Battlestar Galactica 11 - The Nightmare Machine

by Glen A. Larson

  In the Life Center Salik listened patiently to Cassiopeia's tale, and didn't speak until she'd finished.

  "Damn," he growled, "I don't know what's gotten into everybody. Has the whole ship gone crazy? Tigh's got to know about this."

  He went to his intercom, called Tigh, and explained the situation.

  "I'll cut it off. I'll be on the unicom immediately," Tigh said.

  "I agree," Salik said.

  "Keep me posted."

  "Right, sir."

  Salik turned to Cassiopeia who was fidgeting at the Life Center entrance.

  "He's going to sound the general alarm."

  Cassiopeia, nodding, opened the door.

  "Where are you going?" Salik said.

  "I've got to go back out there, look for Greenbean. Anything happens, there may be something I can do."

  "I may need you here, Cass."

  "By the time you need me, it'll be too late. I've got to see what I can do."

  He considered protesting further, but saw it would be of no use.

  "Okay, go," he said, trying to sound as rude as he could—his trademark. "Get away from here!"

  She left. He wondered why he felt so proud of her.

  Tigh's voice resounded through the Galactica. People on every level, every room, every corner, stopped what they were doing and looked toward the unicom speakers. Even the mob that was pursuing Greenbean.

  "Galactica personnel, attention! I say, attention! I have been informed that a mob is presently chasing one of our junior officers in some part of the ship. I am not clear on the purpose of this pursuit but that doesn't matter, mob law is not respected in any quarter of the Galactica, and it must cease immediately. I say, this needless pursuit must cease immediately. Return to your posts or your quarters or proceed immediately to off-duty areas."

  Tigh's words defused the fury of most of the mob, and they settled down to hear the rest of his message.

  "We will not condone mob violence or the prejudgement it implies. All offenders will be prosecuted to the maximum of the law. I say, the maximum. I speak for the commander as well as myself. This incident will be investigated thoroughly. I order anyone with knowledge of how this mob originated to proceed on the double to the nearest security post or the commander's quarters, so that we may iron out this problem, whatever it is, immediately."

  He paused and the people listened intently to the crackle in the speakers.

  "Ensign Greenbean is also ordered to the commander's quarters on the double. All directly concerned with the instigation of this incident, I expect to see you immediately. I say, immediately. Galactica personnel, attention!"

  Tigh repeated the message as the mob slowly broke up and headed toward their proper areas.

  Boomer grabbed Starbuck's sleeve and said:

  "You hear, bucko? Colonel wants to see—"

  "Did I hear what? Sorry, fellas, I just came down with a bad case of felgercarb in my ears. Can't hear a darned thing."

  "Starbuck, calm down!" Apollo said. "We're going to quietly proceed to—"

  "Greenbean's around here somewhere. C'mon, boys and girls, we'll find him."

  Starbuck gestured to the stragglers from the mob and tried to lead them down the corridor. Some appeared ready to follow but, thinking of Tigh's warnings, couldn't work up the nerve. Starbuck, running off, seemed not to care whether anyone came after him or not.

  "What do we do now?" Boomer said.

  "We're the only ones with a chance to defuse this," Apollo said.

  "But the colonel'll ream us."

  "We'll have to take that chance. We have to keep after him. C'mon."

  Greenbean heard Tigh's message, but it had scant effect on him. He just kept walking on, searching for an elevator. Turning a corner, he nearly ran into Cassiopeia again. She held up her hand to stop him.

  "Greenbean, didn't you hear? Colonel wants you. Back that way, ensign."

  "Ain't goin' there. Leave me alone."

  Cassiopeia took Greenbean's soft innocent face between her hands and said gently:

  "What's wrong, Greeny?"

  He wanted to tell her. She was so lovely, so kind. But the desire was fleeting. Dominated by the guilt-aura that surrounded him, he couldn't even find a useful way to communicate. He tried to push past her, saying:

  "Just leave me alone."

  "Look," Cassiopeia called after him, "you want to sit someplace and talk? The Life Center. Your quarters. Somewhere."

  "No! I don't want anything. I want—"

  "Yes?"

  "I WANT TO DIE!"

  He broke away from her. She ran after him.

  Uri stood with some of his followers in the civilian lounge when Tigh's message came. When it was done, Uri smiled broadly, then laughed. He had a strong premonition of imminent triumph.

  "I couldn't be more pleased!" he said to his followers. "This is it! Notify our people. We can't wait any longer. We're going to strike now! We'll start the line of march from the Beta Level auditorium. Go!"

  His followers ran off in all directions, eager to spread the word. Watching them scamper off, Uri gloated. He felt power surging through his body. He managed a kind of clumsy run himself, eager to get to the auditorium so that he could lead the march of the dissidents.

  Sheba and Bojay stood at the elevator bank, awaiting the next available car. They had both been working with the clerical staff, sorting Vailean invoices, and were tired out. Also, affected in their own ways by the guilt-rays, they were somewhat sad.

  "I keep thinking of Dad," Sheba said, "how he looked when he really took charge of a situation."

  "Yeah, that was really something, wasn't it?"

  "Wish I could do that, I really do."

  "You can, Sheba, I know it."

  "Nope, I don't have the guts to go ahead like he did, without thinking things all the way through."

  "Secret of his success."

  "Yep. Well, here's the elevator. Good, I can't wait to get down to the lounge and put a couple of those new ambrosa cocktails away."

  The flashing light above the elevator doors turned off, and the doors began to open. Behind them, Bojay and Sheba heard the scuffle of running feet. Bojay grabbed the leading edge of the elevator door to hold it open for the latecomer.

  Greenbean dived into the elevator car, after pushing Bojay off the door and back into the waiting area. As Greenbean fell to the floor, the doors closed. Sheba and Bojay looked on, incredulous. Cassiopeia came running up to them.

  "We've got to stop him!" she shouted."He says he's going to kill himself!"

  "But why?" Sheba said.

  "No time to explain. We've got to go after him."

  Starbuck caught sight of Greenbean just before he dived into the elevator. He ran forward and stood behind Sheba, Bojay and Cassiopeia as they all watched the descending numbers above the elevator doors.

  "He's gone below engine room level," Starbuck said.

  "What's down there?" asked Boomer, who had, with Apollo, finally caught up to Starbuck.

  "The engines take up several levels, then there's the fuel storage areas, the devil's pit, the—"

  Cassiopeia recalled Brie's earlier mention of the devil's pit.

  "Nobody ever goes down there, do they?" Bojay said.

  "Some say it's haunted," said Sheba.

  "Well," Starbuck said, "he's going there all right."

  Another elevator light started to flash. It was an elevator at the right end of the bank. They all rushed to it as the light stopped flashing and the door opened. The group began filing into it. Apollo, holding the door, held Starbuck back.

  "Uh-uh, good buddy," he said. "You go report to Colonel Tigh. Tell him what we're doing. I don't want you down there."

  Starbuck tried to push past Apollo, but Apollo shoved him roughly backward.

  "Apollo," Starbuck protested, "you can't—"

  "I said, stay here!" Apollo bellowed.

  Starbuck made another attempt to gain entrance to the elevator car
, but the door closed right in front of his face. He cursed. Then he looked upward and said:

  "Lord, I need a miracle now."

  Almost in answer, the light to the adjacent elevator began to flash.

  "Lord," Starbuck said, "thanks for the quick response."

  The elevator doors opened. Inside, the car was loaded with personnel. There was no room for Starbuck to even squeeze in. Before the door could close, he grabbed its edge, shouting with authority:

  "Everybody off. Core Command order! This lift is dangerous."

  At first the passengers didn't move. However, because Starbuck was well-known to them as a command officer, his words had effect.

  "C'mon, c'mon," Starbuck said impatiently, "I'm taking this car out of service."

  The passengers filed out quickly and obediently. Starbuck jumped into the car. Its doors closed, leaving him with a last sight of bewildered and angry passengers, and he pushed the button for the devil's pit level. The button was shinier than the hundred or so others on the panel. It was clear that people rarely went there.

  As the elevator sped downward, Starbuck muttered:

  "I see I haven't lost the old resourcefulness." He pulled out his pistol and began to run his fingers along its barrel. "Ensign Greenbean, you and I have a date."

  Lucifer might have been impressed by the power his device had over its victims. He would not have liked to see Starbuck go off the deep end, but he would certainly have been intrigued by it.

  Greenbean stepped out of the elevator and felt nearly stifled by the heavy dank odors of the devil's pit level. The air was close and cold. His eyes, used to the intense light inside the elevator, could not see anything around him.

  He brushed away the remaining tears that had flowed during his ride down. He couldn't cry any more. He had realized the full extent of his betrayal, and he felt he didn't even deserve the tears.

  "Somewhere around here," he muttered, "around here someplace . . . somewhere, there's gotta be a good place to die."

  "You've come to the right place, ensign," said a gravelly voice right behind him. "The right place."

  CHAPTER NINE

  Adama felt weary, as light and drained as a ghost, as the ghost he probably was. He had been watching Ila since her return from her shopping trip, her frail arms loaded down with heavy overfilled sacks. He had stood near her while she unpacked her purchases and put them away, then followed her around the house as she did a series of light chores. Her efficiency and ease of movement impressed him. She took care of the cottage with the same skill with which her husband helmed the Galactica. She was a definite marvel, and in so many ways that he'd never realized because he'd been away at the war. She'd learned, apparently, to live alone for these long periods and busy herself with the cottage, her reading, and the music which she hummed, and sometimes sang aloud, in perfect pitch. The beauty of her singing was a minor miracle, since she was, he knew, half-deaf. Apparently what she heard inside her head was as lovely as what she sang. He wondered if she would have been embarrassed to know that she was not really alone, that her husband was seeing her private habits and idiosyncrasies.

  He longed to talk with her and was sad that it wasn't possible. How did a ghost manage to materialize when he wanted to? When he wanted to so very much. Well, no matter—it was so good to see her again that he accepted the situation's limitations.

  Suddenly Ha yawned and stretched her arms. She went to the television set embedded in the parlor wall and switched it on. Without waiting for the screen to show a picture, she went to a couch and lay down on it. She yawned again and looked toward the screen.

  He followed her gaze and got a new shock.

  There, in the center of the screen, holding a microphone just below chin level and smiling charmingly at the camera, was Serina. Serina, the lovely woman who'd become his son's wife just before her tragic death on Kobol. For a moment, he was bewildered. What was Serina doing on the TV screen here in his and Ila's cottage? Then he recalled that she had been a newswoman.

  "Serina here," Serina was saying, employing her trademark introduction, "at the Caprica Presidium, where preparations continue as they have continued through the night for the ceremonies that will commence when the long-awaited announcement is beamed here for the peace conference. Even though it's early dawn here, large crowds of people have gathered around the Presidium complex. Anticipation is growing as Capricans ready themselves to usher in a new era of peace."

  Adama was frightened by the unexpected sight and sound of Serina. There was something odd about it, something ominous . . .

  "That sounds so familiar, Ila," he said, not worrying that she couldn't hear him. "The words, I mean. They—"

  Then he recalled where he had seen this scene before. Of course! This was the first time I ever saw Serina. She was broadcasting just before—just before—Oh my God! He now remembered the frantic trip toward Caprica. When they had come within range of the twelve worlds, they had picked up TV news broadcasts. He had seen Serina there, in the same setting and saying the same words as he was watching now. That was the time when the people aboard the Galactica had helplessly viewed the Cylon sneak attack and the beginning of the twelve worlds' destruction.

  Ila yawned and stretched again. Her eyes closed. Panicked, Adama rushed to her side, knelt by the couch, tried to find some way to arouse her.

  "Ila! Ila! Don't go to sleep! They're going to attack. You've got to get out of here. Now!"

  But she was settling gently into sleep, her face peaceful and composed. He realized this face would be her death mask if she didn't leave this part of the cottage, the section that was destined to be reduced to rubble by the Cylon attackers. He reached toward her, hoping to shake her awake, but of course his arms just went through her body. He nearly screamed from frustration.

  "Ila! It can't have been like this. Did you just go to sleep and never wake up? No! I won't have it. You can't die. You must escape."

  He looked back at the TV screen. Serina was frightened. She blinked at sudden distant noises.

  "Two explosions," she reported. "You saw them on camera. People are beginning to run in all directions. This is terrible, horrible."

  Adama heard faint whistling sounds. At first he thought they came from the TV, then he realized they were outside the cottage. Why were the sounds so familiar? Then he knew why. They were the reverberations of Cylon raiders streaking toward them. Adama concentrated on trying to make Ila hear him.

  "Ila! They're coming now. Wake up!"

  But she remained asleep as the sound of the approaching Cylon raiders grew from a distant whistle to a house-shaking shriek. He sat back on his heels, wondering what to do. At the same time he realized there was absolutely nothing he could do. This was history. It had happened. He had been transported through time back here for some reason, some purpose—but, whatever it was, he could not change history, he could only observe it. That was the hell of it—he couldn't change a thing.

  "It's hopeless," the Serina-image on screen said, as if speaking directly to the ghost-Adama. "People are dying all around me. I don't even know if we're still on the air."

  Adama took another look at Serina, knowing he would see the same scenes he'd viewed aboard the Galactica. It was hopeless, as she'd said. He studied her pretty, frightened face and thought of how radiant she had been when she'd performed the sealing ceremony with Apollo.

  Outside, there was a series of explosions, each burst sounding closer to the cottage. It was as if the blasts were approaching the cottage slowly and politely.

  "Ila!" Adama whispered sadly. "Oh, Ila, Ila."

  As if in response to his pleas, Ila's eyes came open. She stared past him, jumped at the next explosion. It was the explosions that had awakened her then, not his voice. They were so loud their sound even penetrated her impaired hearing.

  Ila looked toward the TV screen but it had gone dead. A Cylon raider, flying low, screamed by overhead. A bomb exploded not far away, and she flinched. Getting up
, she went to the door of the cottage and looked out. Adama wanted to shout at her to run, get as far away from their home as possible. She did take a few steps out of the cottage.

  Adama saw the swooping Cylon raider before Ila did. He ran toward her. The raider dipped down toward the ground and fired. Its shots killed her instantly. She fell onto the path. Adama, crying, knelt beside her.

  Tigh sat by Adama's bed, studied the anguish in his face. Athena came into the room and stood behind him.

  "No more word on the mob," she said, "but it seems it has mostly dispersed."

  "None of them have shown up here yet," he said.

  "I hope Greenbean is all right."

  She saw the pain in her father's face and felt helpless. While he was suffering, she was just being a messenger.

  "There's something else," she said to Tigh.

  "Just what I need," he said, resignedly. "What is it, Athena?"

  "Uri. He seems to have stirred up some trouble. There's a crowd of people assembling in Beta Level Auditorium. A new mob, maybe, with new purposes. They're going to march, rumor is."

  Tigh shrugged.

  "Let 'em march," he said.

  "Colonel Tigh, do you mean that?"

  Tigh pounded his right fist into the palm of his left hand and erupted with anger:

  "Of course I mean it! Why should we even have to deal with Sire Uri and his rabble? Let 'em leave. Tell 'em to line up at the nearest space-waste chute and step out."

  Athena was both scared and amused by Tigh's outburst. She liked the idea of dispatching Uri out a chute, but she was worried by the state of Tigh's nerves. Normally cool during stressful events, it was not like him to succumb to the strains of command so angrily. She decided to ignore the outburst.

  "He seems peaceful," she said, looking down at her father. It was true. The pain that had been on his face had vanished.

  "I wish he'd come out of it," Tigh said, sadly. "We need him now, with Greenbean running amuck through the ship, with Uri playing small-fry demagogue."

  Adama stirred in his sleep. His face became frightened. He began to breathe hard, with difficulty.