Five Years Before the Fall.

"Welcome home son!" Thomas Kinkaid said as James entered the luxurious office. "How did your pirate raid go?"

"Oh, it was all over the nets on Caprica dad," James said. "The ruthless pirate who raided sixteen ships and put the Caprica Gold Star Line out of business. I heard that the President himself was proclaiming that the Colonial Navy will, quote: hunt me down like the murderous scum I am. Unquote."

"And our clients?"

"Happy as hell," James said, gesturing at a glass of ambrosia, "mind if I?"

"Go ahead, you've earned it."

James tossed the drink back and gave an appreciative sigh. "In any case, I carried out the contract like it was requested. Contrary to the President, no deaths among the crew, and just enough knocked heads to make it look good. Between the insurance settlement and selling off the ships, our friends at Gold Star should be able to make quite a tidy profit."

"Good."

"Not entirely," James said quietly. "Not everyone is as dumb as Adar, and we're racking up a fair number of suspiciously non-bloody raids followed by insurance settlements. I'm certain some people are already curious."

"So what do you think?"

"Either hit someone— for real, or ease up on our business."

"And hitting them for real?"

"Dad, we both know that killing is part of this business. Someone intrudes into our turf we fight 'em. But bringing civilians into it? Bad business. The Fleet might not care if we kill each other— pull a massacre on a civvie ship and you'll have a battlestar looking for you."

"I'm not worried about battlestars."

James laughed, "That's the first time I've heard someone say that!"

"Well, you should give it some thought. Most of our ships, a battlestar is like swatting flies with a cannon and it can only be one place at a time. Nope, I'm more worried about this." He handed James a document, with an impressive number of SECRET tags on it.

Flipping it open, James read it and frowned. "Cutting the fleet? Reducing the number of battlestars in favor of lighter ships…fleet can't like that."

"They won't, because they're waiting for the scary Cylons to come back. They won't. Robots don't need to breath so I figure they left this part of the galaxy long ago— why worry? We locked ourselves in with that damned agreement. They're probably laughing themselves silly wherever they are."

James nodded. The Colonies had abandoned dozens of worlds and it was still a serious crime to move beyond the armistice line.

"But this is what scares me son— one battlestar we can avoid, but this… you can afford a LOT of police cutters for one battlestar. Hell, it's just continuing the trend…before you were born, right after the Cylon war, the Fleet didn't care what we did, so long as we didn't pull out nukes. Now, we have to be careful even showing an armed ship, in another ten years, most of our bases will be found… and that'll be it."

"So we retire?"

"No son, we adapt." His father slid another piece of paper over at him.

"Articles of Incorporation for Advanced Space Concepts…the hell?"

"It's your birthday son, or Mr. President of ASC. Congratulations."

"Thank you. Thank you so much. Would you mind explaining?"

"The longer we go, the harder it is to launder our money, and the harder it is to find homes for our ships. We do both. APC cost me a hell of a lot of money, but it was clean money— well more or less, and it's a licensed ship services and production firm. It's a legitimate way to get ships and support for them."

"Okay, and the first time we use one of those ships for a raid, they close us down. The Colonial Investigative Bureau isn't dumb."

"Your old man isn't senile yet son. You're right. So we're not. We're going to be completely above board. We're going to staff it with the family, but not use it."

"Going legitimate?"

"For now," Thomas said. "James what is going to happen to the Line."

"I dunno."

"I'll bet that within your lifetime, it'll go down, and then there is going to be the rush for land, and we're going to be ready to exploit it. We already have to some degree." James nodded. Hiding loot beyond the Line was an old, if dangerous trick. The fleet wouldn't even think of patrolling beyond the Line.

"But The fleet won't control all that turf. They can't. Hell, things will probably be as bad as they were after the first war or even before the Articles of Confederation. Companies and colonists alike are going to want security. They'll want gambling, whore houses, fine goods for them to trade their riches for…and we'll be there to provide it." Thomas smirked. "In fact, who knows— maybe one day we'll be a new colony— we wouldn't be the first pirates who made good, after all."

James laughed at that, then got more serious. "If we do this, the other groups are going to move in."

"Let them. It's a dying field out there— in fact, the more they run around, the less likely anyone will come after us. We're going to keep our equipment ready and close at hand."

"Big gamble."

"Biggest. You in?"

"Insurance fraud was palling. I'm in."

One Year Later

Iris Reserve Depot.

James tugged at his collar.

"Don't worry sir," the civilian administrator said. "We regularly check the life system."

Do you check to see if wanted felons are in it? James thought. Granted he was still the 'John Doe Captain of numerous pirate vessels' but that didn't mean he wasn't nervous standing in the middle of a Colonial Base.

"I'm fine. My company has been dealing with gearing up for our subsidiary shipping firm, which is why I'm here." He gestured out the window. "Those are Lybock Bay heavy transports, correct?"

"Yes sir. The largest transports built after the cylon conflict. As you know they utilize a stripped down version of the Jupiter's sublight and fTL drives— they were intended to keep up with battlestar groups. As you can note, they have the mounting points for an impressive anti-fighter and light anti-ship battery."

"Well, we won't be using those," James said. At least not until they're well beyond your eyes. "You see that we have authorization to remove ten." He shrugged, "We would have purchased more, but these seem to be the only ones in decent condition."

"Well, they're obsolete in a way— after all, the fleet hasn't launched any deep penetration raids since the War."

"True," James consulted his paperwork. "Next on the list are the Reprieve class repair and refit ships." He could see one out side of armor glass. James let the yammering of the functionary wash over him as he looked at the three ships that were his true goal. The Reprieves weren't just repair ships— they were floating factories. Granted, all the classified equipment was long gone, but the fact was that they'd been in mothballs for 20 years. Most of the removed equipment could be replaced with civilian equipment that was better…except for the single systems that were on board.

The armor fabrication units. Even today, warship armor was hard to build and very difficult to come by— the Colonial military tended to ask questions when people tried to buy something designed to laugh off nukes, after all, especially since it had few uses for conventional ships. That's why he'd spent a tremendous amount of money getting a supply license for that self-same fleet. The fact that he wasn't going to use it wouldn't surprise anyone. Everyone would just assume that the equipment was there in case the navy broke one of their shiny new battlestars and needed repairs. The bonuses and payment from such a windfall would pay for the units ten times over.

And now for the hard part.

"Well, it all seems to be in order, so I'll have my people go over it, but I'm afraid we have rather a lot of paperwork to fill out," James said with false amusement. 'Lot' after all, was something of an understatement. He'd be lucky to get out before tomorrow.

"Thomas…I have to wonder about you. You had such a good thing going… and now you're going to give it up?" The head of the Ha'la'tha syndicate for the Ouranos asteroid belt, frowned as he looked at his sometime rival. "Why?"

"Piracy is getting harder— maybe I want to give something to my son?"

"A shipping company?" Varak asked. "A shipping company currently involved in buying up uneconomical transports? Thomas, I may be many things, but I hope you don't think that one of them is stupid, old friend."

"Not stupid. But better set up to take advantage of this opportunity," Thomas replied. "You know I'm not going to come flying in with warships— I'm not suicidal."

"No, you're not. Your word. You won't try and move in on the belt?"

"My Word."

"The amount of money you're asking for to be bought out… is great, you realize that."

"Too much?"

"No, but we'll need to be careful in how its transferred."

"That's fine— I have a number of accounts, and we can gradually transfer it into the company."

"Or use it for other things, hmm? Things you don't wish to be connected?" Varak smiled. "Keep your secrets. I'll have the transfers ready to go."

Carla Sims was not prone to asking questions of the Boss. That included why she was beyond the Line, risking life imprisonment in a Colonial prison in order to scout out the old battlefields of the Cylon war. She knew a few other ships were also making the risky transits, and they were supposedly looking for planetary bases. There was also the traditional order: watch out for toasters.

Not that she could do anything about them. The Rattletrap was an old freighter without a single gun, mainly to make the best of the (poor) chance of convincing a Colonial Officer that the jump had been an accident.

"Okay…" she muttered to her copilot. "This is the site of the Battle of Tarim… sensors picking anything up?"

"No. Probably deorbited a while ago." Her second said in a bored voice. "And look, yet another moon. Wow, so many sites outside of the Colonies." Carla didn't say anything. Mike was right— the reason that the Colonies hadn't been upset at the Armistice was that it seemed like other than the 12 main worlds, Kobol (wherever that was) and Earth (if it even existed), the universe had very little in the way of habitable planets. Still, the boss was the boss.

"So I hope you understand," The portly functionary continued on in a somewhat bored voice. "After all, while it is true that they are slated for disposal as hulks, the Defenders are still technically Colonial property and cannot be sold to private individuals… especially in such numbers. As for the Port Caprica troop carriers, those are still technically on the fleet rolls!"

James leaned back and let the words wash over him before replying.

"Which we all know is a polite way of saying that they will never be used again. Not with the more heavily automated ships replacing them. It takes what, twice the crew to man one of those old ships?" James smiled. "My company can tear down the ships, remove the weapons, and get them ready for recycling, and it would benefit our position in this market."

"I'm afraid that you do not have, the ah, backing or reputation of an older company. Now if you'll excuse me-"

"I'm afraid you should probably read this document." James said and handed it to the man.

Boredom turned to fear, as his face paled, sweat starting the bead on his forehead.

James leaned back and made certain his portable jammer was working. "We're quite private here, but accepting money from the Ha'la'tha?" He tched.

"How did you…"

"Civic minded individuals." Or rather part of the price Dad got out of the Ha'la'tha for the asteroid belt interests.

"Now, I'm not interested in extorting money out of you. The price we would pay for those ships remains the same…although I might mention that since the weapons systems are still worth something perhaps they should be left on so we could sell them as well." He smiled brightly, "It's not as if they have any ammunition, and by law we could only sell them to authorized fleet disposal services."

"But I-"

"I'm told that the Ha'la'tha have a rather… draconian policy about people who might reveal their secrets…say during a court trial? They've even been known to take preemptive action against those who are facing such a trial, in case they should attempt to bargain with secrets that are not theirs to tell."

James leaned back and had the grace to not laugh as the thoroughly deflated functionary started the paperwork to ease his way.

Tauron Historical Society

The main lecture hall of the Society was crowded. Likely because the speaker had promised something that would put Taurus on the map and more importantly, finally put Caprica's insufferable historical society in its place once and for all.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" Timothy Stearns said to the audience. "As you know, our brave soldiers and sailors gave their blood to protect us from the Cylon menace, and without their sacrifice, Tauron may have been lost." A few older members in the audience nodded. "But we do not have any monument worthy of their sacrifice. Not yet." He looked over at them, "Sadly, the, unlike the Caprican's, our Battlestar Archeron did not survive survive the war."

The audience was bored, he could see, but it was time to wake them up.

"But there is another Archeron. AS you know, it was part of the first group of battlestars to be completed after the Armistice. Behind him the screen lit up. "And it was one of a series of ships that broke many design boundaries. The first warship to incorporate dual landing bays, demonstrating our improved control over gravitic systems. One of the most heavily armed ships of any era. A triumph of Colonial engineering. But sadly, one that missed the war it had been designed for, and in this era of rising crew costs, its lack of automated and centrally controlled computer systems doomed it to the decom yards. In fact, I have learned that in the next year it is expected to be stripped and used for live fire exercises! It is a terrible way to reward this ship for it's long years of service!"

Some rising interest. It was always easy, especially on Tauron, to get people annoyed when you talked about ships being destroyed, especially if you made it sound unpatriotic.

"But I don't understand what we can do for it." One lady said.

"I have…several extremely wealthy backers, who feel that this state of affairs cannot stand." Timothy looked at the crowd. "That this ship should not be turned into a hulk, or an amusement park, but should be preserved, as it was at it's height." He gestured at the screen, showing the ship during it's trials. "They propose to refit the ship, to bring it back to its original condition, not simply as a static exhibit, but as a mobile monument, that can travel the Colonies!" Now he had everyone's attention.

"How can we…how could we afford that?"

"Cost is not an issue— the ship is still in excellent condition."

"But approval…" An older man gestured at the ship's image. "I was on that ship, young man, and it is still part of the Colonial Military."

"Yes, which is why the assistance of your organizations is so important," Timothy said. "Not simply to get permission for the use of the ship, but to help in its restoration. When the Archeron is completed, visitors will be able to feel the thrill and connection that comes from standing on a ship that lacks only ammunition to once again defend the colonies!" He laughed. "Of course, I'm certain there will be lockouts on the various items so that even if our visitors bring their own ammunition, they'll be disappointed in the results."

The room filled with laughter and as the people crowded around him, Timothy, for the hundredth time wondered why the Boss wanted to waste his money on this. Kinkaid had never been a military history fan after all…

"An excellent year," Kinkaid said as he looked at the flowing traffic of Caprica City, far below the hotel room.

"An expensive year." James muttered. "WE're making some money from the cargo runs, but it's not enough."

"We've got savings."

"Yes, but companies don't usually lose money. Not unless they can't help it. Dad, what if someone looks at what we're doing?"

"We have ship hulks waiting for disposal," his father said. "And hulks will be disposed of. The fleet isn't looking at them, because big ships aren't a problem any more— they're worried about pirates with dinky little ships that are hard to squash. We're actually more at risk from the smaller stuff."

James nodded at that. The idea of a defender challenging the Caprica defense grid was laughable. But a ton of hand held rocket launchers was a different matter since it could fit in a small cargo bay and even today, Caprica still remembered the religious terrorism that had cost so much before the Cylon war.

"We're staring to get the FTL's ready and we have most of the weapons— and since some of the parts are being manufactured…"

In the repair ships, not to mention the other ships we have. After all, there were so many FTL transports in the colonies that being able to fabricate ship parts and FTL units on site wasn't even an eyebrow raising issue any more. It was cheaper to wait for a ship to jump in, pull the unit, replace or refit it and then jump to your destination than it was to simply try the same at sublight speeds.

"And once we jump the ships out, we have a fleet and a mobile shipyard." James said.

"Which we can keep one jump ahead of the competition and the fleet, if they decide to move out after us." Thomas shrugged. "I doubt they will. Hell, I bet some of the admirals would cheer us on."

"Which reminds me," James commented. "We finally got approval for some test of concept production runs. The fleet was very happy at our low cost."

"You mean desperate."

"I mean desperate. Thank you President Adar." James gestured at the display on the table. "It's a good design if I say so myself. Next generation armor, good weapons, and of course our modular bays…" He gestured at the lower and upper sections of the ship, "Can be changed out." Several images appeared, with ships mounting different styles of superstructure. "Light troop carrier, cruiser, and of course carrier model." He smiled. "Jackson Industries was very happy to partner with us. It's a great team up— they use the upstarts for some capital, and we get the experience we need in ship building. As well as the ability to lose some ships in the construction."

"How many?"

"Ask me later when we know how much we're being observed. These aren't hulks dad, they'll be frontline ships. In fact, the fleet has already informed our representatives that nobody's putting any combat programs in those computers until the ship is officially accepted for trials." He shrugged, "We'll have some, especially if we just build the logistics version. We can always swap out later."

"So." Thomas said finally. "Confident?"

"It could all come tumbling down, the organization busted, you and I making little rocks out of big ones…but I feel good about this. I'm thinking of "King" James."

"Stick with Governor," his father said. "After all, if this works, we'll have to present ourselves as loyal members of the Colonial government who are simply trying to keep order in the wilds beyond the Line…"

The two men chuckled as the lights of the city continued to play over the room.

TBC