Battlestar Galactica-04-Rebellion Page 20

  "Yeah, Dalton," he said.

  "Troy, I was thinking."

  "Dalton, stick to what you're good at," Trays shot back.

  Fury raged through Troy.

  "Shut up for once, will you?" Troy yelled.

  "Hey—I can tease her if I want. Dalton understands." There was silence over the comm for a micron.

  "No, I don't understand, Trays. Are you trying to tell me you think I'm dumb?"

  "No," Trays said. "Dalton, I was just teasing."

  Troy couldn't believe how immature Trays sounded. How could Dalton have ever even been vaguely interested in the guy? She couldn't have been thinking. He bit his lip. Now he was in danger of starting in on her, and that was the last thing he wanted.

  The situation couldn't be worse. Here they were, lost in the middle of some crazy place beyond time and space where there weren't even any stars or planets, and Galactica was probably a million parsecs away—or maybe ten thousand metrons. Lords of Kobol only knew. They were lost, running out of fuel, their instruments crazy and wild. That would be funny, Troy thought. Lost within a few metrons of home.

  But he just said, "Let's think about other stuff. What else can we talk about?"

  "Remember that time we played triad and I won?" she said.

  "Yeah," Troy said.

  "You don't remember any of the times I beat your ass," Trays growled.

  Dalton didn't respond. "You looked so funny!" she said to Troy. Then, she laughed.

  She was so incredibly infuriating. So beautiful. So young…

  "Dalton, you're a poor sport," he said.

  "What do you mean?" she asked in an innocent voice.

  "I mean, when you win, you're not supposed to gloat. You're not supposed to keep… reminding the other person."

  "Gloating is good," Trays offered.

  "Trays!" she said, frustrated. "I didn't mean it like that. I just meant that I really liked playing with you, Troy."

  Troy remembered running after her, the way she tossed her long, silky hair. Sometimes she was so playful, like a little kid. She reminded him… suddenly he laughed out loud… sometimes she reminded him of his daggit, Muffit. Muffit had been stubborn, too, and a real pain in the butt. Poor daggit. Did daggits go to… Troy laughed.

  "What's so funny, Troy?" she asked, her voice suddenly angry.

  "Nothing," he said.

  "Yeah!" Trays asked. He was determined to get into this conversation. "What's so funny, Troy?"

  "Tell me!" she demanded.

  "Oh, Dalton," Troy said, sighing. "I was just thinking of old times. Muffit."

  "Your daggit," Dalton said. "Starbuck told me about him."

  "Daggit! You baby, Troy! Your daggit—some good he'll do us out here. Troy's got a daggit…" Trays mocked.

  "Trays, cut it out," Dalton said. But she was giggling.

  Troy fought back the sudden flash of anger. He wouldn't have expected much more from Trays, but sometimes Dalton was so self-centered. But she was young, he told himself. A lot of young people were like that. She'd grow out of it. She had time… he corrected himself. Before, she'd had time. He checked the air gauges; and watched the fuel gauge quit flashing red before his eyes, going all the way to red.

  He'd never seen that! He really didn't know how much longer they had. Maybe only microns more of fuel.

  "Dalton," Troy said, intending to warn her about the fuel.

  "I love you, Troy!" she said. Then he heard small sobs coming over the comm.

  "Dalton!" Trays cried. Troy heard muffled cursing over the comm then Trays' signal went blank. On purpose.

  "Trays!" Troy cried. But it was too late—Dalton had done it.

  "Trays, don't!" Dalton said. "Come back!" But Trays had cut both of them off.

  Troy had no idea what to say, wishing he could somehow do something about his rapidly dwindling vocabulary. The air couldn't be running out that fast, but Troy was having a really hard time breathing.

  "I said I love you, Troy," she repeated. "Don't you have anything to say to me? Are you going deaf?"

  "No," he said, suddenly frightened by the way his eyes felt, and the way he could hardly breathe at all.

  He checked the air—it was fine. He realized that his heart was pounding so fast that he was starting to hyperventilate.

  "Troy, are you okay?" Dalton asked. "You sound funny. Is your air getting—"

  "No, I'm fine, Dalton." You big idiot, Troy! You're dumber than a Cylon! Tell her you—

  "Well, I understand if you don't feel the same way," Dalton went on. "I mean, everybody likes you, Troy. You're really handsome… and brave… and your father's Commander Apollo and maybe somesectare you'll be in command of the Galactica ... that's when we, uh… I mean I understand if you don't—"

  "Dalton, shut up!" Troy cried. "I love you too!"

  "I mean, all the girls really like you, Troy. It's like—"

  "Dalton!" Troy said again in a firm voice. "Did you hear me? I… love… you."

  There came a long silence. The comm crackled again. "Oh," Dalton said at last.

  They coasted for a while longer and Troy stared out at the blank Ur cloud.

  Then, after a moment, he laughed. "This is pretty funny," he told Dalton. "We're out here, our fuel's almost gone, the air's going to run out soon, there's no way back, we're totally lost—"

  "And we finally found each other," Dalton said, for once, finishing his sentence for him with exactly the words that he meant.

  "I can't believe this," Troy said.

  "I can't believe I said that with Trays right here," Dalton said.

  Troy shook his head. "Poor Trays. He'd walk on Borellian glass for you, Dalton. I think he—"

  "Let's try to get Trays back," Dalton said. "We can't let him just drift off like this."

  "Trays!" Troy called over the comm. There was no reply.

  Dalton banked her Viper so that she was in direct sight of Trays' wing. Looking over, Troy could see her gesturing wildly. She was crazy—completely nuts. Here they had about a micron of fuel left, and she was wasting it trying to get Trays' attention when he obviously had nothing left to say to either of them.

  Then, to Troy's astonishment, he saw Trays' comm light blink back on. Still, Trays didn't say anything.

  "I just have one thing to say," Trays said at last.

  Dalton's joyous whoop came over the comm. "Trays! You're back!" she cried.

  "I just have one thing to add to this little love fest," Trays continued in a deadpan voice. Troy, though his relationship with Trays had always been rocky, was certain of the hurt that he heard in Trays' voice right then. The hotshot pilot was giving it everything he had not to let Dalton know how much her impulsive declaration hurt.

  "What's that, buddy?" Troy asked, feeling magnanimous.

  He couldn't believe it. His heart felt like it was about to come out of his chest. He'd won! He'd won! Dalton loved him! Troy!

  "You two are sure going to have some ugly kids. I just hope I won't have to be around to see the end result of this pairing."

  "Trays!" Dalton cried. "We weren't talking about—"

  "Trays," Troy said, suddenly losing all the generosity he had before. "That's not—"

  "They'll get your looks, Troy," Trays continued in a drawl. "And Dalton—they'll be just as sharp as you are. I think they'll have to start a special school for them. Why—"

  "Trays!" Dalton shouted. "I can't believe that I came around and used all my fuel for you! You're incorrigible!"

  The comm went silent again for more long microns.

  "Just teasing," Trays said.

  "Trays!" Dalton and Troy cried in unison.

  Trays cleared his throat. "I just really wanted to say. Well—"

  Troy and Dalton both waited.

  "I wanted to say you're a lucky guy, Troy."

  Suddenly, Troy's throat felt like it was swelling up. "Trays—thanks," he said.

  Then he checked the air display. His stomach sank—it was beginning to flut
ter. He'd never seen that before, either.

  "Dalton, Trays," he said, meaning to warn them, but he cut himself short. He peered out of his cockpit. He thought he'd seen a flash, far in the distance, but he couldn't be certain. Troy held his breath and waited for a moment, scanning the quadrant where he'd seen the flash. His eyes were exhausted from all that whiteness—the stuff they'd been flying through for sectons—he could be having some type of effect from the air running low. Hypoxia— oxygen deprivation—people saw all kinds of stuff under those circumstances.

  He saw another flash.

  "Guys!" he said in excitement. "Look! Starboard—two o'clock sharp."

  "I see it!" Dalton said. "There's something there."

  "Me, too," came Trays' voice. "It's silver—like a crescent."

  "Well, we can't move toward it—the fuel's too low. But it looks like it's coming toward us," Troy said.

  At first, Troy was hoping it was a Viper team, but in moments— the thing was headed in fast—he realized that it was far too large.

  A few moments later, all three of them could see it clearly. Something was coming at them—something huge and gleaming silver. It was the strangest thing!

  "Dalton, doesn't that look like—" Trays said.

  "Yeah," Dalton said. "I see. That looks like Valor!" Valor of the Sky, the great sentient ship who had fought to save the Galactica during the battle with the Cylons and the Chitain. But how could Valor be there, coming toward them?

  Troy decided that it didn't matter how it happened. All that mattered was that their savior was fast approaching.

  It was Valor! It could be no other ship. Troy recognized those markings, that unique shape. The great ship hovered silently over the three Vipers, dwarfing them. Each of their ships shuddered as the huge ship locked on them with a tow beam, and began to carry them back in the direction it had come.

  "Where's he taking us?" Dalton asked.

  "I don't know," Trays said. "But it's under his power, so I'm willing to wait."

  They traveled swiftly through the Ur cloud until things began to change. Troy spotted more flashes, and huge, twisted pieces of metal floating silently in the cloud.

  "This place gives me the chills," Dalton said.

  "Yeah," Troy said as they silently traveled through the scraps that floated like some kind of man-made asteroid field. Troy had seen things like that before, but never so many, all in one place. This was the remains of a great space battle—a graveyard in the midst of the Ur cloud.

  "How did all this get here?" Dalton asked.

  "I guess it's from the battle. That looks like part of a Cylon battlestar over there," Troy said. "Mark that, Trays. It could have something in it we could use."

  "Marked," Trays responded.

  "I don't get it," Dalton said. "I mean, whatever happened, we got pulled through, but how could these ships still be here?"

  "Something that happened as we made the transition must have pulled these ships with us," Troy said.

  "There's a Viper over there," Trays said. His voice was low and respectful—a tone that Troy had seldom heard from him. It was not a whole Viper; it was a shell, its pilot long gone.

  "Yeah," Troy said. "I see it."

  "Look!" Dalton cried. "Beyond Valor," she said.

  Troy peered through the cockpit. He spotted a familiar shape, and white, shining metal, marred here and there, and twisted and torn. It was large—a huge piece—then he spotted the telltale markings of a Colonial battlestar.

  "It's the engine section and part of one of the bays," Troy said.

  "Pegasus," Dalton said in an awed whisper. "That's what's left."

  "Valor wanted us to see this," Troy said. "He didn't bring us here for nothing."

  "Oh, right, buddy. Whoo-whoo!" Trays said.

  "No," Dalton said, snapping at Trays. "Troy's right. Valor brought us here on purpose."

  Above them, Valor's lights shone, flashing in the direction of the hulk of the Pegasus.

  "Well, whatever's going on, we can take our Vipers down there. There's enough left of that bay that I know we can get in there," Trays said.

  "You sure?" Troy asked.

  "Sure as I am of my own name," Trays countered.

  Troy thought a moment. "Okay," he said. "Trays, you and Dalton take your Vipers down to the Pegasus. Check it out, do some recon, and get whatever you can find that's useful onto your Vipers. Fuel, food—anything the Galactica can use."

  "Where are you going?" Dalton asked. "You mean you—"

  "You and Trays will be fine," he said.

  "She's in good hands," Trays called.

  "I'm sure," Troy said. "Don't forget that she's mine now, Trays."

  Trays coughed into the comm sarcastically.

  "I'm going to head back to that Cylon battlestar. I can't help but think that Valor wanted us to know about that, too."

  "What's worth anything on a Cylon piece of felgercarb?" Trays demanded.

  "Don't know, Trays," Troy said. "But out here, nothing's normal. We can't afford to miss any chance. Not with the fleet in the shape it's in."

  "Troy's right," Dalton told Trays. "We'll check out the Pegasus."

  Dalton's and Trays' Vipers trembled again as Valor released them from his tow beam. He hovered overhead as if he was waiting for them to do something. Dalton whispered a prayer to the Lords of Kobol that they had enough fuel to reach the remains of Pegasus's landing bay. She was glad she'd prayed, too, because her engine began to cut out just as she and Trays carefully slid their Vipers through the torn wreckage into the bay.

  There was the inner door, open, as it should have been during battle, and they landed their Vipers just as it started to slide down.

  "Could there be somebody here?" Dalton asked in alarm.

  Looking back over her shoulder, she watched Valor's form receding—the ship was towing Troy back toward the Cylon ship!

  "No," Trays said. "That's not it. It's automatic. It sensed us coming in; that's what it's supposed to do. Haven't you heard how ship controls keep going long after the crew is gone when the ship's torn apart? That means there's still some power, Dalton. Cylons blasted the power core off; all the crew areas gone, and the bridge—everything else is what's left."

  "Thank the Lords of Kobol," she whispered.

  "So we'll find fuel," Trays said. "Don't know about the food, but at least we know we've got a chance to get back home."

  "I can't believe it," Dalton said as they waited for the bay to pressurize. "It's like a miracle."

  Soon, Dalton and Trays found the fuel cells. A lot were damaged and destroyed, but enough remained to carry them back to the Galactica, and there were even extra to restore the fleet's badly-depleted stores, even though neither Dalton nor Trays had any idea just how badly those stores had become depleted. And, even better, they found crates and crates of food pills. The gravity was completely gone, so getting around on the inside of the destroyed ship was a real adventure.

  But it was an adventure that soon turned to grief and deep sadness. Even Trays' cocky attitude became subdued as they saw the real face of war.

  Dalton's face closed up like a box. Her eyes were downcast. Trays tried talking to her, but it seemed like nothing could break her out of the black mood that had come over her.

  "They're just dead guys," Trays said, and even he realized how shallow he sounded.

  "These were our friends," Dalton said. "Look! Don't you have eyes?"

  Bodies, blasted beyond all recognition, floated in the null gravity. The eyes of some were closed. If Dalton tried to pretend, she could imagine that they were swimming, floating in some kind of giant pool. But not the ones with eyes open, frozen, with their mouths wide in their final screams. And then there were the ones who… didn't have eyes at all.

  Pegasus, the proud battlestar that had escaped the battle of Caprica, that had fought so long and so hard against the Cylons. Cain's ship! Sheba's father—the great Commander Cain.

  They had all lost so much.
So very much. Dalton had never really thought about it before. How lucky she was—to even be alive. That could have been her there. She spotted a woman in a medtech's uniform, floating away from Pegasus former sickbay. That could have been Dalton's own mother! The Cylons didn't care. They just destroyed, over and over again.

  She was moving away from Trays now, lost in her own painful memories.

  "Trays," she called. "Look—it's their—" It was the Pegasus pilot's lounge. The scene in there was beyond words that Dalton knew to describe it. It was like Hades, she thought. Only a Hades worse than she'd ever imagined.

  "I don't think they had a chance," she whispered.

  "Dalton!" came Trays' voice.

  She turned, feeling like she was swimming in the waters of grief herself.

  "Dalton, I think this could be something important."

  Turning away from the horror of all those brave, dead warriors—trying not to remember the names of the ones who had been her friends—Dalton forced herself to move back toward Trays' voice.

  Trays was standing by yet another body, but it was anchored to the torn and twisted bulkhead somehow.

  As Dalton got closer, she saw why the body was held in place. Its cloak had caught against a jagged shard of metal and it was held fast. It had probably been there ever since the ship had been pulled through into the Ur cloud after the battle.

  The cloak was blue, of rich, deep fabric. A gold medallion floated above the man's neck, fluttering slowly in the gravity-free air.

  Dalton recognized the form immediately. The sharp features, and thick white brows. The hair, usually so neat, waved about his face. It was Sheba's father, Commander Cain.

  "Cain!" she cried, running to Trays' side.

  "I guess it really is him," Trays said, not a trace of mockery in his voice, only respect.

  "Oh, Commander Cain," Sheba said, touching the still face of the former great commander of the Pegasus.

  "It looks like he was trying to do something here," Trays said.

  Dalton nodded.

  "This looks like it probably led to the Viper bays before the attack," Trays said. The metal was twisted and wracked beyond all recognition, but Dalton thought that Trays had guess right. Cain had probably been about to get into a Viper himself when the final blow had come. But he'd never made it.