"Richard Hatch - Battlestar Galactica 01 - Armageddon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hatch Richard)

Apollo glanced at the readout inside his helm. Another entire phalanx,
a dozen Cylon starfighters, had launched from the base on Ochoa. Any
micron, they'd be on him.

He looked out at the green and brown planet and saw the flaming
remains of his best friend's starfighter burning through Ochoa's
atmosphere. Even if Starbuck had survived the collision, even if he lived
through the fireтАФall of which was possible given the Viper's safety
featuresтАФthere was no way he would survive a crash landing from the
upper atmosphere of the planet.

Starbuck was dead, or about to die. Apollo could do nothing but watch
him go. Nearly twenty yahren earlier, he had lost his only brother to the
Cylons. Now he had lost Starbuck, a man who was closer to him than any
brother could have been.

When the klaxon went off in his Viper, signaling the Cylon fighters'
rapid approach, Apollo turned his ship out into space and retreated, full
thrust.

He would fly a course that would not track back to the fleet, and then
change direction when he was a safe distance from Ochoa's scanners. He
had to get back and warn the Galactica.

In the vacuum of space, within the silence of his starfighter, Lieutenant
Commander Apollo weptтАжand mourned.

Chapter Two
THREE WEEKS LATER:

Vapor supply vents cycled warm oxygen into the room's pre-fabricated
atmosphere. Not fresh air. For the most part, only Warriors on recon ever
got fresh air, when they happened to go planetside on a habitable world.
The rest of the fleet's citizens thought of "fresh air" as the naturally
derived oxygen generated by the plant life on the Agro-ships. There were
even scheduled visits for just such a special treat. Fresh air.

The vents were quiet, but in the horrible silence of Athena's vigil, they
seemed to rumble loudly. Somewhere there was another sound, a rhythmic
clicking noise that she recognized as coming from her father's antique
time device, called a clock. It was the one thing he had salvaged from the
ruins of their home on Caprica.

The only other sound in the room was her father's labored breathing.

Adama was dying.
 In a hard, uncomfortable chair beside his bed, Athena, his only
daughter, sat stroking his hand. Adama didn't respond. He had drifted in
and out of unconsciousness during the weeks after the first cardiac
seizure, rarely recognizing or acknowledging the family gathered around