"I'm here," said Apollo.
"Allow me to introduce myself, sir. I am Captain Page of the civilian authority. We've been sent here to see that you carry out your orders to fire upon Gamon targets tomorrow morning if they refuse to end their protest and leave New Caprica City peacefully."
"We have received your message loud and clear, Captain," said Apollo.
"My men are also aboard the Galactica at this time, Commander. We regret this sudden increase in surveillance and supervision but we have explicit instructions."
"I understand," said the commander. "We did not put measures in place to prevent your boarding of our ships."
"We appreciate that, sir."
"I have no doubt of that. I take it that you will remain at your posts until the order is given to open fire on the planetary targets?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, I'll leave you in the capable hands of my sister while I attend to matters aboard the Galactica."
He doubted that the police official noticed the expressions exchanged between Apollo and Athena over the screens. She had a pretty good idea about what he meant.
He had no intention of going anywhere near the bridge of his own ship. Instead he got out of his quarters as fast as possible, that being a logical place for the patrol to seek him out. The first thing he did was enter an engineer's supply cubicle. Putting on work clothes and a soiled cap disguised him sufficiently.
Then he headed for the launch bay. The disguise worked fine and he made it past a police patrol. He was surprised at the lack of security in the launch bay. A few bored men provided no problem. He didn't even need to incapacitate them. They figured he was there to work on a Viper, not take off in one.
A very sloppy job of security, he concluded as he shot out of the bay.
But the moment he got into space he realized why it had been so easy to escape the Galactica. Somebody in authority had come up with the not very bright idea of putting civilian patrol ships around the battlestar to keep warriors from escaping.
The only smart idea they'd had was putting a lot of ships out there. His apex pulsar engine was music in his bone marrow; he wasted no time grabbing his navi-hilt and leading his escort on a merry chase around the planet.
He hoped that he wouldn't have to kill anyone, but more and more of the ships began to show up. For one crazy moment he could almost sympathize with Ryis and his henchmen trying to deal with the overwhelming number of Gamon.
As they began to surround him, a metallic voice informed him to return to base. It was probably a bad connection but for a micron he almost thought he was hearing a Cylon.
Despite being outnumbered, he continued to play the game of leading them on a chase. But it couldn't go on forever. They kept coming, more and more of them. Where the hell did they get so many ships? A lot more construction had been going on than he'd let himself fully realize. No wonder the civilian budget was so huge as the warrior budget was cut to the bone.
When he was told to surrender for the third time, the inevitable followed. Some damned fool fired on him. Still, he tried to avoid returning fire but he was fast losing the option of not fighting back. Before he finally had to act decisively, the choice was taken out of his hands.
The nearest police patrol ship was blown to kingdom come. The next nearest came apart more slowly as its metal skin peeled off it as if an invisible scalpel dissected it. Then that ship also went to pieces.
Out of nowhere, Apollo had a wing man. Zooming to the rescue was Starbuck, a burning rocket of tobacco between his teeth. Apollo didn't know anyone who could smoke and fight at the same time as well as Starbuck.
The two of them got out of there fast, but they no longer had to worry about the other pursuing craft. The destruction of two ships had made the point, eloquently.
"Thanks," said Apollo over the speaker in his helm.
"Who else is going to save your ass at a time like this?" answered his old buddy. "It's a tough political decision you had to make about whether or not to blow those amateurs away!"
"We need to find Gar'Tokk and Boomer," said Apollo.
"Fine with me. Any excuse to keep from hanging out on that stuffy old bridge, right?"
"You're right about that. Come on. We've got very little time."
They flew.
"Hey, what's going on back at the fleet?" asked Starbuck. "Just after landing,the new civilian police force tried to confiscate my ship so I quickly took off. I've been flying around, trying to figure out what to do, when I saw that you could use some help."
Apollo filled him in, complete with his sending a message that Starbuck fly Gar'Tokk to their current destination. It came as no surprise that the message never got through. They'd lived through chaos and the breakdown of a chain of command so many times before that the current disasters just seemed like a return to normal.
So they weren't really surprised when they reached what Starbuck liked to call the ass-end of the planet and received welcoming laser fire! Paradis was not what she used to be.
Fortunately, Gar'Tokk reached them with a message that guided them down and out of the line of fire. The Noman wasn't sure who the enemy was at the moment—only that whoever was firing had provided a warm welcome for Gar'Tokk and killed the pilot who had brought him down to the planet.
The Noman led them into a cave and through a maze of tunnels, retracing the route that Troy's group had taken. Boomer had refused to leave the starship. And when Apollo finally saw the craft with his own eyes he understood why Boomer had developed such a protective attitude.
"By the Lords of Kobol," whispered Apollo.
"You can say that again," Starbuck agreed.
"Come on inside," said Boomer. "Seeing is believing."
Starbuck demurred. "I want to see the space museum as much as anyone but we know there are unfriendlies out there trying to fry us. We don't have a door to shut on those cave openings. I'll stand watch."
"Thanks, Starbuck," said Apollo. "I'll tell you about all the exciting parts later!"
"Take a picture, will you?"
With Starbuck on guard, the others entered the ship. At first, Apollo was amazed at the size of the thing but soon he was more impressed by the design. Gar'Tokk led him to what remained of the bridge.
"Did you try and contact me telepathically?" Apollo asked as he followed the Noman.
"There's something about this ship that focuses mental energy," was the answer. "I didn't have to try and reach you. I thought of how I would have to report to you what Boomer found here. I felt at that moment that we were in contact the way we were the day we shared contact with the elder."
Gar'Tokk gestured at the control panel where a purple light slowly flashed on and off.
"I don't believe it," said Apollo.
"Yes, some of the equipment still works!"
Boomer joined them. "I accessed the ship's log," he said. "Let me play this for you."
Gar'Tokk was indispensable at this point. He translated an old story:
"The computer log tells how the Thirteenth Tribe arrived here and found a primitive but peace-loving race. The natives welcomed them to Paradis. The space travelers decided to colonize the planet and stayed for two thousand years, bringing advanced education and technology to the people who called themselves the Gamon.
"Unfortunately, contact with the technology and culture of the Thirteenth Tribe damaged the Gamon. They gave up the ways of peace and studied war. The log reports that they began to fight among themselves. The keeper of this record laments that the Gamon should never have been provided with machines and information that caused culture shock. Then the log-keeper goes on to say:
"With time, our scientists, through intensive research, eventually discovered that their sun is nearing its final stage of evolution. It will shrink to a white dwarf within the next fifty to one hundred thousand yahren. In the process, it will lose its gravitational hold on its outer layers, which will be blown out into the solar system—a deadly hurricane of rad
iation. Due to that realization and the grim fact that we couldn't take the Gamon with us, we have decided to leave for the stars without them.
"The tragedy is that the Gamon have grown dependent upon us and don't want us to leave. They have sabotaged several of our ships, which now lie in ruins. The majority of the fleet has escaped. We are the unfortunate ones. We are about to die as our filtration systems have been destroyed and we've been poisoned with a mysterious drug that escaped detection until too late.
"This ship is now set to detonate so that the Gamon will not have access to the most dangerous information. Furthermore, it is essential that—"
Gar'Tokk stopped translating because the next portion was in the universal language of screams and explosions.
"Do we have any idea of how old this log might be?" asked Apollo.
Boomer glanced over notes he'd been keeping. "I've been trying to ascertain that information from the position of the stars on the charts when these messages were recorded. My best estimate is one hundred and twenty thousand years."
"This discovery is very important," said Apollo. "We must get back to the fleet. This information could dramatically alter the Council's evaluations. What have our scientists been doing all this time?"
The silence was deafening. Something was wrong somewhere. Before they could pursue Apollo's line of thought they had a more immediate problem.
The sound of ground crackling and the smell of burning air was well known to every veteran. Starbuck yelled at the same moment. They were under attack by laser fire.
The bastards had found them. At least they'd know the identity of the enemy real soon.
While Athena wore out boot leather pacing back and forth on the bridge of the Daedalus, President Tigh wore out his patience in the Council chamber. He was her last line of defense. If he failed, she'd have to give the order that she would hate as much as Apollo.
But she would do it, and the blood of thousands of Gamon would be on her hands.
Ryis had deigned to take a shuttle up so that he could personally attend this crucial meeting. Tigh was coming to the conclusion that the architect was the real power behind the throne. Sire Opis was probably expendable, after all.
Ryis made his own speech this time.
"If we back down now, we will never again be taken seriously by the Gamon. They must learn that our word is law and that if they don't obey our laws, they will suffer the consequences. The Council received word that even more Gamon are gathering and that the situation is extremely dangerous.
"We must act now before it's too late. The Gamon have already indicated that we have no other choice but to leave this planet. I don't know how the rest of you respond to that, but it sure sounds like a threat to me. What can it possibly mean but that they are going to attack us? And as my dear old mother once taught me, the best defense is a good offense. And I've always believed in being offensive!"
Someone stifled a chuckle and Ryis looked up from his notes, but couldn't nail the culprit. He cleared his throat and plowed on.
"I believe that they could attack at any moment. By then it may be too late. We have the power to act right here in this hallowed chamber. I recommend that we exercise this power before it's too late."
Ryis sat down to general applause. He milked it for all it was worth. Tigh wanted to throw up. He noticed that Sire Opis only gave polite applause. Did that mean some breach between the two of them, or was it that it was just too much of a physical strain for the frail Council member to actually clap his hands with sufficient force to make a noise?
The chair recognized Tigh. His speech was considerably shorter than the architect's.
"We haven't heard from Apollo yet," said the president. "We should wait and see if he was able to negotiate with the Gamon."
"Negotiate what?" exploded Ryis, without waiting to be recognized. "If he made a deal, then why are the Gamon arriving at our city in greater numbers than before? If we wait any longer, the blood of our own people will be on the hands of this very Council!"
Tigh had to admit the man was a good speaker. At least he had something to say. The President had run out of arguments because he didn't have one these gentlemen wished to hear.
A vote was called. It was unanimous. The battlestars were to unleash the fury of the gods upon the primary Gamon village if the natives hadn't departed the precincts of New Caprica City by 0900 hours. That first massive show of force was meant to get their attention.
Tigh stormed out of the Council chamber. He needed to talk to someone who was sane. He found Dalton, still recovering from her last adventure.
"I'll find Apollo," she volunteered.
He wouldn't dream of letting her go in her current condition if they were in normal times. But under these circumstances, he couldn't say no.
"Thank you," he said. "Communications are blown to hell. We need to get the good guys together."
She smiled. "Do you have any idea how I can get off this tub? I understand that security has been increased in the landing bay since Apollo slipped past."
"Are you worried about the patrols hovering around the battlestars?"
"Are they warriors?" she asked.
"Not to my knowledge."
"Then I'm not worried. So what's your advice about getting out of here?"
Tigh smiled. It wasn't that long ago that he'd been a warrior himself. His blood still beat faster at the thought of combat.
"I'd suggest finding yourself a good partner. One of you distracts the guards while the other sets off a bomb—just a small one that won't breach the hull—to really do a job of drawing attention away from your purpose. Then the two of you dive into your ships and it's thrusters on full!"
"Thanks," she said, squeezing the strong hand of a man who belonged not in the Council chambers but back behind controls that made the difference between life and death. "I'll follow your advice."
She found Rhaya. Together, they located Sheba and Trays. They filled them in and implemented their plan. It took mere microns to secure their Vipers in the launch bay.
As for what happened in space, the civilian pilots remembered what Starbuck had done to two of their ships. They barely put up token resistance.
Warriors were fracking dangerous!
Chapter Twenty-One
He's going to get us killed," said the first construction worker. "Who?" asked a second. "The boss. Ryis."
"How do you mean?"
The two men had worked hard, believing that building a new life on Paradis was worth the effort. It had never occurred to them that killing their hosts would be part of the deal.
No one had a better view of the massed Gamon protestors than they did. These two workers were on top of the tallest building in New Caprica City. They were part of a team that was constructing scaffolding so an extension could be added. Tall, taller, tallest! Ryis was never finished or satisfied with his buildings.
From their vantage point, the workers could see the gathering natives form a sea of living flesh that seemed to ripple in the light from the red sun. There was not a cloud in the sky this morning. It promised to be a hot, clear day.
"There's too many of them," said the first man. "They'll swarm over this city like bugs and they'll take us all down."
"But they're nonviolent. Nobody's seen them with a weapon yet."
"How long do you think that will last when we keep shooting them?"
"Well, you've got a point there. But don't you think they would have started using weapons by now if they had any?"
"I don't know about that, but like I said, they may not need weapons. There's too many of 'em. They don't need guns or spears or clubs or much of anything like that when there's so many. They'll swarm over us like bees on spilled ambrosa, and then where will we be?"
"You're starting to depress me. I hear the battlestars are gonna' use their big weapons if they have to."
"Maybe so, but then we have to worry about being blasted by our own boys. We're in the middle of it."
<
br /> "You think we'd be better off if we were closer to the ground?"
"Nah, the mob would get to us quicker."
"So what's so good about being up here? Seems we might get hit quicker by the big guns of the Galactica."
"You have a point there. Now you're depressing me!"
The two men were silent for a while. They'd brought breakfast with them so they took a moment to eat. Then the second worker noticed a communicator that the first had in his lunch box.
"Is that what I think it is?"
"What?"
"That wrist communicator!"
"Don't get any pictures but it carries good sound."
"You linked to anybody?"
"Yeah, my brother. He's gonna' contact me when something happens."
"Where is he?"
"Right at the gates where everyone expects the showdown."
"He's in more danger than we are, don't you think? If trouble starts, he'll be in the middle of it."
"True. But like I keep telling you, we don't have a chance either way if it gets out of hand. You can count, can't you? We're surrounded! Where the hell would we go—unless we can sprout some wings and fly away."
"Maybe a Viper will pick us up and fly us to safety."
"That would be nice, but why would a warrior single us out for such an honor?"
"Because we're high up, of course. It's easy to see us from the air. We might be the only ones rescued if the mob sweeps in."
"You might have a point about that. And of course we won't die if they stay nonviolent, I suppose. We should keep that in mind."
They'd run out of things to say again but this time they had an alternative to each other's company. The wrist comlink buzzed into life.
"My brother's calling in."
"Can I listen?"
"Don't see how I can stop you."
The brother's report was brief. No sooner did he get through to them than they heard someone shouting something about an unauthorized transmission and the line went dead.
Down below, out of the line of sight of the two workmen, Ryis swaggered onto the scene like some kind of self-styled soldier, dressed in blacks and golds with braids and buttons. He was surrounded by military guards. A few Council members were there as well, but his most loyal supporter, Sire Opis, was absent.
Battlestar Galactica-05-Paradis Page 22
