Battlestar Galactica 8 - Greetings From Earth

by Glen A. Larson

  "Can I help it if we have stupid guests, Pop? I'm just trying to be—"

  "Knock it off," suggested Vector.

  Apollo was looking at the hovercraft. "Did Sarah's father design that, too?"

  "Yes," answered Hector. "He was a very brilliant—"

  "He is a brilliant man, you mean," said Vector, elbowing him in the side.

  "Oh, yes. Is. To be sure," said Hector. "But, Pop, gee, we're going to have to tell Miss Sarah sooner or—"

  "Later is when we'll tell her," said Vector. "For now button your yap."

  "Yes, Pop."

  The house was made of wood and glass, a one-level sprawling sort of place sitting in a clearing at the edge of a forest of blue and orange trees. The light of the declining sun hit the front windows and turned them a sharp black. Three yellow birds went flapping up off the flat roof as the hovercraft set down on a patch of blue grass.

  The four children, completely wide awake after their long slumber, tumbled off the landed hoverer and went frolicking over the grass, laughing and shouting.

  Sarah ignored the helping hand Michael offered her and stepped off unaided. "Where's my father?" she asked, glancing up toward the big house. "You told me he'd be here to meet us when—"

  "Miss Sarah," said Vector, climbing free of the pilot seat. "He wanted to be here to meet you, but . . ."

  "But what? Where's he gone to?"

  Hector said, "That depends on your notions about the hereafter. Some sects, according to my data chip, believe in the existence of a—"

  "Idiot!" said Vector. "We were going to break the news to her gently."

  Sarah looked from one bland android face to the other. "He's dead? Is that what you bumbling gadgets are trying to tell me?"

  Michael attempted to put his arm around her. "Easy now, Sarah."

  She twisted free. "What happened? Why did he die?"

  Vector pointed at a spread of yellow flowers a few yards away. "He's buried over there," he said. "We thought a simple stone marker was best. It says just John Russell Fowler and the date of his birth and the date of—"

  "Oh, get out of my way." The blonde girl pushed the android aside and went running to the yellow flowers.

  When Michael caught up with her she was kneeling next to a small flat stone. "I know this is rough, but—"

  "Go away, you don't know anything," she said, starting to cry softly. "This is all your fault. You and my father and all you other scientists. Making wars and sending people off to the most godforsaken corners of the universe just—"

  "He died of an illness, Miss Sarah," said the senior android, who'd come quietly over to them. "A rare virus that he couldn't fight. It was very fast and he didn't suffer that much and his last thoughts were of—"

  "Platitudes and cliches," the young woman said, standing up. "Is that all he built into you?"

  "He gave us feelings, too," insisted Vector. "I miss him, too, Miss Sarah, but there is nothing we can do. He told us to make things as comfortable as possible for you and the children. To forget him and think about—"

  "Oh, yes, think about the future. One of his favorite notions. Don't live now, live tomorrow. And it never came, not for him, not for anybody." She made a sobbing noise, spun on her heel and ran to the house.

  Michael didn't try to follow.

  Lieutenant Jolly tugged at the tip of his moustache. "That's fascinating," he said to the auburn-haired girl who was sitting across the rec lounge table from him.

  "Do you really think so?" asked Zixi, tapping her forefinger on the table top slowly.

  "I do, yes," the plump lieutenant assured her. "You're a fascinating young woman and naturally everything you say is going to be fascinating."

  She gave a small shrug. "I got the impression," she said, "that your mind was wandering once again."

  "Well, I am sort of worrying about Starbuck and Apollo," said Jolly, "since there's been no word from them in quite a spell. But, even so, I took in every detail of your fascinating yarn about your grandmother and—"

  "Grandfather," corrected Zixi.

  "Right you are. Your grandfather and her . . . his pet owl."

  "Eagle," said Zixi. "Gramps had a pet eagle."

  "Of course he did," seconded Jolly, tugging at his moustache. "As I say, I hung on your every phrase. Chuckling inwardly at the part where her . . . his owl . . . eagle bit off your cousin Max's left—"

  "Cousin Maxine."

  "Cousin Maxine, to be sure. Bit off her left ear."

  "Right earring."

  "Oh, that's better. I was envisioning the poor guy . . . poor girl wandering around with only one ear," said Jolly. "But only missing an earring isn't too bad."

  "This particular one had a gem worth $100,000 in it."

  "Oh, so? You should've mentioned that, Zixi. It makes your narrative far more—"

  "I did mention it." She reached across the table to pat one of his plump hands. "But don't get the idea I'm offended by your woolgathering during my family anecdotes. I'm quite used to being ignored by all and sundry. Besides, I know you're deeply concerned about your missing friends."

  "Starbuck and Apollo aren't missing exactly. They just simply haven't gotten around to communicating with the Galactica for some reason. Why any-—"

  "Hey, Jolly! We've heard from 'em." Lieutenant Boomer, grinning broadly, came hurrying up to the table. "Hello, Mitzi, excuse my horning in again, but—"

  "Zixi," she said quietly.

  "Beg pardon?"

  "My name's Zixi, not Mitzi. But don't let that bother you. Go ahead and tell Jolly your good news."

  "Is it good news?" inquired Jolly while the black lieutenant was seating himself.

  "Sure is," replied Boomer. "The commander's received a communication from Apollo. Came in a few hours ago."

  "They're okay?"

  "As of a few hours ago, yep. And so is the ship with our recent guests and Cassie aboard."

  "That's absolutely great."

  "They've reached, or just about had when they communicated with Commander Adama, their destination."

  Jolly leaned toward him. "So where are they?"

  "By now they've set down on a planet called Paradeen," answered Boomer.

  "Catchy name," said Jolly. "Could be they'll find out some info about Earth there."

  "Yeah," agreed Boomer. "The next message from them ought to be mighty interesting."

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Starbuck was sitting close to the deep stone fireplace in the living room area of the large, sprawling house. He rubbed his hands together and looked away from the crackling fire. Out beyond the high, wide glass windows the day had died and there was nothing to see but a crisp blackness.

  "Does get a mite chill here of an evening," he said, taking a few quick puffs at his cigar.

  "It's dimbulb's fault," explained Vector, who stood straight near one of the dark windows. "I especially instructed him to reactivate all the heating units. Living alone for so many months, we've not needed any of the—"

  "Gee, Pop, I wish you wouldn't bawl me out in public." Hector was passing out cups of a dark, steaming liquid.

  Apollo and Michael were also in the living room area, each occupying a deep armchair. Cassie and Sarah could be heard in the dorm wing of the house trying to calm the four shouting, giggling children and put them to bed.

  "This drink is Javine," Michael explained as he took a cup from the serving tray. "A beverage quite popular on Lunar Seven."

  Sniffing his mug, Starbuck said, "Smells sort of like nearcaf."

  Apollo took a sip, made a noncommittal face and settled back in his chair. "I'm curious as to why there are no other humans on Paradeen," he said.

  "What did happen?" Michael asked Vector.

  "It wasn't our fault," the senior android replied. "What happened was . . . the Alliance."

  Holding his cup in both hands, Michael stared into it. "They attacked Paradeen?"

  Vector said, "That was just after you departed from Lunar Seven
. Their ships attacked, destroying most of the populace with chemical-biological weapons. Then they departed."

  "The virus that killed Sarah's father," said Michael, "that came from them?"

  "We believe so," said the android. "Although he lived for almost three weeks after the attack. We didn't go into the details in front of Miss Sarah, to spare her feelings."

  Apollo sat up. "Why did they do it?"

  "That's their style," said Michael with a bitter laugh. "Destroy the people only, leave the buildings and the land and the animals. Eventually they'll come back, at their leisure, and plant a settlement here. They're in no great hurry. These attacks are part of a vast, long-range plan of conquest."

  "What we've heard of these Alliance gents so far isn't very positive." Starbuck settled crosslegged on the floor with his back to the crackling fire. "Who the devil are they?"

  Michael drank a little of his Javine. He glanced up at the fretted ceiling. "Terra—Earth, as you call it—was once a planet of many nations. But eventually there were just two sides, East and West. There followed a long, protracted struggle between the Eastern Alliance and the Western. A struggle over food, resources, spheres of influence. The usual stuff."

  Apollo asked, "The West lost?"

  "The war is still ongoing," said Michael, shaking his head. "But the East has been systematically destroying our satellite planets, the ones we'd established as food suppliers and potential colonies. We fled Lunar Seven for Paradeen in hopes of staying a few steps ahead of the Eastern Alliance." He shrugged and spread his hands wide. "That was naive. Eventually they'll probably destroy us all."

  "And it's our own fault," said Sarah, coming into the room. She brushed a stray strand of blonde hair back from her forehead and crossed to an empty divan to sit. "Relying on the scientists, letting them pollute so much of Terra and then every other planet, we tried to—"

  "Did you get the kids safely to bed?" asked Michael.

  "Oh, yes, finally," she said. "They're safe tonight, but how long is that going to last? If the Alliance doesn't destroy us, then we'll probably invent something on our own that will."

  "Your father was a man of science, Miss Sarah," reminded Vector.

  She gestured at one of the black windows. "Look what it got him," she said bitterly. "A grave in the middle of nowhere. He never even lived to see his grandchildren."

  "Sarah, the whole problem is a lot more complicated than you're making out," said Michael. "It isn't merely a question of science versus—"

  "Yes, yes, I know," she said, standing up again. "I've heard all the arguments. Many times. Excuse me, I think I'll turn in." Lips pressed close together, she walked out of the room again.

  Watching her, Hector said, "Looks like our gala welcoming committee didn't cheer her up."

  In the chilliest, darkest stretch of the night Sarah rose from her bed. Silently, in the darkness, she dressed, adding a heavy jacket to the clothes she'd worn earlier. She stood for a moment, fully dressed and listening, and then made her way out of the room.

  Walking quietly through the still, dark house, she let herself out into the coldness of the surrounding night.

  When Sarah was a hundred yards from the house, she clicked on the small flashlight she'd brought with her. She pointed the beam at the damp ground and began walking more rapidly.

  The night wind came rattling through the woods, sharp and cold.

  She'd covered nearly a half mile when she heard something behind her. Halting, she clicked off the light and the blackness closed in.

  A twig snapped, leaves rustled.

  Taking a deep breath, she turned to face whatever it was that was following her.

  "No need to be frightened, Miss Sarah."

  She turned the light back on and splashed its beam on the polite plastic face of Hector. "Why are you trailing me?"

  He blinked. "Why, that's one of my duties," he replied amiably. "To look after and protect you. Since neither Pop nor I require sleep and since we aren't bothered by the cold, we decided to stand watch outside the ranch tonight. Pop himself is over on the other side of—"

  "Very thoughtful," she said. "Actually, though, I don't need any protection at the moment."

  "All part of the service. We take care of you and yours and thus—"

  "I know," she said, reaching out to touch the android's arm. "Right now, though, I want to be by myself. I'd like to take a short walk. I'm hoping it'll help me sleep."

  "Oh, we have pills, all kinds, to help you sleep," he informed her helpfully. "Red ones, blue ones, green ones. Your father left a whole array of—"

  "I'm not too fond of pills or synthetically induced sleep."

  "Yes, I can see where you might feel that way." Hector nodded his plastic head. "Well then, what say I accompany you on your walk? I'm great company, having been built to be highly personable. I'm chockfull of amusing anecdotes, bits of witty conversation, plus woodsy lore and pithy—"

  "I'm sure you are," she said, showing a trace of impatience. "Thing is, Hector, I'd like you to do me a favor and allow me to go myself."

  The mechanical man grew thoughtful. "That might be hazardous."

  "Nonsense. I'm not going to walk all that far."

  "Yes, but the woods are—"

  "Keep in mind that you're supposed to be serving me."

  "Yes, that's my main duty in life, but—"

  "Fine. You'll be serving me amply by allowing me to be alone for just a spell." Smiling at him, she turned away and resumed her nocturnal walk.

  "Well . . . I suppose it's allowable . . ." Hector stayed put and made no attempt to follow the young woman. "You promise not to get into any trouble?"

  Sarah kept moving and didn't answer him.

  Commander Adama frowned at the communications screen. He stroked his strong chin and then clicked the screen off. "What can that mean?" he said to himself as he began to pace the main room of his quarters.

  "Councilman Geller to see you," announced a speaker.

  "Just what I need," muttered the grey-haired commander.

  "Beg pardon, sir?"

  "Show the old boy in," said Adama.

  The corpulent councilman came rushing in as soon as the door opened. "The Council isn't happy," he announced.

  "They seldom are. Sit down."

  Geller remained standing. "We are willing to overlook, for now, the high-handed way in which things have been managed thus far," he said. "However, we want more information on this planet Paradeen. Can it, for example, sustain life?"

  "The atmosphere reports haven't as yet come in."

  "Exactly." Geller coughed into his hand and set several of his chins to jiggling. "The Council was soothed when news from Captain Apollo finally reached us. Here was a new planet, here was a possible source of important information about Earth and—"

  "I'm aware of how important Paradeen is to us all, Councilman."

  "Are you?" Geller strutted a few steps and halted. "Then why haven't you presented us with a full report of conditions on Paradeen? And detailed information on what the residents thereof have to say about Earth, Lunar Seven and any other—"

  "I've just now been trying to communicate with your vipers."

  "And?" Geller rose up on his toes.

  "I've been unable to contact either of the ships."

  The hefty councilman sank down on his heels. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand," he said. "You told us that Captain Apollo had contacted you and—"

  "That was just prior to landing on the planet."

  "He hasn't reported since?"

  "He has not," answered Adama. "When I, just now, tried to contact him I was unable to do so. It seems something's happened to the sending-receiving units in both viper ships."

  Geller sank into a chair. "But that's dreadful," he said, sighing. "That could well mean trouble."

  "Yes, it could," said Adama.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Commandent Leiter entered the communications room and stopped just inside the
heavy metal door. He stood there, absently stroking the scar on his cheek, and watched the men at the green-tinted screens. Then, the ghostly green light of the room dancing and flashing on his gold-braided uniform, he walked down to the screen being tended by the chubby young Krebbs.

  "What's the latest on our enigmatic ships?" the lean commandent asked.

  Krebbs licked his lips. "All three have now landed on the surface of Paradeen," he answered, straightening up in his chair.

  Fingertips resting on the scar, Leiter nodded. "How long will it take a communique to reach Terra from our present location?"

  "Two months, sir, and a few days."

  "What if we use the lightwave relay station on Lunar Seven?"

  "That won't be possible right now, sir."

  "And why is that?"

  "The relay station was knocked out by sabotage, Commandent," replied Krebbs.

  "What's the matter with those idiots on Destroyer Two? They don't even seem capable of policing an insignificant colony like Lunar Seven." He put his hands on his slim hips and leaned his head back. "Very well, very well. Put me in touch with the bridge."

  "Yes, sir." Krebbs's plump fingers punched at buttons and dots of light.

  His screen was wiped clean and then it flickered, turned briefly purple and gave way to the image of a thick-necked man with close-cropped tawny hair.

  "Yes, what?" demanded the man, an annoyed expression on his flat reddish face.

  "Commandent Leiter wishes to speak to you," Krebbs informed him, voice tinged with smugness. He got up from his chair and bowed at it.

  "Commandent Leiter? What does he—"

  "I want you to carry out my orders, Flight Captain Disch." Leiter had seated himself in the chair and was smiling bleakly at the screen.

  Giving him a grudging salute, Disch said, "Yes, sir. How can I be of service?"

  "I want us to proceed full speed to Paradeen," said Leiter.

  "Full speed? That'll put a serious strain on our fuel supp—"

  "Full speed," repeated the commandent quietly. "How long do you estimate it will take us to reach the planet, Captain?"

  "Twelve hours approximately," Disch replied, lips barely parted. "But, sir, at the rate we're burning fuel there's a good chance we'll—"