Battlestar Galactica 7 - War Of The Gods

by Glen A. Larson

  Boomer went down.

  And started getting up almost immediately.

  The force with which Apollo hit him should have put him out of action for at least several microns, but he was getting up! It was as if the blow had no effect at all.

  Apollo quickly passed to Starbuck.

  "Boomer! Snap out of it! What's wrong with you?"

  Edbryn intercepted the pass.

  The crowd was making a noise louder than the whine of a Viper engine.

  Starbuck was on Edbryn, not giving him a clear opportunity to try a scoring shot.

  Boomer looked at Apollo. Stared right through him.

  "Boomer?"

  Edbryn snapped a pass into the wall. It hit, bounced, came spinning toward Boomer and Apollo.

  Apollo jumped for it.

  Boomer reached out, grabbed Apollo by the hips and yanked him down, smashing him viciously into the floor. He caught the ball.

  The claxon sounded, ending the period. The game was half over and Boomer and Edbryn were leading, fifteen points to zero.

  Starbuck ran over to Apollo, who had hit the floor on his knees. He was grimacing with pain. Starbuck reached out and helped him to his feet. The crowd was screaming.

  "Has Boomer gone crazy?" Starbuck shouted at Apollo, so that his teammate could hear him over the din of the crowd.

  "I don't know," Apollo shouted back, gasping with pain. "He's playing like a man possessed. He looks completely out of it."

  "Out of it? What do you mean?"

  "I don't know. I've never seen him like this. Something strange is happening . . ."

  "You're telling me?" Starbuck shouted back. "We're getting killed here."

  Apollo managed a weak grin. "Funny you should put it that way . . ."

  On the other side of the court, Edbryn approached Boomer with an expression of concern on his face.

  "Look, Boomer," he shouted, barely making himself heard, "aren't you overdoing it a bit?"

  Boomer turned a blank expression to him. His eyes fluttered, then he shook his head. He looked puzzled, confused. The ready call sounded to begin the final period. Looking dazed, Boomer moved off to take the rear position for the second half. Frowning slightly, Edbryn walked to the center of the court to face off against Starbuck.

  The claxon sounded to begin the play.

  This time, Edbryn and Boomer were the defensive team. Starbuck had to get by Edbryn in order to put the ball into play. There was no time to waste, they were fifteen points behind.

  Starbuck feinted to one side and when Edbryn moved to block him, Starbuck easily slipped by him. The crowd applauded his finesse. He ran across the court and picked up the ball, spinning around to pass it off the wall to Apollo. Edbryn was blocking him.

  Starbuck threw the ball over Edbryn's head. It almost sailed into the spectator stands. It hit the wall near its top rim, bounced off and shot across the court to Apollo.

  Apollo saw that Boomer was positioned behind him, ready to slam into him the moment he tried for the ball. He flexed his legs, as if to jump, and the moment he felt Boomer's hands upon him, he swiveled around and flipped Boomer over his hip. The tactic, however, caused him to miss the ball. It flew into the wall behind him and rebounded again. Edbryn recovered it. He turned and shot.

  The bell rang, score on a four circle. Nineteen to zero.

  Starbuck got the rebound. The ball was still in play. There was bedlam in the stands. The crowd was witnessing an upset. Starbuck tried a shot and scored.

  Nineteen to five.

  Boomer had the ball. Apollo saw the same, blank unfocused stare on Boomer's face. He moved forward to block whatever Boomer tried, be it a shot or a pass. Boomer threw the ball at him.

  Apollo jerked his head away just in the nick of time. He felt the breeze as the ball passed a fraction of an inch away from his cheekbone. The ball hit the wall behind him and bounced back hard, slamming into his back. He was knocked off his feet by the impact. As he looked up at Boomer, the adrenalin rush hit and everything seemed to shift into slow motion.

  Adama saw the ball hit his son and he sat up straight, on the edge of his seat. What was Boomer thinking of? Had he gone insane or . . .

  Apollo saw Boomer retrieve the ball. Everything seemed to be happening very slowly. Boomer looked like he was moving through some kind of thick, invisible soup. The roar of the crowd sounded very far away. He saw the ball float out of Boomer's hands, coming toward him. He had all the time in the world. Slowly, he raised his gloved hand and batted the ball away before it could strike him.

  "Come on, Apollo," Athena urged from the stands, "get up! Get up!"

  Apollo started rising to his feet.

  Adama was leaning forward, on the edge of his seat. He looked across the court, at the stands on the other side.

  "Iblis . . ."

  As if he had heard him, Count Iblis glanced up and their eyes met. Adama stared at him with a cold fury. Count Iblis smiled.

  Everything shifted back into perspective for Apollo. The noise of the crowd suddenly grew tremendously in volume and the thick, invisible soup was gone.

  Starbuck had recovered the ball, outmaneuvering Edbryn. He shot. The ball struck an eight circle and the bell rang, although the crowd was by this time so loud that no one heard its sound. The scoreboard registered the hit, nineteen to thirteen.

  Apollo caught the rebound. Boomer stood in front of him, swaying slightly, his eyes fluttering. He looked disoriented. Apollo brushed by him and tried to pass to Starbuck. He was being effectively blocked by Edbryn.

  Apollo tried a shot.

  The three circle lit up.

  Apollo threw.

  The ball hit dead on target.

  Nineteen to sixteen.

  The claxon sounded, ending the game. Boomer's team had won. The crowd went berserk. Spectators jumped down onto the court to mob the winning team. Apollo glanced up at where Count Iblis had been sitting.

  The seat was empty.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The lounge of the Rising Star was a scene of celebration. As was usual following a triad game, the recreation ship was crowded to capacity as everyone who did not have other pressing duties to attend to came to party. The bar was doing a brisk business, especially since the new yield in the Agro Ship enabled the crew of the Rising Star to augment its usual meager selection of wines and baharri. Boomer was enjoying the full fruits of his victory, basking in the attention paid him by the triad fans. In a corner, as if holding court over the dancing, drinking couples, Count Iblis was seated comfortably with Sheba curled up beside him. Two more woman reclined at his feet, completing the Dionysian scene.

  It was not unusual for there to be merrymaking in the lounges of the Rising Star, especially following a triad championship. However, there was something about the atmosphere in the lounge that gave the revelry an altogether different sort of flavor on this occasion. The spirit of the partygoers was almost orgiastic. They were drinking more than usual, they were being louder than they usually were, there was a greater sense of abandon in the way they danced.

  Count Iblis was pleased with the way things were turning out. He reached out and stroked Sheba's hair absently, but his hand hesitated when he saw Starbuck and Apollo standing in the entrance to the lounge. There was something feral about the expression on his face.

  "Is it just me," said Starbuck to his friend, "or does everybody seem especially festive to mark the occasion of our loss?"

  "I sure don't remember being this happy myself," said Apollo, surveying the scene. "Not even when we won."

  "There is a new air of optimism, my two young friends," said Count Iblis, rising to greet the two pilots. "Why not join in it? You two look far too serious. The games will be but a distant memory before the night is through."

  "Just how long is this party going to last?" said Apollo, with a touch of concern. "It looks like they're gearing up to go on for centons. Some of these people are in critical jobs."

  Count Iblis smiled. "Tru
st me to worry about the fleet from now on, gentlemen. It is my commandment that everyone here live life to its fullest."

  "No matter how long it lasts," said Starbuck.

  Sheba shook her head in exasperation. "Apollo, Starbuck, you guys just don't seem to be getting the point," she said. "We're all saved." She spoke to them as if she were addressing two children who were slow to understand what was being explained to them. "Count Iblis is going to help us. Now relax. Come on, Apollo, dance with me."

  "A wonderful idea," said Count Iblis. "Indeed, go on, Apollo. It will help you to get into the spirit of the occasion." Sheba took Apollo's arm and led him onto the dance floor.

  "They make a handsome pair," said Iblis.

  Starbuck cocked an eyebrow at him.

  "That's big of you," he said. "I kind of had the impression that you were interested in Sheba yourself."

  "And why should she be limited to one man?" said Count Iblis. "Or you and I to one woman, for that matter?"

  Starbuck grinned in spite of himself.

  "Why do I get the feeling that I'd like this place you come from?" he said.

  Count Iblis laughed and put his arm around Starbuck.

  "Come, my friend, have a drink with me."

  "Well, can't offend a guest," said Starbuck.

  "More than a guest, Starbuck," said Count Iblis. "Soon to be your Lord."

  Starbuck was about to reply with a sarcastic remark, but shrugged and decided to let it go. After all, what difference did it really make? If the man wanted to call himself a count or a lord, who was he to argue, so long as Iblis could produce results? Most of the people in the fleet seemed convinced of the fact that Count Iblis could lead them to Earth. If that were true, then they had a right to celebrate. And who was he to say that Iblis couldn't do it?

  Count Iblis had done a lot of things that no one could explain. If he was half as powerful as he claimed to be, there was no reason in the world why he couldn't simply take control of the Galactica and of the fleet by force. Yet, he had not. He was content to let the people choose for themselves. And if they chose to make him their lord, well, that was their decision.

  Starbuck felt that he should be a lot more worried about Count Iblis than he was. Apollo clearly didn't trust the man, if man was what he was. What sort of man could make the trees in the Agro Ship suddenly bear fruit that was twice normal size and at least twice the normal yield? And how had he done it? Admittedly, he claimed to come from a race of beings far advanced beyond them. Starbuck knew that any technology that was sufficiently advanced would appear to be magic to the more primitive culture. If Count Iblis had such things to show them, to teach them, should he not rightfully become their "lord," if that was what the people wished?

  He recalled how he had felt the first time he had seen the wreckage of the ship in which Count Iblis had traveled. It was impossibly huge, clearly created by a technology superior to theirs. If only they had been able to salvage some of its workings . . .

  It was difficult to think very clearly in the presence of Count Iblis. The man seemed to change from moment to moment. He could be warm, gracious, charming, his infectious smile could set anyone at ease. Yet Starbuck had also seen the arrogance in Count Iblis, the impatience, the danger. That was the key. Count Iblis was a dangerous man. Any man who could affect others as strongly as did Iblis was dangerous.

  Starbuck accompanied Count Iblis to the bar. Two women came up and attached themselves to Iblis, who graciously "offered" one of them to Starbuck. She came around and took Starbuck's arm. The pilot noticed that her eyes were unfocused. She was much more than a little drunk.

  Starbuck wondered if Count Iblis could get drunk. It was a good time to find out. There wasn't anyone in the fleet who was capable of drinking Starbuck under the table. Perhaps, thought Starbuck, the time had finally come to get some answers from Count Iblis. His way.

  Starbuck smiled and raised his first glass in a toast.

  A horrible sound woke him up. It faded in, as if from a dream into reality and through a thick haze of cotton it registered in Starbuck's mind as the red alert claxon blaring over the ship's p.a. system. He sat up, quickly. Too quickly. The room reeled before him and the vertiginous feeling was almost enough to make him vomit.

  Starbuck clutched at his head, as if trying to squeeze it back into some semblance of its normal dimensions.

  "Oh . . . my . . . Lord . . ."

  Reminding himself to move slowly, Starbuck glanced around at his surroundings. He was inside the ward room of the officer's quarters, lying on a bunk. He did not even remember coming back to the Galactica. In the center of the room, Boomer was lying half on and half off the meeting table, still in his full dress uniform. Obviously, he had mistaken the table for a bunk. He teetered on the edge of the table, threatening to fall onto the floor at any moment.

  There were several other warriors in the ward room, which was not unusual, and there were several unconscious women there as well, which was. Some were slumped down in chairs, heads lolling grotesquely forward, others were stretched out in various attitudes upon the floor. And in various states of undress.

  Apollo rushed into the ward room.

  "Come on, come on, what is this!" He glanced about him furiously. "This is a red alert! Starbuck . . ." He noticed his friend sitting, albeit unsteadily, on his bunk, trying to rub the crust out of his eyes. "Starbuck, come on, what's with you? Are you all right?"

  Starbuck stared at Apollo and tried to remember how to make his mouth work. He couldn't seem to get any words out at all. It was as if someone's socks were wadded up inside his mouth.

  "What in the . . ." Apollo leaned forward, peering intently into Starbuck's face. "Boomer . . ."

  At the sound of his name, Boomer jerked slightly and, overbalanced, crashed to the floor.

  "Boomer! Get up, what's the matter with you?"

  The din of the claxon finally penetrated Boomer's consciousness and he groaned, trying to stuff both fists into his ears in an effort to block out the sound.

  "Starbuck," said Apollo, "where is everybody?"

  "I don't think everyone made it back to the Galactica," said Starbuck. His mouth was working, but the voice didn't sound like his. "That was some party."

  "I don't believe it!" Apollo grabbed Starbuck by the shirtfront and pulled him out of the bunk. Starbuck hit the floor on his knees and the pain did a little to help wake him up. Then Apollo bent down and grabbed Boomer, shaking him.

  A red alert, he thought furiously, and half the squadron is unaccounted for. And the ones who are here . . . aren't.

  Adama came running onto the bridge. He stopped suddenly, looking around him. Colonel Tigh was at his station, but half of the bridge control consoles were unmanned.

  "What is it?"

  "More of those unidentified ships observing us," said Tigh. "Or setting us up for whatever . . ."

  "Still nothing on our scanners?" said Adama.

  "Well, nothing on my scanner," Tigh said, wryly.

  "Where is everyone?" Adama said, looking around at all the empty seats. "Colonel, what is the meaning of this?"

  "A large number of our personnel are on life station relief," said Tigh.

  "Has the Chief Life Officer been notified?"

  "He, unfortunately, was one of the first stricken," Tigh said.

  "What is it, a plague, a contamination?"

  "No, sir," said Tigh. "Quite simply, it's an overdose of pleasure."

  Adama scowled. "You can't be serious. What about the curfew for duty officers?"

  Tigh shrugged. "Apparently some leeway was granted."

  "By whom?"

  "Count Iblis."

  Adama looked out the massive observation window at the mysterious ships streaking past in all directions. It looked like the Galactica was caught in the midst of some strange energy shower. Adama's face was grim.

  "I might have known," he said. "Launch a security screen at once. And have Count Iblis sent to my quarters immediately."
>
  "Sir . . ." Tigh hesitated. "So far, no pilots have responded to the alert."

  Adama was stunned. He turned to Tigh, an expression of shock and disbelief upon his face.

  In the pilot's bay, Apollo was desperately trying to rally his squadron. Boomer kept sagging to the floor and Starbuck was straggling to get into his flight suit. Count Iblis entered and took in the situation at a glance.

  "A disgraceful accounting of yourselves, gentlemen," he said. "The alert is fully twelve centons along and not a single ship has launched. Disgraceful, simply disgraceful—"

  Unable to control himself, Apollo dropped Boomer and launched himself at Count Iblis, slamming into him and pinning him to the wall.

  "Release me or forfeit your life," said Count Iblis. He started to raise a hand when Adama entered and called out to his son.

  "Apollo! Have you lost complete control?"

  Apollo spun around, releasing Count Iblis.

  "You just saved your son's life," Count Iblis said. "Now, if this is your way to run a ship, Adama, I suggest we have more to take up with the council than my assuming the presidency. I may have to relieve you of command as military leader, as well."

  He turned and walked rapidly toward the door, then hesitated and turned back to face the pilots once again.

  "It appears to be of no interest to you young men," he said, "but the fleet is under attack. You, and you, and you . . ." he said, pointing to Apollo, Starbuck and Boomer, "had better respond to the claxon or I'll have you all in irons."

  Adama stared at the three pilots, his fists clenched, his voice barely under control.

  "Get to your ships," he said. "At once."

  He turned his back on the pilots and hurried after Count Iblis, catching up to him in the corridor. He reached out and grabbed the count by the arm, holding him back. Iblis stared down at Adama's hand on his arm and Adama reluctantly released him.

  "Who are they?" said Adama. "What are they? And what are you?"

  Count Iblis stared at the commander coldly.

  "I have told you all that you are capable of comprehending," he said. "Now don't interfere with me or you will regret it, I promise you."