Battlestar Galactica 4 - The Young Warriors

by Glen A. Larson

  "Magician!" Starbuck called aloud.

  The telepathic impression he received in response was faint, muddled. It had something to do with dying, but Starbuck could not understand it.

  Then, his enormous body slumping, his horn still imbedded in the tree bark, Magician did die. The flow of telepathic images in Starbuck's mind ended abruptly.

  Starbuck, helpless, stuck on a tree branch, feeling that he had now failed twice in a row, yelled a long howl that resembled more the sound of an animal than a man.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  FROM MIRI'S BOOK:

  After searching for Starbuck or Magician for a long while, I finally heard the faraway noises of animals fighting. A moment later, as I rode toward the ferocious sounds, I picked up a thought from Magician. Not a thought so much as a surge of agony, a brief flash of pain, the awareness of death coming, then an abrupt end to the whole telepathic impression. After a moment of quiet, with even the birds going silent, there was a long pained howl, a man's howl. I became frightened that the predator, having disposed of Magician, was now attacking Starbuck. Get there, I thought to Rogue. Fast! Rogue virtually flew through the forest ahead of us.

  As I came into the clearing I saw first the corpse of the lion. Its side had been ripped open, in a neat almost surgical gash. Then the smell of blood showed me where Magician was, hanging limp from the point where his horn had become imbedded in a tree. Aside from the bleeding wounds in his neck, Magician appeared peaceful.

  I circled the clearing, looking for a sign of Starbuck. I was so afraid that I'd find his corpse, too. When I didn't see him anywhere, I thought that maybe he'd fled. I looked for a trail, but the only track-signs I could find were the ones that showed Magician coming to the clearing.

  "Miri."

  Starbuck's voice. I looked around again, still unable to see him.

  "Up here."

  I followed the sound of his voice. Starbuck was sitting on a thick branch, most of his body obscured by its bushy leaves. His head seemed to float above me, bodiless. Then he jumped off the branch, landing beside Rogue. His eyes were saddened. He glanced toward Magician's body.

  "There was nothing I could do. He planted me up there, ordered me onto that branch, left me helpless."

  "He wanted to protect you."

  "All I did was watch, all I—"

  "There wasn't anything you could do. He had to battle his natural enemy. This lion must have been fierce. Magician's already killed many of them."

  "Yeah, I suppose this is all natural to you. Animals and predators. I just, well, never cared much for a particular animal before. I wasn't much for—"

  "I understand, Starbuck. I'm sad, too. I loved Magician. Sometimes he sent thoughts to me. I was glad when he chose you. And this isn't natural for me. Never."

  I rode over to Magician and, taking out my knife, began cutting off his horn at the base.

  "What are you doing?" Starbuck cried, running to me, shocked.

  "The horn has curative powers. We will need it. The poultice I applied to your leg was begun with powder from the horn of a unicorn. This is natural. What are you looking so angry about?"

  "I don't know, Miri. It seems—some kind of desecration of the body. To cut off a part of it while it's still warm. There's a kind of butchery in the—"

  "Not at all, Starbuck. It's our custom. The unicorns understand it as well. Rogue, for example, is content, knowing that his comrade's death may help another life. His sadness is mixed with approval for removing Magician's horn."

  As my knife swiftly slashed through the horn's base, Magician's body collapsed heavily to the ground. Starbuck knelt beside it. I could see in his eyes that he still hoped that Magician could receive his thoughts. I said nothing.

  When Starbuck was ready, he stood up and said to me:

  "Do we just leave him here?"

  "I'm afraid so. We have no time. When we can, we bury them or cast them into deep water, which is the unicorn's chosen burial site, so they'll not be carrion for further predators. But we cannot do that now."

  "Let's go back to camp."

  I swung up onto Rogue's back.

  "Rogue says it's all right for you to ride on him behind me."

  "Tell him thanks."

  After we had ridden for a while, with me feeling a strong awareness of Starbuck's presence behind me, even of areas where necessity did not force us to touch, Starbuck said suddenly:

  "We have to make plans."

  "Plans?"

  "I'm afraid for your mother."

  He told me of an attempt to rescue Megan and how she'd been wounded.

  "She may be too weak for us to leave her in that blasted cell any longer. I was waiting for my buddies from the Galactica to arrive. However, it's occurred to me there's a good chance they may never get here. So we have to attack immediately. Tonight, if possible."

  "We have to attack? You mean Kyle's band?"

  "That's what I'm thinking."

  "But they're just children, you said so yourself."

  "I realize what I said."

  "They could get killed."

  "I realize that, too."

  "But you can't just despatch them like that, like a real army. They're not really an army, no matter how much Kyle struts or how much they enjoy their little raids."

  "Believe me, I realize all of that, Miri. My plans don't call for them getting killed. I'm trying to work out a way to attack the fortress and not have anybody killed. Nobody but Cylons anyway. And these Cylons are just machines."

  "And just how do you plan to do that?"

  "Give me time to think. I have the beginning of a strategy, if only I can work out the details."

  I was as furious with Starbuck as I usually was with Kyle when he started such warlike talk.

  "What? Arm the children, give them guns and let them shoot their way in?"

  I could hear Starbuck laughing quietly behind me, and, more than before, was aware of his arms around my waist. Acutely aware.

  "No, that's not the way. My thinking was running more in the line of children's games."

  "Children's games! But-—"

  "Quiet, Miri. Let me think. I may be on to something."

  I did not know what to think. But I was afraid.

  Before we entered camp, Starbuck asked me to stop. We both dismounted, to give the overworked Rogue a much needed rest, for which he sent me waves of gratitude. Standing beside Rogue, Starbuck interrogated me for a long time. He wanted to know the layout of the Cylon garrison, the location of the tower, the dimensions of the secret passage, the whereabouts of the command room, and many other details I didn't even know I remembered until his questions.

  Then we rode into camp. Jergin was the first to see us, and her pretty face broke into a bright smile.

  "We thought you boondogglers were never coming back," she said, running to us. I dismounted and hugged her.

  Soon all the children were gathered around us, asking what had happened. Kyle hung back, his face morose. Starbuck's voice broke several times, first as he told of Megan's physical condition, then when he described the failure of his rescue attempt, and finally—on the brink of tears—when he described the death of Magician. Some of the older children were visibly affected by his narrative, while many of the younger ones treated it all as a story and stared wide-eyed at Starbuck as if he were merely telling tales around a campfire. When he had finished, there was a long silence. Finally, Ariadne whispered:

  "Mother . . . what will happen to mother?"

  Nilz touched Starbuck's arm and tears rolled down from his eyes as he said:

  "They'll . . . kill her this time, won't they?"

  Starbuck glanced at me, then responded to Nilz gently:

  "No, they won't kill her. I think even they know how valuable she is to them. They'll want to keep her alive, maybe bargain again to stop your raids."

  "Are you sure, Starbuck?" Ariadne asked.

  "Of course I'm sure."

  But I could tell
by the catch in his voice as he said it that he was not at all sure. He told the children to gather around and gestured Kyle forward.

  "Megan is all right now, but we can't wait much longer. Can't let her waste away in that tower. I have some ideas about—"

  "No, Starbuck!" Kyle interrupted.

  "Kyle, I'm on your side. Please don't get your nose out of joint again."

  "Starbuck, before we discuss your ideas, I have something to say. Publicly. The exchange was a grave tactical error. I see that now. I'm relinquishing my command to you."

  Starbuck's reaction to Kyle's offer was clearly mixed. His eyes were sad, but he was also on the verge of smiling.

  "I'm trying not to fight you for command, Kyle," he said quietly. "I never intended to."

  "I understand. But it is important that . . . certain procedures take place. I'm no longer fit for command. I want it official that you take over leadership."

  Kyle stared at Starbuck, his eyes desperately eager for the pilot's response. And approval. Slowly, Starbuck nodded.

  "Okay, scout, I'll accept. But on one condition."

  "Name it."

  Starbuck went to Kyle, put his right hand on Kyle's shoulder, and said softly:

  "That you be my lieutenant."

  Kyle grinned. He could not help it. It was the first warm smile I'd seen from him since I don't know when. It made me smile, too.

  "With pleasure, sir," Kyle said, his stiff body displaying his pride. He could not quite avoid the habits of pomposity even in his new subordinate role. "What are your orders?"

  Starbuck paused, then addressed everyone:

  "Tonight we will organize to infiltrate the Cylon encampment and rescue Megan."

  At first there were cheers, and Starbuck spread his hands to quiet down the excited children.

  "Now don't get overexcited. The important thing you all must remember is to be calm, at least as calm as possible under the circumstances. First, we must make plans."

  "Shall I prepare to dispense weapons?" Kyle asked.

  "No. We're not going to use guns if we can help it."

  Kyle looked scared.

  "But it's dangerous to go up against the Cylons without weapons."

  "Oh, we'll have weapons. They just won't be rifles and pistols, that's all. Anybody here good with a slingshot?"

  "I am!" Ariadne shouted eagerly.

  "Do I have a job for you!"

  Ariadne was pleased.

  "Starbuck," Kyle protested, "we can't go against them with slingshots!"

  "Not only slingshots, but jump ropes, tin whistles, balloons, bubble pipes, whatever—maybe a few good old-fashioned and well-aimed rocks."

  "I don't understand," Kyle said weakly.

  "I'm not saying we'll be entirely weaponless. But I won't allow young children to fight this battle with laser weapons and bombs."

  "They've used them before."

  "But not under my command."

  Kyle looked angry enough to take back his offer of relinquishing leadership.

  "And we're not children!" he cried.

  "You've said that before. But you know deep-down as well as I do that you are children. All of you."

  "Starbuck—"

  "All of you, Kyle."

  Kyle's shoulder's slumped. The gesture was a kind of admission of the truth, or at least as close to one as Kyle could get.

  "I'll make this one concession. Some of you, the more able among the older children, will be allowed to carry weapons. But to be used only for defensive purposes or to help the younger ones. Let's see. Laughing Jake, I think you can handle yourself with that pistol you're already toting. And Herbert, you can requisition a weapon from supply. And Jergin, you'd better arm yourself.

  Starbuck paused. Kyle looked sheepish. Starbuck smiled.

  "And of course Kyle. You'll have to have a weapon, to make your disguise look accurate."

  Kyle grinned, then frowned.

  "Disguise?" he said.

  "Kyle, my boy." Kyle flinched slightly at the word boy, but nodded anyway. "Kyle, you're going to be a starfleet warrior tonight. In full regalia. You are, in fact, going to be Lieutenant Starbuck of the Battlestar Galactica."

  Kyle beamed with pride.

  Starbuck picked up a stick and began drawing a rough map of the garrison on the ground.

  "Now listen carefully. Each of you will have a job. I figured you'd all been playing war games long enough. You haven't had enough time for children's games, so I remembered some from my youth. We're going to use a few of them."

  Kyle came to my side and smiled. I locked my arm in his, and we waited for Starbuck to present the drill.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Lucifer, gliding into the command room, was greeted by an excited and abnormally cheerful Baltar. The human's spirits had certainly revived considerably since he had first discovered the existence of Spectre—a computer after his own heart, as he once called him in one of his many attempts to annoy Lucifer. It did annoy Lucifer that Baltar's verbal thrusts were succeeding more often than they should have.

  "Another transmission from Antila, Lucifer. Right on schedule, as always. Here's old Spectre now."

  Lucifer was amazed at how childish Baltar sometimes became when he was in an excitable mood.

  "I apologize for the delay, honored sir," Spectre said as soon as his image had formed on the screen. "I am afraid I have to report setbacks. Temporary, of course, but setbacks nevertheless."

  "Yes, go on. I'm sure your reasons are sound, Spectre."

  As sound as a discarded battery, Lucifer thought.

  "The captured warrior is still unconscious," Spectre said. "I am afraid—I'm afraid he could even . . . terminate."

  "Die!"

  Lucifer was surprised by Baltar's sudden angry reaction. The first moment of displeasure with Spectre. A good sign, a very good sign.

  "Unfortunately, sir," Spectre said, "my unit is prog—is enthusiastic about their duties. They can be a shade too rough on the enemy. It may be that their knowledge of human anatomy is too limited."

  Baltar nodded.

  "That is unfortunate. But I understand fully. The exigencies of war sometimes force extreme actions."

  "Still, sir, I do not offer excuses. Despite my securing this planet in what I may without modesty say was accomplished with great efficiency and speed, if it should happen that this warrior does terminate, then I can only say I have failed completely. Myself and my mission would be total failures. For, in failing you, Baltar, I will have failed one of the great leaders of our task force."

  Lucifer recalled an expression of Starbuck's, which he now muttered to himself: "The felgercarb is so thick you couldn't fly a viper through it." He was not sure exactly what the expression meant, but it did seem to apply to Spectre's open flattery of Baltar. Apparently Baltar liked felgercarb, for he answered Spectre gently:

  "Now, don't be too hard on yourself. From the reports I've read, you've done a brilliant job there and I may add a few laudatory comments to your next efficiency report."

  Once again, Lucifer was glad he was not human, since what he would've done at that moment would have terribly messed up the command room floor.

  "I do not know what to say, honored sir. Of course I will continue to do my best and I will spare no effort to save this pilot's life, at least long enough to extract the information you seek."

  "I ask no less, Spectre. I know you're a—a computer of your word."

  "Thank you, sir. By your command."

  "Goodbye, Spectre."

  Spectre's image faded to dots, then vanished from the screen. Lucifer could not resist saying:

  "You actually believed all of that . . . fantasy."

  Baltar said in an oily voice:

  "Lucifer, this jealousy is simply not like you. Perhaps you need an overhaul, a restructuring of your programming. Spectre is doing a fine job and he will receive the proper commendations, in spite of your petty envy."

  Lucifer decided not to carry the
issue any further. After all, Baltar's threat to change his programming might just be genuine. Lucifer could wind up as underhanded and as foolish as Spectre.

  With a trained scientific detachment, Spectre watched life come back into Megan's eyes. She had been staring lifelessly at him for some time and at least twice he had been certain that she had died, then awareness seemed to sweep across both her eyes. Of course the reason for the effect was that she had been in a daze, virtually unconscious, and now she was awake, conscious of him staring down at her. From the look of hatred in her eyes, he deduced that he was the last being of any kind that she wanted to see at this moment.

  She glanced down at the dressing which Hilltop had hastily applied, after carrying her himself into the command room.

  "Your shoulder is adequately repaired," Spectre said. "I am sorry we have such meager medical capability. For humans, at least. But that bandage should at least keep your bodily oil inside, and I believe there are no dangers to your life. My warriors, I am afraid, could be somewhat better shots than they are."

  Megan glared at him. Clearly she did not understand much of what he said. It looked to Spectre as if the woman would not survive much longer, but it would not be the wound that killed her—it would be something else, something too human for him to understand.