Battlestar Galactica 10 - The Long Patrol

by Glen A. Larson

  Scrapper said, "We might as well be on the safe side, folks."

  They'd halted by a small forest pond.

  "We're mighty near to your ships," the young man said, pointing toward the trees with his metal hand. "Won't take me no time at all to make sure there ain't no more of Psycho's people, or anyone else waitin' 'round. And goin' alone I can move as quiet and silent as the breeze."

  Snuffing out his cigar on the mossy ground, Starbuck seated himself on a hollow log. "Good idea, Scrap," he said. "You go on and get the lay of the land. We'll wait here."

  Grinning, Scrapper moved away into the shadows between the high trees.

  "Feeling cowardly, Starbuck?" inquired Robber, leaning against the bole of a broad tree.

  "Merely cautious, love," he said. "Since first I paid a visit to your fair galaxy I've been conked on the head, highjacked, abandoned and dropped in a pit. Experiences like that make one a bit wary."

  The young woman nodded, smiled a crooked smile. "Sure."

  "If a fellow," said the lieutenant after a moment, "wanted to address you by your real name instead of your desperado handle, what would he call you?"

  She answered, "I don't have any other name."

  "How's that?"

  "It has to do with the prison."

  "But you must've had another name before you got sent there."

  "I was born there."

  "Huh?" He stood up.

  Robber shook her head. "I'm not all that anxious to talk about it."

  "You lived all your life on this Proteus? I don't see—"

  "There's no reason why you have to," she told him. "Chance brought us together, chance'll separate us again. That's the way life is, not anything to get serious about."

  "You're pretty cynical for a youngster," he observed.

  "I haven't been a youngster for a long time," she said, glancing in the direction Scrapper had gone. "What about you, Starbuck? Who are you?"

  "Well . . ." He poked his boot toe into the mossy ground.

  "Like to ask questions, but not answer them, huh?"

  "I'm a warrior."

  "What does that mean?"

  He pointed upward. "Well, in my case, love, it means I'm stationed on an enormous spaceship called a battlestar," he answered. "Right now I'm supposed to be exploring your quaint galaxy here. Without bragging, Robber, I've got to tell you that I am usually darn good at my job. Flying a Viper, exploring, fighting. I excell at all that." He shrugged. "But, to be perfectly honest, ever since I met you on that halfwit asteroid I've been fouling up."

  She smiled. "I can see you're going to use me as an excuse when you get home to your battlestar," she said. " 'I met this vicious woman outlaw, sir, and she led me astray.' "

  "I've been leading myself astray," Starbuck said. "When I heard you might be in trouble, I had to come after you."

  "Must be my charm."

  He eyed her. "That really, you know, could be the reason," he said. "Because if you look at this logically—"

  "We got us a mite of a problem," said Scrapper as he silently returned to them.

  "What's wrong?" asked the lieutenant.

  "Well," began Scrapper, rubbing at his metal arm, "that clearing yonder's sort of more crowded than you described it."

  "How so?"

  "First off, there's two more ships like yours. They—"

  "Must be from the Galactica," said Starbuck, brightening. "Could be Apollo and Boomer, or Jolly and—"

  "What else?" asked Robber.

  "Another enforcer fighter," answered Scrapper.

  Frowning, Starbuck said, "Where are the people who go with all this aircraft?"

  Scrapper shook his head. "Didn't see hide nor hair of 'em," he said. "I didn't go up close to none of them ships, mind you, but it sure looks like there wasn't anybody around."

  "Seems likely that Apollo and Boomer are off looking for me," reflected Starbuck. "And the occupants of the enforcer ship are, too."

  "They want me," said Robber.

  "Okay," said Starbuck. "You two wait for me here. I'm going to the clearing and see if I can talk to Cora. She's my computer. She ought to know where my buddies are. I'll get together with them and then swing back here for you."

  "That's risky," said Robber.

  "I know." He grinned. "But I'm awful anxious to prove to you that I'm not a coward."

  Crouched amidst brush, Starbuck scanned the clearing.

  Sure enough, there was an additional fighter and two more Vipers.

  "Looks like Apollo and Boomer came hunting for me when I got myself sidetracked," he said to himself.

  No one was in the area with the ships now, as far as Starbuck could tell.

  He remained where he was, watching and listening. Soon he'd approach his own Viper. It stood to reason Apollo or Boomer had talked to his computer. Cora might know just where they—

  The barrel of a laser pistol poked against his spine. "Nice seeing you again," said Croad.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Boomer narrowed his eyes. "I don't like the look of this next stretch of country," he said as they approached misty woodlands.

  "We're not on a sightseeing tour, old buddy," said Apollo. "Starbuck came this way."

  " 'Least he's still on his own two feet."

  "The footprints indicate that, yep. He's following somebody who's carrying something fairly heavy," said the captain as they moved along the trail.

  "The body of Starbuck's ladyfriend maybe?"

  "That's sure a possibility."

  "You don't have to worry about that, gents. He's alive and well." A lanky young man with a metal arm appeared out of the mist a few yards directly ahead of them.

  "Who are you?" Apollo's hand hovered over his holster.

  "Name's Scrapper," he answered. "Suppose you tell me your names. I got a good reason for asking."

  "I'm Apollo, and this is Boomer."

  "Good, I was hoping you'd say that." Scrapper grinned. "You're friends of Starbuck."

  "We are, but how do you—"

  "Robber," Scrapper called. "It's okay, come on over."

  A slim dark-haired young woman joined them.

  Boomer asked, "Is she the one who started all this mess?"

  "Starbuck brought most of it on himself," said Robber. "But we haven't got time to argue. Croad's got him."

  "Croad?" said Apollo.

  "The situation is this," said Scrapper. "We was goin' back to where your ships are, on account of Starbuck was aimin' to give Robber a lift home. Except there was more ships than anticipated and he decided to go in alone, check out the situation with Cora. His computer, you know."

  Boomer said, "So what happened?"

  "Wellsir, we waited a spell for him," said Scrapper, "and he never came back. So I took me another look."

  Robber said, "Scrapper got there just in time to see Croad hustle Starbuck into his fighter ship and take off."

  "Had I got there just a mite sooner," said Scrapper sadly, "I could've stunned Croad, kept him from carting Starbuck off like that." He tapped the metal finger he used for stunning.

  Apollo asked, "Where's this Croad likely to take him?"

  "To Proteus," said Robber. "To the prison."

  "Don't you think," Starbuck had suggested as the fighter lifted off, "that we ought to wait for your friends?"

  "What friends?" said Croad.

  "The fellows in the other fighter. You didn't come alone, did—"

  "Yauk can take care of himself," the lean enforcer said as he worked the controls of the ship. "He'll run Robber to the ground and haul her in."

  "I don't mind going back and waiting," said the lieutenant amiably. "Not at all."

  "Just shut up."

  The ship went climbing away from the surface of the planetoid.

  Starbuck inquired, "Mind if I smoke?"

  "If you can do it with your hands manacled behind you like that," said Croad, "go ahead."

  "Well, I was hoping you'd unshackle me."

 
"Not a chance."

  Starbuck shifted into a slightly less uncomfortable position in the seat he'd been dumped into. "Why do you want Robber?"

  "Same reason we want you," answered Croad. "Smuggling. In your case, of course, there's also assault, theft and a whole nice stewpot of other charges."

  "Maybe I'd better explain who I really am."

  "I know who you are, pal."

  "Nope, actually, you only think you do. See, I come from a spacecraft that's—"

  "Save it," advised Croad.

  "But if I explain the situation to you now, you can just release me. That way there's no need of a trial or—" Starbuck fell silent as Croad began to laugh.

  "A trial!" Croad said. "A trial!"

  Long ago it had been a thriving spaceport. Now the jungle had moved back, reclaiming the fields, the silos, the buildings and warehouses. Except for a small area that was still used for landings and takeoffs, weeds and high grass were everywhere. And crates. They overflowed the weatherbeaten warehouses and were stacked high in the weedy fields.

  "Welcome to Proteus," said Croad as the fighter set down.

  "Not the jolliest spot I've ever been," said Starbuck.

  Croad chuckled. "You'll get used to it," he assured him, unbuckling from his seat.

  "Look, you really better take me to whoever's running this whole show. Because otherwise—"

  "Starbuck," said the enforcer evenly, "you'll get along a lot better here on Proteus if you quit bitching."

  "I'm just trying to save you trouble, because before too long some of my—"

  "Can you get your butt out of that seat and walk on out of this ship?" Croad opened the cabin door.

  "Sure, except—"

  "Then do it."

  Starbuck obliged, following the lawman out of the fighter.

  Waiting outside was another lawman, holding a laser rifle. "This the one, Croad?"

  "Yeah, he's the wise bastard who stole my ship."

  "I see you got it back."

  "Always get back what's mine."

  Starbuck, hands chained behind his back, was looking around. The cases were stacked up everywhere. "Those crates look sort of familiar," he remarked.

  "Like the ones you were smuggling, pal," said Croad.

  "You mean there's Ambrosa in all these?" Starbuck was impressed. "Hey, that's got to be worth—"

  "Not worth a damn thing to you," said Croad. "You walk over to that grey building yonder. We'll fix you up with a nice cell."

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  His cell was airy but not roomy. Three of the walls were of grey stone; the fourth was steel bars and door. The furnishings were a lumpy cot and basic toilet facilities. Across the dimly lit corridor Starbuck could see three similar cells. Each was occupied.

  Directly opposite him was a large, broad-shouldered man. "What's your name?" he asked, stroking his shaggy beard.

  "Starbuck," he answered.

  The bearded man frowned. "Starbuck? That's a new one on me," he admitted. He held up a bottle of Ambrosa, toasting. "Well, here's to our new mate, Starbuck. Whatever the hell that is."

  There was a plump blonde woman of thirty on the bearded man's left, and a small, stoop-shouldered man of sixty in the cell to his right. They, too, drank a toast from bottles of Ambrosa.

  "Drink up, lad," urged the bearded prisoner.

  Starbuck noticed the full bottle of Ambrosa sitting on the stone floor beside his cot. "Thanks, but I'm not exactly in the mood for—"

  "Are you too good to drink with us?" asked the blonde.

  "Nope, not at all, folks." He picked up the bottle, pretended to take a long swig.

  Nodding approvingly, the bearded man said, "Welcome to Proteus Prison, lad. I'm Assault Nine. The lady next door is Adulteress Fourteen. And this shifty-eyed old wretch is Forger Six. You can't trust him a bit."

  "Is that fair?" protested the older man. "Give the lad a chance to make up his own mind." He smiled a crooked smile. "In the weeks and months ahead, Starbuck, you'll come to appreciate me for my true worth."

  "Actually I'm not planning to stay that long."

  Assault laughed a chesty laugh. "You don't have much say in the matter."

  "Well, soon as I can explain to someone in authority who I really am, why—"

  "I wonder," said the blonde, "if our original sinners were as ignorant and naive as this one."

  "Original sinners?" said Starbuck.

  "She refers to our ancestors," explained Assault. "The ones who were first sentenced here long ago."

  Starbuck blinked. "You mean to tell me all you folks are doing time for crimes your ancestors committed?"

  Forger said, "That's better than being an original sinner like you, Starbuck."

  "What exactly is starbucking?" asked Adulteress, moving close to the bars. "If you told us, we might—"

  "It's not an offense. It's just a name, my name," he said, somewhat annoyed. "See, folks, I'm not a criminal at all."

  "Lad, it's no use protesting to us," said Assault. "Croad's made up his mind you're to be here and that's it."

  "You mean Croad's in charge of this whole prison operation?"

  "That he is," said Forger.

  "Then I really am in a pickle," said Starbuck.

  Assault said, "You've been outside. You must have news of the war."

  "The war?"

  "Between the colonies and the Alliance," said Assault.

  "But the war took place a long—"

  "We supply Ambrosa for the Colonial Warriors," said Forger, pride in his voice.

  "We may be prisoners," added Adulteress, "yet we're as patriotic as any colonist."

  Starbuck went over and sat on his cot. "Getting out of here is going to take a lot more explaining than I figured," he said.

  Apollo paced the clearing. "What I'm suggesting to you is the simplest way of doing things," he said.

  "Go to hell," said the enforcer.

  His name was Yauk and he was the man Apollo had knocked out at the abandoned warehouse. Boomer and Scrapper had brought him back to the ships.

  Apollo halted in front of him. "Look, friend, we're both more or less on the same side," he said, impatience showing in his voice. "You escort us to Croad on Proteus and we can arrange—"

  "You can say any damn thing," the enforcer told them, "but you still might be Cylon agents. And I'll tell you something. This buddy of yours, this Starbuck guy, he tried to kill Croad—and stole his fighter. You two bastards worked me over. Hell, that's not my idea of being on the same side."

  "Those," said Boomer, "were just misunderstandings."

  "The hell with all of you."

  Robber said, "Croad left you behind to find me and bring me in, didn't he?"

  "Yeah, and eventually I will."

  Nodding, the dark-haired woman turned to Apollo. "You can fly that fighter of his, can't you?"

  "Sure."

  "Okay, then let's quit wasting time with this idiot," she said. "You'll fly it to Proteus with me as your passenger. If you wear Yauk's outfit, we can land safely at the prison and get inside before they know what's up."

  "You won't fool Croad with a dumb stunt like that," said Yauk scornfully.

  "It might work," said Apollo thoughtfully.

  "Sure," said Scrapper, "and Boomer and me can land nearby. You take out the guards, we'll come scooting in. Heck, the four of us can take over the whole shebang. Easy as pie."

  "They'll wipe you out," predicted the enforcer.

  "We'll try it," said Apollo.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  They hadn't taken Starbuck's cigars away from him. He lit one as he paced his small cell.

  Apollo and Boomer were out there somewhere, searching for him. So if he could just relax and wait, they'd eventually track him to the Proteus prison.

  Trouble was, Starbuck wasn't the patient type. Being in a cage made him edgy. Puffing on his stogie, he leaned back against the metal bars of his cell door.

  The door swung open with a rasp
y squeak.

  "What the heck is this?" he said as he stumbled into the corridor.

  "Get back inside," called Assault anxiously. "Close your door, mate."

  "They don't like us to do that," said Adulteress, frowning through her bars at him.

  Starbuck remained in the stone corridor. "Now, folks," he said, glancing around at his fellow prisoners, "you can't mean that none of these cells are locked."

  "They haven't worked in generations," answered Assault, his eyes on the floor. "Central control mechanism went bad ages ago."

  Dropping his cigar, a bewildered Starbuck ground it out with his boot heel. "Let me get this straight in my poor old battered brain," he said. "Your cells aren't locked, not a one of 'em, but you all stay here anyway. Why the heck, if you don't mind my asking, do you do that?"

  "Tradition," answered Forger.

  "It's the way things are," added Assault.

  "Our fathers were prisoners," explained Adulteress. "Our mothers were prisoners. And we are prisoners. That's the way things work."

  "Hooey." Starbuck fished out another cigar. "Stop acting like nitwits. We're all human beings. And, in case you haven't heard, we have certain rights. The right to freedom is one of 'em. Freedom means you don't mope around in a cell if you can get—"

  "That'll be enough out of you, Starbuck." Croad had appeared in the corridor. He glared at Starbuck. "Get the hell back behind bars."

  "No. It's going to take you and a couple of your stooges to get me in there again," Starbuck informed the enforcer. "Boy, you've got some deal going here. Keep these poor folks slaving away for nothing while you lord it over them like—"

  "There is a purpose to this," cut in Croad. "They produce Ambrosa for the Colonial Warriors, for our fighting men. That's their duty, just as it's ours to enforce the rules. My father was an enforcer and his father—"

  "Yeah, sure," said Starbuck impatiently. "But the Colonies long ago forgot about these penal asteroids. They probably think you were wiped out ages ago."

  "That's not true," insisted the enforcer. "They don't contact us as frequently as they once did, but—"

  "Frequently? Man, you've got Ambrosa piled up to the skies out on those loading docks." Starbuck pointed at the doorway out. "Some of those darn crates have vines growing over 'em. C'mon, admit it."