Battlestar Galactica 5 - Galactica Discovers Earth
The newest BATTLESTAR GALACTICA adventure
Galactica was trapped! A Cylon warfleet was
lurking just a lightjump away. And Earth—
hopelessly primitive!—was completely unaware
that the renegade Xaviar was rearranging history
to make the planet into his private empire . . .
Only Captain Troy and Lieutenant Dillon knew
just how dangerous Earth's predicament was.
And if they had to save the ancient homeworld
single-handedly—well, that was a warrior's job!
A WAR THROUGH TIME!
DOCTOR ZEE: Why did you not tell me that Xaviar wanted to use my Time Warp synthesizer?
COMMANDER ADAMA: That maniac! We must bring him back!
DOCTOR ZEE: A chase through thousands of years of history! That should be interesting. You must be very, very careful, Adama—or that planet called Earth below us could disappear in a twinkling of an eye . . .
GALACTICA DISCOVERS EARTH!
The newest BATTLESTAR GALACTICA adventure
By GLEN A. LARSON AND MICHAEL RESNICK
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 5:
GALACTICA DISCOVERS EARTH
A Berkley Book / published with
MCA PUBLISHING, a Division of MCA Inc.
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley edition / December 1980
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1980 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: 0-425-04744-X
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
Part 1: NOW
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
Part 2: THEN
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
Part 3: SOON
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
1
FROM THE ADAMA JOURNALS:
My sons are dead.
With Zac it came early. He was barely more than a boy. Apollo lived long enough to become our greatest warrior, to scatter the spaceways with the rubble of Cylon spacecraft, to even inspire fear in the brains of those loathsome creatures. But he is dead nonetheless, a millionth or a billionth or a trillionth victim of the Cylon Wars.
But the Galactica, that which my sons and so many others died to protect, still lives. It has been our home and our fortress for long these many years, majestic and serene, strong and protecting, a haven and a hope and, yes, even a weapon.
And now, at last, it is nearing the end of its long, almost endless journey across the trackless wastes of space. Earth, that almost mythical blue and green world, is finally at hand.
I cannot tell anyone what hopes I have for this almost-forgotten world, what dreams she inspires, for fear of their disappointment should Earth turn out to be something less than expected.
But why should it be? Without continuous attacks by Cylon forces, what scientific wonders might they have wrought? Might they even have spawned a race of warriors against whom my own sons would have appeared puny and helpless? Might not they even have created an Ultimate Weapon before which even the Cylons must bow down in defeat?
I envision Earth as a Utopia, where all men stand free and proud, where fear is so remote from their daily lives that even the meaning of the word has been lost in antiquity, an Earth where technology and religion have finally achieved a balance in the daily lives of its citizens, and where a benevolent government of and by the people has made the concept of Heaven a living breathing thing, a daily occurrence to each of its myriad members.
And yet, even as these thoughts cross my mind, there exists in the back of my brain a tiny, microscopic fear as well: will we appear as savages to them, so primitive as to be beneath their notice entirely? Will our Battlestar appear as nothing more than a children's toy to them, our hand weapons mere playthings?
For many years this uncertainty has been gnawing at the edges of my consciousness, the thought that they might have so far surpassed our civilization as to be almost a completely different species of a higher level.
And yet . . . and yet, they cannot be, for they are what we have spent so many years and so many young lives to reach.
We cannot do without them.
FROM DOCTOR ZEE'S DIARY TAPES:
I was silent as long as possible, since there was no valid reason to alarm anyone prematurely. But when I could wait no longer, I summoned Commander Adama to my chambers and explained the problem to him.
"When can we land?" he asked with the eagerness of a child, but the old, old eyes of a man who has been searching the heavens for Earth for too many years.
I decided to be blunt.
"We cannot land. Not now . . . and perhaps never."
I have not seen him look so shocked and stunned since the day Apollo died.
"But . . . but Doctor Zee," he stammered, shaking his head as if to clear it from a heavy blow, "What do I say? How can I tell these people who have come so far that their moment of triumph is to be denied them?"
"You will tell them what you must," I said.
"But Earth is ours! It stands before us!"
"No, Adama. It crawls before us, swathed in diapers and baby blankets."
"I don't understand," said Adama, starting to recover from his initial shock.
"Our tenacious pursuit of Earth has been founded on her ability to help us defeat our enemies," I said. "Is this not correct?"
He nodded.
"And it is a foregone conclusion that our enemies will become Earth's enemies, once the Cylons become aware of Earth?"
"Of course," said Adama. "But what is your point?"
"My point is simply this: I now believe we have visible proof that Earth is not advanced enough to help us."
"You mean militarily?" he asked.
"Militarily, scientifically, socially," I said gently. "In every way possible, they are ages—no, eons—behind us."
"It can't be!" said Adama.
"But it is."
"I need proof!"
"And so you shall have it," I said. "Look to the monitors."
FROM THE ADAMA JOURNALS:
It was frightening. Unbelievable yet undeniable. It so overloaded my senses that I still don't recall clearly all the things I saw. To aid in my memory, I am referring to the computer log:
Monitor Alpha: Twenty-two men in uniform faced each other on a turf-like substance, eleven on each side. After an instant of immobility, a man at the center made a sudden motion and everything was thrown into disarray. Men of each side hit and pounded and tackled the others, some seemed to be beaten senseless, and finally a man in a striped shirt blew a whistle and the warfare stopped. But only momentarily. It began again and again, with gladiators from both side being helped from the field every few centons. And throughout this entire bloody battle, a quarter of a million people were cheering wildly. What savagery is this?
Monitor Beta: A man, simply clad, rode into a small, obviously poverty-stricken municipality on a strange-looking animal, dismounted, and walked down the middle of the major thoroughfare. Three men, each dressed more dismally than the next, walked forward to meet him. At what seemed to be a predetermined signal, all four reached for their hand weapons, which turned out to be extremely primitive projectile weapons. The lone man emerged victorious, threw a metal star-like object—obviously his insignia and rank—on the ground, spit on it, and rode away on his steed, which probably couldn't travel one hundred microns in a yahren. I can't believe it: projectile weapons, and an entertainment that glories in one man killing others of his own species!
Monitor Gamma: Metal vehicles careened down concrete thoroughfares, killing an occasional pedestrian without a second thought. The final vehicle in the parade, obviously belonging to a martial authority, was inhabited by men with no quicker reflexes nor better weapons (nor even nobler dispositions) than the first vehicle, which obviously carried a gang of lawbreakers.
Monitor Omega: Animation for children, with a story revolving about a bird and a furry carnivore. The carnivore kept trying to kill the bird (for food, or a blood feud—who knows?) and did enormous violence and damage to himself and the ecology, causing earthquakes to occur and volcanoes to explode. This cannot be what children watch! Even with such primitive, even primeval, technology, surely our values cannot be so different from our brethren on Earth.
Monitor Delta: Men with painted faces and ill-fitting clothes spent most of their time tripping one another and throwing food in circular pans in each other's faces. And everyone laughed!
Monitor Epsilon: A war entertainment, which was more instructive than all of the other monitors. Doctor Zee is indeed right: we must not lead the Cylons to Earth. One Cylon ship alone can destroy the planet, as impossible as that seems even now that I have had time to digest Earth's visual transmissions. The warriors have no force shields, no laser weapons, no individual protection except for some ill-fitting metal helmets. Their aircraft travel so slowly that it seems even a bird must be swifter. Their cities are open to attack, their defenses are nil, their offensive weapons are inaccurate and incredibly wasteful of ammunition. And worst of all, this recreation of war does not show them fighting against Cylons or some other enemy to the common cause, but against themselves!
What will become of Earth if the Cylons find her—and, whether they find her or not, what will become of us?
FROM DILLON'S LOG:
Everyone had heard rumors, but no one seemed to know what was going on. Earth was radioactive, Earth was deserted, Earth had been taken over by the Cylons, Earth was ready to help us, Earth was preparing to declare war on us, Earth was too advanced to be bothered with us, Earth was too primitive to help us. You paid your money and you took your choice. Me, I was betting on Earth being deserted. I figured they had been monitoring us for a few yahrens, had mounted a fleet, and were off to engage the Cylons. And, since they couldn't know the outcome for sure, they took the standard precaution of evacuating the planet so that if one of them were captured and tortured into revealing where Earth was, the Cylons wouldn't be able to kill any of his countrymen. I figured they were spread throughout the system, and maybe in a few neighboring solar systems as well.
It just goes to show you how useless rumormongering is.
I got a message to take Troy to the Galactica, which is when I figured out that maybe there was more to the situation than met the eye. After all, he could have monitored the meeting from the Colonial Freighter; if Doctor Zee and Commander Adama wanted the top-ranking warriors to meet them in person, something was up. We were either going to land immediately, or we weren't going to land at all. And if we were going to land immediately, why hadn't the news been piped over the various intercom systems? We've certainly been waiting for this moment long enough.
Troy didn't seem bothered at all. He's the youngest of the ranking warriors, but he's come by his rating honestly. With Adama and Apollo as his adoptive grandfather and father, he has had to prove time and again that his promotions were won strictly on merit and not because of influence. He proved it, all right—again and again, until it seemed that he had single-handedly raised the standard for excellence among our warriors.
Truly, he could have been the blood son of Apollo—though it took him a long time to get rid of the nickname of "Boxey" that had been hung on him. He told me once that it had to do with his being a fearsome little child. Well, his manners have improved, but he's still fearsome to his foes. To me, though, he's just a good friend: the best I've got. And I asked him, as one friend to another, what he knew about this meeting.
"Not a whole lot more than you do," he said, with a look that told me it would be only polite not to push him on the subject.
"All I want to know is if something's gone wrong," I persisted. "The way the rumors are flying . . ."
"You know better than to listen to rumors, Dillon," he said.
"Then we'll be landing soon?"
"I doubt it."
"Just what is the trouble?" I asked. I knew I shouldn't have pressed the point, but I couldn't help it.
"Oh, nothing much," he said with a smile. "Sometimes it's just bad manners to drop in unannounced."
Which got me to thinking.
We were only half a million miles away from Earth. How could they not know we were here?
TRANSCRIPT OF THE MEETING HELD IN
DOCTOR ZEE'S PRIVATE AUDITORIUM:
DOCTOR ZEE: And so we cannot land yet. Possibly we can never land. Should the location of Earth become known to the Cylons, it would surely mean the destruction of the planet.
COMMANDER ADAMA: But Doctor Zee, we haven't seen the forces of the Cylon Alliance for more than two yahrens.
DOCTOR ZEE: Only because they haven't wanted us to see them.
COMMANDER ADAMA: What are you saying?
DOCTOR ZEE: That they simply decided to let us lead them to the last remaining outpost of humanity in the Universe: the people of Earth.
COMMANDER ADAMA: Are you absolutely sure?
DOCTOR ZEE: Am I ever unsure?
COMMANDER ADAMA: Forgive me. But even now, the spectre of a fourteen-year-old boy with a mind a millennium ahead of its time . . .
DOCTOR ZEE: Adama; I have no false modesty about my intellect, since it was caused by a genetic accident rather than any effort on my part. The presence of a pure intelligence such as myself may prove disconcerting to some and frightening to others. I assure you that I am neither a freak nor a monster, but merely a fortuitous blending of chromosomes.
COMMANDER ADAMA: I'm not sure I understand what you're getting at.
DOCTOR ZEE: Don't resent my intelligence, Adama. Use it.
COMMANDER ADAMA: Forgive me, Doctor Zee. You have been in our midst for so long, and have been proven right so often, that I have no reason ever to doubt anything you say. I suppose it's the nature of the beast. I want so desperately for something to be true that I soon cause myself to b
elieve it is true, regardless of the facts at hand.
DOCTOR ZEE: This is perfectly understandable, and I certainly bear you no malice for desiring proof of what I say. The proof can be found in the vicinity of Barnard's Star, which is a little more than six light-years distant from Earth.
DILLON: Barnard's Star? I'm not acquainted with it.
DOCTOR ZEE: It is the Terran name for it, just as "light-year" is another Terran term. I feel that, despite the problems confronting us, it would be best for us to start thinking in Earth terms whenever possible. This is especially so of those military lieutenants I have summoned to this room, as I shall explain before too long. But first, I think Commander Adama should brief you on the simpler physical aspects of Earth.
COMMANDER ADAMA: You all know that we have been searching for Earth for all these many years. But until recently it was just a name, a vague hope, a dream to be grasped at. We now know that Earth is the third of nine planets circling a class G-2 star known as Sol. Her proximity to the sun provides the only climate in this solar system, indeed on this spiral arm of the galaxy known as the Milky Way, capable of supporting life as we know it. Seven-tenths of the Earth's surface is covered by water, though that's nothing to worry about. There is plenty of room for all our people. The land masses are divisible into six habitable continents and there is a seventh one, totally frozen, at the planet's south pole. In addition, there are literally thousands of islands dotting the oceans. Twenty percent of the land masses are deserts and wastelands, unusable by Earth's inhabitants, but which our technology could easily reclaim and transform. There is, however, some disquieting news that makes immediate reclamation and settlement impossible. Doctor Zee, you have the floor.
DOCTOR ZEE: Thank you. But before discussing Earth, let me return to Barnard's Star for a moment. Not only is Barnard's Star devoid of life, but it—or rather the two gas giant planets that circle it—are incapable of supporting not only life as we know it, but indeed any type of life requiring an advanced technology.
TROY: Why is that, Doctor Zee?