CHAPTER SIX

Croft:

Galactica lousy Commander lousy Adama doesn’t even recognize me. Angry, I remind him. Even after I remind him, he gives me a blank look. He says yes he remembers, but he really doesn’t. It was just a passing moment in his lousy life, just a matter of duty. I’ve been able to visualize every feature of his face since our capture, and yet it’s clear he wouldn’t know me from a pile of daggit-meat. I hate him more than ever.

“Do you harbor any feelings toward me that would hamper your performance in the mission we’ve selected you for?” he asks.

This is my chance, I realize. I can express my contempt and get away, not have to do a job for a man whom I’d rather kill than serve. But resigning from the mission means returning to the grid-barge, climbing into that rotten cell, and being forgotten again, maybe for good this time. I don’t want to go back to that cell. I’d do anything to keep away from it. Even embrace lousy Adama as a long-lost friend.

“My feelings never hamper my performance,” I say.

“That’s true enough,” Leda says, and then laughs. The echo of her laugh bounces around the command bridge like an artillery shell gone crazy.

Adama screws up those fierce, almost cruel eyes and stares deeply into mine—discovering, I know, eyes crueller and fiercer than his.

“How is it a man of your abilities, a commander, is still confined to a prison ship?” he asks suddenly.

“You oughta know. You put me there.”

“I don’t mean that. After the prison ship managed its escape from the confinement base on Sagitara, all prisoners were offered a chance at rehabilitation. We need personnel too badly to worry about past sins. Only the criminally insane were denied freedom.”

Involuntarily I glance toward Wolfe, wondering what his classification was and if he’d ever been offered rehab. If he had been, he would have taken it, so I suspect he hadn’t. What had changed things so now, so that even Wolfe was useful?

“Most prisoners accepted the offer of Core Command to join the fleet as useful personnel. You refused. Why?”

I shrug.

“Well, I guess I’m just a romantic at heart.”

He screws up his brow to match his screwed-up eyes.

“What does that mean?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Just that rehabilitation meant swabbing down landing decks and repairing the rubber bands that power this lousy fleet. Garbage details. Like the flirtatious maid said to her overeager master, I don’t do windows.”

“I doubt you refused rehab because you’re a romantic. Sounds more like pride to me.”

“We’ll match numbers on pride sometime. Sir.”

Adama gets more businesslike in his manner and briefs me on his precious mission. It’s simple and complicated at the same time. The layout’s not too bad. The gun emplacement takes up most of the mountaintop because of its size. There’s a small area for landing a ship, nothing else. Nothing except a jagged mountain that looks like it’s got more death traps hidden in its terrain than easy pathways or slopes. In the foothills is a large encampment that appears to contain a full Cylon garrison. Beside the garrison is a large airfield that scanners show has several Cylon warships of different classes spread across it. Great! This all looks just like the platinum raid. They discover we’re on the mountain, they can pick us off for target practice.

“And you want us to go up that?” I ask Adama.

“It’s not so high,” Captain Apollo interjects. Who is this guy anyway? He acts like he’s somebody important.

“Shows how much you know about mountains. Be glad you don’t have to climb it.”

Apollo flushes, red to the gills. He’s furious, trying to hold it in.

“I’ll be part of the team,” he says.

“God save us,” I say. “Look, the worst thing you can do to sabotage this mission, Commander, is give me some green amateur who doesn’t know a piton from a—”

“My son will join the mission,” Adama says quietly. His son! Terrific. I got to drag his son along, break my back belaying him up cliffsides, toss him ahead of me over ridges, probably get jounced into a ravine because of one of his mistakes. And all because a commander wants to give his son an edge. This mission is shaping up just dandy.

“I have mountaineering experience,” Apollo says to me, as if that alone justifies his presence on the team.

“Is that so? Then how could you make such a dumb remark? Take a good look at the geologic scan of this mountain. What did you say, it’s not so high? Look, man, height’s not a measure of difficulty when you’re assaulting a mountain, especially when it’s a mountain where there’s been no recorded previous climbs to provide us information on possible routes. Ever hear of Mount Cyimklen, Captain Apollo?”

Apollo looks like he doesn’t want to discuss mountains with me, but he responds anyway:

“Of course. It’s on my home planet, Caprica.”

“Well, Mount Cyimklen is the second-highest mountain on your home world. And you’ve probably climbed it, right?”

“As a matter of fact—”

“Everybody has. Nothing to it. Six-year-olds can conquer Cyimklen. Despite its height, it’s composed of easy slopes, well-worn trails, practically stairs carved into the rock. There was a time when it was something of a challenge because of its extreme height, but that was a millennium ago. Once somebody had challenged it, and climbed it, discovered its secrets, the ascent of it became easy. Now, let me ask you another question. Ever hear of Mount Pannurana?”

“Well, yes—”

“And I’d bet my grid-barge chits that you’ve never climbed it.”

“I tried. Once.”

“Pannurana is just slightly more than half the height of Cyimklen. And it’s only been scaled to the top five times. Twice by me. And why? Because it’s a rat-trap of a mountain, that’s why. Rotten rock, lousy footholds, ice like sheet glass, a peak that rises straight up on all sides with nothing to grab hold of, air as thin as your common sense, Cap’n. More guys died on Pannurana than all the surrounding mountains combined. All the surrounding higher mountains. So don’t look at this geologic scan and tell me this one’s not so high, all right?”

Apollo looks quite embarrassed. Good. Guys like him I like to keep off balance. Maybe if he listens to reason he’ll be able to perform as a member of the team instead of being a drag on the ropes. Still, I don’t like the look of this mountain, no matter who’s on the team.

“Okay,” I say. “Let’s establish this. It’s no easy climb, no jaunt in the clear air for eager amateurs. Ignoring for the moment the fact that we can be wiped out in a millicenton if the helmet-heads detect our presence, I can’t see a single good route up the mountain, at least not on the basis of this geologic scan. The north and west faces are clearly too tough to tackle under the conditions down there. East and south are better, but I don’t like the look of the glacial material near the summit. Southeast looks most promising—which is to say not very. Given the fact that you won’t allow us sufficient time to study the mountain closely so we can plan out a proper route—”

“There’s no time, Croft,” Adama says. “I know you need it, but if the Cylons pincer us between the pursuit force and that cannon, we’re finished.”

“I appreciate that, Commander, but I’m not, shall we say, pleased. A good climb requires long preparation. This mission—you might as well climb it with your eyes closed. After settling your dispersion plans for your share of the pension fund, of course. Are you sure there’re no alternatives?”

Adama appears irritated. Perhaps he doesn’t like the way I’m taking over the briefing. Tough chute-waste, Commander.

“What alternatives are you suggesting, Croft?”

“I assume direct assault with aircraft is out of the question.” He nods. “What about a route inside the mountain? I never knew a Cylon setup that didn’t have some below-ground facilities. They seem buggy about underground passages. I’d bet my pass back to the grid-barge that there’re tunnels inside the mountain, maybe even some sort of elevator system.”

Adama studies my face for a moment before answering. He thinks he can read me.

“Perhaps, but all our close probe-scans end up jammed. We don’t know what’s down there, except for what I’ve already shown you. If an alternate route is discovered, it should be used, I agree. For now, we have to assume that the only route to the laser cannon, the only chance we have at destroying it, is—unfortunately—up the mountain.”

He’s a fair man, I’ll say that for Adama. I wish I had him for backup work in place of his overzealous and inexperienced offspring. I’d still hate him, but at least I could rely on him.

“I appreciate your evaluation of the situation, Commander. I feel a part of our goal has to involve being opportunistic. We should look for any alternatives to climbing the mountain.”

“And if there are none?”

I shrug.

“Then we climb.”

Adama is pleased. Well, that’s okay with me. Maybe if we can just pull off this stunt, I can come back to the Galactica and strangle its commander. Insurmountable challenges are easier to take if you got a worthwhile goal to come back to.

Adama briefs us on equipment. They have most of what we need. Good. There are even a few molecular-binding pitons. Normally I don’t like to use special equipment—too many second-rate climbers get to the top more through technology than effort—but in a climb with so many unknowns, a molecular-binding piton is a good tool. If the rock is good, this kind of tricked-up piton can be just pushed into it, while the binding effect makes it take hold. Two advantages to us: certain phases of the climb can be shortened simply because we won’t have to waste time pounding the little buggers in, and the Cylons won’t be able to detect us by hearing the sound of hammering. Our ropes are doctored, too. They’re made of Aquarian hemp, the kind with the alterable tensile strength. When you need extremely flexible rope, you twist your end to the left and it becomes as manipulable as a snake. When you need it stiff and straight, a twist to the right makes it as inflexible as metal cable. Even though I detest specialization in an ascent, I’ll make an exception for these tricky pitons and the magical rope this time.

Adama completes his briefing and introduces us grid-rats to the straights who’ll compose the remainder of the task-force personnel.

“The shuttle will carry a snow vehicle, Ram-class armed with lasers. Sergeant Haals is senior gunnery master.”

Haals nods. He’s a tough-looking bunny rabbit. I wouldn’t mess with him. Adama continues:

“Vickers is from a gun crew that helped to hold the rear guard in the last phase of the Battle of Caprica.”

Vickers looks like he has a high opinion of himself. A definite hero type. Another daredevil like Apollo. Well, at least he’s apparently good with a gun. That’s worth something.

“You’ll need a laser technician. Voight is chief of the weapons-repair section.”

Voight’s a no-nonsense type, I can see that. Tight-lipped but reliable on the job. Not much use in a fight with his fists, but you don’t have to be when you know the mechanics of laser weaponry.

“You’ve met the Snow Garrison demolitions unit under Commander Croft.”

That sets me right back on my heels. From the way Adama looks at me, I can tell that’s just the reaction he wants from me.

“Commander? Am I reinstated at full rank?”

Adama takes a long pause before replying.

“Temporarily. Full reinstatement will depend on the outcome of the operation.”

The strings have been attached. No matter. They’re to be expected.

“Reinstatement on one hand,” I say, “death on the other.”

Thane and Wolfe glare at me. I can tell they don’t like me being put in charge of them. Neither one ever liked being told what to do. Leda’s look is neutral. She may hate me, but she knows my reinstatement improves the safety of them all.

“Croft,” Adama says, “you and your fellow convicts are not all that different from us right now. We’re all in a kind of prison put up by the Cylons.”

Wolfe bellows with sarcastic laughter, and says:

“Yeah, Commander, our chains are exactly alike.”

I don’t know whether outsiders could receive his message as well as the rest of us, but I’m glad the stocky little bull said that. People on the outside of a prison barge never really feel the pain of being inside, in spite of their fancy philosophical analogies to their own prisons. For the moment, Adama’s point is well taken enough, but guys like him forget the fancy talk once they’re sprung from their traps. I decide to break the uncomfortable silence that follows Wolfe’s sarcasm.

“Am I in full command?”

If there’s any sense to life, I should be.

“Of the demolitions unit, yes. Of the expedition, no.”

I knew there was no sense to life, anyway.

“Three warriors will command you and your team. The officer in full command will be Captain Apollo.”

In my mind I throw up my hands in despair. That’s the final capper, Captain Apollo in full command. Not only is there no sense to life, its absurdity is a set of calculated cruelties.

Adama scrutinizes his list further. What more pleasant little surprises has he got to spring on me?

“Supporting your team will be two of my finest officers, Lieutenants Boomer and Starbuck.”

Well, I can accept that anyway. You can depend on a guy like Boomer to perform well, and I’d bet on Starbuck, too. Apollo is amazed by his father’s announcement.

“Starbuck and Boomer?” he cries.

Starbuck smiles and glances toward Boomer, who looks a tad confused.

“Guess it was that tour we pulled on that Aeriana Ice Station.”

I edge toward the two lieutenants. Something tells me there’s something to be learned by eavesdropping on them.

“We have picked up Cylon base-ships approaching on long-range scan,” Adama says. “They will reach us in eight to nine hundred centons. Whether you have destroyed the pulsar weapon or not, the fleet moves in exactly seven hundred.” His grim look takes in all of us. “Good luck. To us all.”

Neither Boomer nor Starbuck notices me standing behind them. Boomer whispers to Starbuck:

“We were never at any ice station on Aeriana.”

“Computers don’t lie,” Starbuck says.

Boomer shakes his head—a bit distraught, I suspect, at this turn of events. He moves a couple of steps away from his buddy. I wonder if I should expose Starbuck’s con, but decide not to. I’d still rather have him at my side, with or without ice-station experience, than hardheaded punks like Apollo.

Speaking of hardheaded punks, here comes the youthful captain himself, sidling up to Starbuck and whispering in a friendly voice:

“I know how you feel about Cree, about losing those cadets, but you don’t belong on this mission.”

Starbuck stands tall and takes his shot:

“That makes two of us, doesn’t it, Captain?”

“Tampering with a computer readout is a serious offense,” Apollo says.

“I imagine it is,” replies Starbuck.

I’m surprised by the broadness of Apollo’s smile. Apparently he’s glad to have Starbuck with us, too. At least he’s showing some good judgment there.

I’d feel a lot more comfortable about the mission generally, if Leda, Wolfe, and Thane would stop looking at me with such enmity in their eyes.