The Lost Warrior 06 - A Game of Pyramid
Title: The Lost Warrior
Author: Soledad
For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the secondary index page
Author’s notes:
The strange terms are partly from the series itself, partly from Karen's Battlestar Galactica Terminology page. Only the furling, a kind of ant-eater, is mine.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 06 - A GAME OF PYRAMID
The child was not afraid of the dark, gloomy forest - for him, the tall trees were like old friends. He’d learned to climb the knobbly trunks almost at the same time as he’d learned how to walk. He knew how to use the spiky vines the trees were girdled with like one would use a ladder. How to hide among the long leaves, further up, where the long spikes formed a second canopy, filled with fallen leaves. Small animals lived up there, scrawny and grey or brown like the trees themselves, and they never set foot on the ground. But if he climbed up to them, with nuts or died fruits, the little rodents came forth from their hiding places, accepted the treats and allowed him to play with them in exchange.
The Forest could be deadly for the unwary, that was true. The thorns could grow as long as the child’s arm, and they were hard like bone. Again and again happened that somebody walked into the Forest in a careless manner, overlooked one or two such deadly spikes, getting pierced through and never could come off again. It was a horrible death, sure, but that child knew how to avoid the thorns and thus never got hurt.
There were other perils, too, and some he’d had to learn at his own, bitter price. Like how you shouldn’t knock the thorns off their trunks, no matter how easy it might be to do from the right angle, with a sharp enough kick, unless you could descend the tree and run away really fast. The sap that leaked from the tree’s wound was thick and sweet like honey, but it attracted all kinds of crawlons whose touch caused a horribly itching rash; or apids and skeetons that, if they came in great numbers, could sting you to death. And they called to the field the long-snouted furling, a creature that fed on crawlons but had vicious claws on its thickly furred paws, and didn’t hesitate to lash out with them.
But if one knew what to stay away from, the Forest could be an exciting place. The small blue flowers sitting on the spiky vine were beautiful, and there was singing and merry chatter above the canopy of thorns, where the avians and other invisible animals dwelt, and once he’d ever seen a vulpine sneak around under the trees.
Yes, the Forest could be a wondrous place, and Isme didn’t mind letting him go there. On the contrary, she’d been the one showing him all the tricks around the trees, and she’d taught him how to run and vanish between them, should danger of any kind approach. No stranger would ever follow him there, she’d said, and from the people of the village, he had nothing to fear.
But today he couldn’t stay long. Today was his natal day, and Isme had promised to make him shorsa for dinner; and there would be presents, and perhaps the funny man who always told lots of jokes and showed tricks that amazed the other children to no end would come and visit them again.
He’d reached the rim of the Forest already when he heard the screaming. No, actually, he heard that high-pitched, whining nose first, awfully loud and threatening and so very different from the sad cries of the avians that couldn’t be heard anymore now. Just the screaming.
Above his head, silver wings zig-zagged all over the darkening sky, and there was fire everywhere, long, cruel tongues of hissing fire, licking along the little houses of the agrostation, so that they caught flame at once. And the people were running to and fro like headless gallidians, and he could see among them Isme, her lush dark hair matted with blood, shrieking, Run, Gabriel, run!
He ran. His legs took him back into the Forest, faster than he’d ever run before in his young life, and he kept running blindly, not looking where he put his feet, until they got caught in some creeping vine, and he fell and fell and fell…
… and sat upright in his bed, covered in cold sweat, his heart throbbing like the warp core of a great starship. All his limbs were trembling.
What the frack was this? He’d often dreamed about the thorn forest before, but hose had been pleasant dreams, about climbing the trees and collecting the blue flowers for his mother… they never ended like this. And who was Isme? Was she truly his mother? Why would he think his mother had been blond? He couldn’t remember any other woman from his childhood but Isme, she’d been in all those memories and all those dreams, and she was always safe and friendly and loving… She had to be his mother, hadn’t she?
What was this elderly voice speaking in his head, then, saying, She is blonde like your mother was?
What was happening to him?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“So,” Athena said languidly, curling up on the extremely comfortable couch in her living room, “it has been four days. Are you willing to let me in at least?”
“I don’t think that would be such a good idea,” Omega stared into his up of excellent kava thoughtfully. Athena rolled her eyes.
“Colonel,” she said, her voice taking on some of that icy quality she used when dealing with overprotective male relatives. “I’m not your little bridge officer anymore, you know. Or Father’s baby girl who needs to be shielded against he big, bad world. I’m a diplomat who gets to negotiate with alien dignitaries on behalf of our peoples. If the Vulcan ambassador can take me seriously and treat me as her equal, it shouldn’t be so hard for you, either.”
“Perhaps you are right,” Omega replied with a rueful grin. “I’m sorry. Old habits are hard to break.”
“Especially if they shouldn’t have become a habit in the first place,” Athena riposted, still a little annoyed. “Now, speak! What have you been up with the commodore and Salik and Jolly all these days? Your daughter certainly didn’t get to see you much; and you were supposed to give her moral support during this important time, not to dump her onto someone she barely knows.”
“That wasn’t how I’ve planned out this furlough, believe me,” Omega sighed. “But something came up. Something unexpected and very unsettling, and I had to check out possibilities and gather evidence and…”
“Stop right away,” Athena warned him sternly. “You’re obfuscating, and frankly, you’re not very good at it. What kind of evidence?”
“Concerning Starbuck’s loss,” Omega tried to dose the news carefully. “We were trying to figure out the exact circumstances of his disappearance.”
Athena’s eyes widened in surprise. “You think something was foul with it? But what can you hope to find out now? I mean, it’s been almost three yahrens, in another galaxy…”
“Oh, we have found out a lot of strange things all right,” Omega said grimly. “Just not the whys and the whos… and the hows.”
“But you do know now what happened to him?” Athena half-asked, half-stated.
Omega nodded. “Oh, yes. It turns out he was never truly lost, to begin with.”
“What?” Athena became deadly pale. “You’re not saying you’ve actually found him, are you?”
“That’s a matter of interpretation,” Omega sighed. “Let’s just say that I know where he is… I just don’t know who he is.”
“You’re talking felgercarb,” Athena told him succinctly. Omega sighed again.
“He’s alive, Athena, but he has no memories whatsoever about his former life,” he explained. “He created himself a new life and a new identity, and I really think we should leave him there for the time being. For his own safety.”
Athena digested that for a centon or two.
“All right,” she then said. “I'm buying… for now. Tell me everything - and I mean everything, even if you don’t think it’s important. I happen to know more about what’s going on on the Colonies than you.”
That might be true, Omega realized. As the Special emissary, she moved around a lot, and she had friends on practically every world. Some from Service, some due to her position as a daughter of a patrician family.
So he told her everything he’d learned - or guessed - in the recent days. Athena listened to him carefully, with the occasional question to clarify some details. When he’d finished, she was quiet for a while, putting away the various pieces of information to their respective places in that amazing biological database that was her mind. Omega had known the process from the time when they’d served together - he could practically see the cogwheels and relays moving in her head. She was an almost frighteningly smart woman, and Omega had learned not to be fooled by her beauty and easy-going manner.
You didn’t want Siress Athena as your enemy, unless you had a death wish.
“That was… informative,” she finally said. “Thank you, old friend. I can’t help you with the whos and the hows, but I believe I see now at least one of the whys.”
“You do?” Omega said in surprise. “Then you see more than I do.”
“Because you don’t look at the bigger picture,” she said. “Think, Omega: when did Starbuck get lost? No,” she forestalled his prompt answer, “I don’t mean the date. What had happened right before?”
“Ah!” suddenly, Omega felt like an idiot. “The Libran Rebellion!”
She nodded. “Right. Now, who was the orchestrator and the charismatic leader of the Libran Rebellion?”
Omega shrugged. “Why, Sire Gamesh, of course. And after he and his cronies got killed, the seat of the Libran Councillor went to poor Sire Togo, who, frankly, wasn’t up to the challenge.”
“Right,” Athena said. “And do you remember whom did the Quorum try to dig into the whole mess as a convenient scapegoat?”
“Colonel Tigh,” Omega replied. “He used to be shield brother to Sire Gamesh, after all, and Librans take that sort of thing very seriously. That’s why so many were inclined to believe that Tigh had known about Gamesh’s scheme and helped him.”
“Because they don’t know the ways of Libran shieldbrothers,” Athena corrected. “Before all else, the kardash swear an oath to protect each other. Gamesh would never have endangered Tigh’s life and position by getting him involved. Oh, I don’t doubt that Tigh would have supported him afterwards, had Gamesh managed to seize power and keep it, but he’d never have participated in overthrowing the legally elected government. He’s an honest, straightforward warrior, and Gamesh of all people knew it.”
“Well, the Quorum didn’t share your opinion,” Omega said. “I’ve been interrogated in this context myself, several times, by various Councillors and by Council Security.”
“I know,” Athena nodded, “I’ve had my own unpleasant encounters with Chief Reese. They were awfully eager to throw Tight to the lupines… and everyone else who was connected to him in any way. Sire Solon was temporarily removed from his position of Chief Opposer, even.”
“Well, he is the brother of Tigh’s late wife,” Omega pointed out reasonably, “so that, at the very least, was understandable. But in any case, they couldn’t find the slightest evidence, and they didn’t dare to make him a fake process. It would have revealed a few dirty secrets concerning how the Libran ships had been neglected all along the journey.”
“True,” Athena said. “What Gamesh did was foolish and out of the line, but we can’t state with good conscience that he had no reason for it. However, it was during the witch hunt against Tigh that Starbuck mysteriously vanished from the sensors and never reappeared.”
Omega didn’t like the possible connection at all.
“Do you think that someone abducted Starbuck in an attempt to create evidence against Tigh?” he asked.
“It’s a possibility, isn’t it?” Athena shrugged. “If someone didn’t know him well, that is. You and I know that Starbuck, irresponsible as he might be in small things, was a very loyal person - and his loyalties couldn’t be bought.”
Omega nodded in agreement. That would explain a lot of things… including the torture. But not everything. He couldn’t help the feeling that there must have been more. That so far, they’d barely scratched the surface of things.
“Of course, they couldn’t let him go afterwards,” Athena continued. “And just a few sectares later, Chameleon was found dead in his quarters on the Senior Ship. Isn’t that convenient?”
“You suspect termination?” Omega asked. “Interrogation said heart attack. He was an old man.”
“A very nosy old man,” Athena replied, “who often got in trouble for sticking that nose of his into other people’s business. Remember the affair with the Nomen? Perhaps he started asking the wrong questions again.”
“So, that means you know that he was Starbuck’s father, after all?” Omega asked.
Athena nodded. “Cassie told me - and Apollo - after his death. There was no need to keep it secret anymore.”
“There was no need to keep it secret in the first place,” Omega said angrily. “Starbuck has yearned for a family all his life - all orphans do. Even if that cowardly old daggit didn’t want parental responsibilities, Cassiopeia had no right to keep that knowledge from Starbuck.”
“Oh, I agree,” Athena said soothingly. “In fact, I gave Cassie a piece of my mind about it, and since then we don’t really speak. Bunt think about it: Chameleon lived on the Senior Ship, with a whole bunch of old people who had nothing else to do but plot and gossip. Some of them had been heads or members of rich, influential families, or else they wouldn’t have managed to get rescued to begin with. These people were used to money and power - would it be surprising if they wanted to get it back? And where could they have spun their nets more undisturbed than on the Senior Ship, well disguised among harmless, senile old people?”
“Unless you have an old con man with a way too mobile nose on your back,” Omega added. “Curiosity called the felix, as they say.”
“Exactly,” Athena agreed. “There are drugs that can simulate a heart attack so that no doctor would ever detect the difference. Some of them are even given to old people as medicine - in the right dosage. You just need to give someone a little too much, and…” she made an expressive gesture.
“That sounds awfully convincing,” Omega admitted glumly. “Unfortunately, that still doesn’t give us a clue who might be behind the whole scheme.”
“Not yet,” Athena said, “but perhaps Dr. Salik’s search will provide us with some evidence. Can you find a way to keep me informed? We both need to be on our toes - this is not over yet.”
“No, I don’t think so, either,” Omega said. “I’ll think of something, I promise. We must be very careful, though. This is a long-winded game, and if we don’t get all players at once, it might start anew, after a while.”
“Do you want me to inform Father and Apollo?” Athena asked. “I’m scheduled for a visit at the Planetary Council next secton anyway, so I can do it without drawing any undue attention.”
“Your father certainly,” Omega replied. “Apollo… I’m not sure. Without the calming presence of Boomer, he might do something foolish in his first wrath, and that could crush our hope to reveal this little - or perhaps not so little - conspiracy for good.”
“He has the right to know,” Athena reminded gently. “Starbuck was like a brother for him.”
“Which is exactly why I don’ want him to know just yet,” Omega said. “It’s not like Starbuck would recognize him anyway - and Apollo could endanger him unintentionally.”
Athena thought about it for a micron.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll tell Father and let him decide when to let Apollo in.”
“That could work,” Omega allowed. “I’ll keep you informed.”
“I certainly hope so,” Athena replied and Omega could see in her eyes that she meant it. “And now that we’re done with politics and conspiracies, let us go and get Aggie, before she thinks we’ve forgotten her.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Lieutenant Doe discarded two cards from his hand and received replacements from the dealer. He eyed his new constellation contentedly. Now he had a third level pyramid, consisting of three third level purple cards, two second level green cards and a first level card, also in purple. Which was a pretty good hand, all things considered - only a perfect pyramid of also the third level could still beat him.
Of course, the question was what might the other player - a short, rotund, easily irritated Tellarite construction worker - might have in the hand. The stakes were fairly high already. Whoever managed to win, he’d make a small fortune. The Tellarite (a surprisingly good player by the way) obviously was well aware of tat, as he was wriggling on his seat nervously.
The risks were twofold at the moment. Lieutenant Doe could spread his hand and demand to see the other player’s as well. If the Tellarite had a perfect pyramid, he was broke for good. No visits in the Carillon Bar for a while; or in any other place of the Arcade, for that matter.
He could wait another round, of course. But then he’d be risking that the Tellarite got better replacement cards and then achieve a perfect pyramid. Which would be just as bad in the outcome.
Nah, it was better to face reality now.
“I want to see it,” he said calmly.
The Tellarite gave him a smug grin and spread his cards. It was a third level pyramid, too, with three third level green cards, two second level orange cards and a first level green card.
“I won!” he declared with a self-satisfied grunt.
“I don’t think so,” Lieutenant Doe said in well-concealed relief and spread his own hand. “You forget that purple ranks highest and orange ranks lowest. Therefore, I won.”
And he began to collect his winnings - just to have a three-fingered hoof pin his hand to the table.
“You’ll leave that there,” the Tellarite grated, poking with his other hoof the human’s chest. “You’re a liar and a thief! I got more cards of the same colour. That’s better!”
“Yes, but only if all your cards are the same colour,” Lieutenant Doe tried to step back from the poking hoof; his ribs remained sensitive, even after a year and a half since they’d been fused together, and the Tellarite’s hoof was hard. “Then you’d have a perfect pyramid, and you’d have won. Since they’re not, I’ve won. So say the rules.”
“I know of no such rule!” the Tellarite roared. “You’re cheating, and I won’t allow that!”
He poked harder, accidentally hitting a sore spot - and that was when the human lost it.
They hit his already aching ribs with those Libran fighting sticks - he could feel his bones break. It hurt so much that he couldn’t suppress a wordless shriek of pain. They laughed. He knew if they hit him one more time, a broken rib might puncture his lung, and that would be the end of him.
Perhaps it would have been easier to let them kill him. He’d never leave this horrid place again; they wouldn’t let him, not now that he knew who they were. But giving up wasn’t in his nature, he’d not give them the satisfaction of an easy victory. If they wanted to kill him, they’d have to work harder on that.
With superhuman strength that only despair could have loaned his broken body, he lunged at his tormentor, fletching his teeth like a rabid lupine, with murder in his eyes. They’d overwhelm him in the end, he knew that, but before it came to that, he’d kill at least this one, so that he couldn’t boast about having broken him.
Somebody grabbed his upper arms, no, that were at least two people, and wrestled him away from his chosen prey. He didn’t want to let go, he had to kill at least this one, he had to make them pay for what they’d done to him… He tried to free himself, snarling and kicking and biting like a madman, but the hands holding him were strong, too strong, and he was so broken, barely alive…
When the darkness finally embraced him, he went willingly.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
He came to in a room he’d never seen before. It didn’t look like a prison cell; that was a relief in any case, but it wasn’t his own quarters, either. It looked like one of those cheap rent rooms visitors of the station could get for a few credits, the ones with those couches that could unfold into a real bed. He was lying on one of those couches, neatly tucked in and covered with a blanket. Strange…
There were other people in the room, sitting at the table in the middle. One was a big, heavy-set man, in the beige and brown uniform of a Colonial pilot, the other a blue-faced Andorian woman from Semiramis’ civilian constabulary. At least he recognized the Andorian as Constable Tarah, one of the ranking security officers of the station. The pilot was someone he’d never seen before. They were apparently discussing the recent events.
“You can also verify that Lieutenant Doe didn’t violate the rules of that card game?” the Andorian asked in that weak, dry voice of her kind.
The pilot nodded. “He played fair. I saw both hands spread on the table. The lieutenant had the same level of pyramid as the boray, but he had the better colours. He had the highest level cards in purple, and purple always ranks highest.”
“Do these facts stand written in the official rulebook?” the Andorian asked.
“Of course,” the pilot said. “And the rules are attached to each deck of pyramid cards that gets sold.”
“Why didn’t then…” the Andorian checked his notes. “Why did Mr. Gar not know them?”
“My guess is: he did,” the pilot answered with a scowl. “He’s a damn good player; too good to be unaware of the basic rules. He just didn’t want to lose all those credits and tried to intimidate the lieutenant by bullying him.”
“Well, he certainly didn’t succeed,” the Andorian remarked dryly. “The lieutenant very nearly killed him with his bare hands. Mr. Gar has a badly bruised windpipe and only a tracheotomy could save h is life. He’ll press charges, I’m sure about it, and that’ll be bad for the lieutenant.” She shook her head. “Frankly, I don’t understand why he reacted so… so brutally.”
“I think I do,” the pilot said quietly. “Check your security cameras, and you’ll see, too. The boray came up close and physical, but the lieutenant tried to calm him down at first, explaining the rules to him again.”
“What triggered the attack then?” the Andorian wondered.
The pilot shrugged. “I’m not really sure. The boray poked him in the chest, and it seemed that he was hurt by it. After the third or second time, the hoof must have hit a sore spot, I think. The lieutenant’s face went blank - I don’t think he even saw whom he was facing anymore - and then he lunged. I don’t know why, but I can tell you one thing: he was in blind panic. I’ve never seen anything like that in my life, and trust me, I’ve seen a lot.”
“Hmmm…” the Andorian was quiet for a moment, her antennae trembling with concentration. “You see, Sergeant,” she then said, “I was one of those who’d found Lieutenant Doe two years ago. I know in what shape he was and that he had most likely been badly mistreated. That’s why I came to investigate this case myself. I’m sure that some really traumatic memory was triggered by the Tellarite’s aggressivity. I’m willing to cut the lieutenant as much slack as possible, but I can’t ignore the facts. He has inured Mr. Gar severely. Something has to be done.”
“I’m willing to give testimony that the boray attacked him first, without reason,” the pilot said. “He overreacted, that’s true. But he was deadly afraid.”
“That might not help him much when the Tellarite pressed charges,” the Andorian said.
The pilot glared at her. “Then you should see that he doesn’t. The last thing the lieutenant needs right now is an investigation.”
The Andorian wiggled her antennae nervously. “That’s not that simple, Sergeant. Personally, I have no sympathy to waste on Tellarites , no Andorian has, but Mr. Gar is justified to press charges. The lieutenant, as you’ve said yourself, has overreacted.”
“It was the boray who started the overreacting,” the pilot riposted. “He falsely accused the lieutenant of cheating, and he was the one who laid hand - well, hoof - on the lieutenant first.”
“I understand that,” the Andorian blew out a frustrated sigh. “But the fact is, the Tellarite nearly died, and the lieutenant isn’t even hurt.”
“Not physically, perhaps,” the pilot grumbled, “but he’s in a very bad shape. Even a blind man can see that.”
The Andorian shrugged. “We’re talking in circles, Sergeant. This conversation brings us nowhere. I’ll hand in my report to Commodore Hunter - she’ll have to decide what needs to be done about the lieutenant. Good day!”
She collected her notes and left. The pilot walked over to the couch, squatted down and looked at his guest worriedly. He had a plain, round face, like that of a friendly, overfed dog, kind brown eyes and a thick moustache.
“Hey,” he said gently. “I see you’re awake. How do you feel?”
“Awful,” Gabriel, who wasn't feeling a bit like Lieutenant Doe at the moment, admitted. He truly felt so… so lost. “I think I had a nightmare… or something like that.”
“Not a nightmare,” the pilot said, “a flashback of some sort. It must have been really bad - you went completely insane with panic in a micron and almost killed that boray.”
“Oh, no…” Gabriel groaned, closing his eyes. He’d always known that could happen, the doctors had warned him, but he’d managed to avoid an incident like that… so far.
“You don’t remember, do you?” the pilot asked kindly.
“Not a thing,” Gabriel admitted, “not since I came back from patrol around noon. Damn, and I was getting better - or so I thought.”
“Perhaps you are getting better,” the pilot said. “Flashbacks usually mean that buried memories are starting to resurface.”
“I wouldn’t consider it getting better if I attack people and don’t even remember,” Gabriel replied dryly. “Can you tell me what happened, in a nutshell?”
The pilot did him the favour, and he groaned again in despair.
“If the commodore hears that, she’ll take me off the squadron,” he worried.
“You’re jumping to conclusions,” the pilot said soothingly.
“Am I?” Gabriel asked. “You’re a pilot yourself; you know that only stable people can be trusted in the cockpit of a one-man-fighter. Can you imagine the effort it cost me to get there in the first place? Tests, simulations, shrinks poking around in my head… If they take me of now, I’ll never get back.”
“Let’s hope it won’t go so far,” the pilot encouraged him. “I’ve already promised to give testimony that you were provoked. And I’m sure my colonel will put in a word for you by the commodore if I ask him.”
“Why would he?” Gabriel asked gloomily. “And why would you, for that matter? Why did you interfere in the first place? You don’t even know me!”
“True,” the pilot sighed. “But firstly, that boray tried to cheat you out of your winnings, and I can’t stand people like him. And secondly… you remind me of a good friend I’ve lost during our flight.”
Gabriel accepted that with a mental shrug. Only a fool would refuse help if it was given freely. Then something occurred to him.
“Hey, does it mean I can actually keep the credits I’ve won? Not that they’d be of any use in prison,” his face fell at the realization. “Do you think they’ll put me in prison? I… I don’t think I could bear that…”
He felt the panic rising in his chest again, tightening his throat, but the pilot grabbed his shoulders with those large, warm hands - it felt oddly comforting.
“Don’t lose it again, man!” he said. “You’re not in a cell yet, and you won’t get there if I can help it. Now, will you calm down, so that I can let go of you and give my colonel a call? He’ll know what to do.”
Gabriel swallowed hard, several times, then nodded. The pilot let go of him, went to the comm unit on the wall, next to the door, and punched in a code.
“Colonel, this is Jolly,” he said. “Sir, we have a problem here.”
Colonial terms:
agrostation - farm
apid - hive insect, "bee"
avians - all sorts of birds
boray - pig-faced, aggressive aliens; an insult
crawlon - something like a spider, or probably an ant
felix - a small domestic animal, "cat"
furlough - military leave
furling - ant-eater, a moderate sized mammal feeding on insects
gallidian - some kind of domestic fowl, "hen"
kava - a popular beverage, "coffee"
lupine - a predator hunting in packs, "wolf"
natal day - birthday
pyramid - a game of cards and chance
skeeton - noxious biting insect, probably a mosquito
shorsa - a sweet pudding, rich and creamy
vulpine - a small predator, like a fox
Chapter 07 - The Forced Hand
Author: Soledad
For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the secondary index page
Author’s notes:
The strange terms are partly from the series itself, partly from Karen's Battlestar Galactica Terminology page. Only the furling, a kind of ant-eater, is mine.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 06 - A GAME OF PYRAMID
The child was not afraid of the dark, gloomy forest - for him, the tall trees were like old friends. He’d learned to climb the knobbly trunks almost at the same time as he’d learned how to walk. He knew how to use the spiky vines the trees were girdled with like one would use a ladder. How to hide among the long leaves, further up, where the long spikes formed a second canopy, filled with fallen leaves. Small animals lived up there, scrawny and grey or brown like the trees themselves, and they never set foot on the ground. But if he climbed up to them, with nuts or died fruits, the little rodents came forth from their hiding places, accepted the treats and allowed him to play with them in exchange.
The Forest could be deadly for the unwary, that was true. The thorns could grow as long as the child’s arm, and they were hard like bone. Again and again happened that somebody walked into the Forest in a careless manner, overlooked one or two such deadly spikes, getting pierced through and never could come off again. It was a horrible death, sure, but that child knew how to avoid the thorns and thus never got hurt.
There were other perils, too, and some he’d had to learn at his own, bitter price. Like how you shouldn’t knock the thorns off their trunks, no matter how easy it might be to do from the right angle, with a sharp enough kick, unless you could descend the tree and run away really fast. The sap that leaked from the tree’s wound was thick and sweet like honey, but it attracted all kinds of crawlons whose touch caused a horribly itching rash; or apids and skeetons that, if they came in great numbers, could sting you to death. And they called to the field the long-snouted furling, a creature that fed on crawlons but had vicious claws on its thickly furred paws, and didn’t hesitate to lash out with them.
But if one knew what to stay away from, the Forest could be an exciting place. The small blue flowers sitting on the spiky vine were beautiful, and there was singing and merry chatter above the canopy of thorns, where the avians and other invisible animals dwelt, and once he’d ever seen a vulpine sneak around under the trees.
Yes, the Forest could be a wondrous place, and Isme didn’t mind letting him go there. On the contrary, she’d been the one showing him all the tricks around the trees, and she’d taught him how to run and vanish between them, should danger of any kind approach. No stranger would ever follow him there, she’d said, and from the people of the village, he had nothing to fear.
But today he couldn’t stay long. Today was his natal day, and Isme had promised to make him shorsa for dinner; and there would be presents, and perhaps the funny man who always told lots of jokes and showed tricks that amazed the other children to no end would come and visit them again.
He’d reached the rim of the Forest already when he heard the screaming. No, actually, he heard that high-pitched, whining nose first, awfully loud and threatening and so very different from the sad cries of the avians that couldn’t be heard anymore now. Just the screaming.
Above his head, silver wings zig-zagged all over the darkening sky, and there was fire everywhere, long, cruel tongues of hissing fire, licking along the little houses of the agrostation, so that they caught flame at once. And the people were running to and fro like headless gallidians, and he could see among them Isme, her lush dark hair matted with blood, shrieking, Run, Gabriel, run!
He ran. His legs took him back into the Forest, faster than he’d ever run before in his young life, and he kept running blindly, not looking where he put his feet, until they got caught in some creeping vine, and he fell and fell and fell…
… and sat upright in his bed, covered in cold sweat, his heart throbbing like the warp core of a great starship. All his limbs were trembling.
What the frack was this? He’d often dreamed about the thorn forest before, but hose had been pleasant dreams, about climbing the trees and collecting the blue flowers for his mother… they never ended like this. And who was Isme? Was she truly his mother? Why would he think his mother had been blond? He couldn’t remember any other woman from his childhood but Isme, she’d been in all those memories and all those dreams, and she was always safe and friendly and loving… She had to be his mother, hadn’t she?
What was this elderly voice speaking in his head, then, saying, She is blonde like your mother was?
What was happening to him?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“So,” Athena said languidly, curling up on the extremely comfortable couch in her living room, “it has been four days. Are you willing to let me in at least?”
“I don’t think that would be such a good idea,” Omega stared into his up of excellent kava thoughtfully. Athena rolled her eyes.
“Colonel,” she said, her voice taking on some of that icy quality she used when dealing with overprotective male relatives. “I’m not your little bridge officer anymore, you know. Or Father’s baby girl who needs to be shielded against he big, bad world. I’m a diplomat who gets to negotiate with alien dignitaries on behalf of our peoples. If the Vulcan ambassador can take me seriously and treat me as her equal, it shouldn’t be so hard for you, either.”
“Perhaps you are right,” Omega replied with a rueful grin. “I’m sorry. Old habits are hard to break.”
“Especially if they shouldn’t have become a habit in the first place,” Athena riposted, still a little annoyed. “Now, speak! What have you been up with the commodore and Salik and Jolly all these days? Your daughter certainly didn’t get to see you much; and you were supposed to give her moral support during this important time, not to dump her onto someone she barely knows.”
“That wasn’t how I’ve planned out this furlough, believe me,” Omega sighed. “But something came up. Something unexpected and very unsettling, and I had to check out possibilities and gather evidence and…”
“Stop right away,” Athena warned him sternly. “You’re obfuscating, and frankly, you’re not very good at it. What kind of evidence?”
“Concerning Starbuck’s loss,” Omega tried to dose the news carefully. “We were trying to figure out the exact circumstances of his disappearance.”
Athena’s eyes widened in surprise. “You think something was foul with it? But what can you hope to find out now? I mean, it’s been almost three yahrens, in another galaxy…”
“Oh, we have found out a lot of strange things all right,” Omega said grimly. “Just not the whys and the whos… and the hows.”
“But you do know now what happened to him?” Athena half-asked, half-stated.
Omega nodded. “Oh, yes. It turns out he was never truly lost, to begin with.”
“What?” Athena became deadly pale. “You’re not saying you’ve actually found him, are you?”
“That’s a matter of interpretation,” Omega sighed. “Let’s just say that I know where he is… I just don’t know who he is.”
“You’re talking felgercarb,” Athena told him succinctly. Omega sighed again.
“He’s alive, Athena, but he has no memories whatsoever about his former life,” he explained. “He created himself a new life and a new identity, and I really think we should leave him there for the time being. For his own safety.”
Athena digested that for a centon or two.
“All right,” she then said. “I'm buying… for now. Tell me everything - and I mean everything, even if you don’t think it’s important. I happen to know more about what’s going on on the Colonies than you.”
That might be true, Omega realized. As the Special emissary, she moved around a lot, and she had friends on practically every world. Some from Service, some due to her position as a daughter of a patrician family.
So he told her everything he’d learned - or guessed - in the recent days. Athena listened to him carefully, with the occasional question to clarify some details. When he’d finished, she was quiet for a while, putting away the various pieces of information to their respective places in that amazing biological database that was her mind. Omega had known the process from the time when they’d served together - he could practically see the cogwheels and relays moving in her head. She was an almost frighteningly smart woman, and Omega had learned not to be fooled by her beauty and easy-going manner.
You didn’t want Siress Athena as your enemy, unless you had a death wish.
“That was… informative,” she finally said. “Thank you, old friend. I can’t help you with the whos and the hows, but I believe I see now at least one of the whys.”
“You do?” Omega said in surprise. “Then you see more than I do.”
“Because you don’t look at the bigger picture,” she said. “Think, Omega: when did Starbuck get lost? No,” she forestalled his prompt answer, “I don’t mean the date. What had happened right before?”
“Ah!” suddenly, Omega felt like an idiot. “The Libran Rebellion!”
She nodded. “Right. Now, who was the orchestrator and the charismatic leader of the Libran Rebellion?”
Omega shrugged. “Why, Sire Gamesh, of course. And after he and his cronies got killed, the seat of the Libran Councillor went to poor Sire Togo, who, frankly, wasn’t up to the challenge.”
“Right,” Athena said. “And do you remember whom did the Quorum try to dig into the whole mess as a convenient scapegoat?”
“Colonel Tigh,” Omega replied. “He used to be shield brother to Sire Gamesh, after all, and Librans take that sort of thing very seriously. That’s why so many were inclined to believe that Tigh had known about Gamesh’s scheme and helped him.”
“Because they don’t know the ways of Libran shieldbrothers,” Athena corrected. “Before all else, the kardash swear an oath to protect each other. Gamesh would never have endangered Tigh’s life and position by getting him involved. Oh, I don’t doubt that Tigh would have supported him afterwards, had Gamesh managed to seize power and keep it, but he’d never have participated in overthrowing the legally elected government. He’s an honest, straightforward warrior, and Gamesh of all people knew it.”
“Well, the Quorum didn’t share your opinion,” Omega said. “I’ve been interrogated in this context myself, several times, by various Councillors and by Council Security.”
“I know,” Athena nodded, “I’ve had my own unpleasant encounters with Chief Reese. They were awfully eager to throw Tight to the lupines… and everyone else who was connected to him in any way. Sire Solon was temporarily removed from his position of Chief Opposer, even.”
“Well, he is the brother of Tigh’s late wife,” Omega pointed out reasonably, “so that, at the very least, was understandable. But in any case, they couldn’t find the slightest evidence, and they didn’t dare to make him a fake process. It would have revealed a few dirty secrets concerning how the Libran ships had been neglected all along the journey.”
“True,” Athena said. “What Gamesh did was foolish and out of the line, but we can’t state with good conscience that he had no reason for it. However, it was during the witch hunt against Tigh that Starbuck mysteriously vanished from the sensors and never reappeared.”
Omega didn’t like the possible connection at all.
“Do you think that someone abducted Starbuck in an attempt to create evidence against Tigh?” he asked.
“It’s a possibility, isn’t it?” Athena shrugged. “If someone didn’t know him well, that is. You and I know that Starbuck, irresponsible as he might be in small things, was a very loyal person - and his loyalties couldn’t be bought.”
Omega nodded in agreement. That would explain a lot of things… including the torture. But not everything. He couldn’t help the feeling that there must have been more. That so far, they’d barely scratched the surface of things.
“Of course, they couldn’t let him go afterwards,” Athena continued. “And just a few sectares later, Chameleon was found dead in his quarters on the Senior Ship. Isn’t that convenient?”
“You suspect termination?” Omega asked. “Interrogation said heart attack. He was an old man.”
“A very nosy old man,” Athena replied, “who often got in trouble for sticking that nose of his into other people’s business. Remember the affair with the Nomen? Perhaps he started asking the wrong questions again.”
“So, that means you know that he was Starbuck’s father, after all?” Omega asked.
Athena nodded. “Cassie told me - and Apollo - after his death. There was no need to keep it secret anymore.”
“There was no need to keep it secret in the first place,” Omega said angrily. “Starbuck has yearned for a family all his life - all orphans do. Even if that cowardly old daggit didn’t want parental responsibilities, Cassiopeia had no right to keep that knowledge from Starbuck.”
“Oh, I agree,” Athena said soothingly. “In fact, I gave Cassie a piece of my mind about it, and since then we don’t really speak. Bunt think about it: Chameleon lived on the Senior Ship, with a whole bunch of old people who had nothing else to do but plot and gossip. Some of them had been heads or members of rich, influential families, or else they wouldn’t have managed to get rescued to begin with. These people were used to money and power - would it be surprising if they wanted to get it back? And where could they have spun their nets more undisturbed than on the Senior Ship, well disguised among harmless, senile old people?”
“Unless you have an old con man with a way too mobile nose on your back,” Omega added. “Curiosity called the felix, as they say.”
“Exactly,” Athena agreed. “There are drugs that can simulate a heart attack so that no doctor would ever detect the difference. Some of them are even given to old people as medicine - in the right dosage. You just need to give someone a little too much, and…” she made an expressive gesture.
“That sounds awfully convincing,” Omega admitted glumly. “Unfortunately, that still doesn’t give us a clue who might be behind the whole scheme.”
“Not yet,” Athena said, “but perhaps Dr. Salik’s search will provide us with some evidence. Can you find a way to keep me informed? We both need to be on our toes - this is not over yet.”
“No, I don’t think so, either,” Omega said. “I’ll think of something, I promise. We must be very careful, though. This is a long-winded game, and if we don’t get all players at once, it might start anew, after a while.”
“Do you want me to inform Father and Apollo?” Athena asked. “I’m scheduled for a visit at the Planetary Council next secton anyway, so I can do it without drawing any undue attention.”
“Your father certainly,” Omega replied. “Apollo… I’m not sure. Without the calming presence of Boomer, he might do something foolish in his first wrath, and that could crush our hope to reveal this little - or perhaps not so little - conspiracy for good.”
“He has the right to know,” Athena reminded gently. “Starbuck was like a brother for him.”
“Which is exactly why I don’ want him to know just yet,” Omega said. “It’s not like Starbuck would recognize him anyway - and Apollo could endanger him unintentionally.”
Athena thought about it for a micron.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll tell Father and let him decide when to let Apollo in.”
“That could work,” Omega allowed. “I’ll keep you informed.”
“I certainly hope so,” Athena replied and Omega could see in her eyes that she meant it. “And now that we’re done with politics and conspiracies, let us go and get Aggie, before she thinks we’ve forgotten her.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Lieutenant Doe discarded two cards from his hand and received replacements from the dealer. He eyed his new constellation contentedly. Now he had a third level pyramid, consisting of three third level purple cards, two second level green cards and a first level card, also in purple. Which was a pretty good hand, all things considered - only a perfect pyramid of also the third level could still beat him.
Of course, the question was what might the other player - a short, rotund, easily irritated Tellarite construction worker - might have in the hand. The stakes were fairly high already. Whoever managed to win, he’d make a small fortune. The Tellarite (a surprisingly good player by the way) obviously was well aware of tat, as he was wriggling on his seat nervously.
The risks were twofold at the moment. Lieutenant Doe could spread his hand and demand to see the other player’s as well. If the Tellarite had a perfect pyramid, he was broke for good. No visits in the Carillon Bar for a while; or in any other place of the Arcade, for that matter.
He could wait another round, of course. But then he’d be risking that the Tellarite got better replacement cards and then achieve a perfect pyramid. Which would be just as bad in the outcome.
Nah, it was better to face reality now.
“I want to see it,” he said calmly.
The Tellarite gave him a smug grin and spread his cards. It was a third level pyramid, too, with three third level green cards, two second level orange cards and a first level green card.
“I won!” he declared with a self-satisfied grunt.
“I don’t think so,” Lieutenant Doe said in well-concealed relief and spread his own hand. “You forget that purple ranks highest and orange ranks lowest. Therefore, I won.”
And he began to collect his winnings - just to have a three-fingered hoof pin his hand to the table.
“You’ll leave that there,” the Tellarite grated, poking with his other hoof the human’s chest. “You’re a liar and a thief! I got more cards of the same colour. That’s better!”
“Yes, but only if all your cards are the same colour,” Lieutenant Doe tried to step back from the poking hoof; his ribs remained sensitive, even after a year and a half since they’d been fused together, and the Tellarite’s hoof was hard. “Then you’d have a perfect pyramid, and you’d have won. Since they’re not, I’ve won. So say the rules.”
“I know of no such rule!” the Tellarite roared. “You’re cheating, and I won’t allow that!”
He poked harder, accidentally hitting a sore spot - and that was when the human lost it.
They hit his already aching ribs with those Libran fighting sticks - he could feel his bones break. It hurt so much that he couldn’t suppress a wordless shriek of pain. They laughed. He knew if they hit him one more time, a broken rib might puncture his lung, and that would be the end of him.
Perhaps it would have been easier to let them kill him. He’d never leave this horrid place again; they wouldn’t let him, not now that he knew who they were. But giving up wasn’t in his nature, he’d not give them the satisfaction of an easy victory. If they wanted to kill him, they’d have to work harder on that.
With superhuman strength that only despair could have loaned his broken body, he lunged at his tormentor, fletching his teeth like a rabid lupine, with murder in his eyes. They’d overwhelm him in the end, he knew that, but before it came to that, he’d kill at least this one, so that he couldn’t boast about having broken him.
Somebody grabbed his upper arms, no, that were at least two people, and wrestled him away from his chosen prey. He didn’t want to let go, he had to kill at least this one, he had to make them pay for what they’d done to him… He tried to free himself, snarling and kicking and biting like a madman, but the hands holding him were strong, too strong, and he was so broken, barely alive…
When the darkness finally embraced him, he went willingly.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
He came to in a room he’d never seen before. It didn’t look like a prison cell; that was a relief in any case, but it wasn’t his own quarters, either. It looked like one of those cheap rent rooms visitors of the station could get for a few credits, the ones with those couches that could unfold into a real bed. He was lying on one of those couches, neatly tucked in and covered with a blanket. Strange…
There were other people in the room, sitting at the table in the middle. One was a big, heavy-set man, in the beige and brown uniform of a Colonial pilot, the other a blue-faced Andorian woman from Semiramis’ civilian constabulary. At least he recognized the Andorian as Constable Tarah, one of the ranking security officers of the station. The pilot was someone he’d never seen before. They were apparently discussing the recent events.
“You can also verify that Lieutenant Doe didn’t violate the rules of that card game?” the Andorian asked in that weak, dry voice of her kind.
The pilot nodded. “He played fair. I saw both hands spread on the table. The lieutenant had the same level of pyramid as the boray, but he had the better colours. He had the highest level cards in purple, and purple always ranks highest.”
“Do these facts stand written in the official rulebook?” the Andorian asked.
“Of course,” the pilot said. “And the rules are attached to each deck of pyramid cards that gets sold.”
“Why didn’t then…” the Andorian checked his notes. “Why did Mr. Gar not know them?”
“My guess is: he did,” the pilot answered with a scowl. “He’s a damn good player; too good to be unaware of the basic rules. He just didn’t want to lose all those credits and tried to intimidate the lieutenant by bullying him.”
“Well, he certainly didn’t succeed,” the Andorian remarked dryly. “The lieutenant very nearly killed him with his bare hands. Mr. Gar has a badly bruised windpipe and only a tracheotomy could save h is life. He’ll press charges, I’m sure about it, and that’ll be bad for the lieutenant.” She shook her head. “Frankly, I don’t understand why he reacted so… so brutally.”
“I think I do,” the pilot said quietly. “Check your security cameras, and you’ll see, too. The boray came up close and physical, but the lieutenant tried to calm him down at first, explaining the rules to him again.”
“What triggered the attack then?” the Andorian wondered.
The pilot shrugged. “I’m not really sure. The boray poked him in the chest, and it seemed that he was hurt by it. After the third or second time, the hoof must have hit a sore spot, I think. The lieutenant’s face went blank - I don’t think he even saw whom he was facing anymore - and then he lunged. I don’t know why, but I can tell you one thing: he was in blind panic. I’ve never seen anything like that in my life, and trust me, I’ve seen a lot.”
“Hmmm…” the Andorian was quiet for a moment, her antennae trembling with concentration. “You see, Sergeant,” she then said, “I was one of those who’d found Lieutenant Doe two years ago. I know in what shape he was and that he had most likely been badly mistreated. That’s why I came to investigate this case myself. I’m sure that some really traumatic memory was triggered by the Tellarite’s aggressivity. I’m willing to cut the lieutenant as much slack as possible, but I can’t ignore the facts. He has inured Mr. Gar severely. Something has to be done.”
“I’m willing to give testimony that the boray attacked him first, without reason,” the pilot said. “He overreacted, that’s true. But he was deadly afraid.”
“That might not help him much when the Tellarite pressed charges,” the Andorian said.
The pilot glared at her. “Then you should see that he doesn’t. The last thing the lieutenant needs right now is an investigation.”
The Andorian wiggled her antennae nervously. “That’s not that simple, Sergeant. Personally, I have no sympathy to waste on Tellarites , no Andorian has, but Mr. Gar is justified to press charges. The lieutenant, as you’ve said yourself, has overreacted.”
“It was the boray who started the overreacting,” the pilot riposted. “He falsely accused the lieutenant of cheating, and he was the one who laid hand - well, hoof - on the lieutenant first.”
“I understand that,” the Andorian blew out a frustrated sigh. “But the fact is, the Tellarite nearly died, and the lieutenant isn’t even hurt.”
“Not physically, perhaps,” the pilot grumbled, “but he’s in a very bad shape. Even a blind man can see that.”
The Andorian shrugged. “We’re talking in circles, Sergeant. This conversation brings us nowhere. I’ll hand in my report to Commodore Hunter - she’ll have to decide what needs to be done about the lieutenant. Good day!”
She collected her notes and left. The pilot walked over to the couch, squatted down and looked at his guest worriedly. He had a plain, round face, like that of a friendly, overfed dog, kind brown eyes and a thick moustache.
“Hey,” he said gently. “I see you’re awake. How do you feel?”
“Awful,” Gabriel, who wasn't feeling a bit like Lieutenant Doe at the moment, admitted. He truly felt so… so lost. “I think I had a nightmare… or something like that.”
“Not a nightmare,” the pilot said, “a flashback of some sort. It must have been really bad - you went completely insane with panic in a micron and almost killed that boray.”
“Oh, no…” Gabriel groaned, closing his eyes. He’d always known that could happen, the doctors had warned him, but he’d managed to avoid an incident like that… so far.
“You don’t remember, do you?” the pilot asked kindly.
“Not a thing,” Gabriel admitted, “not since I came back from patrol around noon. Damn, and I was getting better - or so I thought.”
“Perhaps you are getting better,” the pilot said. “Flashbacks usually mean that buried memories are starting to resurface.”
“I wouldn’t consider it getting better if I attack people and don’t even remember,” Gabriel replied dryly. “Can you tell me what happened, in a nutshell?”
The pilot did him the favour, and he groaned again in despair.
“If the commodore hears that, she’ll take me off the squadron,” he worried.
“You’re jumping to conclusions,” the pilot said soothingly.
“Am I?” Gabriel asked. “You’re a pilot yourself; you know that only stable people can be trusted in the cockpit of a one-man-fighter. Can you imagine the effort it cost me to get there in the first place? Tests, simulations, shrinks poking around in my head… If they take me of now, I’ll never get back.”
“Let’s hope it won’t go so far,” the pilot encouraged him. “I’ve already promised to give testimony that you were provoked. And I’m sure my colonel will put in a word for you by the commodore if I ask him.”
“Why would he?” Gabriel asked gloomily. “And why would you, for that matter? Why did you interfere in the first place? You don’t even know me!”
“True,” the pilot sighed. “But firstly, that boray tried to cheat you out of your winnings, and I can’t stand people like him. And secondly… you remind me of a good friend I’ve lost during our flight.”
Gabriel accepted that with a mental shrug. Only a fool would refuse help if it was given freely. Then something occurred to him.
“Hey, does it mean I can actually keep the credits I’ve won? Not that they’d be of any use in prison,” his face fell at the realization. “Do you think they’ll put me in prison? I… I don’t think I could bear that…”
He felt the panic rising in his chest again, tightening his throat, but the pilot grabbed his shoulders with those large, warm hands - it felt oddly comforting.
“Don’t lose it again, man!” he said. “You’re not in a cell yet, and you won’t get there if I can help it. Now, will you calm down, so that I can let go of you and give my colonel a call? He’ll know what to do.”
Gabriel swallowed hard, several times, then nodded. The pilot let go of him, went to the comm unit on the wall, next to the door, and punched in a code.
“Colonel, this is Jolly,” he said. “Sir, we have a problem here.”
Colonial terms:
agrostation - farm
apid - hive insect, "bee"
avians - all sorts of birds
boray - pig-faced, aggressive aliens; an insult
crawlon - something like a spider, or probably an ant
felix - a small domestic animal, "cat"
furlough - military leave
furling - ant-eater, a moderate sized mammal feeding on insects
gallidian - some kind of domestic fowl, "hen"
kava - a popular beverage, "coffee"
lupine - a predator hunting in packs, "wolf"
natal day - birthday
pyramid - a game of cards and chance
skeeton - noxious biting insect, probably a mosquito
shorsa - a sweet pudding, rich and creamy
vulpine - a small predator, like a fox
Chapter 07 - The Forced Hand