ISLANDS IN THE SKY
A Battlestar Galactica/Lost in Space/Salem's Lot Crossover fanfic by Paul
Robison
Battlestar Galactica is the property of Universal Studios & Glen A.
Larson Productions, (c) 1979.
Lost in Space is the property of Irwin Allen, Space Productions and 20th
Century Fox Studios (c) 1965. Salem's Lot is the property of Stephen
King, (c) 1975.
All are used without permission but with no intent or anticipation of
monetary gain. This is solely for my amusement as well as the amusement
of whoever else may read it.
SPOILER:
"Saga of a Star World" (Battlestar Galactica) (c) 1978 MCA Publishing,
L.A. Cal.
SPECIAL GUEST STARS:
Susan Norton (Queen Nor)- 'Salem's Lot
Kurt Barlow (Bar-Lo)-'Salem's Lot
Zalto (Lost in Space, Season Two, "Rocket to Earth)
Mr. Straker-Salem's Lot
From the Adama Journals:
More than a thousand yahrens ago, the war with the Cylons began
suddenly---wihtout warning, without even a formal declaration that war
was to be. Like pirates, shwooing no threats and cowering beneath false
colors, the Cylons opened fire on our merchant ships without even an
invocation to heave to, or a cautionary blast from a mega-pulsar cannon.
They came to destroy, and they destroyed our ships by the thousands. A
fleet of their warships, basestars as they are sometimes call, headed for
the Twelve Colonies. Supercilious beings that they were, the Cylons did
not anticipate that we would be ready for them. We were ready for them
and for the next thousand yahrens we continued in battle readiness.
But a thousand yahrens is a long time, even when the duration of
some yahrens is compressed by the time twisting of space travel. We
forgot the extent of Cylon treachery. Instead, we became slaves to our
own myths. We could not be subjugated, we were resourceful people who
loved freedom, we welcomed adventure. When the Cylons offered peace just
as abruptly as they had initiated hostilities, we had forgotten that they
wre not worth trusting. We embarked on the peace mission with hope, with
the expectation that ten centuries of unceasing warfare would finally be
ended. Peaceably we had explored myriad diverse worlds of the universe,
peaceably we had established the republic of twelve planets that became
our Colonies, peaceably we would live again. Joy grew in our hearts.
Those of us whose lives had been totally committed to the war should have
known better, should have perceived that the joy in our hearts had a
strategic significance. The more we moved away from the facts that
formed the structure of our design, the more we became like the
buriticians who governed us, men and women who had so clouded their minds
with the words of power that they misunderstood the words of the powerful
when they smilingly offered peace.
I keep saying that we should have known better. That is the fallacy
of the democratic instinct. I should have known better. Coping with an
alien mind that was not understandable had always been my special
ability. For once it failed me. Afterwards, I vowed it should never
fail me again.
*****
CHAPTER ONE: PATROL
The contact sensor implanted in Zac's jumpsuit at mid-back sent
waves of tingling impulses up and down his spine. The sensor system
detected an anomaly in this sector of space; its mild, pulsing stings
notified Zac to investigate it. Excited anticipation joined the induced
impulses as he keyed in the automatic search and watched data, both in
numbered and diagram form, accumulate on his scanner screen. When he had
first returned to the battlestar Galactica as a green ensign grown
overconfident with the informational input of Academy training, Zac had
been counseled by his father, Commander Adama, not to become too excited
about the war or anything connected with it. The war had been going on
for a thousand yahrens, Adama had said, no need to welcome it as if it
were your best friend. However, Zac had never been able to lose the
thrill of zooming through spac ein his very own sleek-lined Viper and
blasting Cylon Raiders into pieces of space dust. Now that he was a
lieutenant, at 23 yahrens old way past his majority, he still felt the
same eagerness for battle he had known on his first launch from the
Galactica's launch bay.
His scanner now displayed the flaw that the warning system had
located. Two unidentified aerial devices hanging near an old moon,
called Cimtar on the star map, that orbited around the decaying orbit of
the single planet of this out-of-the-way, never inhabited solar system.
A perfect spot from which to ambush the Colonial Fleet. As part of a
vanguard patrol for the Fleet, it was Zac's duty to investigate this
bizarre, lurking threat.
"Somehting..."said the voice of Apollo. Apollo's whisper was so
sibilant, his words were so precisely enunciated, that Zac could have
sworn his brother was right there in the cockpit with him instead of
scouting in another fighter some distance away.
"Yeah," Zac said, "I see them. What do you think?"
"We'll think about it after checking it out. It might be a Cylon
patrol."
"Maybe. It's an awful long way from home, though. Where's their
base ship?"
"Probably no base ship. Long-range reconnaissance craft, refueling
vessels carrying extra Tylium. Strange..."
"What, Apollo?"
One thing Zac had learned as a warrior was to listen to any of his
brother's suspicions.
"I'm not picking up anything but static on the far side of these
guys, Zac."
Apollo was right. Zac glanced at his scanner, saw only the two
mysterious blips and an odd, steady field of static interference beyond
them. The static appeared to indicate a storm, but no storms had been
charted earlier for this sector.
"I see what you mean," Zac said. "I thought there was something off
with my scanner."
"It could be a storm, though that doesn't make..."
Apollo's voice drifted off, leaving behind a note of puzzled concern
in the staticky silence. After a micron, Apollo said, "If it is a storm,
the Fleet'll be coming through it, and soon. We'd better go have a look.
Kick in the turbos."
"But Apollo, the standing orders on conserving fuel specifically
forbid the use of turbos, except under combat conditions or making the
jump back to base."
Zac could've predicted his brother's irritated response.
"Kid, don't let that peace conference back of us screw up your
judgment. Until we get official notice of a singing, anything goes.
These are still the front lines."
On his ear-receptors, Zac could hear the t
hunderous acceleration of
Apollo's Viper as final punctuation to his rebuke. Okay, he thought,
let's get to work. Pre-battle tension enveloped his whole body. It felt
good. Zac ferociously pushed the trio of turbo-engagement buttons and
shoved his foot down on a pedal. The resulting thrust drove him back
against his seat.
*****
As they hurtled toward the old moon, Apollo felt uneasy that there
should be any kind of disturbance within the unpopulated Qinar Sector.
It just didn't check out. The orders his father had sent out
specifically commanded that all ships, whether war or merchant, should
transmit their exact locations at all times. There was no reason that
any of htem should have forgotten, no strategic or trade reason for them
to take the dangerous chance of hding out. When you eliminated all the
known Colonial ships, including outlaw craft, there was only one
solution. Cylons. It wasn't a solution, Apollo particularly wanted to
come to.
Zac's voice came through the com.
"Hey, brother?"
"What is it, kid?"
"I know why I drew this duty. Tigh's shifting me---no, mark that
out---Tigh's teaching me a lesson for that little rest-and-recupeartaion
escapade with Squires' chief nurse in Life Station. But how did you get
stuck with this patrol?"
Why did Zac always have to know everything? Sometimes his youthful
curiousity annoyed the poggies out of Apollo.
"Oh," Apollo said, "I was figuring that, once the armistice is
signed, they'll be turning out all of us warriors, sending us to one of
those planets where they force you into so much organized leisure you go
out of your mind with boredom. So---I just wanted one last bite of a
mission."
"Uh huh," Zac said. "Say, it wouldn't be because you wanted to ride
herd on your overeager young brother, would it? I mean, watchdogging me
for the duration of this patrol?"
"I resent that, Zac. I'm not watchdogging you. Not at all. Like I
said, I..."
"You sure, big brother?"
Apollo hated the sarcastic emphasis on the word big. Sometimes his
kid brother could be a royal pain in the astrum.
"Don't be silly, Zac. You've got a fine battle record---not to
mention the tiresome old datum that you came thorugh with the highest
marks in the history of the Academy. I don't need to ride herd on you."
"Aw, forget it, Apollo."
The com crackled in silence for a moment, then Zac spoke again.
"Say, what're you going to do when the armistice is signed? Really
go to one of those boring leisure planets?"
Apollo smiled. He wasn't sure that Zac, who always needed somebody
to talk to, would understand what he was about to say.
"When the war's officially over, I don't think I want to settle down
on any planet. Just long enough to refuel and relaunch."
"Well, what are you planning to do for the postwar time, Apollo?"
"Not sure. But there's a lot of space still to expore. That's the
real challenge, Zac---deep star exploration. Who knows what we'll find
beyond the Colonies?"
"As long as it's not more Cylons. They jar my chips. You looking
forward to peace with them? I mean, really?"
"If you mean, do I believe inpace with the Cylons, especially one
that'll last until the ink d ries on the treaty, my only answer is----I
don't know. But I don't think we'd better be discussing it over the com.
If we're being monitored, it might be a little embarrassing back aboard
the Galactica."
"Yeah, how about that, Galactica? Your face red, Colonel Tigh,
sir?"
"Cut that out, Zac. Keep your mind on the patrol. Cimtar's just
ahead. Let's roll over and have a good look. Whaddya say?"
"Roger dodger, old codger."
In an instant they were hovering over their objective, a spacecraft
that was large and ponderous, wasted looking. It seemed to float
aimlessly, bobbing like a baitless fishing lure in its own portion of the
sea of space. Above it was the old moon, below it a purplish layer of
clouds tha Apollo did not recall as bing a normal feature of the barren,
uninhabited planet.
"What is it?" Apollo whispered.
"I'll tell ya in a flash," Zac replied.
*****
Zac punched out the combination that would identifiy the vehicle
pictured on his scanner. The intensity of the scanner pictured changed
as various profiles of existing aircraft were compared with the
antiquated conveyance under study. A match was quickly made and the
identification appeared in printed form below the picture.
"Warbook says a Cylon tanker," Zac reported. "My scanner reads it
empty."
Apollo's voice became agitated.
"An empty tanker? What in Kobol is an empty tanker doing way out
here?"
"And where's the other ship, the one that..."
"Screened off by this one, apparently. Under cover, as far as I
can make out. Funny---wonder what they're hiding."
"I don't know, but it's awfully close to those clouds."
Zac felt impatient, not ready to wait for his brother's orders.
When he made captain like Apollo, he could give the commands. Of course,
by then Apollo would be an admiral or something, and probably telling Zac
what to do. Even though he had looked up to his gallant brother since
childhood, even though his own prestige at the Academy had been enhanced
by the tales of Apollo's heroism that he had recounted to his classmates,
Zac was eager to get out more on his own, perform the kind of
seat-of-the-pants flying exploits that had made Apollo so famous on all
the battlestars.
Why was he thinking like this now? Here his father and the other
great leaders of the Colonies were on the Atlantia working out a peace
arrangement, and Zac was still hooping to become a great war hero.
Stomething askew in his thinking there. He would have to talk it all out
with Apollo later, when they got back to the battlestar and had their
regular post-mission talk.
"Well, kid," Apollo's voice whispered softly in his ear. "We came
to look. Let's get up closer."
"Watch it, Apollo," Zac said, and was immediately astonished by his
own uncharacteristic caution. "I've got a funny feeling about this."
"Funny feeling, eh?" Apollo's voice was now warmer, touched by a
note of brotherly affection. "I always told Father you behaved more like
a Scorpian, that you weren't a true Caprican."
"Still, I have this funny feeling..."
"You're not old enough to have funny feelings, warrior!" Zac nodded
even though Apollo couldn't see him. It wasn't unusual fo rhim to have
such an immediate physical reaction to a rebuke from his brother.
"Anway," Apollo continued, "while we're stuck out here on patrol,
Starbuck's pulled a couple of those Gemonese into a hand of pyramid, and
I want to get back before he
cleans out those suckers."
Looking out his sideview, Zac watched Apollo's Viper peel off in
order to sweep around the ancient freighter. Feeling very much like the
younger brother he was, Zac set his flight pattern to follow, hitting at
the course buttons angrily.
*****
Commander Adama's angular cheekbones seemed the work of a skilled
diamond cutter. But his cold, penetrating eyes could have have been
designed by even the finest of artisans. The members of his crew feared
Adama as much as they loved him. There was a popular superstition aboard
the Galactica that, when the commander became angry, those powerful eyes
retreated into his skull and gave off rays that made him look so inhuman
he might just have materialized as a god from some new alien mythology.
Although tall and strong, he had none of the muscular man's typical
clumsiness in normal movement. His gestures were smoothly graceful, and
there was an ease in his bearing that made even his enemies comfortable
with him---at least when he was comfortable with them.
He stood away from the others, his fellow leaders from the Quorum of
the Twelve. Their toasts to their new-found peace rang falsely in his
ears. In front of him, as if arranged for his own personal viewing, the
millions of stars visible through the Atlantia's starfield reminded him,
as it reminded all contemplative men, of his own insignificance in this
universe. And, even more, of the smallness of the historic event being
enacted behind him. Men fought wars, cheered the coming of peace, then
always seemed to locate another war to keep the peace from becoming too
comforting.
This peace, in particular, disturbed him. There was too much strain
to the enthusiasm, too much simplicity in the negotiations. He didn't
like the fact that the absent Cylons were controlling the event like
distant puppet masters---sending a human go-between and arranging the
ultimate rendezvous for treaty signing at their own chosen coordinates in
space.
President Arcon, looking very much like the wise man of tradition in
his flowing toga, had called the settlement the most significant in human
history. The array of candelight on the banquet table, catching the
blood-red jewels on his silver chalice, had lent a religious aura to the
official toast. And the subsequent unctuousness of Baltar's response to
the toast left a bad taste in Adama's mouth. Why had the Cylons used
Baltar as their human messenger for this conference? Although a
self-proclaimed count, Baltar was little better than a trader, a dealer
in tylium, lithon and turbonite. He was rich, yes, overwhelmingly so,