Battlestar Galactica 4 - The Young Warriors

by Glen A. Larson

  "I'm all right," she whispered. "Your aide's work was . . . efficient. He learns quickly. He had to tear the blouse. Pity. I liked the blouse. I told him that. He apologized, I thought that was quite unique in a Cylon. Apologies."

  Her voice seemed to be drifting off, fading. It was obvious that she could not concentrate on what was said to her.

  "I told him not to be sorry. He followed my orders very well about how to treat the wound. Miri would have done better, of course. But your aide has medical abilities. Very capable, for a tincan."

  Spectre glanced at Hilltop, who was steadily keeping his own gaze elsewhere. Although there was no way Hilltop could have displayed embarrassment, there was nevertheless a definite aura of uneasiness around him. What would cause such an effect? Spectre wondered. Had he constructed his creations more effectively than he had suspected? Or had he made this one somehow better than the others? He would have to disassemble Hilltop at the first opportunity to obtain clues about what made him different from the others.

  "What did you learn from the colonial warrior, Megan?" Spectre asked.

  Megan looked puzzled.

  "What colonial warrior?"

  Then she appeared to remember.

  "Oh, him. Aren't I supposed not to tell? Isn't that the warrior's code? Name, rank, classification number. His name's Starbuck, I can tell you that."

  Starbuck. Well, that was more information about the pilot than Spectre had previously obtained.

  "But I really learned little else about him, little of value to you anyway. You'd waste time trying to find out any more. He's a . . . a pleasant man. For a soldier. He's got misgivings. I could almost like him. Miri likes him. You like him."

  "I like him? I hardly saw the man."

  Megan's eyes were dazed again.

  "Did I say you? I meant Kyle. How did I get you confused with Kyle? I don't even know why I would have said Kyle. I never saw Kyle this time. But Starbuck seemed sympathetic to Kyle, to the children. I liked Starbuck, I told you that. You would like to hear more about him?"

  "No, I believe I would not. Take her back to the cell."

  Hilltop started to pick her up and carry her to the tower himself.

  "Hilltop!"

  "Yes, honored sir?"

  "I did not mean for you to take her back. You are command personnel. You leave such jobs to menial personnel."

  "If you insist. But I would not object to carrying—"

  "Give her to the guards, Hilltop!"

  Hilltop obeyed in his usual brisk manner. A pair of centurions took charge of Megan and took her away. Still, Spectre thought. Hilltop's offer to take charge of Megan himself seemed definitely aberrant. Yes, he would have to take Hilltop apart one of these days. If he could ever get the time.

  He considered whether to transmit to Baltar again, this time admitting the truth, that he had only had the warrior in custody for a brief time and it appeared he might never capture him again. Baltar was so conciliatory, he might treat an admission of failure lightly. He was human, after all, not Cylon. Yet, he was crafty, and he did follow Cylon rules. No, it would not do Spectre any good to admit failure to a human or a Cylon. But Spectre did not feel hopeful. Since the pilot had already slipped through his manipulative digits once, Spectre wondered if he was fated ever to capture this—what had Megan called him?—this Starbuck.

  Hilltop broke into his meditation by shouting:

  "Sir! It's the warrior. He's . . . he's outside the garrison walls."

  "What? We've captured him?"

  "No. He is just there, outside the walls, astride a white unicorn. Just sitting on his mount and staring at the walls. Waving to us."

  "Waving?"

  "Yes, should we kill him?"

  "No, by all means. We must capture him alive. Send a patrol out to take custody of him."

  "Yes, sir, I have a patrol waiting."

  Spectre followed Hilltop out of the command room. Taking a ramp he had ordered specially built for him, he glided up to the platform that ran all around the inside of the walls to see the phenomenon for himself. The warrior was, indeed, out there. And he was, indeed, waving. Not a wave exactly. A challenge of some sort.

  "Do you surrender, human?" Spectre shouted, as the garrison gates opened and the patrol, holding their rifles forward, marched out.

  "Not on your life, bulbhead."

  Spectre almost ordered the man shot for the insult. But he needed him alive, if only to display him to Baltar and Lucifer.

  "Bring him to me," he shouted at the patrol.

  "It'll take more warriors than that to subdue me. C'mon, fellas, we're gonna play follow the leader."

  The white unicorn reared and started for the forest.

  "Get him!" Spectre shouted.

  The patrol pursued their quarry into the forest. Spectre watched for a long time, eventually became tired of seeing nothing but landscape, and was about to turn and return to the command room where he belonged in such a crisis, when the man on the white unicorn appeared again at the forest edge. This time he looked different, smaller. Was it possible there were two colonial warriors crashed on the planet?

  "Not good enough, bulbhead," the warrior shouted. "It's gonna take more of your rattletrap soldiers to catch me."

  "Send out more warriors," Spectre said to Hilltop, "a larger patrol."

  "Are you sure that is wise, sir, to deplete personnel like—"

  "Do what I say, Hilltop."

  As he watched Hilltop assemble the larger patrol, Spectre imagined the step-by-step procedures he would take in disassembling an aide who was obviously on the verge of malfunction.

  The colonial warrior waited for a time at the edge of the forest, then bolted back into the darkness when the gates opened again and the new patrol emerged, this time firing their weapons.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  FROM MIRI'S BOOK:

  We all searched out hiding places in the trees, behind bushes, under arched tree roots, while Jergin took charge of taking the mounts back to a safe clearing. Only Demon was left behind, on Starbuck's orders.

  The Cylon garrison looked peaceful. Guards, walking slowly, patrolled the platform at the top of the wall. It seemed ironic to me that a wall built originally by the colonists to keep predators out of the settlement now functioned as protection for the predators who had taken over the settlement.

  In an area just in front of the garrison gates, a few tincans worked at a task that made no sense to me. It seemed to involve them each taking pieces of themselves and exchanging them for other parts which they then put into, upon, or against themselves. Perhaps it was their kind of game, perhaps it was a religious ritual.

  Starbuck sent Melysa and Nilz, our most adept climbers, scampering up a pair of strategically-located trees. They observed from high perches for a while, as commanded, then came down with the report that inside the garrison everything looked routine, Cylons performing Cylonish activities. Melysa said she thought she saw Megan, escorted by centurions, entering the door to the prison tower. Starbuck questioned Melysa and Nilz at length and in detail, concentrating especially on information regarding the number of warriors and their observable armaments.

  "There are too many of them inside there, that's certain," he said finally to Kyle and me. "We can't lead in any kind of group through the secret passage and expect to make it across the courtyard unobserved. As it stands now, it's a sucker's move."

  "It may be impregnable," Kyle muttered, discouraged.

  "I didn't say that."

  "Starbuck, when the tincans invaded, the colony held out a long time, before the Cylons finally crashed through with their superior firepower. We were already evacuating through the secret passage when the massacre started. That's why mostly children got out. There're always two or three score of the tincans roaming about the yard. Sure, Miri can sneak in once in a while, work her way across the yard to the tower, but a whole attack squad, never. We wouldn't stand a chance."

  "Ah, but we haven't begun o
ur games yet."

  "Starbuck—"

  "Have faith, Kyle, have faith. It's time for phase one. Or the first move, if you want to preserve the gaming metaphor."

  "Of course we'll try."

  "That's the spirit. I'm encouraged by your doubts. A little caution never hurt any strategy. Okay, like I told you, be ready for the quick-change when I return."

  "I hope I can manage to look like you to them."

  "Of course you will. They can't tell us apart anyway. Hold Demon, while I get on him. I want him to know you approve, Kyle."

  Kyle stroked Demon's neck while Starbuck mounted to his back. Demon accepted Starbuck as rider without any perceivable qualm. I don't know if Kyle was pleased or not.

  "Well, folks," Starbuck said to those of us gathered around him, "the first stage of gameplaying is the challenge. At least one person must challenge at least one opponent. Except for solitaire, and solitaire never brought anybody any chips. Think I'll go out there and hustle up some action. Those of you with phase-one duties, go to your positions."

  Starbuck rode out to the clearing in front of the garrison, and started shouting and waving in a berserk fashion. My heart started beating rapidly. I prayed that none of the guards would get anxious and start shooting at him. For this first part of his strategy to work, he had to be right when he said they would want him bad enough not to kill him outright.

  There was a great deal of commotion and confusion along the garrison walls after they had seen Starbuck on Demon. Finally, Spectre came to the platform and returned Starbuck's challenge by inviting him to surrender. Starbuck mocked him and wheeled Demon around, riding him back into the forest. After considerable cacophonous noise inside the garrison, the gates opened and a patrol came rushing out, racing past the tin cans that had been exchanging parts, who seemed to see no logic in what was happening around them.

  Meanwhile, Starbuck rode Demon up to us and dismounted in a hurry. Quickly he took off his flight jacket and trousers, exchanging them for Kyle's outfit. Kyle's forest clothes fit Starbuck snugly, while the starfleet uniform hung a little loosely on Kyle. The clothing had been exchanged before I realized that I had watched it all without an ounce of embarrassment. I had been living with an outlaw band in the forest too long for modesty to hold much sway over me, I suppose.

  Kyle leaped onto Demon and rode away. He deliberately placed himself in the patrol's path, made sure he was observed, and raced off.

  "First game: Follow the leader," Starbuck muttered. "That's it, guys, you're all playing it just fine."

  The patrol was soon out of sight. The Genie asked Starbuck if they should now start sneaking into the secret passage.

  "Yes, a few at a time," he answered, "but wait for Miri and me before going exploring. All right?"

  "Yes, sir!"

  "And you can drop the military courtesy. This is a keepers game and there's no time for frills."

  The Genie nodded stoically and went off to organize the children who were assigned to the passage. I sensed them sneaking into the entrance under the bush but—to give them credit—I did not actually observe a single member of the squad enter. Starbuck had stayed in the darkness at the edge of the forest, awaiting Kyle's return and keeping a lookout on the garrison walls, where Spectre remained, the red lights of his eyes scanning the landscape in front of him.

  Although I feared unplanned-for complications, in my mind I imagined this part of the operation working perfectly. I saw Kyle leading the patrol deeper into the forest, where the children delegated to the ambush detail waited up in trees, tangled in greenery, and in any other position that gave them sudden-attack leverage. I imagined Robus and Nilz, who had the only jump rope we could scavenge, waiting for the patrol to pass, then tripping up the rearguard Cylons and kicking away their weapons, while other children jumped from their positions onto, against, and beneath the rest of the patrol, making the tincans fall all over each other in confusion. Then, as the ambushers skittered out of the way, the net hurriedly sewn by Ariadne's seamstress-platoon would be spread over the fallen Cylons by the remaining members of the detail. Leaving a couple of children to stand guard over the secured and unresistant Cylons (Starbuck's theory, proven correct, was that the tincans would malfunction under pressure), Kyle would return to us.

  Before I could recall all the details of this phase, Kyle had returned to us, with the news that the ambush had worked like clockwork. He looked to Starbuck for the signal to begin phase two. Starbuck gave it, and Kyle went just to the edge of the forest, where he would be sufficiently in shadow not to be easily recognized as a substitute for Starbuck. Kyle shouted the second challenge, as instructed him by Starbuck.

  "Game two," Starbuck muttered. "A variation of blind man's buff. The underwater version this time, fellows, give or take some mud."

  Starbuck and I ducked as the second patrol, larger in number, crashed out of the garrison gates with the weapons at the ready and firing. Beams of laser light seemed to be everywhere above us.

  Kyle laughed brashly as he and Demon rode off, this time in a different direction than before, the patrol following at their clumsy but amazingly rapid pace.

  As soon as they were out of sight, Starbuck whispered:

  "Okay, Miri, time to join the others in the tunnel. This game is called, let's see, the maze. It's a paper kind of game, really. We enter here, point A with an arrow, and make our way through tunnels and past obstacles, trying not to get caught in any of the deadends or traps, in order to find the true way to our objective, in this case the prison tower, point B or whatever."

  I shuddered involuntarily.

  "I'm not sure I really like treating all this as a game," I said. "Especially this part of it."

  Starbuck regarded me sympathetically.

  "I expect you wouldn't. You're right, Miri. But I'm really trying to protect the children by making a game out of this. It's a lot better than sending them in with guns and bombs, and training them to think of themselves in heroic terms. Maybe just as dangerous, but I suspect we can make it work, you and I. That's part of our job, really, protecting the children while we rescue your mother and the other prisoners. We can do it."

  "I wish I could be so confident."

  "You been in as many scrapes as I have, you learn how to fake confidence."

  "But you're brave."

  Starbuck smiled.

  "So are you, Miri. C'mon, into the tunnel."

  I almost looked for the arrow saying point A as I sneaked beneath the bush as I had done so many times before, with Starbuck right behind me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Kyle had some trouble holding down Demon's speed so that the Cylon pursuers could keep him in sight. Demon did stick firmly to the zigzag pattern that kept the Cylons from getting off a good shot at them, although a few leaves uncomfortably close to Kyle's head were singed in passing.

  The zigzag move was Kyle's addition to Starbuck's plan. The individual Cylons each had a fairly good directional system and they might be able to discern where Kyle was heading too soon. Erratic trails, however, tended to confuse the tincans, or at least Kyle was counting on that. The zigzagging did seem to be working. The patrol showed no awareness of how close they were to the dangerous swampy area. He hoped that the children assigned to this detail had devised, as ordered, an effective camouflage. He had not had time to go there and inspect their work.

  "All right, Demon," he whispered aloud. "I think we've just about netted these guys. We'll make our move in just a while."

  For the first time since he had begun riding Demon, Kyle received a telepathic message from him, a wave of agreement and the information that the timing of the final jump could be left up to Demon himself. Kyle felt elated. After all this time, Demon had finally broken his mental silence.

  Why? Kyle wondered.

  Had to wait until I was sure you would listen, came Demon's response. All right, this is it, time for the final run.

  Demon broke out of the zigzag pattern as he
reached a wide trail. At first he cantered slowly, to give the Cylons an opportunity to catch up. When they had reached the path and started to propel themselves faster toward Kyle and his unicorn, Demon increased the pace. Kyle looked back.

  Good, he thought, they're going faster, too.

  Demon accelerated to a fast trot, but Kyle thought: Slower, they're beginning to fall behind again. We have to make sure they maintain their top speed, or else they'll be able to stop in time. Demon understood and kept the rate of speed just right. On the open road the Cylons could move much more swiftly. These robotized versions were fast, and their lighter weight allowed them to be speedier than genuine Cylons.

  Okay, Demon, I think we've reached the point of no return. As soon as we get around that curve, you—

  Let me judge that. Just a little more time.

  You're cutting it pretty thin.

  It is necessary.

  Demon began trotting faster, working up speed for the jump-to-come. Rounding the curve, briefly out of sight of their pursuers, Kyle saw the camouflage ahead. At the point where the road actually came to an abrupt end at the edge of the swamp, the children had been able to paint on dried animal hide a good illusion of a road, one that seemed to proceed a little further, then curved into a gradual right turn. He was sure the Cylons would be fooled. He almost was. He did not have time to see if Goodchild and Arno Armwaver, two of the strongest among the younger children, were securely in position so that they could jerk the camouflage away in time.

  For a moment it looked as if Demon might time his jump a shade too late—but, no, he had the move down pat. When it seemed that they were going to run smack into the camouflage and spoil the whole plan, Demon lifted suddenly into the air, sailing over the rather high hurdle that was the top of the camouflage-painting. They came down sharply on the other side, Demon's front hooves landing just short of the beginning of the swampy area. Kyle could see reflections in the muddy water a few feet below, down the steep bank. It felt for a moment as if Kyle would be pitched forward, but Demon was in control. As soon as his rear hooves touched ground, he was leaping again, this time sideways and into a thick patch of jungle, where he and Kyle would be temporarily concealed as the Cylons rushed past. In a perfectly timed move, just before the swift Cylon warriors, now accelerating because they did not have their quarry in sight, had reached the barrier of the road-painting, Goodchild and Arno pulled it up and away. The momentum of the patrol leader carried him forward, and the patrol, obedient warriors all, followed right after. By the time he had reached the edge of the bank, and his sensors had perceived that there was only swampy and muddy water ahead, it was too late, he could not halt his forward propulsion. He fell down the steep bank, tumbling metal head over metal heels. All but two of the rest of the patrol stumbled right off the bank on top of him. As they came in contact with the water, without the time to protect themselves in any way from its harming effects, sparks started to fly. The water gradually covered them. Other warriors were not affected by the water and were able to partially recover and stand up, but were trapped by the underlying mud which Kyle knew was, in this part of the swamp, virtually quicksand. Their movements to squirm out of the mud only sank them deeper. The leader, flat on his back in the water but still functioning, called an indiscernible squeaky order to the two centurions who had avoided falling off the bank. His words were obviously commands to lend a hand, rescue them. The two centurions seemed confused, but their bewilderment did not last long, for Goodchild and Arno Armwaver sneaked up behind them and, laughing gleefully, pushed the centurions into the water. A warrior imbedded in muck but with his arms free, raised his weapon, aimed it at Goodchild. Kyle, reacting quickly, had his pistol out. He shot the rifle out of the Cylon's hand. The rifle fell into the water and its subsequent short-circuiting sent a chain reaction of electrical waves from Cylon to Cylon. Soon they all seemed to have malfunctioned. They fell against each other and soon looked like a floating junkpile.