She sat. John was no longer there. "Charlie, no matter what happens . . . you know I love you." She moved her hand, tentatively, up to stroke his cheek. "You walked out on me six weeks ago without so much as a word . . . and just two weeks after that my father was reported missing in action. It's been a very rough—"
"Your father? Did I know him?"
"Yes, you knew him. Charlie, you really aren't yourself . . . and so—"
"You're right, I'm not myself. But, with your help, Brenda, I can do what I have to do. You see—"
The door had begun making a low humming sound.
Apollo straightened. "What's wrong?"
"It's only the doorbell." She stood, nervous. "Remember, Charlie, whatever happens . . . it's for your own good."
"I don't like the sound of that," he said.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Colonel Tigh came hurrying across the bridge. "I think you better come take a look at the number three geoscan screen," he said to the commander.
Adama followed him back. "What is it?"
"Emergency beacons from vipers two and four are transmitting from this area of the quadrant," explained Tigh, indicating the pale green screen.
"Starbuck's ship and Boomer's," said the commander. He reached out, pushing the readout button.
A sheet of pale green paper came whispering out of a slot beneath the screen.
"They're quite a distance from Luna Seven," said Adama, studying the printout sheet.
"If our geoscan is correct," said Tigh, "the signals are coming from quite near Terra."
"Can the destroyer have bypassed Luna Seven and headed for Terra?"
"It's a possibility," replied Tigh doubtfully, "but I don't think the destroyer has that kind of speed."
"Have you communicated with the viper squadron?"
"They're out of range. We can only pick up the emergency beacon blips; we can't communicate with them."
Adama was frowning at the screen. "Something's obviously going wrong," he said. "We have to catch up with them."
"At this speed that's not likely to—"
"We'll set a course for Terra," decided Adama, "and travel at light speed."
"It's been some time, if you don't mind my mentioning it, since this battlestar has tried traveling at—"
"Nevertheless, we'll do it." Adama strode to a talkmike and picked it up. "Patch me in to the entire fleet."
Tigh cracked his knuckles, glanced at the geoscan screen and then at the commander.
"The Galactica must temporarily leave the fleet," Adama was saying, his voice going out to all the ships in the space fleet. "We'll be rendezvousing with one of our patrols. Your captains will all be given instructions via fleet navigation. Thank you." He let the mike drop to his side.
"Do you think the emergency has something to do with Apollo's whereabouts?" asked Colonel Tigh.
"All I know now is that there is an emergency," answered the commander, "and that we have to do something about it."
The door of the young woman's apartment snapped open.
Two men in grey uniforms came swiftly in, side by side, each with a pistol in hand.
The barrels of both weapons were looking right at the seated Apollo.
"We don't want any trouble, Colonel," said the taller of the two men. He had a lean face, and the hair showing beneath the rim of his grey helmet was sand-colored.
"Seems like I've been promoted," remarked Apollo. "Just yesterday I was a captain and now—"
"Colonel Watts," said the man, "I'm here to request that you—"
"Am I supposed to know these fellows?" Apollo asked the nervous girl.
Brenda swallowed, shook her head. "No, I don't suppose so," she answered finally. "They won't hurt you, though, or—"
"Do you know them? I suppose you must, since you're turning me in to—"
"I'm Agent Gilliland," said the one with sandy hair.
The second man eased closer to the sofa Apollo was seated on. "We've met before, Colonel, although you may not remember," he said. His free hand was touching the ends of his dark, straight moustache. "I'm Brace. No need to shake hands."
"Since you came barging in with drawn guns, I don't guess this is a simple social call."
"We'd like you," said Brace, "to come with us."
"Where to?"
"Elsewhere," said Brace.
Apollo, slowly, stood up. "I don't suppose," he said, "I can persuade you to take me directly to the Precedium?"
Brace shook his head. "Not just yet, sir. Sorry."
Brenda said, "Go with them, Charlie. Please. It's for your own good."
"Don't bet on that," said Apollo. "Okay, fellows, lead on."
The viper came skimming in over the forest at dawn.
Starbuck, cigar at a jaunty angle, was concentrating on landing at just the right spot.
"Get set for a reunion, Apollo," he announced. "I'm just about caught up with you."
The tracking device on his control panel told him he was flying ever closer to Apollo's missing ship.
"Bingo!" said Starbuck when his scanner screen showed him the viper itself, directly below.
Decelerating, he circled the clearing and then set down his ship in the same clearing with Apollo's.
"Deft," he congratulated himself. "A very deft and lovely landing, m'boy."
As soon as his ship informed him it was safe to go out, Starbuck came bounding out into the clearing.
The early morning light was a thin grey; a chill dampness hung over the ground. Off in the brush small animals were stirring.
"Apollo?" called the lieutenant as he doubletimed over to the other viper.
The ship was silent, its surface beaded with dew.
After making a circle of the craft and determining there was no one inside the cockpit, Starbuck tried the hatch handle.
The door opened with no trouble.
Climbing inside, Starbuck looked around the cockpit. No sign of any trouble or violence.
And no sign of Apollo either.
Nodding, shifting his cigar to the other side of his mouth, Starbuck went to the dash and flipped a small red toggle.
A low hum commenced, then Apollo's voice came out of a speaker.
"This is Captain Apollo," he began. "I'm leaving this message in case any of the Galactica warriors succeed in tracking me here. I'm about to set out on foot for the nearest city. I'll keep my personal communicator on standby to act as a homing device."
Silence followed.
Starbuck was about to turn off the switch when Apollo spoke further.
"If, as I sort of suspect, it's you who find this crate first, Starbuck," he said, "let me tell you, old buddy, that you are not going to believe what is going on. Not sure I believe it myself. See you soon . . . Bye."
Starbuck made an impatient gesture at the speaker. "C'mon, don't be so darn coy. Give with some more details."
The message, however, was over.
Going to the nearest city. Involved in something incredible. Starbuck flipped ashes on the cockpit floor and scratched his backside. "Guess I'd better turn on my own communicator and see if I can trail him. I noticed a city when I was flying in and that must be . . . Oops."
Someone was standing on the viper's ladder, staring in at him through the open hatchway.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
"Do you know me?" the man in the white tunic asked Apollo.
"Should I?"
"My name is Doctor Horning." He was a small man, middle-aged, balding. "We've met before."
"Sorry, you don't ring a bell." Apollo shrugged.
He was sitting on an examining table in a glass-walled room. The walls were blank and he couldn't tell what was going on behind them. Three ball-shaped light fixtures floated up near the ceiling.
"How'd you get here?" asked the doctor.
"Some lads in uniform dragged me in. Actually I wanted to go right to the Precedium, but they had other—"
"I meant, how did you get back to Terr
a?"
Apollo glanced around. "Do you have some of your colleagues on the other side of these one-way walls?"
"Do you feel as though you're being watched?"
Apollo laughed. "You've been working here too long, Doc . . . This is a mental institution, isn't it?"
"It's a government facility," answered Horning. "As you know."
Folding his arms, Apollo said, "I've been trying to figure out how I must look to you. I can understand why you well might think I'm goofy, but that sort of attitude isn't going to help either one of—"
"Colonel Watts, you seem to be evading most of my questions."
"First off, let me explain that . . . and you'll have to take this on faith, since you probably think you're seeing Charlie Watts . . . Anyway, I'm not Watts. So we—"
"Who do you think you are?"
"That doesn't really matter. You can call me Watts if you like, might be simpler all around," said Apollo. "Listen, the important thing is I have a message for the Precedium. An important message."
The doctor asked, "You feel that way about yourself, Colonel Watts? That you're very important?"
"Not me, the message," answered Apollo, letting some of his impatience show in his voice. "Apparently they're not aware of the real situation out there." He pointed ceilingward. "Your outposts on Luna Seven and Paradeen, for instance, have been all but wiped out. Further—"
"How do you know that, Colonel?"
"Well, I was on Paradeen. I saw what had happened there," replied Apollo. "As for the other Luna outposts, from One through—"
"You were never on Paradeen."
"Charlie Watts wasn't, no," said Apollo. "Which is why you're confused. Frankly, if I were to plan how to get this information to the right people, I might not have picked this whole Charlie Watts dodge. But since we're both stuck with it, let's see if—"
"Would you excuse me for a moment," broke in the doctor. "I'll be back with you very soon."
"While you're out," suggested Apollo, "suppose you notify the Precedium that I have some—"
"Yes, yes," said the doctor as he crossed to the door. "You just relax, Colonel, and don't worry about anything."
"Well, doggone," said the figure in the viper doorway, "you sure enough look like as how you might be one of us."
Starbuck's right hand was hovering in the immediate vicinity of his holster. "I'm not sure if that's an insult or a compliment."
The robot who was gazing in at him was mansized, with a round ball of a head. His eyes were of pinkish plastic; his voicebox had been made to resemble a mouth with a permanent broad grin; he had no nose. He wore a faded blue coverall over his dented silvery body and had an animal skin hat with its tail dangling down the back of his jointed neck.
"Shucks, I didn't mean as how you looked like a 'bot," he explained. "What I was getting at was that you seem to be a loner, an outsider. Ain't you?"
"I'm not from around here, that's for sure," admitted the lieutenant.
"Knowed that right off. Minute I got a whiff of that stogie you're puffing on." The ball head ticked a few times from side to side. "I ain't never smelled me nothing like that on Terra afore. Oh, dang!" He snapped his fingers, producing a metallic ping. "Excuse my manners. I never introduced myself proper. My name is Will/F." He held out his silvery right hand. "That's W-I-L-L slash F."
"Pleased to meet you, Willie." Starbuck shook hands with the robot. "I'm called Starbuck."
The robot produced a whistling sound. It seemed to come out of one of his metallic ears. "Doggone, if that ain't a right nice name. Sort of poetical and all."
Starbuck retrieved his hand, puffed on his cigar and inquired, "Does everyone on Terra talk the way you do?"
"Ain't it something?" His head shook once again, causing the furry tail to flicker back and forth. "Nope, heck no. I up and reprogrammed myself, basing my mode of speech on some lingo I come across in our library. Afore that, why, heck, I went around like all the rest of them poor servos, talking like this here . . . 'Message for Captain Maresca . . . Colonel Berrill report to Briefing Room 23 . . .' Like that there. Shoot, but that was powerful awful boring day in and day out."
"How'd you get them to reprogram you?"
Will/F gave a tinny chuckle. "Hellsfire, Starbuck, they never done it. I done it my own self, after doing a lot of secret researching in the library. We had us a humdinger of a research library at the Complex."
"Hey, robots can't reprogram themselves. That violates the basic laws of—"
"Aw, that's a lot of horse puckey, friend," the robot assured him. "Naw, if you want to do something bad enough, why, heck, you can do it."
"Tell you, Will," said Starbuck, "what I would really like to do is find my friend. He was in this ship and—"
"He sure enough was, yep. I seen it land. From about a mile or so over yonder, in our hideaway," said the robot. "Yep. Thing is, I'd never in all my born days seen a ship like this here one and, I got to admit, it sort of give me a start first off." He scratched at his side through his coverall. "Once I got over it, though, why I up and says to the bunch that I was gonna mosey over here and have a looksee. They said to leave well enough alone, but—"
"You saw my friend?"
"I'm coming to that, Starbuck. Don't go butting in so much," Will/F told him. "Anyways, by the time I got here, your pal was gone."
"You know where?"
"Well, sure I do. I wouldn't go telling you this long yarn if I didn't have no ways to end it," said the mechanical man. "See, I am built so as I can follow a trail good as a hound dog. So I start tracking him through these here woods. Didn't get a gander at him till he was out on the roadway, 'bout two miles or so yonder."
"Which way was he going?"
"I'm getting to that, just keep your dang britches on," said Will/F. "Afore I could get close to this cronie of yours, whysir, big slick landcar wooshes up and, danged if he don't hop in."
"Who was in the car?"
"Pretty gal." He whistled again.
"Did she use force to get him into—"
"Heck, when you're that pretty, you don't need no force."
"Do you know who she was?"
"Nope. Wish that I did."
"And they headed toward the city?"
"Yep, that's where they was aiming for," answered the robot. "If you'd like I can show you a slick shortcut for getting there without no . . . Holy darn!"
Starbuck heard it, too.
A chuffing sound from up above.
Looking up, he saw a hovercraft dropping down out of the grey morning sky. "Would this be local law enforcement?"
"It sure enough is," said Will/F ruefully. "And it looks like we ain't gonna have no chance to hightail it away from here."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Doctor Horning shoved the file folder on his desk an exact half-inch to the right. "Physically Colonel Watts is in excellent shape," he said to the man sitting opposite him. "In a way that's puzzling, since one would expect him to show some signs of the ordeal he's obviously been—"
"Tell me a bit more about his mental state," requested Arthur Moore. He was a medium-sized man, with a pale face and pale hair, clad in a one-piece civilian suit.
"He's suffering from delusions," replied the doctor. "He assured me that our Luna outposts have been destroyed by the Eastern Alliance and that—"
"That sort of talk," said Moore, "even when it's only the rantings of a madman, can be dangerous."
"I prefer to call the colonel disturbed, Mr. Moore. The term madman doesn't—"
"Where has he been all this time?"
"I'm afraid I can't get a coherent answer out of him." Doctor Horning shook his head. "He insists he isn't even Colonel Watts at all."
"Oh, so?" Moore rubbed his pale fingertips together. "Who is he?"
"He told me I wouldn't understand, so I might as well call him Charlie Watts."
"The safest thing to do," said Moore, "is to keep the colonel in detention."
"For how long? He rea
lly ought to be transferred to a facility where—"
"Until I can brief the President."
Horning pushed the folder another half-inch to the right. "But the Precedium should be notified," he said. "Don't they intend to bestow posthumous honors on Colonel Watts in a few days? Surely the fact that he's alive and well is something they ought—"
"The decision as to whether the Precedium is to be informed or not is the President's," said Moore. "Not yours, not mine."
"Yes, but they believe he's dead and he—"
"You have your duties here, Doctor Horning," said Moore. "They don't include usurping the President's authority." He stood up, slowly. "I want no one else to know that Colonel Watts has returned or that he's your guest here at the Governmental Medical Complex."
"Very well, but—"
"I'll contact you again, Doctor, as soon as I know anything." He started for the door.
"What about our other patient in detention?" asked Horning, rising.
Moore stopped with his hand on the door handle. "The President hasn't as yet come to any decision on him," he said over his shoulder.
"I don't like to see this facility turning into some sort of prison for—"
"What you like or dislike, Doctor, has nothing to do with the present situation," Moore informed him. "And I'd hate to have to report to the President that you were less than cooperative."
After a few silent seconds the doctor said, "I'll await some word from you."
"Very good." Moore gave him a quick nod and went out of his office.
"Hotdogs," remarked Will/F, whistling. "We're in a fix for sure."
Two uniformed men were disembarking from the freshly landed hovercraft. Each held a ready pistol.
Starbuck's own weapon was in his hand, set for stun. "Let me do the negotiating, Will."
"Heck, I ain't anxious to mess with the law in any shape nor form."
"I'm Agent Emerz," said one of the young lawmen. "Please step clear of your craft and surrender your weapon."
"Nope, I'm not in the mood to do that," Starbuck informed him as he moved into the doorway opening. "See, I dropped in to find my—"
"These two craft are not from Terra," said Emerz. "Therefore we assume you are an intruder in airspace under the protection of the People's Nationalist Alliance."
Battlestar Galactica 9 - Experiment In Terra Page 7