Warrior with a Badge

by VStarTraveler

Summary:

Due to an important upcoming Council vote, Colonel Tigh has Lieutenant Urdea, a retired Colonial Warrior and now a detective in Fleet Security, assigned to solve a theft from a disagreeable but rather influential Siress. While it initally appears to be just another petty case tied to the criminal underworld, Urdea soon learns that the safety of the rag tag fleet may be put at risk if he fails to solve it!

This occurs just over two yahrens after the Exodus from the Colonies and the events of my story SAFE-TY SYS-TEM.

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction, written entirely for fun and not for profit. This interpretation of the world of Battlestar Galactica is entirely my own, and Battlestar Galactica and all of its various components remain the property of their respective owners.

Prologue:

With the destruction of the Colonial Fleet at the so-called peace conference, the targeted destruction of the primary planetary defense systems, and the first wave of attacks on the homeworlds, the Cylons opened the way for the invasion and ultimate annihilation of the Twelve Colonies of Man. Due to Commander Adama's quick actions, thousands and thousands of people were saved by taking flight to the heavens in whatever ship was available to them.

Among this human tide, in addition to many members of the Colonial Military, were some of the best and brightest people in the Colonies. They were people who could be great contributors in the rebuilding of the human race in general and in Colonial society in particular. In addition, there were some so-called "society-types" who generally seemed not to understand that their former way of life was now gone forever.

The vast majority of the refugees, however, were ordinary citizens who were just trying to escape with their lives and those of their families. They, too, would be instrumental in defending the Fleet along the way and in the rebuilding process, some practicing skills learned over a lifetime, but many others with skills or abilities as then-yet to be discovered, as defenders, workers, innovators, or even creators, filling, in a great many cases, positions of need rather than those they preferred. Representing the largest segment of the now-transient Colonial society, these people would ultimately be responsible for the bulk of the effort and much of the eventual success or failure of the overall enterprise.

There was, however, an additional, often overlooked and rarely mentioned segment of the populace, those who fought their way to the rag-tag fleet by whatever means were necessary, sometimes leaving trails of death and destruction that seemed to rival the ruthlessness of the Cylon foes. These included gangsters and mobsters, low-lifes, desperados, plunderers, villains, and criminals of every conceivable type, all making their way to the transports escaping from the Colonies, often carrying the much more valuable absconded goods of their victims who were left behind. When they arrived in the Fleet just over two yahrens ago, most found that they were forced, to a degree, to blend in with the rest of the population, but criminals at heart remained generally criminals always, so while they remained largely hidden and protected in the shadows cast by their fellow refugees, their criminal activities by no means ended.

With everything from food and clothing to electronics and tools to candy and makeup in such short supply, a barter market was quickly established on virtually every ship, with items sold by whoever had something to sell to whoever had something of interest in return. Deals often became quite complicated, with multiple parties, so dealmakers were often used. The markets served a great purpose, so they were tolerated and even encouraged by the Council.

However, if one scratched that veneer of respectability only slightly, one would quickly discover the underlying darkness of the black market, where one could also buy, often at great price, just about anything one wanted, even if no one currently had it for sale. The shipboard black market was usually run by the dealmakers under the direction of a local crime boss, who often also ran gambling, drug, and lower class socialator operations, but all of these were overseen, supported, and often supplied by a fleet-wide crime syndicate known as The Organization that employed a number of junior members charged with obtaining the specifically needed goods, drugs, or sex operatives, by whatever means were necessary.

'***

Chapter 1:

Interfleet news broadcast:

"With the fleet's recent arrival in the Naransay system, the Council of Twelve's upcoming meeting in less than three cycles promises to be a contentious one. At the top of the agenda is the proposed plan to stop in the system for two sectars or more for resupply purposes. A source here on the Battlestar Galactica, who chooses to remain anonymous, has confirmed that long range missions conducted prior to Commander Adama's decision to take this route confirmed that water, fuel, suitable foodstuffs, and a number of much needed raw materials are available in this system. The unnamed source estimated that the proposed resupply plan calls for a minimum resupply effort of about eight sectons, with twelve sectons preferred.

"Commander Adama is said to strongly oppose the mission at this time due to the supposed presence of Cylon forces still pursuing the fleet, though they have not been encountered in over half a yahren. The Commander reportedly feels that a lengthy and widespread resupply mission at this time could endanger the entire fleet, so resupply should be further delayed to put more space between the fleet and the Cylon terror, despite pressing needs for many types of supplies.

"Another unnamed source familiar with Council workings has told me that if the vote was held today, it would likely be four or five members in favor of stopping to resupply, Commander Adama and about three other members in favor of a quick and quiet passage through Naransay, and the three or four remaining Council members undecided. We will bring you more on this story as it continues to develop…."

'***

Blaster shots rang out. Not one, two, or even three, but many, many repeated rounds in steady progression. Then, as abruptly as the firing had begun, it stopped.

"Weapons clear and down!" called Senior Flight Sergeant Jolly, while the range officer started walking the line and checking each weapon in turn. Those who had just completed firing were then free to check their scores.

The Galactica's shooting range was an important training facility for the fleet's combat personnel, including the elite Colonial Warriors, the tough Colonial Marine all-purpose combat forces, and Fleet Security, with availability for other units as needed and occasionally even for civilian recreational use. Due to training schedules and certain interagency rivalries that could sometimes boil over, range training times were carefully scheduled to avoid overlap.

It was early in first shift, the so-called day shift in a fleet with no natural sun cycle, so this particular group of Colonial Warriors not currently assigned to patrols or other special assignments were present with their blasters set for tight beam, very low plasma bursts at medium range, appropriate for singeing targets rather than damaging the backstops beyond. The range officer returned to the side, watching carefully for safety protocols and checking weapon charge levels prior to each round, with Jolly leading the actual training exercise. The majority of the participants were very young male Warriors, most not much over 20 yahrens of age, who had been recruited from the fleet and who had received their training aboard the Galactica, but there were a couple of young female Warriors in the same circumstances. There were also a couple of older Warriors who were there as good examples and for their possible assistance. The other exception was the man dressed in a black Fleet Security uniform.

The security officer was in his early 30s, just a few yahrens younger than Jolly but still older than most of the youngsters around them, a little more than 1.8 metrons in height, with a medium athletic build, a full head of short dark hair, and dark brown eyes. He sported no facial hair, making his well-defined features clearly observable. Despite his different uniform, however, he was not subjected to the typical animus, or even often well-deserved outright hostility, directed at members of his service by Colonial Warriors, but rather, was the somewhat rare exception who was welcomed as a brother. Indeed, this was the case for his uniform included, in addition to a detective's badge, a patch showing that despite his relative youth he was a Colonial Warrior (Retired) and a lieutenant at that, which actually made him the senior officer at the training exercise. Still, neither uniform, nor badge, nor rank was important here, but rather camaraderie and the interest in doing really well...and doing it better than everyone else.

"I'm up by 6 points!" exclaimed Ensign Walrach, one of the youngest of the Warriors who had been recruited and trained following the Exodus. "And of you guys left to shoot, Pops here is the only person left who has a shot at beating me. He'll have to score at least a 47 to do it!"

Everyone looked to Urdea to size him up, and moments later most of the other Warriors were furiously betting on the outcome. Forty-seven out of 50 was a tough score, just besting his 46 from each of the first two rounds. With the bets in place, Jolly had the rest of the group shoot first, each shooting five rounds in five microns or less, with the highest score in the group being a 44, and then Urdea went to the line. "Come on, Pops! You've got this!" shouted a few supporters, while those on the other side were cheering for Walrach to hold the lead.

Jolly raised his hand for silence. Holding the chrono and looking at the range, he said, "Range clear! Mark, set, go!" and then started calling time. Five microns later, the match was over, and the target was totaled. "Forty-five!" shouted one of Ensign Walrach's supporters. With that score confirmed by the smiling range officer, the appropriate cubits quickly changed hands.

"Nice shooting but better luck next time, Pops," said Ensign Walrach, grinning at him as he grabbed his bag and started to head with the rest of the Warriors to their next training exercise, but he turned back to Urdea and asked, in a low voice, "Say, is your grand-daughter still mad at me? Do you think she'd mind if I call her again?"

Urdea chuckled at the jibe, "Funny, Walrach. You know I'm not old enough to be Jostine's dad, much less her grandfather. I was just her guardian until she turned 18 a few sectons ago. She makes her own decisions so I don't know if she's calmed down enough after your last stunt, but if I were you, I'd probably be calling her in a heartbeat to apologize and to ask her to give me another chance. Of course, I'm not still a goofy, young daggit-pup like some people around here," he said, grinning at the young Warrior who was looking quite sheepish and studying his boots rather intently.

He looked up then and replied, "Thanks, Pops. I'm really sorry. I'll call her and tell her when the shift is over and maybe she'll talk to me?"

Urdea gave him a smile and an encouraging nod, and Walrach took off running to catch up with the rest of the group. Urdea's comm sounded just as he was about to go as well. "Dispatch to Lieutenant Urdea. Come in, Urdea."

"Urdea, here, Dispatch. What's happening?"

"Captain Rance said for me to give you a call. He has a new case assignment for you, off-ship, so he said to bring your bag packed for a few cycles in case it takes a while. Oh, and he said Colonel Tigh personally asked for you to get the assignment. Someone's in trou-ble! Ha ha! Dispatch out."

When the exchange was over, Sergeant Jolly approached as Urdea was wondering what he'd done to draw the assignment. Jolly said, "Nice shooting, Urdea. I was just checking the record versus this time last yahren and before. It's just like I thought—you've made a huge improvement in your shooting scores! I'm guessing someone's been training with the Warriors and training with Security as well, right?" He grinned when Urdea confirmed his guess. "Looks like that's made a huge difference."

"Yeah," Urdea responded, "that and the medicians finally getting my meds dialed in correctly."

Jolly nodded and then glanced at the training scores again. "Urdea, your shooting is well above the required standard for Colonial Warriors, your physical work seems great, with your leg not seeming to slow you down a bit, and I haven't noticed you have any muscular tremors in a long, long time. Your foster-daughter is an adult now, too, so you aren't responsible for her anymore either. Is there any chance that you're thinking of reapplying for active duty as a Colonial Warrior?" he asked with a hopeful look.

The security office paused for a moment, glancing down before looking back into Jolly's eyes and saying, "Jolly, thinking? Yes. Actually, it's something I think about every single cycle," he added with emphasis, "but I really doubt that it's ever going to happen. You see, Doctor Salik said he couldn't sign off on my reinstatement if I was the last potential Warrior in the fleet!"

'***