He could not say it, so Adama finished the sentence for him.
"Caprica."
Athena, who had been helping plot the course of the Galactica and
the enemy base ships on a large, translucent starfield map, turned
suddenly at her father's words.
"Caprica," she whispered.
"Helm," Adama said, not looking at her, "bring us around. We're
withdrawing. Colonel, we're heading for home. Plot the proper..."
"Father!" Athena interrupted, coming to Adama's side, "what are you
doing?"
"Sir," said Apollo, from his other side, "our ships..."
"This is necessary," Adama said. "We'll leave our ships behind to
protect the Fleet."
"But they can't return to us," Athena said.
"Yes, it is possible for them to return. They can use refueling
stations to..."
"If the refueling stations haven't been destroyed, too," Apollo said
bitterly.
"Well, Adama said, "those with enough fuel, those that can obtain
enough fuel, they can, well, they can catch up as best they can."
"Sir, I must protest!" Apollo said.
"Later, please," Adama replied.
"We should tell them, transmit our intentions..."
"No. If we have any advantage left, any advantage at all, it's
surprise."
Adama briefly felt anger toward his two children as they sulked back
to their positions on the bridge, then he suppressed all emotion as he
crisply gave the orders that transported the Galactica away from the
embattled Colonial forces. He tried not to notice that most of the power
ships in the Fleet were aflame.
When they had moved out of range of the battle, a bridge officer
announced that all electronic jamming had ceased.
"They're clearing the air for their electronic guidance systems,"
Apollo said.
"That means the attack is under way," Tigh said.
"No, sir," said a bridge officer, "we're picking up long-range video
satellite signals. Everything looks perfectly normal at home."
Everybody's attention centered on the monitors that displayed scenes
of Caprica. Adama concentrated particularly on an aerial view that
showed Caprica's beautiful, pyramidal architecture to a particularly good
advantage. He had a similar view in his work room at home, not far from
the scene he was watching. Ila had given the holoview to him. He must
not think of Ila now.
Clearly, it was a beautiful day in Caprica's capital city. A
downtown area bustled with shoppers, a row of residence pyramids appeared
serene. The communications was picking up broadcast transmissions. It
all looked so peaceful, so much like the scenes they had all anticipated
returning to at the conclusion of the peace mission, so ordinary that
Adama for a moment considered the battle behind them had been proven a
lie, a dream, and instead they now flew toward a glorious reality.
"Commander," Tigh said quietly, "perhaps---perhaps we're in time.
Or maybe, maybe the Cylon attack on our Fleet was just some action of a
dissident faction, a small anti-peace movement trying to cause trouble."
"Unlikely, Tigh," Adama said. "Unlikely."
The wave of Cylon warships appeared suddenly, as if from nowhere, on
a screen adjacent to the home-planet views.
*****
Serina's eyes teared from the steady glaring light bouncing off the
fronts of the all-glass shopping-mall buildings. In the middle of giving
orders to her techinicans about where to set up the TV equipment, she
whispered inot the microphone of her makeup kit, told it to come up with
something to alter the tear level in her eyes. It produced a steady,
treated tissue with which she dabbed away the offending moisture.
Besides acting as a sponge, it also medically soothed her eyes'
irritation.
As she attended to her work, many startled passers-by stopped to
stare at her---the price of being a media personality known all over
Caprica. For herself, she had grown tired of the face known to millions.
It was beautiful, sure---with all that long auburn hair, plus the green
eyes, and the full sensuous mouth, not to mention the slim, curvaceous
figure that had become the Caprican ideal of beauty---but when you had to
check it out daily, almost by the centon, on monitors, verifying that it
was suitable for general viewing, you could easily get sick of suck
comeliness.
Her ear-reciever announced thirty seconds to air time, and she got
into position in front of the camera. As the count worked down to zero,
she spot-checked the scene immediately behind her. She was pleased with
the beauty of the flower arrangements, especially the raised
quarter-circle of brightly colored flowers spelling out the word PEACE.
Above the word were spread the flags of the the Twelve Colonies. How
impressive, she thought, and what a marvelous backdrop for the
celebration that's going to break loose when the peace is officially
announced. The count reached zero, the red light came on, and Serina
began her speech.
"Serina here, at the Caprica Presidium, where preparations continue
as they have continued through the night for the ceremonies that will
commence when the long-awaited announcement is beamed here for the peace
conference. Even though it's early dawn here, large crowds of people
have gathered all around the Presidium complex. Anticipation is growing
as Capricans ready themselves to usher in a new era of peace. So far,
details of the armistice meetings are not coming in as hoped for because
of an unusual electrical interference blocking out communication. We've
not even received official announcements regarding the rendezvous with
the Cylon emissaries. However, as ssoon as information is available you
will see the first pictures of what has been described at the most
significant event since..."
The sound of a distant rumbling explosion was followed by a closer
earsplitting noise of shattering glass as windows and door panels all
around the Presidium broke simultaneously, sending shards of glass flying
everywhere. The cameraman pointed ina direction behind Serina and to
her left. She turned and looked that way. People near her had stopped
working. Most of them looked back toward the area where the explosion
had occurred. A few hurried past her, toward the mall exit. Farther
away some raucous shouting began. Serina beckoned toward her cameraman
and soundwoman, while still addressing the camera.
"Excuse me. Somethig's happened. C'mon, Skyar, Dandra, let's see
what it is. Excuse me, sir, madam, could you let us by, please! I don't
know what it was, but it sounded to me like some sort of explosion.
Perhaps some sabotage from dissidents, if there are such things as
dissidents on Caprica. Listen to that crackle of glass underfoot. You
picking that up, Dandra? Yes? Fine, I really don't know what...wait,
here comes someone. Ma'am, could you tell me what---I guess she's not
/>
telling anybody anything. She looked scared, I thought. Maybe you
noticed. Wait a micron, let's see if we can...excuse me, pardon me."
Elbowing her way through the milling crowd while maintaining
continual check to see that her crew followed her, Serina forced her way
to an open spot. Skyar, her cameraman, quickly set up the camera and
nodded to her to begin.
"I still haven't figure out what...Oh no! Skyar, get that on
camera, quick!"
Skyar pointed the camera where she directed, at the horizon beyond
the city where a huge brilliant fireball was rising like a drifting but
erratic sun, followed by another, just as huge and just as bright.
"A tremendous explosion," Serina said, looking toward her soundwoman
to make sure it had been recorded. When the aftershock rumble faded, she
resumed her commentary. "Two explosions. You saw them on camera.
People are beginning to run in all directions. This is terrible,
horrible!"
She hoped her voice was not giving away her feeling that it was
exciting, also.
"Nobody seems to know..."
She was interrupted by a Cylon warship streaking across the sky,
shotting bursts from laser weapons into the crowd. Around her, people
started to drop like flies. Oh, my Lords of Kobol," Serina thought, this
is real! It's war! It's not just a disaster, it's...
A pyramid to her left exploded with a thunderous roar, a monolithic
building farther away started to fall forward, splitting away from its
foundation, pieces of it falling onto a running mob. The whole street
began to rock and Serina fell unglamorously into a clump of greenery.
She looked up; Skyar was steadily aiming the camera here way.
"Not at me, Skyar. The explosions, the fire. This is terrible!
Ladies and gentlemen, it's terrible! Someone's bombing Caprica City. It
looks like----Cylons?"
A fighter swinging low over the city made her duck her head into the
bushes. It fired in her direction. A young woman running by her plunged
to the ground. Standing up, Serina started to go to her aid, realized
suddenly she was dead.
"She's dead! She's----Skyar, Dandra, we better take cover, we
better..."
Throngs of people ran by her, jostled her, almost toppled her over
again. More explosions, screams, planes firing. Skyar continued to
point the camera at her.
"It's hopeless," she said. "People are dying all around me. I
don't even know if we're still on the air. I see a small child over
there, running for his...Look out! Look...!"
Another low-flying plane released another volley of laser fire.
Skyar was hit along with his camera. Sparks flew from the splitting
camera as Skyar fell to the ground. Dandra started to run, abandoning
her soundboard. Serina threw down the microphone, ran toward the young
boy she had seen chasing after an animal. Another swooping attack
fighter came down directly at them, its laser cannon at full blast.
Diving, Serina pushed the child away from the burning laser path before
it reached them. Holdling the trembling child close to her, she watched
an entire wave of fighters scream by, their weapons indiscriminantly
adding to the awesome destruction. A concrete obelisk crashed a few feet
away. Serina tried to ignore the yells of pain amid the rubble.
Something fell upon her, and suddenly there was no air.
One of her arms was still free and she could move it. She began
frantically digging toward the surface, resisting the driving impulse to
take a breath. Her arm broke through. She frenetically shaped an escape
hatch in the dirt and pulled herself and the child into the air. After
taking a quick inhalation, she pulled the child all the way out of the
hole and checked him over to ensure he was all right. He was a small
boy, about six yahrens old.
"Don't try to move for a micron," she said to him.
The boy began to cry and Serina pulled him to her, comforting him.
"Everything's going to be all right," she said.
"Muffit," the boy said, "where's Muffit?"
"Who?"
"My daggit. My daggit. Where is he?"
"Your daggit? Oh, I'm sure he's fine."
Daggits, animals native to Caprica, had been easily domesticated by
the first colonists and had become the favorite choice of pet among
younger children. Parents liked the four-legged, short-furred rascals
because, in spite of their playfulness, they always protected children.
Serina smiled. She was continually amazed by the unique ways children
focused their concentration. This boy, unaware of the meaning of the
Cylon invasion, was more concerned about his lost pet than the
devastation around him. He probably thought finding the daggit would set
everything right again.
Although the Cylon fighters no longer flew across the sky, the dust
from their attack was still settling all around Serina and the boy.
"Muffit! Muffit!" the boy hollered.
"I'm sure he's fine, honey," Serina said, trying to make her voice
sound as if she believed every word.
A tall man ran toward them, his bloody left arm hanging limp and
useless at his side.
"Move everyone!" he shouted. "Move! Evacuate the center!"
"My daggit," the boy said, "where's my..."
"This isn't any time to think about..."the man said, but Serina
waved for him to shut up.
"C'mon," she said softly. "We've got to go. I'm sure your daggit
is all right."
"Please, miss," the man screamed desperately. "The building
there'll topple at any moment."
Serina looked in the direction toward which the man's functioning
arm waved. Before she located the about-to-collapse building, her eyes
fixed on a pillar from which what looked like a daggit's limbs stuck
out. Shielding the boy's head, she maneuvered a few steps toward the
pillar. It was the daggit, all right, crushed underneath the pillar, its
pointed snout buried in the dirt and rubble. Turning her body so that it
screened any possible view the boy could have of the dead animal, she
pointed in the opposite direction and said:
"There he is, must've been him, running that way. Let's go have a
look."
"I want Muffit. Is he all right?"
She picked up the boy, held him close.
"Sure, he's all lright. Everything's all right. Everything's going
to be just fine. Just fine. Do you have a name, honey?"
"Boxey."
She wiped some of the dust form the boy's face. He was a
cherub-faced child, with large brown eyes and a shock of curly brown hair
hanging down on his forehead. She imagined that a shock of hair was
continually getting in his eyes.
"Hello, Boxey," she said.
She looked past him, at what remained of the city. Not much
remained. The buildings that still stood were rocked with explosions,
bursting with fire. The wounded
man pulled at her with his good arm, and
still carrying Boxey, she began to run. She did not look back at the
sound of the crashing buildings behind her. As they hurried pat the
place where her camera had been originally set up, in front of the floral
arrangement spelling PEACE, she noticed that the flowers had been
completely buried and that the flags of the Twelve Colonies were in
flames.
*****
Athena kept glancing covertly at her father to check on his
reactions to the dreadful slaughter they were all helplessly viewing on
the Galactica's multi-screened communications console. Most people would
have expressed the opinion that Adama was emotionless, that he didn't
react at all to the holocaust, but Athena knew better. She detected the
somber pain in his eyes. He stood stiffly, nodding at the reports of his
officers, but Athena could tell he was thinking of her mother, who lived
in a suburb of smoking pile of rubble that had once been Caprica City.
She wished they could leave their duties, be father and daughter again
for just a centon, go to a quiet room and hold each other. But that was
impossible. Mother's got to be all right, she thought, she's got to be!
Tigh had moved to his commander's side with the latest report.
"Sir," he said, "long range scanners are picking up Cylon base
ships. They're launching to all outer planets."
Athena, hearing this, wanted to slam her fists down on the panel of
gauges in fron toher. A conversation she had had just a few days ago
with Zac and Apollo came back to her vividly. She had been arguing with
them about the coming peace mission, contending that the Cylons could be
trusted. They were at the very least an intelligent race. Apollo said
Cylons might have technological prowess, but he wasn't so sure they could
be described as intelligent, at least in human terms. It was an old
argument, one that she had had in countless times since joining the
service. Cylons might be intelligent, but they were certainly not
compassionate; they were hardly, in fact, emotional at all. Apollo, like
many others, believed that the ability to feel was necessary for
intelligence. Athena held to her belief that the Cylons might have
feeling, must have emotion, it just wasn't describable in human language.
Since their cultural systems were so entirely different, she argued, we
must search for and discover the other differences, too.
Their argument had become quite heated, although she and Apollo knew
the debate itself was ancient, almost ritualistic. Zac broke it up by
laughing suddenly and saying they should all get "falling down drunk" in
order to make their argument more logical. They all laughed. Their
father, walking in on the hysterical trio, chided them for siliness below