BSG-23: Haunted

[pinchy417]

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 in the past few weeks and is cleaner, smaller (file size), and rendering faster than the old one. That also means having to back and redo about 7 minutes worth of animation. Grr, but the quality is going to be better.


****Changes from the original story line*****

There are a lot of changes that happened in the re-write...well not really. To sum it up here is what happened in The Raid:

1) Battlestars Mercury and Pacifica come to Olympia's rescue. We get an introduction to the Spooks of the fleet and the real dark side of Colonial Intelligence. In particular a man who makes Admiral Cain seam likable. (Who will be introduced later in this story)

2) Both serve along side Olympia and the civilian fleet as the main characters learn that the Cylons look like us now. Belu insists on heading to a particular sector. Commander Castello of the Mercury agrees.

3) The Comand crew of Olympia learn that the Cylons look like humans. Something that Commander Belu seemed to already suspect, if not already know.

4) The Cylons appear, launch a massive attack. Belu has a heart attack at the same time and dies. The Olympia, in no condition to fight, jumps away with about 30 civilian ships. On the other side they wait, but no one else arrives. After an hour they assume the Cylons wiped out the rest of the civilian ships and begin the Second Exodus jump sequence to the sector Belu suggested.

5) We learn that the Colonials are headed into terrority that the Cylon "God" forbids them from traveling too.

There are relatively minor changes to the Olympia herself. The gun configuration has changed slightly, but the major points of the story remain the same.

***************** And now with the story******************

Haunted

Chapter 1

“Hey Chief, you want any of this stuff?” Charmer asked slamming heavy, open box on to the only clear spot of the workbench. The box rattled from the collection of trinkets and other miscellaneous items from the now vacant racks of dead pilots.

The Chief looked up at the newly promoted Captain with a look of utter disgust, “What is all this crap?”

“A random sampling of the leftovers from cleaning out the racks. The other pilots already combed through it, but I saved this for you,” Charmer said pulling out a worn picture from his pocket.

Chief Petty Officer Jessika Wilson took the picture. It was an old squadron photo taken during one of their previous tours. She and her deck gang were sprawled out over the deck while the pilots stood in two lines behind them: Blue squad on the left, Red Squad on the right. In the middle, facing off at each other, was then Blue Squad leader Lieutenant Miller and Red Squad leader Lieutenant McMillian.

“I remember this photo,” Chief Petty Officer Jessika Wilson recalled the day. “Sam took this picture. He was our resident photo intelligence analyst for a year. Fun guy. He always had a camera in his hand and snapping lots of shots. We pulled everyone off the line and he did this shot before the end of the tour. He had us down in the middle with Blue Squad and Red Squad looking like they were facing each other in a duel.”

Charmer just smirked at the story. He did not really care, but stuck around to see if the Chief wanted anything else from the lot before auctioning the rest off to the snipes down in the bowls of the ship. Rumor was they had some damn fine stills down there.

Wilson continued, “It took twenty minutes and fifteen takes to finally get this to come out. Jewels and the Capt…” Wilson said catching herself, “The Commander couldn’t stop laughing. Those two were quite a pair back then.” She looked at the picture and cringed with an idea. “Thanks, anything else?”

“A pair?” Charmer slyly questioned. “How long ago?”

“I can’t remember, at least four years ago. Miller made Captain a tour after the photo,” Wilson answered.

Charmer nodded, “Okay, back to the pair thing? I mean, those two were always like…”

“And nothing more. Oh believe me, there’s been a pool going for five years in the hanger deck. Was about three thousand cubits in the pot,” Jessika said moving around from bench to bench making sure capacitors were being rebuilt to her quality standards. “Not like that means much now. I mean the money.”

Charmer stood there a moment thinking about the situation. “Okay, back to the whole pair thing again. You said they were nothing more?”

Jessika turned around and faced the newly promoted CAG, “Look, I think I know the story, at least pieced it together, but it’s none of our business. If you want the story, go ask the Commander. Besides weren’t you two like friends? Hell, I thought you introduced them…”

“Yeah, they met at my graduation party actually. One of the few times the Old Man had anything to do with me,” Charmer bit his lip in frustration, “I wasn’t around the next year and always heard…well…stories, but you know how accurate those can be, especially on the fourth or fifth vine.”

The Chief sighed and turned back around looking at the next item on her repiar list, “Like I said, Captain, you want to know the story, ask the Commander. I’m not going stand here and gossip. I’ve got birds to get back in the air….what do you want me to do with the junk?”

“Take a look for yourself. In fact you all can keep what’s left…then auction it off to the Marines or the Snipes,” Charmer urged.

“What, you aren’t going to take the profits?”

“No,” Charmer sighed, “They’ll be others.”

“Right…” the Chief lamented. She knew that more deaths were a part of the reality they faced. But there would not be too many more as the number of craft and pilots were limited. “Any word on when we’re going to get civvies on board to help out?”

Charmer shook his head, “Soon was the last word I got. Which is all I’ve gotten for the last four days.”

“Same here,” the Chief said. “Normal crew for this ship is thirty-one hundred. We usually ran in deep space with thirty-six hundred with all the cadets and reservists. Less than a thousand made it back on board before the Cylons showed up. The remainder were on the ships that didn’t make the jump.”

“Yeah, dispersing our people to the Defenders and other ships was a bad call by the Old Man…well the old, Old Man. Although, I can’t get used to calling Miller the Old Man…you know…he’s younger than I am,” Charmer admitted.

“By what…two months?” the Chief shot back.

“Six,” Charmer added. “I’ll be Thirty-three in three months.”

“Really?” the Chief said. “Three-three in three eh?”

“Yeah…funny…end of the world and I still wonder what I’m getting for my birthday.”

“How about a hot shower?”

“I could get that now,” Charmer snapped.

The Chief shook her head, “Think again flyboy. Boilers are down again.”

“Oh great…how long?”

“Can’t say. Frankly it’s not a priority,” the Chief answered. “We got a lot of other critical repairs and not enough people to make them. Hell, half of my deck gang has been tapped by the snipes. Anyone that can hold a wrench and doesn’t have wings is being used right now to try and fix the ship.”

“Which brings us back to the question, where the hell are the civvies that’s suppose to be helping us?” Charmer said. “I thought the governor was supposed to be organizing a work detail from the civilian fleet to help repair the ship.”

The Chief looked over at the new CAG with frustrated disgust, “And again…they said that three days ago. Trust me, I’d like a hot shower too, but that’s not in the cards today.”

“And if half your deck gang are now pressed snipes, how the hell are we supposed to keep a CAP airborne? I mean isn’t taking a toll on the craft?”

“Twenty man hours for every hour in flight,” the Chief admitted. “Not so bad when we were overcrowded with deck hands, but now it’s a challenge. Everyone is pulling triple shifts. We can do this for a while, Captain, but triple shifts with no hot showers is going to take its toll, and quickly.”

“Right, I’ll go chat with the Commander,” Charmer said, “See if I can’t light a fire under his ass about the civvies.”

***CIC***

Charmer walked into the nearly empty CIC. Most of the CIC rated staff had been transferred to other vessels for The Raid, as it became known. None of them made Jump Exodus Six. This left Olympia dangerously undermanned.

The newly promoted Colonel Rhodes was napping at his old Watch Officer’s station. There were only four others in the room, normally there was about a dozen to twenty persons manning stations depending on the alert status of the ship. Charmer approached the XO and said aloud, “Colonel.” Rhodes did not even move. This was more than just a cat nap, Colonel Rhodes was out cold.

“It’s his hour,” the young crew woman whispered from behind the FTL station. “He still has twenty minutes left.”

Charmer looked around at the tired faces of the others with puzzlement. “So you all get to take nap breaks?” Charmer said insulted at the notion. “Sleeping on duty? Does the Commander know about this?”

“S-s-sir, the Commander hasn’t stood watch in two days. He’s been busy with other things. S-so we each take an hour nap every four hours. If the C-cylons show up, we begin the jump s-sequence to the next jump point,” Petty Officer Stan Stosson stated from the Communication console.

“Stuttering Stan,” as the pilots called him was a big jolly young man that could have stood to loose a few pounds. He was well liked by the crew once you got past his stutter and annoying habit of always wanting to chat.

Charmer looked around at the empty noodle bowls and mugs. Someone had brought a large coffee cart and parked it back in the corner. “So you’re eating here too now?”

“Aye, S-s-sir. We’ve been here for six days s-s-straight, no relief,” Stossen stuttered. “We’re the only rated staff left on board.”

“What about hygiene?” Charmer asked.

The young Specialist manning FTL pointed to a pile of clean jumpers and a toiletry bag they each had. “We step out, change, and laundry has come by once to pick up the dirty laundry and leave fresh jumpers. We use the tea cooker to heat up water or use these alcohol wipes to freshen up.”

“Chief was right,” Charmer mumbled to himself. These four men and women were barely holding on. They sat there using coffee, tea, and maybe a blanket to doze on the deck for a few minutes and kept on going. It was amazing and sad at the same time. If this was the state of the crew, they did not stand a chance.

“Where’s Miller?” Charmer asked directly.

Stossen sarcastically barked, “Not here. Try his s-s-stateroom.”

“Okay,” Charmer replied. He stepped out of CIC and shook his head walking down the hall to the Commander’s quarters. Two Marines stood outside, a clear indication that Miller was inside. Charmer carefully approached and told the Marines he needed to speak with the Commander. A simple nod allowed the CAG to pound on the Commander’s hatch. After several taps, Charmer waited. He tapped again, harder, yet no response. Finally he pounded on the door yelling for Miller to open up.

The Marines were starting to give the CAG a dirty look. Charmer felt their gaze on his back as he asked, “When was the last time he left?”

“Not since we took shift, Sir,” the Marine Specialist answered.

“When was that?”

“Five hours ago, sir,” The Marine answered. “He could be asleep, sir.”

“Open the door,” Charmer ordered.

“Sir, we don’t…”

“Did he order you not to be disturbed?” Charmer growled.

The Marines looked at each other for a moment before the lead Marine answered, “No, sir.”

“Then open the fraking door Specialist, that’s an order!” Charmer demanded.

The Marines gave each other another glance before complying with the order. Charmer stood waiting for the hatch to open enough for him to step in. One of the Marines peeked around the corner to see empty bottles and broken glass all over the stateroom.

“Aten?” Charmer cautiously asked as he watched where he stepped. The Marine, seeing the level of chaos in the room grabbed his carbine and carefully followed. He was now wondering what had happened.

Charmer’s nose was the first to detect the foul odor as he rounded the corner. He looked down as a trail of vomit lead to the Commander’s private wash. Charmer looked behind him and flagged the Marine foreword. The Marine clutched his carbine and rounded the corner as though it was a tactical situation. He turned on the light attached to the side of the barrel and illuminated the Commander’s private wash.

Charmer poked his head around the corner to see Aten’s body lying stiff on the floor in a pool of his own vomit that missed the small metal toilet. The Marine went to the Commander’s side to check his pulse. “He’s still alive!” The Marine said.

Charmer braced himself up against the wall and pounded his head against his arm a few times in frustration uttering something violently inflammatory to himself. Captain Charles “Charmer” Brackov the Third walked over to the phone next to the Commander’s desk and flipped for Combat.

“Combat, this is the CAG. Get a med team to the Commander’s quarters, tell them to bring a stomach pump and hydration packs,” Charmer ordered.

“Sir, should we set Condition One?” the Communications Officer frantically asked over the receiver.”

“No,” Charmer softly replied. “This isn’t an emergency, but for the Commander’s sake, contact Sick-bay directly, don’t announce this over the 1MC. And wake the XO.”

“S-s-sir, yes-s, S-s-s-sir,” the Petty Officer Stossen’s voice firmly called out.

***CIC***

Charmer left the Commander’s stateroom to give the med techs and Marines room to move. He explained what he found to the sergeant at arms for the report and then walked back down to CIC. Rhodes was awake, but not alert. Four days of living in CIC had taken its toll.

“Colonel,” Charmer said. Rhodes did not respond to the rank, “Sir,” Charmer said again trying to get the young kid’s attention. “Trajan!” Charmer finally got the XO’s attention by yelling his first name.

“What?” Rhodes yawned.

Charmer shook his head. These people were at the end of the rope. They had carried on admirably, but there came a point and they were past the point of being effective. If the Cylons showed up now, they were as good as dead. “Go, get some rack time. All of you!” Charmer insisted.

“No, I’m good," Rhodes said stretching back to life. “Something about the Commander?”

“Yeah, Aten thought it would be a good idea to finish off a few bottle’s of the Old Man’s private stock,” Charmer sarcastically stated. “How long has it been since Miller stood watch?”

“One…maybe two days,” Rhodes said completely unsure of time. One hour looked just like the next on CIC. Only the ship’s chronometer kept track of time, not his body nor his mind.

“Two fraking days?” Charmer sighed in disbelief. “Two days and no one thought to check in on him?”

“Two days?” Rhodes said looking at the clock. “I guess so…I…”

“Lost track of time,” Charmer finished. “Like I said, everyone take the day off. Start again third shift tomorrow. Go to your racks and sleep. Take in decent meal too. I would suggest a hot shower, but you’d do better from the tea cooker.”

“Since when did you start giving orders around here?” Colonel Rhdoes challenged.

“Look, do I need to fetch a doctor and have him declare you all unfit for duty?” Charmer sympathetically asked. The others looked at the CAG and knew what he was saying. They all wanted some time off. Just a few hours to sleep and let their minds and aching bodies rest and revive.

Rhodes knew Charmer was right and simply asked, “So where is the Commander?”

“In Sickbay getting fluids and his stomach pumped,” Charmer stated.
Rhodes finally began to comprehend what was going on and how bad the situation really was. If the Alert Klaxon wasn’t blaring, it took his mind a few seconds to come out of slumber. He had never been a morning person. One reason why he took third watch and Mid watch when he could. “So he’s going to live…right?”

Charmer nodded, “Yeah. He’s going to feel like **** for a couple days and people are going to talk, but he’ll live.”

Rhodes stood there for a few moments, “You know, I’ve never known
Cap…Commander Miller to have a problem with alcohol. I mean he drank like all the pilots, but never too much.”

“Well…” Charmer muttered not too sure what to say. Given what had happened the past few weeks Charmer was rather surprised it had not been a bigger problem with the crew. Plus he remembered Aten during his academy days. The kid could put it away with the best of them. He and Jewels managed to stage a successful intervention once, but without Jewels twice would be a miracle. “Given the situation. How are you holding up, Sir?”

“Me?” Rhodes said yawning again a bit surprised at the question. Rhodes thought a moment and shrugged, “Still feels like we’re out on patrol. None of this feels real, yet.”

“Really?” Charmer said quite surprised. He knew the XO had a wife and a couple young rugrats, but he could understand. Charmer had overheard a few deck gang conversations where the crew mentioned similar feelings. It was all a fog and in a couple weeks the Olympia would return to port and people would disembark and return to their normal lives.

But the reality was, none of it was going to happen. Their families, the reservists’ civilian careers, the Academy, were all gone. Destroyed in the nuclear inferno of the Cylon’s wrath. All that was left were twenty-eight thousand huddled souls on board twenty-seven ships and nothing between them and the Cylons. Olympia was weeks away from being battle ready at best. And that outcome was contingent on getting civilian workers on board. So far all they had heard was talk and empty promises. But that was to be expected from politicians.

“Colonel, with the Commander being under the weather for a couple days… I’ll take watch,” Charmer offered. “Call down to the flight deck. Get Ensign Karis and Ensign Matthias up here. We’ll take CIC.”

“Sir? They aren’t rated and neither are you,” Rhodes protested slightly.

“And who’s going to court martial you for letting us command the ship for a few hours? Besides, Mattias is a Raptor jockey and Karis is an ECO in training. We should be able to figure things out for a day, Sir,” Charmer told the exhausted XO and CIC crew. “In your current states, you’re doing nobody any good. Get to your quarters and get some rack time. We can manage the fort.”

Rhodes thought about it for a moment, “A hot shower and sleep sounds terrific.”

“Hate to disappoint, but the boilers are down, so I’d skip the shower part,” Charmer said sniffing and catching a hint of body oder, “On second thought, you may want to consider that shower.”

“Right, I forgot, the boilers are down,” Rhodes said shuttering a moment. He wondered how much else he had forgotten in the fuzz that filled his sleep-deprived mind. “To my rack then.”

“To your rack,” Charmer assured him.



Cadet Britnee “Ocean” Karis and Ensign Agapios “Lovie” Matthias both walked into CIC and saluted the CAG still dressed in their flight suits. “Reporting as ordered,” Agapios said in his typical bitter voice. He was a tad chubby and was always bitter and angry about something: hence his sarcastic callsign of “Lovie”.

“What do you need, Sir?” Karis asked not forgetting why she was on KP duty. She wondered in the back of her mind if this had something to do with her rather drunken encounter with Charmer a few weeks before. Although a lot had changed since then, still it was a tad bit uncomfortable.

Charmer looked at the two tired crew members and dismissed them to until the next duty shift before addressing his two pilots. “Matthias, man the FTL station, Karis take communication,” Charmer commanded.

The two looked at each other for a moment before walking over to the designated posts. Lovie looked over the FTL console. “What do you want me to do here?”

“Man the post,” Charmer barked.

“But sir, I have no idea how to run Olympia’s FTL drives…”

“You’re a raptor pilot, correct Ensign?”

“Yes, sir.”

Charmer scowled, “Same idea…bigger ship. All you have to do is turn the key…that bright shiny object…and press the blue button to start the clock. That’s it. All the coordinates are entered and up to date.”

“So why am I hear?” Karis demanded looking over the communications station with a confused look on her face. Stossen was trying to explain which panel was internal communications, how to patch a signal to the speakers, how to operate the ship to ship systems all in about a minute. Karis stood there trying to keep things straight through Stossen’s nervous stuttering around the pretty young cadet.

“You’re here because we need some one to coordinate the fleet, which combat navigational control is in the job description of an ECO…is it not, Ensign?” Charmer challenged.

“Yeah, but controller training was next semester,” Karis gulped. “I have no idea…”

“Learn quickly!” Charmer demanded. “First test, get me the ship-to-ship with the acting president.”

<----------------Chapter 2------------------->

“Where’s Lovie and that fraking cadet?” Frills gripped as she took another swig from her cup and almost gagging. “Remind me to tell the Chief she needs to add some water to this stuff.”

“Oh come on, it ain’t that bad,” Lt. Keiryn Luska stated. “A little strong maybe, but it builds character.”

“Character? I think they use this crap degrease engines,” fellow former cadet Lt. jg Zachary Hood offered. The ship may have been lacking in every other department, but there were eight Raptor crews for three flyable craft.

“Fraking burnt off all my taste buds,” Frills winced, “Just so long as I can still see tomorrow.” Frills recovered to take a good hard look at her hand full of nothing. “Still, where’s Lovie?”.

“Aww, come on Frills, you still got the rest of us. Besides, CAG had him and that cadet he’s schooling report to combat,” Luska commented while tossing in his ante. His hand was not the greatest, but enough to at least call the first round and see who stayed in at the bi-weekly Raptor only Triad game. Even with what had just happened, life on a Battlestar was all about routine. Even if keeping it was nothing more than a way to keep the notion of never going home again in the back of their minds for a bit.

“How’s the new guy working out there Frills…what’s his name?” Luska asked Frills about her new, and absent ECO. Luska was very short with a narrow build, deeply-tanned skin, and a weak chin. He was one of the few regulars left in the fleet. His Raptor had just landed with a tech crew before the Cylons showed up and the Olympia had to make the emergency jump with the rest of the civilian fleet.

“Gaz-ka…Gazacka or something like that…frak I never could pronounce names from Canceron!” Captain Stacy Chapman retorted looking at his cards. Chapman was a humorous, but an older man than the rest of the crew. He had served once before in the fleet almost ten years ago and remained in the Picon Air Reserves. His beady dark chocolate eyes made it hard for the rest of the Raptor jockies to read his hand. Chapman was tall with a graceful build and dark black skin.

“So what’s it like flying with Lt. Hood here as your pilot, Captain? Luska slapped the Raptor jock sitting to his left.

Chapman cocked his head slightly, “I’ve had worse.”

“Hey!” Hood shot back, “I’m not that bad. Haven’t botched a landing yet, unlike some other pilots sitting at this table.” Hood’s head turned to Lt. Marko “Shark” Fulke sitting across the table. He was a fourth year cadet that assumed the rank of Lieutenant under Commander Miller’s automatic cadet promotion system. Forth years began full L-T’s, the Third years J-G’s, and Second year and below instantly became Ensigns. Some of the enlistees griped, but that was the CAG’s decision.

Fulke threw a pile of chips on to the table to call Lt. Hood’s bet. “At least when I’m down you know it,” Fulke offered while lifting one of his bushy black eyebrows.

“And the grease monkeys have to take another week to pound the dents out of deck!” Hood snorted back before throwing down his cards. “Too rich for my blood.”

“You know,” Chapman commented tossing in a pile of chips and raising Shark’s bet by twenty. “I guess money isn’t quite what it used to be. Before long we’ll be betting ration cards.”

“You know, haven’t thought about it, but I guess the Old Guy’s right,” Lt. Linas “Odie” Odran said folding his hand and leaning back to watch the action unfold.

“Old guy…kid it’s called experience,” Chapman replied with a smirk drawing a few chuckles from the other Raptor crews sitting at the table. It was their usual game of Triad, but this week Chapman suggested using an odd set of Piconese rules. The Old Guy wasn’t stupid as he had almost cleaned the table in less than five hands.

“I’m out,” Frills said slammed her cards on the table and another shot of the Chief’s Juice back in her throat. “Funny, this stuff actually does get better after the third shot.”

“Amazing, isn’t?” sniggered Hood. Frills just raised her well-tweased left eyebrow.

“Watch it now,” Chapman urged Frills, “Stuff is stronger than you think.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Frills insisted pouring herself another shot.

“Fold,” Fulke said tossing his cards down. This left the game between Chapman and Hood locked in a dual of wits. “Hey, have any of you heard that guy on the shortwave wireless?”

“What guy?” Luska asked. “And how did you snag a shortwave wireless box?”

Frills shot Luska an evil looked. “Um, it’s called the Raptor’s Communications gear. Come on, I thought you were a Fraking ECO Luska!”

Luska leaned back in embarrassments as the table erupted into laughter. “Yeah, I guess so…but to answer the question, no I haven’t.”

Frills continued, “I guess he’s caught a following amongst the snipes.”

“How did the snipes get a shortwave box?” Luska challenged.

Odie looked over at his friend and retorted, “They’re snipes…they probably made one from spare parts and some wire.”

Luska retorted, “So has the grease monkey lubed you lately?”

Frills frowned at the comment about her long time boyfriend. The others looked at each other knowing it was one of the topics you just did not bring up in her presences. Behind her back, they all snickered, but saying something to Frill’s face warranted the inevitable…

SMACK!

“What the frak was that for!” Luska clutched the stinging side of his face from Frill’s merciless backhand. The former cadets looked at each other waiting for the veterans do something, but the old timers just sat there and took it in stride as though it was routine affair.

“Saw that com’n,” Shark offered dryly.

“Yep,” Champman agreed.

Luska sat there turning red in the face from embarrassment. “You know, I’m just going to shut up now.”

“Ah, the kid is becoming wiser,” Chapman chuckled as he waited for Fulke to make a bet.

“I call,” Fulke said pushing in twenty more chips.

Chapman sat there looking between his cards and at the kid sitting a quarter way around the table. The others waited, taking shots or the Chief’s homemade deck juice.

“Anyway,” Frills continued her story, “There is this guy broadcasting from The Quite Humility. It’s a traveler…I think.”

“Show ‘em!” Chapman said to Shark throwing down his cards.

Lt. Fulke paused a moment and looked at the cards closely. “Nice hand,”

Shark offered nonchalantly. He then flashed his full colors, “But I’ll be gladly taking the Captain’s money this week.”

“What are you going to buy with that stash of cash?” Luska challenged. “I heard the only thing it’s good for is toilet paper now.”

“Hey, people’s got to wipe their bums somehow,” Shark offered brusquely.

“I thought you said you didn’t listen to the guy on the shortwave,” Frills said as Odran picked up the cards to shuffle.

“I don’t,” Luska shrugged, “I just over heard the deck gang talking about it.”

“Anyway,” Frills tried to continue, “He was talking about how we all need a new beginning, break our thinking about the past if we are going to survive out here.”

“Well…the man is right,” Chapman offered surprising some of the younger kids at the table. “I mean we go on because it’s what we do. We’re used to spending months away from family and friends.” Chapman looked around the room, “I mean this ship…we become a family while on board.”

“And we have jobs to do,” Luska said. “Keeps us busy and our minds off what happened. They don't.”

"Listen to the two historians over there," Hood quipped.

“It all seems like a foggy bad dream, you know. Like it didn’t really happen. It’s like we’re in a movie or tale or something. It’s almost as if this wasn’t really real,” Odran offered.

“I know what you mean,” Frills agreed. “I feel the loss of the pilots and other people we lost here, but the people back home.” Frill pondered a moment thinking about her parents and older brother, “They seem like they are still back home and in a few weeks they’ll be there waiting for us at the homecoming.”

“But think about the Civvies. They have no jobs, many of them lost everything they had including families, friends. They have no money, nothing to do, no hope,” Chapman said. “Surviving one minute to the next is no way to live. Its conditions like these were you have to start to get afraid. Someone will try and capitalize on the situation.”

The Alert Sirens began to blare. The Raptor pilots jumped to their feet and rushed to the ready room. “Who’s on fraking Alert?” Luska shouted to the other pilots.

“Lovie and that Cadet,” Frills snubbed.

“CAG had them report to CIC, remember?” Chapman shook his head.

Frills returned a worried and puzzled expression, “Then who’s manning the Alert Raptor?” Frills paused waiting for an answer as she looked around the room. Everyone else was getting dressed. She smacked her forehead, “Oh frak us.”

***CIC***

Charmer stood at Command and Control looking up at the scorebox. He was used to the newer color-coded systems in the Viper Mark Sevens and Raptors. The old Monochrome KRT’s with all their various symbols was a much different viewing experience. One symbol he knew was the one flashing as the unknown contact. Charmer stood there hoping the ship would resolve into a friendly, but no luck. The symbol resolved into a double lined pentagon: a Cylon baseship.

“Sir, the civilian fleet is frantic with calls. What should I tell them?” Karis asked trying to manage the system. It was quickly becoming overwhelming to the former third semester Cadet. She had her Ensigns commission now, but still felt like the Cadet.

Charmer hesitated for a moment, “Order the fleet to execute the next jump in the cycle.”

“Aye, sir,” Karis answered as she flicked the general broadcast switch. “All ships, spool FTL and begin jump to coordinates Exodus mark Eight.”

“What about us?” Lovie asked from the FTL station.

“Status?” Charmer glanced over at Cadet Karis.

Karis switched mental modes and looked at series of lights at the next console over. A light would flicker to life each time a section reported at Action Stations. “Sir, not even a third of the decks report Condition One,” Karis estimated by the number of light bulbs glowing.

“FTL?” Charmer called out to Lovie.

Lovie looked at the displays, “Spooled and ready…as far as I can tell.”

“Start the clock,” Charmer ordered.

“Captain,” Karis interrupted, “Nine ships report FTL drive failures.”

“How many are on those ships?” Charmer demanded.

Karis shrugged, “Nine…maybe ten thousand souls sir.”

“That’s a third of the estimated population,” Charmer muttered. Charmer looked back up at the DRADIS screen. Something was wrong. Not wrong as in bad, but something was wrong with the picture, the entire situation was just wrong. Something registered in the back of his mind, but he didn’t know what it was exactly as some of the regular CIC crewmembers entered CIC and assumed their posts.

“Sir?” Karis said noting the CAG’s bewildered look. “Should we launch the Alert Fighters?”

Charmer took a moment, “How many decks report at Condition One?”

“About half now, sir,” Karis called out.

“This is taking too fraking long. How long until their raiders start ripping us to pieces?” Charmer said half thinking out loud. As soon as he said it his eyes squinted at the score box. Something was very wrong with this picture.

Lovie began to notice the CAG’s odd body language, as did the recently arrived crewmembers. “Sir,” he questioned, “What is it?”

Charmer shook his head, “Something’s wrong. I don’t know what it is, but something is wrong with this picture.”

“No raiders,” a crewman offered entering from the corridor as he jumped into the CIC. Charmer gave the kid puzzled glare. The young DRADIS operator quickly took his post and repeated. “They haven’t launched any raiders yet, Sir.”

“They haven’t launched raiders or any incoming ordinance. The ship appears to be just hanging there outside of our effective weapons range,” Charmer added. “Why the frak would they just hang out there just beyond our reach?”

“Sit Rep,” Colonel Trajan Rhodes yawned as he wiped his crusty eyes.

Charmer answered, “We have a single Cylon Baseship just outside of weapons range. The Fleet has begun jumping to emergency coordinates.”

“Status of incoming raiders?” Rhodes said quickly gaining his composure.

Karis called out as Petty Officer Stossen arrived to take her post, “All decks now report Condition One.”

“Hell that took us over five minutes,” Charmer informed the XO. “By all rights we should be dead.”

“Can someone tell me what is the Gods damn status of the incoming raiders!” Rhodes yelled out.

Charmer answered, “None. They haven’t launched raiders or ordinance.”

"Impossible," Rhodes looked up at the Scorebox in disbelief. It took him a few seconds to reach the same conclusion as the CAG, “That’s odd.”

Charmer rolled his eyes at his two conscripted Raptor jocks. Both gave a sly grin in return. “Yeah, that’s what we were saying. They could be without fighter cover. The ones we engaged outside Picon had a bulk of their fighters deployed elsewhere.”

"A baseship out here without fighter cover?" Colonel Trajan Rhodes growled. "I find that unlikely. I mean who are they engaging way the hell out here?"

Charmer's eyes widened, “Sir they could have our standby coordinates. The Fleet could be jumping into a trap!”

“Status of Fleet FTL jump?” Rhodes demanded.

Stan was trying to get up to speed on the situation. “Twenty-four ships away, there are four still reporting FTL problems.”

“FTL, status of our FTL drives?” Rhodes called out.

Lovie replied, “Ready to jump in seventy seconds.”

“Execute Jump, stand by to scramble air cover on the other side,” Rhodes ordered. He turned to Charmer, “I think you’re needed else where, Captain”

“Aye,” Charmer nodded motioning for his Raptor jockey and ECO to come with him. The trio raced down the deck trying to avoid the other personal, some still trying to reach their duty stations. The decks may have reported Condition One, but it was now almost seven minutes since the Alert first sounded. If it had been a drill, the Commander would have been relieved because of incompetence. In war they should be dead. But they were still breathing, and that was all that counted to Charmer at the moment.

Back in CIC everyone stood at their posts. Nothing shook off early morning grogginess like the Alarm blaring. Chief Kyle announced from the watch station, “Sir, Cylon Baseship has jumped away!”

Puzzled, but not yet relieved, looks went around CIC. They could have been jumping away to get reinforcements, or on top of the fleet already on the other side of the Jump.

"Jumped away?" Rhodes challenged perplexed by the Baseship's atypical behavior. Trajan looked at the time remaining on the time till jump on the clock and grabbed the handset at Command and Control. His voice boomed over the 1MC, "All hands, this is the XO. Prepare to execute Combat Jump. All batteries stand by for counter-battery salvo fire, scramble fighters on the other side."

“Jump in three…two…one…” the newly arrived crewwoman announced from the FTL console.

Olympia made its jump across space-time and appeared on the other side. Rhodes nervously waited for DRADIS to resolve all the contacts. It was a process that took the aging computers up to twenty seconds to accomplish. If they were jumping into a firestorm, they wouldn't last long enough to know it.

"Eleven Vipers away," Stossen reported after a few seconds.

"How many more are in the tubes?" Rhodes asked.

Stossen shook his head, "That's all the Viper pilots we have left, sir."

"Frak us," Rhodes slapped the main plotter as the V’s appeared on the screen, each marking a single Viper.

“Reading One-hundred and three contacts!” Chief Kyle offered from the watch station.

The little color in Rhodes’ face drained, “My frakking Gods…”

“All s-s-s-hip, registering Colonial ID’s,” Petty Officer “Stuttering Stan” Stossen called out surprised. He went through and doubled checked the incoming ID signals. “Confirm that, Colonial signals. Some matching the ships we left behind with the Mercury and Pacifica.

“And no Cylon contacts,” Rhodes said suspiciously. He wished he had a piece of wood to knock on, but he knew the Cylons could appear at any moment. “Where the hell did all these ships come from?”

“Three new contacts!” Kyle yelled out.

“Status!” Rhodes demanded.

Stan waited for the signals to resolve, “Getting Colonial ID’s. That still leaves one ship on the other side...”

“Orders?” Chief Kyle asked.

“Twenty-seven of the ships were with us on the other s-side,” Stossen began his report. “Sir, I am getting a hail, Colonial Priority One Signal. It’s a hostile challenge and ID sir, Battlestar Group Fifty.”

“Fifty?” Rhodes blinked blindly for a few seconds. “That’s not Mercury.” His had reached out and felt blindly for the receiver. “Put me through, push the reply on the 1MC.”

An instant later a voice echoed through out the ship, “This is the Battlestar Pacifica to unknown ships. Stand down and prepare to be boarded.”

Everyone looked at each other for a moment unsure what to do. “S-s-s-s-sir,” Stossen began very nervously, “That’s not procedure. It’s to...”

Rhodes held up a finger to silence the Communications officer then drew a deep breath, “This is the Battlestar Olympia to the ships claiming to be Battlestar Group Fifty. Sending Colonial recognition codes now.” Stossen nodded, the codes had been transmitted. Now came the pause and the waiting.

“Codes confirmed as authentic,” Stossen answered. They waited for the response from the other side. No one drew a breath as the large symbol for a battlestar was rendered ever closer on the KRT’s.


***Hanger Deck***
Charmer dashed into the hanger deck, “Please tell me you have an extra Viper ready Chief!”

“One Mark II, but the fire control system is fraked,” the Chief warned jogging along side him. “So no missiles.”

“Guns?”

“Loaded and primed!”

Charmer hurried up the ladder and took a helmet from the Chief, “Good enough.” It took him three seconds to secure the helmet, throw back the canopy and signal the chief to move away. Less than twenty seconds later his was on the lift and in the tube giving the launch officer a snap salute before being launched out into space.

Five seconds later he was on the comms. “All fighters, this is the CAG. I am two minutes behind you, copy.” Like Olympia, these old Mark II’s had the same KRT screens and manual controls for everything. After a few seconds of adjusting the trim controls he looked up at the massive fleet ahead. Most were civilian ships, all aligned in a tight formation.

Two bright flashes caught his attention. Orange streaks were racing towards his fighter, towards the Olympia, but high. “Olympia, you have incoming!”

“Confirm that!” Rhodes snapped at his crew.

One of the crewmen, a gunners mate second class, replied, “Confirmed two incoming shots sir, fired by Pacifica, passing Port high.”

“Shot across the bow?” Chief Petty Officer Kyle muttered. He was one of the last to take his station having run from the aft of the ship where he had been assisting the snipes with repairs on his off duty shifts.

An instant later the voice returned over the speaker, “This is the Battlestar Pacifica to the Olympia requesting to speak with actual."

"This is the XO, the Commander is in sickbay," Rhodes tried to explain.

"Your voice print does not match Commander Belu or Major Grant. Stand down and prepare to be boarded.”

Rhodes looked at his confused young crew. The Commander Pacifica had been told of the circumstances leading to the dismissal of Major Grant from the service. "Commander Belu is dead, Major Grant relieved of duty."

"You have thirty seconds to comply," the Voice ordered over wireless, "Or you will be destroyed."

The gunner’s mate called out, “Sir, all Primary and Secondary Batteries manned. We have firing solutions on their turrets!”

“Time till FTL?” Rhodes asked.

“Three minutes, sir!” a voice shouted back.

Not the answer he wanted to hear. “That voice,” Rhodes began, “That’s not the voice of the man Commander Castillo assigned as Pacfica Actual. Order our ships to spool their FTL drives, head to the last emergency coordinates in the system.”

Charmer’s voice echoed in CIC, “Olympia, CAG. We got over forty incoming fighters. We’re out gunned here, requesting weapons free on the missiles. In the next twenty seconds please, or your not going to have any fighter cover left!”

“Emergency recall, all fighters, bring the birds home!” Rhodes answered.

“In fifteen seconds we lose targeting solution on our rear guns!” the Gunners mate yelled.

“Bow cannons?” Rhodes asked.

“Solution in forty seconds, sir!”

“Fifteen seconds,” the voice of Pacifica Actual declared.

Rhodes looked at the Gunners mate, “If your gunners see so much as a twinkle, open up with everything we got left!”

“Yes, sir,” the Gunners mate answered. He then began to relay firing orders to all the guns.

Rhodes picked up the receiver, “This is Olympia actual. We are recalling our fighters.” Nothing but empty static. “But make no mistake, we will defend ourselves if fired upon.”

“Targeting solutions lost on aft guns! Bow cannons will have solution in twenty seconds!” the Gunners mate called out. Rhodes watched and waited has he counted five long seconds silently in his head. Nothing happened, but he waited for that dreaded report of incoming fire. Another eternity passed. “Bow cannons have firing solutions, all guns. Estimate three salvos for destruction of Pacifica.”

“Sir, we’ll have fighters on board in another thirty seconds,” Kyle reported from the Watch Station. “Charmer is already skids down. Their fighters are continuing in bound.”

“Sir, Turrents Alpha One and Two report flashes, incoming weapons fire!” the Gunner’s mate called out. “All guns requesting weapons free!”

“Weapons track!” Rhodes called out.

“Not on us sir, but on Pair-a-dice City!” the gunner’s mate called out. "Resort liner, almost eleven thousand souls aboard!"

“Weapons free, reset secondary batteries for suppression fire,” Rhodes ordered as though on automatic. “Only one salvo on the Bow guns, all other turrets are independent fire at will.”

“Fighters recovered!” Kyle yelled looking up at the Jump clock. “FTL back on line in ninety seconds!”

“S-s-sir, the c-c-civilian fleet is making jumps to emergency coordinates. Pair-a-Dice is away!” Stossen reported. The deck plating vibrated as the Bow cannons fired their massive projectiles towards the Pacifica. It was not a comfortable feeling firing on one of their own, but they had a duty to protect the civilians at any cost.

“Multiple incoming rounds from the Pacifica!” the Gunners Mate called out. They crew waited in CIC. It would be a few long seconds before the impacts were felt.

“Helm, engines ahead, flank. Aim straight for the Pacifica. Close the gap,” Rhodes ordered much to the bewilderment of the crew. “Closer we are, the smaller target we present to their gunners.” Kyle nodded to the others. It was critical that they protect the engineering compartments housing the FTL drives to make their escape.

“Spotters report three of our bow cannon shots hit their mark, secondary explosions reported on their Port flight deck!” the Gunners mate called out. Eight seconds later their own ship began to rattle and shake from the weapon impacts against the hull.

“FTL jump in six…five…four…” Kyle counted down. The ship shuttered again and again from the hits until space time contracted and the ship disappeared from the sites of the Pacifica’s guns. “Jump complete…just the ships under our command, sir.”

“Governor Maxwell on the Ship-to-ship,” Stossen reported.

“Put in through,” Rhodes rolled his eyes.

The governor immediately began to scream. “What the hell was that all about!”

Rhodes held the receiver away from his ear for a moment letting the Governor cool down. “Not a fraking clue, Governor. I don’t think they were fleet. They ignored standard protocol on the identification of friendly ships. Ask Mister Grant about it. I take it you heard…”

“We heard everything!” the Governor snapped. “And the former Major already made that observation.”

Rhodes looked over at the crusty old sailor behind the Watch Station. “Step down to condition two. Plot new emergency coordinates…and take the conn. Have Charmer meet me in sickbay. I want to get the Commander’s read on this. After all Commander Miller is the resident expert on Cylon tactics.”




<-----------Chapter 3--------------->


“I have no fraking idea,” Miller admitted. “But an announcement over the 1MC. If we have any spooks left on board we need their help now.”

“Spooks?” Charmer frowned.

“Yeah, I’m sure there’s a couple around. Probably in uniform too,” Miller squinted. “Have them look over the sensor logs, have anyone with a DRADIS rating comb through those logs looking at everything. Same with the communications folks with the communications logs and then send in a tailing Raptor. Recon mission, put them in seventy thousand clicks and then let them coast. Thirty-two hour missions, two crews per Raptor.”

“Not a good move,” A familiar voice rang in his ear. It was Jewel’s voice. Miller glanced around to confused looks from his comrades. He had heard the voice before, after he finished the first bottle of Ambrosia and opened the second.

“Oh, never let me drink that much again,” Miller whined. “How are we on Raptors anyways?”

“Three flyable. Another two being stripped for parts,” Charmer reported.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. And we don’t have the tooling, let alone resources to build new ones either,” Charmer said. “In fact the factory tooling we have are for Mark I Vipers.”

“You’re joking?” Rhodes scoffed. “Where?”

“In the bridge between the flight pods,” Miller answered. “There are crates of old machinery in vacuum storages down there. Belu insisted on keeping it around, but still we’d need resources.”

“Good news is that seventeen of the twenty-five ships we have left are support ships,” Rhodes reported.

“Support?” Charmer questioned.

“Yes,” Rhodes balked. “We classified ships into cargo, passenger, and support.”

“And how many of the other two do we have?” Charmer frowned almost afraid to ask.

“Six passenger and two cargo ships,” Rhodes answered. “Good news is that the cargo ships both were full and one has an entire container of meds. Bad news is that is estimated to last us a few weeks at the old population levels.”

“And at the new population levels?” Miller asked.

“Months, even years,” Rhodes answered. “Estimated population is at twenty-six thousand.”

“Twenty-six thousand on six ships?” Charmer questioned.

“Two are Luxury cruise ships, they hold about eight thousand each with a nearly self-sufficient eco-support system. Unfortunately, there are about ten thousand on each vessel at the moment. Their captains report they can maintain life support for a few weeks at most without a fresh supply of water.”

“Okay, what about mining and refineries?”

“We still got the two mining ship and a refinery ship with sixty percent load of Tyllium,” Rhodes reported. “Should last three to four months.”

“Alright,” Miller began. “First off, we are going to launch the recon mission. How are we on scientific support ships?”

Rhodes shook his head, “None sir.”

“Fine,” Miller closed his eyes. “Run an astrometric scan of the area. Begin making a list of near by stars that may have resources such as water, Tyllium, and could support life.”

“And the Raptor missions, and the repairs, and the…” Charmer began.

“It’ll take a few days to complete the scan,” Miller said. “So we’ll do our recon of this other Colonial Fleet, see what we find, and if they are legit, then we send a peace offering. Explain we could not take any chances and they’ll understand....I hope.”

“Well they didn’t understand intercept and identication protocol very well,” Charmer remarked. Rhodes gave the CAG a dirty look. “I mean we did end up shooting them.”

“Speaking of which, how bad is the damage?” Miller asked.

Rhodes answered with a hint of sadness, “Still waiting for a full report, but the initial says it is just surface damage. Nothing major was hit. Appears they may have been bluffing on the targeting or they were rank amateurs. Either way, the Pacifica was on fire with secondary explosions in their starboard flight pod when we left.”

“For the record, Mr. Rhodes, you made the right move,” Commander assured his XO. “They fired at civilian ships”

“Sir, I still fired on one of our own ships,” Rhodes admitted. "And may have killed our own people. That's treason!"

“They fired first. It’s called self-defense. Furthermore they fired at the civilians, in particular a ship with almost eleven thousand on board.” Miller cracked a grin, "Board of inquiry is over. You made the right call."

Amber walked around the corner with chart in hand. “Charmer?” the Doctor asked. An instant later he found her completely embracing him. “I’m so glad you’re still alive.” Rhodes and the Commander exchanged glances there were not all that surprised.

Charmer noticed the jumpsuit underneath the Doctor’s lab coat, “I thought you were a civilian?”

The Doctor shrugged, “Well not much of a choice. I made it back on board to treat the wounded, my bags, however didn’t. This was what was available. Eventually our clothes are going to wear out, what are going to do then?”

They all looked in silence. It was a valid question, one of many, but first things first. That meant finding water and other resources they needed to keep humanity alive. “She has a point. Something else we have to consider,” Charmer told the others.

“One crisis at a time thank you very much,” Miller retorted.



-----------------------------Chapter 4--------------------------



“Raptor Recon One departing,” Frills informed flight control as she maneuvered the craft gently out of the aft of the landing deck. A few seconds past as the dimly lit landing bay was replaced by the blackness of deep space. She tapped the RCS thrusters pitching the nose down and away from the Olympia before slamming the throttle full open. The craft flung everyone back in their seats as the g forces picked up from the acceleration.

“We are free and clear,” Ensign Karis reported from the back. Shark was beside Frills as the number two pilot for this mission. They would take six hour duty shifts and play several hands of Triad over the next two days. That was unless something eventful happened.

“FTL spun up, coordinates entered,” Shark informed the crew. Captain Chapman was the other ECO for the mission. He sat in the back, relaxed, trying to doze off to sleep.

“Confirmed,” Frills said double checking the numbers. “Set sensors to passive, wide spectrum…”

“I know,” Karis snapped back. At nineteen she was still just a kid. The rigors of the Fleet Acadamy had yet to dampen her attitude. Chapman opened and eye and peaked over the kid’s shoulder just to make sure. He leaned back into the cockpit area and gave them sign that everything was go.

“Olympia, this is Recon One, see you tomorrow,” Frills announced over the comms.

“Have fun out there,” Charmer replied over the wireless.

Frills finished the last sequence and initiated the jump sequence. As soon as the jump was complete she waited for the ECO to report contacts. On passive it would be a few seconds as she and Makko scanned out of the bubbled canopy for anything that was too close for comfort.

“First contacts, two-three-three kerum sixty. Seventy thousand,” Ocean reported.

“Deactivate all none essential systems, powering down to minimum levels,” Frill announced. All four crew members flicked a number of switches and tapped a number of buttons. Even the ECO panel dimmed to where it was barely visible.

Frills maneuvered the nose towards the supposed Colonial fleet and fired the main engines once for a six second burn before shutting them down. “Now we coast.”

The fleet was just a few specks that moved along the background of stars. Britnee Karis watched as the estimated distances dropped with every update from the EMI from the fleet. There was dozens of active frequencies filled with chatter. Most of it was ship to ship, supply reports, how many people were on board a certain vessel. She took out her flight log and began noting what she heard. “Looks like we will pass about ten thousand behind them at this rate. Closing at two hundred,” Karis informed the crew.

Frills and Makko kept a watchful eye out for anything out of place, anything that moved. Makko grabbed his field specs and tried hold them up to eyes only to be greeted by a loud THUD! Makko looked startled and quickly put them away embarrassed.

Frills looked over at her co-pilot, shook her head. “Still got a helmet on numb-nuts. With a fleet full of people like, it’s now wonder the Toasters kicked our ass.”

“Well if someone hadn’t shut down life support,” Makko quipped.

“Hey now, I am going to have to come up there children?” Chapman growled.
“No sir,” Frills answered her superior officer.

Chapman smiled, “Good. What do you have to report Ocean?”

Karis shook her head, “Nothing out of the ordinary, yet. Just random chatter, Sir: requests to dock, causality reports, supply reports, nothing that raises any suspicions.”

“Keep a log of ship names, the report type, and numbers,” Chapman warned her. “Then go back and report. Make sure it is not the same reports over and over again.”

“And the ID’s?” Makko asked.

Karis shook her head, “Still reading as Colonial transponders. Nothing unusual on the frequency filters either.” Karis set up her various displays. One was a narrow band filter, another a wide band spectrum analyze, and finally the waterfall. The waterfall was a constantly filled the screen with rows of dots across a spectrum that showed where the spike came from. The feed was updated in real time with an option to view a history over the past 5 minutes, 30 minutes, 1 hour or 2 hours. Over time a large number of spikes would form a line from the EM “hum” of a vessel. It was a trademark. Each ship had it’s own unique hum. Not each class, but each individual ship. After a day of mapping these hums, those signatures could be compared to a master database back on Olympia’s mainframe and see if they signatures matched.
Already they were reading the faint hum of a large vessel: a Battlestar. The Raptor’s computer was having trouble with an automatic identification.

Karis pulled up registered recordings of every Colonial military vessel first by class specs. First was the Mercury class. Clearly not it, there simply was the wrong spikes at the wrong frequancies. Next was the Pacifica. The read outs were similar, but not an exact match. However with only seven minutes of data and at this range it, the singles could be muddled by leakage from the other ships in the fleet.
It was going to be a long day.

***Back on Olympia***
Miller returned to CIC for the first time since just after The Raid. There was no fan fare, in fact, the five crew members on duty barely gave notice. He did not bother to request a pronouncement of his arrival. Too many things to keep track of and not enough people left to do it. There were eighteen rated CIC crewmen left on board. That meant three shifts of five with a Midwatch with three. Miller approached the Command Plotter startling Cornel Rhodes.
“Didn’t see you come in, sir,” Rhodes announced. The crew finally looked up, straightening their postures a bit.

“As you were,” Miller uttered. “Sit Rep?”

“Well good news. Astrometrics has completed a scan of the estimated nearest forty stars.”

“That didn’t take long?” Miller offered somewhat surprised.

“Well, not exactly a lot of candidates with in our jump radius.”

“Oh,” Commander Miller retorted. “So what’s the bad news.”

“Only four are likely candidates to have water,” Rhodes answered. “But there is something odd about one of them.”

“Odd? Care to define odd at this point Trajan?”

“Well sir,” Rhodes said walking over to the navigational plotter and unrolling the stellar print out. “It’s this system here.” Rhodes pointed to a purple blob.

Miller just looked still not following. “Sir, this system as a name.”

“A name? Lots of stars have names,” Miller said.

Rhodes bobbed his head, “True, but none of these others within a twenty light year radius do.”

“So the Colonials saw them in ancient times,” Miller dismissed.

“Sir,” Rhodes continued, “These stars are on the other side of the Isotape Nebula. They were only discovered after we developed X-ray and gamma ray telescopes.”

“Still…”

“No sir,” Rhodes interrupted. “By that time we gave stars a alphanumeric designation based upon their relative positions from the Colonies as well as their method of detection. XG-P137K182D379-38, is the star’s official name. Xray-Gamma Ray Picon 137 Kerum 182, at 379.38 light years.”

“The Old Man, you said he gave you two sets of coordinates, said you would find help there in case everything went bad, right?” Rhodes asked.

Miller blinked, wondering, “Right. The Mercury found us because of that.”

“But that was the first set of coordinates,” Rhodes said leading the Commander.

“And the second set?” Miller wondered. Suddenly the point of this conversation was becoming clear. Rhodes simply tapped his index finger on the purple blob. “How far?”

“Four, maybe five jumps for the fleet and I would guess an even ten for a Raptor.”

Miller asked, “We still have two active raptors, correct?”

“One is on CAP, the other on Alert Fifteen status, and the third is on the recon mission back to the supposed fleet,” Rhodes recalled from memory.
“When do they return?”

Rhodes glanced up and over at one of the KRT screens with a count down timer until Recon One’s return. “Just over twenty-six hours.”

Miller nodded. “Okay, tell Jewels…” Miller stopped and gulped as he caught his statement. He felt the sudden jolt of eyeballs from the crew as they raised their chins and shot laser eyeballs at him. Miller closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, and corrected himself, “Tell Charmer to begin drawing up mission plans. Tell the chief I want priority on Recon One when it lands. Two hour refuel and refit time before it goes out on the next mission. Anything else?”

“A lot of things, Sir,” Rhodes told him walking over to a thick binder full of papers that had collected at the XO’s former post: the Watch station. “Starting with the Governor organization a work detail of seven hundred volunteers, ex-colonial military mostly, also some from civilian law enforcement willing to become knuckle draggers. And about a thousand others that want to enlist.”

“Finally good news.”

“Oh it gets even better, twenty-seven are former pilots and there are two qualified civilian flight instructors in the fleet,” Rhodes told him. “A husband and wife, both are on shuttles to the Olympia now. The first work detail will arrive in minutes.”

“Did you tell them there were no hot showers?” Miller asked.

“No sir,” Rhodes reported. “This reminds me, with damage and ten years of neglect, our water reprocessing is only at eighty percent. Since we’ll have to be the main water purification station for eleven ships that means we’ll need to take on fresh water every three months.”

“What about our Marines?”

“A hundred and eighty three. Seven were killed during the battle. It’s the only thing we practically have a full complement of on this ship,” Rhodes chuckled.

“Get the Marine Commander up here A-SAP,” Miller ordered. “I want these civilians screened and anyone with law enforcement or private security back ground gets conscripted.”

“Yes sir.”



Fifteen minutes later a huge man entered CIC and snapped the Commander a firm Salute. Miller returned the salute looking up at the huge man noting the Marine’s huge hands. They were literally the size of the Commander’s face. He certainly hoped this would not end in an argument.

“Major Smith reporting as ordered!” the Marine’s voice echoed in the nearly empty room with hard, metal bulkheads.

“At ease, Major,” Miller ordered. The man spread his legs and tucked his arms behind his back in a parade rest.

“We have a group of civilians coming on board…”

“The XO has informed me,” the Major nodded. “We have adequate security in place.”

“Good, but I wanted to talk to you. A number are former Civilian Law enforcement. They should be retrained as Marines immediately,” Miller told the Marine.

The Marine glared down at the Commander, “Sir Permission to speak.”

“Granted.”

“Law enforcement and being a Marine are two separate areas. We both may know how to shoot a gun, us better than them, but that is about all we have in common. If there are any former Marines, still in good shape, they should be considered for re-enlistment. No arguments there, but as a lot, Sir, but six years as an officer, eight before that as an enlisted man, has taught me there are things we are good at and things we aren’t. Boarding and capturing a ship, hostage rescue, repelling boarding parties we’re good at. Keeping the peace with soldiers rarely works.”

“Okay,” Miller asked. “So what your recommendations then?”

“Sir, my Marines are trained to storm a facility, ship, fend off boarding parties, deal with internal security and military threats. That is not what the police do and too often people forget this. To be blunt about it, Sir, President Adar also forgot this last year,” the Marine told the Commander. “We shouldn’t make the same mistakes. Keep the civilian law enforcement just that: police to keep the peace in the fleet, settle disputes, and deal with bad guys.”
Miller nodded remembering the incident. It was still at the forefront of many minds before the attack on the colonies. “However, as it stands, we don’t even have a system of governance in place on the civilian side of things. Technically I think we’re in charge. Well practically in charge would be the better term.”

“As I said, any former Marines that can pass PT should be allowed to re-enlist. Use the civilian law enforcement to police the civilians, maintain order on ships, carry out investigations, do the things that law enforcement do and if they do run into a situation where they need heavy back up…”

“S-s-sir, the Governor has just left his ship on a shuttle. He is requesting permission to land and have a meeting with you,” Stuttering Stan interrupted.

“Requesting?” the XO said.

“More like demanding as rightful acting President of the Twelve Colonies,” Stan said. “And he has his military advisor on board.”

“Military advisor?” Miller questioned.

“The former Major Grant,” Rhodes muttered.

Miller sighed in frustration turning to the Marine, “Alright, Major, I’ll take what you said under advisement. If you would put together a detail together, I’ll greet the Acting President in Mission Planning.”






--------------Chapter 5-------------

"Miller is incompetent as a leader," the former Major Barret Grant told Governor Maxwell as the party snaked down the narrow corridors of the Olympia towards Mission planning. "Jewels was the one that ran the pilots."

"So why was Miller the C-A-G?" Andreas asked looking over his briefing notes provided by the Olympia and Barret Grant.

"Commander Air Group, it's pronounced CAG," Grant corrected. "Because whatever shortfalls in leadership, he was decent pilot and good instructor. Also his ability to design war games was well known throughout the fleet. So the man is not completely without his merits, but there are a half dozen men on board this ship better suited to be the Commander than Miller."

"So why did Belu select him?" Anatolia asked. "Belu seemed practical."

"The Old Man ran a loose ship, in fleet speak, he was not a stickler on rules, regs, and a hundred other things that you normally think of when you look at a career military man," Grant told them again for the fifth time. "Still he was well respected at Fleet headquarters more because he lacked ambition. All he wanted to do was train the next generation. So the Admiralty kept him content, hell even overlooked a lot, because they knew he wasn’t gunning for their job. To think of the number of CAG's, XO's, and Commanders out on the line that passed through the Olympia at one point in their career is quite amazing."

Finally they had arrived outside Misson planning. Their eight man Marine escort detail opened the hatch and allowed the group to enter before shutting and sealing it behind them. They looked around at the dull grey bulkheads and exposed piping in different colors. Blue for cold water, yellow for steam, orange for hot water, black for electrical, and a half dozen other colors all with different markings. The exposed piping was everywhere on the ship, which did not help the aesthetics, but in emergencies made it easy for damage control parties to shut off critical valves without ripping up half a deck. It was all function over form on the hasty construction Olympia.

"So," Maxwell began, "What do you want me to do?"

Grant raised an eyebrow at Andreas. In Barret's short time with the group it was clear that Andreas was the puppet master along with his even more manipulative dish water blonde assistant Anatolia. It was only a matter of time before Miller made some critical mistake, and Grant would find himself back in a Colonial Uniform as the rightful Commander of the Battlestar Olympia and the rest of the fleet.

Andreas responded with a slight nod as the pressure hatch rumbled as it was opened. Commander Miller stepped in along with Charmer a couple paces behind. Grant half expected to see his replacement, Colonel Rhodes, march in as well, but no luck. At least Rhodes was competent. If had been the young kid that had been made Commander of Olympia, Grant was not sure how he would have reacted. Other than youthful inexperience, and the fact that the Old Man had granted the kid a transfer to Picon Fleet Headquarters, Grant had nothing against the new XO of Olympia.

"I am Commander Miller, this is Captain Brackov our CAG," Miller introduced the pair. Greetings and names were quickly exchanged. "Sorry we could not meet earlier, but we've had our hands full with a Skelton crew trying to make hasty repairs to ship."

"I understand,” Maxwell nodded before introducing the rest of his party. “This is my political advisor, Andreas, and his personal assistant Anatolia.” We have had a number of people volunteer to enlist, or reenlist, into the service. Over half served at least some time in the fleet. Also we have about a hundred that come from private security or civilian law enforcement. We all want to help.”

“I am aware of the previous arraignments you had with Belu. I have no problem with letting you handle organizing and managing the civilian fleet, but we are going to have to have another level of understanding. It’s been over a week and we are just now getting this work detail. Let me make something clear, if Olympia falters you will parish out here,” Miller warned.

“Yes, I would have agreed with you until we met our counterparts out here. What the hell was that all about?” the Governor asked.

“You said you followed over the wireless,” Miller challenged.

“We did,” Grant stepped up. “And Mr. Rhodes was correct, they were not following standard procedure. In face everything they did was one off, but a more important question: where were you?”

“Under the weather. I was in sickbay,” Miller admitted, leaving out the part about recovering from a three day binge on the Old Man’s private stock.

Grant was not buying it. “I see,” the former Major uttered. “Still I have to concede that you made the right call. Especially when they began firing at a civilian ship, one under our protection.”

“You mean, our protection,” Charmer sharply reminded the former XO.

“Of course,” Grant said, “But we all are on the same side here. I’m just no longer in uniform.”

“Us on the same side,” Charmer muttered half to himself, “That would be a first.”

Miller made a quick change of topic, "I've been informed and discussed it with the head of the Marine detachment. Anyone law enforcement that are former military will be given a physical and allowed to re-up if they wish.”

“And the rest?” Maxwell said with a hint of horror in his voice.

“As for the rest, we can offer training such as combat tactics and weapons usage in confined spaces aboard spaceships, and we can provide a limited number of small arms, but it is our judgment that there should be a civilian law enforcement contingent to maintain order in the fleet," Miller informed them. "Now in emergencies, say a hostage situation or other threat, we'll send in the Marines. But take a lesson from President Adar, Marines trained to kill not maintain order."

The civilians all glanced at each other and then back at Barret Grant, who was visibly annoyed at the recommendation. Frankly it was a surprising reaction and not one they had been hoping to hear. Eighty percent of the group were private security loyal to the surviving members of the consortium.

"There is a serious lack of skilled mechanics and technicitions thoughout the fleet," Andreas warned the Commander, and while the Olympia is important, there are other ships in the fleet..."

"But none with the firepower of the Olympia. If the Cylons find us," Miller began realizing that the reality was, they were in no condition to fight, "Well let's just say...." He drew a quick breath, "Look we have plenty of techs to draw from if I could get able bodies on board to help with other tasks. Like preparing meals in the mess, swabbing the deck, cleaning the heads, stowing supplies, and all those tasks, it could really help the crew speed up repairs. As it stands we are pulling triple shifts, six hours each. It won't take time for performance levels to drop lower than they already are."

Andreas looked at the Governor for a moment, "I think that can be arranged. How many would you need?"

"Several hundred?" Miller shrugged. "It may even be a good idea as I am sure people are going to get tired of being cooped up in their current surroundings. Might do them some good if they had a job."

"And in exchange?" Maxwell asked.

Miller thought a moment, "They'll have a bunk and meals at least. And again something to do. Give a man a task and his life becomes more meaningful."

That was not the answer Maxwell wanted to hear. This was a political favor. Poltical capitol to be exchanged for a favor later when Maxwell needed it, was the Commander really that daft? No matter, if Grant was right, Miller would not last long. Especially when the press corps was allowed to run a muck. "As acting Colonial President I will see what I can do."

Charmer winced. "Wait a minute. Acting President? Where are you on the Chart of Sucession?"

Maxwell looked at Andreas who gave their well rehearsed statement, "As the highest ranking elected official who survived the holocaust...."

"According to the Case Orange system, Laura Roslin was the next in line," Miller answered recalling the print out read to the late Commander Belu complete with orders to regroup at Ragnar. Orders they had ignored, at best, disobeyed at worst.

"But she isn't here, is she?" Maxwell countered.

"That's not the order of succession," Charmer challenged. "If in the event of a catastrophic emergency in which the line can not be determined, the senior ranking military command shall act as head of state until such time as regular Colonial Elections can resume!"

"Now wait just a second, you are telling me this is a military coup!" Maxwell shouted back as the room erupted into a shouting match between the civilians and Charmer. Within a few seconds, a half dozen Marines, weapons out and dress in full combat gear entered quelling the argument.

Commander Miller just looked at both parties. "Now, if you all are finished."

The civilians just continued to glare at the CAG, but said nothing. “I am a registered Bairster on Aquaria,” Andreas noted. “Under the law…”

“Under the law we are at war. Colonial Fleet Regulations gives me almost a blank check on how to deal with situation,” Commander Miller told the lawyer.

“We do not fall under the accords of Military Justice,” Andreas countered.

Charmer retorted, “Your ships do. Under emergency powers, the fleet reserves the right to press any spaceworthy vessel into service for the duration of the emergency.”

“Under which only the President, with Quorum approval, can order such an emergency,” Andreas snapped.

“Unless a Case Orange situation arises in which succession cannot be determined, which it did,” Miller countered.

“Under Colonial Fleet regulations, only a flag officer operating on extended duty is afforded that freehand you talk about,” Grant finally inserted during a brief pause between the civilians and Commander Miller. “Hate to break it to you Levi, but a Commander is not a flag officer.”

Charmer looked around, “This isn’t helping.”

“I agree,” Anatolia finally offered. PR and the press she could handle, but all the legal wrangling was pointless to her. Outside of this room no one really cared what the law said. After all, the law in the eyes of the huddled masses on this tin cans ended in a flurry of mushroom clouds. They were looking for leadership. Anyone that would step up with a plan, a vision, a promise of hope and this was their oppurtinuty. She continued, “Belu’s deal was that we run the civilian side of things, but defer to you for military decisions. So far, you all have proven that you are looking out for the fleet. The people need to know that. We should schedule a press conference for this afternoon, here on Olympia. Let the people of the fleet know we are working for them. And that they also can help by volunteering to assist Olympia. The people aren’t stupid and they know that an operational Battlestar is the only thing that will save them.”

"We have a press?" Charmer snarked.

"There were enough reporters that escaped with us from a fund raising event to create one," Anatolia told them. "So, yes, even if they are just doing the only thing they know to do."

Charmer nodded at the Commander. Miller spoke up, "Alright, get the press on board and schedule the press conference. I'll get the XO down here to see that you'll have whatever it is you'll need for set up. Is there anything else?"

No one moved.

"Good, if you'll excuse me, I'll be in CIC," Miller said dismissing himself and heading towards the pressure hatch. A few seconds later he and Charmer were outside and the door sealed behind them. "How the hell do you know about the line of succession?"

"I took the same Colonial and Military Law classes as you," Charmer reminded him. "But we got problems."

"Oh?" Miller paused his march back towards CIC. The lack of expression on Charmer's face was new. In all the years he had known the man, Charmer always wore at least a slightly smug smirk. Miller looked away with a sigh of frustration. "When did you figure that out?"

"They're up to something Aten," Charmer warned.

"Major Grant is plotting how to get his Command back," Commander Miller answered.

"No it's more than that."

"How do you know? Your old man was an Admiral, not a sniveling politician."

Charmer paused. "You really don’t get it do you? My Old Man was The Admiral. Head of the fleet. And do you know what an Admiral is?" Charmer gave Miller a moment to answer, but Aten shook his head. "A politician that wears a uniform and I've seen this type of stuff before. I wasn't around my father much, but when I was, he and others were always planning, scheming, plotting for or against someone. Now I don't know what their endgame is, but it can't be good for us."

"We've sent them requests for work details and it took them this long to finally get back to us," Miller began. “I think they wanted leverage. Still, we have a renegade Colonial fleet…”

“Presumed renegade Colonial Fleet,” Charmer corrected with a grin.

“Presumed,” Miller acknowledged, “And then we have those clowns plotting from the inside…oh yeah, and the Cylons are still out there somewhere too. If we manage to survive, it’s going to be a frakking miracle.”

Charmer answered, "But you've spent the better part of the past week on a binger or in sickbay. That didn't help the situation. And while my old man may have been a politician, I'm not. I'm not the one to ask, but I know who is."

"Rhodes."




"So what do we do now?" Maxwell snarled at his political advisory team. “They seem to still be very much in control.”

Andreas dismissed the set back. "It's nothing major. But I will say this much, they know the law. "

"Colonial Law is drilled into them from day five of the Academy onward," Grant admitted. "Just encase something like this were to ever happen. There are manuals and scenarios gamed out. So when they encounter a situation like this, they know what to do."

"Still, it does not matter that much," Anatolia said taking a seat. "By the end of the week we'll have how many Union members on board the ship? Not to mention the press. What is Miller’s weakness?”

“Other than refusing to enforce rules, letting things slide and general incompetence?”

“Oh come on Grant, that’s not going to fly with the people. They see the crew of the Olympia as heros of the moment, doing whatever they can to save them and when they find out under what circumstances they’ve been in, Olympia is going to become the real home of the Gods in people’s eyes,” Maxwell told the former Colonial officer.

“Governor’s right,” Andreas said with a hint of surprise. “Attacking the Olympia and her crew is not a wise idea, but Miller said he was in sickbay. Why?”

Maxwell shrugged, “He could have been wounded. I bet there were a lot that were.”
Grant thought a moment trying to recall Aten’s service record. “Jewels is dead.” The trio gave Grant three queer looks over the comment. “She was his right hand man, so to speak. A pilot and a damned good one too and she had a nack for administration too. She’s the only reason he lasted this long. She was killed when we engaged two Cylon base ships over Picon.”

“I don’t understand,” Anatolia began, “He lost what? A friend, lover? So did most of the fleet. All that is going to get him is empathy from the fleet. It just makes him human.”

Grant shook his head. “No. Aten had some…personal issues a few years ago. He and the bottle became good friends. He’s been sober for years, but…”

“Once an alcoholic, always one,” Maxwell said. He himself had tried to give it up a few times, but it was one of many deamons he could never fully gain control over. “If he was drunk and the crew were covering for him…”

“Then we have something,” Anatolia offered. “Although you still have the crew to worry about. You maybe able to force Miller out, but what about the rest of this crew? They are still heroes out there in the fleet.”

Grant thought, “There are only three people we would have to worry about: Chief Wilson, Charmer, and Chief Kyle. Perhaps Rhodes, but the kid’s smart. He’ll survive, but those three are the ones that will keep Miller afloat. Clean house with them and the rest of the crew will follow whomever you appoint, so long as they’ve worn the uniform before.”

“Like you,” Andreas snorted. Grant smiled. “Okay, the boss has almost a thousand names to send over to the Olympia as work details. Most are foremans and enforcers, the rest drabble from the larger colonies.”

"How many do they have on board this ship?" Anatolia directed at Grant.

"Say twelve hundred..maybe, can't say for sure, but they have the Marines, and the guns," Grant replied.

"So will our people," Andreas commented. "They'll be plenty of enforcers on those transports to keep the scabs in line. So if we can get fifteen hundred on board the Olympia, we can take control the ship."

"There are a few of the senior staff that we're going to have to worry about. For instance, all the pilots are going to be loyal to Miller. Same with the deck gangs. Wilson like the kid and the deck monkeys are fiercely loyal to the Chief. Same with Chief Kyle in CIC. They both will have to be dealt with. Once they are, the rest of the crew will fall in line," Grant told them.

"We have the list of names," Andreas assured him. "We'll deal with them when the times comes. But until we're ready, we have to play along."