before we can all make the jump. We have to set up a diversionary
action."
"The Red Squadron'll take care of that," Apollo said, then waited
for Adama's response. After a brief moment, the commander nodded
agreement.
"All right," he said, "but the Galactica'll be the last ship to make
the jump. Rest of the fleet'll go first. Apollo, you take your squadron
out there and stall them, then get back here in time for the jump. Those
are your orders."
"Yes, sir!" Apollo began runnig to the elevators leading to the
bridge, shouting back to Starbuck at the communications console,
"Assemble Red!"
"Jolly and Greenbean's gonna love this, muttered Starbuck as he set
the alert claxon ringing.
There was a moment of quiet on the bridge as everybody watched the
pilots scrambling toward their launch cribs, and the fighters, now
refueled and made ready by the Galactica's efficient flight crews,
starting down the tubes.
Suddenly, as if to add insult to injury, Tigh shouted out, "Oh, my
God!"
"What is it, Tigh?"
"This is terrible. I just sent a message back through the secret
transmission channel to the rest of the fleet, the ships we left behind.
They sent back this." He waved the report under Adama's nose. "An attack
against them has just commenced. A group of Cylon warships're
surrounding them and've begun firing."
"Have they any chance?"
"If they can hold off until we make the jump back there."
Adama turned toward Starbuck.
"Lieutenant?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Assemble the Blue Squadron. I want it ready for a fight as soon as
we make the jump."
"Yes, sir!"
Starbuck, waving back at Athena, made his run to the elevators.
For the next few microns, as the fleet made preparations for the
hyperspace jump, and Apollo's squadron blasted away at the Cylon
aggressors, and the Blue Squadron made ready then settled themselves into
gee-couches for the hyperspace jump, the bridge of the Galactica was
ablaze with activity.
The timing had to be exact, and it was. As Apollo's squadron
returned to the Galactica after their hit-and-run assault, the initial
prejump mechanisms were set. After the returning pilots were safely
ensconced in gee-couches, the jump was made.
A long moment passed, then suddenly the Galactica found itself in
the middle of the Cylon attack on the rest of the fleet ships. Starbuck
and his squadron raced to their launch cribs, boarded their ships, and
catapulted themselves into the battle. The Cylons, so adept at ambush,
seemed surprised at finding themselves under sudden and unexpected fire.
*****
If the Cylon's Imperious Leader could have viewed the battle
activity aboard the Galactica, he would have been struck by the contrast
in his own ship. Even the messages along his communication network had
dwindled since the humans had begun fighting back and winning. The
losses on the Cylon side had no correspondence with any defeats in their
previous history. Since his third-brain had more time than usual to
contemplate the nature of his defeat, he could trace his mistakes quite
far back. It occurred to him that his supreme mistake seemed to be
dealing with humans in the first place. However he tried to interpret
the meaning of the defeat, his mind returned to the havoc wrought by the
human pest.
The universe had been in order until the humans had started
asserting themselves. Even then, the Cylons had avoided actual
encounters for some time. When they had tried to convince the humans to
leave those areas in space they had usurped, the humans had not listened
to reason. There had been been no solution but war. Althoug the Cylons
had made the first attack, it was in fact the humans who had precipitated
the war by their stubborn interference in Cylon affairs and their refusal
to give up their colonies and go back to whatever sector of the universe
they came from.
The Leader tapped the memories of previous Imperious Leaders and
examined every dealing the Cylons had had with the enemy. They were like
a disease, these humans. Once they had infected an area with their
presence, ther was no cure; the disease spead until it touched all life
forms. In that way they had infected the Cylons and had brought them to
this low point in their history.
The defeat of both Cylon task forces by the small contingent of
human fighters had shocked the leader, especially the way his ships had
fallen prey to the diversionary action of Captain Apollo and his crew.
Embarrassing. The Leader felt a pang of anger when he thought of
Apollo---the man was, after all, the son of the hated Commander Adama,
the prime source of all the human victories. Who would have expected,
for example, that he would return to his near-derilect ships traveling
slowly through space and ambush the Cylon attackers...the final
horrendous defeat that Imperious Leader now had to consider. The whole
campaign might have been salvaged if it had not been for those two men,
Apollo and Adama. It was the Leader's keenest desire now to rid space of
these two reckless humans. He would experience great pleasure if he
could personally torture the two men, father and son.
Well, he still had a chance at ki lling Apollo and Adama.
But, not, it was wrong to think such hateful, vengeful thoughts. It
was unworthy of the possessor of a third-brain. He should not be
brooding over the series of defeats, he should be planning the new
strategies of attack.
Gradually, the truth of his position dawned on him. Any other
Imperious Leader, realizing the import of the defeats he had suffered,
would have resigned the position immediately and ordered his own death.
It was the only logical thing to do. His death should be the price for
allowing the humans to survive when their annihilation had been certain.
But he could not do that. No, he must survive. It was essential. He
must pursue the hateful Adama and Apollo, and the rest of their verminous
race, to whatever part of the universe they would now travel to, with
their renewed strength and their supplies of new fuel. All reports
indicated that, after the defeat of the Cylons, they had taken their
hyperspace and hyperspace-converted craft and vanished from their
formerly camouflaged pocket of space. They had not been located since.
Well, he would locate them. And he would go after them again. And he
would slaughter them. He could not die until that final annihilation had
taken place. He could not allow himself the questionable privilege of
suicide as an historical failure.
It occurred to him that other Leaders would not have had these
qualms about giving up the position and dying. They would not have
hated, they would not have desired revenge so obsessively. Why was he
driven so, he wond
ered. And suddenly he knew why. He had been dealing
with the humans so long, thinking like a human so long, that he had
become like a human. His desire for revenge was quite humanlike. That
was the final defeat, perhaps that he had become like his enemy. So be
it. He would destroy what had become human within him by destroying the
humans themselves. Adama, he would kill personally. For now, he must
wait.
*****
Adama raised his silver goblet to signal a toast. All around the
table that formed a circle in the middle of the bridge, the crew,
civilians, and council became quiet. He took a moment to gaze at them,
then past the gathering at the starfield portal beyond them. It seemed
as if the stars in this part of space glittered more than any he had ever
seen. He felt optimistic and hopeful.
"I toast our victories and the achievement of our goals," he began.
"Hear, hear," said Sire Gant, who was sitting to Adama's right.
"And I ask you to remember for a moment the various men and women
who died in the Cylon invastion of the Twelve Colonies and the subsequent
events in which the members of the Galactica fleet acted so valiantly."
During the moment of silence many of the assemblage bowed their
heads in prayer. Adama resumed his speech.
"I hope that out of this----all this tragedy---will come some good.
I am sure we have not seen the end of treachery, either human like Count
Baltar, or alien like the Cylons."
He glanced toward Sire Zalto, who slide down a bit in his seat,
secretly glad not to be included on the commander's list of villains.
Perhaps his resignation from the council had soothed Adama's anger toward
him.
"I wish to take this occasion," Adama continued, "to officially
announce my acceptance of the job as president of the Council, and thank
you for electing me."
"We didn't elect you," Sire Gant interjected. "We merely took back
and tore up your resignation."
"Be that as it may, I thank you. Now we go seeking a place for our
race, a place to settle our people in peace. A place in the universe
where we can test our potentials again. Perhaps we may find it on the
planet our mythology calls Earth. I see no one scoffs when I mention
Earth this time. Perhaps now you believe that our little ragtag fleet
can do it, can perform this lonely quest as we flee from the Cylon
tyranny, discover anew the shining planet Earth. Ladies and gentlemen,
as a toast I give you...hope."
They all drank and the meal, a simple feast prepared from food grown
in their agricultural project during their brief stay on Carillon's Lot,
commenced. Many in the company marveled at how much better this simpler
fare was than the exotic delicacies fed them by the Ubbo-Sathlas. The
buriticians, especially, agreed. Squires, through blood analysis, had
established that Nor had drugged the council members' foods, making them
sucsceptible to ideas they would not otherwise have entertained.
Serina, seated two places away from Adama, leaned his way and spoke.
"You really do believe we can find this place, this Earth, don't
you, Commander?"
"Yes, I do. I realize what you're implying with your journalistic
question, Serina----that we are chasing a dream. Sometimes dreams are
worth the chasing. Along the way, who can say what we may find, what we
may learn."
"Don't mistake me, Commander. I am on your side."
"I appreciate your saying that. There have been times recently when
I was not entirely sure who was on my side, including some who were quite
close to me."
Athena put a consoling hand on her father's arm, and Apollo nodded.
"But let's not, while everything is tranquil and our needs are being
adequately supplied, dwell on such matters. It is a time for joy."
"I'm all for that," Starbuck said.
"Yes, aren't you?" Athena said, with a meaningful glance toward
Cassiopeia, who was seated across from her.
"I am at peace with you," Cassiopeia said.
"See that you stay that way."
"No."
Athena glared at her, then broke out laughing.
"Okay," she said, "you're on."
"You sound like me," Starbuck said.
"Ten to one I don't," Athena said.
"Hey, Starbuck," Boomer called from a seat farther down the table,
"when you going to pay me off for saving your life out there?"
"But I saved your life right after that."
"And I saved your life again right after that, bucko."
"Swallow your fuel line, Boom-Boom."
Starbuck and Boomer's performance added to the party's festive air.
Apollo leaned toward Serina and whispered, "This is supposed to be a
celebration. You look a bit down in the mouth."
"Does it show?"
"Yes, it does, and you're too pretty to look said."
"Drop the military strategy, please. You know I'm receptive to you
without it."
"Sorry. I can't easily get rid of my military instincts."
"Try."
Apollo smiled. Serina could barely resist that smile.
"Sure," he said. "But you haven't explained the sad look, Serina."
She looked down at her plate of food, swirled an asparagus stalk
around with her fork.
"Well, it's...it's Boxey. You know how close I am to him, and,
well, I just can't be happy with him so miserable."
"I noticed he didn't look so cheerful out in the hallway not long
ago. What's wrong?"
"It's Muffit Two. Boxey's moping about losing him."
Apollo hit his forehead with the palm of his hand.
"I forgot! How could I? I promised him I would..."
Serina touched Apollo's arm.
"You couldn't be expected to do anything about it, not with battles
going on and..."
"But I did do something. Where's Wilker? Wilker! Where are you?"
From far down the table the doctor yelled back, and stood up.
"Did you bring it?" Apollo asked.
"Of course," Wilker hollered back. "Just waiting for you to tell me
what to do with it."
Wilker held up a large leather case.
"All right," Apollo said, and turned back to Serina. "Where's Boxey
now?"
"I'll get him."
Serina was gone only a short time. She came back, dragging the
obviously reluctant boy by the arm. Boxey appeared very downcast.
"Hey cadet," Apollo said, "what's got you down?"
As he addressed the boy, he signaled Wilker to come down the table.
"I'm okay. I wanta go back to my cubicle," Boxey said.
"But you're invited to our victory feast," Apollo said.
"I don't wany anything to eat. I'm not hungry."
"Okay, we'll let Muffy take your place."
"Apollo!" Serina hollered.
"Doctor Wilker, you got the goods?"
"Right here."
"Open the case."
The
doctor opened the case, and Muffit Two hopped out, right onto a
plate of mashed potatoes. Extricating his paws from the food, he leaped
into Boxey's waiting arms. The boy's face was completely transformed;
his eyes glowed with happiness.
"You were saying?" Apollo asked Serina.
"What did you do?"
"Easy. Muffy's a droid, after all. All Doctor Wilker here had to
do was straighten out a few wires, replace a few parts, patch on a new
bit of fur here and there...right, doc?"
"It's a fairly easy repair job."
"Yes, and the doctor here has a Humpty-Dumpty complex. He makes
sure everything gets put back together. The doctor's better than all the
king's men and all the..."
"Oh shut up, Apollo, and let me hug you," Serina said.
Boxey, still holding Muffy, squeezed in at the table between Serina
and Apollo. He managed to shovel quite a few spoonsful of food into his
mouth. Serina raised a glass to Apollo and her mouth formed the words,
thank you, my love.
Adama smiled at the happy Serina. She raised her glass again and
addressed the commander.
"To Earth," she said.
The End
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