Battlestar Galactica 9 - Experiment In Terra

by Glen A. Larson

  A new BATTLESTAR GALACTICA adventure!

  When the ruling council of the Galactica strips

  Adama of his powers of supreme command,

  the mighty ship is thrown into chaos.

  As if being caught in the middle of an

  all-out space war wasn't enough,

  Baltar has escaped and is streaking across

  the galaxy to his Cylon allies!

  SONIC ATTACK

  Strange murmuring sounds began coming out of his speaker. A brilliant, glaring light filled the cockpit of his viper. Apollo looked out to his left and saw an immense glowing spacecraft. The noise, like thousands of crystal pendants rattling in a high wind, grew louder and louder. Apollo tried to bring his hands to cover his ears but they wouldn't obey!

  He slumped forward . . .

  EXPERIMENT IN TERRA

  A new BATTLESTAR GALACTICA adventure!

  Berkley Battlestar Galactica Books

  BATTLESTAR GALACTICA

  by Glen A. Larson and Robert Thurston

  BATTLESTAR GALACTICA 2: THE CYLON DEATH MACHINE

  by Glen A. Larson and Robert Thurston

  BATTLESTAR GALACTICA 3: THE TOMBS OF KOBOL

  by Glen A. Larson and Robert Thurston

  BATTLESTAR GALACTICA 4: THE YOUNG WARRIORS

  by Glen A. Larson and Robert Thurston

  BATTLESTAR GALACTICA 5: GALACTICA DISCOVERS EARTH

  by Glen A. Larson and Michael Resnick

  BATTLESTAR GALACTICA 6: THE LIVING LEGEND

  by Glen A. Larson and Nicholas Yermakov

  BATTLESTAR GALACTICA 7: WAR OF THE GODS

  by Glen A. Larson and Nicholas Yermakov

  BATTLESTAR GALACTICA 8: GREETINGS FROM EARTH

  by Glen A. Larson and Ron Goulart

  BATTLESTAR GALACTICA 9: EXPERIMENT IN TERRA

  by Glen A. Larson and Ron Goulart

  BATTLESTAR GALACTICA 9:

  EXPERIMENT IN TERRA

  A Berkley Book / published with

  MCA PUBLISHING, a Division of MCA Inc.

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley edition / February 1984

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 1984 by MCA PUBLISHING,

  a Division of MCA Inc.

  Cover illustration by David Schleinkofer.

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part,

  by mimeograph or any other means, without permission.

  For information addresss: MCA PUBLISHING,

  a Division of MCA Inc.,

  100 Universal City Plaza,

  Universal City, California 91608.

  ISBN: 0-425-06418-2

  A BERKELY BOOK ® TM 757,375

  Berkley Books are published by Berkley Publishing Corporation,

  200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016.

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  CHAPTER ONE

  Starbuck slouched in his chair, gave a disgruntled chomp on his cigar and observed, "The Council's absolutely goofy."

  "I'm inclined to agree with your sentiments, Lieutenant," said the broad-shouldered Commander Adama from behind his wide metallic desk. "Although I'd probably phrase it a bit more diplomatically."

  "This is no time for diplomacy. Those halfwits are going to mess up the whole—"

  "Take it easy, good buddy," advised Captain Apollo. "Getting all excited isn't going to—"

  "Aw, you never get excited about anything." The blond-haired Lieutenant Starbuck pointed his cigar accusingly at where the lean, dark Apollo was seated.

  The three men were meeting at Adama's quarters aboard the Galactica. Beyond the oval view window showed the chill infinite blackness of space.

  Apollo suggested, "Let my dad finish explaining the situation to us. Okay?"

  Thrusting his cigar back between his even white teeth, Starbuck said, "I'm all ears."

  "I've been meaning to mention that," grinned Apollo.

  Adama cleared his throat. "The situation, gentlemen, is this," he said. "The Council, in a not unusual state, is in total opposition to me. Led, I suspect, by Sire Geller, they've told me they wish our recently acquired prisoners to be set free."

  "They're out and out goofy," reiterated Starbuck. "Those bozos we rounded up on Paradeen come from Terra. And Terra just might be the planet Earth we're all hunting for."

  "I'm well aware of that," the grey-haired commander told him. "If this Terra is the Earth we seek, our long flight across the universe may have been in vain. We'll have eluded the Cylons only to be faced with an equally oppressive enemy. And a human one at that."

  "That's why it's so darn important," said Apollo, leaning forward in his chair, "to question these prisoners from the Alliance."

  "We need to know a good deal more about the Alliance of Terra," agreed his father. "And about these Alliance Enforcers you and Starbuck captured and brought home to us." He spread his hands wide, shrugged. "The Council, however, is moving to release all the prisoners and have an unarmed peace envoy return them to their outpost on Luna Seven."

  Starbuck popped to his feet, one hand raking through his straw-colored hair. "Commander, these Enforcer gents went out to Paradeen to kill people, to wipe out the survivors of previous Alliance attacks. They're . . . heck, face it . . . they're war criminals."

  "Yes, Lieutenant, but the Council doesn't see the situation that way at all," said Commander Adama. "I'm very much afraid they're bent on repeating the mistakes that led to the destruction of our colonies at the hands of the Cylons." He made a fist of his powerful right hand, dropped it to the desk top. "I'm determined that won't happen again, not so long as I'm in command."

  "It's going to take the Council a while," Apollo pointed out, "to do anything at all about setting our prisoners loose. Meantime . . ."

  "Exactly," said Adama with a grim smile. "Meantime I've ordered the fleet to full alert while we shuttle to the prison ship. I'm going to interrogate our Alliance guests personally."

  "Sounds like fun," remarked Starbuck.

  The Galactica continued its majestic flight through space, a mammoth yet graceful multi-level craft. The greatest fighting ship of the Colonial fleet, the huge battlestar was a self-contained world housing thousands. From out of a docking bay a shuttle flashed, aimed at the nearby prison ship.

  Starbuck and Apollo were at the controls.

  The commander, sitting in the forward passenger seat, said, "According to Doctor Salik, these Alliance prisoners were born on a planet with an atmospheric density similar to what we're accustomed to."

  "Which means," said Apollo, glancing up from his control dash, "they're not natives of Luna Seven."

  "Meaning they're probably," put in Starbuck, "from Terra."

  "That seems qui
te likely," said Commander Adama.

  "If they are, they must be military screwups."

  "Oh, so?" Adama's massive grey eyebrows rose.

  "Sure, because back in the colonies the only warriors who got outpost duty off in the space boonies were the ones who'd messed up and stepped on the old man's toes so . . . oops." Starbuck gave a sheepish grin and shifted his cigar to the other side of his mouth. "Guess I shouldn't talk about the old man's toes in front of the old man."

  "That's all right," said Adama, smiling. "I know what you mean, Lieutenant. But I think you're wrong."

  "So do I," said Apollo. "That destroyer ship they have may not be as advanced as ours, but it's brand new or just about. That kind of equipment doesn't get entrusted to foul-ups."

  "That's encouraging news," said Starbuck. "Must mean I'm not the screwup some people say, since I get to pilot such dandy spacecraft."

  Adama said, "I'm inclined to believe that these Enforcers are crack warriors, probably equivalent to Academy graduates such as yourselves. If this Alliance is as oppressive and farflung as it now appears, then their best warriors would be on the frontier."

  "Sure," said Apollo. "On the frontier you would need men who can act on their own initiative."

  "Well, we're going to find out right quick," said Starbuck as he flipped a toggle on the control dash. "Prison Barge, this is Galactica Shuttle requesting landing instructions."

  The door of the prison cell hissed open. Commander Adama halted on the threshold, looking into the small grey-walled room and at the tall, thin man who occupied it. "Commandent Leiter," he said quietly in his deep voice, "I am Commander Adama of the Battlestar Galactica." He entered the cell, alone, and the heavy door eased shut behind him.

  Out in the grey corridor, once the Security Guard had withdrawn to his post a few yards away, Lieutenant Starbuck moseyed up to the spyhole in Leiter's cell door. "I wouldn't want to be locked in the same room with that guy. Especially a dinky room like this one."

  "He more than likely feels the same way about you, old buddy," said Captain Apollo.

  Inside the cell Leiter, rising and standing stiff and straight, demanded, "I request, Commander, the immediate release of my crew and of our ship. You have absolutely no right to detain us."

  "You're in no position to issue demands." Adama strode across the cell and stopped beside one of its two metal chairs. "However, if you'll take a seat and answer a few questions, I would be willing to discuss your eventual release."

  "I am not obliged to tell you anything, sir." Leiter ignored the other chair and went over to sit on the edge of his bed.

  "It might be to your advantage, though."

  Leiter laughed and made a go-ahead gesture with his left hand.

  "I'd like to know," began Adama, watching the captive commandent, "why your Eastern Alliance attempted to wipe out just about every human being on the planet Paradeen?"

  "Quite simple, Commander," said Leiter, touching at the faint scar on his cheek. "They are Nationalists. We are at war with them."

  "What precisely are Nationalists?"

  "People, misguided people quite obviously, who wish to change the natural order of things."

  "You mean," said the commander, "the natural order as seen by your Alliance?"

  "The natural order of the universe simply is." Leiter gave an impatient shake of his head. "It isn't something that can be debated. I'm somewhat surprised, Commander Adama, that a man in your position is ignorant of something so basic."

  "Perhaps you could explain it to me," requested Adama, "a bit more fully."

  Leiter stroked his sharp chin. "All life forms in the universe fall into two classifications," he began, eyes half closed. "Call them what you will . . . the predator and the prey . . . the intelligent and the ignorant . . . the conquerors and the subjugated. Several terms can be applied to the notion. The point is, Commander, that there are the strong and there are the weak. The Eastern Alliance represents the strong. We were created to rule—to rule all life as far as it extends, and in whatever form it exists, throughout the universe. Quite simply, my dear commander, that is our destiny."

  Nodding, Adama said, "And I take it these Nationalists don't exactly agree with your theory."

  "It isn't a theory," said Commandent Leiter, a shade impatiently. "It is a law of nature."

  "If your Alliance is the strongest in the universe," said Adama evenly, "how do you explain the Galactica?"

  "Your battlestar, what I've seen of it, is very impressive," admitted Leiter. "However, it is but a single war ship. We will easily take care of it."

  "You'll need thousands of destroyers if you intend to engage the Galactica."

  "We have more than . . ." He paused, smiling thinly. "I've answered quite enough questions, sir. Now I must request that we discuss the release of my crew."

  "I think—"

  The cell door slid open. "Commander Adama," said the security guard who stood in the opening. "Your presence is requested at the Council, sir."

  Frowning, the commander answered, "You may inform the Council that I'll be with them as soon as I conclude this interrogation."

  The guard took a very tentative step into the cell. "I'm afraid, sir," he said in a nervous tone, "that the Council has ordered this interrogation terminated."

  Starbuck came barging into the cell. "Hey, since when does the Council give orders to the commander?"

  "Lieutenant, I just do what they tell me to do."

  "Well, buster, I'm telling you to take a hike for yourself before you end up with—"

  "Starbuck," said Adama, "that'll do."

  "Yeah, but those nitwits can't go—"

  "That's enough." He nodded at the guard. "Inform the Council that I'm returning to the Galactica." The guard, obviously relieved, withdrew. "We'll continue our talk later, Commandent Leiter."

  Leiter clicked his booted heels together and gave a stiff bow. "Perhaps."

  Adama stepped out into the corridor and the cell door eased shut.

  Apollo said, "You can't let the Council order you around this way, damn it."

  "My warrior oath holds me responsible to the Council," he reminded his son.

  "That was before the Holocaust," said the angry Apollo. "We've been operating on martial law since then."

  "Sure, the fleet's been under your command since we fled the colonies," Starbuck added. "Those Council oafs can't boss you around like some cadet."

  "Evidently they don't see things the way we do," Adama said as he started moving along the metal-walled corridor. "Or perhaps something has come up we don't know about. At any rate, it's not something I want to debate while on board a prison barge. Let's head for home."

  Apollo and Starbuck glanced at each other, shrugged, and followed him toward the docking bay.

  In one of the cells they passed, a man with heavy eyebrows that made a dark slash across his forehead was watching through the small view hole in his cell door. His name was Baltar and right now there was a crooked smile touching his face. "You look troubled, Commander Adama," he muttered to himself. "But whatever it is that's bothering you, it's nothing to what's coming."

  CHAPTER TWO

  The aircirc system in the prison ship commissary hummed with a low metallic drone. The smells and scents of the food being served swirled in the air and then quickly faded.

  Baltar, glancing carefully at the security guards stationed around the long grey room, took his bowl of bluish stew and went weaving his way among the low tables where prisoners from all corners of the universe sat eating their day's-end meal.

  At the far side of the dining room he halted before a table at which sat half a dozen men silently eating. They were broad-shouldered, shaggy and low-browed. They paid Baltar not the slightest bit of attention.

  "Mind if I join you, Maga?" he asked the man nearest him.

  Maga continued spooning stew into his mouth, saying not a word.

  After hesitating for several seconds, Baltar seated himself across
from Maga. "You're aware of who I am, of course?"

  They all went on eating.

  Baltar coughed, rubbed his thumb along the handle of his spoon, shifted on the bench. "I am Baltar," he announced quietly. "A very powerful man, ally of the Cylons."

  Maga reached for the flavor enhancer cruet. He sprinkled some into his bowl of stew.

  "I know who you are," continued Baltar after a moment. "I know, unlike the fools who're serving as your jailers, some of the abilities of men from your particular planet."

  Maga glanced up at him for perhaps a second, but said nothing.

  Resting both elbows on the table, Baltar said, "I am also aware of what you're planning."

  This time Maga looked across at him for at least ten seconds.

  After taking a careful look at the nearest guard, Baltar began eating. He had to appear as though he were simply eating his meal. "I know why you haven't tried it yet," he said between mouthfuls. "Yes, you can break out of your cells, but what then? You're not certain where to go or how to avoid being pursued." He took another spoonful of stew. "You don't have enough answers. But I do."

  Maga placed his spoon carefully down beside his bowl. "Tell me," he requested. His deep voice was as dry as the crimson sands of his native planet.

  "You see those prisoners three tables away?"

  "I have heard their leader's name is Leiter. So?"

  Nodding, Baltar told him, "They are from an Alliance that, in this part of the universe, is as powerful as my Cylon friends."

  Maga said, "Yes?"

  "Commandent Leiter and his crew will be, very soon now, transferred to the Galactica."

  "How do you know?"

  "I have . . . um . . . certain sources of information," he replied, smiling smugly. "Now then, Maga. When the shuttle comes for them, we'll make our break."

  "We?"

  Baltar said, "Yes, that's part of the deal. Without my information, you're helpless."

  "Continue," invited Maga in his rumbling voice.

  "We take over the shuttle, use it to make our escape."

  "And what of the viper ships? Won't they chase us?"

  "I know how to handle them," Baltar assured him. "When we reach the Alliance, we'll be treated very well. You see, I know much that the Alliance will be glad to know. About the Galactica, her strengths, her weaknesses. I also know a good deal about Commander Adama." He smiled, head nodding. "Yes, I will be treated royally, as will all who are with me. Do we work together, Maga?"