Finally got far enough into this second story to begin posting. Thanks so much to Nerina and SVR for ideas and beta help - you girls rock!
Set a few weeks later in the universe of my first story (Sliver of Light). This story does build a little on the first but I don't think you have to read the first to enjoy this one.
Disclaimer: Battlestar Galactica and its characters belong to Ron D. Moore, David Eick and the rest of the folks at the SciFi Channel. I just can't resist messing up their sandbox.
Cold Blood
Battlestar Galactica1535 hours.
"Repeat, I say again, repeat last transmission." Dualla's voice cut through the buzz of activity in CIC. Her brown eyes were wide, tension visible in the way she clutched the headphone against her ear. Adama shifted his gaze from the in flight fuelling manoeuvres that currently spiralled across the Dradis screens. "Hold, Colonial One, I'm putting you through to Galactica actual. Sir, "she met Adama's eyes. "I've got Colonial One for you."
Adama snatched the phone from its cradle and pressed it to his ear.
"Adama, go."
The voice on the other end of the line was unsteady. "Um …sir. The President's raptor was due back to Colonial One twenty minutes ago. While it's not unusual for the President to extend a visit, we've received no communication-"
"Hold." Adama barked into the receiver before turning to back to Dualla. "The President's flight plan?"
"Yes, sir." She tapped a few buttons on her console and began scrolling down a character filled screen. "Raptor 235 disembarked Colonial One at 1400 headed for the supply carrier Bounty. Return to Colonial One scheduled for 1515. We have confirmation of docking with the Bounty."
"Visual confirmation?"
"Yes, sir."
"How many aboard the Raptor?
"Six, sir."
"Pilot?"
"Captain Thrace, sir."
"Try to raise the Raptor. Mr. Gaeta, get me everything you have on the Bounty."
"Yes, sir." In stereo.
Adama turned to Colonel Tigh at his right, Dualla's voice insistent in the background. "Raptor 235, this is Galactica. What is your position? Repeat, Raptor 235, Galactica. Starbuck, relay your position."
To Tigh: "Launch the alert Vipers and bring the training group home. Put them in close escort formation around the Bounty. Contact the fleet, I want that ship isolated." He put the phone back to his ear as Tigh went to work. "What was the President's business on the Bounty?"
"Ahh…" Adama could hear papers shuffling. "I'm sorry, sir, she's added a written note to her schedule and I'm having trouble … ok … it says blessing."
A blessing? This in itself was not unusual. Despite the scientific miracle that had cured Laura's cancer, many of the more religious colonists still believed her to be a prophet. She often took time out of her gruelling schedule to bless newborns or the dying. They had agreed, however, that this would only take place on Colonial One or Galactica.
"Do you have the President's personal aide on board?" He asked.
"Yes, Tory Foster is here."
"Good. I'm sending a Raptor, put her on it. Tell her to bring anything relevant to the President's visit today."
"Will do."
"Adama, out." He slammed the receiver down and turned his gaze on Tigh.
"Already on it." Tigh was in motion.
Dualla's voice. "Sir, I have Hot Dog."
Viper 452 - Space outside the Supply Carrier Bounty1555 hours.
Lt. Costanza's viper was one of eight taking position around the Bounty. The ship was bulky, old and about a quarter of the size of Galactica. Its hull was a dirty grey, pockmarked liberally with dents and dings of every size. A colourful array of cargo containers were suspended from magnetic rails on its underside. There were a few uneven rows of tiny view ports, a small arcing bridge and a couple of obvious docking bays. He completed a tight pass, even though the other ships of the fleet had been ordered to move away from the Bounty, leaving plenty of manoeuvring room.
"Galactica, this is Hot Dog. Have completed one pass of the Bounty. One port docking bay, one starboard. All's quiet. Executing close escort formation." The seven other vipers in his flight group took their positions alongside the Bounty, two sweep escorts out front, two rear and four flanking with Hot Dog flying the starboard flank of the lumbering carrier.
"Hot Dog, Galactica. I've been directed to ask you to hail the Bounty." Dualla's voice, loud and insistent in his ear.
"Copy that, Galactica." He flipped on his communications array, tuning to a general fleet wide frequency. "Bounty, Bounty, this is Viper 452, call sign Hot Dog. Please respond on this channel. Over." He flipped to open channel and was met with static. After a few seconds he repeated, "Supply carrier Bounty, Hot Dog. Please acknowledge on this channel, over." He continued the hail but received only static in response.
"Galactica, Hot Dog. Bounty is not responding to hails. Request instructions." He continued to peer into the view port that was nearest his Viper, trying to find evidence of motion inside the bulky vessel.
"Hot Dog, Galactica. You are ordered to instruct the Bounty to expect a boarding party unless she answers hails."
"Roger, Galactica." He flipped back to fleet wide. "Bounty, Hot Dog. Be informed that unless you respond to hails, you will be boarded. Repeat. Please respond or prepare to be boarded."
Then he waited.
Static.
And then a whine so high pitched his hands flew to the sides of his helmet, inertia keeping his fighter steady as her pilot squeezed his eyes shut against the noise. A similar scene was playing out on the decks of CIC. When the whining finally stopped, this message penetrated his ringing ears:
"Do not approach this vessel. Any ship attempting to dock or otherwise interfere with the operation of the Bounty will be responsible for the murder of the President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol. Repeat. Do not approach or attempt to dock with this vessel. Any incursion will result in the death of President Laura Roslin. Stand by for further instructions." The voice was male, a tenor that spoke without any emotion. The message repeated three times and then the channel went silent.
Raptor 235 - Space outside Colonial One4 hours ago
"Stop showing off, Racktrack, she can't even see you!" Kara Thrace's infectious laugher filled the open comm. channel.
"Yes, sir!" Galactica's combat air patrol, this rotation lead by Lt. Margaret "Racetrack" Edmonson, had just buzzed the President's Raptor as it passed within range of the air group's current flight pattern. The vipers settled into a temporary escort formation before resuming course. Starbuck had to squeeze her hand tight on the stick not to waggle the Raptor in response. She had promised the President a nice easy trip. She switched to the inner ship comm.
"Sit tight everyone; we'll be in range of the Bounty in … two minutes." Kara opened the throttle and banked smoothly around the bulk of a cargo container vessel, owned by Colonial Movers, moving further towards the outer layer of ships. She banked again and began her approach towards the Bounty.
"Bounty, this is Raptor 235. Call sign, Starbuck. I have you in visual contact, please respond. Over."
"Raptor 235, this is the Bounty, we have you in visual contact."
"Bounty, Starbuck. Request docking procedures."
"Roger, Starbuck. Approach starboard landing bay, hands on speed 85. Checkers red. Call the ball."
Hands on approach? With a carrier as old as this was there any other way? "Copy that, Bounty. Starboard landing bay, hands on approach, speed 85, I have the ball." Kara brought her in for a picture perfect landing. She smiled. She doubted the landing had disturbed a single hair on the President's head.
"Skids down, maglock secure, the Bounty is honoured to welcome the President of the Twelve Colonies aboard." The ship began a rather jerky descent on the landing platform. Metal shrieked against metal.
"Roger, Bounty. Starbuck over and out."
The upper bay sealed above them and there was a loud hiss as the area around them was pressurized. With pressurization complete, the lower bay doors opened and the ship descended into the lower hanger bay. Kara scanned the empty bay. It wasn't large and it wasn't pretty. There were stains of every kind on the dank, grey floor, parts, storage boxes, diagnostic trolleys and equipment were haphazardly arranged in the space. A raised metal gantry lined three of the walls. There were no other vessels.
Starbuck broke the seal on her helmet, pulling it off and setting it next to her on the sensor console. She was joined by two members of the President's security team. They scanned the hanger bay as well, not particularly satisfied with what they saw.
"Captain Thrace, can you run an infrared scan across the bay. There are way too many places to hide in there."
Kara unstrapped, moved to the ECO console and began the scan. After a second pass to confirm she answered. "All clear."
"Good. The President is not to deplane until you've seen an all clear signal from us. If you would cover the rear, sir?"
"I'm at your service."
They were distracted then by the hatch at the far end of the landing bay. It had opened and three unremarkably dressed civilians stepped through. They crossed the bay until they were about halfway to the Raptor, and then stopped, folding their hands in front of them. Here we go. She cleared the scan and headed aft where she was greeting by the Colonial President and the rest of her security staff, already unbuckled and assembling near the hatch.
"My compliments, Captain Thrace that was some landing." Though she didn't smile, there was a sparkle in Roslin's eyes.
"That's what they pay me for, ma'am." she smiled, inwardly glad that Roslin had noticed. Roslin's security repeated their instructions and cracked the hatch. All four stepped out onto the wing of the Raptor and scanned the bay. They then descended to the deck one at a time, hands to their sidearms. After a few moments, Matthews raised his hand.
Kara touched the President's shoulder lightly. "You're on, ma'am."
Battlestar GalacticaAdama's quarters.
1620 hrs.
"Miss Foster, thank you for coming. Please sit down; we don't have a lot of time." Adama gestured to the chair opposite him. Tory sat and eyed Adama in a manner that was meant to hide her nervousness. While she envied the gentle affection and support he gave the President, she couldn't be faulted for finding the man intimidating. The table was littered with the schematics and specifications of a large supply ship. "In light of what's happened, I'm interested in the circumstances of the President's visit today." He was glacially calm, his gaze seeming to bore through to the back of her skull.
She opened her briefcase and pulled out some papers and a video tape. She pushed the tape across the table to him. "We received this yesterday by interfleet courier. If you would care to play it, sir."
Adama didn't hesitate, crossing the room to slide the tape into his vid reader. There was a brief period of channel static and then …
They were lovely. A young couple, probably not more than twenty-five years old, stood almost embarrassed before the camera. He was tall, with long dark hair and about three days growth on his beard. The woman was blond, with delicate features and fullness to her body that spoke of recent childbirth. They were standing in front of a very used looking isolette in what appeared to be a crude medical facility.
Adama was immediately drawn in by the haunted look in their eyes, reflecting back at him his own agony at having lost Zak.
The man put a calming hand on his wife's upper arm and spoke:
"President Roslin, Prophet of the Gods," his voice was rich but unsteady, emotion deepened the timbre. "We are greatly humbled to be offered this small amount of your valuable time. I am Andreas Alinda and this is my wife, Sophia." He squeezed her arm and she attempted a smile, her other hand knuckling away her tears.
"Two days ago, we were blessed by the Gods with the birth of our first child. We named her Zoe." The picture jostled as the camera approached the isolette. After a rapid slide along a dismal grey bulkhead, the camera focussed on a tiny form, nestled in the warmth of the tiny plastic bin.
Adama gazed in wonder at how something so small could be so perfectly human. Ten fingers, ten toes. Everything as it should be despite the disconcerting presence of monitoring wires and the breathing tube that obscured the child's tiny mouth. She had a cloud of soft, dark hair.
"Sophia wasn't to have given birth to our Zoe for another two months." Andreas' voice could be heard in the background as the image of the child remained. "Dr. Benson has told us …That …" his voice had fallen to a whisper and he coughed, continuing shakily "Zoë's lungs are not developed enough for her to breathe on her own. That … she will be find rest with the Gods very soon." The camera pulled back and focussed on the couple once more, the woman now all but turned from the camera, her face awash in tears. "Please, we beg you, come and bless Zoë that her soul might find its way back to the Gods. Please. We are on the supply ship Bounty and we await your response with great faith in your kindness and wisdom. Thank you."
The tape ended abruptly and Adama took his time turning back to Tory, blinking rapidly.
Laura had no children but he knew that this would have broken her heart. And there was no way you could move a child that weak. "Did you have the tape scanned and verified?" He asked Tory abruptly.
"Yes, everything checked out. I have the report here." She pushed a few of the papers towards Adama as he sat down again.
He glanced at the report. "This is a limited scan."
"Yes, sir, the circumstances just didn't leave us the time-"
"And you just let her go," his tone was accusing and she didn't like it.
"You, of all people Admiral, should now how stubborn the President can be. I did the only thing I could do. I made her take extra security and called in a favour from Starbuck."
The hatch fairly burst open before Adama had a chance to respond. Tigh flicked a glance towards Tory on his way to the Admiral.
"This just arrived in CIC." He handed Adama a plain brown envelope addressed simply to him in plain type. He tore it open without replying and both people in the room caught the flicker in his expression as he drew out the contents. He calmly set it down on the table.
"Son of a bitch." Tigh was beginning to think that trouble followed that woman like a duckling imprinting on its mother. Tory leaned forward out of her chair to see a photo on the table. The President looked calm. She was seated, missing only her suit coat, and a man who looked exactly like he belonged with the masked New Caprica police stood behind her holding today's copy of the Fleet News.
Adama was remarkably calm. Tory knew that his relationship with the President had changed on New Caprica and had sensed that they were still trying to determine the boundaries now that Roslin had resumed her duties. Their escape from that muddy hellhole had made the public lenient but it wouldn't last. Of this she reminded Roslin, nearly daily.
Adama picked up the picture and handed it to Tigh. "Give it to Gaeta. Personally. Tell him to run every test he knows." He glanced pointedly in Tory's direction, and then spoke again to Tigh. "Trace back the path of this envelope and have Vice President Zarek transferred to Galactica immediately. Miss Foster, report to Lt. Dualla. She'll assign you guest quarters for the time being, dismissed. "
Supply carrier BountyHanger deck.
3.5 hours ago.
The bullets had come from above. The bodies of her armed guard hit the ground before she'd had a chance to take a breath. She would certainly have been lying beside them but for a well timed and likely bruising shove from Kara Thrace. Roslin's face and hands took the brunt of her graceless fall against the concrete of the tiny hanger deck, Kara's momentum landing her on Roslin's legs. She felt Kara scramble up her body to shout "Stay down!" near her ear. Bullets continued to pepper the metal plating of the Raptor behind her. There was a loud shatter as the Raptor's canopy cracked and fell in on itself. Roslin shifted to bring her body entirely under the cover of the Raptor's starboard wing. Looking over her shoulder she caught sight of Kara's feet. She had positioned herself behind the cover of the Raptor's nose and had begun to spray the gantry above the hanger with bullets of her own. There was a scream and the sound of a body hitting the deck.
How the frak had this happened? They had just wanted a blessing. A beautiful young couple whose child was too sick to be taken to Colonial One. Her heart had gone out to them and she'd agreed to visit their aging supply ship. Tory had insisted she take Starbuck in addition to her usual security force. She had laughed at the number of guns she had to protect her against a little spit-up.
Kara's scream brought her back to reality. Without thinking, she slid commando style under the Raptor, emerging on the other side. Kara was sitting, her back against the Raptor, trying to reload her gun one handed. Her other arm was slack, a widening red stain at her bicep. Roslin scrambled towards her.
The bullets stopped. A loud voice rang through the hanger. "We want the President. We will spare the pilot if she comes out now."
Continued in part 2.