Richard Hatch - Battlestar Galactica 5 - Paradis

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Battlestar Galactica
Parasdis by Richard Hatch
Prologue
So long as the music was in his head, he knew what to do. He could fly
any mission and become one with his Viper. It was natural to put away
those parts of himself that might make him hesitate for that crucial
micron separating life from death.
It was impossible for a civilian to grasp what drove him. He had a
knack for letting go in that special way where he saved his life because he
didn't care.
Cylons did not understand a human warrior any better than a civilian
would understand him. Cylons were part of a true collective. A Colonial
warrior was an individual who chose to be part of a greater whole to serve
and defend every person's right to be free.
Personal survival meant nothing to a Cylon, but that was as much a
weakness as a strength. They had nothing to sacrifice.
This warrior was in love with life, as many women could testify. But he
was also ready and willing to throw that life away if he could damage the
enemy. That paradox enraged Imperious Leader. Mankind was made up
of creatures that could not be predicted.
Mankind produced warriors like Starbuck.
The women in his life ached to put music in him. But the music was
already there, a song of clear horizons and empty space; the beauty of a
blank radar screen after he had done his part emptying the sky of Cylon
fighters.
Starbuck had become an even more dangerous warrior as he grew
older. His love for his daughter, Dalton, made him braver, not more
cautious. Now he had more for which to fight!
The twenty-five yahren of suffering and dying in the long quest put steel
in his soul. He felt a greater appreciation for Apollo as his best friend grew
into the grueling responsibility of commander of the fleet after the death
of Adama.
Apollo had to worry about everyone in ways that Starbuck did not.
Apollo had to make decisions about those who would live and those
who would die. Starbuck only had to fight and be willing to die, if
necessary.
Across the great divide of leadership, the two men faced each other and
accepted their different duties. They both heard the same music—which is
not always true of leaders and those who must carry out orders. Apollo
would always have his warrior soul.
If Imperious Leader ever saw into the minds of these two men, he
would want to exterminate them before all other humans. He would
understand that they were even more dangerous than he first imagined.
Not all human beings would struggle to the end because of the love they
felt for their friends and their species. Only heroes do that.
The hardest kind of love pays any price for freedom. These men are
heroes. The tragedy is that they are not meant to live in any kind of
paradise.
Chapter One
There were too many eyes. That's what Baltar hated most about the
nightmares. The eyes followed him everywhere, like a skyeye. But these
things were all wet and living, not a robot camera. They were the many
cold eyes of Imperious Leader, followed by the watery eyes of Count Iblis in
human form. And finally they were the eyes of every person who had ever
died because of Baltar's betrayals! There were even the sorrowful
tear-filled orbs of his long dead parents.
Every single one of them judged him, again and again. But since there
were no ears to hear his protestations of innocence, only he could hear
himself. Baltar judged Baltar.
Each time he dreamed the nightmare, it lasted a little longer. And there
were variations, always for the worse. The dream sometimes began in the
past when he first stood before Imperious Leader and schemed against his
own kind. Although humanity had grown weary of a war stretching out
over a thousand yahren, the Cylons had no problem. They only functioned
well if provided with an unyielding purpose. Time meant nothing to them.
In the dream, Baltar was told more than the Cylons had ever revealed in
his actual experience of their peculiar hospitality. His sleeping mind was
every bit as curious as his waking self was when it had information. Did
the dream mean something? Had he uncovered the key to their alien
philosophy, and was trying to tell the secret to himself? Or could the
dreams be some form of communication from the Cylons?
"Baltar!" a voice thundered from the head of the Cylon leader, his
myriad eyes pulsing with malice. "You were the perfect ally against your
own people and do you know why?"
Baltar preferred not to answer. Instead, he fled down corridors without
end. He was cold. The corridors were dark, except for a sickly illumination
revealing jagged edges of a gray, metallic world. Then the Great Traitor
fell and tasted blood.
Lifting his hand to his face he could discern crimson droplets on his
fingers. The light became stronger and he could see the red spots rise from
his hand to form red eyes floating in front of him—the eyes of Imperious
Leader that would not leave him alone.
Again the other eyes, the damnable vast quantity of other eyes,
gathered around until they were as many as the stars in space.
He staggered to his feet and prepared to run some more. But then
something changed. Even in the dungeon of his sleeping mind he finally
refused to be intimidated.
He stood his ground. Baltar demanded that his own nightmare make
sense or go away! One by one, the eyes winked out until all that remained
were those belonging to Imperious Leader, whose monstrous head formed
silently around these little, dancing points of fire.
"Why was I the perfect traitor?" Baltar finally asked.
"Because you never loved," came the dry, sad answer.
The three-lobed brain of Imperious Leader could not abide human love.
No matter from how many directions the brain analyzed the problem,
co-existence was impossible with beings corrupted by such an emotion.
Love was unpredictable. It put the loyalty that one individual felt
towards another ahead of the group.
Love was anti-survival. Love was death. Love was hatred of any species
stupid enough to practice it.
"Cylons find you evil, Baltar, because you are dysfunctional—a special
case. You do not serve your own species, but you do have one Cylon virtue.
You do not let concern for any individual detract from your larger
purpose."
The dream sometimes ended there, with Baltar reliving his audience
with Imperious Leader aboard the Cylon base star, surrounded by
Centurions just waiting for the command to execute the lone human.
He got dizzy watching the searching eye in their helmets scanning for
enemies and then settling on him, pulse rifles pointed at his head.
Sometimes Baltar wished that he could reach out and blind the
universe. Then he could hide forever.
Beginning in the Ur cloud, the nightmares became increasingly more
bizarre. Now that the battlestar Galactica orbited Paradis, it felt as if
someone had pulled back a curtain to reveal more of the world that had
been left behind. While all the other Colonials prepared to explore a new
planet, Baltar was forced to look back. He didn't want to see what was
there, leering at him as if to say that he could never escape.
The voice from his past—the voice of Imperious Leader—haunted his
present: "Our purpose is no longer clear! We are nothing without one
purpose. There is a breed of Cylons that would choose another purpose!
This cannot be. There can be only unity in the Cylon Empire. Choice is
anathema! There cannot be a revolt of Cylons. It's as if we're dying from a
disgusting human cancer. Biological Cylons must not oppose technological
Cylons!"
There was despair in a voice that had never before expressed such an
emotion. "Not even a cogitator can solve the insoluble," it wailed. "The
problem is beyond the scope of ten Lucifers. What is this new force that
would rise up in a biological Cylon to resist the absolute supremacy of a
three-lobed leader? Can it be something you infected us with, Baltar?
Were you a carrier of love?"
"How could I be," he defended himself, "when only a moment ago you
were saying I have a Cylon virtue? If I'm a carrier, then hatred is my
virus!"
"Explain!" demanded Imperious Leader. "There are contradictions,
paradoxes, ironies. We do not appreciate such mental torment. Explain!"
Baltar didn't want to answer. It was his dream and he didn't have to
answer if he didn't want to! Especially not when another face was forming
to harass him with wicked questions. It was Count Iblis as the man had
been thousands of yahren in the past. He was stroking a loathsome
reptilian creature, his pet.
"You are not the greatest traitor to your kind," announced Iblis.
"That honor belongs to me. I found the planet Cylon and with genetic
engineering and advanced cybernetics gave birth to the ultimate enemy of
Man. How do you possibly compare to me?"
"I've never been in competition with you!" Baltar screamed. "Get out of
my mind, damn you. Find someone else to haunt!"
Each time the dreams became more detailed and he woke up feeling
worse, in cold sweats or with severe headaches.
This time he thought he was still dreaming because Athena was
standing by his sick-bed—Athena, whom he'd rather dream about than a
Cylon civil war!
As if to reinforce the feeling that he was still in a dream, Athena said:
"We have good news for you, Baltar. When you're fully recovered, we have
a job for you. You're going to be a teacher."
"It's a red sun," said President Tigh, peering into a scanner on the
bridge of the Galactica.
"An old sun," echoed Athena, checking out her monitor on the bridge of
the Daedelus.
The battlestars were having a conference call. They always did when
something was important. There was nothing more crucial than finding a
temporary home for the exhausted and damaged Fleet.
"One day I will write a poem dedicated to hydrogen," said Dr. Salik
wistfully, surrounded by his favorite scientific equipment.
Omegas, a bridge officer, exchanged glances with Rigel who took a
break from keeping track of the many ships converging on this quadrant
of space. Lately, the top science officer was behaving oddly. He wasn't as
boring as he used to be when he just did his job.
Tigh was in a poetic mood as well. "What do you mean, doctor?" he
prompted the older man.
Salik studied the screen showing the planet Paradis. The battlestars
were moving into parking orbits that matched the planet's period of
rotation. The period of analysis had begun, the fun part for the scientists.
Salik took advantage of his captive audience: "Paradis is a habitable
planet, with evolved life forms, but the odds are against that. You see,
when a star becomes a red giant, it swells up to many times its original
size and routinely devours any planets close to it. Before it swelled, the
planets closer in would have been in the habitable zone, and this planet
would have been too far from the star to be congenial to life. So it has only
become habitable since the sun entered its red giant phase, which means
that life evolved here quickly. Or, it evolved elsewhere and traveled here, or
was brought here, after the initial solar expansion."
"So what does this sun have to look forward to?" asked President Tigh.
Salik finished the impromptu lecture. "Impossible to say. Red giants
can be extremely stable and last for a half-billion years or more. Or, they
can go through cycles, shrinking down to the white dwarf stage, then
expanding again to the red giant. There can be many of these cycles before
the star ends its life. Given its size, I would say that it will end as a black
dwarf—cold and dark. However, it might be more energetic than that, and
end its life as a neutron star—impossibly dense and heavy."
"Let's not hang around for that," volunteered Troy, coming onto the
bridge of the Galactica.
"We always find interesting planets," said Athena. "Maybe that's a good
omen—maybe it means that ultimately we'll find Earth!"
Salik nodded. "When we do, I'll write my epic poem about hydrogen."
Now Tigh and Athena exchanged glances. There was nothing to do but let
the eminent scientist get it out of his system.
"Life has made a bargain with hydrogen, as well as carbon, nitrogen,
oxygen and sulfur. My point is that it would be a bleak and empty universe
without the hydrogen atom."
Tigh returned to the subject at hand. "Speaking of empty, Paradis is
anything but!"
"There seems to be an equal amount of water and land," said someone's
voice, deep in Salik's laboratory.
"That's promising," said Athena. "Maybe we won't have any more
problems with hunger. There's been too much privation among our
people. I'd rather face a thousand Centurions than starvation."
After their recent troubles, she spoke for all of them. Tigh pondered his
screens. "There is life on Paradis. And now we will add ourselves to that
biosphere."
"There is no evidence of high technology," said Abhug, a recent
addition to Salik's staff, an eager youth who spoke with a certain
smugness.
"We are still scanning for different life forms—flora and fauna," said
Athena. "Aren't you a bit premature with that assurance?"
The young scientist was unfazed. "The important thing is the lack of
evidence that anyone's down there who could resist us. There are no
satellites in orbit, no artificial spheres or visible architecture of any sort!
There is no evidence on the surface of cities or weapons systems."
Troy got into the act. "You're still jumping to conclusions. They could
be underground."
"Unlikely," countered Abhug. "With a hospitable environment, they
would have no reason to go underground. Seems to me this planet is ripe
for the picking, whether it's inhabited or not."
Tigh sighed. "Inform Commander Apollo of our current results. I hope
no one needs to sleep any time soon. Our work is just beginning. I want to
know everything that's down there."
"You mean before we check it out in person?" asked Athena with a
smile.
Tigh had enjoyed a reputation for vigilance ever since he'd been a
colonel. He added, "We know we can live down there. I want to know
about any microorganisms that might threaten us. I also want to know if
the place is as damned pristine as it appears because I don't think we
should import any diseases we can avoid with proper treatment first.
"Basically, we need to do yahrens of work in the next few days. Anybody
got a problem with that?"
No one did. "I appreciate your dedication," said the president. "And
cheer up. Sleep is overrated."
This was one of the good times for the Viper pilots—they all had a job
to do. Starbuck and Boomer and Bojay, Troy and Trays, Dalton, Sheba,
and all the rest—now had a chance to show their mettle in atmospheric
flight. Although they had racked up many more hours in space than in
atmospheres, the long quest for Earth had led them to several planets
where they'd had to hone their aerodynamic atmospheric flight skills.
Viper pilots adapted to anything and everything.
Apollo didn't begin the mission alone, but he wanted to go solo more
than any other flyer. He was ambivalent about his emotions when it came
to this. The responsible thing in a military operation was to hold
functioning units together. The man in charge had a special responsibility
to reign in the "loner" tendencies of all good fighters.
But those were rules for other times and places, before the Colonials
were reduced in numbers and set adrift in the universe. Now there were
only so many brave, able professionals to go around.
With Apollo giving the order, the Viper pilots split off from each other
and began the exploration of Paradis.
With the constant hum of his apex pulsar engine penetrating into his
bone marrow, Apollo grasped his navi-hilt and flew into the depths of the
atmosphere. It felt good.
The last time he flew, it had been to do battle in the Ur cloud.
Maneuvers in the cloud were the same as operating in space. Then he had
accelerated toward battle, convinced it was all over for him when he saw
the number of Cylon fighters bearing down.
Now he remembered that day in a place with no days. Whatever
Paradis had to offer, the dangers couldn't begin to approach the level of
risk in the Ur cloud. Paradis just had to be a vacation after that.
Apollo had promised himself that he would never be blinded in battle.
When he had flown into the cloud, hundreds of flashing spots in front of
his eyes suggested that fear of losing his sight was the least of his
problems. Each spot had been a Cylon fighter!
The odds of survival had been small. When the Chitain attacked in
force and inadvertently saved the Colonials, Apollo again appreciated what
his father had taught him long ago.
"Don't believe that the enemy of your enemy is your friend," Adama had
said when Apollo was only fifteen. "Wisdom lies in recognizing what
makes someone your enemy in the first place. If they wish to destroy you
even if you have done them no harm, they will be equally unjust with
others. They will make other enemies because it is in their nature. Form
your alliances on the basis of self-defense, not self-delusion! And don't
make the ultimate mistake of acting as your enemy does."
These were good words to carry with him as Apollo checked out this
new world. Adama had spoken thus to his son before the Great Betrayal
forced him to lead his people across the universe.
Apollo tried to live up to Adama's standards as the burden of command
came to rest on his shoulders. The Cylons taught a stern lesson. There was
no moral confusion in resisting an enemy that sought genocide.
Adama faced the harshness of life when he'd lost his son, Zac. The loss
of Zac had hurt Apollo as well, but the current Commander of the Fleet
had lost his father as well as his brother. With each loss, his commitment
to his sister grew. For Apollo, resistance to evil was entirely personal.
The Cylons made it easy to treat lesser opponents with a certain degree
of fairness—to put things in perspective. Adama's advice had served
Apollo well when dealing with Jinkrat and a rebellion born of desperation.
Starving men aren't the same as Cylons or Chitains.
As he explored Paradis, he hoped there would be no enemies. That
would make for a nice change.
Down below he witnessed the pleasant cloud formations in the
planetary atmosphere. They reminded him of the surreal experience of the
Ur cloud. As the Cylons and Chitain destroyed each other, a wave of energy
had been released that tore an opening in space-time. That fortuitous
cataclysm had allowed humanity to return to the universe of stars and
galaxies.
Once he was safely aboard the Galactica again, Apollo took time for a
brief meditation. His thoughts could have been encapsulated in this
prayer:
"Let us resist the enemy without becoming like him. Let us find a new
source of tylium and other supplies. Let us enjoy the good fortune of finally
escaping the Cylons. And if it's not asking too much, the next time I take
my Viper into a cloud, let it be composed of water vapor in the
atmosphere of a livable planet."
Sometimes prayers were answered.
The thin strands of wispy cloud racing by the Viper were all about life
as opposed to the blank negation of the Ur cloud. Apollo liked to be in a
thick soup of life. The current reports of the scientists were tantalizing, to
say the least.
Salik reported evidence of a humanoid life form that was in a primitive
stage. In other words, they didn't have high-tech. It was too soon to
estimate population size or draw any conclusions on how widely
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