"Termination?"
Megan inadvertently glanced toward Miri's hiding place, hoping that her daughter would not angrily reveal herself if it did prove that Spectre was here to oversee Megan's execution.
"Not termination at all. I am not a tyrant, Megan. No, I came here today to tell you, you will be freed. Tonight."
For a moment Megan could not speak. Spectre often surprised her, but this shock was the biggest yet. At first she felt irrationally pleased. Anything to get out of the cell—she needed freedom, needed to be reunited with her children, needed to find ways to oppose these invaders. But that was foolish thinking, all of it. This Spectre would not free her without some execrable secret motive. Spectre would only offer a deal with strings attached, enough strings to girdle Antila's equator. Therefore, her reply was wary:
"Freed? You said freed?"
"Yes, I received this just moments ago. It was secretly placed at our gate while . . . while a diversion of sorts was occurring."
"I believe I felt the tremors of that . . . diversion of sorts, Spectre."
Spectre held out an oilskin and carefully slipped it between the bars of the door. Megan accepted it hesitantly, afraid it might be concealing a bomb or be treated with a skin poison. When it proved to be a normal unsabotaged oilskin, she unrolled it and read the message. The neat structured printing was definitely Kyle's.
We have the colonial warrior your patrols are searching for so clumsily. We will exchange him for your prisoner Megan after sunset tonight at Wolf Point, where the river's rapids become calm. We will wait on the north side of the river, your party will arrive from the south. Before you arrive, sound the usual signal. Place Megan on a raft and send her to us. At the same moment we will place a raft holding the pilot onto the river from our side. The signal to launch rafts will be three short blasts of our horn. If you double cross us, our revenge will be awesome. Kyle.
Tears flowed freely from Megan's eyes as she read the message.
"Lord, no!" she whispered. "What does he think he's doing?"
"It should be obvious," Spectre said. "Like all good loving children, he wishes his mother back. Fortunately it is possible. I would say that this offer of trade is shrewd, perhaps the most intelligent thing he can do."
Megan violently threw the oilskin at the iron door. It hit a point on the bars just in front of Spectre's face. She wished it had struck Spectre, even though he no doubt had no circuit for pain. He clearly had no circuit for flinching. A guard reached through the bars and retrieved the oilskin from the gray floor.
"You think I'm a bloody fool, is that it?" Megan hollered at Spectre. "You think you can hoodwink me into accepting this deal. Work on motherlove. Use my affection to make me come willingly to Wolf Point. Well, I don't believe you. I don't believe you'll ever go through with this trade, Spectre."
"What you believe is irrelevant. However it may surprise you to hear it, I do intend to go through with the trade. That pilot has a certain . . . value to me. A value superior to your utility to me, if your overwhelming sense of your own importance can allow you to accept that. I want the pilot, you may go free. The trade will occur but only . . . only if you cooperate with me in a matter that—"
"I should have known there was a catch. Of course. And if I don't cooperate with you?"
"Then I vow to slaughter your son, your other offspring, and their whole band of dirty renegade children at the exchange site and wherever else I may locate them."
Megan laughed.
"That's an empty boast. You haven't been able to catch them yet, and you've been scouring the forest for them desperately. Kyle and the other children're too smart for you."
"Is that so? Your Kyle proposed the trade. I would say it is he who is getting desperate."
Megan had to admit to herself the possibility of Spectre's claim. Kyle was so young. It was wrong for him and the other children to continue waging guerilla warfare when they should be—they should be—her head hurt so much she could not even pursue her thoughts to their natural conclusions. She must get rid of these Cylons so she could talk to Miri.
"So you think he's getting desperate? Why tell me that, Spectre? If you are going through with this exchange, you can do it without consulting me. Just do it!"
"I would like to, but . . ."
"There's always a but with you, Spectre. Out with it."
"I want your word that, once reunited with your family, you will take them away from this area. Join the refugees in the hills. Stay out of danger. I want you to tell Kyle to stop these senseless harassing attacks and vacate the immediate area."
Megan realized that the attacks could hardly be senseless and must be more than mere harassment if Spectre was so eager to go this far to stop them. No, he was hurting. He was clearly ineffective in coping with the gang of children, and it would not do for an ambitious wretch like Spectre to be ineffective. It might even short circuit his programming.
"You'd take my word?" she asked.
She thought she heard a satisfied hum pulsing beneath Spectre's words:
"I have come to learn that the word of some humanoids are binding. Once given, they are stronger than the strongest metal chain. You are such a human, Megan. You are tough and your word is trustworthy."
God, this machine could lay it on as thick as a Scorpion bricklayer, she thought. Her word was good, it was true, when given to another of her species. Why should he believe it was so binding with a nonhuman enemy? Well, better to go along with him.
"What about this pilot? What are your intentions with him?"
"That is not your concern."
But it was her concern. Who could even suspect what torture Spectre might have in store for the trapped warrior? It would be better for the trade not to take place, or for Kyle to work out a trick—but what? There was no time to work out such matters now.
"Do I have your word?" Spectre asked.
For a moment she contemplated defying him, but nothing was gained by rejecting the plan outright. Perhaps she could work with it.
She nodded her agreement, trying to appear as defeated as possible. Spectre, in his own mechanical way, seemed pleased.
"Excellent," he said. "We will arrange to travel to the site. We shall leave just before sunset. I will see that you have clean garments. I would not want your children to be . . . distressed by your appearance."
Spectre gestured to his guards. He glided to the top of the stairway, where they picked him up to carry him down. When he was out of sight, and the outside door had clanged shut, Miri slipped out from her hiding place, a look of perplexed puzzlement on her face.
"What was that all about?" Miri asked.
Megan told her daughter the details of Kyle's message.
"That fool!" Miri muttered. "He knows better than to trust the tincans."
Megan leaned closer to Miri, her pale hands clutching the iron bars.
"Tell him that, Miri. Tell him I said he should not go through with the exchange."
Miri's silence was definitely suspicious.
"What's wrong, daughter?"
"It's Kyle. He never believes I come here to see you. Whenever I tell him anything, he says I'm making it up. He doesn't trust me."
"You have to make him believe this time. You have to try, Miri. I cannot allow even a warrior to take my place."
"You're a fool, Megan!" came a deep voice from one of the straw beds. One of the sleepers, a former colony councilman named Kordel, had awakened. He had obviously overheard everything. Megan had never liked Kordel. He had always been a bit too prosperous, a bit too smug.
"Why do you care about a colonial warrior, Megan?" Kordel muttered. "He represents everything we were against, everything that caused our exile from Scorpia. He's a walking war machine, just like these filthy Cylons. What difference does it make? Make the exchange. Make it, return to your children, and run to the hills. The rest of us'd do it. There's no point in dying here."
Kordel's words were like a message from her own
subconscious. Of course she had been considering it as a real possibility, considering her freedom, her reunion with her family, an escape from the Cylons. But she could not sacrifice another human being for any of that, even a warmongering starfleet warrior.
"No, I can't do that," she whispered to Kordel. "There is a point in dying here. It's running away that has no point. Go to Kyle, Miri. Do what you can."
"Mother . . ."
"Do it."
There were tears in Miri's eyes. She said no more, and instead walked stealthily to the stairway, looked down, and in a moment had vanished into the gray darkness.
Megan almost cried. She wanted to hold her daughter close to her again, without the iron bars in the way. If she could only choose the exchange, the opportunity for that embrace was close, tempting. Why couldn't she be selfish, put her own cares and wishes first, especially in place of a man whose life represented the antithesis of her beliefs? Kordel would have not given the exchange a second thought. Even now he stared at her in disgust.
The ache in her head throbbed harder and the growing pain in her legs made it necessary for her to sit. She pulled at the cloth of her filthy prison garment. A piece of it broke off like ripped paper.
At least for a while she might have the feel of fresh new clothes on her ravaged body.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
FROM MIRI'S BOOK:
Mother's face haunted me as I made way back down the iron staircase, flitted from shadow to shadow in the courtyard, and slipped through the fireplace entrance into the secret passage. She had looked so haggard, so drawn. Her eyes, even when she wasn't angry at me, were bulging. They were as round as globes. And she didn't seem to blink. I could see by the odd way she held her body, straight but not quite straight enough, that she was in terrible pain. How could I allow her to go on in such pain? How could I allow her to remain in that wretched prison cell? I didn't have to. All I had to do was leave Kyle alone, let him trade Starbuck, disobey mother. Why not? As Kordel had said, Starbuck was a warrior, he knew the consequences of his actions. It was the duty of a soldier to lay down his life if necessary. Whatever she said, that was definitely not Megan's duty.
I was confused, my head in an absolute muddle. I wanted to save Megan, but I had been told by her to prevent the trade that would save her. At the same time, I wanted to save Starbuck, didn't want Kyle to go through with his plan. Yet I was willing to look the other way, let Kyle get away with this double-cross. And what, I wondered, was in Kyle's mind. Did he really think the trade, even if it brought back our mother, was a properly heroic act? Did it fit his overblown image of himself as the leader of an army?
Alone in the secret empty passage, I felt like screaming. There was no simple answer, no revelation of logic that would miraculously allow to occur all I really wanted—to have mother back without sacrificing Starbuck, without Kyle making such a repulsive fool of himself. There was no way, it seemed, I could straighten out my world.
I passed the alcove hideaway where the colony's art works were secreted. I was not going to go in, then I felt compelled to. The picture was there, still covered. As usual, I undid the wrappings and stared for a long while at the peaceful woman on the benign unicorn, at the beautiful but threatening jungle in the background, at the bird on the branch that, on this viewing, was present. Was there an answer in a beautiful work of art like this? I thought. If Megan was to be restored and look like the woman in the painting, would everything else miraculously right itself? The colony reunited, the ideal life again striven for, the people at peace? I laughed to myself. No, I thought, there'd always be the jungle, the hidden predators. At the same time, there'd always be the lovely birds and the beautiful trees. You could have everything, but you could not just cut out that one little part of the overall picture that you wanted. You couldn't close your eyes and pretend that evil did not exist. You might not be able to fight it, you might not choose to fight it, but you had to admit its existence.
I carefully replaced the painting in its wrappings and returned to the passage.
I had to try what Megan asked. But trying was the best I could do.
As I slipped out from the bush that concealed the outside entrance, I saw that the tincans milled about just inside the garrison walls. They were busy. Preparing for the exchange of prisoners, no doubt. I recalled Megan's horrifying physical weakness, and I hoped that the tincans would not push her too hard, crossing the expanse of jungle that led to Wolf Point. I did not like to think of her suffering any further.
I summoned Rogue and we headed back toward camp. We came to a rise that overlooked the trail to Wolf Point, and saw that Kyle's and his band had already set out on their mission. They rode single-file along the wide path. As usual Kyle, on Demon, led the way. Starbuck rode Magician, not far behind Kyle. It was clear Starbuck hadn't been informed of the exchange. He was not tied up or even guarded. I sent Rogue the thought that we better see what Kyle was up to, and we slipped and slid down a narrow hillside path to the trail, arriving just in front of the caravan.
Kyle was annoyed when he saw me in front of him. He could tell from my look that I knew something and was about to confront him with it.
"What's wrong with you?" he growled.
I told him.
"We can't do it. Even mother says so."
"You always pretend you've been talking to mother when you want to question my judgment."
I wanted to kick, scream, and hit.
"You make me so angry, Kyle, I'd like to strangle you."
"Try it, sister."
"Kyle, this is no time for a childish quarrel among siblings. I'm telling you that this exchange is not even logical. Megan doesn't want it, it's not even sensible. You can't trust the tincans."
"This time I can. I have something they want desperately. They'll make the trade."
"But, Kyle—"
"What's wrong with you, Miri? Don't you want mother back?"
I could hold back my tears no longer.
"Yes, of course I do."
"And aren't you willing to do anything to get her back?"
"Of—of course—course I am. But we shouldn't—"
"There is nothing to discuss, Miri. We trade Starbuck to the tincans for mother. Tonight. It is all arranged."
I looked back toward Starbuck, who could hear none of what we had said. If I went to him and told him now, I'd be a traitor. If I became a traitor, it might mean that Megan would die, that my selfish sense of, what would you call it, ethics or honor or whatever had killed her.
I did not know what to do, and I could not stop crying.
I rode on, beside Kyle, Kyle keeping a watchful eye on me to make sure I was not urged toward betrayal. I tried to think of some solution. Tried desperately to think of something.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Occasionally Starbuck perversely wished the Galactica rescue team would be delayed. He had not had this much fun in ages. Miri's treatments had raised his spirits as well as cured his leg. New energy surged through veins, his muscles were revived, and his mind was clearer and less troubled than before. This damp, frequently grotesque planet, Antila, was better for him than any of those beautified and stylized therapy room fantasies.
He could swear that many of his good feelings emanated from Magician. They actually seemed to flow into him, a strong surge of, well, power from this bizarre black unicorn. Magician was some fine animal. Nothing like those stolid beasts of his therapy room adventures. Unlike the smooth coats of those fantasy creatures, Magician's was rough, with long bristly hairs. Still, one felt compelled to stroke at it regularly anyway, to continue patting Magician's neck, encouraging him, letting him know your confidence in him. Starbuck's hand might wind up raw and blistered, but the persistent surges of good feeling made it all worthwhile.
It was difficult to figure just how this telepathic connection with Magician functioned, but Starbuck had arrived at some conclusions about the temperamental unicorn. Magician, though clearly a sentient, even highly int
elligent being, was not somebody you'd take to a party and expect to mingle. He had a quick temper, an independence fierce enough to scare off bullies and a willingness to pursue a goal beyond its limits. He was also ready, even eager, to take risks, to bluff, to twist any restriction or rule to his own favor. All of this knowledge about the animal came to Starbuck intuitively, in waves, in blocks, in lightning flashes, but rarely in understandable words, coherent language, clear sentences. He just seemed to absorb the information as if it just settled like snow (and sometimes driving rain) into his mind, injected itself into his vascular system, invaded his emotions. The only clear rationally-expressed 'thought' that seemed to come from Magician was, "Human, we are alike, you and I." Starbuck assumed that the similarity, whether the thought itself actually originated from the animal or merely emerged from his own subconscious, was the reason that the previously-aloof unicorn had chosen Starbuck as a rider. He also assumed that any change in that attitude would result in Starbuck being abruptly launched into the air and thrown through the trees by this massively well-muscled beast.
So engrossed was he in his theories about Magician, he nearly did not see Miri ride up to Kyle, who rather aggressively and pointedly had taken up the leadership position on the trail. That was all right with Starbuck. Kyle knew the terrain, he should ride point.
The brother and sister had a rather animated and angry discussion, but their whispered and urgent words did not carry to Starbuck. Miri frequently looked Starbuck's way, her lovely eyes troubled. Kyle appeared to declare an end to their dispute and they rode on together. Again Kyle edged his mount forward, as if to show his sister that his place was at the front of his troops.
Eventually they reached a clearing beside a river and Kyle held up his hand to halt the line of riders. The children on unicorns immediately dismounted. They briskly began opening packs and setting up a camp. Mysteriously, other children appeared from out of the forest and joined the main troops. These others must have been keeping pace with the riders all the way, or arriving at this chosen destination by their own special routes. Starbuck recognized Ratzi, who of course immediately began supervising food preparation. The Genie, her fingers working as deftly as they did on her magic tricks, manipulated the guy ropes of a tent. Laughing Jake gave the other children orders without saying a word, communicating through looks and gestures. Melysa, a shy sweet child who always had a book sticking out of a corner of her back pack, started a group of children on assembling a raft from logs and leather thongs. Starbuck wondered briefly why they were building a raft. For that matter, all the activity around this temporary camp indicated a prearranged scheme, one they were concealing from Starbuck for a purpose. Kyle had said only that they were setting out on a ride to show Starbuck some of the terrain. All this busy work suggested something beyond a tourist trip. As if to verify Starbuck's suspicion, Kyle drew out his horn and blew a trio of short blasts on it. In the distance a watchtower bell responded.
Battlestar Galactica 4 - The Young Warriors Page 9
