I reach the bottom weighted area of the rope and slip my booted feet into two of the loops I’d knotted. Looking down, I can see the ghost ship below me. It’s heading toward the shuttle again. Somehow Apollo’s keeping pace with it. Concentrating on the ghost ship itself, I’m only half aware of the evasion maneuver of the shuttle. Waving my hand in the gesture telling Apollo to descend closer, I then watch the ghost ship come toward me. Suddenly I’m right next to it. I have to act fast, since I don’t know when the Cylon guidance pilot might pull the ship away from me. Checking that the chest and waist loops are secure, I quickly slip my body into them, thus freeing my hands to work. I gesture to Apollo to edge me closer to the ghost ship. He does. I jam the three pitons, set on metal penetration, into the side hatch of the ship. Just in time. Before I can do anything about attaching the ice-ax to the rope linking the pitons, the ship seems to drift away from me, the hatch now out of reach. That’s okay; I figured on that. I take out my pistol and quickly but deliberately fire toward the hatch. Although I’m not up on the technology of the superstructure of this bloody ghost ship, I place the shots where the locking mechanism and single hinge of an ordinary Cylon spacecraft hatch should be. My shots seem to be accurate, at least the abstractly designed scorch marks at each area look right.
Well, lucky so far. The wind tearing at my clothing makes me realize just how fast we’re going, and for a moment I am terrified. I’m putting my life on the line, just trusting Apollo’s piloting skills. Well, he came quite well recommended, I try to tell myself.
As the ghost ship makes another run at the shuttle, it passes very close to where I’m hanging. I get a good view of the cockpit. The kid’s in there, all right. He’s enjoying himself! He’s all wide-eyed and excited.
Apollo pulls up slightly and follows the ghost ship’s run. Again the shuttle executes a smooth evasive action. Following the path of the ghost ship, I signal Apollo to lower and move to the left, which he does smoothly. This time the hatch is just out of reach. Okay. I slip the ice-ax in its coil of rope off my shoulder. Feeding out just a bit of the rope, I then fling the ice-ax toward the pitons on the hatch. First time, it just misses and I have to reel it back in like a fishing line. Taking a deep breath first, I then throw the ice-ax again. This time its point catches hold of the rope linking the pitons, its long surface hooked snugly onto two of the connecting strands. Replacing the coil of rope on my shoulder and taking a firm hold on my end of the section of the rope leading to the ice-ax, I signal to Apollo to slide rightward abruptly, away from the ghost ship. The rope jerks tight and for a moment I don’t know if it’s going to hold; then suddenly there is a loud cracking sound and the hatch pulls away from the ship, and begins to plunge downward. I shake the coil of rope off my shoulder before the heavy weight of the hatch can break off any piece of my anatomy, and don’t even bother to watch it all hurtle to the ground.
The hole left behind in the ship is more jagged than I’d have expected. Apparently the hatch pulled away pieces surrounding it. Quickly I slip out of the chest and waist loops and grab onto the climbing rope. After signaling Apollo to head back toward the ghost ship, I grip the rope with both hands and release my boots from the footholds. As Apollo executes the sweep toward the ghost ship, I kick back with my legs as hard as I can under the circumstances, then forward. My aim has got to be just right. The side of the ghost ship comes close to me much too fast, and I don’t have time to think. All I can do is swing my legs outward, aiming for the hole in the side of the ship. Apollo holds the Cylon fighter steady. I almost miss, anyway. My leg scrapes a jagged edge of the hole as both legs begin to go through. Letting the force of the swing carry me, I let go the climbing rope and plunge through the unevenly shaped but wide opening. I don’t know why I don’t break every bone in my body, as I hit the opposite wall and bounce back toward the other side, just missing going out again through the jagged hole which I’d so clumsily entered.
I lie on the floor of the ship, trying to catch my breath, trying to make some part of my body move. Suddenly the kid is standing over me, each of his eyes as large as the hatchway opening. Beyond him, I can see Apollo’s ship hovering high above the cockpit.
“Where’d you come from?” Boxey says.
I reject all the bad jokes I could make for a reply to that question and just say:
“From up there, kid.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
It was all Athena could do to keep from watching the rescue attempt of Apollo and Croft. Instead, she kept her attention on the controls, carefully timing her evasive maneuvers each time the ghost ship approached. It seemed that each escape from it was narrower than the one before. She could hardly believe she’d heard right when an officer reported that Croft had jumped from the rope and through the open ghost-ship hatchway. She now understood completely why the computer had kicked back Croft’s name during the search for personnel. She was also glad that Apollo had worked himself onto the mission roster. There were a lot of good pilots in the Galactica squadrons, but with the possible exceptions of Starbuck and Boomer, only Apollo could have flown a strange ship with that much accuracy and precision. Well, as far as precision flying went, she wasn’t doing too bad herself, she thought, as she plunged the shuttle downward to evade another diving attack.
“What’s happening out there?” she asked the crew member who was keeping track.
“Nothing. No, wait. Something. The guy just made some gesture out that hole. Apollo’s bringing his ship closer, the rope’s right next to the hole. The guy’s coming out. He’s carrying something, like a big pack. It’s Boxey, I think, it looks like Boxey, and they’re both on the rope now, clinging to it.”
“Confirm that it is Boxey, please.”
The crewman squinted at a picture on the monitor, then shouted joyously:
“Confirmed! It’s Boxey, all right!”
“How far are they away from the ghost ship?”
“Not far. No, wait. Apollo’s ship is slowly veering to port. He’s carrying them away.”
“Are they out of range of any explosion?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Confirm they are out of range.”
The crewman paused before answering.
“Out of range. Confirmed.”
“Escort leader!”
The voice of the escort officer came over the commline:
“Yes, Ensign Athena?”
“Destroy that ghost ship. And the guidance ship, too. Both of them. Immediately.”
She watched the ghost ship explode with great pleasure. Other vipers from the escort chased after the guidance ship, which now dived toward the ground. A shot from one of the vipers crossed the Cylon ship highside, and it began to wobble. Incredibly, the Cylon pilot was able to keep it steady for a crash landing on the Cylon surface. A clear view of the Cylon ship became lost in the swirling snow created by the crash landing.
In the distance Athena could see Apollo descending his ship carefully, delicately, toward the airfield, Croft and Boxey hanging from the rope. The rope seemed to just touch the ground when Croft, holding onto Boxey, jumped off and went into a gentle roll along the ground. After a moment of lying there, both Croft and Boxey stood up and shook themselves off. Boxey leaped up at Croft’s chest and hugged him. Even from this height, it looked to Athena as if Croft didn’t mind.
An aide distracted Athena’s attention from the events below by telling her that Commander Adama was on the commline and wanted to talk to her.
“Yes, Commander.”
“I just wanted to tell you—good work. We were… impressed with the flying skills of you and Captain Apollo.”
“Yes, sir. I’m taking the rescue unit in now for a landing.”
“You’ll have to make it quick. The Cylon pursuit force is still on our tail, and we won’t be able to keep them at a distance for long.”
Athena resisted smiling until the image of her father had faded from the screen. The guarded praise he’d given her had bee
n worth all the medals in the fleet.
“Prepare to land,” she ordered her crew.
Beside the rescue shuttle, Ravashol gripped Apollo’s shoulders and said his farewells.
“Peace be with you, Apollo. May you reach your destination.”
“Peace be with you, father-creator,” Apollo replied.
Apollo and Ser 5-9 embraced.
“And thank you and your people for your help,” Apollo said. “If you and Tenna had not led the way up Hekla, I don’t—say, where is Tenna? They were all here a few moments ago.”
Ser 5-9 hesitated before answering:
“I believe they went into the shuttle to say good-bye to your Lieutenant Starbuck.”
“I should have known. Starbuck!”
Inside the ship, Starbuck was busily bestowing kisses on three Tennas, each one in turn. They all seemed to be enjoying the ritual immensely.
“Time to go, Lieutenant,” Apollo said, trying to keep from laughing.
Starbuck appeared reluctant. He sidled conspiratorially over to Apollo and whispered:
“Can’t they come with us? There’re only three of them, and—”
“No, Lieutenant. We can’t interfere with these people any more than we already have.”
“It hasn’t been such a bad interference,” one of the Tennas said.
Apollo’s observation to Ravashol had been more correct than he’d even suspected; the clones were becoming more and more human.
“Captain,” Starbuck urged, “this is a chance in a lifetime. Three versions of the same beautiful woman. Can you imagine?”
“Only too well can I imagine. Another time, Starbuck.”
“But, Captain…”
“I’m sorry, Starbuck. Good-bye, each of you, and thank you. We are all in your debt.”
“I just wanted to pay off some interest,” Starbuck muttered; then he said in a way that took in all three women: “Good-bye, Tenna.”
All three bade him farewell together, an identical sadness in their eyes.
As Starbuck watched them disembark, Boomer patted his shoulder and said:
“Win one, you lose one.”
“I just lost all three,” Starbuck said.
He turned and saw Athena glaring at him from the entranceway to the pilot compartment.
“I think I’m on a real losing streak,” he mumbled to Boomer; then he stepped forward, saying, “Athena, we were all just friends. Really.”
She continued to stare daggers at him.
“By the way,” he said, in his best disarming fashion, “I heard you flew the pants off this rig.”
Her mouth made a nervous movement at the corners, as if it very much wanted to smile.
“But I missed it. Tell me about it, huh?”
She said nothing, but nodded toward the cockpit of the shuttle. He followed her in, and took the copilot seat as she began to run an equipment check preparatory to launch.
For the first time in recent memory, Imperious Leader felt stunned. He had had to verify the report three times with his executive officers. The laser gun had been destroyed. Contact with First Centurion Vulpa and his garrison had been lost—apparently the communication systems there had been destroyed along with the cannon.
Some human ships had been detected leaving the ice planet. Then, abruptly, the human fleet itself had escaped. None of his officers knew how, although they suspected the Galactica had successfully created another camouflage force field. None of his officers knew where they had escaped to.
The trap should have worked. It was as if it had been sprung and had captured its quarry, and still the humans had found some way to wriggle out.
He came out of his reverie to find the Starbuck simulacrum looking at him and smiling.
“How did they escape?” Imperious Leader asked the Starbuck.
“Escape?” it answered. “That’s just so much bilgewater, bug-eyes. We beat you, that’s all. We beat you again. And we’re going to keep on—”
Imperious Leader leaped at the Starbuck, intending to strangle it. His hands went right through the Starbuck’s neck, and did not alter one degree of its smile. With one gigantic effort, Imperious Leader pushed the entire simulator off his pedestal. It crashed to the floor of the chamber. Sparks flew in all directions. For a moment, the Starbuck stood at the center of the wreckage, then suddenly flickered out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Croft:
After what I’ve been through, the bridge of the Galactica seems incredibly claustrophobic, even though it’s an immense chamber. But I can’t stop my shoulders from contracting at the box that I feel enclosed in. Boxes, prisons, cells. That’s my life. Maybe I should have taken the opportunity to escape with Wolfe and Leda. They might be still alive and I might not feel so trapped. Still, as I look around at the joyful crowd gathered on the bridge, I can’t help but feel that their lives were traded for the lives of all around me, all personnel and passengers on the many ships of the fleet. Perhaps it was the proper trade.
Adama is in his commander mood and praising Apollo and the expedition for the successful completion of the mission. He tosses a couple of bouquets to Athena and Apollo for their flying skills. I try to feel a part of it all emotionally, but all I can feel is that it was just a job I did. I wouldn’t downplay my part in it, especially the rope-swinging act I did with the kid, but I still don’t feel that I belong here, drinking in the rhetoric of praise. They used me because they had to. Otherwise, they would have left me in my stinking hole. The hole they’re going to send me back to.
Adama has moved to Cree and is eulogizing on how brave the young cadet was. Well, that’s true enough. I’d rather have been hanging on that rope and falling in that avalanche than be subjected to Cylon torture. Good work, Cree, you deserve the praise.
Suddenly Adama is standing in front of me. I try to straighten up into some semblance of attention, a reflex from the old days, but my bones are so much in pain I can hardly move them.
“And Croft,” Adama says in his resonant voice.
“I guess it’s back to the old grid-barge,” I say, and try to smile as if I don’t mind.
Adama smiles back. The monster, smiling about sending me back.
“No,” he says after a pause. “I think you worked out the rest of your time down on that ice planet. You’re needed on the Galactica, Commander.”
I almost don’t hear him say the last word. Commander. Reinstatement in rank. If only Leda were here, she might just—I’ve got to stop thinking of her now. Anyway, she’d only have said that reinstatement in rank was just so much bilge.
Adama grips my shoulder for a moment, then moves on. Now he faces the kid and his daggit pet, which is doing a good mechanical version of a happy drool.
“Boxey,” Adama says, “if anyone should be sent to the grid-barge for disobeying orders…”
The kid looks scared. I almost want to protect him. The daggit squeals.
Maybe a good scare’ll cure the kid of sticking his nose into dangerous places.
But I doubt it.
CHAPTER THIRTY
First Centurion Vulpa pulled his heavy body up over the hanging cornice. The sound of the metal in his uniform scraping against the ice surface sent echoes rolling down the mountain. He glanced down at the uniform. Many of the black bands awarded him as decoration for valor had been scraped away by his climb. Breaks in the suit that had occurred during the crash landing of his ship had rendered it only barely functional. He had had to continue to wear it as protection against the rising cold temperature.
There was only a little farther to go. Exercising all the willpower that two brains could offer, he climbed upward. By the time he had reached the summit station, he knew he had no more powers of exertion left in his body. He lay still for a long time.
Finally he could force his body to rise. Without looking around him, he began stepping heavily across the wreckage until he reached the center where the remains of the once-powerful weapon stood. Its shell s
till rose mightily toward the sky, dark gray and gloomy. But it stood on a mangled foundation. The awesomely powerful energy pump was in jagged ruins. Fragments of the station, broken, split, bent, lay about the still-intact flooring. At points Vulpa could see a helmet or uniform from one of his warriors perceivable beneath some part of the ruins. A bridge of burned metal had formed across the gaping elevator shaft. Except for the shell of the gun, nothing tangible revealed what it once had been.
Leaning his heavy body against the shell of the weapon, Vulpa resolved to go into a meditative state. The ability to do that in the midst of a disaster such as this was a second-brain quality for which he was extremely grateful.
He could meditate here, oblivious of the wreckage around him and what it meant to his life, for a long time.
Perhaps for the rest of eternity.
Or until a reinforcement garrison arrived.
Or until he died.
It did not matter.
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[Battlestar Galactica Classic 02] - The Cylon Death Machine Page 24