Battlestar Galactica-03-Resurrection Page 19

  We will listen carefully to each side's arguments, both Commander Cain and Commander Apollo, before we place it in your hands for a vote." Tigh looked to his side and behind, where Segis stood patiently and quietly.

  "But first, I think it would be appropriate and right that we give thanks to our benefactor, and listen to what she has to say," Tigh finished, and stepped away from the rostrum.

  Segis approached, her smile growing wider with every step she took toward the rostrum. As she stood there, hands resting lightly on the rostrum, she seemed to radiate peace, and contentment. Even the tense guards could feel it, and they felt the anxiety drain out of themselves, if only for the few moments Segis would speak.

  "Welcome, Colonials," Segis began, her voice like a balm. "It is I who should thank you for honoring us with your heroic presence after the courageous journey from which you've only so recently disembarked. I want to assure you, as I did your commanders and governing body, that we are all completely safe, and protected by the advanced technology of the Kobollian defense system. It has kept this city and its caretakers safe and undetected for many millennia, and will, we feel sure, continue to provide safe haven for all of you, as well, for as long as you choose to make Kobol your new home, until you are strong enough to take the fight to the Cylons and reclaim the colonies… your colonies.

  "My servants and I are eager to welcome you, and will always be at your faithful service."

  The hooded man who had been hiding in the shadows near the stage slipped deeper into the darkness and, without sound or notice, quit the hall for the streets of the underground city.

  Apollo was late.

  As he and GarTokk rounded the corner of one of the city's narrow corridors, he spotted one of the hooded acolytes approaching him. Somehow, Apollo instinctively knew it was the same man who had warned him about drinking too much ambrosa the night before, even though all of the robed figures seemed identical. Apollo raised a hand to the man to signal him to wait, when the hooded figure's hand reached, snake-quick, into his robes and withdrew something Apollo recognized, even from this distance. His suspicions were borne out a moment later when the figure raised his hand and pointed the laser pistol at the commander. Whatever sect this acolyte belonged to, it was obviously not one that adhered to non-violent principles.

  Gar'Tokk threw himself in front of Apollo, but even his animal-like reflexes weren't fast enough to stop the hooded stranger from firing. The Noman grimaced, expecting the searing laserfire to cut through his breastbone and boil his heart in its own blood, but the stranger was not aiming at Apollo or Gar'Tokk, but rather something behind them.

  Apollo turned in the direction of the laser blast and saw another of the hooded men, his robes still smoking from the flash of energy, tumble backward to the stone streets with a crash. His hood fell away from his face, and now Apollo could see Segis's acolytes were not human at all, but humanlike robots.

  Did Segis know this? Apollo wondered, and was sure she must. With this revelation, Apollo was more sure than ever that Baltar must be in league with Segis. He couldn't quite make the link, but it was closer now.

  "Apollo!" Gar'Tokk shouted, and Apollo saw more of the man-droids surrounding them, preparing to take out the commander and his bodyguard. The Noman let loose a ululating war cry and his mighty fist pistoned out, burying itself elbow-deep in the nearest acolyte's chest. A spray of sparks and sluggish liquid spurted out of the mortal wound, and Gar'Tokk jerked his arm free with a wrench. He plucked a few splinters of metal from his forearm and tossed them aside.

  Apollo grabbed his own sidearm and fired at the figure bearing down on him. The mandroid was hellishly fast, and the shot missed a direct score, instead zinging off the robot's shoulder. The mandroid raised both hands over its head and laced its fingers together, forming a deadly club of steel, which it swung at Apollo. The commander just dodged out of the way as the mandroid's fists descended, slamming into the street and gouging out a huge divot of stone. Before the mandroid could strike again, Apollo placed his laser against the shelf of the robot's jaw and squeezed the trigger.

  The automaton's head exploded, its artificial brain spewing everywhere. Apollo knew they weren't really alive, but still, they were near enough to human in their appearance that it was very disquieting to watch one die in such a gruesome manner. The headless corpse collapsed, and its legs kicked stiffly as programmed synaptic reflexes could not complete their circuit. Then the body lay still.

  Gar'Tokk was not plagued by such thoughts; he was enjoying himself, finally able to let his berserker side rise to the fore and deal as violently with his opponents as he wanted. One of the robots had grabbed the giant Noman from behind and had his arms pinned. The robots, despite their smaller size, were incredibly powerful, and Apollo could hear Gar'Tokk's ribs shift and groan in protest.

  Apollo's bodyguard put everything he had into freeing himself from the pinioning grasp, flexing his mighty arms and raising them over his head. The robot's own arms came loose from its shoulders with a metallic shriek, and fell to the street. Smiling, Gar'Tokk gripped the robot's head between his massive palms and squeezed them together, crushing the metallic skull into a shapeless mass.

  And that's what I challenged to a death-duel aboard the Icarus? Apollo thought, randomly. Gar'Tokk caught Apollo staring at him, and he smiled in return. Next time I'm about to do something stupid, someone stop me!

  The original hooded figure who had fired first and saved Apollo's life fired once more, cutting in half the last two automatons trying to flank Apollo. The entire battle had taken less than two centari, and the streets were deserted, save for the wreckage of the false acolytes and the trio of survivors. No one else had heard a thing. The streets seemed unnaturally quiet now, following the short but furious din of battle.

  "Who are you?" Apollo asked his robed savior; the commander did not point his laser directly at the man, but neither did he holster it.

  "You couldn't outdraw me on your best day," the robed man boasted, his voice echoing off the walls of the narrow corridor in which they stood.

  Apollo squinted; he knew that voice, but he also knew he would never hear that voice again. Whoever the man was, he was treading on very dangerous, hallowed ground now. "Let's hope we don't have to find that out," Apollo said.

  "Fine with me," the acolyte said, and slipped his sidearm back into the holster he wore beneath his robes. Apollo thought again that was probably not standard issue. Slowly, the man reached up and drew back his hood, and Apollo's eyes grew wide with disbelief. He shook his head, as if sheer force of will could negate what he was seeing.

  "What… how did… this is not possible…" Apollo stammered. A thousand different things begged to be spoken at once, and not more than a few snippets of each could be managed.

  Starbuck's eyes twinkled merrily and he nodded with a big grin.

  "You mean… ?" Apollo managed.

  Starbuck nodded again, walking closer.

  Apollo laughed, a sound of pure, unfettered joy, a sound he didn't realize he still knew how to make. "I knew it! You must be pure Kobollian!"

  Starbuck was only a few feet away from Apollo now, near enough for GarTokk to surreptitiously sniff his aroma. It was changed, but it was also the same, somehow.

  "You know, Apollo, I think somewhere, along the way, someone got it all wrong. We're all Kobollians. Maybe some of us are more pure-blooded than others, more directly descended, but I think they told me we all have the potential to evolve, and… what did they call it? Oh, yeah… accelerate. It's just that you direct descendants of certain houses had more of a head-start on the rest of us," Starbuck explained, and then, had to add, "well, all except me, of course."

  "Of course," Apollo agreed, drunk with laughter. He suddenly felt as if he could take whatever it was the gods wanted to throw his way. They had at least restored Apollo's friend to him, and nothing was impossible, now.

  Starbuck nodded at the commander's pistol, still half-raised in his direct
ion. Apollo grinned sheepishly and slid the sidearm back into its holster. The two old friends laughed and embraced, then gripped one another's hand in a Warrior's handshake. "You ever notice, everywhere you go, someone wants to kill you?" Starbuck observed.

  "I've noticed."

  "Who were those guys, anyway?" Starbuck asked, looking down at the robots.

  Apollo suddenly recalled he had somewhere very important he needed to be, and nodded in the direction of the hall. "I don't have the time to explain right now," he said. "I have to get to that ceremony. There's someone I'd like to talk to." Starbuck slipped his hood back over his head as the trio hurried along the eerily deserted streets.

  "What do you mean, I couldn't outdraw you on my best day?" Apollo asked as they ran.

  "You couldn't," Starbuck told him. "Frack, and here I thought I was the one who was brain-damaged."

  "You are."

  "Let's not argue," Gar'Tokk interjected, voicing the final word on the matter. "You're both brain-damaged."

  Events that would affect Apollo continued on with a life of their own, without Apollo's presence. In the hall, President Tigh had searched everywhere for his old friend, had sent a cadre of cadets out to look for him, and Cassiopeia confirmed Apollo had left her compartment almost a centon earlier. Under his breath, Tigh muttered his sincerest apologies to Apollo, wherever he may be, and introduced Commander Cain to the assemblage. The applause was thunderous, almost deafening, and Tigh wondered if it would have made any difference if Apollo had been there to present his side after all.

  Cain stood at the rostrum, hands clasped behind his back, drawn up to his full height, looking out over the crowd that called his name, nodding, smiling. His image, bigger than life, repeated every movement Cain made. He knew this, and played to the Tele-Vids, making sure his expressions and gestures were drawn in and toned down, so he was not an exaggeration of himself.

  "As you all doubtlessly know," Cain began, and as soon as he spoke, the assembly fell quiet. They all wanted to hear what the great man had to say. "The council have nominated me for the post of supreme commander. My vision and Commander Apollo's differ greatly, making the need for a clear-cut decision necessary. It is not merely a matter of who commands the fleet, but rather, what the fleet does with this rare second chance."

  Cain grew more animated, more passionate, but even so, his image, almost as tall as the great hall itself, did not seem a caricature. He seemed… right. "Under my leadership, we would make Kobol our home base… rebuild our civilization… our lives… our families… our battlestars. While the Cylons look for us near Kirasolia, we will begin laying our plans to launch the campaign that will retake the colonies. We will wrest our worlds out of the Cylons' grasp. We will no longer be on the run, on the defensive, but take the battle to them! As our host has pointed out, this has been pre-ordained. We can no longer afford to turn our back on our destiny. We will fight—and, if necessary, we will die—like men!"

  The crowd rose to its feet as if it were one great beast with one brain, one mind, one will. And, in one voice, they cried, "Cain! Cain! Cain!"

  President Tigh made his way to the rostrum, and he had to shout to be heard over the roar of Cain's name. "Commander Apollo has challenged our decision," he said, although he doubted if anyone really heard him. He could barely hear himself. "Apollo was supposed to address you, himself, but we are unable to find him."

  Tigh looked to Athena, but she was unable to meet his gaze. They both know what the vote would be; they both knew it had to be done. But that didn't mean either of them had to like it.

  "Without further delay," Tigh began, holding his hands up for silence; this time, it did not come. "Without further delay," he said, again, at the top of his lungs, "we will put the matter of who will lead the fleet to a vote."

  The walls of the hall shook, and a roaring, growling, rippling sound reverberated in the perfect acoustics of the room. Everyone felt the bass roar in his or her chest. One of the giant flatscreens groaned as its steel supports twisted and gave way, and the monitor crashed to the ground. The wail of alarm klaxons, like souls in torment, began to sound, at first on the outskirts of the underground city, then, drawing nearer, as more of them sounded.

  Cain held up his arms, refusing to allow the surprise he felt to register on his face. He knew he was still being viewed on the other two flatscreens, and did not want to add to the panic by seeming uncertain and indecisive. "Everyone remain calm," Cain commanded them in a sensible and fatherly voice. "Remain seated until we can check out the situation for ourselves—"

  One of the returning scouts stood at the edge of the stage, speaking to President Tigh. Cain became aware of the scout's presence and, cursing to himself, grabbed the scout and jerked him around so they stood face to face. "What are you telling him?" he demanded to know.

  "Sir," the scout began, "we've spotted them."

  "Spotted who?"

  The man sighed, and he seemed to deflate. "The largest armada of Cylon forces ever seen," he reported; the fear had gone from his voice. But then, the hope had also fled his heart. "They're encircling the planet now… and calling for our immediate surrender. The alternative is total annihilation."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CYLONS? HERE?" Tigh repeated. It made no more sense the third time he said it than it had the first two.

  "How is that possible?" Athena demanded to know. "Segis, you assured us the Cylons would be unable to detect us!"

  Another blow, more violent than the first, rocked the entire auditorium, and the lights stuttered. For a moment, it felt as if the darkness would fill the room, and then, the lights hummed back on, but they seemed weaker this time. The building continued to shake, as if it were caught in the grip of a tremblor. There were several screams, but they were lost in the wail of the alarm sirens.

  Cain stepped to the edge of the stage; these people were his responsibility, and his first order of business was to calm them before they could panic, stampedeand one another in their mad dash for the exits.

  "Everyone, just remain seated!" he barked. "We will never surrender to the Cylon threat! If we are going to die, then we are going to die in battle, on our feet, like men, not on our knees, like… like weaklings and cowards!" He spat these last words, as if their presence in his mouth was a foul and bitter taste.

  But dying like men or dying like cowards, it made no difference to many of the colonials. Most of them were simple civilians, and had seen too much of death, had lost too many family members. Whether they were from Scorpius or Gemon or Caprica, they all loved their families, and they all wanted to live.

  There was real concern that Cylon plasma cannons would cause the honeycombed earth to collapse, burying the underground city and all its occupants in an avalanche of crushing dirt and rock. Those who didn't die immediately from the falling debris would be trapped within buildings or caverns, to die slowly of suffocation or starvation. To risk leaving the underground city for the surface was merely trading one form of death for a quicker one; the Raiders would cut them down before the civilians got very far on foot, and those the fighters missed, the Centurions would ferret out and slaughter.

  Segis, who had been standing nearby all this while, hurried to the rostrum and, in the quiet between attacking volleys, spoke to the assembly: "Please, forgive me," she said, his face pale, his eyes wide and unblinking. "You must believe me, we couldn't have known… the Cylons must be using an advanced technology that has found a way to circumvent our protective shields!"

  She was not speaking words of comfort, not saying anything the crowd wanted to hear. The panic, far from quieting, only intensified, and threatened to explode at any moment, like a rain-swollen river overflowing its banks.

  "It is apparent that the Cylons have arrived in such massive numbers that the only sane and rational course of action is to surrender—"

  The crowd was shrieking now, panic rendering their voices useless and inarticulate.

  "—at least, that way,"
Segis continued, almost shouting now, "we might have a chance of surviving, to fight another day."

  Cain was furious. He grabbed Segis's shoulder and spun the caretaker around to face him. "Surrender?" Cain shouted in her face. "You want me to tell these people to just give up and allow the Cylons to capture them?"

  "Do you see another choice, Commander?" Segis asked, pulling out of Cain's grip. "Something that won't result in the death of every man, woman, and child on this planet?"

  Baltar, who had been seated at the side of the stage, safely away from the audience and potential assassins, now made his way to the rostrum while Cain was occupied with Segis. "I know how you all feel about me," he told them, "but I agree with Segis." Baltar dabbed at his face; he was perspiring heavily, out of fear. He was clearly shaken and badly frightened, but he felt he had a message to deliver, and he would do so. "The Cylons have no intentions of destroying the human race. I lived among them for many yahren… and they obviously did not kill me. I convinced them then, and believe I can convince them once more, that the human race are a peace-loving people. All we want is to be left alone and allowed to follow our own destiny."

  Shouts of 'Traitor!" hopscotched around the audience, growing louder, as more voices joined the chorus. Baltar knew he was risking his life by standing there, but he had an insight into the Cylons these people did not, and he had to make them understand that before it was too late, for all of them.

  "The Cylons can be benevolent rulers as long as they are in control," he said. "Perhaps they will listen to me… I could negotiate a peace agreement—"

  And there it was. Everything had come around, full circle, with Baltar offering to hammer out some manner of peace with the Cylons, and the Cylon armada filling the sky, ready to reduce the planet to dust. They'd been here before, and things had not ended well the first time. The nearest rows of civilians rose and stormed the stage, grabbed Baltar roughly, and began beating him with their fists and kicking him with their feet. The security guards made their way forward, but the other civilians grabbed them, too, tearing at their clothes and flesh, pulling them back.