Battlestar Galactica 8 - Greetings From Earth

by Glen A. Larson

  Ignoring him, Salik crouched beside the young man. "He's having a severe respiratory problem."

  "It's the atmospheric density," said Cassiopeia.

  "Yes, that's it," agreed Doctor Salik. "Apollo, you and Starbuck rush this man to a decomp chamber. Cassie, he'll need about one fifth of our own atmosphere to thrive, I think."

  "Hadn't you better come along?" asked Apollo as he and the lieutenant carefully picked up the young man.

  "After I see to those inside," the doctor said. "With luck we may be able to save them all. No thanks to you," he told Wilker as he climbed into the ship.

  Pressing a palm against his chest, Doctor Wilker said, "I had nothing to do with this. Nothing at all."

  The blonde young woman had fallen to one knee. Her face was pale and tinged with blue. "What . . . what have you . . . done with . . . Michael?"

  "He's being taken care of. There's nothing to worry about," Doctor Salik assured her as he moved closer. "I'm here only to help you, so you don't need that weapon, young woman."

  There was a silver pistol dangling from her weak fingers. "Who . . . who are you?"

  "My name is Salik, I'm a doctor. A medical doctor." He moved to her side and knelt.

  "I . . . my name is . . . Sarah," she said, gasping in air. "I don't . . . understand why . . . I'm having such trouble . . . breathing . . ."

  "You're simply not used to the same sort of atmosphere that we are, Sarah." He slid a reassuring arm around her slim shoulders. "Come along with me and I'll see to it that—"

  "The children . . ." As she spoke the gun dropped from her slack fingers, bouncing once on the lid of one of the glass boxes. "You . . . mustn't hurt them . . ."

  "Will they be revived automatically, the way you and Michael were?"

  Sarah shook her head. "Only Michael," she answered. "He was to awaken when we reached Lunar Seven . . . then revive me and we . . . we'd revive the four children. But this . . . this isn't where we're supposed to be . . ."

  "No, it isn't," Salik said, helping her to her feet.

  CHAPTER TEN

  In the center of a vast whiteness sat two grey respirator units. They, too, looked somewhat like coffins and held Michael and Sarah.

  Doctor Salik was leaning over the one that was aiding the blonde young woman. "They both seem to be doing fine," he said.

  Starbuck took a thoughtful chew on his dead cigar. "Fine? They're flat on their backs and out cold."

  "I should, falling back on an old medical cliche, have said they were doing as well as could be expected," said the doctor, making a delicate adjustment on one of the dials of Sarah's breathing tank.

  Apollo said, "Meaning exactly what, Doctor?"

  Putting his hands in his pockets and gazing up at the rimmed ceiling of this wing of the Medical Center, Salik said, "As long as they stay in these respirators they'll be fine."

  "That doesn't make for a very fun-filled life style," said Starbuck.

  "No, but it's better than being dead," answered the physician.

  "Slightly," said Starbuck. "I'm starting to think we never should've—"

  "Let me outline the problem to you once more," offered Salik, facing the impatient lieutenant. "It's the pressure of our environment here on the Galactica. It was literally starting to crush them. Our air pressure is substantially stronger than what they are accustomed to."

  "But they're human, like us, so they ought to have been in an environment very much like this," said Captain Apollo.

  "We're adaptable," said Doctor Salik. "It may be that over many millennia their environment, the air they breathe, grew thinner. Very gradually so that the majority of them could adapt to it easily."

  "Or our environment may have grown heavier," said Apollo.

  Salik nodded and shrugged. "It really doesn't matter," he said. "The important thing is they're not able to function in our world here."

  "And they can never come out of these tanks?" asked Starbuck.

  "You saw what happened to Michael," said Salik.

  Starbuck eyed Apollo. "We are, old chum, going to have to do something about this," he said firmly.

  Commander Adama stood at the view window in his quarters. His forehead was furrowed. "We came very close to finding other humans," he said. "Perhaps the very tribe from Earth we seek."

  Clearing his throat, Colonel Tigh said, "There's no good reason why we can't sustain them, in hopes that they'll regain enough strength to communicate with us."

  Apollo and Starbuck were sitting, uneasy, in twin chairs across the room. Apollo said, "We can't do that."

  Tigh scowled. "We are in need of answers, Captain," he said. "Indeed, the lives of every man, woman and child in this fleet may well depend on the answers. We have to know if Earth can support us, if she is technically advanced enough to help us ward off our enemies. Can Earth protect herself if a Cylon invasion were to—"

  "I know what you're saying," cut in Apollo. "The thing is, Colonel, these six lives don't belong to us. No matter how important we may think these people may be to our own future."

  "Surely, Captain, as a military man," said the colonel, "you must understand that in some situations the lives of the few must be risked for the good of the many. That's sound thinking in—"

  "We can't do that this time," insisted Apollo.

  Adama watched his son for a few silent seconds. "You and Starbuck are the ones who brought these wayfarers to us, Apollo," he reminded.

  "That was a mistake, as I've said before," Apollo told him. "We shouldn't have done it."

  "This is absolutely ridiculous," said Tigh. "Sitting around like a bunch of guilty children and bewailing the—"

  "Wait now," said the commander. "Apollo, what are you getting at?"

  "It's simple," his son answered. "We had no right to interrupt their journey. We have to let them continue on their way."

  Adama crossed to a large armchair and seated himself. "Suppose their support systems are no longer capable of carrying them safely to their destination?"

  "The support systems can be put back in first class order," said Apollo. "That's not a problem."

  "Suppose," suggested Colonel Tigh, "we turn them loose and they run smack into a Cylon attack?"

  "Hell, we haven't seen a Cylon in sectons," said Starbuck, shifting in his seat.

  "And I'll take a team of volunteers with their ship to protect it on its voyage," said Apollo.

  Steepling his fingers, Adama rested his strong chin on them. "You've been doing quite a bit of thinking about this."

  "I have, yes," said Apollo. "Some of what I think . . . no, make that what I feel." He nodded at the colonel. "This isn't based on logic entirely, nor on sound military thinking and planning." He leaned back in his chair, took a slow deep breath. "I feel that this family, these six people, are being beckoned to some specific destination. And there, maybe, we can also find some of the answers that we need."

  The commander lowered his hands, rested his palms on his knees. "Our life systems seem incompatible."

  "No, it's not exactly that," said Apollo. "I've kicked some of these notions around with Doctor Salik and he agrees. You see, these people, our reluctant guests, can't accept the weight of our pressurization. But we, on the other hand, have all experienced short terms in environments with far less pressure than our own. Where they're going, I believe we can survive."

  "And if you're wrong?" asked Colonel Tigh.

  "That's a risk we'll have to take," answered Apollo. "Weren't you just talking about the few taking a chance for the many?"

  "Being pigheaded and foolish wasn't exactly what I—"

  "If anybody's pigheaded hereabouts," put in Lieutenant Starbuck, "meaning no offense, sir, it isn't the captain here."

  "Oh, really?" Tigh glowered at Starbuck. "See here, Starbuck, your cocky attitude may charm certain—"

  "Gentlemen," said Adama quietly. "I'd like to think we're above squabbling at important times like this." He crossed to a communications screen in the w
all and punched out a number.

  The screen popped to life and then Doctor Salik appeared. "Yes, Commander?" He glanced back over his shoulder, as though anxious to get back to what he'd been doing.

  "Doctor, I have the impression you and my son have been conspiring," Adama said.

  Salik shrugged. "I simply expressed my opinions to Apollo," he replied. "Opinions backed up, I might add, with one hell of a lot of facts."

  "Then let me make sure I understand you. The only chance these people have of surviving is to be allowed to continue on with their journey?"

  "They can survive here on Galactica if we keep them permanently imprisoned in depressurized cannisters."

  "With no guarantee we'd ever be able to communicate with them?"

  "That's right," answered the doctor. "I can't rule out the possibility that eventually we might be able to work out some means of—"

  "I see, thank you." Adama killed the image on the screen.

  "Well?" said his son, watching him return to his chair.

  "You realize the Council would have to approve of letting the ship go."

  "There isn't time for a political debate," said Starbuck. "Those bureaucrats'll kick this around for eons and still not get to an answer. Meantime—"

  "Suppose we suggest that this is a military problem, pure and simple," said Apollo, sitting up and grinning.

  "I don't quite see—"

  "One of our visitors gunned down a security guard, didn't he?"

  "Right," said Starbuck. "Therefore we'd be justified in taking decisive action to remove further threats of—"

  "The guard was only stunned," said Colonel Tigh.

  "The wisest course," said Apollo, "would be for Starbuck and me . . . that is if you volunteer for this, good buddy?"

  Giving him a mock salute, Starbuck answered, "Include me in."

  "For Starbuck and me to remove the possibility of any further danger to the fleet," continued Apollo. "That we do by placing the hostile craft back on its original course."

  "The Council will never sit still for that," said Tigh.

  "But we'll be able to assure the Council that the Earth ship is still under our control," said Apollo. "Because we'll be escorting it to its destination."

  "Basically," said the colonel, "you're trying to flimflam the Council and—"

  The communication screen buzzed.

  Adama activated it and found Councilman Geller's chubby face glaring at him from the screen.

  "The Council is considerably upset," began Geller. "The fleet is deeply concerned."

  "Why is that?" asked the commander.

  "We hear news that these space wayfarers of yours have come back to life and attempted to kill several security guards."

  "The news has reached you in somewhat exaggerated form," Adama said to him.

  "Be that as it may, you can't deny that there was shooting?"

  "I cannot, no," said Adama. "In fact, Councilman, I can tell you that even now we are dealing with this situation."

  Geller's chins waggled. "I should think so," he said. "Up to now, you know, we haven't been very pleased with the way you've handled things. We expect a full report as soon as possible." The screen went blank.

  Chuckling, Adama said, "Usually I hang up on him."

  "They want answers as soon as possible," said Apollo, rising and moving to his father's side. "My plan won't work unless we get moving right now, before the Council takes any further action."

  The commander moved again to the view window. "I can't say yes," he said slowly, "and I can't say no."

  "Good," said Colonel Tigh, bouncing once in his chair. "Then the mission is scrubbed."

  "I didn't say that either," Adama said. "Am I making myself clear?"

  Apollo nodded and caught Starbuck's arm. "Couldn't be clearer," he said. "Let's move."

  "Righto." Starbuck popped up and followed the captain out of the room.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Lieutenant Jolly was fidgeting, moving his ambrosia glass from side to side, tapping one booted foot on the lounge floor, tugging at one end of his moustache and then the other.

  "A frenkel for your thoughts," said Zixi, smiling tentatively across the table at him.

  "Hum?"

  "Your mind," she observed, "seems to be wandering."

  Hunching his broad shoulders, the plump lieutenant admitted, "I suppose it is. Excuse me, since I don't want to give you the idea—"

  "Oh, that's perfectly okay. I'm used to people not paying attention to me."

  "I am paying attention to you, Zixi," he insisted. "The thing is, I'm also thinking about this Earth ship Starbuck and Apollo went and fished out of space."

  "I understand," the auburn-haired young woman said. "As to why I'm used to being ignored, I have three older sisters and when I was growing up people were always fawning over them and ignor—"

  "That's ridiculous. You're a darn pretty girl."

  "Pretty, yes." She nodded in agreement. "But not stunning and gorgeous. My other three sisters are, each and every one of them. You take the eldest, Xaviera, for instance. Why, she—"

  "Your folks like X, huh?"

  "Quite a bit, yes," agreed the girl. "But let's not talk about my beautiful sisters. Tell me what's worrying you, Jolly."

  He frowned. "Well, I got me the notion that these six space voyagers are damn important," he told her. "Important to all of us. They can tell us how to get to Earth or a reasonable facsimile thereof. Meaning we can maybe settle down for a spell and quit thinking about the Cylons and warfare and all."

  "You'd like that?"

  "Be a nice change, to walk on real earth again," he said, grinning in anticipation. "And get a sunburn and have a house to live in, with a front porch." He leaned forward, putting both big fists on the table top. "But what I'm worried about is the damn Council. I hear tell they just voted to wake up all the folks in that ship, grownups and kids alike. Right quick."

  "That could be dangerous."

  "Hell, it could kill 'em all," said Jolly glumly. "Before we even get a chance to find out a single fact about—"

  "Jolly, pardon me for barging in on this romantic interlude of yours." Boomer had come striding up to tap him on the shoulder.

  Blinking, Jolly inquired, "What's happening?"

  Leaning down, Boomer lowered his voice. "Starbuck'd like us to lend a hand on a . . . um . . . special project. Can you come along right now?"

  "Well, sure." He glanced at the girl. "You won't mind if I desert you for a bit?"

  "Oh, no," Zixi said. "I'm used to it."

  Hands behind his back, Doctor Salik stared down into the tank that held the sleeping Sarah. "I wonder . . ." he muttered to himself.

  "How long they'll survive in this sort of a setup?" finished Apollo, who'd come into the medlab a moment earlier.

  Salik glanced up. "Oh, yes, that, too," he said. "But also I've been brooding about what we're keeping them from, what important mission is unfulfilled."

  "The Council's voted," reminded Cassiopeia. "There's really nothing we can—"

  "Don't be too sure," put in Apollo.

  The young woman studied his face. "You're looking very smug," she observed. "Yes, you're wearing the sort of look one expects to see plastered on Starbuck's face. When he's plotting one of his audacious—"

  "Cassie, Cassie, whatever will people say?" Starbuck had entered the white room. "If you keep talking about me continually, folks will say we're in—"

  "What I'm always saying about you, Starbuck," she said, "everybody aboard the Galactica already knows. That you're a self-centered, conceited, pushy, over—"

  "Enough, enough." He clapped his hands over his ears. "All this flattery will make me vain, kiddo."

  "You're impossible."

  "That, too." Shifting his cigar to a new position in his mouth, he stepped up close to Apollo. "Everything's set, old chum."

  "What's set?" Salik wanted to know.

  "Hasn't the captain explained?"


  "I was leading up to it subtly," said Apollo, "until you came stomping in, good buddy."

  "Nell's bells, we got no time for subtle." Starbuck planted his hands on his hips. "We're taking your patients."

  The young woman took a step in his direction. "Taking them? What are you talking about, Starbuck? Taking them where?"

  "Where they belong, Cassie," he answered. "Back to their ship."

  "They can't survive in that—"

  "Sure, they can," he said. "If it's back in space and doing what it's supposed to be doing. The whole crate is built to take care of this gang until they reach their destination."

  Brow furrowed, she turned to the doctor. "Doctor Salik, you've got to stop them."

  He sighed. "Cassie, I think I'm on their side," he said. "In fact, I think I'd better go along with them. To monitor the equipment and make certain all goes—"

  "Along with them?" She looked from the doctor to the other two. "You mean you're going along? Leaving the Galactica and going—"

  "We'll escort their ship," explained Apollo, "using our vipers. Seems the least we can do, since we fouled up their flight in the first place."

  "On top of which, we'll find out what sort of a spot they're heading for," added Starbuck. "Might just be a spot we, too, can settle on. Can't you see it, Cassie, you and me strolling hand in hand over lush green sward. Leafy tree bows sheltering us as birds sing sweet lyrics over our—"

  "The Council'll lop your foolish heads off," she said.

  "Naw, they'd have to catch us to do anything to us," said Starbuck with a grin. "And we'll be long gone before they even get wind of this little caper, kiddo."

  Apollo said, "We appreciate your offer of help, Doctor Salik, but you're too important to the fleet. You can't just leave."

  "But someone ought to be aboard that craft, to make sure nothing goes wrong once it's back on its original flight pattern," the doctor insisted.

  Starbuck removed his cigar from his mouth and studied its smoldering tip. "Cassie? What say you step forward?" he suggested. "Here's a chance to do a great service for humanity. On top of which, you get to go on a cruise with two of the most personable lads in the entire crew."