Battlestar Galactica 10 - The Long Patrol Page 2

  "That's within a hectare of our course," said the commander.

  "It is, and there's no way of knowing just what kind of life is waiting there."

  "We'll find out." Breaking the connection, Commander Adama glanced toward his window. "I hope the lieutenant's finished his dinner."

  After glancing around the pale green private dining room, Athena turned her attention to Starbuck. "How's this one suit you?"

  "Eh?"

  "Posher, less drafty?"

  "Oh, sure, yes. Much better. Cosier, too." He grinned. "Of course, when I'm with you I lose all touch with my surroundings anyway."

  "So I notice."

  "This certainly has turned into an interesting . . . by gosh!" He'd straightened up in his padded chair and snapped his fingers. "I left the Ambrosa and my cigar in that other room." He shot up. "I'll go fetch—"

  "You can ask the waiter to—"

  "Nope, he strikes me as the sort of fellow who'd take a nip." Starbuck headed for the door. "Or a puff."

  "Nobody in his right mind would try to smoke one of those foul cigars of yours."

  "Even so." Letting himself out, he went loping back to the other private dining room.

  Cassiopeia was once again seated at the table, somewhat perplexed. "Where've you been? I was worried for a moment that you'd been alerted to—"

  "It was too warm in here," he explained, dropping into the chair across the table from her. "I went to tell our waiter that—"

  "If anything, it seems a bit chilly."

  "Listen, love, let's not quibble at a time like this." Smiling, he picked up the Ambrosa and poured some into the two glasses. "Let's drink a toast to our relationship."

  Their glasses clinked.

  After sipping, Cassiopeia said, "Very nice."

  Starbuck was scowling. "No, nope. This stuff tastes less than a year old. Has a flavor like the fluid they clean spaceboots with."

  "Tastes perfectly—"

  "I'll go find the waiter and complain." Starbuck was on his feet again, Ambrosa bottle in hand.

  "You can simply buzz the man."

  "Be more efficient if I track him down, then go to their alleged wine cellar with him."

  Starbuck was halfway to the door when a voxbox in the ceiling mentioned his name.

  "Lieutenant Starbuck. Attention, Lieutenant Starbuck. Return to Battlestar Galactica at once. Lieutenant Starbuck, report to flight deck blue. Priority red!"

  "Oh, Starbuck," said Cassiopeia sadly. "That really glitches up our evening."

  "Duty calls, love." Returning to the table, he bent and kissed her. "Stay right here for a moment, Cass. I want to carry that image away with me."

  "But I—"

  "Don't move. Farewell."

  Outside he trotted back to the other dining room.

  "Starbuck," said Athena as he came bounding in. "Did you hear the—"

  "Yes, my love," he replied. "I'm afraid duty calls." Hurrying over to her, he kissed her.

  "I'm going to miss you," she said.

  "Same here. These moments with you have been the high point of the evening," he assured Athena. "Well, I can't linger."

  She started to rise. "I'll see you to—"

  "No, don't move a muscle. I want to remember you just as you are. Framed here in our little bower, a myriad of new stars behind you."

  He spun on his heel and dashed out of the room.

  Starbuck nearly collided with the waiter. "Oops, excuse it."

  "Quite all right, sir. And might one add that one admires the lieutenant's daring?"

  "Actually, this sort of mission isn't all that—"

  "Not the mission, sir. The deft and audacious way you juggled the two young ladies. Ah, it took me back to the halcyon days when this liner plied the . . . alas!"

  "What?"

  "Both ladies are exiting from their respective cubicles. Might one suggest a hasty retreat?"

  "One might indeed." Looking only at the nearest exit, Starbuck took his leave.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The new Recon Viper sat on a launching deck, being readied for takeoff by a hangar crew. Watching were Apollo and Lieutenant Boomer.

  "I understand," said the black lieutenant, "that our boy Starbuck had himself quite a farewell dinner over on the Rising Star."

  "He knows how to go in style."

  An elevator door wooshed open and Starbuck, clad in moderately flamboyant civilian garb, emerged. "Greetings, gents," he said as he came trotting over to them, cigar between his teeth.

  "Wow, you sure do look fetching," observed Boomer.

  Starbuck held out his arms at his sides and executed a slow turn. "What the well-dressed civilian will wear," he said. "Commander's idea. In case I have to land, we don't want anyone to know who I am."

  "I could spot you as Starbuck," said Boomer, "once I got a whiff of that weed you're puffing."

  "Despite my fame in the fleet, folks in this galaxy don't know my trademark." He puffed on the stogie, exhaled smoke. "The important thing is that nobody tumbles that I'm a warrior."

  Captain Apollo said, "You dined with Athena, huh? Among others."

  Shaking his head, the lieutenant replied, "You lads don't have this problem, but there are those of us who are just too charming. We attract women the way a magnet attracts iron." He shrugged. "I'm looking forward to a few centons in space. Alone. Just me, a fast ship and a fair galaxy."

  Nodding at Recon Viper One, Apollo said, "Well, you've got the fast ship, old buddy. Our engineers have doubled her range and speed."

  Starbuck gave the new ship an admiring look as Apollo continued. "You've also got a voice-activated computer that can outfly anything the Cylons can throw at you."

  After puffing on his cigar, the lieutenant said, "Do I look like I need electronic help to outfly those lunkheads?"

  "You look," said Boomer, "like you need all the help you can get."

  The crew had moved away from the reconnaissance ship. The crew chief nodded once, briskly, to Apollo.

  "Ready to go," Apollo told Starbuck.

  "You sure? I mean, doesn't anybody have one more nasty dig to make about my social life or my flying prowess?"

  "Aw, don't be glum." Boomer patted him on the back. "You ought to know our kidding masks a deep respect for you."

  "Hooey." Starbuck strode over to the waiting ship and climbed into the cockpit.

  Apollo went over and watched him strapping in. "Switch on your short-range marker beacon after launch so we can track you," he said. "Other than that you shouldn't make any transmissions unless absolutely necessary, and then only in short pulse, scrambled code. We don't want the Cylons to—"

  "Gee, Uncle Apollo, thanks for telling me all this," cut in Starbuck. "Me, a green kid who's never been up in a—"

  "Sorry. I know you know how to handle yourself, old buddy," said the captain. "I'm concerned about you."

  "Cut it out or you'll bring tears to my eyes."

  "You'll love the ship," said Apollo. "They put a second pulse generator on all the engines."

  "She doesn't look any bigger."

  "She isn't."

  Starbuck glanced around. "Yeah, but you can't add that much weight without getting rid of something."

  "They removed the laser generators." Apollo helped shut him inside the cabin and then stepped away. "Ready to launch."

  Starbuck automatically ran through the launching procedures. "Sure, that makes sense," he said to himself. "You remove the laser generators and you cut down on the weight."

  As the Viper went roaring through the launch tube and into space Starbuck realized what that meant.

  "Hey, this jalopy is unarmed!"

  Lieutenant Boomer turned away from the viewport in the launch area. "Sort of wish we were tagging along with him."

  "Yep, so do I," said Apollo. "This could be a risky trip for Starbuck."

  "Hope he doesn't run into any big trouble."

  "Well, even though the new Viper is unarmed, it has other advantag
es," the captain assured him. "It's faster than anything he's likely to encounter."

  "Trouble is, we can't be sure just exactly what Starbuck is going to run into," reminded Boomer. "This galaxy's new to us."

  "Well, Starbuck can handle just about any situation."

  Boomer grinned. "One thing I'll bet on," he said. "If there're any women out there, Starbuck'll find em.

  "Matter of fact," said Apollo, "he's sort of got a woman along with him."

  Boomer frowned. "How's that again?"

  "Didn't I tell you about Cora?" asked Apollo.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Starbuck was impressed.

  He'd been taking the new Viper through a series of rolls, loops and banks. The trim little ship was performing better than any craft he'd ever handled.

  Settling back, the lieutenant lit a fresh cigar.

  "Ahem."

  He sat up. "Who the heck is that?"

  "If you're finished with your stunting, dear heart, how about we get cracking on our mission?" A throaty feminine voice issued from a voxgrid on the control dash.

  Starbuck removed his cigar from between his teeth. "Do I know you?"

  "I'm your computer, hon."

  "Hey, I didn't turn you on. A computer isn't supposed to just come popping on when—"

  "Oh, don't be a fuddy duddy."

  "A what?"

  "You wouldn't think much of a computer who doesn't speak up when she wants to, would you? Heck, no. After all, sweets, the whole notion of my being just a sort of servant is really—"

  "Whoa now," he cut in. "Suppose you try addressing me as Lieutenant Starbuck? Or sir. There's a certain protocol to this sort of—"

  "Nertz," replied the computer. "Who are you trying to impress, Starbuck? I've read through your record and, seems to me, protocol and dignity are things that you steer clear of. There was that time, for instance, when they found you in the Nurses' Dorm with—"

  "You have access to my personnel records? Is that standard operating—"

  "Who said anything about my being standard equipment? Honestly. Now, let me introduce myself. You can call me Cora."

  "Cora?"

  "CORA. It stands for Computer/Oral Response Activated," explained Cora. "Now that the ice's been broken, shall we concentrate on our mission?"

  "I got a couple of oral responses I'd like to try on you, sister."

  "Beg pardon?"

  Starbuck stuck his cigar back in his mouth. "I've been trying to concentrate on the mission," he informed the computer. "But you, you keep babbling like a teenager at a pajama party or—"

  "I like the way your voice sounds when you get angry."

  "I'm not angry! I never get angry! I am known far and wide for the exceptional calm I exhibit even under the most trying circumstances!"

  After a snickering laugh, the computer fell silent for a moment. Then Cora said, "We are on a Delta vector for Quadrant Alpha Six. I've activated my sensors and I'm probing the asteroid area where life forms were reported by the Galactica's rather limited scanners."

  "Vanity, vanity."

  "Seems silly to be falsely modest about your gifts," said the computer. "I'm picking up two unidentified sublight vehicles. Bearing is Omega One, Alpha Six. Shall we poke our nose into it farther, Starbuck?"

  "Well, that's what we're here for, Cora," he said, exhaling smoke. "But if these unidentified objects turn out to be Cylons, I'm going to feel downright silly about not having any weapons."

  "Oh, we have enough speed to outrun anything in the universe."

  "So you say."

  Cora snorted. "Nothing to worry about, love. Just hang on and I'll take us over for a looksee."

  "Well, hon?" asked Cora.

  They had slowed to sublight speed.

  Starbuck was watching a viscreen on the dash panel. Absently he flicked ashes from his cigar. "Both of them are ancient, real antiques."

  "You really, if you don't mind my saying so, ought to try to maintain a neater cockpit. This is a brand new ship and already you've scattered—"

  "Hush," he advised. "Let's concentrate on the matter at hand."

  On the screen he saw a venerable, battered shuttlecraft. Its markings were faded and it was executing some shaky evasive actions to keep clear of the equally ancient starfighter that was trailing it and firing intermittent bursts. Neither ship was as yet aware that the Recon Viper was approaching.

  "I'd estimate," said the computer, "that both the shuttle and the pursuit ship date back to the sixth millenium at least. I couldn't begin to guess the origins of either."

  "It isn't likely, though, that they're Cylons."

  "Unless the Cylons have had some budget cuts we don't know about, no."

  "That shuttle's unarmed, and I don't much like the idea of an unarmed craft being chased by a fighter." Starbuck took a quick puff of his stogie. "And it's going to futz up my report on the life forms hereabouts if somebody kills some of 'em."

  "I have a plan, Bucky. Suppose we—"

  "Don't," Starbuck warned, "ever call me Bucky."

  "What then? Starsy?"

  "Lieutenant Starbuck, sir. Try that."

  "Two people traveling in a small intimate vehicle shouldn't be so darn formal."

  "Quit gabbing and get to the point, Cora."

  "I was about to suggest a high speed flyby, Lieutenant Starbuck, sir," said the computer. "We'll kick in our second booster within fifty metrons and force the fighter off course. Should also scare the bejabbers out of him. Shall I execute?"

  "Tell you what," said Starbuck, gripping the controls. "I'll fly this crate from now on. Release controls."

  "But it's considerably more efficient if I—"

  "Release 'em, kiddo."

  Cora sighed. "Released."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The pilot of the rattletrap fighter sat hunched in his seat. He was a dark, lanky man of thirty, dressed in trousers and a tunic, both of a rusty brown color. His long black hair was tied back with a twist of a crimson cord. On one breast of his tunic was a star emblem.

  There was an oily, smoky smell in the battered cockpit. The image of the pursued shuttle showed fuzzy on the dirt-smeared screen of the dash scanner.

  "You're not going to get away this time, Robber," the fighter pilot promised the blurred image of his prey.

  He reached again toward the triggering mechanism of his guns.

  "This'll fix . . . what the hell?"

  Something, a fighter ship maybe, had come whizzing across his stern. The ship, like nothing he'd ever seen, had sent a dazzling blast of white sizzling from its engines.

  Dazzled, confused, the pilot tried a wobbling maneuver that was intended to get him away from there.

  By the time he got his fighter under control there was no sign of the shuttle he'd been chasing. And no trace of the new craft that had come flashing out of nowhere at him.

  With a hand that was shaking slightly he activated his talkmike. "This is Croad," he said, anger and perplexity mixing in his voice. "Lost contact and returning to Proteus." After a moment he added, "It could just be we got us some trouble."

  Starbuck grinned and relit his cigar.

  The computer made a disapproving, throat-clearing sound. "Were you aware, dear heart, that you were fifty-two metrons away when you kicked in the booster?"

  "So? It worked admirably, did it not, Cora my love?"

  "But it was sloppy. If you'd allowed me to take care of it, which, after all, is my—"

  "Let's establish once and for all who's the boss of this contraption, sis, so we—"

  "Shall we get back to business? Ahem. The fighter has disengaged and is turning toward an asteroid point-seven-one mectares distant," said Cora in an efficient, schoolmarm tone.

  "What about the shuttle?"

  "Shuttlecraft has been damaged," replied the computer, "and has landed on an asteroid directly ahead."

  Starbuck blew a thoughtful plume of smoke ceilingward. "Let us follow the shuttle," he said. "I'm curious a
s to why that fighter was so darn anxious to destroy it."

  "May I land us?" inquired Cora. "Or do we have to have a landing rife with rattles, bounces, jiggles and—"

  "Do you know what feathers are?"

  "Certainly, hon. I know just about everything there is to know, since I—"

  "When I set this crate down on yonder asteroid, you'll think we're settling into a bed of soft, downy feathers."

  "That I'll believe when—"

  "Just give me the damn vectors for a landing."

  "Vectors displayed."

  Teeth chomping on his cigar, Starbuck concentrated on setting the Viper down.

  Starbuck unhooked his safety gear and looked out through the cockpit window. "How'd you like the landing, Cora?"

  "Passable," answered the computer.

  The asteroid was bleak, a blend of dark, pocked rock and grey scruffy brush. There was a gaping cave-mouth nearby and a few indications that, years ago, this asteroid had been mined. The downed shuttle was just beyond the next rise.

  "Atmosphere outside acceptable," said Cora. "You won't need any special gear."

  He nodded. "How many folks aboard the shuttle?"

  "One. Humanoid life form. No laser weapons."

  Patting his holster, the lieutenant said, "Guess I'll mosey over and introduce myself. Seems the neighborly thing to do."

  "Be careful."

  "Your concern is touching."

  "I don't need you to fly off this hunk of rock, hon," said the computer. "But if I show up back at the Galactica with your lifeless carcass, it'll be a black mark on—"

  "Fear not, Cora. I fully intend to return in the same pristine condition I am now." He opened the hatch.

  "Switching all systems, except marker beacon, to standby mode." Starbuck stepped free of the Viper. As his booted feet touched the rocky ground, the door whispered shut behind him.

  He hunched his shoulders once. It was chilly. The sky was a star-filled black. The abandoned drillbot by the cave opening lay on its side, brush tangled around its battered exterior.

  Starbuck was still several yards from the downed shuttle, lasergun in hand, when he heard a metallic bonging. He approached cautiously.