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Author Topic: The Hunted (nBSG)  (Read 94149 times)

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masterarminas

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Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
« Reply #270 on: February 01, 2013, 06:30:25 PM »

Bill pursed his lips as the hatches of the Raptors slowly cracked open and the former Cylon prisoners staggered down the wings to where the waiting pilots and deck hands helped them to the deck.  Most bore a haunted look on their face—a few were injured.  And all of them seemed in a state of shock. 

He swallowed as one of the men spoke with Chief Galen and Galen looked at the Admiral; the deck chief called up an escort and the man walked across the deck to Adama—his uniform bore the insignia of a Colonel.  He was thin—to thin—and he was missing his left arm.

“Colonel Elias Thorean, executive officer, Battlestar Solaria, reporting, Admiral,” he said with a salute.

“Colonel,” Adama rumbled.  “You weren’t on Solaria during the attack?”

“I was on leave—spending vacation time in the Ionian Islands,” he shook his head.  “Unlike the mainland, there wasn’t room to hide in the wilderness—the Cylons captured us ten days after the attack.”  He swallowed and Bill waited.

“We were taken to a holding facility—I was the senior officer present, Sir.  Sir, I-I . . .,” he paused and Adama waited.  “We weren’t overly abused, Admiral.  A few beatings here and harsh questioning there, but by the second month, they just let us be.  Wouldn’t let us go—kept trying to talk to us about the One True God, well, talk to the men at least.”

“They segregated us from the women,” and he sighed.  “They suffered worse than we did, I found out when they loaded us up on that cargo ship,” he said quietly.  “We joined a few other survivors, from other Colonies—civilian and fleet alike.  I think we were going to the Cylon Homeworlds.  But then, things changed.  They started telling us we were going to be released—we didn’t believe them.  They had tricked us before, Admiral.  Not until today—this is real, isn’t it?” he asked in a voice that said he was still struggling to cope with the sudden reversal of fortune.

“It is.  Your arm?” asked Adama.

Elias shrugged.  “Month three, I tried to lead a breakout from the camp where we were being held—I thought that maybe their guard was down.  I was wrong.  Eleven men were killed—I and sixteen others wounded.  It took the Cylons four days to ship a doctor over from the mainland.  And by then,” he grimaced.  “By then, the tissue had gone septic.  Only thing he could do was cut it off . . .,” and his voice trailed off.

Adama swallowed again.  “Is there a Lieutenant Novachek with you?”

“Bulldog?” Elias asked and he nodded.  “He was put in with us just days ago—the Cylons kept him separate and alone.  He’s been a prisoner for seven years, Admiral.  He is . . .,” Elias closed his eyes, “he’s suffered more than the rest of us.”

Adama turned to two sick-berth attendants.  “See to the Colonel’s needs,” he ordered roughly.  “And get him a meal.”

“Thank you, Sir.  Sir?” he asked and Bill’s heart broke at the plaintive tone in his voice.

“Yes, Colonel Thorean?”

“It would be good to have something to do—to work on.  I know that you don’t need a crippled Colonel, but my people need to occupy their thoughts, Sir.  They need work—and they are good officer and crewmen, Sir.”

“Colonel,” Adama growled with another swallow of a lump in his throat.  “I won’t be throwing away an experienced officer just because he has lost an arm.  You won’t get out of work that easily, not on Galactica.  Now let these men make certain of your health—and eat, and get some rest.  Then we will talk about putting you to work.”

Elias nodded and he saluted—a salute that the Admiral returned in full.  And then he was led away by the SBAs. 

And that was when Adama saw the man he had been waiting for—the man he had dreaded seeing.  Adama walked forward to where Daniel Novachek sat on the wing of a Raptor, shaking with cold and clutching a blanket around himself.  He was ill—feverish—and Doctor Cottle was inserting an IV needle into one arm.

“What do you hear, Bulldog?” Adama asked, and the man’s head snapped up—his eyes locking onto the Admiral.  “Commander?  Commander Adama—Admiral Adama,” he hissed as his eyes settled on the collar insignia.  “You left me for seven years in a stinking Cylon prison, and they promoted you for it?” he asked, his voice bitter.

“I called for help, and you never came—you left me behind, Admiral.  You left me there to die—but I didn’t die.  I was their prisoner for seven years, Bill Adama.  SEVEN YEARS!” he bellowed.

Adama just stood there and he turned to the Doctor.  “Take care of him, Doctor—we will talk later, once you calm down, Bulldog.”

“DON’T YOU WALK AWAY FROM ME!” Novachek yelled; he leapt to his feet and grabbed Adama’s shoulder, spinning the Admiral around—and his right hook caught the Admiral on the jaw.  “DON’T YOUR EVER WALK AWAY FROM ME!”

“NO!” Adama shouted at the Marines who were rushing over, and Bulldog collapsed back down unto the wing of the Raptor—shaking life a leaf.  Cottle glared at him, “Tear out a vein that I am poking around and you are going to the morgue, flyboy!” he barked.  And he injected the pilot with a syringe. 

“Don’t you leave me behind again, Bill,” Bulldog repeated as his eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed.

“Get him to the surgery!” Cottle ordered.  “I gave him some hefty sedatives, Admiral—you all right down there?” he asked and held out his hand.

Adama took it and climbed to his feet.  “Take care of them, Sherman,” he growled, and stalked off of the hanger deck.
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masterarminas

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Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
« Reply #271 on: February 01, 2013, 07:54:53 PM »

“It was an absolute god-damn miracle,” Hicks said through Bishop’s translation, “that your ship was in place to pick up our distress call.  “Although I cannot say that recognize your ships or uniforms—are you with the Federal European Union?”  He couldn’t say that their reception had been anything but friendly, even though the medical equipment for the scans that Ripley had insisted each of them received was rather . . . obsolete.  And his hand itched since they had confiscated all weapons and had armed guards present—but this didn’t feel like a hostage situation to the Colonial Marine.

Samantha Caldwell frowned at the translation.  “We are from the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, Corporal Hicks—where are you from?”

The survivors from Acheron looked at each other and then Ellen Ripley leaned forward.  “There are roughly seventy established colonies—the great majority of them mining outposts . . . I have never heard of an alliance of Colonies nor of Kobol.”

“Where are you from?” asked Samantha again—and this time, everyone heard the building excitement in her voice.  And they could her senior officers frown at the non-answers.

Gorman began to speak, but then Carter J. Burke smiled and placed both his hands on the table.  “These Marines are members of the United America Alliance; they were dispatched to Acheron to assist Weyland-Yutani Corporation in reestablishing contact.  We had heard—rumors,” he said glancing at Ripley, “that the settlement on Acheron was in grave danger and then we lost contact.  Now, as an executive of Weyland-Yutani, I am hap-. . .,”

“I want an answer—where are you from?” Samantha repeated herself.

“Earth,” said Ripley.  “We left Gateway Station in Earth orbit fifty-seven days ago.”

Major Caldwell sat back in her chair, and the Terran Marines—along with Bishop, Burke, and Ripley—could see the sudden exhilaration in her eyes.

“The Thirteenth Tribe—we’ve found the Thirteenth Tribe,” Caldwell said and Bishop dutifully translated her words.  And joy broke out on the faces of those sitting on her side of the table.

“Maybe I’m missing something here,” Burke said.  “What are you talking about?”

“Let me tell you a long story,” Samantha said with a smile.  “In the beginning . . .”
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Kwic

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Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
« Reply #272 on: February 01, 2013, 08:22:09 PM »

And it's not Adama who brings word of the 13th tribe, it's a former terrorist

Another excellent twist. Keep writing

Yes yes

More writing!
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Taron Storm

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Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
« Reply #273 on: February 01, 2013, 08:52:32 PM »

Wonder what the pucker factor is going to be when they truly realize that Bishop ain't human... ???  8)

Quick, someone check that Raptor to make sure there isn't a facehugger egg jammed somewhere... :o
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masterarminas

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Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
« Reply #274 on: February 01, 2013, 09:24:43 PM »

“Okay,” Hicks said an hour later after they had been left alone.  “This translation stuff is not working—Bishop, have we still got those flash-memory units on the Sulaco?”

Gorman and Burke smiled—while Hudson and Vasquez winced.  Ripley just looked confused.

“Oh.  They were developed while you were . . . indisposed,” Burke said.  “It is a learning tool that allows you to implant knowledge in a person’s mind.  “It was going to revolutionize instruction . . . until we found out the side-effects,” he shrugged.

“Side-effects?” asked Ripley.

“Yeah,” answered Hicks.  “If you use the damn thing too much, it causes irreversible brain damage.  But in moderation, it allows a Marine to implant something he needs to know—like a language.  They quit making them, but the Corps never recalled them—they just quit using them routinely.”

He paused.  “Do we have any?”

“Twenty should be in storage—and we do have a Greek language upload available; however, the dialects differ, but it will make communication simpler.”  And Bishop looked, uncomfortable.  “They appear very . . . phobic about artificial life.  I am having . . . difficulties understanding how these ‘Cylons’ could have done what they are claiming.”

“I’m not,” said Ripley, remembering Ash from the Nostromo.  “I think it is best that we not mention you are a syn- . . . an artificial person, Bishop.”

“Well, they are already wondering why Bishop didn’t get a full scan like the rest of us,” said Hudson.  “I don’t think that they bought the ‘he was never alone’ story.”

“You are all missing the point,” said Burke.  “We’ve got an incredible opportunity here.  We are the ones who have discovered these people, after all.”

“Actually they found us,” said Bishop.

Burke frowned.  “Beside the point.  Look, their technology is backward in a lot of ways, sure.  But this instantaneous FTL tech, what they call jumping?  This is the motherlode—if we play this right, we can come out of this richer than any of you ever dreamed.”

“We are Colonial Marines of the United Americas Alliance, Mister Burke,” said Lieutenant Gorman.  “Not employees of Weyland-Yutani.  We are not allowed to profit on anything we discover on a deployment—never mind that these people own the rights.”

“That’s a technicality,” said Burke as he smiled and raised his hands.  “I can promise you that Weyland-Yutani will not forget the people who brought this to them?”

“Like you didn’t forget the colonists you sent out to that ship, Burke?” Ripley said.  “Like you were willing to risk every one of our lives by trying to bring those alien specimens aboard the ship?  What were you going to do—smuggle them past ICC Quarantine?”

“Not possible,” said Hicks.   â€œNo unknown living organism goes through quarantine—none.”

“Keep on thinking that, Corporal Hicks,” Burke grinned.  “And like I said, Ripley, I made a bad call—it was a bad call.  But with this?  This will wash the slate clean for all of us.  With exclusive rights—of which each of you will get a few percent, I’ll even include the little girl to make up for what she’s been through—we can write our own tickets.”

“You know,” Hicks said.  “They don’t strike me as the type to let themselves get taken by a snake-oil salesman, Burke.  Not at all—and I think if we are going to go with them and meet their President, you need to tone down your greed.  It shows.”

“President,” Burke laughed.  “It isn’t governments that make things work—it is the corporations.  They’ll understand that—it’s how things are done.”

Ripley shook her head.  “Only for us, and only today, Burke.  Didn’t they teach you history?”

“History is written by the victors, Ripley.”

“Yes it is, Mister Burke,” said Gorman.  “And frankly, we aren’t the right people to be making this contact with the Colonials.  When we get back aboard Sulaco, I am going to inform the Commandant as regulations stipulate, and the Alliance can send out trained diplomats.  Hopefully they will get here before the vultures from the Three Worlds Empire, the China-Asian Congress, the Soviet Pact, the Pan-African Assembly, the Caliphate, or the Federated European Union arrives on scene.”

“You do that and we all get cut out.  No one will get rights, the government will step in and sell it off piece by piece to the highest bidder!” sputtered Burke.  “You are throwing away a fortune.”

“But I’m keeping my soul, Mister Burke,” Lieutenant Gorman said quietly.  “It isn’t all about money.  Bishop, let’s see if Major Caldwell will let us go back to Sulaco and place a call—or if we are actually prisoners here.”  And he looked directly at Burke and glared at him.  “And while we are there, I will authorize a nuclear strike on the alien ship that Ripley and Nostromo found.  It’s the only way to be sure.”

Burke sputtered, but the other Marines smiled at Gorman and nodded, even Ripley.  But then Vasquez grinned and she leaned in close.  “You’re still an asshole, you know that?  But you’re an okay asshole, Gorman.  A Marine asshole.”
« Last Edit: February 01, 2013, 09:44:42 PM by masterarminas »
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Shadow_Wraith

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Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
« Reply #275 on: February 01, 2013, 09:39:36 PM »

Nice update!
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Dragon Cat

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Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
« Reply #276 on: February 01, 2013, 09:41:15 PM »

Mr Burke meet Tom Zarek - I think those two will get on just fine

still reading despite the crossover element - I'll forgive it for the good writing
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Really, as long as there is an unbroken line of people calling themselves "Clan Nova Cat," it doesn't really matter to me if they're still using Iron Wombs or not. They may be dead as a faction, but as a people they still exist. It's not uncommon in the real world, after all.

masterarminas

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Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
« Reply #277 on: February 01, 2013, 10:29:20 PM »

Saul Tigh held the hatch open for his wife, and then he entered the conference room on Galactica, and he stopped dead cold.  The Admiral was present, along with Lee Adama and Commander Lorne.  So was the President and her aide Tory.  And Athena.  But Galen Tyrol and Starbuck were here as well, and that resistance leader from Caprica—Samuel Anders.  And one of the Cavil Cylons dressed in the uniform of a Fleet Chaplain.

“What the frack is the toaster doing here?” he snarled, and then he nodded a sort-of apology at Athena.  She wasn’t happy, but she nodded—and then she smiled.  Why did she smile, Saul asked himself.

“He’s here, Colonel because I asked him here,” said the Admiral.  He poured several glasses of Ambrosia—big glasses, and then he straightened up.  “Brother Cavil is going to ask you to do something—all of you.  Don’t ask questions, I just want you to do it.”

Saul frowned again and Brother Cavil stepped forward.  “Colonel Tigh, would you stand there?” he asked.   â€œMister Anders, take his hand, and the hand of Miss Tigh.”  He stepped up next to Ellen and handed her his hand, and then he nodded at Tory.  “Miss Foster,” he said holding out his other hand, “then Athena, and finally Chief Tyrol.  Galen, would you take Colonel Tigh’s hand please?”

“Bill,” Saul growled.  But Adama shook his head, and Saul clasped Tyrol’s hand in his own.

And then Sam Anders, Athena, and Cavil began to chant a simple mantra.  And something in Saul’s head went CLICK.  It was as if the floodgates of memory opened and he remembered EVERYTHING from his entire life—including the events on Joyita, the terror at being captured by the Cylons, the pain of the memory extraction process, the death of his original body and his rebirth as a Cylon.  He remembered it all.  And he finally remembered every single detail of the last fourteen years perfectly.

His alcoholism, which began after Joyita; Ellen’s promiscuity; he remembered every single error of judgment he had made over fourteen years; all in response to the pain he did not even know he carried.  Every time he let Bill down, he remembered in absolute perfection.  And Saul Tigh fell to his knees holding his head.

“Gods,” he whispered.  “Gods,” he cried.

And then Bill Adama was there and he handed him a glass—and Saul drank it all on one swallow.

“What the frack was that?” Starbuck said, and Sam turned to here.  He had a very sad look on his face, and he took her hands.

“Kara,” he said gently, “we—Saul, Ellen, Galen, Tory, and me—we are the last Five of the Cylons.”

Starbuck jerked away.  She shook her head, and a look just washed over her face.  “No.  NO.” she said as she limped back—the brace on her leg keeping her from bending her knee.

Saul got to his feet and he held Ellen, who was crying, and he sighed.  “We are, Captain Thrace,” he said.  “Gods help us, we are.”

Tyrol was just staring at Athena, “You knewBoomer knew?”

“Boomer did not know—nor did Athena.  Our memories of you were stolen from all of the Cylons by our creator—Daniel Graystone,” Brother Cavil answered.  “You know the truth, Galen Tyrol.  Search your memories.”

And the deck chief’s face went pale.

Adama stepped forward.  “We,” he said gesturing towards Lee and Mathias and Laura, “have known about this since Sidewinder boarded this ship—but only a few others have been informed and so far they have kept their mouths shut.  That is going to change.  NONE of you five have committed any crimes,” he said with a glance at Laura who stood with no emotion at all playing over her features, “you are innocent.  This is something that was done to you—a crime that was committed on your bodies and your minds.”

Mathias nodded his agreement and he spoke up.  “Accept the truth, and know that none of us here see any of you differently than we did.”

“FRACK THAT!” yelled Starbuck.  “THEY ARE CYLONS!” she screamed.  “AND YOU KNEW?”  She paused and shook her head again, and grabbed her crutch and moved towards the hatch.

“Kara, wait,” Sam said as he grabbed her arm, and she jerked away from him and spun around to punch him with a loud CRACK. 

“DON’T YOU EVER TOUCH ME AGAIN, YOU FRACKING TOASTER!”

And she stormed out, leaving Sam sitting on the deck, holding his jaw.

“That went better than I expected,” said Lee.  “Drink, Mister Anders?”

“I need one,” he said as he slowly stood back up, accepting a glass from the Commander of Pegasus.

Tory turned to Laura.  “This is why I was assigned to Baltar, Madame President?  You couldn’t trust me anymore?”

“I don’t trust you, Miss Foster,” she said in a cold voice.  “And I will expect your resignation on my desk by morning,” then she smiled.  “I have agreed to take no action against you—that doesn’t mean I have to work with you.”

“But I wasn’t a part of the at- . . .,” Tory began.

“I don’t care, Miss Foster.  Pack your things—you are not staying on Colonial One nor are you working for me.”

Tory’s eyes flashed.  “Madame President, I . . .,” but Laura cut her off.

“No.  My mind is made up.  I will not have a Cylon working in my office.”

She flushed.  Even with her dark skin it was clear that Tory flushed and everyone could tell she was angry beyond words, and then she smiled. 

“Athena,” she said, turning her head to face Sharon.  “Hera is alive.  The President ordered Cottle to fake her death and gave the child to Maya—her new assistant—to adopt.  I will testify under oath that she ordered the kidnapping of your daughter and then had Cottle tell you she died in childbirth.  Frack you, Madame President!” she snapped, and stormed off.

And everyone’s jaw dropped.
« Last Edit: February 01, 2013, 11:00:55 PM by masterarminas »
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Dragon Cat

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Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
« Reply #278 on: February 01, 2013, 10:59:31 PM »

"politics as dangerous as combat"

"Only you can die more than once in politics"

:)
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My stuff, and my AU timeline follow link and enjoy

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Really, as long as there is an unbroken line of people calling themselves "Clan Nova Cat," it doesn't really matter to me if they're still using Iron Wombs or not. They may be dead as a faction, but as a people they still exist. It's not uncommon in the real world, after all.

Warclaw

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Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
« Reply #279 on: February 01, 2013, 11:03:26 PM »

Roslin appears bound and determined to prove even to her supporters that she's unsuited to her office.

As each new revelation and her reactions/prior actions become known, there appears to be fast approaching a time where it will become obvious that almost anyone else would be a better choice.  She's in FAR over her head/level of ability and her feet are planted on loose sand.

What happens next?  That'll depend on the military response to these new revelations.  Kidnapping of an innocent child?  What's next?  Assassination of political enemies?  Abolition of civil liberties?  President for Life?
How much can Adama stomach?
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Taron Storm

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Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
« Reply #280 on: February 01, 2013, 11:13:52 PM »

Roslin appears bound and determined to prove even to her supporters that she's unsuited to her office.

As each new revelation and her reactions/prior actions become known, there appears to be fast approaching a time where it will become obvious that almost anyone else would be a better choice.  She's in FAR over her head/level of ability and her feet are planted on loose sand.

What happens next?  That'll depend on the military response to these new revelations.  Kidnapping of an innocent child?  What's next?  Assassination of political enemies?  Abolition of civil liberties?  President for Life?
How much can Adama stomach?

And where will Lorne draw the line and act...
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Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
« Reply #281 on: February 02, 2013, 12:23:35 AM »

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Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
« Reply #282 on: February 02, 2013, 01:04:16 AM »

Nicely done
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masterarminas

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Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
« Reply #283 on: February 02, 2013, 01:23:57 AM »

Hamish sighed and he shook his head.  “I picked up survivors from the Thirteenth Tribe and discovered the stuff of my worst nightmares all in the same day, Major,” he said, lifting a cup of tea towards Sam, who sat behind her desk in the very small office accorded to her as commander aboard the old Anubis.  “You are going to let them go back to their ship and rain fiery death down upon those creatures?”

Sam snorted.  “They don’t need to for the colony if these projections are accurate—forty plus megatons?”  She shook her head.  “That’ll take of the infestation.  But this ship, this derelict that they found with eggs?”  She sighed.  “Yeah, I think I’m going to let them do it.”

She picked up her own china cup and took a sip.  “I cannot believe how slow their ships are in FTL,” she mused.  “I mean, their computer and medical technology is an order of magnitude . . .,”

“At least,” said Hamish.

“. . . greater than our own,” Sam finished with a slight look of exasperation on her face.  And that ship carries directed energy weapons—lasers and particle beam cannons.  Working DEWs,” she shook her head again.  “My gods, it is the holy grail that the Fleet has been pursing for decades.”

“To tell the truth, Major,” Hamish said after he placed the cup on its saucer, “I was even more impressed that their ship basically operates itself.  That level of computing technology is something that the Colonies have forsaken since the creation of the Cylons.  Now, of course, from speaking with them, it operates better with a crew, but even so, at full strength that ship requires just ninety.  And that . . . cryogenic hibernation,” he sounded out the unfamiliar word, “technology they have allows them to carry up to two thousand troops for a brief spell.  Impressive.”

“And worrisome,” Sam said.  “What happens if the Guardians—or our allied Cylons,” she said with a snort, “decide to launch a cyber attack on that ship’s computers?”

“Actually, I think these people could probably give the Cylons a run for their money in that area.  Consider what they were doing down there on the surface, Major.  Terraforming the lunar atmosphere.  The sheer audacity involved in that, and for them?  It’s just routine.  Breathtaking . . . and terrifying.”

“Well, it’s not all doom and gloom, Captain,” Sam smiled.  “Our FTL is much faster for cross long-distances.  To get from here to the Colonies in their ships would take them fourteen years, not eight months.  They haven’t discovered tylium, and our ships are much more responsive in normal space—and other than those energy weapons, our kinetics and missiles are at least on par with their own.  Not to mention our EVA and flight suits are far less burdensome than theirs.”

“True, but they also have FTL comm,” Hamish pointed out.  “That is worth a hell of lot right there.”

“Only if you can move ships to exploit it—which they cannot, Captain.  At least not quickly.”

She sat back and took another sip of the tea.  “I think I am going to let them go back over there—you feel up to flying them, Captain?”

“Certainly, Major.  If that means I have an opportunity to tour that ship, most definitely.” Hamish took another sip and then he sat down the cup and saucer and leaned forward.  “Major, it may be none of my concern, but what are you doing associated with the SFM?  I mean a decorated officer of the line—scuttlebutt says you were up for an XO slot on a Mercury-class.  What happened?”

Sam winced.  And then she sighed.  “Admiral Adama and Commander Lorne—a few others in the Colonial Fleet—already know, as does the crew on this ship.  None of them have spilled the beans?”

“Not one, Major.”

She snorted.  “Will wonders ever cease?  Okay, you want the nitty-gritty?  Four years ago I was a rising star in the Fleet.  Made Major on my 27th birthday and was assigned to Fleet Headquarters, Picon.  It was supposed to be a six-month tour, to be followed by assignment as Operations Officer on a Battlestar—and then early promotion to Colonel and XO,” she smiled.  “Those were the days, I was going to make Colonel before my 30th,” she said.  “I had already served under Commander Lorne—only he was Colonel Lorne at the time—on the old Athena, so I knew him well.  Everything went fine, until Admiral Corman brought his staff to Caprica seventy days after I began working for him.”

“We went to the Presidential Retreat to meet with Adar and we were staying for the entire weekend.  Long story short, Captain, the President got drunk and he got rather too friendly.  I wound up kicking him in the balls.”

Hamish blinked.  But Sam didn’t stop.

“His security took me into custody and held me without counsel for four days—no food, no visitors, no showers, nothing.  They didn’t even question me.  And on the fifth day, Admiral Corman came in with a list of charges filed against me, for assaulting Adar.”

“I told him what happened, and he shrugged.  He said there were no witnesses to any impropriety on the part of the President, and were a dozen affidavits stating that I had made sexual advances to him and been rebuffed, which is when I attacked him without provocation.”

“He gave me a choice.  I could press charges against the President and they would be dismissed.  Whereupon I would be charged in full and spend the next twenty years at hard labor.  Or, I could resign my commission and forfeit all pay and benefits and the incident would be forgotten.”

She lowered her head.  “I demanded to speak with an attorney—that was denied.  I told Admiral Corman that I would go to the media, and he laughed.  He said that my tribunal—military tribunal—was already assembled and if I did not resign then and there and sign non-disclosure agreement, then I would be tried, convicted, sentenced, and shipped off world that same day.”

“So I signed,” she said.  “I signed the paper and I resigned my commission and then I found out that Adar used his political connections to have every application I made for employment black-balled.  My bank accounts had been seized for tax evasion and I was denied credit from anyone except a loan shark—apparently his people wrecked that for me too.  I was working in a waitress in the slums outside of Caprica City—only legal job I could get—when I met Jon Namer.  And we talked.  And that was my last shift in that greasy spoon where customers felt that they could fondle my ass if they left me a quarter-cubit tip.”

“I never looked back, Captain Malcolm,” she said.  “Does that surprise you?”

“Based on what I come to expect from you, Major, the only thing that surprises me is that you left Adar alive,” Hamish answered.

And she chuckled.  “I had some faith at the moment it happened that the system would work—it doesn’t.  It didn’t.  In the end though, it probably saved my life.  Otherwise I would have been on one of those Battlestars and not at Charon.”  She sighed again.  “Now, unless you have more questions that do not concern you, Captain, why don’t you fly our guests back to their ship so that they can nuke those creatures and grab their tooth-brushes.  I have some work to finish.”

Hamish stood and he gave a slight bow.  “The Major commands, and I obey,” he said with a smile.

“Damn straight,” Sam answered.
« Last Edit: February 02, 2013, 01:28:48 AM by masterarminas »
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masterarminas

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Re: The Hunted (nBSG)
« Reply #284 on: February 02, 2013, 12:03:04 PM »

“Athena,” Tory said, turning her head to face Sharon. “Hera is alive. The President ordered Cottle to fake her death and gave the child to Maya—her new assistant—to adopt. I will testify under oath that she ordered the kidnapping of your daughter and then had Cottle tell you she died in childbirth. Frack you, Madame President!” she snapped, and stormed off.

And everyone’s jaw dropped.

Shock as much as anything saved the life of President Roslin at that moment, because despite her Cylon speed and reaction time and strength, Athena was stunned—at least for a brief moment.  Athena surged forward and Laura Roslin gasped as those extremely angry fingers reached out for her throat—and stopped dead just inches from Laura Roslin’s skin before being pulled back; Saul grabbed the furious woman from behind, and Anders had tackled her around the waist—she still almost managed to connect with a vicious right hook thrown as she went to the deck, but Brother Cavil grabbed her arm and got thrown himself into the bulkhead for his troubles, but Galen caught the fist and held before she could resume her swing.

And even as the two Adamas and Mathias finally started moving (and a white-faced Laura backed up against the bulkhead) Ellen was already kneeling next to Sharon as Saul and Sam’s combined weight held her down on the floor, and Galen Tyrol still held her clenched right fist.  “Not this way, Athena,” she said.  “She wants you to hit her—that will let her get away with this and throw you away forever—we will get your daughter back to you, sister,” she hissed.

“I WANT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!” Athena snarled, her attention totally focused on Laura, tears of pure rage, mixed with . . . a kaleidoscope of hope, relief, and fear, streaming down her cheeks.

Mathias shook his head and he looked at Lee and the Admiral—and they were just as stunned as he was—as Athena was.  They didn’t know, he thought as his jaw worked—they didn’t know.

“Saul,” the elder Adama growled, “take who you need and get her,” he said pointing at Athena, “back to Helo’s quarters—Lee, grab Helo and take him there and use Marines if you must, but make him stay there.  Everyone else—except the President—OUT.”

Athena was still clawing and struggling and writhing trying to get away from Saul and Anders, shouting imprecations and threats of a very imaginative physical violence.  But with the help of Cavil—rubbing his shoulder from where he had impacted against the metal bulkhead—and Ellen and Galen and Sam, Saul managed to get the Athena over to the hatch and outside in the corridor.  And Lee closed the hatch behind him, shutting it off to at least slow down the Raptor pilot if she broke free.

She quit struggling and started to sob, collapsing down to the deck and Ellen held her there—even as Saul and Sam kept a strong grip on her arms, just in case.

“That included you, Commander Lorne,” Adama said in the now almost empty conference room. 

Mathias ignored him for a moment and he glared at the President—who met his gaze unflinchingly.  “You told me Admiral,” he whispered, “there was a line that I had dare not cross—a point past which you would not be pushed.  I, too, have such a line, Sir.  And this,” he said waving a hand at the closed hatch and the President, “more than crosses it.”

“I said GET OUT, Commander Lorne,” Adama growled again, and Mathias just looked at Adama—and the younger man realized that this was what pure furious anger looked like on the Admiral.  He nodded. 

“Aye, aye, SIR,” he answered, walking over to the hatch, opening it, stepped through, and closed it behind him.

Bill Adama shook—he literally shook—and he picked up one of the glasses and took a deep swallow of Ambrosia.  Then he threw the empty glass against the bulkhead where it shattered.

“What were you thinking?” he barked.

Laura stepped forward and her expression was grim.  “I want Lieutenant Agathon arrested—she tried to assault me in front of witnesses.  Put her in the brig, Admiral.”

“Laura, she had every right to land that punch—and you are lucky that Saul and Anders grabbed her in time.”

The President smiled—and there was absolutely no humor in that smile.  “She tried to assault the President of the Colonies; and now she is going to the brig.”

“YOU LIED TO ME!” Bill thundered, and then he collected himself. “You stole that child from her mother and father and you lied to them, you lied to the Fleet, you lied to me, Laura.  In the gods name, WHY?”

“The child is important, Admiral,” she said with a faraway look in her eyes.  “I’ve seen her in my visions—seen her running through the Opera House.  I’ve seen Lieutenant Agathon chasing after her and myself running a race to get to her first.  She’s the key to our future.”

“Your visions?  YOUR VISIONS?” Adama asked, “You never stopped taking the chamalla extract did you, Madame President?”

“And the Lords anointed a leader to guide the caravan of the heavens to their new homeland. And unto the leader, they gave a vision of serpents, numbering two and ten, as a sign of things to come,” Laura quoted.  “I am that leader—I have had the vision of serpents, Admiral.  I am the dying leader Pythia foretold who would lead humanity to the promised land.”

“Y-you,” Adama stammered and then he forced himself to calm down.  “You stole away a child because of this religious NONSENSE?  Have you lost your fracking mind, Madame President?”

“No, Admiral,” Laura answered in a very cold voice.  “That child is the key—a key that I will not let any Cylon possess.  I did what I must, as a . . . National Security Measure I signed an executive order for the removal of Hera from the Agathons in order to protect this Fleet.”

“You told them she was dead—you told me she was dead!” Adama barked.

“I did no such thing,” Laura said with a smile.  “Doctor Cottle told them—and you—that the child had died.  And once Athena is in the brig again, then I might consider allowing Captain Agathon to see his daughter—until then, Hera will not have contact with either of them.”

“That decision is no longer yours, Madame President.”

“Are you going to launch another coup, Admiral?  I have the law—enough of it—on my side.  Hera is part Cylon, and keeping her in a neutral environment where she is not aware of that is vital—I know that.  I have seen that.”

“Do you think that the Courts are going to agree with you, Laura?” Adama asked.  “They will remove Hera from your custody and return her to her parents—and you will be charged with a heinous crime.”

Laura flushed.  “She’s a Cylon—she’s not a person, she’s a thing, Admiral.  Get it through your head.  We made them.  We built them.  I don’t care if they look like us now or not—they are things!”

“Somehow, I doubt that High Justice Lampkin will see it that way,” Adama growled.

“Bill, you have to trust me,” Laura began, and Adama cut her off.

“Trust you?  TRUST YOU!?!  Madame President, you went behind my back and you did an atrocious criminal act—you stole a fracking child, you told the child’s mother and father she had died, you gave her to another woman.”

“Her mother is fracking Cylon!”

“I DON’T CARE!” Adama thundered.  “She’s a person, a real live person, Laura, and you need to start understanding RIGHT THE FRACK NOW that she is an officer of the Colonial Fleet with every right and privilege and responsibility thereof,” Adama gritted his teeth, and he seethed with anger.  “You betrayed my trust, Madame President.  And you will be lucky if I don’t throw your fracking ass back into my brig!  NOW GET OFF MY SHIP!”

“Bill . . .,” Laura began.

“LEAVE!  Or by the Gods I will have you thrown off my fracking Battlestar,” Adama snarled before he turned and stormed off.  Leaving Laura Roslin, the President of the Twelve Colonies standing alone.
« Last Edit: February 02, 2013, 01:36:45 PM by masterarminas »
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