Chapter Two – Simply Not Credible

The other ship replied quickly.

"I regret we can't transmit recognition codes, Admiral. You may recall that we were decommissioned a couple of weeks before the attack on the colonies. Our crew wasn't even released yet when FleetSec showed up to wipe our classified systems. It's a bit of a story, but we've still got our full crew plus a lot of extras."

Adama did not immediately reply to the other ship, but rather addressed his bridge crew. He actually couldn't recall having heard anything about Preserver for years before the Cylon attack. "That's just great. Mr. Gaeta, hold position, transmit jump order to civilian fleet." Adama knew that the purpose of the recognition codes was not only to identify a ship electronically, but also to ensure that a ship truly had a Colonial crew.

It took two officers – or, in the case of very small ships, an officer and a pre-selected enlisted crewman – to unlock the console allowing a communications specialist to transmit codes. Once unlocked, the comm specialist could transmit codes, but at regular intervals (usually weekly) or after a power loss lasting more than five minutes the console would have to be unlocked again. The authentication module also had "dummy codes" that would identify if a comm specialist was acting under duress. Finally, there was a glass-encased destruct lever that would destroy the authentication circuitry yet not damage the main communications console. This was to ensure that if a ship was in danger of being boarded the crew could destroy the ship's ability to authenticate yet still coordinate rescue efforts if there was a chance to save the ship.

Gaeta responded to Adama, "Admiral, Fleet is jumping, both we and the other ship holding position."

At least the Fleet is safe, for now, Adama thought as he toggled the switch on his headset again.

"Preserver, that is troubling but we can work with it. Who am I speaking to?"

"Admiral, this is Lieutenant Lori Spang, Executive Officer of the Preserver. We are holding position to give your CAP a chance to look us over. We've been looking forward to this for a very long time, sir. We've spent a lot of time thinking about this. May I offer suggestions, sir?"

Adama looked over at Colonel Tigh, who shrugged and raised his hands in the classic, "you're asking me?" gesture.

"By all means, Lt. Spang."

"I'm sure, Admiral, that you are aware there are twelve Cylon models. May I suggest you send a Raptor with a crew of two over to us? We'll greet them with on the hanger deck with three hundred smiling humans, and then I and another officer will return to Galactica with your Raptor."

"That all sounds very well and good, Lieutenant. I am curious as to why your commanding officer can't make the trip."

"Well, Admiral, my commanding officer is a fine man, and most definitely human, but by all rights he shouldn't be alive. He's a bit afraid that the moment you see him you'll think he's a Cylon and toss him out the nearest airlock and as he's already been accidentally abandoned in space once before he has no desire to repeat the experience, especially sans spacesuit. He has made a command decision that he thinks it best that you hear his story from my lips before meeting you again. He thinks that once you hear his story you will have Doctor Cottle test him first before firing him out a launch tube."

"I'm not very happy with this, but under the circumstances it seems reasonable. Raptor will launch in five minutes. Galactica out." Adama turned to Tigh, "Do you feel any better about this?"

Colonel Tigh shook his head. "No. I don't feel good about it at all. Still, if it's a Cylon trick it means the skin jobs have evolved a sense of humor."

"Is the President still on board?"

Gaeta responded to Adama. "Yes, sir, she is. Colonial One jumped with the rest of the fleet, but the President, Tory and two members of her security detail are waiting in the briefing room."

"Good. Find Lieutenant Agathon. I want her and Doc Cottle in the briefing room ASAP. Who's on Raptor duty?

Gaeta looked at a small whiteboard. "Racetrack and Helo. Helo is filling in for Bloodhound today."

Adama smiled. Helo didn't usually fly as an ECO too often anymore, but having a senior officer on the Raptor could be a good thing.

"Get them launched. Tell them I want reports when they dock with Preserver, and check-ins every sixty seconds on the way back. Anti-duress protocols on landing."

Gaeta was not surprised that Adama wanted the Raptor crew to use the landing procedures that would alert the Galactica if they were being forced to comply with unknown enemies. He picked up a phone to relay Adama's orders to the hanger deck.

"Colonel Tigh, you have the deck. I'm going to meet the President."

Tigh simply nodded as Adama left the CIC.

A few minutes later, Adama was briefing Laura Roslyn.

"So, Admiral could you explain what a CHSV is? Could this "Preserver" really be a Colonial ship?"

Adama replied to Roslyn, "A CHSV is a legacy of the First Cylon War. It stands for Colonial Heavy Salvage Vessel. Only four were ever built."

Roslyn nodded. "Yes, now I remember, I once saw a CSV, without the H. Kind of like a space tugboat? Are we to believe that somehow a single craft like this found us this far from Colonial space?"

Adama shrugged. "It's possible. A heavy salvage ship is several orders of magnitude more advanced than your average salvage vessel. They were designed for long-term, heavy duty fleet repair and replenishment, plus intelligence study of captured enemy technology. It's way more than a glorified space tugboat. It's a vessel roughly the size of a battlestar, designed to scrape whatever resources it can from its surrounding environment to support a fleet on detached duty. Aside from the fact that it has very basic armament, a CHSV has factories, repair facilities and intelligence capabilities that can only be matched by a full drydock. Maybe even more. A drydock doesn't have the intelligence apparatus and personnel that a CHSV would have."

"Are you familiar with this ship?"

Adama shook his head. "No. I haven't heard of a CHSV in at least fifteen years. I know two were destroyed in the first war. They said that they were decommissioned right before the Cylon attack, so I don't know why it would have a full crew."

Roslyn sat and absorbed that. She seemed to reach a decision. "Admiral Adama, is it your considered opinion that the miraculous appearance of a ship that could theoretically be a Godsend to the fleet, complete with a captain that won't show himself is simply not credible?"

Adama replied, "I wouldn't go that far. It could be true. For damned sure, I'm not going to do a full dress reception ceremony like I did when Pegasus showed up out of the blue. I'm going to have a squad of Marines there when I meet their commander and Doctor Cottle is going to do everything up to and including a full anal inspection with his patented bedside manner, right, Jack?"

Cottle snorted. "Yeah, Bill, I've already heard it from Ms. Roslyn's PSS man."

Adama frowned slightly, and the Presidential Security Service man sitting behind Roslyn took it as his cue to speak.

"Admiral, ever since the Aaron Doral bombing incident on Galactica in the early days of the war, we've been worried about the possibility of a Cylon infiltrator carrying a combination of plastic explosives and plastisteel balls in their stomach. Such a suicide bomber would elude normal metal detection so we've asked that Doc Cottle run any new guests through the medical imager to rule that possibility out before they meet with the President."

Adama raised his eyebrows, impressed. "Good call. But as long as we're being paranoid, let's go the extra mile. I want the medical scanner wheeled into the hanger deck, with one of your trainees operating the machine, Jack. You're a cranky old bastard but we can't afford to lose you if a Cylon decides to detonate in sickbay. Sharon, what do you think?"

The Cylon spoke quickly. "They are going through a lot of trouble to put us at ease. They deliberately jumped just barely into Dradis range so that we could detect them, and have put themselves into a position where if they turn on us, what's their gain? Two Raptor pilots? Even the Cylon don't have infinite resources. I don't see what the benefit to the Cylon is."

Roslyn cast an appraising eye over the Cylon officer. "Lieutenant Agathon, they say they have three hundred humans ready to meet us on their hanger deck. Do you think the Cylon could persuade that many humans to turn against us in order to facilitate a deception that would perhaps lure us into letting that ship join the fleet? The Admiral stated that the ship was armed. Perhaps they want to join the fleet and then once we trust them open fire?"

Sharon shook her head. "On New Caprica, out of a population of roughly forty thousand humans, the Cylon were hard-pressed to assemble a police force of a couple of hundred. How many humans were left alive in the colonies? Twelve worlds, who knows how many ships. Who knows? Especially..." Sharon's voice trailed off and she looked down.

Roslyn did not take her eye off of Sharon Agathon. "Especially, Lieutenant?"

Sharon looked up and looked the President right in the eyes, and spoke in a firm, neutral voice.

"Especially if perhaps they plucked survivors from rural areas that escaped the initial nuclear attack. If they saved intact families. If they Cylons are holding their families hostage, they might go along."

Sharon's voice did not reveal any shame she may have felt for the actions of the others of her race. Roslyn wondered to herself if the monotone of Sharon's voice was a carefully contrived attempt to hide her emotions, or if the Cylon defector didn't really care what happened before she decided to joined the Colonials.

Bill trusts her. Does she love the human race, or does she just love Karl Agathon? If something happened to Karl, would this creature take her child and leave us, going to rejoin the others of her kind? Or do the relationships she's built here truly matter to her? Does she truly believe that oath she took as a Colonial Officer?

None of these thoughts were put into words by Laura Roslyn. Instead, she merely said, "Thank you, Lieutenant Agathon. I appreciate your insights" in her most pleasant voice.

The Cylon inclined her head slightly. "Madame President."

Adama spoke up. "Laura, a CHSV has pretty limited armament compared to a battlestar. Two missile tubes, one fore, one aft, manual feed. Two point-defense batteries as well. That's pretty much it. I guess if they tried hard enough they could put some Vipers in the air as well."

"I've learned a few things about weaponry in the past few years, Admiral. What you're telling me is that this ship could get off two guided nuclear missiles before the Galactica would even have time to react."

Adama couldn't refute that. "Yes, Madame President. Still-"

Roslyn raised her hand in a halting gesture, "Yes, yes, I know, Bill, it's a military matter, it's a potentially very valuable ship, and I know, I am absolutely certain, that you will take every possible precaution. It's just..." Roslyn took a breath and sighed before continuing in a lower voice, "Bill, it's just after Pegasus, I don't want to be disappointed again. We've been through so much..."

Adama smiled. "Don't worry, Laura. After all, this time I outrank our guests."

Laura laughed, a true throaty laugh that made everyone in the room smile. "Unless, of course the Preserver's mysterious unseen commander happens to be a Fleet Admiral."

Adama shot back, "Bite your tongue, Madame President."

Cottle grunted. "So say we all."