SC-287 Dust Cloud
AKA 'Big Red'
The twirling mass of red dust particles arched across the vastness of space illuminated by the nine stars that made up the gravity well that trapped the particles for a total of five hundred and eight square light years. The light from the stars was filtered into a dark red colour that varied in brightness between the brilliant balls of gas that burned brightly inside.
You could be forgiven for thinking that it was just one continuous cloud of thick dust, the remnants of hundreds of centuries of cosmic collisions and destruction. The reality was that the cloud was made up of long strands of thick dust that stretched out for distances that could only be measured practically in light years. Between these strands there were voids of empty space that stretched on for hundreds of thousands of kilometers.
The Battlestar Hermes burst through its Faster-Than-Light jump at the very edge of one of the colossal dust banks. Like an old sailing ship breaking through a sheet of ice the Battlestar punched a hole into the thick dust that broke away from the armoured hull and off into space. Once clear of the dust the Hermes, looking particularly stained from the thin layer that had attached itself to the outer hull of the refugee Battlestar, came to a halt safe in the knowledge that for the time being at least it was hidden from the Cylons.
Battlestar Hermes
Combat Information Centre
"SITREP!" called out Dytto as he looked at the now limited range on the DRADIS screen hanging over the Operations Desk. The crew began the process of checking the ship's systems either from their own consoles or through communicating with the various departments that made up the mighty warship.
Bowman stood at the Operations Desk staring into a cup of thick black coffee, a luxury these days. His thoughts were dominated by his experience in 'The Slum'. Galit had been right; he needed to go and see for himself the situation down there, he had simply ignored it for too long. He had been laboring under the false belief that if he concentrated on keeping the ship safe then that would be enough but he had overlooked the most basic human needs of having a home, of having privacy and above all having a sense of normality. For the military crew, adapting to this life they had now found themselves living was a relatively easy one. Most of them had spent much of their adult life on a Battlestar, they were used to it.
That was not true for the civilians they had inherited from the Scylla's fleet. This life was not what they had signed up for. They had been spared death for the time being but in order to survive they needed to establish a new existence.
As he looked around at his people working as admirably as they always had he came to a conclusion. It was a conclusion that had been true for a long time; he had just refused to accept it until now when the truth was forced upon him. Hermes was no longer a Battlestar. It was now a colony in its own right. Its government was in-effect a military dictatorship with Artimus Bowman as its President. His quarters served as the Executive Mansion. The sickbay was now the state hospital. They had a military in a constant state of war and a civilian population living in squalor.
In short, there was a lot to do and in his mind he began formulating plans to make changes. He was not a President. He had no experience as a leader of the people but he was a military leader and so decided to tackle it like any other tactical scenario. He thought back to his training at Abry Academy. He knew the scenario, now he had to deal with it.
Firstly; what resources did he have at his disposal? He had a professional and well trained armed forces at his command and despite the discovery of Private Abbott's dishonorable conduct he knew they could be trusted. Abbott was a sad footnote in the Hermes story.
Second; he had the Hermes itself. What was now called 'The Slum' was once intended to house fifteen hundred Marines, half the population that currently lived there. If he crunched the numbers then he only needed to find space for the other fifteen hundred elsewhere aboard the ship. He knew it could never be that clean but it gave him a base with which to begin. Where else could he put them? Despite its size almost every space aboard the Hermes had a function and this problem had been exacerbated by the influx of supplies they had acquired from Scorpia. This moved him onto the third major resource he had in his possession; the Alexis.
It had been something he had considered briefly before but rejected it. The Alexis was not armoured like the Hermes. It would not take much to puncture its hull and if he ever found himself in a firefight with the Cylons and the Alexis FTL went down he didn't want to have to risk men and material trying to defend the Colonial Heavy Liner while it docked for protection. Also, three ships meant three lots of fuel which he certainly couldn't spare. Right now it didn't even have an FTL. That had been removed and was now being fitted to the Faststar Eurylade.
Another factor preventing the relaunch of the Alexis was that three ships meant three lots of fuel which he certainly couldn't spare. This left him the option of permanently keeping the Alexis docked inside the Hermes' starboard Hangar Pod. Again this was not ideal because the Cylons could hit the ship from the openings on either side of the pod. It also meant that the Landing Deck could never be used again for recovering the air wing although that was not really much of an issue anymore since the air wing now numbered less than a third of its peacetime total.
As he thought about the conundrum he remembered something his grandfather said to him once when he was trying to load up the family car for a camping trip in the woods outside Caprica City. 'Its like trying to put six people into five suits'.
"Sir!" said Durand manning the comms station. "Chief Imlay is reporting heavy concentrations of dust in the forward most launch tubes and Landing Decks of both Hangar Pods. Clean up crews are responding."
"Understood," said Bowman taking a sip of the coffee.
Next it was Burmeister to make her report. "Forward gun crews are reporting dust inside the barrels have rendered them unserviceable. It's going to take a few minutes to clear them." Burmeister silently cursed herself for the result of the final jump to 'Big Red'. It was her calculations that had put them into the dust bank. She had been aiming for the void and as the reports were now coming in of the effect the dust was having on the ship she felt a surge of guilt run over her.
Bowman saw this but he knew it was no good for him to 'mother' her and thought it was better to let her deal with it herself. Sometimes a kind word from your commanding officer can feel worse than a first class beasting.
"Don't beat yourself up too hard, Captain," said Dytto to the surprise of both Bowman and Burmeister. Chloe looked over her shoulder in the direction of her XO and effective uncle since she was child. She was half-expecting some sarcastic comment from him but instead he simply added, "Navigational error was bound to creep in sooner or later."
Dytto turned away from Burmeister and back to the DRADIS screen overhanging the Operations Desk. "DRADIS is limited but at least we got a clear picture of our immediate area," he said summing up the picture displayed before him. When Bowman didn't add anything he looked over at the Commander of the Hermes who was staring back at him. The look on Bowman's face Dytto read as being surprised by his comment to Burmeister referring to the recent frosty relationship that existed between them since the discovery of her pregnancy. "What?"
"Nothing," uttered Bowman with a faint and amused smirk before turning to Durand and asking, "What's the status of the work to fit the Alexis' FTL to the Eurylade?"
"One moment, sir," said Durand before calling down to the Hangar Deck.
"Are you still going with Malka to this…this space station of theirs?" asked Dytto in a hushed voice.
"Yes," replied Bowman equally quietly.
"You think that she is just going to shoot off into the sunset never to be seen again once she has the FTL from the Alexis?"
"No," said Bowman with a hint of worry in his voice. "On the contrary, I'm certain she would come back and I'm also certain she would bring the weapons back she promised."
"So why are you going?"
"She's hiding something about that station. When Galit Malka keeps something from you there's usually a damn good reason but there's something different about this. Maybe it's because she is no longer under the control of the MoI, I can't be sure, but that just makes me ask even more questions." Bowman looked deep into Dytto's eyes and the two of them shared a moment where they searched for clarity in a confusing and uncertain universe. "We're all that's left, Caleb. There are probably other survivors out there hiding on the colonies or even in ships that managed to get away but in the here and now it's just us and yet she's keeping secrets from me, I mean us!"
"No, just wait a moment," said Dytto. "You want to know why she's keeping it from you specifically. Now I'm not going to pretend to understand the relationship you guys had on that mission six years ago but you seem to think that her silence is a sign of mistrust on her part. Are you sure that's it?"
"What do you mean, Caleb?"
"Well, I've been told I'm a little paranoid at times and perhaps that's true. But speaking as a paranoid person; how can you be sure that the reason she is keeping something from you is to protect you?"
"Well now that's a frightening thought, Colonel," said Bowman with a slight smirk of amusement.
"I'm just trying to present you with all the possibilities," said Dytto. "Like an XO should."
This was another private joke the two of them shared regarding their past relationship. The two of them nodded in respect to the other before they were suddenly interrupted by Durand.
"Sir, Chief Imlay reports that the FTL from the Alexis has been removed and his team are now in the process of fitting it to the Faststar."
"Very good," said Bowman before turning back to Dytto. "Well I'd better get some rest before I leave. You have the Con, Colonel."
"Aye sir," acknowledged Dytto.
Faststar Eurylade
Galit Malka's Quarters
Galit stood naked from the waist upwards as she applied the tanning cream to her arms. As the cotton flannel smudged the lotion into her skin it left the otherwise milky white flesh a distinctly brown shade. She had finished applying it to her arms from her fingertips upto her shoulders, the result being a significantly darker skin colour. She was now applying it to her face, shoulders and neckline above her breasts.
It was always an odd feeling for her to be concealing herself this way. She had done it many times before during her time in the MoI when it was necessary to disguise her identity. The feeling of it against her skin made her feel like she was inside someone else's body. That was a good thing. Having the right frame of mind was essential to undercover operations.
There was a knocking on her hatch. The sound of a hand banging against the metal door didn't even make her flinch. She was in complete control of her facets and it would have taken a lot to surprise her. She turned her back to the hatch and continued to apply the lotion as the knocks repeated.
"Come in!" she called out in a tone only slightly raised above her normal level.
The hatch opened and Keene Barron stepped inside holding a small bundle of papers. He looked up from them and at the sight of the exposed flesh of her back he stopped as if expecting her to shriek and demand his leaving. It was barely a heart beat before he realized that she was quite oblivious to his presence even while in this state of undress. Nevertheless he closed the hatch behind him not for anyone else to look in.
"I've doctored the orders as you specified," he said to her as she continued to casually apply the darkening lotion. "We've run a computer comparison of the fake signature to Bowman's actual one and it's come up as over ninety per cent. They shouldn't be able to tell the difference." She remained silent. "Galit, if we give these orders to the Marines in 'The Slum' we can just sit back and let them do the work. They won't know the orders have come from us. Why waste the effort?"
She looked back at him from over her right shoulder, her face now a darker tone than normal - Southern Tauron perhaps?
"I have my reasons, Keene," she said with a smile.
"What do you think Bowman is going to do when he finds out?" he asked.
"Artimus Bowman is a rare creature. When I tell him he will be disgusted at first but then, in his own silent way, he will thank me for what I am about to do."
"I hope you're right," uttered Keene. "Bowman outguns us many times over."
"We'll see," said Galit smiling in amusement as she reached for a black wig.
Battlestar Hermes
'The Slum'
Armand Lee sat on his bunk massaging his right leg. It had been giving him some discomfort recently and only the firm pressing of his fingertips into the skin seemed to do anything to soothe it. His right leg had never properly healed from the time he was shot despite the best efforts of his doctor on Canceron, herself on the pay roll of the Basileus Crime Syndicate. It had been almost a year since he was shot during a Government raid on a warehouse used by the Basileus. For most of the time the pain seemed to be almost a faint ache that he barely noticed but over the past few days it had become much more intense. Perhaps it had something to do with what happened to Abbott? He was concerned by the Marine's death and what it might mean for him but it didn't consume him. He couldn't let that happen. If others sensed the fear in the Basileus leader then they might move against him.
There was suddenly a knocking on his hatch before the handle spun around and the door opened to reveal his associate, Raul appear from the other side.
"What?" asked Armand.
"Someone requests to see you," grumbled the grainy voice of Raul.
"I don't want to see anyone," declared Armand. Raul stood aside and allowed Armand to look at the woman who had asked to see him. The woman had dark skin that contrasted nicely with a length of black hair that hung from her head and her clothes gripped close to her athletic and alluring figure. Armand was intrigued. Raul smiled knowing he would be. "Alright, five minutes."
Raul motioned for her to go inside, his lustful eyes examining her as she passed him. Once she was inside Raul stepped back outside and closed the hatch leaving them alone.
"Is this all yours?" the woman asked him looking at the supplies that were stored away on the empty bunks that weren't occupied by either Armand, Raul or Olmos, a blonde Caprican Armand had recruited since coming aboard Hermes.
"Yes," said Armand. "You have a name?"
"Sarah," replied the concealed Galit Malka confidently.
"Just Sarah?"
"It's all you need to know," said 'Sarah' smiling devilishly.
Armand seemed amused by her. "You got stones."
"I'll take that as a compliment. I assume people don't normally tell you what to do?"
"They know better which brings me onto you. I've never seen you before."
"There are a lot of people crammed in here," she replied.
"And yet you know me?"
"Everyone knows you, Armand Lee. Everyone remembers the Basileus."
"You're obviously well informed," he said pleased that he didn't have to go through the ground rules with her. "So what can I do for you, Sarah?"
"I was wondering if I could arrange some protection."
"Protection!" chuckled Armand. "You don't seem the type who'd need it."
"I'm on my own in here. The numbers aren't on my side. My fiancée was on Tauron when the Cylons attacked."
"My condolences," said Armand without a hint of sincerity. "If I decide to give you the protection of the Basileus what are you going to do for me?"
"What do you want?" she asked him.
He looked her up and down again while his leg began to hurt once more, his hand subconsciously proceeding to rub it. "Sit with me!"
She walked over to him and slowly sat down beside him next to his sore leg. He continued to rub his leg as he tried to sum up just what he could get her to do for him in exchange for his help. She was a difficult person to read. He couldn't quite get the gist of her.
"What's the matter with your leg?" she asked. Before he could answer she moved his hand aside and began to rub it for him with her left hand. The movements were slow but firm and Armand winced slightly as the ache seemed to increase in intensity. She slowed down her movements to a pace that was more soothing and relaxing. "Well? What happened?"
"I was shot," he replied.
"Really!" she said feigning excitement. "How? Was it someone you knew perhaps?"
"I don't know his name. It was an occupational hazard back on Canceron."
"How can you be sure it was a 'he'?" she asked grinning. "It could have been a woman."
There was suddenly a fumbling sound from outside that caught Armand's attention.
"What's that?"
"Don't worry about that now," she said holding her hand up to stop him from going any further. "Tell me more about when you were shot?" The fumbling became louder but then suddenly stopped. "Tell me?"
Armand was now both suspicious and very on edge. Something about this whole scene was causing alarm bells to ring wildly in his mind. He tried to get to his feet but she pushed him back down onto the bunk, adding pressure to his weaker leg to force him to cooperate.
"Who are you?" he asked, "really?"
She began to rub his leg once more but now the movement was almost a threatening act in itself.
"It was almost a year ago," explained Galit. "It was on Canceron. You were cowering down and I had your head in my crosshairs. As I squeezed the trigger you stood up and your thigh was where your head should have been. I tried to reacquire you but time was my enemy and I had to withdraw."
"What?"
"I never thought I'd get another chance. Guess the Gods smiled on me."
She thumped her clenched fist down on his leg and he screamed in pain. He instinctively threw her off him and tried to get to his feet but the throbbing pain caused him to stumble forwards and up against the adjacent bunk before slumping down onto the floor. He turned over to look up at her standing over him looking down with delight. It was as if he were a wounded animal that had been found by a predator looking for an easy meal.
The round handle for the hatch began to spin through a full rotation. Armand looked over expecting to find Raul or Olmos coming to see what the commotion was but instead he found himself looking up at a man he didn't recognize wearing grey coveralls and holding a drawn pistol. He clearly knew this woman 'Sarah' since he was focused on Armand almost ignoring her.
Armand's heart began to race with fear. It was obvious to him that his days were numbered by whoever these two were. He wasn't going to go down without a fight however. It was not courage but rather it was more like clinging on to the chance of surviving no matter how remote the possibility may have been.
"Who are you?" he asked as he sat up with his back against the bunk. His right hand was inching slowly behind him trying to feel for the grip of his own gun that he had tucked into his trousers and covered by his shirt. It was the gun he had acquired from Abbott and in doing so had sealed his fate.
"That doesn't really matter now does it," said Galit. "All that matters is whether you walk with us or we drag you. Which is it?"
His hand found the grip and his fingers formed around it. Once he was sure he had a good grip he pulled it out with all his strength and swung it around at the man in the grey coveralls.
A gunshot rang out through the corridors of 'The Slum' - Armand's little kingdom.
Armand Lee's body slumped to the floor. Blood spewed from his mouth from where Keene Barron had fired a single bullet severing his spine at the back of the neck so that Armand's brain couldn't send the signal to his hand to pull the trigger. The bullet had gone out the other side of Armand's head spilling blood over the contraband he had stolen from the people in 'The Slum'. The now dead body of Armand Lee just sat lazily on the floor.
Galit walked over to the lifeless body, his eyes still opened and staring into nothingness. She knelt down infront of him and looked into his face examining every feature of it as it sat there.
"The last of the Basileus," she uttered to herself.
"Galit," said Keene still holding his smoking gun in his right hand. "Galit, we need to move quickly."
"I know," she replied before she stood up and looked at her partner and friend. "The other two?"
"Subdued but alive."
"Alright then. Let's get going. Bag him!"
Keene turned and stepped back outside calling two Marines in to collect the body. Each of the Marines had been issued with orders apparently signed by Bowman. There was no way for them to know that they were fabricated. Galit had made sure that Lieutenant Callisto had not been given a copy of the orders or was made aware of the operation because she knew he would go to Bowman.
With Armand Lee's body bagged up and Raul and Olmos handcuffed and hooded the MoI team and the Marines who had unknowingly been drafted made their way out of the Hermes' slum. Everywhere, people talked in hushed voices about what had happened. Each had their own version of the story but the basic fact remained the same; Bowman had eliminated the Basileus. If Hermes really was its own colony then clearly it had its own secret police force in the shape of Galit Malka and her MoI agents.
In truth nothing had changed for the people of 'The Slum'. They still lived in fear except now that fear was transferred away from Armand Lee and his thugs to Bowman and his people. Fear was a weapon and a tool and was one that Galit was well versed in using. She knew that Bowman wouldn't have approved of what she had done but she knew, in the long run, he would be grateful.
Lt. Nester Adrastos
The Monotheist Camp
Cylon Occupied Virgon
Nester Adrastos lay on his bed inside his cabin within the camp. He had spent the day walking around becoming familiar with his new surroundings and the people who lived there with him. He had thus come to the conclusion that this was probably the most surreal experience of his life. When the war, if the holocaust wrought by the Cylons could be called that, started he never expected he would end up in a camp filled with Monotheist Cylon collaborators. It made little sense to him logically but he understood some of it on a religious level. These Cylons seemed to truly believe in this one God of theirs and as such they had embraced these humans, their great enemy, as being almost kindred because they too believed. As Natalie had put they had been touched by this God as well. Nester chuckled to himself slightly as he thought he had become the robot not being able to accept a God while the Cylons openly embraced it.
His eyes rolled to the right and saw that the sun was going down. It was almost time for him to go and have dinner with Megan Jordan and her Cylon, the Number Five named Adrian Doral. He sat up and reached for his jacket that rested on the back of the chair beside his bed.
It was a brisk and cool evening as Nester stepped outside. A gentle mist had rolled in over the camp obscuring the arms protruding out of the semi-buried Baseship. As he walked towards Adrian and Megan's cabin he encountered only a few people scattered here and there. It seemed the majority of people were tucked up inside their cabins trying to keep out the cold. Even the Cylons seemed to be keeping indoors except of course for the Centurions who continued their seemingly endless patrols of the camp.
Adrian and Megan's cabin sat on the opposite end of the camp. The twenty or so minutes it took Nester to walk there made him realize just how big the camp was. Adrian and Megan's cabin was significantly bigger than Nester's. It was an L-shaped structure built out of logs with a stone chimney running up the side from which a thin string of smoke snaked upwards into the cold air.
As he walked up to the building he began to wonder why the Cylons had elected to live with humans in these settings. Surely it made more sense to live on the Baseship or perhaps in a village or town the Cylons had 'requisitioned' as part of the spoils of war. Villages like Pikeston on Scorpia which he visited during the operation the Hermes took there were relatively intact apparently having been cleared the old fashioned way – Centurions with rapid firing guns.
Nester knocked on the front door three times before waiting for an answer. He heard rummaging coming from inside as if the occupants had been caught off guard. He cocked his nose momentarily as he silently hoped he hadn't interrupted them engaging in activities he never thought a Cylon and a woman could or should be capable of.
A bolt clicked on the other side of the door and it opened bathing Nester in light from inside. Megan Jordan stood in the doorway looking slightly short of breath as she brushed her untidy dark brown hair from her face.
"Hello," she said beaming before stepping down and kissing him on the cheek.
"Am I early?" he asked noting how ill-prepared she looked.
"No, no, no not at all," she replied motioning for him to come inside. "I'm just finishing up dinner."
As he stepped inside the house the smell of cooking filled his nostrils wafting in from behind the door that lead to the room on the far side that gave the building its L-shape. The house was a simple affair with modest furniture consisting of a sofa and chairs around the fire that seemed to make up the living room. Behind them was a short wood table big enough for four adults to sit and eat comfortably around.
"Is Adrian here?" asked Nester.
"No, he's on the Baseship attending to some business," said Megan closing the door behind them. "He hates going there. It doesn't feel comfortable to him anymore."
"Oh right. What kind of business, if of course I can be trusted to be told such information?"
Megan smiled in amusement at him. "You still think of yourself as a prisoner, don't you?"
"I am a Colonial Warrior being held against my will by an enemy force," declared Nester. "No matter how this place is dressed up, to me it is still a prisoner of war camp."
"Well I hope that one day you will come to see it as home," she said trying to smile despite Nester's frosty exterior.
"So everyone keeps saying. It seems that the Cylon's would like me to convert to their beliefs. Do you want me to convert?"
Megan sensed she was being tested by him, perhaps even interrogated. She therefore chose her words carefully.
"I would hope that one day you would come to embrace the true God," she said passionately. "Not the false Gods who have ruled over humanity for centuries, the same Gods that allowed us to drive ourselves to destruction."
"I see," said Nester not too convincingly.
"You don't," she replied understandingly. "Not yet a least but that's alright. Would you like a drink?"
"Uh, yes please."
"Brandy? It's from Virgon."
"Yes, thank you."
Megan walked over to a small cabinet beside the table while Nester stood and observed her. Part of him was still not convinced that she was human. The part of his mind that controlled his paranoia was screaming to him that she might be a plant of some kind intended to get him to cooperate for whatever reason they had in mind. The more he thought about it the more he began to realize that they all could be Cylons. He had no way of being sure.
Megan began to pour the brandy into two small glasses before walking with them back to where he was standing.
"Thank you," he said taking one of the glasses. "Cheers." The two of them toasted one another and began to take a drink. Nester watched her from the corner of his eyes as she drank it. Her face twisted in a mix of disgust and delight at the taste of the alcoholic liquid. She was clearly not used to drinking spirits of this caliber and it amused the two of them.
"I'm more of an Ambrosia drinker," she uttered somehow feeling she had to explain her reaction to him.
"I can tell. Megan, would you mind if I asked you a personal question?"
"Sure," she replied.
"Why Adrian?"
"You mean why would I want to be intimate with a Cylon?" she asked breaking down his question to its foundation. Nester nodded. "He's unlike any man I ever met," she explained with beaming eyes full of love.
"You do know," he started carefully. "He's not…"
"Not human," she finished for him. "It's merely semantics as far as I am concerned. He may have been artificially created but is that so weird? We've had artificial insemination for centuries."
"That's different," protested Nester carefully minding his tone and his manners.
"Is it?" she retorted showing her youthful and rebellious side as clear as day. "Semen and eggs are removed from the parents and are put into a little pot where they are forced to fuse together. How can you call that natural? Is the baby at the end any less human than you or me? Of course not."
"I suppose so," said Nester before taking another sip of his brandy. "So is that how they made the human Cylons?"
"Oh you'd have to ask Adrian or Natalie about that," she replied. "I'm no good at that science stuff. But to answer your earlier question fully; the truth is I've had some…bad experiences in the past with men."
"Like what?" he asked without thinking.
She took a deep breath before answering. "Over a year ago I was kidnapped while I was on vacation. They…did things-"
"I'm sorry!" blurted out Nester throwing his hands up to allow her to stop. "I shouldn't have asked."
"No it's ok," she said with a polite and somewhat forced smile. "I'd like to tell you this. Perhaps you will understand more about why I am here with Adrian." Nester nodded his approval for her to continue. "After it was over and I went home to Caprica I didn't feel the same again. It was like the old me, the spoiled brat, was gone and I had a new outlook on life. I-I hated everything. I was angry at my parents. I was angry at my friends but most of all I was angry at the Gods. I just seemed to drift from one day to the next. Then I met some people, monotheists, and they took me to a few of their meetings. I felt so at home with them like I had always belonged there in God's bosom if you like. That was when I met Adrian. I never thought that I could stand having a man touch me again but his was so soft and tender and I felt like he was genuine. Yes, I know now he's not really human but I don't care. He unlocked my heart."
For Nester it was all beginning to make sense. In his mind it was a case of a young and vulnerable woman having been taken advantage of by these Cylons and their monotheist collaborators. The positive was that she had survived the holocaust and in her mind at least she had found love. Was that necessarily a bad thing? Nester decided it was not his place to judge. He could understand her feelings and why she had taken to a Cylon rather than a man no matter how distasteful it might have seemed to him as an 'objective' observer.
Suddenly his nostrils twitched. "Do you smell something burning?"
"Oh no!" gasped Megan as she went running into the kitchen from where a plume of smoke and steam gushed through the now open door. During the time they had been talking Megan had forgotten about the food she had been preparing.
Nester stood in the doorway to the kitchen waving the smoke away from his eyes as he watched her turning off the cooker and trying to assess the damage. As the smoke cleared he could see that what were once fresh vegetables were now black from being burned quite thoroughly. Dinner was definitely ruined.
As Megan finally grasped the full extent of the damage she threw her hands to her face in disappointment while quietly cursing her absentmindedness. Nester politely stifled an amused smirk.
"Wow!" gasped a voice from behind Nester. "What happened in here?"
Adrian Doral had entered the home totally unnoticed thanks to the commotion in the kitchen with the burned food. Nester turned and saw the face of the man who had interrogated him aboard the Baseship and although not the same Number Five specifically his heart still jolted at the sight of those eyes.
Are you ready to surrender?
Nester quickly composed himself as he watched Adrian walk up to Megan and embrace her sympathetically. Like Nester, Adrian was a little amused by Megan's cremated food.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice muffled from being buried into his shoulder. "I've ruined dinner."
"It's ok," Adrian added kissing her on the forehead. "I'll head back over to the Baseship and get something."
Nester's military mind suddenly kicked in. Perhaps if he could board the Baseship with Adrian it might provide him with some vital intelligence perhaps even locate some kind of armory for future acquisitions. He was sure he could put up with this Doral for a little while.
"I'll help," Nester interjected.
"Uh, there's no need," said Adrian still clutching Megan. "I can do it."
"I don't mind," Nester persisted.
"No, it's ok. Besides there are some of my people who aren't too comfortable with having humans onboard the Baseship."
"I see," said Nester. "And here was me thinking we were all friends here?"
"We are," emphasized Adrian, "but prudence demands some security measures be kept intact. As a military man I'm sure you understand."
Adrian had just confirmed what Nester suspected; the Cylon hand of friendship only extended a certain distance. Such seemingly small facts were all accumulating inside Nester's head as he continued to gather up intelligence. He was a prisoner of war and the first duty of any prisoner is to escape.
Battlestar Hermes
Starboard Hangar Pod
Extra Vehicular Activity (EVA) Airlock No.17
While their transit through 'The Slum' had been quite public, Galit, her eight man team along with their prisoners had been quite discrete about moving through the rest of the ship. The body of Armand Lee had been put into a storage box that sat on top of a trolley while Raul and Olmos, their hands still restrained but their hoods now removed since they were in unfamiliar parts of the Hermes, were made to walk the distance to what they believed was the brig.
They had taken an unnecessarily long route over to the Starboard Hangar Pod that was now becoming increasingly empty as Chief Imlay had begun to consolidate the remaining air wing on the Port Side Pod for ease of maintenance. The Starboard Pod was now becoming an immense storage facility for spare parts cannibalized from damaged ships. This route allowed them to avoid as much of the crew as possible and those they did see paid only little attention to them being too busy with their own work. A few crewmembers were inquisitive enough to ask questions but they were simply flashed a copy of the faked orders from Bowman and ordered to remain silent.
As the airlock came into sight both Raul and Olmos realized what was happening. Using his intimidating size, Raul tried to fight off his captors but Keene threw out his right foot, kicking Raul in the back of the knee causing it to bend forwards and sending the giant crashing to the deck plates. Olmos was much less of a challenge and the MoI team moved the two of them inside the airlock before opening the storage box and dragging out the body of their dead boss.
Galit watched as Keene Barron and Chad Teuton threw the limp body down onto the deck next to Raul. Olmos was shaking terribly from fear as he stood next to his two associates. As he watched Keene and Teuton leaving through the inner hatch the final realization that he was going to die set in. Uncontrollably, his bladder relieved itself from fear. It was a pathetic sight.
Keene closed the hatch behind him while Teuton worked the control panel that he had torn from the wall. Unlike a Viper Launch Tube an EVA airlock has to be opened and closed by the personnel conducting the EVA from a panel inside the small chamber. Since Raul or Olmos were hardly going to volunteer to do it themselves this procedure had to be overridden by the MoI agents.
"We're ready," announced Teuton.
Galit peered in through the thick window built into the inner hatch. Olmos was now sobbing bitterly while Raul was screaming all kinds of curses at her. Armand Lee's body remained motionless.
"Do it!" she ordered.
Teuton attached the two pieces of wire together that triggered the rapid decompression of the chamber before the outer hatch swung open. The decompression had been a lot faster than would normally occur and the rapid escape of air into the vacuum of space blew the three men out into space never to be seen again. It was as if they were being erased from existence.
"The last of the Basileus," Galit chanted once more.
The crime organization founded by Carl Tolan on Canceron over sixty years earlier that had survived assassination attempts, rival gangs, bombings and even the best efforts of Galit Malka had now finally come to an end by three men being airlocked from the refugee Battlestar called Hermes.
Author's Note
I know that compared to Battlestar Hermes: Salvage the updates for Faststar seem to be few and far between. Work and family commitments have changed dramatically in the past year and sadly this is leaving little time for my writing. I know that a few people have been wondering when the next chapter was going to be uploaded and I hope it was worth the wait. Please be patient and thank you for following the story.
