IN MEMORY OF COMMANDER CAIN, THE HERO OF KOBOL
Despite long hours and exhaustion, no one wanted to sleep now.
Sheba's statement was succinct.
"We all know that my father was a warrior," she said, "and sometimes many thought that there was no other side to him. His reputation for recklessness followed him more relentlessly than the Cylons. But he had the same dream as Commander Adama and his son. He wanted us to be safe. Never forget that. He didn't kill for the sake of destruction. Everything he ever did, even when he made ill-conceived alliances, was for the one purpose of guaranteeing our safety!"
The applause burst like a wave throughout the ships and over the new world that was Cain's final resting place. It even sounded sincere in the Council chamber.
Back in that chamber, it was time to return to business. Normally, Commander Apollo didn't care for the slow deliberations of the Twelve. There had been too many times when a military emergency demanded quick action but the politicians seemed woefully impervious to that reality. Their procedures were carefully designed to try the patience of anyone burdened with actual facts and a workable plan.
This occasion was a bit different. There were many issues to be decided. And Apollo wasn't entirely certain where they were headed.
He looked over at Cassie, who had dragged herself from long nights in the med-lab. He didn't like her working this hard when she was pregnant. He didn't like the confusion over the issue of fatherhood any better. She still believed he was the father. He couldn't decide if he believed Baltar's fantastic claims about the essence of Iblis being the true progenitor.
The pregnancy was starting to show. Apollo caught Starbuck staring at the woman that they all knew he still loved. Their personal lives were so complicated that maybe it would take an entire bureaucracy to sort it out!
There were more pressing matters to concern all of them here and now. They were all tired but they had to soldier on. Maybe while hunting up new sources of tylium they'd find another rare mineral to recharge their human batteries.
Not surprisingly, there was disagreement about procedure. Apollo and Starbuck had a silent meeting of minds on that subject. Arguments over protocol made Starbuck want to return to the bar but the situation gave Apollo other ideas. He'd like nothing better than to slip into his dreamwalking state where his subconscious would speak directly to his conscious mind and form a gestalt.
The only problem with ultimate consciousness was that it had no application to practical politics. Reluctantly, Apollo stuck with the matters at hand.
A wealthy council member finally said something of interest. "We have talked ourselves blue in the face about destroying ships that are past the point of repair so that we may cannibalize them for repairs on the salvageable craft—and then utilize the remaining materials for temporary habitats on the new planet. And I know that some of us plan more permanent structures as well. My point is that I've yet to see a final plan with objective criteria about just which ships are to be destroyed and when. Not to mention in which order."
Starbuck did a low whistle. "Now that's a mouthful," he said.
The statement inspired a round of mumbling and accusations, just one more example of how the military was forced to make the decisions that so often paralyzed civilian authority. Apollo was about to intercede when an architect named Ryis took the floor.
Ryis presented a detailed plan. He'd already mustered support from several influential Council members. He had no problem with destroying obsolete ships. Maybe this time the Council would follow a logical course of action without having its collective arm twisted by the warriors.
Apollo felt oddly detached from the proceedings. Maybe that's why he wasn't as impatient as was normally the case with him. There was no clear path in front of him. Maybe he was only at his best when facing life-and-death crises.
Wouldn't it be nice if Paradis didn't force him to make those kinds of choices?
But he knew better than to expect a vacation from the responsibilities of command. His inner light never blinded him to reality.
Finally, it was his turn to speak. Since the warriors had proven themselves as recently as the Ur cloud, civilians were happy for him to speak. There were no revolutions and the external enemy had no inkling where the Colonials had fled.
"We will be here for some time," he concluded. "This planet seems to have everything we need. The Native population welcomes us as guests. We are fortunate that the Gamon have a similar language to the Nomen. Communications are proceeding well."
"What about tylium?" shouted someone from the general population who were participating in this historic meeting.
"Preliminary tests are promising," volunteered President Tigh. Apollo relinquished the floor and neither objected to the casual manner of the questioner.
Tigh elaborated on what mattered. "Bear in mind that we won't have to synthesize our basic needs on Paradis. The planet offers us a rich harvest in foodstuffs."
"There may be sources of new medicines," Cassie whispered to Starbuck, who leaned closer to catch her words.
Tigh had awfully good hearing, a prerequisite for his job. "All sorts of things, from housing to medical supplies, will be ours for the taking on this new planet. And I'm confident that we will eventually locate enough sources of Tylium to feed our engines. We won't have to worry about paying black market prices when the Gamon don't even know what tylium is!"
The President had tried for levity but he achieved the opposite result. Several voices cursed Baltar who, after all, built his original fortune dealing in the scarce supplies of the essential fuel. Even before his betrayal, the man had made enemies without number.
Apollo regained the floor. "We will find the tylium we need and be good neighbors to the Gamon. I give you my solemn pledge that we will repair the fleet. The Marron drive will once again return us to the stars!"
He intended his final words to be stirring but there was no applause. Only Ryis smiled, and there was something unpleasant about his expression.
Chapter Three
They invited GarTokk to run. He accepted it as the honor that was intended. The meetings had gone well and Apollo gave silent approval with a solemn nod to his friend and ally. So GarTokk began his run down a path into the woods, a lush forest that called to his blood.
The Gamon understood GarTokk right down to the root of his being. He felt as if he'd come home. But there was something about the natives of Paradis he could not fathom, a mystery in the depths of their life. His fellow Nomen recognized the same barrier. They were less concerned about it. They had no interest in trying to breach that barrier between the natives and the Colonials. Many had yet to forgive GarTokk for his friendship with a Colonial.
Whatever the future held, there was no denying the empathy that existed between the natives of Paradis and the remnants of the Nomen who had come to their world.
GarTokk did not worry about anything now. His heart beat in his massive chest and his blood flowed as the river in the distance did the same, beckoning with its eternal motion. The Borellian Noman breathed deeply. His lungs and legs worked together as if one pair followed the exact rhythms of the other. He felt as if he would never tire.
The wind stirred his great mane of hair. His nostrils flared at scents that were almost addictive. He jumped over sturdy tree roots as if they were delicate flowers he did not want to bruise. He ran for the sheer pleasure, not hunting animal or foe, not forced to keep track of every motion as he did in battle.
Nomen were capable of joy. But their comrades rarely noticed because it ran so deep and did not give tongue to emotion. The bright and wonderful day was happiness unto itself. The bloated, red sun was like a lantern in the sky promising a celebration.
Paradis whispered to Gar'Tokk as if to say: This is a place where you can be yourself again. You do not belong on the endless, pointless quest for Earth. You are not meant to live in outer space. The wide open universe is a lie because you are trapped inside a little
metal can. Here you can be free.
Even when the great trees closed in, he felt that the walls of the forest did not imprison him, the way the walls of a spaceship must. All that he need do was drive his legs forward, pump his heart, billow his lungs and soon those green walls would come to an end, the shade would vanish, and—
He came to an abrupt stop in a clearing, face to face with one of the planet's inhabitants. The only sound was the thumping of his heart. The creature was twice as big as he and looked a little bit like a lupus except for the head. Violet eyes regarded the Noman from flexible stalks. The mouth was at the end of a flexible tube. The hair covering the body was longer than a lupus or a daggit but similar to both and a golden brown.
The creature and Gar'Tokk stood stock still except for the furious motion of their eyes as they studied each other. Making a sound like air escaping from a balloon, the animal finally turned away from the invader and resumed feeding itself.
A variety of insects formed a multi-colored cloud around the beast's head. Something must be attracting the bugs. With great deliberation the creature protruded its mouth tube into the bulk of the insects and sucked them up.
Some of the insects were as large as a human hand. The living shapes disappeared, leaving behind fluttering memories of crimson and turquoise, of bright green and dark purple. The animal seemed to be in no hurry. Sated, it turned away even though a third of the insects were left.
One of them flew into GarTokk's grizzled face. He reached out and gingerly held a yellow wing between his large fingers. A whiff of something sweet surprised him. Now he recognized the source of some of the interesting scents he had noticed when running on the forest path—as if the scents were flowers of the air, seeding the sky with perfume.
This planet was too tempting to be real.
He released the wing and watched a blur of yellow flit out of sight. Gar'Tokk suddenly felt thirsty. He saw that the insect headed toward a source of water much nearer than the silver string of river in the distance.
A brief jog and he was at a small creek. A clump of trees provided shade and he wondered if the reddish boles owed something to the radiance of the red sun.
He dipped his hand in cool water and let his fingers rest there for a moment before bringing a drink to his mouth. It tasted better than anything he'd ever had. Greedily, he scooped up more mouthfuls. He was about to dive in and treat himself to a swim when something gave him pause.
He saw his own reflection.
For the first time in his life, there was something wrong about his reflection. He witnessed raw desire for Paradis on his face, reflected back to him from a pool that he suddenly felt he was defiling.
There was something cruel around the corners of his mouth. There was something blank about his eyes. What was this planet doing to him?
No sooner did the thought cross his mind than he rejected it. The proper question had a different subject and object: what was he going to do to the planet?
Gar'Tokk cut his run short even though he still felt the elation down deep where his mind couldn't spoil it. He retraced his steps but this time he walked at a deliberately slow pace, paying attention to every detail—the leaves, the shrubs, the emerald lizards darting out of sight.
When he returned, Apollo was completing his meeting with Yarto, the native leader who had met him as the first human to set foot on Paradis. They were developing a workable sign language; but it was no substitute for Gar'Tokk's facility with much of the Gamon language… and a growing telepathic link.
"I don't know what we would have done without you," said Apollo, drawing Gar'Tokk aside. "There are just enough similarities between your language and the natives for us to begin genuine communication."
"Yes," said Gar'Tokk. "There is a link."
They walked alone and in silence, finally stopping to examine a simple water-wheel that was used to irrigate rows of small, neat crops. "No wonder we didn't detect any technology from space," said the commander. "Their technology doesn't go beyond simple subsistence-level agriculture."
Gar'Tokk pointed up the hill where a large, curved horn suggested a hunter-gatherer past, or possibly active present. "They choose," he said simply.
Apollo thought about it. "They blew that to welcome me when I first made contact. The leader of this clan came out to meet me. Yarto decided the same as I did. First contact should not be made by young warriors."
"What did Starbuck say to that?" asked the Noman.
Apollo was stunned. Had Gar'Tokk made a joke? He added his bit: "He should be flattered that we still think of him as young."
Gar'Tokk let the silence gather before he added, "What we've lived through, ages us all."
Apollo asked the necessary question. "Remember when I said that you could leave us at the first habitable planet?"
Gar'Tokk nodded but decided to say nothing. They walked to the perimeter of the village. The red sun was beginning to set, streaking the horizon with colors so bright that it seemed as if the sky bled.
"I love this place," said Apollo.
"I, too," Gar'Tokk agreed.
"May we be good guests."
Gar'Tokk smiled grimly. "You always prove yourself a leader by understanding more."
That sentence was a profound speech for the Noman. Apollo raised an eyebrow, inquiring, "What inspires that remark?"
His comrade was frank, as always. "We have been invited as guests only."
Apollo watched the sun's continued descent. The first stars of night began to appear. They reminded him of the fleet in orbit overhead.
"We could be here a long time. I hope that our hosts will be patient."
Gar'Tokk gazed at the stars and hated them. "So long as we remember that we're guests."
As they walked back toward the center of the village, Apollo asked, "A moment ago when I was describing the technological level of the Gamon, you said that they chose. What do you mean?"
Gar'Tokk shrugged. "Some live as they do because they have no choice. I believe that the Gamon choose."
Apollo might have pursued the matter but they had been rediscovered by their hosts. Yarto, flanked by two younger males, approached the visitors. He carried an object wrapped in black cloth. A few words exchanged with Gar'Tokk made it official.
Apollo didn't need a brief translation to recognize a gift when he received one. He unwrapped the object and touched the covers of a very old book.
He didn't have to get past the cover to be amazed. The symbols and markings were familiar enough. The insignia on the cover said it all.
"You see this," said Apollo to his companion.
"Yes," said Gar'Tokk.
The ancient tome must have been written by the Thirteenth Tribe!
High above Paradis was a man named Ryis. In many respects he was the same as many other Colonials. He was tired of being cooped up in spaceships. He was afraid of being hunted by Cylons and the Chitain. He was angry over shortages and politics.
In common with other Colonials, he saw Paradis as a refuge from the dangers and privations of the great exodus. But he saw something else as well.
The first time he beheld Paradis he had a vision that he only shared with Tillis, his passionate and devoted lover. She virtually worshiped him and he enjoyed unburdening his soul on a receptive audience of one.
"The Council is finally moving in the right direction," he said, stroking her cheek.
"When do they arrive at your desired destination?" she asked, playfully unbuttoning his shirt.
"That will take time," he admitted, slipping off her boots.
"I have plenty of time," she breathed, nibbling his ear.
He pulled her face to his and kissed her. "That's what I like about you," he said.
"What is it, exactly?" Tillis asked with a moan, her fingers beginning to undo his belt.
"I'll tell you later," he promised.
Later came too soon for her. But she accepted Ryis, impatience and all. Maybe after he finished the lecture he wou
ld be ready for an encore with her. She could even pretend that she was experiencing the same romantic encounter. For Ryis, everything was in neat, airtight compartments, a life made up of discreet events.
He placed pictures in front of her. "Do you know what these are?" he asked.
She wished that he'd just tell her already! However, if he wanted to play teacher then these photographs spoke for themselves.
"They show scenes from the planet," she answered dutifully.
"Yes. Tell me what you see more exactly."
"Well, I see lakes and hills. I see trees."
He pointed at a mountain of stone. "Do you see those streaks of color?" he asked.
She saw a rusty brown color. "Yes, does it mean something?"
He ran his hand over the picture with more passion than he had lavished on her thigh. "It's iron ore. This planet is rich in minerals. I don't even need the data from the scientists. All I need is two eyes in my head."
Waving the pictures around as if they might be weapons, he persisted with the lesson. "What do you think of Paradis?"
She felt as if she were in her formal class in astro-navigation. "It's a beautiful planet," she said, detecting a slight sneer from Ryis even as the wrong words escaped her mouth.
"What do you want me to say?" she asked bluntly, attempting to keep the irritation out of her voice.
"It's what I want you to see! I envision a different beauty, the one I can make myself, wrenched out of the wilderness."
He reached under the bed and pulled out a small box she'd never noticed before. "I've saved this for a special occasion," he announced grandly and produced a bottle of ambrosa.
"Where did you get that?" she asked.
"I've had it for a while," he said, not answering her at all. "We prize this exquisite liquor because it's rare. We wouldn't feel the same if the rivers of Paradis flowed with the stuff."
"Oh, I don't know," she said, taking the offered glass.
Battlestar Galactica-05-Paradis Page 3
