Battlestar Galactica 14 - Surrender The Galactica!

by Glen A. Larson

  Boxey wondered for a moment if an army with such an exalted name as the Warrior Elite would accept a runaway like him into its ranks.

  "I was an engineer once, for a while, but I refuse to have anything to do with the Warrior Elite scum," the old man said. "As for the other side, they're a mixed lot, and many of them are derelicts like me."

  "And you fight with them?" Boxey asked, wide-eyed.

  The old man laughed and ruffled Boxey's hair. "Ah, the fierce, warlike desires of the young. No, Boxey, I don't belong to either side. Why should I? I want to be a loner. I don't want to have the responsibility of another life in battle, either my compatriot's or an enemy soldier's. This war, in fact, doesn't have very many battles because so many of us are unwilling to fight. The more militant fellows tend to occupy and amuse each other with their little games. It isn't a particularly violent war. As you could see, they don't use dangerous weapons, merely planks and pipes, that sort of thing. Most of it is a lot of talking and the occasional push, the ambush and the confrontation, not much more than that. My policy, and yours I'd suggest, is to avoid the fights."

  "I'm not afraid to fight!"

  "And I'm sure you mean that, kiddo, but this isn't your war and it's best for you to keep out of it. Come, let's get to a safe place."

  The old man led Boxey and Muffit through a strange maze of corridors and gloomy dark pathways, beneath the walkways with their passive, mysterious observers, past dark places in which shadowy figures seemed to skulk.

  Eventually the old man stopped at a door and pulled a long thick key out of his tunic. Opening the door, he checked inside first before allowing Boxey and Muffit in. After Boxey had taken a few steps into the dark room, the old man suddenly pushed him against the wall. For a moment, Boxey wondered if the old man intended now to kill him.

  "What is it?" Boxey said.

  "Ssshh. Somebody out there, moving along the corridor. Just be still."

  The footsteps became louder and stopped near the door. Boxey watched the doorknob revolve a quarter turn, then someone tentatively peek around the edge of the door.

  "Anybody home?" the intruder said. It was the voice of a child.

  The old man's body relaxed and he stepped happily toward the figure in the doorway. "Peri! You had me scared there."

  "Didn't mean to. I always sneak everywhere. You know that, buster."

  "Yes, I know. I don't know why you don't keep away, stop bothering me."

  Peri entered the room. Her hand touched a switchplate by the door and a tiny light in the ceiling lit up. She hadn't seen Boxey yet, so he studied her. She was a small girl, probably about his age. Her hair was a dark blond, or perhaps its darkness was caused by the many streaks of dirt and grease in it. Her features were small, a little pug nose and thin mouth. Her face was round and there was a certain toughness in the set of it. Her body was thick, kind of squat, and she walked with a swagger. He had never seen anyone like her. He knew only the few well-groomed and polite children of the Galactica.

  She walked right up to the old man and poked him in the chest with a round stubby finger. "You know you like to see me, fatso. I been looking all over for you. Where was you?"

  Why, Boxey wondered, did she call the old man fatso when he was so thin? Everything seemed upside down and turned around down here in the Devil's Pit.

  The old man's voice became stern, although it was clear to Boxey that he spoke to the girl with affection. "At least speak grammatically. Say, where were you."

  Peri's voice changed, too. Its sound was regal and fancy. "Where were you, my Lord Hotshot?"

  "It is rude of you to ask."

  "I like being rude. It's my style."

  "You are exasperating." This time the old man sounded as if he meant what he said.

  "Better believe it, buster."

  Muffy, his sensors responding to the feigned angry sounds in Peri's voice, yelped. Peri, startled by the sound, whirled around, her body going into a battle crouch. Muffit pranced into the faint pool of light and stopped a few feet from her. The tension left her body, and she stood and stared down quizzically at the android-daggit.

  "What is this thing?" she asked. "It looks like a badly designed stuffed animal, a toy factory reject."

  Boxey, furious, leaped out of his hiding place. "He ain't what you said. He's a daggit. He's my daggit!"

  Peri laughed. Boxey was insulted by the sneer in her laughter. "That's a daggit? Come on! I seen lots of daggits in my time. That ain't a daggit! Daggits don't have metal necks."

  Boxey's face got red. He realized that he'd been thinking of Muffit as a real daggit for so long that he'd forgotten the creature's origins.

  "Well," he said sheepishly, "he's not a real daggit. My real daggit got killed. There aren't any real daggits left. Dr. Wilker made him for me."

  "Who the pits is Dr. Wilker?"

  The girl's forthrightness disconcerted Boxey. When he tried to speak again, he stuttered. For a moment, while the girl waited with an amused look, he couldn't say a sentence. Finally he said, "He's the ship's chief scientist. He heads the laboratory where—"

  "Chief scientist? Where?"

  "Of this ship! Of the Battlestar Galactica!"

  Peri turned to the old man and jerked her thumb toward Boxey. "This character comes from the speckled skies?"

  "Speckled skies?" Boxey asked.

  "That's Devil's Pit terminology for the rest of the ship," the old man said. "I don't know where the term originates. I suppose because there is nothing more below us. All of the ship is above us; thus, skies. Speckled? Well, there's a lot of shifting light in the high ceilings out there. It might look speckled to some."

  "It sure does, buster," Peri said.

  "Buster?" Boxey said. "Is your name Buster?"

  The old man appeared to be piqued by the trouble Peri was causing him. "Don't be ridiculous. Nobody would be named Buster. This is just this absurd child's way of referring to people. Don't mind it. Ignore it. Ignore her, in fact."

  "Aren't you two friends?"

  Peri's new laugh was more insulting and scornful than her earlier one. "No such thing as friends down here." She jerked her head toward Boxey in the same deliberate way she'd gestured with her thumb. "What's the baby's name?"

  "I'm not a baby," Boxey said petulantly.

  "Have it your way. What's your name, big fellow?"

  "Boxey."

  "Say again?"

  Boxey mumbled his name the second time and drew another hearty, sneering laugh from Peri. "That ain't a name, that's a description of a Cylon scout cruiser."

  Boxey's body shook with anger. "What do you know about Cylon scout cruisers?"

  "Saw one in a book. I steal books from the ship library."

  "But the library is near the top level of the Galactica."

  Peri shrugged. "I sneak around this scow like nobody's business. I been to every part of the ship and nobody's ever noticed me."

  The old man chuckled. "I don't know if that's anything to brag about, Peri."

  "This baby's name is really Boxey?"

  "Apparently."

  "Stop calling me a baby."

  "Stop bellowing like one."

  The old man stepped in between the two battlers. "Children, let's stop this petty squabbling and see about something to eat."

  Peri shrugged and took a stroll around the room. Suddenly she turned and pointed toward Muffit. "What's the toy monster's name?"

  Boxey started to protest her calling his pet a toy monster, then decided to just answer her. "Muffy. Muffit, really."

  Peri's face took on a look of surprised innocence. "You call him Muffy?"

  "Yes."

  "Does he sleep beside you in bed and do you snuggle him?"

  Although sometimes he did, Boxey replied, "No."

  Peri grunted, then crouched down beside Muffit. "He's kinda cute, actually. Ugly for an animal, but cute for an android copy."

  Boxey fumed at her words but he remained silent. The old man led the chi
ldren to a wall, where he punched some old creaky-sounding buttons on a rusting panel. Boxey recognized the setup as a quickfood dispenser. There were dispensers all around the ship, used by the crew when there was no time for more formal meals. This one made some awful grinding noises and belched out some oily smoke, but suddenly the panel opened and a steaming tray of food emerged from it. Boxey saw it was no different from the kind of trays that popped out of other quickfood dispensers on the Galactica. The old man took the tray out and gently, like a waiter serving posh clientele, set it on the floor.

  "Some time ago I discovered this quickfooder still works," he said. "Only me and Peri know about it."

  "And I'm never tellin', that's for sure."

  There wasn't much taste in the mushy food on the meal tray, but they were all too hungry to care. Boxey and Peri, still at odds, didn't talk much to each other. The old man dominated the dinner conversation. While he was forceful and energetic in expressing himself, even a bit flamboyant, Boxey noticed a lot of bitterness in what he said. He evidently had been in the Devil's Pit for some time and was disgusted with the recent changes.

  As the old man returned the food tray to the still open panel, sounds of commotion came from the corridor. The old man placed his finger to his lips. "Keep still, the both of you."

  They heard weapons clanging against each other and yells of battle. To Boxey the fight sounded fierce. Occasionally there was a yelp of pain as a weapon evidently made contact with a body. There were many thumps against the wall.

  The door suddenly sprang open and a body flew in backwards. The old man gestured for Peri and Boxey to make themselves small. Boxey pressed his body against the wall. The warrior got up off the floor and rushed out of the room.

  There was some light in the corridor, and Boxey could see some of the battle framed in the doorway. One warrior hit another with a long pipe. The victim fell backward, out of sight. His place was taken by another warrior with a wooden sword who managed to bruise his enemy's arm with a solid blow. Someone yelled fiercely and many warriors, now chasing their enemy, ran past the doorway. Nobody looked into the room where Boxey and the others crouched. Soon the corridor was silent. The old man stepped away from the wall, his shoulders dropping in relief.

  "I hate these close calls," he said. "Whew! I was really scared there when that clown stumbled in here."

  "Ah," Peri said, "I would've whacked him on the head if he seen us."

  "If he saw us. Can't you master even that simple piece of grammar?"

  Peri hissed at the old man. "Forget it! I'm going."

  Holding her head high, like an insulted princess, she started to stride out of the room. A scruffy-looking warrior, all hair and bloated flesh, suddenly appeared in the doorway. "I thought I heard somethin' in here. How'dcha do, cutie?"

  "Get killed, soldier."

  "Don't be insolent, little one. I'll spank you."

  The warrior grabbed Peri. She struggled in his arms but he was too strong for her. She managed to bite him on his filthy upper arm, but even that did not make him let her go.

  Yelling, Boxey ran right up to the warrior. He leaped up and punched the warrior hard on the point of his chin. At the same moment, Muffit lunged forward and bit the warrior in the thick of his hairy calf. Muffit's teeth were made of tempered steel and he could bite better than any real daggit.

  Startled by both attacks, the warrior shrieked and unceremoniously dropped Peri to the floor. Peri winced as her backside connected with the metal flooring, but she sprang up immediately and rammed the warrior's stomach with her head. She and Boxey continued to rain blows on the warrior while Muffit chewed violently on his leg, drawing blood. Stumbling, the warrior tried to back out of the room. Boxey hollered to Muffit to stop biting the leg. The injured, terrified warrior ran from the room.

  Peri smiled at Boxey. "You got a good right hand for a puny type, Boxey."

  Boxey didn't know whether to be pleased or insulted. Waving jauntily, Peri walked out the door. "I owe you one, Box old chap."

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Hera brooded in a corner of the classroom while Cassiopeia delivered a lecture on basic hygiene to a group of attentive and well-groomed children. Athena, the teacher for this class period, sat with the children. She frequently let Cassiopeia know the lecture was going well by giving her an encouraging nod.

  Still seething from her frustrating confrontation with Starbuck, Hera could not keep her concentration on Cassiopeia's words. The unfortunate incident had so enraged her that she'd become rude to everyone around her. Cassiopeia had invited her along for the hygiene lecture just to get her mind off her anger. It was clear even to Cassiopeia, who glanced at Hera from time to time during her talk, that the strategy hadn't worked. Hera was still brooding.

  Cassiopeia concluded her presentation. "And so, boys and girls, the best offense against illness is to treat it as the enemy in a war."

  "Like the Cylons!" one of the children yelled gleefully.

  Cassiopeia smiled. "Yes, like the Cylons. And just as dangerous. Now, what are the rules about taking care of your health?"

  Children responded enthusiastically as Cassiopeia pointed to them.

  "Eat your primaries."

  "Get plenty of sleep every rest period."

  "Exercise according to the cadet workout book."

  "Go to Life Center and see the doctor whenever you do feel sick."

  "Take your medicine with a smile."

  Cassiopeia led the children in saying together, "Help everybody to help others!"

  "Very good, class. Thank you for listening to me so politely. Your teachers must be very proud of you."

  As Cassiopeia stepped away from the lectem, Athena rose, walked to the front of the class, and announced, "No homework for next class." The children cheered. "That will be all for now. Dismissed."

  Some children stayed behind to ask Cassiopeia a few questions. Others rushed out of the room with the eagerness of schoolchildren everywhere, falling over each other, joshing, shouting. After the last students had left the room, Cassiopeia remarked, "They're a real handful, Athena. I don't know how you do it."

  "Well, it's only one class for a short time every fifth duty-period. It's not really enough time for them. They have to do so much on their own. But I do what I can."

  "Yes, and you lecture on tactics at Cadet Academy, and keep up your own studies and write manuals, and in your spare time spend long tours of duty on the bridge helping run the ship. A light schedule, I suppose. You're a wonder, Athena. Don't know how you do it."

  "Oh, stop. You work just as hard. Anybody'd do it. And, as for this class, they're marvelous children."

  She walked to a chair that had been empty during the class and ran her hand along its back. Cassiopeia touched the desk in front of it. "Where Boxey sat, huh?"

  "Yes."

  "No word about him?"

  "Nothing."

  "They'll find him."

  Athena's eyes misted over. "I just hope nobody's got hold of him, nobody's hurting him."

  Cassiopeia put her arm around Athena. "He can take care of himself. The kind of worry you got, well, that sort of thing just doesn't happen on the Galactica."

  The two women lapsed into an awkward silence. Athena started to rearrange the rows of chairs. Cassiopeia glanced over at Hera, who hadn't moved from her brooding position. She ambled over to her. "You look like you just earned your degree in Gloom and Doom. Did my little presentation depress you that much?"

  Hera didn't seem to understand the question for a moment, then her eyes cleared and she said, "Oh? Sorry. No. I liked your talk. You have a way with children. You should have some."

  Sometimes the Vailean's frankness surprised even Cassiopeia. "Wait, let's not get carried away because I've got a small sense of show business."

  "Wouldn't you like children?"

  "Well, yes, I guess. I wasn't brought up to want to have children, but I guess I could like it."

  Cassiopeia thought about her da
ys on Gemon as a socialator. She'd been trained to serve others, to be an adjunct to society but not quite a part of it. Socialators had had to follow strict regimens, go by traditional rules, follow time-honored customs. It had been a comfortable, and even fulfilling life, but it had not been a free one. Here on the Galactica she had a freedom that would have been denied her on Gemon. She was working in a career of her own choice, rather than restricted to a cult that her parents had sold her into. She could also be friendly with anyone she wanted, and not those to which she was assigned. And, yes, as Hera had said, she could have children here, a privilege that was denied socialators on Gemon.

  "I don't know if I'd want to have children," Hera said. "Look at where you'd be bringin' 'em up. Inside a ship. This is no kind of home for kids. We don't even know if we'll ever reach this place, this Earth, and have proper places to bring up kids in."

  Athena, erasing a blackboard at the other side of the room, called out cheerfully, "Well, Hera, you're in a wonderful mood, aren't you?"

  "She's been like this," Cassiopeia said.

  Putting her eraser back in its tray, Athena walked over to the other women. "Depressed about something, Hera?"

  "Not depressed. Angry. Furious. Ready to tear a Viper apart from fuselage to tail."

  Athena glanced knowingly at Cassiopeia. "I'll bet this has something to do with Starbuck."

  Surprised, Hera gaped at Athena. "How'd you know that? You didn't tell her, Cass."