Battlestar Galactica 12 - Die, Chameleon!

by Glen A. Larson

  Starbuck spun around and saw his father held tightly in three of Crutch's four arms. The other arm held a lasergun which he was pressing tightly against the old man's head. Starbuck strode cautiously toward Crutch.

  "Take a good look around you, Crutch," he said. "You're beaten, all of you."

  "Maybe," Crutch said. "But I won't be anybody's prisoner, mate."

  Starbuck nodded.

  "Okay. The deck is yours, sailor. You deal."

  "Free passage back to my ship. Free passage out."

  Starbuck glanced toward Apollo, who shrugged agreement.

  "Sure, Crutch," Starbuck said.

  "My crew, also."

  "Always glad to see a captain who takes care of his crew. Send out the call, Crutch."

  Clutching Chameleon tightly against his body, Crutch backed out of the game room with surprising smoothness. Apollo and Boomer were next out of the door, and Starbuck was a few steps behind them. At the door he felt a hand touch his arm. He looked down and saw the delicately manufactured digits of Lucifer.

  "Starbuck, our bet," Lucifer said. "You promised—"

  "Not now, Lucifer. That man who's Crutch's hostage—he's my father. I've got to go."

  "I understand."

  Lucifer stepped back as Starbuck went out the door. Chandra brushed past him. Stopping in the doorway, she shouted back to Brynt and Zossie, "Come on! We got to see this!"

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  There was nothing more irritating to Borellian Nomen than to hear a nearby riot well in progress and not be able to participate. Maga paced his cell with fury as the noises of the riot neared.

  "I will die," he said, "if I have to stay in this cell much longer."

  "Patience, Maga, patience," Bora cautioned.

  The commotion reached the corridor of their cell block. Maga leaned against the iron bars, straining to see out. Instead, he saw nothing and could only hear the bellowed slogans of the rioters.

  "The Image Lords' hold is broken!"

  "We are free!"

  "Our minds are out of prison!"

  Maga turned away from the cell door and asked Bora, "What do they mean?"

  "I don't know."

  One of the citizens appeared suddenly on the other side of their cell door.

  "We're freeing you, fellows," she said. "Any moment. Any moment now."

  She looked to her left, then smiled as she seemed to see a signal. The Nomen's cell door sprang open.

  "See?" the woman said. Pushing her aside, Maga and Bora hurtled out of their cell. They were quickly joined by others of the Nomen band. All were intent on the blood trail as they bulled their way through the mobs in the corridors of the building and in the yard outside.

  Bora, utilizing his heightened blood hunt senses, attempted to locate their prey. He felt nothing. Turning to Maga, he asked, "Do you sense the trail?"

  "Yes," Maga replied, his voice gruff with hatred. "He is not far away."

  Their tracking sense led them unerringly toward the Image Lord airfield. Many ships were spread across the immense acreage.

  "He is close, Bora," Maga muttered.

  "Yes, I can sense it now also."

  All the Nomen thrilled with the excitement of the hunt. Their nostrils quivered, their hearts beat fast, their hands curved with desire for the kill. A Noman on the hunt became larger, stronger. A stark redness was deepening on the visible skin of their faces.

  The people, even those still incensed with mob impulses, stopped and made way for the troupe of Nomen as they dashed down the hill toward the airfield.

  "He is over there!" Maga shouted.

  He pointed toward a group of people in the middle of the field, crossing to Crutch's ship. Crutch, his unwieldy size towering over the attendant humans, dominated the scene. The members of his crew, their arms waving almost hysterically, were coming from various points toward their spacecraft. In Crutch's arms, Chameleon lay still, although his active eyes searched for an escape. He had not yet seen the Nomen.

  "That is him!" Maga yelled. "He is ours!"

  "Yes," Bora said.

  "It is the end of the blood trail."

  "We are with you, Maga."

  He plunged forward, leading the Nomen on a route that would intersect with his prey at a point next to Crutch's ship.

  Starbuck, his face set in grim anger, followed Crutch, ready to jump the alien at any opportunity. Chandra loved the grim, set-jawed look. It, too, reminded her of the Imagescan Starbuck.

  Apollo and Croft led the way toward Crutch's ship. Occasionally, Apollo glanced over his shoulder to make sure that Starbuck wasn't about to try anything risky.

  The group stopped beside the ship. The crew immediately started boarding it. When they were all aboard, Crutch backed onto the gangway, his gun still pressed against Chameleon's temple.

  "All right, Crutch," Starbuck shouted. "You can release my fa—Chameleon now."

  "Release him, mate?" Crutch said, his voice sounding quite innocent and naive.

  "Of course. We've fulfilled our part of the deal. You and your crew have been returned unharmed to your vehicle. So—release him."

  Without disturbing his hold on Chameleon, one of Crutch's arms waved playfully.

  "But, old salt," he said, "I can't do that. We require him as our hostage."

  Starbuck, inflamed with anger, stepped threateningly toward Crutch, shouting, "Hostage?"

  "Yes. I can't trust you folks to allow us out of this sector. Your ships are faster, your firepower better. No, my chum Chameleon here is taking a little trip with us. I like his company, I do."

  Starbuck, his fists clenched, his arms waving and ready to fight, stepped toward Crutch, but was stopped at the rim of the gangway when Crutch pressed his gun harder against Chameleon's temple. The old man winced. Starbuck's pause allowed Apollo to pull him backward.

  "No, Starbuck," Apollo said. "These creatures don't care anything about life. They'll kill him."

  "But, Apollo, I can't let them take him."

  "That is correct," the booming voice of Maga announced, as he lumbered forward. Shoving Starbuck and Apollo aside and into the grasp of his Nomen colleagues, he announced to Crutch, "That man is ours, alien."

  "You mates again?" Crutch said disdainfully. "You come near me, I'll kill him. I vow—"

  "That is our privilege," Maga said. "We will kill him."

  Now Chameleon's life was in jeopardy from two sides, Crutch and the Nomen. Starbuck, squirming in Lingk's grasp, looked around for help, for intervention. Ramming his elbow into the stomach of his captor, he loosened the Noman's grip enough to break it. Running forward, he leaped into the space between Crutch and Maga.

  "You're still on that blood trail, Maga?" he said, trying to talk as calmly as he could. "I thought—"

  "Out of my way. I will be happy to kill you, too, if necessary."

  Apollo, who'd freed himself from the Noman holding him, walked forward, saying, "Not if I have anything to say about it, Maga."

  He drew his lasergun. Several other colonial warriors in the group followed suit. All the guns were directed at Maga. Maga viewed the array of weaponry with disdain.

  "We are willing to die to fulfill our blood hunt," he said.

  "You'll have to," Starbuck cried, and lunged at Maga. The Noman, strong as he was, was caught off guard by Starbuck's sudden move. Starbuck wrestled him to the ground, and dazed him with a backhanded blow to the side of his head. Seeing the Noman was temporarily immobilized, Starbuck sprung up and lunged toward Crutch, who was backing himself and Chameleon up the gangway.

  "Stay back, Starbuck," Crutch yelled. The echoes of his horrendous voice seemed to bounce off the trees of the nearby forest.

  "Do as he says, son," Chameleon said quietly. "I'll be all right. Really."

  "But—" Starbuck said.

  "Don't worry. We'll get together again. In some casino, probably. On Earth maybe. I promise."

  "Father—"

  Chameleon seemed about to say some
thing more, but instead he shouted a warning as the revived Maga came up behind Starbuck and flung him aside. Starbuck danced to regain his balance as Maga started up the gangway. Crutch flourished the gun threateningly, obviously ready to shoot Chameleon. To save his father's life, Starbuck had no choice but to leap on Maga's back. Grabbing the Noman around the neck, he wrenched it backward violently. Maga lost his footing, and the two battlers rolled inelegantly down the gangway to the ground.

  Crutch laughed in his loathsome way, and the echoes from it rattled all the glass in the area.

  "Good show, Lieutenant Starbuck," he said and, the sadly smiling Chameleon in his arms, he backed into the ship. The gangway disappeared into its slot as the hatchway closed. The still-struggling Starbuck and Maga were pulled away from the ship by the others, colonial warriors and Nomen alike. With a fiery thrust, Crutch's ship lifted quickly from the field. Maga and Starbuck, their fighting done, watched the ship rise into the skies over The Joyful Land.

  Starbuck turned to the Noman and smiled wistfully, saying, "Looks like you got to call off the blood hunt again, Maga, old pal."

  Maga gave Starbuck his stoniest stare, then joined his fellow Nomen. They all now faced the drawn weapons of colonial warriors. Their skin had lost its red color and their bodies were no longer so large and awesome. At a nod from Apollo, they were led off, to be kept in confinement until the return to the Galactica, where their actions would be judged by the proper authorities.

  Apollo reholstered his weapon and walked to Starbuck. Looking into the skies, he saw that Crutch's ship was no longer visible.

  "Poor Chameleon," he said. Starbuck responded in a choked voice:

  "Ah . . . he'll be all right. He's the kind always winds up all right."

  For the first time Apollo noticed the tears brimming the rims of Starbuck's eyes.

  "You're crying."

  "It's the wind out here. Fierce."

  Apollo wondered if he had really heard Starbuck address Chameleon as father.

  "It's almost as if . . ."

  "As if what, Apollo?"

  "Oh, nothing. You really did like that old man, didn't you?"

  Starbuck shrugged, seeming not to feel the line of tears coming out of the corner of each eye.

  "He was okay," Starbuck said. "Hate to see him taken off like that."

  "Me, too." Apollo put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Look, buddy, we got some mop-up work to do here. I think we've won."

  Starbuck nodded.

  "Okay, let's go."

  "You don't want to be alone for a while?"

  "Why should I want to be alone?"

  "I don't know. Just thought—"

  "Let's hop to it."

  They had taken a few steps when Starbuck noticed Chandra loitering nearby. She appeared to be upset.

  "Excuse me, Apollo," Starbuck said. "You go on. I'll catch up."

  Apollo had seen Chandra, too, and he understood.

  "Sure," he said, and walked on.

  Starbuck walked casually to Chandra and knelt beside her. He wiped away some of her tears with his fingertips. "Something upset you, kiddo?" he said.

  "Why . . . why do you ask that?"

  "You've been crying."

  "So have you. I didn't ever see the Starbuck cry before."

  "Chandra, I'm not the Starbuck. He's fake. I'm real."

  The tone of her response was regretful.

  "I know. I know that."

  "Is that true, or are you telling me a tale?"

  "True. I can see you're not the Starbuck. They took away the old man. You failed. The Starbuck never fails. That's why he's the Starbuck."

  The girl's words made Starbuck feel like bawling. He held Chandra tightly while he tried to control himself. When he felt steady again, he put her at arm's length and spoke to her softly. "And that's the difference between the Starbuck and me. He can't fail. He always wins. I can fail. I can win twenty card games in a row, but lose an important one. I can even die sometime. The Starbuck can only die if the designer of his adventures decides to kill him off, or if all the Imagescan control boxes break. He's just a fantasy."

  "I can see that," Chandra said. When Starbuck's eyebrows raised, she added hurriedly, "Really. I can."

  Starbuck smiled.

  "And I'm cuter. And more charming. And wittier."

  "Gee, I don't know about that."

  He hugged her again, saying, "If you say so. You all right now?"

  "Yes."

  He stood up.

  "I gotta go. We have work to do. I'll see you later, okay?"

  "Sure." She watched him walk away, his stride becoming jauntier and like an Imagescan hero's with each step. She called to him, "Starbuck?"

  He turned, saying, "Yes, Chandra?"

  "When you go, will you leave me your Battlestar Galactica insignia?"

  Starbuck laughed. His laugh sent several echoes around, but in a much nicer way than Crutch's had.

  "Maybe," he said. "I'll see."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  A new morning had come to The Joyful Land. Citizens of Euphoria went about their usual routines, performing them in ways not essentially different from the day before. But they were different in one important respect. The people were no longer under the control of the Image Lords. What they did now, they did because they wanted to.

  Since they'd been under the many thumbs of the Image Lords for so long, they were still uncertain how to structure their lives anew. For the moment, they were content just doing what they'd always done, going where they'd always gone, speaking as they'd always spoken. Until they had had some time to get used to their newfound freedom, they would be more comfortable with life as it had been.

  Belaise was one of the few who was already considering changes. He knew it would take some time to reorient his friends and neighbors. They'd have to get to know themselves first. Then they'd need leaders, people who could raise the society of the city from its moribund state, and help those who wanted to leave The Joyful Land find the proper routes to their former homes. People would have to be tabbed as leaders, people like Belaise himself.

  Watching Diova perform her household chores while he finished cleaning the breakfast dishes, Belaise realized he would rather continue to live with her than with anyone he'd known at his previous home—a colony which, according to information supplied by Captain Apollo, probably didn't exist anymore.

  Diova, coming up behind Belaise, said the words that were in his mind, "I'd like to stay here. For a while, at least."

  He put down the dish he was scrubbing and hugged her, speaking quietly in her ear.

  "Yes, I feel that way, too. I'd like to help people. Help them get started. Help them find their own personalities, let them see their alternatives."

  "We can do that."

  He broke the embrace so he could look into her eyes.

  "What should we do with the children?" he asked.

  "Give them their own choices. When they're ready. In the meantime . . ."

  They both looked out the kitchen window at the children, who were now playing in the back yard. They seemed so happy together, so happy with Belaise and Diova.

  "In the meantime . . ." Belaise muttered.

  Starbuck was amazed at the destruction that had been wrought in the gaming room. Technical equipment had been demolished. Wires hung dangerously out from the walls. The bleachers were in ruins. The gaming table itself had been turned upside-down.

  For a moment he didn't see Lucifer and Spectre. Lucifer stared at him with those intense red lights that passed for eyes in the creature. Spectre stood slightly behind him, holding a few playing cards.

  "You wanted to see me, Lucy?" Starbuck said, reaching toward the sleeve pocket of his uniform, intending to withdraw a cigar. He was surprised to find the pocket empty.

  "Yes," Lucifer said. "About our bet. You won the game. Now you have the honor and duty of disconnecting me, disengaging my vital circuitry. I will show you how."

  Star
buck shifted nervously from foot to foot. He was distressed by Lucifer's request.

  "Hey," he said, "look, Lucifer, we're enemies and all, and I have to fight you when the situation calls for it, but I don't think I can, what you say, disconnect you. That'd be like killing you, wouldn't it?"

  Lucifer glided slowly forward, as if offering himself to Starbuck for execution.

  "I suppose," he said, "in your terms the act might be metaphorized in that manner. But I do not die."

  "Well, what happens then? Will you have consciousness, existence?"

  "Not in the way you understand those terms. I will be no longer functional."

  "But you'll be able to . . . to bring yourself back."

  "No, I have shut off the self-revival mechanism already. And anyone trying to revive me will merely set off a series of explosions which will destroy my circuitry and render me completely useless, merely a twisted pile of material to be sent to a junkpile for recycling."

  Starbuck rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. His neck was beginning to sweat profusely.

  "Lucifer," he said angrily, "I release you from the conditions of our bet. It was a dumb bet, anyway. So just forget all this disconnection crap."

  "But I cannot do that, Starbuck. The bet was established, agreed to. It must be, as you say, paid off. Come, Starbuck, I will show you how."

  Starbuck leaped backward as Lucifer came near.

  "No, no, no. Buzz off, Lucifer! I won't do it. Simple as that, I won't do it."

  Starbuck eyed Lucifer closely, looking for a reaction. The creature stopped sliding forward and said, "Very well. Your performing the act was only the called-for ritual, but we need not follow ritual. It is not necessary for you to participate. I can deactivate myself."

  "Lucifer—"

  "Lieutenant Starbuck, I do wish you to know that, of all humans, you were the one I most liked and respected."

  Lucifer, looking like a dancer finishing the dance, moved his arms quickly, in one graceful sweep. Reaching to the box inside his chest, he made a few skillful manipulations. Some sparks shot out from his chest, then he went limp. His arms dropped heavily to his sides. Slowly the red lights of his eyes slowed to a stop and went out. Even the sheen of his face seemed to grow duller.