The Hunted (nBSG)

[masterarminas]

Saul shut off the video monitor as the Quorum went into a hasty recess. And he snorted. “Told you we should have shot that miserable son-of-a-bitch Baltar a long time ago, Bill,” he said with a chuckle. “He’s not doing any of this because he believes in it—hell, he’s the one who convinced Laura to sign that order, with his projections of future population growth when the Gemenesse brought the issue up! He’s doing it to make himself look good.” Saul paused and he sighed. “I can have him arrested for releasing classified information—the news about that child was classified.”

“That would be closing the barn door after the horses escape, Saul,” sighed Bill Adama. “I do not want to have to salute Gaius Baltar and call him Mister President. But the way he ambushed Laura today? Gods damn it.”

Saul smiled and he sat down in the chair opposite his commander and his friend. “Actually, I think we might be able to prove something worse for Gaius fracking Baltar,” he said in a very hungry tone.

“I don’t like the man, Saul, but we aren’t going to set him up,” said Bill.

“While this was happening live,” the two had watched the recording of the event to make certain they hadn’t missed anything, “I, on my own initiative, ordered Mister Kelly to inventory the contents of Baltar’s lab here on Galactica. Guess what came up missing?”

“I’m not in the mood for games Colonel,” Bill growled.

“We can’t find hide nor hair nor any element of that warhead you gave him, Admiral. Now that makes me wonder—where is it?”

Adama sat back. “It was disassembled—the explosives were removed, Saul. He just had the plutonium . . .,” and the Colonel snorted.

“And the beryllium coatings and the tungsten cradle that held the suspended plutonium sphere and the diamond cutters that he was going to need to work with the sub-critical mass. Not to mention the lead shielding case—none of it is there.”

“When was the last time Mister Gaeta recalls seeing it?”

“I asked him—he does not recall actually seeing the device or the case in the lab for the past . . . six weeks. However, he has not been assigned there full time, and he presumed that it had been moved into safe storage somewhere—he was quite shocked that it appears missing.”

Adama sat up. “Is the Vice-President coming back aboard before the Quorum reconvenes?”

Saul shook his head. “I’ve got Marines and a Raptor on standby, Bill.”

Bill Adama stood. “They can come with me—I think it is past time that Mister Baltar answered a few of my questions.”

[masterarminas]

Gaius leaned back in his chair and he took a sip of cold cocktail. And Tom Zarek just kept on grinning.

“You hammered her, Gaius, oh, but for the love of the Gods, you hammered here in there. And it went out live to the Fleet—that woman is done . . . Mister President.” And he raised his own glass.

The door to the private suite opened and Laura Roslin walked in, trailed by Admiral Adama and a team of black-clad Marines. Tom’s face grew still and Gaius almost dropped his glass.

“Ah, Madame President, Admiral Adama. Laura, I do want to apologize if I came off as . . . overly hostile, but I have a duty to the people who elected me,” Gaius said. “Don’t you knock by the way?”

“Why would I be offended, Gaius?” Laura asked. “You just accused me on live video and in front of the Quorum of being a monster—what would possibly make you think that would in any way offend me? Although I will note that you did not tell the Quorum that it was your data—and conclusions—that finally convinced me to issue that order.”

“So this is how you are going to play it, Laura?” asked Tom, jerking his head at the Marines. “Which one of us are you planning to arrest?”

“Oh, I have questions for the Vice-President here, Tom. Or rather, Admiral Adama has some questions for the Vice-President.”

“This is a civilian ship, Admiral,” Gaius said trying to show no fear on his face—and failing. “And I am the elected Vice-President of the Colonies.”

“Where’s the nuclear warhead you needed for your Cylon detector, Doctor Baltar?” Adama snapped.

Tom’s eyes grew wide, and the blood drained from the face of Gaius as he bolted to this feet and dropped the cocktail on the expensive carpet.

“In my lab, Admiral,” he stammered. “It’s in my laboratory on board Galactica!”

“Your lab has been searched and inventoried, Doctor—you told me eight months ago that you needed the plutonium for your Cylon detector which failed to identify any Cylons in the Fleet after we left Doral at Ragnar Station. You tested Boomer and she came up clean—and I want to know where the rest of the plutonium and all of the other pieces of that warhead are—NOW.”

“You searched my lab? Without a warrant? This is an invasion of privacy! It is a blatant disregard of the campaign I am waging for President! I had every right to be present as you searched that area!” Gaius stuttered and sputtered.

Laura smiled at Gaius and then at Tom Zarek. “Gaius, Galactica is a military ship of the Colonial Fleet. No one onboard her has a right to privacy—the Commander . . .,”

“And Executive Officer,” Adama interjected, and Laura nodded.

“. . . and the Executive Officer have the right to search any compartment at any time. Without a warrant—it’s part of the Fleet Regulations, is it not, Admiral Adama?”

“It is, Madame President.”

Gaius gaped like a fish out of water, and he seemed to be looking away, looking at someone that wasn’t there and he nodded, then blinked. “It should be in the lab, Admiral—that is where I left it!”

“Secured, in the safe, Doctor Baltar?”

“Yes, yes, it is always secured in the safe!”

“Actually it wasn’t always secured in the safe,” said Felix Gaeta as he walked in. “Admiral, Doctor Baltar left the case and the fissile material sitting on his work bench on numerous occasions—I had to secure both in the safe when he just walked out and left them.”

“This is,” Gaius said and he shook his head, “you are attempting to frame me. Someone on Galactica took the warhead, and you are trying to frame me!” He turned to Laura and he clasped his hands. “Laura, please, don’t do this—don’t let them do this. I told the Quorum nothing but the truth, and now you and the Admiral here just want revenge—that is it isn’t it? You want to frame me, throw me in the brig, and make it seem as if I am a terrorist!”

“Gaius,” Laura laughed. “Who would ever think that you of all people would associate with terrorists,” and she cast her gaze on Tom Zarek.

Who backed away and held up his hands. “I didn’t know he had a nuclear device, and I certainly do not have a nuclear device—I have given up that part of my former life. Feel free to search my suite here and search the Astral Queen.”

“That is already being done, Mister Zarek,” Adama said in a very stern voice. “Doctor Baltar, I have a missing plutonium core, a lead-shielded case, a tungsten cradle, and the very toxic beryllium coating that covered the plutonium—where are they?”

“THEY WERE IN MY LAB!” he yelled.

“Put him in the brig!” Adama snapped and the Marines stepped forward and grabbed his arms. “Madame President, I request permission to perform chemical interrogation of the Vice-President of the Colonies.”

“Granted, Admiral,” Laura said.

And Gaius’ eyes grew wide as saucers. “It was stolen, Admiral!” he blurted out. “It was stolen six weeks ago!”

Everyone stopped and just stared at Gaius in dawning horror. Adama stepped up and grabbed him by the chin and he drew in a deep breath and stared him right in his eyes. “You didn’t tell me, for SIX FRACKING WEEKS, that someone has stolen a plutonium core for a fusion warhead?”

“In hind-sight . . . ,” Gaius began, but Adama cut him off.

“GET HIM OUT OF HERE!” he roared.

Zarek sat down and his mouth hung open. “Laura, Admiral Adama, I had no idea,” he said as he poured a glass of whiskey with a shaking hand.

“We have to keep this quiet,” Adama said. “How do we do that without telling the Quorum? They will automatically suspect you and I did something if Gaius does not attend the session.”

“Your Marines are using the service corridors—cleared corridors, Admiral?” Zarek asked.

And Adama nodded.

“Okay, if no one sees him being hauled off, I might—might—be able to head off any inquiry,” and Tom snorted. “I will inform my fellow Delegates that Gaius was . . . distracted someone young and nubile and willing,” he swallowed the entire glass in a single gulp. “But that will hold off their inquiry only so long.”

“Admiral,” Laura began, but Adama was already nodding.

“I have a team from Galactica searching her from stem-to-stern—Captain Gaeta, get back to Pegasus and very quietly inform Major Shaw of what has happened. I want an armed detachement on every ship to conduct a full search and I want it yesterday. Coordinate with Colonel Tigh.”

“Demand Peace?” Laura asked, and Tom winced.

“I was a terrorist—in your view, Admiral. But these . . . idiots aren’t fighting for freedom or equal rights or representation; they actually believe that the Cylons will just let us go despite all the evidence to contrary. None of my people were behind this—and if they have a nuclear weapon . . .,” his voice trailed off.

All of them knew well just how far they had already gone.

“They do not have a functional weapon,” said Adama. “I stripped the warhead of the explosives and electronics required to initiate a detonation—but they still have almost six kilograms of plutonium. If they are very, very good and have access to the right explosives, they could rebuild a weapon—but right now, they don’t have one.”

Laura released her breath and so did Tom. “That’s a relief,” she said.

“But they could also reduce the plutonium to a powder and introduce it to the atmosphere circulation system aboard any of the ships in the Fleet—which wouldn’t be an as fast or dramatic as an explosion, but would be just as lethal for those who inhaled the plutonium particles, even if it takes them weeks to die.”

He shook his head. “Madame President, Delegate Zarek; I need to get back and coordinate this search.”

And he left, leaving Laura and Tom alone.

[Eternal_Freedom]

Oh poor Gaius. I would express more sympathy, but he's fracked either way. He admits giving away a nuke, he's a dead man. If he sticks to "It was stolen six weeks ago" he's a dead man. Either way I suspect his Presidential ambitions are finished.

[MondoMage]

I think it could get a lot worse than that for him. Chemical interrogation... What if during the course of this, he admits to his part in the Cylon infiltration of the Colonial defense systems? Or that he routinely see one (hallucination or not)... No matter how this goes, I think Baltar is truly and effectively screwed. The question then becomes what to do about it. Knee-jerk reaction would be a firing squad. But what do the Articles say about it... And will they be followed?

[Vikerage]

Just wanted to post how much I'm enjoying your work! And the amazing update frequency.

While being so happy about this turn of events, I have a horrible feeling Gaius is so slippery he may survive this situation.

[masterarminas]

Episode 12: Cacophony

Captain Marcia Case—known to her fellow pilots on the Battlestar Pegasus as Showboat—frowned at the instrument she held in her hand. And then she slapped it.

“HEY!” barked Technician 2nd Class Eduard Cairnes. “Don’t be so rough on it. These things are delicate!”

“Quiet,” Showboat hissed. “Is the needle supposed to be doing that?”

The tech looked at and he frowned. And then his face went white and he nodded. Showboat handed him the detector and lifted the phone to the wireless that one of her Marines wore on her back. “Galactica, Showboat,” she transmitted. “I’ve got plutonium traces on Cloud Nine.”

****************************************************

That was the only scanning team on the fifty-nine civilian ships of the Fleet that reported any traces of the fissile material, Tigh thought as he lifted the phone. So far, at least. “Showboat, Galactica,” he said. “Try and isolate the source—additional personnel including EOD are en route to Cloud Nine.”

And he racked the phone as Bill Adama walked into CIC. “Do we evacuate the President and the Quorum?” he asked.

The pained look in Bill Adama’s eyes made Saul wince and then the Admiral shook his head no. “If they have managed to rig up a means to light off the plutonium—we don’t dare give them a warning, Saul. No evacuation—but let’s put some distance between Cloud Nine and the other ships of the Fleet.”

“Aye, aye, Sir,” he said. “Petty Officer Dualla, raise the commander of the Cloud Nine. I want her to alter course to heading 122 carom 14—maintain current velocity.”

“Aye, aye, Sir,” she answered and passed along the information. “Cloud Nine requests the reason for the course change, Sir.”

Saul blinked and then he snarled. “Tell that . . .,” but he caught himself. “Inform Cloud Nine that we have decided to begin refueling operations from Pegasus—she is proceed on that course immediately or will forfeit her place in line.”

After a few moments Dee looked back up. “Cloud Nine altering heading to 122 carom 14—they report needing fourteen hundred and seventy-two tons of tylium to top off their tanks.”

Saul snorted, but he watched the DRADIS as the luxury liner slowly thrusted away from the rest of the Fleet towards the distant bulk of Pegasus. “Petty Officer Dualla—when they reach the half-way point, inform Cloud Nine that Pegasus is experiencing technical difficulties with the fuel transfer systems—the vessel is to maintain their current station at that time until further notice.”

“Aye, aye, Sir.”

****************************************************

“Bloody hells,” one of the Marines whispered and Showboat narrowed her eyes as well. “Is that . . . ?”

“Yes,” she snarled. “Follow me—but at a distance,” she ordered.

She moved through the crowd in her flight suit—keeping her eye on the woman with dirty-blonde hair in a pony-tail, wearing glasses and dressed in clothing that concealed her frame. But Showboat knew her. She was certain that it was her. And she walked through the open-air market as the crowd began to thin out—and then she drew her weapon.

“GINA INVIERE!” she barked as she raised her sidearm. “STAY PERFECTLY STILL!”

The woman flinched and half-turned, and then she broke into a run, pulling a sidearm of her own from beneath the coat.

Showboat exhaled and she squeezed the trigger as she settled the sight picture on the Cylon’s chest—and the bark of the pistol surprised her. Gina staggered, and Showboat’s pistol barked again and again and again, and three more bullets impacted her, sending out fountains of blood.

The woman collapsed to the ground, dropping the pistol from a hand that no longer had the strength to grasp it.

The crowd screamed and scattered in a panic. Showboat—and her Marines—approached the Cylon cautiously, it—she—was still breathing.

“Finish it,” Gina begged. “Kill me,” she whispered as she coughed up blood.

“Frack you—you are going back in the hole on Pegasus, bitch!” Showboat snarled. “And this time you are never coming out! Not until you rot!”

The Cylon began to moan horribly and Showboat realized that it was a strangled incoherent scream, and she swallowed at the wail of pure misery, kicking away the weapon that Gina had dropped. “Get a corpsman,” she barked at the Marines. “We’ve recovered the prisoner. The one that killed the Admiral."

[MondoMage]

Boy, Scorpia's going to be flying into one frakked-up mess of a situation when (if?) they finally meet up with Galactica and the gang. Treasonous Vice Presidents, possible nuclear terrorism, political infighting, and the whole Cylon prisoner situation... fun times are going to be had by all!

[masterarminas]

Bill Adama exhaled heavily—he did not care for having Tom Zarek in his personal quarters, not one whit. But Laura had brought him along and he held his tongue. The two of them had informed the Quorum that Gaius Baltar had been injured in a terrorist attack on Cloud Nine—and the Quorum had unanimously voted to post-pone further deliberations for a day. They had gotten lucky, the Commander thought. The Cylon—Gina—had disposed of the shielded case, probably due to the weight. But she had either not yet attempted to rig a new means of detonation or had not been successful in rigging a means of detonation, and the core was intact.

She would have to be questioned, of course—if she recovered. Despite the desire of the pilot and Marines who had taken her down, the medical flight had come here—on Adama’s direct order. He snorted. Major Shaw wasn’t dumb enough to repeat history, and the Cylon—Gina Inviere—required immediate medical care anyway . . . but, there was always the possibility that someone on The Beast would try and unilaterally arrange for justice.

So, instead of Pegasus, she was now aboard Galactica. Along with the other two Cylons Adama still had in his brig. Although according to Cottle, it would be a while yet before the third one would be able to join them.

Turned out when her quarters had been searched, this Cylon was the leader of the Demand Peace movement—and they had released that information, complete with Gina’s pictures both in her disguise and from Pegasus (before she tortured and raped). To say that her cohorts were shocked would be an understatement—perhaps now they would actually stop their campaign to terrorize the Fleet into trying to make peace on Cylon terms.

He massaged his fore-head and he sighed again.

Laura and Tom Zarek just sat there and the President shook her head. “Her gun came from where?” she asked.

The Admiral leaned forward. “We checked the serial number of the weapon—it is a standard issue Fleet sidearm. Ballistics have confirmed it is the weapon used to murder Admiral Cain. But it was not issued from Pegasus—according to the serial number, this weapon was issued to Lieutenant Alex Quartararo from the small arms locker on Galactica. Lieutenant Quartararo—Crashdown—was killed in action on Kobol, six months ago. His weapon was never recovered.”

Tom Zarek started to say something, but then he sat back and shut his mouth—and Adama snorted.

“How? How in the Gods name did a weapon from this ship, lost SIX MONTHS AGO, wind up on Pegasus in the hands of an escaped prisoner to kill Admiral Cain?”

Adama sighed again. “I spoke to Tyrol,” he said and Roslin tensed but Bill made himself ignore that. “He was on Kobol with Crashdown—the events that took place down there are not ones that the Fleet can be proud of. Crashdown was killed by Gaius Baltar to prevent the Lieutenant from summarily executing Petty Officer 2nd Class Callandra Henderson. He shot the Lieutenant with Crashdown’s own pistol that he had given to Doctor Baltar after the crash-landing.”

“Why didn’t this ever come across my desk?” asked Laura.

“It was a Fleet matter—I didn’t want to have his memory tarnished in the eyes of those who had not been down there, Madame President,” and Adama sighed again. “Tyrol cannot remember if he collected the pistol upon returning to Galactica or not.”

Both Tom and Laura were absolutely silent. “However, the last person known to have visited the Cylon—Gina—aboard Pegasus prior to her escape was Doctor Baltar. The coincidences here are staggering. If they are coincidences,” Adama said in a very soft, very angry voice.

“I’ve known this man for six months now, Admiral,” Tom said. “He’s narcissistic, consumed with his own destiny, he’s arrogant, he feels superior to anyone and everyone because he knows there are none in the Fleet that can compete with his intellect—but a Cylon collaborator? No. No.”

And Tom’s voice trailed off and he shook his head.

“There is another possibility,” Laura said, with a glint in her eyes.

And Adama exhaled deeply through his nose. He knew exactly what she was thinking. Galen Tyrol had also been aboard Pegasus and on the surface of Kobol—and she knew that he was a Cylon.

“Madame President,” Bill began, but he was interrupted by the klaxon sounding and Tigh’s voice over the 1MC. “This is the XO. Sound General Quarters throughout the ship. Set Condition One in all compartments. Spin up FTL Drives One and Two.”

The Admiral was off the desk and he grabbed the phone before it began to buzz. “Report!”

He listened and then he spoke three words “On my way” before racking it again.

Laura and Tom were standing as he walked towards the hatch. And he stopped as he pulled it open, “The Cylons have found us. I’m on my way to CIC,” and then he left.

[masterarminas]

“Two Basestars and three smaller support ships—holding at near maximum DRADIS range,” Tigh reported as the Admiral walked into CIC trailed by the President . . . and Tom Zarek. Saul turned his back on the man and he joined Adama at the central console. “CAP and the ready fighters are holding station under Stinger at the outer marker. The Fleet has begun jumping away—but so far, they haven’t launched Raiders.”

“Unusual,” growled Bill. “But if they are willing to let us go without a fight, I’m willing to oblige them. Inform Stinger to stand by to execute combat landings on Galactica and Pegasus—we will sort out the wings after the jump.”

“Admiral!” snapped Dee. “We are being hailed by the Cylons.”

“On speaker,” Adama replied.

“Galactica we wish to speak in peace, please respond.”

The Admiral lifted the phone and twisted the cord in his hand. “This is Galactica,” he said. “Identify yourself.”

There was a pause. “Do you recognize my voice, Admiral?” a woman asked.

“I should, a copy of you flew Raptors off my flight deck,” Adama answered. “And put two bullets in my chest.”

“Not a copy, Admiral. This is Boomer.”

Tigh’s lips tightened as he walked up and Adama lowered the phone. “All ships away except Galactica and Pegasus, Sir,” the XO said.

“Recover our fighters, Colonel,” Adama ordered and he raised the phone again. “Say your say, Boomer—we are about to leave.”

“We would like to discuss the terms of surrender.”

Silence hung over the CIC. And Adama breathed deeply for a second before he reply in a cold, cold voice. “Boomer, you must not have known me at all—we will not surrender today, tomorrow, or ever.”

“You mistake me, Admiral—we want to discuss the terms of our surrender to you.”

[Eternal_Freedom]

Well shit. That's going to set the cat among the pidgeons.

[LadyTevar]

Oh dearie my... I was going to congratulate you on how wonderfully smary you made Gaius, and then you bring (well-deserved) hell down on his head. Bravo, my dear. Well-played.

As for Zarek... well... Tom was a bastard, but he never denied it. It is nice to see him shocked and sidelined by something, instead of being one step ahead. I do not know if he'd make a good President, but I could see him trying to continue the campaign.

As for the Chemical Interrogation of Gaius, I remind you what happened when D'anna attempted to torture him in the series. Head-Six protected him then, so it's very likely she would tell him what to say while drugged. After all, Head-Six & Head-Baltar were plotting something on their own.


OHSHIT.... The Fleshjobs are hoping Adama will protect them from the Guardians. This will be fun.

[FaxModem1]

Good to see the Cloud 9 survive thanks to the Scorpia flotilla's butterfly wings' changes to the timeline.

[masterarminas]

Adama looked Laura in the eyes—and he saw the same shock he knew was in his own; and on the face of Tom Zarek, and Saul Tigh, and every last man and woman in the CIC. He began to raise the phone again, but then he lowered it.

“Order our fighters to remain on station—Pegasus is to recover hers and join the Fleet. Inform Major Shaw that if we have not arrived in six hours time, she is to proceed on course and attempt a rendezvous with Scorpia.”

Saul nodded and he put on a headset and began to pass the orders.

“Boomer, you just bought five minutes. Make it good,” Adama said into the phone as he raised it.

“We are not talking about a truce, nor an unconditional surrender, Admiral Adama,” a new voice—a voice that Adama recognized as that of Shelly Godfrey and Gina Inviere, the Cylon known as Number Six. “We are talking about a finalized treaty wherein we will admit that we . . . committed a sin against you. We have—both of us—been manipulated and used, Admiral. There is a terrible foe coming against us both, Admiral; a foe that has already struck my people and all but destroyed us.”

There was a pause and then a bitter laugh. “We destroyed your homes, and your Cylons from the First War came back and destroyed ours.”

Adama and Saul exchanged a glance—both were aware of limited briefing that Sidewinder was able to give on the existence of another Cylon faction. And that those two had seemed to be extremely hostile to one another. Laura as well nodded her head, but Tom just stood there.

“We are aware of the Guardians, Miss . . . what the Hells should I call you?” Adama said, and both Tom and Saul snorted. Laura gave a thin smile, but then he already knew her opinion on the matter.

“Call me Caprica, Admiral Adama. I was the one who infiltrated your colonies and arranged for the computer access that we used to shut down your Fleet. I now regret that decision—much as you must regret your actions aboard the Valkyrie almost seven years ago to the day, Admiral. Or must I remind you of the man that you left behind—alive, not dead? Lieutenant Daniel Novacek? Or Bulldog as you called him?”

Adama’s face drained of color—so did Saul’s, and the Admiral gripped the phone tighter.

“I regret nothing, Caprica,” the Admiral said. "The clock is running", he snarled and Pegasus vanished from the DRADIS. "Get to your point.”

“Only the dead have no regrets, Admiral,” she said and everyone present could hear the pain and sadness in her voice. “Very well. The Guardians are older Cylon models—all mechanical. But they want to become flesh and blood—and now they have found a way to do so. A means is grotesque and vile and horrible to contemplate. They can gain flesh by stealing ours and grafting it onto their limbs. And they have returned to harvest us.”

Adama’s stomach churned and the President looked queasy, but he lifted the phone again. “And how is that our problem?”

Caprica laughed grimly. “They are rather upset that we have destroyed thirty-one billion humans that they wanted to harvest, Admiral. And even more so when we destroyed our own cloning banks that produced new bodies—the spares left in our Resurrection Ships are all that we will have until we can rebuild them; if we can rebuild them. So now they are chasing us—because some skin is better than none in their estimation. And you have over fifty thousand survivors that they can and will make breed as cattle for them to cull in the future. They want my people dead, Admiral. Yours, they want to enslave forever and harvest of you your very flesh.”

She paused and everyone in the CIC held a unbelieving look in their eyes.

“And they are coming, Admiral. They are chasing us with a force that my few ships cannot withstand. Others of my kind are even now paying with their lives—lives that will lose for all of eternity—to hold them back and give you and I a chance to run.”

“I have come to make peace with you my enemy, because I can make war upon you no more, Admiral. And because together we might be able to stop them from destroying us both—we might.”

“My ships will remain here until you respond or until you leave this system. I pray to God that you make the human choice, Admiral Adama.”

And the transmission ceased.

[masterarminas]

Scorpia was certainly smaller—more compact—than Galactica, Athena thought as she walked through the corridors, getting used to the ship’s layout. It was similar to the old Battlestar on which she had spent nearly all of her career in the Colonial Fleet—just similar enough to cause her problems when she expected a compartment in one location that wound up being somewhere else! Not to mention that the ship seemed more crowded than the Battlestar she had ingrained in her consciousness. That was due to the more than eleven hundred civilians and scientists packed aboard—but also because this ship had a full complement of officers and crew, unlike either Galactica or Pegasus.

Trailed by the two Marines assigned to watch over her, she finally found what she had been looking for. Or rather, she hoped that she had.

She passed through the hatch—and her guardians did not stop her—was surprised that it opened up to a narrow corridor about a dozen meters in length with another hatch at the far end. She exchanged a glance with the senior of her two escorts—Lieutenant Tamara Mayne—and the woman nodded with a thin smile. So Athena walked down the corridor and opened the hatch—and before her was the forward observation deck.

Dimly lit and as wide as the two flight pods on either side of the Battlestar, observation deck featured a massive armored glass face, nearly a meter in height that stretched from the port bulkhead to the starboard—some forty meters across without so much as a single support strut or structural brace. The view was . . . breathtaking, but unlike the similar deck on both Galactica and Pegasus, this one was almost empty.

Almost.

Mathias Lorne stood in the center to the observation deck, his hands crossed behind his back as he stared out at the naked stars with his own eyes. He turned his head, and the corner of his mouth twitched as he saw her—and the two Marines.

“My apologies, Commander,” Athena said. “I will return some oth-. . .,” but the Commander interrupted her.

“Join me, Lieutenant,” he ordered, turning his gaze back outward again. “Buried in CIC beneath all of the decks and armor, it is so easy to forget the splendor, the majesty of space. Enjoy this while you can, Lieutenant,” he said. “Soon enough, duty and rank will take from you your time in the cockpit. Cherish what you have while you still have it—because the universe seldom grants one a second chance.”

“I was given a second chance,” she whispered.

And Mathias snorted. “You are the exception to the rule, perhaps,” he replied. “I have watched the stars since I was a child, Athena—are you as wise as your namesake?”

“Are you as mischievous as yours?” she retorted.

He laughed. “Sometimes, Athena. Not so much these days as in the past,” his voice got softer. He turned to face her. “My offer stands—I will endorse any request you might make for a transfer. Your husband as well.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Athena said. “You don’t know what that means to me, but the Admiral has given me a chance to prove myself—and I don’t want to abandon him.”

“Just how much of a buzz-saw are my people walking into, Athena? I know what Sidewinder and Kaboose have told me they saw—I know what Lee and Margaret have said. But they have left other things unsaid. Matters where Sidewinder and Kaboose were did not have the expertise to pass a judgment. I was never good at politics—that is one reason I was selected for such a long-duration mission. The officers who played at the political game stayed where they could advance their careers—I have never cared for that,” he whispered.

“This President—this Quorum? Are they worthy of our service?”

Athena paused and she swallowed. “I don’t like the President, Commander. I believe that she does not know how to let go of her hate—I cannot and I will not forgive her for what she tried to do to me,” and Athena smiled. “But we could have had worse in command.”

“Not exactly the answer I was looking for—but an answer nonetheless,” the Commander said. “You have finished plotting and distributing the coordinates for Jump Sixteen?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir. Colonel Jayne is making certain that all ships have verified the final coordinates for our last jump—if Galactica and the Fleet remains at the rendezvous. Circumstances may have changed over the past three weeks since our departure.”

Mathias snorted. “Circumstances always change—remember that, Lieutenant, and plan accordingly.”

And with that, the Commander walked forward and he pressed a control—slowly, a solid and massive blast shield slid up along the entire length of the transparent panel. It locked into place, cutting away the stars and the sky, and the lights increased their illumination to compensate. “Then let’s wait no longer,” he said. “It is time for us to find out how much has changed in your absence—or how little.”

[masterarminas]

Mathias and Athena walked into CIC and Colonel Jayne nodded to them both. “Commander,” he said in a formal tone. “All vessels in the flotilla report FTL drives are ready to be spun up for execution of FTL Jump Sixteen,” and if there was a hint of excitement in his voice, it was certainly understandable.

“Very well, Colonel. On speaker,” he ordered as he lifted the phone. “All ships, this is Commander Lorne. We will jump to FTL in sequence at thirty second intervals—Scorpia, followed by Anubis, Leonis Pryde, Scylla, Umino Hana—Colonel Foeswan, Aurora has the backdoor. Is Bounty secured on your deck?”

“She is, Scorpia,” the wireless crackled.

“Very well. Start the clock—sequenced FTL jump begins in . . . one minute . . . MARK,” Mathias said.

“Spin up FTL Drives One and Two,” barked Colonel Jayne. “This is the XO,” he said, lifting his own phone, “Sound General Quarters throughout the ship. Set Condition One in all compartments. Prepare for FTL jump in forty-five seconds . . . MARK.”

The orders were relayed and Mathias stood there, his hands clasped behind his back. As the countdown passed fifteen second, he turned to Danis. “Take DRADIS off-line and secure for FTL.”

“DRADIS is now off-line and all electronics are secured for FTL,” she responded.

There was an electricity in the air as Major Tyche started his final countdown. “Five, four, three, two, one, JUMP!” he barked.

And Scorpia jumped.

“Bring DRADIS on-line, Captain Danis,” Mathias ordered. “Digger, have Flight launch the CAP.”

“Aye, Sir, DRADIS is now . . . on-line,” she said, and then her head snapped up. “MULTIPLE CONTACTS! Reading transponder beacons from . . . Galactica and Pegasus! Sir, they are spinning up FTL drives for a jump.” Her smile faded. “HOSTILE CONTACTS, ESTIMATE TWO DOZEN! Bearing 012 carom minus 44—Sir, they are between us and the Colonials.”

Hope didn’t wait for an order, “Flight, CIC, scramble the launch.”

Marius Tyche looked up from his console, “Confirm two Nova-class Basestars, six Gemini-class, four Wishbone-class, and multiple support/auxiliary vessels—they are engaging each other. Correction, Raiders now inbound!”

“Guns, all weapons free—load nukes in the forward tubes and fire as you bear!” Mathias snapped. “Captain Danis, order the flotilla to recharge FTLs and jump to the secondary coordinates—we are the roadblock!”

Tom Jayne looked up. “Galactica and Pegasus are now launching Vipers and are reversing course to engage.”

Mathias stared at him for a second as he realized that he had almost missed them—and then he nodded. “Raise Galactica!”

“Galactica is hailing us.”

“On speaker.”

“Scorpia, Galactica Actual—you picked a devil of a time to make an appearance!”

“Galactica Actual, Scorpia Actual. My civilian ships need,” he looked at Jayne who held up five fingers, “five minutes to recharge FTL.”

“Copy, Scorpia Actual—help is on the way. Do not engage Nova- or Obelisk-class ships or Scimitar-class Raiders,” the wireless suddenly crackled in static. “But the older ships are fair game.” Adama’s voice came through again.

“Copy, Galactica Actual,” Mathias said as he racked the phone. And he nodded at Digger.

“Flight, CIC. Do not, repeat do not, engage Nova or Obelisk class vessels or Scimitar-class Raiders; engage only Geminis, Wishbones, and Ellipses.”

“Vipers and Thunders away, Commander,” reported Digger from her station. “Moving to engage incoming Raiders.”

“Forward tubes are locked and loaded, Commander!” barked Captain Cook. “Target Wishbone-class Basestar . . . locked!”

“Flush the tubes!” Mathias ordered and Scorpia shuddered.

“Anubis is launching her Vipers,” Jayne reported, “Major Caldwell is moving to interpose her ship between the Raiders and the incoming civilians.”

“Maintain station alongside her, Major Tyche. Guns, expand point-defense envelope to cover Anubis and the civvies as well as Scorpia,” Mathias ordered. The old First War era Battlestar had never had a very substantial point-defense suite—and many of her guns had been removed when she was mothballed. She still had her eight twin main-guns on the upper surface, but barely half the number of lighter point-defense batteries she had carried in the War. And the civilian ships had no point defense at all.

“Vipers from Pegasus and Galactica are engaging the enemy,” Digger reported.

“Have Flight inform the pilots to watch their targets—I don’t want any reports of blue-on-blue incidents!”

Scorpia shuddered as her heavy kinetic energy cannons began to fire in sequence, setting up a flak barrier against the Raiders—and a moment later, the guns of Anubis joined the fray.

“Torpedo impact on Wishbone Alpha!” snapped guns. “She’s breaking up!”

“Aurora has emerged—she’s bringing her guns on-line and launching Vipers!” reported the red-headed slender Aquarian DRADIS and comm officer.

“Pick another and do it again!” Mathias ordered. And then he drew in a sharp breath as three Geminis and two of the larger and more powerful Wishbones broke off their engagement against the Novas—and began to advance on him.

“I think we got their attention, Sir,” whispered Jayne.

“You think?” answered Mathias.

[Themightytom]

I am extremely excited about the Thunders that may or may not be carrying nukes.
Can you a ship hierarchy when you get a chance, of how they compare like
Ship to Shp Fighter strength Point Defense
Pegasus
Scorpa
Nova
Galactica
Gemini
Wishbone class base star
Obelisk
Aurora
Eclipse
Anubis

something like that?

[masterarminas]

“I don’t like this!” Laura snapped. “With both you and Pegasus here, the Fleet is undefended.”

“Not exactly, Madame President,” Admiral Adama said. “Our Raptors discovered an interesting nebula nearby—it absorbs artificial emissions at all but the shortest of ranges. The gas clouds are too thin to present a hazard to the civilian Fleet, so they are now hiding within that nebula. And they are accompanied by a full squadron of Pegasus’ Vipers and ten Raptors. The Cylons would have to stumble blindly across them in order to discover their presence. And that, Madame President,” he continued, “means that both Galactica and Pegasus can be here for these negotiations.”

“Negotiations!” she snorted. “They’re fracking Cylons, Bill! This is a ploy, a ploy to destroy your Battlestars and leave the Fleet defenseless.”

“Which is why we are keeping our FTL drives spun up and our pilots are ready to make combat landings, Madame President. You agreed to speak with their representatives.”

Laura shook her head and here, in private, she did not bother to keep the angry expression from her face. “After Zarek informed the rest of the Quorum of their ‘offer’? I didn’t have a choice—these two Cylons are smart ones, by offering to ‘surrender’ to us, they play us against each other, raising hope that perhaps they can be reasoned with. They are machines—programmed machines, and they will never change.”

“Look on the bright side, Madame President,” Adama said as he walked her out of his quarters and down the corridor towards CIC. “At least this has taken the minds of the Fleet off of Baltar’s accusations against you—or questions as to where exactly the ‘recovering’ Vice-President is.”

“You always seem to find that silver lining, Admiral,” Laura laughed and then she held her hand before her mouth. “Shall we?”

“Why not?” he asked in answer and the Marines opened the hatch for their Admiral and his President.

“DRADIS confirms three Nova-class Basestars—two match the signature of those we met earlier, the third is heavily damaged, Admiral—and three Obelisk-class Freighters; they are holding range as agreed. So far, no additional ships or Raiders on DRADIS,” Saul reported as the Admiral entered CIC. "CAP is deployed, and I've got the whole gods-damn airwing sitting in the launch tube on plus One."

“At least they are punctual,” Laura said as she nodded to Tom and the other members of the Quorum who were gathered in CIC.

“Madame President,” the former terrorist said and then he stepped in close and offered her a sad little smile. “I don’t trust them any more than you, Laura, but on the chance that their offer is genuine, we have a responsibility to hear them out.”

“Mister Zarek, I do not need you to lecture me on my responsibilities—and we are here. Against my better judgment, but here nonetheless as the Quorum has decided.”

Tom stepped back and he shook his head. But he didn’t say a word.

“Admiral,” said Dee, “we have the Cylons on wireless.”

“Madame President,” Adama said and he offered her the phone.

“This is President of the Twelve Colonies Laura Roslin. To whom am I speaking?”

“Caprica—my brothers and sisters have decided that I shall conduct these negotiations. As a gesture of our good faith, I am willing to release the POWs which we currently hold—provided that we can come an agreement on transferring them,” she chuckled in a sad tone. “I somehow doubt that you will allow any Raptor or Heavy Raider to land on Galactica’s deck.”

“You are holding prisoners?” asked Laura, her expression grim.

“We are, and we are willing to release them into your custody—no parole, they will be free regardless of the outcome of these negotiations.”

“Admiral,” Laura began, casting a glance at the Quorum and Adama picked up the phone. “Your doubts are correct. Have you environmental suits for the prisoners?”

“I do.”

“And how many are there?”

“Sixty-four in total.”

“I will send a shuttle, two Raptors, and four Vipers to rendezvous with your Heavy Raider half-way between the fleets. They will not dock. We will extend a line between the shuttle and your Heavy Raider, and the POWs can cross over in that manner. Any attempt to infiltrate a Cylon among them will result in the immediate end of these negotiations.”

A pause. “That is acceptable. How long will you requi- . . .,”

“ADMIRAL! MULTIPLE CONTACTS ON DRADIS!”

“It’s a trap!” snapped Laura.

“Saul, beginning spinning up FTL to rendezvous with the Fleet—inform Pegasus and recall the fighters. Talk to me, Dee.”

“Galactica, Kat,” the wireless crackled. "Multiple Gemini- and Wishbone-class Basestars have jumped in near the Cylons—they are launching Raiders . . . HOLY FRACK!” she cried. “They are firing into the Cylons! They just killed one Nova!”

“Confirmed, Admiral,” said Dee. “Six Gemini- and four Wishbone-class Basestars.”

Bill and Saul looked at each other and then the Admiral sighed. “Madame President, we do not have the firepower to intervene.”

Laura smiled. “This is not our fight, Admiral. I trust the Quorum agrees?”

“It also corroborates—in part—their story, Madame President,” said Zarek. “But I agree—engaging this number would be foolhardy.” And one-by-one, the others also nodded.

“Admiral,” Laura said in a formal tone. “Withdraw to join the civilians.”

Adama put his arms behind his back and he stared at the DRADIS icons, the icons so familiar to him from so long ago. They had returned.

“Combat landings, we are leaving as soon as all fight-. . .,” but again he was interrupted.

“NEW CONTACTS! They appeared beyond the Cylons, right at the edge of maximum DRADIS range. I’m reading Colonial transponders!” Dee cried and then her face fell. “Admiral, its Battlestar Scorpia,” and then she blanched. She looked up and said in an unwavering voice clipped of all emotion. “Admiral, she’s moving to engage the enemy.”

“BELAY THAT ORDER!” Adama barked. “Launch everything we and Pegasus have on the deck and move closer to engage the enemy!” He looked at the President. “Madame President they will require time to recharge their FTLs, if we leave now . . .,” and his voice trailed off because no one present—military or civilian—failed to understand the consequences of leaving now. And more icons began to appear as Scorpia’s civilians jumped in behind her.

“Major Shaw is asking for confirmation, Sir.”

Saul Tigh snarled. “Inform Major Shaw that The Beast is to close and engage hostile Cylons—and if she doesn’t, I’ll fly over there myself and kick her ass the length of her flight deck!”

Dee blinked and she activated the comm. “Orders are confirmed, Pegasus—advance into the attack. Launch all available Vipers.”

“It never rains but it pours,” the Admiral whispered to Saul.

[masterarminas]

Three of the old-style Raiders—dubbed as the Ellipse-class by the crew of Scorpia—erupted after the next in flame as Hunter squeezed the trigger on his guns. There was something to be said for overkill, he thought with a smile—which faded as his threat receiver began to beep in his ear.

“Hard a-port, Hunter,” Vandal called out from the rear cockpit. “Two more on our tail—releasing flares and chaff—NOW.”

Hunter pulled the stick hard to his left and chopped the throttle and the Raiders shot right past him—barely over the cockpit canopy. She squeezed off another burst from the eight forward guns and one of them exploded.

“Gods on Olympus, I love this fighter,” he whispered as he pushed the throttle forward again in pursuit of the survivor.

“HARD A-LEE!” yelled Vandal and Hunter immediately complied—and narrowly missed getting rammed by two more Raiders streaking in from the side. Rammed. He shivered at the sudden realization of just how alien these Cylons actually were. And the third had flipped end for end and his tracers were now tracking in from the nose. Hunter squeezed the trigger again, even as the Thunder shuddered with a hit—but the armor held. His opponents, however, didn’t.

“They’re coming around again,” Vandal warned from the backseat.

“Talley-ho!” sang out another voice as both the Raiders exploded and another Thunder swept past.

“Jolly!” Hunter called out. “Was wondering where you were.”

“I was having elevenses in the mess when the alert sounded—you guys left me!”

Hunter smiled. “You’re going to eat Lorne out of house and home, Jolly,” he said with a chuckle.

“What I wouldn’t give for a full load of nuclear-tipped Hydras right now, boss,” Vandal said as this wave of Raiders petered out—and the DRADIS showed the Basestars closing in fast. And then Jolly gave out a whoop of joy as second Wishbone erupted in nuclear fire as Scorpia’s torpedoes drove home.

“Well,” the Aquarian pilot said as he rocked his wings beside his wingman and squadron commander, “since I was already running late, Sinclair gave me two. They are signed, sealed, and ready to be delivered.”

“Jolly, you fat bastard,” Vandal exclaimed, “I think I want to kiss you—mustache and all.”

“Sorry, Vandal, love, you aren’t my type—too skinny. Which target, boss?”

“Let’s make a clean sweep—that third Wishbone is looking a little lonely back there behind the Geminis,” Hunter answered.

“Galactica and Pegasus are engaging the four left behind—those Novas have taken a pounding, boss,” Vandal chimed in.

“No shit,” Hunter muttered. The old First War Cylon ships had heavy armor protection and were armed primarily with heavy guns and point defense—few carried many missile launchers. But the new model Cylon Basestars, those were finesse weapons, forgoing all armor except over the most vital of locations and armed exclusively with long-range missile batteries and extremely short-range point-defense weapons.

But these First War Geminis and Wishbones were exactly the kind of ships that the designers of Pegasus and her sisters had in mind when she was built. Already, the fourth Wishbone was reeling under the impact of the very heavy nose cannon that she carried—and the old Galactica, fondly known as The Bucket by most of the Fleet—wasn’t being a slouch either. Under the pounding of those heavy guns, one full arm of the Wishbone broke off—and then she exploded.

The four Basestars advancing on Scorpia and her civilians began to split up—to flank the Battlestar . . . but Hunter smiled. They had just opened a gap for him to fly directly through.

“Follow me in, Jolly, I’m ploughing the road,” he said as he settled his sights on the next wave of Raiders launching and squeezed the trigger, holding it down as the guns thundered away and clearing his wingman a path.

“Tone, I’ve got tone,” Jolly said. “Hydras away!”

Hunter pulled up—and he winced as he saw his ammunition reserves were now at 15% on all eight counters. The missiles flew true and straight though—two nuclear-tipped and two carrying nothing but jammers and ECM.

“Umino Hana is away,” Vandal called out, and Hunter sighed. Anubis, Aurora, and Scorpia remained—now in gun range of the Basestars—and so did Galactica and Pegasus, but the civilians were safe.

“Scorpia Wing, Rambler,” the wireless broadcast. “Bring ‘em in to the barn post-haste! Our dance card is getting a bit full!”

“YES!” Jolly yelled and Hunter bared his teeth as another nuclear explosion tore into the last Wishbone . . . but then he cursed as it sailed through the fireball, huge ruptures in the hull, blackened and scorched all over, but still under power, and her remaining guns still coughing shells. “I think we are going to need a bigger warhead, boss,” the Aquarian said bluntly.

“Thunder Squadron,” he broadcast, “you heard the man—find a deck and let’s get the frack out of here.”

“Novas and Obelisks have jumped—Galactica and Pegasus are landing fighters and spinning up drives,” Vandal reported. “Scorpia is spinning up FTLs and she looks busy, boss.”

“There goes Anubis—and Aurora,” reported Jolly as they screamed down towards Scorpias flight deck and the two smaller Colonial vessels vanished in the implosion of folding space.

“Crowded flight deck, people—watch yourselves,” he said he banked for a hands-on combat landing on the port deck. And then he snarled as the third salvo of torpedoes from Scorpia tore one of the three Geminis tearing her hull apart and sending debris spinning wildly.

“Galactica and Pegasus are away,” said Vandal. “Flight reports Scorpia will jump the instant we are down.”

“Gear down,” Hunter said as the remaining Cylon ships concentrated their fire on Scorpia and she staggered under blows—but her own guns were firing back at maximum rate. “Magnetic grapples on automatic.” Hunter passed through the flight deck housing and he cut his thrust and slammed down on the deck—Jolly right beside him.

“ALL THUNDERS DOWN!” he barked into the helmet pickup—and Scorpia jumped.

[Eternal_Freedom]

Damn. The Colonial Fleet can really open up the ass-whooping when it needs to.

[Darth Nostril]

Which is why the Cylons needed the CNP hack, in a straight up fight they would have been slaughtered.

[masterarminas]

Episode 13: Revelations

“Admiral, we are cleared for final approach,” Helo called out from the cockpit.

Adama, Saul Tigh, and Laura Roslin sat in the troop bay of the Raptor, along with several members of the Quorum and the very quiet ECO who was trying to remain seen and not heard in such august company. Two more Raptors following carried the rest of the Quorum and—at the President’s direction—the media.

Adama stood and he made his way forward, to the co-pilot seat, while Saul followed him and crouched between the Admiral and Helo. “Request permission to circle once before landing,” Adama ordered.

“Scorpia, Raptor 341; requesting permission to circle for observation before entering landing pattern.”

“Raptor 341, Scorpia Flight Control, permission granted.”

Helo slowly circled the Battlestar and Saul pointed at scoring on the outer surface of the port flight-pod. “Looks like they had fires onboard—and recently.”

“It happens,” said Adama. “Heavy cratering of the armor,” the Admiral noted. “Impacts on the engine pods—but they look intact.”

“Is that . . . ?” asked Saul. “She took some hard hits.”

Adama pursed his lips as he cast his gaze on the hole that penetrated the outer armor—and probably the inner hull as well. “Kamikaze strike, according to Commander Lorne. Came in fifteen meters forward of the number seven magazine.”

Saul winced. “DRADIS dome looks good—but there are impacts all over the forward section. She got hammered good, Bill,” he whispered.

“But she survived,” the Admiral replied in just as soft a voice.

Saul snorted. “At the rate she was popping out nukes, I don’t doubt it. She can’t have many left, though. Fleet only gave Valkyrie a dozen and I don’t see them giving her all that many more.”

“And we’ve got four—or we will have when you finish reassembling the warhead I gave to Baltar; Pegasus has eleven left. No, I imagine Commander Lorne’s magazines are just about dry as far as the big firecrackers go.”

They rounded the nose and started back aft along the port pod again—and saw two Vipers launch in sequence to replace elements of the CAP. Both were Mk VI Vipers.

“Old, but serviceable,” Saul said.

And the Admiral snorted. “Seen what we are flying, Saul? The Mk Vis are damn good fighters.”

“I’m really wanting to see those new fighters that Sidewinder talked about—according to the pilots, they can lay down the lead,” Saul said, sounding like nothing less than the rookie pilot assigned to Galactica forty-four years ago.

“Planning on crawling in the cockpit and taking it out for spin, XO?” Adama asked.

“I might just do that, now that you mention it, Admiral.”

“Raptor 341, Scorpia Flight Control,” the wireless broadcast. “You are cleared for landing in the starboard pod. Begin your approach and call the ball for hands-on-stick landing.”

“Copy, Flight, I’ve got the ball, starboard pod,” answered Helo.

And Adama snorted again, jerking his head at Saul. “Better get strapped in,” he ordered as he began to buckle himself into the co-pilot seat. “Rank has its privileges,” the Admiral finished.

“Flight, 341, I have the ball, seventeen degrees down angle, overtake speed +90.”

“341, Flight, you are in the green and clear for landing on elevator One Three.”

Helo winced. “Copy, Flight. Elevator One Three.”

“Problem, Helo?”

“I really don’t like the number thirteen, Admiral,” the pilot answered and Bill nodded. He picked up the wireless. “Flight, 341, request new elevator assignment.”

“341, Flight—you are cleared for landing on elevator One Three. Is there a problem?”

“No problem, Flight. This is Galactica Actual aboard Raptor 341, request new elevator assignment.”

There was a pause. “341, Flight, you are cleared for landing on elevator One Four. Repeat, elevator One Four.”

Adama smiled at his CAG. “It’s all in knowing what to say, Helo.”

[Eternal_Freedom]

I hate to say it but after they find Pegasus they pop off a LOT more than seven nukes (witness the battles of the Resurrection Hub and the Colony plus the one they used on the Guardian Baseship). Plus, Galactica had five on board, one is given to Baltar and one is used on the Basestar at Kobol, she should have four left counting the Baltar warhead, not two.

[masterarminas]

Mathias descended the ladder to the lower portion of the hanger deck, Lee Adama trailing in his wake.

“FORM UP!” Colonel Jayne bellowed to the serried ranks of pilots, deck hands, and Marines below as the three elevators began to descend. Mathias marched across the deck and Jayne—clad in his full dress uniform—bellowed, “SHIP’S COMPANY . . . STAND AT ATTEN-TION!” With a thunder that echoed throughout the bay, every man and woman (except those deck hands assigned to secure the Raptors) snapped to attention.

He saluted crisply. “Sir, company is present and accounted for, ready for Presidential Review.”

Mathias gravely returned the salute. Jayne lowered his arm and the XO turned on his heel, followed by the Commander and Lee Adama taking a place beside him—the other members of Lee’s Raptor mission were already standing in ranks.

“Bosun,” Mathias barked, “prepare to render Presidential Honors.”

The elevators slid easily into their wells and came to a halt. The deck crew rushed forward, locking the skids in place and wheeling up ladders—with handles—to the wings of the Raptors, before scurrying away once again.

Mathias stepped forward and the first hatch opened.

Behind him he heard Tom Jayne bellow, “Color guard, present the Colors!”

And Mathias nodded to the Bosun who keyed in a sequence in a control pad against the hanger bulkhead. From speakers throughout the hanger deck, the Colonial Anthem began to play, and five Marines in dress uniform marched forward; two bearing polished and bayoneted rifles—the remaining three carrying flags. Three flags, one for the Colonial Government, the second for home Colony of the President (in this case Caprica), and finally the standard of Battlestar Scorpia. They halted in front of the company, and then, in unison, lowered all three flagstaffs to a forty-five degree angle.

An Admiral stepped out on the wing of the first Raptor, and Jayne barked out, “SCORPIA, RENDER HAND SA-LUTE!”

And three hundred men and women saluted at the same exact moment, each stomping their boot heel on the deck at the exact same instant.

Laura Roslin emerged from the Raptor, and Mathias could not tell if she was stunned or simply shocked that anyone had bothered.

He marched forward to the base of the ladder and held up one hand to assist the President down, and she was followed by Admiral Adama and Colonel Tigh, and several civilians.

Mathias stepped backed and he offered a crisp, slow, and perfect salute as the notes of the anthem reverberated from the bulkheads.

“Welcome aboard Battlestar Scorpia, Madame President,” he said. And then he stood there unmoving.

Bill Adama leaned forward, and he whispered in Laura’s ear. “You are supposed to return the salute, Madame President with your right hand over your heart,” and she smiled at him and did so.

Mathias released his own salute, and so did the company which stomped the deck yet again.

“The Ship’s Company is prepared for inspection, Madame President,” he said—but Bill could see a twinkle in his eyes. By the Gods, he was teasing the President! And he almost—but not quite—burst out laughing.

“Perhaps later, Commander . . . Lorne.”

Mathias nodded. “Madame President, Admiral Adama, on behalf of the officers and crew of the Battlestar Scorpia, I beg to report that on this day, we rejoin the Colonial Fleet with five thousand four hundred and forty-three souls in our care. Let no one, man or Cylon or Lord of Kobol himself, say of those who it has been my honor to command, that they have not done their duty.”

Laura blinked and she didn’t say a word, she just grabbed Commander Lorne’s hand, shock it, and she stepped up and hugged him. And a massive cheer went up from the assembly.

[masterarminas]

I hate to say it but after they find Pegasus they pop off a LOT more than seven nukes (witness the battles of the Resurrection Hub and the Colony plus the one they used on the Guardian Baseship). Plus, Galactica had five on board, one is given to Baltar and one is used on the Basestar at Kobol, she should have four left counting the Baltar warhead, not two.

Fixed. Thank you.

MA

[masterarminas]

Several hours later, Mathias, both of the Adamas, Laura, Saul Tigh, Mark Foeswan, and Tom Jayne sat down on the sofa and chairs in the sitting area of the Commander’s stateroom. The Quorum were still being shown around Scorpia—Tom Zarek had been taken aback when his friend Jon Namer had appeared; he was now touring Anubis and Leonis Pryde.

Helo and Sharon had reunited as well—and if they had disappeared a short time later, neither Mathias nor the Admiral had said a word.

Of course, the Admiral may have been a bit distracted when Lee had introduced him to his grand-daughter—and his former fiancée. Neither had wanted a religious ceremony, so Mathias had brushed off the manual of regulations and conducted a very private rite for the two of them in the surgery. Needless to say, the President had oohed and aahed with the best of them over the small babe.

And she had clearly been taken aback by the crew and the ship; just as the personnel from Galactica and Pegasus and the civilians, including the media, had been.

But now the time had come for a private meeting—well, as private as a meeting of this type could be. Mathias leaned forward.

“Admiral, I’ve prepared several reports for you, Commander Adama assisted in compiling them. This,” and he held up one binder, “is the complete report of our mission and return to the Colonies and our activities since. This one,” he raised another, “is a complete manifest of all parts, ordnance, supplies, and provisions aboard the ships I have escorted. And this one,” raising the third, “is a complete roster of all Fleet and civilian personnel, as well as the ships to which they are assigned and their current duties.”

“As far as ordnance goes, our magazines are still relatively full. I have used or expended three Hades-IV space-to-surface munitions, but I retain three in the silos with their MIRVs intact. My nuclear ordnance now consists of eight fusion-tipped Thunderbolt torpedoes and two small—I am speaking of 50-kiloton—warheads for Hydras. If I am given a few days, I can disassemble another Hades-IV and convert eight additional warheads for use with the Thunderbolts. For fighters, the report is no longer accurate—I lost three Mk VIIs, two Mk VIs and four Thunders, along with their crews, in the battle, along with nine personnel aboard Scorpia.”

Bill Adama nodded and Saul Tigh raised an eyebrow before he too nodded an appreciation. “You’ve put your civilians to work?” the Galactica XO asked.

And Tom Jayne snorted. “This isn’t a pleasure cruise, Colonel Tigh. They aren’t passengers—they are survivors. We need every hand for this evolution. That means they need to tend to their own ships and busy hands stay out of mischief.”

Saul snorted. “Damn if I wish we couldn’t do the same thing.”

“I am concerned, Commander,” the President said with a sour look on her face when Saul spoke, “about your agreement with these Sagittaron Freedom Movement terrorists. You gave them a blanket amnesty with no authority to do so, you have given them an armed ship, you have allowed them to set up their own internal police force. Many of them were wanted men and women, Commander—a fact which you must be aware of.”

“There were, Madame President, but in case you didn’t notice, society came crashing down in the attack. Frankly, I don’t care what they did before—the question is what can they do now. Mister Namer and I have come to an understanding, and I have made perfectly clear that any act of violence in the name of political discourse or an action intended to harm this Fleet will not be tolerated. Yes, I have organized police forces on every one of my non-military ships—these will make certain that crime is quashed. My own JAG and CIS personnel are overseeing them, to make damn sure that they do not step over the line. I won’t tolerate assault, rape, or murder on my ships.”

“I am still concerned about this ship—Anubis—being in their hands,” Laura said.

Mathias sighed and he sat forward. “Major Caldwell is a capable and loyal Fleet officer, Madame President. Do you why she resigned her commission?”

“No, Commander,” the President said as she crossed her legs and leaned on one elbow. “Why don’t you inform us of why she joined a terrorist organization?”

“Commander Lorne,” said the Admiral. “That will not be necessary—I am fully aware of who Samantha Caldwell is and her qualifications. And the reasons why she resigned,” she said and exchanged a look with Laura that said ‘we will discuss this later’. She nodded assent and then sat back.

“Her qualifications aside, is her loyalty to the Fleet or the SFM?” the President asked.

“Their war against President Adar and the government imposed on Sagittaron is over, Madame President. I am certain, however, that hotheads on both sides remain and we will be dealing with the aftermath for a good long while. But at the moment, Namer and Caldwell and I have managed to tamp down any problems. Can your Fleet not do the same?”

Laura smiled sweetly again and she sat back. “Lee tells me that you and I are going to have . . . differences,” she said.

“Madame President,” Mathias said quietly. “I am an officer in the Colonial Fleet. As long your orders are legal, I will obey them—so will the people under my command. We will not, however, obey an illegal order. Nor will I deprive any of my people of their rights guaranteed under the Articles of Colonization or the Fleet’s Articles of War. That includes your ban on abortion—it will not be enforced on this vessel.”

Laura sighed and she glared at Mathias and Mathias glared right back at her. “Your Captain Greene told you were a hard-ass, Commander,” and she smiled. “I see that he was right. I want your Cylon prisoners transferred to Galactica.”

“I have no Cylon prisoners, Madame President,” Mathias said with a smirk.

“Oh? I understand that you have two,” she said and both Adamas frowned in unison.

“I had two prisoners—they have proved their loyalty and been inducted into the Colonial Fleet, just as Admiral Adama did with Athena. I trust them, and they are not going to be put into a cell when they have risked their lives to defend the people under my authority.”

“You had no right to do that, Commander!”

“I had every right, Madame President. Under the Articles of War—unless you are setting them aside and ruling by fiat. In which case, you are not President, but a tyrant.”

Lee started to open his mouth as his father leaned forward, but Colonel Tigh actually pulled him back.

“Commander, if I give you an order, you will obey it,” the elder Adama growled.

“On what basis Commander Adama?” Mathias asked. “The two of us share the same rank.”

“I promoted William Adama to Admiral, Commander,” said Laura.

“You promoted him to Rear Admiral, Madame President. The Articles of War reserve to the People’s Council the exclusive right to confirm any appoints to Flag rank, with one exception—as President, you are within your right to nominate Commander Adama for that rank, but without the ratification by the Council, Madame President, he remains, in the eyes of the Law, a Commander. Now, you could, legally, appoint him as Admiral of the Fleet—but that office is limited to a single term of three years, after which he is legally mandated to retire.”

“Commander,” she said in a very sweet and quiet voice, “we no longer have a People’s Council.”

“That does present a problem—for you, Madame President. However, until the Quorum revises the law and the Articles of War, then William Adama remains a Commander. He is, of course, senior to me and I will obey any lawful order that he issues. No offense meant, Bill,” Mathias said.

“None taken, Commander Lorne,” that gravelly voice answered. “You know, I didn’t think you were a barrack’s room lawyer, Commander.”

“I am not, Commander. In fact, I prefer very much to avoid politics—but I will not be threatened, nor will I be coerced into doing something that my conscience tells me is wrong. For the moment, I am more than willing to accept that you are an Admiral, but Madame President, you need to fix the law real quick and get the Quorum to confirm your appointment. Now,” and Mathias sighed. “Lee here informs me that you and I are going to have very many differences over the crew of the Pegasus—frankly I want them all tried and the guilty ones convicted for their role in looting and abandoning civilians. Not to mention the gang-rape and abuse of one of your Cylon prisoners—a prisoner that is now in your surgery. He has tried to persuade me that this will not happen, and while I believe him, I also feel the need of making the argument that we cannot allow rapists in uniform, Admiral Adama.”

“You are asking me to conduct a witch-hunt that will decimate that crew and utterly destroy their morale,” Adama said.

“I am asking you to do your job and bring criminals to justice before they shame our uniform even more, Sir.”

Adama started to reply, but Mathias held up his hand. “I don’t want an answer now, Admiral. And I will abide by your decision. And while we are on the subject of crimes and punishment, Madame President, I will not stand by and let Prisoners of War be subjected to such punishment or to summary execution. The Articles forbid it—and I will not allow it.”

“You will not allow it, Commander?” asked Laura, and she threw up her hands. “Are you launching a coup?”

“No, Madame President,” Mathias said—and the tone of his voice made very clear he meant ‘not yet—not unless I am forced to’.

She drew in a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. “I believe that this . . . reunion will take some getting used to on both sides,” she said as she stood, followed by everyone present in the room. “Admiral Adama, I am growing weary—may we return to Galactica?”

“Certainly, Madame President,” he said. “If you would give me a moment, I would like a word with Commander Lorne in private.”

One-by-one, the other officers filed out until only Mathias and Bill Adama were left. “You want a drink, Admiral?” Mathias asked.

“I think we could both use one, Commander,” Bill said and he waited until the younger officer handed him a glass and they both took a sip.

“You are an idealist, aren’t you Commander?” Adama asked. “You wish that the world fit neatly into all of those little boxes in your head that you keep separate and organized—it doesn’t. It never will. Sometimes, we have to sacrifice some of our idealism in order to survive, Mathias. It is not pleasant, and on rare occasion it leaves a stain on the soul that can never be removed.”

Mathias nodded as Bill glared at him. And Adama took another sip. “You stand by your principles, and I can respect that, Commander. But I too have a limit on how far I can be pushed—do not make the mistake of crossing that line with me. I will bury you, if I have to. Do you understand me, Commander?”

“Perfectly, Admiral.”

“Good,” Adama said and he took another sip. “I am not going to question your choice to put your Cavil and Sam Anders in uniform—and gods know we cannot keep the secret of the rest of the Cylons for long, now that you are here. So, I am going to need to work on the President on that—but I cannot do that if you are pushing her into a corner. She doesn’t back down, and she doesn’t fight fairly, Mathias. Consider that a warning.”

He sat down his glass and he walked over to the hatch. Then Adama stopped and he turned back around. “That being said, sometimes, we could use a bit more idealism in our lives, Commander. Just be certain you do not cross that line.”

And he opened the hatch and joined the President as Mathias drained the last of his drink and walked out to accompany them to the hanger deck.