Battlestar Galactica 13 - Apollo's War

by Glen A. Larson

  "A war? There is a war here?"

  Xiomara made a choking sound that sounded weirdly sarcastic.

  "Yes, somewhere," she said. "But don't ask me about it. The war is what ruined me, what gave me this face."

  "I don't understand."

  "Well, hero, I'm afraid there's a story to it."

  "Tell it."

  She looked at him, clearly trying to see whether she could trust him. Then something happened to her brow which Apollo couldn't quite discern, but it was definitely a change. She spoke softly, "All right, hero. Listen."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Xiomara's voice was low, calm, untroubled. When she reached certain later parts of her story, Apollo was amazed at her composure.

  "You never asked me the name of my planet, hero. You people who travel through space in your magical ships never seem interested in our names here. Our place names, our surnames, our names for things. Yet we have learned your dialects. Many of them.

  "The name for my planet is Yevra. When there was no war to devastate its beauty, it was a lovely place to live, a place of abundance, a place untouched by war. I used to wonder why you starpeople would ever want to seek new worlds once you had come to Yevra. I know better now. By your standards we are a primitive people, an unsophisticated culture with little variety. Our ways simple, our beliefs direct. Still, I would rather Yevra be restored to its former beauty than travel to any distant star.

  "I was raised in a village on the other side of Yevra from here, across a vast ocean. My country is now scarred by the war, in much the same way my face is scarred. The war has lain over my beautiful country like a blanket, stifling and smothering its beauty. It was once like the country we now travel through, but even more beautiful. Now in my country flames arise still from things that shouldn't burn anymore. All villages, all cities are gone. It will be the same way here, and all over Yevra, as the war devours our planet. When the planet's beauty is gone, I don't know where the war will go. My people are dead or scattered around the still habitable areas. Only soldiers now populate my country, soldiers in special uniforms that protect them against the murderous vapors which move across the land with the ease of a breeze off the sea.

  "I came to womanhood while my country was yet untouched by the war. We heard about the war but it was still elsewhere. We were told it wasn't our concern. Most of the time we didn't think about it.

  "I fell in love with a young man from my village. I had known him from my early childhood. It is often that way with us, that our mates were once our playmates.

  "We asked permission of the village elders to enter the first stage of our wedded life. I'm told that, in many cultures, wedding or sealing of two individuals is for a lifetime, at least for the lifetime of one of the individuals."

  Xiomara's words made Apollo think of Serina, whose lifetime had been short. Momentarily, her face seemed to float in front of Xiomara's.

  "Here on Yevra there are five stages to marriage. Each stage is entered through prescribed rituals. Before we could enter our first stage, we had to be questioned by everyone in the village. I don't know whether the questioning had any real purpose or whether it was just a rite to ensure our love by our repeated protestations of it. If we vowed our love often enough, we knew within ourselves that it was true. Well, we were very much in love. His name was Trelon. He looked a bit like you, hero.

  "We were very happy, Trelon and I. After the minimum time period in the first stage of marriage, we elected to continue to the second stage.

  "At the second stage we had to put ourselves forward for ordeal. In our historical past the stage of ordeal had often been truer to the word. Prospective mates had to endure horrendous and grueling physical tests as proofs of their worthiness for each other. In our village more modern customs prevailed. We had ritualized the stage of ordeal into a series of events that were conducted as games. Trelon and I passed these tests easily, entered second stage, and were very, very happy. By this time we were certain we'd go through all five stages and live a long and wonderful life together. That wasn't to be, of course. Not with the war.

  "We prepared ourselves for third stage, which was called mutilation. Originally mutilation was a scarring procedure that, by cutting and burning the skin of each mate, displayed for all their love, loyalty and devotion. In our more civilized time, the rite called only for a small facial scar, a quick cut of the knife, as the climax to a long and complicated series of ceremonies, which included musical performance and communal poetry.

  "Trelon and I had begun the procedures for applying for our third-stage mutilation when he was 'recruited' into the war. You understand, hero, that nobody actually volunteers for the war in our society. The armies choose us. We do not even choose our side. Recruiters from one side or the other are sent out to grab the most-likely specimens among us, male and female alike, and then transport us to their training centers. When they took Trelon, I cursed that they hadn't chosen to take me with him.

  "We were walking in a field outside the village, Trelon and I. We were quite happy that day, discussing our future together. I remember his skin was darker that day, as it often was after we lay together.

  "We heard the recruiters coming. There is a soft buzz to the flying devices they use. We knew immediately what that sound meant. There was no one else in the field with us, so we knew we would be primary targets. Taking my hand, Trelon began to pull me with him. We ran toward a distant cave, one we'd often visited for lovemaking. I think we really knew the cave was too far away, that there was no chance for escape.

  "Running with my eyes staring at the ground, hearing the buzz grow louder as they came closer, I saw first the long shadows of the recruiters. They stretched far away from me, many shadows appearing to reach toward the horizon. But these shadows quickly shortened, grew tiny. I felt the wind of their flight above me. Trelon forced us to run faster. I tried to keep up with him, but I stumbled. I lost my footing. Trelon had kept hold of my hand and he dragged me forward a short distance before falling himself.

  "Hugging me, he held me tight for a moment before the recruiter swept down to take him, enveloping his waist in a snare. Trelon would not at first let go of my hand. As the recruiter started to rise, I was pulled to my feet, then a short way off the ground. The recruiter jabbed Trelon's free arm with something that numbed his body. I felt Trelon's arm go limp and his fingers release me. I fell only a short way, landed on my feet. Trelon and the recruiter sped upward, joining other recruiters, some with other people in their snares. It was probably my imagination, but I thought I felt Trelon's tears as rain. Or perhaps it was merely my own tears streaming down my face.

  "I called after the recruiters, begged them to take me too. In their cold and imperious way, they didn't even acknowledge me. They all became dots in the sky, high above me, before disappearing.

  "I returned to my village. Everyone there knew what had happened before I got there. They could have seen it in my face even if they hadn't seen the recruiters fly over. In their faces was the relief that it hadn't been them who had been taken.

  "I could have entered wedlock with another man, but my love for Trelon was too strong. Other villagers encouraged me to forget Trelon and our life together, choose another of our sturdy males, settle down again—but I refused.

  "The villagers did not approve of my decision, they began to shun me as an outcast. We are a calm and loving people, but we are afraid of those among us who do not follow the will of the village. We are afraid of those whose lives do not work out according to the accepted rituals. The only way I could ever maintain my status was to choose another husband, and begin the marriage cycle again.

  "See, hero, I didn't want to live with another man after Trelon had gone. There was always the chance he could escape from the army, return to me. There were stories of people who had escaped, but there were other tales of horrible fates of those who tried to escape. Still, I waited. If Trelon did return, I wanted to be there for him, and not be married to ano
ther.

  "The more I felt like an outcast, the angrier I became. Even though in my mind I understood my feelings about rituals I did not really understand my own feelings. I thought I should be forgiven for what the accidents of circumstance had done to me. But nobody forgave. No one in my close family, my tribal family, or in the village itself forgave me. I had lost my mate, I was without a mate. Even the other people who had lost mates did not forgive. They stayed in their own isolation until they found new mates or they became people with blank eyes who wandered the village like pack animals, with some function but without anybody inhabiting their bodies anymore. It was said that their souls had flown away. I didn't want to be like them, but I didn't want to mate for the sake of mating. Our rituals were too important to me, too beautiful, for me to defame them. Trelon was the only mate I wanted, the only one I'd ever wanted. I could have no other.

  "I don't know what made me do what I did. I had been drifting into the kind of isolation I'd seen in others. I felt my soul about to leave me."

  Xiomara did not speak for a moment. She had begun to walk a little faster, as if she wanted to reach the caravan quickly and not have to finish her tale. Apollo walked patiently beside her, wanting to comfort her, feeling a strong urge to put his arm around her. When she did speak again, her voice was flat, unemotional, uninvolved with the words she spoke.

  "The war came to our village. First, there were battles all around us, fighting that went on while we cowered in our homes or hid in caves. The lovely sweet air that was like an aura around the village became acrid with the smell of expended ammunition, smoke from gunbarrels, the sharp electrical odors of thousands of killing blasts from laser weapons. The blue sky over our village became gray with smoke. We didn't see our sun for many days. Our buildings were rocked by explosions close to the village. Still, the village remained untouched until after the battle.

  "The winners were the soldiers from the Sky Federation, which most call the 'Sweepers.' The other side is the 'Pelters,' or the Cave Federation. The Sweepers were the ones who had taken Trelon. They have flying devices which they sometimes use in battle as well as recruiting. The Pelters live in our caves, even though they came here from some other planet. Why they choose to live in caves, I don't know. Anyway, now they are whatever they conquer; the names don't mean much.

  "The Sweepers occupied our area. Seeing many of our people among these soldiers, I started asking questions about Trelon, seeking him. Most of the soldiers were too dazed or numb to talk to me. The others were surly. Not only that, they mistook my intentions, the mean ones. As I tried to leave them after getting no answer, they'd grab me and try to make love to me. After I'd managed two or three of those escapes, my common sense and I vowed not to go anywhere near the camp of soldiers again.

  "However, during my last trip to the camp, one of the other soldiers had heard me say the name Trelon. The next time he came to our village he sought me out. He said he had information about Trelon that he would tell me in secret. He took me to a grove outside the village. I should have been superstitious and never gone to that place with him; this grove was where we buried our dead.

  "The soldier said his name was Burist, at least that was the part of his long name that I remember. 'I served with Trelon,' he told me. 'A fighter, Trelon, one of the best.' My eyes were filling with tears as I asked, 'But where is he now?'

  "Burist tried to embrace me. Not as a lover, not right then as a lover, but as a friend. However, I'd had enough of soldier's embraces at the army camp. I pulled away from him and asked the question again. His body went slack. He looked like there was nothing substantial beneath his skin.

  " 'Trelon is dead, my lovely,' he said. 'I'm sorry to tell you that, and I really didn't want to, but I felt he would have wanted me to.'

  "I'm afraid I started crying with such force, with such choking deathlike sobs, that it frightened Burist. He tried to say soothing words to me, tried to calm me down with gentle touches. But I couldn't stop crying. My life was over, I thought. Trelon will never return. I wanted to die. Well, you may know what it felt like. There is something in your eyes that tells me you do, hero.

  "I can't really explain what happened that afternoon in the grove of the dead. I suppose I became a child's doll as far as Burist was concerned, or I was dead in his eyes and he felt some kind of necrophiliac desire for me. I don't even remember it happening. I was in a daze one moment, unable to stop crying, and by the next moment the lovemaking between Burist and me had ended. There is nothing in between that I can remember.

  "After, Burist hugged me tightly and whispered in my ear how Trelon had died, how he had been brave in battle, killing scores of the enemy, then had finally met his death in a fierce battle with a giant. I doubted the giant, but I believed Trelon was dead. Burist offered to become my protector, if I would accompany him when his battalion left the camp.

  "Even now I cannot find a way to show you completely how vile a being this Burist was. How vile he is, if he hasn't yet achieved the terrible death I have wished upon him. Screaming, I jumped at him and began clawing at his eyes. He was too strong for me, and he flung me away roughly. His face suddenly twisted in a bizarre smile, and I could see he intended to use me again. I scrambled to my feet and ran out of the grove. I heard his laughter behind me, but he did not follow. I suppose he felt there would be another time. He did not understand our ways.

  "I ran a short distance in the protective darkness of trees when suddenly my path was blocked by a trio of citizens from my village. I didn't even have to question them. I saw in their eyes that they'd been spying on me and Burist in the grove of the dead. And I knew my fate was sealed. I collapsed at their feet and remember little of the next days.

  "You must understand, hero, that our village regards all of the soldiers from both sides as our enemies. It doesn't matter what side invades our tranquility and steals our best individuals. They camp outside our villages and destroy our farmland for at least a season. They taunt us, and frequently kidnap us for their amusement.

  "If the villagers who testified against me had seen me resist Burist, which I would have done if my mind had not been gripped by my grief, I would merely have been reprimanded and become an outcast for a short term. Since I was already a virtual outcast, that would not have been a difficult punishment for me.

  "But in their eyes I had committed a crime and we punish crimes severely.

  "And so they gave me this face."

  Xiomara paused, turning her disfigured face toward Apollo for a full view. He managed not to grimace.

  "They did that to you?" he said. "Punished you by disfiguring your face?"

  Xiomara chuckled bitterly.

  "Not in the way you think. It may seem odd to you, hero, but I am still beautiful. You are just unable to see it."

  "I don't understand."

  "You know what, hero? I adore your face. It has such kindness in it. Your eyes would never judge me the way my fellow villagers did. You would have forgiven me."

  "I suppose I would."

  "I wish you could see my face. This is the first time in ages that I even wanted someone to see my face, the first time I've even regretted the punishment the judges gave me. At the time I thought it was appropriate, and even just. And properly ironic."

  They walked along a few more steps quietly. Apollo wanted to ask her questions, to clear up the mysteries she had provided, but he waited for her to tell him in her calm voice.

  "If you could have seen my village, hero, before it was finally destroyed, you would not have suspected us of being anything more than a primitive people. We lived in primitive fashion—grew our own food, lived in simple lodgings, devoted our lives to the development of crafts, played the games of the ancients. But we did have some leftover technology from a more civilized and scientific time, a time before the war had somewhat simplified our existence.

  "I didn't understand it all then. Then it was all magic rites kept secret by the cult of the privileged. Now, since I'
ve fled the village and seen more of what the world has to offer, I know it's not magic.

  "The magicians were our doctors, scientifically trained. They treated and cured us, but they also punished us. They could even kill us, if the law ordered. It was the custom.

  "After my brief trial, during which I said not a single word, I was taken outside the village to a large dark building. All of the villagers followed me and taunted me. Even though they shouted, I could barely hear them. My own sobs drowned them out. The doctors wore ancient outfits, long black robes with black fur collars and more black fur around the hems. They wore long deep strings of red and green beads which swayed around their bodies as they walked. Their faces were hidden by masks that were twice the height and width of their heads. The masks were ugly, lumps of materials representing flesh, budlike eyes planted among the mounds of skin, more of the black fur, representing hair, packed tightly around the whole outline, a slash to stand for a mouth. They were, I suppose, faces like mine, at least as mine has been described to me. I don't see this face, you see. When I look into a mirror or a pool of water, I see my old face. My former face was beautiful, hero."

  "Yes, I know," Apollo said softly. She stopped walking, stared at him. He could almost see her eyes through the lumps of puffy skin.

  "How can you know?" she said, her voice rising. It was the only time emotion had come into her voice.

  "I think I saw your real face once back there."

  "Others have described the sensation of seeing my real face. It is strange. I can't quite picture it.

  "At any rate, I was taken into the dark building and brought to a wide central fire. Its flames shot up toward the ceiling of a huge cavernlike chamber. The specially treated doctors' masks sent off many blinding rays of firelight. The doctors began to dance around the fire, their masks a dazzling and mysterious array of flickering light.