Battlestar Galactica: Original Series Continuation - 01 - Armageddon by Richard Hatch;Christopher Golden

Author:Richard Hatch;Christopher Golden
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Science Fiction, General, Fiction
ISBN: 9780671011697
Publisher: Byron Preiss
Published: 1997-08-01T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

IN THE SHATTERED REPAIR BAY in the Cylon outpost on Ochoa, Starbuck gave a cursory examination to the remains of a Cylon Centurion.

But he didn't really know what he was looking at. He was no med-tech like Cassiopeia.

At the thought, Starbuck realized that he missed her. They had been just friends for so many yahren—while he'd lived with Athena—that it was strange to feel her absence so powerfully. But then they'd had a daughter together, and Dalton's every breath was a link neither Starbuck nor Cassiopeia would ever deny.

"Ah, Captain," he whispered whimsically to himself, "you're getting old."

Starbuck had no implement to cut the Cylon's flesh, and he didn't want to waste time. Every second was vital if he had any chance of escape. Still, he lingered at the sight of the pried-open Centurion chest plate. Beneath it, the enemy's flesh was cold and gray, but not from death. Starbuck believed it to be the natural flesh tone of the Cylon.

It wasn't skin, exactly. Rough and ridged, it had plates or scales like those he had seen on the cold-blooded lizards of Caprica. Even more disturbing was the confirmation of something Colonial scientists had long believed: The Cylons were humanoid. Inside the armor was not some sentient blob of alien flesh controlling a robotic soldier.

The Cylon's body had arms and legs and a torso, just as a human did.

He had to assume that it also had a head inside that ugly armored helmet, but the Centurion's upper torso was trapped beneath a collapsed portion of ceiling. The temptation to cut it open was limited to brief curiosity. He didn't really want to explore the internal organs of a Cylon, now or anytime.

Starbuck sighed, sat back on his haunches and stared at the alien corpse. Then he climbed to his feet.

"Love to stay and natter all day, but I'm in a bit of a hurry," he said amiably. "There you go, Starbuck, talking to yourself again."

The comm station stood in a far corner. He moved to it as swiftly as he could safely navigate the fallen debris. There was a flatscreen, not terribly different from those the Colonial fleet used. No keyboard, however, and Starbuck wasn't surprised. How would one type with armored fingers, after all?

There were characters scrolling across the screen, but Starbuck could not read them. Though he shouldn't have been, he was somewhat surprised. The Cylons had always communicated in Kobollian, and so he had assumed it was their language as well. Just another mystery to add to the many others surrounding the greatest enemy of humanity. After discovering that their armor housed humanoid reptilian forms, he was even more surprised that they had a native language other than Kobollian.

"Computer?" he asked, hoping for some response. None came.

"Comm station, respond," he said, touching the screen to be certain there was not some pressure sensitive command system. Nothing.

"Standard Kobollian, please," he requested.

"By your command," a computer voice crackled. So much did it resemble the voice of a Cylon Centurion, that Starbuck spun halfway around in alarm before recognizing it as the computer's reply.

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