Battlestar Galactica 12 - Die, Chameleon!

by Glen A. Larson

  Apollo noted that Boomer had given him the same response he had given Chandra only moments ago. The coincidence made him uneasy.

  He could almost get used to quarters like this, Starbuck thought. Nothing this plush aboard the Galactica. All chairs were deeply padded, his bed was soft. The aliens gave him all the food and smokes he asked for. They had indicated he could have anything else. Except, of course, freedom.

  Spectre came into the room. Although Starbuck genuinely liked Lucifer, Spectre made him nervous.

  "Examine these please, Lieutenant Starbuck."

  "What are they?" He stared, amazed, at the item Spectre had placed in his hands. "Cards? Pyramid cards?"

  "We wish to ascertain that they meet your specifications. Then we will manufacture several decks. It seems that nobody here has the slightest idea what pyramid cards are supposed to look like. These are as correct as Lucifer can remember them."

  "Lucifer? What does he care about pyramid cards?"

  "For the game."

  "The game?"

  "The one you and he will play. When the cards are acceptable, of course. The Image Lords will explain further. Please study the cards. I'll return for them soon."

  Spectre left as quickly as he had come in. Starbuck examined the deck of cards. They were, indeed, pyramid cards. While not the most artistic he had ever seen, they fit the bill. The deck contained the correct number of cards and the designs on their pasteboard surface, while slightly distorted, made sense. But why were they planning a game?

  In Chameleon's room, a cell just as plush as Starbuck's, the old man was being interviewed by Crutch. Crutch waved his several arms actively as he talked.

  "It's come to our attention, old salt, that you are somewhat experienced in the art of gambling."

  "Well . . . some. I've dabbled."

  "I'd like to see what you can do with these."

  He handed Chameleon a deck of cards, identical with that Spectre had shown to Starbuck. Chameleon examined them, tested them for weight and heft, rippled them. They were a little too thick, the kind that a casino could easily mark with hard-to-detect notches which could be felt by the tips of a dealer's fingers. He laid a few on the surface of a table smoothly, flipped a couple cards up, separated the whole deck in half and then slid the two halves together. He made a few cards stand up. With a quick slight of hand, he secreted a card, then waved his hand in front of Crutch and discovered the card in the hair of the alien's arm. Crutch was pleased by the exhibition.

  "Excellent. Clearly you are familiar with a deck of cards."

  "A nodding acquaintance, merely."

  Crutch took back the cards, stretched his several arms in a fluttery gesture that Chameleon found quite comic, and said, "It's settled then. You will deal."

  "Deal?"

  "In the game. Lucifer approves. And I'm sure Starbuck will."

  "But what—"

  Crutch walked out of the cell without answering. Chameleon's fingers idly ripped an invisible deck as he wondered what was going on.

  Chandra spread out her treasures on a bright yellow cloth she'd stolen from an Image Lord storeroom. On it she had arranged the cigar and cigar wrapper, the holster, and the piece of jacket fringe she had taken from Starbuck. She smoothed out the wrapper, touched the holster and cigar lightly, and made a circle out of the piece of fringe. Still, the arrangement didn't look right. There were too few items spread on the large cloth. Originally she'd placed two pictures of the Imagescan Starbuck behind her memorabilia. But they hadn't looked right. They no longer looked like Starbuck to her. The facial features of the pictured hero seemed puttied or made of clay. They were too smooth, too neatly structured. The picture-Starbuck's eyes were pale next to the active and expressive orbs of the genuine article. She adored the real Starbuck's eyes. And the real Starbuck's face had a range of delightful expressions that were never seen on the visage of the Imagescan Starbuck.

  She was firm in her wish to help the real Starbuck escape from the Image Lords. Her adventures sneaking into the prison compound had convinced her she could be a hero, too. When the warriors attacked the building tonight, she planned to be with them. Perhaps she could even rescue Starbuck herself.

  As she imagined herself leading her hero to freedom, she redid the arrangement of her stolen items on the yellow cloth. The new arrangement was no more successful than its predecessor.

  At Starbuck's request, Lucifer explained the devices with which the Image Lords governed the city. Near them, Crutch consulted with his fellow aliens, excitedly working out the rules of the coming card game.

  "So," Starbuck said, "they're able to manipulate the people of the city through this mess of equipment?"

  "Yes. At first the people, newly captured, are conditioned in the prison. Some drugs are used and, in difficult cases, the Image Lord scientists can implant a receiver in the brain. For the most part, however, the simple conditioning is sufficient. When ready, they are integrated into the community and become a citizen of the city, Euphoria. The other citizens accept them as if they have been there all along."

  Starbuck whistled.

  "Whew! And all parts of their lives are controlled?"

  "Yes. Crutch says it is all clear when one views a Summoning."

  "What's that?"

  "I have not yet seen one. He says that sometime each night the citizens are assembled in a central building in the city. Control over them is renewed through certain conditioning exercises, after which particular orders for the day are given."

  "Don't the people have any freedom at all?"

  "Some, I suspect. Day to day activities, the kind of event that might be too boring for the Image Lords to supervise. But the overall arrangement of the people's days is governed by choices made by their controllers."

  "Aren't there any rebels, any individuals among the citizens?"

  "I do not know. If there are, they would probably be discovered and returned to conditioning. Or destroyed. Perhaps the day-to-day renewal of the Summoning keeps them in line."

  "It's awful, horrible!"

  "Is it? I do not have your kind of values. I cannot judge. The people of The Joyful Land appear to be quite happy, content."

  "Maybe they are. But that doesn't make all this right, Lucifer. If they want this kind of life, they have the right to choose it for themselves."

  "Really? Well, I am not inclined to accept human views. Cylons would, I think, approve of what the Image Lords do."

  "Because it destroys humanity. Of course they would. But they wouldn't be so thrilled if the citizens of Euphoria were Cylons and not humans."

  "You are right. Cylons cannot be controlled. The Image Lords do not even bring Cylons to The Joyful Land. They despise Cylons, in fact."

  "Well, I'd like to see a few Cylons under—"

  Crutch interrupted Starbuck to say gleefully, "It is set."

  Spectre stood like a lackey at Crutch's side.

  "What is set?" Starbuck asked.

  "The game. It will take place tonight. Everything is ready."

  "Except me," Starbuck announced, strolling away a few steps. "I'm not ready, fellas. I can't play."

  "Can't play?" Spectre asked. "But you're a champion, Starbuck. You are afraid of Lucifer, afraid he will beat you?"

  "Of course he'll beat me!"

  Starbuck's declaration surprised his listeners. He grinned.

  "You are giving up before the game?" said Spectre.

  "He can't give up!" Crutch bellowed. "We won't let him—"

  "Like to see you make me do it. Still, I'm willing to forfeit. I could beat the bolts out of Lucifer, I'm sure, under ideal conditions. But these conditions are not ideal."

  "What do you mean?" Spectre asked.

  "As things stand, Lucifer would no doubt beat me because my heart wouldn't be in the game. There have to be stakes, something worthwhile to play for. Else I just fall asleep over the cards. Sorry, fellas."

  "Stakes?" Crutch yelled. "That's all you require, stakes? I
offer you survival. You will live if you play, Starbuck."

  Starbuck's grin got broader.

  "You guys just don't understand stakes. I live if I play, no matter whether I win or lose. Back to square one, buddy."

  "What kind of stakes do you propose?" Crutch asked.

  "Easy. Freedom."

  Puzzled, Crutch scratched the top of his head with three of his hands.

  "You want your freedom?"

  "Not mine, especially. I'd escape from this toothpick and glue setup anyway. No, I mean everybody's freedom. Everybody. The prisoners, and the citizens of your happy little town. You'll let them all go, stop fiddling with their lives, let them be free, let them go wherever they want. I will play Lucifer for that."

  "But the lives of those people are our lives. We exist to manipulate. We must manipulate. You can't take away—"

  "Nevertheless, that's my proposal. I win, everybody is free. I lose, you can have me, my life, anything."

  "We will have your life, at the least." Crutch's deep-set fiery eyes studied Starbuck as he pondered the young lieutenant's offer. "The consortium just might approve of this, mate. Yes, they just might. A little risk, some danger. We like unpredictability."

  "And that's why you arrange every detail of your charges' lives."

  "We schedule the unpredictable. It's built in."

  "For them, but not for you. You guys always know what's going to happen."

  "Good point, chum. It's true, too. And that's why the consortium will no doubt enjoy your suggestion to gamble. I'll consult with them."

  Crutch, as he usually did when he had a purpose, waddled off quickly, all four arms waving excitedly.

  "What about me?" Lucifer asked quiedy.

  "What about you?" Starbuck said.

  "I risk nothing in this game."

  "Don't let it worry you, Lucifer. It's not important for you to—"

  "You may turn me off, deactivate me, disconnect me. Take away my consciousness. If you win, I will show you how to do it."

  "Lucifer, I don't want to—"

  "But there must be stakes. You said so yourself."

  Starbuck rubbed his hands together nervously. His face reddened slightly.

  "But I kind of like you, Lucifer. I wouldn't want to . . . disconnect you."

  "But you will." Lucifer's voice sounded firm. "You will."

  Starbuck nodded.

  "All right. I will."

  Behind Lucifer, Spectre made a strange sound that Starbuck could make no sense of. Lucifer glanced at him. He figured that Spectre would probably like to see him lose. Well, he did not want to give Spectre that satisfaction. He would win.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Chandra, Brynt, and Zossie had been keeping watch for Apollo. They tracked the patrol which took Starbuck from the prison compound to the multidomed building in the city. With Starbuck's group were an older man, no doubt the Chameleon the warriors had talked about, and a pair of metallic beings who appeared to float across the ground. Starbuck seemed quite jaunty, just like the Imagescan Starbuck.

  After the group had entered the building, Chandra said, "It's true then. They're doing something with the Starbuck."

  "Starbuck, Starbuck," Brynt said, "not the Starbuck."

  "Oh, shut up, Brynt. We've got to go tell Apollo."

  "The Apollo," Zossie said.

  "He isn't the Apollo," Brynt said, "he's just—"

  "Stop confusing her, Brynt," Chandra said.

  Brynt threw up his hands in despair as he followed his sisters.

  The massive room where the game was to be played seemed like an auditorium to Starbuck, especially with the many tiered seats set around the gaming table. He grinned at Chameleon and said happily, "Spiffy, huh? Look—my lucky colors."

  "Which ones?" Chameleon asked, glancing around the varicolored room.

  "All of 'em. They're all lucky for me."

  Chameleon frowned. Starbuck, expecting a smile from his doting father, put his arm around the old man.

  "Something bothering you?"

  "Yes, you. You're overconfident."

  "Not at all. Just realistic. This game's something I know I'm good at, that's all."

  "Like on the Rising Star that time?"

  Starbuck winced as he recalled the game he would have lost disastrously if Chameleon hadn't talked him into reducing his bet.

  "Oh, yeah. Once in a while you lose one. Or two. But I'm the best."

  "There's always someone better than you, you've got to believe that. And this time you're playing a computer, for—"

  "But he's a computer I taught the game to, don't forget that. Lucifer's never really played anybody else, and he's never beaten me."

  "But he's had time—"

  "And I've had time. We've all had time. Don't worry, I can feel my luck rippling through my fingers. Why are you smiling?"

  "I remember the feeling." Chameleon held up his spidery fingered hands. "Little zingers traveling from the tips of my fingers to my knuckles."

  Starbuck gave Chameleon a brief tight hug.

  "Hey," he said, "you're a great guy, you know that. For a father, especially."

  Chameleon was obviously touched, and he looked away in order to hide the tears that had come to his eyes.

  "Let's downplay the father stuff, okay?" he said. "Nobody here knows about that. Better to keep it secret. Maybe better to keep it secret from everybody."

  "Why? I'm proud of—"

  "I know, and I appreciate that. But I think I'd be more comfortable if we didn't tell anyone for now. We can still be close, but, well, there are people in the fleet who are against the Galactica and its commander and—and you know this—its fighter pilots. If it got out I was your father, they might want to use the relationship against you. In political ways. In violent ways." He brushed some lint off Starbuck's jacket. "Look at what happened to Apollo on the Eureka. He became a hostage simply because he was the commander's son. With all the resentment, I could be a threat to you."

  "But—"

  "Look, you know who I am, I know who you are—that's all that's important really. I have a deep fatherly pride in you, and I'll try to live up to any expectations you have about—"

  "Don't even say it. You already live up to my expectations."

  "But really, Starbuck, I've been, well, a bit of a cad, something of a rogue, in some cases a genuinely—"

  "A genuinely admirable son of a gun. Forget it, you can't discourage me. I'll go along with you on the secrecy bit, but you're not going to keep me out of your life any other way."

  Chameleon, pleased, ran his finger along the smooth top of the gaming table.

  "That's . . . that's good."

  "And someday," Starbuck whispered, "we'll say 'I love you' to each other."

  Chameleon was too touched to speak. All he could say, after a brief silence, was, "Someday."

  The Image Lord audience began to file into the room. Crutch scurried about, making sure everything was properly arranged. Lucifer, Spectre standing behind him, now stood at a position across the table from Starbuck. Lucifer's metallic face seemed to sparkle in the bright light of the room. His red eyes glowed brightly but impassively. Starbuck realized he could use no psyching tricks on this opponent. If anything, he would just get psyched himself, looking into the emotionless, expressionless face of Lucifer.

  Apollo had deployed his troops around the multidomed building. Trinzot stood next to him, with his children lingering expectantly in the background.

  "He's in there," Apollo said, pointing toward the building.

  "As are most of the Image Lords, it seems," Trinzot said. They'd watched Image Lords, in long lines, file into the building only moments before.

  "They seemed to be interested in whatever's going on."

  "Chandra said she heard them talking about some sort of game."

  "If Starbuck's involved, a game's entirely possible. Is everyone with us?"

  "Everyone we could convince to join the assault. The other
s have agreed not to interfere. That is easy for them. Our lives have been designed for noninvolvement."

  Apollo turned toward Trinzot and the other citizens who stood nearby, and addressed them as a commander, "And you're all ready to fight?"

  He was not encouraged by their response, which was laconic and somewhat lethargic. Still, they were ready, even armed with their makeshift weapons, assembled from the meager supply of armament they'd been able to locate, along with altered household objects and tools.

  Sheba ran up from an advance post.

  "Boomer and Bojay have scouted all around the building," she reported. "The only guards are posted at the entrances. Boomer said they're ready to go in."

  Apollo nodded.

  "Tell them the operation's on. We'll follow you."

  "Right."

  Starbuck studied the audience all around the gaming table. It was a packed house. He had never seen so many nervously fluttering arms on any species. Still, they were like spectators anywhere, their anticipation of the event palpable, their chatter among themselves rapid and nervous.

  Lights had been centered so that they shone equally on the players and dealer. The table sparkled. Starbuck flexed his fingers, tried to feel the luck there. He felt something and wondered if it was really luck. Or was he forcing it into the fingers with his imagination? Could he, after all, always rely on the famous Starbuck luck?

  Crutch took a position behind Chameleon.

  "Are you ready, Lieutenant Starbuck?" he asked.

  "As I'll ever be."

  After Crutch had received Lucifer's agreement to begin the game, Spectre leaned down toward his colleague and said softly, "I believe it is the custom to wish you good luck, Lucifer."

  "It is the custom of humans who depend on luck. I do not depend on luck. To me, the game is all a matter of mathematics."

  "Of course. I merely wanted to show my allegiance and encouragement."

  "You always do, Spectre, you always do."

  Spectre was not sure how to interpret Lucifer's remark. He realized that his fellow being was capable of a humanlike irony, and he wondered if that was being used on him now.

  Lucifer and Starbuck stared across the table at each other. Starbuck tried to make his face as expressionless as his opponent's. Crutch quieted the crowd, then turned to the players.