Battlestar Galactica 11 - The Nightmare Machine Page 4

  Apollo smiled. He was clearly satisfied with his father's decision.

  "Thank you, sir."

  He saluted, did a properly executed about-face, and left the bridge. Adama watched him go, and considered what he'd said. We have faith in your faith. Hearing that was gratifying to Adama, but was he, in truth, leading his people on a fruitless journey to nowhere? Was there even an Earth? Apollo had been right about Adama's faith. He had abundant faith, and yet he also had many doubts, doubts that had haunted him ever since the Cylon ambush had originally set them on this frantic journey across the universe. Sometimes he wished he could go back to that time, to the period just before the Cylon double-cross, but return with the knowledge he had now. He could have persuaded President Adar and the Council to be more vigilant. He could have warned the twelve worlds so they would have been prepared for the Cylon assault. The Cylons would have been defeated, perhaps for good, and Adama could have retired, gone back to Caprica to the arms of Ila. If things had just occurred differently, Ila and his son Zac, both casualties of the Cylon attack, would be alive now. Ah, well, you couldn't travel in time and correct the mistakes of history and fate, so it was probably no use thinking about it.

  He shifted his attention to the bridge crew, who appeared calm and happy, for a change. He was proud of them, and happy they could enjoy a respite from the threat of Cylon attack, however brief that respite might be. He had advised Tigh to allow them as much liberty on Vaile as the proper functioning of the ship would allow.

  He felt quite peaceful himself, and confident that there would be no danger from the Cylons for some time.

  Baltar stared down at the weeping young ensign. Tears rolled out of Greenbean's eyes. Although he sat on a chair, he seemed draped on it, his body so limp it seemed just thrown there in a pile. Baltar had never seen anyone look as glum as Greenbean did now. He smiled at Lucifer, who stood next to the chair. Although no emotion could, as usual, be detected on Lucifer's face, Baltar thought he could see some pride in his demeanor, even in the nonhuman way this cybernetic creation stood.

  "I do think it's working, Lucifer. How's it done? I don't see any wires."

  As if to prove the magic of the device for himself, Baltar walked all the way around the chair, casting his arms out to try to find invisible wires. Lucifer's reply to the question sounded quite smug to Baltar.

  "There are no wires, nothing between the device and this pathetic creature. The machine transmits duplicated brain waves in the form of intensified high-density rays, which are absorbed in the victim through the skin and then travel to the brain through the medium of the bloodstream. At least, that's how it works on humans."

  "And it's set on guilt, as I commanded."

  "On guilt, Baltar. In heavier doses even than I used on you. Look at this man."

  "I know. He looks like he's going to fold up." Baltar's voice was at the soprano level, which meant he was excited. "Are you sure the settings aren't too high?"

  "He's a very resistant specimen."

  "I want further demonstration. Use different settings."

  "I'm not sure if his physical—"

  "That's not important. Something happens to him, we'll bring in one of the other prisoners, keep the machine going."

  "He might die."

  "That's all right. He's outlived his usefulness to us. I don't think there's much more to be obtained from him. Go ahead, Lucifer, do it!"

  "By your command, Count Baltar."

  Lucifer manipulated a series of controls with a dexterity that only a mechanical being could achieve. Not that Lucifer ever thought of himself as a mere mechanical being. He had a soul, housed in his left shoulder. He had created the soul himself.

  Greenbean now laughed hysterically, even though his previous sorrowful tears were still rolling down his cheeks. Baltar, happy with the sudden change in the pilot's mood, yelped with delight.

  "More, Lucifer, more!"

  Baltar's urgings made Greenbean laugh even harder. He slapped his knee over and over again.

  "You're a card, Baltar," Greenbean said, "a real card. Tell me another one. Go on."

  Baltar was at first taken aback by the pilot's response, then he realized that his words had been taken as a joke by the manipulated man.

  "Look at that, will you," Baltar shouted, amazed.

  Greenbean laughed and slapped his knees again. The pilot's pleasure was disconcerting for Baltar, and a little disturbing. It was so bizarre to be giving someone mirth. Baltar wasn't accustomed to it. He didn't like it.

  Lucifer worked more of the controls. Greenbean's laughter stopped abruptly. The lines of his smile plunged downward. His youthful eyes narrowed. He was, under LEADER'S guidance, clearly worried.

  "What's the matter, soldier?" Baltar said, making his voice soft and friendly. It was his prisoner interrogation voice.

  "I'm worried."

  "What about?"

  Greenbean looked up at Baltar with doleful eyes. Baltar nearly startled backwards at the yearning appeal in the man's eyes.

  "There isn't any sense to the universe. Why is there war? It's so senseless. Why are the Cylons so mad? Why does God—"

  These were not subjects Baltar wanted to hear about.

  "Shut him up, Lucifer!" he screamed.

  Lucifer again touched a few protuberances on the face of LEADER'S control panel, and Greenbean started to cry.

  "Back to guilt, again?" Baltar asked.

  "No," Lucifer said, "this is remorse."

  "All those people dead," Greenbean moaned. "My family, my section officer, those cadets, all those warriors I served with. Serina. Do you know, I loved Serina secretly? Oh, she was Apollo's wife, his fiance before that, and I was glad for both of them, but she was the loveliest woman I ever saw. I guess it was all right for me to adore her. From afar, I mean. I miss her so. God, I miss—"

  "Lucifer," Baltar yelled, "stop this drivel!"

  "As you wish."

  Lucifer shut off LEADER. Greenbean relaxed in his chair, unconscious. Baltar ordered the Cylon prison guards to take the pilot away. When they had dragged Greenbean out of the room, Baltar turned to Lucifer, smiled in that insidious way that Lucifer immediately distrusted, and said:

  "I'm pleased, Lucifer. Very pleased."

  Lucifer was shocked by the compliment. He was also pleased, although there was no way he could show it, nor would he have wanted Baltar to see it.

  "Does Imperious Leader know of this machine yet?" Baltar asked.

  "That would violate command procedure. I am ordered by my programming to report to you, Count Baltar. You have the responsibility of informing Imperious—"

  "Yes, yes, of course." Baltar started to pace. Lucifer had noticed that, whenever Baltar needed to think something out, he usually paced. It was as if he could not get his mind to function unless his legs were mobile. "Yes, we will tell Imperious Leader. But not just yet, not just yet. I want to consider all this for a while. Leave me now."

  An order which Lucifer did not at all mind. He responded immediately, but before he got out the door Baltar summoned him back, asking:

  "Lucifer, this pilot, this Greenbean, can you mind-wipe him, make him forget all he's seen on this ship?"

  "That would be simple, yes. But to what purpose?"

  "I'll let you know of that later."

  "As you prefer."

  After Lucifer had left the command room, Baltar began to walk slowly, then a little faster, then quite fast. From time to time, as he devised a new facet to his plan, he burst out laughing quite excitedly.

  Adama enjoyed the portion of each watch when he could lounge in his quarters and dictate his log for the day. It was especially comforting when everything was going well, as it was now. His voice became lighter and more relaxed. Nestling the flat microphone in the palm of his hand, he held it close to his mouth as he spoke:

  "Trade with the Vaileans has been successfully initiated. Our supply shuttles are presently loading down on the planet's surface for the first
of what shall be several trips back and forth exchanging goods. The Vailean people are, Apollo tells me, cooperating in every respect, making personal sacrifices to fulfill our requests, and procuring us even out-of-the-way items. Apollo is handling the logistics of the operation and doing a fine job, I might add. He's ably assisted by Sheba, who is continuing to prove she has command potential—inherited, no doubt, from her father, one of the greatest leaders and fighters in our history. If only she doesn't inherit his brashness and recklessness."

  Adama paused the mike for a moment as memories of Sheba's father came back to him. Commander Cain had been quite a martinet, and he sometimes made dreadful tactical mistakes, but he could whip up a battalion of troops to fighting readiness faster than a battlestar could work up to light speed.

  "I expect," Adama resumed his log, "that we can complete the operation with all due efficiency and expediency, and then be off again on our journey, removing the Vaileans from the danger we pose to them."

  The knock on the door that he was dreading came in a steady rhythm. Adama shut off the mike and replaced it in its slot on the log console.

  "Come in, Uri," he said.

  Uri entered the room with the youth and grace that was surprising in a man of his age, height, and bulk. Adama noted that, no matter how much good living Uri stole surreptitiously from the fleet, his handsome face never displayed the proper signs of decadence.

  "You knew it was me?" Uri asked.

  "It's time for our appointment, is it not? Beginning of the watch?"

  "Of course. I am, uh, merely echoing the feelings of so many others. All the people who seem to feet that you have, uh, supernatural powers."

  Adama was puzzled both by Uri's remarks and his uncharacteristic attempt to flatter.

  "Your, uh, feats in rescuing us time and again, your continued success in fleeing our pursuers, the miracles you achieve as part of your daily routine—these all have, uh, impressed everyone. Some of us regard you as a god. Therefore, it would not be surprising if you could see through doors."

  Uri gestured toward the thick metal portal of Adama's quarters. Adama felt unsettled, thrown off by Uri's new clearly strategic approach. Still, even with the flattery, Uri sounded as unctuous as ever. Adama felt certain the man was plotting something.

  "What is your business. Sire Uri?"

  "Ah, so efficient. Your trademark. Well, I'll not waste your time, old friend."

  Adama winced at the words, old friend, but Uri did not, or pretended not, to notice.

  "Vaile is a marvelous place," Uri said. His voice had an oozing sound in it. "The most beautiful planet I've seen—except, of course, for the twelve worlds themselves."

  Uri's invoking of the twelve worlds was a clever ploy. Adama frequently regretted that he could never return there. He recalled his last time on Caprica, when he had assured himself of Ila's death and then conceived his plan to search for Earth. That memory recurred often. He had to force himself to concentrate in order to attend to Uri's next words.

  "I don't know how, uh, to say this, Commander Adama. We admire you so much for your leadership, your courage, your intelligence."

  Adama struggled not to show his repulsion at Uri's condescension.

  "And," Uri continued, "in the time of our ordeal, you have earned the respect of one and all. At this moment you may be the single most respected man in our entire history."

  Adama remembered the time when he wasn't so respected, when his leadership had been questioned by the Council of the Twelve. And Uri, of course, had led that sortie against him.

  "You're buttering me up, Uri. I appreciate your compliments, but get to the point."

  Adama's brusqueness momentarily flustered Uri, and he had to compose himself before going on:

  "While we all admire your quest, your grand dream to rediscover Earth, your hope to end once and for all the war with the Cylons, not all of us share in your, uh, faith, Commander."

  "You keep saying we, Uri. We, us. Are you speaking merely for yourself, or are you a spokesman for others?"

  "Others. Uh, a few . . . some of the people in the fleet who are tired of the tedium of the journey, fearful of the Cylon pursuit. Some who are not, uh, in complete agreement that there is an Earth or any point to your quest, Commander Adama."

  Staring Uri in the eyes, Adama resolved to hold in his angry reactions to Uri's unctuous words. Uri, sensing the commander's wrath, squirmed in his seat.

  "Let me be more personal," Uri said. "As you know, I've not always been in complete agreement with your policies. In none of them do I disagree with you more than in this fruitless seeking of Earth. I am not impressed by myth, however powerfully conceived and held. After all, we don't know whether Earth exists, do we, Adama?"

  "Not empirically perhaps, but the evidence in the records of the Lords of Kobol—"

  "Mythology, all of it. Stories made up to explain the unexplainable. Imaginative—"

  "Uri, let's not get into the ancient arguments. We both know them by rote, both sides. So there's no point to the two of us hashing them out here and now. You didn't come here for that particular ritual. Get to the point."

  Uri was obviously miffed, but his voice was smooth as he continued:

  "Adama, there is no chance of your giving up this ridic—this quest, is there?"

  "You already know there isn't."

  "Yes, I expected it. What I ask—and I am asking on behalf of the citizens of the fleet (the majority of them noncombatants, I may say)—is that you allow us to remain on Vaile while you persevere in your expedition to Earth, With, incidentally, our blessings."

  Their blessings! How could Uri dare? Adama could contain his anger no longer.

  "With your blessings?! And who are you to present your blessing. Sire Uri? What have you done for humanity, except to push your selfish fat self into—"

  "Adama, Adama, please! I'm aware of your dislike for me. I have publicly apologized for my part in the Carillon disaster. There's no need for you to vilify me now. I have . . . shortcomings, I admit, and sometimes I—well, never mind about that. What I meant just now was that we respect your idealism but, Commander, we have been journeying for a long while now. We have been uprooted from our homes, subjected to—"

  "All right, Uri. I understand. And I'm sorry for blowing up there. Wrong of me. We were friends once."

  "And we could be again."

  Adama resisted saying that he found that prospect extremely doubtful.

  "Yes, who knows?" he said. "It may surprise you, Uri, to find out that I do sympathize with your argument. We've all been under terrific strain, and there's really nothing wrong with wanting to escape from it. I wish I could shuttle down to Vaile, find myself a shady tree to sprawl out under, and take a good long rest, but—"

  "Then why don't you? Why don't we all settle there? We could, you know. The people of Vaile would welcome us."

  "Yes, and then we could sit in comfort, our minds eased into a false contentment, just waiting for the Cylons to find us and wipe us out for good."

  "No, no. That's where your military mind is so shortsighted. You've lived so long for battle that you forget there are alternatives that have nothing to do with war."

  Adama sighed. He could anticipate Uri's next arguments, but he had to allow them.

  "All right. Uri. Explain."

  Uri grinned, clearly warming up to his task.

  "We can transfer all the Galactica's technology, all the supplies, all the personnel, all the firepower down to Vaile. Once everything valuable is taken off the ships, we can destroy them. With them gone, we've left no evidence the Cylons can trace us with. We can—"

  "Enough, Uri. You're just revising the arguments you tried to use back at Carillon. They won't wash now either."

  "Adama, you're killing us all!"

  "What—?"

  "You're taking us across the endless tracks of space, keeping us going until the Cylons finally catch up with us. That's when the Cylons will ruthlessly annihilate us.
Not on Vaile, but out in some backwater of space. We'll be hanging there as sitting ducks. Then all your reputation, all your honors, won't mean a damn thing, Commander. You're leading us to catastrophe, and you have no right to!"

  Uri, as usual, had taken his one step too far.

  "Uri, you're out of line. You are dismissed."

  "You forget, Adama, I don't belong to the military. I'm not one of your cowering underlings and I won't be treated like one."

  "There is no point in continuing this discussion, no—"

  "No point because you're too pigheaded to—"

  "Uri—"

  The threatening tone of Adama's voice seemed to frighten Uri.

  "As you wish," he said. "Then you won't allow those of us who don't wish to continue the voyage to remain on Vaile?"

  "I promise to take your request under consideration. Look, Uri, every ship in the fleet is understaffed. We need more personnel rather than less. There are too many important jobs to be done, we can't afford—"

  "Jobs to be done? Adama, my important duty in the last week was cleaning out sanitation units!"

  That's perhaps the only job you're suited for, Adama thought but did not say.

  "That is . . . unfortunate," he said. "But everyone has to draw that kind of duty from time to time. If you wish special considerations for health reasons, I'll—"

  "No . . . no special considerations. You can save all of them for your son and his—"

  Ever since Apollo and Uri had first clashed, Uri had been publicly charging nepotism, especially since Athena also held a command position. Adama decided not to pursue the subject with him.

  "Uri," he said, "I must ask you—"

  "I'll talk with you again, Adama. Next time you'll know just how many people support my views."

  "I welcome that, Sire Uri."

  Uri strutted out of Adama's quarters without leaving any formal farewell behind him. It was just as well, Adama thought, there was no point in the two of them being polite to each other.

  Tigh, who'd obviously been lurking outside Adama's cabin in case he was needed, came into the room.

  "Sounded like a rough session to me," he commented.