Battlestar Galactica-04-Rebellion

by Richard Hatch

"Dalton's back," Bojay said.

  Starbuck's anger fled in a micron. Grinning, he slapped Bojay's back. "That's the best news I've heard in yahrens," he said. "What happened?"

  "She's okay," Bojay said, meaning Dalton. "But Starbuck, the three of them found what's left of the Pegasus! And Starbuck, you're not going to believe this—they found Commander Cain!"

  "Cain?" Starbuck asked, his blue eyes flying wide.

  "His body—out there?"

  "He's still alive, Starbuck. He's in sickbay."

  "Frack!" Starbuck cried. "Sheba—is she—"

  "She's right there too. We were just there."

  "The two of them. Do you think—"

  "Don't know, buddy. Nobody knows."

  Starbuck thought about this a moment. "Come on, let's find Dalton—" he said, grabbing Bojay's shoulder and turning him around.

  But Bojay stayed where he was. "Starbuck," he said. "We're in deep daggit crap."

  "What? Dalton's—"

  "No, not that. While you were out there burning fuel, everything's gone crazy," Bojay said.

  "What else is new?" Starbuck asked, grinning. "I mean, besides the miraculous return of my daughter, some fresh food and fuel for a chance and—"

  "I mean, deep daggit—" Bojay said, and he looked over his shoulder, saying, "Oh-oh."

  Starbuck turned, and he said the exact same thing.

  Because a full squadron of Council Security blackshirts was storming into the pod, rifles raised, hard looks on their faces, and they were headed straight for Starbuck and Bojay. They didn't look very happy to see them, either, and as Starbuck raised his hands while they grabbed his pistol, he thought, Bojay couldn't have been more right. Deep daggit crap, and getting deeper by the micron.

  "Thanks for the warning," he said to Bojay as they were marched off.

  "Sorry, man," Bojay said. "I tried to tell you!"

  One of the guards slammed Bojay in the small of his back for that comment, so both of them remained sullen and silent all the way to the brig.

  They threw Starbuck and Bojay in the cell and slammed the door. Starbuck stumbled in first, and Bojay hit him in a micron, throwing both of them to the floor.

  "Get off me!" Starbuck cried. He got to his knees and got his bearings.

  "Just one big happy family," he said, looking around the cell. Apollo was standing there, acting like he wanted to help or something, and behind him stood Gar'Tokk and two of the biggest, ugliest Nomen Starbuck had ever seen.

  Tigh and Athena crouched in the far corner of the cell. Starbuck immediately realized why. There wasn't enough room for the group to begin with, and Starbuck and Bojay were definitely uncomfortable party crashers.

  "I guess we can flip a cubit to see who gets the cot," Starbuck wisecracked. "I take heads."

  "Starbuck!" Apollo cried in frustration. "Can't you be serious for a centon?" But his face showed joy at seeing his oldest, best friend.

  Briefly, Tigh and Athena explained what had happened since Starbuck's flight into the Ur cloud. "Baltar put his tail between his legs and licked Aron's hand," Tigh said in disgust. "He was celebrating because they're going to shoot us all in a few centars."

  Starbuck shook his head. "That's just great," he said. "The way I always wanted to go—lined up in a firing squad with Baltar pulling the trigger."

  Then Gar'Tokk stepped forward, squeezing everyone aside. He grabbed Starbuck's shoulder in his vice-like hand.

  "You heard the call," he said in his deep voice.

  "Yeah," Starbuck said. "I heard it."

  "Good," the Noman growled. "I am glad you are not deaf, Starbuck." Then he ordered Apollo and Starbuck to sit on the cot along with Athena, and arranged everyone else around the tiny cell, each in turn.

  "Nomen are used to fitting into small spaces. All these yahrens in human ships—" he said after he was finished. Then he seated himself in the center of the cell, closed his eyes, and appeared to begin to meditate, humming to himself in a low, rumbling voice.

  Starbuck scooted as far away from Apollo as he could without making Athena uncomfortable. Apollo, on his part, did the same, glaring at Starbuck.

  They sat there for a long time, neither saying a word.

  "I'm glad Dalton's okay," Apollo said at last.

  "Yeah," Starbuck said. "Those blackshirts didn't give me a chance to see her."

  "You heard about Cain," Apollo said.

  "Yeah, I heard," Starbuck said, looking over at Bojay and nodding. "Bojay spilled it."

  "They found the Pegasus out there," Apollo said. "It was some kind of—"

  "Bojay said," Starbuck said, crossing his arms. Again, there was a long, uncomfortable silence.

  Starbuck broke first. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice reluctant but sincere.

  Apollo didn't respond for a long while. Slowly, he reached over and touched Starbuck's arms, and looked in his eyes.

  "You look better," Apollo said. He pointed at Starbuck's eyebrow, where the bruise he'd given Starbuck had shrunk to the size of a crawlon. Unfortunately, it had turned the color of a crawlon, too: blackish-purple.

  "So do you," Starbuck said. Then he started to grin. "Not really," he said. "Your nose still looks like a triad ball!"

  "Starbuck!" Apollo cried, punching him in the arm.

  "Ow!" Starbuck said, rubbing his muscles and looking back at Apollo in irritation.

  "I always said we'd be happiest if we went out together in a blaze of glory," Apollo said.

  Despite himself, Starbuck grinned—he never did like jokes when real death was involved—and slapped Apollo's back. Hard.

  Athena watched the whole scene in amazement. Nothing would ever keep those two apart. But, she thought grimly, if Aron got his way, and it was hard to see how he wouldn't, the way things were, it looked like soon they'd all be spending a lot of time together. In eternity.

  Their cell door opened. "All right," the guard said in a vicious tone. He looked like he was thrilled at the idea that Apollo, Gar'Tokk, Athena, Starbuck, Tigh and the others were under his control.

  "You're all going to fry," he added as he marched them out of the cell, one by one.

  "Let's make a break for it," Starbuck whispered to Apollo. But his face changed as he bent down and raised as he left the cell, looking around to see what looked like every single Council Security blackshirt who'd ever lived lining the corridor.

  "I don't think that would work," Apollo shot back. Gar'Tokk growled as one of the blackshirts jammed his rifle in the Noman's side.

  "You'll pay," the Noman warned.

  "Right," the guard said. "Maybe you can bite my ankles after they blow your stinking ugly head off your body."

  All up and down the hall, the guards laughed, viciously.

  Apollo saw the looks they gave him, and he understood a little more about why these men could follow the cruel, evil orders of Sire Aron so willingly. They resented Apollo. Some even hated him.

  They were like small, petty men everywhere, Apollo thought. The only things they cared about were cubits, and loyalty was just a word that could be bought with shining metal.

  Right now, Sire Aron was paying them—Apollo guessed he was paying them pretty well—and they had dreams of power and glory.

  They didn't like the hard life aboard the Galactica, all the sacrifice and hardship.

  They probably didn't understand much about the mission, or if they did, maybe they just couldn't see that far ahead. As far as they were concerned, their loyalty meant to the people who promised them cubits, women, food and drink. And maybe a case of fumarellos.

  They weren't bad men, Apollo thought, but they weren't good. He thought about things in a slightly different way as they were marched down the hall.

  Someone leaned forward and spat right in Apollo's face. Proudly, Apollo wiped the disgusting slime away with his sleeve.

  "Fracking bastard!" Starbuck cried, leaping at the offender.

  Starbuck was driven back with blows on his back and harsh words.


  "I'll pay that one back," Starbuck muttered, even though he was now limping in pain.

  It seemed like they would never run the gauntlet, but at last they were out, being marched along, completely surrounded on their way to the Council Chambers. Apollo found his mind strangely clear, even though he knew that it wasn't possible for Troy, Trays, Boomer and Dalton to break them out of this situation—not just the four of them.

  "Be brave," he said, turning to his friends.

  "Nomen are always brave," Gar'Tokk responded. "We go like men of honor!"

  Somehow, this lifted Apollo's heart, and he smiled.

  A warrior never gave in, Apollo thought. He was never a coward; he didn't shrink in the face of danger and death. That was the only kind of man—or woman—who could defend Galactica and lead them to the fabled planet Earth.

  "By the Lords of Kobol," Apollo said, turning to his companions as they were shoved into the Council Chambers. "We know who we are, and what we stand for."

  "To Galactica!" Athena cried. Soon, Tigh and Bojay joined her.

  Starbuck raised his fist, and they walked in to face their enemies, heads held high.

  Sire Aron didn't look so high and mighty, Apollo thought. In fact, it looked almost like he was unsure of himself. His eyes darted from the face of Council member to Council member, as if he was looking for something.

  And Apollo, becoming a better reader of men's faces by the centar, saw that not every Council member was happy about this development and these proceedings.

  Some muttered between themselves. There was no point in looking to any of them for support, Apollo told himself. There never had been. He looked at his friends and his heart filled with warmth and love for them.

  Well, maybe he and Starbuck were going to out together after all. Neither one of them had ever pictured it like this. But what man chose the centar and time of death for himself anyway? The only ones who ever did were flat-out cowards. Or heroes, like the real Commander Cain. And Cain—Cain was still alive!

  So which are you, Apollo? he asked himself. He already knew the answer. Hadn't Adama always told him to avoid pointless rhetorical questions?

  You'll see Adama soon enough, Apollo, and know for certain if the mission will succeed without you. At least there was Troy to carry on. Apollo silently prayed that he would be ready: he knew that he was.

  "You stand here under sentence of death," Sire Aron intoned.

  "We do not recognize that sentence," Apollo said.

  "I fail to see what you're going to do about it!" Aron cried, indicating the dozens of Council troops with their weapons bristling at the prisoners.

  "You can murder us, Aron," Apollo said. "But who'll look at you and see a leader? Jinkrat was a leader. An honest man. Not you."

  Sire Aron appeared to be taken aback at this, and he said, "I never said I was—"

  "Actions speak louder than words," Apollo said. "And appearances lie—just like you, Aron!"

  The Council members shifted and turned to each other, beginning to argue and dispute. But Apollo knew that it wouldn't matter. All of the guards were in Sire Aron's pay, following his orders. As always the Council were behind the curve, not even realizing their own danger. Aron could turn on them in a micron. This was the man who'd manipulated and betrayed Jinkrat, who'd thrown Sheba in the brig to die, and who'd planned to cut off Galactica's air supply.

  What did the Council think he intended to do with them? What need had he of them after Apollo and the others were murdered?

  It was all for show, to maintain order among the people for the moments that Sire Aron needed to complete his evil plan—whatever it was.

  For a micron, Apollo considered not saying anything more. Why not get it over with? But then he thought again—he remembered Valor of the Sky, out of nowhere, saving Troy, Dalton and Trays from certain death, leading them to the Pegasus and the Cylon ship.

  Then, he remembered the greatest miracle of all, clinging to the barest shred of life down in sickbay. Cain.

  Cain couldn't have been found for no purpose. There had to be a reason. The hands of the Gods were plain to be seen. He looked over at Gar'Tokk, who was examining his large, pointed fingernails as if he could not be more bored by Sire Aron and his pronouncements.

  Then, Gar'Tokk raised his huge, bearded face and growled, "Why not just kill us now. Enough talk!"

  "You'll get your wish soon enough, Noman," Aron said. "For now, we must obey the laws." He turned to the Council and said, "I will now read the charges against these criminals."

  He withdrew a data pad from his robes and squinted at it, and began to read.

  "Apollo," he said. "For countless crimes against the Galactica and its people, and above all, for the murder of Jinkrat, you are sentenced to die."

  "Very original," Starbuck said behind his hand, leaning close to Apollo. Apollo couldn't help but laugh.

  "Athena! You, too, are sentenced to die, for conspiring with your brother to take food and resources from the people of Galactica, and for the killing of innocent guards who were assigned to look after Apollo, the prisoner."

  "Oh, brother," Starbuck said. "What's next?"

  "Tigh! You are sentenced to die for plotting with the others to destroy the Galactica."

  "You could have fooled me," Tigh grumbled. "When will this travesty be over with?"

  "Gar'Tokk," Aron went on, looking up briefly at the Noman, whose teeth were bared. The Noman surveyed the room in disgust, then drew his hood over his head, veiling his bearded face. "You are an alien, and thus not subject to the laws of our people, but you have murdered, stolen, and in all other ways aided these traitors in their rebellion against the people of the Galactica. You and your barbarian companions will die."

  "Rebellion!" Starbuck cried. "What would you call this mess?"

  "Starbuck!" Aron cried. "Remain silent."

  Starbuck crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. "I'll die of old age before he finishes," he said under his breath.

  "Bojay," Aron continued. "You have forfeited your rights as a Colonial Warrior by assisting these traitors. You, too, are sentenced to die."

  "You can kiss my—" Bojay said, rushing forward, but he was silenced by a vicious blow to his head, sinking to the floor. Starbuck and Apollo immediately knelt by his side.

  "You stinking, lousy—" Starbuck cried, but he fell silent as dozens of rifles came within inches of his head.

  "Now," Aron said, lowering his head and glaring at them, "You will approach the dais and submit to your sentences."

  "No last words?" Starbuck asked. "I always wanted to make a touching speech."

  "No!" Aron interrupted, stepping forward. "Bring them—now. Let's get this over with."

  "More pressing matters?" Starbuck continued. "Like combing your hair? Arranging—"

  "Silence!" Sire Aron cried. "Step forward, prisoners, and meet your fate."

  Reluctantly, all of them fighting and struggling, the group was marched to the dais. Starbuck looked over at Apollo in alarm. Apollo, alone, seemed calm and undisturbed. Even GarTokk and the other Nomen were growling and snarling at their tormentors.

  The firing squad assembled. Everyone looked down at them. Apollo took Athena and Starbuck's hands. Even the Nomen looked between each other. Apollo heard them saying a few simple words in their guttural tongue.

  "Perhaps I have failed in my oath," GarTokk said to Apollo.

  The firing squad raised their rifles.

  "Ready," Sire Aron said. He was smiling.

  "No," Apollo told GarTokk. "You are faithful. You have—"

  "Aim," Aron said.

  But before he could say another word, the doors to the Council Chambers burst open.

  "Aron!" cried an old, very familiar voice.

  Baltar, laden with weapons, a laser pistol in each hand. Troy, Dalton, Boomer and Trays were behind them, and half a dozen other pilots, all ready for action.

  Baltar! And he clearly hadn't come to make small talk or to massage Aron
's bloated ego. He'd chosen this moment to take command from Aron, but the warriors were with him. How? why? And there was a small figure beside Baltar. A large white bandage wrapped the boy's head, but Apollo would have recognized those freckles anywhere. Koren! Awake and alive!

  "Give them up, Aron," Baltar demanded. There was nothing of the old, cowardly Baltar here.

  Apollo stared at the dark man. Baltar had changed—again. That betrayal on the bridge. Baltar lied again, but he'd lied… thank the Lords of Kobol. For once in his life, he'd lied in the service of good, not of evil. Baltar's face suddenly shone with courage. He looked like a true member of the Council—he looked like the great Lord he could once have been.

  The Council immediately turned to each other, all talking at once. The Security Guards appeared to not know what to do. Sire Aron stood, frozen, for a bare micron.

  He leapt forward, crying, "Kill the intruders!"

  But Baltar was quicker. Rushing to the dais, he pulled Koren by the hand and raised the boy's arm high.

  "Listen!" he cried. "Listen to this child—do not listen to me."

  Then, the picture of kindness, Baltar knelt beside the boy, nodding. Apollo saw Baltar's lips move. Koren smiled up at Baltar, and in a small, thin voice, started to speak.

  "Apollo didn't kill my father," Koren said. "My dad died to save me and Apollo."

  The Council was immediately abuzz.

  Baltar stood, imperiously, and hushed them. The guards hesitated.

  "Wait!" Baltar ordered them. And they did.

  "Apollo and my dad made peace. Sure, they had a big fight. But when that guy shot my dad, my dad jumped in front of him. I saw it, right before—well, I don't remember after that."

  "Koren!" Apollo cried, but he wasn't able to move farther than a step. The guards' rifles were still trained on all of them, able to fire at any moment.

  Murmurs rippled through the crowd like a stone thrown into water.

  "He's confused!" Aron cried. "He's been injured—why, who'd take a boy out of sickbay like that? Are you going to trust this old liar, Baltar? Our greatest enemy? Responsible for the destruction of Caprica? Friend of the—"

  "I'm not lying now, Aron," Baltar bellowed. "I am telling the truth! Go on," he said to Koren.

  Koren took a deep breath. "Well, when I was in sickbay, this guy came and got me." He pointed straight at Aron. "He said he was bringing me to my dad."