Battlestar Galactica-04-Rebellion Page 10

  "Yeah," Starbuck said again.

  Athena waited, counting to ten, then she tried one more time to get more than a single syllable out of Starbuck.

  "You're worried about Dalton, aren't you?" she said.

  "Yeah," Starbuck said. Microns passed. She heard him breathing.

  "She's a big girl, Starbuck," Athena said. "She can take care of herself." She held her breath, bracing herself for another depressed-sounding "Yeah."

  "I know, Athena," Starbuck said quietly. Once again, she wondered about the complex personality that lay beneath Starbuck's thick head of hair. She knew that he wanted to shoot his Viper off into the Ur cloud in search of Dalton, and she also knew that something held him back. She wasn't quite sure what that something was. She couldn't believe that it was she. Not yet, at any rate. There were sparks between the two of them—real and bright ones—but underneath Starbuck's roguish outside, he was a solid, caring father on the inside. Something about Dalton, being her father, taking on that responsibility, had deepened Starbuck. Or maybe it was just everything they'd been through together. Maybe it was dying and coming back to life—Starbuck wouldn't talk about that.

  He was still a hothead, he still drank too much, and those crazy schemes of his still came up all the time, but there was something more to him, too. The old Starbuck would have given up everything to chase Dalton's exhaust trail through the star cloud, and if anyone could find Dalton by instinct, Starbuck could.

  But this wasn't the old Starbuck.

  Starbuck's experience with whatever lay beyond, and the Light Beings had changed him. The last battles had changed everyone. They had even, Athena thought, changed her. So many had lost their lives, Commander Cain, so many others. And now, well, even Athena was beginning to wonder if they'd find a way out.

  "Apollo needs me," Starbuck said suddenly.

  Now it was Athena's turn to be tongue-tied. Finally, she said, "I guess you're right, Starbuck."

  "I can't just take off with those wolves at his back. You weren't there, Athena. You didn't see that Council. Apollo couldn't say anything. These rebels are out of control. It doesn't look good, Athena. It looks like it is Apollo's fault."

  "But everything's all right now," Athena said. "There won't be any more disasters. We've got the missing food and fuel—we're escorting it back to the Galactica."

  "Yeah," Starbuck said again. "I guess you're right."

  But there wasn't much conviction in his voice.

  "Starbuck, what do you mean, I wasn't there?"

  "Athena," Starbuck said, his voice growing passionate, more like the old Starbuck that she knew. "They were like—I don't know. They don't trust Apollo."

  "Apollo says everything will be all right," Athena said.

  "I'm not sure this is going to help, is all I'm saying," Starbuck said.

  "Look, let Apollo deal with the politics. I saw the rebel Jinkrat with my own eyes. He's not crazy, Starbuck. You can deal with the…"

  "Yeah," Starbuck said, interrupting her. "You're right. I don't know what I'm talking about. I guess my mind is just on other things."

  Other things, like Dalton missing. This time, Athena didn't say any more, and as they strode down the gleaming corridors of the Galactica, Athena thought that this, her original battlestar, had never looked so bright, nor so beautiful.

  "The Rebellion can be stopped," Apollo told a stunned Council.

  "Apollo!" Sire Aron cried. "What has happened?"

  "There are still issues—the rebel commander issued a bomb threat for the Galactica, and we have been unable to locate any device aboard Battlestar—but we have intercepted a transport barge," Apollo said. "It contains the missing food and fuel."

  "Praise the Lords!" cried one of the council members.

  "Yes," Aron said. "I am thrilled that you found this. Tell us, who launched this barge? Where was it heading?"

  Apollo cleared his throat. "It was from Galactica," he said.

  "Galactica!" Aron said, astonished. "But—"

  "We will be questioning the crew. Tigh and I believe that the source of all of the trouble are… elements… here that are working with the rebel leader. Probably they—"

  "What do you mean, elements?" Aron asked.

  "Well, it was one of our own ships," Apollo said. "Now that we've—"

  "Apollo," Aron said, his brow creased with worry. "What are you saying? That Colonial Warriors themselves took this food and fuel? That they were responsible?"

  Again, the council chamber exploded with murmurings and questions.

  Aron held up his hands to quiet the group. "This is very serious!" he said.

  "I agree," Apollo said. "But surely, once we question—"

  "Apollo," Aron said, looking extremely concerned. "Surely you must realize how this appears to us. You come here to tell us the rebellion is stopped. It's all very… convenient."

  "But we've—" Apollo said.

  "Yes!" cried another council member. "It is convenient, Apollo. If you were hiding that fuel for your own use, and the food, it would be easy to just 'discover' it like this."

  "Tigh discovered the traces and the unauthorized launch. I assure you that—"

  "We must await the questioning of this crew. But I'm afraid that it should be done under Council auspices, Apollo."

  "Sheba is—"

  "We have no lack of trust for Sheba," Council Member Aron said. His words hung in the air for microns.

  "In addition," Aron continued, "We ordered that all Vipers be grounded. So in that case, we must also ask—why was Sheba's patrol out there at all?"

  All Apollo could do was stare.

  With heavy feet, Apollo left the Council Chamber. As soon as he was in the corridor, he reached his cabin, he felt the tracking alarm vibrating in his tunic pocket. Baltar! The old villain was on the loose. With everything breaking loose, Apollo couldn't believe it. Silently cursing Baltar, Apollo checked the display to find Baltar's glowing red signal moving through Beta Deck. It looked like Baltar was heading for… the Forward Bar. Not that anybody was in the bar, but Apollo wasn't sure that Baltar would care about that.

  Apollo quickly warned Tigh and Athena that Baltar was on the loose; surely his ankle would be burning from the tracking device. As far as he'd gotten from his house-arrest quarters, he had to be in agony!

  Despite his exhaustion, Apollo sprinted to Beta Deck. Once he entered the darkened lounge, he squinted as his eyes adjusted to the change in lighting, and to his disgust, saw Baltar relaxing in a booth.

  "Why did you leave your quarters?" Apollo demanded as he steamed up to the booth. Lazily, Baltar barely acknowledged Apollo. He had a greenish, poisonous-looking drink in his hand. Where had he come up with that?

  "Oh, Apollo, always such a stickler," Baltar said. He was trying to capture some of his old nastiness, but it wasn't working. Apollo saw right through his bravado. Baltar was getting old, Apollo realized. Even though Baltar was of the same blood as Adama, a son of Kobol, the yahrens had not been kind to him. Where Adama had never bowed to age, remaining strong and vigorous all his yahrens, there was a weakness in Baltar's movements, an uncertainty that might not have been the result of old age alone. Perhaps the weakness also came from inside of Baltar's soul. A lot of the old fury and vigor had left the once-tireless villain. And try as he might to hate Baltar, to hurl insults at him, Apollo couldn't.

  "Sit down, Apollo. Have a drink with me," Baltar said, smiling his nasty smile that always reminded Apollo of a large, cruel feline after a satisfying meal.

  "I think I'll pass," Apollo said. He didn't want to know where Baltar had found that contraband liquor. "You never answered. What are you doing out of your quarters?" Apollo glanced at Baltar's crossed legs. The tracking device was glowing like a Cylon's eye! Yet Baltar showed no reaction to the pain.

  "Been a long time since I've had a drink," Baltar looked around the empty bar with his dark, veiled eyes.

  "So you thought you'd just walk down here. You could have had th
at in your quarters. I took responsibility for you, Baltar! Is this how you repay me?" Apollo said, guarding his expression carefully.

  Apollo knew the care that he had to take. Baltar had sight into men, even a man as strong-minded as Apollo. He gave commands with his mind as easily as he breathed, and the weak-minded and unwary were ever his prey. Not that Apollo was either weak-minded or unwary, and he wasn't even slightly afraid of Baltar, but he didn't want to give Baltar even a glimpse of a chink where he might worm his way into Apollo's mind.

  "What's a deck or two, more or less?" Baltar, said chuckling. Apollo could not believe that he'd actually trusted Baltar to the point where he believed he'd stay under house arrest and obey the warnings from the tracking device strapped around his gnarled old ankle.

  Baltar cleared his throat, then spoke again. "So it seems once again that the Council causes trouble for the family of Adama," he said.

  "So it seems," Apollo said.

  "I wonder," Baltar said, leaning conspiratorially across the table, "if they might want to reinstate an old member fallen on hard times."

  "I doubt that," Apollo said, chuckling.

  A lightning flash of Baltar's imperious temper blazed across his face. His brows darkened and his eyes glittered dangerously. "Don't doubt me, Apollo. Never make that mistake."

  "No," Apollo said. "I don't doubt you, Baltar. But you've officially gone insane if you think the Council would ever agree to let you back again."

  "Once they were proud to have me," Baltar said, staring into his drink. "I don't suppose you believe that, do you?" he asked Apollo, a belligerent and self-pitying tone in his deep voice.

  "You weren't always evil, Baltar," Apollo said.

  Baltar didn't respond for microns. He took a sip of his drink, then gulped half of it down at once. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he replied, "There's no such thing as evil or good, young Apollo. That's something your fool of a father believed in, not me. There are only… choices."

  Apollo was speechless.

  Finally, he said, "No good man would ever make the choices you've made, Baltar."

  "And no good man," Baltar growled, "would ever have lived my life or seen the things I've seen. I've known freedom, Apollo. Real freedom."

  "You were prisoner to the Cylons for yahrens," Apollo said. "That's not what I'd call freedom."

  "I don't mean that," Baltar said. "I mean now. Look at me—I'm a free man!" Baltar smiled his crooked smile that really wasn't much of a smile at all. Apollo had never seen a smile quite like it. Baltar's eyes glittered like cruel black stars while his teeth shone brightly.

  "You're my prisoner, Baltar. Do you want me to call Tigh and have him escort you back to the brig in chains?" Apollo asked. "You were supposed to help, not wander off to the empty bar for a stolen drink! Lords of Kobol—the rebels have got a bomb on the Galactica."

  "Choices," Baltar said obstinately. "There are always choices."

  "I don't think that's why you ran off," he said after a micron. "Just what were you looking for? You can't escape from the Galactica —and I know you, Baltar. You're not enduring that tracking bracelet's punishment just to have a drink."

  "No," Baltar said. "That's not why. You wanted me to help you. I escaped in order to help."

  Apollo nearly choked on his ambrosa. "In the bar that's been closed for centares?"

  "Funny, is it? I watched the Council's pronouncements, and I've done some thinking about this rebel, Jinkrat. This is a dangerous situation, Apollo."

  "We're well in control of that," Apollo said.

  "Well, yes," Baltar said, clearing his throat. "Perhaps. But tell me, have you found that bomb? Have those missing Vipers come back? With the boy—Boxey—I hear he goes by Troy now. And who else—that stubborn pilot Boomer?"

  "No, we haven't found any of it yet," Apollo said.

  "Out there searching," Baltar said, his eyes growing hazy and vague. "Out in that Ur cloud," he said, waving his hand over the table.

  "Get to the point, Baltar," Apollo said.

  At once, Baltar's eyes became the sharp, predatory eyes of a hawk, the eyes that Apollo remembered from all the yahrens of war and strife. He gazed at Apollo from under his thick, still-dark brows and said, "There's a hole out there, you know. A way out."

  "Where?" Apollo demanded.

  Baltar continued staring at Apollo, and then his face broke into that crooked grin once more. And he drained his drink in one final gulp, and then he began to laugh, his terrible, mirthless laugh. "If I knew that, Apollo, I wouldn't be here making small talk with you, would I? Now, I think I'll return to my quarters. And imprisonment."

  And with that, Baltar drew his old man's tunic up carefully and left, holding his head high as if he was some kind of uncrowned king.

  Suddenly, he paused and turned, no longer smiling. "Oh, Apollo," he said, "I forgot. You find friends and enemies in the strangest places. Those pilots could find the way out in a micron, you know. Just a single, lucky micron."

  Apollo's heart leapt. Had Baltar been inside his head? How could he have known what Apollo had been thinking? Did Baltar somehow know that the Vipers were okay? Still searching? All those twists of fate—those lucky and unlucky chances of the last sectare? The very thoughts and words that Apollo had felt himself.

  Apollo watched the homing display. It showed that Baltar was heading back to his house-arrest quarters. Even so, it couldn't take away the feeling of dread that Baltar had left in his wake. What had he meant? What did Baltar know that he wasn't telling?

  If he was somehow "helping," and was willing to undergo the pain he had just to lead Apollo on that chase to the bar, why wasn't he making any sense? And what was he doing poking around in Apollo's head?

  Or even, Apollo wondered, had Baltar been inside his head—or was it just a lucky guess?

  Chapter Four

  FULL OF unease, Apollo returned to sickbay. The chances were slim that Koren would talk, but maybe he knew something—about the bomb, or the traitors aboard Galactica.

  Once again, Cassi was in the crowded sickbay, tending the boy, who had made a lot of improvement in a short time.

  There had been no time to think. Not after that terrible conversation with Sheba. That had been worse than no help at all. Apollo felt guilty. But his hands had been full—with the council, the betrayals, and the bomb and the rebels.

  And of course, to make matters worse, Apollo was responsible for a half-mad wandering Baltar.

  "Hey," Apollo said, smiling and touching Cassi's cheek as she stood quietly watching Koren. Apollo realized that he might never see her again. She could be torn away at any micron, things were so unstable.

  Koren, now able to walk on his own, refused to say a word to Apollo. He just got up and went to watch some of the other children who were in sickbay who'd gotten a game going in a far corner.

  "Hey," Cassi said back. Apollo did feel something.

  He was excited, standing near her. Maybe he shouldn't have wasted his time trying to say anything to Koren, but why hadn't he noticed how lovely her hair was before—really noticed? It shone like brushed gold threads. And her face—Cassi was an honest person; she always had been. There was no pretense to her. She didn't pretend to feel things, she felt them. Her emotions were written plainly on her features. Apollo's thoughts turned back to Serina almost before he realized what was happening.

  Serina was a great beauty, feminine, but dedicated to her job, with an inner core of pure, hard diamond. There was nothing hard about Cassi, although she did shine and glitter, Apollo thought. And then he realized, as he watched her gentle expression as she smiled at the children, suddenly free and safe on Galactica to be children, did he really know Cassi? She'd been through so much— they all had. Maybe there was a harder, diamond-like part to Cassi that he hadn't discovered.

  "Cassi, I was wondering," Apollo said.

  "I told you I'd give you all the time you needed," Cassi said. She didn't look up at him, keeping her eyes on Kor
en and the other children as they played.

  "Look!" she said suddenly, pointing at Koren, who was laughing. "He's getting around well. He'll be able to go back in a few sectares."

  "What kind of future will he have on the Rising Star?"

  Apollo asked Cassi. The refugee ship was a nightmare from all he'd heard. He knew there were dozens, even hundreds more like Koren on the ship, but surely there was something that could be done. Koren had a father, though, Apollo reminded himself. A father who cared about him. The rebel—Jinkrat.

  "I have friends," Cassi said, winking at him. "They might be willing to look after Koren if his father would accept it."

  "Friends?" Apollo asked. As soon he spoke, he wished he hadn't said it. It didn't sound anything like what he meant.

  Cassi's eyes flashed. "You think I don't have friends, Apollo? That I'd just sit, lonely, and wait for Starbuck all those yahrens, washing my hair?"

  "No, no," Apollo said. "I didn't mean that."

  "I'm Gemonese," Cassi said softly. "We make friends for life, and keep them."

  "I didn't mean that, Cassi. I just—"

  "I know," she said, smiling once more.

  "Hey, Koren," Apollo called to the boy. Koren broke away from the other children and limped toward Apollo and Cassi.

  "When all this is over, what would you say about going to school on the Galactica, maybe living with some friends of Cassi's?"

  Koren's eyebrows lowered. He shook his head. "No," he said. "My dad needs me."

  "But your father would want the best for you," Cassi said, leaning close to him.

  "I know," Koren said. "I'll have time for school later. Right now, my dad needs me."

  Then he turned and went back to the other children to play. Apollo stared after him. How bad could Jinkrat be if he inspired this kind of loyalty in his son? A son—Apollo had raised Boxey, but now there was Cassi, and the future, if any of them had one.

  "Why don't we, um, go for a walk?" Apollo suggested to Cassi. Why was he so nervous? He'd known Cassi for yahrens. She was the easiest person on the Galactica to talk to.

  "Where?" Cassi asked.

  "There's a place," Apollo said. "As long as we've known each other, I don't think that I've ever told you." There was nothing more to be done on the bridge right now; maybe if he meddled further, he'd make things worse. Apollo was thinking of the Celestial Chamber. He'd spent so many centars there, restoring it and watching the stars through its ancient, beautiful transparent surface. Once there had been three more such domes on Galactica, but over the yahrens, only this one, oldest of them, remained. The old astronavigators had used it to check their star paths against the navigational computers. Apollo hadn't been there since they had been trapped in the Ur cloud. He wondered what the cloud would look like from up there; whether it would be frightening, or wonderful or illuminating.