Battlestar Galactica-03-Resurrection

by Richard Hatch

  The council members stood, one after the other, each of them voicing his or her vote for Commander Cain. After the majority of the Quorum had voted for Cain as new supreme commander of the fleet, what was painful for Apollo simply became a cold-blooded beating he had to endure. But the worst of it for him was when both Tigh and Athena, albeit reluctantly, added their voices in support of Cain. What did it matter if the blow was delivered slowly or swiftly? The thrust was just as fatal.

  The Quorum cheered Cain's appointment, and Apollo could only stand silently and accept it. The cheering seemed to last much longer than it actually did, but at last the applause died down and the members each returned to their seat, and all eyes turned toward Apollo. All, that is, save Tigh and Athena, who could not quite bring themselves to meet his pained gaze. It's no easy thing to betray a man, and harder still to face him.

  Through gritted teeth, Apollo said, "I accept your decision, but in protest. But I demand that Commander Cain and I have the opportunity to present our arguments to the people and then let the entire fleet decide."

  Tigh massaged his temple; he hadn't stopped for more than a few seconds during the whole duration of the gathering, and Apollo thought the man would simply wear away the hair and flesh covering his skull. "Commander Apollo has a very good point," Tigh addressed the council. "On such an important matter, and under such unique and difficult circumstances, we will allow the people to vote on this matter."

  He declared the Quorum adjourned, but Apollo had already started for the door. Athena jumped up from her seat and hurried after her brother, hoping to explain, perhaps even console him, but he was beyond consolation. What could she say, anyway, that would repair the damage? Apollo was a proud man, and they had stolen that away from him.

  Sometimes one just had to stand and fight, whether the battle could be won or not. And sometimes, it was easier just to walk away.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE FIRST wave of colonials was shuttled down to the hidden city after the Warriors, upon Apollo's insistence, spent two days on a reconnaissance mission determining the city and surrounding caverns were not concealing any hidden dangers. The caretakers had harvested enough food to provide ample sustenance for the first arrivals, and continued to gather food for the greater immigration still to come. Everything seemed perfect. Everything was perfect. And yet—

  Apollo could not dismiss the feeling there was more here than they could see, but that was surely just paranoid thinking… wasn't it? And still, there was something about Segis, for all her grace and charm, Apollo did not trust, something deep within his gut that not all the logic he could throw at it could quiet.

  But to not think like that was equally dangerous, even though Apollo remained the lone voice in the wilderness. When it was clear the Cylons were not following the fleet, and the colonials felt somewhat more secure in their sudden return to their journey's beginning, Segis offered the ships safe harbor. Circling the planet, in geosynchronous orbit, was a massive asteroid, the size of a small, bone-shaped moon. It was several kilometrons long, its black face pocked from countless astralon strikes. The asteroid reminded Apollo of a giant cinder, black, and lifeless, like something coughed up from a giant volcano… or from hell.

  "You may dock safely here," Segis informed them.

  Apollo started to protest such an unlikely landing site, when three straight-edges of light appeared on the nearest side of the asteroid. The top edge of light was perhaps half as long as the asteroid itself, while the other two, forming perfect ninety-degree angles with their longer complement, were almost as tall as the giant rock.

  "It's a door," Tigh said, his voice hushed with awe. "But, the size of it… the sheer scope…"

  Apollo, mistrustful of this entire situation, ordered the gunners to stand by. He was certain at any moment a vast armada of hostile starfighters would swarm out of the hollow asteroid, or a barrage of plasma cannons would begin blasting away at the idled fleet, but no such thing occurred. And, he reminded himself, hadn't he not long ago accused Cain of picking and choosing which texts he believed? Wasn't he, himself, guilty of the same thing, if he chose to ignore the prophesied writings Segis had shown them?

  As they all watched, the straight edges of light within the face of the asteroid grew larger, and lost their sharp definition. Now, light spilled out in crazy shapes, and, through the glare, painfully bright against the blackness, those watching from their bridges began to make out shapes and depth inside the huge rock. Here were the great, giant gears that opened the door, and there were the massive engines that powered the gears. Recessed lights, in the walls, in the ceilings, even in flush strips set into the steel-plated floor, illuminated every centimetron of the cavernous interior. The walls were an odd amalgam of steel and rock, with great beams and girders ribbed in the stone and veined with thick power cables.

  Athena shuddered; she felt as if she were looking into the belly of some monstrous, space-sailing beast that waited patiently to devour the colonial ships.

  As the Galactica neared the open hangar door, the scanner revealed something Apollo had not noticed before: although many of the cavities that adorned the planetoid's rugged face were from astralon strikes, many more were roundels of cold, gleaming steel, and Apollo understood at once these were concealed thrusters. The asteroid's course could be corrected, should the need arise. It was a ship of rock and metal.

  "Take us in," Apollo commanded the bridge officer, and, to himself he murmured, "This is incredible."

  "Honestly," Athena chided, gently, "you boys and your toys."

  The asteroid contained its own artificial atmosphere and gravity, but it contained a great deal more than that as the commanders discovered once they stepped off their docked ships. At the far end of the cavern, Apollo spotted ancient mining equipment: picks, laser-borers, uniforms, hardhats, landrams to ferry the gathered ore to shuttles that waited to carry it down to the Kobol for refining. Everything necessary to run a full-scale mining operation, and it was evident this had been underway for a long, long while. Cain, standing beside Apollo, nevertheless had to shout to be heard over the low, bass throbbing of the planetoid's mighty engines. "It's a Tylium mine!" Cain said. The giant cavern swallowed the sound of his voice, making it seem flat and small.

  He clapped both hands on Apollo's shoulders and squeezed them, his face breaking into a wide, toothy grin. "It looks like we may have all the Tylium we need!"

  The living legend turned and looked at the raw mineral that marbled the dark cavern walls; the deposits stretched back and back, away into the depths of the asteroid's interior. The glow of the Tylium lit the way as far back as the eye could see. The Tylium was everywhere, glittering in the darkness like stars in the heavens.

  Branching away from the main cavern were many more side corridors and galleys, and these tunnels honeycombed the asteroid as if they were the warrens of underground-dwelling animals.

  "Look at those deposits, boy! There's enough in here to fuel the entire fleet—twice!" Cain said, and slung his arm around Apollo's shoulders. He pulled the younger man closer in an almost fatherly, one-armed hug. For a moment, Apollo allowed himself to believe everything was going to be all right. Maybe it would be all right. He couldn't help but think he was on the verge of some grand awakening, some epiphany that would make sense of everything he had recently been through. There was a sense of destiny charging the air, humming just beneath consciousness the way the mighty engines of the asteroid rumbled beneath their feet.

  As it was aboard the ragtag fleet, so it was in the city, races settling into parts of the city apart from other races, like calling to like. Just because they were no longer trapped aboard a flying iron box did not mean they were any less prisoners; trading their cages of iron for cages of glass and brick. Things changed, but people did not.

  Trays and his group of fellow Warriors from the ODOC wandered the ordered, sensible streets of the hidden city, as young men have always done. They were the next wave of Warriors,
the defenders of this place, this world, and everyone knew it.

  "We'll see some real action," Trays promised his friends, "now that Cain's in charge of things."

  And they slapped each other on the back and laughed. They were young and felt indestructible. As if battle were something to be wished for, hoped for. They did not understand, as those Warriors who came before them knew, that peace was the goal toward which they struggled, for which they laid down their life. Peace to the young Warriors was merely an absence of conflict, a lull between battles.

  They were young, and they were foolish.

  When Apollo was not aboard the Galactica, at Starbuck's bedside, he, also, wandered the streets, but not those of the underground city; he preferred, instead, to explore the wreckage of the ancient buildings. It was easier to imagine life once existing up here, easier to feel some closeness and kinship.

  Today, Apollo chose to explore the pyramids, following his feet to the same site he and Adama had visited nearly twenty yahren earlier. He found the temple easily, and located the sigils that were carved into the base of stone. They were actually a code that would open the secret door. Apollo cleared his mind, and allowed his hand to sequence the runes in the proper order.

  A moment later, the slab of limestone concealing the entrance rumbled open, and Apollo entered the long narrow passageway that led into the pyramid's deepest chambers. Still hanging on the wall was a pitch-soaked torch, which Apollo scraped into life, and by the fretful light of this small fire he made his way unerringly toward the heart of the pyramid, recalling his previous journey with Adama.

  The past was never dead, never gone. It was like quantum space, existing side-by-side, but just out of synch with this world.

  He found the temple, and ignited the four braziers that hung in each corner of the small chamber. Apollo laid the torch aside, and stood with his hands on his hips, studying the little temple. He could still recall every word Adama had said to him here, as if those words still echoed in this room as well as in his heart.

  He needed a sanctuary, and this place, with the ghosts it held, was better suited to his needs than anything in the mirror city beneath him. Apollo needed to commune with the spirit of Adama and the Lords of Kobol, to make sense of what had happened lately, to understand his fate, and to pray for the destiny of the fleet, and his part in that.

  Apollo sat on the low, flat marble slab in the center of the chamber, clasped his hands together, between his legs, below his knees, and closed his eyes. Was it possible his role was already over and that, all along, Cain was meant to shepherd the flock? If that was so, if the Lords of Kobol so decreed, then Apollo would accept it, but he didn't think it was. Things didn't feel complete; they felt… asymmetrical, and he was beginning to understand more and more clearly that the universe, life, death, love, was all one great circle, always returning to where things began. And Apollo's journey felt unfinished, as if it were a seventh note introduced into a passage of music to let the listener know things were not yet resolved.

  As he sat with his eyes closed, praying for clarity and understanding, a black, particulated mist, perhaps no more than the soot from the burning torches, seemed to drift through the chamber and hover near Apollo, like a cloud of despair.

  "Apollo?" Athena's voice seemed to be nearby and far away at once, made so by the distorting qualities of the long winding stone passageway through which she approached.

  The darkness that had nearly touched Apollo rose like frightened avions, as if driven away by the sound of Athena's voice, or perhaps shredded apart by the vagaries of shifting wind currents through the ancient corridors, to hide among the gloom of the shadow-clotted ceiling.

  "I've been looking everywhere for you," Athena scolded her brother from the doorway.

  He finished his prayers and opened his eyes. Oddly, he felt more confused than ever, and he couldn't say why.

  "What are you doing in here, anyway?" she asked, looking around the temple. Apollo stood, dusted down his trousers. He couldn't bring himself to look at her. He was more hurt than he wanted to admit, or to let her see.

  "Praying," he said, simply. "For myself, for the fleet—" And now he did look at her, and he said, pointedly, "for you."

  Athena bit her lip. She supposed she deserved that. But then, as much as she hated to let herself think this, Apollo had deserved his comeuppance before the Quorum. Now he had a little taste of how it felt to be second best. It was well deserved and overdue. Still, he was her brother. She wished she could feel one way or the other about things, but she was split and torn and tugged straight down the center.

  "Look," Athena began; she had to say this all at once or not at all. "I'm sorry about what happened, but I truly believe Commander Cain is the only one who can lead us at this time. He's had some experience with colonization, on Poseidon, and—"

  Apollo cut her off. "The food on Poseidon was mutating the people," he reminded her. "Cain won't even acknowledge that. You've always underestimated me because you underestimate yourself. We both know it's no easy thing to be the children of Adama, but I've had it luckier than you, because I've had the opportunity to explore my limits."

  As he spoke, Apollo went around the room, capping the braziers and snuffing their fires. He picked up the torch he had earlier set aside and turned once more to Athena.

  "I guess… I've always been a little jealous of you, because of that," she admitted. Jealous, angry, resentful… she thought. Until this moment, until she opened that particular locked door, she hadn't really known just how jealous she was.

  "I guess there's nothing to be jealous of now, is there?" he c.sked. "You humiliated me, but worse than that, you betrayed me." His anger was spilling out now, but it was anger at more than just Athena's actions. He was also confused by his own spiritual awakenings, finding it harder and harder to reconcile his Warrior's nature with this other side of himself he was still discovering. "Couldn't you trust me with this, Athena? Couldn't you have given me the benefit of the doubt?"

  "Like you have me?" she shot back.

  "What are you talking about?"

  "You've never been able to completely trust my decisions," she said, pacing the small chamber like a caged animal. That was how she felt, too. "You've never completely been able to let me make any decisions of any consequence. I just want to know, Apollo—how does it feel? Now that you've found yourself in my place… how do you like it?"

  Apollo looked at her as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing, and, in a way, he couldn't. "Is that what this is really about?" he asked.

  Athena had to look away. "I didn't think so," she said, softly. "I didn't want it to be, but…"

  "I can't believe this," he said. "I've done everything I can to help you…"

  "That's just it!" she snapped, rounding on him with such fury that he took an involuntary step away from her. "You do everything to help me, but you never let me help myself!" She forced herself to remain calm, or at least as calm as she could. They were each saying things that probably should have been addressed long before this, and if anger and resentment intervened, these things might not be said at all. "I know you feel an enormous amount of pressure, trying to live up to Father, and I think, sometimes, you feel like you have to shoulder the burden alone, that any idea that doesn't agree completely with yours is going to undermine your abilities as a leader and a decision-maker. Actually, I just want you to see the other perspectives and consider the possibilities."

  "Off of the bridge, I know all that," he said.

  "We need to get you off the bridge more often."

  "You try so hard to prove yourself," Apollo continued, "and I don't know who you're trying to impress. Me? There's no need. Father?" He shrugged. "He knew you had in you the makings of a great leader, but he drove you even harder, I think, because he knew you'd have to be tougher."

  "Did he tell you this?"

  "Yes," he said. Adama had not told Apollo this, not in so many words, but had, at least, spoken of it i
n his own oblique way. And it was what Apollo had intuited, right from the start, when they were children and he watched Adama reprimand Athena perhaps a little more harshly on her mistakes than Adama did Apollo. Not that he didn't correct Apollo, but Adama had doubtless known Athena would face opposition from so many males in the fleet, males whose culture did not allow for a woman in a position of authority, let alone one who may one day command, and so he had driven her a little harder, as if her womanhood were just one more mistake she could correct.

  But instead, this treatment had only made Athena more methodical, alienating those around her with her obsessive drive for perfection, both in herself and in them. She had become harsh, and critical, and judgmental, undercutting herself by her very need to be respected. She had tried hard to earn Adama's love, never quite believing she already had it, mistakenly assuming because he pushed her a little harder that he loved her a little less than he did Apollo. She was wrong, but she would never believe it. She would spend the next several yahren trying to cope with it. Apollo understood her pain, her confusion and her resentment, but his own pain was too fresh, his emotions still too raw by what she had done to try to convince her Adama's love was equal and impartial. She still heard only his words of reproach, and not the countless little kindnesses he spoke to her.

  "Cain may be a highly skilled battle tactician," Apollo admitted, "but no one could be better at commanding a fleet than the two of us, if we can only learn to work together as we have begun to do these past few yahren. Our individual strengths complement each other, when we allow them to." As Adama had, no doubt, intended, nurturing each of his children's natural gifts and abilities, surely knowing that, as good as they may be separately, together, they could be the best leaders the fleet might ever know. Apollo was more and more coming to believe this; he just had to make Athena start believing, but first, he had to make her believe in herself.

  He ushered her from the temple, back up the winding passageway, the torch held above their heads. Their shadows pooled like spilled ink at their feet. "You've just begun to explore your Kobllian abilities, and one day you'll realize that your logical and left brain thinking does not hold all the answers and solutions to life."