Battlestar Galactica 9 - Experiment In Terra

by Glen A. Larson

  "I suppose you could say that," admitted Starbuck, eyeing both of them. "Thing is, that doesn't—"

  "I'm repeating my request that you surrender," said Emerz, pointing his gun at Starbuck. "You will have to submit to interrogation."

  "Well, maybe later we can have a nice chat. But right now I intend to do some hunting," said Starbuck. "Have either of you guys seen my partner? He was in this ship and—"

  "We know nothing of him," said Emerz. "Please surrender that weapon at once."

  "You're sure you didn't run him in?"

  "You have exactly one minute to surrender. Then we must—"

  "I hate to do this, fellas, but I'm going to have to. You'll wake up in maybe a couple centares. Okay?" Grinning, he fired two blasts of his pistol.

  One for each man.

  Emerz sensed it and tried to squeeze the trigger of his own gun.

  But the stunbeam sprayed across his chest before he could get off a shot. His body stiffened, quivered, then went slack. He collapsed on the dewy grass of the clearing.

  His partner got his dose of stunbeam about a second later. He folded up, too, and tumbled down across Emerz.

  "Gosh all mighty!" exclaimed Will/F with awe and admiration. "That there is some blunderbuss you're toting around, Starbuck. What the heck is it?"

  "Standard issue where I come from." He took a careful look around, then dropped the gun back in its holster.

  "Ain't never seen nothing like that hereabouts." His ball of a head shook from side to side.

  "Seems to me the best policy for us," said Starbuck, dropping free of the viper, "is to get us the hell out of here. Soonest."

  "Yep, that's a dang good notion." The robot adjusted his fur cap and followed Starbuck.

  "You were mentioning something about showing me a sneaky way to enter the city."

  "Sure, we got all kinds of ways worked out," answered Will/F. "Being renegades and such, we've learned to be sly. You ain't sly, you get cooked. Like I almost was this morning here. That, see, comes from getting so het up over jawing with you that I—"

  "Willie, you're doing it again."

  "Danged if I ain't." He took hold of Starbuck's left arm. "C'mon along, I'll take you to our hideaway first off and then we'll show you how to get where you want to go. You got any clear idea where your pal is?"

  "I will soon as I get this communicator activated." Starbuck fished out the small hand-sized device. It caught the increasing light of the new morning. "Who have you got in your hideaway? Because I don't know if I'm ready to meet a whole crew of—"

  "Won't take but a minute or two," said Will/F, tugging the lieutenant across the clearing. "They's only Scrapyard Slim, he's a homemade robot who run off, and Longsight Sue, who's got an ability to see into the future sometimes, and 3D, who's human more or less and sort of strange but likeable, and Blore, who used to be a robot butler before he figured out how to reprogram himself, and Mr. Snell, who's good at building things and . . . Wellsir, that's about all at the present moment. We got what you might call a fluctuating population."

  Starbuck took a puff of his cigar. "Let's get going then, Willie."

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The detention cell was about twenty feet square, with walls of a light grey color.

  Apollo found he'd be sharing it.

  As the metal door clanged shut, a slim young man who'd been sitting on the edge of one of the two cots stood up. "I'll be damned," he said. "Never thought I'd see you again, Charlie."

  He was not too steady on his feet and there were slashes of shadow beneath his eyes.

  "I'd better explain," Apollo told him, "that I've been having trouble remembering people here on Terra. So . . ."

  Frowning, the thin young man came forward with his hand held out. "Hell, I'm George Storm. Captain George Storm. Are you trying to tell me you don't even know who—"

  "Things have been a bit rough lately, George. No, I didn't recognize—"

  "Has that bastard Horning been shooting drugs into you, too?" Storm rubbed at his left arm above the elbow. "He says it's just to calm me down, but . . . well, my memory is a shade fuzzy at times, too."

  "How long have you been here?" Apollo went over and sat on the other cot.

  Rubbing his hand through his light hair, Storm answered, "A while. Hard to keep track of time here."

  "Weeks, though?"

  "Must be three or four. I know it was after I'd heard you'd been lost in action out on Luna One. How'd you get back to Terra anyway?" He sat on his cot, watching the newcomer.

  "Not exactly sure, George," said Apollo. "What I have to do, though, is get to the Precedium and fill them in on what's—"

  "You don't have a chance," cut in Storm, with a bitter laugh. "Hell, that's why they tossed me in this damn cage."

  "You mean you haven't been able to tell them about what went wrong out there? About the destruction on Paradeen and—"

  "They don't want that news to reach the people just yet," said Storm. "You know, we've lost Luna One through Eleven to the Eastern Alliance. But here at home, only a few people know and they're not about to make the news public."

  "But all that destruction—doesn't the news media report it to—"

  "The news media reports only what it's allowed to report. The government has a large staff just to make up stories about what's going on out there, Charlie."

  "Why has the fact that the support planets have been destroyed been held back? Seems to me you—"

  "The President wants that kept back," answered Storm, clenching his fists. "He knows that if the Precedium found out, they'd immediately throw everything we have against the Eastern Alliance."

  "What's wrong with that?"

  "It's important to his political health not to get us involved in an all-out war just now," said Storm. "Or so his advisors think. It's a calculated risk he's taking, but he's thinking of his own future as well as the country's."

  "How can he keep this from the military?"

  "A very tight lid's been put on all reports coming in from out there," replied Storm. "When somebody does get back and try to tell the truth, he ends up in a joint like this. I'd bet there must be a couple dozen military guys like us locked up in various complexes around the country. We have mental problems, that's what the excuse is."

  "Then they may never let us out?"

  Storm shrugged. "The President's term has nearly two years to run," he said. "I doubt he can keep this quiet that long, but he's sure going to try."

  "Meantime the Eastern Alliance keeps on destroying."

  "That's the size of it, Charlie," said Storm, stretching out on the cot. He locked his hands behind his head and looked up at the ceiling.

  "John?" said Apollo under his breath. "Are you sure this is what you want me to do? Sit in a cell and count off the days?"

  There was no answer from anywhere.

  President Arends was a tall, broad-shouldered man. His hair was still a dark black, his eyes were deep-set and wrinkle-rimmed. He sat behind his heavy darkwood desk, holding a sheet of thin yellow paper between his hands. "Well?"

  "It's Colonel Watts," said Moore from the chair in front of the big desk. "No doubt about that."

  "You've let me down, Art." Arends let go of the memo and watched it flutter down to his desk top.

  Moore looked up at the domed ceiling of the windowless Executive Office. "Up until that memo came in from Brace, I thought Watts was safely stored away up on Luna One."

  "But he isn't, Art," said the President. "You gave me your word he was up there where he couldn't do us any harm."

  "Since the Eastern Alliance attack on Luna One, all information out of there has been a bit sketchy, sir."

  "How'd Watts get from there to here?"

  "He escaped somehow."

  "Escaped? With Eastern Alliance destroyers prowling Luna One, destroying every ship of ours that tries to get back from there?"

  Moore decided to meet the President's gaze. "I don't know how he did it," he said f
inally. "He apparently won't talk about it."

  "Let me be perfectly frank with you, Art," said Arends, his blunt fingers drumming on the fallen memo. "I'm disappointed in you. You're supposed to be on my team, helping me keep this whole mess under control."

  "It's getting to be an awful large mess, sir," said Moore. "We may not be able to keep the news from—"

  "I don't want to hear any more negative talk, Art," the President told him. "How many people know that Charlie Watts is back on Terra?"

  "Well, Agent Brace and his partner," said Moore. "Doctor Horning, of course, and a few members of his staff. And the girl who—"

  "Which girl is this, Art?"

  "Colonel Watt's friend, Brenda Farris. But we can take care of her. There's no—"

  "Do that then, Art," he said. "I hate to have to take actions like this, but it's for the good of the nation. Right?"

  "It is, yes," agreed Moore. "We determined that long ago."

  President Arends picked up the yellow memo once again. "One other thing, Art," he said. "What's this about an unidentified flying craft entering our airspace?"

  "I don't believe it's anything serious, sir," replied Moore, looking up at the ceiling. "In fact, neither of the two ships seem to be Eastern Alliance ships, so—"

  "Two ships, Art?" The memo fluttered in his hand as he waved it. "I've only been informed of one."

  "I'm sure notification of the second sighting is being routed to you at this very moment, sir," said Moore.

  "What sort of craft?"

  "That hasn't been determined. Small, though, and definitely not EA," Moore said. "Both apparently have landed, at different times, in the forests beyond the city. We've sent a search team out."

  "If the Precedium gets the notion this is some kind of scouting party for invaders they'll put even more of our ships up. As it is now they've got our boys up around the clock."

  "There's no reason for the Precedium to find out," said Moore.

  The President said, "See they don't, Art. And . . ."

  "Yes, sir?"

  "I'd like to see you keep on playing on my team," the President said. "So, please, don't fumble the ball again."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Late afternoon shadows filled the quiet living room.

  Brenda sat in the picturephone alcove, shoulders slumped. "But I know that's where they said they were taking him," she was telling the white-coated paranurse whose image showed on the screen.

  "There is no such patient in the Complex infirmary at this time," repeated the chunky, grey-haired woman.

  "Watts. Colonel Charles Watts. He must—"

  "I suggest you contact the Military Information Service, miss. The number is—"

  "Never mind." Brenda broke the connection.

  After sitting for a moment, she left the alcove. "It's really starting to look as though I did the wrong thing," she said to herself. "Lord, there's no telling where they took Charlie. I just don't—"

  The door hummed.

  She went over to the talkhole. "Yes?"

  "Me, princess."

  Smiling suddenly, she opened the door. "Dad!" she said. "This is . . . I didn't even know where you were and then Charlie came back and . . . everything's turned upside down."

  Her father was a lean, dark man in his middle fifties. He wore the uniform of a General. After hugging his daughter, he came into the room and carefully shut the door. "You alone?"

  "Now, yes. But—"

  "I should have told you what I was up to," he said, walking with his arm around her waist over to the sofa. "Things are much worse than I imagined."

  "I'm beginning to suspect that myself."

  They sat side by side.

  General Farris said, "I had to leave without telling you, or at least I thought I did. I was on a mission for the Precedium."

  "I don't understand what—"

  "I didn't understand as much as I thought," said her father. "It appears that President Arends has been lying to us."

  Brenda shook her head. "You and he are friends. How—"

  "He's become a coward, Brenda," he said. "He used to be a relatively honest man who put his country's best interests first. Now, however, he's become so rattled by public opinion and the war, and his concern to stay in office, that . . . well, he's changed."

  "You're sure?"

  Nodding forlornly, the General said, "It's the Precedium's suspicion that we have already surrendered every one of Terra's satellite planets. My initial investigations tend to confirm that suspicion."

  "How did he imagine he could keep that from us?"

  "It's possible he's cracked under the strain," answered her father, shaking his head. "I think he honestly believes that he needn't launch a full-scale war, that we can strike some kind of agreement with the Eastern Alliance."

  His daughter asked, "You say you confirmed these suspicions of the Precedium, but do you have actual proof?"

  "Nothing concrete, no. But I've put together enough information to convince me—"

  "Listen, father," said Brenda, "maybe Charlie isn't crazy after all. He's been trying to tell me the same thing."

  "What are you talking about, child?"

  "Charlie. He's back."

  "Colonel Watts? That's impossible," said General Farris. "I just left the Precedium and if Charlie were here on Terra, he'd have been summoned to the—"

  "I thought they knew he was back. I called the security people when I thought he was having some kind of breakdown."

  "He was on Luna One when it was attacked. He'd be able to give us proof of what—"

  The door didn't buzz this time. It simply snapped open. Agent Brace and two other security men came quickly into the apartment. All were armed.

  Brenda jumped to her feet. "He's the man I turned Charlie over to," she said, pointing at Brace. "What did you do with—"

  "Good afternoon, General Farris," said Brace, training his pistol on him. "This is quite convenient."

  "What the devil is the idea of breaking into my daughter's apartment?" demanded the general, rising angrily off the sofa. "Who gave you any such authorit—"

  "These are troubled times, sir." Brace gestured at the open doorway. "I'd like you and your daughter to come with us."

  "Where to?"

  "To see Colonel Watts," answered Brace.

  "Make yourself to home," invited Will/F, his tinny voice echoing some.

  They were in a cavelike room that had apparently been dug out of a hillside. Three shadowy corridors led away from it. There was a raw wood plank floor, three canebottom chairs, a plastic and metal table. Atop the table rested a portable electric lamp.

  Taking his cigar from between his teeth, Starbuck surveyed the big, drafty underground room. "It's not exactly cozy," he observed, "but for a hideout it's not too bad. What's all that stuff over against the wall there?"

  "Don't go poking into that," cautioned the robot as Starbuck went over to the cluster of electronic equipment. "That there's Mr. Snell's. He don't cotton to folks—"

  "Nonsense, William. We mustn't be inhospitable." A small pudgy man in a rumpled yellow suit had emerged from one of the tunnels. "Good day, sir. I'm Snell."

  "Starbuck." He pointed at the gear. "Looks to me like you got a primitive scanning system included here. Can you check various points in the city for—"

  "Primitive, sir?" The tufts of cottony hair over his out-thrust ears quivered. "Why, this is the most advanced scanning and tracking outfit you'll find on the whole blinking planet." Snell approached his equipment, flicked a speck of dust off one of the terminal screens.

  "Starbuck here ain't from Terra," explained the robot, "so he's used to some mighty fancy junk."

  "Indeed?" Snell looked the lieutenant up and down, his scrutinizing gaze lingering on the holstered lasergun and then the communicator in his left hand. "You do seem to be sporting some rather unusual—"

  "Trouble," announced a partly choked-up voice. "It's coming. Big trouble. Wow boy."


  "Hush, Sue," advised Will/F.

  A thin, dark-haired young woman, wearing loose work trousers, a knitted man's jacket and a polkadot scarf, came over to them from out of another tunnel. "You're Lieutenant Starbuck," she said to him. "From the Battlestar Galactica, whatever that is exactly. You're anxious to find Captain Apollo."

  He took a step back from the girl. "You must be Longsight Sue."

  "I am," she said.

  "Sue gets hunches and such," said Will/F. "That's mostly how come she up and run off from the city awhile back to set up with us renegades. If you got second sight and all, it can cut up mighty rough for—"

  "I can do my own complaining," cut in Sue. She fetched a blue bandana out of her coat pocket and blew her nose. "Only thing I don't like about these caves is I'm allergic to dampness. It was you I was alluding to a moment ago, Starbuck. You're the one, for certain, who's heading into lots of trouble."

  "You just sensed that?"

  "Yes." She rubbed at her high forehead. "Certain important people don't want your friend to tell what he knows."

  "Knows about what?"

  Giving a disappointed shake of her head, Sue answered, "I don't know . . . yet."

  "How about me? Am I going to—"

  "You'll find him okay. But . . . Nope, no use. I can't see beyond that right now."

  Starbuck glanced from Longsight Sue to Snell. "What I have to do is zero in on exactly where Apollo is," he told them. "This communicator of mine is picking up a signal from his. Snell, can you use your equipment to pinpoint his exact whereabouts?"

  "Nothing to it." He held out one pudgy hand. "Let me have a look at that communicator."

  Starbuck handed it over to him. "I have to get to him soon as—"

  "The Complex," said Sue all at once.

  Will/F whistled. "Is that where this Apollo feller is?"

  "Yes."

  "A wild surmise at best." Snell seated himself at a keyboard. "Instead of blurting out unsubstantiated guesses, dear Susan, try to be as unobtrusive as possible while I get the lieutenant an accurate location for—"