Battlestar Galactica 7 - War Of The Gods Page 9

  Boomer looked at Starbuck and Apollo with pain written all over his face, but it was not the pain of a killer hangover. This was a pain that hurt far more than his head did, it was the pain of letting down his shipmates.

  "I'm sorry, guys," he said thickly. "I deserve being put in irons for this kind of behavior. I just don't know what happened last night."

  "I think I do," said Apollo. There was a hard edge to his voice.

  "Don't bother explaining it to me right now," said Starbuck. "I'm having trouble finding my left eyelid."

  "Can you fly?" Apollo said.

  "We'll soon find out, won't we?"

  They finished donning their flight suits and all but Apollo staggered to the cockpits of their Viper fighters. Starbuck strapped himself in, wondering why his hands felt like they belonged to someone else. Boomer kept fighting back nausea as he ran through his pre-flight check. It was taking them entirely too long.

  Finally, urged on by Colonel Tigh's strident voice over their helmet comcircuits, the pilots launched their Vipers. The fierce acceleration of the-sleek fighter craft as they hurtled down the launch tubes did much to clear the heads of the woozy fighter jocks, but they were still a long way from being one hundred percent as the Vipers cleared the tubes.

  "Starbuck . . . straighten up your ship!" Apollo said urgently, seeing the shaky flight path taken by his wing man. "You're falling off formation!"

  It was all Starbuck could do to keep the scanner in front of him from blurring.

  "Falling off formation?" he said, still groggy from the festivities of the past few centons. "I'm falling off my seat. Must admit it's a first, though. I've never nodded out in combat before."

  "Boomer, where in Hades' Hole do you think you're going?" Apollo said, watching with dismay as his other wing man separated from the formation and began to drift off.

  "I got a bandit," Boomer slurred. "I've had it with these damn things. I'm going to get one of those white lights and make me a fireball . . ."

  He zeroed in on one of the strange ships that dogged them and began firing his lasers. The moment he fired, the white light accelerated with dazzling speed, seeming to disappear. He never even came close.

  "See that?" Boomer sounded triumphant, if a touch incoherent. "I blew that bandit right out of the universe! Nothing but space dust!"

  "Boomer," Apollo said, worry edging his voice, "that ship left you standing still. Come on, man, wake up! Take your damn finger off the fire control before you overload your laser generator. You're not even giving it time to recycle!"

  "Oh. Is it still on the trigger?"

  "Boomer!"

  "I . . . I think it's stuck," said Boomer.

  "Your fire control?"

  "No, my finger . . ."

  "Would you all please hold it down?" Starbuck's voice came over the comcircuit in a plaintive whine. "I've got a terrible cranial disturbance."

  Apollo was exasperated. They were confronting ships that could outfly and outmaneuver them without any effort whatsoever and his squadron mates were dissociating with a vengeance.

  "Look, you two—"

  "Apollo, forget it," Starbuck said. "Look, they've all disappeared anyway. We can't catch 'em, whoever in hell they are. They're better than we are. I couldn't get a bead on those suckers even if my head wasn't falling off . . ."

  "And since Boomer shot at them," said Apollo, "they're liable to come back and attack the whole fleet."

  "What for?" said Boomer. "I missed, didn't I?"

  Starbuck began to giggle.

  "I give up," said Apollo, disgustedly.

  "Me, too," said Boomer.

  "No, I mean I give up on you guys," Apollo said angrily. "You're nothing but a damn nuisance out here. You two return to the fleet. I assume you can find it. I'm going to continue on my own."

  "Hey now," said Starbuck, a little more soberly, "I don't think that's such a good idea. One man out on—"

  "That's an order, Starbuck," Apollo said. "Now you get Boomer back to the ship and get to the life station. You seem a little more aware of what's happening around you which, believe me, isn't saying much. So get him back there and get straightened out. I mean now, before he kills himself. Or one of us."

  Apollo hit full power on his engines before either man had time to reply and raced off in the direction taken by the ship Boomer had fired upon.

  Starbuck shook his head sadly, knowing that Apollo was right and feeling that he had let his friend down and, at the same time, knowing that it was stupid of him to continue on after those ships alone. However, he thought, given the speeds the mystery craft were capable of, there was little chance of Apollo's catching them.

  He'll just fly around out here until he blows off steam, thought Starbuck. Then he'll come back to the ship and give me and Boomer holy hell. Which we'll deserve for acting like two duty-shirking rookies back from a furlough they couldn't handle.

  "All right, Boomer," Starbuck said, "I think the man is right. Let's turn around and head back. Think you can make it?"

  "Have I got a choice?"

  "Not much of one. You could just float around out here for the rest of your life."

  "I'm tempted, the way I'm feeling right now," said Boomer miserably.

  "Come on," said Starbuck. "Just line up on me and I'll lead you in."

  "Got ya."

  Starbuck flipturned his Viper and worked out a course for the Galactica, tracking the battlestar on his scanner. He didn't notice that Boomer was beginning to fall behind.

  Boomer leaned back against the cushion of his seat and shut his eyes, completely unaware that he was veering off course and losing Starbuck. It didn't seem to him as if he had any sleep at all. His eyelids were simply too heavy to force open.

  It had been one hell of a party. And he had finally done it, had finally beaten Starbuck and Apollo.

  He remembered Starbuck coming up to him in the locker room of the stadium, limping slightly. He had been furious.

  "Man, Boomer, I know you wanted to win," Starbuck had said, "but that was crazy out there! Hell, you could have killed me that one time! What in God's name got into you?"

  Starbuck had been very angry. Boomer had tried to think back to the game, to remember what it was he had done that had upset Starbuck so much, but he could not recall having done anything out of the ordinary. Certainly nothing that could have endangered Starbuck's life! He had simply played the best triad he knew how, as he had always done. Except he had won, for a change. Starbuck was just sore for having lost.

  "Sour grapes," mumbled Boomer, feeling suddenly very drowsy.

  The funny thing was, he couldn't remember very much about the game at all. He recalled telling Count Iblis how much he wanted to win, just once, just one damn time, and he remembered the strange way the count had looked at him, then hearing the ready call, taking his position on the line . . .

  The rest seemed a total blank.

  It somehow figured that the one time he won, and a championship game, no less, he could not remember the finer moments of his victory. He wished he hadn't drunk quite so much.

  How much had he drunk?

  Boomer groaned, trying to force his eyes open. He had the feeling that there was something important he was supposed to be doing.

  "Man, this is ridiculous," he mumbled. "I can hold my liquor better than that . . ."

  Count Iblis had congratulated him on his victory. He had seemed every bit as thrilled as he was, as if Iblis had played in the game himself. That was one thing Boomer remembered, the way Count Iblis had looked at him as he bought him drink after drink.

  "His eyes shine," said Boomer. Then he began to chuckle. What was it he was supposed to be doing? Why couldn't he get his head sorted out?

  He managed to open his eyes slightly, only to shut them instantly. The light hurt them, it was much too bright. He couldn't even see the scanner—

  The scanner!

  "Holy—" Boomer sat straight up, fear washing away the dullness that pervade
d his entire body. "Asleep at the controls, for Kobol's sake! Space happy idiot, I—"

  He couldn't see a single thing. His eyes were wide open, but everything around him was flooded with an intensely bright white light. Only once before had he experienced a similar phenomenon, back when he had been a cadet on leave, skiing the slopes of Mt. Ursus on Caprica. He had gone snow blind. Only this was worse. Much worse. The damn light hurt. Tears streamed from his eyes and his head began to ache even worse than it had before.

  "Starbuck? Starbuck, where are you? You behind me?"

  The light was so blinding that Boomer couldn't see that his scanner wasn't working. The comcircuit was dead as well, and the ship was out of control.

  "Blue flight two to fleet," said Starbuck, keeping his eyes on the scanner to make sure he didn't botch the approach instructions. "Blue flight two to fleet, this is Starbuck requesting approach, repeat, Starbuck requesting approach . . . I am leading Blue flight three in right behind me—"

  "This is Galactica bridge control," Athena's voice came over Starbuck's comcircuit. "I have you on approach, Starbuck, but I don't have anyone else on my scanner. Where did you say Blue flight three was?"

  Starbuck frowned. "Right behind me! He's right behind . . ."

  Boomer wasn't there.

  "Oh, shit . . ."

  Starbuck swung his ship around. Boomer was nowhere to be seen. He couldn't even read him on his scanner. Nor could he read the white light off in the distance. It wasn't on his scanner, but it was there.

  "Boomer . . ."

  Boomer was beginning to panic. Something was coming up on him. Coming up fast.

  "Starbuck? If that's you playing games, Starbuck, stop it, I can't stand it, I—"

  It was directly overhead.

  "Oh, my God . . ."

  The pain in his head became an unbearable agony. His hands left the useless controls and he grabbed his head, which felt as if it was being squeezed by some giant hand.

  There was no time to scream.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  "Look, it's my fault," said Starbuck softly. "I lost him."

  Apollo shook his head. "No, I was responsible. Starbuck was in no condition to . . . well, that's not the point. I was in command. I never should have sent the two of them back—"

  "Stop it, both of you," Adama said.

  Both men fell silent. They were in Adama's quarters and the commander of the Battlestar Galactica leaned wearily against his desk. He looked like a much older man. Apollo was shocked at the strain that was evident in his father's face, in his whole bearing. Adama sighed.

  "No one was in command," he said. "Just as no one is in command of this ship. Except maybe Count Iblis."

  "What could he have to do with Boomer's disappearance?" said Apollo.

  "What has he to do with anything?" Adama said. "Is he making miracles? Or is he taking advantage of a race of beings he knows to be scrutinizing us?"

  "He's one of them, that's what he is," said Starbuck.

  "I don't know," Adama said. "These ships . . . or whatever they are have made no hostile move toward us."

  "What do you call the disappearance of nine pilots?" said Apollo.

  "We don't know that there is a connection," said Adama. "You've seen what they're capable of doing. Flying so fast that not even our scanners can pick up on them, surely they could have taken direct action against the ship by now if that was their intent. We seem to present no threat to them at all. We don't know for certain that there's a connection between our missing fighters and those strange ships. And if there is, what does it have to do with Count Iblis? Why?"

  Apollo stared at his father. He had never seen Adama so indecisive before, so helpless. Ever since Count Iblis had come aboard, it seemed that Adama had been becoming more and more frustrated in his efforts to maintain command. He had been growing—Apollo hated to admit it— weaker. How was it possible for one man to have such an effect upon them all?

  "I say we take him right back where we found him and dump him off," said Starbuck.

  "I agree with you," Apollo said. "As you remember, I was against picking him up in the first place."

  "I'm afraid the option of picking him up or not has passed," Adama said. "He has the complete support of every man, woman and child in the fleet. We couldn't lift a hand against him now if we wanted to. It would be inviting a revolution."

  "Maybe," said Apollo. "And maybe not."

  He turned and walked out of the room.

  "Apollo," Adama called after him, "what are you going to do?"

  There was no answer.

  "I wouldn't worry about it," Starbuck said. He sounded bitter. "What can Apollo do, alone?"

  It took a moment for the implication of what he said to sink in.

  "I've got to go," said Starbuck.

  The two pilots walked quickly down the corridor, heading toward the shuttle bay.

  "I just want to remind you," Starbuck said, "this guy may not exactly warm the cockles of our hearts, but he seems to be capable of one mean bag of tricks."

  "Maybe," said Apollo, "but I'm not so sure it isn't all coincidence."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I'm not exactly sure yet," said Apollo, "but something has been bothering me about Count Iblis. It's been eating away at me and I just can't seem to put my finger on it. One thing seems clear, though, and it's taken long enough, by God."

  "And that is?" said Starbuck.

  "And that is the fact that the major weapon in Count Iblis' arsenal seems to be ourselves."

  "I don't follow you."

  "Just stay with me, buddy," Apollo said, grimly. "Maybe I'm wrong, but this thing isn't over yet."

  Four men walked slowly through the rows of trees on the Agro Ship. The old farmer moved with a lightness that belied his age and kept up a steady stream of conversation as he led Starbuck, Apollo, and Doctor Wilker through his domain. He could not seem to get over his amazement at the change in his orchard. He stared with wonder at each tree they passed, reaching out to touch the ripening fruit as if he could not believe that they were real.

  "It's just like you see," he said, "bumper crops. Every single tree is producing like nothing I've ever seen. I'm telling you, it's a miracle. How else do you explain it?"

  "What about that tree over there?" said Doctor Wilker, indicating a small tree in the center of the clearing. "That one over there doesn't look as if it's doing very well at all."

  They approached it.

  "Oh, yes, that one," said the farmer. "Now that is a little odd. I noticed that just a little while ago."

  "What happened to it?" asked Wilker, examining the tree more closely.

  "I can't tell you," the old farmer said in a puzzled voice. "It's a mystery to me. It was as healthy as could be a while ago. Last ship's day, it seemed to be doing fine. Not as well as all the others, but still . . ."

  "Curious," said Wilker. "It seems completely dead. And in so short a time. It doesn't make much sense."

  "I'll tell you who might know," the old man said. "That miracle worker, Count Iblis. You should ask him."

  "What does he have to do with it?" Apollo said.

  The old man shrugged. "Well, he must have seen that there was something wrong with it even before I did. He was standing right next to it, where you are now."

  "He was?" said Apollo. "What was he doing?"

  "Did he touch it in any way?" said Starbuck.

  "Well, I didn't want to be nosey, what with him and the girl carrying on and all, but yes, I think he did pull a leaf off, now that I recall. Sure enough, he did, right about there," the old man pointed.

  Wilker shook his head. "I don't see how that could have anything to do with this bumper crop of food," he said. "I'd like to get back to the lab and do some more work on this, if it's all right with you, Captain."

  "Let's go," said Apollo.

  They arrived at the lab to find that Doctor Wilker had been examining several samples of all the fruit grown in the Agro Ship. They
waited patiently, looking on as Wilker compared some of his previous findings to his observations of that day.

  "You see here a sample of the fruit I have collected from the Agro Ship," said Wilker, indicating a pile on one of his lab tables, "and samples of other varieties we are growing in our hydrobeds, here."

  "They look alike to me," said Starbuck.

  "Yes, unusually large," said Wilker. "There is no question that they have responded to some extraordinary influence."

  "Any ideas?" said Apollo.

  "Possibly. Come over here."

  Wilker led the two men over to several charts displayed on a bank of scanner monitors.

  "Take a look right here," he said. "Our normal seismic and cosmic monitoring went right off the scale yesterday and today. According to calculations from the bridge, those occurrences coincided precisely with the presence of the unidentified ships, or flight of lights that encircled our fleet."

  "In other words," Apollo said slowly, "those ships might have given off energy that could have influenced the growth of these plants."

  "Could have," said Wilker. "It's possible. I mean, it's certainly no different in principle to plants leaning toward and receiving energy from a sun. It's only a theory, of course, and a half-baked one at that, but we don't know what sort of energy those white lights possessed. It's simply a matter of correlating two inexplicable phenomena. The timing's right."

  "Then you think it was the white ships rather than Count Iblis that caused these plants to go crazy and grow like this?" said Starbuck.

  "I said it's a possibility," said Wilker.

  "I sure like it better than the alternative," Apollo said. "Thank you, Doctor. Keep on it."

  They turned and left the lab together.

  "Apollo," said Starbuck, "that look on your face . . . What are you thinking?"

  "Nothing," Apollo said. "Why don't you go rest up? You've had a pretty rough go of it lately. I want to do some thinking."

  The fighter landing bay was dark and empty. The ground crews were off duty and only the sound of the force field generators broke the stillness of the cavernous chamber. The sound of the generators plus the soft hissing of the elevator as it arrived at the landing bay deck. The elevator door opened and, for a brief moment, a solitary figure was silhouetted in the light from inside. Then the door shut once again and the bay was once more plunged into darkness, with only the slight glow of several banks of red working lights giving a tiny amount of illumination.