Battlestar Galactica 10 - The Long Patrol

by Glen A. Larson

  "That's a lie," said Croad, moving nearer to him. "Now I want you back inside your—"

  "Tell us," said Starbuck, facing him, "the last time a Colonial freighter docked here."

  "The business of the enforcers is covered by security restrictions. I couldn't possibly—"

  "Have you ever seen a freighter, Croad? Did your father?"

  "Get into your cell."

  "That's not much of an answer." Starbuck turned to Assault. "You people have been wasting your darn lives. You haven't helped the Colonies."

  Assault looked at the enforcer. "Is what he's saying true?"

  "No, none of it," Croad assured him. "You wouldn't take the word of a—"

  "You don't have to take anybody's word," said Starbuck. "All you have to do is walk out of that cell, Assault, and go outside. Look at the darn docking area and the spaceport. Then you tell me if this whole mess here isn't just a stupid boondoggle to keep the enforcers in power."

  "I'm warning you, Starbuck," said Croad, reaching for his lasergun. "If you don't—"

  "Wait," said Assault.

  "There's no need to pay any attention to Starbuck," said the enforcer.

  Ignoring him, Assault opened the door of his cell.

  Robber tapped her fingertips on the side of her seat. "You've known Starbuck for a while, huh?"

  "I sure have." Apollo, dressed now in the clothes of the enforcer, was at the controls of the fighter. They were nearing Proteus. "Can you give me a landing pattern that'll set us now by the prison?"

  Nodding, she reached over, punched out one on the dash controls. "That'll do it."

  "Much obliged."

  Robber said, "I find I have mixed feelings about him."

  "Starbuck? He takes getting used to," Apollo told her. "What it comes down to finally is . . . Starbuck is Starbuck."

  "I realize that," she said. "When I . . . um . . . incapacitated him and took his Viper, I thought I'd never see him again." She shrugged.

  The dark asteroid grew larger and larger beyond the window of the ship.

  "For many folks Starbuck is like a bad habit. Hard to give up."

  "The reason I wanted the Viper originally," Robber said as they began to descend, "was to try to get to Aeries. My old shuttle'd never make that jaunt. I have relatives there—"

  "When's the last time you were in touch with them?"

  "I've never been in touch," the dark-haired girl replied. "But my mother told me about her people being there. And when I was a kid, she taught me a merchant's code to use to communicate with—"

  "Hold it," said Apollo. "Did you use that code to try and contact Aeries while you were in the Viper?"

  "Yes."

  "The Cylons conquered that planet quite some time ago," he said. "If they picked up your transmission, they'll be sending somebody to see who sent it."

  Robber folded her hands in her lap. "I didn't know," she said. "I'm sorry."

  "You couldn't have known, isolated as you are," said Apollo. "But we can almost certainly expect a Cylon visit. And their visits are never friendly ones."

  "That's something to worry about," said Robber. "But let's get Starbuck free first."

  "Let's," agreed Apollo.

  Boomer sniffed at the air. "That smell's familiar," he said, "but I can't quite place—"

  "Ambrosa," said Scrapper. "From the distilleries yonder."

  They had landed on Proteus and were moving through a wooded area toward the rear of the prison complex.

  "They make the stuff here?"

  "It's just about the sole industry, Boomer."

  "In our part of the universe Ambrosa's damn rare."

  "Not on Proteus," he said. "They're up to here in the dang stuff, which is why Robber and a few others run loads over to the other asteroids and planetoids now and then."

  The lieutenant asked, "Are the distilleries part of the prison?"

  "Right behind it," he answered. "You'll see the whole shootin' match in about . . . oops. Hold up." Scrapper held his metal hand in front of Boomer to halt his progress along the pathway.

  "Something wrong?"

  "Heard somethin' off that way and . . . oh . . . greetin's, Hustler."

  A small, bearded old man stood, barely visible, in among the trees. He leaned on a knobby wooden staff. "Wellsir, if it ain't Scrapper himself," he said in a quavery voice. "You come for a load?"

  "Nope, nope, just a friendly visit."

  " 'Cause we been able to acquire another hundred cases."

  "I'll tell Robber."

  "Aw, she took her last load from Lightfingers and his bunch." Hustler shook his head sadly, causing his long beard to flutter. "Any fool knows he waters his Ambrosa. It ain't got the quality ours has."

  Scrapper inquired, "How you been?"

  "Can't complain," answered Hustler. "The terrible pain in my back ain't no better but I've learned to live with it. The dizzy spells been a mite better. And the last time I fell over in a swoon I landed on mossy ground and didn't break anything. So all in all, when you ask how I been, Scrapper, I got to say—"

  "Well, it's been right nice chattin' with you," Scrapper said, grinning. "We'll be moseyin' on now. And if you hear a lot of loud noises in a spell, don't pay that no mind."

  "Way my hearing is these days, I'm lucky to hear anything at all." He gave them a wave before disappearing among the trees.

  "That's one of the dangerous side effects of smugglin'," said Scrapper as he and Boomer continued on their way to the prison. "You get to samplin' too much of the stuff yourself."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Commander Adama sat in a comfortable chair in his quarters, a pile of reports on his lap. He leaned back in the chair, eyes nearly shut.

  "Colonel Tigh requests permission to enter," said a talkbox overhead.

  "Granted." Sitting up, Adama moved the stack of papers to a nearby tabletop.

  The black colonel looked worried as he came into the room. "Those signals that were sent out to Aeries," he began.

  "Have produced results?"

  "Not the sort I'd have wished for, but results, yes," answered Tigh. "Our long-range scanners indicate three Cylon fighters have entered the asteroid dust cloud."

  "Do they appear to be heading for the Galactica?"

  "No. The scanners indicate that their projected course is to the area from which Starbuck's Recon Viper One sent the signals," said Colonel Tigh. "That's where Apollo and Boomer are, too."

  Adama stroked his chin. "The Cylons must be scanning on a narrow beam," he said. "Or they'd have picked us up by now."

  "Eventually they will spot us."

  "We'll have to bring the fleet to flank speed," decided the commander. "Then set a new course to put as much space between us and those Cylons as possible."

  "In that case Apollo's patrol may not be able to find us."

  "We won't change course immediately," said Adama. "But if there's no sign of Apollo and the others soon, we'll have to act."

  "Yes, sir," said Tigh without much enthusiasm.

  Croad lost his lasergun in the scuffle.

  The prisoners came rushing free of their cells, heading for the outside. Starbuck was at the forefront, leading the excited procession.

  "Fresh air," said Assault when he reached the docking area. "All these years, moving from the prison cells to the distilleries, we rarely got outside."

  "That's one of the things freedom's about," Starbuck pointed out. "Being able to breathe fresh air when you want . . . excuse me." He aimed the gun he'd acquired from Croad at the approaching enforcer. "Drop that laser rifle, my lad."

  "What the hell is going—"

  "This is what you call," explained the lieutenant, "a prison break."

  "But these people can't—"

  "The rifle. Drop it. Otherwise I may have to render you defunct."

  The enforcer dropped his weapon, stood back and watched the dozens of prisoners come pouring out into the light and air.

  "I see what you mean about th
e crates," said Assault, who was walking toward the nearest stack of Ambrosa boxes.

  "Years of work," said Adulteress, sighing. "Years and years, all for nothing."

  "Not exactly nothing," said Starbuck. "You ought to be able to sell this stuff all across the universe. The profits will be fantastic."

  The children of the prisoners were running and laughing, climbing the crates, tumbling in the high grass, making up brand new outdoor games.

  Assault shook his head. "There were times," he said, "when I suspected something like this. But I . . . I never tried to find out."

  "It's easy to get into a rut," said Starbuck. "The important thing is, it's over now and you folks can start a new kind of life."

  "That won't be easy."

  "I know."

  "But you're right. We have . . . ho! There's an enforcer ship coming in for a landing."

  "Nothing to fear," grinned Starbuck, patting his laser gun. "I'll act as a welcoming committee."

  "You sure you can bring this off?" Robber had asked as the fighter lowered toward a landing next to the Proteus prison.

  "Impersonating an enforcer? Sure," answered Apollo.

  "You don't look all that convincing in Yauk's clothes."

  Apollo laughed. "I can see why Starbuck likes you," he said. "You're feisty."

  "He doesn't like me much."

  "Trust me, he . . . hey, what's going on down there?"

  Robber leaned forward in her seat. "Prisoners," she said. "They're rushing out of the damn place."

  "Is that usual?"

  "Not at all."

  Apollo concentrated on landing. When that was accomplished, he said, "I think I know what's going on. There's Starbuck."

  The lieutenant, gun in hand and cigar in mouth, was strolling over to their ship.

  Opening the cabin door, Apollo dropped to the ground. "You shouldn't have gone to all this trouble for us, old boy," he said. "A simple brass band would've sufficed."

  "I'll be darned," said Starbuck. "Fancy meeting you here . . . and you."

  Very tentatively Robber climbed free of the ship. She remained close to it, watching Starbuck.

  He thrust his gun in his belt, then hugged her. "I'm glad to see you again."

  "Let's not overdo it," she said, slowly pulling free of him. "There's no need to get so damn . . . but, well, I missed you, too."

  "See? Didn't I warn you that eventually you'd realize how charming I—"

  "Don't let me spoil this reunion," said Apollo. "But I really think we ought to think about departing."

  "Something wrong?" Starbuck asked him.

  "It's possible we have Cylons looking for us," said Apollo.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  "Well, shucks," remarked Scrapper, "we didn't get to have us no dang fun at all. Looks like the fightin' is all over and done."

  "That's okay by me," Boomer said as they walked over to the others.

  "Howdy, Starbuck," said Scrapper, giving him a lazy salute with his metal hand. "Are there maybe some enforcers still holed up inside the prison? Diehards who won't give up without a pitched battle and lots of—"

  "They all surrendered, every darn one of 'em, just before you guys arrived," the lieutenant informed him.

  "Dang." Scrapper kicked at the high grass.

  Starbuck nudged Boomer. "Have you feasted your orbs on all these crates surrounding us? Each and every one contains flasks of aged Ambrosa," he explained, grinning. "Now, envision a situation in which you and I, Boomer, return in triumph to the Galactica with a few cases of aged Ambrosa tucked beneath our arms. I am already beloved and idolized by all and sundry aboard the ship, but this coup'll—"

  "Can we skip the bedtime yams," suggested Apollo, "and get to the problem at hand?"

  Boomer asked, "You worrying about the Cylons?"

  Nodding, the captain said, "Signals were sent to Aeries. And since the Cylons control that particular planet, they must've picked them up."

  "Who was dumb enough to—"

  "Me," Robber told the black lieutenant. "I didn't know that Aeries was no longer friendly."

  Starbuck gave her a reassuring pat on the backside. "No use crying over spilled Ambrosa," he advised. "The thing to do now is figure a way to outfox the patrol the Cylons will almost certainly send."

  Apollo asked, "Got a notion?"

  Starbuck took out one of his vile cigars. He lit it, puffed. "We'll need my new Recon Viper," he said. "And that means returning to the delightful planetoid we just vacated. And getting the crate in flying shape again."

  "We may not have time for that," said Apollo.

  "Let's gamble that we do." Starbuck, unexpectedly, kissed Robber on the cheek. "Don't go away, my love. I'll return to you as soon as the skies are safe for democracy."

  "You don't owe me any—"

  "Hush," he said. "Just follow instructions and all will be well." Spinning on his heel, he started for the fighter. "Which of you blokes is going to give me a lift?"

  Boomer looked at Apollo. "Shall we flip for the honor?"

  "I'll take him," volunteered Apollo. "I think I know what he has in mind and . . . well, it just might work."

  "I'm impressed," said Boomer.

  "At the way I have, both deftly and swiftly, gotten this Recon Viper back into flying shape?" Starbuck shut his tool kit, then wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

  "Nope, at how you manage to charm women in every darn galaxy that we hit," said the lieutenant. "When you and Robber parted, there were tears in her eyes."

  "She's just got hayfever." Apollo was looking skyward. "And she's allergic to him."

  Wiping his palms on his backside, Starbuck said, "Seeing me each and every day aboard the battlestar, gents, causes you to take me for granted. My many admirable traits you overlook."

  "I wish," said Apollo, "one of them was speed."

  "It is." Starbuck climbed into his cockpit. "Didn't I only meet the young lady a matter of a few—"

  "Are you still babbling about that awful hussy?" asked his computer.

  "Howdy, Cora." Starbuck strapped himself into his seat. "Miss me?"

  "Not a bit."

  "Not even a little?"

  "No, I made up my mind that if you're going to throw yourself at every pretty face that comes down the pike, well, I'm not going to sit here and fret."

  "Ah, but I always come back to you, love." Starbuck grinned out at his two comrades. "I'll go aloft now, fellas. You stand by to execute your parts in our little surprise for the Cylons."

  Apollo leaned close to him. "Remember, good buddy, that your ship isn't armed."

  "That's not an item I'm likely to forget."

  "Good luck," added Boomer.

  "With my skill and Cora's brains, we don't need luck." He closed himself into the cockpit.

  Apollo and Boomer moved clear of the Recon Viper One. In a moment, after a final grin and wave from Starbuck, the craft went roaring up from the surface of the planetoid.

  "How many Cylons should we expect?" said Boomer, watching the Viper climb away.

  "We'll soon find out," said Apollo.

  Cora spotted them first.

  "Oh, my," she said. "Here they come."

  "Show me."

  "Look at the display screen."

  He noted three blips of greenish light on the dark screen. "Only three?"

  "All armed to the teeth."

  Exhaling smoke, Starbuck said, "Okay, pet, let's see if we can attract their attention."

  "You absolutely certain you want to try this, hon?"

  Starbuck grinned. "Be a shade late now if I was thinking of backing out." He punched out a course that would bring him close to the trio of approaching Cylon fighters.

  "Going to be three against one," reminded the computer as they rushed toward the dangerous rendezvous.

  "Three to three once Apollo and Boomer join in."

  "But you don't have guns."

  "But I'm armed with a superior brain," he said.

  H
e could see the three formidable Cylon fighters growing ever larger outside his cockpit window.

  "They'll fire in point-eight-five centons," the computer informed him.

  "Okay, sweets, engage boosters a micron before they start shooting."

  "Right you are, Bucky."

  "And don't call me—"

  The three Cylon ships had altered course and were heading right for Starbuck.

  Their laserguns started to fire, etching lines of intense brightness across the black. But they didn't come near hitting him. The Viper had accelerated suddenly, swooping out of range.

  "Hey, that was beautiful," exclaimed Starbuck as he banked the Viper.

  "Yes, wasn't it," agreed Cora. "Oops! Here they come again. Hold on, hon."

  The Cylons were diving, all three ships intent on catching up with Starbuck.

  He executed a swift turn, accelerated again and once more eluded their banks of laserguns.

  "What say we spring our trap now?" He banked and headed back for the planetoid. "I bet our Cylon buddies'll like this next little surprise."

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  "He's got 'em occupied," announced Apollo, checking his scanner screen. "Let's go, Boomer."

  Instants later the captain's Viper blazed up from the planetoid's surface. Boomer followed.

  Both Vipers came up behind the trio of Cylon fighters that were intent on Starbuck. Apollo selected the Cylon ship on the far right. He began shortening the gap between them.

  "Surprise," he said, firing his laserguns.

  The shots flashed across the darkness separating the ships.

  The Cylon fighter glowed suddenly. It seemed to hesitate for an instant, then exploded. The pieces rushed away from each other.

  The ship Boomer had gone after became aware of him before he got in his first shot. It broke formation, veering to the left. Boomer pursued. The third Cylon fighter noticed him, too. Banking, it came diving at him.

  "Whoops, that Cylon's after Boomer's tail," Starbuck said.

  "Poor boy."

  "Save the pity, Cora love," said the lieutenant. "Kick up the speed." He swung the Viper into an arc.

  "Whatever are you planning?"

  "I've got to make that Cylon idiot flinch and go off his course," explained Starbuck impatiently. "So we're going to have to cut in between him and Boomer. That'll—"