Battlestar Galactica 13 - Apollo's War

by Glen A. Larson

  Croft yelled. It was clear to Sarge that Croft was heading right for Apollo. Sarge followed.

  Razi Balzet's screen displayed a large portion of the battle. At the screen's center was the fiercely fighting Apollo. Razi Balzet was smugly satisfied at the success of his strategy. This human was indeed the kind of battler whose achievements would get Razi Balzet the promotion he so craved.

  He almost yelped with delight when he saw Sarge rushing toward Apollo. His fingers began to stroke two of the large mosaic-like patches on either side of his face, a gesture that came to him automatically when he was especially excited.

  "Look there!" he cried. "I know that one. He has been a tremendous fighter, responsible for the deaths of many of our warriors. He's the one I want." He leaned down to the bulb mike. "Apollo, the reptile soldier slightly to your right. I want you to kill him."

  Croft, running forward, shouted Apollo's name. Seeing Apollo had confused him, diverted him from his quest for suicide. Apollo was alive, but what was he doing here on the side of the enemy? He came to a stop not far from Apollo. Apollo ceased fire when he saw Croft.

  "Apollo! What's wrong?"

  In spite of his conditioning, Apollo recognized Croft. He also knew Croft was one of the enemy whom he must kill. To keep his arm from aiming the pistol at his former comrade, he dove behind the nearest rock and scrunched down. Tren, apparently remaining objective even about this extraordinary act, watched impassively, keeping his chest-camera firmly focused on Apollo. Apollo yelled without looking over the rim of the rock: "Get away, Croft. I don't want to hurt you. If they . . ."

  "If they what?"

  Croft had come closer to the rock. Apollo screamed and came scrambling over it. He had put his pistol back in its holster to protect Croft from him, but he could not help jumping at him, fighting him. To the onlookers it was a bizarre fight. Although both had fire in their eyes, each seemed to be pulling his blows, trying to keep from hurting the other. But, reluctantly, punches were landed, blood was drawn. Sarge came closer, looking for a way to break up the fight.

  In the enemy's headquarters, Razi Balzet was screaming, "Leave that soldier alone, Apollo. The one I want you to kill is right next to you. See? Tren, help him!"

  Razi Balzet watched Tren's hands trying to separate the combatants. He wasn't successful and, judging by the way the picture leaped toward the sky for a moment before again depicting Apollo and Croft, Tren had been pushed backward. Apollo was now looking beyond Croft, right at Sarge. Razi Balzet cried in encouragement, "Get him. Kill that stinking reptile!"

  A strange sound came from Apollo's throat as he squirmed away from Croft. It was a dangerous sound, a sound filled with programmed hatred. His attention was no longer on Croft, who was again merely another insect among all the insect soldiers. He drew his pistol, aimed it toward Sarge, who was now aiming a pistol at him. Croft jumped at Apollo, screaming, "Apollo, no!"

  Croft's quick move deflected Apollo's aim. The shot whizzed past Sarge's head. Croft looked back toward Sarge. It was clear that Sarge, cold-blooded soldier that he was, would now shoot and kill Apollo. Croft pushed Apollo out of the way. Sarge's shot whistled past both of them.

  Croft was really confused now. The belt was sending him impulses of allegiance, while inside he recognized a higher allegiance to Apollo.

  Xiomara and Sheba appeared a short distance to the rear of Sarge. Apollo, his composure regained, took aim again at Sarge. At enemy headquarters Razi Balzet was yelling at the top of his unpleasant voice, "Kill the reptile, Apollo! Kill him!"

  Croft grabbed Apollo's arm, struggled with him. Sheba and Xiomara watched the struggle and could not figure out what was happening.

  "That's Apollo!" Sheba shouted. "He's alive!"

  Apollo grabbed Croft by the throat and took up a position behind him. He pointed his pistol toward Croft's temple.

  "I'll kill him," Apollo threatened.

  "That is immaterial to me," Sarge said coldly. He shot toward the two and hit Croft in the shoulder. Croft grimaced in pain.

  "He's trying to kill the both of them," Xiomara said to Sheba. "He doesn't care."

  "It's his duty," Sheba said calmly. "He must."

  "Must?"

  "And I must help."

  "Sheba, that's just the belt talking, your conditioning, you can't—"

  Coolly Sheba raised her weapon. Xiomara felt tugs from the belt urging her to dispose of Apollo, but she resisted them. She pushed Sheba sideways so that her shot was off the mark, then she jumped at Sheba and wrestled her to the ground. Apollo eased Croft downward, still using him for cover. At enemy headquarters, Razi Balzet was urging, "Forget that soldier, you idiot! Kill the other one!"

  Apollo had to respond to Razi Balzet's urgings. He raised his pistol and shot at Sarge.

  Sarge, hit in the side, fell to the ground and squirmed from the searing pain. His pistol was still in his hand and he aimed it toward Apollo. Tren, leaping forward, pushed Apollo out of the way of Sarge's shot. Croft, recognizing Tren as enemy, stuck out a foot and tripped him. He fell against Apollo just as Sarge shot again. The beam burned a line across Tren's back and he fell, face forward.

  Razi Balzet, after staring at a picture where Apollo was at the center, watched the ground rush up at the camera, and then groaned as the screen became dark.

  "What happened?" he yelled at the screen. "Tren, get yourself and Apollo out of there." The screen remained dark. "Tren!"

  "I think he's been hit, sir," an aide said quietly.

  "But what do we do now?" Razi Balzet said, his voice pathetic.

  "We rely on you for such solutions, sir," his other aide said.

  Razi Balzet felt defeated, but he kept speaking into the bulb mike, hoping to guide Apollo blindly.

  "Apollo! Look around you. Find the reptile officer. Finish him off."

  Apollo did hear Razi Balzet's command and he strode toward Sarge, pistol drawn, ready to finish him off.

  Sheba pulled free from Xiomara and took aim at Apollo, muttering, "Must kill him, must."

  Xiomara hit her in the back of the head with her pistol. Sheba passed out and fell.

  Apollo now stood over Sarge, who was feebly trying to raise his pistol. Apollo kicked the weapon out of his hand. Sarge looked up at him and, when he spoke, it was in the same tone of voice with which he gave orders. "Kill me, Kill me now."

  Now Apollo had two voices urging him to kill Sarge. He would obey. He would do it.

  Croft, his wounded shoulder streaming with blood, came up behind Apollo. Apollo didn't see him. Croft knew he could not hope to overcome Apollo but, in the fight, had noticed the power-pack on Apollo's chest. Croft was good with devices, and he recognized the pack for what it was. With his last burst of strength, he surged ahead, his concentration on Apollo's power-pack. When he grabbed it, he pulled on it with all his might. As Croft wrenched it free, Apollo screamed in pain and suddenly knelt, clutching his chest. Some blood appeared between his fingers.

  When the pain subsided, Apollo realized that his mind was clear. He remembered what the pack was and, instead of shooting at Sarge, he fired at the pack. Sparks flew from it and, with a sizzle, it stopped working.

  Xiomara ran up to him.

  "Apollo, are you all right?"

  "Yes." His voice was weak. He tried to speak more forcefully. "Yes, I am. I'm free! I can feel it."

  "I don't know what you mean."

  Croft, breathing hard, holding on to his shoulder, said, "There's no . . . no belt . . . or anything else on him."

  Xiomara felt impulses from her own belt. Resisting them, she said: "I'm supposed to arrest you, Apollo. Arrest you or kill you. I'm . . . trying . . . not to. Please go away."

  "She's right," Croft said. "We're . . . still . . . still slaves. Nothing you . . . can do for us. Go. Get free. Off . . . this bloody . . . stupid planet. Go."

  "I can't. Not without you. Let me try to help."

  He pulled at Xiomara's belt, struggling to remove it from her body. An e
lectric shock ran up his arm and he jumped away. Was there no way to remove the belt? He tried again and got an even stronger shock.

  "Please, Apollo," Xiomara said. "I'm weakening. Can't resist. The power is too strong."

  "Do what she says," Croft urged.

  Sheba, conscious again, rushed forward. Her pistol was in her hand again. She stared at Apollo all the way.

  "Traitor!" she screamed. "I'll kill you."

  Her shot at Apollo just missed him, He looked at her, saw the murderous intent in her eyes. With a last despairing look at Xiomara and Croft, he ran off, reentered the battle, and disappeared. Sheba, her mind briefly clear, struggled to control herself so that she wouldn't chase after him.

  "What did I do?" she said. "That was . . . was Apollo I shot at. I might have killed him."

  "Well, you didn't, sweetheart," Croft said. "Let's go. We've all got work to do."

  The sudden tone of command in Croft's voice startled both women. He had been so despondent for so long that any energy from him was surprising.

  "What about your shoulder?" Xiomara asked.

  He glanced down at the wound, which still bled, and he said, "Forget it. It'll heal. Or I'll die. Doesn't matter."

  They started to walk toward the point where the battle appeared to be the heaviest. Xiomara glanced down at the prone and unconscious Sarge.

  "Sarge," she said. "What should we do about him?"

  "He's dying," Croft said. "Fortunes of war. It'd be a waste of time to try to do anything for him. We have to fight now. Our orders. C'mon."

  Reluctantly, Xiomara and Sheba followed Croft. In a moment, it seemed, they had returned to combat. Croft, strangely renewed, fought fiercely, as if he was imitating the Apollo he had just seen. Xiomara and Sheba, pistols drawn, joined him.

  At enemy headquarters, Razi Balzet had left the control room. In an instant he had been demoted and booted out.

  Sarge, slowly coming to, calmly listened to the fading sounds of battle. Testing his arm and leg muscles, he found he could move his limbs only a little. Even with this limited mobility, he made several attempts to get up. He could raise his head, but little else. Finally he gave up, deciding to die with the characteristic dignity of his species. Twisting his head he looked down at his wound. His blood had caked, and very little more was seeping through.

  Waiting for death was boring. He tried to force it upon himself as if it were an entity that he could grab and use. He decided to just relax and try to empty his mind. Even trying not to think, he could not rid himself of the image of himself dying the proper soldier's death, slain on a battlefield. He had at least brought honor to his family. All of his children would have something important to remember about him.

  At first he did not interpret the noises near him correctly. He thought it was an animal moving toward him, to examine him as possible food. Then he realized the noises were too steady. It had to be an enemy, looking to finish him off. The only way he could avoid such an ignominy was to feign death so convincingly the enemy would pass by him. He held his body still, which made him more conscious than ever of the dull pain in his side. He successfully restrained himself from grimacing and giving his pretense away. He felt the being's breath, hot on his ear. Then the being spoke, "You're faking it, I can tell."

  "Apollo!"

  "I've been watching you. Saw you move. Barely, but you moved."

  "Why did you come back here? To watch me die? To finish me off, perhaps?"

  "No. Thought I'd see if I could help."

  "Help? Why would you help me?"

  The gentle sound that came to Sarge's ear was recognizable as a human chuckle.

  "My thoughts are free now. I kind of like you, fella. Anyway, I'm the one who shot you. I didn't want to, but I couldn't stop myself. You guys have got too many devices to control your warriors. I don't like that. Power-packs and belts, it's not fair."

  "It is war."

  "Sure, and felgercarb smells like flowers. I want to know about those devices, and where my Vipers are, and how to get off this damn planet, and I figure you for just the chap who can tell me."

  "You think I'll tell you?"

  "Well, I don't know that. But it's worth a try, Sarge."

  "You want me to tell you now, as I die?"

  "No, not yet. And I don't think you're gonna die. We'll find you some help. What works with guys like you?"

  "If I could get to a river. There's a kind of herb . . ."

  Apollo stood up, glanced around.

  "Well, it's kind of a desert around here. Let's see what we can find."

  Sarge tried to sit up, but this time was no more successful than he had been on his previous tries. Apollo, stepping into his line of vision, gestured him back.

  "You can't walk. You'll start the bleeding again."

  "And how do you propose I—"

  "You just relax."

  When he felt ready, Apollo leaned down and put his arms under Sarge's back. He was able to force the large unwieldy creature into a sitting position. With a few more adjustments, he abruptly hefted Sarge onto his shoulder. When Sarge's body was settled, Apollo asked, "You all right? The bleeding didn't start again?"

  "I . . . I don't think so."

  "Good, I'd hate to stain this marvelous new uniform your enemy gave me."

  Taking a deep breath, trying to ignore the considerable weight of Sarge, Apollo started walking. After he had gone a few steps, he came to the still body of Tren. He kicked at it gently, hoping to bring the enemy soldier who had once saved him back to life. The body of Tren just shifted slightly at Apollo's kick. He was dead all right. Apollo regretted that. He would have liked to have known Tren better, but he didn't have time to mourn him. Making his hold on Sarge even tighter, he walked away from the debris of battle, hoping that a river would suddenly gush out of the ground.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Starbuck sat alone in the darkened Officer's Lounge. Moments ago, Tigh had come in and ordered everyone out of the room. The last one out had been Cadet Hera. She had blown him a kiss before departing. It was unusual, Starbuck thought, to be blown a kiss by a traitor. He rubbed his jaw where she had hit him. The woman surely did pack a wallop.

  Perhaps he was being shortsighted in thinking of Hera and the others as traitors. They had, after all, gone to great lengths to do what they thought right. They really wanted him to stay on the Galactica. But he wasn't discouraged by their interference. He would go. They'd have to lock him up to keep him here. Even that wouldn't do. He'd find a way out of any cell, any confinement, any restriction. He had conned his way through life; his abilities wouldn't fail him now.

  He would go.

  "Before you go, I'd like to talk to you, Starbuck."

  When he had gotten over his surprise at the way Commander Adama had sneaked up on him, Starbuck turned in his seat and said, "Ship legend's right."

  Adama took a chair next to him.

  "What particular ship legend is that?"

  "One that says never to listen for the commander's approach. If he wants it that way, you never hear him even when you know he's coming."

  Adama scratched his head, saying, "The crew does seem to like to impart supernatural powers to me."

  "I think we believe you have them, sir." Starbuck stared amiably at Adama for a moment before saying, "And how did you know I was planning to go?"

  "You left plenty of signs around."

  "Probably did. Well, what are you going to do? Chain me to the Galactica's mast?"

  "If I could, I would. But I know your determination, Starbuck. It's like a Viper without a pilot. Out of control, going straight, unturnable."

  Starbuck lightly tapped the table.

  "That's me, in a nutshell. Hot-headed Starbuck. Everybody's got the goods on old bucko. Transparent as a cockpit canopy." The muscles of his face seemed to tighten, and he said in a lower, grimmer voice, "I'm a lot more complicated than any of you think."

  "I know that." Adama's voice was quiet and sure.
>
  "Sir, please don't try to use psychology on me."

  "It wasn't psychology. It was truth, or at least my truth. You seem to forget, I was a hotshot pilot once. I know the breed. Starbuck, I miss Apollo—so much I can't sleep nights, so much I'm not even running the ship well. Tigh's doing all the real work, while I gaze into the starfield. Been thinking a lot about the way I was. I used to take any risk, fly in when everyone else was flying by. I had to become less . . . adventuresome when I assumed command positions, but I've never forgotten what the flying and risktaking felt like. I always knew I could die and somehow never cared. Now I have . . . different feelings about death. Anyway, Starbuck, like all people on the verge of old age, I want something of my youth back. I want to know again, if only for once, what it feels like to be a, well, a hotshot pilot."

  "I've seen your flying skill, sir. It's still considerable. Better than most of us."

  "You mean I fly a shuttle with the best of them."

  "Ah, you could probably outmaneuver me in a tight situation."

  "Not quite. Nobody starbucks Starbuck, that's what they say."

  "Except you, sir. Once in a while. Like when—"

  "Starbuck, we're going out after Apollo."

  It took a moment for Adama's words to sink in.

  "We, sir?"

  "The two of us. This is my bargain with you. We go out on standard mission regulations. I am in charge. When I say we return, then we return. I don't want any hotdogging flack from you, lieutenant. If we can't find Apollo, we both turn around and come back to the Galactica. Is that agreed?"

  "I . . . I don't know, sir. That wasn't exactly my . . . plan."

  "I realize that. But often we have to give up on a plan. This may be the time for you. Believe me, Starbuck, we will scour the sector. I won't give up easily."

  "I believe you. I just don't know if I—"