Battlestar Galactica 8 - Greetings From Earth

by Glen A. Larson

"They did, yes," said his grandfather. "The people we had as our guests aboard Galactica had apparently lived on an Earth colony called Lunar Seven from the time they were born. Perhaps their parents had lived there before them. What happened was, their bodies adapted to a lighter atmosphere. That meant they could no longer return to Terra and live comfortably. Nor could they adjust to our environment without considerable artificial help."

  "Their air is different from ours?"

  "It's something like diving deep under the ocean. The weight of all that water above you pushes down on you. Without the proper protection it can crush you," he told the listening boy. "Something similar takes place if you try to live in an atmosphere too dense for your body. Understand?"

  "Sort of," answered Boxey. "So you let them leave so they wouldn't be crushed or hurt here on the battlestar?"

  "That's the idea."

  "And they're out there looking for a place where they can live?"

  "That's it exactly."

  "My dad and Starbuck went along to help them," he said. "We can be darn sure they'll find a safe place."

  "We can," agreed Adama.

  Starbuck yawned, blinked and straightened up in his seat. "How come I'm always slumbering when something important starts transpiring?" he asked no one in particular.

  "Keep quiet," advised Apollo's voice out of the control panel speaker, "and listen."

  There was another crackle of static and then the strange voice that had awakened Starbuck a moment earlier said, "Paradeen Control Center to Lunar Shuttle Avion. We have you on visual. Do you read?"

  "This is Lunar Avion, responding. We have you on visual as well. All systems are operative and in standby mode."

  "Very well, Lunar Avion. You are twenty hours behind your ETA. What is the status of your support system?"

  "All well within tolerances to complete rendezvous satisfactorily."

  "Very well. Stand by for further instructions."

  As the crackling faded, Starbuck, after relighting his cigar, said, "Who was doing all that chattering?"

  "We planted a transceiver in the control cabin of the ship, remember?" replied Apollo from his viper.

  "I know that, old chum. But we didn't plant a guy with a deep furry voice," the lieutenant pointed out. "One of those voices was coming from our destination I conclude, but who was doing the talking on the ship?"

  "Let's ask Cassie," suggested Apollo. "Cassie, do you read me?"

  Silence flowed out of the speaker for almost thirty seconds. Then the young woman's voice answered. "I read you, Apollo."

  "Aw, don't you read me, too, Cass?" asked Starbuck.

  "Of course. Now stop interrupting."

  "It gets lonesome out here in the vastness of space. I like to be remembered—"

  "Starbuck, shut up. Now, Cassie, was that voice coming from your ship?"

  "Yes," she replied. "It's the voice of the computer that's been flying this ship, which leads me to believe we're nearing our destination."

  "Okay, we're still right on your tail," said Apollo. "Is everything okay aboard?"

  "Things are fine," she said. "Although taking a trip with everybody else asleep isn't the most lively way to travel."

  "I knew I should've stowed away on that crate," said Starbuck, puffing on his stogie.

  "Just a minute, fellows," came Cassiopeia's voice. "Looks like Michael is reviving again. I'll find out what he has to say and get back to you."

  "Yeah, do that," said Starbuck.

  Michael glanced around the control cabin, then seated himself in a seat next to the one the young woman occupied. He scanned the panel of lights and dials in front of him. "Yes, everything is going smoothly. Our little stay with you people hasn't fouled anything up too badly."

  "How do you feel? Should you be up?"

  He laughed. "If the ship didn't think I should be, I wouldn't be, Cassiopeia," he said. "The ship's already begun to adjust to the surface pressure of Paradeen, which is the planet we're aiming for." He flicked a toggle and a misty picture of a fast-approaching planet loomed to life on a view screen in the wall. "There she is."

  "We'll be landing in how long?"

  Michael read off several gauges and dials. "Exactly two hours and fifty-seven minutes from now. Yep, everything is going according to plan. I was to be awakened three hours out."

  She sighed slightly. "I'm glad everything is functioning."

  "You can communicate with the scout ships, can't you? I heard you when I came in."

  "Yes, I can."

  "I want to talk to Captain Apollo."

  "Just talk, he's already hearing you."

  A frown crossed his face. "Very efficient," he said. "Captain?"

  "I hear you. Michael." Apollo's voice, a shade tinny, came from the transceiver unit that had been placed in the cabin.

  "Okay, let me tell you that I'm in fine shape," Michael began. "Our ship is proceeding on automatic. The other voice you heard was from the computer on the former base we had on Paradeen. If you'll follow us down you'll be perfectly safe."

  "Former base?"

  "Far as I know there is nothing much left on Paradeen," said the dark young man. "Except Sarah's father. But there'll be a place for us and the children there."

  "We can go into the details after we've landed."

  "Yes, but I did want you to know one thing," said Michael. "One thing more, since it seems important to you. We've arranged to destroy the homing transmitter as soon as we're down. That's necessary in order to protect—"

  "Wait now! Are you saying you're going to destroy the co-ordinates back to Lunar Seven?"

  "There's no other choice. They may be following us already and so—"

  "Cassie, stop him! Don't let him touch anything," ordered Apollo.

  Michael made no move, simply smiling over at the young woman. "There's nothing you can do, miss," he said. "It's all being taken care of down on Paradeen, all automatically." He paused. "I'll be saving not only our lives but yours."

  "From whom?"

  "The Alliance," he said. "I've told you about them, but you don't seem to understand how dangerous they are."

  From out of the transceiver came Starbuck's voice. "Nobody's asked me," he said. "But I just want to go on record as saying I don't much like this latest turn of events."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Elsewhere in space a huge dark craft was moving on its course.

  Inside the ship a lean man of fifty, clad in a two-piece outfit of military cut, was moving slowly around a communications room. The greenish glare of the communicating and tracking screens was reflected on the gold braid that was thick on his chest and shoulders.

  From across the room one of the men at a monitoring desk cleared his throat and then called out, "Commandent Leiter?"

  "Yes, Krebbs?" He strode over to the heavyset young man.

  "Concerning the small craft which escaped Lunar Seven six weeks ago, sir," said Krebbs.

  "Ah, yes, our sister ship, Destroyer Two, reported the incident," said the lean commandent. "Nothing important as I recall. Some children, a farmer and a young girl were all who were involved." He rested a gloved hand on the black metal top of Krebbs's desk and glanced at the screen over the desk. "Has their ship entered our zone?"

  Krebbs licked his lips. "I'm not certain, sir," he replied. "But my readout clearly matches the specifications and basic schematics for the ship that escaped Lunar Seven."

  Stroking the thin scar that snaked along his left cheek, Commandent Leiter said, "How far away from us?"

  "Twenty thousand kilometers, sir," answered Krebbs. "Apparently the craft is bound for the planet Paradeen."

  "That's a long way off," reflected the officer. "Too far to go just to round up a few runaway children. We will, however, stop off there when we complete our patrol circuit. After all, they ought to be dealt with. Firmly."

  "The thing that's been puzzling me, sir," put forth Krebbs in a somewhat timid voice, "is . . . well, there's more than one ship." />
  Leiter stiffened. "More than one, you say? That's not possible, is it? Our initial reports clearly stated that only a lone ship had made the escape."

  "Nevertheless, sir." Krebbs reached out with stubby fingers to tap the greenish screen. "See those two dots there, in the wake of the larger dot?"

  The commandent's eyes narrowed as he studied the screen. "Yes, they are definitely space craft. Have you determined what sort they are?"

  "That's the problem, sir," said Krebbs. "I have never seen similar craft. And the analyzer has so far been unable to compute their method of power or planet of origin."

  Leiter stroked the scar again. "That's impossible, Krebbs," he decided. "There can't be craft in this sector that we know nothing about. You've made a mistake."

  The young man lifted several long streamers of printout paper up off his dark desk top and rattled them. "The computer is never wrong, sir," he pointed out. "If you'll check over this data, you'll see I'm right."

  Making a shooing gesture at the bundle of rattling paper, Leiter said, "Very well. I'll take your word for it." He took three steps back. "Whatever you do, don't lose contact with those two alien craft."

  "Yes, sir."

  "I'll go to the bridge now and inform them to alter our course for Paradeen," said the commandent.

  "But we're due on Lunar Nine in three days, sir, and if we made a side foray to Paradeen the entire—"

  "This is much too intriguing to pass by," he said, turning away and walking rapidly out. "Much too intriguing."

  The smaller android was holding a bouquet of brilliantly orange flowers in his white plastic hand. There was a broad anticipatory smile on his white plastic face. "Boy, am I excited, agitated, wrought-up, all of a twitter, fervid, fervent—"

  "Close your yap and hop on this dingus," suggested his companion, a larger android of similar design.

  The two of them, each wearing a one-piece suit of pale yellow, were standing in the thin afternoon sunlight on a slanting field of pale blue grass. Parked next to them was a silvery hovercraft. In the nearby trees crimson birds sang in the interlocking green branches.

  "Gee, Pop," complained the smaller android, "you're forever discouraging, daunting, disconcerting, disheartening and otherwise deterring me."

  "Hector, I am not your Pop," said the larger mechanical man. "Nor am I your Mom, your uncle, your grandpappy or even your third cousin Freddy."

  "But, gee, Vector," said the other mechanical man, lowering his head and poking a white plastic foot into the blue grass, "I wish you'd quit denying paternity. Makes me feel like a real—"

  "I assembled you, dimbulb, and that's all I did," Vector explained. "Built you from spare parts lying around in the professor's lab. It was just something to do to while away the lonely reaches of the night. See? So there's no need to go all sappy and—"

  "If you keep up this squabbling, Pop, we're going to be late for our reception committee duties."

  The android made an exasperated sound inside his metallic nose. "Haul your scrap metal backside onto the hoverer then, dunce, and we'll get a move on."

  "Ready and willing, Dad." Hector boarded the craft and arranged himself on one of the passenger seats. He crossed his legs and gazed up into the late afternoon sky.

  After settling into the pilot seat, Vector inquired, "Do you have to sit like that?"

  "Like what?"

  "You look very much like a pansy, with your legs crossed and your hand on your hip."

  "This is the way everybody sits. In a survey one hundred people were asked their favorite sitting pos—"

  "Never mind." Vector, muttering, activated the controls.

  The sled produced a low keening sound, then began to rise into the air until it had reached a height of some twenty feet.

  "Whoopee," remarked Hector.

  "Uncross your darn legs, beanbrain."

  "I'm as masculine as they come, Pop." Hector sniffed deeply at the bouquet. "When you point out these imaginary flaws, though, it does make me feel low and causes distress, tribulation, woe, suffering, displeasure, dissatisfaction, malaise, vexation of spirit, palpi—"

  "Quit babbling," advised the senior android while punching out a flight pattern on the control box. "I knew I shouldn't have used that double-strength vocabulary tube in you. What a dimwit thing for me to have—"

  "Other fathers are proud when their kiddies display a gift of gab, Pop," Hector pointed out. "Another thing that bothers me is that you never play baseball with me like the other—"

  "You're not a little boy, you're a full-grown android," reminded Vector as their hovercraft carried them, gracefully, downhill. "Androids don't play baseball."

  "Sure, they do. On the TV monitor up at the house I just saw the Lunar Six Giants whip the Terra Five Blue Sox in a twinight triple—"

  "Those are sports androids, lout, built just to entertain a gaggle of halfwitted baseball buffs. They have absolutely nothing to do with how—"

  "You never take me to the circus either."

  "There isn't any circus on Paradeen. All these dippy notions of yours are due to some faulty memory chips I had to use when I was constructing your alleged brain. Therefore, cease vexing—"

  "These flimsy excuses don't fool me," said Hector. "I suspect that I'm an unwanted child. Didn't you and Mom want me?"

  "You don't have a Mom, dimwit. I built you," said the senior mechanical man. "Now quit flapping your bazoo. There's Miss Sarah's ship yonder. We've got some very serious news to give her and I don't want you futzing up things."

  "You forget how personable and charming I am, Pop," Hector said, taking another deep sniff at the flowers.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Cassie adjusted her breathing mask and stepped out into the thinner atmosphere beyond the ship. "So this is Paradeen?" she said quietly.

  An android marched up and handed her a bouquet of bright orange flowers. "Welcome, Miss Sarah," he recited brightly. "It is with deep humility and inner satis—"

  "Dimwit, she's not Sarah." Vector gave Hector a bonging nudge in the side.

  "No, I'm Cassiopeia," she corrected. "That's Sarah coming out of the ship now."

  Smiling, Hector bowed to Cassie. "Cassiopeia is a very charming name," he told her. "My name is Hector, also charming, and my revered father here is named Vect—"

  "I'm not his father," Vector hastened to explain as he went hurrying toward Sarah. "We're not related in any way at all. How do you do, Miss Sarah?"

  The blonde young woman smiled tentatively at him. "Why isn't my father here to meet us?"

  "I'll explain everything in full quite soon now," the senior android promised. "First, though, allow me to welcome the rest of you. You must be Michael."

  Michael remained in the doorway of their ship. "I thought Sarah's father would—"

  "All will be explained," said Vector.

  "Ah, and here are the kiddies," said Hector. He gave Cassie the bouquet and then clapped his hands together. "You've grown a great deal, both of you. And where are the rest of—"

  "Hey, don't do that," Starbuck told the android.

  "Don't you like to be hugged and patted on the head, my little man?"

  "I do, but not by machines."

  Hector looked over at Apollo. "How do you feel about that, sonny?"

  "You've got us mixed up with the children," Apollo informed him. "They're still onboard the ship. We, on the other hand, landed in our own ships and—"

  "Holy Moley!" exclaimed Hector. "Invaders!" He drew a blaster pistol from the pocket of his garment. "Trying to pass as innocent toddlers. I thought there was something fishy when I smelled cigar smoke on this one's clothes. You have to get up pretty—"

  "Beanbrain," called Vector. "Put that weapon away. These men are friends of Michael and Sarah."

  Hector scrutinized the two of them with his plastic eyes. "They look shifty to me, Pop."

  "Shifty or not, they're not invaders," said the other android. "And quit calling me Pop in front of people. It
's downright—"

  "Do you get to call your father Pop?" he asked Apollo.

  "Not very often," admitted Apollo with a smile. "He, to be frank with you, isn't the type of man you call Pop."

  "My father there thinks he isn't either," said Hector, slowly putting his gun away.

  Michael climbed down onto the bright grass, frowning. "Vector, why are you androids carrying weapons?"

  "Nothing to be alarmed about, Michael," the android assured him. "Now then, if—"

  "But I want to know why."

  "Well, Miss Sarah's father thought it best to arm us when the hostilities broke out. That's all over now so—"

  "What hostilities?" the blonde girl asked him.

  Vector made a calming gesture with his white hand. "Hostilities are over and done with," he said. "Nothing to fear any longer. We should, however, move to the ranch as soon as possible."

  Sarah asked, "Why? If there's no danger, then—"

  "Night is coming on, Miss Sarah," said Vector, glancing up at the late afternoon sky. "The temperature will drop quite low with nightfall."

  "Is my father waiting at the ranch?"

  Vector turned away. "Yes, Miss Sarah. You'll find him there."

  A puzzled frown on her forehead, she said, "We'd better get the children."

  "I'll help," said Michael.

  "Suit yourself." She went climbing back into the ship.

  Cassie suggested, "Let's both lend a hand, Michael. Four kids are going to be a handful."

  She followed the dark young man into the ship.

  Starbuck took a cigar out of his tunic, then remembered he couldn't smoke it with his breathing mask on. "What'd you say your name was, chum?"

  Hector said, "My name is Hector. It's very close to the name of my father over there. He's Vector. I think that's nice when fathers and sons have similar names. Although, it might be even dandier if I was called Vector, Junior. How does that strike—"

  "This planet we're on," cut in Starbuck, using his unlit cigar as a pointer. "Whose colony is it, who does it belong to?"

  "Terra. I thought everybody knew that. You must really be rubes not to—"

  "Manners, peawit, manners," warned Vector. "These gents are our guests."