Battlestar Galactica-04-Rebellion

by Richard Hatch

  Koren kept his distance. He was sure nobody would find him in this place up above Galactica's engines. It was like a big dome, right up there in space, almost like there was nothing between Koren and the out there. It was all white and milky-looking, nothing like what Koren imagined being right under the stars would be like.

  He couldn't believe it, but the guy just walked right in like he owned the place, and he knew Koren was there. And Koren had been really sneaky. Nobody had seen him running away from the old man's quarters. He doubted that anybody had even found that guard, yet.

  Every time he thought about it, he almost laughed. It had been so easy to trick him!

  The only problem was, Koren had no idea where he really was on the Galactica, or how to work any of the equipment in this place—there was a lot of stuff there that looked like controls and dials and all kinds of things. He had to get a message to his dad, or get back home, somehow.

  "Apollo killed my brother," Koren said.

  "Yes," the newcomer said. He was about as old as that Sire Aron, but his hair was still pretty dark. His whole face was dark, and he had a weird-looking beard. Koren sized him up. He wasn't rich, that was for sure. His cloak was almost worn out. He looked like a refugee. And… he was in some kind of trouble, too. He had a security device around his ankle.

  "Hey," Koren said, pointing at the man's ankle. "If you come over here, I can get that off of you."

  The guy started laughing. "You can?" he asked.

  "Sure! I just got out of Colonial restraints in about half a micron."

  "Son, you're a boy after my own heart," the man said. He walked up to where Koren sat on a tall set of delicate metal stairs that went almost straight to the top of the chamber dome.

  He stepped forward and offered his ankle. Koren set to work, tinkering with the restraint. It was really simple. From everything he'd heard, the Colonial Warriors were so high and mighty and so far ahead of all the civilians. But they just had bigger, fancier ships as far as Koren could see. Lasers were the same—maybe in a little better shape, maybe a little more powerful. But a baby could get out of these restraints they used!

  Soon, the thing snapped off and lay on the floor, glowing red and making a high-pitched whine. Koren grimaced and leapt down from the stairs and smashed the thing with his boot.

  "There!" Koren said. "It won't bother you any more. Who'd you rip off, anyway?"

  "What?" the man asked.

  "Who'd you steal from? What did you take?" Koren asked.

  "Steal?" the man said.

  Koren thought for a moment. "Yeah. You escaped, just like me. I can tell you don't have any money and you're no Colonial Warrior. So I figured that—"

  "I didn't steal," the man said.

  Koren drew in a sharp breath. "Did you… kill somebody?"

  "Yes," the man said, his eyes glittering dangerously.

  Koren backed off. "Wow," he said. "I hope it was a Cylon. But then if you killed a—"

  "They wouldn't put me in jail for that, would they?" the man said, keeping up his scary expression.

  Koren gave the man another long look. He was scary, but he looked sad, too. He was putting on an act, pretending to be dangerous. And he wasn't all that young, either. Koren could outrun him in a micron.

  Koren leaned against one of the old-fashioned control banks and the man sat on the stairs, right where Koren had been microns before.

  "No," Koren said. "They wouldn't put you in jail for that. What's your name?" he asked.

  "What's yours?" the man countered.

  "You tell first," Koren said.

  The man smiled, but it wasn't very friendly. "Do you really want to know?"

  "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't!" Koren said. Now he was getting irritated.

  "Count Baltar, formerly of the—"

  "Oh, frack!" Koren cried, scrambling to his feet.

  Only to find an amazingly strong arm grabbing him before he could get to the relative safety of one of the giant consoles. Koren thrashed as he was whipped around and he saw those shining, deep set dark eyes up close.

  "Frightened now, young man?" Baltar asked. "As well you should be. Now go over there where you were and sit and wait. I'm expecting a visitor—right about—"

  Apollo burst into the Celestial Chamber.

  "Now," Baltar said.

  "Koren!" Apollo said, running to the boy. He didn't notice Baltar's security device lying useless on the floor.

  "Leave me alone!" Koren cried, trying to scramble away. But he was caught between Baltar and Apollo, and no matter how he squirmed, he couldn't get away.

  "Calm down," Apollo said. "It's all right. I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to—"

  Apollo yelled as Koren bit down on his hand.

  He sprang back, and Baltar took over, grabbing the boy's shoulders.

  "He's telling the truth, Koren," Baltar said. "We just want to help you."

  Koren looked at Baltar like he was insane.

  Apollo held his injured hand and looked at the boy, torn between relief and total frustration.

  "I'm going to take you to your father," Apollo said. "He's probably already here."

  "My dad!" Koren said. Baltar held him tight, looking steadily in Apollo's eyes.

  "Baltar, how did you know he'd be here? How did you know that—"

  "I have my ways," Baltar said enigmatically.

  "Well if you knew," Apollo said, "Why didn't you contact me, Tigh, Athena… anybody?"

  "And I suppose prisoners are allowed communicators?" Baltar said in a petulant tone.

  Apollo threw up his hands. "Baltar!"

  Baltar grinned his wolf-like grin. "I did have a very reliable device to communicate with you, Apollo." He held up his now-bare ankle.

  "Where did—"

  Baltar looked toward the broken tracking anklet, then back at Koren.

  "Koren," Apollo said. "Did you do that?"

  Baltar answered for the boy. "He most certainly did, Apollo. He is a very talented child."

  Shaking his head, Apollo approached Koren with caution. "Koren," he said. "I found that guard in Sire Aron's quarters. You have to tell me what happened."

  Koren shook his head, his lips closed in a thin line.

  "I mean it," Apollo said, frustration boiling over. "You've got to tell the truth. Your dad's on the way here, and a lot of people are going to die if the truth doesn't come out. What happened back there? How did you get out of sickbay and how did you come here?"

  Koren looked at Apollo, his eyes narrow and full of suspicion.

  "I'll tell what happened after I see my dad," he said.

  And that was all he would say. Even fierce looks from Baltar couldn't get any more information out of him.

  "So now we walk together again, Apollo," Baltar said. "But I fear it is you who is branded traitor this time, not me."

  "Baltar," Apollo growled. He led both of them toward the Council Chambers at the end of his laser pistol. Koren could bolt at any moment. And so could Baltar!

  As the grim trio approached the Council Chambers, Iblis watched. He had been watching the rebellion against cursed Apollo by means of his ansible as it proceeded with unbelievable swiftness.

  Iblis could hardly contain his glee when he saw Sheba fall. He was even more pleased when the Council turned on Apollo, and when Jinkrat's forces grew.

  And it was as if the real traitor was Iblis' own son, although Iblis had other plans—for that. It made everything so much easier—so much simpler.

  As Apollo, the boy and Baltar neared the Council Chamber, and Jinkrat broke through Boomer's hopeless "diversion," heading on his collision course with them, Iblis rubbed his imaginary hands together and snorted.

  And laughed.

  The rebel Jinkrat had no idea how his high ideas were being used to serve Iblis' needs. Apollo leading that sniveling brat and that weak, foolish liar Baltar!

  Few had seen Iblis before he had lost his natural form, and fewer still had lived to tell of it. Ibl
is had nearly killed Apollo, only foiled at the last micron by the cursed humans uniting. Of the humans, few had seen his true appearance, and one was Sheba, curse her—she had fallen away from his grasp before he could destroy her as well. But now—well, now this rebellion had done it for him!

  And then there was Baltar to consider, Iblis thought. That cowardly, traitorous, selfish, greedy, foolish mortal—a creature who could not be any more after Iblis' own black heart than if he was the demon's own son.

  Baltar! Because of the peculiar nature of this place, Iblis had no direct control over any other living mind. And Baltar, out of reach of Iblis's tentacles of thought for the first time in yahrens, had almost immediately gone weak and soft. Iblis would deal with him when the time came, and in his own very special way. Whatever his foolish plans were, they'd come to nothing. Baltar was a nothing. His life was done.

  As for now, Baltar was as yet only dimly aware of Iblis' plans, like a child vaguely comprehends when he's in trouble, but isn't quite sure what he did wrong, or what his parents intended to mete out as punishment.

  The blasted Chitain had forced Iblis into the Ur cloud, cutting off Iblis's direct influence on his living minions, like Baltar. But the humans were tearing themselves apart, with Iblis required to do nothing but sit back, watch, and enjoy the show.

  Iblis, looking through his ansible at a hangdog Baltar, walking at the end of Apollo's laser, laughed long and loud.

  "You're afraid, aren't you?" he said, even though Baltar could not hear him or answer. "If you knew what I had planned, you'd wish you'd never been born."

  Of course, Iblis being what he was—an inhuman, evil, inscrutable demon with no conscience and no soul—couldn't know that what he said was absolutely true. Baltar was sorry that he had ever been born. He was sorry for a lot of things. And full of deep remorse and bitter regret. For all his evil, Baltar was a man, and that meant he could never forsake the heritage of his birth: the good and the bad that dwells in every human heart.

  And this, Iblis would never comprehend. And so, in all his evil plotting, he was happy the way ignorant children are happy, because despite his vast, cosmic powers, Iblis had no soul. When he ceased to exist, he would truly be no more. And that, perhaps, is why Iblis was so very, very angry.

  Chapter Eight

  IT WASN'T leading Baltar and Koren toward the Council Chambers that so bothered Apollo. It was the faces—the filthy, haggard faces of the refugees crammed into the Galactica that were so bad. Koren looked around, and he'd started to cry.

  "Koren, we're almost there," Apollo said.

  Baltar even had a few kind words for the boy.

  It looked like Hades. This was what had become Of the people of the fleet. Clothes ragged, some people wandering around as though they'd lost their minds.

  All of them looking at Apollo with pure hate in their eyes. Blaming him for their pain and their suffering. Maybe they were right, Apollo thought.

  But Apollo hadn't planted that bomb. Jinkrat had. Apollo hadn't kidnapped Koren, either.

  They were almost there. But there were so many people crowding around. They were hoping to speak to the Council, Apollo realized. They wanted food, medicine—anything.

  "So, come to take your punishment!" an old woman cried. "Now it's time for you to suffer, Apollo!"

  Everyone cheered.

  Apollo grimaced and pushed forward. Baltar glared around, and his hard looks silenced many.

  They entered the Council Chambers.

  Where a sad-faced Sire Aron greeted them.

  "Koren!" he cried. "I was so worried about you."

  Koren stood silent.

  Apollo looked sharply at the boy, then back at Sire Aron.

  "We were all worried," Apollo said. "I have to ask you right now. There was a guard in—"

  "Yes, rebel activity is everywhere," Aron said quickly. "But Apollo, the boy's father approaches. We have just had—"

  The Council doors opened again, and in strode Jinkrat and a small party of his men, hard-faced and raggedly clothed, but heavily armed.

  "Dad!" Koren cried, running to his father.

  For the first time, Apollo set eyes on his enemy, the rebel leader Jinkrat.

  Though Apollo knew that the man could not be any older than he was, Jinkrat looked far older than his yahrens. The care of untold trouble marked his face. A scar on his cheek twisted vivid red. The man's eyes burned brightly. With rage and hatred, Apollo saw. Well—Apollo had something for Jinkrat, too. Something for the sake of Sheba.

  Koren buried his face in Jinkrat's tunic. "Dad! Dad!" he cried.

  Even though Koren was a boy that Apollo had known only for a short time, his enthusiastic reaction stabbed into Apollo with a brief, unexpected pain. It didn't make sense, Apollo thought. Why should it bother him so much that the boy would run to his father like that? Koren wasn't a colonial warrior. He was no part of Apollo's world or family. Even so—it hurt. Then Apollo realized. Boxey was full-grown now. And even Dalton, who Apollo had practically raised, even Dalton thought of Starbuck first. No matter what Apollo had and how much Jinkrat lacked, he still had this. His son.

  Jinkrat looked beyond his son's shoulders, stroking the boy's head. He said nothing to Apollo, instead looking toward his armed rebel guards.

  "Don't leave," he told them.

  They formed ranks behind Jinkrat, who turned to Council Member Aron. "I must thank you for this, fulfilling your promise," he said.

  "You are welcome," Aron said. "You will see that all the words we speak in the Council are true."

  Apollo stared at Aron in amazement.

  Then Baltar stepped forward.

  "You do not know me," he said to Jinkrat, "But Apollo is the one who found your son. Or, rather—I did."

  "Baltar, you are unwanted in these chambers," Aron said, his voice suddenly full of command. "Your very presence soils them."

  Apollo watched Baltar's eyes narrow dangerously, but Baltar said nothing.

  "Baltar," Apollo said quickly. "I know I'm a fool to trust you, but find Tigh. Tell him what's—"

  "You must speak openly here in the Council, Apollo. You are brought here on very serious charges," Sire Aron said.

  Apollo turned to face the council.

  "In fact, you must give your weapon to the guards," Aron continued.

  Apollo noticed Baltar slipping out, but it didn't seem as though anyone else paid any attention. Reluctantly, he turned his laser over to one of the black-shirted guards. Then he looked once more at Jinkrat.

  With a single nod, Jinkrat commanded all of his guards to silence and they ordered themselves in a tight array. This was the right of command, Apollo realized.

  A man who earned such loyalty from his men was not a man to be treated lightly. He had similar loyalty from Koren, Apollo saw, as the boy reached up and began to speak quickly to his father.

  "Dad, please listen," Koren said.

  "You have been prisoner of this man," Jinkrat said, still holding Apollo in an implacable, cold gaze.

  "No, Dad," Koren said. "Apollo brought me here. Please, Dad—"

  Apollo watched. The boy had been honest. He hadn't spoken a word before, but now he was talking.

  "Wait!" Aron cried, stepping forward. "The boy must be seen to—look, there's blood on his face."

  And there was blood. Apollo knew that Koren was uninjured, but as he stepped forward Jinkrat's guards closed ranks and he couldn't get any closer.

  "He's unharmed," Apollo said.

  "We'll let the doctor be the judge of that," Aron said.

  Jinkrat leaned close to his son, putting his finger under his chin.

  "Are you all right?" he asked.

  Koren nodded.

  "He can be treated later. Now, we must talk of this… situation," Jinkrat said.

  "I do not agree," Aron said. "I believe the boy should be taken directly to sickbay."

  So you could kidnap him again, Apollo thought. But he waited for Jinkrat to answer.

>   Jinkrat's face changed, softening as he looked down at his son. "Koren, you're still a boy. You don't understand how men can lie and betray each other. I'd rather you—"

  "I want to stay, dad," Koren said. "I'm not too young to understand."

  "Koren, please step aside," Jinkrat said. "Wait for this man and I to say what must be said between us." Jinkrat took Koren's shoulder and led him to a chair on the side of the room. "Stay there," he commanded.

  Apollo watched the conflicting emotions play over Koren's pale, freckled face, and watched respect for his father emerge, victorious. Koren sat, pulling up his legs and looking on with an agonized expression, his hands balled tight, gripping the arms of the chair.

  Jinkrat turned back to face Apollo. Apollo sensed that the man was like a spring, compressed to its tightest point, coiled and ready to break loose at any micron.

  "So," Jinkrat said. "You uphold this one small part of your bargain. Did you hope to kill me while my son looked on, Apollo?"

  "No!" Apollo cried. "What were you trying to accomplish with that bomb? In sickbay? How many innocents would have been killed then, if not for—"

  "What lies are these?" Jinkrat asked. "Sickbay? I planted no—"

  "Sheba is lying near death right now. Dozens more could have died if not for her bravery," Apollo said, feeling the blood rushing to his head. Jinkrat was not a big man—not physically large. Apollo knew that he could take him in a micron. If he had to.

  "I know who Sheba is," Jinkrat said. "Daughter of Cain, the great warrior. A warrior herself, high above me. She risked her life willingly. I have no—"

  "Of course not," Apollo cried. "You only care about yourself, about your selfish need for revenge. Koren told me about your son." Then, Apollo caught himself short, reminding himself—thinking his rage was not so very different from Jinkrat's own deep anger. They had both lost people they cared about, deeply. There had been so many who had died. So many years of war and blood and pain.

  "Is my son of any less worth than your high born people, Apollo?" Jinkrat asked. But his voice was no longer angry. It was cold, full of bitterness and resentment.

  "Listen," Apollo said. "We've all had to sacrifice—more than anybody could ever have imagined. But you don't understand, Jinkrat."