"Where?"
"We'll tell you. But first, the story."
Starbuck gave Boomer a nervous look.
"Time may be important," he said. "There's a—"
"The story," Chandra said in a way that did not brook further discussion. Behind her, Trinzot and Diova shrugged, telling Starbuck by the gesture that even they didn't dispute a decision from their bright and confident elder daughter.
"We want to hear your story, too," Trinzot said, calmly. "Don't worry. We'll help you, too. And where they are, there's plenty of time."
"The story," Chandra said.
Starbuck sat back on his haunches, nodded, and then said, "I guess you've effectively dried up my vapor trail, kids. Now, it all began this way. I was cruising on patrol in my lonely Viper, thinking thoughts about courage and nobility, when a dozen Cylon raiders came sailing out of nowhere . . ."
Boomer's eyebrows raised and he looked at the ceiling. As Starbuck enthusiastically developed his partially-true tale, mesmerizing his listeners, Boomer noticed that behind him the illusionary Starbuck was fighting a whole field of mean-looking aliens, and nobody in the room was watching him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"Starbuck hasn't yet broken commsilence although our telemetry shows that he and his squadron have landed on the planet. I wish I knew what the young lieutenant has on his—"
Commander Adama's dictation was interrupted by the soft sound of his cabin door opening. He glanced up to see Athena in the doorway with Boxey by her side, clinging to her hand. Behind them the daggit-droid, Muffit, peeked around Boxey's legs. He shut off his voicecorder and smiled at his adopted grandson.
"Aren't you up kind of late, Boxey?" he asked.
"I couldn't sleep. Didn't want another nightmare. Aunt Athena said I should talk to you."
"What's bothering you, child?" Adama said. "Your father?"
Boxey nodded. "And the others. Starbuck, Boomer. Are they all coming back?"
Receptors in Muffit's control center picked up the boy's sadness and, as programmed, he nuzzled the child a little. Absent-mindedly, Boxey pushed him away and, disengaging himself from his aunt's grip, walked slowly toward Adama's desk.
"I don't want to lie to you, son," Adama said. "I don't know. But I pray they will."
"So do I." Boxey reached the desk and put his hands on its edge. They were tiny and white, very white. Adama regretted that the child could not spend more time on the planets they visited, to get rid of the onship pallor and get some tan.
"Is it always going to be like this, Grandfather? Always some need to go off and fight? I mean, I want to be a colonial warrior and everything, but . . ."
Athena came to the child's side.
"Boxey," she said, "I told you not to—"
"No," Adama said, "it's all right, Athena." Reaching across the desk, he took Boxey's hands, guided him around the desk, and settled him on his lap. The gentle sound of Adama's voice when he spoke next reminded Athena of conversations he'd had with her as a child, usually after something hurtful had happened.
"You want some time of peace, some time where nobody has to go on patrol, go into combat, be on alert—is that right, Boxey?"
Vigorously, Boxey shook his head yes.
"Well," his grandfather said, "it may surprise you to find this out, but so do I. I grew up in war, spent the best part of my youth in the academy, post-academy training, and the war itself. I got married in my dress uniform. I was a parent only when I could get leave to go home for short periods. And you know what, Boxey?"
"What?"
"I spent a lot of time in my quarters, thinking just the same thoughts you've been thinking, asking myself all the same questions. I wanted to turn my back on it all but I had to do my duty. Just as your father has to do his duty, Starbuck his, and the others theirs."
"And me, mine. Right?"
"Right, young man. I hope your duties aren't the same as ours have been, but I can't promise that. If we reach Earth, perhaps we can find the peace we hope for, on a peaceful planet with peaceful inhabitants. But I just don't know. Now, off to bed with you."
Boxey climbed off his lap, saying, "Okay. Hey, c'mon Muffy."
The child and his mechanical daggit headed for the cabin door. Athena walked slowly after him. At the door, she turned around and blew her father a kiss. In their age-old gesture, Adama caught it. He smiled. After they left, the smile could not last, as his worries about Apollo and the rest returned.
Starbuck felt tiny itches all over his body. He wondered if he was allergic to something in the scratchy clothing Trinzot had given him. Whatever was causing his skin discomfort, he longed for his uniform again. Everything seemed acceptable when he wore his Galactica threads, but these functional civilian jobbies gave him a feeling the universe was coming apart.
He scratched his arms restlessly as he crouched with Boomer on a knoll above the vast prison compound. Figures, both alien and humanoid, moved busily in the open areas between the buildings below. There was a military stiffness to the walk of the human figures. The compound was well lit, and they could see the peeling structures scattered with no geometrical order throughout the area. If Chandra was right, Apollo and the others were in the large center building, the one whose windows had been darkened. Starbuck hoped she was right; it would be too dangerous to attempt to search all those buildings for him.
"It's like Trinzot said," Boomer observed. "Not a very formidable challenge physically. We should be able to get in there easily enough."
"Makes sense."
"I fail to see where anything makes sense about this place."
"They don't really care about anybody breaking out. Where would they go? Top of that, they've got most of the planet's population firmly under control. If what Chandra suggested is correct, the aliens control almost every part of their lives."
"I don't know about that. It might be just a kid's fantasy. Trinzot and Diova don't seem to put much credence into Chandra's speculations."
"Yes, but did you listen to those two? Did you take a good look into their eyes? As pale and glazed as cadet faces on their first solo flight. Look, Boomer, I can't even trust them not to turn us in. That's why I didn't want them along."
"So maybe they're notifying their masters now."
"I'm willing to risk that. There's a good chance they won't, too. They seemed to believe us, or at least be willing to help us. I don't think they're bad. I just think their insides have been used up. You notice how vague they get when they talk about their past?"
"Yeah, I did notice that."
Not far behind them, the children crouched, watching their hero's every move. Starbuck had instructed them to stay behind. If he had known them well, he would have known they'd never follow that kind of order, not when there was an adventure about to happen. After he and Boomer had left, they had sneaked out of their home and, as they had when they'd first seen Starbuck and Boomer, tracked them.
"Now we'll really see something," Brynt said.
"We better," Zossie said, "before I fall asleep. I don't know if I like this Starbuck's adventures."
"Zossie," Chandra said, "he's more exciting. He's real."
"Oh, Chandra, he's just more exciting to you because you got the holster, and the wrapper, and the—"
She also had a piece of fringe from off his uniform, which she'd snipped off after he'd given it up to change into civilian clothes. And she held it now, tight in her right hand.
"Oh, stop it, Zossie!" she said.
Ahead of them Starbuck and Boomer crept forward.
"We've got to get closer," Boomer said, "find a way in."
"Right," Starbuck said.
Crouching, they ran a few steps down a hill, then plunged to the ground. The children raced to their former position and watched them from above.
"What if they get caught?" Brynt asked.
"He's the Starbuck," Chandra said. "He won't get caught."
"Yeah, but what if?"
"We'll get him ou
t, don't worry."
Zossie, who had trailed behind, now joined them, saying sarcastically, "Sure, we'll get him out. Sure. Sure."
Starbuck sensed movement off to his right and cautiously lifted his head to see a group of townspeople traveling along the path leading to the gates of the prison compound. Their steps were slow, but in unison. Their heads faced stiffly forward. Walking in two lines, they carried large packs on their backs. Their eyes were glazed over, their faces slack and expressionless.
"Way they're walking," Boomer commented, "looks like a bunch of zombies."
As they passed by the place where the two warriors crouched, Boomer said, "Take the stragglers?"
"You got it."
The children watched Starbuck and Boomer creep up behind two pack carriers at the rear of the caravan. Quickly and silently they jumped them, hitting them over the heads with the butts of their laser pistols. The two men, who apparently couldn't resist anyway, fell limply to the ground. Starbuck and Boomer dragged them to the side of the path and rapidly slipped the packs off their backs. Carrying the packs themselves, they caught up with the caravan and took up the positions of the men they'd subdued. They made their eyes as vacant and zombielike as they could, and copied the stiff gait of the other members of the caravan.
"C'mon," Chandra said, standing up suddenly. "Stay low."
"Why?" Brynt asked.
"We're goin' in with 'em."
Brynt's face brightened and he nearly squealed with delight.
"All right!" he said.
"We shouldn't—" Zossie said.
"You stay behind, then," Chandra said, her voice emotionless and cold. She started running down the hill, Brynt right behind her.
Zossie looked around and said, "I'm not staying here!"
She skittered down the hill after them. Remaining low, the three children caught up with the caravan. Starbuck and Boomer, even though their gaze was held forward, saw the children slip easily into the middle of the caravan.
Speaking out of the side of his mouth, Starbuck said, "What're they doin' here?"
"Whatever, we can't stop them now. Get your zombie face back on, bucko."
Chandra smiled back at the two warriors, impressed with their acting skills. They looked just like the other pack carriers. She was disturbed by the vacancy in all those faces. What did it mean? She'd often seen groups of people in this state, and there were times when she half remembered being a zombie herself, without knowing whether or not she'd been dreaming.
During their spying excursions, the children had often come upon lines of these zombies. Usually, they had seemed to be on errands for the four-armed creatures with whom the humans coexisted in The Joyful Land. There was little interaction between the humans and the creatures, except when the creatures brought new citizens to the land. Yet, Chandra had vague memories of the creatures giving her orders, of herself with her face pressed against the hard surface of a floor just because a creature had ordered her to. Or dancing. Or hitting the face of Brynt or Zossie, or even her parents. They all traveled to some place together and did strange things together, strange things that were only dream memories to her. Did they happen? Were they the reason she seemed to have a sense of lost time so often, a feeling of definite gaps in her life? She wished she could focus more clearly on them, at least know whether they were reality or dreams.
"Okay," she whispered to her brother and sister, "we're near the gate now. Stay small."
"Easy for me," Zossie said.
The caravan stopped in front of the prison gate. A quartet of alien guards opened the gate and examined the caravan, which remained still. Chandra feared they were already discovered. In the rear of the caravan, Starbuck and Boomer couldn't tell what was happening.
The alien in charge made an ugly sound which turned out to be a signal for the caravan to go forward through the gates. The children suffered a tense moment as they slipped in past the guards. Starbuck and Boomer stiffened their bodies as they passed through. The aliens, not expecting any deviation in the caravan, paid scant attention to its members.
"What now, hero?" Boomer muttered.
"Beats me."
The children worked their way forward and, at a gesture from Chandra, darted through the zombie ranks to cover between two shadowy buildings. When the aliens' attention was elsewhere, they jumped out of their hideaway, seized Starbuck and Boomer, and jerked them into the shadows. The caravan passed out of the yard and into a building.
"Who told you kids you could follow us here?" Starbuck said irritably.
"Nobody," Chandra said. "We go where we want."
"I gathered that. You're in danger."
"And we don't care."
"Hey!" Zossie inteijected. "I care!"
"Go home then, tyke," Brynt said angrily.
"Sure," Zossie said, "just waltz out the gate. Thanks a lot, brother."
"Stop the sniping," Chandra ordered. "We got to help the Starbuck."
"Who doesn't need your help," Starbuck said.
"We got you off that caravan, didn't we?" Chandra said proudly. "And we can get you to the cell blocks."
"Just tell us where they are."
"We'll take you there."
"Chandra—"
"Follow us."
With Chandra in the lead, the children skittered down the passageway, keeping close to the buildings. Starbuck and Boomer shrugged and followed them. At the other end of the passage, a guard passed by, sending all the humans pressing harder against the buildings. When they arrived at the end of the passage, they looked out cautiously. In a small quadlike area, a few prisoners walked with a purpose, a couple of guards stood indolently by a wall.
"Where to now?" Starbuck asked Chandra.
"Over there. That's where they put new prisoners."
"Okay," Boomer said. "How do we get there?"
"Look, Boomer," Starbuck said, "we make like those guys, like prisoners on an errand. Just walk across the quad. Look like we know where we're going."
"This is exciting," Brynt whispered to Chandra, "just like an Imagescan."
"Except this time we're in it," Chandra muttered.
"Okay, Starbuck," Boomer said, "I'm ready."
Starbuck turned to the children, saying, "You kids stay here. Right here. Right?"
"Yes, sir," Chandra said, coming to attention like a good subordinate.
"And thanks for the help, pals."
The children, especially Chandra, glowed with pleasure. Squatting in the shadows, they tensely watched Starbuck and Boomer cross the quad. They looked convincing, their walk displaying a clear obedience, their attention directed on their feigned goal.
"We just gonna stay here?" Brynt asked Chandra.
"Of course not. We're following them in."
"Chandra!" Zossie complained. "You lied to the Starbuck!"
"Hush, Zossie," Chandra said. "This is an adventure. It isn't life."
"It's life," Zossie protested. "It's life. They could get killed."
"Bosh! The Starbuck could never get killed."
"Chandra, something's wrong with you. I don't know what, but—"
Chandra's voice became awesomely cold. "Nothing's wrong, idiot. C'mon, we can make our way across by staying close to the buildings. That way."
On the other side of the yard, Starbuck and Boomer reached the door to the building containing the cell blocks.
"What now?" Boomer asked.
"Just walk in."
"Thought you'd say that."
Boomer swallowed hard and followed Starbuck, who gratefully found that the door opened easily. They found themselves in a dark, dreary entry way, in the midst of a horrible musky smell. There was a heavy feeling of dust in the air that made them want to cough. Beyond the entryway was a better-lit anteroom which they went toward, instinctively shaking their hands in front of their faces to clear a way in the dust. One of the aliens sat by a round table in the center of the round anteroom.
"Are you two lost?" he bellowed.
"This isn't the commissary?" Starbuck said.
"What is—" were the only two words the alien got out before Starbuck shot him, his laser pistol set on stun. The alien fell heavily to the floor. Starbuck stood over him and examined his face.
"Ugly fellow, isn't he?" Starbuck said.
"We're probably just as ugly to them."
"Let's take a look around, before he comes to and sounds the alarm."
After traversing a narrow corridor they came to another round room, around which other corridors were placed like spokes in a wheel. They got by the two guards there simply by looking like they knew where they were going. Confidence seemed to be the key for moving about this place, Starbuck thought. The corridors led to cell blocks, and other corridors which led to other cell blocks. Most of the cells were empty.
After several rows of cells, Starbuck felt trapped in a maze, wondering if they'd ever find their way out of the building, much less find Apollo, Chameleon, and the others. Suddenly a familiar voice shouted his name.
"Starbuck! Is it you? Boomer?"
He turned to see Sheba standing on the other side of a cell door, holding on to its iron bars.
"Sheba!"
"Did they capture you, too? How—?"
"Where's Apollo?"
"I don't know where they took him. We were knocked unconscious and—"
"Chameleon, is he here somewhere?"
"Right across there. I heard him. He's been asleep, having nightmares, he's—"
Starbuck didn't wait for Sheba to finish. He rushed across the aisle to look in on Chameleon. The old man was asleep, but squirming. He let out a series of small abrupt groans. Starbuck wanted to crash into his cell and take his father into his arms, but he could not. Right now, his mission was too important. He crossed back to Sheba's cell.
"Sheba," he said, "we're going to let you out."
"There's a guard close by," Sheba said, "right at the end of the corridor there."
"Okay. Boomer, take out the guard."
Boomer nodded and worked his way casually down to the end of the hallway. The guard sat laconically, reading from a scroll written in a strange scrawllike calligraphy. The alien, sensing Boomer's presence, glanced up. Boomer smiled and raised his lasergun. His shot made the alien double up over his scroll. Boomer went into the room and propped the alien up in his chair, so that he again appeared to be reading.
Battlestar Galactica 12 - Die, Chameleon! Page 15