Battlestar Galactica 12 - Die, Chameleon!

by Glen A. Larson

  "The rules have been reviewed for both of you," he said.

  Starbuck and Lucifer nodded yes.

  "Are you ready, then?"

  "Ready," said Lucifer.

  "Ready," said Starbuck.

  "And you, Chameleon?"

  "Well, uh, yes. Ready, I mean."

  Chameleon rippled the cards as he spoke. They made a pleasurable sound to the ears of the two human gamblers.

  "Then the game may begin," Crutch said. Anticipation mounted in the audience as Crutch announced: "Deal, Chameleon."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Chandra, crouching in high grass with Zossie and Brynt, watched their father, Apollo, and the rest of the invasion force quietly and efficiently sneak up to the Image Lords' building and subdue the guards at its main entrance. Other platoons were doing the same at other entryways. Apollo waved townswomen into the building. After all the warriors had gone inside, the children followed them in. They soon found themselves in a long wide corridor, not far behind the invasion force. Chandra shuddered as she looked around the barren dark surroundings.

  "I think we've been here before," she muttered.

  "I don't remember," Zossie said.

  "No, they didn't want us to remember. But I'm beginning to."

  She shuddered. Up ahead, Apollo shuddered, too, but not from any memory of the place. He was spooked by the eeriness of its labyrinthine corridors.

  "I've never seen anything like this," he remarked to Boomer, who walked at his side. "It's larger inside than it seemed from outside. I didn't notice that when I was here with Croft."

  "A trick of design probably," Boomer said.

  "No, I don't think so. Maybe they can manipulate space as well as people."

  Croft and Sheba, hugging the walls of a strange-smelling corridor, led another part of the assault group forward. They passed many empty cubicles. Croft leaned toward Sheba and whispered, "I don't suppose I could talk you into sneaking into one of the side rooms for a little manipulation of our own."

  "Oh, shut up, Croft."

  "I can see you're not easily manipulated."

  "Damn right, Croft."

  At the end of the corridor, light showed from between the cracks of a massive double door. Croft tried the door gently, was surprised to see it slide open easily, revealing a large control room where Image Lords sat in front of intricately designed consoles, happily working with a plethora of dials, levers, buttons, and toggles.

  Apollo, Boomer, and their platoon of townsmen entered the room through a door at the other side of the room. At a signal from Apollo, both fighting groups descended upon the sitting aliens, who tried awkwardly to resist, flailing their arms wildly and knocking at least five of the warriors out cold.

  In a moment the Image Lords in the control room all lay unconscious. Lining themselves up, at Apollo's gesture, the attackers fired what weapons they had into the Image Lords' machinery, setting sparks flying and pieces of solid metal splitting into jagged pieces. With a series of humanlike groans from the machinery the room became quiet. Lights all along the control boards flickered and went out.

  Apollo, ordering cease fire, studied the wreckage.

  "I suspect there're control rooms like this all over the building," he remarked. "Maybe too many."

  "Never too many for stalwarts like us," Croft commented.

  Apollo laughed.

  "You're as bad as Chandra, treating matters as if they were your fantasies."

  Chandra, standing in the corridor outside, overheard Apollo's statement and nearly screamed in anger.

  Starbuck and Lucifer had been playing for a long while, with neither gaining a substantial advantage. Parts of major and minor pyramids came together, but in the wrong colors or with matching shapes instead of congruent ones. Both players drew to their hands without luck and had to declare draws and new deals. In spite of the mediocre run of cards both players were receiving, Starbuck did note that Lucifer had picked up many of the finer points of the game and wasn't making the mistakes that might have given an experienced cardsman like himself an advantage. When Starbuck thought he had a few points lined up, Lucifer's skillful counterplay wiped them out. Gaining a few points here, losing some there, neither player had been able to sustain a solid run of cards.

  Spectre leaned toward Lucifer, and said quietly enough so that nobody else at the table could hear, "It is a tricky game, Lucifer."

  "Is it?" Lucifer said, not wanting to give Spectre any edge.

  "I could not play it, I think, and win."

  "I am not surprised, Spectre."

  Having drawn Spectre's interest and admiration, Lucifer now had an added incentive to win. The victory would at least show up Spectre. Nevertheless, Starbuck's skill amazed Lucifer anew. Some ploys which Lucifer was certain would trick the human somehow backfired as Starbuck neatly overcame them.

  "It is time for the players to rest," Crutch, who acted as referee, announced.

  Starbuck relaxed, his body suddenly slouching in the enormous and deeply padded chair the Image Lords had provided. Chameleon set down the deck of cards and leaned over toward Starbuck to whisper, "Are you all right?"

  Starbuck, his eyes tired and his face slack, nodded.

  "Fine," he said. "This's just a tad tougher than I'd expected. But I've won some pretty tough ones in the past, some real zingers. I'm especially good when it looks like I'm finished."

  "You've been playing well. I was impressed with—"

  Crutch placed a pair of his hands roughly on Chameleon's shoulders.

  "You!" he bellowed. "Dealer! You're not supposed to converse with the players. Against the rules."

  "I . . . I'm sorry."

  Chameleon's left hand rubbed his chin agitatedly, while he nervously ran the fingers of his right hand along the side of the deck of cards on the table.

  "It's all right for now, mate. Don't let me catch you two chatting again."

  As he stroked the side of the deck, Chameleon noticed almost idly how a few of the cards were frayed in their corners. Using some quick shuffling as a cover, he was able to sneak a peek at what these cards were. He spotted a capstone card in a major suit, a very valuable card in any gambler's game, and also a half-pyramid, a card with great value since it could be used with so many others in major and minor combinations. Looking off thoughtfully, he rubbed his thumb over the frayed portions of these cards, tactically memorizing them. Nobody noticed his clandestine movement. Not even Starbuck, who might have recognized it.

  The three children had become separated from the invasion group. They were thoroughly lost, going down eerily dark hallways toward ghostly destinations.

  "Where we going, Chandra?" Brynt asked.

  "I think we should get back," Zossie whined.

  "Hush, Zossie," Chandra said, "we've got to find the Starbuck. He's here somewhere. I can sense it."

  Turning a corner, they saw a bright doorway ahead, with a great deal of noise erupting behind it. Although they didn't recognize the sounds, they were the cheers of the Image Lord audience at the resumption of the game. Following the sound, they reached a slightly ajar door. Slipping through, they found themselves on a walkway well above the auditorium. They could see the well-lighted card table and the players. They could sense the many Image Lords crowded into the large room.

  "Looka that!" Zossie exclaimed. "It's Starbuck!"

  "Quiet, Zossie," Brynt cautioned. "They might hear us."

  Chandra studied the action below them, observing, "He's playing some game. Cards. Look at the way he's holding the cards, staring down at them while hugging them close to his chest. This is vital, this game, I can tell."

  "Be careful, Chandra," Brynt said. "You know what Apollo said, about you being so easily carried away by your imagination."

  "Forget Apollo. Who is he, anyway? He's just a buddy of the Starbuck's. Just a supporting role, far as I'm concerned. The Starbuck's my hero."

  "Chandra—"

  "Shut up, Brynt. Let's get down ther
e. Maybe we can help him."

  The Image Lords were so intent on the game that the children were able to sneak down an aisle, checking every so often on the progress of the game.

  Starbuck had two interlocking faces of the major pyramid already in his hand. He traded a nonessential card in, pushing it toward the dealer. Chameleon's hand moved swiftly. Too swiftly, Starbuck thought. He slipped the new card into his hand before even looking at it. His heart jumped when he saw it was a half-pyramid. That gave him a full pyramid in a major suit, lacking the capstone. A good hand in itself. But, if he drew for the capstone, an even better hand. Such a decision was always a key part of any pyramid game, to settle for the good hand one had, which could lose, or go for all the marbles, trade in another card with the hopes of getting a perfect pyramid. As he considered his strategy, he was momentarily disconcerted by the intensity with which Chameleon stared at him. What was the old man thinking?

  Turning his attention to his bland-faced opponent, Starbuck said jauntily, "Well, Lucifer, old buddy, you surviving well?"

  "I survive. There is not a question of well in it. Another of your essentially human concepts."

  "Yeah, I do seem to be stuck on a few hampering human concepts. Sorry about that. Just wouldn't want to see you blow a few circuits prematurely, that's all."

  "You don't have to worry, Lieutenant."

  "He's trying to distract you, I can tell," Spectre whispered.

  "No likelihood of that," Lucifer said.

  "What I said to the human player about no chatter applies to you folks as well," Crutch warned. "No chitchat please."

  "We are sorry, exalted sir," Spectre said.

  "You could get on a fellow's nerves, sonny."

  Spectre, distracted from his obsequious strategy by Crutch's warning, muttered matter-of-factly, "I have been told that before."

  Lucifer studied his cards. It was a good hand, a potentially winning hand. The small, or minor, pyramid, so attractive in its lighter colors, more attractive than the darker major pyramid. The odds against achieving a minor pyramid were great but not so great as the major. Lucifer moved some betting cubits to the center of the table, saying, "I will require no more cards, dealer."

  Chameleon glanced at Lucifer, a worried look on his face. He wondered what kind of cards the creature held. His fingers touched a frayed corner of pasteboard, a card near the top of the deck clutched in the palm of his hand. Surreptitiously, he eased that card to the bottom of the deck.

  "I'll take one," Starbuck said jauntily.

  Chameleon's hand moved swiftly as he dealt the capstone card, the one he had shifted to the bottom of the deck. He noted with pleasure the way his son's eyebrows raised when he had taken a peek at his new card. Eagerly Starbuck started to shove a pile of chips toward the table's center, but his bet was interrupted by the ugly sound of Crutch shouting: "Halt!"

  The players and audience all looked abruptly at Crutch who was descending upon the gaming table.

  "I not only saw that move," he said sinisterly to Chameleon, "it is recorded."

  He pointed toward a monitor screen, giving instructions to a technician to replay the last round. On the screen the players moved with slow motion, Lucifer laboriously pushing his cubits forward. Then there was a closeup of Chameleon's hands. His slipping of the capstone card from the bottom of the deck could be seen clearly. A threatening murmur of hatred came from the Image Lord audience as they slowly saw what Crutch's keen eyes had detected. Chameleon's delicate fingers seemed to flutter with lives of their own as he almost magically substituted the capstone card. The card seemed to float into Starbuck's fingers, to do a brief ballet on its own as he placed it into his son's hand.

  Alien guards enveloped Chameleon in their arms, yanked him out of the dealer's chair, and started dragging him away. He didn't resist but lay limp in their arms as they hit his face and body with their free arms. Starbuck stood up suddenly, his legs pushing against the gaming table as he tried to push past Crutch toward his father in the grasp of Image Lord guards. Crutch held him back.

  "What in hell do you think you're doing?" Starbuck yelled.

  "He cheated," Crutch said laconically. "You saw the proof."

  "I saw. And I'm deeply sorry it happened. It wasn't necessary. But there's no call for your goons to rough him up like that."

  "He cheated. We don't cheat. It is a punishable offense."

  Crutch's raspy voice was so cold, so judgelike, that Starbuck felt his heart skip several alternate beats.

  "Punishable?" he asked in a choked voice. "How punishable?"

  "Simple, matey. We alter his personality so that he won't cheat ever again. We change him. He will not even remember clearly who he was."

  This news drained the blood out of Chameleon's face. Starbuck paled, too.

  "That's barbaric!" Starbuck shouted. "That's worse than an execution!"

  "An execution? Well, we can kill him, if you prefer."

  "I might prefer," Chameleon said weakly.

  "You have no rights, cheater!"

  Crutch turned away from Starbuck and addressed the guards, telling them to take Chameleon away. His feet dragging, they started to pull him to the nearest exit. Starbuck pulled himself away from Crutch and ran toward the squirming Chameleon.

  "Wait!" Starbuck yelled.

  His voice must have had impressive authority in it, for the guards halted suddenly. Starbuck whirled around and directed his next words to Crutch, "A friendly wager, Crutch. I'll play your metallic cardsharp there an extra hand at the end of this match. If I win, you guys do nothing to Chameleon. If Lucifer wins . . . if he wins, well, what you were going to do to Chameleon, you can do to me."

  "Starbuck," Chameleon protested, "you can't—"

  "I will, old man. Well, Crutch, how about it? A good bet for you, right? You guys don't really lose anything. And I'll become your plaything . . . if I lose."

  Starbuck's offer silenced every Image Lord in the auditorium. Crutch stared at Starbuck for a long while, then looked around toward several other Image Lords. They seemed to send him a silent message, for his head bobbed up and down in some bizarre type of alien communication.

  Starbuck had trouble swallowing, as the extent of the risk he was taking dawned on him. Lucifer was impressed by his human opponent's noble gesture. Gestures like that were almost unknown among Cylons. Spectre was puzzled, wondering if human behavior would always be bewildering to him.

  The children had crept down to the first rows of the audience. Their bodies were pressed against the sides of hard metal chairs. Chandra was wide-eyed as she considered the bravado of Starbuck's challenge.

  "He is the Starbuck," she whispered, more to herself than the other children. "He must be."

  Crutch turned slowly around and addressed Starbuck, "It is agreed, Warrior."

  Starbuck gulped.

  "Right," he said, with a false confidence, and resumed his seat at the gaming table.

  Lucifer spoke softly to him, "Do you always sacrifice yourself for other human beings, Starbuck, or do you have a special relationship with this dealer, Chameleon?"

  "I'm just an all-around good guy, Lucy."

  "I have watched you and Chameleon. There is something important between you, I can see it."

  "Blow it out your olfactory circuit."

  Lucifer leaned back, then spoke louder, "I am properly chastized. I am sorry, Starbuck."

  Starbuck was touched. It was so weird to have anyone representing the Cylon cause apologize to him.

  "Ah," he said, "it's all right. Let's play. I'm afraid this hand is dead. We should have a new deck and a new deal. For that matter, a new dealer. Who'll deal now?"

  "I would be willing to—" Spectre said, drawing a suspicious look from Crutch.

  "I think the responsibility will fall on me now," Crutch said and sat down at Chameleon's place. He called for a new deck.

  Chandra could see beads of sweat forming on Starbuck's neck. She was as thrilled by this particular deta
il as any other. Each thing about Starbuck that she stored in her memory was, in a way, another piece of memorabilia for her.

  Crutch broke open the new deck clumsily, his large yellow hairy hands unsuited to his new job. However, after a few awkward ripples, he got the knack. He dealt slowly, making certain that everyone saw he took cards from the top of the deck only.

  Starbuck scooped up his first two cards and glanced dispassionately at them. He wasn't pleased. He glanced toward Chameleon, whose pain marred the usually gentle handsomeness of his face. He raised his eyebrows when he saw Starbuck looking at him, as if to say it was a fool play and I'm sorry, son. Starbuck held back tears as he smiled at his father. So much was going to depend on these games. The fate of the prisoners, the citizens of the city, Starbuck himself, and now Chameleon. Starbuck had to win both games, and here he sat with the worst dodo hand he'd drawn in ages.

  He decided there was no point in bluffing. He asked for three more cards, an obvious indication to Lucifer that Starbuck held a bad mix in his hand. However, Lucifer had to ask for two, so perhaps his cards were not exactly heaven sent either.

  Starbuck almost didn't want to check out the new cards. He squinted his eyes to look down at them. A warm glow came over him as he realized it had been an excellent draw. He now held the capstone to the minor pyramid and two sides. A good betting hand.

  "I'll stay with these," he announced in an emotionless voice.

  "And you, Lucifer?" Crutch said.

  "These are satisfactory," Lucifer said. He shoved most of his chips into the center of the table. Sweat now dripping off his brow and neck (couldn't Lucifer excrete a drop or two of machine oil just to make Starbuck feel better?), Starbuck matched the bet and showed his cards.

  "A very good hand, Lieutenant Starbuck," Lucifer said. "However, my cards are better. They are, in fact, perfect."

  Slowly, turning over one card at a time like an old-time cardshark, Lucifer displayed his hand. Starbuck's throat tightened and his heart seemed to sink in his chest. Lucifer had a perfect pyramid, major, including the capstone. An incredible piece of luck! The odds against getting this hand were astronomical.