[Battlestar Galactica Reimagined 02] - The Cylons' Secret Page 11

  Everything else was going to have to be trial and error. He followed the instructions, mixing the water with a small packet of powder—the book said the results might take a couple of minutes.

  Tom Zarek had nothing but time.

  Now that he was away from the Lightning, he thought about it more than ever. He was a raider. They were all raiders. Before he shipped out, Tom hadn’t really known enough about what he was to become.

  It was a strange crew. A bunch of outcasts, thrown away by society. Nineteen loners, all tossed in together. Many were people he might have avoided in his old life. Most were not too different from Tom Zarek.

  In one way, he fit right in. In other ways, he worried he had made the worst decision of his life.

  There were all sorts of stories about raiders. The best made them out to be clever businessmen, working just outside the law. There was a lot of money to be made and no one got hurt.

  That was the polite version.

  He had also heard stories of raiders gone wild—scavengers as thieves and murderers, as bad as the barbarian hordes of ancient history. Men with no rules who took what they wanted and destroyed anything that got in their way.

  After shipping out on the Lightning, Tom believed there was some truth to both stories.

  Not that it mattered anymore. Once you shipped out with a raider, there was no going back. You were there for the duration.

  Most of all, he thought about the stories he had heard, about the Lightning, and about Nadu. “Pragmatic” was a word used for a lot of raiders, but for Nadu in particular.

  It wasn’t until he was deep in space that he started hearing the most brutal of those tales, and he realized it was a short step from pragmatic to ruthless.

  Symm and Twitch had liked to tell the most horrific yams. Like the one about a planet where those abandoned by the war had reverted to barbarism. According to the story, Nadu had killed those that resisted, and left the rest of them to starve. Or the story about the Colony where all the men had died of disease, leaving only the women behind.

  These stories were almost like tall tales, the sort of thing that happened long ago when Nadu first captained a ship, told by one crewmember to another as they passed the time between missions. Tom supposed it really didn’t matter whether the stories were true or not. It was the message behind the tales—when you were on the Lightning, you would do anything ordered by Nadu.

  The Vipe pilots used to roar with laughter if you showed the slightest distaste at their tales. Now, he supposed Symm and Twitch could laugh in their graves.

  The crew was an odd mix. Some, like Symm and Twitch, he could see as killers. Others, like Boone and Grets, seemed more like survivors, hard-edged people who were down on their luck.

  You couldn’t stand on the sidelines. According to their late Viper pilots, Nadu forced you to make a choice.

  Tom had hoped it wouldn’t come to that. He needed the money. But he didn’t want the rest of it on his conscience.

  It was one thing he didn’t have to worry about now.

  The water had turned milky then clear again. According to the survival manual, that meant it was safe to drink. The manual listed other tests he could perform on the local flora and fauna. He might try those eventually, but for now he would stay with the plentiful rations Boone had brought on the ship.

  Zarek looked down at the small cup of water in his hands. Safe water, no immediate danger, no wireless, no immediate hope of escape.

  That just about covered it.

  He was the only survivor of a massacre. He could say he had survived worse, but this time it would be a lie.

  He just needed the Zarek luck to hold on until someone came to rescue him… if someone ever came.

  CHAPTER

  15

  BATTLESTAR GALACTICA

  They were sending the Vipers to explore a world full of Cylons. Captain Tigh had mixed feelings about all this. He walked quickly to the flight deck, where both Viper pilots and deck crew were waiting.

  He would do a good job. They would all do a good job. Many back home thought this mission—this exploration of the edges—was going to be easy. Sure, they might find some leftover mining sites where equipment had grown dangerously fragile with age, or have to fire across the bow of a couple of raiders to keep those scum off their tail. But mostly, he knew the fleet sent them out there to train someplace safe and far away from Colonial politics, a place where all the green recruits could learn their way around a Viper, just in case they were ever needed if things came to a head between a couple of the worlds back home.

  That might have been one of the reasons Bill convinced the higher-ups to hire Saul Tigh. This was supposed to be light duty. Ease him into the job and see how he handled it, find out whether he was ready for some real work in the fleet.

  He stepped out onto the deck, and Athena called the crew to attention. Tigh snapped off a salute as he continued to approach. Twenty-four pilots and close to a dozen flight crew returned his salute.

  Well, the real work had shown up, right here, right now, out on the edge of frakking nowhere. And he had to take his green recruits straight into what might be one hell of a battle.

  Tigh knew it could be worse. All of them knew their way around a Viper by now. But only four of his two dozen pilots had any substantial flying under their belts, and only two of those showed a real aptitude for battle.

  Well, he guessed that made it easy for him to choose who was going to go along on this little mission. He just hoped this assignment didn’t explode into something much bigger. His green recruits would have to gain a lot of experience in a hurry.

  He stopped some twenty paces away from his assembled troops. Everyone waited expectantly, at attention, for what he had to say. “At ease!” he called. They all relaxed, but only a bit. It was best to get this over with.

  “Well, this is it, boys and girls,” he called out in a loud voice. “The big time. Just like back in the war, we’re going out there to face the unknown. As Viper pilots, we are always the first line of defense. We are fast and deadly. We get in there, take a look around, and hop back out before anybody even knows we’ve been there.”

  A few of the pilots laughed. They were trying to release the tension. He knew just how they felt.

  “Of course,” he continued as he walked down the line, looking straight at each of the pilots in turn, “it all depends on just what we find down there when we go sightseeing. I’ve decided to lead the first squad down, just three Vipers to take the first look-see.”

  He could already see relief on some of the younger faces, knowing their crew leader was going to take responsibility.

  “I’m asking two of our more experienced pilots to join me. Athena—” He nodded to where the young woman stood at the far end of the group. “—and Skeeter.” He waved to the skinny fellow standing in the middle of the newbies. “You will follow me in and watch my tail. As for the rest of you, I want Squads One and Three to be ready for deployment at a second’s notice. We may need you to lay down protective fire, just like we did in last month’s war games. If we run into trouble out there, I want you guys to make sure we all get back alive. Is that understood?”

  “Yes sir!” came the ragged reply.

  “Good. We will be leaving in a matter of hours. I will give you the exact time of the mission as soon as it is given to me. Until then, get some rest. Dismissed!”

  Most of the pilots quickly left the flight deck. Only Skeeter and Chief Murta, who was in charge of making sure every one of the Vipers would be ready, stayed behind.

  “Sir!” The gangly youngster hurried toward Tigh.

  Saul paused. “Yeah, Skeeter?”

  “Is it true that they’ve got Cylons down there?”

  Tigh nodded. “That’s what I hear. We won’t know, though, until we see them for ourselves.”

  It looked like the young man wanted to say something else. Tigh wished he’d just come out with it.

  “Is there a problem?
” he asked at last.

  “No, I guess not, sir,” Skeeter replied. “I guess I just thought I’d never see this day.”

  Tigh smiled at that. “I think a lot of us thought that. You have to remember. We are no longer at war with the Cylons.” That was something he should have said to everyone. He would have to correct that oversight before they began their mission. He paused, then added, “But I would not trust those damned toasters for a minute.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go play some cards.”

  Skeeter turned and jogged off to meet the others. The kid was always on the move. Tigh hoped he could use some of those lightning-fast reflexes when they came up against some trouble.

  But the talk had gone well. Tigh admitted it. He talked a good fight. He would be all right in the clinch. His experience would see him through. It was the waiting that got to him. He couldn’t sleep when it got this close to the action. He had to find other ways to relax.

  Now what should he do until the mission?

  He would go down to the mess and unwind. A little light gambling with the troops. And he would allow himself one stiff drink—just one—to take off the edge.

  “We’re going on our first real mission,” he said in the barest of whispers, “and you’re not going to frak this up.”

  He took a deep breath. Once he got going, he’d be fine.

  Adama looked at the picture again. His other life. His two sons and his wife, smiling on a sunny day. A part of him was always with his family. He had talked about moving back to Caprica for good.

  And then he came to explore the edge of space.

  The Galactica might have found the Cylons all over again.

  Adama realized a part of him looked forward to the danger, the same part that felt truly alive only when there were battles to be won.

  He felt alert and ready. And oddly calm.

  This was the sort of thing the Galactica had been sent here for. This was what he was made for.

  He didn’t know if he could give this up, even for the sake of his family.

  He hoped his wife could understand. She should be proud of him defending the Colonies. But could he be proud of himself, when he felt he was running away from his family?

  Adama thought about the old man. Admiral Sing was the picture of calm, no matter what happened around him. He was an anchor, and he kept his whole crew steady around him. If Bill Adama ever got a command of his own, he hoped he could manage it half as well as the admiral.

  Now, one way or another, they were going to investigate that distress call. When they grew close enough, they would attempt to hail the planet by wireless. Hopefully, they would get some response, and they could make a peaceful landing. If not, the Vipers would go in on full alert.

  He knew Tigh sometimes doubted himself. It would be good for him to see some action. His old friend’s heart had always been in the right place, even when he doubted it himself. That’s why Adama had recommended Tigh for the job. When things were tough, he didn’t know anyone whom he trusted more.

  “Bill.” Sing’s voice on the comm brought Adama out of his thoughts. “Could you come up to the CIC?”

  “Be right there, sir.”

  It was time for all of them to see some action.

  “We’re getting close to the coordinates,” Draken explained as soon as Adama joined the junior officer and Sing at the Command Center. “And, as should probably come as no surprise, there is indeed a system ahead, with one habitable planet.”

  “So this is our mystery planet?” Adama asked.

  “Well, it’s certainly a place of some interest,” Sing replied. “We seem to have tripped some sensor. Mark? Could you turn that up for us?”

  A brittle-sounding voice boomed over the speakers: “Warning! Do not approach! We are under quarantine! Disobeying this command will result in serious consequences! Per order of the Colonial Science Protectorate! Warning! Do not approach! We are under quarantine—”

  “Mark?” Sing asked again, making a slicing motion with his index finger.

  The comm officer cut the feed.

  “Some sort of recording,” Sing added. “It repeats on an endless loop. I imagine this was designed to scare wanderers away—raiders, freebooters, opportunists. It certainly doesn’t apply to us.

  “As far as they know, we are the Colonial Science Protectorate. We’ll soon take care of this.” Sing turned to the wireless operator.

  “Send a message back. Inform them that, as a ship in the Colonial fleet, we are duly appointed representatives of the Colonies. We are here to call an end to the quarantine.” He grinned at Adama.

  “Do you think that will work?”

  “We can hope, can’t we?” Adama replied. “Maybe they’ll call us right back and invite us down.”

  “Sir!” The comm officer passed Sing a message pad.

  “Give me a minute,” the admiral said. He quickly looked over the text. “This clears up some mystery.”

  He looked back at those around him.

  “We know more about them now,” Sing explained. “I’ve gotten a message back from the fleet. This planet did host a research station before the war, a station sponsored by Picon. Picon! I remember how the politicians from that place would act up before the war. They were always such a pain in the—” Sing hesitated, and took a look around the room. “Anyone here come from Picon? Well, that problem was years ago. Colonies kept secrets from each other back in those days. That bled into the war. First between the Colonies, then with the Cylons. A lot of the secrets got lost. Like this one down here.”

  Sing looked back at the pad, quickly scrolling down through the notes.

  “They lost touch with the station. The Colonies assumed it had been destroyed long ago. Especially considering the nature of their research.”

  “And that would be?” Adama prompted.

  “Cylons,” Sing looked back up at his XO. “Just a few years before the war, they shipped out a few dozen scientists and a few dozen Cylons—the latest models, some of them quite experimental, from what I understand. Some bright souls back on Picon felt the relationship between man and machine wasn’t working to its full potential. They came here to form a more equal human/Cylon relationship.”

  Adama considered this. His thoughts surprised him. “That idea would have had merit, back then,” he replied slowly. “Handled properly, it could have had real results. Had more people thought that way, we might have prevented a war.”

  “If that is indeed what the Cylons wanted—to be equal to humans,” Sing reminded him. “Even after the armistice, you know, we never knew what really started it all. Still, it’s possible. This station has been down there, and apparently fully functional, for thirty years. With luck, we’ll see the results of the experiment.” Sing shook his head.

  “When we go down there, how do you propose we handle the Cylons?” Adama asked.

  “It’s amazing this place still exists. Who knows how close it is to its original goals?” Sing replied. “In this place both humans and Cylons have been cut off from both sides since early in the war. We may have no problems with the machines down there.”

  “Or—” Adama prompted.

  “They are still Cylons, and we have learned not to trust them. I don’t think our lessons will be turned around in a day. Do you?”

  “No sir.”

  “You’re going to be our personal representative down there.”

  “Me, sir?”

  Sing nodded.

  “You’ve always seemed able to stay one step ahead of situations around here, thinking about what’s going to happen next. I still notice these things even though I’m an old man.”

  The admiral sighed. “This whole assignment was supposed to be a walk in the park, you know. They needed to give me one more trip before I retired. Me being a war hero and all, it couldn’t be behind a desk. So they gave me this. I don’t want to be remembered for some battle from twenty-five years ago that I mostly just managed to survive
. This backwater exploration trip is my final chance at glory Maybe we’ll get a little bit of it, despite what they thought back at Fleet HQ.”

  “We’re getting a response sir!” the comm officer called.

  “Put it over the speakers,” Sing ordered.

  “Yes sir!”

  “Galactica, this is Research Station Omega. Please respond.”

  “This is Galactica. This is Admiral Sing, commander of the Galactica. It’s good to hear that you’re still there. We understand you’ve been out of touch.”

  “I am Doctor Fuest, the acting head of the station. We didn’t even know if anyone knew we were still functioning! We’re glad to hear the sound of your voices, Galactica.”

  Adama and Sing glanced at each other. They sounded friendly enough down there.

  “Research Station Omega,” Sing continued. “We are coming down to see you. We have accessed the old Colonial records. We know you have Cylons there.”

  “Well, yes,” the voice on the wireless replied, “We don’t call them that. We try to have a different relationship with our intelligent brethren. We call them companions.”

  “You know that we haven’t seen a Cylon in over twenty years?” Sing asked.

  The doctor hesitated before he replied. “I didn’t. I knew of the beginning of the Cylon-human war. But after all this time, I thought you would have found a way to make peace.”

  “We did, after a fashion, twenty years ago. We had an armistice then. But the only way we could find peace was a total separation of man and machine.”

  “I am sorry to hear that. I guess we have done things differently here than the way they are done elsewhere in the Colonies. I believe each of us has something of value for the other.”

  Adama thought, Now wouldn’t that be nice? Perhaps, if the universe was a different place.

  But then, in this small corner of space, it was a different place.

  “We look forward to your visit.” The doctor paused. “We have had earlier visitors, with unfortunate consequences.”

  Another pause.