Battlestar Galactica 10 - The Long Patrol

by Glen A. Larson

  But the metal arm gave off a sudden harsh humming and a thin beam of purplish light shot out of the pointing forefinger.

  "Damn you, Scrap—" She said only that before she stiffened, tottered backwards and dropped down into Starbuck's pit.

  He sort of caught her.

  When he got up from the broken branches and dirt, the blonde was stretched out on the ground and both her guns were his.

  "Don't be frettin' none," said the sandy-haired young man standing at the rim of the pit. "Candy's nothin' but stunned."

  "Yep, I noticed," said Starbuck, eyeing the fellow and his coppery right arm. "What I'm more interested in at the moment, though, is the status of our relationship."

  "Heck, we're friends."

  "I'd hate to have to use these guns of hers."

  "Shucks, I realize you got no way of knowin' if I'm trustworthy or not. But I am." From inside his loose-fitting tan jacket he produced a coil of rope. "Name's Scrapper. You?"

  "Starbuck." He caught the end of the rope that Scrapper lowered to him. "You sure you can tug me up out of—"

  "I'm a lot stronger than I look, Starbuck. No kiddin'."

  He was, and Starbuck was soon up on the forest floor. "Much obliged," he said.

  "Listen now," said Scrapper as he reeled in his rope. "I ain't exactly bein' just altruistic in this here business, you see. Not that me and Psycho's bunch ain't natural born enemies and all. Thing is, see, I couldn't help overhearin' your conversation with Candy."

  "Glad you did."

  Scratching at his sharp nose with a metal forefinger, Scrapper said, "They got Robber and you're aimin' to save her. Ain't that about the situation?"

  Starbuck glanced up at the fog-shrouded treetops. "Just about," he replied.

  "Wellsir now, Robber's sort of a special friend of mine," he explained. "I like her, she likes me. Even though everybody else over in her enclave don't much cotton to me. I'm a loner, don't like livin' too close to anybody. And there's my arm, too."

  "Looks like a darn exceptional arm to me."

  Grinning, Scrapper rubbed at the metal arm with the fingers of his flesh and blood hand. "Built the whole dang thing myself, designed it, too. It can do all sorts of interestin' stuff," he said proudly. "Made it from scrap of this and that. I scrounged parts from all over the planetoid. You'd be surprised at all that was left behind when them Skyfarms folks pulled up stakes long time back."

  "I've bumped into some of what they left," said Starbuck. "How'd you come to lose your real arm?"

  Scrapper shook his head. "Never had but one," he answered. "Born this way. You could call me a mutant or, like most do, a freak."

  Starbuck asked him, "You got any idea where they're holding Robber?"

  "A pretty darn good one, yep. Would you care to team up and rescue her?"

  "Sounds like a good idea."

  "Partners then." Scrapper held out his metal hand.

  Starbuck shook it. "Partners."

  The fat one had a knife. He sat in the sagging sling chair, watching Robber. He was an immense young man in a suit of work clothes that didn't exactly fit him. The buttons and the other fastenings were straining. "I like you," he repeated, rubbing at the knife blade with a fat thumb. "Truly I do, Robber."

  The young woman sat on the floor of this singleroom shack, hands tied behind her. She said nothing.

  "I had to cut you some when we caught you," continued the fat young man, his body jiggling. "But I didn't hurt you all that badly, did I?"

  She looked away from him, at the small cracked window in the wall. The mist pressed against it, seeping in through the zigzag crack. The odor of the stagnant pond outside came in, too.

  "You have to understand," continued the fat young man, "that you and I are on opposite sides. This is our territory, so when you try to cross it, we naturally have to stop you. We have to hurt you, too, make an example of you. Otherwise your people would think they can just—"

  "Shut up, Threetime," said the other occupant of the shack. He was not tall, only about five foot four. He had a chalky white look to him. His closecut blond hair was pale, faded looking. He was watching at the room's other window.

  "Pleasant conversation relieves the monotony, Psycho. Makes the time pass much—"

  "Didn't I just tell you to shut the hell up?"

  Threetime nodded, chins wobbling. "If you want my opinion, you're worrying needlessly. Candy will certainly—"

  "No more talk." Psycho gestured impatiently with his laser pistol.

  When Threetime gave a resigned shrug, his whole body quivered.

  Psycho glanced at Robber. "Tell me some more about this guy who's following you."

  She said, "I don't know anything more. I'm not even sure he is following me."

  Psycho checked the window again. "Candy's taking too damn long. If she spotted the guy, she ought—"

  "We don't know how far behind he is," reminded Threetime.

  "Yeah, but I told her to watch a while and then, if nobody showed, to come back and report."

  "She's not the most reliable of people."

  "Shut up," suggested Psycho.

  The fat young man returned his attention to Robber. "As I was saying, you and I could be friends," he said. "All you have to do is abandon that bunch you reside with and—"

  "Quiet," said Psycho.

  "I was merely—"

  "I think I hear something." The pale Psycho was close to the window, listening and watching. "Something's coming this way. Somebody."

  "Probably Candy."

  "No, this is somebody heavier, noisier."

  "She isn't exactly lightfooted."

  Psycho said, "I can . . . damn."

  "What?" Curious, the immense Threetime started to grunt up out of his chair.

  "Saw somebody," said Psycho, eyes narrowed, watching the misty woodlands outside the shack. "Coming through the swamp. Looked like . . . hell, some sort of robot."

  "That's very unlikely. None of those old mechs work well enough to—"

  "It was big, one of those farmhand 'bots. Had a scythe for a right hand."

  "Why would a thing like that, granted there's even one in working order on the whole damn planetoid, be coming to call on us?"

  Psycho nodded at the fat young man. "Go find out. It's out there in the swamp, in the trees about three, four hundred yards off."

  "The mist is making you see things that aren't—"

  "Go find out what the hell it's doing there," ordered Psycho. "Take the laser rifle."

  Sighing loudly, Threetime put his knife away in its sheath. "We could simply wait until it—"

  "Get moving."

  The shack's wooden floor creaked as Threetime lumbered over to take up the rifle that was leaning against the wall. "If this is your imagination, I'm really—"

  "Go see." He reached out, opened the door. Mist came spilling in.

  Sighing again, the fat young man ventured out into the fog.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  In the throne room of a Cylon base ship the helmeted Imperious Leader sat upon his multifaceted pedestal. The shifting light in the vast, dim chamber made the surface of the pedestal flash and gleam in a distracting way.

  The metal-faced Centurion who approached the pedestal reflected the jagged flashes of light. "Permission to speak," he requested, bowing slightly at the bulky figure above him.

  "Granted. Proceed." Most of the Leader's head was lost in shadows.

  "We have monitored an undecipherable transmission from the Hohne System."

  "What do you mean undecipherable? There is no problem the Cylon mind cannot solve."

  "I meant to say as yet undecipherable."

  "Continue, and take care to be more precise."

  "The signal was being sent to the planet Aeries."

  "By the Colonial Fleet?"

  "We believe so."

  "I see," said the Leader. "Whoever is sending the signal doesn't know we have long since destroyed the colonies on Aeries. Dispatch a patro
l to destroy whatever humanoids are to be found out there in the Hohne System."

  "By your command," said the Centurion.

  Psycho hunched his shoulders, shook his head from side to side. "What the hell is going on?"

  Moving away from the window, he crossed over to Robber.

  "I asked you a question," he said. "What's happening out there? Why hasn't Threetime come back?"

  "I don't know."

  He squatted, scowling at her. "First Candy, now Threetime," he said. "Are some of your people out there?"

  "No," said Robber. "You know damn well I'm miles from my home territory."

  "You're here. They could be, too."

  "I'm here because the ship I was flying went on the fritz," she said. "You already made me tell you all about that."

  Psycho took hold of her jaw in his hand. "Who is it then? This guy that's trailing you?"

  "How the hell should I know?"

  Holding her head immobile, he slapped her with his other hand. Three times, hard. "What's going on out there? Tell me!"

  "I don't know."

  "Listen, I don't want to have to cut you up anymore," Psycho told her in a low, calm voice. "But if you don't—"

  Someone knocked on the door of the shack.

  Jerking to his feet, Psycho spun to face the door.

  The knocking was repeated. Louder and firmer.

  Psycho drew his lasergun. "Who's out there?"

  Whoever it was didn't respond. The knocking sounded again.

  "Threetime? Is that you?"

  More knocking.

  "Candy?"

  Knocking.

  "All right, you bastard!"

  Psycho fired straight at the door, his gun crackling and humming. The top half of the wooden door vanished. Nothing showed in the gap except the misty swampland outside.

  Psycho took three cautious steps closer to the doorway.

  A big metal-bodied robot rolled into view from beside the door. "Howdy," he said, waving his scythe hand in greeting.

  "What are you doing here? What do you want?"

  "Howdy."

  "Get the hell away from here or—"

  A door-sized chunk of the rear wall suddenly disintegrated. "Nothing like a robot to create a diversion," said Scrapper, stepping through the hole.

  "So you're the freak who—"

  Scrapper stunned him at that point, using the beam built into his forefinger.

  Psycho fell to the floor.

  Starbuck entered by way of the front door. "I knew we'd meet again," he said to Robber as he hurried over to her. Kneeling, he cut her bonds.

  As best she could with numbed arms she hugged him. "Thanks," she said. "I'm sorry I beaned you."

  Scrapper nodded to himself. "Ain't that the way it always goes," he observed. "I do most of the rough work and somebody else gets the gratitude."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  "This must've been quite a setup back when," said Captain Apollo.

  "Business seems to've slumped off lately," commented Boomer.

  They were crossing vast, overgrown fields, heading for a cluster of abandoned buildings.

  "No way of telling," said Apollo, "how long this has been deserted."

  "I'd guess a good while," said the lieutenant. "One thing about being associated with Starbuck, you get to see some interesting places"

  "And meet some interesting women."

  "Yeah, I'm kind of anxious to see this current lady he's tangled up with. What was her name, Robber?"

  "According to the reliable Cora, yes."

  They slowed their pace as they neared the Skyfarms, Ltd. buildings.

  "Robber," repeated Boomer. "She sounds like a tough lady."

  "She'd have to be to get the best of Starbuck. He usually . . . hey, there's somebody in front of that warehouse." Apollo drew his laser pistol.

  "Only a robot," said Boomer. "Doesn't look to be functioning."

  "We'll approach with caution anyway."

  The overalled mechanical man was slumped in his chair. "Howdy . . ." he croaked when they were a few yards from him.

  "It's just barely working," said Boomer.

  Apollo was at the entrance to the empty warehouse. "Somebody's been in here." He entered.

  Lieutenant Boomer followed. "Over there," he said, pointing. "Some kind of fracas. Yeah, look at all the footprints in the dust. It doesn't look like a friendly encounter."

  Crouching, Apollo touched at a dark spot on the wood flooring. "This is blood," he said.

  "Not much of it around, though."

  "Meaning somebody wap hurt but not killed."

  "If Starbuck was here, he's moved on. So we—"

  "You inside there!" boomed a voice from outside. "Throw down your weapons and come out. Quick!"

  "Wasn't all that difficult," Scrapper was explaining as they made their way through the misty swampland. "Just a matter of rigging one of them old farmbots to do a few simple chores."

  "Scrap's a wizard with gadgets," added Starbuck. He was at the head of the line, with Robber just behind him. "He got that mechanical fieldhand to walk and talk just great."

  "Then we used him to decoy Threetime out of that there shack," said Scrapper. "After we had the fat boy safely stunned, then we up and sent the 'bot to rap on the shack door. While poor old Psycho was givin' all his attention to that, I snuck around back. After peeking through the window to make sure where you was, I just up and dropped in, usin' this finger here to cut me an entry."

  Robber smiled back at him over her shoulder. "I appreciate what you did," she said. "You, too, Starbuck."

  The lieutenant added cigar smoke to the swirling mist. "I happen to be what is called chivalrous," he told her. "That means I am compelled to help maidens in distress."

  "Of course," reminded the dark-haired young woman, "I wouldn't have been in most of this trouble if that nitwit computer of yours hadn't futzed the Viper and forced me to land such a damn long way from—"

  "Hey, my computer was just doing her duty," Starbuck said. "You, dear Robber, had highjacked my ship . . . which in some of the more civilized corners of the universe might be construed as piracy . . . To continue, you swiped my ship, left me for dead—"

  "Hell, I only borrowed your dippy ship because mine was flooey," she said. "And you sure weren't anywhere near dead when—"

  "Might be," put in Scrapper, "a good idea if you explained why you was so anxious to get away from that there asteroid, Robber."

  "That's obvious," she said impatiently. "Croad was on my tail."

  "Him I met," said Starbuck. "He's the local law. That makes you, my love, the local outlaw, since he was—"

  "Ain't exactly that simple," said Scrapper. "Them enforcers say they're the law, but . . . well, they run the prison colony on Proteus. And that ain't the most honest and upright place you could wish for."

  "It's a sinkhole," commented Robber.

  "She grew up there," said Scrapper, "but was lucky enough to escape and get over here."

  "That was when I was seventeen," she said. "For the past year or so I've lived with a group of other escapees, south of here. We farm, and raise cattle."

  "And where does the Ambrosa come in?"

  "There's a lot of that on Proteus," she replied. "And there are ways of picking up a cargo now and then. Risky, but worth trying. This time Croad nearly caught me."

  "He nearly caught me, too," said Starbuck. "In fact, I borrowed his fighter to come here."

  Robber laughed. "Seems to me that makes you an outlaw, too."

  "Well, it could be that in these parts that's the best thing to be." He puffed on his cigar.

  Scrapper said, "We want to go off on the trail that branches off this one just ahead. From what you tell me, Starbuck, it's a shortcut to where the fighter and your ship are."

  "You don't have to fly me back to my group," the girl said to Starbuck. "I can manage it on foot."

  "Nope," he told her. "When I go out on a date with a lady, I always see her s
afely home."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Boomer had his eye to a crack in the warehouse wall. "Seems like there's just one man out there," he said quietly. "The lasergun he's toting looks old-fashioned but effective."

  "I'll surrender to him," said Apollo. "Give me a little time, then distract him." Boomer nodded.

  Apollo walked to the doorway, tossed out his pistol. "Okay," he called, "I'm coming out."

  Hands high, he marched into the weedy field.

  The man with the gun was some two hundred feet away. Tall, thickset, he wore brown clothes. There was a star emblem on his jacket.

  "I want your partner, too," he told Apollo.

  The captain feigned surprise, kept moving toward him. "What partner?"

  "The black guy who went into the damn warehouse with you."

  Smiling, Apollo said, "I don't like to argue a fellow who packs a gun, but I didn't go into that place with—"

  "Look, if he doesn't come out in another minute, I'll gun you down."

  Apollo was only a few feet away from the thickset lawman now. "Who exactly are you?" he asked him.

  "I'm an enforcer," he answered.

  "Then we're on the same side." Apollo started lowering his hands. "Because I—"

  "Keep 'em up."

  "Sure, okay. But the point is, we're probably looking for the same man," continued Apollo. "He's a middle-sized young fellow, with hair the color of straw. He smokes foul cigars and dotes on stealing other people's means of transportation."

  The lawman studied Apollo's face. "Well, as a matter of fact, that does sound like him," he said. "I never laid eyes on the little bastard myself, but—"

  "You can be thankful you didn't." Apollo edged nearer. "He's a vile criminal, notorious for his—"

  "What the devil?"

  Over by the warehouse doorway the lounging robot had suddenly stood up and begun waving his arms.

  The husky lawman's attention was drawn to that.

  Apollo lunged and caught the enforcer's arm. He twisted the gun from his grasp. Then Apollo jabbed him twice in the midsection and once in the jaw. When the man hit the ground he was unconscious.

  "Starbuck's a bad influence," remarked Apollo. "Now I'm knocking out minions of the law."