BSG-23: Haunted - Page 2 - Scifi-Meshes.com

12-09-2006, 11:58 AM
pinchy417 SFM Nugget Realname: Andrew Join Date: May 2006 Age: 27 Posts: 104 Downloads: 0 Uploads: 0	BSG-23: Haunted Revised 09/2007* After 9 months of re working, editing, and making a lot of changes on rewrites of scripts and of the original Battle of Picon & The Raid series I've finally had the chance to go back and rework Haunted and what will become Olympia Series 2.0. The Olympia mesh has undergone a massive overhaul... Click here to read the entire article
	Last edited by pinchy417; 09-11-2007 at 03:13 PM. Reason: Complete revision

#10 (permalink)

By pinchy417 on 09-23-2007, 04:35 AM

Chapter 6

Chapman had taken over the watch at the ECO terminal. Karis was trying to nap as both Shark and Frills kept a watchful eye out the cockpit bubble on anything that might be moving. They were just past the half way point of their mission and still picking up random chatter with Colonial IDs of the massive fleet they had jumped into. Several blinding flashes appeared directly ahead: FTL Jumps, and these were no small vessels.

"Captain, please tell me you have something?" Frills called back over the internal wired comms.

It took the passive sensors almost a minute to register and return a signal on the new contacts. "Roger that, showing three vessels. Colonial ID's confirmed as the Battlestar Mercury and two mining vessels. The Ludum and the Litel."

"Those weren't ships that were part of the Aqurarian task force. We have the two mining vessels with the Olympia," Frills recalled. Still it was a bit of a relief to see the huge and familiar Battlestar Mercury still in one piece. When she and the rest of the fleet failed to make the next jump in the cycle, everyone had assumed the worst. Yet, like Olympia, she had managed to survive yet again.

"Very good L-T," Chapman complimented. "But here is something even stranger...three of those ships out there are registering as Cygnus class frigates."

"Cygnus class?" Makko challenged. "Never heard of 'em."

Frills mind recalled the ship classification charts her professors had made the class memorize. It included every Colonial military vessel used in the first Cylon War. "Those things have to be relics. The last ones..."

"They should have been decommissioned almost twenty years ago," Chapman recalled. "A few may have found their way into civilian hands after they had been stripped of weapons. After all there are more than a few old Defenders out there."

"One, okay, but three?" Frills challenged. "Only about eighty survived the war. Most were scrapped."

“And how do you know that?” Shark snickered.

Frills shrugged, “I like spaceships. Used to read everything I could about them when I was a kid instead of playing with dolls.”

“Really? Give that you sewed lace onto your partition, brought frilly pillow cases and sleep with a lace covered pillow, I would have never pictured you the type,” Shark remarked.

“Hey, when I was younger it was me and my three older brothers. Wasn’t until Dad remarried that I had a mother figure in the house. And she was…well… girly,” Frills defended her choice of pillow coverings. She shuddered, “Girly to a fault.”

The cockpit was illuminated as the Mercury once again jumped away. "What the frak, they were here for like two minutes and then jumped away again? What’s that all about?” Shark pondered out loud.

“How about that other Battlestar? The one flying the barrier patrol? Which ship is it?” Frills asked.

"Pacifica," Chapman offered. "So far from what I've seen this looks like the real deal. Looks like they've been collecting additional stragglers from Colonies, amassing here in the middle of no where. Still, there are a couple ships out there that the sensors cannot positively identify. My guess is that they took heavy damage and it's mucking up their isotopic signatures. But I'm with the L-T on this one. Where the hell are they digging up all these relics from? I mean thePacifica was one of the original Twelve. Next they'll be coming up with a Columbia class Battlestar."

“Or they don’t want to be identified,” Shark casually observed as the others shuddered at the thought. Those vessel may not want to be identified, and whatever their reasons, it could not be a good sign.

The ECO's terminal beeped. "New Contact," Chapman calmly reported. He patiently waited for the contact to resolve as additional alarms began to blaring. "Radiological Alarm!"

Karis instantly jolted from her light nap at the sound of the blaring alarms. "What's going on?"

"New contact just appeared, One-eight-three kerum two-two at nine hundred. They just jumped in," Chapman announced. "They are heading straight for the f Pacifica with engines at full burn."

"Why?" Shark questioned.

"How the frak should we know," Frills snapped back. The crew of the Raptor watched the long luxury liner with bright orange tail fins pass too close for comfort.

"Watch the windows!" Chapman yelled up. "Watch for movement inside the craft!"

Frills and Makko kept their eyes pealed on the windows for any signs of movement, but the cabin was most dark save for an eerie dark blue hue from emergency lights. Karis stuck her head between the seats long enough to see the tail markings. "That's an experimental! I think it's the new liner they were testing, the one with the composite hull!"

"Composite hull?" Makko doubted the claim.

"I had to write a report on it for a class last semester," Karis insisted. "Some of the more shadier outfits had already placed orders for the cargo variant. The thing is supposed to be harder to see on DRADIS. Effectively cuts the DRADIS cross section in half. Easier to skirt patrols. There were some rumors that the bulk of the first hundred production models had been bought by various smuggling fronts in the Outer Colonies."

"I hate to say it, but I think Ocean's right. The signal is...well...odd. If we weren't right next to it," Chapman began. "We get a clear view because we can detect the particle leakage from the engines. They don’t have any transponders on and their em signature is almost zero. Hell it's like even their damned computers are turned off."

"We've got to do something," Makko quietly insisted to Frills. Frills looked over and gave her co-pilot a reluctant smirk. Her hand reached for the dial and powered up the Raptor. Quickly the Raptor's cockpit came back to life with everyone taking a second for eyes to adjust to the new brightness levels. Makko's hand hit the engines hard. "There is no fraking way we can accelerate to over take that liner. Not with their engines on full burn like that!"

"Chapman, switch to active scans, see what that liner does. Turn on the transponder and send a message to the liner in the clear, all channels, military and civilian. I want that fleet out there to hear us too," Frills ordered. "Shark begin spooling the FTL, prepare to make an emergency short range FTL jump to put us between that liner and the rest of the fleet!"

"Yes, sir," Makko said prepping the jump calculations.

Chapman called up front, "We are lit up like Colonial Day!"

"Communications?" Frills asked.

"Lines are open, all channels," Karis reported.

"Attention unknown luxury liner, this is Raptor Olympia Recon One - One. You are ordered to power down your engines and standby for intercept. Repeat, unknown liner you are ordered to power down your engines and await further instructions," Frills called out in a clear voice. The cockpit froze for several seconds as the response was the hiss of static.

"FTL drive is spooled and ready," Chapman reported.

"Jump Calcs?" Frills looked over at Makko inputting the final sequence. "Loaded and ready."

Frills tapped the controls. An instant later they were three thousand from the fleet, and two thousand from the unknown liner, but that number was decreasing rapidly. She tapped the ship-to-ship wireless control again and repeated the hail. Still no response. "Karis, use the signal lamp, flash the cockpit with the same message."

"Aye sir," Karis answered swinging the Raptor's lamp around and tapping the light in code to the vessel to halt and power down. She managed to get the message off three times before an alert signal interrupted.

"Incoming missile!" Chapman called up front.

"Beginning evasive!" Frills said throwing the controls into a series of wild jinks.

Makko looked out of all sides and back at the MFD in front of him. It was his job to determine where the weapons were being fired from. "We have six, scratch that, eight ship to ship missiles inbound from the Pacifica." He paused to see the separation of the eight missiles into two separate groups. "Looks like five inbound, tracking the liner, three on us!"

"FTL status?" Frills asked.

"Two minutes," Karis called out.

"Time to impact?" Frills then asked.

"Ninety seconds," Makko answered.

Frills shuddered, "Frak. Captain, hope you're working some of that ECO voodoo of yours back there."

"Working on it," Chapman answered running through the various jamming protocols. One of the three missiles began to track on a previous heading, frozen in a straight line until it ran out fuel. "Got one."

"Good, that leaves two more. Makko, get ready on those swallows!" Makko's hand hovered over the release controls or the Raptor's two decoy drones. Frills counted in her head. "Okay in three, two, one...mark!" Makko's hand tapped the key, releasing the drone straight and steady as Frills pitched the nose up and hit the RCS to slide to port.

It wasn't enough as the warhead exploded directly below the craft sending a hail of shrapnel into the belly of the Raptor. The craft shuttered from the peppering as another alarm was blaring. "Release number two!" Makko's hand tapped the control panel: nothing happened. He then frantically hammered away at the key and still nothing happened. "Explosion must have jammed the release!"

Everyone lurched forward as the second warhead exploded directly behind them. It was not a direct hit, but close enough as pieces of the weapon ripped into the main engines. Every warning light and buzzer in the craft was now growling, hissing, or blaring including the Master Caution. Frills slammed her fist into the Master Caution to shut down the alarms and bring about a moment of silence in the cockpit. "Sit Rep!"

"FTL's gone, left engine is gone and the right is sputtering. We've lost rear RCS thrusters," Karis announced. "Didn't puncture the inner pressure hull. We're not venting atmo."

"At least that's something," Chapman grumbled. "But we're dead in space."

"Comm drone?" Makko asked.

"At these ranges, it'd take months to reach the Olympia's current position. And if we aren't back on time, Miller's going to jump," Frills said defeated. She took her hands off the controls. They were adrift.

"So now what?" Karis said with a hint of a tremble in her voice.

No one answered the nineteen year old right off the bat. Finally Chapman said, "We hope that those are our people and not a bunch of toasters."

Frills tapped the Ship-to-ship, "Kyrptor, Kyrptor, Kyrptor, this is Olympia Recon One-one declaring an emergency. Repeat this is Olympia Recon One-one declaring an emergency. We're dead in space requesting rescue." There was no immediate response. In frustration she reopened the channel and added, "Thanks a lot for frying our engines you mother-fraking assholes! What the frak ever happened to intercept protocol!"

<-----------CHAPTER 7--------------------->

"Chief, what the hell is this?" one of the former academy engineering students asked completely baffled by the utter lack of electronics in the Viper Mark II's fire control computer. The kid was completely baffled by the precision machined gears and parts. He had never seen an analog computer before or understood what they were.

Chief Jessika Wilson gave the twenty-year old a wry smile. "The regular grease monkey's I would expect to hear complain, but you engineering jocks, I would think you all would be salivating at this fine piece of engineering." She turned around and looked at the deck. Over half the kids fixing vipers had been engineering students just a week before. At the top of her lungs she yelled, "All you kids gather around. Today you all are going to learn the secrets of why it is impossible for the Cylon's to frak with the fire control systems of a Mark Two Viper so that when you little geniuses get around to designing the next generation of Vipers, you can take note."

It was effective as all work on the hanger deck ceased and both the grease monkeys and the Cadets gathered around to watch the design and repair lecture. Wilson paused until everyone could see and the deck noise had ebbed to an acceptable level. She picked up the black box and opened the front to reveal the guts. There were a few wires that completed circuits, but everything else was machinery.

"Back during the original Cylon war we learned that toasters were fraking good at hacking other electronic computers, so our parents, or in you all's case grand-parents, generation," her remarks met with a few muted chuckles from the crowd, "They went back to these." Wilson's pinkie finger latched onto an assembly and with a little jostle, she had removed two metal rods connected by a spring coupler no bigger than the first knuckle of her thumb. She held it up for the crowd to inspect as a few of the pilots now peaked in around the corners including Charmer and some of the pilots interested to learn exactly how these machines worked.

"This boys and girls is an analog computer. It is a machine, and a finely tuned one at that. When you select a target, it's this rod here that calculated the multitude of parabolic equations that results from two bodies moving independently through outer space," Wilson explained. "How does it work? Well one side calculates azimuths and the other side calculates angle of error for your missiles."

"So this isn't needed for the gun sights?" Charmer asked raising his hand like he was back in class.

"No, just the missiles. Your DRADIS controlled bore sights function through the Bore Sight Computer. Same idea, different box." Wilson answered. She continued by point to a small round object inside the case. "This is a mechanical oscillation inhibitor, which is a fancy word for a round tension spring. Now these two rods spin on a small needle made of surgical steel, now please don't go tell the Med-techs, they'll be demanding them to sow you boys and girls back up."

Wilson twisted on the two parts, "Now in action, these pieces torque violently when in use, hence why they have the spring coupler to dampen the action. Now here comes the fun part. These two pieces are held together by two small tensions screws. Now you all can't seem them from out there, but believe me, they're there. Here comes the fifty cubit question: what tool do you use to tighten down the screws? Remember they rub against smooth surgical steel, so it has to be tight, oh yeah, and the screws that hold your glasses together are probably three times the size of this nasty little sucker."

The crew looked at each other shaking their heads completely unsure how to maintain the system. While in port it was many times their task to keep the last two squadrons flyable for airshows, but that was mostly repairing the hydrolics and engines touching up the finish. They were never expected to enter into combat again where they might actually have to use their fire control computers.

"Some type of Bob wrench?" one of the engineering students queried.

One of the grease monkeys jumped on the kid and snorted, "No, all you are going to do is strip something like that if you have to torque it."

"Greasers one, students zero," Wilson chuckled. "What you need is a Number Four Talus wrench. Someone care to go find me one?" A few students hunted around the tool benches and opened the drawers where the tools were supposed to be located. After about five minutes of searching Wilson cut it short. "I'll save you the hassle: there aren't any."

"Old tooling?" one of the students pondered.

The Chief shook her head, "Even when these were in production you never could find a number four Talus Wrench. You were lucky to find one in an entire Battlestar Group let alone your tool box."

The pilots's faces all drained as they looked at each other. One of the pilots spoke up, "So what you are saying is that without a Number Four wrench..."

"Number four Talus wrench," Wilson corrected.

"Number four Talus Wrench," the Pilot continued, "That our fire control systems are useless on the Mark II's?"

Wilson grinned and nodded. "If I had a prize, I'd give it to ya."

"So what you are saying is that a little wrench can render a Viper useless?" the Pilot questioned.

Wilson smiled, "Not just a Viper, every Mark Two we've got. Remember these were all historically accurate, no upgraded electronics period."

"Great, no wonder I couldn't fraking hit anything," another pilot joked.

Wilson opened her chest pocket and pulled out a small envelope containing a small Talus Wrench. "I had my Uncle shop at fifty machine shops on Caprica to find me this and mail it to me. So lucky for you Viper jock's, I've got your back on this one, but moreover the point of the story is that it will be little things that keep these birds grounded. It's going to be your jobs to figure out simple solution to keep these birds working. 'Cause we ain't go no more machine shops on Caprica. Am I clear?"

The hanger deck was full of nods of understanding as the point sunk in, but the Chief knew she would have more than enough examples to drive the point home sooner than she had hoped. Parts were already to a critical level and Olympia lacked the space to set up a fully functional production line even with a complete set of tooling in storage. Another drawback of Olympia's rushed design.

**************Back out in Deep Space***********

A pair of bright white lights blinded Frills and Makko in the front seats as a pair of Attack Raptors hovered too close to their canopy for comfort. They had been adrift for almost four hours before the welcoming committee arrived. A few seconds later a pair of Mark 7 vipers took station off their port and starboard wing tips. "So what do we do?" Makko posed. Frills just reacted, flashing a non-complementary hand gesture to both of the other Raptor crews. Shark uttered, "Uh...are you trying to piss them off?"

Frills shrugged, "Well I figured if they're not chrome domes."

A few seconds later an annoyed voice addressed them over the wireless. "This is Lt. Mark Johnston of Battlestar Group 53. You are ordered to hold position. Any attempt to deviate from current trajectory will result in your destruction."

Frills flipped open the comms and blasted, "Not like we have a fraking chance since you assholes blew out our engines! We save your fraking asses what do we get as thanks? A trio of missiles up our tail pipes!"

"You will not deviate or you will be fired upon!" Johnston's voice yelled back. "Acknowledge via signal lamp with two short blinks."

Frills leaned back, "Ocean..." Karis tapped the key twice and then waited a few seconds before adding the signal code for :F-R-A-K-Y-O-U! Frills was not the only one who was going to have a little bit of fun. Or at least vent pent up anger at the situation. As crazy as the idea sounded, maybe Frills was right: if they acted like a bunch of punks, maybe they would realize at least that they were not toasters...she hoped.

They watched as the pair of Raptors and the two Vipers made a quick maneuver darting away from them as a large box swallowed the tiny Raptor. "What the Frak?" Frills said as she and Makko peered around the long tunnel they were entering. The pit of her stomach dropped into her uterus wondering what was happening.

Chapman poked his head between the seats to take a look around. "This is one of those science ships. Or an electronics cruiser."

"You've seen the inside of one of these before?" Frills questioned.

Chapman laughed and smiled, his white teeth in sharp contrast to his dark skin. "Spent a tour on one of these things. We placed them out on the Armistice line to try and glean anything we could from Cylon space. Every piece of static, pulse of a Quasar, everything was mapped and scrutinized. Everything has a hum in the Electromagnetic spectrum. Hell even you and I."

"They ever find anything?" Makko asked.

Chapman snorted, "How the hell should I know. These ships were operated by spooks. Sure we recorded data, but once it was on optical discs, it was above our clearance to look at it."

"Wait a minute, you could collect the data, but then not look at it?" Ensign Britnee Karis questioned somewhat surprised.

Chapman was still smiling. The rest of the crew wondered if anything really ever got the man down as he always seemed to be the most cheerful of the bunch. "If you spent enough time around the fleet you'll see a hundred absurdities. Believe you me. At any rate, the spooks took the discs and that was the last we ever saw of them. Never knew what they were looking for, all I ever saw was a bunch of background radiation, static, that was it."

The Raptor lurched suddenly as they were grabbed by something. "What the Frak is that?"

"Crane arm," Chapman said as a few seconds later they were moving laterally. The vessel shook again as they were dropped against a deck. An instant later the air lock elevator was taking them below deck. It was a much quicker trip than on the Olympia, but they did not like the scenery as a ring of Marines pointed their weapons at the craft. The Raptor crew sat in their seats not sure what to do next.

"Want to give them any more gestures?" Makko quipped.

"No," Frills answered as fear tugged at her for the first time. "Captain Chapman, you are the ranking officer..."

"****," Chapman grumbled heading for the pressure door. He entered the sequence and the magnetic locks and unsealed. Before he had taken a step outside the craft, he found himself handed off between a dozen Marines and face down on the deck of the vessel. The rest of the crew were being forced out as more Marines stormed the tiny craft dragging out the other three.

The four Olympia crew members were bound with flex-cuffs as their helmets were forcibly removed by the Marines. Frills was not a happy Raptor jockey as she growled, "What the frak! We're all on the same side here!" Her remarks earned her a quick butt of a carbine to the gut causing her to keel over.

Chapman's smile vanished instantly as he glared at the approaching Marine. "What the frak did you do that for?"

All four were turned to face a tall man with a chiseled face and a blond buzz cut dressed in full combat gear minus the helmet. The Marine walked over with no expression and ripped off the dog tags from around each of their necks and glanced them over. He snarled and then announced, "Well boys looks like we've got ourselves some more Cylon infiltrators." The Marine let out a quick, disciplined, "Hoo-rah."

"Cylon infiltrators? What the hell is wrong with you people!" Karis said. Whether it was out of bravery or youthful foolishness, Chapman did not know, but it earned her the same rifle butt as Frills and that really was making him mad.

"I am Captain Chapman, Battlestar Olympia, I demand to speak with the CO, Lieutenant," Chapman glared at the Marine. As the Marine approached, Chapman noticed he had an inch and maybe twenty pounds on the man, that was if he would allow a fair fight.

"Admiral Dawlin's orders," the Marine snapped.

"Dawlin?" Chapman said, emotion draining from his face. "Wayne Dawlin?"

"That's Admiral Dawlin to you, Captain, or whatever you skinnies claim to be!" the Marine snarled.

"You know him?" Makko asked. His question was greeted by a rifle butt to the temple knocking the kid out cold.

Chapman grumbled under his breath: "Wish I didn't"

<--------------CHAPTER 8 -------------->

The five sat in Miller's freshly cleaned stateroom: Chief Kyle, Charmer, Chief Wilson, Colonel Rhodes, and Commander Miller. "Grant's up to something," Miller said in conclusion. He had informed the entire group about the afternoon meeting with the Governor of Aquaria. "And that something revolves around taking control of this ship." Why was not a question the two Chiefs with almost fifty years of service between them needed an answer for as they had seen their share of ambitious young officers in their careers. It was the how that concerned them. Loud baning on the pressure hatch interrupted the meeting, "Enter."

The hatch wheel spun open and a second later the head of the Marine detachment burst in with a report in hand. "Sorry to disturb you Sir, but we've completed the vetting of the civilian law enforcement contingent. We can accept three."

"Three?" Rhodes asked puzzled. "Out of a hundred and fifty?"

"Yeah, most of these guys listed private security on the resume. I'm sure that's what they called it in the outer colonies, but on Picon we called 'em thugs. A total of just seven were considered. Two washed out of Corps because they liked violence a little too much and the other two were too old and could not pass PT," the Marine told the gathered staff. "And may I point out, as head of ship security, that having you all in one room is not a wise idea."

"What do they do when we are Condition One and everyone is in the CIC?" Charmer asked. "Well everyone except me and Wilson. And I'm in a Viper for Zeus's sake."

The Marine stood there scowling at Charmer and quickly changed the topic, "Permission to.."

"Granted," Miller told him. "And you don't have to ask every time. I believe The Old Man had the same policy."

"Sir, I have a bad feeling about these civvies they're sending us. I know it's not my place to say anything, but the outer colonies where not known for their transparency of government, this administration in particular," the Marine told them.

"He's right," Rhodes unfortunately confirmed. "Half the Aquarian government were under investigation by Federal Authorities, including the Governor and his office. The unions control the planets politics and the mob controls them."

"And the other half?" Charmer questioned.

Rhodes looked directly at Charmer and answered dryly, "Bureaucrats."

Charmer just nodded, "Sorry I asked."

"And the sheer number of people they are sending over," Wilson cautioned, "Means they'll be at a one to one ratio with the rest of the crew."

Miller sat back in his chair looking at his command crew. "Yet we need the bodies to help make this ship somewhat operational again, right?" Everyone just sat and looked at each other. It was a dilemma with no good solution. They needed the manpower, but not if the price was the ship under mob rule. "So ideas?"

"Slow down the absorption rates, say we limit the number of civilians to a hundred, maybe a hundred and fifty a day. Give us the chance to screen who they're sending us. Chances are former fleet people are going to hold some loyalty to the flag," Wilson suggested.

"What flag?" Charmer challenged. "I mean let's face it, at this point we are holding on to ideals that no longer exist because the reality has yet to sink into the fleet that everything we claim to hold as ideal disappeared under mushroom clouds. People are still going on shock, but that is only going to last so long before people begin coming out of the woodwork to challenge the old systems and institutions. The old things that drove us apart, old scores, all that is going to roar back with a vengeance. Especially with such a lopsided population."

"It's already starting," Rhodes grimly informed them. "We've intercepted at least a dozen shortwave wireless channels coming from ships in the fleet. Many are starting to ask those types of questions. And with almost sixty percent of the people on those ships Aquarians and nearly eighty percent from the smaller colonies, it's only matter of time before old pre-federalist divisions reemerge."

"Great," Jessika grumbled. "You'd think that they'd be grateful enough to still be breathing..."

"Survival without purpose isn't exactly living," Charmer repeated again. It was an idea he had been tauting since the attacks and people were finally starting to listen to him. Times like these were when many people turned to the priests. However, when in absence of a priest, they could consult the next best thing: a philosopher.

"So how do we vet these people as they come on board without looking like we're vetting these people?" Kyle challenged.

Charmer answered, "I've been thinking, what about Amber?"

"Who?" everyone else asked in near unison.

"She's a civilian doctor we picked up somehow along the way," Miller answered. "I think it is a wonderful idea. People will tell things to a doctor, especially since she is a civilian and attractive at that. We could tell the Governor that we don't have the extra medical personal to screen more than a couple hundred people a day. That should sound reasonable."

"And medical screening is part of the regulations," Rhodes cited. "So even Grant should be able to back up our story."

Miller nodded, "Okay. Charmer go talk to your Doctor friend."

"A bottle of Ambrosia may..." Charmer began getting a scolding glare from the Commander. "Or maybe not."

"Okay, next crisis?" Miller asked.

Rhodes looked at his watch, "The recon mission should have reported back by now."

Miller glanced over at his XO, "They still have fifteen minutes by my watch."

Wilson stood up and stretched. "Which reminds me, I need to get back down to the hanger deck if you want that Raptor turned around within the hour."

"And if they don't come back?" Rhodes posed. "What about the resource scouting missions? Water shortages within the fleet are going to break out in a matter of weeks if we don't find a fresh source. And finding fresh water in space isn't an easy task. The longer we put it off..."

"Yeah, but with only two Raptors left, what happens if we send out another recon mission and they get ambushed by a Cylon patrol?" Charmer posed to the group just before exiting the state room. He made loud clap with his hands, "Ka-Boom. We've got a whole one Raptor left and how many hours a day can you keep that one flying Chief?"

Chief Kyle finally spoke up, "Well at some point we're going to have to bet the house. We play it completely safe and by the book we're sure to loose. Something the Old Man tried, and failed, to get Major Grant to understand. All I am saying is that we only got a few chips left, and this named star system looks to be the best hand we're going to get."

"So we should throw it all in without even seeing what the community cards?" Rhodes challenged.

"I'm not saying that, sir," Kyle replied, "We should jump close to the system, make as many observations as we can, and then send in the Raptors on anything that looks interesting."

Miller turned to Wilson, "Chief. Honest assessment. How long are you going to be able to keep our birds in the air?"

Wilson sighed. "The Raptors...a couple months depending on what's the next thing to break. The Vipers, keeping a daily CAP, just a matter of weeks at the most."

The Commander mulled over his few choices. "Alright. Mr. Rhodes make jump prep. How long until we're just outside that star system?"

"Five jumps," Rhodes answered. "Maybe four if we stretch it."

"No more risks that we absolutely have to," Miller reminded his XO. "Okay we wait another half hour, then we make our next jump."

Last edited by pinchy417; 09-23-2007 at 05:35 AM. Reason: Adding Chapters 7 & 8

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