Part 28

Battlestar Olympus
Port Landing Deck

+21:15:43

(Greyhound)

I exited Owl 512 and handed over my post-flight checklist to the deckhand waiting there, who immediately handed me a typed note signed by the XO stating all of Black Wing, including me, were officially off-shift for the next twelve hours. There was an addendum at the bottom, in the XO's own handwriting, stating I would be grounded and arrested and walled into a pit if I came anywhere near either Flight Deck during that time without General Quarters being called first.

Fine by me, I thought as I marched off. While Secretary Richards had basically handed control of the sky over to the Colonials, the CO hadn't left us idle. Practically every pilot aboard Olympus was in an EU shuttle or an Owl assisting with distribution of supplies off the two container ships. He was, however, wisely keeping a couple of squadrons of Vipers on stand-by in case something unpleasant arrived.

Unfortunately, Black Wing wasn't among those held back forthat tour. I'd spent the last four hours flying between one ship to the other, handing over containers to people speaking a language I didn't understand, and taking orders from civilian contractors I felt uneasy around. It was more nerve-wrecking than getting shot out a launch tube and I was really, really looking forward to some rack time.

I was en route to my quarters when Secretary Richards' voice rang out over the comms: "Pass the word. Lieutenant-Commander Callisto or Lieutenant Mahn contact the CIC immediately."

"Oh, dear God, what now?" I moaned, wondering what kind of chaos the COMCAW had sown while I was out. My one year training under her at Nellis had reinforced the lesson that an idle Kara Thrace was a dangerous Kara Thrace.

It hadn't been until after our first run to the Elsinore that I'd learned the CO and Secretary Richards had essentially confined her to her quarters. Caught up as I was in the hubbub of supply runs and drinking in the details of the Colonial vessels, the consequences of that eminently practical decision didn't immediately occur to me.

Now that I was back aboard Olympus? Well, I was more surprised that she didn't have the entire ship in an uproar or at General Quarters.

The CO's voice coming over the comms a short time later didn't encourage me any. "Pass the word. Lieutenant Mahn, contact the Commodore in Con-Delta ASAP."

"What the hell did you do, Boss lady?" I muttered to myself, entering my cabin and shucking out of my flight suit as fast as my tired muscles could manage. A quick shower and change into a track suit after that and it was all I could do to literally collapse onto the small loveseat nearby; the two meters it would have taken to stumble to my bed was too arduous a distance right then.

Finally still for more than a few seconds at a stretch, it hit me it had been just over two days since Starbuck and I had chased that Raptor and the Nemesis jumped into our sky. Fifty-two hours plus change, and our world was changed completely. It was nearly enough to knock me cold; I couldn't begin to imagine what Starbuck was probably feeling at this point.

Too exhausted to sleep and having no desire to get myself thrown into hack, I sat forward and started shuffling through the papers I'd left on my coffee table three days earlier. Most were flight rotation schedules and the bits of paperwork associated with being CAG. Among them, however was the last piece of personal correspondence I'd received before we'd jumped from Earth orbit. I'd frequently read it as relief from the tedium of paperwork and the gnawing anxiety of having Kara Thrace aboard.

Dear Two-legged Greyhound, the single handwritten sheet began. Count yourself lucky you're half-way across the solar system right now, buddy! 'Cause when you get back planet-side, you and me is gonna have words! You want to know how many of your lady friends are still calling MY HOUSE at all hours?!

I also regret to inform you that that there is a new man in my life (four-legged, of course) and that you are hereafter relegated to spot Number Two in my heart. His name is Arthur, he's a five years old Shepherd-Pincher mix, and he knows well enough to leave his bitches outside! Which is a helluva lot more than I can say for you, you over-endowed hound dog!

Before you ask, yes, Arthur gets along quite well with Jamie, Murphy, and the girls. He's already been fixed so there's no worry that he'll try and mount either Jess or June, unlike Murphy (who btw still hasn't worked out he's the smallest of the bunch). And for the record, I still hold you personally responsible for insane Murphy's behavior; you did after all spike his water dish with Energy Jolt the last time you were here.

In any case, don't you dare get into an accident or get shot down or anything, Brother Dearest. You still owe me a ton of yard work and replanting from Murphy's rampage last month!

And see if you can convince this 'Starbuck' of yours to visit as well. I know the dogs would love to meet her.

All our love and well-stoked rage,

Sister Sarah.

Included with the letter were a handful of old-fashioned Polaroids, one each devoted to one of the dogs my sister sheltered. Jamie was a mature Newfoundland pure breed whose considerable frame took up most of the picture, into which he gazed with soulful eyes. Then there was the aforementioned Murphy, a white-haired Cockerpoo who was all nervous energy and shining eyes. The twin greyhounds Jessica and June each had her own picture, both perfect exemples of their breed. Finally there was the newcomer Arthur, who clearly favored his Pincher heritage but had the reassuring musculature of the Shepherd breed.

The last photo of the pile was one of all five dogs surrounding my diminutive sibling, who was waving wildly to the camera. I'd often said the girl would pose at a crime scene and mug for anything with a lens. I was just happy she wasn't giving me 'the finger' this time.

What would she make of what was happening out here, I wondered silently. What kind of world would she and her dogs see built from the arrival of Kara's people?

My thoughts quickly began spinning outwards from there. I was not a religious man by any stretch; my distaste for religion stemming largely from our Catholic upbringing and the over-emphasis on ritual over substance. I knew Kara took her own people's creed seriously, often praying to small idols she'd carved, and was anything but shy about cursing in their names. How would such a people integrate into our world, where beliefs varied as wildly as senses of what constituted 'sensible clothing'?

The juxtaposition of belief and fashion gave me a momentary chuckle, one I sorely needed. Propping my bare feet up on the coffee table, I sat back and let my eyes drift shut for the first time in nearly two days.

My last conscious thought was to wonder how little Aurora would take to the dogs, and vice versa. Sleep claimed me before I could visualize an answer.

Amazingly I slept the full twelve hours prescribed, completely undisturbed by the turmoil outside that full time.


TBC…immediately!