Buck Rogers 1 - Buck Rogers in the 25th Century (8 page)

“Yeah,” Buck grated. “You’re absolutely right. It’s none of my goddamned business how you blow up your world. My generation didn’t understand what the hell we were doing either, and it looks like we knocked it all apart shortly after I crawled into my jammies, so I guess there’s a kind of rough justice there after all. Well, thanks for everything, Colonel. Go back to bed and sweet dreams to you.”

He turned and began to stride away, across the floor of the vast, echoing hangar.

“Just a minute, Rogers! Where do you think you’re going?” Wilma Deering was all the military commander now.

Buck stopped and turned back toward her for a moment. “I’m going outside the city, thanks.”

Wilma started to run after him. “You can’t do that,” she cried in horror. “It’s—you’ll die out there, Buck!”

“I’ve got to find out what happened to my people,” he said.

“That’s forbidden!”

“You’re joking! This is a free country, Colonel. Or at least it used to be.”

“Captain Rogers, you are in a technical state of military custody. Regardless of what we think of each other, you’re officially my prisoner and I’m officially your guard. I cannot let you escape.”

“You can’t stop me.”

She put her hand on the holster attached to her military officer’s tunic. “I can, Buck. Don’t make me.

Buck walked away from her, advancing steadily toward the exit from the hangar. It was a calculated risk, he knew. In his life he had faced down many deadly foes, from enemy pilots in combat fights, to cold-blooded murderers to raging berserkers. He knew that the first few seconds were the most critical.

He knew that Colonel Wilma Deering, despite her military position, was a warm, feeling human being. Even as he had accused her entire world—and by implication Wilma herself—of being an army of emotionless, conditioned zombies, her own reactions had shown the anger and distress that he had provoked. He knew that she would balk at the prospect of shooting him now.

There was no question of her courage. She could face up to an opponent in fair battle and give as good as she got—could kill without hesitation in a kill-or-be-killed confrontation. If she had been incapable of that, she would never have reached the position of command she now occupied. She would have transferred to a softer branch of service long ago, or paid for her bravado with her life.

But would she shoot a man in the back?

An unarmed man?

Buck knew that
Colonel
Deering’s sense of duty required her to undog her holster, open its flap, lift her sidearm from it, aim at him and fire if he refused to stop. But he knew that
Wilma
Deering’s sense of humanity and fair play would do battle with her sense of duty. And if the two countering impulses held her paralyzed for a few seconds more he would be out of her sight, into the dark shadows that ringed the edges of the cavernous hangar. In another ten seconds or so, he calculated, he would be into the shadows, invisible to even Wilma Deering’s sharp eyes—and safe.

He counted down—ten . . . a couple of paces . . . nine . . . a couple more . . . eight . . . and he heard a slight sound behind him . . . seven . . . he fought down an impulse to look over his shoulder, an impulse that would reestablish eye-contact between himself and Wilma, an impulse that might be fatal . . . six . . . five . . . he thought he heard a soft sob from behind him, and felt himself tremble as he continued to walk purposefully ahead . . . four . . . he was past the halfway mark in his march from peril to safety . . . three . . . he could all but
feel
the shadows deepening around him . . . two—

—and the world ended!

Buck never knew what hit him. There was no sound of an explosion of propellent fuel or discharge of electrical potential; there was no sense of impact, no flash, no odor of burned cordite or sour, ionized ozone.

There was just—nothing.

Wilma Deering stood dumbly where she had stood to fire her sidearm at the escaping prisoner. She had seen the flash of her hand-laser, felt the surge of electricity as it went screaming through every atom in Buck Rogers’ body. For the seconds that she hesitated she had been two women.

Colonel Deering of the Intercept Squadron coldly and deliberately performing her duty to the service and her planet. And she had been Wilma Deering, woman of flesh and blood and emotions, struggling to keep her other self from firing at the man for whom she had come to feel as she had never before felt for any other person.

And now, the dutiful military officer having triumphed for just the length of time it took to raise and fire her weapon, the warm, feeling woman stood shattered by her own cold-blooded act.

She lowered the laser, dumbly returned it to its holster and stood watching the scene before her. She saw guards rushing from the remote entrances of the hangar toward the motionless form of the man she had shot.

A day later Dr. Huer looked up from his desk at the sound of the door to his office opening. A box stood on his desk, its surfaces gleaming translucent plexiglass through which multi-colored lights flashed and glowed in an ever-changing, yet oddly facelike pattern. Between the aged scientist and the computer-brain lay a typewritten document both had been studying.

Colonel Wilma Deering entered the office and stood for a moment contemplating the scientist and the computer-brain. Her glance finally took in the document and she asked them what it might be.

Huer cleared his throat as if to win a delay of even half a second in answering the young woman. Then he said, “It’s something to make you feel a little better about what you had to do last night.” He lifted the paper from the desktop and handed it to Colonel Deering.

She stood silently while she scanned its contents, then read it a second time, more carefully. At last she raised her eyes from the flimsy sheet to the face of the old scientist. “Then it’s true,” she said despairingly, “he was working for the pirates.”

Before Dr. Huer could answer her words the computer-brain on his desk flashed its lights into a brighter pattern than ever. “I don’t agree with you,” the computer grated, “I simply am not convinced of Rogers’ guilt.”

Dr. Huer raised his hands in resignation. “You’re entitled to your opinion, of course, just like anyone else, Theo. But you see, you’ll find yourself standing alone, if you’ll pardon my use of the expression. The evidence is conclusive, isn’t it?

“Rogers’ ship had a microtransmitter attached to its navigational computer. Whoever had a receiver tuned to the transmitter’s frequency now has a nice clear map revealing all of earth’s secret access corridors through space . . .”

“Still . . .” The computer-brain was hesitant to accept Huer’s conclusions.

“Still indeed,” the old man said. “Our planet is in the soup now. Who do you think was on the other end of the circuit, Theo? I think it was the pirates, and now we’re more dependent upon the protection of the Draconian Empire than ever. And as for Captain Rogers, I think he stands convicted by his own actions. Coming in here with that mapping transmitter in his ship, then trying to escape from the custody of Colonel Deering . . .”

He shifted his glance from the computer to the colonel as he mentioned her name. He saw her turn away, unbelieving, stunned by the new, damning evidence against the man she was still hoping to see vindicated. “At first I thought he was guilty,” Wilma sobbed. “But then—” She was unable to continue.

“Personal contact is always a mistake, my dear.” That came in the computer voice of Dr. Theopolis.

Wilma wheeled furiously upon the box of lights. “Don’t lecture me on human behavior, Doctor. I may not be the world’s greatest expert on the subject, but I believe I have an edge on you!”

“I meant nothing personal,” the computer said. “But you are obviously being subjective in the way your evaluation is made. I, on the other hand, also support Buck Rogers. But for very practical and impersonal reasons.”

“What are they?” Dr. Huer asked.

“Well,” Theopolis replied, “I am convinced of one thing. Our friend Captain Rogers has indeed met Princess Ardala and been aboard the Draconian flagship. His descriptions are too precise to be the guesswork of a pirate.”

Gaining hope, Wilma said, “Maybe the pirates have been aboard Princess Ardala’s ship. They could have coached Buck . . .”

“My dear,” Theopolis said, “they are the deadliest of enemies. It is unlikely that any pirate could survive such a visit at all.”

“Then you think the Council will share your faith in Captain Rogers? Even in the face of this damning evidence?”

“Of course they will. I am a member of the Council, revered and respected by all.”

Theopolis’ lights flashed smugly.

In deep space, far above the entry corridors to earth, the Princess Ardala’s Draconian flagship still drove contemptuously through the blackness. Its every line, every jet-thruster, every jutting laser-weapon spoke of its arrogance and strength.

In the private quarters of the Princess Ardala, the mutant Tigerman who stood constantly on guard moved aside grudgingly and permitted the Princess’ caller to enter.

The visitor was Kane.

“Word from earth,” Kane announced.

The Princess Ardala was in her luxurious bath, surrounded by a group of ladies in waiting. They themselves were only half-clad, as they performed their duties of attending to every luxurious whim of their mistress, anointing her smooth skin and gleaming sensuous tresses with exotic oils and fabulous perfumes.

Kane pointedly ignored the display of feminine allure that paraded before his hungry eyes. “Word of Captain Rogers’ fate,” he elaborated.

Now the Princess Ardala looked up, deeply interested. “He’s alive,” she told Kane.

“How did you know that?” he demanded, his eyes narrowing coldly.

“I knew,” Ardala replied mysteriously.

“Well, you’re right! His ship was intercepted and led down to planetfall, as I expected.”

“And did the transmitter we secreted aboard the ship, provide the information we need? Can we lead father’s forces through Earth’s defense shield now?”

Kane looked uncomfortable. “Well, yes, I suppose so.”

“You suppose so?” the princess snapped furiously. “What do you mean, you suppose so? I want a straight answer to my questions, Kane, not an evasion.”

“The transmitter has been discovered, my princess. So—we know the present pathway through their shielding, but they know that their shield has been compromised. By the time we could get the Imperial fleet to Earth, they’ll surely have changed the coding and we’ll be back in a standoff again.”

“Then we cannot win,” Ardala gritted furiously.

“Oh, no,” Kane shook his head. “Not so, my Princess, not so at all! We cannot lose! We will enter their shield in the guise of a peaceful diplomatic trade mission, and once they have welcomed us inside, we will destroy the entire shield from within and extend a welcome to the Imperial fleet!”

The princess smiled grimly. “So. You would destroy their defenses from within. Just as you destroyed Buck Rogers. Kane, I thought you were going to plant a bomb on Rogers’ ship.”

“I did, my Princess. But Rogers eluded it.”

Ardala smiled enigmatically. “Poor Kane. Outwitted . . . by a five-hundred-year-old man.”

Kane’s face assumed a petulant, bitter expression. “Don’t you worry,” he asserted, “Captain Rogers is as good as dead. He will not be able to explain the presence of the microtransmitter in his ship’s computer circuitry. They’ll know who betrayed their defenses. In fact, they know it already.” Kane grinned wolfishly. “At this very moment, Buck Rogers is on trial for his life!”

In a comfortable but spartanly furnished waiting room in the heart of the Inner City on Earth, Buck Rogers sat on a sofa, his head held despairingly in his hands. Beside him the quad Twiki stood patiently, the computer-brain Dr. Theopolis draped again around his metal neck.

Theopolis’ voice was at its richest and most sympathetic as the computer-sage asked Buck how he felt. The very lights of Dr. Theopolis seemed to blink in kindly concern.

“I feel terrible,” Buck moaned. “What did she use on me?”

“A laser charge set to stun,” Theopolis replied. “No question about it, Buck, women just don’t seem to take to you.”

“Women?” Buck raised his face from his hands and stared at the light-face curiously. “What do you mean by that?”

“Let’s face it,” Theo answered. “Princess Ardala tried to plant a bomb under you, Wilma Deering shot you with her laser . . .”

“I guess I’m just out of step with the times.”

“Well, I’m going to get you back in, Captain. Now stop worrying about this little trial. I’m a member of the Council and I am going to defend you personally.”

“It’s nice to have at least one friend,” Buck muttered.

Suddenly the robot drone Twiki cocked his head at an odd angle and gave off a shrill, hurt squeal.

“Sorry, Twiki,” Buck laughed. “Two friends.”

That was the last laugh that Buck had before he was led into the darkened Council Chamber for his trial. It was a good thing that he had it, for the trial itself was as grim and deadly an ordeal as ever accused man had had to endure.

The Chamber was as dark as the darkest chamber of the now almost legendary Inquisition of medieval times, with only a single oval window positioned as if to torment the victim with a final glance of the world of light and life and color that he had forever forfeited by whatever crime brought him before the Council.

A dark, semicircular table filled most of the room, and placed at equidistant positions around its perimeter stood eleven boxes, each containing circuits and indicator lights that bore an uncanny resemblance to eleven grave counsellors gathered in mortal debate. Behind each of the eleven, stood a motionless, gleaming, three-foot-tall robot-drone, ready to take decisive action as soon as the Council so directed.

A cold, mechanical, computer-created voice rang throughout the silent Council Chamber. “The Computer Council is ready now to hear final arguments in the case of the Directorate versus Captain Buck Rogers . . . on charges of espionage, and of treason.” There was a moment of silence, then the voice spoke once more. “We will hear now from Counsellor Apol.”