Battlestar Galactica 8 - Greetings From Earth

by Glen A. Larson

  "You and your friends?"

  "Me and several thousand others," he answered. "There's a whole fleet of ships out there."

  "Humdingers!"

  "Ah, they didn't eat all the cards pertaining to Earth. Yep, according to these there are books on the subject on level 12ES." He stepped back and looked up. Level 12ES ought to be up in that direction, huh?"

  "I suppose," answered Queenie without much enthusiasm. "But why don't we come back tomorrow or the next—"

  "C'mon, we'll find the books now and get away," he said, starting up another slanting ramp. "Never put off to tomorrow what you can do today, Queenie. Especially if it looks like you may get knocked off before tomorrow."

  "That's not funny," she told him. "Making jokes about being killed."

  "Who's joking?" He was walking fast.

  "I never have encountered anyone like you," she said, tailing along.

  "I'm unique," he explained. "One of a kind. In fact, I've been thinking of approaching an android manufacturer and seeing if they'd like to turn out replicas of me. I think they'd sell like hotcakes."

  She snorted. "There aren't enough halfwits in the universe to make selling replicas of you a going business."

  "Hey, Queenie, I thought we were friends."

  "Well, we are. Sort of, but my fondness for you has been going down lately," she said. "Ever since you talked me into coming in here."

  "Now I'm not up on the way diplomacy works on Paradeen," he said, "but it seems to me you folks ought to be able to get together and work out your differences. You and the Commandos and the other gangs who—"

  "Oh, sure," she said, laughing, "the way you've worked out your differences with the Cylons."

  He frowned back at her. "How do you know about them?"

  She tapped her temple. "I must've picked up the thought from you. Excuse me for prying."

  "The Cylons aren't like the gangs here," he said. "You can't use reason or logic with 'em. But with human-type people, why, I bet you could set up a meeting and work out something. After all, you're all in the same boat, really. Outcasts, living in the City."

  "It'll never happen," she assured him.

  "Aha, here's the fabled Level 12ES." He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "Yep, right along the corridor here, Queenie my pet."

  She followed him along a dim row of books. "Back on this battlestar where you come from," she asked, "do you have a regular girl?"

  "Hum?" He was concentrating on reading the titles on the faded, dusty spines of the books.

  "A girl, a steady girl."

  "No, nope, not at all," he answered. "That wouldn't be fair. If I committed myself to one lass, all the others would pine and waste away. So I've had to develop the policy of sharing myself with as many of 'em as I . . . Bingo! A whole row of books about Earth. Damn, I'll just scoop these up and haul 'em back to Apollo. Then we—"

  "You ain't," said a new, deep voice behind him.

  Slowly, Starbuck turned. "You must be the Commandos," he said.

  The black Destroyer ship settled down on the twilight hillside and the gathering darkness seemed to close in around it. After a few silent moments a door near the forward cabin hissed open and a ramp came snaking out.

  The pudgy Krebbs was the first to disembark. He was loaded down with gadgets and gear. "I'm picking up indications of life forms nearby, sir," he said after scanning various dials and gauges.

  Leiter came down the ramp and stood looking around at the trees that darkly rose up all around the clearing. "How far away?" he asked.

  "Less than a mile to the north, Commandent," answered Krebbs.

  "We'll take three men with us and leave the other six aboard our Destroyer," the lank Commandent Leiter decided.

  "Are we to kill those we encounter, sir?"

  "Not immediately," answered Leiter. "First I wish to satisfy my curiosity."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  There were four of them, and to Starbuck that looked like more than enough. Each of them was big and wide, muscular and shaggy. They wore black trousers and black sleeveless tunics. Each of them carried two large blaster pistols in black leather holsters.

  The bigger of the bunch pushed up the bill of his black cap. "Who's this gink, Queenie?"

  "He's not part of our gang, Alfie," she said.

  "Right, I can see he's too puny for that."

  "Hey," put in Starbuck, taking an angry puff of his cigar, "there's no need for personal remarks."

  "Haw," said Alfie and his three husky sidekicks echoed the amused sound. "He's a wiseacre, is he?"

  "But he's harmless," insisted Queenie as she took protective hold of Starbuck's arm. "I was just escorting him out of the City when—"

  "You're forgetting something, Red," cut in Alfie. "You're forgetting you, the both of you, broke the rules. I mean, this is Commando territory hereabouts."

  "Got no right being here," muttered one of the others.

  "Since I've always admired you," said Alfie, smiling broadly at the young woman, "I can see to it you get out of this mess alive, more or less. Course, I got to turn you over to the rest of 'em at the clubhouse. Your puny pal here, though, he's finished."

  "You never use this library for anything," said the red-haired girl. "So we aren't really hurting—"

  "We might, and that ain't the point anyhow, Red," Alfie said with a scowl. "The point is you ain't supposed to be on our territory at all. And another point is we don't want your simp of a pal mucking around in here."

  "You guys are going to make me angry if you keep this up," said Starbuck, backing up against the shelf of books he'd been going over. "Let me explain what actually is—"

  "Shut your gob," advised Alfie, resting his beefy right hand on the butt of one of his holstered pistols.

  "Slice off his ears," suggested one of the other Commandos.

  "For a start," added another. "Then we can nail him up to the wall out front, like we done that preacher last—"

  "Naw," said Alfie, "that's too tame. For this gink we have to come up with something extra special."

  "You're only asking for trouble," warned Queenie. "You hurt him or me and it's only going to make Scrapper mad."

  Alfie laughed. "That gink," he said. "He don't scare me no more than this sap you brung along, Red."

  "Now you've done it," said Starbuck, taking his burning cigar out of his mouth. "You've made me angry." Without warning he flipped the cigar right into Alfie's large, flat face.

  "Yow!" Sparks flew as it hit him between the eyes.

  Starbuck backed quickly into the shelf of books. That was sufficient to topple it, and heavy books came cascading down to hit the other Commandos.

  During the diversion Starbuck yanked his captured gun out of Queenie's belt and aimed it at Alfie. He flicked it, swiftly, to a stunning mode and fired.

  There was a small humming noise and Alfie stiffened and then fell over on a mound of books.

  "Hide behind something," advised Starbuck, grabbing hold of Queenie's hand and pulling her down behind the fallen bookshelves.

  The other three Commandos had drawn their pistols and were commencing fire. They weren't interested in stunning, but in killing.

  Several books were turned to ashes immediately, books that had been quite close to Starbuck's head.

  He risked a look over the top of the shelving and tried a shot.

  He missed.

  "Might as well give up," said one of the remaining Commandos. "We're going to kill you sooner or later."

  "I'd prefer later," said Starbuck.

  "We're never going to get free of this," said Queenie as she ducked low.

  "Tut tut," said Starbuck, "keep your spirits up. Even when things look darkest there's always—"

  "Drop the guns," said a familiar voice. "All six of em."

  Starbuck counted the thuds that followed. When an even half-dozen pistols had been, reluctantly, dropped to the floor, he stood. "Ah, Captain Apollo himself," he said, grinning. "What
an unexpected surprise."

  "Where's the redhead?" asked Apollo as he and Cassie set about trussing up the Commandos.

  "Right here." Starbuck helped Queenie to her feet. "Queenie, meet Apollo. Also Cassie and Hector and Vector. Feeling better, Hec?"

  The android was staying a safe distance from Queenie. "She's the one, Pop. She's the one who put me on the fritz. Miss, I warn you that if you try such a—"

  "She's reformed," Starbuck assured him.

  "Humdingers! Who ever told you I did any such a—"

  "Apollo, listen," said Starbuck, starting to sort through the now scattered books. "I found all sorts of stuff here for us. Books, old chum. With charts, maps, and lord knows what all. All about Earth, also known as Terra. I didn't get to do more than skim a few contents pages before these lunks popped in, but I think when we get this stuff back to the Galactica, why, everybody is—"

  "That may not be as easy as you think," said Cassie, tying the last knot in the improvised rag rope she'd used to truss up one of the Commandos. "Our ships have been sabotaged."

  "Yeah, I heard," said Starbuck. "But, heck, we can fix 'em, can't we?"

  Apollo said, "Maybe."

  "It's your own darn fault," said Queenie. "Trusting people who you really ought to keep an eye on. You laugh at the way we live here, but at least we—"

  "Hush," advised Starbuck.

  Apollo picked up one of the books on Earth. "What's the young lady getting at, old buddy?"

  "Well, she saw somebody smashing the controls of our vipers."

  He dropped the book. "She did? Listen, miss, I need to find that person because he took some of the parts away with—"

  "Wasn't a he," said Queenie with a snort.

  "Who was it, then?" Apollo asked.

  The red-haired young woman nodded at Starbuck. "Ask him."

  Starbuck fished out a fresh cigar and popped it between his teeth. "Queenie thinks she saw a blonde young lady do the deed, Apollo," he said quietly. "Now that might have been Sarah, but on the other hand . . . hell, it could have been some other lady we haven't even met up with yet. Or—"

  "I think," said Apollo, "maybe it was Sarah."

  Starbuck had the match halfway to the tip of his stogie. "Why would she do that to us? After what we did for her?"

  "I'll explain it later," said Apollo. "It's . . . well, in a way I suppose it's my fault."

  Vector stepped closer to them. "Might I suggest that we finish up our affairs in this dreadful hole as soon as possible and beat a hasty retreat," he said. "There are no doubt more of these louts lying in wait without."

  "At least a dozen," said Queenie. "And all mean as sin."

  "Okay," said Starbuck, lighting the new cigar at last. "Soon as I bundle up enough of these books we can push on."

  "I'd be glad to carry an armload," said Hector.

  Queenie suddenly doubled up and clutched her stomach. "Starbuck," she gasped.

  He dashed to her and put an arm around her shoulders. "What's wrong?"

  "I'm getting . . . another one of my hunches," she said, face pale and perspiring. "It's . . . it's about that blonde girl we was just talking about."

  "Sarah. What about her?"

  "She's in . . . trouble," said Queenie. "Real bad trouble."

  Night came spilling out of the woodlands. Sarah hugged herself and got up from the lawnchair. "Kids," she announced, "time to get into the house and start cleaning up for dinner."

  She could hear all four of them, but she could see only two. They were at the edge of the woods playing a complex and noisy game of hide and seek.

  "Kids," she called, louder through cupped hands, "time to quit."

  "In a minute," one of them yelled back.

  "Now," Sarah said.

  Before she could move nearer the woods she heard something behind her.

  There were five of them, wearing dark uniforms trimmed with gold-and-dark helmets that hid most of their face. Each wore a holster with a blaster pistol nesting in it and two of them carried blaster rifles.

  She recognized the uniform. "It didn't take you long to catch up with us," she said.

  A lean man stepped clear of the others, bowed and clicked his heels. "Allow me to introduce myself," he said. "I am Commandent Leiter."

  She said nothing.

  Leiter smiled thinly. "You are fugitives from Lunar Seven," he said. "At the moment your presence on Paradeen poses no great threat to the Alliance. What you do from now on is of little interest to me."

  Sarah took a step back from him. "Then what do you want?"

  Stroking the scar on his cheek, the commandent said, "You were accompanied here by two other ships. I wish to know about them."

  She shook her head. "I don't know a thing," she told him. "Nothing at all."

  Leiter lunged and caught her arm, gripping it tightly. "Listen to me, young woman," he said in a low voice. "You have children to consider. It is, of course, distasteful to me to torture young people. I shall, however, do so unless you cooperate fully. Is that perfectly clear?"

  "Yes." She nodded once and then kicked him in the knee as hard as she could. Wrenching free of his grip, Sarah turned and called out to the children. "Run! Get away from here! Run, quick!"

  Leiter, limping, came after the blonde young woman and caught her. "Very foolish." He caught her left arm and twisted it up behind her back. "Very foolish. Slepyan, go after those damned children. Bring back as many as you can."

  Saluting, the husky Slepyan asked, "Alive, sir?"

  "Yes, alive," said Leiter. "You and I, young woman, will step into the house over there and have a talk. Krebbs, make certain there's no one else inside that place."

  "All my gear indicates that there isn't any—"

  "Doublecheck it," said the commandent.

  As he escorted Sarah toward the house she could hear the children running away through the dark woods.

  And she could hear the man with the blaster rifle going after them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Cindy fell.

  Her foot caught in a twist of root and the blonde little girl went sprawling. She didn't cry out, knowing it was dangerous to make noise, and so none of the other fleeing children knew she was down. Cindy had been bringing up the rear.

  Her ankle was commencing to hurt. She got to her knees, struggling not to sob. Pain was throbbing in her leg.

  Darkness stretched out all around her and the trunks of the trees looked like rows of enormous bars meant to lock her in.

  Pushing her hands against the mossy ground, Cindy was able to rise to her feet. She found she could walk, although her ankle hurt an awful lot. Running was impossible, but she'd keep walking and she'd catch up with the other kids soon. Maybe.

  She'd taken only a few shaky steps when she became aware of heavy footfalls behind her. She didn't look back but kept hobbling along.

  "Stop, please, little girl," ordered a gruff voice.

  Cindy kept walking.

  "I don't want to use the stunner on you," said the uniformed man who'd caught up with her. "I will, though, unless you halt at once."

  Starting to cry quietly, the little girl stopped and turned to face him.

  He looked immense. Like part of the night in his dark uniform and helmet. The silvery rifle seemed to float in the night, pointing down at her.

  "Where are the others?" he asked, crouching.

  Cindy kept on crying, a fist to the corner of one eye.

  "Where are they?" he repeated.

  "Don't know."

  "I think you do," he said, extending the gun until the barrel touched her small chest. "Yes, you must have hiding places in these woods. So you tell me, quick now."

  "Don't know," the child insisted.

  "You don't want me to hurt you? There's no need for that, is there?" The tip of the barrel began to dig into her flesh.

  "Don't know," she said yet again.

  "Listen to me, you tell me where they're hiding or . . . Wow!"

 
All at once his rifle left his hands and went soaring away up into the dark tangle of branches high overhead.

  Making a surprised gulping noise, he jumped to his feet and snatched out his pistol.

  That, too, left his hand.

  It went spinning off into the darkness.

  "Who did that?" he demanded. "Little girl, how did you . . . Hey!"

  Now he himself was flying. His big feet left the ground and he rose up at an increasing speed. He leveled off and his skull began to bang against the trunk of a thick tree. He howled and protested, but he couldn't stop himself from battering the bole with his head. In less than five minutes he was out cold and then he drifted down to settle in a heap near the puzzled little girl's feet.

  "Well, sir, that takes care of him. Poking little girls with guns, eh?" A bearded old man appeared from behind the trunk of one of the trees and smiled at Cindy. "We took care of him."

  She asked, "How?"

  "Oh, it's a little knack I have."

  "I don't know you," Cindy informed him.

  "That's right. I haven't gotten around to introducing myself to you and your friends." He held out his hand. "I'm known as Kurtiz the Hermit in these parts."

  "What are you known as in other parts?"

  He stroked his scraggly beard and thought about that. "I don't imagine I'm known at all. What's your name?"

  "Cindy. Can you take me home?"

  Kurtiz said, "I think it's best to get you settled safely elsewhere for the nonce. Let me tie this dumbbell up and then we'll find your friends and see you get put up somewhere. Is that okay with you?"

  "Can I ever go home?"

  "Soon," promised the hermit.

  Leiter stood with his narrow back to the fireplace. His helmet sat on a nearby table, catching the scarlet glow of the blaze and reflecting it. "Slepyan will be back soon," he said.

  "Perhaps." Sarah sat, arms folded, on the edge of the armchair.

  "Meaning exactly what, my dear?"

  "Oh, that perhaps there are some things on this planet you don't know about," she replied. "Things in the woods that might . . . delay your man."

  Leiter chuckled. "I doubt that."

  "There might even be things out there that'll take care of the guards you have stationed around my house."