As he sat beside Chameleon in the shuttle and listened to the old man's tales, including his recent almost-offhand conquest of the wealthy Siress Blassie, Starbuck became more and more convinced he had to be related to this man. He was unaware of the doubts that were building in his friends Apollo and Boomer, nor that they would eventually arrange for a security check on Chameleon.
Cassiopeia ran the simple tests Chameleon had suggested. The results showed that Starbuck and the dapper old man were from the same planet and tribe, and were no doubt related within perhaps ten generations. However, she carefully pointed out, there were hundreds of people in the fleet who could match them on these scientifically inconclusive initial tests. Therefore, Cassiopeia agreed to perform the more exhausting genetic tests that would establish definite proof of their relationship. At this point, Chameleon was merely biding his time, glad to be away from the threat of the Nomen and rather enjoying his time with the exuberant young man who obviously liked him more than any other individual in the twenty yahrens since he had lost his wife. He regretted toying with the boy's emotions, but he also knew how to run a con and how to repress sympathy.
Starbuck remembered the fear with which he'd begun the genetic testing. It was not only fear of the testing itself, but a deep apprehension that the man of whom he'd already grown quite fond would, after all, prove not to be his father. A finite laser extractor had withdrawn the image of a single neuro cell from his brain, then Chameleon's, and the first stage of comparative examination was initiated. Starbuck felt relief. Whatever the tests showed, he was happy they had begun. As Chameleon talked warmly with him, reminiscing about the woman who could be Starbuck's mother, Starbuck had felt certain that his search for his father had ended. Even later, when he had been told otherwise, he had thought, in the midst of his disappointment, that Chameleon ought to be his father. After that initial test, he had told Chameleon that one day he hoped to be sealed to Cassiopeia. He had never said that aloud before, never mentioned it to Apollo or Boomer.
When the tests were finished, events occurred so fast that Starbuck felt as if he had been drawn into a vortex of emotion. First, he discovered that Apollo had ordered a security check on Chameleon. Angry that Apollo had interfered with his happiness, Starbuck had accused his friend of lack of faith and declared the end of their friendship. He stalked away before anyone could tell him that there was no listing of anyone named Chameleon in fleet records.
Starbuck, in despair, decided to throw over all that he had gained as a colonial warrior. With his friends against him, there seemed no point to climbing into the cockpit of his Viper and flying long, usually fruitless, patrols.
In the meantime, the vengeful Borellian Nomen, placed in cadet quarters after their arrival on Galactica, overpowered the officer there and disguised themselves as flight crewmen. Knowing that wherever Starbuck was, Chameleon would be nearby, they roamed the corridors, asked Galactican personnel the whereabouts of Lieutenant Starbuck. They found someone who had last seen him on the way to Launch Bay Alpha with a civilian visitor. The Nomen, intent on their blood hunt, their bodies heating up with the fiercity of it, headed toward the launch bay.
In Alpha Bay, Starbuck showed Chameleon, now ensconced in the pilot seat, how the controls of the Viper worked. Chameleon appeared particularly impressed by the laser generator switch, commenting on the awesome firepower it could unleash.
Then Starbuck sprang his surprise, announcing that he was resigning his commission and leaving the Colonial Warrior Service. Chameleon seemed shocked by the revelation. He squirmed in the cockpit seat and looked pained as Starbuck spoke of his newfound desire to do something meaningful with his life by participating in the genetic tracing project. Chameleon protested that the Galactica needed him, he was a hero, but Starbuck merely brushed that off by saying there were plenty of hotshot pilots to take his place. Starbuck's zeal to change his life because of him moved Chameleon, made him feel proud. Still, he knew he could not allow it and was about to protest when the sound of the descending elevator reverberated through the launch bay. There was not supposed to be anyone in Alpha Bay at that time, and Starbuck was puzzled when he saw two men in hangar crew outfits step off the elevator. Chameleon, recognizing his pursuers and sinking into the cockpit, said he didn't think the two new arrivals were part of the hangar crew.
Starbuck challenged the two, whom he saw were Borellian Nomen. One of them said they were on a blood hunt for a Captain Dimitri. Before he knew how or why, Starbuck was in combat with the Nomen. Crouching behind a support beam, he watched the two gleaming spheres of a laser bole flash by him. He stepped from behind the beam and fired at the Nomen, then had to duck another laser bole which sliced the support beam. The subsequent explosion sent Starbuck sliding across the floor. His laser gun flew out of his hand and skidded beneath the Viper.
Sensing that the Nomen were stalking him now, two more laser boles already plucked from their chest belts, Starbuck scrabbled to his feet and started running down the launch tube. Behind him his pursuers let go of their laser boles which sailed down the tunnel at him. He dove to the floor and heard the boles spin by above him.
The Nomen came after him, but he managed to climb upon the launch rail and watch them move by slowly below him. Then he leaped down and hustled back up the launch tube, his body tensing as he heard the initial low whine of a generating laser bole behind him. As he reached the end of the tube, Chameleon hollered for him to hit the deck. Plunging to the floor just outside the launch tube, he heard Chameleon fire the Viper's laser guns down the launch tube. The firing caused an enormous explosion which was followed by thick smoke pouring out of the tube.
The next thing Starbuck was aware of was Chameleon leaning over him, screaming his name. Starbuck said only his father would fire laser guns in a launch tube. Apollo arrived with Boomer and ship security, and they took away the Nomen, who miraculously still lived. After Starbuck had explained they had been on a blood hunt for a Captain Dimitri, Chameleon admitted that he had been Dimitri and explained his swindle of the Nomen.
Since he thought the genetic tests had been negative, Starbuck easily accepted the idea that Chameleon had been using him as a way to flee the blood hunt by departing the Rising Star. He apologized to Apollo and Boomer and offered to visit Chameleon in between duty tours. Chameleon was dispatched to the senior ship at the request of Siress Blassie, who had taken an interest in him. He seemed strangely reluctant to go. Even then Starbuck sensed there was a secret. He had never, however, expected it to be that Chameleon really was his father.
The last time he had seen Chameleon had been in the lavish quarters of Siress Blassie. The woman had seen to it that they were well fed and left them with their drink and cigars while she performed her daily round of supervisory duties at the crafts arena. At first Chameleon had been unusually glum, but Starbuck's cheerful patter had soon cheered him up.
When Starbuck had to leave, however, the glumness had returned for a moment as Chameleon said, "Take care of yourself out there, you hear?"
"Always do," Starbuck replied. Chameleon grabbed his arm tightly.
"I hear you don't. I hear you're reckless. Just take it easy."
Put off by the old man's seriousness, Starbuck chose to reply lightly, "Don't worry. The luck of the tribe is with me."
"For now?"
"What's worrying you?"
The skin around Chameleon's eyes wrinkled with concern.
"I had a dream," he said. "You were alone, abandoned, on an unpopulated planet. Just a dream, maybe, but I woke up sweating. So, just take it easy, okay?"
"For a man who's been proven not to be my father, you're awfully paternal."
"Ignore it. Habit of age, is all."
They had resumed their cheerfulness and Starbuck had left. The next time he'd tried to visit him, Siress Blassie mournfully told him that Chameleon had sneaked away during one of her sleep periods. She had tried unsuccessfully to trace him. Starbuck regretted that his visits with the ol
d man had ended, but at the same time glad that he was out of the clutches of the generous but possessive siress. He hadn't seen Chameleon since.
And now the crafty old man was one of the captives aboard the Eureka.
"Hey, wait," Starbuck said aloud. "Why should I assume he's a prisoner? With his orneriness, he might be one of the mutineers. Hope not."
Starbuck wished he had Chameleon in front of him. He'd give the old man a piece of his mind. Why in Kobol had he never told him the truth? Why did he let him go on believing the lie? Was there something wrong, something in Starbuck that kept Chameleon from claiming him as his son? Starbuck didn't know whether to resent Chameleon or simply be glad that the truth had finally come out.
This time, Starbuck vowed, the two would work at being father and son. He would explain to Chameleon how much he needed a father—to attend to, to talk to, to love. He had spent so much time envying the relationship of Apollo and Adama, even though that pair was hardly the warmest twosome in the universe. Both of them could be stiff-backed and distant, especially with each other. But they had a relationship, and that was important. Starbuck, thinking himself an orphan all of his life, longed for such a relationship. Whatever reasons Chameleon had for denying his son the truth, Starbuck was content to forgive him for them. The main goal now was to reunite with the old man and then iron things out.
He thought of Apollo and Sheba, imagined them imprisoned on the Eureka. Croft, too, for all his bad temper. The squadron couldn't track the Eureka forever. There was the problem of fuel, plus the uncertainties of what the mutineers would do now. He stared down at his scanner screen, at the blip that represented the Eureka, trying to relate that blip to the reality of the ship itself. Did it—
"Starbuck?" Hera's voice interrupted his reverie.
"Yes, Hera?"
"That ship, the other one. It's definitely not Cylon. The Warbook shows no profile that matches it. It still appears to be heading for the Eureka. Do you suppose it intends to rendezvous with the Eureka?"
"I don't know. We'll just have to keep an eye on it. Your eye, Hera."
"Aye, aye, sir."
Her voice was enthusiastic, pleased.
Starbuck felt uneasy about the unidentified ship. In this sector of space the odds were against meeting a lone spacecraft. He felt this one had some purposeful mission, but they would have to wait to find out what it was.
CHAPTER SIX
Croft had seen roomier cells in the prison barge's solitary confinement block. A person alone could get claustrophobic in such a cell, but for the three of them, it was like being wedged together in a closet. He couldn't take a step without bumping into Apollo or Sheba, or both.
The cell was about as deteriorated as the Eureka, which he found one of the saddest excuses for a fleet vessel he'd ever had the bad luck to be trapped in. The padded walls and ceiling were decaying. Strips of cloth hung down and dirty odorous padding material peeked out of the holes in ugly clumps.
Croft felt enraged, Apollo's face was locked in a grim mask, and Sheba appeared to have the weight of several worlds on her attractively broad shoulders. A great threesome, the kind of trio that could wow an audience with elegies. Even in the midst of his wrath, Croft was amused. Here he was, in the service of the good guys, winding up in the usual cell, a prisoner again. He'd been jailed for a good portion of his life and, as always, he wanted out.
"I can't believe they'd pull such a double-cross," Apollo said suddenly. "On a truce mission, for God's sake!"
Croft's laugh was abrupt and cruel.
"You think they should've honored the white flag, Captain?"
"They allowed us on board. On any ship that means—"
"This ain't any ship. Did you take a good look at our welcoming party? They're crud, pure crud. Not only are most of 'em former inmates of the prison barge, the rest were not exactly high society, Apollo. There were some Borellian Nomen among the group, slinking in the rear. See them?"
"Yes. But Borellian Nomen at least go by a fiercely held code."
"I don't think their code includes the niceties of space etiquette," Croft said. "They saw the shuttle, and they saw hostages, simple as that. Sending us over here in the first place was the stupid act. Your father thinks he can bully anybody into submission. Well, that's not—"
"Leave my father out of this, Croft."
Sheba planted herself in front of Croft, and their bodies touched. Being confined with this young lady, Croft thought, had its benefits.
"Yes, Commander Croft," she said. "There's no point in us getting worked up into a froth with a petty argument."
"Petty?" Croft said. He could smell a faint perfumelike odor emanating, it seemed, from Sheba's hair. It reminded him of the scent of a flower that grew on Khelana, a planet where he and Leda had spent their most romantic vacation. "I'm not talking petty here. I'm talking command politics. The outmoded governing system that's sending this fleet to—"
"Croft!" Apollo yelled. His breath was hot and moist on Croft's neck. It was certainly difficult to be emotional in such small quarters. "Just shut up!"
Croft tried to turn around to face Apollo. He couldn't. He twisted his head toward him. Pains shot through his neck.
"Yeah, Captain. You going to force me?"
"I will if I have to."
"Hey, you guys are acting like children," Sheba said. Croft could feel her breasts pressing against his arm.
"Stay out of this, Sheba," Apollo said, "this is our—"
"Is this a private fight or may I join in?" said a voice outside the cell. Apollo whirled around without jarring either of his cellmates, and saw Chameleon standing there, his legs crossed as he leaned casually against the opposite wall.
Apollo moved forward, taking care not to make contact with the force field which served as the cell door. He had bumped into it a couple of times already and been jolted with a small but painful dose of electrical charge.
"Chameleon!" Apollo cried. "What in Kobol are you doing here?"
"Chameleon?" Croft muttered to Sheba. "Who's he?"
"It's a long story, Croft," Sheba said, and turned away from him to grin at Chameleon. Croft shrugged. From the goofy looks on the faces of Apollo and Sheba, this Chameleon must be some sort of fellow.
"I was on Eureka's staff," Chameleon explained. "Before the mutineers took over. I gave them a fight. Now they're after me, looking all over the ship." He glanced suddenly to his right, then crouched in the shadow of an open cell, saying, "Tell you more later. Somebody's coming."
For a moment Apollo wondered if Chameleon was seeing ghosts, then he heard the clunking sound of people clomping through the corridor. Soon Carome, backed by a contingent of his fellow mutineers, stood before the force-field door. Apollo noticed the heavy-browed physiognomy of a Noman in the rear of the group.
"Ah, Captain Apollo," Carome said in a cloying voice. "I trust you and your companions are settled in."
Apollo's gesture clearly indicated the smallness of the cell.
"Hardly," he said.
"Oh? Well, you must endure some discomfort. I couldn't put you up in the commander's cabin, after all. I wanted to inform you that the Eureka has separated from the fleet ranks and is headed out toward deep space. Your father has promised that he will not interfere with our new course."
"Then you will release us now, let us return in the shuttle to the Galactica."
Carome's chuckle echoed tauntingly through the cell block.
"Hardly," he said, taking care to pronounce the word with the same inflection Apollo had used. "As long as we have you as our guest, Captain, we are insured from attack by the Galactica. We won't let you and your companions go until we've put a galaxy between us and the fleet."
"But the shuttle is a limited-space vehicle. It can't cross a galaxy. We'll never be able to return in it."
"A pity."
Carome's look of triumph was so ugly that Apollo wished he could reach through the force field and rub his fist in it. Then he noticed
a flicker of movement from the shadows that Chameleon had disappeared into. Chameleon's face came in sight, his long thin fingers tapping his lips to tell Apollo to be quiet about him. Whatever the man was up to, Apollo realized he should employ a diversionary action.
"The fleet won't abandon us, Carome," Apollo said.
"Don't be so sure of that, Captain."
Chameleon, not making a sound, gracefully moved to a position behind the mutineer who Apollo recognized as the man who'd thrown them into the cell in the first place. Dangling from the man's belt was the lockcard that turned the force-field barrier on and off. Chameleon's eyes were fixed on it.
"Commander Adama has made it clear," Carome continued, "that the twin goals of the Galactica are pre-eminent. First, the flight from the Cylons, and second, the search for this fabled ridiculous place, Earth."
The jailer's head turned slightly to the left. He was almost looking at Chameleon, who seemed not at all alarmed by the threat of discovery. Instead, he reached down and, in a swift graceful move, slipped the lockcard off its chain without causing even a ripple to go through the links of the cabin. Chameleon then retreated back into the shadows so rapidly, he seemed to vanish like a ghost.
"The commander, I'm afraid, will even abandon his son for the sake of the fleet," Carome was saying. "Regretfully, I am certain, but with the obsessive decisiveness that has characterized his leadership."
What Carome said made some sense, Apollo realized. Adama would not endanger the ships of the fleet to recover one stray ship, or three lost warriors. However, if he could find any other way, he would be quick to use it. That was Apollo's best hope now.
"Let them go back, Carome," Croft said. "I'll stay as your hostage. But these two are much too valuable to the safety of—"
Battlestar Galactica 12 - Die, Chameleon! Page 7