A “Battlestar Galactica” Story, Part 27

FUUUWWWWOOOOOOMMMM.

On the bridge of the Glaive, Maverick and his technician, Maxwell, looked around. Maxwell spoke first. “Sir, computers confirm we’ve made it to Hatir. Comms coming up…” Even as he spoke, the bridge speakers came alive; the first strikes were already reporting in. As Maverick looked out the viewport, a three-ship flight of Vipers streaked low over the Glaive, followed by another three-ship of Raptors and Rhinos. He turned to Maxwell. “Are the other ships here?”

“Yes sir…the Halberd…Scythe…” A pause. “And the Maul.”

“Very well.” Maverick keyed the comm. “All escorts check in, and let’s get ready to move out.”

Bubba: “Bubba here. This thing’s ready.”

Lela: “Lela here. The Scythe’s ready.”

A long silence. Maverick and Maxwell stared at each other for a moment, then Maverick keyed the comm again. “Hey Warhorse.” Nothing. “Warhorse!”

Dead silence. “Bubba, Maverick. Slide over to the Maul…we’re not getting a response.”

“On it. Call you back in a min.” Bubba eased the Halberd over the Maul, and looked down through the bridge viewports.

***

Quinn crashed into the Sharon copy; they slammed to the deck together. Quinn felt the knife go past his side; the adrenaline rush prevented him from caring. The copy was flailing in all directions. It was all he could do to keep from getting stabbed or cut. This approach ain’t workin’, he thought. He forced the copy to the deck under them and slowly pulled her, angrily flailing arms and all, toward him, rolling back onto his feet and then standing straight up while carrying it with him. The knife nicked his right ear; it just made him even madder.

He got to his feet, the Sharon copy in his hands. The knife sliced him on the right shoulder; his flight suit took the blow but the material was parted. He worked his hands to the collar of the copy’s uniform and hoisted it off the floor; it kicked him in the shins but he no longer cared. With its feet off the floor the copy couldn’t get traction; Quinn whirled it around and body-slammed it into the nearest bulkhead. A grunt rewarded his efforts and he could feel the body relax slightly. He pressed the attack, slamming the copy repeatedly into the bulkhead until it went limp in his hands. Then he dropped it to the deck and landed a brutal kick in the right side of its rib cage. The copy collapsed and stopped moving. Breathing heavily, Quinn turned his attention to Muroc. “Hey man…you still with me?”

A cough, and then a croaked response. “Yes sir. But I’m afraid she got me pretty bad.”

Quinn leaned down and started checking him over. Muroc was pale; it looked as though most of his blood was on the deckplates beneath him. Quinn felt around, looking for the wound…and found it. The Sharon copy had done her work perfectly; there was a deep wound right between the ribs and in the middle left side of Muroc’s back. I’ve seen this before, Quinn thought. Looks like a prison shiv. He tried to roll Muroc over, but the effort caused Muroc to groan in pain. “Oh sir…I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I’ve got to get at the hole kid. I can stop the bleeding, but the battlestars and their sickbays are still fifteen minutes away. I can patch you together long enough to get the rescue Raptor over here and get you in to see Doc Cottle.”

“I don’t think I’ll last that long sir. She rocked me pretty hard.”

“Aw shaddup and roll over.” Muroc gave it a visibly hard effort, and succeeded in getting face down on the deck plates. Quinn grabbed a medkit off the wall locker and did his best…a minute later, Muroc was patched with first aid foam in the wound and a battle dressing covering it. Quinn helped him into a sitting position and leaned him against the bulkhead. Muroc coughed again; blood flew from his mouth and fell on his coveralls. “I’ll be alright sir…one way or the other. You should get back to the bridge. There’s a war on, you know…”

“You sure you’ll be alright here?”

“Go, sir. I’ll be fine.”

“What about our friend over there?” Quinn jerked a thumb at the motionless Sharon copy.

“I think you took care a’ that sir. Besides, if it does wake up, I’ll be ready this time.” Muroc wrapped his left hand around a spanner, still tucked in its slot on the wall. Quinn nodded. “Alright…if that thing so much as twitches, you call me, you understand?”

“Yes sir.”

The Maul shuddered. Both of them looked up…”Frak me, what now?” muttered Quinn, and he sprinted for the bridge.

***

On the Halberd, Bubba maintained watch on the Maul’s bridge. “Maverick, Bubba…I don’t see anybody on the bridge. I’m lookin’ through the windows…there’s nobody in there.”

Maverick: “That’s not good. Break…Titus, you on this frequency?”

Titus: “Roger. What’s up?”

Maverick: “We need you over at the Maul. Warhorse is MIA…something’s off. All other escorts, clear the jump point…the rest of the fleet’s gonna be here any minute. I don’t want to see somebody getting run over.” Bubba and Lela acknowledged, and the Halberd and Scythe moved out. Titus arrived at the starboard side of the Maul…”I’m gonna try and dock. Hopefully it’s nothing serious.”

He moved the Raptor in close, but didn’t get slowed down in time…the Raptor impacted the docking ring. “Frak…I bent the docking collar on the Maul!”

***

Quinn raced for the bridge. As he arrived, Bubba saw him moving and called out on the comm. “Escort squad, Bubba…I’ve got movement on the Maul’s bridge. Looks like Warhorse…break…hey Warhorse, what’s goin’ on over there?”

Quinn grabbed the mike. “Warhorse here. We’ve had some problems down in the engine room.”

Maverick: “Roger. Is it bad, or can Muroc fix it?”

“Muroc’s down.” A pause. “Seems my fan club from the shipyard wasn’t done with me yet. Just caught a Sharon copy in my engine room…but not before it stuck a shiv in Muroc. He’s stable for the moment, but we need Cottle, and now. What the hell was that impact I just felt?”

Titus: “Me. I tried to get aboard and came in too fast. The starboard docking ring’s bent too badly for us to get a seal now.”

Quinn groaned. “Then we’re screwed. The techs didn’t get the port docking ring adjusted before we left.” Another pause. “Great frakking job there Titus. Lemme know if there’s anything else you can screw up today. Where’s the battlestars? Maybe I can do a combat landing on one of the pods…”

Bubba: “They’re still ten minutes out.”

Quinn swore. “Godsdammit…alright. I’ll put Muroc in a hard suit and push him out the door. Titus, stand by to do a ship-to-ship transfer.”

“Roger.” Titus maneuvered the Raptor off the Maul’s port side and braked to a stop.

“Bubba, Warhorse. I’m gonna put this thing on cruise control…I’ve gotta get off the jump point. Watch my course…I’m gonna take it slow, but I’ve still got to get moving.”

“Roger.” With that, Quinn nudged the throttles and the Maul creaked forward. Then he ran for the engine room. But when he arrived…

…he found Muroc prone on the deck. “Muroc…come on man, I’m gettin’ you outta here.” No response. “Muroc!” He shook the body but there was nothing left. “Aw Muroc…” Then something in the back of his mind convinced him to look around…Where’s the Cylon?…

The answer came abruptly. An enraged female scream came from behind him; he ducked reflexively but felt a whoosh of air behind him as the Sharon copy flew past. It smacked into the bulkhead, turned, and came at him again. He met the charge head-on…despite the aggressiveness of the lunge, the copy simply didn’t have the mass to move a hardened ex-convict, and it bounced off of Quinn. Then Quinn stepped in as the copy was recoiling on the deck…he grabbed it by the throat, ripped it up into the air, and smashed the copy bodily into the nearest bulkhead, again and again, visions of Muroc in his head. When he finally pulled the copy back from the bulkhead, the face looked like a deflated pyramid ball.

It spat blood at him. “You think you’ve killed me? Frak you. I’ll just resurrect somewhere else, and then I’ll come looking for you. Watch me.”

“Bring it bitch… I didn’t say I was gonna kill you…yet.” He pulled back from the bulkhead, dragging the copy along. They made their way to the cargo hold, and Quinn dragged the bleeding, spitting copy to the cargo door in front of his Viper. He slammed it against the door, knocking it unconscious again. He looked around and found Muroc’s toolbox. Five minutes later, as the copy started to come around, Quinn was done with his work. The copy came to only to realize that it couldn’t move…Quinn had used the seam-sealing tape in Muroc’s toolbox to tape the Sharon copy, arms and legs spread wide, to the cargo door, with Quinn’s Viper pointed at it. It screamed. “I’ll kill you!!! I’ll kill you!!! You motherfrakking bastard…I’ll hunt you down and exterminate your sorry race!!!…”

Quinn just shrugged. “Good luck with that. You’ve been trying for a while now…we’re not dead yet.” With that, he turned and walked out of the cargo bay, leaving the raging, cursing Sharon copy behind…

***

In the Raptor, Titus tapped his fingers impatiently against the instrument panel. The comm beeped at him…”Titus, Warhorse.”

“Go for Titus.”

“Never mind.”

Titus felt the blood drain from his face. “What do you mean Quinn?”

“Muroc’s dead.” There was a long silence on the comm. “Tend to the living. We’ll bury the dead later.”

The Maul continued forward slowly. As Titus watched, the engines throttled up and the Maul pulled away…

***

The rest of the escort squad was somber. On the Glaive, Maverick raised an invisible glass in salute. Bubba stared quietly through his viewport while his own technician, Peterson, buried his face in his hands. Lela wept quietly for a moment…then pulled herself back together, her face set grimly. Then the comm crackled again. “Warhorse, Bubba. What about the infiltrator?”

“She’s taped to the door down in the cargo bay. I’ll take care of her when I leave the ship.”

A long pause. “Uhh…okay. How?”

“Watch me.” Quinn’s voice sounded like steel over the comm. Then another voice…the gravelly tone of Reaper, from Primus Squadron. “All ships, all ships…be advised, clear the jump point. Battlestar Pegasus inbound in fifteen seconds!”

The combined ships of Warrior Flight and Primus Squadron scattered, afterburners glowing hot. As they were reforming, there was a blinding flash and a massive thunderclap rocked the ships.

Pegasus had arrived.

No sooner had the thunderclap and flash died out than Commander Fisk was on the comm. “Colonial strike squadrons, head carom three-zero, hold at four thousand kilometers. Escort ships of the reclaimed fleet, follow the strikes and hold at three thousand kilometers. Line ships, follow the escorts, hold at two thousand kilometers. Execute, and standby for the arrival of the fleet!”

Warrior Flight and Primus Squadron began to move. On the Maul, Quinn did his best to shake off the events, and gunned the Maul toward the holding point. Over the comm, he heard the arrival of the fleet; Galactica was the last one in. The Maul’s DRADIS lit up with the contacts…and then: “Colonial Fleet, this is Admiral Adama. Standby…if our calculations are right, the wormhole event should open up within the next five minutes. All ships of the refugee fleet, move into your positions and make ready.”

The fleet crept toward the location of the wormhole. With one minute to go…from Titus: “All ships, all ships, be advised, Cylons jumping in!”

Quinn’s eyes darted to the DRADIS display. Sure enough…”All ships, all ships, this is Maverick. DRADIS tally four line class, four escort class, and…” A pause. “…too many strikes to count! Inbound at this time!”

From Adama: “Action stations, action stations. All ships stand by to repel enemy fleet.” He turned to Tigh. “Looks like the race is on.”