Chapter 8 Moving parts
While the human form cylons were checking out piles, of the now slightly used Centurion parts. On another part of this cold world, other humans were working on other projects. That would have an adverse effect on the cylons. Galen Tyrol was at the main settlement of this strange group of humans. He would still stop and stare at the massive walking cylons that the locals seemed okay to strap onto themselves. He had mentally noted almost two dozen different designs of the war-machines. Why they would have so many obvious variations of the strap on Centurion was lost on the Colonial? After one of those machines would pass him, he could get his legs moving again for a few seconds. He would have to shake his head in wonderment at the spectacle. These people were an odd mix of very high tech in the war fighting department, but kind of low tech in the housing area that he had seen so far.
When they had told him that they were shipwrecked on the planet, he and the refugee leadership, had thought they had meant that they had crash landed on the planet. Then he had seen the two large ocean going ships. They had been tied up to what looked like a local material made dock, and sticking out in to the protected bay. Seeing those two ships, had forced him to change his mind. It was like he was living a bad entertainment show. The one thing that he did know. Was that there was no way. That those ancient looking water bound ships sailed the black between the stars. They really were only ocean traveling vessels, and not space ships. He was still working on understanding the story on how they were able get to his planet hidden in a nebula way past the edge of explored space. He was hoping that he was misunderstanding something, or he had lost way too many brain cells over the last year.
How could people who could come up with, and fielded hand held direct energy weapons technologies? Not have developed the ability to move between the stars? It was just too strange, and he was having a big problem getting his head wrapped around the idea as well. Tyrol had to stop that line of thought, as another battle suit walked by him. This one seem to have a human bone like design on its hard outer covering. When it had left his line of site, he checked his old watch and picked up his walking pace.
Tyrol was heading to a meeting on the smaller of the two large water bound ships tied to the wooden dock. He was still "on land" as he walked down the wooden dock. Tyrol was studying the design of the dock/pier, and quickly worked out that it was an amazing bit of work. It had taken a lot thought, to both make the jetty/dock but also to camouflage it as well. It was no wonder that they had not been seen by any over flying craft, when the Colonial craft had flown by or over the area. He doubted that even if one of the Battlestars had orbited over, that it would have been noticed by her on duty crews. These strangers had transplanted huge trees from the land, into massive grow boxes on each side of the dock. And they were still taking care of those trees, to keep them healthy and growing. They had placed them so close together, and had taken such good care of the trees. The overhead branches were now interlocked overhead. It was like walking under a solid green ceiling. On top of the cover provided by the trees. They had put up some kind of netting, they must have made them invisible from above. In fact whatever these people were covering ships with. Tyrol had bet that it also made them invisible, from the sea and ground level at any angle beyond 100 feet. These people took hid and go seek, to a whole new level, one that the Colonial Military should have done.
As he was walking down the wood covered dock about thirty or forty feet. He could see kids playing on the tan hard wood that was the top part of the dock. He could see other kids with wood sticks hanging out over the water with thin lines running to the water. He had no idea what they were doing, because he had been raised in the city or in space. He had spent very little time during his whole life under anything but artificial lights. When one of the wood sticks bent over, until it almost looked like a C. Tyrol stopped to watch what was going on in front of him. Soon all of the eight or nine year old kids that had been sitting on the edge of the wood top dock. Stood up, and started shouting in there strange tongue, to each other. Galen stopped and was watching closely, what they were doing. Not knowing if this was an emergency or not, and it seemed like the right thing to do. After much hand waving, and shouts two of the kids started to help the third kid. The trio pull in a thin line of some kind, by using a second, but smaller wood stick to wrap the line one loop at a time. In a few more minutes of sweaty and straining, a fish like animal broke the waters dark surface, and rose slowly into the air. Now all of the kids on the dock, were focused on the trio of fish catchers. All of them were adding to the volume of voice celebrating the successful catch.
Galen was smiling, he had his first real egg, in what seem like a decade of years a few hours ago. He had thought it was strange that they served it with fried fish. It seemed like every meal he had eaten over the last few days, had fish of some kind in it. Now he knew why that was. They just did not have anything else to fill the needed amount of protein, and they did not seem to know about algae vat protein. He really did not mind about the last part. That was because not matter how much he did not like fish before the cylons had put them on the run from their home planets. It was a lot better tasting than algae protein, they had been living on while on the run from the cylons. It had been that or starve to death.
Tyrol again started walking again towards the knife sharp bows of the ships. After he had watching the kids get the fish on the dock, and had started to clean the guts out for cooking. He been assumed, watching them work on that one fish like animal. Some of the parts coming out of the fish's guts, were being passed out to other fishing kids. Hooks were being outfitted with the still warm fish parts, and soon they too were in the water as bait. Not all of the insides were begin put on sharp bits of metal or bone. Some was going to a small cup, maybe for later use. When the Colonial had noticed the pole in the water, there had been maybe four of five of them. Now there almost a dozen different lines in the grey water. Tyrol was betting, that nothing was going to go to waste of the fish like animal, the little on had brought up out of the water.
"Well some family is going to have a little bigger meal tonight, than they had thought they would. When the sun came up this morning." These were the thoughts the Colonial had, as he walked past the still excited group of kids. Tyrol was being careful not to slip on the slimy slick wood surface under his boots, as he finished passing the kids with poles. He had no idea what else might be in the water near the dock. Tyrol had noticed, that the fish had some sharp looking teeth filling its mouth. They looked like they could have cut a man's finger off, if it had wanted to. Or if that finger was in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Like say, if it was in the water with the swimming little beast in that dark and cold water. He shook his head and absentmindedly reached into his inner coat pocket, and pulled out the metal flask that was hiding with in the folds of his outer coat.
He was almost out of the rot gut, but he had already noticed some of the locals drinking a strong smelling substance that fill his needs. Galen did not think it would be that hard, to find something to refill his little metal flask. He just did not want to rush in just yet, to top it off his container. It would cost, and right now he did not know what a fair price was. For something to wet his throat and warm his belly. When he put the flask back into its little pocket without opening it, he decided that maybe he might want to save it for dinner, or even for later tonight. When he looked up from putting the odd shaped container away. Tyrol noticed that Dexter was standing at the end of a set of metal stair, which went from the wooden dock to the smaller of the two ship's main deck. He seemed to have been waiting on Galen to arrive.
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Dexter wave to the other man down the dock from him. He had been waiting for the stranger to show up for quite some time now. In fact he was about to leave the ship's gang way, and start walking up the dock to look for the wayward Man. When Dexter finally saw him heading down the dock on slightly unsteady feet, he was both relieved and concerned at the same time. Then he saw the stranger stop and watch some of the kids as they brought up a fish out of the cold water. "Well the Captain is not going to like that, if he keeps that up." Thought went thru Dexter's mind very quickly, but it did not play out on his face as the stranger closed the distance to him. The Captain Kelly was an understanding person even up to very understanding, for a ship's Captain. But you did not want to cross him, and showing up for a meeting drunk. Well that was one of the fastest ways, to cross him that Dexter knew off of the top of his head. Dexter started to mumble under his breath. "I better check on him, before we start the meeting. If he's not good to go, I will see if I can soften the blow that might fall on the Refugee." Dexter started to work on a few excuses in his head. He was thinking that he might need to use one of them to postpone the meeting. None of them were good, but they might be just good enough.
Dexter stepped in closer to the Colonial and stuck out his hand. Dexter was all in what most people would call "personal space", he was that close to the Colonial. He was doing his best to both look friendly, but still be blocking the access to the ship's gang plank at the same time. "Looks like you made it to the right place, I was about to go check on you. Did you get lost on the way down from the gates?" Dexter was trying to keep it light and friendly.
Galen had met Dexter before, so he did not know how to take the comment. He could feel some of the undertones in what he was saying and the body language, but he did not know why they might be there. "No, I just wanted to look around a little, while I had the time and the sun was up. I'm not late am I?" They were speaking in what the locals called English, but it was done very slowly and with small words. The better that they all could understand each other. As luck would have it. It had turned out that Galen Tyrol. Had a special gift for picking up languages that he, nor the Colonial Military had not known about. That is until he had been immersed into a new culture and a completely new language, the skill had bubbled up for him to leverage.
"Okay so he is not slurring his words" thought Dexter. "But he still smells… odd. It does not smell like he has been drinking lately, but he has been hitting the bottle hard sometime in the near past." Dexter knew the smell of a drunk, he had been one himself, and with a slight nod of his head he address the Colonial. "No you're not late yet, but the old man does not like it when people are late. He really does not like it, and the other two members of the Triumvirate? Well they are almost as nuts about it as he is." Dexter reached into an outer coat pocket, and pulled out a little refillable hard plastic bottle to show the clear liquid, but not labeled container to the other man. The hand with the bottle did not come higher than his mid-chest. "I also would take it easy on this stuff, before any meeting with them. They understand a person being under a lot of stress, and needing a little something to keep a person going on this cold and damp ass planet. But take my word for it. You don't want to show up carrying a load on, or even smelling like you might still be recovering from getting loaded. If you show up unsteady on your feet. Or if someone sees you take a little hit, before you talk to them." Dexter stopped talking for a second, and was shaking his head side to side very slowly. He was remembering a similar incident that had him as the central player. "They will come down on you like a stone wall; trust me on this. You don't want that to happen you." Dexter stopped talking and let his words sink in some before he finished talking. He just hope that this guy would listen to the warning. "I know firsthand, and I would not wish that on my worst enemy." Dexter gave a little shutter and a drop of sweat beaded up on his forehead. "You're not one of us, but trust me. These men can let you know, that they are not happy with you. They will take, one strip of flesh off at a time with the tongue lashing they can manage. It can make a man fell very small while they are doing it."
Tyrol was about to become very defensive, and set his shoulders ready to defend himself. He was not in a diminished capacity, by any measure. Even after hitting the little bottle a few times, since the sun rose on this cold planet. After all they had only been small sips of the high proof and very flammable liquid. It took him a minute, but then the thought about it before opening his mouth, and making it any worse. What if he was about to report to Admiral Adama? The XO had been doing that for years, granted. But Galen Tyrol was not Colonel Saul Tigh, and with the years of knowing and working with the Old Man under his belt. He felt cold water run down his spine, and he had to fight not to let it show on his face. Tyrol finally relaxed his shoulders, and just gave the other man a nod. This let Earther know that he had understood, and had taken the words of advice to heart.
Dexter was watching the other man, and he could see the wheels were turning in his head. He would later swear that the other man had given a little shake or shutter. Before he moved his head in an up and down motion, and then stepped to the boarding ramp. Dexter fallowed a few steps behind the other man. He was evaluating him every step of the way up the steep metal ramp. The Colonial was walking straighter, as he went up the angled stairs. When they reached the top step the Colonial stepped off to one side of the entry gate. So that Dexter could lead him the rest of the way to the meeting location. The only thing that slowed them down going to the assigned meeting room. Was when Tyrol stopped to get a cup of hot caffeine, to give him a kick in the mind as well as his body. Dexter and Tyrol entered the designated room each holding hot cups of caffeine, but it was empty of people. Around the table were six thin computers, laid out around the table at each of the chairs. Near each screen was a name plate, to note who would sit were. Dexter and Tyrol sat in here assigned seats that happened to be next to each other, on one side of the wood topped briefing table or desk. The room was quiet with only the sound of moving air threw vents and breathing. The Colonial looked to find something to occupy his mind. While they waited for the local powers that be to show up to a meeting they had scheduled.
With nothing to do, Tyrol started reading the text on the screen as they waited for the rest of the people to arrive. It seemed like it would be a good use of time, and keep his mind working on other things besides worry about this high level meeting. The text was in two columns on the one super thin screen. One side was in English and the other side was in Caprican on the screen. He was on the second page of questions when he had to stop reading. That was when Dexter started to rise as a second door had opened into the room. It was not the same door that Tyrol and Dexter had used to enter the room. Tyrol knew the military protocol, and rose from his chair also. Three men entered the room, one after the other without saying a word. Tyrol had been told who they were, when he was told about the meeting. He had even been show pictures with each of the three men named. So he knew that he was meeting with the top leadership of this lost branch of humanity, and it was not a low level meeting. They each took a seat and looked at the stranger waiting. Tyrol could feel the sweat to start beading up on his forehand and also run down his back.
The main captain and center seated of the three, looked at the two men each in turn. Tyrol had a feeling he was looking at the Admiral Adama equivalent of this group. The center seated man reached down, and started to read the screen in front of him. When leader started to type on the screen, without speaking to Dexter or Tyrol. Tyrol about jump out of his skin, when the screen in front of him changed right before his eyes. He knew his eyes went huge, and he was having to physically hold himself in the wooden but comfortable chair. They had networked computers! With cylons around! "What were they Fraking crazy? Don't they know what kind of trouble could that cause them?" Thought the Colonial, but he did not say anything out loud. He just type the answer to the requested information that had been sent to his device by one of the three leaders via a wireless connection. This was not the last question as the three leaders read there little display screens.
Tyrol had a good idea of who some of the questions were coming from, just by who had stopped typing on the screen and the new message showing up on his screen. Not surprising, all the questions were about the combat capacities he might know about. They wanted to know if cylons could track radio signals. After some time of going back and forth. They had to table the question for later, that was because Galen had no idea what the frak radio was? He was trying to explain that the Centurions could not track DRADIS that well. After that statement he had found out that they had no idea what a DRADIS system was, or how it worked in the first place. After some back tracking, Tyrol explained that only the Heavy Raiders and Basestars. Were known to have the real ability to backtrack Colonial DRADIS signals. He went into some detail about what a Battlestar and a Basestar was. As well as, what they were and the differences between the two ships designs. He only told them about the capabilities that any civilians of the Colonies, would know about the main class of ship called a Battlestar. He did not go into any detail about the different types of Colonial Battlestar. He did not want to let these strangers know too much about the capabilities of the Battlestars. Just in case things did not work out between Colonials and them. If the Admiral gave all the good bits away latter? Well that was way above his pay grade. He only wanted to give a base outline of data on this first meeting. Now it was a totally different story, when he was telling them about the combat capabilities of the different types of cylon Basestars he knew about. He had been briefed about them over his long years of military service, and all of those "know the enemy classes" were coming in handy today. He gave everything up, he could about the cylons. He did made sure to tell them over and over again. That he was only a deck knuckle dragger or mechanic, and could only pass along what he had remember from briefing and what other people had said. He did not want them to take everything he said as being perfect and from the mouth of the Gods. If he turned out to be wrong about something, he did not want it to blow back on him somehow. He had been told by Roslin not to lie to them if he could get away with it. Misunderstandings were okay, but outright lies could blast any friendships the frak up. The meeting was into its second hour when someone knocked on the door, that Dexter and Tyrol had entered the room threw. All sets of eyes flew to the knocking sound on the hatch, and stayed there until someone walked through it.
Captain Kelly was not happy about being disturbed, when the communication duty person entered the room and passed him a hand written note. He had to read it twice, before he could believe what was printed on the little off- white sheet of paper. He looked around the room with a wide smile on his face, which would have done any of the different types of shark proud to have been able to make. Tyrol started to sweat again, and he had to fight the shakes in his hands. This commander acting just like Adama, and something was up. If Tyrol was a betting man, he would say it was something very big or important had happened or was about to happen.
Kelly looked around the table letting his teeth show to the others. "Major Weston was able to set up a surprise attack on a group of cylons the other day. He thinks the number of cylons attacking was over 200 ground units, and fell right into his cigar shaped ambush. He also reports that he dropped two of the small type flying craft, with only a few light wounds between all of his people involved in the ambush. They only had one crew served weapons in a small group of scouts that he was able to gather in time to set up the attack. That was all they needed to stop the attack dead in its tracks." He made sure to talk slowly, so that Tyrol could fallow along. While he was talking, Captain Kelly passed the note around the table so everyone could see it. "They were even able to pick up some salvage, not a lot, but some before having to bugging out of the area. The plan is for them to make it back to the main support base in small groups. This is hoped to make it harder for anyone to fallow his people back to the support base. They also were able to capture a Type Brunette or a Number Eight cylon alive, if a bit bruised. They want to send her back as soon as they can for in-depth questioning. Major Weston wants to handle some of what he calls "tactical questioning" before sending it farther down his supply line. He reports no heavy weapons were used in the whole of the engagement, so far." Captain Kelly stopped talking and eye locked like a Viper on a Raider with the sitting Colonial. "Mr. Tyrol we need some way to contact the space ships, we know fled when those cylon Basestars showed up. I don't think that your Admiral is going to just leave this system, and not have a plan to get back. He will feel that he needs to save, what he thinks is the last or at least the largest group of humans left alive. I want to be able to somehow talk to him, and let him know that he is not the lone defender of his people anymore. If we can convince him that we are friends, then maybe we can work together somehow. To do that, we need you to build us a way to communicate with him and any other ships that might be out there. Can you do it? And will you do it for us?" Captain Kelly stopped talking, and a person listening on the built in microphone was busy type out what he had said and pushed the text to all of the computers in the meeting room.
Tyrol was looking around the table and checked the thin computer screen. The last part was to buy some time for him to think about what had just been said. Was this all some kind of game? He had stopped himself from grabbing the little bottle in his jacket coat, twice now in less than five minutes. He was almost sure, that the one of the leaders had seen him reach for it but had not said anything…. yet. "So you're going to help us defeat the cylons?" The thought had been rattling around in his head since they had asked him to hide under that truck. Maybe it was the alcohol or the lack of it, which caused his brain to mouth filter to shut down for a split second. Tyrol was embarrassed, but now that the thought was now out in the open and the whole room had heard it. It was now waiting to be answered, by the leadership of this section of the human race. That the Colonials had never known existed until less than a week ago.
The man called Captain Kelly looked at the weary Colonial across the table from him. Kelly watched him for a few long seconds, then he started typing on the little screen in front of him. Kelly did not want something to get lost in translation, so that the other man would know exactly what he was saying. "Mr. Tyrol were we come from, they say that every story has three sides. Your side, their side, and the truth." Kelly held up his hand to stop the other man from speaking. "I don't doubt that you believe what you told us. But we need to check it out, before we bleed too much for you. It would not be the first time or even the ten time, which I have heard of a ploy like this. I must protect my people from all who might threating them." The message was displayed on all of the computer screens in the room and a few more besides.
Tyrol was thinking as fast as he could, but still looking at the screen. It gave him some time to think about what he wanted to say or should not say. He was still smarting from the last comment and he did not want to say the wrong thing again. He did not want to tell them that the underground had a communication device hidden in a deep tunnel under a few homes. They want to contact Adama, when he came back or sent someone back to contact them. He came up with a very shaky middle ground that would give him an out and still protect his people. "If you have the right spare parts. I should be able to come up with something that should work. I don't know, and can't guarantee if anyone will be out there to talk to. If there is someone out there? It will be up to you to convince the Admiral to talk to you. He will not be very trusting to strangers, that he cannot see face to face, and even that is not a given. You might need to have someone back in New Caprica help out. How? I have no idea. All I am willing to do, is try to build you a device."
The youngest of the three men on the other side of the table from the Colonial, Max, smiled a friendly smile. Max, again was amazed that the two ship's commanders had war-gamed out almost exactly what this man had said two hours ago. Now it was Max's turn to play his part in this little show. "Good! That is about all we can ask for, Mr. Tyrol. Dexter why don't you take Mr. Tyrol to the electronics shop, and see what he can do. If you can help him out in any way, it would be appreciated." Max looked around the table, and received nodes from both of the other men on his side of the table. "Gentlemen, I think we need to let these two go about their business." A second round of heads moving up and down went down one side of the table.
The three leaders of the Settlement on Safe Port Bay rose as if they were one being, and exited the room. The Trio went through the same door they had entered in without another word. Dexter had risen also, and was using his arm to point to the second door on the other side of the room. Dexter led the other man threw the metal hallways of the ship and down several metal stairs or ladders. Internally, Tyrol was comparing the layout of this ship to other ships he had been on during his long military career. Some of the layout made since to him, but most of it was just too strange for him to get a frame of reference on. They were almost half way down into the ship, closing rapidly on the ships bottom. When they entered the engineering spaces that supported the converted ship. It was almost like a home coming, when they swung open the water proof hatch and entered electronics repair room. It was only about fifteen feet long but run over forty feet across, which was the entire width of the ship at this level. It was almost as large as the dedicated Viper electronic repair area, Tyrol had access to back on the Old Bucket. It was not as large as the Viper repair bays on the Battlestar Pegasus. Tyrol was happy to have been able to work out what this shop was used for without being told, but he also was a little disappointed. He would have expected the area to be a lot bigger, if it was supposed to be the only electronics support shop. For a warship this size, Tyrol expected the shop to be scaled down, but that this much. On Colonial warships, support and repair areas took up between 25 and 30 percent of the total warships volume. The repair shop did not even come close to that number.
Tyrol was in his element and the space was close enough to his second home, that he quickly was able to focus on the job. The first item on "the to-do" list, was for Tyrol to figure out. What was this Radio thing was? And how did it worked in both theory and the practical worlds. That was done by the simple fact of using three short ranged hand held device, that happened to be in the shop but not being used. It only took about two hours, using those three devices, and the translation computer for Tyrol to work those two problems out to his satisfaction. Tyrol was so into his job that he had forgotten about taking time off for a nice hot lunch in the ships dining hall. He was so into the work in fact. That he did not even notice when Dexter, and two of the crewmember left shop to get some food. He even forgot about the little bottle in his coat pocket. That same said outer coat and a lighter inner one, were draped over a working chair. He had a habit of doing that, in a time before landing on New Caprica. Tyrol was reading a user and repair manual, and taking apart a hand held radio. When Dexter sat a plate of fired fish, and cut up slices of fruit on the open pages of the thick book. When Tyrol jerked his head up, to look at who had dropped the plate in front of his face. Dexter pointed to the fresh food, and said one word "Eat". Then Dexter crossed his arms, and waited to the Colonial to relent, and put hot food in his stomach. Dexter was taking the baby sitting job very seriously.
Tyrol could not identify the type of fish that was on his plate, but it was protein, hot, fried, and about two pounds of it. That was good enough for him after spending about ten seconds looking at it, and letting his mind classify it. The fresh fruit on his plate would have been a very special treat with his people. Or it would had cost him more credits, than all the deck hands on the Galactica could have come up with in a year. For the first time in a long time Tyrol did not know what to eat first. Tyrol had a sad smile on his face and with a slight head shake. "Well the only thing missing. Is a nice glass of 15 year old Ambrosia, and a beautiful woman sitting across the table from me?" Tyrol thought he had only said those words in his head, but he had not. He had set it soft enough that it might have escaped notice from most people. It had not, escaped notice today.
Dexter looked at Tyrol, and waved a hand to get the Tyrol's' attention. It was only after he was sure he had made eye contact. "What is Ambrosia? Is it some kind of drink?" Dexter did a little hand jester like he was taking a ship from his flask, and raised one eye brow. Now that they were not dealing with the Captain Kelly and friends, he felt it was safe to bring something like that up.
Tyrol smiled, and was thinking, now maybe it was the right time to trade for some information. He started to speak slowly but he was ready to grab the little nearby computer to help in out. If he needed it. "I have some with me. It not 10 years old, or even good stuff. But you have to tell something about this warship. If you would like to try some of what I have?" He point to the deck above him, so that the other man knew he was talking about this ship. The three leaders had picked his brain, now it was his turn to find out about a few things.
Dexter gave a side smile to the Colonial sitting down. He was not dumb, but he could play the part really good. In fact he could play the part very well, when he wanted to. Captain Kelly had already given him a list of items not to talk about, if he was asked about. It was a long list, but Dexter just took it as he needed to stay away from certain categories. "I might be able to, but I don't know that much about her military capabilities. I'm just an ex-gun bunny that was just very lucky and found a few nice mines that I can live off of the profits from."
"That's find. I don't want to know any big secret, anyway. It's just that I would expect a warship this size. To have more cubage dedicated for combat repairs and even general maintenance." Galen leaned back in his chair, and took another large bite of his fish before it got any colder. He might as well do two things at once, while he could.
Dexter gave the other man an odd look, and he did not say anything for a few long seconds. That question had not been on his metal list of questions, he thought he would be asked. He knew that the Neptune's Revenge had the largest workshops of the two Earth ships that made it to the new planet. Dexter relented and answered the question. "The Neptune's Revenge, has the largest and best equipped repair shops that made it with us to this planet." After he said that out loud, something clicked in his mind. Until the Colonial had asked, he had never spent that much time thinking about it. "She was not a bottom up warship, when she was built. We think that she was a military transport and cargo ship when her life started. She was only armed for a little self-protection, or to scare a pirate or two enough to leave her alone. Now she only carries small high value cargos, and rents out as a convoy escort. That was only after a lot of modification over the years by the Captain's family. She has even done some pirate/monster hunting on the side. Only when the pay was good enough to make it worthwhile. She was never considered a full-fledged warship were we come from, as far as I know. She is only listed, as a very powerful escort to merchant ships or low threat, local problem solver." Dexter was watching the Colonial closely as he spoke.
Tyrol was stunned by what the other man had said. He had seen the weapons mounts on the ship, and they were massive in both size and numbers. What had happened to their home world where they would need a combat ship, so bad? That they would arm up a thin skinned transport to his magnitude? Putting weapons and armor plate on civilian ships, was not uncommon for the 12 Colonies. Even a couple ships of the Rag Tag Fleet had some weapons mounted on them. They were normally only pop guns. But were supposed to keep something a little bigger than Raptor sized pirates away, or some anti-fighter /anti-missile weapons. It was very odd to have a ship armed, well enough to counter any size of real Warcraft.
Now it made since about the small size of the support rooms on the ship. Just like the civilian ships that had escaped the cylon attack. They all had smaller support rooms, than a regular warship would have. That was true of even the valuable manufacturing ships in the convoy. With the question answered. Galen started going into extreme detail telling Dexter what Ambrosia was, and how it was made. He covered that process for both before and after the cylons latest attacks. It was when Dexter was taking a small sip of the rot gut. That Tyrol was reviewing what Dexter had said the name of the ship they were on was called. There was something about the name that was bugging him, then he was distracted by the face that Dexter made after the rotgut his tongue. Tyrol made a note to see what this "moonshine" was when he had a chance.
After getting back to work, Tyrol was still doing two things at once. He had heard of the name Neptune before. He could not get his alcohol socked brain to work and remember where he had heard that name before, but he knew it was in there somewhere. He just knew it was, and some part of his damaged brain knew it was important. By the end of the day, he had built a way to transmit a message off this planet, and that might be picked up by the Admiral. That is if he or one of his crewmembers were out there to receive the message in this system. He had to build a second device, so that he could make sure that one of them worked. The shop he was working in was surprisingly very well stocked with parts, which Tyrol could access and easily modified to fit his needs. His test on the devices were done at very lowest possible power setting. It was hopped that the low power setting would make it, so that the cylons could not pick up on the test carrier wave. Tyrol knew that the two watt power test should carry no farther than five or six feet in the open air.
While the sun was setting Tyrol was working on a very bulky, very short ranged, and very low resolution DRAIDS system. He had no way of coming up with all of the software that was needed to operate it, at anything close a military level. It was better than a high school built model, but not by that much. He had decided midway through building the communication device. To go ahead and built the thing. That way he could have the hardware already put together, and waiting when he had the time to try to write some software code. Tyrol was moving with purpose that he had not felt since, the attack that killed everyone he knew so many months ago.
Tyrol only stopped working on the project when his stomach let him know it was time to eat again. He walk up a few deck levels to eat in the ships mess hall for an evening, and finial hot meal of the day. He just fallowed along in line with all of the other crewmembers. As they made their way down a serving line, with food laid out on long glass covered tables. He had no idea what most of food was. He would look around, and he would pick a few things and put them on his green plastic tray. After seeing more than one person smell the offered food before they put it on their trays. He started to do the same with the items. Smelling did not help him identify the food items any better, but "when on Caprica be like a Caprican", and try to blend in with them.
Dexter was fallowing behind the Colonial in the food line, just in case there were any issues. That turned out to be a good thing, when a white haired man at the end of the serving line with a computer of some kind. Started to seem like he was about to have a heart attack or stroke, because Tyrol was getting food from "his" line. Tyrol had no idea what the other man was saying, because it was not in any of the two languages that he now spoke. Dexter step forward, and spoke to the white haired man and in English. Dexter told him that Tyrol was a guest of The Captain, and he was working in one of the machine shops on the captains orders. This placated the white haired gatekeeper enough, and Tyrol and Dexter were allowed to continue on to an open table in the larger of the two eating rooms. The open small table, was along one of the metal walls. It was not a bad place to eat the bounty on their plates, and trays in some bit of peace if not quite.
At first the noise from the different voices of the room, was too much for Tyrol to understand what Dexter was trying to talk to him about. After a few tries Dexter went back to the old standby of using the little touch screen. Now they could talk back in forth by passing typed messages as they eat their hot meal. Both people were able to learn a good bit about the other while they ate and chatted on the device. Dexter had to excuse himself to go to the ships head, towards the end of the meal. After explain what a ship's head was to Tyrol. Dexter messaged him that he would wait for him at this table. Dexter's absents gave Tyrol time to study more closely, the two huge paintings on two of the four metals walls, that made up the seated dining area. The first one was a painting of a massive wave of blue, green, and white water coming ashore on a sand and bolder covered beach. As the water rose above the rest of the sea, the top crest of the massive wave slow turned from water into a long line of white stallions at the full run. Behind the water/horse wave, was an old man with long flowing white hair. He was holding a trident in his right hand, and with this left hand, it look like he was commanding the waters to assault the shore. All on his command, and not the will of nature. It was an impressive painting, and whoever had done it had both some painting skills and talent. As well as a lot of free time on their hands to do the massive high detailed painting.
The second massive painting, was on the wall that was also the exit side out of the metal room. Tyrol had not seen the painting when they had entered the room at first. That was because as he had entered the room, and the massive painting had been behind him. He only noticed it, after he had taken a seat and saw the first painting. He then looked around the room to see what else might be there to draw the eyes of those eating in the facility.
The painting looked a lot like a painting Tyrol had seen before. It was not as much alike as he would have liked, but he knew the image painted on the wall ten feet tall and maybe twenty feet wide. It was the same image that was on the back of the Colonial 100 cubit credit bill. It was not an exact match but it was close, so close Galen's head started to hurt as he looked at the painting. It was of a set of four huge white horses pulling a chariot made of one very massive sea shell, and various smaller sea shells. The man in the chariot was a very fit man with long white hair, and a trident raised above his head. It looked like he was ready to strike with the golden three forked weapon onto something out of the main scene of the painting. On the head giant, was a massive gold crown that looked like a massive house with jewels at all of the points and windows. On the two sides of the shell chariot, were a pair half human and half fish bodies acting as escorts or guards. They were perfect looking nude human upper bodies, and were paired male and female. Behind the chariot, was a strange monster. It looked to be having fun in the water, and playing a shell horn of some kind at the same time. If Tyrol had been home. He would have called it a Centaur. But then again, the man in the shell chariot would have been called Poseidon and not Neptune. He knew the name was different, because it was printed on the top of the painting. In huge block letters in blue and black, that said the painting was called Neptune's Chariot. Tyrol knew the painting as Poseidon's Charge. Little bits of sweat started to form on Tyrol's head again and the ach started up behind his eyes.
When Dexter returned from making room for his dinner. And had just returned to his four point of contact to the chair. When Tyrol asked about what, and who this Neptune person might be. Dexter was not an expert in history, but he knew were to go to get some of the information the Colonial was asking for. He gave the man as much as he knew about Neptune, after all. You could not be on this ship, and not know something about her history, and why she carried that particular name. Dexter told him that he would find out more information, and get it to him as so as he could.
When Dexter dropped the Colonial back at the shop, to go back working on whatever it was that the Colonial was doing. Dexter went to barrow a digital book from the XO of the Revenge. As the night closed in on the Settlement of lost humans, the electronics shop on the Neptune's Revenge was still very busy. What the lone Colonial did not know, was that one member of the repairs shop crew, was making detailed notes on what he was doing. Then she was passing those updates to the Triumvirate, and the ship's XO. Tyrol would wind up sleeping in the repair room, when he was just too tired to work any longer. The rest of the shop still went about their required work keeping everything running as best they could. One person only stopping, to put a thin blanket over the slumped shoulders of Galen Tyrol. It was just like old times, when he was too tired to work. Tyrol would just find a clear area to lie down on, or prop his feet up on back on his Battlestar. The sounds of the workshop were like a good lullaby, to the old mechanic, and within seconds he was snoring. For the first time in over a year the dreams did not come back to haunt him that night. He just dreamed of all the things, he wanted to make with his hands. And the opportunity to make them, that seem to be offered to him and his people.