A new BATTLESTAR GALACTICA adventure!
In the vast emptiness of space, the Galactica
at last makes the long-awaited contact—a
spaceship of fellow humans from Earth!
The Council wants to keep them under observation,
but Apollo sets out with the Earthlings on a
secret and perilous mission toward their destination,
the planet Paradeen, that battleground of space
giants where he must confront the old enemy—
the Cylons—and the new—the awesome Alliance—
and make it back to the Galactica!
CONTACT
"Good lord," came Doctor Salik's voice.
Commander Adama crossed the control room to the short corridor the doctor had entered a moment before. "What is it?"
"I've found them," he said, coming back toward the commander.
He led him down the metal hallway into another room. Built into its floor were two rows of glass boxes, each of which held a body. There were six in all.
Dropping to his knees before the nearest box, Doctor Salik stared into it. "This is how they've journeyed across space."
GREETINGS FROM EARTH
A new BATTLESTAR GALACTICA adventure!
Berkley Battlestar Galactica Books
BATTLESTAR GALACTICA
by Glen A. Larson and Robert Thurston
BATTLESTAR GALACTICA 2: THE CYLON DEATH MACHINE
by Glen A. Larson and Robert Thurston
BATTLESTAR GALACTICA 3: THE TOMBS OF KOBOL
by Glen A. Larson and Robert Thurston
BATTLESTAR GALACTICA 4: THE YOUNG WARRIORS
by Glen A. Larson and Robert Thurston
BATTLESTAR GALACTICA 5: GALACTICA DISCOVERS EARTH
by Glen A. Larson and Michael Resnick
BATTLESTAR GALACTICA 6: THE LIVING LEGEND
by Glen A. Larson and Nicholas Yermakov
BATTLESTAR GALACTICA 7: WAR OF THE GODS
by Glen A. Larson and Nicholas Yermakov
BATTLESTAR GALACTICA 8: GREETINGS FROM EARTH
by Glen A. Larson and Ron Goulart
BATTLESTAR GALACTICA 8:
GREETINGS FROM EARTH
A Berkley Book / published with
MCA PUBLISHING, a Division of MCA Inc.
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley edition / June 1983
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1983 by MCA PUBLISHING,
a Division of MCA Inc.
Cover illustration by David Schleinkofer.
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part,
by mimeograph or any other means, without permission.
For information addresss: MCA PUBLISHING,
a Division of MCA Inc.,
100 Universal City Plaza,
Universal City, California 91608.
ISBN: 0-425-06047-0
A BERKELY BOOK ® TM 757,375
Berkley Books are published by Berkley Publishing Corporation,
200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
CHAPTER ONE
He was asleep when the discovery was first made.
He was slouching in the cockpit of his small, sleek, long-range viper ship. A dead cigar dangled from between two fingers of his right hand and there was a scatter of ashes dusting the toe of one of his boots. Beyond the window of the cockpit stretched the endless dark silence of space.
All at once a tiny red bulb of light began to blink urgently on the control panel and a rude buzzing noise filled the small cockpit.
Lieutenant Starbuck straightened up, blinking. "Okay, okay," he mumbled at the dash panel. "Calm down." He stuck the cigar between his even teeth and scowled at the timedial. "Hey, you weren't supposed to wake me up for another hour yet. I'm on a sleep period and—"
"Starbuck, old buddy?"
A familiar voice came knifing out of one of the speaker grids.
Brushing back his straw-colored hair, Starbuck inquired, "Are you the one who caused me to be awakened out of a well-deserved snooze, Apollo?"
"That I am," replied Apollo.
"Been missing my pithy conversation?"
"Listen, shake the gunk out of your brain and act awake. Okay?"
"I'm fresh as a daisy," Starbuck assured him as he relit his stogie. "Proceed."
"I'm roughly fifty sectares ahead of you and—"
"Gee, looks like you'll beat me to the finish line and win the gold trophy."
"Quit clowning and pay attention, damn it. Something's starting to show up on my scanners."
Frowning, Starbuck asked, "Like what?"
"Think it's a ship."
"Not a Cylon craft?" Starbuck stiffened in his seat and stared out the cockpit window. "We haven't run into one of those bastards in one hell of a long—"
"Nope, this isn't a Cylon craft, good buddy. Far as I can tell . . . well, I'm getting a better look at it as we're talking and . . . this thing isn't exactly like anything I've run up against before."
Starbuck's left eye narrowed. "You sound, which is odd for a lad who's about six degrees cooler than an ice cube, excited," he said.
"I guess I am," Captain Apollo admitted. "Can you catch up with me? Quick."
"If not quicker," said Starbuck.
The Galactica moved majestically through space, an immense yet slim-lined multi-level vehicle. The greatest fighting ship of the Colonial Fleet, the huge battlestar was a self-contained world housing thousands. And the fate of those thousands, their ultimate destiny, was in the hands of the ship's commander.
Commander Adama was thinking of that as he sat in his quarters aboard the Galactica, one powerful arm resting on his metallic desk. "What was that?" he said, turning toward the man sitting in one of the visitors' chairs.
"I was remarking that your mind seemed to be elsewhere," said Colonel Tigh, smiling thinly. His right hand fidgeted, as though he was anxious to jot something down.
"Quite probably it is. Forgive me." The grey-haired man rose up and walked to the room's large oval view window. "Somewhere out there is an answer."
"Quite a few answers, no doubt." Tigh cleared his throat. "But the problem, as I see it, is—"
"The only problem you ought to be worrying about, Colonel, is your impatience."
"Impatience isn't a problem, it's an asset." He leaned forward in his chair, fingers rubbing together. "If you've read any of my recent reports on—"
"I've read, and savored, them."
"Then you know there is considerable concern, not only here aboard the Galactica, but in the other ships as well that—"
"By the good graces of the Lords of Kobol, the Galactica continues to lead her flock of survivors," cut in the deep-voiced commander. He gazed out at the v
ast dark emptiness they were traveling through. "We are moving toward co-ordinates given us by those great white lights that vanished as inexplicably as they appeared."
"Some fear that—"
"I'm inclined to go along with those who feel the lights were from starships, craft from Earth. That gives us hope, since it seems to indicate that on Earth there is a highly developed technology and that if we can reach there—"
"If," said Tigh.
"Right now our long-range scouts are on patrol." Adama faced his restless visitor. "Watching for signs that might—"
"I have," said Colonel Tigh, standing, "considerable respect for your son, Captain Apollo. I know he's out there, piloting one of the scouting vipers, doing the best he can." He paused to cough into his hand. "But Lieutenant Starbuck's out there too, and you know what a hothead he is."
"Starbuck's pulled us out of quite a few rough places," said the commander as he strode back to his desk. "Admittedly he has a tendency to be flippant at inappropriate times. He's too fond of gambling and taking risks, yet I still have a good deal of faith in him."
Tigh glanced at a wall timedial. "I'm afraid I have an appointment elsewhere. If you'll excuse me, Commander?"
"Yes, get on with whatever you have to do."
Stopping at the doorway, Tigh said, "The rest of what I wanted to discuss with you, Commander Adama, I can put in a memo."
"I'm sure you can," said Adama, a faint smile touching his face.
Starbuck saw it too.
"I'll be damned," he said.
"What do you make of it?" inquired Apollo.
Their two viper ships were flying in tandem.
Moving through space toward them was a large, blocky craft. Its design and markings were unfamiliar.
Starbuck's forehead wrinkled. "You been able to get any response out of her?"
"Nary a word."
Starbuck rested his unlit cigar on the panel and punched some buttons. After a few seconds he nodded. "My scanners confirm what yours indicated," he said, after checking the readout. "This thing is a sublight vehicle. And it contains six—count 'em, six—life forms."
"But we don't know exactly what sort of critters are aboard."
"I'm betting they're humanoid," said Starbuck. "People pretty much like us and probably hailing from Earth."
"That's not confirmed yet, good buddy."
"My gut confirms it," Starbuck told him impatiently. "We've come millions of microns, searching for a contact like this. And here 'tis."
"Maybe," said Captain Apollo.
"Stay where you are." Starbuck suddenly kicked in his turbos and went shooting away from the side of the other viper.
He went zooming toward the strange and unfamiliar silvery space craft. Slowing again, he commenced flying a series of slow, expert loops around the ship.
He scrutinized the ship's underbelly, and came close enough to get a good look at the cockpit area. There were no signs of life. The cockpit was unmanned.
"Ease off," advised the voice of Apollo. "We don't want to scare these folks out of their wits, you know."
"I'm not going to unsettle them any," promised Starbuck. "Don't fret. You keep forgetting how personable I am. Remember when we met those paranurses from the—"
"Suppose the people aboard this ship are from Earth? It's highly possible they've never encountered anyone from beyond their own planet before," said Apollo. "Which means they may just be inclined to attack any hotshot viper pilot, no matter how personable he is, who comes buzzing too—"
"C'mon, use that brilliant though diminutive brain of yours," urged Starbuck as he flew one more lazy circle around the larger ship. "Nobody inside this mysterious crate is going to do anything to me."
"It's not a derelict, Starbuck. The thing's moving under its own power and we know that six life forms are aboard. Life forms, not corpses."
Starbuck was frowning over another scanner readout. "Speaking of power, old chum, my scanners don't indicate the presence of either Corrilax or Lazon."
"That means they must be using some other form of explosive material."
"Which is another good indication they're from someplace different, someplace like Earth."
"Possibly, good buddy, but—"
"Look, they aren't responding to us." Starbuck was now flying a course parallel to that of the mystery ship. "You know what I think?"
"Something devious."
"The folks inside this crate are either in big trouble or they're in some sort of suspended state."
"Yep, that could well be," acknowledged Apollo. "Possibly we ought just to leave them to continue on their set course. No need to—"
"Are you daffy? These are, I'm damn near certain, Earth people," said Starbuck. "After all our searching and hunting, we are on the brink of making a contact."
"Just exactly how do we make this contact? If they're all in deepsleep or—"
"Obviously we've got to wake 'em up."
Apollo said, "That might mean exceeding our—"
"It doesn't. Damn it, we're on a scouting mission and we've made us a discovery," said Starbuck, sticking the dead cigar back between his teeth. "If I was given to fancy lingo, I'd dub this discovery both monumental and stupendous. Even nifty."
"So?"
"So right now I'm going to drop a parasite control box onto the side of this baby here," announced Starbuck as he began easing his craft closer to the larger space craft. "Then we will guide her right back to the docking bay on the Galactica. Then we can find out exactly who and what's inside this little surprise package. Okay?"
After a few seconds Apollo replied, "Sure, okay."
CHAPTER TWO
Commander Adama came striding into the control center, the bridge, of the Galactica. He halted, scanning the large room and noting that several crewmen and crew-women were not at their regular posts. Instead they were either clustered at the vast view window or around the communication screen that was linked with Captain Apollo's returning viper.
"Colonel Tigh," Adama asked, "what's the meaning of this laxness?"
Tigh was standing near the entryway, gazing out at the starfield beyond their ship. "I took it upon myself to allow a certain laxity, Commander," he replied as he faced the wide-shouldered, grey-haired Adama.
Adama said, "Isn't this the very sort of behavior you usually dictate memos about? Crew neglecting assigned duties, confusion rampant on the bridge."
"This is an unusual situation," the colonel explained, rubbing his hands together. "Captain Apollo has communicated the very gratifying news that he and Lieutenant Starbuck have discovered an Earth ship and are escorting it back here to us."
"A possible Earth ship," corrected Adama.
"I'm certain the vehicle will prove to be outward bound from the planet Earth," said Tigh. "Naturally, everyone is extremely elated and they're anxious for a glimpse of the craft and—"
"Yes, I understand." Nodding, Adama raised his voice. "Gentlemen, ladies," he said. "I fully appreciate the uniqueness of what may be happening. However, I must ask you to return now to your stations. This may or may not be our long-awaited contact with an Earth vehicle. Whatever it is, we must proceed with maximum efficiency and caution."
Murmuring, reluctant as children leaving a carnival early, the crew members drifted back to their assigned posts on the Galactica bridge.
"Thank you," Adama said to them. "Now I think I'd better get on the unicom and address everyone, since I have a hunch the excitement is going to be spreading throughout the fleet."
"It already is," confirmed Tigh, following the commander to the nearest unicom pickup.
"I'd like you to take charge of seeing to it that the designated area of the landing bay is cleared of all unauthorized personnel. I've already alerted Doctor Salik and his medical team to be standing by with full decontamination crew and equipment." Adama reached for the unicom switch.
Lieutenant Jolly had his broad back turned to the nearest view window of the rec lounge. Hunched sl
ightly, a look of admiration on his plump face, he was gazing across the small table at his date. "No, I think you've got a lovely name. Zixi. Sure, there's a lilt to it and—"
"You really and truly think so?" inquired the pretty auburn-haired Zixi. "Because some people are apt to—"
"Heck, don't I know what it's like to have a name jerks kid about?" he said. "I mean a tag like Jolly is open to attack from all sorts of annoying angles, you know. 'Not living up to your name today, huh?' or 'Hi, Jolly, you don't look much like your name.' or 'When's your next family reunion, so we can get our Jollys?' and so on."
The paranurse's pretty freckled nose wrinkled very slightly. "With my name it isn't so much puns and plays on words, Jolly, as it is just . . . Well, for one thing it's sort of hard to pronounce right."
"Zixi? That's not tough at all. Nell's bells, I could write a song around your name with no troub—"
"Actually, you aren't pronouncing it exactly right either."
He straightened up, smote his broad chest with a fist. "It's not pronounced Zixi?"
"The X has more of a Z sound."
"Ah," said Lieutenant Jolly, nodding sagely. "Well, I always say, a meech by any other name would smell as—"
"What's a meech?"
"A flower. They grow wild all over several planets I've visited in my day. The thing is, they smell pretty good," the hefty lieutenant explained. "Which is why this saying came about, see. A meech by any other name would smell as sweet. It isn't what your name is, but what you are inside that counts."
"True," admitted Zixi. "But sometimes I wish my name were Anne Marie or Dolly or even—"
"Why don't you tell me more about yourself?" suggested Jolly. "Ever since I met you at the airpong table the other night shift I've been wondering about you."
"Let's see," said Zixi, tapping the rim of her ambrosia glass. "I'm an only child. Both my mother and father have funny names, too. There's a long family tradition of—"
"What say we forget names," put in Jolly. "Or maybe I can make up a nickname for you and then—"
"People of the fleet, your attention please." Commander Adama's voice came booming out of the overhead unicom speakers.
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