The fourth story in the Red Squadron Series. Severed Ties By Tice Leonard This story takes place immediately following the episode "War of the Gods," and three days after "Vendetta." "I like it," said Ensign Brie of Dietra's hair. "This is NOT what I wanted," Lieutenant Dietra said as she stormed toward her Viper. "Well," said Brie. "I still like it." Dietra faced her, with one hand on her hip. She was a force to be reckoned with. Her dark complexion was not offset by her brown warrior uniform, it was enhanced. The fiery red hair to which Brie referred made her look like a demon from Hell. Just the sort of image a Colonial Viper pilot should convey? Lt. Det landed the shuttle on the prison barge and stepped out. He had pulled more than a few strings, and begged more than a few favors to get permission for his secret visit. He checked his blaster at the guard station, and proceeded down the rows of sterile, white cells to the very last one. Baltar was sleeping in a seated position on the white bench behind the clear wall. Det cleared his throat and rapped on the barricade. The prisoner pretended not to hear the noise. "Wake up, for Sagan's Sake," Det said gruffly. The man stirred. His eyes grew bright, and he jumped to his feet. "Ah, at last! A friendly face. Someone who will not curse me and wish me dead. How are you?" "I'd be a lot better if you were not here," said Det. "Now is that any way to speak to your favorite uncle?" Baltar asked. "I think under the circumstances, it is," said Det. "Well, I see Adama had gotten to you, too," said Baltar. "A pity, really. You and I are so much alike." "No we're not," said Det. "And if I had my choice, I would probably throw you out an airlock myself." Baltar smiled. "You see? I might say the same thing in your shoes. But you would never do it. Neither would I." Det ignored the suggestion, and the truth behind it. "I am glad you survived," said Baltar. "It took some doing to convince the president to send the Gunstar Orion out from the colonies at the last minute. My intent was to save you, and Heron, from the ambush." "We ran into the first wave of fighters as they refueled for the attack," said Det. "You meant to wipe us out before Uncle Heron could cast any more doubt on your deal with the Cylons." "Is Heron alive?" Baltar asked. "No," said Det. "The Orion was destroyed, as you planned. Four of us set out in out fighters, after the Cylons advanced, and barely got to the colonies as the survivors were being massed." "I am saddened to hear it," said Baltar. He seemed to be telling the truth. He walked a tight circle in the center of the cell. He was limping. "What happened to your leg?" Baltar's face melted in evil. "A slab of rock fell on me in the temple on Kobol. I was pinned for centars. I was rescued by my Cylon friends after your Commander Adama left me to die." "Well," said Det. "As long as no harm was done." "I miss this verbal sparring," said Baltar. "Lucifer is good, but no one could ever top me like you could, Nephew. I will enjoy your company for...an occasional meal?" "That's what I came to talk about," said Det. Baltar perked up. He pressed himself to the barricade and put his ear toward one of the circulation holes. "I'm listening." "There will be no meals," Det said. "In fact, I would like for you never to mention that I am related to you, in any way." Baltar recoiled like he had been shot. "What? Surely you would not deny me the only human contact I have left! Even a dead man must have someone to mourn him!" "Adama won't kill you," said Det. "But if he does, I promise I will attend your funeral." Baltar smiled. "You will see to it that my great deeds are remembered?" Det paused. During his turn on the Quorum of Twelve, Baltar had done some remarkable things. He had opened a program for war orphans on two colonies, which he financed personally after the council had voted to cut funds to existing programs. He had even pushed for several shelters for alien refugees who fled to the Colonies after their worlds were obliterated by Cylon aggression. These deeds were worth remembering. "I will." Baltar was pleased, but he was not done with young Det. "It would make such a great story, though," said Baltar, imagining. "Should your fleet information channel wish to interview me. Can you imagine the notoriety you would gain as the favored nephew of the Great Traitor?" "I've made a life for myself here," said Det. "Please, if you ever loved me or respected my father, do not reveal our bloodline." Baltar stopped, and stared into the warrior's eyes. There was a strength there. Det was a fine Colonial warrior. He looked very much like his father had at that age. Baltar relented. "They will never hear of it from me." Det nodded, then dropped his gaze. "Betrayal is difficult. Isn't it?" "Thank you, Uncle," said Det. He nodded, then turned and walked away. "Remember your promise," said Baltar. "You must see to it that my good works are remembered!" Det would honor his promise, but he was not sure how. Memory was a funny thing. How could anyone remember the good he had done when the bad was so blinding? "Okay," said Corporal Stella, "now choose one tarot." Rigel studied the cards arranged on the desk in front of her. She tapped the back of one, and Stella picked it up. "Good. 'Health.'" Not that Rigel went for any of this felgercarb, but, "Mine or the baby's?" "Unclear," said Stella. "Let me check your astrolog. "How can you do an astrolog on anyone?" Rigel asked. "We've been out of the colonies for almost a yahren!" "The power of the stars influences your life no matter where you may roam," said Stella. "Then what about the stars ahead? Won't they exert their power on our lives, too?" "Quiet. Do you want me to stop?" Rigel wanted to answer honestly, but Stella had been so helpful in letting her stay with her while she decided what she wanted to do. "No." "Good," said Stella. She jotted down some notes, turned a star dial, and picked the two cards on either side of the one Rigel had chosen. "Very interesting," Stella said. "It tells of love rekindled, good health for the baby, and the end of a long journey." "Love rekindled?" Rigel asked, suspiciously. She had hooked up with Stella because she was the only one who wasn't trying to push her back with Sgt. Marsh. "I know what you're thinking," said Stella. "I'm only telling you what the cards say. It's a boy, by the way." "I know," said Rigel. "And I told you that already." "Well," said Stella. "The cards told me, too." "Good." "Look, I know this is a touchy subject, buy maybe you should talk to Marsh." "Not you too-" "No, listen to me," said Stella. "I don't mean go rushing back into his arms or anything. Meet him in a public place, like the rejuvenation center, and talk to him. Tell him what you told me." Rigel sighed. "Look, if you tell him, maybe he'll leave you alone." Rigel shot a look to the vase of flowers she had found by the door. They had to be from Marsh. Where had he gotten flowers? "Okay," said Rigel. "Let him know I'll see him. I've got to get to the bridge." Stella took Rigel's hand. "This is the right thing." 'For who?' thought Rigel. Dietra held her flight pattern true and straight. Brie was tucked in close on her left. They patrolled the farthest forward quadrant in Galactica's flight path. Nothing of any significance had yet been detected, and it was nearly time to return. They had located a star system ahead, but it would have to be explored by the next patrol. It was too far out. They would not have fuel to get back to the fleet. It was in that fate-filled moment that they received the distress call. "Help! Anyone within communications range, I need help! Two pirates are chasing me. I am an unarmed merchant on a trade run. Anyone please respond!" Dietra flicked her long range scanners, and tapped her engines to full cruise speed. "I've got a visual," said Brie. "Yup," responded Dietra. "Let's go in." "What about our fuel?" Brie asked. "Ask me after this," Dietra said tersely. Neither pilot liked the idea of this small transport being chased by marauders. That was contrary to everything a warrior stood for. "Closing rapidly..." Brie started. "Cut power. Don't overshoot," Dietra ordered. The two Vipers gently slowed from a break neck dash to an easy glide, and cruised up behind one combat vessel. It was a multi-person ship, like a police corvette. There was no time to ponder. It was firing on the smaller craft, and getting dangerously close. The second pirate broke off, and ran. "This is Lieutenant Dietra of the Battlestar Galactica. Cease fire." The larger ship continued to close and shoot. Dietra fired a volley of laser blasts just across the bow of the pursuing ship. It too broke from the chase, swept back to take a look at the Vipers, then sped off along a tangent away from the small ship. "I guess he didn't have the stomach for a fight," said Brie. "Guess not." Dietra felt the warmth of excitement in her chest. She also felt the fear in her head as she glanced at the fuel gauge. They were just out of reach of the fleet. They could coast for a very long time, but in the end, they would sputter to a stop just before they reentered communications range. "I'm sorry, Brie," Dietra said. "I should have sent you back." "No way, Lieutenant. Where you go, I follow." That was a good sentiment, if misplaced. "We seem to have only one hope." Brie knew it. "Follow that ship. It's a safe bet he's got fuel where ever he's going." "Bingo," Dietra answered. "Lieutenant Dietra of the Battlestar Galactica," said a voice on the communications band. "Yes?" "Thank you for pushing those creeps off my tail." "Our pleasure," Dietra answered. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I hear you have a problem." "We don't have the fuel to return to our base ship," Dietra answered. "I have fuel, food, what ever you like. It's yours. I owe you. Follow me to my landing site, and you can take what you need." "Thank you," said Dietra. "We are in your debt." She glanced over at Brie's fighter, and gave her a smile. "May we ask your name, sir?" "Darvin," said the man. "I'm a trader in rare technologies. I'm on a business trip, and those guys back there are competitors." "Glad we could help," said Dietra. "Me too," said Darvin. As Dietra has expected, they were headed for the star system. They slowed, and made a powered descent toward the surface. The freighter was coasting in, but it was wobbling badly. Dietra watched it, even as it pulled out of its dive and headed for a wide clearing in a field. The landing spot was finished with what looked like a marble floor. One small, white stone building stood in a corner. She and Brie took a slow approach, while the freighter smacked down. It tumbled as it hit. It rolled over on its side, then twisted under its own weight. Suddenly, it burst into flames, and exploded. Dietra watched in horror as it blew a second, and third time. She parked her Viper on the marble runway, and ran toward the ship, but the heat was too much. If Darvin had survived the impact, he had died in the inferno. Brie watched the wreck burn. "Now what?" Brie asked. Dietra shook her head. "I have no clue." "Hold it." The warriors turned, and drew their weapons. A carbine shot struck Brie in the left shoulder, and she fell. Dietra aimed her pistol, but calculated the odds. She could see twenty or more men, all aiming pistols of some sort on her. Even if none of them was as powerful as her blaster, she could not hope to take them all before she was struck, or a second blow caught Brie. She set her weapon down, and kicked it away. She tended to Brie as the men ran to her. "Is it bad?" Brie asked. Dietra peeled away part of Brie's tunic. The entry hole was small. She could see the back of the tiny lead projectile. The wound was not serious, but it was bleeding badly. Brie would be alright if she could stop the bleeding. She ripped part of Brie's sleeve, and wadded it up. Brie screamed in pain as Dietra stuck it in the wound. That was the last she was able to do before the men forcibly ripped her from the fallen warrior. "Darvin?" one man asked of Dietra. She looked to the raging fire. "I see," he said. "Raishe will not be pleased." "I guess not," said Dietra. They were thrown in a horse drawn wagon and carried off down a road. Brie screamed with each bump in the road. Dietra held her hand and told her everything was going to be fine. Brie tried to smile, but the tears kept coming. Ensign Cree had just finished his prayer and was about to start his meal when the alert klaxon blared. It had been a while since he had heard that. He froze, but sat tight, hoping it was a test. After three microns, he jumped up, and made for Beta Bay. He jumped on the fast tram down the length of the bay toward the tubes just as it was pulling away. Marsh stood beside him, already wearing his helmet. Cree just kept his eyes forward. He ran to his Viper, parked beside Det's. Funny, the Lieutenant was nowhere to be seen. Nor were Dietra and Brie back from patrol. Who in Hades was going to command the squadron? "Core systems transferring control," Rigel said from the bridge. "Launch when ready." Cree guessed he was ready. He blasted down the tube, and emerged into space. Six of Red Squadron had followed. Cree tapped his Unicom and spoke. He ignored the regular squadron channel, because he wanted Galactica's bridge to know he was about to break a strict protocol. An ensign could not assume command of a squadron, nor even a single element. That was reserved for company grade officers, like a lieutenant or a captain. Switching to Unicom would let the colonel know that he knew he was doing wrong, but that he was organizing the warriors for their own good. He was saving their lives. A team will win; seven individuals would be easy prey for the Cylon raiders. "Red Squadron form on me," said Cree. He moved forward and took the point. Of the six pilots under his direction, four were flight sergeants, and two were other ensigns. They obeyed his orders, even though they understood his breech of conduct. After the battle, they would be rewarded for their obedience, while any blame would fall squarely on Cree. Now was not the time to quibble. It was time to protect the fleet. Cree took them out from the battlestar, headlong into the waves of Cylon ships. The raiders broke into a single file formation, and webbed out into the civilian fleet. Cree ordered his ships into a V attack line and cut across their ranks. The seven Vipers picked off the single ships at will. "This is too easy," said Sgt. Mort. "What are they thinking?" "Don't know, don't care," said Cree. "Just get them." The waves seemed endless, and there seemed to be a method for the madness. Cree brought up a tactical display of the battle on his Viper's interior screen as he continued to fight with one hand. They were traveling out from the Galactica, drawn ever more to the rear by the tempting targets. The more they moved away from the big guns on the battlestar, the easier the fighting got. They had yet to be fired on. "Are they slowing?" Mort asked. A quick check of his tactical display showed that they were. "Red Squadron, break off. Get back to defend the Galactica." Cree whipped his Viper a full 180 degrees about, and kicked in the turbos. "What about the fleet?" Marsh asked. "I don't think the raiders are armed," said Cree. "Then why attack?" Mort asked. "Search me," said Cree. A red light flashed in his cockpit. He flipped the switch to allow core command to upload new attack vector to his computer. Something was approaching, slowly. "Form up. Let's go," said Cree. "Is that a tanker?" Mort asked. "It's dead whatever it is," said Cree. Suddenly, the ship turned. It crawled away from the force of Vipers as quickly as it had crept toward the Galactica. It seemed to be the same class of tanker that had refueled the Cylon attack phalanx at Cimtar. The Cylon fighters mingling with the fleet suddenly withdrew. "I don't get it," said Mort. "What the devil is going on?" Cree bore down on the tanker. Lt. Boomer pulled alongside his squadron. The eight Vipers closed. Then, with a sudden burst of speed, the tanker moved off. They could have pursued, but the recall signal sounded from Galactica's bridge. Whatever was going on, it was over now. Cree wanted to pursue, but that was not his call. His mind switched to the more immediate concern. He had illegally taken command of a combat squadron. Now was the time to face the music. The town was absolutely breathtaking. Marble buildings with obsidian columns lined the square. Murals covered the inner walls. The streets were a red dirt that bordered on clay. The people were dressed simply, in flowing robes. Human, it seemed. That seemed to be the standard. Their skin was tanned. It must be sunny here pretty much of the time. Was that the ocean Dietra smelled? She had seen one on her landing, and they were close to it. It had been a very long time since she had really smelled the aroma of salt air. She started to drift back. Then, they rode into a cave-like door in a small building at the center of the town. Inside was dark, but she could tell it was similar to a maze. They stopped once, and the wagon driver jumped down. He wrestled with a huge stone slab. It was on wheels. He moved it to block the path they had just taken, then jumped back onto the wagon. They moved a little further, and he did the same thing. Somebody was very security conscious, Dietra thought. Then, they emerged into a well-lit area. The pilots were forced from the wagon, and into a smaller room. Electric lights lined the walls. That struck Dietra as strange. There was nothing else about the city that betrayed that kind of technology. A thin and ungainly figure stepped up to the warriors as they entered. "You killed Darvin?" the man asked. "No," said Dietra. "He crashed on landing." "Too bad," said the man. He began to step away from Dietra. "My friend is hurt," said Dietra. "She needs help." "We will take care of her," said the man. "First, I want some information about you." Dietra felt the heat in her face. Her chest heaved with anger. She twisted hard at her waist, and tore at her bonds. A man ran behind her, and grabbed her shoulders. Dietra twisted again, throwing the man to the ground. She pinned him with her knees, and looked up at the thin man. He laughed. "I admire your spirit. Now, who are you?" "I like to know who I'm dealing with before I speak," Dietra said. Outright laughter. "I am Raishe. Leader of the Underground Empire." Dietra released the man. She stood, and bowed respectfully. "I am Lt. Dietra of the Battlestar Galactica. My friend is Ensign Brie." "Good," said Raishe. "I don't know of a Battlestar Galactica, but my people have told me of your ships. I trust you can provide me with what I need." "And what is that?" Dietra asked. Raishe held her pistol. Dietra starred at it coldly. "Tend to her," said Raishe. He pointed to Brie. She was escorted from the room. Dietra watched her go. She swore in her heart that if one hair on her head was hurt, she was going to rip Raishe's arms off. She returned her eyes to Raishe. "This is my empire," Raishe said. He indicated the room. The Underground Empire was just that; a series of rooms cut out of the bedrock on which the city stood. "The man, Darvin, has been supplying us with...you call them 'devices.' We have been able to expand out territory with his help." "I don't care about you territory, or your Empire," said Dietra. "I know," said Raishe. "But I do, and I hold the cards." He meant Brie. "What do you want?" Dietra asked. Raishe plopped himself down on a padded chair. It was not as elaborate as she might have expected an imperial throne to be. That term must have been simply for show. "I need more of your weapons," said Raishe. "I only have the one," said Dietra. "It is my plan that you return to your Galactica and bring us more," said Raishe. "I think fifty will do us nicely. When you deliver them, I will return your friend." "Are you planning to take over the whole city?" Dietra asked. Humans, left to their own devices, and without a code were worse than Cylons. They could inflict the cruelest horrors on others and seldom gave a second thought to their actions. Raishe was as bad as the worst of them. "For their own good," said Raishe. There was a line she had heard before. How many empires had absorbed smaller kingships in the name of 'protection'? And whose protection was it for? Was he setting up a barrier between himself and another empire, using the peaceful city as a buffer state, or did he perceive an outside threat to their security? Neither way was Dietra going to help him. "I take it you need some time to think," said Raishe. "Perhaps you should see your friend now." He nodded, and Dietra was taken from the room. Marsh sat pensively in the rejuvenation center. His uniform was neatly pressed, and he had Rigel's favorite drink sitting at the seat opposite him. A plate of mushies had been brought for them, courtesy of Cpl. Stella. Then Rigel entered. Marsh stood, and held her chair for her. Rigel deftly avoided making physical contact with him. She looked tired. Marsh pushed the chair up to the table and retook his seat. "You look well," said Marsh. Rigel was beginning to show now. Her belly was pushing out from her slim waist. It might not be long now. Rigel took one of the mushies, and ate it. "Thank you for seeing me," said Marsh. Rigel could not look at him. She fixed her eyes on the mushies, and began to speak. "I don't know if I can do this." "It will be okay," said Marsh. "Having a baby is the most natural thing." Rigel held her hands to her belly, and looked into his eyes. She almost cried as her feelings washed over her. She DID love him. He was everything she had always wanted, strong, handsome, courteous, he listened to her, they shared so much. Over the course of a lifetime they could have shared even more. "I mean be with you," she said. "But why?" Marsh asked. Rigel's tears came. She wiped them with a napkin, and continued. "I'm scared, Marsh." Marsh took her hand. Rigel didn't fight as he held it fast. She interlocked her fingers with his. For the first time in a secton, Marsh thought he might win her back. "You're a Viper pilot," said Rigel. "I don't know if I can be a pilot's lady." Marsh hadn't expected that. "Our son needs a father," said Rigel. "Look at Boxey. Can't you see the fear in his eyes when Apollo is gone for so long?" "Apollo takes good care of him," said Marsh. "He's a good kid." "And what about our child? Will I have to face the fear in his eyes every time your gone? When you go out to defend the ship...What will I tell him if you ever..." Marsh slouched. That was it. Fear. "I could go back to a mechanical job," said Marsh. "If I have to do it to keep you, I will." "That's not fair," said Rigel. "It's not fair to you." "I'll pay whatever price I have to." "That's just it," said Rigel. "You shouldn't have to pay a price. I would always know that I took that from you. It's not you, it's ME." "But, I love you," said Marsh. "And I love you," said Rigel. "You will never know how much." Marsh felt all hope rapidly fading. "I've got to go." "Can I see you again?" Marsh asked. Rigel did not answer as she left. The underground cell was like something out of the fleet. It bore a strong resemblance to a hold on the Freighter Gemini. Some twenty persons were kept here. Two were women, and the rest were children. Brie lay on a cot near one wall. The women tended to her while the children played. Brie was looking better. She had more color back. Dietra made her way to her, and knelt beside the cot. "How are you?" Brie took her hand. "I've been better." "I know," said Dietra. "These people are prisoners like us," said Brie. One of the women gave Brie a tin of water. "Drink this." "Thank you, Matha," said Brie. She did as she was told. "Brie says you met Darvin. How is he?" Dietra didn't know what to say. Brie shook her head. She had not told them of the crash. Dietra stood, and walked away slightly. The woman followed her. "His ship crashed while landing," said Dietra. "He did not get out." Matha clasped her hands to her mouth. She was in total shock. Dietra eased her down to the floor before she fainted. "Oh, no," sobbed the woman. Brie mouthed the words, 'Her husband' to Dietra. "I'm sorry," said Dietra. "There was nothing we could do." "I know," said Matha. And there was nothing Dietra could do now. "Of all the foolish felgercarb im the universe, why did I assume command of a combat squadron?" Cree asked. Det stood beside him outside the commander's office. Cree was shaken. It was shades of his adventure over the planet Arcta. No matter what he did, or how far he went in the Colonial Fleet, he would always be "the cadet who crashed on the snow planet." Cree put the fear out of his mind. He was determined to take his punishment like a warrior. He knew he had done right. If the commander didn't see it that way, then... No, that was a bad attitude. He had taken a calculated risk. His career versus the lives of the pilots in Red Squadron. The commander's door slid open. Colonel Tigh politely asked them in. Det stood at attention before Adama's desk. Cree had never been in the commander's office. He tried not to look around. He focused on the white-haired figure in front of him. Adama was smiling. 'It's a cruel universe.' Cree thought. Captain Apollo was there, as was Lt. Sheba. Was it a tribunal hearing? "Ensign Cree," said Adama as he stood. "Four centars ago your squadron was launched without a commander." Cree stood firm. "Microns later you did knowingly take command of the six fighters in your group and lead them in a charge on the Cylons, did you not?" Cree swallowed his response. "Yes, Commander." "It is against every regulation in the chain of command for an ensign to assume command of anything," said Adama. His face was unreadable. "I suppose you were aware of that at the time?" "Yes, Commander." "Good," said Adama. "As long as you know I do not reward such behavior." Cree felt lower than he had when the Cylons had locked him in the cold cell. "But, a fleet doesn't run on regulations alone. There is a moral code that is much higher than mere rules and laws written a long time ago. There is a duty to your friends, and those you protect. That is why we are warriors, Ensign. That is why we stand alone against the Cylon threat." Cree was very confused, now. "That is why, at the suggestion of Captain Apollo and Lt. Det, Colonel Tigh has issued the following statement." Tigh stepped forward. He turned smartly, and marched beside the commander. "Ensign Cree, since you feel that you do not need to wait for the privilege of rank and the promotion to lieutenant, the officers of the Battlestar Galactica have elected to bestow upon you the rank for which you have aspired. "For a display of leadership, responsibility, and forward tactical thinking, I promote you to lieutenant, effective four centaurs ago," said Tigh. Apollo stepped forward, and presented Cree with a new collar. This one was bordered with the braiding of a lieutenant. Det removed his old ensign collar, and Apollo slipped the new one over his head. "Lieutenant Cree," said Tigh. "Congratulations, and may the Lords of Kobol be with you and help you to fulfill the duties of your new post." Cree was positively in shock. "Thank you, Colonel." "My pleasure," said Tigh. The little party lasted only a dew centons, and Det pigeonholed Cree as they left Adama's office. "How does it feel, Lieutenant?" "Great," said Cree. "I thought he was going to bust me back to cadet." "Not a chance," said Det. "You were the one that found that tanker." "What was that?" Cree asked. "It took off before we could figure out what in flame it was up to." "We still don't know," said Det. "But you can bet it was no good." Det stopped a micron. "Listen, I have a question for you. You don't have to answer now, but give it some thought." "Sure, Lieutenant," said Cree. "The colonel has stepped up the schedule on deploying Recon Viper Two," said Det. "He's got Branna outfitting Viper 23 right now." "Are the pulse generators ready?" "We're not sure," said Det. 'Oh,' thought Cree. "We'll need a test pilot..." Cree's gin was unstoppable. "Me?!" "What do you say, Lieutenant?" Cree could not speak. He just shook Det's hand over and over and over. The first order for any warrior held prisoner was escape. Dietra had examined the cell carefully, but it's massive stone construction offered no hope. She could not determine how thick the walls were, but if the slabs were as wide as they were tall, there was no hope of boring a hole. The iron gate that barred the entrance seemed to be the only way in or out. She could not see what lay beyond the gate. The corridor wound around in a lazy arc. Had she not been blind folded as she was brought in, she would have had an idea of the prison's layout. She could hear the Underground soldiers talking just beyond the bend in the corridor. That could mean any number of things. They could be very close to the center of the underground complex, or there could be other cells, or they could just be posted guards. None of these possibilities offered much chance at escape. Dietra decided to give up for the moment and tend to other business. Brie was sleeping. Dietra bend over her, and dabbed a cold cloth on her forehead. Brie was sweating. Dietra reflected on the stories Brie had told her about her youth. She had grown up in a family of twelve children. She was in the middle somewhere. This family unit in the cell with them was old hat to her. She had grown up tending to her younger siblings, changing diapers, and feeding, and cooking, washing...all the things Dietra had not done. She loved children. She loved large families. All her family had been wiped out. Dietra could relate to that. Brie had told Dietra how she had caught the fever of the Colonial Service from her aunt. She had been a communications specialist on the Frigate Julian. Whenever she was in port, the family threw a huge reunion, with relatives coming from all over the colonies. Her aunt had become the star of attention. With twelve children in the family, it was hard to be a star of anything. That had driven Brie into the ranks as an enlisted crew member on a cargo ship. When she went home the first time, she had been the center attraction. She felt so special. She felt important. Dietra brushed Brie's cheek with her hand. Brie had gone on to train as a shuttle pilot with the Galactica's squadrons when Adama had opened the program to women, and had earned a commission after Kobol. She was one of the finest. Sometimes, Dietra felt that behind the bright smile and cheery disposition was the same fire that drove her own spirit. But, Dietra's was a different story. Her father had been a freelance trader, roaming from one outer colony to the other. They had been on their way to Ursus when a Cylon patrol had intercepted them. They boarded the transport to check what supplies were being ferried. Dietra had been only nine yahrens old when her father had stuffed her in a cooling duct and told her to wait for him. She did as her father told her. She watched the brutal robots torture him, and finally kill him. Her ship had been left to drift, stripped of all cargo, and with minimum internal power. She still had dreams where she was older, and could have rescued her father. She dreamed of blasting the robots as they boarded. She dreamed that one day she could save him like she had failed to do those yahrens ago. Maybe that was her mission now. She had to get Brie out of here. Her father was up there, somewhere, watching. His was her strength. With him watching, she could get her best friend back to the safety of the Galactica. "Again?" Cree asked as he jumped from the landing bay elevator. Sirens were wailing and red lights were flashing. He was getting really tired of the endless alerts. "What's going on?" Det asked. They made for their ships. "Sorry, Lieutenant," said Drill, Det's chief mech. "Recon Vipers One and Two are not ready, yet." "Then get me two that are!" ordered Det. "I've only got the two on the maintenance pad," said Drill. "Okay," said Det as he ran down the launch rails. He commandeered the fighters from Sgt. Cygna, and pointed for Kahl to vacate his. Det and Cree took those ships and were barely able to get away as they were ordered up. The sky was filled with raiders. "Daggit grease," said Cree. "Follow me," said Det. One man clad in a dingy brown robe came to retrieve Dietra. He grabbed her by the arm and pointed a slim carbine pistol in her back. The warrior offered no resistance. She studied the layout of the passageways that lead from the cell to the little spot she called the throne room. There was Raishe, all smug and dignified. He demanded an answer to his proposition. "I'll go," said Dietra. "And bring me back weapons?" Raishe asked. She nodded. "Good," said Raishe. "You will be taken to your ship immediately." "It's out of fuel," said Dietra. "I can't get far." "We have made arrangements," said Raishe. "Darvin's supplies are there at his landing pad. My subjects will refuel your craft, and you will leave." "I need to speak to Brie first," said Dietra. "That will be unacceptable," said Raishe. "Time is of the essence. You will leave within the hour." "I need to speak with-" "Silence!" ordered Raishe. He rose from his ragged cushions and stood before her. His face softened. "Surely you do not feel that any harm will come to your Ensign Brie." "The thought had crossed my mind," said Dietra. "Then take the other prisoners to heart, My Dear," said Raishe. Oh, Dietra hated to be referred to like that. It was so condescending. Women were not objects to be owned by powerful men. "We have cared for them since they crashed. They are our honored guests." Dietra saw that she was not going to win. All she wanted to say to her was that she would be back, and she had to be ready to move at a micron's notice. Brie would know. "Alright, then," said Dietra. "Let's get moving." The last Cylon fleet had been easy. This attack force was hard. They tore through the Viper echelons and swarmed the Galactica like stingers hunting a giant locust. They were hitting the fleet hard. Det passed over Alpha Bay and got low. He skimmed over the external piping and looked up at the raider strafing the battlestar's upper decks. He nosed up, gave the fighter some power, and fired. He had no lock, but his shot was clean. He pulled up, but passed under the debris cloud, then rolled and nosed under. He swept over the top of Beta Bay, then pulled hard toward the Galactica's under belly. He locked onto a triad of attacking Cylons. His first shot ripped the lead ship in half, and his second barely missed the second ship. Cree blasted the third. Det toggled his braking flaps and pulled a tight turn. Releasing the flaps and tapping the turbos for just a micron, he swung in on the surviving raider's tail, and fired. It exploded. Now, he turned back into the wall of approaching craft from Galactica's starboard. He could see hundreds, if not more raiders. This was a mess. Beyond his position, red and blue flashes tore the black veil of space. These were accented by an occasional flash as a ship was destroyed. Even at ten to one odds, there was no escaping the inevitable. Det brought his ship back toward the Galactica as yet another wave of enemy fighters came in for a strafing run. Det and Cree dispatched them as they had the last three waves. Or was it four? There had been so many. Dietra could not help but be impressed. These people she had thought so primitive had found the Viper's fuel trough and had sealed the line that would pump tylium into her tanks. They moved with a keen precision. Darvin must have taught them to refuel his transport. He had done well. Through it all, Dietra was restrained. She was bound in the wagon, with two guards watching her. The keen eyes of a warrior are trained for any circumstance. The gun nearest her was her own. She could tell by the wear marks on the upper handle. She noticed something very interesting about the weapon. It was still set at stun power. Maybe they were not as advanced as she had thought. She could blast off, circle the field, cut these imbeciles to ribbons, and return to the cell in their own wagon. She could grab Brie, get back, refuel her ship, and they could be gone in less than a centar. Yes, that would be her plan. But, as she watched them cap her fuel cell, she realized they were one step ahead of her. The man in charge of this operation, a well-built man named Black, took Brie's communicator from his robe. He spoke. "Lord Raishe, the ship is prepared." "Thank you," said Raishe from Dietra's communicator back in the underground complex. "The woman is in position." Dietra was concerned about what that might mean. Black spoke. "Your friend is in His Excellency's private room. There are two guns aimed at her. One at her head, the other at her heart. If I do not communicate to Lord Raishe that you have left our sight, and maintain contact with him, she will die. It will be on your head." "What if I don't come back?" Dietra asked. "Then we lose nothing," said Black. "Your friend will be dead, and the other guests will be killed. We will pack up, and move before you can return with more like you." Black paused, smiled. "But I know you will protect her. She is such a fragile flower. It would be a pity to waste her innocent smile like that. Don't you think?" Dietra had to agree. She was freed of her bonds, and she climbed into her ship. She activated the onboard generators. It would take several centons for the generator to power up all her shipboard systems. In a landing bay, it would take less than a micron, but here... DAMN! The fools had ripped out her emergency beacon. Even if a second patrol came by, they would have no way to find the Vipers parked here on the planet. Unless they did a low altitude survey sweep and happened to pass right over them. The odds on that were astronomical. She closed the canopy, and tapped the engine starter buttons. The ship whirred with power. Those men standing near the ship we marveled by the sound. Dietra might have taken pride in their awe, but she was focusing on how she wanted to rip the liver out of the fat one near her left wing. Then, with a sound that could make the dead cry out for silence, she blasted off. She roared down the marble strip, and pulled tightly back on the stick. She went true ballistic. Dietra felt the pressure as she fought gravity and physics to climb. Her face was pulled back toward her ears. She reveled in the way her skin seemed to weigh so much. The pulling in her chest excited her. She was ready for battle. Up she went, into the clear sky. She had never seen such a pure atmosphere before. Here, on this preindustrial world, the air was unfettered by the smoke and toxins that humans seemed very able to create. Her turbo trail was something new to this planet. And, as she eased the engines back, she found herself in the freedom of space. She almost tried to radio the Galactica, but if the Underground had known how to disable her emergency beacon, they could probably monitor her radio. Instead, she monitored their communications below with her radio. "She has left, Lord Raishe," Black said. "Very well," he answered. "Return immediately." Now she was free. Dietra tipped her craft back into the atmosphere. She cut power drastically. Carefully, she stayed at a speed which would create no condensation trail. That might be visible from the ground. She slipped down to the surface, and powered up. She shot past hills, and some of the most beautiful forest growths she had ever seen. She touched down just outside the city, on the side opposite the marble pad. Now came the hard part - waiting until dark. "Where are all these ships coming from?" Cree asked. It was not meant to be answered. Cree had thrown the question out to vent frustration and his own fatigue. Warriors in battle do well when the adrenaline kicks in. Yahrens of training make the mind clear. Reflexes are heightened. With the fear of death looming in every maneuver, one can perform the impossible. But, eventually, the body wins, and one begins to slip up. He had seen Mort's Viper blow up. There was always the possibility of being next. Once this fear grabs hold, the end can be very close. Det whipped his flight out away from the Galactica and into the closing formation. He pelted the Cylons with repeated volleys from his guns. His targeting system was overloaded. It could track a hundred objects simultaneously, but it could only target a dozen. The fixed lasers could only lock onto one. Cylon guns could pivot up to 2 degrees up or down, and 1 degree laterally in either direction. They had the advantage now. Det meant to wipe out their numbers, and bring the odds back in his favor. "All Red ships, pick you section, and fire at will," Det ordered. The six ships in his flight barreled forward at breakneck speed, firing mercilessly. The Cylons broke formation at the ferocity of his renewed attack. He counted his own kills, ...three, four, five... Then turned back at picked off those that fled. ...six, seven,...eight... Blue fire rained over his cockpit, and down his right side. His wing was hit. His Viper rocked madly, but Det flew on. He pulled up, rolled, and bore through the decimated Cylon formation. ...nine...ten, eleven... He passed over, then under raiders as they scrambled to get away. ...twelve... Then with the blinding light of a sun going nova, Loon vanished. Det rolled, turned, and came back for yet another run. "Hold still," Matha said. "I've got to wash that wound." "It's okay," said Brie, recoiling from the woman. "Brie, it will get worse if we don't keep it clean." "Look," said Brie as she swung her arm in a full circle. "It's fine." "Good," said Matha. "Then this won't hurt a bit." Brie relented and followed the young woman behind a section of the keep that had been partitioned off with a sheet. Brie reluctantly removed her tunic and unzipped her pressure suit. Matha dabbed a white cloth across the hole in Brie's shoulder. "It's looking well," said Matha. "You'll be fine." Brie tried not to flinch as the water stung her injury. "I told you." "I know," said Matha. "Two more days and we might not have to do this anymore." Brie stared at the far wall and jumped as the towel pulled at her skin. "Sorry," said Matha. "Your friend...will she come back?" "Yes," said Brie. Matha nodded. "The Underground will never let us go." "Dietra will slam some sense into them," said Brie. "Darvin had worked out an escape plan," said Matha. "He had another ship ready to go. It's not far, just outside town." "Can you fly it?" Brie asked. "I was his partner for five years while he traded jewels on the outer rim!" said Matha. "I'm a better pilot than he was." Matha dropped the towel in the wash pan and bit her lower lip. "But that does me no good now. He's dead, we're locked up, and your friend is gone." "She'll be back," said Brie. "Take us with you," said Matha. "Please." Brie dressed and looked around. The children were dirty. Their unwashed faces were so lost. Their skin was turning white from lack of sunlight. How could Brie leave them here even if the safety of the fleet came at the price of eternal chase by the Cylons? Brie took Matha's hand, and grabbed her arm at the elbow. Matha returned the gesture. They shook. "Where I go, you go." "Thank you," said Matha. She began to cry. "We've got 'em now!" hollered Cree into his microphone. "Cease fire," said Det. The Cylon formation was ragged. He had rarely seen raiders flee in such a panic style. Obviously, they had received a recall order. "Look at them go!" remarked Cree. "Spanked daggit kids running for home," said Ajax. "Get back to the Galactica," said Det. "They may come back." The final score was high. Galactica's three squadrons had destroyed more than two hundred raiders, but cost had been high. Some thirteen warriors had died; three from Red alone. Det's Viper was the worst off of the surviving ships. His right wing was shredded. It meant little in space, aerodynamics were irrelevant, but the balance of the ship's mass was thrown out of kilter. He found it difficult to line up for a good approach. He botched the three point landing, and twisted his left landing strut. No big deal, Drill had fixed worse. After checking the losses, Det made his way to the Viper repair area. His ship was being spotted by the taxi cart. Recon Vipers One and Two were being ferried out. He left the mechs to their work and ran for the maintenance office. If the ships were ready, he wanted them spotted for the next scramble. It might be worse than this last one. Night fell. Dietra had spent most of the day watching the comings and goings from the second gate on the far side of the town. It was guarded by a sentry post which she suspected was guarded by town militia and not Underground forces. She checked her chronometer. The road leading to the gate was bordered with thin brush. She lay prone in the growth, waiting for the militia patrol to return. Raishe had spoken of another group that wanted the Underground's technology. Perhaps the militia was warry of these forces, as well. They had sent out patrols every centar. The last was due back now. That was her ticket into the city. Her warrior jacket lay in the road, just hidden from the sentry tower's view. She had started a small fire in the brush just opposite her position. If the locals were looking for something, they would stop and investigate. The patrol wagon thundered down the road. Dietra held her position, watching and waiting. She was only going to get on shot at this. The wagon ground to a stop about ten metrons down the road. There were three men in the wagon. Two jumped down and drew their carbine weapons. The third climbed up onto the top of the wagon and kept watch over the road. The two men moved carefully through the brush. They found the fire and began to beat it out with green branches. They yelled and shouted for the third man to keep watch. Dietra grabbed a hand full of small stones and quickly hurled them into the brush on the other side of the road. The third man heard the sound, and fixed his gaze on where the rocks had fallen. His back was toward Dietra. He shouted for the other men to check out the sound. With all the speed she could muster, Dietra moved toward the wagon. The man's shouts drowned out her minute sounds. She grabbed the wagon, and slipped underneath. The wooden cart offered very little as far as hand holds were concerned. She was going to have a hard time holding on if she was going to ride into the city under it. She wedged herself between the axle mount and the floor. She forced her fingers into the tiny knot holes beneath the rider's seat. With some doing, she managed to rest her back on the axle, so that she could grab hold of the lateral support bar. She pulled herself up, and locked her arms in place. She was completely hidden from the outside, but she could see nothing. The voices seemed to be coming from in front of the wagon, now. No doubt they were examining the warrior's jacket, and debating whether to search a bit harder. They must have decided against it, because the wagon began to move. It was an agonizingly long ride back to the city. She felt them stop at the gate, and then slowly proceed through it. They moved a few more metrons, and stopped. She heard voices all around. She could not make out what they were saying, but they didn't sound alarmed. Maybe she had made good on her break in. It was a very long time later that the voices faded. She quietly lowered herself to the ground, and peeked out from under the wagon. She was in some kind of stable. If it was guarded, it might take some time to escape. "Recon Vipers One and Two have been modified," Branna told Det. "RCV-1 has two new pulse generators, and RCV-2 has three. Both have enhanced turbo lasers, extended battery refits, and the new computer subroutines we developed for the ACURA program." "Is CORA still active?" Det asked. "CORA is still the primary operating system in RCV-1," said Branna. "We didn't know how well the ACURA voice interface would work, so we hedged our bet and kept CORA, just in case." "How does it look so far?" Det asked. "Like magic," said Branna. That was the first good news Det had heard in a long time. He glanced out the office window at the two prototype Vipers being spotted on the launch rails. The Cylons had presented a few surprises in the last two cycles. Now it was their turn to face a new threat. ACURA had arrived. He was worried because Dietra and Brie still had not returned from their patrol. Galactica had sent a second patrol forward to check the star system ahead. There was no space traffic, and there was no communication from either warrior. It seemed safe enough, so the fleet was cautiously moving in their direction. If they had landed, they might have two more cycles to return before the fleet moved out of range. After that, they would be listed as missing, presumed dead. No doubt about it, this was the door panel that lead to the Underground's hideout. Dietra stood against the stone wall, pressing herself against it, and working the wooden door with her right arm. It was locked. There were no visible peep holes, nor hidden mechanisms that she could find. It was possible that they had some sort of thermal sensor on the other side to keep vigil outside. If that was the case, then she had already been spotted. If not, then she would have to wait for someone inside to unlock it. But, even then it was a maze inside. She had only seen the inside once, and she doubted she could remember the way. These Underground people were a crafty lot. The maze would be loaded with traps and alarms. She would need a guide to get in. So what if the door was guarded from somewhere else? There were buildings all around the square. Each one had several windows looking down on her. Though it was dark, she could certainly be seen. Just as that thought had occurred to her, she heard clanging sounds from the other side. She crept back against the wall, and backed away. Slowly, the door lifted open. Two of the wagons proceeded out. They were filled with men, four sporting lasers similar to her blaster, and the rest, maybe twenty, carrying carbine rifles. They swept their weapons around as the wagons came through. They were not interested in her, but they were in a hurry to get somewhere. Dietra wedged herself behind a statue of some four legged animal as the wagons pushed out. One man stood behind and pulled a rope to lower the door. The wagons moved out of sight, around a corner. There must have been no pulley system on the door, as it seemed to take the man an awfully long time to draw the door shut. Dietra leaped from behind the animal and delivered a blow to the man's head. He fell. Dietra whipped up his carbine weapon as it clattered on the stone floor. She dove inside the door, and rolled into a corner. She pointed the weapon around, scanning for others. Two surprised men stared down at her. They slowly raised their hands and surrendered. Dietra motioned for one of them to close the door, and stripped them of their weapons. "And you thought I was bad," said Baltar. Det passed a tray of food into the cell for the prisoner. "What are they planning?" Det asked. "Why should I tell you?" Baltar asked. "In exchange for what?" Det sat in a very simple chair just outside Baltar's cell. He set a second tray of food in his lap, and cut a piece of bova steak with his knife. "Dinner." He popped the bite into his mouth and enjoyed it. "Ah," said Baltar. "A family meal. How quaint." "I thought this was what you wanted," said Det as he cut a second piece. Baltar examined his meal, and smelled the savory aroma. The Cylons had actually been very gracious hosts, but they had narry a cook among them. He had been fed the same basic sustenance that a prisoner would be fed as he was kept alive for interrogation. This was a real MEAL! He tested the steak. If it was laced with some kind of truth serum, he could not tell. And what of it? The Cylons would never have given him what he wanted most, power. Even if he could deliver the human fleet to the Imperious Leader, he would sooner or later be executed. He was certain. So, Baltar took a bite. He mouth exploded with the sensation of flavor. The Cylon rations had always tasted like grub worms and salt. Just enough nutritional value to keep him going, but not enough to live on, in the fullest meaning of the word. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant," Baltar said. "I don't know." "Sure you do," insisted Det. "Lucifer is a very clever Cylon agent," said Baltar. "He surely kept certain intelligence reports secret." "Secret from you, Uncle?" Det asked. The use of the title melted Baltar. He swallowed his food, and took a drink from the vintage ambrosa. His gaze met Det's. "Perhaps this is part of the new Cylon 'shock weapon,'" Baltar said. Det chewed a particularly tender portion of steak. "Shock weapon?" "I never heard much about it," said Baltar. "It was under development on Cylon several quartons ago, but I hadn't heard any deployment schedule." "Really," said Det. "I would think you would be in the know of any new weapon that the Cylons had. You would think the great Human Hunter would get all the new toys..." Baltar stood. He pushed his hand through the circulation vent on the clear wall of his cell. "I was kept in the dark about a great many things during my captivity. I was never even told that there was a second battlestar running around the Empire causing so much havoc. I had free run over other baseship commanders when it came to finding the Galactica, but I was merely a figurehead in the Cylon command structure. I was kept around to break your morale. I realize that now. They never trusted me with any more than was necessary." "They didn't trust you?" Det asked. "I don't see why not." Baltar pulled his hand back through the vent. He had reached out for some kind of human contact, and had been rebuffed. Again. "Tell me about the shock weapon," said Det. "What did you know?" "Nothing," said Baltar. "Except that it is not a weapon itself. It merely destroys your fighters' ability to fight." "Leaving us defenseless," mused Det. "Completely," finished Baltar. "What else?" Det asked. Baltar shook his head. He left his food sitting on the bench and curled up in his cot. He fell silent. Det scooped a forkful of greens into his mouth, and guzzled the last of his ambrosa. He left the chair in the hall as he headed back for the sentry post. The next time he visited his uncle, he was going to slip some truth serum into the food. Maybe that would loosen his tongue. Adama felt badly about asking Tigh to leave his office. He had never asked the colonel to sit out during a meeting before. His insight was perhaps the keenest he had ever known. They shared a bond that was thicker than friendship, and almost brotherly. He read the hurt in Tigh's eyes. "What did you find, Lieutenant?" the commander asked. Det spoke, "He mentioned a 'shock weapon,' Commander. He didn't give me details, but it is supposed to be able to render our Vipers ineffective." Adama put two and two together in his head. "That tanker Lt. Cree spotted." "My feeling exactly, Commander." "Inform the flight crews," said Adama. "I will advise the bridge staff." His tone softened. "I will not tell them how we came by this information." "Thank you, Commander." Something was wrong. Brie could sense it by the way the voices just beyond her view had changed. There seemed to be an awful lot of running and shouting going on. She ordered the children to get low, and she turned the large wooden table over on its side. The kids crouched behind it, as did the one woman. Matha refused to hide. "Oh, no," she said. "If this is our chance, I'm standing beside you!" Brie had no time to argue. She grabbed the wash pan, and dumped it on the floor. Someone was coming toward the cell. Carbine discharge. Someone was firing guns. Shouts. Screams. Orders. Brie ripped the curtain down from where it hung, and draped it around her body. She held the wash pan like a frisbee. Matha took hold of a chair and held it over her head. "They're coming," whispered Brie. Two guards stood outside the cell gate. One worked the lock with a key, while the other covered him with his gun. Brie and Matha were just out of sight. "Where are they?" asked one of the men. "Doesn't matter," said the other. "Kill them all." Just as the door flung inward, Brie lunged forward with the pan. She struck the first man in the chest, and Matha clobbered the second with the chair. "Get the guns!" shouted Brie. She examined the pistol while Matha held hers. The weapon was some antiquated design, but very simple to use. She checked the clip. She had four shots. "Stay here and guard the children," said Brie. "Where you go, I go," said Matha. "I give you my word as a warrior," said Brie. "We will come back for you." "We go together," said Matha. She had that look; the one that Dietra had whenever the alert sounded on the Galactica. Here was a woman fighting for all that she loved. Here was a warrior. Brie nodded. She tossed her gun to the other woman. She took it, and crouched back behind the table. Dietra shoved the pistol into Black's stomach. "Bring the prisoners to me, now!" She took Brie's blaster from his right hand. "I've had them killed," said Black. "It's on you!" "Hold it!" said Brie as she rounded the corner. "The others?" Dietra asked. "Are fine," said Brie. "Good," said Dietra. Her face went totally blank as she drove her weapon further into Black's chest. The man could no longer breathe as she backed him into the wall. "I should kill you." Instead, she pelted him on the head with the handle. He fell to the floor, moaning and babbling stupidly. Dietra looked back to Brie. "Are you alright?" "We're all fine," said Brie. "They have a ship nearby. They want to come with us." "Let's move," said Dietra. "Most everybody's out doing something else. It looks like those 'other forces' Raishe mentioned are coming." She handed the blaster to Brie. "Okay," said Brie. She sent Matha back for the children. "Brie, you get the others to their ship. I'll head back for mine." Dietra bent down to pick up yet another loose carbine. "We should stay together," said Brie. "To increase our odds." "No," said Dietra. "I'm on the other side of the city." "We'll get you on their ship, and come back for-" There was a massive explosion outside. Dietra ran back down the stone corridor. "I'll contact you when I get to my ship. Hurry!" All Brie could do was watch her go. The city was built on a cliff overlooking the ocean. Below, a fleet of ships was moving in. The Underground warriors stood on the cliffs shooting with their weapons. At such long range, the pistol fire had no effect. Dietra found herself standing behind the defensive line as they fried. She heard the sound of her own blaster ripping the night. It was set for stun. A second cannon volley erupted from the fleet below. The shots landed in the city. She heard the cries of wounded. It bit her spirit to have to do this, but their seemed no other way. "Stop!" Dietra yelled as she climbed from the thin brush where she hid. Raishe was as surprised as anyone to see her. "Kill her," he said. "I can help you," she said as she advanced. "You don't know how to use those." A third cannon volley hit the cliff where they stood. Great chunks of rock and earth fell down toward the rocks below. One man, who held a Colonial blaster, looked to Raishe. The emperor was still distrustful, but he nodded for him to give her the gun. Dietra took it, reset the power, and pointed it out to sea. She fired one shot, then another, setting two ships neatly ablaze. Panic ensued on the other ships, but the cannons continued to fire. Dietra quickly fired a third and fourth shot, ripping one small wooden vessel apart. The others turned back to sea, and sailed off. The cannons ceased. Raishe stepped forward and touched Dietra's cheek. The towering woman held her ground at his advance. "Dietra," said Raishe. "I am forever in your debt. I know you see me as little more than a petty tyrant, with no empire, but I have the interest of the citizens of my city at heart. You must feel that, too if you came to their aid as you did." A cool wind whipped across the cliffs, twirling Dietra's reddened hair. She had felt exactly that. Maybe Raishe was right, after a fashion. The city lay unprotected from the raiders, except for this Underground force. The men lowered their weapons, and gathered around Dietra. From nowhere, a small band of city dwellers began to emerge. One held her warrior jacket. He handed it to her. She slipped it on to the cheering of the crowd. "I only wish I knew where Black is," said Raishe. "Why?" Dietra asked. "My sources have informed me just tonight that he is in league with those barbarians," said Raishe. "That he lead them to us, and that he means to rule this city as his own." A new anger swelled up in Dietra. That anger had a name; one she hated more than the devil himself. The name was Baltar. "The others," said Dietra suddenly. "They escaped. Black was there." "Then we must go," said Raishe. "He will try to capture them to get hold of you...or me." Brie lead the group up an embankment toward the landing field. The children were slow. It was late, and they were tired. Matha followed in the rear, keeping eye out with her gun. "I hear something!" said Brie. The others got down. The two women covered the children as best they could with their bodies. Brie kept her head up to look around. Something was moving behind them. It was too big to be a little field animal of any kind. It could be something like a bear, or it could be a person. If someone was following them, they would be sitting ducks here on the side of the embankment. They were exposed to whatever attack might come from below. Brie rolled on her back and scanned the area below. The brush was moving. She could just make that out in the gentle moonlight. The cold night air chilled her as she broke into a cold sweat. She leveled her blaster toward a growth of bushes below, and reset the gun to medium power. Brie squeezed off a burst of laser fire, and set a small tree on fire in the middle of the field. "Get moving!" She yelled to the others. The women and children began to climb. The younger children began to cry. Matha began to sing to comfort them. Brie remembered how her mother had sung to her. Oh, those days seemed so far gone. Brie fired off a second volley. The red flash from her gun lit up the night. She was giving away her position, but it was necessary to cover the others' escape. As she finished, she rolled left, and took up her offensive posture again. Her shoulder hurt. She hoped she hadn't reopened the wound. She heard one carbine discharge below. She reset the pistol to stun, and fired multiple shots into the area from which the sound had come. The others had nearly made the crest of the ridge. Not a moment too soon, Brie thought. It was time to start moving herself. She switched back to high power, and barraged the whole area below with laser fire. She shoved the blaster into her trousers and rolled on her chest. She pulled herself up with her good arm, biting her lip so as not to cry out in the pain. She was still a long way off from the top. Brie could hear the carbine bullets striking the ground near her. They were firing behind where she was. If she could only get to the top, she could fight them off for good. She heard voices above. Had she been outflanked? The Underground might have sent their men up on the ridge and only sent the men into the valley to cover a retreat. If they had, then all this was for nought. She had failed Matha and her family. The sound of blaster fire crackled overhead. The shots were not at her, though. The valley erupted in a sea of red flashes. The men below panicked and ran. She could hear the yelling and screaming, and the fear in their hearts. Dietra stood on the ridge as Brie pulled herself up the last two metrons. The moonlight highlighted her dyed hair. "You look like a demon," said Brie. "Glad to see you, too," said Dietra. She reached down to pull Brie up. Brie winced with the pain in her shoulder. "Is everyone alright?" Brie asked. "Everything's fine, now," said Dietra. Raishe stood beside her, and a dozen of his men stood near one of the Underground's wagons. "I'm glad you found us," said Brie. "I passed the second freighter on the way in, and I figured you would be making for it," Dietra said. "You've made some new friends," Brie said. "We've come to an understanding," said Dietra. "I have sent some men to refuel the other ship," said Raishe to Brie. "I have told Dietra that we are forever in your debt. The same goes for you." Brie didn't know what to say. Even if Dietra had worked out an "understanding" with Raishe, she still had not. She would let Dietra do the dealing. "I'm going for my Viper," said Dietra. "Raishe will take you to the landing field, and Matha and the children to the other transport." Brie nodded, uneasily. "I know you don't trust me," said Raishe. He handed his carbine to Brie, and turned to his small army. "Drop your weapons, everyone." Raishe's men did as commanded. Brie took the emperor's gun, and pulled her blaster from her pants. She reholstered it, and turned to Dietra. "You really know how to work a crowd." "Get going," said Dietra. She patted Brie on her good arm. As hard as the fight to get out of town had been, the trip to the ships was easy. It was barely a millicenton later that Dietra, Brie, and the transport linked up in orbit. "We've got the fuel," said Brie. "But what about the Galactica? Will we be able to find her?" "If she's kept a constant speed and course, we'll spot her soon enough," said Dietra. She turned her small formation outward toward the stars. They eased up to the transport's top speed, and pulled away from the planet. Dietra cast a look back toward the lush world. Everything would work out fine. The raiders had been beaten, and Raishe had come to the aid of the city. Maybe that would kindle his protective impulses. If he did assume power, he would no doubt understand the headaches involved with imperialism. ****************************** The town was still dark, but morning was coming. People were everywhere, bustling about and preparing for a great celebration. The town officials were seated on a platform in the city center. The first crack of sunlight shown down and revealed a forty- metron tall object hidden under a shroud. Activity focused around it. The story of Dietra, a mythical heroine was retold. Even the youngest school children knew of the warrior goddess who had come and saved the city from enemies within and without so long ago. The statue was unveiled. The mighty figure's ebony skin contrasted with the sterile marble stone buildings. The gold in her jacket snaps sparkled in the pure morning sun. Her laser pistol was aimed out to sea. Her bright red hair was sculpted as though an ill wind was whipping through it. On a wall outside the town, a fresco painting of a winged Viper had been posted as a warning to all who might invade. The town president closed the dedication with a blessing. "May Dietra's strength protect us always!" This story is a work of fan fiction, and is not intended to infringe on the copyrights of Universal, ABC, Glen Larson Studios, or any other corporations involved with Battlestar Galactica. It is intended solely for distribution on the Internet, and the enjoyment of those BSG fans who read it. Please direct feedback to me at TiCeL@aol.com I hope you enjoyed it.