CHAPTER ELEVEN

Cylon scout ships had once again detected a flaw in the camouflage force field of Battlestar Galactica and its ragtag fleet, and Imperious Leader was quite pleased to verify that the humans, their progress slowed almost to a standstill, had fallen right into his trap. It was obvious they were trying to stay out of the accuracy range of the laser cannon on Mount Hekla. It was time to prod Adama and his vile human forces. Turning to the ring of executive officers surrounding his high pedestal, he ordered:

“I wish to close in on the human fleet. Double our speed and inform our warriors to make ready. This will be the final battle. Send out one phalanx of the ghost ships to attack the fleet immediately. I want them frightened and aware we have discovered them.”

Satisfied with his strategy, he dispatched the officers. The ghost-ship phalanx should serve to confuse Adama’s fleet. The development of the pilotless warhead aircraft had been one of First Centurion Vulpa’s finest ideas. If Vulpa did succeed to the position of Imperious Leader, his technologically innovative abilities should be vastly improved by the addition of the third brain.

He reviewed the details of his plan, satisfied with the general outline of squeezing the humans between the Cylon pursuit force and the Mount Hekla weapon. Although there was no apparent reason to doubt, he decided to consult the Starbuck simulation again. Turning to the simulator, which he had not yet sent away from his pedestal, he stared at the telepathy-template and requested the simulacrum of the arrogant human lieutenant.

“Hi, chum,” the Starbuck simulacrum said after the outline of his body had solidified. Turning his attention back to the telepathy-template, the Leader ordered that the simulacrum have memory of their previous conversations.

“I’m still not going to help you,” the Starbuck said.

“You can’t avoid it. Your programming impels you to answer any question according to the knowledge we have accumulated about your real self.”

“You can take all your programming strips and eat them for breakfast, bug-eyes. Better than primaries any day.”

“Do you know about our pilotless aircraft?”

“Your ships are pilotless even when you guys are in them.”

Suppressing his anger, Imperious Leader turned toward the template and ordered that knowledge of the ghost ships be added to the simulacrum’s information. The Starbuck smiled as soon as the information was provided it.

“Trying to spook us, then. Nice play, I’ll give you credit.”

“Oh?”

“Sure. We humans have a natural tendency toward suspicion. Give us a force we can’t explain, or a strange shape drifting through the darkness, and we all feel a clutching in our chest, a shiver up our spine, and the urge to run for the hills.”

“Then the ghost ships will be a successful maneuver?”

The Starbuck appeared to think for a moment. The simulator was searching its data banks for an appropriate human-language response.

“Doubt it,” the Starbuck finally said.

“Why do you say that?”

“It’s like this: Adama. You can’t fool him with magic tricks. He ain’t like the rest of us. Sometimes he’s downright inhuman.”

“Then you believe he might not be, to use your word, spooked by our pilotless aircraft?”

“You might spook him a little, but you won’t scare him.”

“What is the precise difference in terminology?”

“Spooking requires merely a feeling that the object is mysterious; scaring requires that the object come up, smack you in the face, and convince you it’s out for your soul.”

“I do not follow that completely.”

“You never will, chum, you never will.”

“I believe our strategy will succeed.”

The Starbuck smiled.

“Best of luck,” it said.

Imperious Leader was surprised.

“You wish me luck?”

“What do I care? I’m only a simulation.”

Imperious Leader wondered for a moment if, since this simulacrum seemed quite insane, the real Starbuck was equally mad.