But the room was just as vast, the lighting as dim and yellow, the feeling of being very, very small just as great as it had been then.
Back in the war, his group of commandoes had commandeered a Cylon troop carrier—which the Cylons had stolen from the Colonies only a year before. They had used the carrier to land inside the Dreadnaught Supreme, and then started to cut their way through the Cylons.
The Dreadnaught had been a great success for the Cylons in the early years of the war, but the Cylons had apparently never devised a plan to defend their huge ship from an internal attack. The eight commandoes in Tigh’s unit virtually quick-marched from the landing area to the heart of the ship, mowing down any machine they came across that might stand in their way.
That was when it got strange.
“I guess we don’t get a welcoming committee,” Adama said. Tigh snapped out of his reverie, and looked out again at the silent hangar.
“Yeah, I guess they don’t want the Cylons to scare us away.”
“So we won’t see any Cylons at all?” The doctor sounded disappointed.
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll see them sooner or later,” Tigh reassured him. “They’re just saving things up for a surprise.”
The colonel unstrapped himself and rose from his seat. “Well, we might as well see what they’ve got waiting for us.”
Adama opened the hatch and stepped out first. Tigh and the doctor followed. Their boot heels echoed in the vast silence that surrounded them.
“Is that Bill Adama I see?” a voice boomed from far above—a voice far different from the emotionless tones they had heard back at the research station. This voice, Tigh thought, sounded like some long-lost boisterous uncle in the middle of a holiday dinner.
“It is!” Adama called back. “And who am I talking to?”
“Oh, you’ll recognize me soon enough,” the voice said with a chuckle. “I thank you for coming—all of you. But you particularly, Bill. I’ve got a favor to ask of you. They allow me that sort of thing, now and again. But why should I explain anything when I can show you? Follow the lighted path and all will become quite clear.”
“Well, this is different,” Tigh remarked.
“The Cylons are capable of great versatility,” the doctor added. “I don’t think the Colonies ever fully appreciated that, before the war.”
“Here’s the path.” Adama pointed to a row of lights that led across the hangar to a distant corridor. More loudly, he asked, “Will we be going far?”
“Nothing’s very close in this gods-forsaken ship!” the booming voice replied. “But you’ll find me soon enough. Please get on with it! I’ve waited far too long.”
“Apparently, the Cylon knows you?” the doctor asked.
“I think I recognize that voice,” Adama replied. “And it’s not a Cylon.”
They moved out of the hangar, the great space as still and empty as death, and walked along an equally quiet corridor.
When Tigh had been in this place before—or the place just like this—the corridor had been crawling with machines: Cylons, not the Warriors, but all the other varieties that had fled the Colonies. None of the first machines they saw had weapons of any kind—they must have all been charged with different functions in running the massive ship. But they had tried to block the forward progress of Tigh and the others, jamming the corridors with their bright metallic forms. Too bad the commandoes had brought along the really big guns. It made for a lot of ex-Cylons.
Now the corridors were as empty as the hangar, lit mostly by the glowing lights that would lead them to their destination.
“It is nice to see you, Bill,” the voice boomed from hidden speakers. “If you don’t mind, I’ll entertain you with a little song.”
And the voice began to sing an old fleet song that Tigh had learned way back in basic.
“Most curious,” the doctor said.
“Not curious at all,” Adama replied.
It reminded Tigh of the next thing he had found, the thing not seen but heard, the thing that still haunted him, the thing he thought of every day.
It was very dark at the edge of the research station. The planet had no moon, and the stars were mostly obscured by clouds. Dawn seemed to be much more than an hour away.
Athena followed Gamma, who illuminated the path before them with a bright light the companion had revealed in its chest. The rest of their party followed, first Jon and Vin, then Epsilon taking up the rear.
All five of them carried guns large enough to disable Cylons.
“The river travels under the research station,” Gamma said, “and provides us with both water and power. It emerges just ahead. I have had a small launch brought here for our use. And something else of value.”
Gamma led them all down a gently sloping hill. The river emerged from a great pipe in the hillside and snaked on down through the valley below. Gamma shone his light on a boat large enough to accommodate twice their number.
“Our transportation.”
The five of them quickly climbed into the boat, which was moored past a short pier. Epsilon sat in the bow. The companion’s night vision capabilities would easily spot any danger. Jon untied the craft from its mooring while Vin started up the engine and gently steered the boat out into the river’s current.
“We have another advantage,” Gamma said to Athena. It pointed to a small white box on a central seat. “This is a tracking device. When Laea was young, she tended to wander.”
“Like she doesn’t wander now?” Vin asked.
“It is true,” Gamma replied. “Perhaps she hasn’t changed all that much. But when Laea was four, the doctor ordered that all her shoes be equipped with small chips that send out a signal. If you are within a certain distance of the chips, this box will receive the signal and show us exactly where Laea is.”
“When she was young, we had to fetch her every other day,” Epsilon agreed.
Athena stared down at the box. “You still place these devices in her shoes?”
“No one has ever said otherwise,” Gamma replied. “And perhaps, had the senior staff paused to consider it, they might have determined that such a practice was wasteful. But today we realize that practice is not wasteful at all.
“We have not had occasion to use the tracker in years. But the chips are there now that the need arises.”
Athena frowned at this new information. “With this thing, we probably could have found her in the dark.”
“Possibly,” Gamma replied. “But its range is only a few klicks. It was originally designed to find Laea as she ran around the station proper. We would need to be in the general vicinity for it to work properly. We still need your memories of the location to show us the way.”
“It will be better to find her in daylight,” Epsilon said. “She’ll recognize us. It will be less frightening for her.”
“And with this, we will find her quickly.”
Athena stared down at the box. It was a device to protect Laea, and a device that made sure she would never really be alone. The device was reassuring and disquieting at the same time. Much like all of Research Station Omega.
“Ah,” Epsilon announced. “The first glimmers of dawn.”
Athena looked up and saw a narrow band of red over the far horizon.
Before, on the Supreme, Tigh remembered all too well, it had been the voices. Human voices, begging for death. Tigh and his fellows had first heard them as they passed through what had once been the officers’ mess. It had once been the social center for the small human staff, but the room had been stripped of the furniture and machines and all things human that had made it a gathering place. Tigh didn’t think he had ever seen another room that had looked so empty. The voices seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere. The commandoes moved forward, headed for Central Command.
The voices followed them, calling down the corridors, following their every footstep.
“Thank the gods you have found us!”
“Kill us!”<
br />
“Kill us, please!”
The commandoes had never found the source of those voices. They had thought, at first, that it was a Cylon trick, some way to distract and demoralize them until the toasters could gather together enough warriors to mount a last-ditch defense of the ship’s nerve center.
Their first assumption had been wrong.
But that had been on a different ship, in a different time.
Now it was a song.
“Oh, I’ve signed up with the fleet
For to go far away-o:
And I’ll never see my own true love
Forever and a day-o!”
Adama looked back at Tigh as they followed the lighted trail. “Is this anything like what happened before?”
“It has certain similarities,” Tigh admitted.
“I see why you never wanted to talk about it,” Adama agreed.
Fuest took up the rear. He seemed quietly in awe of everything around him.
“Are we getting closer?” the colonel called out to the voice.
“Oh, I’ve signed—why yes, Bill, you’re almost there! You’ll have to forgive me. I haven’t felt good enough to sing in such a long time!
“Oh, I’ve signed up with the fleet
For to go—”
They kept on moving. It took Tigh a while to realize they were marching in time to the music.
“Sing here.”
“We have visual confirmation, Admiral, that Adama’s shuttle has landed on the Invincible. The Dreadnaught is still refusing to speak to us.”
“Understood.”
So the game continued, on the Cylons’ terms. The admiral stared across his quarters without really seeing anything. Sing didn’t think he had ever felt so helpless, even during the early days of the Cylon war. The Galactica was outgunned and had crewmembers in harm’s way, and he had no way to even alert the Colonial fleet!
“Sir! We’re getting new images on the dradis. Five ships—no, more than a dozen—no. Wait a moment. Sir, twenty-three ships have appeared on our screens.”
Twenty-three ships? Who the hell would send twenty-three ships?
“Are they fleet? Have they sent us reinforcements?”
“Sir, this is not the fleet. Nor do I think they are Cylon craft. It is the strangest group of ships I have ever seen.”
Sing stood abruptly. “I think I’d better come up and take a look.”
The singing stopped abruptly.
“It’s just through this door now,” the cheerful voice announced. “My old friend Bill. It will be good to see you in the flesh!”
Adama was sure now that he knew who was speaking, even though he hadn’t seen him in close to thirty years.
“Chief Nedder? Is that you?”
“Right the first time! You always were a bright fellow.”
The door in front of the three swung open.
They walked into another empty room. A tall, ornate set of doors dominated one wall. They looked to Adama like the sort of cupboards people used to store things in back on Caprica.
“Almost there!” Chief Nedder’s voice cheered. “But before I truly introduce myself, I should ask you, Bill, who’d you bring for company?”
Tigh stepped forward. “Captain Saul Tigh. I’m Bill’s crewmate.”
“He’s a good friend, too, Ned,” Adama added.
“Ah, I had few better friends than Bill, back in the day. And who’s the other one?”
The doctor looked up. “Villem Fuest. Doctor Villem Fuest. I come from the research station below. I’ve worked with Cylons—or the descendants of Cylons—all my life. I’ve come to see what these Cylons can do.”
“Well, I can certainly show you that. It’s the moment of truth, Bill.”
“Where are you, Ned?”
“You see those fancy doors? Take a deep breath and open them. I warn you, though. I’m no longer a pretty sight.”
Adama opened the doors.
“Frak,” Tigh murmured in a voice just loud enough to hear. The doctor gasped.
Adama saw the head of his old friend, crew chief on his very first ship. But while his face was recognizable, most of the rest of his body was gone, replaced by tubes and wires. The face in the middle of the machine grinned. A metal rod with a human hand on its end made a mock salute.
“This is me now,” said the thing that had once been Chief Nedder. “Welcome to my world.”
“The Cylons did this to you?” Doctor Fuest asked.
“They had to,” Nedder explained. “I’m a necessity.
“The Colonies were far too clever. Or they thought they were. The Dreadnaughts would only operate with their human staffs in control. Or, as the Cylons determined, having the appearance of control. They needed my human parts to run their ship. The pattern of a living eye to activate the weapons system, the warmth of a living handprint to run the engines. As you see, they’ve kept the parts they needed and made sure the rest of me wouldn’t go anywhere.”
Adama had never seen anything like this. Half man, half machine. The fact that this had once been his friend made it even more of an abomination. “God, Ned, how can you bear it?”
The chief laughed at that. “I’ve gone mad from the pain and come back again. You see, you have to be at least a little sane to find a way to kill yourself.
“They use me to control the ship, but I still have a wee bit of free will. I can shut them down at inopportune moments. It pays to let me have the occasional favor.
“You, Bill Adama, are such an occasional favor.”
The chief cackled again.
“The Cylons are always lying to you about one thing or another. They have plans. Big plans. Not that they’d share any of them with me. But I don’t want to be a part of those plans.
“I can turn myself off for brief periods. They always bring me back. A painful affair.
“But they wouldn’t want me to do something to interfere with their operations, especially when they’re facing a Battlestar. In order to keep working for them, I asked for an hour with you. And in that hour, you will kill me.”
Nedder laughed one more time.
It was Adama’s turn to look up at the featureless walls. “How can you tell us this? Aren’t the Cylons listening in?”
“I am the Central Control of all the systems,” the chief replied. “For a little while, I can keep them out.
“Killing me will disable the ship. They’ll be floating free in space. I know they have plans to jury-rig something if I die, but that will take time. I’ll open every door on this boat as my last command. You and the Galactica will be far away from here before they can retaliate. They won’t be able to do a thing against you.”
Adama nodded.
“What do you want me to do?”
“A couple quick cuts to sever my works. I—”
A warning siren came from somewhere.
“What?” Nedder cried. “Someone’s attacking! Looks like our meeting’s over.” The chief stared at Adama.
“You wouldn’t have done this to me, Bill?”
Adama frowned. “I wouldn’t. But I don’t control Galactica.” Would Sing have ordered a sneak attack? It didn’t sound like the admiral’s style.
The chief’s eyes half closed. “I can hear our Vipers responding to it already. It sounds like a bit of a battle.”
Cylon Warriors appeared on either side of them.
Where the hell did they come from?
“Can’t you tell them this isn’t our doing?” Adama asked.
“Ah, Bill,” Nedder replied. “To the Cylons, all humans are responsible.
“I’m afraid my time is up, and so is yours. I’m hoping we can finish our business later. I’ll try to talk to them.
“But then, my employers are not the most forgiving types.”
The chief laughed one final time as the three men were taken away.
CHAPTER
25
FREE CRUISER LIGHTNING
Nadu was laughing.
&
nbsp; “You never expected this, you Cylon scum!”
Griff never thought his captain would pull this off. He had called in all his debts and favors, even threatened a few of the other ships’ captains with a bit of blackmail, but he had gathered twenty-three recovery ships, Nadu’s own small avenging navy.
And now all twenty-three ships were attacking the Cylon Dreadnaught.
“Steal from Nadu, will you? No one gets the better of Nadu! Even the Cylons are going to pay!”
His captain had always been half-mad. Now Griff thought he had gone all the way.
Grets looked over from the dradis screen, where she was filling in for one of their lost crewmembers. “They’re launching a counterattack. Vipers!”
“We can handle a few Vipers. We have twenty-three ships, with seventy-eight fighters. How many Vipers do they have?”
Grets looked back at the dradis screen. “I would say hundreds.”
“We’ll fight them all!”
Griff winced as he saw their first fighters explode under an onslaught of never-ending Cylon craft. The Captain was laughing again. He had run once. He would never run again.
“Death to Cylons!” Nadu called.
Griff was beginning to fear it would be the other way around.
Admiral Sing watched the strange drama play out beyond the Galactica. They had pulled the ship into a higher orbit to make sure they kept out of the fight.
“Our wireless channels are free, sir.”
Apparently, the Cylons had found a distraction.
“Send a priority message to the fleet. ‘Have encountered Cylons. Need immediate assistance.’ ”
“Aye, sir!”
“Can we talk with the research station?” Sing asked.
“I’ll put you through as soon as we’ve sent your priority to the fleet.”
The Cylons' Secret: Battlestar Galactica 2 Page 19