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

hostility. That and…familiarity. They know us," Apollo said, trying
desperately to put his portentous feelings into words.

"I thought you were done with that mystical feldergarb," Starbuck
snapped, on edge.

"It's not feldergarb, and it isn't mystical. It's all purely scientific,
exercising the mind to expand its power, its acuity. I don't claim to
understand it completely; it takes decades of study, but I'm learning. And
I know what I sense," Apollo stated flatly.

"We've got to warn the fleet," he added. "But we can't send another
transmission without taking the risk that they'll track the signal back to
the Galactica."

Every muscle in Apollo's body was taut, energy buzzing all through him.
He ought to have been afraid, ought to have been frantic, but his mind
had never worked that way. He functioned best when the stakes were
highest.

They were rapidly approaching the surface of Ochoa. Apollo was about
to speak again when laser blasts erupted all around them, lighting up the
starfield just ahead and to either side of his Viper. He blinked away spots,
as if he'd stared too long at tylium fire.

"Track!" Starbuck roared. "Cylons!"

Cylons! Six yahren without a single skirmish—so long that the fleet had
almost begun to allow itself to hope that it had finally escaped Cylon
tyranny. Apollo's heart sank. He'd sensed them, close by, but had denied
the prescient awareness because he couldn't believe it was true.

But it was, and hazardously so. Cylon laser fire burst in startling,
glorious colors to all sides. Apollo's Scarlet Viper took a tangential blast on
the right wing, but the starfighter's shields shrugged it off. A direct hit
wouldn't be so harmless. The laser blasts would have been beautiful if they
weren't deadly.
 "I've got twelve of them on scanners, Starbuck!" Apollo said. 'Coming
straight for us. Return fire!"

"What do you think I've been doing? Lords, Apollo, we're outnumbered
pretty badly," Starbuck growled.

The phalanx of Cylon fighters approached at top speed. Each ship was
an extruded oval, slightly bent at each end—a sliver moon seen dead on.
Apollo gripped the navi-hilt and thumbed the right side button, arming
the targeting system. His helm was linked to the ship's systems, but he
looked past its readouts, paying sole attention to the Viper now; he had to
trust his ship.