OBT Forum

The Raptor emerged from FTL in a flash of light.  Sidewinder took two deep breaths as the electronics stabilized and then his instruments gave him a clear reading. 

“DRADIS up,” reported Kaboose from the rear compartment.  “Reading . . . no contacts in range except for Scorpia and our Raptors; initiating long-range sweep for system traffic.”  There was a pause.  “No traffic within range—nothing,” the EWOs subdued voice was quiet.

“Full scan—all instruments,” Sidewinder ordered as he altered course on the patrol leg and fired his thrusters in three quick squirts.  His bird was the closest to the planet Scorpia of all those deployed at a distance from the Battlestar that, in effect, doubled the range of the DRADIS sensors.   

“Starting scan,” Kaboose muttered, and Sidewinder watched as the data began to flow on one of his monitor screens.  “Sidewinder, I’m reading . . . it can’t . . . this makes no . . .”

“Pull it together, Kaboose.  What are you reading?”

“Zero comm traffic, no FTL signatures, no transmissions . . . this has to be a instrumentation failure, it has to be.”

“WHAT has to be?”

“I am reading high concentrations of radiation coming from the planet, Sidewinder,” the EWO said very quietly.  “Very high.”

Stefan Greene—Sidewinder—swallowed and he switched the monitor and blanched as the readouts became apparent.  “Run a system diagnostic,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir,” the EWO answered.

“Sidewinder, Jester,” the radio crackled.  “You reading what we are reading, boss?”

Sidewinder—a native of Virgon—muttered a short prayer to Hestia and he nodded as he opened the channel.  “I wish we weren’t,” he whispered.  “Double check your sensors—it could be instrumentation malfunction.”

“On two Raptors at once?” Jester asked, and then after a brief pause.  “Running system diagnostic.”

“Sidewinder?” the very quiet voice of Kaboose broke the silence.  “System diagnostic has completed the cycle—all green.”

The pilot momentarily closed his eyes as he felt a chill run through his body.

“Scorpia, Sidewinder,” he forced himself to broadcast.  “We are reading elevated radiation signatures coming from . . .,” he swallowed, and made himself finish, “the planetary surface.  Can you confirm?”

“Roger, Sidewinder; onboard sensors confirm your readings—and Jesters.  Wait one,” the radio crackled and then there was a pause.  “Sidewinder, Scorpia Actual.  I need a pilot to jump in closer for more detailed reading—and dispatch a bird for close scans of Libran and Saggitaron as well.”

“Understood, Scorpia Actual.  I will han-. . .,” but he was interrupted by Kaboose.

“DRADIS contact!  Bearing 135 mark 10, right at the edge of range—maneuvering for an intercept course . . . NO transponder.”

“Confirm!” snapped Sidewinder as he armed the two missiles, two decoys, and the chaff launchers of his raptor. 

“Confirmed, bogey closing fracking fast!”

Sidewinder pressed the throttle forward.  “Rely our data to Scorpia, Kaboose.  Scorpia, Sidewinder, we have contact with an unidentified bogey closing on our location.”

“Copy that Sidewinder, vectoring Jester and Arclight for missile intercept.”

“Status change!  Bogey is altering course . . . now on intercept for Scorpia.”

Sidewinder cursed and he flipped the Raptor end for end and pressed the throttle to the stops.  “Scorpia, Sidewinder; bogey in now on an intercept course for you.”

“Copy, Sidewinder.”

The pilot looked down at his instruments and he concentrated on the red icon floating in his screen, “Almost there,” he whispered as he lifted the safety cover over the button that would fire one of his missiles.  “FRACK!” he snapped as the target suddenly began evasive maneuvers.  The thing maneuvered like a Viper.  “Scorpia, I cannot get a lock.  Repeat, cannot get a lock.  Bogey should be on your DRADIS . . . NOW.”

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

Mathias looked grim in the red light of CIC at Condition One.  "Load Hydras in Turret Three—order the Raptors to proceed to their recon targets—we will engage the target, Colonel.”

“This is the XO.  Turret Three, prepare to engage, load Hydras.  Captain Danis, we need a target lock,” Tom barked.

“Fire Direction Control is . . . locked on target,” her voice ended in a questioning tone.  “Bogey is no longer evading, still accelerating on an intercept course.”

“Fire!” snapped Mathias.  And the order was quickly passed.  On the starboard side of Scorpia’s armored nose, a turret swung outwards and locked onto the target.  First one, then the second, of the twin barrels spat flame and two high-speed missiles sped away.  Larger than the ordnance used by Vipers, the Hydra missile had an extended range with a booster stage—and a far larger warhead; although they were miniscule compared to the anti-ship and orbital bombardment missiles Scorpia carried in her dorsal silos.

“Missiles tracking clean,” sang out Captain Paul Cook from tactical.  “Impact in . . . five, four, three, two, FRACK!  Bogey has jumped!  Missile strike missed the target, aborting run; missile warheads self-destructing.”

“He’s going back to get help,” Tom whispered and Mathias nodded.  The XO continued.  “The Raptors?”

“Proceed on mission—Sidewinder has Scorpia, Jester Libran, and Arclight Saggitaron.”

“Shall I order the others to meet us at the rendezvous?”

“Not yet, Tom.  We still need to confirm who these people are—and whether or not we have lost control of Gamma completely.  The Fleet might be in Alpha or Beta, even Delta,” the Commander paused.  His chest pounded in agony with the realization that his home, his friends, his family . . . all of it on Scorpia must be gone.  That much radiation—it had to be ground burst weapons by the hundreds.  But maybe there were still some survivors.

Mathias looked back up.  “Order the remaining Raptors to conduct one recon pass over Caprica, Picon, Leonis, Virgon, and Canceron.”

Tom nodded and he jerked his chin at Major Marius Tyche, who began to pass the orders.  “Dare we put up a CAP?  Without the Raptors, our detection range is halved.”

Mathias picked up the phone.  “Rambler, Scorpia Actual.  Flush the deck launch—hold the tubes.  Assuming Combat Air Patrol stations,” he ordered.  “Twenty birds is about our limit for a combat landing if we have to pull out fast,” he said to Tom who nodded.

“Roger that, Scorpia Actual.  Launching Vipers now,” the intercom broadcast.

“I love these Valkyrie-class ships, don’t get me wrong, Commander, but some days I do wish they had given some thought into the fact that the flight pods really need a bit more space,” Tom said quietly.

“Count your lucky stars we don’t have to retract them before the ship can active the FTL, Colonel Jayne,” Mathias answered.

“Heaven forbid.  All things considered, I suppose Scorpia ain’t a half-bad ga-. . .,”

“MULTIPLE CONTACTS!  No Colonial transponders, raid count sixty plus,” Captain Danis called out, and she blanched.  “Detecting radiological alert from several of the bogeys, Commander!”

“All weapons free!  Defensive fire pattern Alpha-Two when they enter range, maximum fire rate on all batteries that bear—Rambler keep your boys out of our flak!”

Tom Jayne shook his head.  “For what we are about to receive,”

“May we be truly thankful,” Mathias finished.

“Commander!” Danis barked from her station as she jerked off her headset.  “They are broadcasting!”

“Opening communications?”

“No, sir . . . its . . . it’s . . .,” she flipped a switch and a squeal of sound echoed throughout CIC. It sounded like a computer trying to connect through . . . Mathias cursed.  “Cylons!  FRACK!  Verify firewall integrity.”

“Firewall intact,” Danis answered in a puzzled voice.  “They are addressing our Navigation system, Commander.  Nothing is happening.”

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

“Scorpia, Digger,” broadcast Captain Hope Fairchild, the commander of Blue Squadron.  “They are coming in fat and happy—no evasive maneuvering,” and her comm suddenly squealed in her ears.  “What the frack,” she muttered.  The signal ended after a few moments.  “Blues, since they so obliging to come in slow and dumb lock missiles on target and prepare to engage,” she said as the range closed.  Still the distant fighters were closing slow and steadily, taking no radical maneuvers as the CAP closed on them from the flanks.  “Tone,” she said as the missile warhead acquired a target, “light ‘em up!” she ordered as she squeezed the pickle.  Two missiles slung underneath her wings dropped away and igniting, racing towards the targets—which appeared completely unprepared!  Oh so slowly, they reacted, breaking and weaving but of the forty missiles her squadron fired thirty-one went home and the flashes of explosions in the distance lit the bleakness of space.

She pressed the throttle forward as the twenty-nine surviving bogey’s suddenly accelerated towards Scorpia and she double-checked the range.  But the CAG was already ahead of her.  “One pass,” Rambler broadcast from the Flight Operations Center, “then clear the flak zone.”

“Let’s go, Blues,” she whispered into the helmet mike as she engaged the three engines in full over-thrust, “arm guns.”  And as she said that she flipped the switches that armed her own three 25mm cannons.  “You still with me, Firefly?”

“Won’t get rid of me without a divorce, Digger,” her wingman answered, and then her voice changed.  “What the frack are those?”

Hope was thinking the same thing as she squeezed the trigger and flames spat from the three barrels of her guns, the illuminated tracers glowing as they streaked towards the extremely curved u-shaped body of her targets—and then she saw the glowing, cascading red eye.  “Frack me,” she broadcast.  “Cylons aren’t piloting these fighters—they are the fighters!”  Finally her target broke away and Digger followed it in a sharp turn, her guns spitting out burst after burst and then it exploded—quickly followed by the second Cylon raider who had crossed over onto her tail.

“Thanks for the assist, Firefly.”

“You ain’t leaving me without a divorce either, Digger.  No way in Hades I’m flying this war with a rook on my wing.”

The pass shot down another sixteen of the Raiders, but of the remainder a dozen continued to bore in on Scorpia—and their missile launch doors opened and the Mk VI Viper’s radiation alarm sounded.

Only one Raider didn’t close, with a flash of light it vanished as it engaged its FTL drive and jumped away.

Thirty-six missiles were fired—but they opened up at the same time as Scorpia.  And the hail of fire coming off of the small Battlestar was clearly not expected.  Only two missiles got close enough to salvage fuse—neither inflicted any damage other momentarily jamming the ship’s DRADIS.  None of the twelve Cylon Raiders survived as the flak bursts tore through them and their missiles.

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

“Scorpia, Digger.  One got away, probably gone to whistle up the rest of the toasters.”

“Digger, Scorpia Actual—you have confirmation of Cylons?”

“Affirmative, Scorpia Actual; they don’t look like the ones from the last war, but frack me if that wasn’t a Cylon.”

Mathias sighed.  “Time to come on home before they get their act together and send more than sixty fighters against us, Digger,” he racked the phone.  “Spin up the FTL, Colonel Jayne—as soon as we recover our fighters we are heading to the rendezvous.”

“This is the XO, spin up the FTL Drives.  All hands prepare for combat landing and FTL jump.”  He too racked his phone.

“Basestars on the way—they ain’t dumb.  You’d think that if we made something we would make it dumb enough to make mistakes, but we didn’t.  What does that say about our intelligence?”

“It says we’re human and that even our brilliant people frack up on occasion, Tom.”  The commander looked back over at Danis.  “Any thoughts on that transmission?”

“I’ve scanned the systems—no trace of a virus, Commander, no worms, no nothing.  It was like they were sending a command, not actually transmitting a computer virus.  But whatever they were trying to do, it’s like . . . we don’t have what they expected.”

“The CNP upgrade,” Mathias whispered.  “The upgrade we haven’t received.  The transmission was directed at our Nav system, right?”

Tom stood still and he shook his head.  “You think they planted a backdoor in our systems?  How the frack could they manage that?”

“I don’t know, Tom, and that scares the hell out of me,” he said quietly.

“Blue Squadron is inbound for landing,” Rambler reported.

But before Mathias could respond, Danis cursed.  “Multiple contacts—three, no correction, four basestars and raiders . . . eight hundred plus raiders, more launching, closing FAST.”

The Commander looked up at the DRADIS and they were still outside of weapons range.  “Colonel, jump the second Blue Squadron is on the deck.”

Tom Jayne snapped his fingers and Major Tyche inserted the jump key and nodded.  “Coordinates plotted, FTL drives are green."  His fingers rested on the keys that would cause space-time to fold upon itself and send Scorpia to a far distant point.

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

“Combat landings, people!  Move!” Digger broadcast as her DRADIS display lit up behind her—and she blanched.  “Too many uninvited guests, Firefly.”

“Frack me, if that ain’t right, Digger.”

The two Vipers were the final ones in the landing formation—for a combat landing of this nature, there wouldn’t be time to call the ball (which wasn’t a ball at all, but instead a series of different colored lights that the pilots used to assume the proper angle for descent to the flight deck).  And the automated landing system was far, far too slow for this situation.  No, Blue Squadron would have to do this the old fashioned way—the hard way.

One by one, the Vipers entered the two flight pods and reverse thrusters killed their speed until they banged their skids down on the flight deck, magnetic grapples locking them into place.  All it would take would be one pilot, one malfunctioning Viper, and half a squadron could die from this maneuver.

Hope and her wingman streaked into the cavernous flight pod and then the reverse acceleration threw her hard forward against the straps that held her in place; she lowered the skids and thrust down as she slowed, and her Viper bounced once on the deck and skidded to a halt, trailing sparks.  To her right, Firefly sat down without so much as making the deck vibrate.

“BLUES DOWN!” she snapped as the grapples locked her Viper and Firefly’s into place—and then the world twisted as Scorpia jumped away ahead of the oncoming missile storm.

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

Cavil turned away from the control screen and he cocked his head to one side.  “I believe that you, Two, confirmed that we eliminated all of the Colonial Fleet ships except for Galactica and Pegasus which continue to plague us.  What was that?  Gemenon cheese?”

The model of humanoid Cylon known to the colonists as Leoben shook his head.  “I checked the records—we accounted for all of their ships known to be on active duty.”

“It might not be Two’s fault,” said the Three, also known as D’Anna.  “We unfortunately never got an agent inside the Picon Headquarters—and our nuclear strikes there eliminated all of their records.  If this vessel was on a covert assignment, it might have been removed from the roster.

“And what would you suggest we do?”  One asked as he waved his hands.  “Just let them go?”

“Do I look like a Six?”

“No, you are not attractive enough,” said the Six present.

“Let us not start this again,” said the Four known by the name Simon.  “We must prevent them from making contact with the other survivors.  That means we should dispatch a force to pursue and destroy them.  That objective should take priority.”

“Agreed,” chimed in the Five, known as Doral.  “They were unaffected by the our program modifications—so if they have been absent that implies that they have been gone for more than . . . twenty months?”

“The final ship to receive the upgrade was converted eight months ago—a month before our attack,” said the Eight who wore the body of Sharon Valerii.  “Six was supposed to disable Pegasus—but she failed, as Five did with Galactica.”

“Due to unforeseen circumstances, my dear.  At least, one of my models did not abandon our people for the love of a human," Six said in an acrid tone as Five glared sternly at the Eight.

“Enough,” snapped One.  “It is agreed then.  We will find these survivors and we will destroy them.  If they have been out there for a year, then they will need supplies—redeploy the Fleet to cover all known stations which can provide them with anything.  And,” he sighed, “send FIVE basestars and their Raiders in pursuit.”

“Five?” asked Three.  “That was a small Battlestar, One.”

“Yes.  This time, I am taking no chances, Three.  Any other objections?”

None answered.

“Good.  Then let us begin.”

I have a feeling this brave ship could come to a sticky end...

Mathias walked into the CIC and his people were quiet—several looked up and he could see the swollen red eyes . . . and the anger smoldering in those tear-filled eyes.  Oh yes, the anger. 

He walked around the room, taking a moment to look each and every man and woman present in the eye and he completed his journey standing beside the executive officer he had come to depend on as his strong right arm.  He reached up and unracked the phone, holding it upside, the cord gripped in his hand as well as the phone itself.

“Open the 1MC, Colonel Jayne,” he said formally.  And his XO reached up and set the communication system.

“Number One Main Circuit for shipboard address is now open, Commander Lorne,” Tom replied.

“All hands,” Mathias said, his voice echoing through the intercoms in every compartment of the ship.  “This is the Commander.  By now, you have heard the scuttlebutt—and it is true.  The Colonies were attacked by the Cylons while we were on our mission.  The Fleet is gone.  Every last one of our colony worlds has been struck by multiple nuclear weapons.  There may be a handful of survivors—but only a handful.  More than thirty-one billion human beings have been annihilated by the Cylons.  Our brothers, our sisters, our parents, our children, our husbands, our wives, our friends, our family—deprived of their life, their liberty, their happiness.”

“They are gone.  Mourn them.  There is no shame in mourning their passing.  There is no shame in admitting to yourself that your heart is breaking with the weight of this moment.  Not now, not ever, not on this Battlestar.  No shame in mourning, no shame in tears, no shame in heartache.”

Mathias looked directly at Joan Danis sitting at DRADIS station with tears pouring down her face as she held the pictures of her nieces in her hand.

“We are too late to save our families, but we may not be too late to save others.  There are survivors.  Survivors on the Colonies and on Outposts throughout this region of space.  And I will be DAMNED by the Gods if I allow a single one of them to die when I can stop it.”

“But to do that, I need you.  I need each and every one of you from the black gang to the deck gang to the cooks and the gunners and the electricians and the Marines and the pilots and the chaplains aboard this Battlestar.  I need you.  The survivors need you to save them before the Cylons finish the job of killing us all.”

“We could run.  Run until our fuel and air and water is exhausted.  But I will not leave behind one soul that we can save.  We cannot leave behind one soul, when we have the power to save that human life.  Mourn for your loss, but as you mourn, remember what evil was behind this attack.  Remember that it was the Cylons who attacked us, who came here with the intention of destroying US.  For the sin of giving them life—they hate us, and they fear us, and they have just tried to annihilate us.”

“That angers me.  This attack angers me, and if I know you, it angers you.  And I NEED you to grab that anger and to use it!  To stand me with and the Battlestar Scorpia and FIGHT!” his voiced thundered from bulkhead to bulkhead.

“We could run.  But we will not.  We will not because we took an oath when we enlisted in the Fleet and the Corps.  We swore before the Gods that never again would the civilians suffer—that it was to be our lives for theirs!  The Fleet failed to live up to that oath.  Battlestar Scorpia WILL NOT FAIL.  We will return.  We will send these Cylons screaming into their electronic Hell.  We will recover the survivors.  And we will survive—if for nothing more than to spite them.”

“WE ARE AT WAR!  And we will leave NO ONE behind!”

“So say we all!”

“SO SAY WE ALL!” the crew cried out so loudly that it seemed as if the ship itself quivered. 

“FTL Jump in one hour—until then . . . mourn.  Share you loss with your shipmates—bear some of their burden that weighs so heavy upon them.  But when this hour expires, that time of mourning must end.  And the time to fight will have begun.”

And Mathias racked the phone.  “Colonel Jayne, you have the conn,” he said as he walked to the hatch leading into CIC, the Marine Guards snapping to attention as he passed.

“I have the conn,” Tom barked, his face set and emotionless.  “If you need to cry call your relief—I want sharp eyes on the DRADIS,” he ordered.  “Report any contacts immediately.”

I have fixed some continuity errors in the earlier posts; mainly dealing with ranks where I started calling someone one rank and then it changed.  My bad.

And since I have never before done this for any of my stories (but have been asked, here is a little bonus package to help keep things straight.  I will update this as new characters get introduced.

Dramatis Personae

Commander Mathias Lorne.  Callsign "Gremlin".  A native of the colony of Scorpia in his late 40s, Commander Lorne is the commanding officer of Battlestar Scorpia.  Rather short (just 5' 7") he is heavily built with a frame that has a tendancy to turn muscle to fat quite quickly if he lets it.  He had a wife and two daughters on Scorpia before the Holocaust.

Colonel Thomas Jayne.  Callsign "Torch".  Born and raised on Tauron, Colonel Jayne is the man who keeps Scorpia running at peak efficiency as the executive officer.  He has never married, but had numerous brothers and sisters and nephews and neices on Tauron.  Tom Jayne is 44.

Major Samantha Caldwell.  CO of Battlestar Anubis

Major Marius Tycle.  Callsign "Doghouse".  Operations officer and third in command.

Major John Banaeck.  Callsign "Rambler".  Senior Viper pilot and CAG aboard Scorpia.

Major Denise Church.  Engineering officer of Scorpia.

Captain Liam Aisne.  CO of Scorpia's Marine company.

Captain Paul Cook.  Tactical/gunnery officer of Scorpia.

Captain Joan Danis.  From Aquaria, the willowy red-head is the resident electrical/computer wizard of Scorpia's crew, and serves as the DRADIS officer, as well as handling communications.  She is in her late 20s and was engaged, with plans to marry after the end of her tour in four months times.  Her mother, sister, and twin nieces died on Aquaria.

Captain Hope Fairchild.  Callsign "Digger".  Viper pilot and CO of Blue Squadron.

Captain Stefan Greene.  Callsign "Sidewinder".  Native of Virgon.  Commander of the Raptor Squadron aboard Scorpia.

Lieutenant Shiro Gian.  Supply Officer aboard Scorpia

Lieutenant Andrew Martens.   Callsign "Jester".  Raptor pilot and XO of the Raptor Squadron.

Lieutenant (j.g.) Michael Jamussa.  Callsign "Kaboose".  EWO aboard a Raptor.

Senior Chief Petty Officer Daniel Sinclair.  Chief of the Flight Deck and senior NCO for Scorpia.

Anton Laveride.  Head of the Laveride Syndicate

Jon Namer.  Leader of  Saggitaron Freedom Movement survivors

Doctor Neil Sarris.  A native of Picon, the head of the scientific research team is in his early '50s.  A humanist often at odds with the military crew of the Battlestar, he is (nonetheless) not a pacificist and realizes the need for men and weapons of war.  He is an astrophysicist by training.

Daniel.  Traumitized young man adopted by the Saggitaron Freedom Movement and crew of Anubis.  An accomplished painter and artist.



That is what I've got for now.  I will update this list as new characters appear.

MA

Scorpia appeared in orbit above the ice-clad moon of a gas giant in a flash of light—two smaller flashes marked the arrival of a pair of Raptors.  The prism of light reflecting the orange sun through the rings of the planet danced along their hulls—and they were not alone.

“Contact!” reported Danis.  “One vessel in orbit—picking up civilian transponder and emissions matching Hekla-class civilian freighter . . . wait one . . . intermittent second contact, very faint—no transponder, same orbit.”

“Captain Cook, keep our guns trained on them.  Captain Danis, watch their FTL power curse—inform me immediately if they are charging the drives,” Mathias said.  “Launch the Vipers.”

“Launch the ready Vipers,” Tom repeated, and six Mk VI Vipers accelerated out of the launch tubes.

“Weapons lock on the Hekla,” Paul reported from tactical, “cannot lock up the second vessel with FDC, but the guns are covering her on manual targeting.”

“Scorpia, Arclight,” the wireless broadcast.  “Confirm two vessels in orbit—transmitting visuals now.”

Mathias and Tom turned towards the small screen as the static cleared and a video image of the two ships appeared.  The first was indeed one of the more common civilian freighters designed to carry cargo and passengers between the Colonies.  The second . . .

Tom whistled.  “Where in the Hells did they manage to find an Orion-class Battlestar?”

The commander frowned and he turned his head towards Joan Danis.  “Adjust DRADIS and the targeting and tracking arrays for Mu-band ranging.”

“That did it, Commander,” she reported.  “We have a lock on both vessels—DRADIS range has been reduced by forty-three percent, however.”

“It is not really surprising, Colonel,” said Doctor Sarris.  “The Orions were the smallest Battlestars ever constructed—a third the size of Scorpia—and their DRADIS absorbing hulls are difficult to detect at all but the shortest of ranges with standard frequencies.  Since they were all decommissioned three decades ago and sent to the breakers, it would only have taken one supervisor paid off to ‘lose’ one of the ships scheduled for scrapping.”

“Open a channel to the surface,” Mathias ordered as he picked up the phone.  “This is Commander Mathias Lorne of the Battlestar Scorpia.  We have target lock on both of your ships—any attempt to flee or hostile action on your part will result in your immediate destruction.  We are monitoring your FTL power levels, do not try us.”

“That wasn’t very friendly,” Doctor Sarris whispered, and he subsided as Mathias glared at him.

“That being said, we aren’t here to take you into custody—we need to talk.  Respond.”

Only static came through the wireless.  “We know that you are down there, and unless you want to sit there until the Cylons get around to locating us—and you—I would pick up the wireless and talk to me.”

There was another long pause of static, and but then the wireless crackled and a woman’s voice came through.  “I don’t suppose you are going to give us much of a choice, are you Scorpia?  We are listening.”

“Doctor, you know these people,” Mathias said as he held out the phone.

“Know?  I don’t these people, Commander—I know people who know these people.  They probably do not know me.”

Mathias just shook his head and lifted the phone as Tom muttered a curse under his breath—a very profane curse that might just have driven a Gemenon Priest to physical violence!  “We know of your connections to organized crime and the SFM; that doesn’t concern us.  We would like to sit down with you and discuss your—our—situation.”

“In regards to the Cylons?” the speaker said again.

“Yes.”

“If I say no will you go away?”

“No.”

“Then come on down, Scorpia.  I’ll talk with you—one Raptor.  No Marines.  And I have SAMs and troops down here, so no tricks.”

“And I have a fully stocked Battlestar—a modern Battlestar, not your antique toy—with a full company of Marines and three squadrons of Vipers.  I would suggest you remember that before you begin issuing threats.”

“Have your Raptor follow the beacon, Scorpia,” and with that the transmission simply cut off at the source.

“I have their surface beacon,” Danis said and then she chuckled.

Colonel Jayne turned towards her—he had not been prepared to hear her laughing.  “Care to tell the rest of us what you find so amusing, Captain?”

“Their beacon, Colonel,” and she laughed again.  “It’s broadcasting in signal code,” and her shoulders quivered, “and you could learn a few new curses from it, Colonel.  There are some here I’ve never heard.”

Jayne shook his head and he turned back to the central console.  “Well, they have a sense of humor, at least.  I’ll report to the flight deck, Sir.”

“Hold on, Tom.  I’ll need you here, because I’m going down to speak with her.”

“Now wait just a damn minute, Sir,” Tom began, but the Commander cut him off.

“The decision has been made, Colonel.  Have Sidewinder’s Raptor prepped; he and Kaboose will be the all the guards that Doctor Sarris and I need.”

Tom shook his head again, but the words out of his mouth were, “Aye, aye, Sir.”

“I’m going?  You want me to go down there—with you?” asked Doctor Sarris.

“This was your idea, Doctor.  So if they decide to shoot me, then you should get shot as well.  That’s only fair, is it not?”

Sarris simply stared, not quite certain if the Commander was joking or not, and the blood drained from his face.

“Seriously, if there is an outside chance that anyone down there knows you—and the people you know that know them—then I need you.  Tom, I want copies of the images and the signals intercepts from the Colonies to take down there.”

“At least take an aide, Sir.  A combat-trained aide,” Tom whispered as he snapped his fingers. 

“I’ll have a Pilot and an EWO, and I seem to remember something in my training about combat as well—yes?”

“Sir,” he answered sourly.

“Who do you want, Tom?” Mathias said with a sigh.

“Lieutenant Gian.  Outside of the Marines, he is the best at hand-to-hand in the crew.  And he is a good shot as well,” the Colonel answered quickly and quietly.

“Have him issued a sidearm and report to the flight deck, Colonel.  You have the conn,” Mathias paused and he smiled.  “Of course, if they take me hostage, then you can come down with the Marines and save my ass.”

“Like Hell, Sir.  That happens, this is my Battlestar,” Tom said with a chuckle.  And the Commander joined him.

Getting a bit of Blood and Chrome in there and a bit of Firefly gets better and better

Really want the next part I like the idea that Galactica and Pegasus are the big guys wiith the big fleet while the Scorpia w/(hopefully) Osiris is the little guy trying to survive