Battlestar Galactica 13 - Apollo's War

by Glen A. Larson

  While they consumed their meal, a small group of people watched them steadily. It was disconcerting to have so many eyes upon them, but they were too hungry to be self-conscious about their eating habits. Other species, apparently from the insect and reptile worlds, tended to stay their distance.

  "I could eat this fruit forever," Sheba said, leaning back from the table. "Exquisite. Reminds me of a dish . . ." A look of sadness came over her face.

  "What is it, Sheba?" Apollo asked.

  "Oh, nothing. Just my . . . my father. He wasn't much around a kitchen or galley but every once in a while he got a notion to make us a meal. There was a kind of baked fruit dish, lots of different kinds of fruit on a flaky crust—God, I wish I could have that dish again!"

  "Maybe you will."

  "Do you think so? Do you think we'll find him again?"

  "I'm sure of it."

  Sheba smiled. Apollo wished he was really so sure. Sheba's father, the legendary Commander Cain, had disappeared with his ship, the Pegasus, during a battle with a Cylon base-star. Since Cain had always seemed so superhuman, there was already a fleet legend that he would return in a magical iridescent ship and lead the ragtag group of ships to the fabled planet Earth.

  Croft, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth and moving his plate away from him, surveyed his surroundings, then leaned over to Apollo and whispered, "We gonna stay with this motley crew?"

  "For the time being. They say they're going to the city, where the light is. Might as well tag along."

  Seeing that the three warriors were done eating, one of the muscle-bound hairy men who had welcomed them to the camp with such force separated from his group and approached the table.

  "Greetings, newcomers," the man said jovially. "Name's Beskaroon. Come from so far away from here, never even mention it. How about you folks?"

  "Not far," Apollo replied guardedly. "A place just beyond the horizon."

  "You say so. Never been beyond that particular horizon. Woke up someplace in that direction. Crash-landed with a good bunch of these bozos behind me. Were a starship crew. Once. Now don't know what we are. Nomads. Followers of the dust motes. A tough world here, friend."

  "Then you're not natives here either?"

  "Just traders gone off course. Been here, oh, about nine or ten of this planet's days. Hate it, all of us. Place is no better than an insect's nose hairs, you ask me."

  Whether he expressed an insult or resentment, Beskaroon's voice remained cheerful. There was, in his eyes, a mistrust that didn't agree with the voice's amiable cadences.

  "Why do you think we're all here?" Apollo asked. "I mean, it's like we've been brought here, isn't it?"

  "Agree, friend. Not a prayer of an idea, though. We been wandering around here for days. In a circle, I think. Found this caravan. Stayed. Everybody here, in same boat. Nobody knows why. You know why?"

  "No."

  "Welcome to the boat, friend. Might as well join us."

  Apollo nodded. Beskaroon explained that the caravan was headed for the light of the city, although no one in it had ever been to the city or was certain it even existed. While they were a mixed group, there were strict rules about behavior which forbade conflicts. They were working together to reach their goal, the city of light.

  Sitting at the table, taking some of the untouched food, Beskaroon reminisced about his travels as a star-trader. He wanted to get away from this planet, take his ship back to the starlanes, he said.

  "Beskaroon," Apollo asked, "in your travels, places you've traded at, have you ever heard of a planet called Earth?"

  Beskaroon's smile widened. He addressed his first comment back to his comrades.

  "Fellas, another Earth hawk! Apollo, what to tell you? Heard about Earth all my trading days. Never got near it. A wonder of a place, heard tell. Never thought it was real myself. You?"

  "Oh, it's real all right. I know it. We're headed there. We'll find it."

  Beskaroon laughed heartily.

  "Not if you travel this road, you won't!"

  Croft noted that Apollo sounded like Commander Adama as he vowed, "We'll get away."

  "What we all say," the still-laughing Beskaroon said. He stuck out his hand to shake. Apollo took it. "Together then, Captain Apollo. Me and my gang, follow you out."

  "Count on it."

  "Count on it."

  As Beskaroon walked away from the table, Croft muttered, "Sure. Count on it. One, two, three, and we materialize in front of our Vipers, then off to the Galactica. I can hardly wait."

  "Confidence, Croft," Sheba said. "We can do it. We've always done it before."

  "Always done it before. You could put that line on gravestones across the universe."

  Sheba smiled.

  "Oh, you're such a cynic, Croft."

  "You better believe it. Proud of it, too."

  "That's part of your charm."

  "Oh, then you do think I have charm, lovely?"

  "I lied. Back off, Croft."

  Croft smiled crookedly. He enjoyed flirting with Sheba. He thought she was a lovely woman, and was fascinated by the wide-eyed look with which she went through life. But Sheba wouldn't give him a tumble. It seemed his lot now to be a loner, a destiny he had not chosen for himself. Since the death of his wife Leda during the ice-planet mission, he had not been comfortable around women. Hell, he hadn't even been comfortable around Leda those last days. She had been his enemy and stood up against him.

  Sheba was a lost cause, anyway. Clearly those wide eyes were meant for Apollo, who generally ignored her. Sheba pined, and Apollo paid no attention. Life was like that, Croft thought. Hard to get the person you want, hard to get the person you want to want you.

  Beskaroon returned and spoke to Apollo. "Caravan's about to move. You folks ready? Okay then. Fall in wherever you like."

  Apollo was impressed by the spectacle of the travelers assembling their gear, putting out their campfires and heading for the road. He had never before seen so many representatives of different species all in one area, all working together. When the meadow had been abandoned, there were few traces—a wisp from burning ash, large areas of flattened grass—that so many beings had just camped there.

  Once the caravan was moving, a strange silence settled upon it. The attention of everyone in the caravan was focused on the light of the city. Apollo noted that the belt seemed to be giving him little tugs whenever he turned away from the light.

  Apollo wondered how so many differing individuals could have wound up on this godforsaken planet. Beskaroon had said his group had landed here by accident. Were all these groups here by accident? Crash-landings and patrols? The presence of his patrol and the other groups on this planet might not be the result of accident. They seemed to have been chosen. But by whom? For what?

  He told Croft and Sheba to stay alert. They looked at him with understanding but there seemed a lack of eagerness in their eyes. As the day wore on, they all fell quite naturally and almost unconsciously into the caravan's walking rhythms.

  CHAPTER SIX

  A few groups sang as they walked along. Some of the music was melodic, even stirring. Some of it was grotesque. Occasionally one group would compete with another for loudness and vigor. The musical results, Apollo noticed, were not especially pleasing to the ear.

  Eventually, however, Apollo and his companions found themselves trudging along in a nearly mindless state. He tried to shake the numbness out of his brain by studying the countryside through which they passed. The land beside the road was overgrown with grass so green it looked more like cloth than vegetation. Beyond the grassy fields, clumps of trees growing close together were the vanguards for apparently dense forests beyond. The bark of the trees was the color of rich soil and their leaves, on branches that swept upward, had definite maroon patches among the bright green. After a few meters of traveling, the roadside landscape showed little variation, and Apollo was in a dreamlike state when he thought he heard a scream in the distance. He turned to
Croft and said, "What was that?"

  "What? I didn't hear anything."

  The scream came again, faint and mournful.

  "Didn't you hear anything that time?"

  "I can't hear anything but this lousy song those alligators in front of us are vocalizing."

  The next scream was louder, filled with pain. Pushing past a pair of insectoid beings, Apollo ran off the road. Immediately, his belt seemed to push at his stomach, trying to guide him back to the road. He resisted the pull and kept on running, heading for the nearest clump of trees. There had seemed to be some movement there.

  "Apollo!" Croft called after him. "You're supposed to stay with the caravan."

  "I'll be right back," Apollo hollered over his shoulder.

  Croft shrugged and raised his eyebrows at Sheba, then the two of them ran after Apollo, who was already disappearing into the clump of trees.

  For a moment he felt disoriented. His mind swam in a kind of vertigo as the belt urged him out of the forest and his mind prodded him forward toward the sound of furious activity ahead.

  Once past the first line of trees, he realized the forest was darker than he'd expected. There was an unpleasantly musty smell that appeared to come right out of the middle of the trees themselves. The sound of a rustle above him made him look up. Crouching on a branch, staring down at him, was a rather fierce-looking animal whose pointed fangs stuck out from between its closed lips. It had elongated diamondlike eyes and the hair of its body was as pointed as needles. A button on Apollo's belt flashed. Without knowing how he knew, he felt the button was telling him that this animal wasn't edible. Apollo didn't mind that, so long as it wasn't carnivorous. For the moment, all it did was stare down at him and rattle its branch in a slow side-to-side motion.

  Ahead of him he heard the scream again. He had to go under the animal's branch to go toward the sound. He felt a chill go through him as the branch above him rustled, but he passed under it without incident.

  He came to a wide dark clearing. Very little light was getting through the overhanging branches of tall trees.

  A woman in the center of the clearing was surrounded by several dark-clothed figures. They circled her in a threatening manner, taunting her in whispers. Occasionally one of them flicked a whip in her direction, and she jumped away from its snapping lash.

  Apollo couldn't see the woman clearly, although she was in better light than anyone else. She was slim and apparently tall. She was dressed in a long flowing gown whose color was difficult to distinguish in the clearing's dimness. He could see that she had long dark hair, probably black, which whirled outward at even the small movements of her head. He could not see her face. She held her hands in front of it.

  Some words of the mob rose above the sinister whispering.

  "We warned you, strumpet."

  "Your death shan't be on our souls, woman."

  "We won't have to look at your ugly face again."

  "Ugly, ugly."

  "Her face is the sign of evil."

  "We have to eradicate evil."

  "Kill her. Kill her now!"

  The mob began to close in on the woman. Turning, she tried to run away, but others blocked her way. There was no way she could go, and she sank to the ground.

  Apollo didn't know what cultural rite he might be interfering with, but he didn't care. Whenever you got a mob threatening an individual, that individual needed help. He rushed forward, right into the mob, flinging people aside as he swept into the central area, where the woman was curled up on the ground, her face covered with her dark hair. He stood over her and turned toward the obvious leaders of the mob, shouting, "Stand back. We're going out of here."

  A man, whose muscles were no doubt as thick as his head, stepped forward. The eyes of the man, which Apollo could see in the dim light, were cruel.

  "Out of the way, meddler," the man said. "This is our business."

  "Killing's the business of the mob, eh?" Apollo said, his eyes darting from face to face, perceiving that everyone's eyes had the same cruel look in them. "Business as usual? Not this time, big fellow. Don't try anything."

  The man laughed scornfully.

  "Why, you're just a shrimp."

  He jumped at Apollo who, sidestepping, landed a solid punch on the right side of the man's face. The man collapsed, unconscious. Two other muscular representatives of the mob sprang at Apollo. Throwing punches furiously, he decked both of them. Leaning down, he grabbed the woman and, again without looking at her, made her stand up. Whispering to her to run, he pushed her forward. They both sped through the wide-eyed crowd, most of whom were apparently too stunned by the sudden move to interfere.

  "After them!" someone behind him shouted. "Don't let them go"

  Hearing the frantic sounds of pursuit behind him, Apollo raced after the woman through the forest. As the sounds of the crowd faded, Apollo heard sounds above them, as if the strange kind of tree-dwelling animal he'd seen earlier was tracking them. He didn't look up to check.

  Suddenly there were two figures next to Apollo, both of them running, too. He tensed, ready to fight off more members of the mob, then he saw it was Croft and Sheba.

  "Are we running for a reason?" Croft shouted. Apollo didn't answer.

  "You need the exercise, Croft," Sheba said. "For your flab."

  "My flab does just fine without exercise."

  There was light ahead. The woman ran to it. Apollo and the others followed. They all came out into a section of the brightly landscaped field. The woman fell to the ground, and Apollo collapsed beside her. Croft and Sheba stood over them.

  "Okay, now you can tell me," Croft said. "What was that all about?"

  Catching his breath, Apollo explained what had happened. As he talked, he stared at the back of the woman's head, wanting her to turn and look at him.

  "But why were they going to kill her?" Sheba said.

  "They were afraid of me," the woman said, without turning. Her voice was deep, and a little husky. "Everyone is afraid of me. You should have let them kill me."

  "Have you done something wrong?" Apollo asked.

  "No. Not here. Not among them. They think I cast spells."

  "Why would they think that?" Sheba asked.

  "Because of the spell on me. Look!"

  She turned toward them. For a brief moment, Apollo thought he saw a quite lovely face—clear-skinned, bright-eyed, high-cheekboned, radiant. But instantly a shell seemed to form over that face and replace it with another. And the other was not easy to look at. It was an ugly face, with scars all over it, and lumps, and rough skin, and a few hairs growing in patches on her cheeks. Her eyes seemed enclosed by puffy skin. She had no eyebrows and her nose and mouth appealed to have no definite form. The nose was a growth and the mouth an uneven slash. There was a look of decay about her.

  Apollo and the others recoiled physically at the sight of the woman. Croft thought he had seen this face in a childhood nightmare. The woman laughed hollowly, seeing their reactions.

  "See?" she said. "Are you sorry you rescued me, hero?"

  "N—no. Not at all. You—you—"

  "Go ahead. Stutter. I affect people that way. I guess I should thank you, hero, before bidding you good-bye."

  She stood up, ready to walk away.

  "Wait," Apollo said, standing and looking steadily at her. "Don't go. What is your name?"

  She seemed surprised he would even ask the question.

  "Xiomara," she said. "A lovely name, yes? To go with my face. Don't worry. I shan't stay around you."

  She took a couple of steps toward the road, saw the caravan further on, switched direction.

  "Don't let her go, Apollo," Sheba said.

  "Yes, Xiomara," he said. "Stay. Travel with us. We're with the caravan there."

  He gestured toward the caravan, and Xiomara looked in that direction. Her twisted face twisted into a look of derision.

  "You'll have to defend me there, too, hero."

  "I will, I promise."<
br />
  She stared at him. He could, he thought, almost see her eyes. Beneath that prison of puffy skin two beautiful eyes shimmered like ghosts. He could not quite focus on them, but they seemed to be the eyes he thought he had glimpsed before the shell of the ugly face had hidden them. As he looked at her, he noticed that the ugliness of her face did not appear to hold steady. It wavered, like a picture out of focus. He squinted and it stayed out of focus. Was the woman real? What was it she had said about casting spells? Had she cast some sort of spell upon him? There was definitely something bizarre about Xiomara's ugliness. It was as if the features of her face could change, that it was never quite the same face you had just seen, that it changed easily like a face glimpsed in disturbed water. It seemed unreal, and sent a shudder through him.

  "Promise?" Xiomara asked. Apollo nodded. "Be careful, hero. In my culture, promise carries a lot of responsibility."

  "In mine, also."

  She stared at him for a long while.

  "All right, hero. I'll come with you and your friends. Been a long time since anybody invited me to tag along with them. But, hero, you can forget the promise. I can take care of myself, I promise you that."

  She held out her hand to shake. Apollo took it. Her grip was firm.

  "My name is Apollo. This is Sheba. The guy scowling over there is Croft. That's his natural look, don't mind it."

  Croft scowled more as he said, "We better hurry, if we're going to catch up with the caravan."

  He started walking, and the others followed. Apollo stayed beside Xiomara. Examining her profile, he noted there was a softness to it, as if it wasn't sharply outlined, as if its lines merely lightened to the point of invisibility. After they had walked in silence for a while, he asked, "Did you come to this planet from elsewhere, too, Xiomara?"

  "Elsewhere? No, I belong here. A native. There are few of us left, I can tell you that. We didn't realize there were other planets until the war came here. We live away from the war, most of us, those of us who haven't been 'recruited.' "