Battlestar Galactica 13 - Apollo's War

by Glen A. Larson

A somewhat distorted picture of Apollo as he swayed from dizziness was being watched on a long narrow screen by two lizardlike beings in military uniforms. One was clearly an officer, as the amount of ornate metallic finery on his black and gray uniform attested, and the other, who sat at the screen and wore a much plainer version of the uniform, was clearly a subordinate. Although both had a well-defined reptilian look, they were in most respects humanoid. With an only slightly bent spine, they stood upright on legs which almost exactly duplicated the bone structure of human legs. Their arms had an extra joint which gave their movements a sinuous effect, and their hands had four fingers which they could spread widely. Underneath their uniform sleeves one might have been surprised by the many tiny spines all over the skin of their arms. The green tinge of their scaly skins might have convinced most humanoids to classify them in a different biological order, but technically they were humanoid.

  The subordinate had been observing the pilots from the Galactica ever since a scanner had detected their Vipers' presence in the skies. The officer had just been summoned to the screen.

  "They appear to be prime prospects for us," the officer said. He had no nose, and his nostrils vibrated when he spoke.

  "I agree, sir," the subordinate said.

  "How came they here?"

  The subordinate worked controls at the side of the console, and onscreen the trio of Vipers appeared. The officer studied the vehicles.

  "Sophisticated craft, do you think?" he said.

  "Yes, sir."

  "They appear to be extremely high-powered. I suspect these beings came from far off, like the last group we discovered. Perhaps, with all these visitors, we can learn how to escape from this sector with such power. The craft will be worth studying at any rate."

  "I take it then, sir, that we will accept these beings into our ranks."

  "I believe we will. They are clearly humanoid. Humanoids have proven useful fighters for us in the past, don't you agree?"

  "Agreed, sir."

  "Good. When they have separated enough for us to warp them in separate beams, activate the trap and bring them through the force field."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Then we will also capture and transport their powerful vehicles."

  "Very good, sir."

  "Assign a noncom to further observation of them, and eventual recruitment."

  "Yes, sir."

  They continued to gaze at the screen until the officer gave the order to trap the newcomers.

  Apollo tried to shake the dizziness out of his head. He stumbled forward. Sheba took a couple of steps toward him. He waved her away.

  "Apollo," she said, "is there anything wrong?"

  "Nothing."

  Unconvinced, she wanted to rush to him, touch him, help him, but he tended to reject sympathy, or even simple compassion, from her or anyone else. Sheba wished she could get emotionally closer to the stoic captain, but he had discouraged all her overtures, especially since that brief time when they had been romantically involved.

  Apollo swayed again and blinked his eyes several times. Sheba began to feel a bit woozy herself. She glanced toward Croft, who seemed to be fading out. She blinked her own eyes. Was this a trick of vision, something gone wrong with her eyes? No, Croft was really fading out. She took a step, stumbled.

  "What's going on?" she cried.

  Apollo fell. As he became unconscious, he saw half of Sheba disappear.

  The rock beetle, seeing the scene through the multiple eyes of another beetle along the communication network, watched the three human beings shimmer slightly before vanishing. Each one appeared to rise a short distance in the air before being lost to insect vision. He had seen such magical events before, with different kinds of creatures, all of whom, when they reached that section of ground, disappeared. Some of their own kind had also disappeared, and sent back no messages. Another message came from another line of the communication network: the strange shells the human beings had arrived in had also vanished.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Surveying the activity on the Galactica bridge from his favorite observation point, right next to the starfield window, Tigh thought: It's as busy here as a herd of wild daggits on a rampage. At least half of the bridge crew was engaged in guiding Starbuck's squadron toward its landing. The rest were preparing to dispatch the group of shuttles and cargo ships whose job it would be to evaluate the riches, or lack of them, on the apparently fruitful planet the squadron had discovered. Commander Adama glanced toward Tigh with that expression which his old friend and executive officer recognized as the need for a report. Tigh immediately strode to Adama's side, saying, "This one feels right, sir."

  Adama nodded.

  "Yes, Tigh, I agree. The data Starbuck transmitted ahead seems to indicate rich sources of fuel and food for the fleet."

  As usual, Tigh was amused by the careful wording of the commander's comment. Adama was famous throughout the ship for hiding his optimism behind a meticulously cautious vocabulary.

  "Any word from Apollo and his squadron?" Adama asked.

  Tigh matched Adama's caution with his own carefully chosen words.

  "Nothing yet. They went beyond coded channel range. I'm sure they'll communicate momentarily."

  "Momentarily?"

  "Well, they are twenty centons overdue for their next report."

  They stared at each other for a moment. However wary their words, each could see the deep concern in the other's eyes. Tigh, eager to keep Adama from unnecessary worrying, said softly, "Perhaps they've discovered something significant and are checking their data before reporting in."

  Adama's eyes clearly showed he was not convinced.

  "Perhaps."

  The two men turned their attention to normal routine. When all the Vipers of Starbuck's squadron were safely landed, half of the bridge crew instantly relaxed.

  Moments later Starbuck dutifully reported in to the commander. Adama listened quietly as the young lieutenant supplied the hopeful information about the planet his squadron had found. As Starbuck spoke, Adama's daughter, Athena, in charge of operations for the shift, joined the two men. When Starbuck was finished, Adama grasped his shoulders firmly and said, "Good job, Lieutenant."

  Starbuck, his handsome face reddening just a little, was obviously pleased. As he brushed back the usual unruly strands of his straw-colored hair, he said crisply, "Thank you sir." He took a step backward but, before turning, he addressed Adama again. "Sir? They told me, down at landing bay, that Apollo, Croft and Sheba haven't returned yet."

  "That is correct, Starbuck."

  "Is everything all right?"

  "We have to assume that until . . ."

  "Until what?"

  "Until we know that it isn't all right."

  Both Starbuck and Athena flinched at that declaration. Flight Officer Omega brought Adama some new data about the ships to be launched. As Adama attended to them, Athena whispered quietly to Starbuck, "Apollo's all right. No problem. He'll be reporting in any moment."

  Starbuck's voice dropped to a whisper.

  "You feel it, too, don't you?" he said.

  "Feel what?"

  "That something's wrong. I always know when something's wrong with Apollo. So do you. He's too methodical. He wouldn't allow that long a period of time to pass before a scheduled report, unless something was wrong."

  Her eyes saddening, Athena nodded. Starbuck noticed Adama's shoulders slump as he listened to Omega. He rushed to the commander, with Athena only a step behind him.

  "What's wrong, sir?" he said.

  Tigh, who had also noted the change in Adama's body, rushed up. Adama tried to wave both Starbuck and Tigh away. Omega turned to the two men and said, "I had the Vipers of Captain Apollo's squadron on-scan briefly, then they disappeared."

  "Disappeared?" Starbuck said.

  "How briefly, Omega?" Athena asked.

  "Not long. Just a micron or two. If I hadn't been searching for them, I'd never have noticed. They were there,
a couple of flashes, they were gone. That's what it looked like. Like they just flashed out of existence."

  "Don't panic," Adama said, struggling to keep his voice calm. "It was merely their ships. They might not have been in them."

  "They seemed to be flying over some kind of terrain just before they blipped out."

  "Do you have the coordinates, Omega?" Starbuck said.

  "Not established, lieutenant. We have the sub-sector, but nothing more."

  "Then we'll have to search every damn planet in the damn sub-sector."

  Starbuck appeared ready to initiate search procedures right that moment.

  "Starbuck," Tigh said, "that area's positively dense with star systems. There must be more than two hundred planets, and uncountable asteroids, and—"

  "Tigh, we've got to do something!"

  Starbuck's desperate plea silenced the bridge. Everyone stared at each other. When Adama spoke in a whisper, his words could be heard everywhere in the immense chamber: "We will do something. We'll send out the routine search party."

  Starbuck whirled around and faced his commander angrily.

  "Routine? Just routine. Commander, this calls for an extensive scouring pattern, the integration of all our available craft into—"

  "Simmer down, Lieutenant. Taking over command of the Galactica, are you?"

  The characteristically hot-tempered Starbuck was tempted to say yes.

  "No, sir, but—"

  "No buts, Starbuck. Captain Apollo wouldn't want us to commit so many of our vehicles to a simple search for a lost patrol. Especially when there is so much work to be done on the planet you and your squadron discovered. Especially when our fuel levels are already at crisis points."

  "But, sir, this is Apollo, your—"

  Staring into Adama's steely eyes, Starbuck found he couldn't articulate the word son. The comment wouid have been insubordinate as well as insulting. Instead, he merely stuttered and went silent. Adama turned toward his executive officer.

  "Colonel Tigh, assemble a search party and order them to deploy in arachnid pattern over the sub-sector. Use full instrumentation and report all anomalies, no matter how insignificant they may seem."

  Running off, Tigh shouted back, "Yes, sir," as he immediately set about implementing the orders.

  His body going slack, Adama glanced toward Starbuck and Athena, each of whom appeared hostile and angry. No wonder. They were agonizing over the loss of a friend and brother, and could not understand his strict attention to duty. He wanted to commit more vehicles. He even wished to join the search party himself. But responsibility outweighed all personal feelings. Adama's responsibility was to the Galactica and to the fleet. Apollo was only one man; there were hundreds of thousands of people under Adama's care. His son would have demanded that nothing be done to jeopardize the welfare of the people. He could almost hear Apollo saying to send no more ships after him than regulations called for. He hated even the slightest element of favoritism bestowed upon him by his father.

  The last time Adama had talked with his son, just before the current mission, they had had one of their tiffs. These little arguments had been coming with increasing frequency as Apollo became more and more burdened with the responsibility of command. The skin around Apollo's eyes had become dark from sleeplessness, from the extra tours of duty he pushed on himself so stubbornly. His mouth had hardened into a thin, grim line ever since the death of his wife Serina during the battle on the planet Kobol. Even when he smiled, there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. When he laughed, there was a hollow sound just beneath the laughter.

  Their argument had been about some technical detail or other. Adama recalled something about Viper deployment on missions. Whatever it had been, Apollo had become irritated. He suggested that his father's tactical concepts did not apply to their current situation. He said something about them being buried back in space academy texts. Adama had become angry and a little sarcastic, and soon they were in a shouting match. And all over a few technical details. They had both calmed down but had parted with some tension still hanging between them.

  "Commander Adama?" Starbuck asked.

  Adama blinked away his reverie. Seeing the frustration in Starbuck's eyes, he spoke to the brash young lieutenant sternly.

  "Consider your words before you speak them, Starbuck."

  "I have, sir. I wish to lead the search party."

  "Starbuck, you've just come off a long, tiring flight. You need your rest."

  "Negative, sir. I wouldn't be able to rest, not until Apollo is found or we have exhausted every resource to—to—"

  He couldn't say it, couldn't admit the possibility that Apollo might not be found. Adama nodded, releasing Starbuck from the obligation of finishing the sentence.

  "Permission granted, Lieutenant Starbuck. Report to Colonel Tigh for briefing."

  "Thank you, sir."

  Starbuck turned briskly on his heel and strode off the bridge. Athena hugged her father's arm, put her head against his shoulder. He patted her hand.

  "We'll find him, I know," Athena whispered.

  "He may report in any moment," Adama said, the certainty of his words not matched by what he felt inside.

  "Exactly."

  "There are things I should have said to him, Athena, things—"

  "Hush. He knows. We both know."

  Adama smiled at his daughter's comforting words but, no matter how much he tried to put the picture out of his head, he still recalled the stern look on his son's face when Adama had last seen him.

  Apollo dreamt of his father's face, looking sternly at his own stern face. At their last meeting, Apollo had merely turned and left the room. In the dream, he started to go, then whirled around, rushed to his father and hugged him. They rarely hugged. Now, even in the dream, he could feel his father's strong grip. Then the grip dissolved along with his father's appearance into a bright white light. Apollo felt heat just underneath his eyelids, the heat of a sun. He came awake suddenly and realized he was lying on his back. The heat and light came from the sun in the sky above him. He opened his eyes and quickly averted them from the brightness. When his vision cleared, he saw a clump of grass beside his head. Its blades were a vivid deep green with flecks of red at the base.

  Slowly he remembered landing on a planet, exploring, getting dizzy, blanking out. He sat up, saw he was quite alone. This meadow was nothing like the barren stretch of ground they'd been exploring. It was lush and attractive, with complex tangles of greenery that seemed to embrace and even strangle exotic red, yellow and purple flowers, with short soft grass, with tall impressive trees.

  Standing up, he examined himself. He was no longer in the uniform of the Battlestar Galactica. He now wore a jacket of stiff material, with no collar and an uneven raggedy hem. His plain trousers were of similar cloth. On his feet sandals had replaced his flight boots. His jacket was tucked at the waist by a wide belt which had a set of strange-looking shiny metal studs all around it. The material of these strange new clothes made his skin itch. Without thinking about it, he reached inside his jacket and absentmindedly scratched the skin of his chest.

  Speaking out loud, he tried to collect his thoughts.

  "I was walking through a rocky place—that's right, a rocky place. I felt dizzy. Then I blacked out. Now I'm here. How did I get here? Where is this? Where's Sheba? Croft? The Vipers, where are they?"

  He began to walk around, studying the vegetation. What a lovely place this seemed to be, so suitable for human life, for all kinds of life. Their telemetry had indicated nothing like this when they had landed on the planet. Was he on a different planet now? Had he somehow been transported elsewhere?

  He thought he saw movement near a tree. When he went closer, he saw nothing. However, he felt a strange warmth at his waist. Looking down, he saw that one of the studs on his belt had lighted up. Reaching down, he touched the glowing stud. It began to emit a low humming sound. With a series of gentle tugs, the belt seemed to be urging Apollo to wa
lk forward. He followed the impulse, took a few steps into the woods. The pull became stronger. He tried to resist it and could not. There was nothing he could do but continue in the direction it led him. He became more alert than ever, flexing his fingers readily. If he encountered anything, he had no weapon. He'd have to fight his way out.

  Suddenly the pull ceased. Looking down, he saw a small furry animal, sitting at his feet. Apollo sat on his haunches and stared at the tiny creature. It had tiny pointed ears and a long rodentlike snout. Its arms, held stiffly at its sides, were thin and furry only in patches. He wondered why it didn't move, run away. He stared at its eyes, which were glazed. They looked like buttons placed in eye sockets. Perhaps it was dead. He reached out and touched it. While the creature didn't react to the touch, Apollo noted that it gave off strong body heat. It was clearly alive, but in some way hypnotized. Well, no reason to disturb it further, he thought. He stood up and started to walk away. The pull from the belt resumed. It would not allow him to walk more than three steps, then it firmly edged him back toward the small animal. Apollo tried to resist, but only stumbled. He pressed the button he'd touched before. The light and hum went out. Life suddenly returned to the animal's eyes. It stared up, frightened, at Apollo. It appeared about to run off, but a man jumped out from behind a nearby tree and pounced on it. He picked the animal up, his mouth wide open, revealing rotted teeth. Apollo saw he intended to bite the animal's throat.

  "Hey!" Apollo shouted. "What—"

  He made a grab for the animal, but it was too late. Blood gushed out of the animal's throat as the man bit into it. Angry, Apollo made a move toward the man, who backed away, his eyes as scared as the animal's had been. He flung the dying creature at Apollo, who stepped aside as it brushed past him, leaving a few small bloodstains on his trousers.

  "I thought you didn't want it," the man yelled.

  "Want it?" Apollo asked. "For what?"

  "For your meal."

  "My meal? I don't—"

  The man turned and skittered away into the darkness of the woods before Apollo could finish his sentence. He walked to the dead animal and knelt by it. The blood had stopped gushing from its throat. Its eyes were now glazed for good. He scooped some dirt over it. The idea of eating the animal had sickened him. He had to get away from this spot. As he walked, a long time passed before he could get the smell of the animal's blood out of his nose.