"What is it?" she asked Apollo.
"Incredible! This may be the largest underground Tylium mine
anywhere. Father was right about there being enough Tylium here.
There's enough here just in sight to fuel all our ships, run them half
across the universe. But..."
"But what?"
"I don't know exactly. For something like this to exist here
without us knowing that it had been reactivated, it's bizarre. Who uses
all this energy, and for what?"
An Ubbo-Sathla gave them a shove, guiding them toward the gruesome
bone bridge that crossed the large chamber.
"Where could Boxey be?" Serina said. "I'm so worried about him."
"Me too. If they've done anything to him, I'll..."
"Don't say it. I'm scared enough already."
The guards stopped at Nor's throne room and beckoned the two humans
inside. Apollo and Serina entered the queen's chamber.
At first Nor didn't notice them---or, in queenly fashion, waited a
royal mili-centon to recognize them. In the meantime, Serina was
fascinated by the layers of blood-red cloth that decorated the room, the
scurrying slaves performing all kinds of odd duties, the musicians
playing some tune that didn't sound at all musical but rather more like
an out-of-whack energizer. Finally, the queen looked up from her perch
upon a high pile or red velvet cushions.
"Captain Apollo of the battlestar Galactica, I presume?" she asked.
Her voice, although low-pitched, had a scratchy sound to it. Both Apollo
and Serina would have been astonished if they had known that, to the
Ubbo-Sathlas, Nor's voice was considered ethereally musical.
"Yes," Apollo responded.
"On behalf of my people, I bid you welcome to Carillon's Lot. I
assume you are impressed."
"Outraged might be the better word. Where is the boy?"
The gray-skinned, surreally beautiful humanoid formed a smile on her
black lips.
"Would you care to join him, Captain?"
"You bet I would, and if anything's happened to him, you'll answer
to the Colonies!"
Nor smiled again, nodded her head noncommittally and rose from her
plush cushions. Serina, already accustomed to the uniform shortness of
the Ubbo-Sathlas she had seen thus far, was astonished by the queen's
height. She towered over the other Ubbo-Sathlas. With a feline,
seductive walk, Nor led the way out of the royal chamber. Serina noted
that their guards fell easily into step behind them as she and Apollo
followed the queen out. As they made their way down the narrow corridor,
Serina leaned toward Apollo and whispered, "Did you see that wicked smile
on her face? Apollo, that woman knows the Colonies don't exist anymore!"
"I suspect as much," Apollo whispered back. "But let's not point
any accusing fingers just yet, okay?"
Nor led them into a small chamber and brought them to a halt. She
gestured toward one of the guards who sealed off the entranceway.
Immediately, they could feel the floor beneath them move.
"What's happening?"
"This must be their version of a turbo-lift, except it moves
sideways as well as up."
When the moving chamber had stopped, Nor ordered the guard to open
the door. Apollo and Serina, exchanging wary looks, allowed themselves
to be guided through the doorway. There were not at all prepared for
what confronted them now, a large banquet room teeming with movement,
reverberating with loud discordant music. Some Ubbo-Sathlas near them
danced, their arms twisting in rather graceful gestures. There was a
troup of jugglers. Serina had never imagined what intricate juggling
just two ordinary-looking human arms could accomplish. Banquet tables,
enormous and overflowing, displayed succulent-looking food that seemed to
represent the best of Colonial cuisine. It smelled wonderful and
reminded her of how hungry she had been for so long.
"Captain!"
Starbuck came toward Apollo, his hands held out in welcome. Other
eaters turned around to look. Jolly held a drumstick of something
clutched tightly in his chubby fingers.
"Boxey!" Serina called and was answered immediately. The boy jumped
off Boomer's knees and ran to Serina, embraced her.
"Good fortune is smiling on us," Starbuck said, lifting in toast a
flat, blue, hexagonally-shaped fruit.
"It's like nothing we could've dreamed of,"Jolly declared, the signs
of his joy foodstained all over his tunic. "They've got everything we
need and lots of it."
"And they're happy to share," Boomer said.
"It sounds like paradise," Serina said, her voice not as sure as her
words. Her hugging of Boxey was composed of equal parts of joy and
protection.
"Yes, it does," Apollo said, his wary eyes inspecting the lavishness
of the room.
Nor stepped forward and addressed her human guests.
"We are a communal order from birth. We all work. We all share.
There is no competition, no jealousy, no conflict. Only peace and
order."
"Perpetual happiness," Apollo observed. He wasn't sure whether Nor
perceived the irony of his inflection.
"Happiness is the goal of an immature species. All pursue it. Few
have it. None can sustain it. The Ubbo-Sathla is content. Our way is
better."
Serina could see a doubt in Apollo's eyes that was a match for her
own feelings.
"It seems to work for you," she said to the queen.
"For millenniums it has been so. Now, join us. Be our guests. Be
well fed, well entertained. What you need, merely ask for it. Be
content."
'She's not just a-kidding," Starbuck said. "You think this banquet's
a hum-dinger, wait'll you get a look at the gambling chancery a couple
levels above."
"Gambling chancery?" Apollo said.
"Yep. I'm on my way back there as soon as I get sustenance."
"Lieutenant Starbuck, there are people starving back on the fleet!"
"I know, I know, Captain. Ease off. These people're assembling
food for us right now. And fuel. Our problems are solved."
"It sounds good, Starbuck, but..."
"But nothing, Captain. C'mon, have you ever tried this orange wine?
Take a sip."
"I'll pass for the moment."
Nor, watching their conversation, smiled at the humans benignly. To
Apollo and Serina, the queen's smile seemed to contain just as much
mystery as ever. There seemed to be more meaning fin it than she was
willing to exhibit. Apollo had sensed a tone of command in her
invocations to enjoyment. Serina was not sure what she sensed, but
whatever it was, was cloying. She desperately wanted to return
aboveground, to be in the comforting, though spare, confines of the
Galactica.
*****
The centurions around Imperious Leader's pedestal transmitted
nothing but trivialites through the
ir communications webs. At
first-brain level, a Cylon hated inactivity. By the time he achieved a
second-brain, the Cylon hated confusion. Third-brain Cylons despised
both inactivity and confusion, but even more they hated triviality. The
centurion that he had dispatched to the planet Carillon's Lot to
rendezvous with their Ubbo-Sathla allies and to check out the rumors
about human ships in that sector had not yet reported in. The leader
felt dispised, as if he might decay if nothing important happened soon.
His mind was burdened with inconsequentialities that he didn't even
have to correlate. He kept finding himself making random connections
which, though accurate, were meaningless.
He remembered a conversation he had once had with a human prisoner.
The man had been a scientists, a short, someone plump fellow who fancied
long sideburns to conunter his thinning hair. Suspecting the man might
be a fit conversationalist for a Cylon, the leader had made some attempts
in that direction. While they talked theory and technology, their
communication level remained higher than that of the average inaction
between Cylon and human. However, the scientist had grown lethargic
after several days, and had begun to provide answers in a monotone.
When the Leader asked the reason for the scientist's change in mood,
the man tried to explain the concept of boredom to the Cylon. It was a
concept that was so loathsome to the leader that he refused to accept it.
He became quite incensed with rage. The man copied the Cylon's mood and
spoke back angrily, defending boredom as a common, even acceptable, human
trait. Nobody liked to be bored, the man said stridently, but it was a
necessary part of human life that often led to the kind of contemplation
which eventually resulted in revolutionary insights. Boredom could even
be beneficial for humanity, the man said. The Leader commented that,
since starting the discussion of boredom, the man seemed much less bored,
therefore talking about boredom must not be boring. The man screamed
that he was more bored than ever, that the Leader and all the rest of the
Cylons were such smug hypocrites with such infinitesimal variance in
attitude or personality that any sensible human could not help but be
bored after a few days in their company. Although the leader did not
believe in boredom as a useful or even genuine state, he resented the
man's claim of boredom in Cylon company, and he banished the scientis
from his presence forever. He had probably put the man to death,
although that was a piece of information that he would not have bothered
to preserve in any of his brains.
Now he wondered if such accumulations of trivial data as that under
which he presently suffered were roughly comparable to what that
scientist had called boredom. He did not have to consider this offensive
proposition for long, sinc esome important new information suddenly came
through. The centurion on Carillon's Lot had finally transmitted a
message. He had entranched himself in an underground cavern of the
planet, and was in communication with their Ubbo-Sathla allies. They had
told him that the humans had definitely arrived in the Carillon's Lot
sector. Some of them were already in Ubbo-Sathla sway, others hovered in
orbit around the planet on the battlestar Galactica and a few other
ships. Their fighter ships had destroyed large sections of the minefield
which the Cylons, by treaty arrangement with the Ubbo-Sathla, had
encircled the planet to protect the secret fuel supply which had been at
Cylon disposal ever since since they had originally enslaved the
Ubbo-Sathla and transported them to the uninhabited planet. The Leader,
satisified to be back in real action again, transmitted the order that a
large fleet of Cylon fighers on the planet Arrakis be put in readiness to
travel to Carillon's Lot sector. Then he relaxed, satisfied that what he
felt now---the waves of important information---was not in any way the
quality humanity endured under the name of boredom.
*****
In the viewer by Adama's desk, the image of the planet Carillon's
Lot appeared benign. The figures on the report in his hand confirmed the
wisdom of his decision to come here. Not only could they replenish food
and supplies easily, but they would obtain enough Tylium to power then
entire ragtag fleet for some time. Activating his private comline, he
began recording his log:
"The Ubbo-Sathla people have extended to the survivors of the
Colonies ever measure of goodness and support we might have hoped for.
It is now possible to forsee the entire fleet able to resume our voyage
soon, within a...
There was a knock on the door. Adama shut off the comline and
hollered, "Enter."
Colonel Tigh entered the room, looking troubled. Tigh was always
finding something to worry about, especially if the worriment could be
written up in a report.
"Nothing can be as bad as you look, Tigh. What's happened?"
"It's this report, sir, from the surface."
"It's a very optimistic report, Colonel."
"It's too optimistic. Zalto has everyone in the fleet breaking in
the bulkheads to get down to the surface, and none of them're
volunterring for the work details, either."
Adama had a mental picture of Zalto, doll tucked under his arm,
addressing the weary people left aboard the Galactica. The buritician
had a way of using his madcap charm with a political sense of strategy.
With the food stores so desperately low, it was no wonder they would
respond to Zalto's suggestions.
"Well," he said, "perhaps Zalto has a point. Perhaps we could allow
some of our people to visit the surface. In small numbers, an orderly
rotation. What's wrong, Tigh?"
Tigh cleared his throat before speaking again.
"I'm afraid it's too late for cautios plans, sir. Zalto's already
authorized visitor permits to half our population."
"Half the population! Countermand those orders immediately!"
"I'm afraid we can't. As a member of the Council, Zalto has the
right to make certain nonmilitary decisions. If you'd stayed on as
president..."
"Don't rub it in, Colonel." The commander sighed. "All right, do
what you can to stem the tides. How are the work parties coming?"
"Very well. Livestock're being well-fed and the first agricultural
growths have sprouted."
"All right, Colonel, carry on."
Adama considered what Tigh had told him. Zalto could not be allowed
so much political license, and it was dangerous to send so many people
down to the surface. Contingency plans would have to be devised. As he
picked up the electronic recording stylus to begin making notes, there
was another knock on his cabin door. He shouted, "Enter!" It was
Athena.
"Request permission to travel planetside," she said.
"Why are you asking me?" Adama asked. "I thought Sire Zalto was
&nbs
p; handing out permits like Yuletime gifts."
Athena reacted with surprise to her father's hostility, but said, "I
wouldn't go down there with his blessing on a bet, Father. And I won't
go if you say no."
He was about to reject her request, but something sad in her eyes
made him say, "It's all right. You might as well go. You need the
relaxation more than most, you've been working so hard."
"It's not relaxation I'm after."
"Oh? Starbuck again, is it?"
"Maybe."
"I know he's down there, and that he discovered that chancery. With
Starbuck, a chancery must have seemed his rightful gift from the gods. I
thought you were mad at him."
"I am."
"But---I think I can guess. That woman you caught him with. She's
in one of Zalto's visitor parties, isn't she?"
"Maybe."
"Well, give her hades."
"Is that to be interpreted as an order, Sir?"
"Give both of them hades, ensign."
"Yes, Sir!"
He smiled at the brisk way she turned on her heels and exited the
room.
As he took up the stylus again, his communicator buzzed. It was
Tigh.
"Fuel has begun to arrive by tanker-shuttles from the Ubbo-Sathla
Tylium mines, Sir."
"Why do I detect disturbance in your voice, Colonel?"
"The supplies are smaller than Captain Apollo arranged for. The
Ubbo-Sathla leader sent up some sort of flimsy excuse that they were't
prepared for such a large order just now. Yet, from the reports we've
had from Apollo and the others, that excuse doesn't seem justified."
"I see. Well, stay on top of it, Colonel."
The moment Tigh had signed off, Adama raised the stylus and began
writing furiously into the recording log. He felt the need for
precautionary measures even more. Extraordinary measures.
When he had finished outlining his contingeny procedures, he buzzed
Tigh.
"Yes, Sir?"
"Prepare my shuttle. I'm going down to the surface. I want to see
this paradise for myself."
"Sir, are you sure?"
"Are you suggesting I should get permission from Sire Zalto?"
"No, Sir! The shuttle will be ready."
Adama swiveled around in his chair, pleased at the tingling
sensation in his fingers, the feeling of blood pulsing through his veins.
He had not felt this ready for action in some time.
*****
From the Adama Journals:
I used to imagine paradise when I was a kid. While I don't remember
very many details of my image of the place, I know there were a lot of
toy airplanes and most everything was blue. My more adult visions of
paradise put me in the center with all I wished for available on call.