Battlestar Galactica 8 - Greetings From Earth Page 10

  "Land this crate, Hec," advised Starbuck.

  "Land it?"

  "Set 'er down," amplified the anxious lieutenant. "I want to take a good look around."

  "Much safer from up here, sir, twenty feet above the ground," the android assured him. "Wouldn't be surprised if there were snakes and other creepy, crawly things waiting below to—"

  "C'mon, Hec, don't tell me your pop programmed you to be chicken."

  "I am fearless, sir. However, you mustn't mistake sensible caution for cowardice."

  Leaning, Starbuck glanced down at the high grass and brush beneath the hoverer. "I might bust some essential portion of myself were I to jump from up here," he reflected. "Still, if you don't lower this rattletrap, I'm going to leap."

  "You can't do that! Pop would chew me out for weeks on end were I to allow you to break your neck."

  "Exactly. It's to our mutual benefit to land."

  Hector's eyes clicked shut for a few seconds while he considered the matter. "Very well," he said, punching out a descend pattern on the control box. "You have to pledge to be as careful as you can. Don't attempt anything risky."

  "Promise," said Starbuck.

  The hoverer drifted down, landing gently on the ground.

  From off a gnarled orange branch of a high tree a dark bird went flapping up and away.

  "Ugly gent," remarked Starbuck.

  "A carrion eater."

  "Glad he's ignoring me."

  Hector remained in the pilot seat, hands folded in his lap. "I imagine ten minutes will be plenty for your initial tour of the City, sir. Therefore—"

  "Hec, I'm looking for information about Earth." Grinning, Starbuck hopped free of the landed hovercraft. "I want to locate the libraries, halls of records, official buildings and such like."

  "All today?"

  "Righto," he confirmed.

  "The task of sorting through possible mountains of data, should any such still exist in this ruined metropolis, would take even a person of superior design and structure, such as myself, endless hours. How then—"

  "Granted I'm nowhere near as slick as you," grinned the lieutenant. "Even so, I want to get me an idea of what's here. Obviously, if there is anything stored here, I'm not going to be able to sort it today. I mean, though, to get an idea of what the City does hold."

  "It holds danger, peril, hazard, precariousness, jeopardy and—"

  "What about these squatters you mentioned?" asked Starbuck, getting his stogie relit. "About how many are we likely to encounter while exploring hereabouts?"

  "Too many."

  Starbuck made a tell-me-more gesture with his left hand. "Give me some specifics."

  "Well, Queenie travels with a band of young louts," said the android. "That gang numbers around ten, I'd imagine."

  "Are they the only gang who haunt the City?"

  Giving a metallic sigh, Hector replied, "Would that they were. No, I fear there are other clusters of ne'er-do-wells who make this ruin their home. All the more reason, sir, for making our stay as brief as possible."

  "Okay, and the sooner we start, the sooner we can quit, old chum. So come on out of that crate and let's have us a look around."

  "You want me to escort you, is that it?" Hector stayed where he was.

  "Sure, you're going to escort me," said Starbuck. "You're the local boy and I'm the rube from the sticks. Now get a move on, Hec."

  Hector gave another sign. "Very well, although I believe this entire expedition is foolhardy and . . . awk!" Both plastic hands came suddenly flapping up to smack against his chest. He stiffened, made a tinny gurgling sound and then slumped back in his seat. His eyelids make a loud click as they snapped shut.

  Starbuck frowned. "What the devil happened to you?"

  "Heck, that's easy to explain," said a voice behind him.

  The long shed behind the house was thick with shadows.

  "Of course I'm coming along," Cassie was insisting.

  With the help of Vector, Michael was rolling the spare hovercraft out toward the sunlight.

  "It isn't safe," he told her.

  She patted her holstered pistol. "All the more reason why I ought to go along."

  "If I might put in a word," said Vector as the hoverer reached the outdoors. "Mr. Michael is right. The City is fraught with dangers."

  "And Starbuck is stuck there," said Cassie.

  Michael said, "Vector knows a lot more about the City than I do. From what I gather, all sorts of drifters and misfits have taken up residence there."

  "And from what I gather," the girl said, "there are also likely to be valuable records and sources of information there. A large city must've had a library and other—"

  "There is a distinct possibility," said the android, "that all that sort of material was long ago destroyed. By vandalism or by the simple ravages of time. The City, remember, was built long ago and—"

  "Yes, I'm aware of that," she said. "But I am also aware of why Starbuck went there. You simply aren't going to keep me from going to the place myself to see what's going on."

  Michael said, "You could do more good staying here."

  "To look after the children, you mean?"

  "Yes, to help Sarah," he said. "I don't like leaving her alone. Apollo seems to have wandered off, too."

  Cassie turned to the android. "You said you can track Hector. Can you also communicate with him, find out if they are in any trouble?"

  Shaking his plastic head, Vector answered, "Unfortunately I haven't gotten around to adding such sophisticated touches to that dimwit, Miss Cassie. However, I'll check again and see if I can get a fix on his position." He touched one hand to his chest and his eyes snapped shut.

  "I hope you understand," Michael said to the young woman, "that I'm not trying to boss you around, Cassie. It's just that I think—"

  "Odd, very odd," said Vector as his eyes popped open.

  "Where's Hector?" asked Cassie.

  Vector's shoulders rose and fell. "I haven't the slightest idea," he admitted. "For some reason I've lost all contact with him."

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The Moreland spread covered several cleared acres framed by thick forest. There were three low, domed buildings clustered together and then alternate fields of growing crops and grazing animals. In the half-acre nearest the ranch buildings the cornlike crop appeared to be stunted, the ears a dingy grey and swollen.

  "Lost most of that," explained the uneasy Sut as they approached the ranch, "on account of the last raid. Something they dropped out of that there Destroyer ship just plain ruined the maize and—"

  "Far enough!" warned a voice from the main house.

  All at once a jagged line was cut in the dirt between them.

  While the dust was settling, Sut said, "Like I told you, these Morelands ain't all that cordial."

  Framed in the doorway of the dome house was a large, broad-shouldered man of forty-some. His dark hair and beard were flecked with grey and he cradled a blaster rifle in his powerful arms. "Who's that outlander you got with you, Sut?" he called out.

  "Well now, Joshua, his name is Captain Apollo and he'd sort of like to—"

  "I want to talk to you." Apollo began shortening the hundred yards separating him from the watchful Joshua Moreland.

  "Could of dropped one of you back where you was," Moreland pointed out, "and the closer you come the easier she's going to be."

  Apollo continued walking toward him. "I didn't come here for a squabble, Mr. Moreland," he said evenly. "What I—"

  "You shouldn't ought to of come at all," the big man told him. "You're tied in with them gadget men up at the place yonder. Bunch of you come here yesterday, where you got no business to be."

  "I did arrive yesterday. I'm not going to argue as to whether we've a right to be on Paradeen."

  Moreland was studying him through narrowed eyes. "You don't look like you hail from Lunar Seven at all," he concluded. "And you got to wear that dingus to help you breathe our air. There's s
omething mighty different about you."

  "It's going to take quite awhile to explain just who I am and where I came from." Apollo stopped a few feet from the armed man. "Right now, I want to talk about my ships."

  "Best thing you could do, stranger," said Moreland, swinging the barrel of the blaster rifle up so it pointed at his chest, "is climb in that ship of yours and hightail it off this planet."

  Apollo laughed. "C'mon now, Moreland, you know damned well I can't do that. Because my ship, along with the others, has been sabotaged."

  "Has it now?"

  "I have a hunch you know how the damage got done," said Apollo.

  "You accusing me and my wife of breaking up them ships of yours?"

  "You were up there this morning," said Apollo.

  Gesturing with his rifle barrel, Moreland said, "So was Sut."

  Apollo nodded. "Are you saying you didn't smash the control panel and take away some of the parts?"

  "Ain't saying anything, stranger," said Moreland. "But I might just point out that I want you and them other fools to get the hell off Paradeen. Smashing your ships ain't going to help that none."

  Rubbing his hand across his chin, Apollo said, "You've got a point."

  "Why don't you tell him the truth," said the lean woman who appeared in the doorway behind Moreland.

  Without turning he said, "This ain't no concern of yours, Annie."

  "Why isn't it? If the Alliance comes back and attacks again, we may not be so lucky as we were last time," his wife said, stepping out of the shadows and looking at Apollo. "Your being here is only going to bring trouble."

  "That's not my intention," said Apollo. "We came here to get information. If our ships hadn't been sabotaged, we'd have left in a few days."

  The woman said, "Even a few days is too long. The Alliance knows what goes on here; they know everything. They must know there are strangers on Paradeen and they'll come here to take care of you. That'll mean trouble for us, too."

  "Her brother was killed on the last raid," added Moreland.

  After watching the woman's lined face for a few seconds, Apollo said, "You know who tried to wreck my ship, don't you?"

  She averted her eyes and didn't answer him.

  "Go on back inside, Annie," her husband urged.

  "If I can find out who did it and what happened to the parts that were taken," said Apollo, "I'm that much closer to repairing my ship. You can see that, can't you?"

  "Will you take all of them away with you?" asked Moreland. "That blonde girl and her kids, too?"

  "Their home is here," he said. "I can't speak for them."

  "Trouble," said his wife. "That's all it's going to mean. Trouble for all of us. As if we ain't had enough already." She began, softly, to cry.

  "Go on inside," said Moreland, his voice not quite so harsh this time.

  Without a word, his wife returned inside the house.

  "You best get out of here now," said Moreland.

  "You could help me by telling me what you—"

  "Mister, I don't know a goddamn thing," said Moreland, prodding the air between them with his rifle. "Except this. When the trouble starts you are on your own. Now get."

  Apollo took a slow breath in. He nodded once and went walking away from the ranch house.

  "This isn't the kind of guided tour I had in mind," remarked Starbuck.

  "Humdingers! I never have run into anybody quite like you," said the red-haired girl who was herding him along a damp, chill underground tunnel far beneath the City.

  "There isn't anybody like me in the whole damn universe," he assured her as he stepped around a greenish puddle of muck. "I wonder, Queenie, if you could raise the barrel of that quaint blaster of yours a shade higher. I'm fearful you'll wear a hole in my kidneys."

  "How in the heck'd you know my name?"

  "Hector, my faithful android companion, told me," replied the lieutenant. "That was shortly before you fried his inner workings. How'd you do that anyway?"

  "Shucks, he's not wrecked none," said Queenie, prodding him higher up on his back with her gun. "I merely temporarily turned him off."

  "How?"

  "Humdingers! I don't exactly know," she answered impatiently. "It's just a knack I have. By concentrating on little tricks like that I can make machines and such quit working."

  "You must have some kind of psionic power." He glanced back over his shoulder at the slim redhead. "With a gift like that you could do great things."

  "Heck, I'm content where I am," she answered. "What's your name anyway?"

  "Starbuck."

  "I thought so."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Ever since yesterday a couple or so names been running around up in my head," explained Queenie. "Starbuck, Apollo . . . Michael. I had this burning hunch new people was roaming around in the vicinity. So I went scooting out of the City to take a gander. I spotted you this morning. Would you say you was the cutest of the bunch?"

  "By a long way, sure," he said. "Where are you taking me?"

  "You're my prisoner," she said. "See, we don't like strangers nosing around our city."

  "How many of you are there?"

  "Quite a few," she said evasively. "More than plenty to lick you and all your buddies."

  Starbuck stopped and turned to face the girl. "How old are you?"

  There were only a few globes of light along the long shadowy tunnel. They'd halted in a spot where there was little illumination and the girl's face was lost in darkness.

  "I don't know exactly," she answered. "Not important anyway."

  "Seventeen or eighteen, I'd guess."

  "I've been here ten years and I had to of been more than eight when I got here."

  "Got here from where?"

  "Someplace else," she said. "Why the heck are you asking me all this stuff for?"

  "For one thing, Queenie, I'm interested in you," he said. "For another, I'm hoping you can help me."

  She laughed in the darkness, her small even teeth flashing suddenly. "I'm not about to help you out, Starbuck. Even though you are sort of cute and interesting," she told him. "Interesting, that is, compared to the usual line of fellows I run into."

  "You've lived in this enormous ruin for a decade, okay. You must know where everything is, right?"

  "Well, sure I do. Humdingers! I'd be pretty stupid if I didn't," she said. "And I probably wouldn't of survived if I didn't know my way around darn good."

  "Right, exactly," he said. "So you're the perfect one to help me find what I'm looking for—the sources of information in this burg. First I want a library, the biggest one you've got. Then—"

  "Doesn't matter what you want, Starbuck," she explained. "You don't have any say."

  "Aw, you're not going to remain loyal to some kid gang, Queenie," he said. He gestured with his cigar at the low, slimy roof of the tunnel. "Paradeen is but one planet in a universe full of planets. There are worlds and worlds out there in space. Full of wonders."

  "We got wonders enough right here." She poked him in the ribs with her gun. "Get moving again, please."

  "You help me and I'll see to it that—"

  "Is this guy giving you trouble, Queenie?"

  "No, Scrapper."

  A large young man had stepped out of the shadows up ahead. Most of him was flesh and blood, but his right arm was made of dented metal. "Taking you a hell of a long time to get him to the den," he said in his low raspy voice.

  "That's entirely my fault," said Starbuck. "I insisted in being shown all the high spots along the way. This is a very fascinating sewer and naturally—"

  "Just shut up," said Scrapper.

  Starbuck looked him up and down. "You know, chum, it's just possible that you and I aren't going to get along."

  Scrapper said, "That don't make any difference, buddy. You won't be around long enough for it to matter."

  "Oh," said Starbuck.

  They were gathered around the hovercraft when Apollo came hurrying back toward the
house. "Something wrong?" he asked.

  "Looks like." Cassie came over to him. "Starbuck and Hector apparently took off to explore a city that—"

  "There's a city around here someplace?"

  "So I'm told," she replied. "When Starbuck heard about it, he persuaded Hector to take him there in the other hoverer."

  "And something went wrong?"

  "We think so. There's been no word."

  "Is he likely to get in trouble there?"

  "There are several gangs of lowlifes who inhabit the City," Vector informed him. "Hector should've known better than to—"

  "Damn, this planet turns out to be less uninhabited all the time," said Apollo, slapping at his thigh with his palm. "Okay, we better get over and take a look at this city."

  "The reconnoitering has to be carefully done," cautioned the android. "I don't know the fate of Lieutenant Starbuck, but I can tell you that Hector has ceased to function."

  Apollo moved nearer the hovercraft. "Let's go," he said to Michael.

  Michael asked him, "Where have you been? You looked angry before we even told you about Starbuck."

  "Yeah, I've been chatting with some of your neighbors," Apollo said.

  "Neighbors?" Cassie was puzzled. "You mean there are—"

  "Oh, there are quite a few of 'em," answered Apollo. "Most of 'em not too friendly."

  Michael frowned. "Maybe the best thing would be to just stay clear of them."

  "I was after a little information," said Apollo. "Mostly I wanted to find out who smashed the controls of our ships."

  Cassie made a gasping sound. "Apollo, you can't be serious?"

  "Wish I wasn't, Cassie," he said, shaking his head. "As of now, there's no way of getting off Paradeen."

  "You could use our ship," suggested Michael. "To get you back to your battlestar and then you could send it back some—"

  "These vandals of ours were very thorough," Apollo told them. "They wrecked your ship, too."

  "Can it be repaired?"

  "In time and with luck maybe," said Apollo. "We might be able to patch up all three craft. The thing is, somebody also made off with some of the parts. That's going to make things even rougher."