RECONSTRUCTED FROM
TROY'S RECOLLECTIONS:
The Vipers touched ground, and Troy and Dillon immediately hit the switches that activated the invisibility fields.
"I wish we'd remembered to bring two more turbo bikes," said Dillon as he helped Jamie out of the Viper.
"Just be glad Adama let us come at all," said Troy. "He was furious when he found out that we had to leave the last two bikes behind. I really think if he'd known about that before we went to Germany, he wouldn't have let us go."
"Can our military experts learn much from the bikes?" asked Jamie.
"Not in a practical sense," said Troy. "As I've said before, we don't operate along strict Einsteinian principles, so even if they take them apart piece by piece they won't discover the motive power, not the way their thinking has been shaped. And once they've been taken apart, they'll never be able to put the motors back together properly. But from a broader viewpoint, they can learn one very important thing: that no one on Earth could have constructed those bikes."
"Not that they'll be able to do anything about it," said Dillon.
"Don't bet on it," said Troy grimly. "There's always Xaviar to consider."
"I don't know," said Dillon. "We managed to get so many people on our tails the last time we came down here that if he admits he's one of us, I think he'll stir up more trouble than he can handle."
"Don't underestimate him," said Troy. "Even with his hands tied, he managed to repair the field controls. And without knowing a thing about the period and its customs, he moved up to a position of power in the Nazi hierarchy in less than a month. He's a lot more dangerous than you think."
"Then the sooner we return Jamie and get on his trail, the better," said Dillon. "Watch this, Troy; I've been studying up."
He walked to a nearby state highway and stuck his thumb out awkwardly, a broad and ingratiating smile on his handsome face.
Seven cars in a row passed him by without slowing down.
"What am I doing wrong, Jamie?" he said at last. "It worked on one of your commercial transmission bands."
"Why don't you fellows stand back and let me take a crack at it?" said Jamie, stepping up to the side of the road. A car came into view about half a mile away, and Jamie slid her skirt up to her thigh and extended her thumb.
The squeal of the brakes were deafening.
"Nothing to it," grinned Jamie.
They rode to a truck stop and thanked the driver as he pulled off the road.
"What kind of place is this?" asked Dillon.
"A truck stop," said Jamie. "It's where the drivers of these big vehicles stop to eat and service their trucks."
"I wonder if they can do anything for a space vehicle with a low energizer?" said Troy, wondering how long the invisibility screen would hold up this time.
"You're kidding, right?" said Jamie.
"Certainly."
"Well, don't," she said. "I have enough trouble understanding you guys when you're being serious."
They walked to a table and Dillon picked up a menu. "Coffee?" he said, staring at the writing. He checked his wrist computer. "A beverage derived from a bean, generally served hot. Troy, they drink beans here."
"You think that's weird?" said Troy, perusing his own menu. "They make a sandwich called a hamburger that has no ham in it, and they've got a dish called chili that's served hot instead of cold. What's a sandwich anyway, Jamie? It sounds like it's loaded with powdered silicon."
"It's a meal . . . no, a dish . . . well, it's something to eat that comes between two pieces of bread, or reprocessed and cooked bread dough shaped like a bun . . . and it can be meat or cheese or any number of things . . . I'm not being too clear, am I?" she concluded lamely.
"What about the sand?" persisted Troy.
"It has nothing to do with sand. The concept was created by an Englishman named the Earl of Sandwich. It's his only claim to fame."
"You mean this guy just kept playing with bread dough and meat until it came out right?" asked Dillon. "What a way to make a living!"
"I don't think he exactly did it for a living," said Jamie.
"It's a very international restaurant," commented Troy. "English muffins, French toast, Polish sausage . . . and yet only Americans seem to patronize it."
"Those are ways of making and serving things," said Jamie patiently. "The toast isn't made in France, the muffins aren't made in England . . ."
"Very confusing," said Troy. "But interesting."
"What do you want to order?" said Jamie.
"Oh, nothing," said Dillon. "We ate a week ago."
"You're kidding me again, right?" she said.
"You told us not to," said Dillon.
"You mean to tell me you only eat once a week?" she said incredulously.
"Sometimes," said Troy. "We usually eat two or three meals every day aboard the Galactica, but that's not always practical when we're aboard the Vipers. Too much weight and storage space needed for food."
"Look, sometimes I find it inconvenient to eat, too," said Jamie, "but I still have to do it."
"Doctor Zee has changed all that," said Troy. He scratched his head. "What can I liken it to? Ah, I have it! You have an animal on this planet called a bear. It hibernates during the winter."
"So what?" said Jamie.
"Well, when it's hibernating, its body uses only stored fat."
"Everyone knows that."
"No," said Troy. "What I mean is that the bear uses one hundred percent fat. No protein at all, nothing else but fat. Nothing provides as much energy or is used as efficiently. The hibernating bear has nothing to transform into urine or fecal matter, because the fat is completely efficient. There is no waste. And when he wakes up he's not a mere rack of bones; he still has plenty of fat left, because so little of it is needed. Doctor Zee has synthesized a catalyst that causes our bodies to act in much the same ways. I love food, and so does Dillon, but neither of us have eaten for a week, and our efficiency is unimpaired."
Jamie shook her head. "I love you two guys, but Lord, you sure take a lot of getting used to. Oh, well, let me get you a newspaper to read while those of us who are less fortunate, like myself, eat a little breakfast."
She walked over to a vending machine, put in a quarter, opened it to withdraw a paper—and froze. Then, recovering, she hastily picked it up and returned to the table with it.
"Look!" she said, holding up the front page. "We're wanted criminals!"
And indeed they were. Photos of all three were plastered across the front page in connection with the Mortinson "kidnapping," as well as the damage done to the Pacific Institute of Technology and the escape from the police.
"Not a very good likeness," said Dillon, looking at his photo. "It's not even in three dimensions."
"Stop it, Dillon!" said Jamie. "The police have an APB out for you two."
"What's an APB?" asked Dillon.
"An All Points Bulletin," said Jamie. "Don't look it up on that silly little computer. It means they won't take chances if you resist arrest. They'll shoot to kill. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"
"I think we'd better leave at once," said Troy.
"What will I tell the police?" said Jamie. "They think I'm in cahoots with you, that I was your inside man when you tried to kidnap the Doctor."
"Doctor Mortinson knows otherwise," said Troy. "He'll exonerate you. We've got to leave. It isn't safe here, and if you're seen with us they might decide to start shooting at you, too."
Suddenly the juke box, which had been silent, blared into sound, with a staccato drumbeat leading into a rock song. At the first sound of the drum Troy and Dillon leaped to their feet, their weapons drawn. A waiter who was carrying a tray in the vicinity jumped backward in stunned surprise and dropped half a dozen cups and saucers.
"Just joking," said Jamie weakly.
"What is that thing?" said Troy as he and Dillon sat back down.
"Just a juke box," said Jamie. "A music machine."
"I
once had a personalized robot companion on the planet Pinta that looked very much like this," said Dillon. "Sounded better, though."
"I really hate to let you two guys go off on your own," said Jamie. "You just don't know enough. Like with the juke box. You're going to give yourselves away in five minutes."
"That's just a chance we'll have to take," said Troy. "We can't take you with us. After all, you have to live on this world. You'd better hunt up the authorities and get Mortinson to corroborate your testimony."
"We'll be in touch again, I'm sure," said Dillon, rising and walking to the door.
"I'll never forget you," she said. "Don't forget me."
"Not a possibility," said Troy. "Did I get it right?"
"Close," said Jamie. "It's 'Not a chance.' "
"Well, accept the sentiment," said Troy.
A moment later they were gone.
32
TRANSCRIPT OF UNITED BROADCASTING CORPORATION
INTERVIEW WITH NOBEL LAUREATE ALFRED
MORTINSON:
ANDERSON: Doctor Mortinson is in the United Broadcasting Corporation's studios in Los Angeles this morning, to talk with us about his ordeal. Doctor, a lot of mystery surrounds your abduction and escape, and the police imply that you've been less than helpful.
MORTINSON: I can't tell them what I don't know.
ANDERSON: For a man who was taken hostage, you certainly don't sound very angry.
MORTINSON: Why should I be angry? The police and news media insist that I was kidnapped; I insist that I went with these young men freely and of my own will. With all due respect to the police and to your fellow journalists, I think I'm in a better position to know what happened.
ANDERSON: Then perhaps you would care to share your recollections with us. What, exactly, did happen?
MORTINSON: Two young men, whose names I'm not free to reveal—
ANDERSON: They wouldn't be Troy and Dillon, would they?
MORTINSON: How did you know?
ANDERSON: I have my sources.
MORTINSON: But I didn't tell any— Oh, of course. They were arrested, weren't they?
ANDERSON: Could you please continue, Doctor?
MORTINSON: Well, these two young men—Troy and Dillon—had something to say to me, something of overriding importance. They came to my office and left a message for me, a message which was a show of good faith on their part and which was more than satisfactory to convince me of their intentions. The police had arrested them by the time I arrived.
ANDERSON: For breaking and entering.
MORTINSON: No. I think it was for illegal entry. However, I refuse to press those charges, and the Pacific Institute has also agreed not to prosecute.
ANDERSON: However, it's not up to you or the Institute to decide. They broke a law, and now the state will decide whether or not to prosecute.
MORTINSON: Perhaps, but they're going to find me a very hostile witness. Anyway, I went to the jail to make bail and found out that it had been denied. Since they were wanted for no other crimes, I think this was terribly unfair and prejudicial. At any rate, I met with them shortly thereafter . . .
ANDERSON: After they had made a daring jail-break, you mean.
MORTINSON: If you say so, Mr. Anderson. The meeting took place in a car, and then we parted company.
ANDERSON: You neglect to mention, Doctor Mortinson, that the car was going upwards of 110 miles per hour through the streets and alleys of Los Angeles, and that four police squad cars were in hot pursuit.
MORTINSON: What they had to say to me was extremely confidential. We could not allow either the police or the media to overhear it. I was the one who urged them on to great speeds; let the police arrest me if they wish, not Troy and Dillon.
ANDERSON: But you did have a representative of the news media with you. Jamie Hamilton, a reporter for our very own United Broadcasting, was in the car with you. But neither she nor Troy and Dillon were in the car when it crashed into a store, and none of the three have been seen since.
MORTINSON: She was along as a friend of Troy and Dillon, not in her capacity as a reporter.
ANDERSON: Not so, Doctor. I was present while she was wired for sound just before she met with you.
MORTINSON: Did her hidden microphone do you any good?
ANDERSON: I must admit that it didn't.
MORTINSON: I believe you have your answer, Mister Anderson.
ANDERSON: But I have a lot more questions. For starters, what happened to the three of them?
MORTINSON: I don't know.
ANDERSON: Come now, Doctor.
MORTINSON: Really, I have no idea what happened. I must have been shaken up by the crash.
ANDERSON: Have you anything further to say before we return to our regularly scheduled programming?
MORTINSON: Yes. Our discussion was aborted by the arrival of the police and the press. It is my devout hope that I'll have the opportunity to see them again soon. My sole purpose in consenting to this interview is to make that point, should they be listening. Troy, Dillon—if you're out there, please contact me again. Don't worry about this gentleman and his cohorts; I know you'll find a way.
33
FROM NOTES AND RECOLLECTIONS
OF JAMIE HAMILTON:
"Jamie!" exclaimed Anderson as she walked into UBC's executive offices.
He quickly ushered her into his private suite, then turned to his secretary. "Miss Davenport, see to it that we're not disturbed for the next half hour. Not a word to anyone about Jamie being here, and get Chief Modzelewski on the phone."
Jamie took a seat in front of Anderson's huge mahogany desk. There was a new photo on his wall, which would doubtless join the others in the outer office when he had a still newer one to replace it with. It showed Anderson and Doctor Mortinson, and unlike most of the other pictures, there was no inscription.
"You're lucky you weren't hurt," said Anderson, sitting down and lighting a thin cigar which had been smuggled out of Havana for a select clientele. "The cops are convinced that you were part of the attempt to kidnap the professor."
"The professor?" asked Jamie.
"Mortinson."
"He's a doctor," said Jamie.
"Doctor, professor—what the hell's the difference?" said Anderson. "They're all a bunch of eggheads. But this one's news, baby. Big news. The kidnapping has been on all the channels and in all the papers. Even made Newsweek and Time, and I hear they're trying to get the guy who wrote The China Syndrome to script a TV movie based on it."
"But it wasn't a kidnapping," said Jamie. "It was you and the police who spoiled everything."
"Mr. Anderson," said a voice on the intercom. "Chief Modzelewski is on Line 3."
"Tell him I'll get back to him in a couple of minutes," said Anderson. He turned back to Jamie. "Jamie, I hate to say it, but you're sounding very sympathetic to the terrorists."
"They aren't terrorists," said Jamie.
"No?"
"No."
"Okay, Jamie: who do you think these two jokers are?"
"I can't tell you everything," said Jamie, choosing each word very carefully, "but basically, they are part of a worldwide organization."
"A spy ring?" said Anderson quickly.
"No," said Jamie. "It's what you might call a peace movement."
"And this is the way they achieve peaceful goals?" laughed Anderson. "By busting into buildings and out of jails, and by kidnapping innocent eggheads?"
"No!" said Jamie, her temper starting to fray about the edges.
"Are these guys some kind of religious freaks?"
"No. They're as religious as you are."
"I'm an atheist," commented Anderson dryly.
"Well, they worship some entities called the Lords of Kobol," said Jamie.
"Kooks!" said Anderson.
"They're intelligent, dedicated men," said Jamie. "You'll just have to take my word for it."
"Take your word?" repeated Anderson sarcastically. "I'm a newsman, for God's sake
! We're not playing games here, Jamie. You were involved in a very serious felony." He softened his tone a notch or two. "Now, sometimes when men subdue a woman and take her captive, the law is willing to consider the possibility of brainwashing."
"And only women can be brainwashed, is that what you're trying to say to me?" said Jamie hotly. "You think because I'm a woman I just swooned dead away at the sight of those big bold men? Well, let me tell you something, Buster: I've seen and done more things in the past month than you've reported in ten years. And another thing . . ."
Anderson was trying to hold back a grin of amusement when the intercom buzzed again.
"Mister Anderson," said the voice, "someone is trying to reach Miss Hamilton on Line 2."
"Tell them she's not here."
"He's very insistent. He say his name is Mister Dillon."
"Dillon?" said Anderson. "He's one of them! Put a trace on that call while Jamie's talking to him."
"No!" exclaimed Jamie.
"Listen, my intrepid girl reporter," Anderson said harshly, with his hand over the mouthpiece of the receiver, "you've got to learn to view this world from a wider perspective. These two men have apparently got some kind of hold on you, so I'm going to be recording this and monitoring every word."
He handed her the phone and nodded.
"Hello," she said hesitantly.
"Jamie," said Dillon. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. But why are you here? It's dangerous."
"It's Xaviar," said Dillon.
"What about him?"
"We just heard from Doctor Zee, who's been tracing his ship's electron emission—and Jamie, he's Here and Now."
"What do you mean?"
"He's in Los Angeles at this very moment."
"But why?"
"Well, if he hasn't tried to get to you, he's almost certainly after Mortinson. Can you help us warn him?"
"I'll do what I can. Now hang up and get the hell out of wherever you are!"
"Why?" asked Dillon. "You sound like something's the matter."
"My boss has put a trace on this call! By now he knows where you are—and he already knows who you are. Hang up, Dillon!"
He did so, and she turned triumphantly back to Anderson.
Battlestar Galactica 5 - Galactica Discovers Earth Page 13