Athena brought Mount Hekla into focus on the monitor screen. This was the first scan they'd been able to make of the ice planet's surface in some time. Now, for a moment at least, the mountain could be seen clearly. She called Tigh over. He nodded grimly.
"Then they didn't get it," he said, pointing to the laser weapon on top of the mountain, which responded to his point by letting out another pulsing blast.
Athena and Tigh stared at the screen as if it were playing an entertainment cassette. For both of them, the apparent stillness on the planet's surface seemed to, once and for all, signal defeat for the Galactica.
"I thought for certain they'd—" Athena muttered, but was interrupted by an intensely bright flash of light from the top of the mountain. At first she thought it was just another pulse from the gun; then she saw the barrel of the cannon turn bright red, then white, just before the whole emplacement exploded outward. The whole summit of the mountain seemed to erupt and form a small cloud above where the gun emplacement had been. Debris was still flying outward when she turned to Tigh and yelled:
"They did it! They did it!"
"Commander," Tigh shouted. "The laser cannon's been destroyed. It—"
The Galactica was rocked by a pulse from the laser gun, passing closer to the battlestar than any previous pulse had. A warning light flashed on, signifying a fire in a cargo hold. Adama ordered a fire crew dispatched.
"Was that the last pulse from the gun before it—?" he said to Tigh.
"I hope so. I certainly hope so."
Tensely, everyone on the bridge waited, each person dreading the eerie thought of being wiped out by a weapon that had been already destroyed.
"That's it," Athena finally said, looking up from her scanner. "It was definitely the last one."
A sense of relief passed across the bridge, and several crew members managed a weak but emotion-filled cheer.
"They've done it!" Adama said, smiling for the first time since the attacks had begun. More crew members supplemented the growing cheer.
"Send down a rescue unit with full fighter escort," Adama ordered. "Athena can pilot the rescue ship. I'm sure she'd enjoy that."
Athena almost hadn't heard her father's last orders. Then they exchanged affectionate smiles, as she escaped from her communications console and headed for the launching deck.
Vulpa was nearing the headquarters airfield when the explosion above him sent his ship rocking, nearly into a spin. Climbing out of the spin, he saw the massive final blast that destroyed the laser weapon. He did not have much time to think about it, for the shock waves from the blast caused his ship to go out of control again. Vulpa tried to restore a steady course, but he could not stop the plunge downward. He managed to level the ship off just before striking ground, and it skidded to a stop in the ice field, a few meters away from headquarters.
Fearing a systems failure that would set the ship afire, Vulpa scrambled clumsily out of the cockpit and staggered a few steps away. His arm, grazed by the shot from the stocky human's gun, began to hurt again. He looked back at his ship. Much of its underside had ripped away, and it was no longer flyable, but it did not catch fire.
Turning, he started walking toward the command-post building. For the first time he saw the dying fire inside its portals. Suddenly he understood everything. While the bomb-planting team had attacked the summit station, another group of humans, perhaps also aided by Ravashol's deceptive clones, had attacked the command post and probably the underground complex. That was why the Cylons at the gun had lost communication contact with the headquarters in the Hekla foothills.
Vulpa wanted to run wild with rage. Running wild was a rarity among Cylons, but not unknown. For the first time Vulpa understood what rage was all about. This infernal small group of humans had not only wrecked his garrison and blown up his gun, they had also exploded his life. There was no more point to his ambition. He would never return to Imperious Leader's base-ship. He would be shifted from one exile post to another. He would never succeed Imperious Leader. His life had become as useless as a street poet's on the home planets of the Alliance.
Inside the command post, he surveyed the damage. The humans had almost totally wrecked the place. Their attack and the subsequent fire had transformed everything into smoldering wreckage. He touched the activation button of the transmitter, hoping to see the shape of Imperious Leader form bit by bit on the cracked screen, but there was no response to his pressing of the button. The only piece of furniture still intact in the room was his command chair. He slumped into it.
Using the meditative factor of his second brain, he was able to put himself into a kind of trance that not only calmed him, but mercifully removed awareness of his surroundings. He did not know how long he remained in this state. When he came to, he was immediately aware of danger. He looked out the command-post window. A large ship had just come out of the clouds, followed by an escort of fighters. Vipers. Human ships. What were they doing here? To rescue their invasion force? Or complete the destruction of his unit here? No matter. What did he care what the humans' motives were anymore? The only instinct left in him said to destroy them, any of them. He would start with this rescue force.
Slipping out of the command-post structure, he made his way to the airfield without being blocked by any of the enemy. The first ship he came to was one of the Cylon fighters that were equipped to guide the ghost ships that were positioned in the front ranks of the airfield. He could control five ghost ships from this guidance craft. It was just what he needed. The humans would think an entire Cylon squad was attacking them, when it was only Vulpa and a quintet of ghost ships. He looked up at the human ships. There might be too many of them, but he would give them a good battle before going down.
Pressing a control-panel plate so that the imprint of the glove on his right hand was recognized by the scanning equipment, he brought the fuel-activation level to full power. To his left, he saw some children, reacting perhaps to the sudden noise of his aircraft, crawling out of the fighter next to him. Children? What would children be doing in a Cylon fighter, especially children who vaguely resembled Ravashol's cursed clones? Everything, it seemed, was going crazy around him. No matter. The destruction of human ships would bring back his sanity. He pressed the plates that powered the ghost ships. Ahead of him, five ships stirred quickly to life.
Starbuck helped Apollo climb out of the elevator shaft. A meter and a half below, on the floor of the shaft, Croft still knelt by the body of Leda. The man just sat there, as if he were willing to wait through eternity for a flicker of movement from her. Starbuck considered going down there, convincing him to leave her, telling him that they could arrange a proper disposition of the body, burial or flames, later. But he decided to leave Croft alone with his sorrow for a couple of moments longer.
"She did a good job up there," Starbuck muttered.
"Both of them did," Apollo said. "By the way, thanks for being here."
"Told you not to worry about my timing. Though the Cylon guards put up so much resistance, they darn near were your welcoming committee, Captain."
"Any Cylons left in the garrison?"
"No," Boomer said. "They seem to be wiped out."
"We'll have to regroup now. Boomer, you go back and get Haals and the wounded, bring them back here. Take a squad of Ser 5-9's people to help you."
"Yo," Boomer said. He turned militarily and strode away.
"Starbuck, you go get Boxey and the children."
"Right, Captain. Hey, Cadet Cree, come with me."
Cree—or at least a gaunt version of the formerly cocksure cadet—appeared from a shadowy niche and weakly saluted Apollo, who returned the courtesy.
"I didn't expect to see you, Cree."
"Never said a word to them, sir."
"Well, that might earn you a bit of metal, Cree."
"A . . . bit . . . of metal?"
"An award, Cree, a medal."
"Oh, yes, sir."
"Go help Starbuck."
>
Apollo went back to the elevator shaft and descended to Croft.
"We've got to go now," he whispered. "I'll send someone back for Leda."
"I should have saved her, shouldn't have let her drop, shouldn't—"
"Take it easy, Croft. We have to go."
Croft stood up, looked down at Leda's body.
"I wanted to get back together with her," he said. "I was thinking of that, back on the elevator. Well, that was probably just so much bilge. She'd never've come back to me. But there were so many things I—"
"Let's go."
"Right."
They climbed out of the shaft, Apollo giving Croft the final hand up. Ser 5-9 approached them, saying:
"Dr. Ravashol told me to tell you that he's established contact with the Galactica. They're sending down a rescue unit. It should arrive anytime now."
Apollo told Ser 5-9 to take him to Ravashol. With Croft following, they made their way through labyrinthine corridors to Ravashol's quarters. Ravashol smiled when he saw Apollo.
"Your rescue ship's just outside the cloud cover now. It should be coming through momentarily. Are you all right?"
Apollo glanced at Croft, whose eyes seemed vacant.
"Well enough," Apollo said.
"My clones have been conducting a celebration in the main hall. Look."
Ravashol pointed toward the telecom screen. Apollo looked. The clones were, indeed, making merry, he thought.
"Emotion has been alien to them," Ravashol commented. "It is good to hear it again."
"The Cylons will come back," Apollo said.
"We will be ready for them. You have saved us. You've saved my children."
"I might suggest you stop calling them children, sir. You may be having a little trouble with them from now on. They seem to be getting more and more human."
"I am glad."
The handshake between Apollo and Ravashol was interrupted by Starbuck bursting into the room.
"Captain! Boxey and the children. They aren't there! One of the Tennas told me the Cylons came, and the children ran away in the confusion."
"Send everyone you can to search the corridors," Apollo commanded. "You come with me, Croft. You, too, Ser 5-9. I'll need your help getting around out there."
Croft followed Apollo and Ser 5-9 out of the room and down a long corridor. Finally catching up to them, Croft said to Apollo:
"Where we going?"
"To the airfield. The children might be wandering around out on the surface. The cold or the di-ethene could kill them!"
"But why the airfield?"
"We're going to hot-wire a Cylon ship and go off looking for them."
"Oh."
"That all right?"
"Sure. I just thought you wanted us to do something difficult."
Boxey had been awakened briefly by the sound of loud explosions and the lighting up of the sky. Muffit had barked. Boxey had told the daggit to be quiet and gone back to sleep.
Now he was awakened by the lurch of the ship in which he slept. A rumble from the front of the ship sent tremors through its walls.
"We better get out of here, daggit," Boxey said, but he had trouble getting his body to move. It felt numb all the way through.
"Go get Dad, Muffit . . . or Starbuck!"
The daggit barked again, seemed to hesitate, then shoved its snout against the exit hatch of the ship. It came open narrowly, and Muffit squeezed out. The hatch slammed shut behind it. Boxey could hear Muffy's barking outside. He tried to force his body toward the hatch. It was no use. He couldn't move fast enough. Just as he'd reached the hatch by crawling, the ship started throbbing and Boxey could feel it lift off the ground.
Boxey didn't know whether to be thrilled or scared. He'd always wanted a ride in a Cylon ship, he just wasn't sure now was the time.
Athena steadied the rescue shuttle just below the cloud cover and ordered a crewman to establish contact with the expedition. After a brief colloquy with a strange-looking man named Ravashol, who told her that Apollo, Starbuck, and Boomer were safe, she set the crew to their proper tasks. The medical officer reported ready. The pilot who'd be driving the snow-ram reported ready. The warrior contingent, brought here in case any Cylons attacked during the rescue operation, reported ready. As she was about to set the rescue mission going, the communications officer reported:
"Activity on the airfield below. Cylon ships revving up."
"Are you sure it's Cylons? Ravashol said the garrison was wiped out."
"I can't tell who's piloting the ships. It looks like nobody's in some of them, from the scanner probe."
"Ghost ships! Equipped with warheads maybe. Alert the escort force but tell them to hold fire until intent of attack is established."
Athena's brow furled. She tightened her grip on the controls of the rescue shuttle.
Five of the Cylon ships on the airfield below lifted off simultaneously, followed quickly by a sixth ship from a rear rank. Athena asked for a further scanner probe, and was told that the rear ship contained personnel; outline indicated a lone Cylon. The other ships were definitely of the designation ghost ship, and were warhead-equipped.
"Any hint of hostile activity?" Athena asked.
"Not yet."
A moment later one of the Cylon ships gave a sign of hostile activity. It flew right at a colonial escort viper. Reacting rapidly to Athena's hasty order of "Fire!" the viper shot at the ghost ship. Hitting it head-on, the viper's fire caused the Cylon ship to burst into flame and plunge toward the planet's surface. It exploded before hitting the ground.
"The other Cylon ships are maneuvering into attack positions," the communications officer said.
"Blast them out of the skies!" Athena ordered.
Vulpa had put the first ghost ship into operation too hastily. He should not have sent it up against one of the vipers. The human craft was too maneuverable, could evade the ghost ship too easily, explode its warhead before it could do any damage. Clearly, the better strategy, if he were to get any revenge at all, was to destroy the larger, less maneuverable rescue ship. Fiddling with the controls, he set the guidance system for an attack on the human rescue shuttle by two of the remaining ghost ships.
Boxey, feeling warmer now from the exertion, pulled himself forward into the cockpit of the Cylon ship. He realized his ship was part of a line of ships. Up ahead was what looked like a shuttle from the Galactica. He hoped it was from the Galactica.
Next to him one of the other ships flew forward with a loud surge of power. It ran right at what Boxey recognized as a colonial viper, the kind he hoped to fly someday. It looked like the fighter was going to crash right into the viper.
"No, don't," Boxey cried aloud. "Shoot it down, warrior!"
Which the pilot of the viper promptly did.
"Good shooting!" Boxey yelled, then watched two other ships pull out of the line and head toward the formation of Galactica spacecraft.
Athena recognized the move of the two ghost ships immediately. One would loop up and attack the rescue shuttle from above, while the other would zero in from below.
"Intercept!" she ordered.
Two vipers intruded themselves between the lower attacker and the rescue shuttle. Catching the ghost ship between two lines of fire, they set it aflame. Another shot and they got the warhead. The ghost ship exploded. The shock wave rocked the shuttle, and Athena was able to level it off again with extreme difficulty and quick reflex responses. She wished she were in one of the vipers. Any ship lighter and more maneuverable than this rescue shuttle.
"The other ghost ship!" her communications officer said. "It got two vipers. Blew itself and them right out of the skies. It's horrible." He turned to the console. "There's a message coming in. It's Dr. Ravashol again."
Ravashol's voice sounded strained, desperate. He asked to speak to the officer in command.
"What is it?" Athena said.
"The ships attacking you. They are nonpersonnel guidance-system craft that—"
"No, you can't! One of them may have one of your people on it. A boy. A—"
"Boxey?"
Ravashol briefly conferred with a tall muscular blond man dressed in thick furs. Turning back to face the screen, he said:
"Yes, that's the right name. Somehow he got on one of the Cylon ships. Captain Apollo's on his way up in a Cylon fighter."
"All right, doctor." She turned to the communications officer and said: "Report."
"The other two ghost ships are closing in together. Looks like they're ready for attack. The ship in the rear is definitely guiding them."
"Can you tell which ship Boxey's in?"
"No. Scanner probe's not come up with that information."
"All right. God, we might have killed—we'll have to execute evasive action until we're sure whether or not Boxey's in one of those two ships! Tell the fighter escort to pull away. They are officially out of combat."
"But—"
"I can't have one of them going off half-cocked and shooting down the ship Boxey's in. As soon as one of the ghost ships makes a move at us, we're just going to have to evade it. Those are your orders."
"We can send one of the vipers after the guidance ship, then—"
"No. That's risky. The guidance ship just might be able to explode the warheads on the ghost ships by remote. I don't even know if the lousy Cylon's aware of Boxey being in that ship."
Feeling her body tense, she gripped the controls as she heard the communications officer shout:
"One of them, it's coming right at us!"
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Croft:
The way Apollo skims across the fields of ice, you'd never think he just got done climbing a mountain and attacking a laser station a short time ago. He's even still wearing half his climbing equipment. An ice-ax in holster bumps against the side of his hip as he runs. Ser 5-9, keeping up with him and giving him directions, is even more loaded down than Apollo. The clone still has a full pack and all his equipment.
Anyway, how do I know it's only been a short time since we got off the mountain? I haven't been keeping track. I don't know how long I sat by Leda's body. It could have been centons. Leda. I don't want to think of her. I don't want to think of that. At every step I take, I seem to think Leda's dead, Leda's dead, Leda's—I've got to stop it. She knew the risk she was taking, she accepted it. I would've been the same. But Leda's dead. And I'm not. I should be. Leda's . . .
Battlestar Galactica 2 - The Cylon Death Machine Page 22