Many of the brows around the council table gradually began to frown. Perhaps, Adama thought, he was getting through the muddle.
“Commander,” Uri said, with an obvious sense of theatrical timing, “the Ovion queen Lotay has observed the Cylons up close, and in much more peaceable circumstances. Her race has been at peace with the Cylons for a millennium, and she assures me that victory is the Cylons’ only goal. It is a matter of satisfying their codes of order. If any individual enemy or group of enemies still roam the universe, then they feel it their duty to eradicate them—to wipe out the flaw in their sense of order, so to speak. By destroying our arms to prove we are willing to live in peace, the flaw would be removed and they wouldn’t—”
“Destroy our only means of defense!”
“Or attack. May I remind my brothers that we once were at peace with the Cylons. We didn’t have conflict with them until we intervened in their relations with other nations.”
Adama struggled to keep from coming to blows with Uri. He wondered briefly whether, if Adama sprung upon him suddenly, the man would refuse to fight back.
“Yes,” Adama said, “you are right. We didn’t come into conflict with the Cylons until we defended our neighbors whom the Cylons wished to enslave. And, until we helped the Hasaris to get back their nation, taken by force by the Cylons.”
“Correct,” Uri said. “And you merely prove my point. If we mind our own business, there is every reason to believe the Cylons will leave us alone.”
Again the other councilors, satisfied with Uri’s rhetorical flourish, murmured approval. Adama could see there was no point in trying to get through to them with anything resembling logic. He had made his contingency plans. It was now time to put them into effect. He addressed the council in a quiet but tense voice.
“Gentlemen, if we have come to this table to turn our backs on the principles of human reason and compassion, the principles of our fathers and the Lords of Kobol, from whom all colonies evolved, you do so with my utter contempt.”
He turned and strode quickly from the room. After he had left, many of the councilors squirmed in their seats. Uri turned to them and spoke.
“Warriors are always the last to recognize the inevitability of change. The commander has always been fond of telling us we have no choice, which always means to endorse his ideas slavishly. Fortunately, we have a choice, life or death.”
“I submit that an issue this grave should be decided by the people,” Councilor Lobe said.
“The military will be difficult to convince,” Anton said. “How do you propose we present so delicate a matter?”
After an uneasy pause, Uri said:
“At a celebration. People are always easier to deal with at a celebration. I propose we hold a celebration to decorate those three brave young men who, at the risk of their lives, opened the Carillon minefield for us. Without them, we’d still be on the other side, starving. One of the pilots was Adama’s son, Captain Apollo, correct?”
Some members of the council cheered their support of Uri, happy that some solution had been found. Others applauded, impressed at Uri’s clever stratagem of including Apollo in the celebration.
“A brilliant suggestion, Uri,” Anton said, “just the tonic our people need at this moment. Some old-fashioned, honest-to-goodness heroes.”
“Exactly what I was thinking,” Uri said, his smile a bit more malicious than usual.
Starbuck had spent a great deal of time trying to convince the lead singer of the Tucana group that he could hurl them from this dinky little engagement in an outworld casino into a full-fledged, big-time career. The singer had not responded to Starbuck’s pleadings. She had merely sat nervously, a fat cigar in her lower mouth, looking around the casino as if she expected to see spies everywhere. Starbuck had gone as far as to offer them a seventy-thirty split, with him picking up transportation costs. But the singer had merely said she did not think it would work out, and that she couldn’t talk about it anyway. When he had tried to press her on the subject, she had only become more nervous. Leaving her dressing room, he noticed that her apparent fear of spies was justified. An Ovion jumped behind a nearby stage curtain.
The next day, as Starbuck sprawled in his room in the guest quarters, his head throbbing with a hangover, Boomer rushed into the room and sat on the bed so heavily that the bounce sent waves of pain through Starbuck’s head.
“Out of the bunk, Starbuck. Captain Apollo’s sent out a muster call, and he asked especially for you.”
“Boomer, I been lying here thinking, about what you said last night. I’m beginning to agree with you. Something’s going on around here.”
“Well, whatever it is’ll have to wait. We’re going to have to go back to the Galactica.”
“What for?”
“Our dress uniforms.”
“Dress uniforms? Look, Boomer, I hate dress uniforms and I’ve got a head that won’t go through one of those tight collars. I’ll pass. I’m not getting into any fancy—”
“Starbuck, one does not accept our people’s highest military honor, the golden cluster, in a battlesuit.”
Boomer’s information made Starbuck sit up. Too soon, as it happened, for his head seemed to explode. No matter. He was too amazed.
“A star cluster? You’re kidding!”
“You got it. For that matter, me too. All three of us who went into that minefield blind. Apollo, too.”
Starbuck smiled.
“Hey,” he said, “that’s all right. Doesn’t some kind of pay raise go with that?”
Boomer laughed, while shaking his head in disbelief.
“Hopeless,” he muttered, “absolutely hopeless.”
Serina walked Apollo to the shuttle that was to take him back to the Galactica to get ready for the awarding of the star cluster and to respond to a request from his father for a meeting. Boxey and Muffit Two trailed along behind them.
“It was a wonderful night,” she whispered to Apollo.
“For me, too,” he said. “And thanks for letting me get all of that stuff out of my system about Zac. I feel better. It’ll take a while for the guilt to evaporate, as you suggest, but at least I feel better about myself.”
“You should. You’re very valuable, Captain Apollo. A walking lode of Tylium, one might say.”
“And just as dangerous?”
“Well, it depends on what state you’re in, doesn’t it? Just like Tylium.”
“You may have a point there.”
At the shuttle gangway, he kissed her goodbye, to the obvious delight of the young lieutenants, Starbuck and Boomer, who awaited him at the vehicle’s airlock. After Apollo had entered the shuttle and the gangway had retracted and she had been ordered back to a safe area, Serina held Boxey’s hand and watched the shuttle take off. Walking back to the casino entrance, she felt quite pleasant, content that some order seemed to be edging its way back into her life. Into all their lives, if what some people said were true. In front of her, Boxey frolicked with Muffy. The boy was steadily improving, too.
An Ovion stood in the casino entranceway. When she saw Serina approach, she started to back into the building. Serina called to her to wait, and the Ovion waited, dutifully.
“Your name is Seetol, right?” Serina said. “You conducted us on that brief tour of the mining facility.”
“That is correct,” Seetol said. “How may I serve you?”
“Oh, you might just satisfy a former newswoman’s curiosity.”
“Newswoman?”
Serina had extreme difficulty explaining to the alien what a newswoman was. Seetol seemed to think reporting the activities of others a bit sinful, however newsworthy.
“I was fascinated,” Serina said, “by the, well, the order of your society and I certainly couldn’t help but be impressed by your industry, your complete dedication. I’ve never seen anything like it. I mean, one gets the impression that those people in the mines work until they simply drop.”
She wondered
if she was sounding too naive. Seetol’s answer, however, was noncommittal.
“We know no other way.”
“Well then,” Serina said, edging close to her real question, “what of family institutions? I somehow sense that something is missing.” Seetol appeared a bit ruffled. All of her four arms were in motion expansively as she spoke.
“We are very complete.”
“What about males?”
“Males….”
Seetol seemed unable to cope with the subject.
“Well, I don’t mean to pry,” Serina said, even though prying was exactly her intention, “but the Ovions are a female culture. Obviously. Surely there must be males someplace. You do have need of them, you haven’t found the key to parthogenesis, have you? Perhaps you keep the males at home—”
“We don’t keep them at all.”
Seetol’s high pitched voice had become quite toneless.
“I beg your pardon?”
The Ovion looked up at Serina with her spherical insectoid eyes and said, “You are correct. Males have their place until they have served their purpose. And then, in our society, they have no place. I am sorry. Have I said something wrong?”
“No, not at all. I guess there are, well, value systems in your order worth looking into.”
Serina walked away from Seetol, wondering if the alien had meant that the males were simply disposed of. Sometimes having a newswoman’s instincts had its drawbacks.
Apollo was surprised to see only a token crew manning the bridge of the Galactica. His father engaged in a routine check of equipment with Colonel Tigh, turned to greet his son warmly. Apollo felt happy that he could be comfortable with his father again.
“Tigh was just briefing me on current operations,” Adama said. “He wants to be at the celebration planetside. I offered to relieve him for the night. Strictly as a favor.”
“You don’t feel like seeing your son getting a star cluster then?” Apollo asked, puzzled.
Adama smiled.
“It’s well deserved, Apollo. But there’s more to this, this award ceremony than just honoring you and Starbuck and Boomer. My presence would somehow verify Uri’s strategy, and that’s all this ceremony is, just one of his ploys.”
“Ploy? That seems strange—saluting his greatest rival’s son as a ploy.”
“It’s exactly what it is, though. He’ll propose destroying our arms at the celebration. He’s hoping for a cascade of emotion that’ll do the damage before anyone realizes what they’ve done.”
Apollo cursed his own stupidity—of course, anything that Uri had set up should have been suspect from the beginning. After observing Uri the previous night by the grog fountain, Apollo should have known the man was plotting something.
“But you can stop him!” Apollo said to Adama.
“Not anymore, I’m afraid. Haven’t you heard the talk? The scuttlebutt? I’m the villain, at least to most of the population, who are willing to believe anything the handsome Uri tells them. I got us into this predicament, you see.”
“How could anyone believe that. Certainly not the majority….”
“The majority, at least for the present, are with Uri. You must remember, Apollo, what they’ve been through.”
“I’m compassionate, Father. I inherited that from you. But this isn’t the time, it’s—Father, you’ve got to speak out, to the people.”
Adama took a deep breath before responding to Apollo’s plea.
“I’m retired, Apollo. Except for running this ship and certain phases of the total operation, I’m—”
“I don’t believe you’re saying that! This isn’t you. What’s happened? Help me understand.”
It was all he could do for Adama to maintain an aloof official stance, when he wanted to embrace his son.
“You’ll understand, son. In time, you’ll understand.”
Apollo started to speak, then thought better of it, and walked away from the bridge.
Tigh came to Adama’s side.
“That wasn’t easy for you, not telling him,” Tigh said. “Perhaps—”
“No. I need him down there at the ceremony. If I told him, he’d insist on staying at my side. The gamble is mine. If I win, we all win.”
“But if you’re wrong, Uri will have your head on a platter.”
Adama looked out at the starfield. He felt confidence returning to him for the first time since he had assembled the ragtag fleet.
“I am not wrong,” he said. “The Cylons lured me into their malicious deception once.” His eyes narrowed, and he looked like the old Adama of galactic legend. “Never again!”
He turned to Tigh, his eyes glowing with eagerness to act.
“Report. The livestock.”
“All being lifted off the surface of the planet now. No interference.”
“Report. The agricultural project.”
“Everything harvested, sir. The project will be completed soon.”
“Report. The fuel.”
“Another token load just arrived. Barely. Darn near exploded when the pilot set it down on the deck a bit too heavily. Other loads seem ready to be launched from the surface, but the Ovions’re stalling.”
“Don’t make them suspicious. But get as much Tylium from them as you can.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Hop to it, Colonel!”
Tigh was already in action. As usual. Around them, the crew seemed to respond to the commander’s newfound and boisterous energy. Adama remembered some story from his childhood about a sleeping giant awakening.
Apollo, waiting with Serina for the guest elevator to take them to the casino, could not stop thinking of his father’s refusal to bring his case to the people. Something had to be done about Uri, or they would suddenly discover that the shrewd politician had eased himself into a position of absolute power.
“Write me a poem!” Serina said suddenly, clearly to break him out of his mood.
“I couldn’t,” Apollo said, stirred out of his reverie. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“Oh, I do. It would mean a lot to me.”
She leaned toward him and kissed his cheek, muttering, “I’ll do better in private.”
Apollo was about to suggest something even more specific for their later privacy, when he was distracted by a passing man who wore the dress uniform of the Galactica. The man, whose collar was clearly too large for his neck and whose sleeves seemed to hang down past his knuckles, seemed a shade too old for combat duty. Apollo’s scrutiny was so obvious that the man noticed. He turned away uncomfortably and headed for the nearest corridor, as if to escape.
“What is it?” Serina asked.
“That man’s insignia is Blue Squadron. I thought I knew everyone in it. Don’t recall ever seeing him before.”
“Maybe he transferred in from one of the other units.”
“I know most of them also. And did you see the fit of the uniform?”
“Well, how often do you guys get to wear your dress blues? He probably bought it when he was a couple of sizes larger and hasn’t worn it for years.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“In any case, the guest of honor fits into his uniform quite neatly—and looks delicious, I might add.”
He squeezed her hand. But, in spite of her glowing smile, he could not get the sight of the officer in the oversized uniform out of his head.
The Ovions, as anxious to serve as ever, had rearranged the whole casino for the award ceremony. Colored lights had been arranged in flowerlike patterns to add to the festive atmosphere. Acrobats and entertainers of many species performed their acts at one end of the massive room. The men in full military dress uniform completed the decorative picture.
Starbuck could not get his shoulders to relax. As he and Boomer waited by the podium for the celebration to begin, he couldn’t stop fidgeting. Boomer appeared to be equally uncomfortable.
“Have I ever told you how lovely I think you are in a dress u
niform?” Boomer said, in a strained attempt to be cheerful.
“Just get me out of here,” Starbuck said irritably. “Starfighters don’t mix with all this pomp and—”
“Careful. Guests of honor don’t curse. It’s not etiquette.”
Sire Uri, looking every inch the man in control, swaggered up to them.
“I don’t see Captain Apollo. I trust he’s well….”
“Business aboard the Galactica.” Starbuck said. “He’ll be along.”
Uri regarded the roomful of people, which was dominated by the Galactica’s dress blues.
“From all the uniforms, I’d deduce that most of our warriors are here,” Uri said. “Other than your captain, of course.”
“Well, Sire Uri,” Starbuck said, “I’m always a big draw.”
Uri, not certain how to take Starbuck’s sarcasm, strode away, seeking another detail to attend to. Boomer pulled at Starbuck’s sleeve.
“Don’t spoil the crease,” Starbuck said. “What is it?”
“Those three guys over there, watching the acrobats, can you tell me who they are?”
Starbuck studied the three men, all of whom wore ill-fitting Colonial fleet uniforms.
“Nope, Boomer. Darned if I know. Sure have lousy tailors, or else all the fun and games down here’s tiring them out.”
“Starbuck, you should know them.”
“Why in hell should I know them?”
“They’re wearing insignia from our squadron.” Starbuck peered at the oddly attired trio. Suddenly he started walking toward them, shouting back to Boomer, “Don’t let them start the festivities without me.”
One of the three men saw Starbuck coming, and he pointed to him for the benefit of the other two. Immediately the three began to walk toward the elevators. Starbuck picked up his pace, trying to close in on them.
[Battlestar Galactica Classic] - Battlestar Galactica Page 20
