Battlestar Galactica-04-Rebellion

by Richard Hatch

  She said angry words he did not hear.

  "We must get Lorrins, too," Apollo said. "This is a matter that he can help interpret."

  Frowning, Athena fell in behind Starbuck, and after they retrieved a confused Lorrins, they went together to the brig.

  * * *

  "Baltar," Apollo told the sentries who stood watch outside the brig. "We've come for him."

  That was not a command they would obey, of course. It could not be. Baltar was only too capable of creating an illusion in the mind of a jailer, and therefore there were deep hypnotic controls on all the brig sentries.

  The sentries stood impassive, awaiting the codes that would trigger the posthypnotic suggestion to obey. Athena sighed impatiently, gave the high sign with her left fist, and said the seven secret words and syllables that would give them passage.

  All the sentries stood down, and let them pass. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, Apollo meant to thank her. But it was not clear to him whether he said the words or not.

  At the far end of the corridor was Baltar's cell; the force screen that sealed its doorway admitted Apollo, Starbuck, Athena and the physicist Lorrins automatically. Baltar was sitting in a chair that faced out his window, watching the Ur clouds and energy vortexes that surrounded them with a quiet fascination.

  "Apollo, Starbuck, Athena," he said, "I've been expecting you."

  Starbuck swore an oath under his breath. Athena pushed past Apollo in high dudgeon. "This is your doing, isn't it,, Baltar? Gods help you, you old fool, you're going to rue the sectare…"

  Starbuck cut her off. "She's right, isn't she, Baltar? You're the one who's trapped us here, the engine, you—and it's you who's put Apollo into this fugue, isn't it?"

  "I'm going to kill him, don't try to stop me."

  And then Apollo spoke.

  "Starbuck, no," he said. "Baltar isn't why we're here. He could be our way out."

  Baltar grinned up at them. Something about his expression changed the very feeling in the room. They all sensed it. Apollo gasped, and shuddered, and fell out of his trance entirely.

  "What?" he was breathless, trying not to fall to his knees. Something deep in his soul ached with dread, but much of the vision, much of what he'd known during the vision, had already begun to fade.

  "Terrible things coming," he said aloud, trying to force the dream—memory of the vision to take root in his conscious mind.

  Starbuck shook his head, confused to see Apollo's condition. He wondered if it was some kind of joke—maybe something Baltar was trying to pull. But Baltar was a prisoner and they were all there at Apollo's side. He grinned as he helped Apollo to his feet. "Like hell," he said. "The old villain's playing mind tricks on you, Apollo. Don't let him rattle you. He knows the Galactica and the rest of the fleet are in trouble, and he's trying to make use of it."

  Baltar straightened his shoulders, staring hard at Starbuck and Athena. There was fear in his old eyes, but only a little. "You're wrong," he said. "You could not be more wrong."

  Apollo was breathing steadily now, almost fully recovered. Starbuck grabbed Baltar's collar, his other fist drawn back to strike.

  Apollo jumped forward. "No, Starbuck," he said. "The two of you, listen. Baltar's right this time—that was a true seeing, maybe the most profound vision I've had in my life, in fact. And it is true: Baltar is the key to the pit we've fallen into—and it's a deeper pit can you can imagine. We've never been in this sort of trouble before, not even when we watched Kobol implode and faced the total destruction of the fleet. More than our mission, it's the very nature of the universe that's at stake. Without the Tylium reactors, we've got no hope of going on. We have had a terrible, terrible accident, and if we don't extract ourselves very carefully, reality as we know it may collapse. Chaos will follow."

  Starbuck rolled his eyes. "What are you talking about, Apollo? You sound to me like a man who's had too much ale."

  But Athena… Athena was staring at Apollo like maybe she had a sense of it, too—just the slightest sense. "What did you see?" she asked. "Where are we, Apollo?"

  He nodded at Baltar. "Tell us, Baltar," he said. "Tell us what the hell is going on."

  Baltar looked away uneasily.

  "Your sister will want to accuse me of this," he said. "That may be fair. But it is not true. The possibility of this is a legend in Cylon lore—they bragged about being able to travel beyond the universe that we understand. I have never heard of it as a reality, never."

  Starbuck grabbed him by the collar again. "What did you do, you Muskvynian ferret?"

  Baltar grasped Starbuck's hand and carefully, firmly pried his fingers from his collar. "We had to get away. I helped the Galactica implement Chitain-Cylon wormhole technology, you immature hothead," he said. "I can't pretend I know exactly how it worked, but in that last moment of the battle, I knew that Apollo would access those coordinates. And if you want my help dealing with this disaster you will kindly stop manhandling me."

  Apollo had a hand on Starbuck's shoulder. "Enough, old friend," he said, calming Starbuck's rage, buying time for Baltar to speak.

  For a moment the cell was eerily silent. Baltar finally broke the spell.

  "You sound like your father, Apollo," Baltar said. "For a moment I thought I'd heard his voice when you were speaking."

  Athena was seldom nervous, but she gave a nervous laugh.

  "I heard it, too," she said. "Is it possible… ?"

  Apollo smiled at his sister. "Of course it's possible," he said, "but that was me, not Father. I grow more like him as I age."

  "You do, Apollo," said Baltar. "It's unsettling."

  Apollo smiled. "I'm sure it must be. Now tell me, old friend, and old foe, what do you know? Why did my vision point me in your direction in this moment of need?"

  Baltar frowned.

  "When a ship passes through a jump point," he said, "it passes momentarily through some… other place. An Ur place, not of our universe. The physics are complicated, and in practical terms at the moment not of particular consequence. From the point of view of the command and crew of a starship, one moment we are here; the next we are there.

  "But strictly speaking, that's not the case. There is a mathematically complicated transition between here and there; adjustments in context that have to do with time and space and velocity."

  At that moment, Lorrins interrupted. "Yes!" he cried. "I've heard of this. When we captured some of the Cylon databanks, I reviewed this. Baltar's right; it seemed like bragging to me. But they told about a place like this, an Ur universe that existed outside the normal confines of time and space. I couldn't tell if they truly knew that it existed, or were merely theorizing."

  "It's real," Baltar said. "Look! See for yourself." he gestured at the window behind him. "This is what it does look like."

  Starbuck groaned, shaking his head. Baltar ignored him. "The Cylons believed that every moment that ships and creatures from the universe that we know spent in this place threatened the universe without," Baltar said. "I don't pretend to understand the theory, but it was a place that upset even the order that their twisted minds could understand. They called this a place where patterns reflect on our world, a time under time where a ripple in the current of space flux can shape vast destinies in the material universe. Think of it as undertime, the one ultimately causal place in a causal universe."

  "That's ridiculous," Starbuck said.

  Dr. Lorrins, excited again, interrupted. "Starbuck, listen," he said, "Imagine for a moment that you went back in time and murdered your mother. Would you suddenly cease to exist? No; the universe doesn't keep tabs. You would exist in a loop of time, and forward from that loop. That's causality. It's the reason space and time are always in flux. Ultimately, we live in a universe where causes do and do not obtain. Some things we see simply are as they are, and the things that brought them into being may never have happened."

  "I don't get it," Starbuck said. "There are always reasons that things happen."


  "Oh, there usually are, I'll grant you that," Baltar said, leaning forward and running his hand through his still-dark hair. "But always? I think not. Have you ever used a starship to travel back into the ultimate moment of creation? Have you seen the ranks of thousands who've traveled there to bear witness? To see the unseen hand? I have gone a dozen times, Starbuck. I can tell you that there was no hand to see; for all that I can observe there may've been no Maker, for the big bang appeared to set itself into motion, entirely. But I can also tell you that that moment was deliberate, and carefully considered. The slightest changes in any aspect of it in the least way would have made a universe where no life was possible, where breath would not avail and the chemicals that let us live could not react with one another. The Maker made our universe with love, and consideration for our lives—he made the world to save us all, and ensure our posterity.

  "But I have gone to watch him, and I have seen no hand of God, my friends," Baltar said, his face lined with exhaustion and eyes dark and knowing.

  "You lie, old man," Starbuck growled. But even Starbuck could hear in his own voice how wrong he was. Even Dr. Lorrins had stood back, no longer excited to talk about the physics, and watched Baltar in wonder and fear.

  Apollo's hand found Athena's.

  "This place… this place is the tabulation underneath the unaccountable, uncountable universe," Baltar said. "If it were safe and I could travel here maliciously and with forethought, how I would love to watch creation from this vantage! But it must not be. This is where the flotsam and jetsam of the universe truly exist; if you cease to exist here, you do cease. It is like a living metaphor, in its way: in the universe without you could murder your grandmother and survive, but if someone killed your shadow here, you truly and spontaneously would cease to exist.

  "This is a perilous place. We must leave as quickly as we are able."

  "I could have told you that," said Athena.

  Apollo held up a hand to silence his sister. "How did we get here?" he asked. "How do we get out?"

  Lorrins chimed in once more. "The most likely thing to cause this is a bad transition through subspace—probably by dragging along too much dead mass from the warring Chitain and Cylon fleets as we made the transition. But it could just as well have been that we made the transition through an anomaly in space, or too close to the surface of a planet. Who knows how you bring about a circumstance that's never before been recorded?"

  "What does it mean?"

  "Instead of passing through a wormhole in a timeless moment we could not even see, we're trapped in a… a… think of it as a null-space—a tiny place inside space and time, and outside them, too. A place where many of the rules of physics that govern the universe simply don't apply," Lorrins said. "Baltar here has a sense of it. I can't pretend to understand why we've gotten into this predicament. Although he…" and Lorrins paused, his eyes wide. "He may not be able to understand or tell you the exact math, but I see that he understands the dangers far better than I do."

  "The Tylium reactors," said Athena, "that's what's wrong with them. They can't work here."

  "Yes," said Lorrins, as Baltar looked on, his dark brows lowered over his thoughtful eyes. "We have left the place where the physics that allows the Tylium reactors to run the fleet's vast resources of life support applies. And the fleet literally depends on these not just for interstellar power, but for sustenance."

  Starbuck brought a hand to his forehead. "Tylium runs the matter transmutation systems."

  Baltar nodded. "There is a mind in there beneath the hive of raging hormones, isn't there, Starbuck?"

  Starbuck eyed him coldly.

  Baltar continued. "You do understand. It is only the vast energy resources of the Tylium reactors that allow the fleet's effluvia to become clean food, water, air, and consumer products. Without Tylium reactors it's an open question whether we will first die of starvation or of strangling on our own waste."

  Starbuck threw up his hands. "You ever had to take those emergency rations? They aren't like food. You don't eat them. I'd rather eat dirt, honestly. People take these for a couple yahrens in escape pods, and their stomachs can atrophy. At least if you were eating dirt, your stomach would get full."

  "Bitter pills indeed," Baltar said. "But that's not the real problem, is it?"

  "No," Apollo said. He looked at Athena, whose eyes went wide. "We are in Hades, and I do not yet know the way out of it. The only choices we have are bad ones."

  Baltar studied Apollo carefully a moment. "Your father's son indeed, young Apollo."

  "How do we get out of here?" Apollo asked.

  Baltar looked really worried.

  "We don't," he said.

  That was all any of them could get out of Baltar. He faced the wall, crossed his arms, hung his head, and lapsed into silence.

  "He's lying, Apollo," Athena said as they left the brig. "I know it in my bones."

  Apollo nodded. "I know he was lying," he said. "But I also know it wasn't because he was trying to hurt us. He knows that if we die, he dies, too."

  Starbuck rolled his eyes. "Apollo, you need… something. Another drink! Baltar never had a sectare when he didn't wake up evil."

  Apollo laughed. "Maybe so, Starbuck. But nothing's normal here in this place. I'm sensing a lot of things from Baltar. There's… he's ashamed."

  "You're out of your mind, Apollo," said Starbuck.

  Athena pointed at Starbuck, waggling her finger. "No, he's right, Starbuck. Baltar is ashamed."

  "Impossible!"

  "I know. But I saw it in him, just as Apollo did."

  "We really are trapped somewhere where the rules don't apply, aren't we?" Starbuck said as they continued down the corridor.

  "Yeah," Apollo said.

  There was this much Baltar will not admit to: He knew this possibility was waiting when he taught the fleet the Cylon-derived technology it used to move distances that can be as great as the intergalactic void. He was no engineer, nor even a theoretical scientist, but he was an apt student of the physical sciences, and in his long life he'd been exposed to disciplines of physics that no one else aboard the Galactica had ever imagined.

  Their current circumstance was a remote possibility in a chapter of theoretical physics that the Cylons had bragged about, as if they could control the universe or travel beyond time and space. But the odds that anything would ever come of it were slim to none, and he knew damned well that men like Starbuck and Apollo had no patience for his interest in the remotest possibilities.

  It is so rare that anything unlikely ever comes to happen; it is unlikely, after all.

  And yet it seemed to Baltar that if he admitted to having foreseen the possibility, he'd be blamed for it—unfairly, perhaps.

  He was almost certainly right about that.

  And so he did not tell Apollo everything he knew, because it would seem to incriminate him. And at the end of Baltar's life, the last thing he wanted was more accusations and guilt—there was enough of that for the crimes he really had committed.

  The things he didn't tell were very important. First, the mass necessary to throw them all into this cloud beyond space and time was vast indeed, perhaps as vast as the mass of the combined Cylon and Chitain fleets; perhaps, indeed, the mass of a small planetoid, and the energy released by its annihilation. It was almost certainly true that they are not alone in this place—any survivors of the interplanetary cataclysm that destroyed the Cylon and Chitain armadas were in here with them. And Baltar knew Cylon bragging for what it was. No matter what they thought, they couldn't control the situation any more than Galactica could. Iblis hadn't caused this. That final cataclysm proved there was some hand there greater than Iblis' hand. Something beyond Baltar's sight, of that he was certain.

  The other thing he could not say was that the peculiar properties of this place allowed Iblis to employ his ansibles to observe everything that happened here, and in intimate detail. They were being spied upon, even if the spy couldn't
get to them.

  Part of Baltar really wanted to tell Apollo, but he was there with Athena, and Starbuck. Neither of them could be trusted; Starbuck would throttle Baltar in an eyeblink.

  Baltar was free. That should have been told. Was there any escape from Iblis' grasp? Yes. But they didn't know. And even Apollo wouldn't believe him if he told. That would have been a particularly obvious Iblis trick, pretending that Baltar was free of his influence, making Baltar seem like everyone's newfound friend.

  Saying nothing was the only way that Baltar saw that he could keep his freedom. This Ur cloud—beyond time and space—was 99% a deathtrap, but it also decreased Iblis' capacity for mind thrall. At the same time, it was enhancing Apollo's communion with the infinite and his knowledge of things to come. This was a strange place, wonderful and terrible, a place where the best and worst angels of nature came as naturally as a flower.

  So, even though a lot of Baltar wanted to be forthcoming with Apollo—even with Athena and Starbuck—Baltar was still the man he'd always been.

  There was a moral weakness in him, true. He was a self-centered egomaniacal traitor and a coward, but he was also born to greatness as the best of us; and here in the Ur place the best angels of his nature felt an overwhelming need to make their peace with his own kind before his end. And here, now, in this place the Maker never meant for anyone to be, his weaknesses were entirely his own.

  Baltar's real problem was that he was responsible for himself in a way he hadn't been for yahrens. Couldn't blame Iblis. Couldn't blame…

  He didn't want to remember, but he did all the same. The same situation, only now Baltar's people were at the end.

  This was the end. This wasn't the original Cylon fleet. They were stuck in a deathtrap, facing total destruction. Brother was going to kill brother. Father and son would be torn apart; husband and wife, perhaps. Baltar saw days ahead that even his destructive imagination couldn't picture, felt them in his bones. Then felt rage, seeping into him, bleeding into his mind. This time, he swore to himself, it would not be Baltar's decision that led to the destruction of humanity, or all that remained of it.