The Hunted (nBSG)

[Borgholio]

“Oh, frack,” he said.

Oh frack is right!

[Vianca]

Well, atleast the baby-sitter is already arranged, as well as the second first name of the young Agathon.

[MondoMage]

Romo Lampkin blinked. He looked first at Tory over upper rim of his glasses, and then at Mathias, who nodded, and then at Maya and the child. “Oh, frack,” he said.

As succinct and precise an answer as one would ever be able to get from a lawyer.

Adama is most assuredly not going to be pleased when he hears about this, no matter how justified it is, or how much evidence is found, or how legal is declared to be. Lorne has gotten himself into a whole heap of trouble. Of course, he probably knew that the moment he came up with the plan. Not that it stopped him... which is entirely in character, from what we've seen so far.

So we've got a drug-addicted President. An interstellar Amber Alert. Nuclear material temporarily in the hands of a political splinter faction who didn't know they were being led by a Cylon. A warship whose crew participated in atrocities against civilians and POWs. A political crisis in the making. Current-model Cylons on the run from old-model Cylons who want to skin any human or humanlike Cylon they can get their manipulators on. Military officers skirting the definition of the law. The survivors of an Earth Marine unit decimated by acid-blooded alien monsters. A greedy, self-serving idiot of a MegaCorp representative. And a dozen or so other issues that I've overlooked...

Man, the Fleet is frakked. All we need now is a goofball in a flying blue Police Box (and NO! That was not a request!).

[Agent Fisher]

Good to finally see some blow back at the president for the whole kidnapping Hera thing.

[Diverball]

Man, the Fleet is frakked. All we need now is a goofball in a flying blue Police Box (and NO! That was not a request!).

For the love of God, don't give him ideas! The Doctor is the very definition of an interfering busybody!

On a more general point, while I quite like the waves that Lorne is making in the Galactica-verse, if he continues to navigate every possible situation without putting a foot wrong, he's going to become insufferable. I really do think that it's about time for him to screw something up.

[masterarminas]

Laura walked in to her office and she stopped, glaring at all of those present. “What is the meaning of this?” she growled.

“You cannot arrest her, not unless or until the Quorum impeaches her, but I will promise you that I am going to take a personal interest in this matter,” said Romo Lampkin to Mathias. And he turned to the President. “Madame President, I am officially notifying you that I will be leading an investigation into the allegations that you kidnapped Hera Agathon. Your offices have been searched and material from your files is now in my custody.”

“I am exerting executive privilege,” she snapped. Damn Gaius Baltar for getting this man nominated and confirmed, she thought.

“And I am overruling that privilege from the bench in the name of public interest, Madame President. We are also taking your assistant Maya and the alleged child at the center of this . . . incident . . . into custody to assure their own safety.”

“I am not allowing that child to leave this ship,” Laura snapped.

“Madame President,” Lampkin said in a cold voice, “it is not up to you. I remind you that your immunity for actions taken as President lasts only as long as you hold office—and that the Quorum can impeach you with a three-quarters majority vote. I would advise you to retain counsel, Madame President, for if my preliminary findings are borne out by the facts, I will make the motion before the Quorum myself for a vote on Impeachment.”

“Captain Greene,” Mathias barked, and the pilot nodded.

“Sir?”

“You will fly High Justice Lampkin, Maya, and the child over to Galactica. I ask that you convey my deep regret over this matter to the Agathons and expect you to inform them that this woman,” he said patting Maya on the shoulder, “is innocent and she took good care of their child—and loves the babe deeply. She is not deserving of their hate in this matter.”

“Of course, Commander,” Sidewinder answered. “But you can tell them yourself.”

“Unfortunately, Sidewinder, I am afraid that I will be spending some time in hack,” Mathias said.

The pilot’s eyes grew wide, as did those of the JAG and FCIS officers from Scorpia, but the rest of those present just looked confused. And all three of those who caught the reference moved too slow to stop it from happening. Mathias stepped forward and swung his left arm, the fist slamming into Laura’s jaw with a very satisfying CRACK. She crumpled like a sack of raw vegetables onto the deck, even as blood sprayed from her mouth—along with a pair of teeth.

“Captain Madsen,” Mathias winced as he grasped his left fist—already swelling from the blow—and Lampkin gawked at him. “I believe that I am in violation of numerous Articles of War—please take me into custody,” and he smiled at the High Justice, despite the pain in his hand. “If Pegasus’s crew can get off with just a slap on the wrist for what they did, damn straight I’m going to take a shot at this bitch.”

“Sir,” Frank Von said, from where he crouched next to the unconscious Laura Roslin. “I think we need to put the President on that Raptor as well—you broke her jaw, Sir.”

“Go ahead, Frank,” Mathias ordered. “And Sidewinder?”

“Sir!” he snapped as he came to attention and gave his Commander the smartest salute that Mathias had ever seen him deliver.

Mathias nodded and returned the salute. “Contact Colonel Jayne by wireless and inform him that he is now in command of Scorpia.” He pulled out his sidearm and handed to Captain Madsen. “Captain, I believe that it is customary to put the prisoner in restraints? Is it not?”

She nodded her head slowly. “Commander Mathias Lorne, you are under arrest for multiple violations of the Articles of War of the Colonial Fleet. Turn around and put your hands behind you back.” He did so, and she locked the restraints unto his wrists. “You have the right to remain silent, the right to see coun-. . .,” Madsen began as she ushered Mathias from the office of the President.

“FRACK!” Lampkin yelled to the ceiling above as he rubbed his forehead.

[Vianca]

O boy.....
And they don´t have any detal practise as far as I know, that is equipt to repair her teeth or give her a set of fake teeth.

[MondoMage]

Well.... Um.... Frack indeed.

[Skywalker_T-65]

Well.... Um.... Frack indeed.

This.

[Zwinmar]

Hehe, good, she finally got what she deserved from an individual now the justice system needs to space her.

[Eternal_Freedom]

I think I've fallen in love with Commander Lorne.

[LadyTevar]

OH, that was just PRICELESS!! I haven't laughed this hard in days! BRAVO, BRAVO my dear!! Excellent job, from Tory's revenge to Lampkin's well-timed FRACK

I love it I love it I love it.

[declan]

So I wonder if she is going to be given the option of a gun and single bullet and some quality time, or impeachment.

Declan

[MondoMage]

So I wonder if she is going to be given the option of a gun and single bullet and some quality time, or impeachment.

As distasteful as her actions were, I highly doubt they're grounds for execution or some sort of seppuku to save face. Impeachment is far more likely, as it appears that she's done something that will alienate all of her supporters in one way or the other. A political death, rather than a physical one. But just as hurtful to someone who has come to believe her own propaganda so thoroughly. I'm sure Lampkin could cross-examine her into quite an eye-opening statement if it ever came to that.

No, Roslin is thoroughly and totally frakked, and has no one to blame for it but herself.

[masterarminas]

Episode 15: From Bad to Worse

The XO’s phone buzzed at the central console of Galactica’s CIC and he Saul Tigh lifted it from the rack. “XO,” he barked.

The news from earlier today had shocked him no less—but he couldn’t deny the truth of his own memories. And being the man that he was, he had spent a few moments with Ellen and then he showed up here, in the CIC, because Saul Tigh was now damned and determined to never again let Bill Adama down. It was funny, because since the revelation, since that final drink that his best friend—probably his only friend—in the universe had given him, Saul had not desired so much as a drop.

Instead, he had thrown himself into his duty—and CIC was as quiet as a church mouse because of it. Adama hadn’t said a word, he just nodded as Saul handled tasks that had always been his, just handed off to other personnel.

“What?” he said into the phone. “WHAT?” he exclaimed, his eyes growing wide. And then a chuckle escaped his lips as he smirked—Saul Tigh actually smirked. “Understood. Inform Pegasus,” he said and then racked the phone and struggled to keep the laughter roiling up inside him from escaping.

Adama looked at the XO as if he were a man possessed. “What was that about, Saul?” he asked.

“The President has landed in a Raptor, Admiral,” Saul said with a smile.

“Tell her to turn her ass around—I don’t want to speak with her right now,” Bill growled, but he frowned at the . . . giddy expression on Saul’s face. The XO was almost incandescent.

“We can’t, Admiral—she’s being taken to the surgery with a broken jaw and two snapped off teeth,” he said, as he tried—and failed—to keep all expression from his face.

“WHAT!” snapped Adama.

“Commander Lorne,” Saul said with a faint smile, “boarded Colonial One and conducted a shipping inspection of the vessel. In the process, he confiscated the chamalla that the President has been taking, placed Hera Agathon and Maya into protective custody, and ransacked the President’s personal papers—handing them all over to High Justice Lampkin.”

The Admiral groaned, and Saul grinned broadly as his friend looked at the deck, erasing the smile when he lifted his head. “With Marines?”

“Masters-at-arms, JAG, and FCIS personnel—no Marines,” Saul reported. “The President returned to Colonial One while they were getting to depart—with Hera. She issued an order to keep the girl onboard, apparently Commander Lorne had a . . . slight . . . break with reality, and he punched her. Breaking her jaw.”

“And two teeth,” added Adama.

“And two teeth,” agreed Saul. “She was knocked unconscious, but the Raptor brought her here—she’s en route the to surgery. Maya and Hera are here as well, and being escorted to the Agathon’s quarters by Captain Greene. High Justice Lampkin is also onboard and is heading there as well to speak with the two of them.”

“And Commander Lorne?” growled Adama.

“You are going to love this,” Saul said with a smile that he didn’t try to hide, “he is en route to Pegasus to be held in their brig. Since ours is full with Cylons at the moment. The son-of-a-bitch ordered his own JAG officer to arrest him after he punched out the President. Colonel Jayne has assumed temporary command aboard Scorpia.”

The closeness of stations in CIC ensured that the people working at them had overheard this—and Adama sighed. It would be scuttlebutt across the Fleet by the end of the watch, if not sooner. He scratched his head, and slammed his fist down on the console. With Laura in the surgery, and Baltar having already turned in his resignation . . . Bill groaned. The Quorum would have to elect a temporary Vice-President to assume Roslin’s duties until she could return. And he knew who the most likely candidate for that post was.

Saul nodded. “Zarek,” he said. “Looks like he might be our boss for a while,” he whispered.

“Frack, Saul. I did not need this right now,” the Admiral whispered. He slammed his hand down on the console again. “You have the conn, XO,” he said as he turned.

“If I need you, Admiral, where will you be?”

Adama paused and he slowly turned around. “Frack them both. I’m going to bed.”

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

“What the frack were you thinking?” asked Lee as he entered the brig. Commander Lorne sat in a cell, and the MAA had not taken his belt or his boots. His uniform jacket had been removed, though, and one of the doctors assigned to Pegasus was wrapping his arm and hand in bandages around a metal and rubber splint.

“I was thinking about my own daughters and I got angrier and angrier, Commander Adama,” Mathias said, with a wince as the doc pulled the bandages tighter.

“Too much, Sir?” he asked.

“Don’t worry about me, just get it right,” Scorpia’s commander said to the physician.

“Nothing else we can do—you’ve probably fractured a few bones, but none are out of place. It will take time to heal, Commander,” he said as he pulled out a syringe and injected Mathias in the upper arm. “It’s a mild analgesic and sedative—to help you get some rest, Sir.”

Lee waited until the doctor had gathered his things and left—Mathias stood and he pulled back on his uniform jacket and worked one-handed to button it up and secure the belt.

“Let me, Sir,” one of the MAA’s said, and then he looked at Lee. Who jerked his head in an expression of his own anger. Mathias raised his arms, and the crewman finished buckling the belt and securing all but the top two buttons of the jacket.

“So that’s it? You were angry and you punched out the President?” he snapped. “You broke her jaw! And it was because you were angry?”

“No excuse, Commander, Sir. I am ready to stand before the Admiral’s tribunal and defend myself.”

“Oh, that’s what you want, isn’t it, Commander? A forum—a public forum—where you can destroy what little stability we have left in this Fleet! What is going to happen now, Commander? You are in hack, the President is in Galactica’s surgery, the Vice-President has already resigned in disgrace . . . in just four days you have turned this entire Fleet upside down! Never mind half of my crew are pissed at your crusade against them for actions we have already considered and dismissed!”

Mathias nodded, and he sighed. “You love her, don’t you Lee?”

“What?”

“The President—oh, you don’t love her in a sexual sense, you aren’t IN love with her, but you love her. Warts and all.”

“What has that got to do with any of this?” Lee growled, and Mathias smiled. He had no idea of how much he looked and sounded like his father when he did that, he thought.

“You aren’t mad that I hit the President who ordered a child kidnapped, Lee; you are mad that I hit Laura Roslin. You are mad that Laura Roslin dared to cross the line and take that child in the first place. I know you a bit from your time on Scorpia—and everything I have heard about you since joining up with Galactica and Pegasus has impressed me, Lee. What is going to happen now? Do you want to know what I think should happen NOW?”

“Enlighten me, o font of wisdom?”

“Come on Apollo,” Mathias said with a chuckle. “Sarcasm doesn’t suit you. I think you are desperately unhappy, mister. I believe that you are here as the Commander of Pegasus because you don’t want to let your father down. But that your heart isn’t here. Your heart is with that young wife of yours and that child, and you would be so much happier out of this military and doing something you can be proud of.”

“I am proud of what I have done,” Lee whispered.

“Proud of what you have done, yes; but you take no pride in the service, Lee. It isn’t your life like it is that of your father, or Saul Tigh, or me. You, I am willing to bet, never dreamed of spending your entire life in uniform until retirement—am I wrong?”

Lee didn’t answer.

“You want to know what I think this Fleet needs? It doesn’t need a Laura Roslin. It doesn’t need a Gaius Baltar. And it doesn’t need a Tom Zarek. Not as President. But I think that Lee Adama could do the job, and that it would be a job he could pride in and be happy doing.”

Lee Adama just stared at him, his eyes wide. “I’m the Commander of Pegasus! I’ve got responsibilities!”

“You are responsible for yourself and your family. And if you don’t think that the President has more responsibilities than a Battlestar Commander, then I have underestimated you. Lee, you and I share a sense of idealism. We do. But you don’t act on that. You put everyone else’s needs over your own. You put your father’s expectations above your own. Don’t worry about Pegasus. If necessary, your father can put Elias Thorean here—he has command experience from Solaria, and you don’t need two arms to command. Or Mark Foeswan. You cannot argue that you are the indispensible man, Lee. Because, manifestly, you are not.”

Lee just stared and Mathias nodded. “Ask yourself this, Commander Lee Adama of Battlestar Pegasus: where can you the most good for all of the survivors? Here? Or in that office on Colonial One? Who do you trust to do this job? Baltar? Zarek? Your father might well not like it, but damn it man, it is your life. And this Fleet needs a . . . principled man to lead us. I think that you are that man, Lee Adama.”

Lee backed up out of the cell, and he cleared his throat. “Lock him in,” he ordered. “You’re wrong, you know that? I’m not nearly as principled as you think.”

“For me the choice is a simple one, Lee. Are you a better man than Gaius Baltar or Tom Zarek? Who do you think will sacrifice their principles for power? You? Or those two? I don’t know you as well as I should, but based on what I have seen. What I have heard. I like our chances a lot better with you in charge instead of Roslin or them. Will you do what is best for the fifty-four thousand survivors of humanity? Or will you stay miserable doing a job just to make your father happy?”

“That is up to you, Lee. You and your wife. Think about it. Do you want that little girl of yours growing up in this environment?” he said point his hands at the bulkheads and deck and overhead.

Lee turned and he marched to the hatch without a word, and he stopped.

“Think about it, Mister President,” Mathias cajoled. And then Lee left.

[Skywalker_T-65]

Hmm...President Adama...interesting...

[MondoMage]

Adama paused and he slowly turned around. “Frack them both. I’m going to bed.”

Oh! OH! I think I hurt myself laughing so hard! That was awesome! There are so many priceless lines being dropped in these latest updates, but this takes the cake!

[Eternal_Freedom]

Adama paused and he slowly turned around. “Frack them both. I’m going to bed.”

Best. Line. EVER.

[masterarminas]

“Oh, God,” Ripley moaned as she held her head. “Child-birth didn’t hurt this much.”

Hicks handed her a glass of water and two strong—very strong—pain-killers. “One of the side-effects we were talking about with these flash-memory units,” he said in perfect Greek, albeit with his Southern accent. Ripley’s head snapped up—she understood him. And then she moaned again as the pain stabbed at her temples from moving her head that fast.

“I’m gonna die,” she said, answering in the same language.

“Take these,” Hicks answered holding out the tablets. “They will help. A fast-dump like we did,” she had put on the headset just fifteen minutes ago, “always does this. That is why we usually take twelve hours to upload the information—today we don’t have time. The shorter the time frame, the worse the headache. But it will go away.”

Ripley took the glass and swallowed both of the tablets; she drained the water and within seconds, the intense pounding began to fade.

The hatch opened, and Major Caldwell walked in. “Did it work?” she asked. And, although the accent was odd and some of the words didn’t quite fit, it did work well enough. Ripley nodded. “Miracles of modern science,” she said, and Sam Caldwell smiled as she heard the woman speak something very close to her own native tongue.

“Good. Lieutenant,” she turned to Gorman, “were you able to establish contact with your government?”

“I sent the message, Major Caldwell, but it will require time to travel and for us to get a message. Hyper-com isn’t instantaneous, but we should hear back in four or five hours.”

Caldwell frowned. “That is a problem. As we said earlier, we are being chased by the Cylons—mechanical creations of mankind that rebelled and now seek our destruction. What they actually want is our flesh. They have developed a process where they can graft flesh unto their limbs to gain the sensation of touch, and they implacable in their hate. They will not stop chasing us,” she said.

Klaxons began to blare, and a voice came over the speakers. “This is the XO. Sound Action Stations throughout the ship. Set Condition One in all compartments. Major Caldwell report to CIC. Repeat, sound Action Stations throughout the ship. Set Condition One in all compartments. Major Caldwell report to CIC.”

She cursed and headed out—and the Marines, led by Hicks and Gorman, followed her. The tiny CIC was crowded, but Ripley appreciated how it was laid out—and how deep in the hull it was buried. Anubis was more than twice the size of Sulaco, very nearly as large and powerful as a Colonial Navy frontier cruiser. But she was old, Ripley could tell from the many repairs and jury-rigged systems, and according to Caldwell, Malcolm, and the others, she was the smallest warship in the Colonial Fleet.

“Damn,” Caldwell whispered as she glanced up at the DRADIS—what the Terrans called radar, Ripley translated. There was an icon there pulsing red—and many smaller icons spilling out.

“It’s the Cylons, all right,” she said. “Spin up FTL Drives One and Two,” she ordered.

“Can you show a schematic of that ship?” asked Hicks and Caldwell nodded. She typed in a command and wire-frame diagram of the Gemini appeared on the screen. “To scale?” he asked. More typing and an image of Sulaco appeared—she was very small in comparison, less than a quarter the diameter of those domes and only a few percent of the internal volume.

“Raiders inbound, two minutes,” an officer called out.

“Weapons free—fire when they enter range,” Caldwell answered.

“I can order Sulaco to engage,” Bishop said to Gorman. He considered and then he nodded. “Do it. Time to get some intel on how effective our weapons are,” he paused. “With your permission, Major?”

“Oh, I don’t object when someone offers to help me blow away Cylons, Lieutenant Gorman. Be my guest.”

Bishop sat down and he typed commands into the computer and then transmitted them to the Sulaco. Aboard that empty ship, the computers received them, and klaxons blared on all of her decks, the lighting turning to the red of battle stations.

She thrusted forward, her turrets coming to life and missile covers retracting.

“Let’s see how she deals with Long Lances, Bishop,” said Hicks. “Fire ‘em off.”

“All of them?” Burke winced at the thought of the expense, but then he nodded—after all it was his life at stake here.

“All of them,” Gorman confirmed.

Eight missiles ripped out of their silos and thrusted forward towards the Gemini. They streaked past the incoming fighter strike, their first stages jettisoning as their fuel was expended, then their second stages. And then the Cylon ship opened fire with their point defense—and the Marines winced.

“That is . . . impressive,” said Bishop. Only two of the Long Lance missile managed to get through—and their warheads were easily absorbed by the ship’s armor.

“It generally takes nuclear warheads or heavy kinetic strikes to kill a Basestar,” said Sam Caldwell.

“Fire up the point defense, Bishop,” ordered Gorman. “Damn it all, I wish we had a crew on the Sulaco. The computers are good, but a trained crew would be better.”

“Their reaction time would be slower,” Bishop said as he typed in commands.

“But not as predictable,” Hicks added with a smile to the synthetic, who nodded.

“Fighters in range of point-defense lasers . . . now,” Bishop said he hit enter. And every Colonial suddenly jumped and cheered as pulses of amplified light tore into the Cylon Raiders accurately and quickly. The attack force dropped from sixty Raiders to seventeen in the first fourteen seconds of the laser engagement . . . and then the laser fire died away—along with the cheers.

“Capacitors recharging,” Bishop reported. “Thirty seconds until fire can resume.”

“Are they launching more fighters?” asked Hudson in disbelief. “That strike would have been the full complement for a Kitty Hawk-class Fleet Carrier!”

“Gemini’s carry upwards of three hundred Raiders,” said Major Caldwell. “They won’t make that mistake again—this time they will send everything,” and she grinned as the Cylons entered her range.

The eight twin turrets on Anubis’s dorsal hull back to fire at near maximum rates—and the blood drained from the faces of the Marines as they saw the flak cloud of explosions. None of the seventeen Raiders managed to survive to weapons range.

“Flak? You can shoot flak out of the kinetic energy cannons?” asked Burke, his interest suddenly piqued.

“Of course. What use would they be otherwise?”

“Bishop, go ahead and hit that Basestar with the particle beam cannons,” ordered Gorman.

And now it Caldwell’s turn to blink. “At this range?”

Gorman smiled. “Yes, ma’am. At this range.”

“Locked and firing,” said Bishop. Two invisible beams reached out and slammed home against the Basestar—it staggered, and then stopped its advance momentarily.

“Their DRADIS is off-line,” called out tactical, and then a curse. “Secondary systems just engaged.”

And the Gemini began to close again—even faster now.

“I think we need to hit it again,” said Gorman.

“Recharging,” said Bishop. “One minute.”

“Too long,” answered Sam. “We are jumping in twenty seconds. Lieutenant, if you can get that ship into your hyperspace in that time, I’d advise you to do it. Unless you want to lose it.”

“Do it,” said Hicks and Gorman nodded his agreement. “Put her in FTL, Bishop—on course for the nearest Fleet base.”

“She is powering up . . . and has successfully entered the hyperspace shunt.”

Sulaco’s icon vanished from the display.

“Stand by, take DRADIS off-line,” Sam said as two hundred and seventy Cylon raiders kept closing. “Stand by . . . and JUMP!” she ordered.

And Anubis did so.

The Terrans looked a bit queasy, but other than that, they seemed overjoyed. As the DRADIS display came up, they saw scores of icons—but all in the blue color of friendlies.

“Ma’am, we are being challenged by Pegasus,” an officer reported.

“Send the reply, Mister Horn.”

“How far did we just travel?” asked Burke.

“Nineteen point seven light years, Mister Burke,” Caldwell answered, and Ripley sat down in disbelief. Nineteen point seven light years in no measureable elapsed time at all.

“Pegasus confirms our identity and says welcome home, ma’am,” Horn reported.

Sam Caldwell stood there at her station and she nodded. “Hail Galactica,” she ordered as she lifted a phone. “On speaker.”

“Anubis, Galactica,” the wireless said.

“Galactica, Anubis Actual. I—strike that. YOU need to hear what I and my guests have to say.”

“Your guests, Anubis Actual?”

“Affirmative, Galactica. Can’t say more on an unsecured channel. Prepare to receive . . . two Raptors.”

“Copy, Anubis Actual. We will await your arrival. Galactica out.”

“Well, ladies and gentlemen. Are you up to taking another ride—the President is waiting,” Sam said with a wave her arm. Hicks and Gorman exchanged a look, and then both looked at Ripley. “Sure, why not,” she said. “As long as they understand we aren’t authorized to negotiate for our government.”

And Hudson elbowed Burke as he began to speak.

[MondoMage]

Nice. An excellent chance to show what each side's weapons can and can't do... although I assume that a dedicated Earth warship would have better armament and recharge times on the energy weapons. Also kills any chance of this being a "Curb stomp the Cylons!" story... while that can be quite entertaining, it does get old after a while.

Also liked how Hicks and Gorman deferred - ever so slightly - to Ripley at the end there. Shows a level of respect without going overboard. Nice and subtle.

I hope someone brings a towel for Burke... he's going to be drooling all over the deck by the time the day is through, I think. Although I wonder what will be thought of the current political situation. Should prove interesting.

[Vianca]

Burke should consider starting-up his own company, that way he can get more of the motherload.
Only problem is that he would have to have somekinda starting capital in order to get the Earth defencive tech as well.
Kobol Industries does have a nice ring to it.

[LadyTevar]

Great battle scene, and the reactions of both crews were perfect. I think the Colonials got a good look at what the limitations of energy beams can be. While briefly ionizing the Basestar was a nice effect, the recharge time is a bitch.

[Borgholio]

Great battle scene, and the reactions of both crews were perfect. I think the Colonials got a good look at what the limitations of energy beams can be. While briefly ionizing the Basestar was a nice effect, the recharge time is a bitch.

I was a bit unclear on exactly what the particle beams did to the basestar. I know they had a sort of emp effect but any physical damage?

As far as the recharge time, the Sulaco is basically a troopship, not a frontline warship...I would expect a cruiser or battleship to have a faster recharge time.

[Themightytom]

So there was discussion of it, but, to clarify, LV 426 DID self destruct right? Sulaco DID nuke the derelict as well, because I'd hate for the Cylons to go down there and bring back a clusterfuck. if that shit got onto a resurrection ship, the Aliens would have a field day, and if they somehow inherited resurrection ability, that'd be a hilarious clusterfuck,
OR vice versa
Can you imagine seeing a Raider extend it's probiscus :-p

Seriously though, why did Gorman and co. abandon Sulaco, they JUST met the colonials, I wouldn't be quite so eager to hitch hike with the strangers, they could have sent Ripley, Hudson Vasquez and Burke back on the Sulaco while Gorman stayed with the colonials with Hicks as his back up. The marines don't like Burke anymore, Ripley, respected though she is, is still civilian, Hudson's been a puddle of Goo, and Vasquez is GOING to get into a fight with someone. Or make out with Shaw, idk, could be both.

LV 223 is in the same system isn't it? Is anyone going to find the installation full of ships, or is that too much of a tangent.

[Borgholio]

Well they didnt abandon the Sulaco, they just didnt have time to go back aboard her yet. Thats why they sent her into hyperspace before the Anubis jumped out and handled the battle via remote control.

I am curious if they got around to nuking the derelict ship though...