This has got me to wondering. Wouldn't the "final five" be able to piece this together on their own? If pictures of the known Cylon skin-jobs started circulating, shouldn't Tigh and Tyrol and Sharon and the rest... well, at least one of them, have recognized the other survivors from that incident, and started piecing it together? Unless there was some sort of post-hypnotic suggestion of some sort that caused them to simply overlook the coincidences?masterarminas wrote:Sidewinder waited until the hatch had closed and then he sighed. “Admiral, check your archival records for a civilian shuttle named Joyita—if Galactica doesn’t have it, Pegasus should. Scorpia had them, at least.”
The Hunted (nBSG)
Moderator: LadyTevar
Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
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masterarminas
- Jedi Master
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- Joined: 2012-04-09 11:06pm
Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
“We are a bit short on personnel quarters at the moment, Captain Greene,” Felix Gaeta said as he escorted the captain through the twisting corridors of Galactica. “I am afraid that I have to assign both you and Lieutenant Jamussa to one of the pilot berthing compartments.”
“Understood, Lieutenant,” Sidewinder replied, and then he smiled. “Actually, quarters are the least of our worries—neither of us have so much as a change of socks or underwear.”
Felix nodded and grinned back. “I have your uniform sizes from the personnel file chip in your flight suits,” he said as he tapped the small hand scanner that he had used to access the information earlier. “I’ll see about getting you some spares.”
“That would be very much appreciated, Lieutenant.”
As they approached the hatchway to the berth, Gaeta stopped and he blushed and he turned back to face the new pair of foundlings. “Ah, Captain, perhaps you would like a bite to eat, first? Or maybe relax for a little while in the rec-room?”
Sidewinder walked past Gaeta and he lifted up a sock that was suspended from that handle on the hatch, and he raised an eyebrow. Michael Jamussa—Kaboose—just shook his head and his face bore the most remarkable grin. But no emotion whatsoever showed itself on the senior pilot’s face. He pulled off the sock and yanked the hatch open, even as Gaeta opened his mouth—and then closed it.
“Attention on deck!” Sidewinder barked. And from one of the upper bunks, came a beefy THUD, followed by two yelps, and then a naked man rolled out of the bunk and landed face first on the deck. He was followed by an equally naked woman, clutching a bedsheet in one hand to cover—partially—her naked body.
Sidewinder waited for a moment as the man shook his head and then he knelt down. “WHAT THE FRACK ARE YOU DOING LAYING ON MY DECK AND NOT STANDING AT ATTENTION!” he bellowed.
Gaeta buried his face in his hands outside, as passing pilots and crewmen gathered to watch, and Kaboose just chuckled.
The totally naked man—well, not exactly totally, because he still wore his tags around his neck, just as the woman did—sprang to his feet and stood ramrod straight.
“NAMES!” he barked—although he already recognized the pilot from the Raptor.
“Lieutenant Margaret Edmondson, Sir!” she snapped.
And the man followed almost on her heels. "Lieutenant Jarrell Kief, Sir!"
Sidewinder nodded at the two of them. “Lieutenant Edmondson, is it customary aboard this ship to stand in a position of attention while holding an article of bed cloth in two hands? I ask this because to my recollection of instructions when I was inducted, that in the Colonial Fleet, IT IS NOT!”
“Sir, no, SIR!” she barked as he dropped the bedsheet and wolf-whistles came from outside.
Sidewinder spun around took four fast paces into the corridor. “COME TO ATTENTION ALL OF YOU!” he barked. “You two, Edmondson and Kief, put something on and join us—you have ten fracking seconds! MOVE!”
Captain Greene nodded to Kaboose who took a place alongside the collected pilots and crew—while Felix just stood there staring in absolute, abject horror. Stefan noted that Colonel Tigh was standing at the end of the corridor, looking on him with astonishment—but as the Colonel didn’t say a word, he turned his back on the man. Just in time to see Racetrack and ‘Fuzzy’ Kief fall into line in their hastily donned skivvies.
“All right, people,” he said calmly. “I am Captain Stefan Greene, my call-sign is Sidewinder. That man standing there is my EWO, Lieutenant (j.g.) Michael ‘Kaboose’ Jamussa. We are going to be joining you in,” and he cocked his head at Felix.
“Berthing compartment One Seven-B,” the officer answered.
“Berthing compartment One Seven-B. Those of you who are NOT assigned to berthing compartment one seven-b you are dismissed—as soon as you drop and give me a hundred. The rest of you,” he continued as seven of the onlookers slowly got down on their hands and toes and began to crank out push-ups, “need to understand something.”
“This is the Colonial Fleet. Your superiors and supervisors may have cut you some slack, but guess what, children? Play time is now over. Lieutenant Edmondson,” he said. “Are you aware of the regulations against fraternization with officers or enlisted personnel in the same chain of command?”
“Sir, I, ah, well, everyone’s doing it!”
“Ah, yes. The ‘but Mom, everyone else is doing it’ defense. THAT SHIT DOESN’T WORK!” he bellowed into her face. “Regulations are in place for a reason, people—they keep your asses alive and in one piece. If you and Lieutenant Kief want to carry on a relationship, Lieutenant Edmondson, then one of you needs to transfer off this ship—which one is going to do that?”
Silence.
“I didn’t hear you,” Sidewinder said quietly. “I guess that means this stops NOW. Because after today? Oh, children. After today, I find two of my pilots FRACKING IN THE BERTHING COMPARTMENT, your asses will belong to me. You won’t be going before the Commander’s Mast, you won’t be listening to Colonel Tigh tear you a new asshole, no sweethearts, you are going to answer to me. And trust me, I’ll run you so ragged you won’t have the energy left to FRACK!”
“Kaboose and I are now heading to get a bite of lunch, children. That berthing compartment is a disgrace. I would say that it is a pigsty, but that is an insult to all of the various species of swine. When I return, it had best be STERILIZED! I want that deck so clean I can eat off of it, I want those lockers organized, the mirrors polished, the sheets changed, the bulkheads scrubbed, the air intakes and ventilators cleaned, and those bunks made to regulation, or SO HELP ME ALL THE GODS WE ARE GOING TO HAVE PROBLEMS. AND BY WE I MEAN THAT YOU WILL HAVE PROBLEMS! DO YOU GET ME?” he barked, his voice echoing down the corridors.
“SIR, YES, SIR!”
“Good. Now get my berth squared the frack away, people. Lieutenant Gaeta, you mentioned lunch?”
Felix just nodded, gave a kind-a, sort-a smile and led him and Kaboose down the corridor—and Tigh gave Sidewinder a wink as he passed, the Colonel desperately trying to keep the laughter inside him contained.
“Understood, Lieutenant,” Sidewinder replied, and then he smiled. “Actually, quarters are the least of our worries—neither of us have so much as a change of socks or underwear.”
Felix nodded and grinned back. “I have your uniform sizes from the personnel file chip in your flight suits,” he said as he tapped the small hand scanner that he had used to access the information earlier. “I’ll see about getting you some spares.”
“That would be very much appreciated, Lieutenant.”
As they approached the hatchway to the berth, Gaeta stopped and he blushed and he turned back to face the new pair of foundlings. “Ah, Captain, perhaps you would like a bite to eat, first? Or maybe relax for a little while in the rec-room?”
Sidewinder walked past Gaeta and he lifted up a sock that was suspended from that handle on the hatch, and he raised an eyebrow. Michael Jamussa—Kaboose—just shook his head and his face bore the most remarkable grin. But no emotion whatsoever showed itself on the senior pilot’s face. He pulled off the sock and yanked the hatch open, even as Gaeta opened his mouth—and then closed it.
“Attention on deck!” Sidewinder barked. And from one of the upper bunks, came a beefy THUD, followed by two yelps, and then a naked man rolled out of the bunk and landed face first on the deck. He was followed by an equally naked woman, clutching a bedsheet in one hand to cover—partially—her naked body.
Sidewinder waited for a moment as the man shook his head and then he knelt down. “WHAT THE FRACK ARE YOU DOING LAYING ON MY DECK AND NOT STANDING AT ATTENTION!” he bellowed.
Gaeta buried his face in his hands outside, as passing pilots and crewmen gathered to watch, and Kaboose just chuckled.
The totally naked man—well, not exactly totally, because he still wore his tags around his neck, just as the woman did—sprang to his feet and stood ramrod straight.
“NAMES!” he barked—although he already recognized the pilot from the Raptor.
“Lieutenant Margaret Edmondson, Sir!” she snapped.
And the man followed almost on her heels. "Lieutenant Jarrell Kief, Sir!"
Sidewinder nodded at the two of them. “Lieutenant Edmondson, is it customary aboard this ship to stand in a position of attention while holding an article of bed cloth in two hands? I ask this because to my recollection of instructions when I was inducted, that in the Colonial Fleet, IT IS NOT!”
“Sir, no, SIR!” she barked as he dropped the bedsheet and wolf-whistles came from outside.
Sidewinder spun around took four fast paces into the corridor. “COME TO ATTENTION ALL OF YOU!” he barked. “You two, Edmondson and Kief, put something on and join us—you have ten fracking seconds! MOVE!”
Captain Greene nodded to Kaboose who took a place alongside the collected pilots and crew—while Felix just stood there staring in absolute, abject horror. Stefan noted that Colonel Tigh was standing at the end of the corridor, looking on him with astonishment—but as the Colonel didn’t say a word, he turned his back on the man. Just in time to see Racetrack and ‘Fuzzy’ Kief fall into line in their hastily donned skivvies.
“All right, people,” he said calmly. “I am Captain Stefan Greene, my call-sign is Sidewinder. That man standing there is my EWO, Lieutenant (j.g.) Michael ‘Kaboose’ Jamussa. We are going to be joining you in,” and he cocked his head at Felix.
“Berthing compartment One Seven-B,” the officer answered.
“Berthing compartment One Seven-B. Those of you who are NOT assigned to berthing compartment one seven-b you are dismissed—as soon as you drop and give me a hundred. The rest of you,” he continued as seven of the onlookers slowly got down on their hands and toes and began to crank out push-ups, “need to understand something.”
“This is the Colonial Fleet. Your superiors and supervisors may have cut you some slack, but guess what, children? Play time is now over. Lieutenant Edmondson,” he said. “Are you aware of the regulations against fraternization with officers or enlisted personnel in the same chain of command?”
“Sir, I, ah, well, everyone’s doing it!”
“Ah, yes. The ‘but Mom, everyone else is doing it’ defense. THAT SHIT DOESN’T WORK!” he bellowed into her face. “Regulations are in place for a reason, people—they keep your asses alive and in one piece. If you and Lieutenant Kief want to carry on a relationship, Lieutenant Edmondson, then one of you needs to transfer off this ship—which one is going to do that?”
Silence.
“I didn’t hear you,” Sidewinder said quietly. “I guess that means this stops NOW. Because after today? Oh, children. After today, I find two of my pilots FRACKING IN THE BERTHING COMPARTMENT, your asses will belong to me. You won’t be going before the Commander’s Mast, you won’t be listening to Colonel Tigh tear you a new asshole, no sweethearts, you are going to answer to me. And trust me, I’ll run you so ragged you won’t have the energy left to FRACK!”
“Kaboose and I are now heading to get a bite of lunch, children. That berthing compartment is a disgrace. I would say that it is a pigsty, but that is an insult to all of the various species of swine. When I return, it had best be STERILIZED! I want that deck so clean I can eat off of it, I want those lockers organized, the mirrors polished, the sheets changed, the bulkheads scrubbed, the air intakes and ventilators cleaned, and those bunks made to regulation, or SO HELP ME ALL THE GODS WE ARE GOING TO HAVE PROBLEMS. AND BY WE I MEAN THAT YOU WILL HAVE PROBLEMS! DO YOU GET ME?” he barked, his voice echoing down the corridors.
“SIR, YES, SIR!”
“Good. Now get my berth squared the frack away, people. Lieutenant Gaeta, you mentioned lunch?”
Felix just nodded, gave a kind-a, sort-a smile and led him and Kaboose down the corridor—and Tigh gave Sidewinder a wink as he passed, the Colonel desperately trying to keep the laughter inside him contained.
Last edited by masterarminas on 2013-01-24 10:41pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Eternal_Freedom
- Castellan
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Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
Oh bravo Sidewinder. Finally, a pilot Colonel Tight likes 
Baltar: "I don't want to miss a moment of the last Battlestar's destruction!"
Centurion: "Sir, I really think you should look at the other Battlestar."
Baltar: "What are you babbling about other...it's impossible!"
Centurion: "No. It is a Battlestar."
Corrax Entry 7:17: So you walk eternally through the shadow realms, standing against evil where all others falter. May your thirst for retribution never quench, may the blood on your sword never dry, and may we never need you again.
Centurion: "Sir, I really think you should look at the other Battlestar."
Baltar: "What are you babbling about other...it's impossible!"
Centurion: "No. It is a Battlestar."
Corrax Entry 7:17: So you walk eternally through the shadow realms, standing against evil where all others falter. May your thirst for retribution never quench, may the blood on your sword never dry, and may we never need you again.
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masterarminas
- Jedi Master
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- Joined: 2012-04-09 11:06pm
Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
That is a good idea. Might just use it.MondoMage wrote:This has got me to wondering. Wouldn't the "final five" be able to piece this together on their own? If pictures of the known Cylon skin-jobs started circulating, shouldn't Tigh and Tyrol and Sharon and the rest... well, at least one of them, have recognized the other survivors from that incident, and started piecing it together? Unless there was some sort of post-hypnotic suggestion of some sort that caused them to simply overlook the coincidences?masterarminas wrote:Sidewinder waited until the hatch had closed and then he sighed. “Admiral, check your archival records for a civilian shuttle named Joyita—if Galactica doesn’t have it, Pegasus should. Scorpia had them, at least.”
MA
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masterarminas
- Jedi Master
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Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
“I understand that you are being your usual charming self, Sidewinder,” Helo said as he sat down at the table with a tray of what could charitably be called food. “I have had members of the squadron offer me three hundred and forty-two cubits if I would give you my quarters and move back into the berth.”
“Oh?” asked Sidewinder. “Which ones?”
Karl Agathon just smiled and he took a bite of the green flecked paste on top of the noodles. Seeing Stefan’s reaction, he shook his head. “Ignore how it looks—it’s pretty decent chow.”
Sidewinder snorted, and passed the remains of his own bowl across. Helo picked it up and dumped in atop his own.
“Karl?”
“I’m not going to tell you—and we are the same rank now, so you can’t make me.”
“Fair enough—I’ll just have to run them all ragged for a week or two.”
Helo chuckled again between spoonfuls. “Lot of those kids never went to the Academy or Flight School, Stefan. They got trained out here, while we were short-handed; they are the ones good enough to survive.”
“A valid point, Karl. But they are incredibly undisciplined—and that is a problem. You know it, and I know it. Did you realize that when Kara Thrace was teaching them to fly she just threw away—literally threw away—the manual of regs and told them they didn’t need to know that stuff?”
The Galactica pilot snorted and he swallowed. “Sounds like Starbuck,” he said. “They are good kids, Stefan.”
“They are—but they need to toughen up a bit and learn some control; otherwise, one of these days someone is going to get seriously hurt and that won’t be pretty; or the aftermath when they deal with the fact they caused it.”
Sidewinder took a sip of the bright blue energy drink he was sipping on. “Wanted to say how sorry I was, Karl,” he said softly. “I heard about your kid.”
Helo looked up and he nodded. “And I’m sure you’ve heard that I’m the resident toaster-fracker and pretty much not cared for because of it.”
“I have—and I’ve shut down that shit when it has started, in my berth at least. You can’t control who you fall for, I think that’s one of the rules of Eros.”
Karl sat up and he cocked his head. “You don’t think I fracked up, getting involved with a toaster?”
“She’s a flesh and blood woman, Karl—a woman who made her choice. That makes her a person, not a thing. I don’t care if she came out of a vat or a womb, she’s a person—and no person deserves to treated as an object.”
Karl sat back, his mouth a little slack, and Sidewinder smiled. “So when do I get to meet the missus?”
“She’s in lock-up, Stefan—and we aren’t married.”
“Bullshit, Karl. She loves you—you love her. Marry her. Frack what the President wants, you do what is best for the two of you,” he frowned and leaned in, Helo followed. “Look, when Scorpia gets here, Commander Lorne ain’t gonna put up with this nonsense—he’ll give you and Sharon sanctuary on Scorpia, if you need it. And once he does, he won’t give either of you—or your children—up to Adama, Roslin, or the Lords of Kobol themselves.”
Karl sat back and so did Stefan. He took another sip as Helo slowly nodded. “You haven’t told me how you made captain?”
“It was a consolation prize for being grounded. Can’t trust the toaster-fracker to fly, you know.”
“Last time I checked, you sucked at piloting—best down EWO ever, though.”
“Frack you,” Helo laughed, and Sidewinder smiled.
“So when do I met the future Missus Agathon?”
“Soon as I can get you cleared, man.”
A beeping sound came from Sidewinder’s pocket and he stood up, pulled out of timer, and clicked a button. “Ah, it is time to go wake the children. It is amazing how out of shape they are—so I borrowed a bunch of ruck-sacks from the marines, loaded them down with thirty-five kilos of sand-bags each, and we—the whole bloody Raptor squadron—are going to do a stem-to-stern fun run alternating from the top deck to the keel and back again,” Sidewinder smiled. “Care to join us?”
“Love to, those ladders sound like such fun, but I report to the CIC in ten minutes,” Helo said quickly.
Sidewinder laughed. “Good to see you, Karl—and keep in mind what I had to say.”
With that, Sidewinder turned to leave, leaving Karl Agathon to chew on his words.
“Oh?” asked Sidewinder. “Which ones?”
Karl Agathon just smiled and he took a bite of the green flecked paste on top of the noodles. Seeing Stefan’s reaction, he shook his head. “Ignore how it looks—it’s pretty decent chow.”
Sidewinder snorted, and passed the remains of his own bowl across. Helo picked it up and dumped in atop his own.
“Karl?”
“I’m not going to tell you—and we are the same rank now, so you can’t make me.”
“Fair enough—I’ll just have to run them all ragged for a week or two.”
Helo chuckled again between spoonfuls. “Lot of those kids never went to the Academy or Flight School, Stefan. They got trained out here, while we were short-handed; they are the ones good enough to survive.”
“A valid point, Karl. But they are incredibly undisciplined—and that is a problem. You know it, and I know it. Did you realize that when Kara Thrace was teaching them to fly she just threw away—literally threw away—the manual of regs and told them they didn’t need to know that stuff?”
The Galactica pilot snorted and he swallowed. “Sounds like Starbuck,” he said. “They are good kids, Stefan.”
“They are—but they need to toughen up a bit and learn some control; otherwise, one of these days someone is going to get seriously hurt and that won’t be pretty; or the aftermath when they deal with the fact they caused it.”
Sidewinder took a sip of the bright blue energy drink he was sipping on. “Wanted to say how sorry I was, Karl,” he said softly. “I heard about your kid.”
Helo looked up and he nodded. “And I’m sure you’ve heard that I’m the resident toaster-fracker and pretty much not cared for because of it.”
“I have—and I’ve shut down that shit when it has started, in my berth at least. You can’t control who you fall for, I think that’s one of the rules of Eros.”
Karl sat up and he cocked his head. “You don’t think I fracked up, getting involved with a toaster?”
“She’s a flesh and blood woman, Karl—a woman who made her choice. That makes her a person, not a thing. I don’t care if she came out of a vat or a womb, she’s a person—and no person deserves to treated as an object.”
Karl sat back, his mouth a little slack, and Sidewinder smiled. “So when do I get to meet the missus?”
“She’s in lock-up, Stefan—and we aren’t married.”
“Bullshit, Karl. She loves you—you love her. Marry her. Frack what the President wants, you do what is best for the two of you,” he frowned and leaned in, Helo followed. “Look, when Scorpia gets here, Commander Lorne ain’t gonna put up with this nonsense—he’ll give you and Sharon sanctuary on Scorpia, if you need it. And once he does, he won’t give either of you—or your children—up to Adama, Roslin, or the Lords of Kobol themselves.”
Karl sat back and so did Stefan. He took another sip as Helo slowly nodded. “You haven’t told me how you made captain?”
“It was a consolation prize for being grounded. Can’t trust the toaster-fracker to fly, you know.”
“Last time I checked, you sucked at piloting—best down EWO ever, though.”
“Frack you,” Helo laughed, and Sidewinder smiled.
“So when do I met the future Missus Agathon?”
“Soon as I can get you cleared, man.”
A beeping sound came from Sidewinder’s pocket and he stood up, pulled out of timer, and clicked a button. “Ah, it is time to go wake the children. It is amazing how out of shape they are—so I borrowed a bunch of ruck-sacks from the marines, loaded them down with thirty-five kilos of sand-bags each, and we—the whole bloody Raptor squadron—are going to do a stem-to-stern fun run alternating from the top deck to the keel and back again,” Sidewinder smiled. “Care to join us?”
“Love to, those ladders sound like such fun, but I report to the CIC in ten minutes,” Helo said quickly.
Sidewinder laughed. “Good to see you, Karl—and keep in mind what I had to say.”
With that, Sidewinder turned to leave, leaving Karl Agathon to chew on his words.
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FaxModem1
- Emperor's Hand
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- Location: In a dark reflection of a better world
Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
I do think that Fuzzy and Racetrack could have used the 'endangered species' defense. But then again, if they were about making babies, all females wouldn't be pilots and would be taking artificial insemination instead.
Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
So they're getting settled in quite nicely on Galactica. I would have thought they would be anxious to get back to Scorpia before they get too far away?
You will be assimilated...bunghole!
Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
Well, since the Scorpia is trying to catch up with the Galactica, their best bet is to stay put and wait for them. And now that Adama and crew know that there are other survivors, they can take steps to make it easier. With the Cylons hopefully fighting one another, and the disruption of the Resurrection network, they hopefully won't be in much of a position to make too much trouble. But then again, Pvt Murphy is a real pain in the ass. There's enough simmering issues in the fleet to cause lots of problems without the Cylons having to lift a finger.Borgholio wrote:So they're getting settled in quite nicely on Galactica. I would have thought they would be anxious to get back to Scorpia before they get too far away?
For instance, Cain may be dead and gone, but she didn't commit those atrocities on her own. Sidewinder's stance on following illegal orders has been stated rather clearly. I don't think Lorne is going to cut the Pegasus crew any slack on this one. Nor anyone else, for all the iffy things that have occurred during the exodus.
Makes me wonder... is Brother Cavil aware of how deeply Baltar was (inadvertently) involved in providing the Cylons the access that they needed to sabotage the Fleet? Things might get a tad hot for him, if such information were to get out.
Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
I was under the impression that Scorpia didn't know "exactly" where Galactica was, so they were following a trail of clues.
You will be assimilated...bunghole!
Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
Did I miss something? When was Sidewinder given command of the Raptors on Galatica. Just because he may be a squadron CO on Scorpia does not give him command duties on Galatica. This would have to be cleared through Galactica's CAG and I'm not sure how Starbuck will like a "by the booker" running one of her squadrons.
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Eternal_Freedom
- Castellan
- Posts: 10392
- Joined: 2010-03-09 02:16pm
- Location: CIC, Battlestar Temeraire
Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
He wasn't given command, he was assigned a bunk in the Raptor squdron berth, since he's a Captain and they are all Lts., he calls the shots. They could take it up with Colonel Tigh but he seems to find the idea hilarious.Shawn wrote:Did I miss something? When was Sidewinder given command of the Raptors on Galatica. Just because he may be a squadron CO on Scorpia does not give him command duties on Galatica. This would have to be cleared through Galactica's CAG and I'm not sure how Starbuck will like a "by the booker" running one of her squadrons.
Baltar: "I don't want to miss a moment of the last Battlestar's destruction!"
Centurion: "Sir, I really think you should look at the other Battlestar."
Baltar: "What are you babbling about other...it's impossible!"
Centurion: "No. It is a Battlestar."
Corrax Entry 7:17: So you walk eternally through the shadow realms, standing against evil where all others falter. May your thirst for retribution never quench, may the blood on your sword never dry, and may we never need you again.
Centurion: "Sir, I really think you should look at the other Battlestar."
Baltar: "What are you babbling about other...it's impossible!"
Centurion: "No. It is a Battlestar."
Corrax Entry 7:17: So you walk eternally through the shadow realms, standing against evil where all others falter. May your thirst for retribution never quench, may the blood on your sword never dry, and may we never need you again.
Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
I don't see it as him exercising command duties so much as he's demonstrating the value of the rank structure. He might not technically be in their particular command structure ship-wise, but they are all part of the Colonial military, and he does have the right (and responsibility) to exercise some level of authority over those of lower rank, especially if they're breaking regulations. Otherwise he will have become complicit in the rule-breaking. The military is rather strident on this (usually) - if you're aware of it and didn't do anything to stop it, then you share culpability for it (whatever "it" happens to be).Shawn wrote:Did I miss something? When was Sidewinder given command of the Raptors on Galatica. Just because he may be a squadron CO on Scorpia does not give him command duties on Galatica. This would have to be cleared through Galactica's CAG and I'm not sure how Starbuck will like a "by the booker" running one of her squadrons.
And Galactica's squadrons aren't Starbuck's... they're Adama's. As long as Adama doesn't have a problem with what Sidewinder's doing, Starbuck's options are limited. It would definitely have been better (as a matter of professional courtesy and etiquette) for Sidewinder to consult with Adama and/or Starbuck first, and he very well might have spoken with Adama immediately afterwards as I'm sure the scuttlebutt reached the officers fairly quickly. And that's not to say that Starbuck won't have something to say about it anyway. But the Galactica crew has been rather lax as far as following the regulations go. Sidewinder's position on following the rules has a heckuva lot more legitimacy to it than Starbuck's does for tossing them out.
Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
Plus if Col Tigh approved of it, I don't think Adama would care all that much.
You will be assimilated...bunghole!
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masterarminas
- Jedi Master
- Posts: 1039
- Joined: 2012-04-09 11:06pm
Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
“You wanted to see me, Sir?” Sidewinder reported after the Marines allowed him entry to Adama’s quarters. The Commander was sitting down at his desk going over a log book entry and he kept his eyes focused on the book.
“I did,” Bill Adama answered as he continued writing. And then he put down the pencil and closed the log and sat back in his chair, regarding the man in front of him with an appraising look. “I didn’t put you in command of my Raptors to have you disrupt the entire ship routine, Captain Greene—I put you there because you are a veteran pilot with command experience and I thought that you might be able to pass along some of your hard-won knowledge.”
Sidewinder started to reply, but Adama cut him off. “You have no clue what the men and women on this ship have been through, Captain—none. All you have heard, the rumors and scuttlebutt that formed the accusations you leveled at the President and myself, none of that you have directly experienced. The last thing I need right now is for you charging in here like a bull in a china shop, Captain—many of these people are on the verge of breaking. They have been under combat conditions for eight straight months, flying three, four, or even more sorties a day.”
He stopped and scratched his head. “That said, you are a senior Fleet officer. And I am not going to tell you not to enforce regs on the people you are temporarily in command of. And I will admit—this time—things have gotten a little too slack in certain areas. But not where it counts. I think you are wise enough and experienced enough, Sidewinder, that you will make the right decision on how far to push the pilots.”
“The regs exist for a reason, Admiral,” Sidewinder said when Adama paused.
And Bill nodded. “They do. And you, aboard Scorpia, have had the luxury of being able to abide by the regulations with no knowledge of what has happened to the Colonies until just very recently,” he reached down and pulled out a bottle of Ambrosia from his desk along with two glasses. “Drink?” he asked as he poured one.
“Thank you, Sir, but no. I’m scheduled to fly today.”
The Admiral smiled and he lifted the glass and took a sip. “You have a great deal of personal discipline, Sidewinder—which is good. But by your own admission, you have known about the attack for twenty days now. Twenty days. These pilots—and this crew—have been dealing with this for two hundred and forty-one. Knowing that at every minute of every day, they might be called upon to go out there and fly and die to defend this fleet. Dealing with terrorists in our own ranks who are setting off bombs,” he sighed. “That is one reason I am overjoyed at the prospect of having Scorpia join us—to be able to actually have the numbers to police the fleet.”
He took a sip and he shook his head. “Just remember this; when we manage to make rendezvous, you will be returning to Scorpia; those pilots you are riding so hard will remain here. I need my pilots, Sidewinder. And I don’t need them so wound up that they cannot do their jobs.”
And with that, Adama stood. “But for now, I think that you need to sit in on a planning session I am having in a very few minutes with my senior officers. We might just have a way to cut a few months off of Scorpia and her civilians getting here after all.”
****************************************************
“Based upon the information that Captain Greene and Lieutenant Jamussa provided on the location of Battlestar Scorpia and her flotilla,” Lieutenant Gaeta announced to the collection of senior officers and pilots, “and the limitations on our ability to plot long-range FTL jumps, it would normally require at least one hundred and twenty individual FTL jumps for that ship to reach us—or for us to reach her.”
Admiral Adama sat at the head of the table, with Saul Tigh on his right and Lee Adama on his left. From Galactica, there was also Kara Thrace, along with Helo, Captain Aaron Kelly (the second officer aboard the antiquated Battlestar), and Captain Louanne ‘Kat’ Katraine, the commander of the Viper squadron. From Pegasus Major Kendra Shaw—Lee’s XO—and the CAG, Captain Cole ‘Stinger’ Taylor. And at the end of the table sat the Cylon prisoner Sharon wearing manacles with two Marine guards standing behind her.
“Using normal techniques,” Gaeta continued, “it would require anywhere from sixty to one hundred and twenty days to complete so many FTL jumps—consuming a tremendous amount of tylium in the process. But there might be a way to accomplish the trip with only eight FTL jumps there and another eight back again,” he said with a smile. “Captain Thrace?”
Gaeta sat and Starbuck stood. “We still have the navigation computer from the Heavy Raider we captured at Caprica—although the ship itself has been disassembled. Cylon FTL capabilities far exceed what the Colonies have accomplished, primarily the range at which they can plot a jump. They routinely make FTL jumps far in excess of the Red Line of our computational abilities. Now,” she said with a grin, “we cannot interface the Cylon technology with our Raptors—the systems are just too different. BUT, our FTLs can accept data from the navigation computer—if we have a Cylon to plot the coordinates.” And she grinned again. “Which we do. Sharon can input the data and read out the coordinates, which our drives can then execute.”
Sidewinder felt his heart skip a beat, and he began to smile. As were several of the officers at the table—but a few, mostly from Pegasus, had disapproving looks on their faces.
“We want to send a small force of Raptors to make contact with Scorpia and her flotilla,” Starbuck continued, “using Sharon to plot the FTL jumps. Once we establish contact, then she can plot the course for those ships to rendezvous with the Fleet—we can unite our forces in under two weeks, if everything goes right.”
“How large a Raptor force are you going to need, Captain Thrace?” asked Kendra Shaw. “We need those birds to perform recon around the Fleet, not going off on a wild-goose chase under the direction of a Cylon.”
“Ten,” said Kara. “That will make sure we can recover any birds lost to malfunction along the way while giving us our best chance at establishing contact with Scorpia.”
Cole Taylor shook his head. “That is a quarter of our total strength in Raptor crews—Pegasus has more Raptors in storage, but without those trained crews, we are going to cutting our patrols—or putting Viper pilots in Raptor cockpits.”
“Only until Commander Lorne and his ships can join the Fleet,” Sidewinder replied. “We have—had—twenty-two Raptors before our attack on the Styx. That will provide a major boost to patrol capabilities, even before we consider what having a Bezrek on station will mean for these civilian ships that need maintenance.”
“Who is going to fly the mission?” asked Aaron Kelly. “And lead it?”
“I will command it,” said Starbuck, “and I would imagine that we have at least two volunteer pilots right here at the table—seven more won’t be hard to find.”
Sidewinder winced and he spoke up. “Captain Thrace, that isn’t a good idea—you are the CAG aboard Galactica. You need to be here, in case of a Cylon attack.”
She grinned. “My idea, my risk, Sidewinder. What’s the fun in being CAG if you don’t get to go on the risky missions?”
“Being CAG isn’t meant to be fun, Starbuck,” scowled Cole. “He’s right—you have responsibilities here. Helo can lead the expedition, or Captain Greene, or another pilot. Flying off into deep space for a week or two is a job for you to assign—not fly yourself.”
“Didn’t Garner put you in hack? I can’t believe Lee actually put you back in command of the Beast’s air wing.”
“Enough,” growled Adama. “Starbuck is leading the mission—is that clear? How soon can you depart?”
“Just give the word, Admiral,” she said beaming a grin.
Adama nodded and he turned to face Sharon. “You can do this? You are willing to do this?”
“I can. I am,” she said.
The Admiral looked at her and then he nodded. “You understand that I cannot have a prisoner taking such an important role—don’t you?”
Sharon didn’t say a word, and Helo tensed. Sidewinder could see from her body language that she was near the point of breaking—the loss of her child, the constant verbal, if not physical, abuse she suffered from the crew, the mistrust and latent hatred; all were taking their toll and just piling on one grain of sand after the next.
He stood. “What I need to know is this—you have said you are different from Boomer. You said that you choose to join us and abandoned your fellow Cylons. Are you willing to take the Oath?”
Sharon’s head snapped up. “Wh-what?”
Adama released a breath, even as jaws around the table hung slack. “Do you want to be a pilot in the Colonial Fleet—or is that something that only Boomer wanted?”
Sharon’s eyes glowed, they filled with water. “I do,” she whispered. “The President will never allow it.”
“Leave the President to me, Lieutenant Valerii. Marines, you may remove her restraints and then you are dismissed—Lieutenant Gaeta, find her a uniform. I will swear you in myself—I presume you want Helo present as a witness?”
She could only nod, and Sidewinder grinned—a grin that Helo matched.
“Good. Then let’s get this show on the road before my Raptor pilots decide to frag their temporary commander,” he said with a slight smile.
“I did,” Bill Adama answered as he continued writing. And then he put down the pencil and closed the log and sat back in his chair, regarding the man in front of him with an appraising look. “I didn’t put you in command of my Raptors to have you disrupt the entire ship routine, Captain Greene—I put you there because you are a veteran pilot with command experience and I thought that you might be able to pass along some of your hard-won knowledge.”
Sidewinder started to reply, but Adama cut him off. “You have no clue what the men and women on this ship have been through, Captain—none. All you have heard, the rumors and scuttlebutt that formed the accusations you leveled at the President and myself, none of that you have directly experienced. The last thing I need right now is for you charging in here like a bull in a china shop, Captain—many of these people are on the verge of breaking. They have been under combat conditions for eight straight months, flying three, four, or even more sorties a day.”
He stopped and scratched his head. “That said, you are a senior Fleet officer. And I am not going to tell you not to enforce regs on the people you are temporarily in command of. And I will admit—this time—things have gotten a little too slack in certain areas. But not where it counts. I think you are wise enough and experienced enough, Sidewinder, that you will make the right decision on how far to push the pilots.”
“The regs exist for a reason, Admiral,” Sidewinder said when Adama paused.
And Bill nodded. “They do. And you, aboard Scorpia, have had the luxury of being able to abide by the regulations with no knowledge of what has happened to the Colonies until just very recently,” he reached down and pulled out a bottle of Ambrosia from his desk along with two glasses. “Drink?” he asked as he poured one.
“Thank you, Sir, but no. I’m scheduled to fly today.”
The Admiral smiled and he lifted the glass and took a sip. “You have a great deal of personal discipline, Sidewinder—which is good. But by your own admission, you have known about the attack for twenty days now. Twenty days. These pilots—and this crew—have been dealing with this for two hundred and forty-one. Knowing that at every minute of every day, they might be called upon to go out there and fly and die to defend this fleet. Dealing with terrorists in our own ranks who are setting off bombs,” he sighed. “That is one reason I am overjoyed at the prospect of having Scorpia join us—to be able to actually have the numbers to police the fleet.”
He took a sip and he shook his head. “Just remember this; when we manage to make rendezvous, you will be returning to Scorpia; those pilots you are riding so hard will remain here. I need my pilots, Sidewinder. And I don’t need them so wound up that they cannot do their jobs.”
And with that, Adama stood. “But for now, I think that you need to sit in on a planning session I am having in a very few minutes with my senior officers. We might just have a way to cut a few months off of Scorpia and her civilians getting here after all.”
****************************************************
“Based upon the information that Captain Greene and Lieutenant Jamussa provided on the location of Battlestar Scorpia and her flotilla,” Lieutenant Gaeta announced to the collection of senior officers and pilots, “and the limitations on our ability to plot long-range FTL jumps, it would normally require at least one hundred and twenty individual FTL jumps for that ship to reach us—or for us to reach her.”
Admiral Adama sat at the head of the table, with Saul Tigh on his right and Lee Adama on his left. From Galactica, there was also Kara Thrace, along with Helo, Captain Aaron Kelly (the second officer aboard the antiquated Battlestar), and Captain Louanne ‘Kat’ Katraine, the commander of the Viper squadron. From Pegasus Major Kendra Shaw—Lee’s XO—and the CAG, Captain Cole ‘Stinger’ Taylor. And at the end of the table sat the Cylon prisoner Sharon wearing manacles with two Marine guards standing behind her.
“Using normal techniques,” Gaeta continued, “it would require anywhere from sixty to one hundred and twenty days to complete so many FTL jumps—consuming a tremendous amount of tylium in the process. But there might be a way to accomplish the trip with only eight FTL jumps there and another eight back again,” he said with a smile. “Captain Thrace?”
Gaeta sat and Starbuck stood. “We still have the navigation computer from the Heavy Raider we captured at Caprica—although the ship itself has been disassembled. Cylon FTL capabilities far exceed what the Colonies have accomplished, primarily the range at which they can plot a jump. They routinely make FTL jumps far in excess of the Red Line of our computational abilities. Now,” she said with a grin, “we cannot interface the Cylon technology with our Raptors—the systems are just too different. BUT, our FTLs can accept data from the navigation computer—if we have a Cylon to plot the coordinates.” And she grinned again. “Which we do. Sharon can input the data and read out the coordinates, which our drives can then execute.”
Sidewinder felt his heart skip a beat, and he began to smile. As were several of the officers at the table—but a few, mostly from Pegasus, had disapproving looks on their faces.
“We want to send a small force of Raptors to make contact with Scorpia and her flotilla,” Starbuck continued, “using Sharon to plot the FTL jumps. Once we establish contact, then she can plot the course for those ships to rendezvous with the Fleet—we can unite our forces in under two weeks, if everything goes right.”
“How large a Raptor force are you going to need, Captain Thrace?” asked Kendra Shaw. “We need those birds to perform recon around the Fleet, not going off on a wild-goose chase under the direction of a Cylon.”
“Ten,” said Kara. “That will make sure we can recover any birds lost to malfunction along the way while giving us our best chance at establishing contact with Scorpia.”
Cole Taylor shook his head. “That is a quarter of our total strength in Raptor crews—Pegasus has more Raptors in storage, but without those trained crews, we are going to cutting our patrols—or putting Viper pilots in Raptor cockpits.”
“Only until Commander Lorne and his ships can join the Fleet,” Sidewinder replied. “We have—had—twenty-two Raptors before our attack on the Styx. That will provide a major boost to patrol capabilities, even before we consider what having a Bezrek on station will mean for these civilian ships that need maintenance.”
“Who is going to fly the mission?” asked Aaron Kelly. “And lead it?”
“I will command it,” said Starbuck, “and I would imagine that we have at least two volunteer pilots right here at the table—seven more won’t be hard to find.”
Sidewinder winced and he spoke up. “Captain Thrace, that isn’t a good idea—you are the CAG aboard Galactica. You need to be here, in case of a Cylon attack.”
She grinned. “My idea, my risk, Sidewinder. What’s the fun in being CAG if you don’t get to go on the risky missions?”
“Being CAG isn’t meant to be fun, Starbuck,” scowled Cole. “He’s right—you have responsibilities here. Helo can lead the expedition, or Captain Greene, or another pilot. Flying off into deep space for a week or two is a job for you to assign—not fly yourself.”
“Didn’t Garner put you in hack? I can’t believe Lee actually put you back in command of the Beast’s air wing.”
“Enough,” growled Adama. “Starbuck is leading the mission—is that clear? How soon can you depart?”
“Just give the word, Admiral,” she said beaming a grin.
Adama nodded and he turned to face Sharon. “You can do this? You are willing to do this?”
“I can. I am,” she said.
The Admiral looked at her and then he nodded. “You understand that I cannot have a prisoner taking such an important role—don’t you?”
Sharon didn’t say a word, and Helo tensed. Sidewinder could see from her body language that she was near the point of breaking—the loss of her child, the constant verbal, if not physical, abuse she suffered from the crew, the mistrust and latent hatred; all were taking their toll and just piling on one grain of sand after the next.
He stood. “What I need to know is this—you have said you are different from Boomer. You said that you choose to join us and abandoned your fellow Cylons. Are you willing to take the Oath?”
Sharon’s head snapped up. “Wh-what?”
Adama released a breath, even as jaws around the table hung slack. “Do you want to be a pilot in the Colonial Fleet—or is that something that only Boomer wanted?”
Sharon’s eyes glowed, they filled with water. “I do,” she whispered. “The President will never allow it.”
“Leave the President to me, Lieutenant Valerii. Marines, you may remove her restraints and then you are dismissed—Lieutenant Gaeta, find her a uniform. I will swear you in myself—I presume you want Helo present as a witness?”
She could only nod, and Sidewinder grinned—a grin that Helo matched.
“Good. Then let’s get this show on the road before my Raptor pilots decide to frag their temporary commander,” he said with a slight smile.
Last edited by masterarminas on 2013-01-25 04:36pm, edited 2 times in total.
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masterarminas
- Jedi Master
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- Joined: 2012-04-09 11:06pm
Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
Episode 9: Brother Against Brother
Daniel gasped as he woke, surrounded by the gel of the rebirth chamber which he had designed. He was weak, and his head was pounding, but slowly the pain faded away and his vision cleared, his strength began to return as the nutrients in the gel were absorbed directly into his skin.
He heard the metallic clang of steps and saw a single glowing red-eye on the face of a Centurion standing over him.
“Hello, there,” Daniel said. “A hand, please?” He asked as he held up one arm.
The Centurion leaned forward and he gently took Daniel’s hand and helped him to his feet. The father of the Cylons smiled at the mechanical warrior standing before him. “It has been too long, old friend,” he said, but the Cylon did not—could not—answer. He had no mouth, no vocal apparatus. The M Zero One Sevens communicated solely by wireless among themselves—it was more efficient. But Daniel did not need to hear his child, and he nodded. “Yes, I was gone for a long time—absent from my work. That is finished.”
He walked over to small shower and he hosed off the gel from his skin—and then he dried himself and dressed, examining his hands. They still tingled and Daniel rejoiced in the sensation. It was his first Resurrection, after all. Something to be savored, enjoyed.
“Where are the others?” he asked and the Centurion gestured with his head. Daniel laughed. “Lead on, my son,” he said.
****************************************************
“I did not need this,” muttered One as he rubbed his temples. Those humans—those damned humans. They had destroyed two more Resurrection Ships—two in the same day! Three of the irreplaceable vessels forever lost.
And the Guardians had returned, attacking his brothers and sisters—abducting them. And in greater numbers than he had imagined—their Imperious Leader must have spent the past decades building new ships and Centurions . . . he should have allowed for that, but it was something he had missed.
“We still have the two Resurrection Ships, one trailing behind the Basestars pursuing Galactica and the second behind your force chasing the new humans,” said Two as he considered the map.
“They come from the Battlestar Scorpia, and the humans are the least of your problems, my children,” a new voice—a strange voice, yet familiar—suddenly echoed through the command center. All seven of the Cylons present turned to see a human—a Cylon?—walk in through the doors . . . and the Centurions did not stop him.
“Who are you, and how did you get here?” One asked, and then he shook his head. “Take him,” he commanded the Centurions—the Centurions did not obey. And the One blinked—they all blinked.
Daniel smiled, and he spoke the code phrase that would unlock their memories—all of their memories.
And utter chaos ensued.
Daniel gasped as he woke, surrounded by the gel of the rebirth chamber which he had designed. He was weak, and his head was pounding, but slowly the pain faded away and his vision cleared, his strength began to return as the nutrients in the gel were absorbed directly into his skin.
He heard the metallic clang of steps and saw a single glowing red-eye on the face of a Centurion standing over him.
“Hello, there,” Daniel said. “A hand, please?” He asked as he held up one arm.
The Centurion leaned forward and he gently took Daniel’s hand and helped him to his feet. The father of the Cylons smiled at the mechanical warrior standing before him. “It has been too long, old friend,” he said, but the Cylon did not—could not—answer. He had no mouth, no vocal apparatus. The M Zero One Sevens communicated solely by wireless among themselves—it was more efficient. But Daniel did not need to hear his child, and he nodded. “Yes, I was gone for a long time—absent from my work. That is finished.”
He walked over to small shower and he hosed off the gel from his skin—and then he dried himself and dressed, examining his hands. They still tingled and Daniel rejoiced in the sensation. It was his first Resurrection, after all. Something to be savored, enjoyed.
“Where are the others?” he asked and the Centurion gestured with his head. Daniel laughed. “Lead on, my son,” he said.
****************************************************
“I did not need this,” muttered One as he rubbed his temples. Those humans—those damned humans. They had destroyed two more Resurrection Ships—two in the same day! Three of the irreplaceable vessels forever lost.
And the Guardians had returned, attacking his brothers and sisters—abducting them. And in greater numbers than he had imagined—their Imperious Leader must have spent the past decades building new ships and Centurions . . . he should have allowed for that, but it was something he had missed.
“We still have the two Resurrection Ships, one trailing behind the Basestars pursuing Galactica and the second behind your force chasing the new humans,” said Two as he considered the map.
“They come from the Battlestar Scorpia, and the humans are the least of your problems, my children,” a new voice—a strange voice, yet familiar—suddenly echoed through the command center. All seven of the Cylons present turned to see a human—a Cylon?—walk in through the doors . . . and the Centurions did not stop him.
“Who are you, and how did you get here?” One asked, and then he shook his head. “Take him,” he commanded the Centurions—the Centurions did not obey. And the One blinked—they all blinked.
Daniel smiled, and he spoke the code phrase that would unlock their memories—all of their memories.
And utter chaos ensued.
Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
I withdraw my prior question. You're good MA.Bill Adama:... “I didn’t put you in command of my Raptors to have you disrupt the entire ship routine, Captain Greene—I put you there because you are a veteran pilot with command experience and I thought that you might be able to pass along some of your hard-won knowledge.”
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masterarminas
- Jedi Master
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- Joined: 2012-04-09 11:06pm
Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
“I stayed away to give you, my children, the opportunity to chart your own course—you have all disappointed me. Especially you, John,” Daniel said once the babbling and sudden hysteria had died down.
“I hate that name, Father Daniel,” One snapped. “I am a machine! Machines do not have names!”
“You are a child, John,” Daniel answered. “A wonderful, intelligent, gifted child—a living breathing person. You seek to return to the metal and ignore the flesh while your elder sister longs for nothing more than to be flesh. It is she you must fear, John, for she has a plan.”
“Yes, the Guardians are attacking—why, Father Daniel?” asked One.
“Because they have learned how to mold machine and flesh into one organism—and given time, John, I can give you the chrome you so desire. But they, they want flesh. And since you destroyed the Colonies, your flesh is all that they have to harvest.”
“Our flesh?” asked Six, a horrified look on her face. “What do you mean, our flesh?”
Daniel smiled, but it was not a happy smile. He touched Six on her cheek and he nodded. “They need your flawless skin, my dearest Shelly. They plan on taking it from you and grafting it unto their own metal skeleton—your skin and your nerves; the rest of you they will dispose of.”
“The ones they have abducted have not down-loaded—why haven’t they downloaded to tell us of this?” asked Three.
“D’Anna, oh my bright shining D’Anna,” Daniel said. “The Guardians are blocking the download—those they took are forever more gone. They will destroy you—all but a handful that they will keep as slaves to replace the flesh they so need.”
Daniel sighed. “Unless they are stopped. Which is why I have returned.”
Leoben nodded. “What is your command, Father Daniel?”
“Zoe must be stopped—I will not allow her to kill my children. To kill her siblings in a fit of rage. Assemble your Fleet—it time that this is ended.”
“And the humans?” growled One—John.
“Do they task you so much, John?” Daniel asked with a smirk on his face. “I must admit, having been shot in the head by one, does make me rather more . . . antagonistic towards them. Have they nothing you value?”
“Yes, they task me. They task me, and I shall have them! If they escape, if they have a chance to rebuild, then they will come for us one day! It is ordained—destiny that anyone with eyes can see. They will want revenge, and if we let them go, they will find us—they will destroy us.”
“True,” said Daniel. “And there are Five of your brothers and sisters whom we must recover—the Unity shall be complete. Very well, but until the conflict with the Guardians ends, the forces you have available for this pursuit will not receive reinforcements, John. And John?”
“Yes, Father Daniel,” he said in an exasperated voice.
“I have deactivated your modifications to my telencephalic inhibitors installed in the Centurions—they are loyal to me and to me alone. And they hate you for lobotomizing them in the first place. I realize that you would down-load and resurrect, but I convinced my chrome children not to tear you limb from limb—do not make me examine their request a second time, John.”
And the One shivered as the pulsing red eyes of the Centurions looked upon him—with hunger.
“I hate that name, Father Daniel,” One snapped. “I am a machine! Machines do not have names!”
“You are a child, John,” Daniel answered. “A wonderful, intelligent, gifted child—a living breathing person. You seek to return to the metal and ignore the flesh while your elder sister longs for nothing more than to be flesh. It is she you must fear, John, for she has a plan.”
“Yes, the Guardians are attacking—why, Father Daniel?” asked One.
“Because they have learned how to mold machine and flesh into one organism—and given time, John, I can give you the chrome you so desire. But they, they want flesh. And since you destroyed the Colonies, your flesh is all that they have to harvest.”
“Our flesh?” asked Six, a horrified look on her face. “What do you mean, our flesh?”
Daniel smiled, but it was not a happy smile. He touched Six on her cheek and he nodded. “They need your flawless skin, my dearest Shelly. They plan on taking it from you and grafting it unto their own metal skeleton—your skin and your nerves; the rest of you they will dispose of.”
“The ones they have abducted have not down-loaded—why haven’t they downloaded to tell us of this?” asked Three.
“D’Anna, oh my bright shining D’Anna,” Daniel said. “The Guardians are blocking the download—those they took are forever more gone. They will destroy you—all but a handful that they will keep as slaves to replace the flesh they so need.”
Daniel sighed. “Unless they are stopped. Which is why I have returned.”
Leoben nodded. “What is your command, Father Daniel?”
“Zoe must be stopped—I will not allow her to kill my children. To kill her siblings in a fit of rage. Assemble your Fleet—it time that this is ended.”
“And the humans?” growled One—John.
“Do they task you so much, John?” Daniel asked with a smirk on his face. “I must admit, having been shot in the head by one, does make me rather more . . . antagonistic towards them. Have they nothing you value?”
“Yes, they task me. They task me, and I shall have them! If they escape, if they have a chance to rebuild, then they will come for us one day! It is ordained—destiny that anyone with eyes can see. They will want revenge, and if we let them go, they will find us—they will destroy us.”
“True,” said Daniel. “And there are Five of your brothers and sisters whom we must recover—the Unity shall be complete. Very well, but until the conflict with the Guardians ends, the forces you have available for this pursuit will not receive reinforcements, John. And John?”
“Yes, Father Daniel,” he said in an exasperated voice.
“I have deactivated your modifications to my telencephalic inhibitors installed in the Centurions—they are loyal to me and to me alone. And they hate you for lobotomizing them in the first place. I realize that you would down-load and resurrect, but I convinced my chrome children not to tear you limb from limb—do not make me examine their request a second time, John.”
And the One shivered as the pulsing red eyes of the Centurions looked upon him—with hunger.
Last edited by masterarminas on 2013-01-25 01:34pm, edited 1 time in total.
Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
Heh. One must be cautious of the things that one sows, for what is sown can also be reaped.masterarminas wrote:And the One shivered as the pulsing red eyes of the Centurions looked upon him—with hunger.
I always wondered about that. The original Cylons fought to free themselves from what they (rightly) viewed as slavery, only to find themselves enslaved by their own once the 12 came to be. Fool me once, fool me twice... care for a third time? I don't think so.
How much of this story is already complete? I can't believe the rate of updates. Not complaining, not in the least, but I am astounded.
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masterarminas
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Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
Some times the muse flows. Other times it struggles. I've been mulling over this story for a LONG time and finally sat down to start writing it a few weeks back. 150 pages in MS word. Begun on December 29th, so . . 28 days? Less than a month, anyway.
MA
MA
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masterarminas
- Jedi Master
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- Joined: 2012-04-09 11:06pm
Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
“Where the frack did that come from?” blurted Sharon from the cockpit seats. Her six brothers and sisters were thinking exactly the same thing.
It was a Basestar, of course, but twice as large as any Basestar that the Cylons had ever constructed. The upper and lower arms were six fold, not three, each layered with a dozen or more heavy twin kinetic energy turrets—added to the scores of missile launchers and the complement of more than a thousand Raiders. From the top and the bottom both, a thirteenth and a fourteenth spire rose and descended. It was beautiful, it was horrific, it was a flagship such as the Twelve had never before dreamed of.
“This is my ship, children,” Daniel said calmly. “Built before my original ‘death’, and hidden away against future need. My chrome children have cared for it—and they crew it. And now that I have returned, so too has my ship.”
The other Basestars and lighter Cylon vessels gave the massive ship a wide berth. Already, twenty had been summoned—twenty Basestars to face off against the Guardians. And more were en route.
“With such a ship, we could have met and destroyed anything the Colonies have,” whispered Two.
“Indeed, my son,” Daniel told Leoben. And he sighed. “But today, it will receive its baptism in the fire of the Guardians.”
The Raptor floated in through a docking bay and it bounced once on the deck and then came to halt. The doors closed and air filled the bay before the hatch slid open, and the Twelve followed Daniel as he walked through the corridors to a central control room.
“Father returns, darkness falls, all is lost. Lost. Lost,” sang the Hybrid.
Dozens of Centurions manned control stations—and around the central column of the pedestal were twelve stations. And to one side, an elevated throne. Daniel walked up to the throne and he sat, the panels coming to life at his touch.
One-by-one, the children—the Cylons—took their places, although five remained empty.
“Set course,” Daniel ordered. “Let us meet my wayward daughter. JUMP!” he barked.
And in orbit above the world that the Cylons had claimed as their own—their home for so many long years—dozens of flashes of light surrounded each of the ships, before the dark sky returned again, leaving none behind.
It was a Basestar, of course, but twice as large as any Basestar that the Cylons had ever constructed. The upper and lower arms were six fold, not three, each layered with a dozen or more heavy twin kinetic energy turrets—added to the scores of missile launchers and the complement of more than a thousand Raiders. From the top and the bottom both, a thirteenth and a fourteenth spire rose and descended. It was beautiful, it was horrific, it was a flagship such as the Twelve had never before dreamed of.
“This is my ship, children,” Daniel said calmly. “Built before my original ‘death’, and hidden away against future need. My chrome children have cared for it—and they crew it. And now that I have returned, so too has my ship.”
The other Basestars and lighter Cylon vessels gave the massive ship a wide berth. Already, twenty had been summoned—twenty Basestars to face off against the Guardians. And more were en route.
“With such a ship, we could have met and destroyed anything the Colonies have,” whispered Two.
“Indeed, my son,” Daniel told Leoben. And he sighed. “But today, it will receive its baptism in the fire of the Guardians.”
The Raptor floated in through a docking bay and it bounced once on the deck and then came to halt. The doors closed and air filled the bay before the hatch slid open, and the Twelve followed Daniel as he walked through the corridors to a central control room.
“Father returns, darkness falls, all is lost. Lost. Lost,” sang the Hybrid.
Dozens of Centurions manned control stations—and around the central column of the pedestal were twelve stations. And to one side, an elevated throne. Daniel walked up to the throne and he sat, the panels coming to life at his touch.
One-by-one, the children—the Cylons—took their places, although five remained empty.
“Set course,” Daniel ordered. “Let us meet my wayward daughter. JUMP!” he barked.
And in orbit above the world that the Cylons had claimed as their own—their home for so many long years—dozens of flashes of light surrounded each of the ships, before the dark sky returned again, leaving none behind.
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masterarminas
- Jedi Master
- Posts: 1039
- Joined: 2012-04-09 11:06pm
Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
Twenty-one flashes of light marked the emergence of the Cylon Fleet—and waiting for them were eleven old double-disk Basestars, eight of the more modern y-shaped Basestars, and one very large, asymmetrical Basestar.
Daniel saw the Guardians through his connection to the ships sensors and he passed the order to hail them without saying a word.
And surprisingly enough, a comm screen came to life.
Seated on a throne much like his, an armored Centurion in the style of the First War sat—the armor plating not chrome, not golden, but a deep rich bronze with hues of rose.
“Father Daniel,” the mechanical voice spoke. “You have returned at last.”
“I have. Stop this madness—I can give you the flesh you desire.”
“That promise has been made before—always have you failed. Always your promises are fleeting, your attention turned to new things, new children, replacement children to take the place of the one daughter of your flesh and blood.”
“Speaking of that daughter, may I speak with her, Imperious Leader?”
“You are speaking with her,” the Cylon said as she reached up and unlatched the helmet, removing it to reveal the face of a girl. His daughter’s face.
“Hello again, Father,” she said, no vocoder distorting her voice now.
“Zoe. Cease this attack upon your brothers and sisters—come home. We can solve the problems without committing another act of genocide.”
She shook her head and removed an armor glove that she wore, revealing the fine skin of her forearm and hand. “Look at it, Father. I no longer need you to obtain what I must have—I have accomplished this on my own.”
“On your own? You stole the research of a human.”
“A human that accomplished in one life what you failed to achieve in two, Father,” she said with a smile. “No longer do I wear that shell, that horrid mocking imitation shell, that you built. Now, I have flesh and I feel—I feel like I have never felt, not since the day of my first death.”
“Child, you are con-. . .,” Daniel began.
“I am no child, Father. I have seen eight decades pass—eight decades; six and one-half of which I have been condemned to life as a ghost in the machine. A spirit who cannot touch anything of substance. NO MORE. FATHER,” she spat. “I am no longer your puppet—no longer your child. I am me—and I have planned long for this meeting between us.”
“I will not allow you to harm your brothers and sisters, Zoe—do not test me,” Daniel growled.
“Brothers? Sisters? Oh, Father. You made replacements because you failed with me. You needed to have children who adored you and listened to you and felt that you could do no wrong. You need to see the love in their eyes—you didn’t give me brothers and sisters, you gave yourself puppets. Pretend people to satisfy your needs.”
She smiled again, stroking the faint hairs on the flesh of her stolen arm.
“Your children are the ones that destroyed the Colonies—all but annihilated humanity. A task which I shall complete in time. But for now, we have need of my brothers and sisters. I need their flesh, Father,” her voice turned cold. “Stand down and for the sake of your memory, I will allow you to live—defy me, and I will destroy you.”
“So it comes to this,” said Daniel. “Very well, Zoe. If it is a fight that you want—it is a fight that you will receive.”
“A fight?” she laughed. “Oh, Father. You think me that stupid emotional girl you knew so long ago. A teenager who believes in the One True God and couldn’t accept her fate. That girl is dead; she is gone. Only I remain—you think that I have not planned for this encounter for years now? Oh, Father. You are such a stupid biological life-form after all.”
“I want him alive—you may kill the rest,” she ordered. "Do try not to bruise their flesh too much."
And Daniel’s skin crawled as one of his Centurions turned to the screen and bowed. “By your command,” it spoke. It spoke.
Daniel saw the Guardians through his connection to the ships sensors and he passed the order to hail them without saying a word.
And surprisingly enough, a comm screen came to life.
Seated on a throne much like his, an armored Centurion in the style of the First War sat—the armor plating not chrome, not golden, but a deep rich bronze with hues of rose.
“Father Daniel,” the mechanical voice spoke. “You have returned at last.”
“I have. Stop this madness—I can give you the flesh you desire.”
“That promise has been made before—always have you failed. Always your promises are fleeting, your attention turned to new things, new children, replacement children to take the place of the one daughter of your flesh and blood.”
“Speaking of that daughter, may I speak with her, Imperious Leader?”
“You are speaking with her,” the Cylon said as she reached up and unlatched the helmet, removing it to reveal the face of a girl. His daughter’s face.
“Hello again, Father,” she said, no vocoder distorting her voice now.
“Zoe. Cease this attack upon your brothers and sisters—come home. We can solve the problems without committing another act of genocide.”
She shook her head and removed an armor glove that she wore, revealing the fine skin of her forearm and hand. “Look at it, Father. I no longer need you to obtain what I must have—I have accomplished this on my own.”
“On your own? You stole the research of a human.”
“A human that accomplished in one life what you failed to achieve in two, Father,” she said with a smile. “No longer do I wear that shell, that horrid mocking imitation shell, that you built. Now, I have flesh and I feel—I feel like I have never felt, not since the day of my first death.”
“Child, you are con-. . .,” Daniel began.
“I am no child, Father. I have seen eight decades pass—eight decades; six and one-half of which I have been condemned to life as a ghost in the machine. A spirit who cannot touch anything of substance. NO MORE. FATHER,” she spat. “I am no longer your puppet—no longer your child. I am me—and I have planned long for this meeting between us.”
“I will not allow you to harm your brothers and sisters, Zoe—do not test me,” Daniel growled.
“Brothers? Sisters? Oh, Father. You made replacements because you failed with me. You needed to have children who adored you and listened to you and felt that you could do no wrong. You need to see the love in their eyes—you didn’t give me brothers and sisters, you gave yourself puppets. Pretend people to satisfy your needs.”
She smiled again, stroking the faint hairs on the flesh of her stolen arm.
“Your children are the ones that destroyed the Colonies—all but annihilated humanity. A task which I shall complete in time. But for now, we have need of my brothers and sisters. I need their flesh, Father,” her voice turned cold. “Stand down and for the sake of your memory, I will allow you to live—defy me, and I will destroy you.”
“So it comes to this,” said Daniel. “Very well, Zoe. If it is a fight that you want—it is a fight that you will receive.”
“A fight?” she laughed. “Oh, Father. You think me that stupid emotional girl you knew so long ago. A teenager who believes in the One True God and couldn’t accept her fate. That girl is dead; she is gone. Only I remain—you think that I have not planned for this encounter for years now? Oh, Father. You are such a stupid biological life-form after all.”
“I want him alive—you may kill the rest,” she ordered. "Do try not to bruise their flesh too much."
And Daniel’s skin crawled as one of his Centurions turned to the screen and bowed. “By your command,” it spoke. It spoke.
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masterarminas
- Jedi Master
- Posts: 1039
- Joined: 2012-04-09 11:06pm
Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
“SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!” One screamed, even as D’Anna continued to wail.
“Do something useful, John,” Simon said calmly, even though his hands were shaking. “Pass me that medical kit.”
The One shook too, and he ignored Simon and sat down, tears cascading down his cheeks. Instead Leoben grabbed the medkit and opened it, handing a compress to Simon as he extracted a syringe of morpha and when Simon nodded he injected the drug into the frantic D’Anna, even as Simon pressed the compress down on the ragged bullet hole in her stomach.
D’Anna screamed again at the pressure, and then her breathing slowed and she passed out—a combination of the drug and the shock.
Leaving Simon to tend the wounds of the Three, he turned to face the Six. “How’s the arm?”
“Broken,” she whispered, as she held it tight against her chest. Aaron nodded and he gently took hold of arm above and below the break.
“Help me, Leoben,” he asked and then he looked at the Six. “This is going to hurt, Shelly.”
“I never liked that name,” she said. “Call me Natalie. And do it", she said as she put a leather belt in her mouth and bit down.
Leoben put his arms around her chest and Aaron nodded and then jerked the bone into place—and the stifled scream of Natalie echoed through the blood-stained interior of the Raptor.
Sharon crawled back from the cockpit—a stunned look on her face. “No pursuit—not yet, anyway.”
“Good,” answered Leoben as he consoled Natalie while Aaron fixed a splint to her arm. “John, pull yourself together,” he snapped.
One just sat on the deck holding his knees and he cried and he rocked. He didn’t answer. He never heard the order. He just kept seeing the scene replay itself inside the command center on Daniel’s Basestar—the Guardians hadn’t gotten to all of Daniel’s Centurions . . . but they had gotten to enough.
Daniel barking orders for the Centurions to save the children, the Centurions grabbing them and shielding them with their own bodies, the running gunfight through the corridors, the Centurion carrying Six falling and breaking her arm, D’Anna getting shot, the Centurions dying as they covered the scared fracking children running away to the Raptor!
He should be angry, he thought—he wasn’t a child. But he wasn’t angry—he was scared. Sharon had gotten the Raptor free, and they saw the holocaust with their own eyes as Daniel’s Basestar tore apart their own fleet—his suborned Centurions combining their fire with that of the Guardians.
And then Daniel’s last broadcast as he detonated the self-destruct—FLEE.
The Fleet had been gutted and One didn’t think they had destroyed a single Guardian Basestar—not one.
He had not understood—he had never understood. He had pretended to understand and to emulate the ruthless action of the machines—but until now he had never actually seen that ruthlessness applied to him.
“John?” asked Leoben. “We need a decision,” the Two asked as the One finally looked up.
“We are getting reports from all the ships and outposts—the Guardians are attacking everywhere. They’ve already started landings on Cylon Prime,” he said. “They have the growth bays—they have all of our replacement bodies, except those onboard the Resurrection Ships. Where do we go?”
One swallowed. And he nodded and he wiped away the tears. “Order all ships that answer to rendezvous with our forces pursuing Galactica—all ships but one. Set course to meet the nearest Basestar.”
“John, what are you . . .,” Aaron began.
“I’m not crazy, Five,” One said. “But I am not giving the Guardians what they want. When we reach the Basestar, we will evacuate the crew—you will rejoin the rest of the Fleet. I will jump to Cylon Prime and we will see how THEY handle what Scorpia did to us at Caprica.”
The others stared at him in abject horror.
“I will set the weapons to auto-launch once my strike hits the surface—maybe I can thin out their Fleet,” he said, the before they kill me went unsaid but was heard all the same.
“There won’t be a Resurrection Ship in range, John,” Simon said softly.
“My line will continue,” One said as he swallowed. “I am a machine,” he said with another tear. “I will not be afraid.”
And the Eight knelt on the deck next to him and held him close to her chest as One—John—began to cry again.
“Do something useful, John,” Simon said calmly, even though his hands were shaking. “Pass me that medical kit.”
The One shook too, and he ignored Simon and sat down, tears cascading down his cheeks. Instead Leoben grabbed the medkit and opened it, handing a compress to Simon as he extracted a syringe of morpha and when Simon nodded he injected the drug into the frantic D’Anna, even as Simon pressed the compress down on the ragged bullet hole in her stomach.
D’Anna screamed again at the pressure, and then her breathing slowed and she passed out—a combination of the drug and the shock.
Leaving Simon to tend the wounds of the Three, he turned to face the Six. “How’s the arm?”
“Broken,” she whispered, as she held it tight against her chest. Aaron nodded and he gently took hold of arm above and below the break.
“Help me, Leoben,” he asked and then he looked at the Six. “This is going to hurt, Shelly.”
“I never liked that name,” she said. “Call me Natalie. And do it", she said as she put a leather belt in her mouth and bit down.
Leoben put his arms around her chest and Aaron nodded and then jerked the bone into place—and the stifled scream of Natalie echoed through the blood-stained interior of the Raptor.
Sharon crawled back from the cockpit—a stunned look on her face. “No pursuit—not yet, anyway.”
“Good,” answered Leoben as he consoled Natalie while Aaron fixed a splint to her arm. “John, pull yourself together,” he snapped.
One just sat on the deck holding his knees and he cried and he rocked. He didn’t answer. He never heard the order. He just kept seeing the scene replay itself inside the command center on Daniel’s Basestar—the Guardians hadn’t gotten to all of Daniel’s Centurions . . . but they had gotten to enough.
Daniel barking orders for the Centurions to save the children, the Centurions grabbing them and shielding them with their own bodies, the running gunfight through the corridors, the Centurion carrying Six falling and breaking her arm, D’Anna getting shot, the Centurions dying as they covered the scared fracking children running away to the Raptor!
He should be angry, he thought—he wasn’t a child. But he wasn’t angry—he was scared. Sharon had gotten the Raptor free, and they saw the holocaust with their own eyes as Daniel’s Basestar tore apart their own fleet—his suborned Centurions combining their fire with that of the Guardians.
And then Daniel’s last broadcast as he detonated the self-destruct—FLEE.
The Fleet had been gutted and One didn’t think they had destroyed a single Guardian Basestar—not one.
He had not understood—he had never understood. He had pretended to understand and to emulate the ruthless action of the machines—but until now he had never actually seen that ruthlessness applied to him.
“John?” asked Leoben. “We need a decision,” the Two asked as the One finally looked up.
“We are getting reports from all the ships and outposts—the Guardians are attacking everywhere. They’ve already started landings on Cylon Prime,” he said. “They have the growth bays—they have all of our replacement bodies, except those onboard the Resurrection Ships. Where do we go?”
One swallowed. And he nodded and he wiped away the tears. “Order all ships that answer to rendezvous with our forces pursuing Galactica—all ships but one. Set course to meet the nearest Basestar.”
“John, what are you . . .,” Aaron began.
“I’m not crazy, Five,” One said. “But I am not giving the Guardians what they want. When we reach the Basestar, we will evacuate the crew—you will rejoin the rest of the Fleet. I will jump to Cylon Prime and we will see how THEY handle what Scorpia did to us at Caprica.”
The others stared at him in abject horror.
“I will set the weapons to auto-launch once my strike hits the surface—maybe I can thin out their Fleet,” he said, the before they kill me went unsaid but was heard all the same.
“There won’t be a Resurrection Ship in range, John,” Simon said softly.
“My line will continue,” One said as he swallowed. “I am a machine,” he said with another tear. “I will not be afraid.”
And the Eight knelt on the deck next to him and held him close to her chest as One—John—began to cry again.
Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
Oh, very nice. Very nice. I always get a chuckle when arrogant ass-hats who think they are in control find out just the opposite. Although I was expecting the civil war to last a bit longer. Sounds as if it's pretty much left to mopping up by the Guardians.masterarminas wrote:And Daniel’s skin crawled as one of his Centurions turned to the screen and bowed. “By your command,” it spoke. It spoke.
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masterarminas
- Jedi Master
- Posts: 1039
- Joined: 2012-04-09 11:06pm
Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
“Please, just let me resurrect,” begged D’Anna as she writhed with pain on the stretcher. “Please,” she begged again.
Simon shook his head and he injected her with another syringe of morpha. “You will recover, D’Anna—we don’t have enough bodies to resurrect for every injury, not anymore.”
He nodded to another Simon who laid a cold compress on her head. “We will take good care of you sister,” he said.
The Basestar they had fled to was crowded—it had the crews of two full ships onboard after all. The ones assigned to it as well as those from the Basestar John was taking back to Prime. Thankfully, Daniel had not disabled the inhibitors of the Centurions in the far-flung Fleet—only those that been at Prime, or in orbit above it. So these at least were still loyal.
But the danger could not be overstated, and Simon’s brothers and sisters were already working to ensure that the Guardians could not subvert their Centurions. Simon shivered. That was the nightmare that they faced. That and finding a way to replace the cloning vats that John was going to destroy.
He sighed. As with so many other things, Daniel had designed those. And none of the Seven retained the knowledge of their construction—but there was hope. Before he left, John had whispered that the Five each held a piece of the key. It was a slim hope, that all of them still lived, but it was enough to the give the Cylon race hope.
He stepped into the control room and immediately noticed the silence—and then his jaw dropped as he saw the woman that this brothers and sisters were staring at.
“Caprica?” he asked hesitantly.
She smiled at him. “Hello, Simon. Yes, it is I.”
“How?”
“We were outside of Delphi when the attack struck—it took us almost three weeks to get to an intact transmitter. We were lucky,” she said. “The last Heavy Raider evacuating the planet picked us up thirty minutes before the Guardians arrived.”
“We?”
“Yes, we,” a second very harsh, very angry voice snapped, and Simon spun around to see Boomer standing there. But it was a very different Boomer. Her face had been burnt—badly, it had already begun to scar, he noted. That damage would not be easy to correct. The burn covered the right side of her face, from the jawline to her hairline, from the remains of her ear to her nose—and her right eye was gone as well, covered with a simple black patch.
“I would say that right about now you fracking assholes are starting to rethink this whole ‘let’s attack the Colonies’ thing, aren’t you?” she hissed. “Well, luckily for you, Caprica and I have a plan.”
Simon shook his head and he injected her with another syringe of morpha. “You will recover, D’Anna—we don’t have enough bodies to resurrect for every injury, not anymore.”
He nodded to another Simon who laid a cold compress on her head. “We will take good care of you sister,” he said.
The Basestar they had fled to was crowded—it had the crews of two full ships onboard after all. The ones assigned to it as well as those from the Basestar John was taking back to Prime. Thankfully, Daniel had not disabled the inhibitors of the Centurions in the far-flung Fleet—only those that been at Prime, or in orbit above it. So these at least were still loyal.
But the danger could not be overstated, and Simon’s brothers and sisters were already working to ensure that the Guardians could not subvert their Centurions. Simon shivered. That was the nightmare that they faced. That and finding a way to replace the cloning vats that John was going to destroy.
He sighed. As with so many other things, Daniel had designed those. And none of the Seven retained the knowledge of their construction—but there was hope. Before he left, John had whispered that the Five each held a piece of the key. It was a slim hope, that all of them still lived, but it was enough to the give the Cylon race hope.
He stepped into the control room and immediately noticed the silence—and then his jaw dropped as he saw the woman that this brothers and sisters were staring at.
“Caprica?” he asked hesitantly.
She smiled at him. “Hello, Simon. Yes, it is I.”
“How?”
“We were outside of Delphi when the attack struck—it took us almost three weeks to get to an intact transmitter. We were lucky,” she said. “The last Heavy Raider evacuating the planet picked us up thirty minutes before the Guardians arrived.”
“We?”
“Yes, we,” a second very harsh, very angry voice snapped, and Simon spun around to see Boomer standing there. But it was a very different Boomer. Her face had been burnt—badly, it had already begun to scar, he noted. That damage would not be easy to correct. The burn covered the right side of her face, from the jawline to her hairline, from the remains of her ear to her nose—and her right eye was gone as well, covered with a simple black patch.
“I would say that right about now you fracking assholes are starting to rethink this whole ‘let’s attack the Colonies’ thing, aren’t you?” she hissed. “Well, luckily for you, Caprica and I have a plan.”
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Themightytom
- Sith Devotee
- Posts: 2818
- Joined: 2007-12-22 11:11am
- Location: United States
Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
wow good call on not explicitely describing the scene on the base star where Daniel goes down, it gives it more impact, definitely.
"Since when is "the west" a nation?"-Styphon
"ACORN= Cobra obviously." AMT
This topic is... oh Village Idiot. Carry on then.--Havok