Battlestar Galactica 5 - Galactica Discovers Earth

by Glen A. Larson

  "I'll do my best, Mr. Anderson," said Jamie, looking at the police station about a block away.

  "I know you will," said Anderson. "Now get going."

  She had walked half the intervening distance when she heard a mildly familiar voice coming from out of the shadows to her left. "Don't do it, Jamie. He's a good man."

  She took a step toward the voice, and Troy and Dillon seemed magically to appear before her. She blinked once, wrote it off to the tricks played by the shadows, then remembered who they were.

  "What are you two doing out of jail?" she demanded.

  "We felt that staying in jail was counterproductive," replied Dillon with the hint of a smile on his lips.

  "Who the hell are those two bozos?" said Anderson, back in the truck. "Where did they come from?"

  "I don't know," admitted his cameraman. "But I'm getting a good signal."

  "Save your film," said Anderson. "They can't be all that important. It's Mortinson I want."

  Jamie and the two warriors kept walking slowly toward the jail, speaking heatedly.

  "You've got to get these journalists away from here while we talk to Doctor Mortinson," insisted Troy.

  "I can't," said Jamie. "I just got this job, and I'm not going to blow it for a couple of kooks. How did you get out of jail?"

  "We escaped," said Troy.

  "You mean I've got a couple of escaped jailbirds right on camera?"

  "No you don't," said Dillon, checking his wrist computer. "There's no power emanating from the camera."

  She turned and signalled Anderson to turn the camera on. He shook his head and pointed to a man who was walking back and forth in front of the station.

  Jamie sighed and followed the direction of his gesture. "It's him!" she exclaimed.

  "Doctor Mortinson!" called Dillon.

  Mortinson turned toward them and began approaching hesitantly.

  "Miss Hamilton?" he said.

  "Right," said Jamie.

  "I expected you to come alone," said Mortinson, eyeing Troy and Dillon dubiously.

  "These are the two gentlemen you wanted to talk about," Jamie informed him.

  "But I thought . . . but of course," he said, staring at them. "Walls do not a prison make. Especially for someone like you." He extended his hand, and first Troy and then Dillon shook it.

  "I seem to be a welcoming committee of one," continued Mortinson. "But if I am correct in my assumptions, and I almost have to be, there is no one on the face of this planet who could have done what you did at my computer today. Imagine inverting Aronson's Lemma and combining it with Eisenstein's Irreducibility Criterion to accelerate the half-life of uranium isotopes! There was nothing in the entire body of work on the subject that could have led to such a conclusion . . . but of course, it's the only way to get to the proper preliminary equations. No one on Earth could have come up with it."

  A block away Anderson prodded his audio technician. "What are they talking about?" he demanded.

  "Walls, prisons, computers . . . nothing that makes any sense," came the answer.

  "What's the matter with that girl?" demanded Anderson of no one in particular. "Why doesn't she dump those two guys and get on with the interview?"

  And, one hundred yards away, Troy turned suddenly to Mortinson. "I suggest that we find another place to talk. We're being observed."

  "You bet your boots you are," said Jamie. "And I'm not letting you guys out of my sight."

  "My car isn't far," said Mortinson, ignoring her. He headed off for it, followed closely by Troy and Dillon.

  "Hold everything!" said Jamie, running after them.

  She reached them just as they had climbed into the sporty little roadster. Troy was seated in the back, and was about to close the door when Jamie flung herself into the automobile.

  "Miss Hamilton," said Mortinson coldly, "I appreciate all you've done for me, but I think we can get along without you now."

  "Maybe you can, but I can't get along without you three," said Jamie emphatically. "There's no way I'm getting out of here before you do."

  "We'd better take her along," said Troy. "Time is important."

  "As you wish," said Mortinson, starting the ignition. The car raced off into the night, and Anderson instructed his driver to follow it. Mortinson began picking his way through traffic, but couldn't shake Anderson's vehicle.

  "Faster!" said Troy. "We've got to get beyond the sending range of Jamie's communication device!"

  "What device?" demanded Jamie.

  "The one you've got beneath your collar," said Troy. "We've known about it from the instant we met you tonight."

  Mortinson stepped on the gas and still couldn't shake his pursuer.

  Suddenly Dillon leaned over and edged himself into the driver's seat, almost colliding with a bus as he did so. "Excuse me, Doctor," he said, "but I'm a little more used to high speeds than you are."

  Mortinson merely swallowed and nodded his head.

  Dillon pressed the accelerator to the floor and pealed around a corner on two wheels as the sound of screeching rubber permeated the cool California night. Within seconds he had two police cars on his tail as well as the news truck.

  "Dillon, you've never driven one of these things before!" yelled Troy, his hand clutching an armrest. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

  "I've been watching him," replied Dillon with more confidence than he felt. "It looks easy."

  "What do you mean, you've never driven a car before?" screamed Jamie as the speedometer topped 110 miles per hour and Dillon hit another turn.

  "I wouldn't think," said Mortinson through clenched teeth, his eyes tightly shut, "that these men had cars where they come from."

  "Where don't they have cars?" demanded Jamie.

  Further conversation was interrupted by the sudden beeping of Troy's communicator.

  "Troy here," he said, withdrawing it from his belt and speaking into it.

  "This is Adama . . . you are to return to the Galactica at once. "

  "Who is he talking to?" asked Jamie. "His service?"

  "I hesitate to ask," replied Mortinson.

  "On our way," said Troy.

  "Galactica out."

  "What's a Galactica?" asked Jamie as Troy put his communicator away.

  "Doctor," said Troy, ignoring Jamie's question, "if I can ask you to keep what little we've discussed in confidence, we'll have to arrange to get together again as soon as possible."

  "But the formula you left in my lab . . ." protested Mortinson. "It's incomplete! I must have the rest! It's the answer to our problems. You've seen the riots . . ."

  "Consider it a token of our good faith," said Troy. "If you keep your silence, what we've given you is just the beginning. We'll give you the rest when we return."

  "But when will that be?" said Mortinson.

  "It makes no difference, Doctor," said Jamie. "You may be willing to work on faith, but I'm staying with these two guys to the end of the line."

  "That's quite impossible," said Troy firmly.

  "You try to lose me and I'll blab everything I know," said Jamie with equal firmness.

  "Troy?" said Dillon. "Our first mandate was to remain incognito . . ."

  "Well," said Jamie, looking at the ever-increasing trail of police cars, "you're sure doing a hell of a job!"

  12

  FROM DOCTOR ZEE'S

  AUDIO SECURITY MONITOR:

  COMMANDER ADAMA: What's happened? What's gone wrong?

  DOCTOR ZEE: A miscalculation.

  COMMANDER ADAMA: I thought it was impossible for you to miscalculate anything.

  DOCTOR ZEE: This is not my miscalculation. It is yours. Why did you not tell me that Xaviar wanted to use my Time Warp Synthesizer?

  COMMANDER ADAMA: What has happened?

  DOCTOR ZEE: Rather than wait for the vote of the council, he has left us, Adama . . . for someplace, or rather some time, in Earth's past.

  COMMANDER ADAMA: That fool . . . that utter fool! I
never thought he'd do it on his own!

  DOCTOR ZEE: What is his plan?

  COMMANDER ADAMA: To change Earth's present technonological development, to accelerate it by altering the past, if that's possible.

  DOCTOR ZEE: Oh, it's quite possible. But it's also deadly.

  COMMANDER ADAMA: That maniac! We must bring him back!

  DOCTOR ZEE: A chase through thousands of years of history: that should be interesting.

  COMMANDER ADAMA: Is it possible to know into what era, or preferably to what date, he has escaped?

  DOCTOR ZEE: Yes, I will be able to tell you that after some computations. But I cannot prevent him from moving on.

  COMMANDER ADAMA: If we keep him constantly on the move through Time, can we keep him from unleashing his madness?

  DOCTOR ZEE: Possibly. But remember—in your pursuit of him, you can do as much damage as Xaviar. You must be very, very careful, Adama . . . or that planet below us could disappear in the twinkling of an eye, even as we look at it.

  13

  RECONSTRUCTED FROM NOTES

  TAKEN BY JAMIE HAMILTON:

  "I don't imagine this thing flies, does it?" asked Dillon as the police cars made up some of the ground they had lost on the last corner.

  "No," said Mortinson. "It's powered by a very simple internal combustion engine, which burns gasoline, which in turn drives the pistons, which turn a simple drive shaft."

  "But it doesn't fly?" persisted Dillon.

  "No," said Mortinson. "It doesn't fly."

  "We've got to elude these people, Dillon," said Troy. "Our invisibility fields are past due for recharging. If anyone stumbles across those ships now . . ."

  "Ships?" said Jamie. "What ships?"

  Troy's communicator beeped again.

  "Boxey, this is Adama. Get up here quick! Crisis situation!"

  "We're encountering a few problems," replied Troy. "We'll get there as soon as we can."

  "Make sure you do . . . Adama out."

  "What do you suppose is going on up there?" asked Dillon.

  "It's got to be the Cylons," said Troy. "What else could cause a crisis situation?"

  "It may be none of my business," said Mortinson. "But what's a Cylon?"

  "You're absolutely right, sir," said Troy.

  "What?"

  "It is none of your business. And if we can get out of this situation quickly, we'll do our best to see that it never becomes your business."

  "I'm afraid I don't understand," said Mortinson.

  "Believe me," said Troy. "You're much better off this way. Dillon, I don't care what you do, but do something!"

  Dillon hit a ninety-degree turn at midblock, slammed on the brakes, and went through a furniture store window. The car skidded some two hundred feet through the display room before crunching to a halt,

  Even before it was totally at rest, Troy and Dillon had thrown open the car's door and leaped out.

  "We'll replace your vehicle when we return, sir," said Dillon.

  "Think nothing of it," said Mortinson, counting his arms and legs and coming up with the proper number, much to his amazement. "What you gave me is worth infinitely more."

  "Good-bye, sir," said Troy. "We've got to get out of here before the police arrive."

  "Not without me," said Jamie.

  "There's no time to argue!" said Dillon, and Troy nodded. He gestured Jamie to follow him and raced out through a fire exit.

  "Will you be all right, sir?" called Dillon.

  "I'll be fine," Mortinson assured him. "And I'll be quiet."

  Dillon flashed him a smile, then raced out into the night to join Troy and Jamie. When he got there two policemen could be heard walking around the side of the building, and the two warriors switched on their invisibility screens, posturing Jamie so that she was included in the field. The two policemen walked past, missing them by perhaps eighteen inches. After they rounded the building and passed from sight, Troy and Dillon switched off the fields.

  "Okay, I give up," said Jamie. "How did you do that?"

  "We haven't time to explain," said Troy, walking to a parked police car. "And this time I'm driving the machine."

  "If I tell you guys something you need to know, will you take me with you?" said Jamie.

  "We can't," said Troy.

  "Then you're going to wind up back in jail in five minutes."

  Troy looked up at the sky. The Galactica was up there somewhere, and Adama was in trouble. "All right," he said quickly. "You've got a deal."

  "Okay. Don't swipe a police car. They've got their own private radio band, and you won't get half a mile before every cop in the city knows where you are."

  "We'll just turn the radio off," said Dillon.

  "It won't matter," said Jamie. "They'll report the theft in less than a minute, and every cop in town will start relaying your co-ordinates to every other cop. They'll hem you in so fast it'll make your head spin."

  "So what do you suggest?" said Troy.

  "If you've got to steal a car, at least steal a private one," said Jamie.

  "Makes sense," said Dillon.

  Troy nodded. "There are a batch parked on the next block. Which one do you suggest?"

  "Easy," said Jamie. "Whichever one has keys in it."

  "Why keys?" asked Troy.

  "Because I don't know how to hot-wire a car, and you two don't even know how to drive."

  "Hot-wire?" repeated Troy.

  "Start the ignition without keys," explained Jamie.

  "No problem," said Troy. "Which of these vehicles looks like the best to you?"

  "The blue '79 Continental," said Jamie, indicating a huge, chrome-covered car.

  "Then that's the one we'll borrow," said Troy. He walked over, opened the unlocked door, and slid in behind the steering wheel. Then, unfastening his sensor, he aimed it at the engine, instructed it to activate the motor, and a moment later the car was humming and throbbing with power.

  "Spies, right?" said Jamie, sliding into the back seat with Dillon. "I mean, nobody except James Bond types have the kind of equipment you guys carry. But which side are you on? Are you working for us, or is Doctor Mortinson a commie?"

  "What's a commie?" asked Dillon pleasantly as Troy raced through the night, checking directions on his wrist computer from time to time. Jamie finally gave up asking questions, and they rode in silence to the gas station near which they had left their bikes.

  They left the Continental by a gas pump and walked to a small knoll half a mile distant. The bikes were plainly visible.

  "Oh-oh!" said Dillon. "Troy, if the energizer on the bikes' invisibility field has run down, and we switched it on after we left the Vipers . . ."

  "Then the ships are probably visible!" said Troy, completing the sentence. "We haven't got any time to waste!"

  They turned on their turbo thrusters and a moment later the two men, with Jamie clinging desperately to Troy, were racing at very near the speed of sound to the spot where they had left their Vipers.

  "Damn!" said Troy as they came to a halt almost a mile away.

  "They're visible," said Dillon.

  "And they've got a bunch of soldiers standing guard over them," added Troy.

  "What are those things?" said Jamie, who was just recovering from her wild ride. "I've seen Phantom jets close up, but they didn't look anything like this."

  "Be quiet, Jamie," said Troy. "I've got to think."

  "What are you talking about?" said Jamie. "You've come into my life, and made me an accessory to a jailbreak and a car theft, and taken me for a zillion-mile-an-hour ride, and messed me up with my boss, and almost got me killed in a car wreck. And now the cops are after me, and for all I know you're Russian spies, and you're telling me to be quiet? If I had half a brain, I'd be screaming for help right now!"

  "Not now," said Troy.

  "Don't you 'Not now' me, Mister!" snapped Jamie. "I want to know who you are and what you are going to do about this mess you've gotten me into."

 
Suddenly a police siren shattered the night air.

  "My God, they've been following us!" said Jamie. "It took them a little longer to get here, but we sure weren't hard to track down."

  "Troy, we've got to do something," said Dillon.

  "I'm open to suggestions," responded Troy.

  Then Jamie jumped to her feet and ran about twenty yards in the direction of the ships.

  "Jamie, get down!" whispered Dillon.

  "You two have turned me into a fugitive, and I'm not going to take this rap alone. Either you explain what you're up to to the cops and the army, or you agree to take me with you so I can get the whole story. You've got five seconds to make up your minds, and then I start screaming."

  "All right!" whispered Troy. "You win!"

  "You agree with him?" she asked Dillon.

  Dillon nodded, and with a smile of triumph she rejoined them.

  "We'll have to use the invisibility screens again," said Troy. "I don't see how we can take the bikes with us, though."

  "Should we destroy them?" asked Dillon.

  "Ordinarily I'd say yes," answered Troy, "but if we do anything to attract attention they might put guards in the Vipers. We don't want to have to hurt anyone."

  "That's a laugh!" said Jamie.

  "Believe it or not, Jamie, we're here to help you," said Troy.

  "Not," said Jamie emphatically.

  They activated the screens and walked, undetected, to the ships. Troy took Jamie's hand and boosted her into his Viper, whispering, "Hang on and keep your eyes closed."

  "Why?"

  "Just once try believing me," he whispered back, swinging into the pilot's seat.

  "Ready?" came Dillon's whisper over Troy's radio.

  "Ready," said Troy.

  "Maybe," said Jamie as the acceleration threw her against the back of her seat, "this wasn't such a good idea!" She had begun her sentence on the ground; she finished it at a height of four thousand miles and climbing.

  "I think I can say with certainty," remarked Dillon as they approached the Galactica a few minutes later, "that our first attempt at contact was not quite the smashing success that I had anticipated."

  Jamie, who was too terrified to speak, nodded her head vigorously.

  14