StarDestroyer.Net BBS

I had a hunch that the click under the table was not a gun, and I was right. Very good read there.

I wonder how many people are going to volunteer for the next mission, when Tyrol and Hadrian tell them about the ale.

I find it surprising Al's first thought was, "I'm sorry I doubted you [Mal]," instead of, "What kind of drugs are your [Mal's] new friends pumping into you?" when he read the Colonial report on the human model Cylons. It might help to include more details, or have Hadrian accompany Mal to meet Al and prove she's from another human civilization.

Thanks for the reviews, Good pionts there. To address them;

A) only Mal would be allowed back to see Al, and not a military-trained-looking stranger. Al trusts Mal, but wanted a reason to turn him down out of resentment.


B) Al is looking for more purpose to fight the Alliance, especially after a lost war. I kept thet "Mal Explains" part short, so I did not repeat myself. Any suggestions on a better way to do that??

This is my first fic, after all.

If a better way comes across, I will use it, but will probably not go back to re-write it until later as ia am trying to move the plot forward.

Thank you all

DrMckay wrote: B) Al is looking for more purpose to fight the Alliance, especially after a lost war. I kept thet "Mal Explains" part short, so I did not repeat myself. Any suggestions on a better way to do that??

I'd suggest a line referring to all the evidence Mal could've shown him. You don't need to detail it, just point out it was there. Otherwise it sounds like Al is just taking Mal's word.

Also, this story is MOST EXCELLENT!

Does it sound to anyone else like that click at the end is someone cocking a real gun?

More more more!! You write the serenity crew real well keep it up!

I did get the impression that Al believed Mal too quickly. Also, he seemed sure that people in the Alliance military would believe evidence provided by the Browncoats with little convincing. This seems a little unrealistic.

Of course, if the Browncoats were already in contact with elements of the Alliance military who thought there was something unusual going on with the government, Mal is just providing the missing link that explains what is going on.

NEW CHAPTER UP!!

Sorry for the wait; finals, graduation, and all, so I've been raw-ther busy...

Anyway, Enjoy, and feedback, nice comments and ego-stroking are always welcome...



Chapter 7: Take a Deep Breath…

Some folks are born,
Made to wave the flag,
Ooh, that red, white, and blue,
And when the band plays,
“Hail to the Chief,”
Ooh, they point the cannon at you…

-“Fortunate Son”
Creedence Clearwater Revival


PEGASUS BRIG,
AFTER THE BATTLE


Marie Nimitz was far from stupid. She was however confused. Who exactly were these Colonials? Why were they here? And why had that idiot, Harken ordered an attack when he was outnumbered and outgunned?

The Pegasus brig had several cells, each fronted with soundproof, and she assumed, armored glass. One Crew member was ushered into each cell, with a soldier in black combat fatigues at each door. After an hour or so, Marie felt, and her eyelids drooping from the adrenaline letdown. She dozed off, only to be awakened by the hiss of the door opening, and Commander Lee Adama entering the cell carrying a brown folder.

“Sleep well?”

She blinked a couple of times, shrugged,

“Aside from the lack of a bed, yeah, just fine, thanks.”
Lee gestured to the soldier outside and two metal, uncomfortable-looking chairs were brought into the room.

He nodded at the chair,

“Have a seat, let’s talk”

Marie sat in the chair, at attention, looked Lee in the eye;

“Is this the part where you convince me of my wicked, wicked ways?”

Lee stared right back.

“This is the part where you tell me why you joined the military of a government that conducts medical tests and surgical experiments on little girls.”

Marie bristled

“I know you lot aren’t Browncoats, but you sound like ‘em, always talking about Gho-su (shit) like that in the ‘War. Prove it, if you’ve got a mind to.”

He nodded, pulled out a piece of paper with English and Mandarin writing over the familiar picture of a young girl with the haunted eyes.

“Have you ever seen a reward bulletin for the capture of River Tam?”

She had. Everyone had. They were posted all over the mess. Dipped her head in acknowledgment.

Lee continued,

“I have an affidavit signed by Dr. Simon Tam, as well as Galactica’s Doc Cottle, Admiral Adama, and President Roslin that upon medical examination of Ms. Tam, it became evident that her skull was cut open and parts of her brain were removed or tampered with. Multiple times. Her amygdale or the part of brain that regulates emotional control has been removed entirely.”

Lee handed her another paper, the medical report. Nimitz skimmed it and paled.

“Now’s your chance to convince me you had no part in this.”

“Commander Adama, I come from a military family, tradition going back six hundred years, and have relatives in High Command. A lot is expected. Seeing as how you’ve got an Admiral named also ‘Adama,’"

Lee’s eyes flicked up,

“I’m going to go out on a limb and assume you know something of my reasons for joining military service. As for joining the fighter corps, well, I love to fly, simple as that. Damn good, too, provided I’ve got a decent bird under me.”

“I do not approve of medical experimentation on humans.”

Well, thought Lee, At least I’m making some kind of progress here.

He then proceeded to give her a brief history of the Colonies, Cylon War and the flight from the Colonies, as well as multiple photos of Aaron Doral, some in Colonial dress, some in the dress of a Minister of Parliament.

Lee concluded,

“Since the Cylons are already here, there is no telling how far they have subverted your government. Or how much of the Alliance Fleet they have sabotaged. Lieutenant Nimitz, it is in your own best interests to help us.”

Marie stood, followed by Lee,

“Be that as it may Commander Adama, I have taken an oath of loyalty to the Alliance Fleet and the government it defends. If it is directly threatened, by the Cylons, and you can provide more evidence than some poor-quality photographs, I will assist you.

Until then, the only information about the organization you will obtain from me is my name; Marie Elizabeth Nimitz, my rank: Lieutenant, Junior Grade, and my serial number: AF 93460528. Good day, Commander.”

She saluted, and Lee returned it.

Before he left, Lee left her with a final thought, and the last word;

“The sole reason your ship was destroyed was Cylon manipulation. Melodrama aside, I hope for your sake that is all the information we require from you. Sleep well, Lieutenant.”

She had seen the explosion of the Dortmunder, and had lost most of her friends, her family, and all that remained were two men in cells next to hers. For their sake, she would not cry.


TWO DAYS LATER

ASTEROID BELT, BIRNHAM QUADRANT
RAG-TAG FLEET
BATTLESTAR GALACTICA,

After viewing the entire ‘Verse from Serenity’s navcom, Admiral Adama determined that the most sensible course of action was to travel to the ‘Belt, a large ring of mineral rich asteroids on the near the Birnham Quadrant to search for tylium fuel as well as ore for the construction of new Vipers on Pegasus. The databanks also mentioned that comets had been captured, so the possibility of gaining more water was open as well. Bill Adama wanted his fleet in top fighting form for any potential conflict with the Cylons or Alliance vessels. After Roslin agreed, the fleet had jumped.

They had emerged on the far edge to avoid detection by mining vessels, as most would not venture out that far. The database had not mentioned any other threats or notable aspects, but Mal had passed on word about Reavers and their probable habits.

Despite the fact that these pirates sounded like something out of a make-believe tale to frighten children, Adama would not be taken off guard. After Armistice Day, there had been little for the Colonial fleet to do besides hunt pirates and arrest smugglers. Bill Adama was very accomplished at both. Three twisted hunks of modified and garishly-painted First-war Cylon Basestars still disintegrating around Gemenon Lagrange-3 could attest to that. As soon as Raptor runs yielded evidence of Tylium and ore, Adama ordered a double-strength CAP. As the asteroids were playing hell with the Dradis, long range Viper patrols were dispatched as well. This was harder on the pilots and “knuckle-draggers” especially with Tyrol gone, but Deck Chief Laird from the Pegasus had dispatched a competent subordinate, and more nuggets were signing up for the Pegasus-based Flight School every day. Seemed like everyone wanted to be the next “Starbuck.”

Actually, it had been her idea to transfer two flight simulators from Pegasus to the Cloud Nine Promenade, and open to all. Children as young as twelve were volunteering, but Adama was not that desperate yet.

So far, the mining was proceeding without a hitch, and many in the fleet felt that they could relax a bit and breathe easy. D’Anna Biers said it best;

“Now it’s time to release that breath we’ve been holding for almost a year, to stop and appreciate life. This may be the last peaceful time for a while, and I for one intend to make the most of it.”

While smiles and uninterrupted sleep came easier, the alertness among the military had not slacked one iota. The combination of Saul Tigh and the two Adamas worked wonders for discipline, as well as incentives of extended shore leaves aboard Cloud Nine for noticeably hardworking personnel.

While Adama slept, Saul Tigh paced the CIC like a caged animal on third watch, waiting for something to go wrong. His pessimism was rewarded when the P.O. at the com. board instinctively reached for his headphone-covered ear before putting the message up on the CIC speakers.

“Sir, message from the Viper patrol! ‘Chopper’ and ‘Snitch’”

Galactica, ‘Chopper,’ Unknown craft heading directly at us. Looks like a frakkin’ junkyard! It hasn’t responded to our hails, and is maneuvering to bracket us. -elieve hostile intent, request permission to engage and destroy.”

“Sir,” Gaeta piped up; “I’m getting a lot of residual radiation from the area the patrol is in. It could be those Reavers Reynolds was telling us about.”

Tigh nodded, growling,

“Launch Vipers, set Condition One throughout the ship!”

Picked up the intercom again,

“‘Chopper’ this is Tigh, you’ve got reinforcements inbound to last reported position. Stay evasive, and put a burst across the thing’s nose, if it doesn’t turn around right away, frag it.”

“Yessir. Thank you sir.”

A moment later,

“Target destroyed”

Tigh picked up the cup of “coffee” he always took on watch, sipped and coughed. He turned to the P.O. at the com board.

“Get me Adama. Things just got even more frakkin’ complicated.”


BEAUMONDE,
SPACEPORT

It had been good seeing Brad again; He and Al had a good setup. The Maidenhead employees were Independent cell members, and rotated in and out of the city, to a Brad’s Farm, in the country where they would train. He had even seen fit to send some of his produce along for a “legit cargo” and to give the crew something fresh to eat. The produce had been crated in the cargo hold, and Serenity had lifted, bound for Athens Skyplex, the where the last recorded sighting of the Dixie had taken place, around four years prior.

It was the dead of night, the “Witching hour” as it were, when Gunny Jess Hadrian was awakened by a rap at her door.

After pulling on a pair of BDU’s, she slid open the door, dimmed lights revealing the figures of Mal, Jayne, and Al Bergstrom.

“Got something you should be aware of, Gunny.” Said Mal, “come quietlike”

As the four of them padded into the cargo hold, Al limped over to a set of produce crates in the middle, under the others, slid a panel out, and pulled out a large drawer on each one. The drawers contained the largest man-portable weapons that Hadrian had ever seen. As well as lots of ammunition.

“Frak me,” she muttered.

“Gorram,” grunted Jayne “looks like an AR was unfaithful with a cannon.” He grinned.

“Shiny.”

Al spoke up,

“These are Optimum Fire High Explosive-Delivering Rifles. Packs a 6.8 mm assault carbine on bottom, and a dumb-fire 20 mm cannon on top. Al picked these up military-er surplus. Figured they’d come in useful if we run into any Cylon Centurions-or hell, even light armor. They come for us; we arrange they should run into these. Simple as that”

“These should come in very handy,” mused Hadrian, “Thank you for trusting me with this knowledge, Captain.”

Despite the fact that all four of the people in the cargo bay were combat veterans, they failed to notice the figure of Inara Serra in the shadows at the top of the gantry.



LONDONIUM
HALL OF PARLIAMENT

It was a nondescript conference room, and there were thirty-nine others like it in the building.

A dark-skinned man in a blue tunic approached the door lock, and palmed in. The screen on the lock showed neither name, rank nor any kind of Ident number. Yet the door opened.

Parliamentary override.

The man walked into the conference room, stood at attention before the bland-looking brown-haired man who had assumed control over the New Cabinet so effectively.

“I await your orders sir.”

Doral paused for a minute, and slid a folder over the Operative, who opened it.

The first page bore a Special Directive authorizing him complete autonomy from all restrictions, as well as giving the bearer absolute authority over anyone in Alliance space, military or civilian.

Doral stared at the Operative, and then spoke;

“How would you like to bring about a better world, a world without sin?”

Ladies, Gentlemen, and fellow sentient beings not matching either of the preceding in manner, bearing or posture; (myself included,)

Join Me for a new Chapter in this exciting (I hope) Saga.

Kind comments and constructive criticism are appreciated, (ego stroking is always a plus,) with idiocy and general assholery cheerfully ignored.


Oh.

For those of you who notice, yes. I am name dropping.

Enjoy:




Chapter 8: ‘Til Death


If I should fall from grace with god,
Where no doctor can relieve me,
If I’m buried ‘neath the sod,
But the angels wont receive me,

Let me go, boys,
Let me go, boys,
Let me go down in the mud,
Where the rivers all run dry,

-If I Should Fall From Grace with God
The Pogues


SERENITY,
ONE DAY FROM ATHENS

Something in Mal had changed since the reunion with his old comrades. He became uncommunicative on matters other than what was absolutely necessary to run the ship, and two nights after lifting from Beaumonde, Mal had shut himself in his bunk with a bottle of cheap sake, no glasses, and orders not to be disturbed unless something went cataclysmically wrong. The crew was worried, and even Al and Zoë who had known him the longest, didn’t know what was bothering him.

It was dinner, and Mal was not there, for the third night running.

“At least he’s not drinking on duty like some-,” said Cally, who then clamped her mouth shut at a pointed glare from Tyrol.

“You don’t know what it is?” asked Al

“You’ve known him longer than I, something happen early in the war, when you two served together?” Zoë returned.

“Met him about a year after it started, always seemed like he had a chip on his shoulder, even before Shadow was-er-”

“Made an ‘example’ of?” interjected Book,

“Yeah,” said Al, “Something’s eating at him, and the mood he’s in, I ain’t goanna be the one ta find out.”

“Speakin’ of eatin’,” Jayne mumbled through a mouthful, and shooting out a ladle-filled hand for more, “anyone here wanna eat the last bit of chi-”

-SMACK!-

Another ladle, this one in Inara’s hand gracefully, and firmly pinned Jayne’s hand to the table.

“I’ll take some dinner to Ma-him. Perhaps he’ll talk to me. Or at least eat something other than distilled rice.”

“Awww,” whined Jayne, “c’mon’ ‘Nara, the end of the stew’s got all the best stuff, the most insides.”

Inara made up a tray and left the room.

“Alright, Jayne,” sighed Zoë, “You can have the last of tomorrow’s stew, if you don’t complain any further.”

“Shiny, you got a deal.”

The rest of the seated diners smiled, except Hadrian, who smirked.

“What’s so ruttin’ funny?” he growled.

Fighting down laughter, Wash managed to get out,

“There’s the fact that we’re not having stew tomorrow.”

“GORRAMMIT! I’ll be in my bunk!” and with that, he clomped off.



********



Inara made her way to the ladder leading to Mal’s bunk. Managing to get down it with a tray was a challenge, but not impossible for a person with her coordination. She took a look around, and was surprised to see the formerly relatively neat, well-lit cabin in darkness and disarray. Mal’s prized collection of “real paper” books were scattered across the bed, and ration bar wrappers were all along the floor. The only light came from a small lamp on the desk, illuminating a half-full sake bottle, and the silhouette of a man bent over a slim volume.

His head turned, revealing messy hair and bloodshot eyes.

“Well,” he said, not slurring anything, “this is a bit of role reversal, ain’t it?”

He looks like hell, thought Inara, though not unkindly.

“I brought you dinner, and I am not intending to pry into your affairs, so, no, not exactly.”

“Still barged into my quarters, without my say-so,” he shot back, “you keep this up, your grammar’s like to go downhill, and you’ll take an interest in ‘petty thieving.’ ”

He quirked an eyebrow, almost mechanically, the riposte had no life in it, like he was doing it out of habit.”

Inara nodded to herself. The hell with habit, the hell with decorum! She slid the tray onto a table, and started in.

“Cut the crap, Mal.” His eyebrows shot up, “If you won’t drop the act and tell someone what this is all about, and get it off your chest, you will be no good to anyone, unfit to command- you don’t want Jayne taking over, do you?”

Mal cracked a small grin.

“Figured someone would come down here and say something like that, didn’t think it would be you.”

“Cliché as it may sound, Mal, there is no good holding your emotions inside all the time. If you won’t talk to anyone, there is no closure, no resolution for whatever is troubling you.”

Mal’s eyes narrowed,

“I wanted psychobabble, I’d talk to a psycho-whatever”

“Part of Companion training is psychology, Mal, It’s not just sex, it involves understanding someone’s innermost self.”

Mal gently rested his head in his crossed arms.

“I thought I said no psychobabble.” Came the muffled voice.

Picked his head up,

“’Nara, I ain’t ever told you how I feel-”

“You never had to.” She reached out her hand, Mal took it.

“What we got here on this boat is a family, mighty dysfunctional one, but made of people I’d do anything for.”

“I told you once; you can’t just open the book of my life and jump in the middle.”

“Mal-”



“Now I ain’t plannin’ on jumpin’ into the very beginning, but I feel I owe you some kind of explanation, as to why I shut myself off from y’all.”

He held up the book he had been examining, more of a pamphlet, really. Inara took a look at the cover. It showed the picture of a sizeable ranch, overlaid with elaborate lettering. It read;

Reynolds Academy Yearbook,
Class of 2501


“Bit of a joke, really, only six of us in the class, my Ma taught it when there was no work could be done, taught it well, mind you, just me and the other Hands’ kids. She wasn’t one for mean-spirited superiority over those as had less coin.”

“Kids didn’t treat me no different, we were all born within a year or two of each other, been together since before we was walkin’ and talkin’. Go ahead. Open it.”

The next page, slightly faded, showed six young men and women at a picnic. Three boys, two girls, and Mal, looking impossibly young and-well- happy. No glint of suspicion darkened his face. Only determination, and assuredness, like he could do anything.

He pointed each one out in turn, “That’s Katie on the left, burning the water, Johnny with the remote controlled rover, Jean with her nose out of a book for once, Ben with the spatula, and his nose in a pot, jambalaya, I believe that was, and of course, Jim, eyeballing Katie.”

Mal wiped a speck of ‘dust’ from his eyes, continuing,

“Month after that, the Burgesses began discussing the possibility of unifyin’ the colonies, we all joined the 57th Rim Rangers, sort of a grown-up version of Scouts, keep order and see the ‘Verse.” After the Burgesses was dissolved and ‘became’ Parliament, the Rangers were called to regular service, ‘cause we had no army.”

Looked at Inara “If I’m boring you?”

“No. Please go on.”

“57th Rim Rangers became the Overlanders and we went off to Advanced Training on this “Great Adventure,” too young and stupid to think it would go on past the first Christmas. Well, it did. The rest, as they say, is history. And so are they.”

He paused, swallowed.


“Johnny died in a training accident. During the Perth Campaign, Katie tried to defuse an unexploded bomb without the proper tools. Jim got his head blown off pulling one too many trench raids after Katie bought a plot. Ben. Ben died when the water went bad on Santo. And Jean-”

“She was-”

“Yeah. She was special. We- It’s done. Been done for a while.”

“Alliance was experimenting with some new kinda gas on Verbena. The platoon went it to take it out, which we did, and nearly got away clean. Then the Purplebellies got wise. Started shooting, and a slug got stopped by her gas mask pouch. Didn’t know it at the time. When we got out of sight, a skiff laid down a cloud of something all over the area.” We were almost out, but she caught a whiff through the bullet hole.”

Three weeks she lay in the evac hospital, paralyzed from the neck down and in pain the whole time. Docs couldn’t do anything, and finally one of them handed me an overdose of Morphia, turned around and left the room. There was nothing to say. I looked at her, held up the hypo, she nodded, and I- I took the pain away.”

“You did the right thing, Mal.” Inara said.

“I know that. I also made a promise that I wouldn’t lose any more family, if I could help it. Someow I ended up with a new one, on a new "Grand Adventure" and the promise stands. Anything happens to you-”

“With that arsenal amidst the carrots and potatoes in the hold, do you think it’s likely to?”

Mal looked puzzled for a minute.

“I have no idea what you’re- You sneaky little- wait. You’re not mad?”

“There is a war on, and everyone else seems to have taken up the hobby of arms collecting. I may as well bend with the trend. Did you ever stop to think I’d like one of those Optimum-Fire-”

“‘Nara, we just call ‘em BDG’s: Big Damn Guns.”

“Very well. I think I’ll keep it under the incense.

“If that even is incense.”

Her eyebrows shifted, ever so slightly.

“Mal, be silent, and eat the stew.”

“Yes Ma’am”




*********




BIRNHAM QUADRANT
RAG-TAG FLEET
CLOUD NINE

Gaius Baltar was confused, scared, and more than an ensey bit paranoid. After the attacks, those three emotional states had moved not only moved into his brilliant mind, but had set up permanent residence in the back, and, along with a certain very beautiful, rather vicious, and quite imaginary, had taken up residence next to the already present jealousy, genius and nymphomania that comprised the majority of his vaunted brain.

He had received a summons from someone claiming to have knowledge that would either raise him to new heights of personal power, or dash him to the proverbial space buzzards after he took a Roslin approved one-way trip through an airlock. Without a suit, of course.

But this was just his ample supplies of fear and imagination running far away with him. The note was short and to the point;



Corner table of the Starlight Lounge, ten AM, accept your destiny, or face your destruction.

-A friend

He went, he sat, and waited for whomever had sent him the note. Waited some more.

“Gaius.”

There it was. That voice, always in his mind, Taunting him.

Or over his shoulder. Gina.

She was wearing an unadorned black dress, darkened blond hair cascading down her back in a simple braid. Even Caprica had never looked so alluring. Or it was the fact that he hadn’t taken a Vice Presidential vacation in days. Probably the latter.

How dare she manipulate me like this?

He bristled;

“You could have picked a better way to get my attention. Perhaps one that didn’t frighten me half to death.”

He extended a hand to the booth across from him.

“Will you sit? Or would you like to be noticed?”

She sat.

“I simply pursued the course of action most likely to achieve a result. You. Here. Now.”

Now Gaius was just plain pissed,

“Patronization aside, did you actually call me here for something, or did you just want to prove you have leverage over me?”

“Very well. No more small talk or threats. The entire Demand Peace cell is set to hijack a ship and take it to the Alliance Government, which, as we know, is Cylon-controlled.”


Voice not rising above a whisper, Gaius started in;

“Are you mad? The same government that just fired upon the ‘Fleet, and sacrificed one of their own fessels for laughs? What makes you think for a split second that they won’t simply blow us to hell as well?”

“The fact that I am a Cylon, there are others, as well as possession of a suitcase full of blueprints of every ship in the fleet, and the size, strength, and disposition and morale of the personnel and equipment aboard Galactica and Pegasus. They don’t know how weak they really are.”

“You want me to come with you?

“Yes. You will provide the ‘carrot’ of scientific knowledge, as well as being a political representative.”

“Not a legitimate one if I do this!”

“Perhaps in the Alliance Government, then.”

Come now Gaius, teased the voice in his head, wealth, the fame of being a newly discovered human from an unexplored part of the galaxy, a research post, glamorous parties, many willing women. Do I have to spell it out for you any further?”

And while she was talking, the rest her perfectly formed body went to work on his.

Remember, Gaius, we do have an open… relationship.

“Oh Gods! Yes!” he exclaimed, loudly and with feeling. The majority of the Starlight lounge was suddenly paying very close attention to that section of the room.

Gaius flushed,

“Er-Um I mean. Of course I’ll do it. Which ship are we taking?”

“That’s not important.”

She rose.

“Come with me.”

“But there are so many matters I have to attend to-”

Whoever she is she can’t be that beautiful. Or that worthy of being killed over.

Gina had a very small bulge on her right hip. Barely noticeable, but it just screamed: ‘CONCEALED WEAPON!’

“Coming!”
*********

Sorry about the delay on the next chapter. it has gone through several re-writes, and it si entirely my fault. It should be ready within the next couple of days.



Here's a little something I found on youtube that relates to the story, and hopefully will tide you all over until the beginning of the next chapter.

I didn't make it, I wish I had...


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fH4lRhi1rMA

Next chapter up. Sorry for the wait.




Chapter 9: A Sea of Troubles

“Let us not rail about justice as long as we have arms and the freedom to use them!”


-Duke Leto Atreides,
from Frank Herbert’s Dune novels.




BIRNHAM QUADRANT
RAG-TAG FLEET
S.S. ADRIATIC BRIDGE



Ron Barkett, Captain-Owner of the Adriatic, was a suspicious, uncompromising man determined to protect his business and his home. If this involved attaching antiship missile batteries to his ship even in an age when piracy in the Colonies was almost completely gone, then so be it. It also meant that Adriatic was capable of defending herself quite well, as it proved in the initial Cylon assault on the Twelve Colonies. The crew collected on bar bets for weeks afterward when they finally showed sensor recordings proving that an older bulk freighter carrying a large cargo of fast-growing hybridized grain, among other items did in fact shoot down the six Cylon Raiders that menaced it on that first day. Eventually, Chief Tyrol had painted six large kill silhouettes on the bow, and the Galactica pilots had thrown an “Ace” party for the Adriatic bridge crew.

Which was why he was staring so intently at the shuttle from Cloud Nine now approaching his vessel.

“Ard?” He asked the com officer, “did we have a supply for the botanical crusier scheduled for today?”

“I think they got all the grain they could use last run,” Ard responded, “But I’ll check the manifest and shipping orders. Gimmie a sec.”

He bent over the console,

“Confirmed sir, Shuttle Eight at 0930 hours for a grain shipment.”

“They’re over half an hour early,” Barkett mused. “Good.”

As the airlock opened, and the shuttle crew strode in, the operations officer couldn’t help but notice that there was something familiar about one of the women, tall, with dark blond hair and glasses, but she looked like…he couldn’t place it. The other was older then her, bony, with a craggy, sarcastic face, and graying hair.

The woman was wearing a civilian flightsuit had a clipboard/storage box tucked under her left arm. She gestured at the clipboard,

“Here’s a list of the amount of wheat I’m supposed to pick up, I’m going to need to see your captain for a sign off on the manifest.”

“Um. Sure.” He mumbled, “Follow me.” He set off down the corridor to the bridge.

A minute later, he turned and regarded her with a quizzical glance;

“ ’Scuse me, Ma’am but Have you made this supply run before? Because you look awful fa-”

“Oh look,” she said, indicating the bridge door, “We’re here”

The ops officer swiped an ID card through a slot on the side, and, fumbling a bit, while the woman crossed her arms impatiently, he pulled the door open.

“Thank you,” she said, and shot him in the leg with one of the two small automatic pistols she produced from a compartment in the storage section of the clipboard. The other, she handed to the man behind her, and together, they entered the Adriatic’s bridge, guns raised

“Hands up!” shouted the man, “get away from the consoles and against the wall!”

As the bridge crew complied, Gina quickly and efficiently bound their hands with plastic ties, the kind used to secure loose cargo.

The older man shrugged his bony shoulders, sighed;

“A Clichéd threat, but with enough firepower to back it up, it works every time.”

“Just get on with it, Cavil,” Gina snapped.

“Ah, but melodrama is so- oh very well,” he went over to the console, and pressed the button for shipwide intercom.

“Crew and residents of the Adriatic, we of Demand Peace require this vessel, as a show of good faith,” he covered the microphone,

“and much as it goes against my personal grain,”

the bridge crew winced; apparently terrorism also extended to bad puns these days,

“we will let you all go unharmed, into the cargo pod, which will be separated from the ship. Any attempt at sabotage or resistance will result in immediate and permanent disciplinary tactics. Please,”

Cavil rolled his eyes,

“Don’t try us. Or do. And then we kill you.”


He released the button.

Five minutes later, four armed members of Demand Peace escorted a visibly trembling Gaius Baltar from the shuttle to the bridge of Adriatic. Meanwhile, the fifty crew and nearly three hundred passengers were marched into the cargo pod by additional members of Demand Peace.


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


GALACTICA CIC


“Sir!” cried Gaeta, as a section of the DRADIS display began to beep; “Adriatic is maneuvering erratically- wait- I’m getting two readings of velocity!”

Adama whirled around,

“Get the CAP over there, I want a visual, launch a second patrol to cover them! Set Condition One throughout the ship!”

The DRADIS flashed,

“Sir! Sensors read a jump! But I’m still reading Adriatic’s IFF Transponder! Wait. It looks like she just lost half her mass; Got it! It’s the cargo pod!”

Adama nodded,

“Dispatch a Raptor with Marines to that pod, if everything checks out, I want it in the port landing bay.”

“Yessir” Gaeta picked up the handset.


**********



ATHENS SKYPLEX
SERENITY DINING HALL



“Athens Skyplex don’t allow firearms, got metal detectors everywhere, and the security force tends to frown on weapons of any sort, so, when you pack them; be discreet.”

“We’re lookin’ for the the station-master, owes me a favor, but he may not let me collect, jerk that he is, so, Zoe, Jayne, and Hadrian are coming with me, and the rest of you will stay on the Skyplex’s promenade and gossip-surf for anything ya hear about the Dixie.”

Wash’s hand shot up.

“Ooh. Pick me! I like talking about people behind their back.”

“Done. Just don’t get yourself into any trouble, That’s probably what we’ll be doin’. Let’s move, people, we got us a station-master needs speaking to.”

Mal and co promptly made their way through the nearly full cargo bay, and into Athens Skyplex proper.



ATHENS SKYPEX
STATION-MASTER’S RECEPTION AREA


“May I assist you –sir” asked a perfectly groomed and probably perfumed male receptionist in the lush reception area, and in a tone that implied a sincere desire to assist Mal’s group-out an airlock.

“I’m here to see your boss. Jeffers owes me a favor.”

“We shall see. Your name, sir?”

“Malcom Reynolds and-er-party.”

“Ah. Just a moment,” the clerk touched his earpiece. How he managed it without mussing his impeccably groomed hair nearly had Mal scratching his own head.

“A Mr. Reynolds and party to see you, sir.”


“Terrrribly soooory, sir.” The clerk said to Mal, managing to get across through no small effort that he wasn’t in the slightest,

“But Mr. Jefferso-Oh. You do want to see them?”

He pressed a button on his control console;

“Go on in, He’s expecting you.”

“I gathered as much,” replied Mal with admirable restraint.

Hadrian sniffed for a minute, then stared at the now unsettled receptionist.

“Nice perfume. Know where I could get some?”

Jayne, having learned his lesson for the next several days or so merely snorted and went inside.

Fess Jefferson’s office was different than Mal or Zoë remembered.

The homey feeling of rusty orange carpeting and velvet paintings of ‘Flip stars had been replaced with a stifling Ancient Earth-that-Was feel, from the Persian-style carpeting ornate printed wallpaper, expensive-looking oil paintings of homes and farm scenes, gilded busts of historical figures, and the many, many types of artfully arranged swords and flintlock pistols arrayed along the walls, many in a tasteful rayed-sun design.

The one feature of the office had retained was the tacky and battered fiberglass desk, and sitting behind it, was the corpulent bald-headed figure of Fess Jefferson himself.

He was seated in front of a curtain, flanked by four guards with halberds, of all things.

As he approached, Mal pasted a false and very cheery smile on his face;

“Fess, Buddy, good to see ya! Looks like your tastes have improve somewhat. Your fortunes, too, if the decorations are any indication.”

Jefferson’s expression didn’t change. Neither did his lack of movement.

I’ve got a bad feeling about this, thought Mal.

But his voice came from behind the curtain.

“Yes, it would seem so, wouldn’t it? Except they’re not his tastes or money. They’re mine.”

And a very familiar person strode through the curtain.

Detatching a flexible microphone from his throat, Atherton Wing continued in cultured, petulant tones.

“I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. It is good to see you again, Captain Reynolds.”

Aaahh gho-se. thought Mal.

Fortunately, his actual response was somewhat wittier;

“Wish I could say the same, Ath.” He raised an eyebrow, “By the way, how’re those belly wounds of yours healing up? ‘Cause stab wounds can be a real bi-”

The chapter was interesting, but the abrupt cutoff at the end is disorientating. Did Atherton Wing shoot Mal, interrupting the Browncoat's sentence?

By the way, the Pinyin (Chinese phonetic spelling) for "dog shit" is "gou shi."

I'm finding it a bit difficult to finish the next chapter, what with a new job and all, but I have a clear idea about the next few. (chapters)

sorry about the wait. I'll get it done as soon as I can.

Next Chapter up. It may be the last for a while.

As per usual, comments and constructive criticism are always welcome.






Chapter 10: Swash My Buckle


"If you tell me that every man's death diminishes me,
I'll retort that it diminishes him a hell of a sight more."


-Harry Paget Flashman, VC, KCB, KCIE, unwilling soldier, self-confessed poltroon and coward.
(From George MacDonald Fraser’s Flashman novels.)






ATHENS SKYPLEX
FESS JEFFERSON”S FORMER OFFICE


“You know, Captain Reynolds,” Wing interrupted, “I would say I had missed your boorish mannerisms and crude vocabulary, but that would be a lie. However, I am glad to see you again, as we have unfinished business. Pick a sword. Any sword.”
He nodded to the four halberd-toting guards.

“Dispatch Mr. Reynolds’ friends by means of airlock, and return to deal with his corpse.”

The guards started forward menacingly.

Mal actually smiled; he was goanna enjoy this. Assuming he didn’t get corpseafied, of course. He raised a hand, smartass student-like.

“Ath, buddy, coupla things you forgot in this elaborate scheme of creepiness, score-settlin, and really over the top costumes.”

He cocked an eye at the halberd-bearing henchmen.

“Tights? Honestly, how much is this little ‘prince’ payin’ you to play dress up?’

“Please enlighten me as to anything I may have forgotten, Captain. You were all carefully scanned for weapons before you were allowed in here.”

“Okey-dokey.” Jayne shrugged slightly, and Hadrian crossed her arms. Zoë just stood there.

"You made two mistakes. One-”

Jayne flicked his wrists forward, as if drying his hands and a small gunlike object landed in each one. Hadrian pulled a shiny black knife out of each sleve.



Mistake number one, Mal thought; you didn’t actually have us patted down for non-metallic weapons.


Mistake number two. You assumed we wouldn’t come fully prepared for an armed conflict just because Fess was an old acquaintance.


Mistake number three. Just for me. You threatened Inara.


Wing’s eyes widened and he pressed a panic button on a ring. Immediately, two guards in full body armor bearing military-grade assault weapons stormed through the curtain.


Jayne calmly shot one with his ceramic flint-ignition derringers, and Hadrian nonchalantly put a handmade obsidian knife through the other’s eye.
The odds were now five on four. Mal had had worse.
As Jayne let his holdouts fall to the ground, Atherton Wing rushed over to the wall and grabbed a rapier.
The four guards advanced in front of him
Two of the guards approached him and Zoe, assuming that, since they hadn’t produced any visible weapons, that they were “softer” targets.

These men hadn’t fought in Unification war. They had never learned that a that a rock was quieter, and one hell of a lot more concealable than most firearms, as Mal had on recon into enemy-held towns.

As the first one approached Mal, he narrowly sidestepped the halberd thrusting at him and hit the man in the stomach. As the guard crumpled, Mal tossed the fallen halberd to Zoe. She snatched it out of the air, and headed straight for the second guard, and disabling him in two strikes


Mal turned to see how Jayne and Hadrian were doing, and was surprised to see them fighting back-to-back.

The fact that they were surrounded probably has something to do with it, mused Mal.

He was even more surprised to see Jayne wielding a large sword, obviously from the wall display, with something approaching grace and dexterity.

Time to even the odds.


Mal clenched his fist around the fairly small, but quite heavy rock he had snuck from his pocket before he sucker-punched the guard. He took careful aim, and sidearmed it into the head of the guard closest to him. Then he grabbed one of the very expensive-looking chairs from the wall, and waded in.


Swordfight? No. Barfight? Hell yes. ‘specially on U-Day.


They made short work of the other guard, and had Wing backed into a corner.

They all advanced on him, but Jayne held up his hand.


“Uh-uh” He shook his head. “This one’s all mine.”

“Ah, Jayne, hate to mention this, but we need him alive, and you-not dead, so, given that he is good with a long blade-”

Jayne glared at him;

“Gorramit, Mal, didn’t I tell ya I come from a long line of fencers?”

“Well, yeah. But I was thinkin’ picket-fence or split-rail, not-” He gestured at Jayne’s blade, “What is that, anyway? Looks like a man could cut down trees with that.”

The mercenary grinned evilly. “We did that kind of fencin’ too, but a boy’s gotta do something, come winter. As for the sword, it’s a basket-hilted Claymore. I’m keepin’ it when I kill ‘im.”

By now Atherton Wing’s face was bright red, and he was trembling with rage. And fear.

“Can we please just get on with it?”
He extended the rapier, point quivering, in a perfect en garde.

Jayne matched it, and Mal, Zoë, and Hadrian backed up. The two adversaries stared at each other across the room, one handsome and elegant, with a thin, quick blade, the other, rough and dirty, bearing a weapon with a strong resemblance to a meat cleaver.
If it had been a scene from a storybook, it would be titled, Noble Paladin confronts Filthy Brigand. Mal happened to know that while Jayne was occasionally filthy, and usually a brigand, Wing wasn’t noble, and certainly no ‘Paladin.’

“Jayne,” said Mal, “Don’t forget. We need him alive.”

Jayne nodded.

Neither saluted, and they advanced cautiously, each carefully examining the other for telltale signs of weaknesses. The two men stopped about two feet from each other.”

Jayne pursed his lips and nodded slightly. Now was the time. He turned slightly to address Mal

“Y’know, Mal, I still can’t believe ‘Nara uh, lent him her services. Poor taste on her part.”

Wing lost it. He had noticed that Jayne left his flank exposed, and he was going to take one of those pirates with him. He lunged-and got his sword blocked by Jayne’s heavier blade, which had arrived there seemingly by magic. They stared at each other over the crossed blades for a second.
Then Jayne punched him in the nose. As Wing reached for his now bleeding face with one hand, Jayne grabbed Wing’s sword-holding hand with his free one, moved it to the side, and upercutted him with the hand-guard. Atherton Wing slumped to the ground like a sack of wet cement.

Hadrian raised an eyebrow,

“I’m assuming that Gentleman is a former acquaintance of yours?”

“Yeah,” said Mal, “especially stressin’ the -er- ‘acquaintance’ bit. Didn’t expect to see him here though.”

Jayne chuckled; “Can you believe that Hwoon Dahn? (jerk) He actually thought I’d fight him straight up swords. I ain’t that stupid.”

Hadrian stared at him and cocked her head, re-evaluating him,

“No, I suppose not,” she smiled a bit, “Even if your grammar could use a bit of work.”

Jayne crinkled his brow slightly, then, he scrutinized his muscles, and said, totally deadpan;

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

“Which one’s mah Grammar, anyways?” and winked at Hadrian, who just rolled her eyes and resolved to remember Jayne’s well-hidden craftiness.

And his very suppressed charm. After all, he was good in a fight.

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

After the swords had been piled in a corner, (except Jayne’s) Atherton had been uncomfortably bound and gagged in front of the curtain, and the two assault rifles had been appropriated, the four approached the curtain, and slid it aside. They found a room full of New-tec screens, scanners, and processors, loose cash, and a small but well-stocked armory. Everything a criminally inclined dilettante needed to control a space station and a burgeoning criminal empire. Mal spotted an open first aid kit on the table, and looked inside.


Everything was in order , except the hypo-gun held a vial of Dilantin, the sleep medication Simon Tam had used on River.

“Looks like that’s what he used on Fess. Let’s get the Doc up here. Jayne, bring Ath around, find out where he keeps his secret elevator.”
Jayne, Zoë, and Hadrian just stared at him, Zoë shook her head.

“What?” Mal shot back, “every self-respecting criminal, amateurs notwithstanding, has a secret escape elevator. It’s in the manual.”

“Found it.” Said Jayne, about two minutes later.

“Alright. Go get the Doc,”

And seeing the pleading look on Jayne’s face as he eyed the large sacks of cash,

“Oh, fine. Take as much as you can carry. On your way. I think that’s about your ten percent for the next five years anyway… and grab a handcart for the rest.”


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

After Fess was brought around by Simon, (with much re-visitation of his previously eaten meals,) He and Mal sat down at the desk, and began to talk.

“Looks like that’s two, ya owe me, now, Fess. If you don’t mind me askin’, how’d that slimy little prig-” He gestured to Wing, bound and thankfully gagged on the floor, “-take over in the first place?”

“Nah, might as well tell ya.” The older man shrugged, “Wing was part-owner of the station, and he demanded to come by on an inspection tour. He comes in alone, and pulls out a Tranc’. Then I woke up here, what? Three weeks later?”

Mal nodded.
“Yeah. That’s about the size of it. Here’s how you pay us back; “You tell us if any of Les Martin’s crew stopped by here frequent, and where they were going, you let me take that-” Mal gestured at Wing, and Fess’ eyes narrowed, “and we were never here.”

Fess pursed his lips, then nodded. “You got it. I just need my ledger.” He glared at Wing. “Where’d you hide it, ya sack of shit? And what in the hell did you do with my artwork?”
Mal turned to Jayne. “Un-gag him. If he says he ‘doesn’t know;’ take an ear.”

Wing’s eyes widened, and his face grew pale.

“I-in the safe,” he stammered. “The key’s on my neck. As for the ‘art,’ it’s been compacted and jettisoned.”

Fess reached into a desk drawer and removed some scissors. Wing fainted, and Fess calmly cut off the end of a cigar before lighting it.

“Boy,” he said, “Wing can dish it out, but he sure can’t take it.

Half an hour later, the four were back on Serenity, with Wing, several million credits in cash, and the next several declared stops for the Free Enterprise, a freighter with known ties to Les Martins’s group, confirmed by Wash’s group’s visit to the rumor mill of the Promenade.

Mal punched the button for shipwide intercom.

“Alright, people, we’ve got several destinations for the Enterprise. Next one on the list is a mining station near the Birnham Quadrant, Which is where we are scheduled to meet the Fleet. We report in, they help us find the ship. It’s five weeks away, so we’re goanna have to make a ump.”

He punched the Engine room circut;

“Tyrol, Kaylee, rig for an FTL jump to the ‘Belt. Wash, plot it.”
The blond pilot nodded. “Yes, O’ Fearless Leader! Birnham it is!”
Mal punched the shipwide button again.

“This is your Captain speaking-”


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

In her shuttle, Inara caught a mischevious inflection in Mal’s voice.

“-As you are all aware, we have a distinguished and cultured visitor on board. A would-be criminal kingpin and general asshole rich guy. He has information we need, but I am not authorizing any ‘punitive’ measures at this time. Jayne, this means you.

Instead, he will be provided with musical accompaniment in all moments of his day, until such time as he deigns to part with said information.
I will now commence to playing a selection of said music. That is all.”


The speakers came to life, and a jumbled, screechy, twangy rhythm, if you could call it that, was expectorated throughout the entire ship. Banjos, oddly-pitched Mandarin Fiddles, gongs, and scratchy vocalists, all combined in a damaged form as pseudo-bluegrass known as Prarieharp, widely regarded as the worst in the ‘Verse.
As the speakers shut off in her shuttle and the rest of Serenity, (except for one small room,)

Inara Serra threw decorum to the winds, sat on her bed and laughed ‘til she nearly couldn’t breathe.


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


Kaywinnit Lee Frye never had Serenity’s engine room so crowded before, ever. Truth be told, she was glad. Gave them a bit of time for a full tune-up, and, even in she couldn’t see Simon as much,

when would he finally see her? The voice at the back of her head asked,

Mal had shelled out for most of the new parts she needed. Including two extra catalyzers. “Cap’n Tightpants” wasn’t forgetting that lesson in starship maintinence anytime soon, and wouldn’t again. Not if Kaylee had anything to say about it.

The Chief, aside from being a damn good mechanic, seemed like a nice man, kinda like Mal, in the way he looked after his people, who hero-worshipped him a bit. Looked to her like Cally wanted to do a bit more than just worship, but Tyrol didn’t look to be taking advantage. At times, he’d be laughin’ snd jokin’ and then get a look in his eye staring off into space, like it held some mystical answer, like he was doin’ now, while rigging for a jump.

What was bothering him?

“Chief?” Asked Kaylee, “We ready?”
Tyrol nodded

“Shiny.” She punched the button marked “Bridge” on the wallcom.

“Wash, we’re ready.”

“That’s a rog, Kaylee, jumping in… ten…nine…eight…”

Kaylee ran her hand over the engine room wall, reassuring her friend, her home,

“C’mon, girl, you can do it,” she murmered.

“…four…three…two…one- JUMP!”

********

Sorry the update took so long, but I had to make this pivotal chapter sound right. I also just got to college, so further updates may be somewhat sketchy. I am NOT however, abandoning this story.

As always, reviews and constructive criticism are welcome. Thanks all to those who have previously reviewed and posted. Your kind words and suggestions are always appreciated.

I have to run to class, here is the story on ff.net, I'll post it here when I have time to edit and play around with spacing.

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3544185/7/T ... nd_Firefly


Here is the story in its entirety:

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3544185/1/T ... nd_Firefly

Aaaand Here you go:



Chapter 11: Stand Up and Be Counted



“More than two hundred years ago, in the closing months of the Second Colonial War, elements of the second and fifth Caprica-Arillon Infantry regiments liberated a Gemenese Biological Testing Facility, a site where civilian ‘Undesirables,’ mainly atheists and ‘deviants’ and residing citizens of other colonies were experimented on by the facility scientists, and worked to death in the fabrication plants near the labs.

The soldiers of the regiment immediately began summarily executing guards and scientists alike, until Lance Cpl. Decius Shaw, a young farmer from Arillon appealed to his fellow soldiers over the Facility intercom to cease their cold-blooded killing, and try the accused for War Crimes. His exact words have been lost from time, but one line has been remembered by every soldier present, recorded here;


‘If we hate our enemies, and then behave like them, torturing and killin’ them in cold blood, we become our own worst enemy. And there’s no going back.’


The surviving guards and scientists were tried at the Scorpio War Tribunal, most sentenced to solitary confinement for life. The rest were executed for Crimes against Humanity.

The Biological Testing Facility remains standing to this day, and has been maintained as a War Memorial in the now-bucolic Gemenese countryside.

Shaw was later elected by popular vote to the position of Arillon Prime Minister...”



-Excerpt from; Bloody Hands: An accounting of Human Evil, and Those Who Ended It, By Mira Soren. Required reading in most Colonial Universities.






BIRNHAM QUADRANT
RAG-TAG FLEET


After the Reaver vessel had been destroyed, and the Adriatic had jumped away, Admiral Adama had put the fleet on high alert, and ordered a military conference with Lee and President Roslin aboard Galactica.

Although he could have allowed someone else to fly him over to “the Bucket,” after leaving now-Lieutenant Hoshi in command or even taken a Raptor, Lee insisted on taking his personal Viper for the short flight. It was the same one he flew to Galactica before the attacks. Chief Laird had kept it in tiptop shape, and Lee needed to keep in practice.

Besides, he loved to fly.

It gave him time to think about all sorts of things including the crew of his ship, the tactical situation, even Laird, who was competent on a professional level, but the loss-say it, Lee, Murder, of the man’s entire family by the people on same vessel he was pressed onto, had to be taking its toll. Lee resolved to watch him carefully.

The discovery of other humans, which resulted immediately in another war, (albeit through Cylon tampering,) reminded him of the Scroll of Pythia, in which the dying prophet leads her people to the Promised Land, only to be denied entry herself.

The whole fleet feels like Pythia now, not just Roslin, and she was cured. Lee mused.

But if the Cylons made it here before us, then why not conquer all? They have superior FTL, and can sustain a higher loss rate.

So, why weren’t we greeted by an entire fleet of Basestars right after we arrived?

His reverie was interrupted by Capt. Kelly in the Galactica’s landing bay control room,

"Viper Four-Five-Zero en route to Galactica, you are requested to make a small detour to allow us to replenish the water of the Gemenon Traveler, Please come port five degrees.”

A small detour. Small. Lee thought, as he made the course correction.

That was it! The Cylons in this ‘Verse, as Mal had called it, must only be a small group, catapulted here by whatever had sent the remaining Colonials.

“Green light for hands-on approach, Apollo, you are cleared to approach,” said Kelly,

“Roger that,”

“Checkers are green, call the ball…”

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



GALACTICA BRIEFING ROOM
TEN MINUTES LATER


Bill Adama and Roslin sat and listened to the conclusions Lee had made on the flight over.

“So,” Lee was saying,

“That was why they had had to take over secret. They probably only had a Heavy Raider’s-worth of people. Only holds around ten Centurions or twenty skinjobs. Moving into the Alliance Government clandestinely was the only way to gain control. They simply didn’t have the resources to conquer the ‘Verse right off.”

Roslin raised her hand to pause him,

“We can also assume that the group Demand Peace has taken Vice President Baltar to attempt to meet with the Cylons in the Alliance government, which leads me to believe that the Demand Peace group may be controlled by Cylons as well.

It also poses the question of precisely when they got here; if they did orchestrate the Unification War to take overall control of, and weaken humanity, when did they start moving in? Unification War was twelve years ago.”

“We don’t know that,” said Bill, “but I know someone who may. Come with me.”


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




BATTLESTAR GALACTICA BRIG


The three leaders of the fleet and the Marines guarding them looked intro the cell and observed its single occupant, The Cylon Sharon Valerii, was talking on the cell’s phone link to the man who still loved her, and was spending all of his off-duty time in that cell.

As Sharon saw the Adamas and Roslin, her face fell, and when Helo turned to see what was the matter, his face hardened. He rose.


“Last time you just took blood. Are you here for the whole child this time, Sir?”

Bill looked him in the eye.

“Stand at ease, Lieutenant. I’m just here to talk to i-…her. I’ll allow you to come in and visit when I’m done me.”

He nodded at the Marine guarding the door.

“Open it.”

The door swung open, and the older man entered. Sharon rose, stood to attention, and saluted.

Adama was halfway to returning it before he realized;

She’s not in the military. This one never has been. Not for real.

His hand returned to his side as he looked her in the eye, searching for a glint of mischief, like Kara got when she was being sarcastic.

Only while off duty, of course. Except when she wasn’t.

He didn’t find one, she just looked earnest. But a small grin snuck onto his face, and was just as quickly banished to the back of his mind.

“Sir?” she asked.

“Sit down. You’re not in the military.”

“You’re still the Old Man.”

Sharon sat down on her cot.

Adama settled in the chair that had been bolted to the floor across from it. He leaned forward;

“I need the answer to one question, and than I’d like to talk. About your past and your foreseeable future.”

She nodded; “Ask away, sir.”
“Within the past fifteen years, did any Cylons go missing at or near these co-ordinates?”

He handed her a piece of paper with the nebula’s location.

She stared at the paper, and then off into space, as if trying to see through the bulkhead. Then she nodded.

“Thirteen years ago, a force of three Heavy raiders was lost investigating some strange energy spikes near the end of the mon-Oh. They were sent her like we were.”

“And they’ve taken over the local government.” He said. Then Bill Adama gave an internal shrug. Now was the time.

“I have some things I’d like to say. I ask you to wait until I am finished to respond to anything.”

Valerii’s eyes widened, fearful, but there was hope in there. Good.

“All right.”


“After aiding Capt. Thrace and Lt. Agathon in surviving on Caprica, you voluntarily surrendered to Colonial Forces. You aided in the discovery of the Tomb of Athena, and have provided vital information ensuring the survival of this fleet. You single-handedly disabled a cylon attack fleet.

If you were a human, civilian or military, you would have been awarded a decoration for valor.

However, the fact remains. You are a Cylon. You aided in the attempted Genocide of our people, and the experimentation on a Colonial officer-”

“I didn’t ask to be-” Sharon interrupted.

“-that is reality. It is also a fact that, during Admiral Cain’s time in command, and despite your loyal service and aid to us, you were forcefully interrogated and nearly raped by an officer of the Colonial Fleet. That action was unconscionable, unacceptable, and morally bankrupt. I wish to extend my sincerest apologies.”

He extended his hand to her.

“Go ahead.”

“It wasn’t your fault, sir. Cain was in command, and you didn’t...know”

“I should have.”

She nodded.

As a Cylon, a machine, you have no legal status. Neither you, nor your child has any protection from government intervention,”

He glanced at Roslin, who was listening to a mike feed, and looking puzzled.

“You have shown you are worthy of my trust many times over. We have-I have taken information and time from you, and given nothing in return. That’s about to change.”

Roslin was looking very confused now.

“I’m going to offer you a position as a Lieutenant in the Colonial Fleet, an assignment that carries with it guaranteed citizenship and legal protection in the Colony of your choice. And full citizenship in said Colony for any offspring.”

He saw Laura’s mouth drop open, ignored it. Saw Sharon start to cry.

“I’ll do it” she said through tears.

“Come with me.”

He looked at the Marines outside.

“Open it”


They left the brig, and made their way down the corridors to the CIC, Sharon for the first time being unfettered and unescorted.

When they entered the large room, he turned to Sharon, and she stood at attention.

The bridge crew looked at them in amazement
“Raise your right hand and repeat after me.”I, Sharon Valerii …"

“I, Sharon Valerii”
"Do now pledge my faith and my loyalty..." said Adama,

“Do now pledge my faith and my loyalty...”

"To the protection of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol." He stopped, took a breath,

“To the protection of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol.” Replied Sharon.

"And will carry out the lawful orders of my superiors..."

And will carry out the lawful orders of my superiors...

"As an officer... "

“As an officer...”

"In the Colonial Fleet."

“In the Colonial Fleet.”

As Sharon finished, Bill Adama reached into his pocket and removed a small jewelry box, handing it to her.

She opened it; saw it contained a lieutenant’s insignia and a set of pilot’s wings. It also contains a set of enlistment documents, folded into the box.

Adama handed her a pen, and she signed the bottom of the page.

“Welcome to the fleet, Lieutenant Valerii.”

“Until your child is born, you will be on maternity leave, and afterwards, return to duty as a Raptor pilot."

Roslin glared at him and jerked her head to the side, a come here now!
If he ever saw one.

Bill nodded at Helo, and the lanky ECO embraced the woman he loved.



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


Laura took Adama aside, away from Lee and the Marines, to a deserted corner of the CIC.

“What the hell are you thinking?”
She hissed

“I’m thinking she’s loyal to us,” he responded calmly,

“Has provided us with good information and will continue to do so. It’s enough. We’ve done enough to her. You have done enough to her”

“You can’t do this Bill.”

“Actually, Laura, I can. It’s a military decision. As an Admiral on detached service during a time of war, I can grant Field Commissions.”

“But the child-”

“Let me put this as simply as I can, Laura; that child stays with its mother. Where he or she belongs. You do not study or monitor them further. Stay the frak out of my back yard.”

“I hope you can be as contrite if this one shoots you as well. You’re making a mistake.”

She said, conceding but not content to leave him with the last word.


“Well, then it’ll be my mistake. I won’t let humanity become its own worst enemy.”

Adama turned back to the couple.


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


Lee watched at a distance, and listened to his father.

“Lt. Agathon, Lt. Valerii, please rise.”

They rose, separated and stood at attention.

“At ease. Someone once said commanding a Battlestar is a demanding job,”

Lee smiled, as his father continued;

“That may be true, but it is also not without its perks. One of those being the authority to join two souls in Sacred Union, if they so chose. And while marriage in the service is highly unusual, these are unusual times, and you have both shown the ability and responsibility to carry out your duties first. Do you wish to be joined in matrimony?”

He looked at Sharon and Helo, who glanced at each other, and nodded simultaneously.

He continued;

“Lieutenant Karl C. Agathon, Lieutenant Sharon Valerii, do you swear to love, honor and protect each other as long as you both shall live?” He glanced at Sharon first.

“I do.” She said
Then Helo.

“I do.”

“Then by the authority vested in me by the Colonial Fleet Command, and as Commander of the Battlestar Galactica, I pronounce you husband and wife. I wish you peace and long life.”

Adama looked at Helo;

“You may kiss the bride, Lieutenant”

Helo smiled. “Yes sir.”
Helo and Sharon kissed in the middle of the CIC.

Lee looked around the room, his gaze lighting on P.O. Dualla. Their eyes met, and then he looked away. They had tried another date after the Abinell crisis and Billy’s death, but something had never felt ‘right’ between them, like they were just together out of circumstance, or need for human contact, and, after talking about it, with Dee providing her trademark honesty, they had decided to end it.

Whatever ‘it’ was, thought Lee, giving himself an internal shake.

As if I was ever meant to be happy with someone.

Adama turned to Tigh.

“Find the Agathons some larger quarters.”

Tigh nodded, and turned to his old friend. “I’ve said it before,” he rasped, “and I’ll say it again; you are one surprising sonafabitch.”

“Thank you.” Bill said.

“How do you know you can trust her?” Tigh asked, eyebrow raised.

“I don’t.” Said Adama, “That’s what trust is.”


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


BATTLESTAR GALACTICA CIC

Adama, Tigh, Lee and Roslin were clustered around a console containing a printed map of the Birnham Quadrant. Laura was still inwardly seething;

How dare he judge me? She thought, and then remembered his final words; I won’t let humanity become its own worst enemy.


Well, frak me, she thought. Bill Adama an intellectual?


She still saw Leoben spiraling out into space on some nights, even as the faces of the human dead, her friends and family grew fainter. How would she be remembered? As Madam Airlock? Or the woman who led her people to safety? Her mind wrestled with the question as she turned back to the discussion.

Adama was speaking:


“The Alliance has tracked us so far, so we can’t stay here. We’re almost full up on Fuel, raw materials and water.”


Lee pointed to a system on the map;


“How about here? It’s isolated, and we can make it in two jumps.”


Roslin looked at the map, and saw his finger on stellar co-ordinates labeled: Miranda.

She closed her eyes to blink, and saw an empty city, dust gathering on the windowpanes, and not a soul in sight.


“Miranda.” Said Tigh. “The direction that Reaver ship came from? Are you off your rocker-Sir?”


Lee smiled.


“Maybe. Or maybe common knowledge places the Reavers at a point here-”


He gestured at a point between Miranda and the rest of the sector,


“Where they base their incursions. We can jump past that, and put the Reavers between the Alliance fleet and us.”


“Good thinking,” said Adama. “Saul, get a-”


He stopped as he saw Laura clutching the map table, as if to keep from falling over.


“Are you all right, Madam President?” he asked.


She nodded. “I am now. I saw something-a vision. An empty city. Completely empty but there was something decayed there. Decayed and evil. We should use caution when we recon.”


“Jump in close to the atmosphere,” said Lee. “We’re going to need a good pilot.”


Adama turned to Tigh again. “Get Captain Thrace and Gunny Matthias’ team to the briefing room.”


He picked up the intercom phone;


“Hangar deck, Nylan speaking”

“This is Galactica Actual,” rumbled Adama. “Prep a Raptor for launch.”


“Yessir”

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

Hope you liked it. If you did, R&R Suggestions and constructive criticism are always welcome.

Gorram, this is one helluva good story. Well-written, with a good plot and good characters.

A good chapter, but--

Thirteen years ago, a force of three Heavy raiders was lost investigating some strange energy spikes near the end of the mon-Oh.

What the hell is a mon-Oh?!

Sidewinder wrote:A good chapter, but--

Thirteen years ago, a force of three Heavy raiders was lost investigating some strange energy spikes near the end of the mon-Oh.

What the hell is a mon-Oh?!

Say it out loud. It'll make more sense. And Oh is another word.

thank you, pieman. I am attempting natural dialogue, what with the somewhat poor grammar of the firefly crew, and with natural speech patterns for all the characters.

you folks got any suggestions on improvement if the plot or my writing style?

Can't guarantee I'll change it, but I'd be willing to listen.

Here it is. The next chapter. Apologies on the wait, college is, well.... College.

Many thanks to my wonderful new beta reader-you know who you are...

And for those of you who thought I’d been skimming over Kara… Well, she’s not exactly a favorite character. However, for those who like her, here ya go. For those who don’t, I wrote her the way I think she should be written. Enjoy, and as always, praise and constructive criticism are always welcome.

Especially praise.






Chapter 12: Ice and Fire



“I hurt myself today,
To see if I still feel,
I focus on the pain,
The only thing that's real
The needle tears a hole,
The old familiar sting,
Try to kill it all away,
But I remember everything-”

-“Hurt” by Johnny Cash





BATTLESTAR GALACTICA,
PILOTS’ REC ROOM


Kara Thrace was sitting at a table, leaning back over the chair, and trying to soothe a headache that came from not sleeping. With flying CAP, late-night card games, and constant readiness, lack of sleep wasn't an unusual occurrence for the pilots, especially for her. What was unusual for Kara was that her tiredness was a result of late nights spent thinking, not drinking.

Why are the lights so frakking bright in here? Kara thought, as she rubbed her throbbing temples.

Or maybe it's just me. Frakking figures. I make a promise to someone, and the gods make sure I can't keep it. Are you even alive now, Sam?

She rested her head on the table, cushioned by her crossed arms. She would not cry. She was Starbuck, the pilot who chewed up Cylons and shat metal ingots. And. She. Would. Not. Let. Them. See. Her. Cry.

Not even over a Pyramid player probably becoming one with Caprica's irradiated soil.

And now there was a better pilot in existence than her.

That shook her more than she was willing to admit.



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


BATTLESTAR GALACTICA,
PILOTS’ REC ROOM
SEVERAL WEEKS EARLIER


When she first met Wash, he seemed like the kids she ignored in Secondary, the ones who watched the bad science fiction with the bumpy-headed aliens, and made sarcastic cracks in class and then tried to work up the courage to talk to the girls.

He came into the rec room with Helo, what was he doing, frakkin' adopting people now? and a tall, beautiful black woman. Wash was wearing a battered vest with a loud shirt, and looked a bit like Leoben Lite, but one look in his eyes, and you saw the humor there.

Of course, one had to look, first. Starbuck, after three hours off-duty and numerous beers, wasn't having any.

As he walked over to the table where most of the other pilots were sitting, Kara blocked his way,

"Pilots only. You got wings, hotshot?"

The tall woman's eyes narrowed, and she started forward but the small man smiled and held up a hand;

"It's okay, honey," he reached into a Velcro pocket and removed an overflowing wallet. After flipping through various crumpled bills, grimy receipts and library cards from a dozen different worlds, he removed a card with a holographic cover displaying the face and particulars of one Hoban Washburne, stating that he was rated to control and navigate up to a Class V Starship, whatever that was.

"C'mon in, then."

Starbuck held up her hand again.

"She a pilot?" indicating the taller woman.

"She- is my wife-and we just want to have a nice, quiet, real beer."

The as-of –yet unnamed wife of Hoban Washburne gave Starbuck another one of those looks that could melt through a bulkhead and kill anyone on the other side of it.

"Names' Zoe. I'm a pilot," she said, in a quiet, dangerous voice; "Of sorts. Might be I just pilot your ornery, half-soused ass into a bulkhead, less you step aside, and let my man and me have that nice drink we were looking forward to."

Kara nodded, "Fair enough, have a nice time, Hoban."

He just smiled, and stuck out his hand.

"Most everyone calls me Wash."

She ignored it, but grudgingly stepped aside.

"Huh," said Wash in a stage whisper, as he passed, "Didn't know they let the bouncers drink, high-quality establishment like this one."

Starbuck pretended not to hear. She went back to sit down, and watch the odd couple, who were by now introducing themselves around the room. Wash seemed a gregarious, affable sort, and Zoe a bit quieter, and she had looked at Kara like she could see exactly what she was thinking.

What the frak does she know?

The banter of the other pilots drifted over to her table, and Starbuck could hear Kat flipping that Top Gun mug lid in that same, annoying way, heard Hotdog's guffaw. She was wondering why she couldn't be a part of them when the answer reared its very attractive, and by now, probably dead, head.

Sam. The one man, aside from Zak, who had loved her, warts and all. And I killed him too.

Starbuck drifted off for a bit, and must have fallen out of her seat, because the next thing she saw was a pair of feet in long brown boots, and pants leading up to an empty holster on a leg. And a brown hand reaching down to her too-pale-from-artificial-lighting one.

"It's not gonna bring him back, you know," said an even-toned voice.

Kara ignored the hand.

"What are you? Frakking psych-ic?"

"No," Zoe said, as she sat down crosslegged on the deck. "Might be that River, you know, the mentally traumatized 17-year old girl wandering the halls is, but I'm not."

She jerked a thumb back at the buzz coming from the back of the room, "They're worried, though, even if they ain't exactly gonna come out and say it. Pilots.-" She sighed, "I oughta know, I married one. Most of you never talk about anything that bothers you."

"And your Wash does?" Mumbled Kara.

"Sometimes my man does talk too much for his own good, but I appreciate the candor. That being part of the reason I married him."

"And of course you know exactly how I feel, you being familiar with the ins and outs of military service. What, exactly does a merc know about fighting a losing war? You get paid regardless." Said Kara sarcastically, fully aware of Zoe’s service in Unification War, hoping she would provoke a fight.

Zoe didn't get angry; she did something crueler. She looked at Starbuck with pity in her eyes.

"This isn't about Sam Anders, anymore. This is about you, Kara Thrace, breaking a promise. You still think you're the only one with problems, don't you?"

"I was pro Army, fought in six years of war, shot my share of Purplebellies, slit more throats and looked into the faces of more boys and girls killed by my own hands than I care to remember. Some folks, they fight a war long enough, they get hot with hate, or just plain burned out. What happened to me, that was more rare.

I went cold. Got so’s I didn’t feel anything, anymore, them Alliance soldiers became as numbers. I called them ‘sticks.’ No more cause, or noble ideals, I kept breakin’ sticks, getting’ farther away from the old me.

I stopped meeting the new fish, cause they kept gettin’ killed-”


Kara nodded, Just like those rook pilots.


Zoe continued, “Then, we got pulled off the line, and the Sarge, new guy, a vet repped in offa Dyton, took the platoon out for a brew, some kinda craphole tavern. He cracked the old jokes, sang the old songs badly, then took a minute and got to introducing himself to every single soldier.

That was the first time I met Mal. He believed in what we were doing, fighting to just live, to go our own way, and he looked in my eyes, nodded once, and we got to talkin’. He brought me back from the edge, believing in a cause worth fighting for; the other soldier’s lives.

Then we went back to war, and you can be damnsure I lost friends, and broke promises, and I have to live with that. First week of Serenity, all the officers got waxed, by snipers, mostly and Mal just kinda took over. Had around five thousand. To begin with, and by the time we got done holding the line, 'bout a hundred fifty walked out, into the POW camps, and our stand was forgotten.”

Kara's jaw dropped. That was more than a fully-crewed Battlestar.

“A bunch thought-bunch knew, they weren't gonna make it. Whaddaya think Mal and I told them? 'Yeah, you're gonna die?' This is war. People die, people you care about and love, and make promises to. The only thing you can do is protect them as is still alive and near to you at the end of the day, and fight like hell for the memories of those who went before.

You sitting here, wallowing in self-pity and bad booze, ain't exactly helpin' your buddies."

With that, Zoe got up and walked away, boots clicking on the ready-room floor. Her tone had stayed calm and even through the entire talk, face expressionless.



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

Starbuck should have learned, but, as soon as she sobered up, she asked Wash to demonstrate his rumored piloting skill. Although he had not yet demonstrated any of the typical "egotistical pilot" tendancies, when she mentioned a training flight around the asteroids, his eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store and he started going on about how cool the Vipers looked.

She had him. This was Kara’s playground now.

After a quick familiarization and sim run, to make sure he didn't get himself killed, (or, worse from her point of view, destroy a Viper,) they were in two Viper Mk II's in adjacent launch tubes.

“’Starbuck here, everything in the green.”

“Wash, saying Hi! Everything looks good from here!”

Dee came on;

“Wash, Starbuck, Ego flight, cleared for launch.

Wash cleared his throat, crackling over the wireless, “Uhm, Dee? don’t you mean Eagle flight?”

“Not according to Temporary Officer of the Watch Zoe Alleyne Washburne.”

“Dong Ma?”

Zoe’s voice came on, and Starbuck could feel the silent laugh in those melodious tones all the way from the CIC.

“Mag-lock secure, initiating launch sequence. Have a nice flight, dear.”

“Starbuck” couldn’t help but smile as she was hurled down the launch tube into space.



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



Wash was just having fun with the new toy, making some basic mistakes early as he familiarized himself with how the Viper handled, babbling to himself, and anyone who would listen to him, all the way. Then he countered the spin, and raced off into the asteroid belt, with a “Yee-Haa!” and Kara close behind. The race, such as it was, was on.

They threaded their way through the belt, Wash’s lead gaining, flying around the larger asteroids and smaller particulates, even though it would only take a fist-sized chunk of space-rock to hull a Viper. As they pitched toward a section of erratically spinning asteroids, Starbuck began hearing calm, even breathing on Wash’s channel;

“Sniffle-” as he inhaled deeply, then she heard, in an even tone “I am a leaf on the wind. Watch how I soar.”

Kara, Starbuck in the cockpit shook her head. The frak does that mean?

She brought her head back around in time to see Wash’s thrusters flare up, his Viper picking up even more speed as it juked and jinked through the asteroids.

Crazy bastard. Thought “Starbuck.” Well, today’s a good day for crazy.

She rammed her throttle into the redline, and gripped the stick even harder as the gee-forces knocked her back into the synthetic material of the pilot’s seat.

Thirty seconds later, she realized that wash was a better pilot than she was, about the time a rock about the size of a Cylon Raider she couldn’t avoid started spinning towards her as she dodged between two others.

Kara had just started thinking it was a hell of a way to die, when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Wash’s Viper, already flying through other asteroids, swap tail for nose as the twin 30’s on his ‘plane, firing a mixture of armor-piercing and High-Explosive ammunition, turned the asteroid into a rapidly expanding, and somewhat less-solid fireaball, which she flew through. Wash was still threading his way through the asteroids, backwards, until he cranked up the throttle, and began heading out of the belt.

Her radio, silent during the whole race so far, crackled again.

“Wash here. I think it’s time to call it a day, Captain Thrace.”

Kara, a cruel remark about cowardice trapped behind her now-pale lips, simply said, in a small voice,”

“Roger that. Confirm RTB.”

Kara had now threaded her way up and out of the ‘Belt, heading towards Galactica.

And thank you, Hoban and Zoe Washburne, for bringing me back from the edge. Frak me, but I need a drink. So I’m not going to have one…



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



BATTLESTAR GALACTICA,
PILOTS’ REC ROOM
PRESENT DAY


“Captain Thrace?” Tigh’s voice came from behind, reaching into the dark space behind her eyes.

“Yes sir.” Her voice, muffled as it was by her sleeves, head still down on the table for all of one second, as she stood and saluted with parade-ground precision.

As Tigh returned the salute, he swept a gimlet eye over her face, taking in the matted hair and dark circles under her eyes.

“Good Gods, Thrace!” He exclaimed, “Have you slept a wink this week?”

“’Bout a Half-a-Wink, sir.” Kara replied, a weary smirk pasted on her face, “How’d you guess?”

Tigh ignored the attempt at banter.

“The Old Man’s planning a mission, and he wants the best.”

Said Tigh, as he walked over to the coffee machines and grabbed a mug.

“You up for this?” He asked, turning the tap on the coffee dispenser, letting the rich aroma spread through the room as the mug filled.

Coffee was a luxury item in the fleet, and was rated as an “essential military good” by the Admiral. The pilots had yet to run low.

Tigh took a bag of Arillon Morning Tea from a tray by the coffee machines, as he waited for Kara’s answer.

“Yes sir. One hundred ten percent, sir.” Responded Kara, as Tigh began to dunk the tea bag into the already-full coffee mug.

“Aaah, don’t give me any of that eager cadet crap, Thrace.” Tigh groaned, “Take a minute, sit down, and drink this.” He held out the mug. “Then head to the briefing room.”

Kara’s nose wrinkled at the mixed odor coming from the mug.

“Uhm, Colonel? What the frak is that?”
Tigh smiled, a once-in-a-lifetime event, as far as she was concerned.

“I was hoping you’d ask,” he asid, “It’s called Cofftea. Old trick I picked up in the First War. Tastes worse’n floor cleaner, and has three times the caffeine of anything this side of stims. Kept me goin’ on Latewatch, should serve as well for your mission.”

He turned to leave, but as he walked out into the corridor, the X.O. put his hand on the doorjamb and turned back to her.’

“Oh. Kara,” he said, evil grin on his face, “Anyone asks what I told ya, you tell ‘em I booted your ass straight out of your seat, all the way up to the briefing room. A man’s gotta keep up his reputation.”

Kara took a sip of the nauseating drink, nearly gagged, and drew her fingers across her lips, ‘zipping’ them, and tossed Tigh a wink.

The older man shook his head, grinning ruefully, and walked out of the Rec Room.


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

Here's the new Chapter. Linking it, because I don't have the energy to edit and italicize it on here yet. work tommorow.

Anyway, here ya go:

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3544185/9/T ... nd_Firefly

tell me what you think...

g'night.