01 - Battlestar Galactica (25 page)

Noticing Baltar, she finally broke from the clinch. She looked a little
sheepish. Billy simply looked shell-shocked. Dualla regained her poise first and
said, “It’s this way,” and strode past the two, leading them in the direction
from which they’d just come.

Billy turned, dazed, toward Baltar. “I think she was happy to see you,”
Baltar murmured. Billy nodded, then hurried to follow the impatiently gesturing
Dualla.

Baltar stumbled along behind, envious and wondering what he had missed. Poor
Billy.
If you don’t understand it… don’t ask me to explain it to you.

Lee Adama was having trouble keeping a smile off his face, too, as he entered
the hangar area, ready to take up his duties as chief pilot. There was someone
he wanted to say hello to.

He found Kara Thrace under a Viper, on her back on a mechanic’s crawl, open
toolbox at her side. She hadn’t noticed his approach, and he stood for a moment,
wondering what the last day or so had been like for her. Rumor had it she’d had a big hand in saving
Galactica.
When she still didn’t notice him, he called down. “Hey!”

She turned her head to see who had called, and a strange look came over her
grease-smudged face, as if she thought she were seeing a ghost. He smiled down
as she slid out from under the Viper, and extended a hand to help her to her
feet. They stood frozen like that for a moment: her hand in his, not exactly a
handshake, but not that other way of holding hands, either. She was trembling,
and trying to catch her breath, and looking as if she wasn’t sure whether to hug
him or rub her eyes and go back to work. Finally she managed to force out, “I…
thought… you were
dead.”
And for a moment, her face seemed to flicker
between the grief she’d obviously been dealing with, and astonishment that he
was standing there in front of her, alive.

Lee finally cracked a grin at the same time she did. “Well, I thought
you
were in hack,” he said, remembering that indeed she’d been in the brig that
last time he’d seen her. He felt an impulse to grab her in a bear hug, and
guessed she was probably feeling the same way. But he wasn’t sure he trusted his
own feelings enough to do that—and besides, he was her senior officer now.

She laughed and nodded, and dropped her hands to her hips. “It’s… good to
be wrong,” she said finally, with a vigorous nod.

He couldn’t resist a crack. “Well, you should be used to it by now.”

She grinned broadly. “Everyone has a skill.” And then she turned sober, and
they just looked at each other with clear relief on both of their faces that
they were still alive in the midst of this madness.

Finally he broke the silence, with a nod to the Viper. “So, how go the
repairs?”

For a few heartbeats she didn’t move. Then suddenly she made an inner
transition and became more animated, if uncomfortable. “On track. Another hour
and she’ll be ready to launch.” She hugged herself with her bare arms and said,
“So I guess you’re the new
CAG
now.”

“Yeah, that’s what they tell me,” Lee answered, a little
self-consciously.

“Good!” Kara said. “That’s good. It’s the last thing I’d want.” She pressed
her lips together, apparently thinking hard and looked him soberly in the eye.
“I’m not a big enough dipstick for the job.”

She held a straight face for a second, as he worked his mouth, trying to
think of a comeback. When he couldn’t, she cocked her head to one side with a
grin, and they laughed silently together. He managed to get his command face
back on and said, “I’ll be in the squadron”—he choked a little—“ready room.” And
he turned away and left her grinning.

He was just rounding the end of the Viper when he heard, “Hey!” He looked
back. “Does your father know you’re still breathing?” Kara called.

Lee gave a little snort, once more at a loss for words. Finally he said,
“I’ll let him know.” And this time he did leave. But he could sense Kara shaking
her head behind him as he walked away.

Ragnar Station, Maintenance Level Crossover

Although they seemed to be walking ever deeper into the bowels of the
decaying station, Commander Adama had found a grime-covered directory marker
that showed where they were: a hell of a long way from the armory, that was for
sure. They already had missed two turnoffs that might have taken them back. It
was upon making that discovery that Adama had taken the lead. From their present
position, they just needed to get through this crossover section; then they
could turn left and go up a level and start making their way back out along the
next radial passageway. Damn good thing, too. Adama was sick to death of this
place, with its leaky steam pipes and dripping condensation everywhere. It made
him feel chilled. Leoben, on the other hand, was sweating more and more
profusely, as if they were in a sauna.

They paused at a strange juncture where a couple of dirty window-ports
actually gave them a view out into the atmosphere of Ragnar. The seemingly
eternal green storm continued to rage, with lightning flash followed by lightning flash. The great
counter-rotating wheels of the station churned around in the field of view like
ancient water-wheels, endless grinding dust for masters long since forgotten.

Adama squinted for a few moments, then grunted and continued on his way.
Leoben followed, with increasing difficulty and signs of illness. Adama was
impatient at the pace, but did not drop his vigilance, or his awareness of where
Leoben was at every moment. He was giving the “arms dealer” a little wiggle
room, and waiting to see if Leoben would take a misstep.

As they descended a metal staircase into the deepest part of the maintenance
section, Leoben staggered. Adama paused and looked back. Leoben was grimacing in
pain. He swayed a little, then crouched down, wincing, and sat on the stairs a
few steps up from the bottom. Adama watched him grimly, almost certain now that
what he’d suspected was true.

Leoben’s skin was now tinged with gray and green. He screwed up his face as
if the very air was poisoning him. “Ahhh—!” he gasped, rolling his neck in pain.
“What is it about this place? What’s it doin’ to me?”

Adama stared coldly at him. “Must be your allergies.”

Leoben raised his sweat-beaded head and widened his eyes as he looked at
Adama. His face glistened with sweat as he suddenly broke into a grin. “I don’t
have
allergies.”

“I didn’t think so,” Adama said in low, measured tones. He stepped a little
closer. “What you’ve got is silica pathways to the brain—or whatever it is you
call that thing you pretend to think with. It’s decomposing as we speak.”

Leoben didn’t deny it. “It’s the storm, isn’t it?” he managed. “It puts out
something—something you discovered has an effect on Cylon technology. That’s it,
isn’t it? This is a refuge. That’s why you put a fleet out here. A last-ditch
effort to hide from a Cylon attack. Right? Well, it’s not enough, Adama. I’ve been here for… hours.
Once they find you”—he paused to shake his head—“it won’t take them that long to
destroy you.”

Adama stared at him, anger building up like a pressure in his chest. Now that
Leoben had revealed himself, Adama suddenly felt all the rage he’d been holding
back rise like lava in a volcano. He didn’t know how the Cylons had come to look
so much like humans, but he did know that they’d destroyed his world and killed
his son and a lot of other good people along with him. And they were trying to
exterminate all that was left of humanity.

As if he could read Adama’s thoughts, Leoben started to smirk. “They’ll be in
and out before they even get a headache.”

Adama stepped forward suddenly and grabbed Leoben by the shirt front.
“Maybe,” he growled. He pulled Leoben down from the steps and slammed him up
against a pillar. “But
you
—you won’t find out, because you’ll be dead in
a few minutes.” As
dead as I can make you.
Through clenched teeth he
growled, “How does that make you feel? If you can feel.”

“Oh, I can feel more than you could ever conceive, Adama.” Leoben chuckled.
“But
I
won’t die. When this
body
dies, my consciousness will be
transferred to another one. And when that happens…” Leoben’s voice trailed off
as if he’d run out of steam, and he groaned and slid to the floor. Adama
released him to sit crumpled against the pillar. Panting for breath, Leoben
continued in a strained whisper, “I’ll tell the others exactly where you are…
and I think they’ll come, and they’ll kill all of you. And I’ll be here watching
it happen.”

Adama squatted down slowly and shone his light up into Leoben’s ashen face.
“You know what
I
think? I think if you could’ve transferred out of here,
you would have done it long before now. I think the storm’s radiation really
clogged up your connection. You’re not going anywhere. You’re stuck in that
body.”

Leoben showed no reaction. “It doesn’t matter. Sooner or later”—and now he
grinned through the pain—“the day comes when you
can’t hide from the things
you’ve done.”

Adama stared at him, stunned. How the hell did Leoben know that expression?
Did he know those were the exact words Adama had used to end his speech at the
decommissioning ceremony just a day or two ago—or however the hell long it had
been?

Leoben’s head lolled back, as if he were about to pass out. Adama watched
him, still at a loss for words. Maybe this was the end of the line for Leoben.

Suddenly Leoben’s hand shot out and seized Adama by the throat. It was no
dying man’s clutch, but a vice grip, closing on Adama’s windpipe. Adama began to
gasp.

Leoben straightened with a grin and stood up, raising Adama along with
him—lifted him by the windpipe, until they were both on their feet. Unable to
breathe, Adama whipped his lantern across in his right hand, trying to knock
Leoben out with it. It barely glanced off Leoben—and an instant later, Leoben
came back with a solid right to Adama’s jaw. That stunned Adama, but not enough
to keep him from feeling himself being lifted completely off the floor by
Leoben’s grip on his throat. Leoben held him there for what felt like forever.
And then Leoben hauled back, and with a great roundhouse punch to the solar
plexus, sent Adama flying backward to slam into a wall and land in a heap.

Adama forced himself up to a crouch. He saw Leoben walk slowly toward him,
then stop at a vertical standpipe that came out of some kind of waist-high
chamber. With a deliberate motion and apparent superhuman strength despite his
debilitated state, Leoben grabbed the pipe and wrenched it loose from its upper
mounting. Then he bent it back and forth until it broke off at the base. Steam billowed hissing out of the broken line. Leoben stepped
forward and swung the section of pipe in a lethal blow.

It
would
have been lethal, except that Adama managed to duck out of
the way. The force of the swing brought Leoben staggering into range, and Adama
still had the lantern in his right hand. He brought it around in a sharp
uppercut to the jaw. This time it connected perfectly, and Leoben staggered
back. Adama was on him in a flash, with two more solid blows.

Shaken, Leoben stepped backward, to the stove with the broken pipe jetting
steam. Adama forced him backward over the stove, until Leoben’s back was pressed
directly over the steam jet. Leoben cried out, losing strength. He managed to
break away from the steam—but not from Adama, who came at him again and again,
swinging the heavy lantern in savage punches.

Leoben staggered and went down, and still Adama rained blows onto him. Blood
was spattering now from the blows, but if anything that only increased Adama’s
fury as he brought down on Leoben his vengeance for his son, and the millions of
people killed, for the treachery, the death of everything he’d held dear…

Some time after Leoben had ceased moving, Adama finally stopped hitting him,
and simply crouched over the body, glaring through the blood that spattered his
face and eyes. And he rubbed his blood-slicked fingers together, shocked to
realize that these twisted machines, these Cylons, didn’t just look like humans.
They bled real, red blood, just like his.

Galactica,
Combat Information Center

Baltar had at last found himself in a place where he might actually be able
to do some good—at the nav station on
Galactica’s
bridge, where he could
try to make a start at finding out just what went wrong with the programming. Or
rather, what Natas—
Number Six
—had done to make his code so vulnerable. At
the moment, however, Lieutenant Gaeta, who seemed to be his liaison here with
the bridge crew, was being rather chatty.

“So let me get this straight,” Gaeta said, leaning over the nav console from
its back side. “You’re saying that the Cylons found a way to use
your
navigation program to disable our ships?”

Baltar winced, and tried not to show it. “Essentially, yes,” he said, not
really wanting to talk about it. “I think they’re using the CNP to infect your
ships with some kind of computer virus, which makes them susceptible to Cylon
commands.”

Gaeta pressed his hand to the stack of printouts he had placed here for
Baltar’s reference. “Well, you can see we do have your CNP navigation program
here on
Galactica,
but… our computers aren’t networked, so it’s never been loaded into primary memory or even test
run.”

“Good,” Baltar said automatically, not really paying that much attention.
Then he realized what Gaeta had just told him. “That’s
good.
Well, you
shouldn’t have any problems, then.” He thought for a moment. “Still—I should
purge all remaining references to it if they’re on your memory tapes.”