"Flight leader to bridge," Apollo said into his helmet mike, "flight leader to bridge, launched and ready to pursue. Give us coordinates. There doesn't seem to be anything out here."
On the bridge, Tigh frowned and turned to Adama.
"Commander?"
"I heard him," said Adama. "Tell wing control to give Captain Apollo the present coordinates of Greenbean's flight. They were in full pursuit."
"I'm sorry, Father," said Athena, licking her lips and shaking her head. She kept attempting to track the other pilots. "We don't have the present coordinates of Greenbean's flight."
"What? That's impossible! They just launched microns ago. How far out can they be? Even on full power, they just can't have . . ."
"Not very far," Athena said. "But they've disappeared off our scanners, I have no trace of them. It's as if they've simply been . . . plucked out of space."
"Just like Bojay's patrol," said Tigh.
Adama turned and walked away, feeling fury, frustration and resentment. How could he hope to fight something he couldn't even begin to understand?
"Sir?" said Tigh. "What do we tell our pilots?"
"Tell them to return to the Galactica at once," Adama said. "And cancel the red alert."
Tigh's voice came over the comcircuits in the Viper pilots' helmets.
"Blue Squadron recall, Blue Squadron recall. Return to the Galactica."
"What's he talking about?" said Starbuck, mystified. "We just got here."
"I don't know," Apollo said.
"And where're the others? Greenbean, Brie . . . They launched just ahead of us. I don't see any sign of them on my scanner."
"I don't know that, either," said Apollo. "Boomer, exactly what was it you saw?"
"I was in the Officer's Club," said Boomer, "when everyone started shouting, hollering something about ships or machines or lights of some kind. I ran to the observation port and I saw them. It was incredible. Whatever they were, they were screaming by like meteorites . . .
"Maybe they were just meteorites," said Starbuck.
"Starbuck, their speed was dazzling," Boomer said. "And they were flying and turning in formation."
"Starbuck?" Apollo suddenly recalled where he had seen something like what Boomer had described.
"Just like what we saw down on that planet," Starbuck said.
"You saw them before?" said Boomer.
"Let's get back in," Apollo said. "We'd better get together with the commander."
They wasted no time in getting back to the Galactica and meeting Adama in his quarters, where they told him about what they had seen down on the surface of the planet where they had found Count Iblis.
Adama was angry. "Why didn't you say something about those lights before?" He slammed his fist down onto the surface of his desk. "Why didn't you report them?"
"We thought perhaps we were caught in some sort of meteorite storm," Apollo said. "And frankly, Count Iblis pretty much had our full attention."
"Apollo," Starbuck said, thinking back to what had happened when they saw the lights, "didn't he say something about those lights being after him?"
Apollo nodded. "That's right. He did."
"And you didn't think that was important?" said Adama.
"Father . . . I thought he was as mad as a burned out drone. Nothing he said seemed to make any sense at the time. I thought he was in shock."
"What if he wasn't in shock?" said Adama. "What if he's telling the truth, that they're . . . beings that are pursuing him?"
Apollo shrugged helplessly. "I just don't know, Father. We've lost eight ships without a trace. I don't think we have a prayer of fighting these beings, whatever they are."
"I'll tell you one thing," said Starbuck. "I think it's past time to take off the diplomatic gloves. If this Count Iblis or whoever the hell he is is allowing us to send in fighters to be killed without a chance, then I for one don't think too much of him, not to put too fine a point on it. We have a right to know just what in hell is going on. He owes us some kind of explanation."
"Starbuck, you're dead right," said Adama. "We're fighting something we know nothing about. And that's about to change. Apollo, I want Count Iblis brought here at once."
Sheba and Count Iblis entered the deserted stadium aboard the Rising Star.
"And this is where your people play their games," said Iblis, looking around at the three-sided court.
"Triad," said Sheba. "It's more than just a game. It's a very important part of the mental well-being of our people. It gives them distraction, something to root for. A chance to win and be a part of something. A time to be away from the war and being caged up inside small metal ships."
"You needn't convince me," said Count Iblis. "I am a great believer in distraction." He turned to her and smiled. "Even pleasure," he added.
"What sort of games do they have where you come from?" Sheba said.
"Games that would amaze you. Games of life. Even games of death."
"How horrible . . ."
"Far from it," said Count Iblis. "Death is not an end. Only a beginning."
"You have a very dark side to you," said Sheba. "In some ways, you remind me of my father, of his love of war and conflict."
"A very perceptive observation."
"And what about the answer? Is the war of your choosing?" she said.
"I think Commander Adama would like to share in this discussion," said Apollo. Iblis looked up sharply to see Starbuck and Apollo standing at one end of the arena, watching them. "If you'll follow us . . ." said Apollo.
"The conversation was between Sheba and myself," Iblis said, tensely.
"Count Iblis," said Apollo in a level tone, "you will either accompany me as a guest or as my prisoner. The choice is yours."
Something glittered in Count Iblis' eyes as he stared at Apollo.
"Apollo!" said Sheba, astonished at his actions. "I think you're being unforgivably rude! Of course the count will see Adama if that's his wish. Won't you?"
Iblis smiled at her. The chilling look he had given Apollo had disappeared as quickly as it had flickered across his features.
"Whatever you ask, my princess," he said.
He moved toward the door, past Apollo, without giving him a second glance. Sheba started to follow him, but Apollo reached out and took her by the arm, holding her back.
"Sheba, are you all right?"
"What are you talking about?"
"You," he said. "You don't seem yourself."
"How would you know?" she said angrily. "You never really knew me. This is the only man who truly knows me."
She pulled away from Apollo and went out past Count Iblis, who stood waiting in the doorway of the arena.
"Heed what I say to you, Apollo," Count Iblis said in an ominous tone. "Do not ever make the mistake of threatening me again. Or you will forfeit your life in the wink of an eye."
Starbuck's hand edged for his weapon. Apollo saw it and placed his hand gently on Starbuck's, restraining him. Count Iblis turned and angrily walked off down the corridor.
"Forget it, Starbuck," Apollo said. "There will be a better time. And I think our guest just revealed a hint of his true color."
Adama was waiting for them in one of the conference rooms aboard the Galactica. He was seated at one end of a long council table. Athena sat beside him, ready to record the meeting.
"Have a seat, Count Iblis," Adama said.
"Thank you." Iblis took a place at the far end of the table, opposite Adama.
"I have lost eight good people today," Adama said. "What do you know about it?"
"I told you that I could give you protection," Iblis said.
"How?"
"Follow me," Iblis said. "I will lead you all to safety."
"Who are you?"
"I am of another world. A level of being developed far in advance of you."
"How can you prove that?" said Adama, growing impatient with answers that were not answers.
"Prepare three test
s for me," said Count Iblis. "And just as I can will that crystal in the center of this table to move . . ."
The ornamental crystal formation standing in the center of the table began to rise slowly as Iblis spoke.
". . . so can I deliver your people."
The crystal rose to a level with Adama's eyes, then gently settled to rest once again on the surface of the conference table. Adama looked at the crystal uneasily. It was quite heavy.
"I will ask you once again," he said, "who are you? And where do you come from?"
"Man has reached many levels in his evolutionary development," said Count Iblis, "some far greater than others. As you are, I once was. As I am, you may become."
"Who are you?" said Adama, once again, struggling to keep his temper in check. "Where do you come from?"
"I come from that place where man's ability to think, to comprehend, to will, is in its highest degree of accomplishment. We have learned to use the tools and opportunities of the mind to accomplish what you would deem miracles."
"That does not answer my question," said Adama.
Iblis smiled. "Adama, I converse with you out of courtesy. I know your questions before you ask them. I know your doubts, your suspicions, your grievances. This young man on my right, your son, thinks quickly of the pilots you lost. The deed was not mine. They were beyond my dominion. But that can change. If you will agree to follow me."
"To Earth?" said Adama.
"If that is your wish."
"But it is of no importance to you where we go?"
"If you see Earth as your destiny, then let us begin our voyage at once," said Iblis.
"Can you get our pilots back?" said Starbuck.
"That might present a problem."
"Even if we include it in the three tests you will grant us in exchange for your leadership?" Adama said.
"The wishes must extend from this point in time forward," said Count Iblis. "I cannot change that which already is."
Adama nodded. "You will have our decision," he said, rising from his chair.
"Soon, I trust," said Count Iblis. "The powers that you encountered this day will return again and again . . . until you are under my protection."
Adama looked down at Count Iblis, uncertain as to how to interpret his last remark. The interview had not produced the desired results. Quite the opposite, in fact. What worried him was that Count Iblis seemed to be playing with them. He seemed unconcerned. Adama wondered just how much power the man really had. He turned angrily and left the conference room. The others followed.
Count Iblis was left alone. He rose and slowly crossed the room to stand by the observation port. He looked out at the fleet and smiled.
FROM THE ADAMA JOURNALS:
Questions, questions and more questions. Never any answers. But at least there is one less question in my mind. Count Iblis is not from the planet Earth. He did not say as much, but I have no doubt in my mind.
He must know that all that it would take for him to achieve everything he seems to want would be to allow word to spread that he had come from Earth, to meet us and to bring us home. That one act would be like a piece of food to a starving man to all the people in the fleet. It would tell them everything they needed to know. It would convince even the cynical among them that Earth exists, that it is not just a fragment from some long forgotten legend that we are all pursuing. It would tell them that Earth exists, that there was a way to get there and that they were ready and waiting for us, to help us in our battle against the Cylon Empire. It would accomplish all of that and yet, Count Iblis isn't doing it. He could, of course, lie. Perhaps he is lying, but the one lie he isn't telling is the one that would give him complete control of the Galactica, command over the fleet. Why?
Why this charade of the three tests? Why play the role of some auditioning genie? It does not make sense. I am prepared to badger him with questions until hell freezes over, to force the answers out of him, but no. Something tells me that course could be dangerous.
He has powers we don't even suspect. That much is obvious. He told us so by moving that heavy crystal with his mind. It was not an elaborate demonstration, but it was an effective one. It could be that telekinesis is the limit of his powers, that he cannot do much more than what he has already shown us. It could be all a colossal bluff.
Why the three tests, if it is a bluff? The demonstration of the crystal was to tease us. To show us that there were things he was capable of doing that we could not do. The three tests, no doubt, will be further demonstrations. But, again, why?
If he can, indeed, do all the things he promised, if he is our superior in both powers and intelligence, why prove anything to us?
Why not simply take whatever it is he wants?
To all outward appearances, Count Iblis, if that is his name, is but one man. Yet I am afraid.
CHAPTER FOUR
A Cylon base ship was the Empire's equivalent of a Colonial battlestar, and a battlestar was what this base ship pursued. The pursuit was a relentless one, for it was unthinkable that the chase should be abandoned, unthinkable that even one human should be allowed to survive. The Imperious Leader of the Cylon Empire had decreed that the humans were to be exterminated. The command was for total annihilation and that meant to the last man, woman and child. The reasoning was simple. If the humans were able to reach some sort of haven, a world where they could start anew, they would begin to reproduce. They would flourish and their numbers would grow greater until they once again became a threat to the perfect order of the universe.
The Imperious Leader had determined that the task force would chase the human fleet until the end of time, if necessary, but the human parasites would be found and neutralized. He would not go down in the history of the Empire as the leader who had almost wiped out the human menace. He would finish the job.
It pleased the Imperious Leader that the job of wiping out the humans was being facilitated by one of their own race. It was through the treachery of the human named Baltar that the holocaust that had destroyed the twelve human worlds had been so effortlessly accomplished. Posing as an emissary of peace, a go-between, the human turncoat had lulled the Council of the Twelve into a false sense of security so that when the attack came, the humans were completely unprepared. That should have been the end of it, yet a paltry group of survivors had escaped to flee across space. It was a miracle that there should have been any survivors at all. It was yet another example of the stubborn nature of the human parasite, all the more reason why the survivors had to be hunted down. It should have happened a long time ago, but for the human commander, a man named Adama.
Of all the humans left alive, Adama was the most dangerous. The Imperious Leader had underestimated him before. He would not do so again. The supreme Cylon knew that just because the humans were inferior, that did not mean that they were not complex. More than any other Cylon in the history of the Empire, the Imperious Leader understood the workings of the human mind, but still it was not enough. A Cylon could not think like a human. And to hunt down an enemy, it was necessary to know how that enemy thought.
In an unprecedented move, the Imperious Leader had turned over the command of a Cylon base ship to a human, the human named Baltar. If anyone had reason to see Adama dead, then Baltar was that man. Baltar hated the commander of the Battlestar Galactica with every fiber of his being. Two things would drive him to see the task through to its conclusion—his hatred of Adama and his fierce desire to prove himself useful to the Cylon Empire. The Imperious Leader knew that Baltar would persevere until the job was done. And then he would be disposed of. Baltar did not know that, but that did not matter. The mere fact that the human race could produce creatures capable of turning against their own kind was argument enough for their extermination. The Imperious Leader had vowed that the humans would be wiped out to the last man. That last man would be Baltar.
The Cylon base ship that hunted the Galactica was searching for signs of the human fleet, its scanners questing
for traces of fuel residue that would tell Baltar which way the refugees had fled. They had slipped away from him before and he had found them; he would do so again. He was confident that they would find Adama and his pathetic fleet of junk ships. He was resting in his quarters, so he did not see the strange swarm of white lights that hurtled across space toward his base ship. His first warning that something was amiss came when the alarms blared throughout the ship. He instantly leapt to his feet and raced toward the command room, past Cylon Centurians running to their posts. Lucifer was waiting for him when Baltar arrived at the command center, out of breath.
"What is it? What's happening?" said Baltar, gasping for breath.
The I.L. series computer swiveled around to face him.
"We appear to have encountered something unexplainable," Lucifer said.
"What?"
"See for yourself . . ."
Baltar moved up to stare at the scanners.
"But I don't see anything on these scanners," he said.
"That, I am afraid, is precisely the point," said Lucifer. "Our interceptors are reporting a large number of flying objects moving at incalculable speeds. They are all around us, and yet they are not registering on our monitors."
"Adama," Baltar said. "He has scientists aboard the Galactica. Perhaps they've made a technological breakthrough of some kind."
"Let us hope so," said Lucifer.
Baltar stared at the computer. "You would hope that the humans have made so advanced a breakthrough?" he said in astonishment.
"The alternative," said Lucifer, "is that we have encountered a new and more powerful force in the universe than our own."
Baltar allowed the implications of the statement to sink in. He found them frightening.
The freighter was never meant to carry human cargo. Cubicles were piled upon cubicles, creating cliff dwellings of metal one after another in row upon row upon row. It was a ghetto city built inside a ship, a city that was physical proof of the hardship of the journey. People were packed in like sardines, each doing their best to try to make a life for themselves in cobbled-together quarters. It was to these people that Count Iblis came.
Battlestar Galactica 7 - War Of The Gods Page 5
