Buck Rogers 1 - Buck Rogers in the 25th Century

by Addison E. Steele

  Wilma pursed her lips angrily. “I do believe you when you tell me you believe he’s a wonderful man. But then, you’re not being asked to risk the lives of our few surviving warriors on sneaky subterfuge.”

  “He’s only one man,” Dr. Huer put in conciliatorily. “What could he possibly do to endanger our people?”

  “He could attempt to discredit the treaty with Draconia!” Wilma snapped.

  “But he has made no such attempt,” Theopolis said. “He comes to us a very bewildered young man. Devastated by the loss of every loved one. To him, there is nothing left to save. He has already lost all.”

  “I would like an opportunity to spend some time with the captain,” Wilma Deering said.

  “If you’re hoping to find fault with his testimony, you’ll be wasting your time.”

  “Saving earth cannot be a waste of time, despite my having to endure the captain’s company!”

  “If Dr. Theopolis has no objections,” Huer said, “I certainly have none.”

  “Then the captain belongs to me,” Wilma asserted triumphantly, “until I expose him!” She rose from her seat and left the room, trailing a military sense of order.

  The box on the desk said, “I’ve not seen Colonel Deering so uncharacteristically emotional about anything before this.”

  “About anything?” Huer echoed his mechanical colleague. “Or about anyone?”

  On a downtown mall of the Inner City, golden elevators whisked silently up and down in transparent columns surrounding a central fountain of waters illuminated by dancing, colorful lights. Buildings and vehicles gleamed in a bright, pleasant light. Smartly dressed and happy citizens moved from place to place, stopping for a bit of refreshment, shopping, appreciating works of art that were carefully spaced around the plaza, or conducting any other business that they happened to have.

  Far across the mall, dwarfed by the towering spire of levels of magnificent architecture, two figures strolled slowly, side by side.

  The man gazed around himself, obviously awestruck by the magnificence of his amazing surroundings.

  The woman, accustomed to the mall and everything in it, kept her attention for the man at her side.

  “This part doesn’t seem so much a nightmare as a beautiful dream,” Buck Rogers commented happily.

  “It’s taken a long time to rebuild,” Wilma Deering responded. “We’ve reached the point where we can once again start to grow. For more than four hundred years after the worldwide holocaust, people did little more than eke out their bare survival!”

  “Tell me what happened,” Buck almost pleaded. He was half-fearful to hear the horrors that he knew must be coming, yet he could not continue to live in this new world without finding out what had happened to the old one!

  “I can’t tell you,” Wilma answered. “It isn’t so much that I’m unwilling to tell you, it’s the Council’s decision. They will tell you, when they feel that the time has come to do so.”

  “I’ve been hearing that ever since I got here,” Buck said angrily.

  “Why is it so important?” Wilma demanded. “Why must you hear that story? The end of your world was so—ugly!”

  Buck paused and reached for Wilma’s hands. She let him take them. They stood facing each other, looking into each other’s eyes. “I need to hear because until I do, until I hear it and feel it, it isn’t real,” Buck explained. “Look, I’ve lost everything I ever cared about. My father, mother, brothers and sisters. And—a woman who had sensitivities and feelings that make all you people seem like robots.

  “You’re sanitized, ethicized, scrubbed, polished, and packaged so completely that you don’t realize you’re acting like a pack of Pavlov’s hounds. Your Computer Council rings the bell and everybody salivates, nice and neat and on command.

  “But somewhere, somehow . . .” He stood gazing off, not into the gleaming vista of Inner City’s plaza, but into the invisible mists of his lost past. “Someplace else in time and space, my own people, the real people, the real people are waiting for me. And until somebody shows me different, they’re going to remain more real to me than anything I’ve seen in this monument of plastic, or anyone I’ve met since I happened to doze off one afternoon in Anno Domini one-nine-eight-seven.”

  Buck and Wilma stood for long seconds, then the serious, almost bitter expression on his face gave way to a boyish look of abashment. “I guess that’s the end of the tour. I’m sorry, Colonel Deering, that I don’t make a better tourist here in your pretty plastic utopia.”

  He started to move away from her, but Wilma ran the few steps that separated them and put her hand on Buck’s arm. “Wait! I’m sorry. I know it’s hard for you to understand, but some of this is being done for your own good.”

  Buck suppressed a laugh. “Some of it?”

  “There’s our own security to think of. Look, give us a little time. We are a feeling people, whether we appear so to you or not. We want to trust you. But you’ll have to put some of your trust in us, too. It can’t be all one way, Buck.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t guess I have a lot of choice.”

  She smiled. “No, I guess you don’t either. But if you’re ready to take it fatalistically, you could make things a little easier for us all, and a little pleasanter. How about a little glass of Vinol?”

  He looked at her curiously. “A little glass of what?”

  “It’s a synthetic wine that we use. Some find it very intoxicating.”

  “Okay,” Buck consented. “Then let’s make it two or three. I’d like to get good and drunk.”

  They moved across the mall until they reached a pleasantly decorated area furnished with tables and chairs. The atmosphere was a little like that of a sidewalk cafe in the days of Buck’s boyhood, but of course, here in the domed Inner City, there was no real difference between outdoors and indoors.

  People were sitting at tables, sipping glasses of a shimmering liquid. Individuals and couples strolled up, greeted one another, forming and shifting into pairs and threesomes and quartets, then drifting away on other errands of their own.

  Buck and Wilma found a vacant table and sat at it. A waiter appeared and Wilma ordered two Vinols.

  As soon as the waiter had moved away to bring their drinks, Buck asked, “What’s it like outside?”

  “Outside the dome?” Wilma echoed. “You . . .” She considered for a little. “You wouldn’t like it outside the dome.”

  “Why not? Too much radiation? Pollution? Environmental spoilage? We were making a mess of things back in my time. Some people were trying to preserve the countryside, but for every band of ecological idealists trying to save a wild river there were ten billion-dollar corporations swinging all their clouts to turn it into a running cesspool.”

  Wilma started to answer, but before she could speak Buck continued. “Or is it the opposite? Has the outside gone back to nature? Maybe there’s a real Utopia outside the dome and you people are afraid to let anyone see it for fear that they’ll rebel against your shiny plastic world inside?”

  Buck stopped speaking as the waiter arrived and placed drinks in front of each of them. As soon as the waiter had left, Wilma answered Buck.

  “You’re just being paranoid about a secret Utopia outside and a conspiracy to keep the city people unaware of it. I wish that were the case! We could get past that in a breeze.

  “No, I’m afraid that your first guess was more on target, Buck. There’s radiation in some places, ruins and scorched earth just about everyplace else. That’s why we’re so dependent, now, on trade with other planets. We can’t grow our own food here! We’re trying to restore the earth, there are a few experimental farms and orchards under cultivation, but it’s just the tiniest beginning.”

  “And this trade agreement,” Buck said, “this treaty with Draconia. What’s that all about? What’s the role of this princess of theirs?”

  “We’re being starved out by pirates,” Wilma said grimly.

  “Star pirates! We had a
look at star pirates five hundred years in advance. But nobody believed there would ever be such things really!”

  “Well, there are! They’ve choked off our supply lines from our trading partners. The Draconians have promised to keep those supply lines open for us, in exchange for landing privileges here on earth.”

  “They aren’t allowed to land now?” Buck asked.

  “They’re a powerful force, Buck. Frighteningly powerful. They’ve conquered worlds from here to Tau Ceti! We’re afraid, frankly, of letting them have a toehold on our planet. But on the other hand, if we can get them to help us against the pirates, we can have an assured food supply until we’ve got our own production back to higher levels.”

  Buck shook his head. “If these Draconians are so powerful and Earth is in such a sorry state, why didn’t they just swoop in here and take over?”

  “We’re very far from the strong-points of their empire. It would be very hard for them to wage war in Earth’s sector. You have a military background, Captain Rogers. You understand about overextended lines of support.”

  Buck nodded to show that he did understand. “But if the Earth is such a mess,” he countered, “if there’s nothing growing here and the land is wrecked with radiation and rubble—why do the Draconians want to land at all?”

  “Because Earth is the gateway to the galaxies beyond. I don’t know how much was understood of cosmic astrogation in your time—”

  “Damned little,” Buck broke in. “We’d sent probes to the other planets and humans had visited the moon and worked in space. My own flight was to’ve been the first manned tour of the solar system, and I obviously didn’t make it! What came after is a closed book to me! As of 1988 onward, you know more than I do, however much or little that might happen to be.”

  “Well,” Wilma said, “I don’t want to get too technical for starters, Buck. But speaking in layman’s terms, space is like an ocean. You can travel across it, or through it—but there are reefs and shoals and whirlpools and all sorts of other perils. But there are also safe channels, and even shortcuts.

  “And it so happens that, by reason of its location in the cosmic sea, Earth is a place of access to the farther island universes. I know my analogy to an ocean isn’t perfect, but—”

  “I understand,” Buck nodded. “Yes, it makes sense, even to me.” He grinned self-deprecatingly, just for a moment, before his features grew grim once again. “But what it amounts to, then, is that you’re going to let the Draconians use Earth as a military base for conquering uncounted worlds,”—he gestured to the roof of the dome—“out there.”

  “The treaty has safeguards in it, Buck. It’s for Earth’s good.”

  “What kind of safeguards?”

  “No man-of-war or ship bearing any kind of arms will ever be allowed within our defense shields. The only ships we’ll let through are scientific exploration craft. And then, later on, trading vessels.”

  “That sounds nice. How do you think you can enforce it, once they’re inside the shield?”

  “That will be my job,” Wilma said gravely. “My job . . . ours . . . the military.” Suddenly she changed the subject of their conversation. “You haven’t even tasted your Vinol, Buck!”

  He grinned at her and lifted his glass for a sip.

  “Well, what do you think of it?” Wilma asked.

  “It tastes—feminine,” Buck commented.

  “We’re a culture of moderation,” Wilma responded. “We don’t go in for the tough, he-man kind of booze that you used to have back in your day.”

  “Huh! What do you do if you feel like being immoderate?”

  “In our economy, Buck—why, things may look comfortable to you,” she swept her hand in a circle, indicating the broad, shining mall. “But the truth is, everything is carefully balanced. We have little margin for error. None for waste. If somebody ruins a serving of food, or greedily consumes two when he’s entitled to only one—then somebody else goes without a meal that day. That’s how closely things are planned and balanced. What you would call immoderation, what you would call just a petty foible in your world—is a crime in mine. And criminals are invited to leave the Inner City.”

  “That’s all?” Buck asked. “If they’re criminals, aren’t they jailed or punished in any other way?”

  “The outside world isn’t very pleasant anymore. You said before that you thought there might be a secret utopia outside the domes. If you ever come to see the outside, you’ll change your mind. The outside world has a name. Anarchia. There, you are denied the protection of society. You take your chances with thieves, murderers, and worse! Worse! Believe me!”

  “You mean I’d risk all that just to get a stronger drink than this Vinol stuff?”

  Wilma lifted her glass and they touched their rims before sipping again.

  “To your treaty,” Buck toasted.

  Wilma said, “You seem unusually interested in that treaty for someone who claims no interest in it at all.”

  Buck shook his head. Their conversation seemed to bounce back and forth between lighthearted banter and deadly seriousness. “Something is bothering me about the treaty, yes,” he conceded.

  “Then you do have a point of view after all. Do you have something to recommend to the Council?”

  “I’d like to see my ship,” Buck said. “Is that possible?”

  “Anything is possible,” Wilma said. But there was suspicion in her face and doubt in her voice. “Anything is possible, Captain Rogers,” she repeated.

  F O U R

  Buck’s five-hundred-year-old spaceship had been moved from its landing pad to a great, cavernous hangar. The distant walls of the place were so far off, so dimly illuminated that standing beside the ship gave one the impression of being in the center of a great, darkling plain, the spaceship and oneself the only objects for untold expanses in all directions.

  Buck stood gazing thoughtfully at his old ship, Wilma Deering waiting at his side for some reaction.

  “Those guards,” Buck broke the silence. “They must have thought we were crazy coming out here at this hour of the night. But I admire the way you handled them, Wilma.”

  “Rank has its privileges, Buck. I am the commander of the Intercept Squadron, as well as carrying a full colonel’s commission.” She stifled a yawn. “The only crazy part of it for me, was having to wake up in the wee hours to get here!”

  “You may not have had your usual beauty sleep,” Buck said, “but I’ve had enough sleep to last me a lifetime. Five hundred years of shut-eye! I put old Rip Van Winkle to shame!”

  He moved from Wilma’s side and stood closer to his ship. He stood gazing wistfully inside, through its window, while Wilma watched him appraisingly. Suddenly Buck reacted to something he saw. He nearly jumped in surprise, then leaned over to examine some strange streaks that he found on the ship’s fuselage.

  He turned back toward Wilma, gestured urgently. “Can you identify these markings?” he asked.

  Wilma moved to the ship, standing beside Buck. “Of course, in your day space exploration was just beginning and space war was something no one had ever experienced.”

  “Yes, so what?” Buck asked.

  “Well, these streaks are fairly common on combat spacecraft.”

  “I wasn’t in combat. The Draconians found me, revived me, and sent me back here to Earth. I remember when I was approaching, your craft came up and threatened me pretty effectively, but they didn’t fire, did they?”

  “Certainly not,” Wilma asserted.

  “Then—whose did? And—when?”

  Wilma pondered. “Possibly the pirates who attack our shipping, took a few shots at you while you were having your long nap, Buck. You wouldn’t have any memory of that happening, but you’re lucky to be alive at all!”

  He nodded in deep concentration. “Sure. But why didn’t they finish me then? An inactive, derelict spaceship. If they didn’t destroy me outright, they’d want to strip my spacecraft for salvage and loot, would
n’t they? Especially once I’d gotten their attention enough so they’d fired on me!”

  “You were in space a long time,” Wilma said. “Anything might have happened over those centuries.”

  Buck shook his head. “Not so,” he disagreed. “Look.” He rubbed his finger on one of the streaks, pulled it away and showed Wilma the vivid smudge on his flesh. “These burns are fresh! The cordite isn’t even oxidized yet.”

  He gazed at the hangar floor in concentration, walked in a circle once while working out his thoughts. When he stopped he gazed straight into Wilma’s eyes. “I think Princess Ardala’s attack fighters fired on me before they towed my ship on board!”

  “But that doesn’t make sense either,” Wilma exclaimed. “Princess Ardala’s ship is unarmed. That’s the law!”

  “Then she’s bending all hell out of it!” Buck said angrily.

  “If you’re convinced of that, Captain, what do you suggest we do about it?”

  “I’d search that royal space-barge or whatever you call that flying palace, before I’d ever let it inside Earth’s defense shield!”

  “That would be an insulting way to begin an alliance supposedly built up on good faith.”

  “Good faith is for diplomats,” Buck answered bitterly. “And what it gets you is this,” he gestured. “A plastic city with a dome on top of it and a ruined world outside. I’d go up there armed to the teeth. Full squadrons, fully prepared to fight. If I’m mistaken, you can always say it was a military escort of honor or some such line. Nobody’d really be fooled, but it would save face all around. But if you don’t, you’re just sitting ducks!”

  Wilma said, “For a man who’s been asleep for five hundred years, you seem to have strong opinions about this world you never made.”

  “Yeah,” Buck grated. “You’re absolutely right. It’s none of my goddamned business how you blow up your world. My generation didn’t understand what the hell we were doing either, and it looks like we knocked it all apart shortly after I crawled into my jammies, so I guess there’s a kind of rough justice there after all. Well, thanks for everything, Colonel. Go back to bed and sweet dreams to you.”