Battlestar Galactica 10 - The Long Patrol

by Glen A. Larson

"I really want to meet that larcenous lady again," he said, lighting a fresh cigar. "Conks me on the dome, leaves me on a dinky asteroid with her disabled shuttle. And leaves me holding a cargo of hot Ambrosa."

  He wondered where the stuff came from. Aged Ambrosa of that quality wasn't easy to come by and here was this duplicitous girl rattling around with a whole ship full of the stuff.

  "Imagine what that'd be worth on the open market."

  Starbuck had a brief image of himself as a bootlegger. With that shuttle full of Ambrosa he could set up in business and . . .

  "Nope, my unfortunate handicap prevents me," he reminded himself. "I'm basically honest, darn it."

  He was coming in above fields of grain and high, nearly orange grass that fluttered gently in a mild breeze. And there, in a clearing between the fields and a sprawling forest, sat his Viper.

  Starbuck took a satisfied puff on his cigar. "Got you now, Robber."

  Starbuck set the borrowed fighter down a hundred yards from his recon ship. He stayed in the cabin for a moment, eyes narrowed and scanning the area.

  A faint breeze rustled the high grass on his left. To his right a forest of tangle-branched trees rose high and silent. Overhead three pale green birds circled and drifted.

  "Well, let's have our showdown and get it over with." He climbed free of the fighter, gun drawn, and stood facing the Viper.

  The cockpit door hung open. There was no sign of anyone inside.

  Cautiously Starbuck approached the ship. The green birds high above cawed and shrieked. The whole area felt empty, deserted.

  "Where the heck is she?"

  He stalked up to the cockpit, breath held, and looked inside.

  Empty.

  "Cora," he said to the computer, "what's up?"

  The computer responded, "Is that you, Starbuck?"

  "Who else?"

  "Well, it's a load off my mind. I really thought that dreadful hussy had—"

  "Where is she?"

  "Are you okay, hon? I've been worried silly, because I didn't know if she'd done you in or simply abandoned you. I've been sitting here trying to figure out how to repair the Viper so I could go back and—"

  "Repair it?"

  "Now don't lose your temper, hon. There was a little, very minor, damage when I forced the ship to come down here instead—"

  "You forced it?" He climbed into the cockpit.

  "I have to tell you," the voice-activated computer told him. "It was a real conflict. Even though I'm a computer I have to abide by the basic rules of robotics. Therefore I was torn between serving her and—"

  "You mean you sabotaged things after she highjacked this crate?"

  "I felt awful about it, since I'm not supposed to do things like that. However, she wasn't you and so—"

  "Where was she trying to get to?"

  "To this planetoid, but about a hundred miles to the south. I threw a spanner into that little plan. My idea was to make the wench think the ship was on the fritz, get her outside of it and then—"

  "Where is she now, what'd you do to her?"

  "Is that concern I sense? How can you have any feeling for a nasty—"

  "Just tell me where she is."

  "Heading for home, afoot," answered Cora. "It's her intention, or so I gathered when she was ranting at me and the ship, to get some of her cronies to come back and repair the Viper. But don't bank on that. I doubt she'll make it home."

  Starbuck blew out smoke. "Why not?"

  "This is apparently hostile country for her. So it's nearly certain she'll be killed by some rival faction or other . . . Sorry, I don't have all the details, but it's really not that important. One little group preys on another. It's the way of the world," said Cora. "Well, now that she's out of the way, shall we fix the Viper and get on about our—"

  "You let that kid walk off into the wilds alone?"

  "Starbuck, she's your enemy, remember?"

  He scowled. "She is, in a way," he admitted. "But, hell, Cora, I can't let Robber get killed. She's an outlaw, sure, but—"

  "Robber? Don't tell me you've gone gaga over a bimbo named Robber?"

  "That's only a nickname. And underneath that tough, grease-stained exterior, she's just a young woman who—"

  "A young woman who left you for dead and stole your ship, hon."

  "Aw, she didn't bop me that hard. And in her place I might—"

  "I can't believe my ears."

  "You don't have ears."

  "Metaphorically speaking. As a warrior you should have arrived here with nothing but revenge and retribution in mind."

  "As a matter of fact, Cora, that is basically what I was thinking about," he said. "But . . . well, I just don't like the idea of her being out there in the wilds alone."

  "You can't be foolish enough to think you can go after her and—"

  "In a way, it's our fault she's in danger and so—"

  "All right, suppose you do follow her? Whatever it is that's lurking in that wild wood to kill her will just end up fixing you as well."

  "Nope, I can handle my—"

  "How'd you get here, by the way?"

  "Borrowed a lawman's fighter. That other ship we saw."

  "A lawman? You mean you've already clashed with an official of the area and—"

  "How long ago did she take off?"

  "Not long, moments. She headed south. You'll notice her trail without—"

  "Okay, wait here, Cora. This won't take long."

  "Starbuck," she said as he headed for the doorway. "There's something else you ought to know."

  "More jolly news?"

  "She made a long-range call."

  "To where? To who?"

  "To whom is the correct—"

  "Tell me."

  "She was trying to contact the planet Aeries."

  "But that's controlled by the Cylons. She can't be an agent for those—"

  "I personally don't think she, whatever else awful she is, is a Cylon agent, no. I have the impression she doesn't even know they've overrun the planet," said Cora. "The code she used, although I haven't yet been able to break it, isn't one of the Cylons'."

  Scratching his blond hair, Starbuck observed, "This is getting goofier and goofier."

  "Let's forget it and get ourselves off this planetoid right now," suggested the computer. "The Cylons may have used that signal to lead some of their fighters right to us."

  "That's possible, but I have to find that girl." He dropped from the ship. "See you soon."

  "You're being very foolish," called Cora.

  He moved away from the Viper.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The forest closed in on Starbuck. The thick twisted branches of the tall trees interlaced high overhead, cutting off much of the light. The brush, in dozens of shades of green and orange, grew thick and tangled on each side of the narrow trail he was following. Far off, almost lost in the dark, straight lines of trees, were faint animal rustlings and the thin cries of strange birds.

  "Not my idea of an ideal vacation spot," the lieutenant said to himself.

  Maybe, as the efficient Cora had pointed out, this whole thing was foolish. Robber, after all, seemed to be a pretty capable young woman. She could probably take care of herself, even in what was supposed to be hostile country.

  "I wonder how exactly it's hostile," Starbuck reflected as he trekked along the forest trail. "Wild animals, wild men . . . what?"

  Starbuck continued through the shadowy silence for a while, then he saw a bulky shape looming up ahead. Easing out his lasergun, he slowed his pace.

  "Jitters," he said a moment later.

  It was an abandoned agritractor, slumped at the edge of the trail, rusty and taken over by gnarled, large-leaved vines.

  Just beyond the ancient tractor the woods ended and acre after acre of fields stretched away. Once this was farm land, a cultivated area. But that was a long time ago and the forest had been taking back the land for quite a while. The fields were overgrown with high grass and w
eeds. Saplings had begun to grow here and there.

  About a quarter-mile to his right stood three low, sprawling buildings. Starbuck decided to take a look at them.

  Weathered and peeling lettering on the front of the smallest of the three deserted buildings spelled out Skyfarms, Ltd./Plantation 4A.

  "Business doesn't seem to be thriving," observed Starbuck as he wandered from the office to the warehouse.

  Suddenly he threw himself flat out in the grass, bringing up his gun hand.

  There was someone sitting on a wooden chair near the open doorway of the domed warehouse.

  After watching the figure for a moment, Starbuck realized it wasn't moving at all and didn't seem to be aware of him.

  Cautiously, he got to his feet and moved closer.

  It was an old workbot, in roughly humanoid shape, clad in what was left of a pair of overalls. The gun-metal surface was pitted and stained. One of the plastic eyes was cracked and dangled from its socket by a twist of multicolored wire. The arms hung limply at its sides and the robot gave the impression it hadn't moved in years.

  When Starbuck halted in front of the mechanism, its head gave a creaky nod. "Howdy . . . howdy . . . howdy . . ." it croaked in a rusty voice and then ceased to speak or move.

  "Well, howdy," said Starbuck. He walked on by and into the warehouse.

  The high-ceilinged room was big and empty. A scatter of small, yellow birds was roosting on one of the rafters.

  Starbuck noticed something on the dusty floor a few yards away. "Wait now," he said, trotting over to it.

  He knelt and confirmed his initial impression. It was the faded jacket Robber had been wearing.

  There were signs in the dust that some kind of struggle had taken place on this spot. Worse, he saw several small splashes of what had to be blood.

  Apollo picked up his talkmike. "Looks like this is the place, Boomer," he said as his Viper circled low over the area on the planetoid where Starbuck's recon ship had sat down.

  "That's his Viper sure enough," said Boomer from his ship. "Who do you think that rundown fighter belongs to?"

  "Maybe an antique collector." They'd followed the Viper's beacon signal to the planetoid and now Apollo tried again to contact the craft. "Calling Recon Viper One. Starbuck, are you aboard?"

  "Oh, I wish he were," answered a distraught feminine voice.

  "This is Captain Apollo, from the Battlestar Galactica," he said. "Who am I talking to?"

  "Just call me Cora, Captain. I'm the computer."

  "Where's Starbuck?"

  "It's a long and heartrending, story."

  "Is he alive?"

  "He was, and I sincerely hope he still is. You see, Captain, it all began—

  "Is it safe to land?"

  "Oh, yes."

  "Who does that fighter belong to?"

  "Well, right now to Starbuck more or less. He stole it, you see, in order to chase that dreadful outlaw girl who—"

  "We'll land," Apollo informed her.

  "I knew there was a woman in it someplace," commented Boomer. "Leave it to Starbuck."

  "Sounds like," said Apollo, "even the darn computer has a crush on him."

  Apollo sat in the cockpit of the recon ship. Boomer leaned in through the open hatch. "Calm down, Cora," the captain was telling the distraught computer.

  "It's simply that I'm quite concerned about him. That's only natural, since I was built to—"

  "Just fill us in," requested Apollo, "on what happened."

  "He went looking for her."

  "For who?"

  "For whom," corrected Cora. "That awful young woman named Robber. Can you imagine anyone going through life with—"

  "Is she the one who borrowed this Viper?"

  "That's what I've been trying to tell you. The hussy stole it, after poor dear Bucky had tried to help her get off that asteroid where—"

  "Bucky?" Boomer laughed.

  "Where's Starbuck now?" Apollo asked.

  "Searching for her. I made the mistake . . . when you're programmed to be honest, it's very difficult to fib at all . . . I mentioned that she'd have to travel across hazardous country on her way home."

  "What sort of hazards?"

  "I'm not certain," answered Cora. "If you wish, Captain, I can run some scans of the—"

  "No time for that," he cut in. "Which way did Starbuck head when he took off after this lady?"

  "South, you'll see the trail yonder," the computer replied. "I told him it was foolhardy."

  "That's never stopped Starbuck," said Boomer.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Starbuck shook the decrepit robot again by its shoulders. "What happened to the girl? What did you see?"

  The weatherbeaten mechanism that sat beside the warehouse door replied, "Howdy . . . howdy . . ."

  "C'mon," urged the impatient lieutenant. "You're not completely defunct. You must've seen something."

  "Howdy . . . looks like rain, don't it? . . . Yep . . . good crop this season . . . Howdy, neighbor . . . howdy . . ."

  Snorting, Starbuck let the robot fall back into its chair. "Thanks, you sodkicking bucket of bolts."

  ". . . howdy . . . howdy . . ."

  Starbuck stepped clear and began examining the weedy ground around the entrance of the Skyfarms warehouse. He saw bootprints from at least two pairs of feet and, unfortunately, a few more spatters of fresh blood.

  "Well, I'm pretty certain I can follow this trail," Starbuck said, eyes narrowing. "I just hope to hell I find her alive at the end of it."

  Slowly, carefully, he began moving away from the abandoned warehouse.

  ". . . come see us anytime, you hear? . . ." rasped the robot.

  The forest started closing in on Starbuck again. The smell of stagnant water was growing in the air. A thin mist came drifting at him through the trees.

  Starbuck whistled for a moment, with his tongue placed against the back of his teeth.

  The woodlands were getting darker, colder. The mist came twisting around his ankles in ragged ribbons.

  The signs were still easy to follow. Two men had passed this way recently, one of them carrying something. Starbuck was pretty sure that something was Robber.

  No way of telling whether she was alive or dead.

  Shaking his head, he said to himself, "I'm really getting dippy as I grow older. Here I am getting all upset and anxious over a girl I barely know."

  And it wasn't as though their brief encounter had been especially friendly or cordial. About the only thing you could say in Robber's favor was that she hadn't whacked him hard enough to crack his skull.

  "She was sort of pretty, though," he reminded himself.

  The mist was swirling thicker around him. Up ahead a mournful bird cried once.

  Starbuck was going to have a tricky time of it when he got back to the Galactica. Justifying what he was doing in a report would require all his skills in the arts of propaganda and evasion.

  He grinned. "Well, I wouldn't be living up to my reputation if I didn't go off on—"

  "Help! Please, somebody!"

  A woman's voice had called out from somewhere in the misty forest on his right.

  "Don't let them hurt me!"

  "Robber?" he yelled.

  No reply.

  Starbuck tugged his laser pistol free of its holster as he left the trail. The bluish mist tattered and broke apart as he pushed his way through it. He had a fair notion of where the cries had come from.

  "Oh, please! Help me!"

  Starbuck couldn't see a damn thing in the thick mist.

  The voice that was calling for help sounded like Robber and yet it didn't.

  "But there can't be two girls in trouble in this same patch of woods."

  He had to slow down, since he could no longer see more than a few feet ahead of him.

  Everything—his footfalls, the sounds of the forest—was muffled.

  "Help!"

  Aiming at the latest call, Starbuck quickened his pace.


  After just five steps the ground opened up and swallowed him.

  She was blonde and lean, not more than nineteen. She wore dark trousers, a black sleeveless tunic and a thick gunbelt that sported two holsters. The holsters were empty, because the twin laser pistols were in her hands and aimed down at Starbuck.

  He stood in the deep pit he'd fallen into. He'd discovered, before the appearance of the two-gun blonde, that he could not reach the rim by jumping for it.

  "Excuse me for blundering into your animal snare, miss," he said up at the girl. "If you'll give me a hand getting out, why, I'll be happy to help you replace all the branches, leaves and twigs back over the top. Then, when a real wild beast comes strolling by, he'll never know that—"

  "Do you like to hear yourself babbling, jerko?"

  "Sure, but—"

  "Well, I sure as hell don't."

  Starbuck scrutinized her. "You know, I sense a distinct lack of sympathy with my plight."

  "We dug the damn hole for you, jerko."

  "Gee, I'm touched. All this work just for me."

  "We got some old 'bots who do it."

  "How'd you know I was coming?"

  "She said you might be."

  "Robber? You've got her?"

  The girl laughed. It wasn't an especially heartwarming laugh. "Same like we got you," she told him and spit into the pit.

  He dodged, brushing against a black dirt wall and causing a fat wiggling orange worm to come falling free. "You folks planning to keep me down here or—"

  "I'm going to signal Psycho in a minute. He'll come get you."

  "Psycho? He doesn't sound like much fun."

  "Aw, sure, he is. You're going to have lots of good times with him," she promised. "Just like Robber is."

  Starbuck clenched his fists and kept himself from saying something strong and angry to her. "Can't wait until . . ."

  "Wait until what, jerko?"

  "Oh, until I meet Psycho."

  Starbuck had been distracted by a silent figure that was sneaking up behind the unsuspecting blonde. A figure that was extending an odd metal arm toward her from behind.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The lean blonde, despite Starbuck's best efforts to distract her, finally sensed she was being stalked. She started to turn around, guns swinging up.