Troy said. "Only this time, it doesn't look like it's the Galactica they're interested in."
Apollo couldn't believe what he saw. An armada of Chitain war vessels, bearing down on them. No, not bearing down on the Viper line, but on the Cylons!
"Starbuck!" he cried. "Look at that!"
"I see," Starbuck said. "Those bastards—"
"The Cylons are turning," Apollo said. He was right.
As one, the Cylon fighters stopped, hovered a moment, then took tremendous fire as they showed their fleeing, unarmed rear to the Colonial Warriors.
The Colonials wasted no opportunity to pick off as many Cylons as possible before turning for home.
"Tigh and Athena are in big trouble," Apollo told Starbuck. "Let's roll."
The Vipers turned. They were on their way home. A lesser force, but still very great, they saw the ugly Cylon boarding ship attached to Galactica's shining white skin like some sort of malformed mechanical leech.
"Let's waste some tin-heads," Starbuck cried as he climbed out of his Viper.
But the boarding ship detached itself and joined the retreat before they could destroy it.
In the launch bay, Apollo and Starbuck quickly grouped the Viper pilots and Colonial Warriors. Apollo didn't need to count heads to see how many had been lost in the battle with the Cylons in the Ur cloud. He didn't want to count heads. There'd be time enough for that later.
Troy came running, then Boomer, Bojay, Trays, and Dalton. At least they were there, and two dozen others, all exhausted, all breathing hard, but ready to fight.
"Athena and Tigh are trapped on the bridge," Apollo told them. "It's just us now. The Council Security troops fought—fought hard—"
There were murmurings from the warriors at this, and a few looks of surprise.
Apollo quickly put a stop to that.
"The Cylons are on Galactica now," Apollo told them. "Everything that happened, we need to forget. Right now, we've got to clear a way to the bridge, and take control."
"Uh, Apollo," Starbuck said, pointing toward the gantry.
An entire squadron of Cylons was assembling, their rifles at the ready. Their red eyes shone, surveying the launch bay with evil precision. But as always, they were slow—for all of their mechanical accuracy.
Starbuck fired first, taking down their leader with a lucky blast. The bolt struck the Cylon in the chest, hurling him back into the others. In disarray, the Cylons started firing wildly, which gave the warriors valuable time to regroup. A few mechanics remaining in the bay yelled and dove for cover, but one of them, braver than the rest, leapt from behind the empty fuel cell where they were hiding and grabbed one of the Cylon weapons, tossed aside in the first firefight.
"Fracking Cylons!" he screamed, and started firing into the Cylon squadron. Half a dozen Cylons fell before one of their red beams cut the engineer's brave assault short.
"Come on!" Apollo said, seeing that the Cylons appeared confused. "Let's go!"
Waving his arm, directing the warriors, they charged from the Vipers, headlong into the Cylon array.
Soon the bay was filled with smoke and the weird metallic whine of wounded Cylons. A few of the warriors cried out in pain, also, but in the melee, Apollo couldn't be sure who was hurt, or how badly.
The warriors drove into the center of the Cylon force, splitting it. The battle turned to hand-to-hand fighting in such close quarters.
Gar'Tokk the Noman might have thought Boomer was a "small man," but Boomer was more than a match for any Cylon centurion—at least the average type, and there were none of the advanced centurions among this group. They were the plain silver Cylons, the ones Starbuck called "laser fodder."
Boomer grabbed one Cylon's rifle, ripping it from his metal grasp, and drove its butt into another Cylon who was charging at them. With an awful squeal, the Cylon crumpled on himself in a shower of sparks, filling the air with a choking smoke that smelled like burning plastic.
Starbuck got another Cylon by the arm, and stared in amazement as the robot twisted and pulled, but was wedged between one of his mates and Starbuck. Finally, it pulled itself free—but at the cost of his arm. Starbuck stared at the limb for a micron, then whirled and crowned another Cylon with it. That Cylon reeled away blindly, his red eye temporarily out of commission.
Despite himself, Starbuck had to laugh. But no sooner did he laugh than another Cylon grabbed his shoulders from behind. Starbuck struggled as one of the menacing centurions came at him, wielding a length of metal that he picked up in the fight.
"What, no rifle?" Starbuck wisecracked. "Why don't you pick on a guy your own size?"
Boomer leapt forward just in time, hitting the Cylon with his shoulder and throwing it off balance.
Then Starbuck got his pistol arm free and blew the staggering Cylon away.
The fight was nearing its end—the remaining Cylons, cut off and without support, were no match for the Colonial warriors. Cornered by half a dozen warriors with drawn pistols and grim faces, the few Cylons that remained surrendered, dropping their rifles. They looked almost ridiculous, with their metal arms in the air, red eyes darting back and forth aimlessly.
Starbuck, grinning at the easy victory, turned to look for Apollo. He found him, but Apollo wasn't celebrating.
He was kneeling by an injured Troy, who was groaning in pain, slumped against an empty fuel cell.
Troy had taken a brutal shot to his lower leg. His boot was blackened and smoking.
"Troy!" Starbuck cried, running toward them. Dalton was soon there, too, leaning over Troy with an agonized look on her face.
"Oh, Troy," she said. "How could you have let them do this?"
"Let them?" Troy asked through his pain. She really was the most infuriating—
"Can you walk?" Apollo asked.
Troy gritted his teeth, and with Starbuck and Dalton's help, he got to his feet.
"Yeah," he said, but it was obvious that he needed help. He couldn't put any weight on his left leg at all. Apollo turned to the other warriors. "Starbuck and I will get Troy to sickbay," he told them. "The rest of you, regroup—for now, Boomer's in command. Get to the bridge. Starbuck and I will meet you there as
soon as we can."
Boomer stepped forward, and with a nod, took command of the last remaining squadron of Galactica's Colonial warriors. "Yes, sir," he said, saluting with great respect.
"But I want to go—" Dalton said, hanging back, looking at Troy with misery in her face.
"I know," Apollo said.
"I'll be all right," Troy said. "It's just a scratch." Starbuck looked at his daughter, smiling. Then he stepped close to her and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.
"Go on," Starbuck told her. "Boomer needs you. I'll take care of Troy."
"All right," she said slowly. Then her pretty face got a hard, determined look to it, and she trotted after Boomer, Trays and the others, checking her pistol as she ran.
Apollo and Starbuck stood on either side of Troy, supporting him carefully, and began to make their own slow way to sick bay.
Centons later, they were at their destination. Starbuck grimaced as he had to kick aside a fallen Cylon centurion in the entrance, jamming the door half open.
"Can't these tin cans clean up their own junk?" Starbuck grumbled.
Despite his pain, Troy laughed. "Starbuck, you can find something funny in anything," he said.
Apollo kept Troy on his feet as Starbuck, grumbling, bent to grab the Cylon's metal boots and drag the carcass out of the way. That job done, he turned and they limped into sickbay to be greeted by an agitated Doctor Salik.
"Apollo! Starbuck!" the Doctor cried. "We were—"
"We're back," Apollo said. "But we can't stay long." The Doctor looked quickly at Troy's ankle. Suddenly all business, he ordered Apollo and Starbuck to get Troy to an exam table immediately.
"This is not good," the Doctor said. "Let me have a look." He immediately began to examine Troy's wound, humming and mumbling to himself.
Apollo spotted Sheba on her couch, and with a cry, ran to her, realizing that she was conscious. Cassi came out, now recovered from the mysterious illness that had struck her when the Cylon had arrived in sickbay, going to help Doctor Salik.
"Cassi!" Starbuck cried, going to her side. "You don't look good—what happened?"
Cassi said nothing, only looking ominously toward the fallen Cylon that Starbuck had so recently hauled out of the way.
At that moment, Koren ran out of the corner where he'd been laying in wait for more Cylons with his pistol.
"Starbuck!" he cried. "And Apollo!"
Apollo got Sheba to her feet and helped her over to the table where they were all now gathered.
"Could a healer have some room?" Doctor Salik said in an irritated tone.
Starbuck and Apollo looked at each other and burst into laughter. Even Troy, in his pain, saw the humor and chuckled.
Apollo looked down at Koren, who was holding the pistol awkwardly against his chest. "Where'd you get that?" he asked Koren. Koren didn't say anything. He pointed at Baltar's body, lying across the bay on a bare exam table.
"Wow!" Apollo said, echoing one of Koren's expressions.
He realized it was the same pistol he'd left in Baltar's hand, and again wondered about fate, and miracles.
"He shot the Cylon," Doctor Salik said in a matter-of-fact tone. "The creature was coming in, menacing Cassi, and this boy just picked up that pistol and—boom!"
"Koren!" Apollo and Starbuck said in unison. The boy blushed and hung his head.
Apollo grabbed the boy's shoulder and drew him close. Looking down at him and smiling gently, Apollo touched his cheek.
"Don't be ashamed, Koren, be proud. You were very brave," Apollo told him. "Somesectare you'll make a fine warrior."
"Shooting tin cans is the number one qualification," Starbuck said. Then, he glanced briefly at Apollo, and decided not to add the wisecrack he'd been planning. Still blushing, but no longer hanging his head, Koren looked up into each of their faces, his young face shining with pride.
"You were great," Sheba told him. "My father will be proud of you, too, when he's better."
Doctor Salik looked sharply at Sheba, but kept his mouth shut. Apollo didn't miss the doctor's expression, however, and looked over at Cain's body.
Doctor Salik shook his head, then he took Apollo aside. Quietly, he said, "I had to use Cain's blood to save Sheba. Cain would not have lived in any case. There's still some shadow of life in him, but—"
Apollo nodded. And again thought of fate and the Gods. Trays and Dalton had found Cain; he was there for a reason. And that reason was Sheba—her life.
Koren hugged Sheba around the waist, and she bent down, stroking his hair.
"Are you all right?" Apollo asked her.
A look of pain crossed Sheba's face, but she smiled a wan smile and nodded. "I'll be fine," she said. "I'm just weak."
"You must rest!" Doctor Salik snapped. Sheba bridled, but the sickbay was his bridge, and here he was the absolute commander.
"Well, have you visited enough? Sheba needs her rest, and so will Troy when I've finished with him."
"But—" Troy said.
"No buts," Doctor Salik interrupted. "Your ankle was severely injured. You won't be going anywhere—not right now, anyway."
Troy struggled to get off the exam table, but the pain was too much. Reluctantly, he nodded at the doctor, telling him to continue with his examination.
"The doctor's right," Apollo said. "We'd better go. They'll need all the help they can get if we're going to break through to Tigh and Athena." Athena! Apollo could barely think about her trapped on the bridge.
And Tigh… Tigh had already been injured. What if it was just Athena there, by herself, with hundreds of Cylons?
"I want to go," Sheba said. She looked longingly at the pistol that Koren held. It was obvious that she didn't understand, or perhaps didn't want to accept that her father would not recover.
"Me, too!" Koren said.
"Oh, no you don't," Cassi said, gesturing protectively toward the boy.
Koren's face darkened, but then Cassi added, "We need you here. What if more Cylons come?"
Koren's face brightened once more. "Wow!" he cried. "Cassi, you're right!" And he trotted to his corner where he had already set up his little surveillance station.
Doctor Salik wagged his finger at Sheba. "You'll die if you try to run out of here. I suggest you go back to your bed!"
Apollo calmed her with a few quiet words and a kiss on the cheek. Then he and Starbuck said their farewells to Cassi, Troy, Sheba and Doctor Salik. Side by side, they strode off, heading for the bridge and their postponed date with the main force of the Cylon boarding party.
Chapter Thirteen
IBLIS WAS enraged. Enraged! Not only has the Chitain attack taken him by surprise, but their very presence in this place is a shock to him. How dare they hide themselves from him? How could they?
He is unspeakably, unspeakably angry—how dare the Chitain attack his fleet? They would pay for their insolence, for their presumption—the Chitain armada will not leave this place. He will exterminate their power and enslave the survivors!
He knows the Chitain. Of course he knows them!
They have been his allies for sectars, and it is in Iblis's nature to study allies and plan for the sectare he must turn against them.
A minor adjustment in plans, in priorities—nothing more.
Iblis issues commands to his fleet, his battlestars, and his individual and collective minions.
And smiles to himself.
The human weaklings will be destroyed in any case. It would be impossible for them to resist Iblis' force, and soon they would turn on each other again, just as they had before.
For a moment, he reflects upon the great pleasure of destroying the human Aron, who had hoped foolishly for some kind of mercy, and reflects further upon the humans' foolish joy at receiving the dead hulk of their idiotic warrior, Cain, who had died for such little purpose. Or—well—nearly died. He might as well have been dead.
Iblis laughs.
He will take physical form again, and soon. Poached Chita
in is a renowned delicacy, and he has never partaken of it.
At the limits of their endurance, Starbuck and Apollo, running full speed, reached the warriors at the bridge.
"How bad is it?" Apollo asked Boomer, quickly taking command.
"There's a lot of them," Boomer said in his practical way. "We've got them pinned down, but Athena says they're really pushing to get into the bridge now. I can kind of understand their motive."
Half a dozen warriors had made a makeshift breastworks with furniture dragged from one of the officers' lounges near the bridge, and they were laying down steady, heavy fire in the direction of the gleaming Cylon ranks.
The Cylons had fallen on the warriors' side of the Galactica, making a breastwork of their own crumpled and smoking ruined bodies. So, it had become a standoff of sorts. From a distance, neither force could do much, although Cylon heads peaked up over their own fallen comrades from time to time, their gleaming chrome domes and glittering eyes making simple targets for the warrior sharpshooters.
"How many?" Apollo asked Boomer.
"There's least a hundred left," Boomer said grimly.
"They're hunkered down. And I don't think they really know that it's just Tigh and Athena there on the bridge, and their lasers are just about—"
"Don't think that way," Apollo said. He knelt, resting his hands on his knees, breathing steadily and gathering his thoughts. There had to be a way through. The Cylons were effectively trapped—as long as Tigh and Athena held—but that was an uncertain amount of time.
All of a sudden, Apollo stood. "Hold your fire!" he told the warriors at the breastworks. The others gathered around him.
"Be still," he told everyone. "Don't do anything."
"Apollo!" Starbuck said, pointing desperately at the Cylons. "They'll realize we've stopped firing and come charging out at us."
All Apollo did was nod.
Suddenly, Starbuck grinned. With no more words, he joined the other warriors at the breastworks and waited.
It didn't take long. The Cylons moved the bodies of their fallen aside with grim precision. Soon troops of them came marching through the opening, searching with their metal eyes.
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