Athena looked at the new image the officer put up on the screen; the Cylon basestar was approaching from the other side of the planet, where it had been stationed earlier, during the invasion of the underground city. It was hurrying into position now to become part of the attack. Farther away, but also changing position, was the second Cylon mothership.
"How many civilian ships left in the fissure?" she asked.
The bridge officer checked his sensor display, bit his lip. "Still about one-third of the fleet," he reported.
"One-third," she repeated, her heart sinking. They couldn't desert the rest of the fleet; they would simply have to stand fast and guard the fissure from the Cylon basestars as long as they had to. "Tighten the formation," she ordered, and the Daedelus slowly swung around to face the onrushing basestars.
Apollo had seen the new additions to the battle, and reassured his sister, "Have faith. We've come through tighter spots than this."
We have? she thought. Funny, I can't think of a single one. But she forced herself to remain calm; it was all right to be frightened, which she was. It was not all right to panic, and she would not allow herself to do that. Athena realized it was not just the impending battle which frightened her, but the enormous responsibility with which she had been entrusted. Apollo picked the worst damned times to show he had faith in her. Well, it wasn't as if Adama hadn't trained her just as hard, if not harder, than he had Apollo for this moment. She took deep, steadying breaths, let her memory replay Adama's teachings, and waited for the basestars to come within range of the battlestars' weapons. This was shaping up to be a long afternoon.
In his quarters, Baltar sat next to Siress Kiera on his sleep module. He held her, and she held him, trying to talk of anything except the moment, making plans for what they would do later that night, after the fleet had once again escaped destruction and was once again sailing the cold sea of space, but they both knew any plans beyond this battle were not likely to be carried out. Had he really been the one to once declare, "A human is never so confident as when he has his back against the wall"? Well, their backs were against the wall, all right, and the wall was on fire and crumbling, but he certainly didn't feel confident. He felt anything but.
For a moment Baltar wondered if he could still contact Count Iblis; the Count had always been able to seemingly read his former minion's thoughts, coming and going like some demon Baltar had conjured up by the force of his mind. And he thought, momentarily, of begging the Count to intervene, save them, save him, at least. After all, what did he owe the colonials? For all he had done on their behalf, none of them yet trusted him. They had beaten him, humiliated him, and would have killed him, had Apollo not intervened. Even Apollo had been ready to strangle him, and Baltar's hand unconsciously went to his still-swollen throat, and he winced at the pain.
But he had tried so hard to be a good man once more that the idea of selling what little of his soul he had regained frightened him. If he died here, then at least he would perish in the arms of someone who cared for him, and for whom he cared. There were worse fates than that, he knew all too well.
"Cubit for your thoughts," Kiera said.
"A moment ago, they weren't worth a cubit," he told her.
"And now?" she asked.
He kissed her softly, on the crown of her head. "Now, they're priceless," he said.
The course of love was one that, despite all those who had traveled it before, had never gone smoothly, and it was that much more difficult piloting the Duet. For everything Troy and Dalton had gained the last time they flew the twinner, in battle with the Chitain, it seemed they had lost just as much, if not more, this time.
The Duet moved jerkily through the sky, as they each tried to be in control. "Stop trying to run everything," Dalton told him. "You fly, I'll fight." But even before Troy could answer, Dalton thumbed the turbolaser on her navi-hilt, loosing a barrage from both crafts' weapons system, taking out two Chitain Stingers, fore and aft. "What was that again?" Troy chided her. "I'll do what, now?"
"You've got the audio turned off on your scanners again, don't you?" she asked. He frowned. As a matter of fact, Troy had dialed down the volume; all the noise from the scanners alerting him to the threats at hand was driving him insane, but he tickled the control just enough that his cockpit filled with the din of the scanners. When he flew solo, he could afford to close out the cacophony of battle, but he was flying the Duet now, and her safety depended on his attention, just as his depended on her.
"Sorry," he said.
"Not a problem… lover," she replied across their comm-link. He smiled; she had first called him that in the Duet the last time they flew. He remembered, and so did she. And, he thought, it was easier for her to say the word when she wasn't looking at him, when they were separated by two darkened Viper canopies.
He laughed to himself; what kind of romantic future lay ahead of them if she couldn't even say the word in the same room with him?
Troy didn't have the opportunity to consider this particular quirk of Dalton's nature for long, because his cockpit's proximity alarm began to shriek at him like a bat trapped in a closet. The scanners revealed two Cylon Raiders coming up at them, at an alarming speed. They had been damaged in battle, and were determined to take down the nearest colonial ship with them when they went. Troy instinctively reached for the navi-hilt, checked himself. Hadn't he and Dalton just had this discussion?
"Raiders," he informed her.
"I'm on it," she answered, and brought the array of weapons strung between the Duet Vipers to bear on the Raiders. She waited until the last possible second and fired, blasting the first, and Troy dipped the Duet beneath the deadly trajectory of the second ship. Dalton fired the turbolasers just a micron too late to connect, and her shot went wild. She cursed hot and loud.
The Raider, already a massive, out-of-control ball of fire, passed by overhead, the light from its burning hull bright enough to make the screen of Troy's helmet opaque. The Raider plowed into another Chitain Stinger, which had been jockeying into position behind the Duet for a kill shot.
"What was that?" Dalton's voice shouted across the comm-link. Troy winced, wished he could adjust the volume on the helm. "You made me miss the second kill!"
"You just relax," he suggested, "and leave the driving to me."
One after the other, Starbuck shot down the four Cylon Raiders. They had surrounded the Adena in a loose pinwheel formation, slipping in under the Galactica's artillery by hugging the ground. The Raiders were too close to the rest of the fleet as it emerged from the fissure to risk firing upon with the battlestar's weaponry, making it necessary for Starbuck to break from the battle and police the exodus.
It was a divide and conquer tactic the Cylons knew well; after all, Count Iblis had practiced it internally, within the fleet, turning Cain, Athena, and Apollo against one another, and the council against Apollo. Starbuck wondered just how long the Count had been pulling their strings, and if they'd ever done anything out of free will. That was a sobering thought. Even their return to Kobol had not been truly of their own volition.
By forcing Starbuck to drop out of the clash overhead, the Cylons had successfully caused the group of cadets to lose their guardian angel. The Chitain pilots had watched the little group of Vipers in battle, and the way Starbuck time and again had to rescue them when the attack grew too chaotic, and the Chitain's war-directed minds understood these pilots were inexperienced, and, separated from the flock, easily eradicated.
The Stingers' tails whipped back and forth, filling the sooty sky with dazzling arcs of deadly energy. Starbuck fed his apex pulsar a little extra fuel, trying to get back up to the cadets, but he could only watch in horror and rising fury as his starfield filled with the sight of his squadron, his responsibility, being coldly and ruthlessly slaughtered.
"Bastards!"
Starbuck couldn't prevent the destruction of the cadets, but he could at least avenge them. He was joined by Boomer and Jolly, and they f
lew into a triangle formation, soaring along the wall of Chitain and Cylon fighters. The Vipers fired their weapons, left, right, up, down, scattering the enemy ranks. Then, the Vipers wheeled away in a tight formation, ahead of the counterattack.
"Just like shooting daggits in the pound, "Jolly quipped.
They were losing too many fighters, too many pilots. Far more, Starbuck was certain, than the enemy was losing. As he thought that, the Chitain Stingers broke off pursuit of the three more experienced pilots and went after an undefended civilian ship as it emerged from the fissure. Their weapons tails glowed and whipped around, splashing off the side of the Dawntreader. But then, the Stingers concentrated their deadly assault on the ship's fuel tanks, igniting the unstable Tylium. The Dawntreader erupted in a series of explosions, beginning at the aft and traveling in leaps and bounds toward the fore, shredding the ship apart. Hull plates flew off like leaves in a gale-force wind, and the ship, burning too brightly for the naked eye to look at, crashed back down to Kobol, just clearing the edge of the fissure.
Had the Dawntreader fallen back down into the cavern, the ships following after would have been destroyed, as well. Things were spinning horribly out of control, too many cracks in the wall for the colonials to adequately plug. They had to get out of here, and soon, or the entire Fleet was going to be destroyed.
"Starbuck!" Sheba's voice buzzed in his ear over his comm-line.
He tipped the wing of his Viper so he could see what had her so agitated; a handful of Chitain Stingers had swarmed down into the mouth of the fissure, where they began blasting at the undefended fleet ships.
"Don't these mugjapes ever quit?" Starbuck growled, and put his Viper into a dive, chasing after the Stingers.
They had already entered the fissure, and were firing at the sides of the emerging colonial ships as they passed each other in the great stone runway. Starbuck tried to insinuate his Viper between the civilian ships and the Stingers, but it was a risky gamble, with a very real possibility he would slam into the side of one the fleet as easily as he would a Stinger.
He managed to pull ahead of the nearest Chitain craft, and drop into position directly in front of it. Before the Stinger could bring its tail weapons around to fire at the Viper, Apollo kicked the apex pulsar to full, the backwash of flame instantly slagging the Chitain fighter's viewscreens. Blinded, the fighter rammed the side of the cavern, vanishing in a spray of blazing shrapnel.
Unfortunately, Starbuck's Viper was now accelerating down the long runway, coming up fast behind another Stinger. He thumbed the turbolaser, ripping through the Chitain's defense screens and detonating its fuel tank.
Starbuck grimaced, his Viper passing through the flaming cloud of fuel. Even through the protective shielding, he could feel the enormous heat, and then, he was through, his speed decreasing, his Viper under control once more.
The tunnel suddenly opened into the shipping port, and Starbuck saw the rest of the Chitain intruders ahead, swinging around at the far end of the bay, entering a strafing pattern, headed for the last few fleet ships still waiting for take-off.
His thumb went for the turbolaser button… and stopped. He laughed, and shouted, "Go ahead, you bunch of fish-heads!"
The Chitain craft brought their tail weapons around and fired… and the defensive mirroring effect of the crystal cavern instantly threw their own assault back at them, with deadly, pinpoint accuracy. The Stingers exploded, one after the other, like links in a chain. Still laughing, Starbuck brought his Viper around and began the long, sloping ascent along the fissure. He was once again whistling the tune Apollo had taught them.
The battle was not going well for the colonials, as Starbuck saw when his Viper emerged from the fissure. The Cylon basestars had at last maneuvered into place, and their plasma cannons were cycling up to release a salvo of destruction. More civilian ships had been destroyed, and were lying in smoking ruins on the planet's surface, strewn about like bones of dead marine animals on the bottom of a suddenly-dry ocean bed. Beside them lay the ashen remains of the Vipers that had fought, and died, trying to protect them. Around about them lay the wreckage of the enemy craft; death was impartial.
The battlestars had engaged the Cylon basestars, matching them blow for blow, doing their best to ignore the harrying Raiders and Stingers, leaving the lesser threats for the Vipers. The Pegasus had already suffered terrible damage, and the basestar's bristling array of weapons swung around to train on Cain's ship.
The battlestars had the advantage of maneuverability; the basestars, while packed with unimaginable power, were not designed for battle within a planet's atmosphere, and were slower moving as a result. Unfortunately, they could withstand more hits. The Galactica swung around and fired all of her port artillery, destroying an emplacement of plasma cannons, effectively halving the base star's assault capabilities.
But half of unimaginable was still unimaginable, and the basestar remained a looming threat to the fleet. Its second tier of cannons did fire before the battlestar could train its firepower on them, and the Galactica's weapons system suffered the brunt of the attack.
At their posts, weapons officers were thrown back out of their seats as the tremendous feedback of power slammed into them, tossing them against the far wall. Small electrical fires erupted in a spray of sparks up and down the work stations. Those who still had enough presence of mind to do so began putting out the fires and instantly set about repairing the electrical damage. But it was going to take time.
On the bridge, Apollo looked at the time. There wasn't much left before the planet blew itself to atoms, but, even before that could happen, he knew the other Cylon motherships, positioned around the planet, would join these basestars in the battle. If that were allowed to happen, Apollo knew the fleet would not stand a chance.
"Starbuck," Apollo said, "I need you and your squadron to take out that basestar's main weapons before they can get in place to blow us apart."
"On it," Starbuck's voice came back. "And by the way, whatever happened to the magic word, please?"
Good old Starbuck, Apollo thought, and had to laugh. "Please," he added.
"That's better," Starbuck answered. "While we're at it, maybe this would be a good time for you to admit you've never been able to outgun me on your best day."
"We'll talk about that one," Apollo said. He knew Starbuck was just blue-skying, talking and joking to keep from thinking too closely about what he was about to do. Everyone dealt with stress in his or her own fashion, and this was Starbuck's. Apollo thought Starbuck would have to make a lot more jokes before this one was over. The end wasn't even in sight.
Boomer's and Sheba's Vipers, badly damaged and barely able to fly, limped back to the Galactica's landing bay. The loss of two fighters was bad; the loss of two experienced pilots was worse. As soon as they docked, they told the techs to prep two more Vipers. They had to get back into the battle as soon as possible.
"If Starbuck can just damage the basestar's forward-facing weapons," Apollo was saying to Cain and Athena, "that should give us long enough to get the rest of the fleet through and make the jump to hyperspace."
Cain nodded, his face grave. "I agree, but the Pegasus has been badly damaged by the plasma cannons. I'm not sure we can make it."
Apollo felt his heart drop. Cain was not one to exaggerate; if he said the battlestar might not make it, then that was probably the case. Still, this had been a day for miracles; perhaps Kobol still held one more in reserve for them. "Hold on, Commander Cain," Apollo said, refusing to acknowledge defeat. "We'll do everything we can to protect you."
"The Daeddus will cover you, Commander Cain," Athena said.
"Thank you, Apollo, Athena, but that may be a foolish gesture that could end up costing you more than it gains the fleet," Cain said.
"Still trying to make decisions for me, I see," Apollo said, and turned to Athena's image on the monitor.
"Frack, how do you stand this?" Athena asked her brother. "This is driving me i
nsane!"
He smiled. "Well, you know, the first day on the job is always the hardest," he said. "It never goes like you planned."
Athena laughed; it was just the release of tension, but it was a release she had desperately needed. "You're doing a good job, Athena," Apollo added. "I'm proud of you. Father would have been proud."
Is proud, he thought. He felt quite sure Adama was watching over them, and guiding them as best he could, even from the other side of the Light.
"Apollo, this is Wing Commander Starbuck," the comm-line crackled. "I hate to tell you this, but we don't have enough experienced pilots left out here to accomplish your assignment. Boomer and Sheba just headed back to the bay for new fighters, but even so, we're short-handed."
Tigh looked over at his old friend. As before, on this same spot but under different circumstances, their silent expressions carried more information and understanding than words could.
Apollo turned back to the monitor, but instead of Cain or Athena, he found himself staring at Count Iblis's countenance, his eyes glowing red. The screen was filled with static and white noise, and only projected the Count's image because Iblis so willed it. "Did you really think you could rid yourself of me so easily, Adama-child?" Iblis purred like some great primordial cat. "How disappointingly naive of you. Your house's moment of reckoning has arrived, at last, and you cannot divert it again."
Apollo's hand unconsciously went to the Star of Kobol around his neck, and drew succor from it. Iblis saw the gesture and smirked. "That piece of costume jewelry can't help you from the threat you face now," Iblis scoffed. "Within a few microns, you and the rest of your fleet will be annihilated, and as you watch everyone around you that you loved and cherished suffer and die, and curse your name, I want you to reflect upon the fact I could have spared them. They could have been saved, if it hadn't been for you."
Apollo knew that Iblis's message was going out to every ship in the fleet, because that was the way he worked: divide and conquer. Corrupt from within. He was like a slow poison, beginning at the extremities and slowly working its way inward, toward the heart.
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