Getting off the elevator, Apollo was bumped roughly by a man in a Galactica uniform. He was about to dress the violator down but the elevator doors closed in his face. There had been something odd about the man and his companions. Shrugging his shoulders, he turned to Boxey and said:
“The Ovions’ve really fixed up this place attractively, haven’t they?”
“I don’t like them,” the boy said laconically.
Serina whispered to Apollo, “Boxey’s a little miffed because some Ovion tried to prevent him from bringing Muffit to the celebration.”
“I see he won the dispute.”
Apollo gestured toward the daggit-droid in the boy’s arms.
“Of course he did,” Serina said. “He’s in training to be an officer of the Galactica, isn’t he?”
Starbuck came running up to Apollo, saying, “Captain, those men that just got on the elevator….”
“Yes, I have a strong tactile impression of one of them, but what’s it all about?”
“Something’s going on around here, and I don’t like the feel of it at all,” Starbuck said. “I think those three were imposters. Somebody else wearing our uniforms, or duplicates of our uniforms. Can we talk?”
“Of course. Serina, will you excuse me?”
“Sure, but not for long, okay? I’ll take Boxey and get something to eat.”
Muffit Two sprang out of the boy’s arms and ran into the main room of the casino, Boxey running after him.
“Gotta go,” Serina said. “But you two, don’t be long. You don’t want to miss your own honors ceremony.”
As she walked off, Starbuck took Apollo to a quiet corner.
“Now what is this about imposters,” Apollo said, remembering the man in the ill-fitting uniform he had spotted aboard the passenger shuttle.
“I don’t know,” Starbuck said. “I’ve been running into people all night who aren’t from our unit. But they’re in our unit’s clothes.”
“Yes, I saw one myself. We’d better find out what’s going on.”
The elevator door slid open and the two men rushed into it.
It took a long time for Cassiopeia to find a dark place where she could get away from the crowd of people. A dark place for her dark mood. When she had arrived at the casino, Starbuck had been distant with her, and she did not care for the young lieutenant’s mercurial moods. Then the wretched and lecherous Sire Uri had made about twenty indiscreet proposals to her, following her around while she denied him his every wish until he finally gave up, muttering that no damn socialator should dare to insult him like that. Finally, the festive atmosphere had depressed her more, and she knew she needed to sulk for a while, work some of the sadness out of her system.
What she found was a plush chair which had been placed behind an ornate screen. She flopped down onto it and shut her eyes. The darkness did not enclose her as it should have, as it usually did when she employed the meditation techniques she had acquired in her training as a socialator. Too many other scenes intruded.
Her ritual defloration, which occurred at the age of twelve following her vow to enter the socialator ranks. He was a handsome older man. Like Sire Uri. Since he was associated with a pleasant memory, she should like Uri, but she did not.
Her winning of the highest academic honors and the awarding of the golden fringe which she was allowed to wear along the neck and hem lines of her street-robe. The award required Gemonese males to treat her with a special dignity.
Her selection as a socialator officer and its accompanying privilege of teaching the young.
Her long intermittent love affair with a Gemonese artist, his kindness to her, the way she had felt when he had not turned up among the refugees.
Her one disastrous night with Starbuck, the only man who had treated her with any extra kindness in a long time. Why couldn’t he—
An Ovion, apparently stepping out of the wall, interrupted her thoughts. Before she could say anything, the alien had placed one of her four hands on Cassiopeia’s mouth and started dragging her to a concealed pod-elevator in the wall.
Serina responded to Sire Uri’s gesture to approach the podium. He asked her where Captain Apollo was.
“He’ll be here in a moment,” she said, “I’m sure.”
Uri looked toward Boomer, the only one of the three awardees on the platform.
“I suggest you find your two friends and tell them we’re going to begin,” Uri said. “With or without them.”
Boomer snapped to and jumped off the podium, a weak smile on his face.
“I would like to speak with you later,” Uri whispered to Serina. “Alone.”
“Drown yourself in the grog fountain,” Serina said sweetly and moved off.
Seetol could not figure out why she was disturbed about the operation that seemed to be progressing in the casino and within the several levels of the Ovion colony. The Colonial warriors, most of them, had been assembled for the award celebration. They would be easy targets when the proper time came. Her troops were successfully abducting humans who wandered away from the main body and taking them to the lower levels. Everything she had been ordered to see to had been done. Still, she felt troubled.
The Cylon centurion walked arrogantly into the throne room and both she and her queen automatically bowed.
“By your command,” Lotay said.
“Speak,” said the centurion.
“The humans are in full attendance.”
“How many warriors?”
“We have counted more than two hundred.”
“My reports indicate that number as very near the full complement. A very good effort, Lotay.”
The centurion’s condescending compliment sent a shiver of distaste through Seetol’s body, agitating all four of her limbs.
“We are, but to serve,” Lotay said in her soft deep voice.
“You have served well. See that the humans remain entertained until the end.”
“How will we know—”
“When the Galactica is destroyed, the night will be as bright as a thousand suns, for a quick moment, then there will be darkness. Eternal darkness for the humans. And their remnants will be yours, for your lower chambers.”
“We are very grateful, centurion.”
“As you should be.”
Lotay and Seetol bowed and backed out of the throne room.
Imperious Leader sensed that the time for action had finally arrived. His centurion on Carillon had reported that the human warriors were collected in one spot. The battlestar Galactica and the rest of its fleet were being operated by token crews. They could not launch counterattack craft, nor could they adequately fight back with their artillery. An attack could be initiated now, both against the ships in the sky and the trapped humans on the ground. He ordered the Supreme Star Force out of the ambush screen, where they had hid themselves upon arrival in Carillon Sector, and toward the planet. At the same time, he activated another force to head for the ships that Adama had left behind. They could be wiped out in one sweep of fighters, they were so weak. Then all humanity, except those whom the Ovions claimed for the pods in their lowest levels, would be finally annihilated.
The leader allowed himself a moment of satisfaction, the kind of joy he felt when conducting such a multi-faceted campaign. He would be both relieved and happy to rid himself of the human pest. He had been fighting them so long he had begun to think like them. He was glad there would be no more of that.
Apollo and Starbuck could find no trace of the three strange men in Galactica uniforms on the guest accommodation levels.
“They’ve got to be down here someplace,” Starbuck muttered in frustration. “If they aren’t here, they must’ve reached another level.”
“The other levels aren’t accessible to humans.”
“They are to Ovions. Maybe somebody gave them a free trip. You know, I’ve been wondering: just how inaccessible are the other levels?”
“That speculation’s crossed my mind, too. Shall we try?”
“After you. Captain.”
They returned to the elevator. Inside the car, Apollo drew his weapon, aimed it at the control panel and fired. The thin red beam pierced the metal of the panel and, in a near-perfect circle, a section of the control panel above the selection touch plates was severed, falling to the floor. Inside the panel, several wires were cut by the beam from Apollo’s sidearm.
Staring at the dangling wires, Starbuck commented, “You realize that’s private property.”
Apollo smiled.
“I think we owe it to them to try to put it back together,” he said. “Any suggestions?”
“Yes, sir. I’d suggest you try tapping those little critters there together.”
Apollo connected a pair of the wires. As soon as they touched, the elevator car came to life again and began moving downward.
“You’re a gambler,” Apollo said. “Pick a level.”
“I say we take a look at what’s farthest from the guest rooms.”
“Agreed.”
Apollo pressed the touchplate for the lowest level. No soft forbidding voice intruded and criticized this time.
Her abductor carried Cassiopeia down several levels to a dark, cavernous chamber. She struggled all the way, and the Ovion had to call in reinforcements in a high-pitched but ominous voice. The group of Ovions flung her onto a massive table and, before she could squirm off, a large canopylike cover came rapidly down from the ceiling and sealed off her escape. Tubing leading into the canopy started pumping in a dark reddish gas. Cassiopeia tried to hold her breath but, looking down at her arm, she saw that the gas penetrated her skin. Her mind told her to scream, but her body was beginning to feel extremely comfortable, extremely content. As the tension rushed out of her, she looked out the transparent canopy. The Ovions were opening what appeared to be large pods. In a trio of other pods three men in Galactica dress uniform were nestled snugly, calm expressions on their faces. Cassiopeia smiled at them and managed a weak wave. She was dimly aware of some human voices moaning in the distance.
Moaning was the first sound Apollo noticed as he and Starbuck stepped in the oppressive atmosphere of the lower level corridor. Drawing his sidearm, he gestured to Starbuck to follow him in the direction of the sound.
“You’re the leader,” Starbuck whispered.
Right after they turned into a corridor, they heard a chattering noise behind them. Recognizing the sound as the Ovion language, Apollo whirled around ready to fire. However, the Ovions were gathered around the elevator, examining the damage Apollo and Starbuck had caused, and arguing among themselves. Their queen, Lotay, swept up and examined the damaged car control. Her excited chatter sent the other Ovions scurrying in all directions.
“They’re gonna be looking for us,” Apollo whispered. “Let’s move.”
As he started running forward, he thought he heard the sound of a daggit barking ahead of him.
Serina finally located Boxey on the other side of the massive casino. He was, as usual, chasing after Muffit Two. The daggit-droid was sniffing around a decorated screen that blocked off a small part of the room. As if picking up a trail, Muffit scampered behind the screen.
“Come back here, you daggit!” Boxey hollered, and ran alter the pet.
Serina smiled. It was time to herd in Boxey and Muffy, get them both something to eat. She went behind the screen, and saw an overturned chair. And nothing else. Boxey and his daggit were not there.
All right, don’t panic, she told herself, somehow they got back into the casino. She rushed back into the main room. On the podium, Sire Uri had made some excuses for the missing guests of honor and was launching into a speech about rebirth, about wiping the slate clean of animosities, of displaying peace to their former foe.
People were applauding. There was a madness in the room, she thought. Where was Boxey? Where was Apollo? Why were there so many Ovions slowly gathering, as if in ranks, near the exits of the casino?
She started walking fast, looking for somebody she could trust, and finding no one.
Apollo and Starbuck leaned against a corridor wall, out of breath.
“I’m beginning to think you’re right,” Apollo said.
“About what?”
“Your suspicions. About something being wrong here.”
“But what? What’s the connection between the casino and the luxury quarters, and all of this?”
“I suggest we get out of here, then figure that one out.”
Ovion chattering plus the sound of barking up ahead brought Apollo away from the wall. He began to run down the corridor toward the sounds, Starbuck following close behind. The agitated growling of the daggit-droid was the equivalent of a guidance system. They turned a corner and saw Muffit Two, snapping at an Ovion who seemed puzzled by the animal android. The Ovion kept reaching for Muffit with one of her four arms, and then springing back when the daggit leaped toward her, steel teeth gleaming. Boxey came out of a nearby corridor, hollering, “Muffit? Muffit?” The Ovion moved toward the boy, drawing a small but sharp-looking, thin-bladed knife from her belt. Boxey cowered backward as the Ovion raised the weapon.
“Run, Boxey!” Apollo shouted.
The boy ran toward Apollo. The Ovion whirled around. Starbuck emerged into the dim light and sent a beam of laser fire through the alien, who seemed to collapse inward as she fell to the ground.
“Let’s get out of here,” Apollo said, sweeping Boxey into his arms.
“The elevator,” Starbuck shouted.
“Muffy!” Boxey yelled. The daggit yelped and followed after them. They stopped at the corridor archway leading to the lobby in front of the elevator bank. Apollo peered around the corner.
“Oh, God, no!” he muttered, springing back against the wall.
“What?” Starbuck whispered.
“There’s a crowd of Cylons collecting there. A whole brigade, it looks like.”
“Cylons! But how’d they get—”
“They must be able to key a path through the minefield. Either that or….”
“Or what, Apollo?”
“Or the Galactica’s under attack. Damn it, that’s why the award ceremony. To get us down here while the Cylons sneak-attacked us. Father’s up there with just a skeleton crew. He’s probably—”
Muffit Two, peeking out of the archway, began to bark. Apollo looked. Several Cylons were looking toward the archway, light beaming out from their helmets. When they saw Muffit and Apollo looking out, an officer pointed toward them, and a platoon started running their way.
“Let’s get the hell out of here!” Apollo screamed, and they broke into a run. The daggit-droid held ground for a moment, yelping at the Cylons, then scampered after the retreating humans.
The leaves of the pod were gently wrapped around Cassiopeia’s body. They felt soft and velvety. Ovions picked up the pod and carried her out of the chamber. She began to feel dizzy. The feeling of peace seemed to be wearing off. The pod leaves were wrapped too tightly about her. She could not move her arms or legs. Her entire body was becoming numb. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound could be forced out.
They arrived at another large cavern. Lying around its floor, filling almost the entire surface, were many pods, each with tubing leading to machinery at the far end of the room.
Most of the pods contained human beings, but some of them contained red and grey clumps of matter which, if you squinted at them and filled in missing areas, were recognizable as human shapes. Recognizable human shapes and they seemed to be dissolving, dissolving into component matter, dissolving.
Cassiopeia’s voice returned in a sudden, piercing scream.
FROM THE ADAMA JOURNALS:
On the day when his petition to run for a minor political office on his home planet of Sagitara was granted, Adar came to visit us on Caprica. I was home on leave at the time, during one of those lulls that seemed to occur when the Cylons withdrew for a time from the fray, Ila was always happy to have Adar visit (at a much later time
she asked me never to allow him into the house again) and the two of them had a great time chatting about the kind of literary and cultural matters that they enjoyed so much. I was content to listen to them and watch the antics of my two-year old son, Apollo. (Athena and Zac were years in the future.) We had a tiny pet then, a rascally daggit whose main purpose in life was to trip up intruding human feet, and Apollo used to love to charge at the animal, hear it yip, run away, and then turn waiting for Apollo to charge it again. He loved that daggit and was terribly broken up three years later when it died from some mysterious daggit disease. Ila and I had a bad time convincing him that his pet’s death was not in any way his fault.
Anyway, Adar could not hold in his good cheer during that visit. He bubbled over with happiness and optimistic hopes for the future. I don’t remember much of what he said, but I suppose his main message was the one he used to much sinister purpose later—that he planned to push this business of the war to its finale. He felt the war was bogged down by the corruption of the politicians running it (I was glad, at least, that he didn’t blame the military, as I’d just taken over the helm of the Galactica at the time and was quite sensitive about its record). The main goal had to be peace, he must have said. I don’t actually remember what he did say. All I really recall was his joy and his enthusiasm. They rubbed off on both of us, Ila and me. Anyway, he was half in love with Ila and she was half in love with him.
On the day he left to go back and run his campaign, we joined hands, the three of us, and made a lot of foolish vows, none of which I wish to record here. All I care to remember is the touch of their hands, his and Ila’s, and the smiles that we couldn’t wipe off our faces. That we should hold hands and smile was, at the time, so normal, so steeped in the tradition of our friendships and loves, that we never suspected it was the last time the three of us would be together like that. Oh, we were together again a number of times, but Adar always brought a feeling of strategy to those visits, a sense that our times together in the past were part of a storybook whose tales were not particularly readable for him anymore.
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