"I just want every moment we may have left," I said. "Before another moment passes, another mission where . . ."
I could not finish the sentence. There were just too many terrifying ways to finish it.
"I do love you, Serina," he said, and pulled me into his arms. At that moment I felt that—
Apollo, in anger, shut off the recorder and removed the crystal. He sat for a long time holding it, looking at it as if it would continue to transmit Serina's voice even in his hand. He put his other hand up to his face and tried to wipe away the tears that were flooding from his eyes. Then he sat back in the chair for a long time, in silence and darkness.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Lucifer enjoyed interrogating the captured prisoner. Here, at least, was a human with a sense of humor. Since he had known only the company of Cylons and Baltar, Lucifer had thought humor a rare commodity, found only in advanced computers. What a change the jaunty, energetic Starbuck was from Baltar! Even though the interview provided no valuable new information, it did add to Lucifer's storage of knowledge about the enemy.
Starbuck was quickly taken aback when he learned that his interrogator, the grotesque creature whose flashing lights seemed part of his corporeality, was actually a walking computer.
"You do not have computers?" Lucifer asked. "I had been informed that you did."
"Of course we do. But generally we don't dress them up in red velvet robes and have them walk about on tiny wheels. Those are tiny wheels you ambulate with, aren't they?"
"I suppose you could call them that. I believe your term for the items that give me locomotion is 'ball bearings.' "
"I know a good game we can play with ball bearings. A gambling game—"
"We don't have time for games. I am interested in your computers. You implied that sometimes your computers are capable of locomotion—walking about, as you said."
"In a way. We have a kind of robot. It's not programmed for very much. Janitorial work, repair on the outside of a ship, solium leak sniffing, cargo-loading. Dirty work, mostly."
"How disgusting! I am sorry I asked, I assume then that your full computers are stationary."
"Yep. Linked of course into a network, but we deem it wiser to keep them stationary, yes. Nor do we give them more than rudimentary personalities. A friendly voice and an ability to formulate questions when data fed them is insufficient."
"How crude. And cruel. When we conquer you, I must strike a blow for the rights of your computers."
Lucifer's revolutionary boast amused Starbuck, and he laughed. Starbuck's laughter intrigued Lucifer, since it was so filled with delight, in remarkable contrast to Baltar, whose laughter always was lined with a sneer or infused with a cruel gruffness.
"Tell me one thing," Starbuck said. "Cylons cannot have become so advanced in cybernetic technology that an entire complicated computer setup like you can be contained in a unit of your size."
"In the first place the Cylons, although they build us, are not as advanced in cybernetics as you think. Once I and others like me had been created, we were able to program our own improvements on our basic design. We have gone far beyond anything the Cylons' scientists conceived. In the second place, you are correct, I am not self-contained. I am able to link with a vast computer operation in the nether regions of this base-star. It is, in fact, quite an arduous task to transfer, as you might say, all of me from one ship to another, although we recently were able to do just that. In the third place, I do not take kindly to being referred to as a unit."
"Sorry, chum."
A bizarre throbbing sound, low-pitched, reverberated through the interrogation room. To Starbuck it sounded like a psychotically disturbed alert claxon.
"What's that?" he asked.
"A signal from our leader. He is impatient to see you. We will finish our interview later."
As they hurriedly progressed down the corridor to the command chamber, Lucifer wondered what Starbuck would say if Lucifer revealed to him that he carried, in his shoulder, a soul of his own creation.
Starbuck followed his Cylon guards docilely into the command chamber. As the doors eased shut behind them, he rubbed his eyes and took a long look around the vaultlike room. Speaking over his shoulder to Lucifer, he remarked:
"I like the way you haven't gone overboard on furniture."
Lucifer, meshing data from his studies of human life and behavior, recalled that there was indeed a bit more luxury in human furniture. He filed an instruction to review this subject when he was more inclined toward passive contemplation.
Starbuck drew a cigar out of his flight jacket pocket and, with an adept twist of wrist, struck a match on the chest plate of the nearest centurion. When the match burst into flame, he politely nodded to the Cylon and said:
"Thanks."
Lucifer, although secretly amused by the pilot's insolent gesture, said sternly:
"It will go better for you, Lieutenant, if you show a little respect."
Staring at the match flame while holding the cigar up to it, Starbuck muttered in between puffs: "You mean things could get worse?"
He tossed the blackened match over his shoulder, toward the Cylon on whose chest plate he'd originally struck it. He was obviously quite satisfied with himself, a pleasure that was interrupted by the loud hum on the high pedestal as the command chair whirled around.
"Lieutenant Starbuck," Baltar said. "No one informed me it was you. How nice of you to drop in."
Lucifer had never seen Baltar so oily and so amiable at the same moment.
"Baltar!" Starbuck shouted angrily. He started to run forward but was held back by the heavy grip of one of his guards.
"You seem disturbed, Lieutenant," Baltar said, his voice perfectly controlled.
"Baltar, I'd trade my life for one good shot at you."
A look of absolute innocence spread over Baltar's face. Lucifer had never seen anything like it. It was a transformation worthy of admiration, a deception to be studied closely.
"My dear Starbuck," Baltar said, "I see that you too have accepted the malicious tales about me. Ah, well, you'll feel differently when you come to understand that I had nothing to do with the defeat of the colonies. I was the emissary from the Cylons, true, but I believed their peace offers and I was a willing, eager messenger. Too willing and too eager, perhaps, considering the outcome."
Baltar's face feigned a most convincing sadness. The irony of Baltar's innocent expression was not lost on Lucifer, since he knew that this treacherous man had collaborated with the Cylons—willingly and eagerly—to sell out his own people and gain power for himself in the new regime. When Imperious Leader had arranged the defeat and destruction of Baltar's colonies, too, and then ordered Baltar's execution, he had—perhaps—learned the folly of his traitorous ways.
"I, too, was a victim, you see," Baltar said softly.
Starbuck chewed a bit on his cigar, then said:
"Yeah, you look like one."
Baltar smiled. In the harsh pedestal lights, his cheeks seemed to shine. Could the man be calculating these effects?, Lucifer wondered.
"Ah, appearance and reality, always a problem. In this particular chair in this particular room in this particular ship, I do not appear to you to be genuinely conciliatory. This is understandable. But we have much to show you. You see, fortunately there've been some changes in the Cylon Empire, changes favorable to humans and their predicament."
Baltar's bald-faced deceit surprised Lucifer. The man's audacity was almost admirable. The only change in the Cylon Empire was the one elevating Baltar to his present powerful position.
Starbuck seemed to see through Baltar's trick, for he said:
"You'd know a lot about that, Baltar."
"Don't antagonize me." Some of the false amiability had departed from Baltar's voice. "I come to bring an offer of peace to all humans. These people are my friends."
Now that was even more audacious, Lucifer thought. Baltar offering peace. After his deceit as peace-b
ringer to the Council of Twelve, how could any human believe him now? Or were all humans as gullible as Baltar speculated? Starbuck, for one, did not seem to believe him.
"Really," he said. "Well then, you won't mind me leaving with the good news."
Baltar nodded.
"In time, in time. You must excuse me for now. Please go with your guards. They will see that you're fed and made comfortable."
Starbuck's smile was clearly meant as a challenge to his captors.
"I just want you to know torture won't do you any good. I had a course in resisting—hey, guys, careful! You're hurting me."
Baltar called after him as the guards marched him out:
"There'll be no torture."
"That is your plan?" asked Lucifer, gliding forward. "To convince the humanoids that we come bearing, what shall I call it, bearing the twig of peace?"
"Yes."
Lucifer's overlay personality clicked off. Automatically and necessarily. He had to protect this.
"It is illogical to assume they would ever trust you again."
"You underestimate the human need for hope. Listen, Lucifer, Adama's led his ships into this void when alternatives existed. That is the clue to his need. They are desperate now. They'll even encounter this terrifying blackness . . ." Baltar paused, and his eyes slid leftward as if looking out beyond the metal walls at the void. ". . . to look within it for hope. They'll jump at the chance for a peaceful solution, even from me. Properly presented and at a propitious moment, they will come willingly to my arms."
He opened his arms as if welcoming them right then. Lucifer made his ritual exit and felt lighter as he glided away from Baltar. He needed to talk to the captured prisoner, if only to clear away the madness that was clogging up his receptors.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SERINA: I'm supposed to be a newswoman reporting the events of significance in this flight from catastrophe to—to what? To the threat of more catastrophe, it seems. Or, if Adama is right, to Kobol. And maybe later to the mythical Earth he speaks so earnestly of, the Earth that may offer us sanctuary, a place to live among brothers and sisters, a place where our desperation may end, a place where even the marauding Cylons can't get to us.
Yet it seems my personal life keeps intruding on these reports, perhaps muddling their historical value. The light that may lead us directly to Kobol was first scanned as I was busily making preparations for my wedding. It flared brightly during the ceremony itself.
The only way I can really make a proper record is to tell what I saw through my own eyes, then later use it as source material for a more organized, more scholarly (if you will) transcription of events. The great historians of the twelve worlds may stir a bit in their graves, but my reporting back on Caprica was known for its highly personal approach. I can only continue in that fashion now, while learning to be a proper historian through research and, I'm afraid, this sort of practice.
So—my point of view!
I was examining closely the webbing of my wedding dress, the sealing gown as it's traditionally called, and wondering where Athena, my chief bridesmaid, was keeping herself. We were supposed to be running through the final practice soon. How banal! There I was fingering delicate cloth, while Athena was busy watching history in the making on the command bridge. (Perhaps that's the basic act of history, experiencing the event from whatever perspective fate allows you. Well, at least I have blasted a Cylon raider to smithereens—not many new brides can make that claim as part of their dowry.)
Athena finally rushed in with the news. Her voice had risen half an octave, as it does when she's excited. She looked beautiful enough to be a bride herself, her eyes glowing and her cheeks red with excitement. Not long ago she was ravaged with tears, mourning for Starbuck. She was hit pretty hard by the loss. I spent a lot of that time comforting her, Apollo, and Cassiopeia while submerging my own deep sorrow. But I'm digressing to matters that are not pertinent to this particular report.
She told me that a light had been detected, far forward of the fleet, just within scanning range. (Interference has lessened significantly since we penetrated the void, and our equipment seems to be stabilizing.) When a visual was placed onto the major screen, Athena said, her father became terribly excited. He was sure that it was the star of the planet Kobol, the one of legend. Everyone on the bridge anxiously awaited more data, she said.
Word came later that a planet revolved around the star, that its orbit appeared stable, and that preliminary scanning indicated a breathable atmosphere. The new information seemed to confirm Commander Adama's suspicion that we had located the lost planet. Athena says he's been walking around the bridge like a mystic who's been allowed a glimpse of inner truth. I am quite properly confused. I must find out exactly what Adama expects. Perhaps I can interview him. He wouldn't sit still if I thrust a microphone into his face. Maybe I can conduct an interview without him knowing . . . Worth looking into, anyway.
Before I stray any further from the proper subjects of this report, I must mention the subsequent events regarding the star and the planet.
And, incidentally, my wedding.
I'm surprised I can remember any of it. I was so nervous that the nosegay of flowers, Aquarian gamosepalous nightblooms, attached to my right wrist nearly became de-petaled with my shakiness.
The wedding ceremony was held in the Council Room, with the vast starfield as a backdrop—although of course there were no stars in the starfield. However, the scene was impressive, I'm sure. The two of us, facing the commander, with our friends and colleagues crowded into the chamber, all of this set against the awesome blackness outside. Athena had arranged that each attendee carry a lit candle and, at a signal from Adama, she had switched off all interior illumination. The effect was, believe me, quite startling. All that flickering light casting odd and bizarre patterns across everybody's face. We were like disembodied heads, floating aimlessly, our skin colors altering slightly with each flicker of a candle flame.
I entered the chamber to the strains of a Caprican wedding anthem, one of my favorite melodies, soft and tuneful at first then increasing to a lovely, flowing finale. It was a song of joy, and the irony it lent to the cememony was not lost on me. The joy of the music and the joy of the wedding were in dramatic contrast to the plight of the Galactica and the fleet. The joy implied a kind of future that was undisturbed, without threat, serene. Serene, Serina, I thought. Even my name suggested a future without problems. What a mockery! We would have our little ceremony, followed by a strained reception perhaps, then all too quickly everybody would have to return to their posts, on the lookout for danger from every quadrant. Still, in spite of my fearful ruminations, I felt happy. I moved, I am sure, as if I were floating through an unsteady dream.
Boxey walked beside me. We'd assigned him the job of giving me away, and he was loving it. He looked proud, with a quite adult dignity marred occasionally by a little smirk of a grin that he couldn't hold back. Behind me walked Athena and behind her Cassiopeia, Dietra, Brie, Gemi, and Rigel, all acting as bridesmaids.
Apollo watched me approach, his smile loving and hopeful. Adama stood behind him, his eyes a bit moist, I thought, in the dim light.
We climbed a decorated flight of stairs that led up to the platform where normally the ruling council sat. Athena had supervised the floral displays that circled Adama's podium. Somewhat extravagant, it seemed to me. I mean, they had to pick the flowers from one of the meager gardens aboard an agricultural ship. Some of our ranks had not wanted to preserve flowers, claiming that the soil in which they were planted would be better used to grow more food. A bit of logic in that, I suppose, but still, some of the beauty of the twelve worlds must be preserved and carried with us. If we lost that sort of tradition, we could become little more than generations of animals drifting across space in metallic dustbins. Anyway, Athena had arranged that my favorite flower, a variety of Scorpion orchid, pale lavender and quite lovely, should dominate the nuptial display.
W
hen the music had finished, Adama took up his position behind the podium and lifted his hand for silence. Not that the room could have been any more silent than it was. Apollo took my hand and squeezed it gently, as his father began:
"Will Serina's protector consent to her marriage to this man, Apollo?"
A silly enough invocation normally, it was, I suppose, doubly absurd since Boxey was acting as protector. But at that moment I was quite touched, especially so since Boxey cut such a handsome figure as he straightened up his spine, smiled up at me, and shouted for all to here, "Yes!" I would have bent down and hugged him, if the ancient marital ceremony had allowed such a breach of decorum. Adama continued with the rest of the brief rite. In good time, as it turned out.
"These simple words are the most powerful in the universe. They seal a union between this man and this woman not only for now but for all eternity."
He took the sacred medallion from around his neck, held it up for all to see, then—according to the ancient ritual—began to wrap it gently around our wrists, while saying:
"Apollo, Serina. Under the eyes of God, and bound by the symbol of the faith of the Lords of Kobol, I declare you sealed."
Apollo turned to me, the hint of a most fetching grin on his face. After speaking the part of the ceremony we had written for ourselves, we kissed. Behind us the consequent hush was broken by the beginning of the recessional music and the explosion of good wishes from the guests. Boxey, looking quite pleased, touched my arm affectionately as we all began our retreat from the makeshift altar.
When we were halfway down the aisle, I heard Tigh's voice behind me, shouting:
"The star, it's pulsing again."
Everyone looked out at the starfield. The star, which had not been visible during the ceremony, was indeed pulsing. The height of its illumination was a brilliant flash. Commander Adama, staring out at it, appeared very pleased.
"Yes, Colonel Tigh," he said, "it does appear to be pulsing. Just as in the Book of the Word. Quite a lesson for doubters, do you agree?"
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