Battlestar Galactica 12 - Die, Chameleon!

by Glen A. Larson

  "There were others with you," Crutch said to Starbuck, "warriors from the Galactica. I'm instructed to ask you, where are they now?"

  "Afraid I don't know. Wish I did. Not that I'd tell you if I did."

  "No matter, friend. We'll find 'em."

  Maga's rage had been growing since the humans had departed. Bora recognized the signs of blood trail lust, a state he hadn't observed in Maga in a long time, not since he first established the blood hunt against Chameleon, then known to the Nomen as Captain Dimitri.

  Maga's eyes had become starkly fierce, shifting into a radiant dark violet color. His skin had slowly purpled with some blotchy spots growing and joining like amoeba. As in all blood lusts, emotion had thickened his body. He not only seemed larger, but taller. The abrupt little moans in his throat told Bora to keep quiet and stay out of his way. Maga would do something soon.

  Suddenly the chief Borellian Noman made his move. Screaming, his voice rattling the bars of the cell, he hurled himself at the cell door. In spite of its efficient and difficult lock, its bars trembled, definitely bending under the weight of Maga's thrust. Maga retreated to the rear of the cell, where he crouched, working up the fury for his next assault on the cell door. His eyes, peering out beneath his hairy thick brow, appeared to send out rays. His skin darkened to a deeper purple.

  "Again," Bora urged, "do it again, Maga."

  Maga leaned back toward the wall, then suddenly hurtled forward. This time the bars creaked and cracked under the force of impact, but still the door did not give. They must be made of very strong stuff, Bora thought. Incensed Borellian Nomen could break down almost anything.

  Again, Maga crouched in the rear of the cell, readying himself for his next run at the door. Bora began to fear that Maga would hurt himself if he continued.

  "Maga, perhaps you shouldn't—"

  Paying scant attention to Bora's cautionings, Maga rushed at the cell door. The entire cell rocked with reverberations from the collision of Noman and iron structure. There was a moment when the door merely shook, then it opened with a light clicking sound. Maga's momentum carried him across the corridor. He bounced off the opposite cell door, creating a deep Noman shaped outline in the bars. The Nomen inside were rocked backward. Maga grabbed that door and wrenched it open. Brega and Lingk ran out of their cell.

  "The man they call Chameleon . . ." Maga muttered ominously.

  "Yes, Maga?" Bora asked as he eased himself out of their cell.

  "He is ours. We will find him."

  His feet hitting the floor heavily as he walked, sending loud metallic echoes throughout the building, Maga took the first steps of his renewed blood trail. The other Nomen followed, looking for Chameleon in each cell they passed.

  Apollo and Croft had traced the throbbing sounds of machinery to the center of the prison building. Now they stood by a large iron door.

  "I think it's on the other side," Apollo said.

  "Open the door?" Croft asked.

  "If you can."

  Croft examined the door and discovered a lever near the top, one that would have been easily within the long-armed reach of an Image Lord. Standing on Apollo's interlocked fingers, he managed to get his hands on it and jiggle it a little. The door opened inward. Croft and Apollo took simultaneous deep breaths and passed through the doorway.

  All of the Nomen moved through the corridors purposefully, but none so fiercely as Maga. With the passion of the blood trail radiating from his eyes, he scrutinized every cell for Chameleon.

  Brega, who had rushed ahead of the others, yelled back, "I think I may have found the man you seek, Maga."

  Maga loped forward to where Brega stood. He stopped in front of the door and peered at the sleeping man inside the cell.

  "That is he," he announced ominously. He shook the bars of Chameleon's cell violently, crying, "Wake up, Chameleon."

  Chameleon's eyes shot open.

  "What—?"

  "It is time, Chameleon or Captain Dimitri or whoever you are. I have come for you."

  Chameleon sprang out of his bunk and crouched against the far wall, watching Maga shake and bend the bars.

  With the children, Boomer and Sheba had reached the overlook above the prison compound. All sign of pursuit had vanished. In the yard below them they watched aliens and prisoners run around in confusion.

  "They're looking for us," Chandra said.

  "Lucky you knew a way out, kid," Boomer said.

  "Chandra can always find a way out," Zossie proudly announced.

  "A lucky talent, Chandra," Sheba remarked.

  "Useful for adventures," Chandra said.

  "Adventures?"

  "Like this one."

  Sheba glanced questioningly at Boomer. Whispering so that the children couldn't hear him, he told her about the Imagescan and the Starbuck's escapades.

  When Sheba realized what Chandra had meant, she turned to the child and protested, "But, Chandra, this isn't an adventure, like in your Imagescan. This is real."

  "I don't know what you mean by real."

  "I mean, this is dangerous. We could die. You could die."

  "Oh, no. I don't believe that."

  Sheba, distracted by the events in the yard, gave up. None of the others squatting on the overlook noticed how nervously Chandra was handling the piece of fringe from Starbuck's jacket. Nor did they perceive her painful confusion.

  Apollo and Croft leaped into the cell block control room. The three aliens at the bank of consoles reacted quickly. Firing their weapons, which emitted a strangely purplish beam unlike any Apollo had ever seen before, they nearly downed their intruders. But Croft and Apollo were more accurate marksmen and the three aliens were soon sprawled on the floor of the control room.

  "You all right?" Apollo asked Croft.

  "Sure. These guys don't shoot much better than Cylons."

  "We better act quickly. They're just stunned, I think. No telling what that weapon you're holding actually does."

  Puzzled, Croft stared at the unfamiliar devices which the aliens had operated.

  "What'll we do now?" he asked.

  "Well, we can't run the place. So we'll destroy as much equipment as we can. Use their guns."

  Picking up the fallen weapons, Apollo and Croft fired steadily, sending up sparks and tiny flames from the equipment. On screens above, they saw cell doors popping open, apparently in cell blocks all over the prison. Dazed prisoners were staggering out into the halls.

  Maga's pressure on the door of Chameleon's cell was beginning to bring results. The bars of the door were bending, and there was almost room for him to squeeze through. Chameleon edged forward, knowing that his chance for survival did not lie in cowering at the rear of his cell.

  Just as Maga pulled strongly at the door, the damage wrought by Apollo and Croft in the control center had its effect on Chameleon's cell. The door sprung open, surprising Maga and the other Nomen. Maga fell back against the cell across the way, knocking over Brega and Lingk.

  Chameleon, assessing the situation quickly, ran out of his cell. He scooted between the fallen Nomen and Bora, and ran down the hallway. The Nomen were slow to react.

  Maga, recovering, shouted in a voice that shook the cell block: "Get him!"

  The Nomen started after Chameleon. Their pursuit was hampered by the fact that, all along the corridor, cell doors were springing open. Prisoners coming out interfered with the progress of the Nomen.

  Croft stared proudly at the damage he and Apollo had performed in the control center. Both men smiled at the havoc in the corridors that was shown on the many screens above the ruined equipment.

  "I think we did it, Apollo."

  "Yep."

  "What now?"

  "Find a bloody way out of here."

  "With you on that, pal."

  They rushed through the still-open control center doorway.

  Boomer and Sheba watched the chaos in the yard below with fascination. Prisoners were spilling out of all the buildings.
The alien guards seemed dumbstruck and not sure what to do. They made futile efforts to control the crowd, but the prisoners forcefully pushed their captors out of the way.

  "I do believe that's the handiwork of Apollo and Croft," Boomer commented.

  "You see them anywhere?" Sheba asked.

  "The Starbuck'll save them, don't worry," Chandra said.

  "Chandra," Sheba said, "this isn't one of your—"

  Chandra's voice turned cold and forbidding. "The Starbuck will save them."

  Sheba looked back at the prison yard. The madness there had grown. However, the aliens were getting rougher, pulling prisoners away from the mob and flinging them toward any wall. Nevertheless, the front ranks of the rioting crowd had begun pushing through the gate.

  "Look at that, will ya?" Boomer said.

  "Boomer," Sheba shouted. "Over there. It's Chameleon!"

  "Moves well, doesn't he? Graceful as a—"

  "But behind him! It's the Nomen!"

  While most of the prisoners were skittering about, looking for any way out, the Nomen strode forward purposefully, slowly, their eyes fastened on their prey. They pushed aside anyone, prisoner or alien, who got in their way. A few Image Lords were knocked unconscious by Nomen fists.

  Chameleon, looking behind him with fear in his eyes, stumbled over a fallen prisoner.

  "Oh, no!" Sheba cried.

  Boomer stood up.

  "What're you doing, Boomer?"

  "We've got to help him!"

  "But—"

  Boomer had already started running down the hill, kicking up rocks as he went. Sheba followed. Below her, she saw the Nomen closing in on Chameleon. There surely wasn't enough time for her and Boomer to intervene.

  "What's happening, Chandra?" Brynt asked, moving to her side.

  "This is the best Imagescan adventure I've ever seen," Chandra said.

  "But Chandra, you heard what they said. This isn't an—"

  "Shut up, Brynt."

  Knowing it was no use to question his sister further, Brynt watched the riot in silence. Zossie came up silently behind them, enthralled by the events, but baffled because she had no idea what was happening.

  Maga and Bora, their companions just behind them, bore down on their prey. Chameleon wriggled backward, terrified by Maga's menacing and confident look. He tried to get to his feet, but they wouldn't work properly, and he fell back. He felt the hard surface of a wall against his back. There was no place to run.

  "Do you say prayers?" Maga asked, with apparent calm. "Say them now, Chameleon!"

  He raised his arms straight up, the blood hunt killing gesture. Chameleon tried to push through the wall in back of him. Maga's arms came down, his hands closing into fists.

  Next to Chameleon, a door crashed open and Crutch came into the yard. Intervening himself between Maga and his prey, he seized the Noman's arms, stopping their downward arc. Crutch's strong grip brought pain into Maga's face.

  "Stand back, mate," Crutch said, freeing Maga's arms. "The gentleman there is under my protection."

  Maga reached from his bandoleer to pluck off a laser bole, forgetting that all the Nomen had been disarmed of their weapon belts before being thrown into their cells. Cursing, he stood his ground.

  "We don't know who you are," Maga said, "but anyone interfering in a blood trail may be killed along with the prey. Stand aside."

  Crutch did not move. Maga lunged forward. Using all his arms, Crutch stopped the force of Maga's thrust, picked him up, and threw him back at the other Nomen. They all fell, astonished by the pirate's strength.

  Speaking in his own guttural language, Crutch ordered guards to surround the Nomen, then he turned to Chameleon, whose mouth was still open in astonishment at his rescue, and helped the man up.

  "You were on the pirate ship," Chameleon said.

  "That's right, chum."

  "Why did you save me? I mean, with all the rioting and—"

  "Seems you have a friend. When this little fracas started, we saw all you fellows come rushing into the yard, and your friend recognized you. He seemed afraid for you, especially when he saw these lugs going after you. I didn't want him unhappy, so I stepped in. Seemed like the friendly thing to do. Come with me."

  "Where we going?"

  "To see your friend. In here, mate."

  Entering the building, he saw Lucifer and Spectre watching him closely. He wondered what their interest was in him.

  Boomer stayed out of the way of the fleeing prisoners as much as possible. Sheba ran behind him. Near the prison walls, a figure arose suddenly out of the shadows in front of Boomer. It grabbed Boomer and knocked him to the ground. Sheba halted, ready to fire.

  The figure came partially into the light. Both Boomer and Sheba saw that it was Apollo. Croft appeared right behind him, smiling oddly.

  "Don't know where you were heading, Boomer," Apollo said, "but we were of the opinion it was in the wrong direction."

  "It's Chameleon. They were—"

  "I know. We saw. There's nothing we can do now. But don't worry. The Nomen didn't get him. The aliens did."

  Boomer got up, saying, "And Starbuck."

  "What? How?"

  Boomer explained how Starbuck had been captured while trying to save the children.

  "Where are the kids now?"

  "Up there, top of that knoll."

  "Let's get far away from here, then figure out what to do next."

  Gathering the children, they headed for Euphoria. The city's lights were soft and peaceful in the calm night of The Joyful Land.

  As they entered the children's neighborhood, they heard the soft buzzing noise of the Summoning. The warriors from the Galactica felt a vague discomfort at the sound, but nothing else. The children, however, immediately went into a trance and hurried away.

  "Where are they going?" Croft said.

  "Did you see their eyes?" Sheba asked. "They looked dazed, they just brushed past us as if we weren't here."

  "Did you guys feel anything?" Boomer asked.

  "Yeah," Apollo said, "something."

  "My head's a little dizzy," Croft said.

  "Me, too," Sheba said.

  Standing on the sidewalk, they saw all the neighborhood families leave their homes and congregate in the middle of the road. Glassy-eyed, the people walked in a slow rhythm.

  "What in Kobol's going on?" Boomer said.

  "I don't know," Apollo said, "but I think we'll follow. Stay out of sight."

  They followed the zombie parade quietly, following it to the multidomed building where they joined other groups from other parts of the city. The ranks and rows of people filed silently into the building, moving, it appeared, by rote.

  "I don't get it," Croft said. "Some sort of ritual?"

  "Maybe," Apollo said. "Let's find out."

  "How?"

  "Go in there."

  "Are you crazy?"

  "Probably. But let's go. You and me, Croft. Boomer, you and Sheba stay outside, cover us if necessary."

  Croft wiped his sweating hands on the front of his jacket, and said, "I'm not going in there."

  Apollo stared at him. His dark blue eyes were fierce, determined.

  "Yes, I am," Croft said. "I am going in there."

  Duplicating the blank stares of the people, Apollo and Croft joined the procession, inserting themselves into a space next to Trinzot and Diova. Boomer and Sheba gazed at them all the way, until they vanished into the building.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Chameleon was flabbergasted to find Starbuck sitting on a couchlike piece of furniture, apparently designed for alien leisure (double-tiered armrests), in a room just off the prison's command center. Crutch guided Chameleon into the room, with Lucifer and Spectre just behind him. Chameleon blinked back tears when he first saw his son.

  "Starbuck! What are you doing here?"

  "I'm not sure."

  Starbuck wanted to embrace his father, but he was damned if he would show such affection in front o
f a rude alien and two walking computers.

  "Your friend has privileged status here," Crutch said. "He's a hero of the culture we control."

  Chameleon shook his head in confusion.

  "This will take some explanation," he said.

  "Sit down," Starbuck said, gesturing to a place beside him. As Chameleon sat, Starbuck glanced toward the doorway and said, "Lucifer?"

  Lucifer glided forward, saying, "Yes, Starbuck?"

  "Explain."

  "Well, this will take some time . . ."

  Apollo and Croft followed the children and their parents down long brightly-lit tubelike corridors. Nobody paid the intruders any attention.

  Suddenly Trinzot took an abrupt right turn, leading his group away from the others and into a dim room. The contrast between the brightness of the corridor and the darkness of the room made it difficult for Apollo and Croft to see for a moment, but both resisted blinking too obviously.

  The first thing they saw was the image bubble hanging in the center of the room. Attractive abstract splotches of color were floating slowly within it. The colors of the splotches were soft and slowly changing.

  It was clear that Trinzot's family and the other families were taking up prearranged positions. Apollo and Croft squeezed in between the children and the next family, and tried to look like them. This was the moment they'd most likely be detected, Apollo thought. But nothing happened. Everyone stood still and stared intently at the image bubble. The people seemed hypnotized, their eyes blank as they stared at the abstractions. Their bodies were relaxed, but immobile. Their faces were slack, expressionless.

  Croft muttered out of the side of his mouth, "This is eerie, positively eerie."

  "It's like the life's been drained out of them."

  "I've seen people look like this. In prison. But never a whole cityful."

  The abstractions in the bubble began to change. An azure and scarlet pattern faded as a voice thundered out from the bubble and resounded through the chamber: "Fall!"