Battlestar Galactica 7 - War Of The Gods Page 12

  Only, it was not to be. The fate that had been mine became Apollo's. He took it from me. I had prepared myself for death and suddenly was confronted with the fact that I would live, at least for a little while more. The fear did not return. After all, in a way, I had already died. There was no point to being afraid of something that had already happened.

  The rest of what happened during the battle is not clear in my memory. I recall somehow disposing of the Cylon fighter on my tail and single-handedly attacking the ships that had destroyed Apollo. It was the action of a lunatic, perhaps, or the final struggles of a man who was already dead but had yet to stop moving. I remember Cain taking up position on my wing as we ploughed straight through the Cylon formation, two ships heading alone directly for the Cylon base ship. I don't remember very much of what happened after that.

  The squadrons rallied round us and the tide was turned, Cain and I were heroes. Both of us won our promotions, becoming captains. Both of us were placed on the paths which would lead to our commanding our own battlestars. Cain would command the Pegasus and I, the newly commissioned Galactica. But that was in the future. At the celebration following the battle, in the officer's lounge aboard the Cerebrus, there was much drinking and much laughter and much talk of bravery, of mine and Cain's. I did not disillusion them. There was no point to it and, besides, I did not know how to tell them what had really happened. Yet, I remember the way Cain looked at me during the feast. He knew. He never mentioned it, to me or anybody else, but he knew.

  As I speak these words, here alone in my private quarters on the Galactica, I wonder how Cain would look at me right now. I wonder what he would have done and I think back to the time when the man—a very young man, but a man nevertheless—for whom my son was named was still alive.

  How different they are, the two Apollos. My friend and my son. Lieutenant Apollo was rash, impetuous, playful and energetic. My son is far more reserved, cool, some think him cold, though I know better, always in control. Yet, there is one thing that my son has in common with the man whose name he bears. The belief that right and goodness will prevail. It was that belief which killed my friend, and now I fear that it has claimed my son, as well.

  Am I still a coward, then? Was I wrong not to take on Count Iblis from the beginning? Did I send my own son to his death when I gave him and Starbuck my approval to go on their mission? Why did I not act when I had the chance ? Or would it have made no difference?

  A clever man, Count Iblis. No, not a man, Something else, something horrible. He played on all our fears, all our insecurities, all our hopes and dreams. Perhaps I could have stopped him. Perhaps he is too strong and nothing I could have done would have prevented him from accomplishing his goal. I do not know. I should have tried. I should have done something.

  My people wait for me. I am the commander, it is my duty to provide the answers, to give them leadership. Yet, I have no answers and I have not the heart to lead. Count Iblis has disappeared and everyone within the fleet is clamoring to know where he has gone. They are afraid that they have lost their saviour, the man who shows them miracles and will lead them all to Earth. What can I tell them?

  Do I tell them, have no fear, your saviour will return? He has only gone to kill my son.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Starbuck sat at the controls of the shuttle, staring straight ahead. He seemed to be almost in a fugue state, there was a lifelessness about him, a mechanical aspect to his motions. Sheba sat beside him, tears rolling down her cheeks. Behind them, his lifeless body strapped down tightly, was Apollo.

  "I'm sorry," Sheba kept saying over and over again, an endless litany, "it was all my fault."

  "No," said Starbuck. His voice was flat and dull, emotionless. "You were not alone. It seems to me that everyone was trying to find someone or something to believe in."

  "Apollo knew better," Sheba said softly. "Why did he have to be the one to pay?"

  Starbuck shook his head. "I don't know the answer to that," he said. "All I know is that I'd gladly trade my life to get him back."

  Something flashed by their shuttle, traveling at an astonishing speed.

  "Starbuck?" Sheba said.

  "I see them."

  The swarm of lights hurtled past their shuttle as if it was hanging dead in space. They sped out in front of them, then, still grouped together, arced back and came toward them once again. They came at the shuttle with blinding speed, flashed past them and came back again.

  "Here we go again," said Starbuck bitterly. "As if we haven't been through enough."

  Sheba reached out and took his hand, holding onto him with desperation.

  "What are they, Starbuck? What do they mean? What do they want from us?"

  Starbuck shook his head. "I don't know. Whatever they are, there's nothing we can do against them. The shuttle isn't armed and we can't maneuver like a Viper. And even a Viper is no match for their speed."

  "If only I hadn't left my fighter back on that planet," Sheba said, "I could have—"

  "You could have done nothing," Starbuck told her. "I've tried chasing these things in a Viper. It's impossible. Whatever they are, they're just too damned fast. Besides, you're in no shape to fly. We'll send someone back for your Viper. That is, of course, assuming we'll get back."

  The lights flew by them once again, moving so quickly that they seemed to trail streamers of dazzling brilliance behind them like the tails of comets. Starbuck's hands tensed on the shuttle's controls. Once again, the swarm of white lights sped out a distance ahead of them, then arced back, up and out of sight. Starbuck and Sheba sat for a while in tense silence. The lights did not come back. Starbuck sighed, visibly relieved.

  "Whatever it means," he said, "whatever they are, they're gone. At least for now. See if you can compute the range back to the fleet."

  Sheba nodded and bent forward over the control console of the shuttle. She had difficulty seeing the screen. It seemed much too bright. Then she noticed that it wasn't the screen that was too bright. The entire cockpit of the shuttle was bathed in a wash of blinding light. It grew brighter and brighter until she could no longer see. She squinted, her eyes tearing from the glare.

  "Starbuck, what is it? What's happening, where is it coming from?"

  "I don't know what it is," said Starbuck, attempting to shield his eyes from the glare with one hand. "It's coming from above and behind us. See if you can get a look at—"

  Starbuck's head jerked back and his hands left the controls to clutch at the sides of his head.

  "Starbuck!" Sheba cried. "The pain, I can't stand it!"

  Fighting back the pain, Starbuck forced his hands back down onto the controls of the shuttle. They were under some sort of an attack, but from what, neither of them knew. All Starbuck felt was the agony of an incredible pressure on his skull, as if something was trying to crush it. He craned his neck to try and see behind them. It was almost impossible to read the scanner, but even then, it was no help. It wasn't functioning. Then Starbuck saw it.

  A huge ship, a dazzling mass of light moving up behind them and taking position directly overhead. It was gargantuan. Starbuck had never seen anything so large in his entire life. It looked like a planet moving under its own power. The pressure became greater.

  "The controls are freezing up," Starbuck shouted, vainly trying to get the shuttle to respond. "See if you can hit manual override! Sheba! Sheba!"

  She had collapsed in her seat. Her body slumped forward over the control console. Grimacing with pain, Starbuck reached out and tried to shake her, but could get no response from her. The pain became unbearable. Starbuck released the useless controls and wrapped his arms around his head, as if to block off whatever it was the huge ship was attacking them with. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came forth. His eyes rolled up and he collapsed into blackness.

  There was a vast expanse of ceiling overhead, made up of irregular, bright chips of some sort that pulsed with a brilliant glow. Starbuck blinked against the l
ight. It was very silent, wherever he was. He stiffened as several faces drifted into view. They were tall and thin. Several of them were leaning over him, gazing down at him. He seemed to be lying on some sort of table. There was nothing restraining him that he could see or feel, but he found that he was unable to move.

  Starbuck squinted at the faces of the beings looking down at him. They seemed to give off a light, or to reflect it. They were very white and their features were impossible to discern. All Starbuck could see were startlingly blue eyes located where human eyes should be, except these eyes glowed and were all blue, no white, no pupils.

  Starbuck licked his lips. They felt very dry. He opened his mouth to speak, but found that it was difficult to get the words out. The first few sounds he made were croaks and wheezes.

  "What . . . what is this place?" he finally managed to say. "Who are you?"

  "Do not attempt to communicate. You are safe."

  He thought, at first, that one of the strange beings had spoken to him, but then he realized that he had heard no sound. The "voice" came to him in his mind, like a thought. It did not have a sound or tone to it, there was nothing Starbuck could discern about it that could identify it as being male or female, if indeed such identification were applicable. It was simply an awareness. The most intimate sort of communication he had ever experienced. It was gentle and soothing.

  He started to sit up, struggling against whatever unseen force held him down. It was like moving through water. He seemed to float up rather than sit up, with an effort. He realized that he was naked.

  "Sheba—"

  One of the beings reached out and Starbuck felt it touch his forehead. It was not a human touch, Starbuck did not feel flesh against his skin. The touch of the bright being was like a gentle warmth against his skin. All the tension left his muscles and he found himself sinking back down onto the surface of the "table" he was lying upon, although he did not feel as though he was lying on a hard surface.

  "His restons are normal and responding to balcon infusion."

  Again, Starbuck was aware of the communication. The "words" manifested themselves in his mind, though he did not understand them. The terms meant nothing to him.

  "Allow him to rise."

  They were different "voices." The beings were conversing with each other and Starbuck was aware of their conversation, but he was able to identify the different voices only because they felt somehow different in his mind. He could not tell which of the voices belonged to which of the beings surrounding him. As he gazed at them, trying to ignore the brightness of them, one of them reached out again and once again Starbuck felt the touch as a pleasant warmth upon his skin. The being motioned Starbuck to rise and the pilot found that he could do so with no difficulty. He tried to look around him, to see what sort of place he was in, but the light was devastating. It was like trying to stare directly at a sun going nova. He had to keep shutting his eyes.

  "Who are you?" Starbuck said. "What are you? Where's Sheba?"

  "The companion you refer to will join you as soon as she is able."

  Starbuck stood up and took several steps. None of them tried to stop him. There was something underneath his feet, some sort of floor, but he could not feel a hard surface.

  "What do you mean, as soon as she is able?" he said. "What have you done to her?"

  "Please be patient." He heard, or rather felt, another of the beings communicating with him telepathically. "Your systems are not in phase with our environment. We are attempting to equalize the forces to a level you can tolerate."

  "Where are we?" Starbuck said,

  "Within a dimension quite apart from your own."

  "But I can see you," Starbuck said. "And I can hear you . . . sort of."

  "That is by our choice."

  "Really?" Starbuck said. "Well, I'm sure I can—"

  He swept his arm out at the nearest of the tall bright beings and felt heat upon his skin as his hand passed right through the being's body. Starbuck stepped back and stared at his hand. It seemed to be unhurt.

  "I couldn't feel—my hand passed right through you!"

  A "door" seemed to open somewhere. An area to his right grew brighter and he could see a figure appear, as if out of nowhere. He squinted, trying to see.

  "Starbuck?"

  It was Sheba. She ran to him and came into his arms. She, too, was naked. She felt warm, warmer than normal body temperature, but there was no perspiration upon her. She seemed to be unhurt.

  "Are you all right?" said Starbuck.

  "I don't know," said Sheba. "Starbuck, I think maybe we're dead."

  Starbuck considered the possibility. The place that they were in was like nothing he had ever seen or heard of. The voice in his mind spoke of being in another dimension. He remembered being in the shuttle, being under some sort of attack, feeling an indescribable agony and then . . . what? Dying? He did not remember dying. But what did it feel like to die? The Book of Kobol spoke of an afterlife, of bright, shimmering beings from another dimension. Starbuck felt afraid.

  "Is that right?" he said, not sure he really wanted an answer. "Is it true? We're dead and you're angels?"

  Two of the beings exchanged looks.

  "Oddly enough," came the voice in his mind, and Sheba seemed to hear it, too, "there is some truth to your speculation. It is time. Please follow me."

  The beings beckoned to them.

  "What do we do?" said Sheba.

  Starbuck suspected that there was nothing they could do except as they were told. "Lady," he said to Sheba, "there aren't many places I've been in my life where I didn't feel like I was in complete control. This," he shook his head slowly from side to side, "this is an exception."

  They walked slowly, following the glowing creatures. Their eyes no longer hurt quite so much from the brilliance of their mysterious environment. Evidently, the creatures had, as they said, done something to "equalize the forces" to a level they could tolerate, but it was still difficult for them to see clearly. Everything around them shimmered with an opalescent glow. They could discern no shadows and the dimensions of the chambers they were in, if chambers they were, could not be assessed. It was like walking on the floor of some vast milky ocean with the visibility limited to several feet, and that not clearly.

  What amazed Starbuck most of all was the complete absence of sound. Part of his cadet training at the academy had required that he spend periods of time in sensory deprivation. A pilot in a disabled Viper fighter drifting through space would easily be subjected to a similar state, a state that would be even more closely related to the training should some injury or other occurrence either blind the pilot or affect visibility. Starbuck had not liked the sensory deprivation training, no pilot had. Inevitably, it resulted in hallucinations and dissociation. The total absence of sound manifested itself as a "heard" phenomenon, a sort of distant roaring echo that could become maddening. Yet, in spite of the fact that there were no sounds of engines of any sort or cooling fans, and their feet made no sounds upon the peculiar surface upon which they walked, Starbuck literally heard nothing. Absolutely nothing. He could not even hear the sound of his own breathing. When he and Sheba spoke to each other, something about their environment gave their words a diffuse, brittle sound that was so surreal that they hesitated to speak needlessly. Their voices did not sound like their own voices. It was, to say the least, an unsettling experience. Starbuck wondered if, perhaps, they really were dead. Everything around them had a mystifying, dreamlike quality.

  Before them, once again, they perceived an aperture of some sort that looked like an even brighter wash of light amid an already blindingly brilliant glow. It was as if, staring at a sun, a thin vertical line of greater intensity grew into a quickly expanding ellipsoid. The phenomenon occurred a short distance in front of them and, as before, Starbuck saw a figure silhouetted in the greater brightness. This figure, unlike Sheba's, when she had appeared, was not standing. It was a humanoid shape that appeared to be floating mot
ionless in midair, horizontally.

  Starbuck heard the dry, brittle sound of Sheba's voice as she uttered an exclamation of surprise. Then there was the curious sensation of warmth upon their naked backs, the gentle touch of the strange beings urging them forward. They walked through the portal of light, approaching the horizontal figure.

  It was Apollo.

  His body was not suspended in midair, as had at first appeared, but lying upon a pedestal that blended in, as did everything else around them, with the white glowing background.

  "I'd hoped that it was all some horrible dream," said Sheba. "But it's true. We lived it all."

  "What are you doing with him?" Starbuck said to the creatures. "Can't you leave him alone? He's of no possible harm to you."

  "Precisely the opposite, " said a voice within their minds. "He is of great value to us."

  "What?" said Starbuck.

  "He, and any like him who have the courage to grow beyond the limitations of your evolution."

  "What are they saying?" Sheba said.

  "I don't know."

  "Starbuck, you have a most promising spirit. A trifle unrestrained, but perhaps with Apollo's continued fellowship—"

  "Please don't," said Sheba. "I've lived through his death once. Don't keep reminding me of what I brought about."

  "Apollo was not meant to die. It was you that Diabolis meant to destroy."

  "A lot of good that does now," said Starbuck. "What difference does it make? Are we supposed to feel better about Apollo's death knowing that it was an accident?"

  "Apollo sacrificed his mortal body to save your spirit from falling. Are you willing to sacrifice your own to bring him back?"

  "Look," said Starbuck, "whatever you are, we've been through enough. Whatever you're going to do with us, get it over with."