Buck Rogers 2 - That Man on Beta

by Addison E. Steele

  “All right,” Buck gestured toward the path leading out of the garden. “Let’s go.”

  “Wait a minute,” Kane put in. “How do we know this earthworm will keep his word, Ardala? We have nothing to make us believe in his good faith.”

  “I’ve got to admit you’re right, Kane. For once in your life.”

  Kane faced Buck Rogers, chuckling in triumph. “All in good time, me Buck-o. Once we know you’re serious about helping us. Then we can see about satisfying your curiosity.”

  “Provided there’s a mutual pledge,” Buck agreed. “Ardala, we have our disagreements, but I believe you’ll keep your word about this. But there’s another condition. I want you to sign a non-aggression treaty with the Inner City.”

  Kane roared with laughter. “Are you joking, Rogers? Don’t you remember—Draconia was ready to sign a treaty with the Inner City and you meddled with the negotiations and botched the whole deal!”

  “That was a false treaty, Kane. A cover story for a treacherous invasion, as you well know. I mean an honest treaty, with full provisions for enforcement and inspection.”

  “Never,” the burly Kane snarled.

  “Agreed,” Ardala overruled him, provoking a glare of pure hatred from the oily Kane.

  “And the first thing you do, to show your good faith—since you’re the ones who first raised that question—is to send Wilma back to Earth. In the Earth ship standing on the Villus Beta landing field right now!”

  A slow smile crept across Ardala’s face, the very opposite of the glare that radiated angrily from Kane’s. Things were working out precisely as the princess would have hoped that they would—and not at all as Kane would have preferred.

  Of course, when Wilma Deering heard of the deal that had been struck between Buck Rogers and Princess Ardala, behind Wilma’s back, she was less than delighted. In fact, by the time she reached the spaceport to board the rocket for Earth, she was kicking, screaming, biting, and altogether being carried and dragged more than she was walking to the ship. After a struggle the Draconian guards had her loaded into the ship and locked into its cabin. But as the commander of the detachment commented when he reported to Ardala on the completion of his task, “She is in the ship, Your Royal Highness. But—how can we make her fly it to Earth? And if she refuses, what becomes of your bargain with Captain Rogers?”

  “I’ll take care of that, officer,” Buck Rogers said. “If you agree, Ardala—I’ll go and have a talk with Wilma.”

  “In a spaceship, fully fueled and ready to blast off?” the princess asked incredulously.

  “I give you my word,” Buck stated, “I will return here as soon I’ve talked with Wilma. Whatever the outcome of our discussion.”

  The princess sighed. “Very well, Buck. I may be a fool, but . . .” She waved him toward the ship.

  As soon as Buck clambered into the rocket ship’s cabin, Wilma Deering tore into him with an attack of verbal viciousness that exceeded anything she had ever said to him before. “You are nothing but a traitor, Buck Rogers!” she screamed.

  “Giving in to their demands! Buck! How can you believe that sappy story about saving their race? And why should you help save them anyway? They’re the enemy of Earth!”

  “Will you calm down, Wilma?” Buck tried to soothe her by patting her hand with his own, but she pulled angrily away from him. He tried with words again: “What have you to gain by staying here?” he asked. “They’ll kill you, Wilma. They don’t need you—just me. So you’re their trump card against me! If I get out of line, they torture you. Threaten your life, even. I can’t live with that. You got your choice, lady—you can stay here and wind up tortured to death, or you can fly back to Earth in this ship, and be free.”

  “But I don’t want to be free!” Wilma sobbed. “I want to protect my planet from these vicious fiends.”

  “They’re not so bad,” Buck temporized.

  “You’re saying that just because that woman has the hots for you!”

  “Don’t be silly, Wilma! I just want us both to play the best odds we can get. You go back to Earth and tell them where I am. You can lead a rescue fleet back here to Villus Beta.”

  Wilma thought about that for a long time. Finally she said, half-questioningly, “I can r-rescue you?”

  “Yes,” Buck affirmed. “That’s why I want you to go.” Still she hesitated, and he leaned forward and kissed her gently.

  “All right,” Wilma agreed.

  The Princess Ardala watched the takeoff of Wilma’s starfighter with deeply satisfied eyes. As the ship disappeared into the black void above Villus Beta, the princess turned to the man at her side and asked a question.

  “Exactly whom do you plan to have Rogers mate with, Professor?”

  “I’ll show you, Your Highness,” Von Norbert replied. He led the princess from the spaceport to the nearby great hall, where she unhesitatingly took the seat of the ruler. “All right, Professor, now let’s see your show.”

  Von Norbert gave a signal, and three young women traipsed into the hall from behind a row of shimmering, gossamer curtains. One of them had green hair and eyes, and smooth, creamy skin with a distinctly greenish cast to it. The second was similarly colored in blue—blue hair, blue eyes, beautiful pale blue skin. The final young woman was orange: orange of hair, orange of eye, orange of skin.

  Each of the three was more than beautiful: each was absolutely spectacular. Their figures would have astonished the most rabid of spaceborne pinup collectors. Their costumes were suggestive of spacesuits, but instead of protecting the bodies from the ravishes of vacuum and radiation, they exposed all to the devouring eyes of any interested observer.

  “Here they are, my princess,” Von Norbert announced proudly. “Three of the loveliest creatures in the known universe. Grenda . . . Blorim . . . and Orell. Selected by computer with the primary desideratum their physical charms, of course—but also with points assigned to stamina, intellect, and esprit de corps.”

  The Princess Ardala inspected Grenda, Blorim, and Orell closely, paying no more attention to them as persons than a stockbreeder does in inspecting a herd of cattle. After she had examined all three with an almost microscopic thoroughness, she turned to Von Norbert and said, “Not good enough!”

  “But—but they’re the best, Your Highness!” Von Norbert stammered. “Perfect for our needs. Look—just look at those pelvic regions!” He seized a pointer and prodded one of the young women on display. “Perfect for mothering the next generation!”

  “They are not good enough . . . for Buck Rogers,” Ardala reiterated. “The man deserves the very best. He deserves—a princess!”

  Kane smashed one mighty fist onto the polished wooden surface of a gorgeously crafted table, splintering the table into little more than sawdust. “That does it!” he shrieked. “I’m calling your father, the emperor! He’ll return from the battle-front when he hears of this insolence!”

  Ardala smiled and stroked Kane’s bristling cheek with a set of long, graceful, barbarously painted fingernails. “You’re just being jealous, Kane. But I wouldn’t marry you anyway, even if I hadn’t found Buck. I’m just not interested in your bungling pomposity.”

  Kane roared an obscenity and stamped furiously from the hall.

  Professor Von Norbert smiled grimly. “I don’t wish to offend Her Highness,” he addressed Ardala. “But we are conducting a military experiment. The war with the Gregorians is not going well, and its outcome hangs in the balance. If we can’t produce a new crop of soldiers with full immunities within the next five years at most, we will have to give up our hopes of conquering the Gregorian system.

  “Your Highness,” he went on obsequiously, “much as I tremble to interfere with the princess’ personal life, I must submit that we cannot let anyone’s romantic ambitions interfere with our work.”

  “So,” Ardala replied hotly, “now you’re turning on me, too, Von Norbert? After my personally funding your experiments? Hah! You talk about war. I’m talking
about love! I want Buck Rogers!”

  Professor Von Norbert ran his hand through his thinning gray hair. He had an air of youthful energy about him most of the time, but now he looked, suddenly, far older than usual. “Princess Ardala,” he said, “I’m your friend. I’m a friend of your father the emperor. I used to bounce you on my knee when you were a baby. In fact, I bounced all of the thirty royal daughters on my knee when they were babies.”

  “Yes, yes,” Ardala seethed.

  “I’ve known you all your life,” Von Norbert continued. “I would do nothing to harm you. But—”

  “I knew a but was coming,” Ardala complained. “All of that dear old Uncle Von Norbert business had to be a buildup for something. So—what is it, dear old Uncle Von Norbert?”

  “We must go by the will of computer,” the professor supplied. “If it says you make an acceptable mate for Buck Rogers . . . and if that is what the royal will desires, of course . . . then you may mate with him.”

  “Good,” Ardala said. “The computer won’t dare deny my wishes!”

  “We shall see what the readout says,” Von Norbert answered neutrally. “Plus, of course, Captain Rogers’ other mates. There must be hundreds of them. Thousands, in fact. In fact . . .”

  Ardala cut him off again. “You listen to me, you professorial nincompoop! I am a princess. I am one princess, alone, the last remaining of the emperor’s daughters who has not married herself to some simpering weakling. If I have to share Buck Rogers with thousands of brood-cows just to conquer the Gregorian system, then we can cancel our conquest of the Gregorian system. Draconia owns hundreds of solar systems, all across the galaxy. Thousands of them! Who needs one more?”

  “We are bound by the computer, Your Highness,” Von Norbert said. He began to escort the princess to the Villus Beta computer center. She swept before him with regal hauteur.

  The Betan computer center was designed with full attention to the requirements of the machines, and only passing consideration for the needs of their users. Giant panels of circuit modules and indicator diodes filled vast volumes of space, while power supply systems, environmental stabilizers, titanic heat-sinks and high-capacity storage devices extended the size of the center to imposing degrees.

  In the very innermost location of the computer center Professor Von Norbert and Princess Ardala halted. Here, in a sparkling, antiseptic room devoid of any sign of human life, a master inquiry-board and communications module stood. It was fitted with keyboard, printer, telescreen, voder, and audio-input circuits, pattern recognition readers, and every other conceivable form of equipment usable for communication with a computer.

  “Well,” Von Norbert announced proudly, “here it is! The most advanced computing facility in the entire Draconian realm—probably, in the entire known galaxy!”

  “Good,” Ardala commented. “Get out!”

  Von Norbert was stunned. “I beg Your Highness’ pardon. Did I hear Your Highness say—”

  “You bet your britches you heard me. Scram, Professor!”

  “But—but, Your Highness!” He was nearly in tears.

  “Listen here, dear old Uncle Von Norbert. Can this computer understand what I say to it?”

  “But of course,” Von Norbert said. His confidence was beginning to return, now that he was back on technical ground. “You may activate a microphone and speak to it, type your message by keyboard, write it on the sensaplate with stylus, tap it in by telegrapher’s code . . .”

  “Fine,” Ardala stopped him again. “Voice will do fine. Well, and maybe I’ll play around with some of the other toys you have on here. So this is what you do with the money I get you out of the imperial treasury. Build yourself shiny toys!”

  “Your Highness!”

  “Scram!”

  Von Norbert bowed out with quivering chin.

  Ardala sat at the computer’s console, tapped a few symbols via keyboard, then flicked an input mode control switch to oral.

  The computer spoke in its electronically synthesized voice. “Villus Compu at your service.”

  “Good,” Ardala said, “do you recognize me? Here’s my handprint, check it with your files.”

  “You are Princess Ardala, twenty-sixth daughter of Draco, king of Draconia and emperor of the Draconian realm.”

  “That’s right, you old bag of diodes and chips. I am also beautiful, intelligent, and very loving. And I desire to mate with Captain Buck Rogers of Terra.”

  “Negative,” the computer voiced, “your personality scan is not appropriate for this experiment.”

  “What are you talking about? You’re nothing but a machine! You don’t just say negative to me—I’m a princess! I order you to have Buck Rogers mate with me!”

  “Negative. Your personality scan indicates independent, hard to get along with, apt to rant and rave. This experiment is for the breeding of soldiers, who must be subject to discipline and conformity. You are not suitable.”

  “What do you mean?” Ardala ranted. “I’ve never ranted or raved in my life!” she screamed. “Where’s something heavy? Give me . . .”

  She ran around the room, searching. Finally she opened the top of the console keyboard unit and pulled out a heavy paper roller. She was about to smash the computer’s visiscreen when it sprang to life with the image of her father.

  The Emperor Draco, it should be understood, has been criticized for his ambition, his ruthlessness, his vicious temper, his gourmandlike appetite for all fleshly pleasures including food, drink, lush women, fast vehicles, vainglory, palaces, villas, high-speed groundcars, yachts, and spaceships. In fact, all of this criticism is entirely valid—and then some.

  But Draco was also brilliantly intelligent, vastly skilled at both political and military sciences, absolutely fearless, and—in his own, brutal way—fiercely loving and loyal to all of his daughters and all of his empire.

  Huge, bearded, garbed in the uniform of stellar high admiral—which title he bore in addition to his royal and imperial ones, and which he had earned by dint of sheer military brilliance quite aside from his position on the throne—Draco peered out of the computer screen and commanded his daughter.

  “Ardala! Put that down at once!”

  The furious princess of a moment before turned into a naughty child, discovered and scolded by a righteous, stern parent. She fumblingly installed the paper roller back into the keyboard. “Yes, Father,” she said contritely.

  “Daughter,” Draco’s visage intoned, “I am very upset, very disappointed with you. Here I am having the time of my life in the middle of a perfectly glorious space war. Thousands of ships. Millions of troopers. Casualties all over the place. Blood, gore, screams of the wounded, moans of the dying, etc., etc. And I just received the most distressing summons away from my duties.”

  “Don’t listen to Kane,” Ardala pleaded. “You know he’s just jealous. He wants to marry me and be a prince, and I spurned him and he’s mad. I love you, Daddy.”

  “Now you listen to me, young lady. This Gregorian war is no trifling matter. We are determined to conquer the Gregorians. We must win. I must win! And if you do anything to interfere with my victory, I will have you executed as a traitor.”

  “But, Daddy,” Ardala sniffled.

  “No buts! Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Daddy,” Ardala sobbed.

  F O U R T E E N

  The Ellis Plan was what they called it, in honor of the robot armorer Ellis 14 who had worked out the logical procedure involved. Supervisor Latner had fumed and protested but the old scientist Dr. Huer had insisted, and the Ellis Plan it was.

  When it went into effect, the Inner City defense squadron ready detachment was cut back to skeleton level, with all duty crews on twenty-four-hour alert, while a special force was sent at top speed, star-warp drive, to trace the vector calculated in the Intelligence and Scanning Center.

  The point ship of the special expeditionary force was piloted by Wilma Deering’s deputy commander and executive officer,
Major Dylan. Dylan’s screen was set for a maximum range scan, and the pilot’s keen eyes seldom strayed from the eerily glowing rectangle. Suddenly Dylan’s eyes widened. A blip!

  It was too remote, or too small, an object—or one both too remote and too small to register on the range-and-mass indicator in Dylan’s starfighter, but it was an object in a sector of space where no objects were normally to be found. And it was moving as fast as only a starfighter in star-warp drive could move—directly toward the defense squadron!

  “Ship in twelfth quadrant,” Dylan snapped into the starfighter’s radiophone, “identify yourself.”

  There was a brief pause filled with only the space-crackle of free-floating hydrogen nuclei colliding in random combinations. Then a familiar voice spoke through Dylan’s earphones: “This is Colonel Deering, Inner City, earth space fleet. Request ID data on yourself!”

  With a grin of relief the exec radio’d back, “Colonel Deering! This is your fleet! Dylan speaking—I’m in temporary command for this sector!”

  “Oh, it’s so good to hear you!” Relief was clear in Wilma’s voice.

  “Are you all right?” Dylan asked.

  “Yes. Fine.”

  “And Captain Rogers?”

  “He’s—he’s still on Villus Beta,” Wilma told the other pilot. “He helped me escape so I could return to Earth for help.”

  “Well, you don’t have to go that far. Help’s here now! Are you ready to assume command of the squadron, Colonel, or shall I continue to act for you?”

  Wilma drew a deep breath. “Yes,” she said, “thank you, Dylan, for acting in my absence. And for bringing help this far. I’ll resume command now, thanks again.”

  She swung the controls of her starfighter around, warped her flight path to match that of the speeding fleet. She saw Dylan’s ship, on her screen, falling back to exec position, leaving the command position open for her. With a joyful heart, Wilma swung her starfighter into formation with the rest of her command and rocketed onward with the others.

  On Villus Beta, Buck Rogers and Professor Von Norbert had left their respective interests and were—to put it delicately—negotiating terms. They stood in the room that had first been assigned to Buck for housing, before he and Wilma had experienced their abortive romance in the artificial Garden of Eden.