Battlestar Galactica-05-Paradis

by Richard Hatch

  Gar'Tokk had nothing to say. He was like that sometimes. Apollo thanked the Lords of Kobol for the gift of silence. There would be plenty of words as they tried to solve this latest problem on a world called Paradis.

  They entered the makeshift prison and confronted the old Gamon midwife. Although she had mastered some of the Colonial language for her dealings with Cassie, she now spoke only in her native tongue. Perhaps the complexities of what she had to say required that linguistic choice.

  Then again, this might be her way of taking a stand against the Colonials.

  "I will find out why she took the child," promised GarTokk.

  If nothing else, Apollo had learned the gift of patience from his Noman friend. He waited as the two muttered back and forth in a language encapsulating secrets and private wisdom.

  Finally, GarTokk had the answer. "She took the baby to perform a special cleansing and healing ritual. She says that she recognized an evil presence within the child, and felt compelled to perform a tribal exorcism upon it."

  Apollo sighed. "I hadn't imagined it was anything like that."

  GarTokk didn't make it any easier on his old friend. "What would you say if I told you that I had the same feeling?"

  Apollo summoned the prison guard. "You may release this woman," he said.

  "I'm sorry, Commander," said the guard, "but I can't do that."

  GarTokk became rigid in a fighting pose that Apollo recognized. He gestured for the Noman to stand down.

  "Why can't you carry out my order?" Apollo asked.

  "This native is being held under civilian authority," the man answered glumly. At least he wasn't smug about it.

  "I see."

  The guard felt that he had to explain. "The Council will determine her fate."

  "And more besides," Apollo added, weary of going down a bitter path he'd traversed before.

  "Let's go," he said to GarTokk. They weren't going to start a revolution from this prison cell.

  The reality that he was no longer in command of civilian Colonials began to sink in. Apollo had dreaded this day. But this was no time for despair.

  It was time to formulate a plan. He got on the comlink and called up Starbuck and Boomer. He'd level with them. This was not a battle he could fight alone.

  And as long as he was choosing the right people to receive the unvarnished truth, he'd also have to let Cassie in on what he'd been told about the baby. No good would come of further dissembling. If he'd learned one thing from that old reprobate Baltar, it was that withholding information could be as damaging as conscious lying. There came a time when you had to take a stand with your friends.

  That meant his friends had to be let in on what he knew.

  Starbuck, Boomer and Apollo had a brief meeting and then headed on foot for the nearest construction site, just beyond the perimeter of the most recently finished portion of the city. Starbuck was the most current with his information.

  "The Gamon have been doing silent protests at certain construction sites. Ryis is stirring up his men and arming construction workers at those exact sites."

  "Just great," said Boomer. "This Ryis creep is turning into as big a problem as Baltar was in the bad old days."

  "We've got to stop that first shot being fired," said Apollo.

  "What is Tigh doing?" Starbuck asked.

  "He's been trying to remain above the fray," answered Apollo, grimly. "I don't blame him but we're past the point of no return. He's going to have take a stand."

  Even as they rushed past signs warning of deep holes and falling debris, they heard the sound of failure. They were too late. A hazard had been unleashed that no hard hat could protect against.

  A dozen Gamon fell to the ground, smoking craters where their chests used to be.

  The war was on. A new war. Not with Cylons. Not with the Chitain. This time there were no demonic monsters who'd declared a campaign of extermination against humanity.

  This time the Colonials were starting it. And the targets were humanoids who had extended their hands in friendship on a safe and welcoming world.

  Chapter Eleven

  President Tigh had learned one hard lesson in his tenure as a reluctant leader. The art of politics is not only about compromise. Timing is every bit as important as the substance of an agreement. Puttering around in his garden, he waited for the storm to come that would blot out the beautiful light of the red sun. This would not be a storm of cloud and rain and wind.

  The storm came in blood and fire. As he received the news of the massacre of the Gamon protestors, his heart sank. The moment had come for damage control. The president stood between the warriors and the civilians. He also spoke for the entire Colonial people in their dealing with the native population.

  His job was to fix the problem.

  He had a headache worthy of Baltar as he entered the cavernous boardroom in New Caprica City where all interested parties were meeting—with the exception of a representative of the Gamon, now that the precipitous actions of the construction workers had created a new enemy.

  Tigh thought that somewhere Count Iblis was laughing his evil head off!

  If access to power was the primary way in which to get what you want, then Ryis was outdoing himself with communications to Tigh. Whether in space or on Paradis, the head architect could always get a message through to Tigh. Endless requests for supplies, endless complaints about obstructionism from the warriors, a stream of vivid descriptions about every delay all added up to one thing: trouble. Tigh had assumed it was only a matter of time before something blew up in his face.

  He simply hadn't known what would be the trigger. The last thing he'd wanted was a calamity with the natives.

  As Tigh entered the new Council chambers, he paused a moment to drink it all in. Ryis had outdone himself building this new headquarters for the Council. If they were serious about living on the planet, he argued, they should have a seat of authority in New Caprica City equivalent in importance to what they expected on a battlestar.

  This was the first time Tigh had entered the chamber since Ryis finished it. There was a chandelier. The table was of a sturdy wood that the carpenters had polished to a high sheen. Glasses of water were set out for everyone, and a floral arrangement dominated the table.

  Tigh wasn't allergic to flowers. That was his only consolation as he took his seat at the head of the table. Apollo glared at him but said nothing. Tigh read the report from the Commander in silence. He then read a report from Ryis, who was late attending the meeting. No one seemed to object to that.

  "I appreciate you consolatory demeanor," Tigh addressed Apollo, recalling the many times in the past they'd had to extricate themselves from other problems that seemed insoluble.

  "We've had too much anger already," said Apollo. "We've gotten into this mess because of anger."

  Tigh scratched his chin. They were off to an interesting start. "You must understand that the Council represents the people. We have always striven to be democratic even during our greatest peril. The people in overwhelming numbers have made it clear that they wish to stay here and colonize the planet. They will not be moved in this decision by you and the warriors, or by opposition from the indigenous population."

  Apollo cleared his voice. "President Tigh, there is more than one issue here. The question of how long we stay on this planet is not the cause of our immediate problem. I make no secret of my commitment to the long range goal of finding Earth. But even if those on my side of the debate agreed that we should stay here forever, there are two difficulties.

  "The first is that we are guests of the Gamon. Whether they agreed to let us stay for a while or unto the tenth generation, we are violating the agreement we made with them when we insult their customs and reward their mildest opposition with wholesale slaughter."

  Tigh sensed tension in the room. He wasn't worried about regular members of the Council. But there were some warriors on his right and civilians on his left that gave him reason for conc
ern. He appreciated that they were separated by the table, making it that much harder for them to leap across the short distance and begin throttling one another.

  "And the second difficulty?" Tigh prompted Apollo.

  "We still don't know how much time this planet has left. The analysis of the red sun is not over."

  "I sometimes wonder if we'll have an answer to that question," the President lamented. "But this not meeting is not about that."

  "No, it isn't," Apollo admitted. "This is about the crime we have committed against the Gamon and what they'll have to say about all this. I notice that no representative of the natives is present."

  "How could they be," the president wanted to know, "when our policy toward them is the purpose of this meeting?"

  The commander of the fleet and the president of the Council allowed silence to settle over the room like one of the native's blankets. Finally, Tigh found the words he needed to say.

  "The Gamon will have to accept the fact that there is more than enough room on Paradis for all of us to live together in peace."

  Athena couldn't stop herself from laughing, although a disapproving stare from her brother cut it short. She bit her tongue and choked off the sound.

  "Live together in peace," Apollo echoed the words. "Wouldn't that be nice? Like we did with the Borellian Noman so long ago." He hesitated to say the next words because Gar'Tokk was present. "We came very close to genocide with the Nomen. Are we going to make the same horrible mistake all over again?"

  Tigh had imagined this conversation many times before. He had rehearsed what he must say. "Hopefully we have grown as a people since that low point in our history. We have learned from our mistakes."

  "I'm not so sure," said Apollo. "I'd like to pass the floor to Starbuck and let him tell this august company how much we've grown."

  Tigh recognized Starbuck, who didn't beat around the bush. He stood up and faced the Chair. "The construction crews fired on unarmed Gamon and killed them in cold blood." He sat back down again.

  Without waiting to be recognized, Boomer threw in, "A testament to our evolution as a species?"

  Tigh frowned. "I've been informed that they were becoming hostile and disrupting our crews."

  "Without weapons?" Apollo mocked the president's concern. "How much danger are they supposed to represent? Never mind that this is their world and we are here by their permission and invitation."

  Gar'Tokk might have remained silent, as he so often did on occasions of this kind. But he spoke now.

  "The Gamon will not permit you to build your technological monstrosities in places sacred to them. They never gave permission for that. They will die first."

  Gar'Tokk had nothing more to say but the spokesman for the other side chose that moment for a dramatic entrance. Apollo could tell that Ryis was enjoying his newfound popularity. If the man had had a cape, he would have thrown it over his shoulder.

  Apollo promised himself that he would turn to Baltar for insights into the psychology of Ryis, the man who would build Paradis.

  "Let them die!" said Ryis with a smile.

  "What?" was all Tigh could muster in response to so final a solution.

  Now there were ugly murmurs from others in the room; but none of that emotional violence came from a single warrior.

  "Survival of the fittest," Ryis continued. "That's the rule of nature, is it not? As that rule operates in the natural world they love so much, so let that rule prevail in this world we now share."

  "You're sick!" said Starbuck, his anger barely under control.

  "We'll see who's sick and who's the doctor," said Ryis.

  "The Grim Reaper is your doctor," Starbuck threw back.

  Before there was enough heat in the room to power a battlestar's reactor, Tigh attempted to regain control. "Gentlemen, if you have nothing more constructive to say, we can end this meeting right now."

  "My apologies to the Council," said Ryis. "I do have another argument to advance. It becomes more obvious every day that Apollo and his merry band no longer speak for the majority of us, if they ever did."

  "I have already raised the issue of democracy," said Tigh, "during the part of the meeting to which your absence was duly noted."

  Chastened, Ryis bowed his head. "Again, please accept my apologies. My duties have never been more demanding. I bring up the matter of a popular mandate because I'm sure that Commander Apollo would confuse the issue regarding the native population, as if they could exercise a vote affecting our fate."

  Apollo wasn't about to let him get away with that. "When we ignore their modest requests concerning our settlements, we violate their property, Ryis. What about contracts? What about treaties? How does one exercise a vote to disenfranchise others?"

  "This isn't a schoolroom," Ryis taunted him. "This is real life. We have suffered more greatly than any other people in the universe. We are chosen for great things. Now with the evidence that the Thirteenth Tribe once reached this planet, we have a greater claim to this world than the Gamon."

  "But what if the Gamon are descended from that tribe?" It was Tigh who spoke, expressing his thoughts out loud. So much had happened lately that it was impossible not to consider myriad possibilities.

  Ryis was taken aback by the president's remark. "These primitives?" he asked. "I suppose they might be descendants, but if that is the case they have degenerated. We have not!"

  Normally, Starbuck didn't care to speak at public meetings any more than Gar'Tokk, but Ryis pissed him off the same way Baltar used to. He almost spat out his words.

  "Hey, it's one thing to fight Cylons or any other enemy that wants to destroy us. But these people you killed have never been violent toward us. I believe in going all the way against an enemy that intends us harm, but today you made us a brand-new enemy. You are responsible for this, Ryis. We've acted like the Cylons and I'm ashamed of us."

  Ryis shook his head. "That's a poor analogy, warrior. The natives don't have the power to harm us."

  "That's no defense of the lethal actions taken against the natives," said the president. "My decision is that the construction workers were within their rights to use any means to remove the protestors, short of violence. I agree with Ryis that the terms of our agreement with the Gamon are too vague to allow them to interrupt important building projects; but I agree with Apollo that the killing of these Gamon was a grave error that will complicate our future relations with the native population."

  This statement was greeted with a profound silence that every politician and judge learns to appreciate. A little bit had been given to both sides. They were mulling it over, outraged that the other side had been granted anything but savoring the victory, however small, for their side.

  Apollo broke the spell. "I don't see how our suffering at the hands of the Cylons justifies bad treatment of the Gamon. That doesn't make any sense at all!"

  Ryis grinned and said, "It's our turn!"

  "Enough!" thundered Tigh. "This is not a debating society. We won't settle this today. I intend to convene a committee to investigate every detail of the regrettable incident and report back to me. Commander Apollo, you will be able to continue your presentation at the next Council meeting!"

  Sheba woke up with a start. Night had fallen. The last thing she remembered was staring up at the clouds of Paradis, thanking the Lords of Kobol for her survival. That had to be the best piece of flying she'd done in her entire career. But somehow a white cloud in the sky had suddenly transformed itself into the moon.

  She had never fallen asleep that quickly in her life. Landing the dead Viper had used up all of her resources. Delighted to be alive, her body had shut down and recharged. But as she woke up in the still night of Paradis, she became aware that she wasn't alone.

  A rustling in the leaves was not what Sheba wanted to hear. A thick odor assaulting her nostrils did nothing to settle her nerves. Worst of all, she had a shooting pain in her neck.

  If an animal was about to attack, could she m
ove swiftly enough to save her life? Was the pain a delayed injury from the whiplash she hadn't been able to avoid in the crash? Or was it only a trivial ache from lying on the hard ground all this time?

  Damn, she wished she hadn't passed out. She wasn't going to be any good to Dalton and the others if she found herself dinner for some carnivore of Paradis.

  The sound was coming nearer. Sheba inched her hand down her thigh. It would be just her luck if her blaster had fallen out. Her hand gripped the handle, trigger finger moving into its accustomed place. At least she would have a chance.

  The noise was closer. Any moment her visitor would be upon her. She hoped the teeth and claws wouldn't be too sharp.

  With a shout, she turned her head and unholstered the weapon. She figured that the noise and sudden movement would chase away most animals. She was grateful that her head turned and her arm worked. In addition to the welcome discovery that she wasn't paralyzed, there was the author of the noise.

  The Gamon woman stared at her. If Sheba's shout startled her, the woman did a fabulous job of hiding that fact. As for the Viper pilot lying on the ground, there were several aspects of the. woman that left Sheba nonplussed.

  This was the first native woman she'd ever met. She was also the first native in Sheba's limited experience who was plain dirty. The animal skins she wore actually stank, and were draped about her scrawny body in a careless fashion. All in all, she was a most regrettable specimen.

  The natives Sheba had met before were all tall males. Their eyes were clear and profiles angular. They had firm muscles without an ounce of fat. The clothes they wore were clean and multicolored, not the shapeless brown rags that Sheba saw before her in this wooded glen.

  But the important thing was that the woman did not seem to mean her any harm. In fact, she seemed eager to help. She held out a hand and Sheba took it.

  The woman helped the hero of many a space battle to her feet.

  Sheba wished that she'd studied the difficult native tongue or could establish a telepathic link with the woman. But there was nothing like that, and no way for Sheba to thank the woman.