Battlestar Galactica-04-Rebellion Page 19

  Some seemed confused, in fact. A few people smiled at him, but most faces were hostile and furious, full of hatred and resentment.

  "You'll be put to death," a woman said in a voice dripping with poison.

  Apollo didn't respond, but her words and the cruel expression on her face struck him in the heart. He began to wonder if the Galactica had become a lunatic asylum, with all the inmates on the loose.

  Somehow, in the press of bodies, Baltar moved close.

  Apollo could not believe that Baltar was there, risking that kind of danger, all to walk at Apollo's side. He looked over at Baltar, stunned.

  "Remember what I said," Baltar told Apollo in a low voice, his dark face scanning the crowd constantly. Apollo couldn't stop, because if he did, that would break the spell that Gar'Tokk had precariously woven that was holding the crowd back. The small Security force wouldn't hold them for a second. Hearing Aron's rough breathing, he could tell that the old man was even afraid. Another brief glance at Baltar was all Apollo could afford.

  Baltar's face was easy to read, and Apollo realized in sudden alarm what should have been obvious to him from the start. They could all die at any moment. But that was just one of the many differences between Baltar and Apollo. While Apollo had never entertained this particular fear in his life, Baltar had feared a knife in the back for yahrens upon yahrens.

  All at once, Apollo was suddenly grateful that Baltar was at his side, for all of his glowering, brooding looks and baleful presence. Baltar was ever suspicious, and there wasn't a better person to watch Apollo's back in the middle of the confused, but still enraged mob of Colonial civilians.

  Finally, they were nearing the end of the crowd, and Apollo's heart sank to see that here in the back were the oldest, the slowest, and the youngest. Yes, there were children, some from families so poor that they had only the thinnest of tunics to wear, and flimsy sandals on their feet. There were dirty faces and wrinkled ones. Bent backs and white heads surrounded him. When he looked into their eyes Apollo did not see hatred; he saw fear.

  But also, among both young and old, among these last stragglers, he saw something that strengthened his resolve. On the faces of these, the least of the people of Galactica, he saw glimmers of hope. There had been no knife in Apollo's back. But Baltar hadn't been wrong to be so fearful. Apollo had seen more than a few faces darkened in a killing rage.

  "Take care, Apollo," said a very old man who leaned on a cane, standing at the very end of the mob, almost as if he'd hobbled along so far behind that he had only just reached the dreadful scene.

  "Thank you, Father," Apollo said, using the old-fashioned form of address.

  The old man's smile carried Apollo all the way to the brig.

  "Remember," Baltar said. And then he touched his chest. Apollo paused, staring at Baltar in wonder. Baltar didn't have anything in there but a piece of withered, evil coal. What was he pointing at?

  His false, lying, evil heart? Shaking his head, Apollo turned away, and went on to face his fate in the brig.

  Apollo sat on the cot in his cell, staring at the four walls, wondering how Baltar had stood it all those yahrens. The many prisoners the cell had held had left their marks. Names, here and there—Starjumper, Orgon, and a really prolific artist named Michelangelo who covered the walls with pictures of winged creatures and Vipers in flight pursued by Cylon fighters.

  One of the guards opened the tiny window in the cell door. "Visitor," he announced.

  The door opened. Shadowed in the light, Apollo saw a lovely form. It was Athena.

  She ran to him and they embraced. Apollo held his sister tightly, grateful to see her, glad for the small contact with her. It might be the last time, he thought, but as she drew away, he saw that she was deeply troubled, and there were many feelings playing over her beautiful face.

  "Apollo, I'm so glad you're all right," she said. He led her to the cot, and they sat next to each other.

  "Athena," he said again, overcome by emotion.

  Then she sighed, and touched his cheek gently. "Apollo," she said. "I saw the tape."

  Apollo looked away. "I don't know what happened," he said. "He made me so angry. I couldn't stop hitting him. It was the most insane thing."

  "But Apollo, he was greeting you—offering peace! How could you attack him?" she asked.

  Apollo turned back, his eyes wide. "Greeting me?" he said.

  "Apollo! Koren was right there—you two shook hands. Then, you attacked him, and suddenly you crouched. As if you knew that man was going to assassinate him! Why, Apollo?"

  "Athena, that's not what happened," Apollo said. "I shouldn't have beaten him like that, but he wasn't greeting me—he accused me of terrible things. He said I didn't care about the people. Said that I was taking the fuel and food and lying—"

  Athena shook her head. "Apollo, I saw it all—they broadcast a tape."

  "Athena," Apollo said, taking her hands. "I know this is going to sound crazy, but that's not what happened. It wasn't what he said, and it wasn't what happened."

  Athena looked completely torn between what she had seen and what Apollo was telling her. "I don't know," she said in an uncertain voice. "That tape—Koren was right there and you let that man fire. A child, Apollo!"

  Apollo shook his head. He was still stunned after all that had happened. And it was like his mind was drifting away. He couldn't concentrate. Maybe Jinkrat had been right—the first time. Maybe Apollo really didn't care about anyone. Where had his caring gotten everybody? They were starving, ships falling apart, people suffocating—

  He leaned back on the cot and felt his mind drifting away.

  "That's not what happened, Athena."

  "They're saying that only you could have done it, Apollo," Athena said. "You were there—you let that man shoot Jinkrat."

  "We… we had to fight, Athena," Apollo said. "Man to man. I did make peace with Jinkrat, but not the way you seem to have seen. Aron must have—"

  "How could someone doctor the tape?" Athena asked. "Maybe—Baltar!" she cried.

  Apollo shook his head. "Baltar walked the mob with me. He watched my back. With GarTokk."

  "Gar'Tokk!" Athena cried. "He's been missing for a long time. People are suspicious. There are rumors it was he who guided the assassin, and who helped you. That he kidnapped Koren. Gar'Tokk was missing for a long time."

  Apollo shook his head, then he raised himself up with great effort. Apollo finally asked the question that he'd been wondering about all those centars in the cell.

  If he had just had more insight, realized the danger, perhaps Jinkrat would still be alive. Koren would be fine—healthy.

  "Athena—am I responsible?"

  "Nobody knows," Athena said. "Apollo—I just don't know what to believe."

  Apollo searched his sister's face, wondering what he would think or do if it had been Athena in the cell, and Athena he'd seen beating Jinkrat—a man not nearly strong enough to defend himself against Apollo's wrath. With his son looking on, crying hysterically for Apollo to stop.

  "Athena," he said, taking her hands. "Find Gar'Tokk. Find Baltar. He knows a lot more than he's telling. They'll be able to prove I didn't do it. Jinkrat was betrayed. That was his own man that shot him."

  "All right," Athena said, embracing Apollo once again. They were cut short by the guard, who returned, announcing that her time was up.

  "Goodbye," Apollo whispered in Athena's ear. As she left, he wondered if he would ever see her again.

  "I guess second best is better than nothing," Athena said in a low voice as she escorted Baltar to the bridge. Baltar laughed.

  "What do you mean by that?" he asked. "I would have thought I'd be much lower down on your list than that."

  "I—" Athena stopped, holding herself back. Apollo was in trouble, and the fate of the Galactica rested on the information she could pull out of Baltar. "I didn't mean it, Baltar," she finally said in frustration. "I was just hoping to find Gar'Tokk first."

  "
Nomen don't much care for human women," Baltar said.

  Athena noticed in horror that Baltar was leering at her. She'd wondered about his "interest" when he'd interrupted her and Starbuck in Apollo's quarters. It seemed like that had been centurons before, even though it was only a few sectares.

  Baltar took Athena's lack of response for encouragement, and we went on. "Yes," he said, tracing a woman's figure in the air with his hands as he struggled to keep up with Athena's longer strides on the way to the bridge. "Human women are soft, shapely, lovely. Borellian Nomen prefer to mate with women who are—"

  Baltar moved both his hands in parallel lines, straight up and down. "And they have sharp teeth."

  "Baltar! Would you be serious?"

  "I am serious," he said, looking at her with wide, innocent eyes—ridiculous on his world-weary features.

  Athena couldn't help but laugh. "Baltar, Tigh is waiting," she said. "We can't waste time. Apollo needs us."

  "Apollo, Apollo, Apollo," Baltar said. "I suppose he knows how it feels to be locked up now."

  "He didn't—" Athena stopped herself. She didn't really know what Apollo had or hadn't done.

  "I was there, Athena," Baltar said.

  "That's why you're coming with me and not back down in the brig yourself, you criminal," she said.

  Soon, they were at the bridge. Tigh turned, and his normally calm face was full of worry and exhaustion. "I don't know how much longer we can hold on," he told Athena. "Since the… incident… people are out of control. It's the strangest thing," he said. "I've heard a different story from everyone. Every single person who saw that thing on tape saw something different!"

  "Have you never heard of the tradition of witnessing?" Baltar said, stepping forward. Athena had the strangest view of him then. For the first time, in his manner and face, he looked almost like what he had once been, a proud Lord of the Council, a leader—a man who held respect in his hand as her father had done.

  "No," Tigh said sharply. Obviously, he hadn't glimpsed anything but the old, dangerous, wily enemy standing before him.

  "It is a very old tradition, and a wise one," Baltar said. "Of those who witness any event, there will be a different story from each. He who sits in judgment must use the sight of his heart, not just of his eyes. And he must listen with his soul, not with his ears."

  "Well, a pretty story," Tigh said, turning back to his console. "Too bad you don't have a heart or a soul, Baltar."

  Athena thought that a trace of hurt flitted over Baltar's face, but it was soon replaced by his usual deep, disdainful scowl.

  "Names," Baltar snarled. "You don't bother me, Tigh. You're just a stupid man with no imagination."

  Tigh whirled, taking a step toward Baltar in anger before he regained his military composure and stopped. "If you can't make yourself useful, I'll escort you down to the brig myself," Tigh said stiffly.

  Athena stepped between the two men. "Baltar," she said. "I brought you here to tell me what, exactly, you know about the assassination of Jinkrat."

  "I saw Apollo attacking Jinkrat," Baltar said. "Not without provocation, I might add."

  "We all saw that!" Athena cried.

  Baltar waited, drawing the moment out as long as he could. Then he shook his head. "Look to Council Member Aron. Note how quickly he stepped away from Apollo and Jinkrat. The Council Members were terrified, but he seemed to—well, it's certainly what I would have done. If I were he."

  "Aron," Tigh said in disgust. "Our new leader."

  "Is he fully in power?" Baltar asked.

  Tigh shook his head. "The Council has sent a new communication. He will be soon enough. He's preparing to take command at any moment."

  "Great," Athena said, rubbing her head. "What are we supposed to do?"

  "The wise man waits," Baltar said. "And watches."

  "Enough of the philosophy," Tigh cried. "I should lock you in the library!"

  "Now it's time to wait, and watch," Baltar said, turning before the other two realized what was happening. The bridge doors slid open and a phalanx of Council guards entered, followed by a Council Leader Aron in a brand-new, awful looking black and red uniform. Athena's eyes widened.

  He stepped right up to her and Tigh, ignoring Baltar, and smiled.

  "Good to see you!" Aron exclaimed. "And it's great to be on the bridge of my battlestar once again."

  This was not the same Aron. He even seemed yahrens younger, and full of energy.

  Tigh's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Athena noticed that he did not salute—and also that Aron didn't respond to this. He knew none of the command formalities, except, apparently, putting on a hastily made uniform.

  "I'm in command now," Aron announced, surveying the bridge. He was no longer very kindly.

  Then he turned to Athena. "The lovely Athena," he said. "I imagine you're quite worried about your brother."

  "Apollo's fine," Athena said, nearly adding, "No thanks to you." But she held her tongue.

  "Well," Baltar said, sidling close. "It's nice to be so… wanted."

  They all turned to look at him, and he raised his chin stubbornly. "What?" Baltar said. "Why are you all staring at me?"

  "Baltar," Aron said, finally acknowledging him. "Why were you there to escort Apollo to the Chambers and the brig? Have you finally found a… friend?"

  "Perhaps," Baltar said. Athena watched Baltar's eyes narrow to suspicious slits as he scanned Aron's face. Aron didn't seem to notice the quick expression of disgust.

  Aron seemed to lose interest in Baltar, and he turned back to the controls of the Galactica.

  "Tigh," he said. "I am aware of your tricks and delays. You will at last ground all Vipers."

  Tigh's eyes widened. "We're still—"

  "You heard me," Aron snarled.

  Athena recoiled. There was no longer even a shred of elderly kindness or concern.

  Tigh made some movements at the console. Athena, accustomed to bridge procedures, realized that he'd done nothing but authorize a routine system check.

  Amazingly—Aron didn't seem to realize that Tigh had disobeyed his order.

  "Oh, uh—Aron," Baltar said, stepping closer. "Haven't you thought to give a speech to the people?"

  Aron whirled around, his face a mask of rage. He raised his fist, and Baltar quailed.

  "Don't tell me what to do, little man," he cried. Athena stepped back in shock. This was pure evil, irrational and wild.

  Then she looked over at Tigh. His expression showed that he was thinking the same thing. Tigh appeared to think for a moment, then he spoke.

  "Athena, would you come here and check to see all the patrols are grounded." Then he smiled a smarmy grin at Aron—Athena couldn't believe that honest, hard-charging Tigh was capable of that type of expression—but then again, who knew what people were capable of under pressure?

  Athena approached, knowing the request was ridiculous, and Tigh said softly, "Boomer and Bojay are coming in from patrol. I signaled them to come to the bridge as soon as they land. Code Red-One, Green-Three."

  "Ugh," Athena said, squeezing the Colonel's shoulder. Red-One-highest alert. Green-Three-watch your back-covert operation. Right then, she could have kissed him, but she knew that would arouse Aron's suspicions, even if nothing else had so far. A brief glance at Baltar showed that look on his face again. Now that things had quieted down a little, he was loitering behind Aron… and leering.

  In sickbay, Sheba woke, calling out warnings. In her unconscious mind, the bomb was still exploding. But the only response that she heard was a cruel, cold voice saying, "Take her to the brig!"

  She thought that she saw the boy, Koren, being carried in, but she could hardly be certain of anything.

  And everything went black.

  Chapter Nine

  APOLLO COULDN'T believe it when they threw a bleeding, unconscious Sheba into his cell.

  He went to her side, carefully examining her. "Oh, Sheba," he said. His heart filled with cold rage and his bo
dy suddenly ached with worry. He'd seen a lot of wounds, and this one was in a very bad place, deep in the left side of her body. She was breathing slowly and steadily, but Apollo could see that Doctor Salik hadn't gotten very far with her treatment.

  "Why did they do this?" he asked in a whisper. Gently, he carried Sheba to his cot and laid her on it, smoothing the hair gently away from the wound. After a moment, he went to the cell door and started banging on it.

  "Hey! We need a doctor! Get a doctor in here!" he cried. But no one answered. No one came.

  Out at the edge of the Ur cloud, Dalton, Troy and Trays were sailing, coasting free on their own inertia.

  "We're almost out of fuel," Troy told Dalton. He tried to sound professional, but they all knew what would happen when the last of the fuel was gone. The batteries wouldn't last more than a few centars. Then the air would go, but before that, the heat would go, and they'd be at the exact temperature of space.

  Troy remembered Starbuck's joke about what happened to Cylons stranded out in space. "Only one good thing about those tin cans," Starbuck said, chewing his fumarello. "They're metal, so they'll never turn into corpsicles."

  It had seemed really funny at the time.

  The comm crackled. "Troy," came Dalton's voice. She sounded so little and small, just like a little girl.

  All at once, Troy wanted to hold her close. He wanted to kiss her and just hold her, form his body around hers and hug her tight.

  It was so fracking unfair!

  Dalton, so pretty, so young and full of life and hope.

  And so infuriatingly stubborn, pig-headed and strong willed. He remembered what she'd said: they were Galactica's last hope. They had to find the way out of this cloud. Only Troy and Dalton, two together against the universe. Well, Troy thought, except for Trays. A sudden burst of anger went through him that they were out there, and Trays was there, too.

  But he couldn't be mad at Trays. It was the universe he was mad at. If there was just something he could do—anything. He wracked his brains, tried to think. If only they could—

  "Troy," she said again.