Battlestar Galactica 9 - Experiment In Terra

by Glen A. Larson

  "And once you reach Luna Seven?"

  "The shuttle, of course, will be free to return to you here, Commander."

  Adama said, "You don't really think I believe you, Baltar? Or trust you?"

  With a shrug, Baltar replied, "You really don't have any choice, old friend. Oh, and if my demands are not met, all of them, within one centare . . . then I'll kill these hostages one by one. You won't enjoy seeing that."

  Boomer pulled free of the warrior who was holding him. "He's going to kill us anyway, Commander," he shouted. "Take 'em right now while—"

  Maga reached out and hit him, hard, with the side of his hairy hand.

  Boomer went slack, dropped to his knees and toppled over onto the metallic floor.

  "One centare, Commander," repeated Baltar and broke off the conversation.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Doctor Wilker was shaking his head from side to side as he hurried along the pale green corridor. "I don't know if we can return the Cylons to him at all," he said. Starbuck and Apollo were walking briskly beside him.

  "What do you mean?" asked the captain. "We have to have them, to make it look like we're going along with—"

  "Captain, give me a chance to explain the situation," the doctor said. "I've deactivated those Cylons who were escorting Baltar when we captured him."

  "So reactivate 'em," suggested Starbuck.

  Wilker stopped before a hatch, hand on the lever. "It won't be easy, Lieutenant," he said, shaking his head again. "You see, I was hoping to be able to find ways of reprogramming these mechanical men, especially from a long distance, by using coded laser beams, perhaps. For example, I might be able to cancel out their ability to fire on our ships or even instruct them to—"

  "We don't have time for a tech lecture," said Starbuck. "We want to reactivate these bozos before Baltar starts killing hostages."

  Sighing, the lanky doctor opened the hatch and crossed over into his lab. "Let me show you what I mean, gentlemen."

  The two warriors followed him across a long, pale room.

  "Holy Mahoney!" said Starbuck, taking his cold cigar from between his teeth and staring down at the work table where the doctor had halted.

  The two Cylons were spread out there.

  "Jigsaw puzzles," said Apollo, picking up a twist of wire at random. "You took 'em all apart."

  Nodding, Wilker said, "Exactly what I've been trying to explain." He gestured at the array of wires, tubes, chips, metal casings and assorted electronic sprawl.

  The Cylon heads were still nearly intact. Starbuck hefted one off the table, looked it in the eye. "There's an old spaceman's axiom, doc," he said, "which I just now made up, stating that if you can take an android apart you can also put it back together."

  "Put them together in less than a centare?" Doctor Wilker backed off from the table. "I don't think it'll be possible."

  "We'll help," offered Starbuck. "I'm handy. You ought to see me make the vidball machine up in the rec lounge pay off in extra—"

  "Doctor Wilker," said Apollo, "how far did you get in figuring out how to reprogram these fellows?"

  "I still don't think I can do it at a distance," he answered. "Although I now understand the basic structure of the Cylon."

  "I wasn't thinking of long distance work," said Apollo, knuckling his chin thoughtfully. "I was wondering if you could maybe change them so they'd do a few things Baltar wasn't expecting."

  "It's theoretically possible, I suppose," said Wilker, "but considering the time we have, I—"

  "Let's give it a try," urged Apollo.

  Adama moved along the row of scanner screens that showed what was going on down in the landing bay that was under siege. "There's the Alliance destroyer being moved into the bay now," he observed. "How much time do we have left?"

  "Bit less than a half centare," answered Colonel Tigh.

  "What about the Cylon fighter?"

  "Already in the bay," said the colonel.

  Turning his back on the screens, Adama said, "Is there any way of reaching those charges once the shuttle is launched?"

  "None," said Tigh, shaking his head. "There are no space suits in the shuttle."

  Siress Tinia had left her chair. "Then we have to assault the bay," she said, "and make damn sure we defuse those charges before the shuttle is launched."

  Eyebrows rising, Commander Adama gazed at her. "Did I hear you rightly?" he asked. "You're suggesting we take an aggressive action to—"

  "Commander, even though I'm a civilian in your eyes, I'm not stupid," she told him. "We both know that Baltar has no intention of freeing those hostages. He'll either force them to land on Luna Seven or kill them once he's free."

  "Yes, that's what I believe he'll do," agreed the commander.

  "Then the only real question is," she said, "when to attack and how to insure the maximum success."

  Still a bit surprised, Adama said, "We have to hit them while they're transferring from the shuttle to their ships. They'll be in the open and our people will be in the shuttle."

  "Agreed," said Tinia.

  Turning again toward the colonel, Commander Adama asked, "Is everyone in position?"

  Tigh indicated another row of scanner screens. "As you see, sir, the assault teams are ready to hit the landing bay from three sides at once."

  Adama stroked his chin. "What do our demolition experts think?"

  "They feel they ought to be able to completely disarm those charges in thirty microns or less," replied Tigh. "Once they reach them, that is."

  Siress Tinia brushed her hair back from her forehead. "What are the odds of them accomplishing that before Baltar can set off the charges?"

  Tigh rubbed his fingertips across the palm of his other hand. "It's going to depend on how stunned he is by our attack," he said. "He'll be busy taking cover himself and he won't want to get caught in the explosions. So if—"

  "Do you have a computer estimate of the odds?" asked Adama.

  "Computer estimates seventy-thirty, in Baltar's favor," said the colonel. "And I think it's being a shade optimistic."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Baltar rubbed his hands nervously together, watching two of Commandent Leiter's men attach the last of the explosive charges to the hull of the shuttle. The captive craft was ringed with Alliance warriors, armed and watchful.

  Leiter said, "The charges are all in place, my friend."

  Nodding toward a launch area, Baltar said, "And your destroyer is ready to depart. Things are going very well."

  "Are they?" croaked Maga. "Your brilliant scheme to take over the entire battlestar failed."

  "That was a setback, yes," admitted Baltar. "But we have everything else we demanded. Our ships are already here and I'm sure they'll be delivering my Cylon pilots at any minute."

  Stroking the scar on his cheek, Leiter said, "I'm amazed at the sentimentality of a man like Commander Adama. Letting us all go free merely to save a few worthless hostages."

  "He won't let us go free," said Maga.

  "Don't be ridiculous," said Baltar. "Adama has to; he has no choice."

  "Are you that big a fool?" said Maga.

  "What do you—"

  "Adama will surely attack us when we move to our own ships," continued Maga in his rumbling voice. "Once the shuttle is unguarded, they'll make their move."

  Leiter said, "That's what I'd do, but . . ."

  "You don't understand how a man like Adama thinks," said Baltar. "He simply won't risk the slaughter of these hostages."

  "He must know you have no intention of letting them go," said Maga, with a raspy chuckle. "And if he knows that, then he's not risking anything by attacking us."

  "But I intend to let them go free," insisted Baltar. "Once we're safely away from here."

  "Whether you intend to or not isn't the problem," said the commandent. "Our escape depends on whether Adama believes you."

  "If he doesn't," said Maga, "then we'll probably all die here."

  "No," said Balta
r, running his tongue over his dry lips, "he'll believe me."

  Apollo finished explaining things to his father. "It'll work," he concluded, sitting down on the edge of a chair. "The thing is, Doctor Wilker can't get those damn Cylons ready before the deadline."

  "Then we'll have to get Baltar to give us more time." Adama glanced at the nearest timescreen.

  "Yep, that's why I hopped up here to the bridge."

  Tinia asked him, "Are you certain the Cylons can be augmented to—"

  "Look, Siress, nothing's absolutely sure," said Apollo, glancing at the timescreen. "But with this we have a pretty good chance."

  "Let's see if we can stall Baltar." The commander flipped a talkswitch.

  Baltar looked around at the Council members and other hostages in the rear compartment of the shuttle. He ran his tongue over his lips. "I want you all to understand," he said, a faintly pleading tone in his voice, "that I mean you no harm. The moment I am safely on Luna Seven, you'll all be free to return."

  Sire Domra's Council robe was torn and smeared with dirt. Clearing his throat, he said, "Yes, yes, we . . . um . . . believe you."

  "You may have to convince Adama of that," said Baltar. "Because I fear he—"

  "Baltar!" called Maga from up in the ship's cockpit.

  "Excuse me," Baltar said to the hostages. "And keep in mind that no harm will come to you."

  He turned and made his way along the corridor to the nose of the shuttle.

  Boomer and Sheba were up there, watched over by two of Leiter's men. Boomer was crouched against the wall, massaging his neck where Maga had struck him.

  "What is it?" Baltar asked the shaggy man.

  Maga pointed at the dash scanner screen. "See for yourself."

  Commander Adama's stern face showed on the screen. Licking his lips again, Baltar sat down in front of the screen. "About these hostages—"

  "We need more time," said the commander.

  "What?"

  "We need at least another centare before we—"

  "Why? So you can work out more plans to attack me?"

  "It has to do with your Cylons," explained Adama. "They had been deactivated and we are having problems reactivating them in time."

  "I don't believe you. You're stalling, moving in warriors to attack me."

  "That's not the case," Adama assured him. "It's simply that we need more time to meet your demands."

  "No," said Baltar. "I won't back down."

  "Listen to me, Baltar. Take me as a hostage, in exchange for one more centare."

  Baltar leaned back, looked up at Leiter and then at Maga. "Well?"

  "Accept," advised Maga. "Take him."

  "If we have Adama," whispered Leiter, "they won't dare attack us."

  "Yes," said Baltar, nodding. Facing the scanner screen once again, he said, "Very well, Commander. One more centare, in exchange for you."

  CHAPTER NINE

  Starbuck remembered his cigar. Lighting the thing, he said, "Well, we've done it."

  Apollo was slowly circling the two standing Cylons. "What do you mean we, old buddy? All you did was drop things."

  "Sour grapes," said the puffing lieutenant. "Why, with these very fingers I wrought electronic miracles that few others could even—"

  "Rot is right," agreed Apollo.

  "Gentlemen," said the lean Doctor Wilker, "if I might run the final tests on our reactivated guests."

  The two mechanical men were completely assembled, standing in the center of the lab side by side. The overhead lights made their metallic bodies and conical heads glitter.

  Wilker moved to a position facing the two silent Cylons. "Do you know me?" he asked.

  "Yes," replied one.

  "Yes," replied the other.

  "Who am I?"

  "Doctor Wilker of the Battlestar Galactica," they answered in turn.

  "Very good," said the doctor, taking a few steps closer. "Now tell me whose orders you obey."

  Starbuck held his cigar between his thumb and forefinger, watching the two Cylons anxiously.

  "We obey you," said one Cylon.

  "You are our master," said the other.

  Smiling, Wilker said, "Very well. Now let me tell you what you're to do once you're back inside your fighter ship."

  The corridor was thick with armed warriors.

  Commander Adama, flanked by Tigh and Tinia, walked purposefully along toward the entry way to the besieged bay. "As soon as the Cylons arrive in there," he was saying to the colonel, "Baltar and the others should move out of the shuttle and to their ships. That's when I'll try to contact you over the scanner."

  "Risky," said Tigh.

  "No one ever said it wasn't. If everything goes the way Apollo and Doctor Wilker think it will, then we'll be able to save all the hostages."

  "And lose the Alliance warriors," said the colonel.

  "This is the safest way to do it," said Adama.

  "I know. It's just that . . ." He shrugged.

  "You two stop here. I'll go the rest of the way alone," Adama said as he neared the doorway.

  "There's something I forgot to mention while we were on the bridge," said Tinia. "I'm going with you, Adama."

  "No, that's too dangerous. A good many things can go wrong and—"

  "Don't argue with me," she cut in. "Baltar may not even let you on board the shuttle. But I'm merely another member of the Council. He'll almost certainly toss me in with the others and I'll be able to fill them in on your plan. Otherwise, they might do something to foul it up."

  "No, it's far too—"

  "I've no more time to discuss it." She moved off, walking through the doorway to the bay.

  Adama shook his head and followed her.

  Baltar bowed, smiling smugly, and then pointed toward the passway leading into the rear compartment of the captive shuttle. "So nice of you and the charming lady to join us, Commander," he said. "Now if you'll be obliging and join the others."

  "I'm assuming you haven't harmed the other hostages," Adama said, nodding toward the injured Lieutenant Boomer.

  "He's not seriously hurt," Baltar assured him. "And perhaps his experiences will teach him not to be so impetuous next time."

  "I'd like to teach you a little something," muttered Boomer.

  Gesturing again at the passway, Baltar urged, "Move along, if you will."

  The commander took Tinia's arm and they walked into the compartment where the hostages were.

  "You see, dear friend," said Baltar when they were among the Council prisoners, "a few of them are a bit worse for wear, but no serious harm has been done them."

  "Adama," exclaimed the bedraggled Domra, "why are you and Tinia in—"

  "I'll explain," promised Commander Adama, "shortly."

  "Ah, forgive me for not informing you earlier," said Baltar as he backed toward the exit. "Your noble commander has offered himself as a hostage, to buy more time."

  "Admirable," said the sire, "yet I fail to—"

  "Let me remind you all," cut in the still smiling Baltar, "that if my Cylons are not delivered to me very soon, all of you shall die." Bowing, he left them.

  Sire Domra moved nearer the commander. "I still don't understand why—"

  "Hush up," advised Tinia, "and give him the opportunity to explain."

  Commandent Leiter narrowed his eyes. "At last," he said, pointing out from the open doorway, "they're bringing your precious Cylons, Baltar."

  Joining him at the open shuttle hatchway, Baltar said, "You see, they're giving in to us on every count."

  Pivoting on his booted heel, Leiter addressed his men in the cockpit. "We'll now join the rest of our Enforcers in our destroyer. Maga, have your men cover this shuttle from the outside until we're aboard and then join us."

  "Understood," croaked the shaggy man.

  Baltar, crouching in the hatchway, called out to the mechanical men, "Wait there, I'll be with you in a moment."

  He hastened to the control dash, grabbing the small remote c
ontrol detonating device that had been resting there.

  Then he hurried into the prisoners' compartment. Holding the detonator high, he said, "I'm leaving you now, dear friends. Commandent Leiter's ship is set to launch first. Then this shuttle, which has been set on automatic control, will follow. I'll bring up the rear in my fighter ship with . . . By the way, thank you so much for returning my Cylons to me, Adama."

  Returning the mock bow, the commander replied, "Think nothing of it."

  "You'll be left here unguarded for a few moments," said Baltar, the detonator still held high. "Let me remind you, though, that if you make a single wrong move, I'll use this handy little gadget to begin setting off the explosive charges. They're rigged so that the ones attached to this compartment will go off first. Keep that in mind."

  Smiling, he left them.

  CHAPTER TEN

  With an enormous whine the Alliance destroyer went roaring out of the landing bay and into space.

  Sitting in the forward passenger seat of his fighter, Baltar watched and chuckled with satisfaction. "Everything's going exactly as I planned," he said.

  "Exactly, sir," agreed one of the Cylons in his droning voice. He was seated in the number one pilot seat.

  The remote control detonator rested on the dash within reach of Baltar's hand. "What's delaying the shuttle? We can't depart until they're free and clear."

  "Shuttle's moving into launch position now," pointed out the second Cylon, who occupied the number two pilot seat.

  "Ah, yes, so I see." Baltar's palms gave off a faint rasping sound as he rubbed his hands together.

  He sat, a contented smile on his face, watching the shuttle roll into the launching area.

  The craft shivered; then fire crackled from its tail and it was zooming free of the Galactica.

  "Now, it's our turn," said Baltar. "Move our fighter over to the launch area."

  "Not yet, sir," droned the Cylon nearest him.