Battlestar Pacifica
Chapter 1 - Introductions.
"Sashta stand you up last night?" Conners asked, looking over the blue chits for his ride. Mitchell flinched a little at the ribbing. It wasn't that he disliked Conners, the pilot was pretty typical as far as pilots went, she just had a way for getting under his skin.
"Something like that," the crew chief said.
"Hrm, what's this?" Conners asked, pointing to an entry on the sheet. Mitchell looked at it. Oh yeah. He'd seen that as well.
"We're getting a little fluctuation in number three at high RPMs. I had Ramirez look at it yesterday, she wants the onboard to gather some more stats before we pull it." Conners' eyebrow rose a bit. "Nothing to worry about sir, we just need a little more data before we pull the engine."
"Pull it when I get back Chief," Connors said, signing off on the ship.
"Well, we'll see sir," Mitchell said. He should have known better. Maybe it was the late night, waiting for Sashta, who hadn't shown. Maybe he was just tired of taking Connors' crap. Who knows, it slipped though.
"Excuse me Chief?" She asked, that tone in her voice.
"I said we'll see. Sir." Mitchell said.
"If there's a problem with number three pull it Chief. I'm not flying with broken equipment." He should have just dropped it there. It would have been the tactic of a seasoned Chief, and Lords know Mitchell should have been a seasoned Chief by now, but he didn't revert to form.
"If you have an issue with this Viper sir I'm sure we can scare another one up for you," Mitchell said in his best diplomatic tone. He refrained from smiling in her face.
"Why don't you do that then Chief?" Connors said, snatching the logbook back from him. Mitchell shot her a non-committal smile and turned to find his crew.
"Ramirez! Prep 314, Lieutenant Connors has down checked this bird!" He bellowed loud enough for the whole bay to hear. Did he really want to take her on like this? They'd been in pissing matches like this for months now. She'd come back and complain about something on the bird, something the on-boards didn't record. She'd personally raised enough of a stink for him to go through two engines and a thruster system.
Not this time. If she had a problem she could down check the bird. It was her right. It wasn't looked on very highly by the CAG though. The CAG and Master Chief Lewis had an unwritten truce. If the deck crew said a bird was flight ready then CAG took their word. The deck crew didn't question a pilot's flying ability and the CAG didn't question Master Chief's crew. If there were issues the Master Chief chewed ass faster than anyone Mitchell had seen in his two years aboard Pacifica.
He watched Connors wince, barely hid his satisfaction. That's right, I'm done being brow beaten into working on your phantom issues.
"Give us fifteen Chief?" Ramirez asked, walking over, wiping her hands of the grime that had come out of the Raptor engine she was working on. "I'm up to my ass in this re-build. We're gonna haveta move it to get 314 into place."
"You've got ten minutes," Mitchell said. He pulled Connors' pre-fli pack from 309. "Let's move it people, get this bird off the cat!" He yelled. "Sir," he said, giving Connors a salute. He hustled to help his crew move the engine that Ramirez was working on out of the way.
"I can't believe that bitch," Ramirez hissed as they pushed the engine stand off into a small bay.
"Belay that Specialist." Mitchell said. He couldn't blame her. None of his crew felt differently. He didn't need to let them think it was okay to voice their opinions though, at least not in the bay with the bitch standing just a few meters away.
The crew tractored 314 into place while Mitchell headed over to talk to the deck officer. The Air Boss would need to know of the change in assignments. Captain Lance had drawn the duty today apparently. Mitchell liked Lance. The Raptor pilot was a bit nicer to the deck crew than the Viper pilots were. Lance had stopped being a hotdog years ago. Now he was the best eyes-man the Pacifica had.
"Captain, we've got..."
"I can see Chief," Lance said, handing the shorter man a new check chit. "I've squared things with upstairs," he said.
"Thanks Sir," The crew was finishing up mating Viper 314 to the catapult by the time he had walked back across the bay.
"Here's the check chit Lieutenant," he said, handing her the maintenance log. He walked over to the Viper and inserted the pri-fli package. Ramirez shouted clear as she cranked up the start cart.
By the time he got back to Connors she'd signed off. He gave her a short salute, "You have a nice flight Lieutenant," he said.
"I will," the bitch said locking her helmet into place. Mitchell let his crew help her lock in. In less than a minute the cat officer gave her a salute and she was down the tube. Mitchell just shook his head.
"I don't get it Chief," Jones said, walking up beside him.
"What's that Specialist?" Mitchell asked.
"Well, didn't Lieutenant Ravi say 314 was having some thruster issues?"
"Yeah, yeah I think he did. Never got it written up into a chit though." Mitchell smiled. "Okay people, let's get number three out of 309!" Mitchell yelled.
"What have you got for me Jerry?" The Commander asked walking out of his cabin. It was Dairen's ritual to meet him for their daily briefing on the way to the CIC. The old man was never late.
"More traffic from Fleet on the SLEP, they want us into Caprica Bay on the 25th now." The Service Life refit would bring the Pacifica up to current specs, a newer radar/lidar system, updates to the ANCILE system, navigation. The project had been months in planning, now they were just working out the details. Both Dairen and Tigg would be gone by then. Tigg was retiring when Pacifica put in for refit.
"Forest is having issues with one of its engine, they want to FTL out of here and put in for repairs. I sent an assessment team over. You've got that meeting with General Yeahrly at ten hundred, he's shuttling over from the Van shortly." Dairen handed the Commander the night's comm traffic.
"Commander on Deck," the Marine guard said as they entered the CIC, snapping to himself.
"As you were," Tigg said almost absent mindedly, looking over the traffic. "What's this about the envoy's craft?" he asked.
"To Galactica. The Envoy hasn't reported in. They send 'em out in something older than me, probably a radio problem."
"Hrm," Trigg grunted. "Let me know what the team heading to Forest comes up with. I don't want to loose her with Vanguard still tagging along." Pacifica would be hard pressed to cover herself and the Vanguard in a fight. Vanguard wasn't much more than a glorified troop ship. Sure the Marines had a squadron of Falcon's, but those were more CAS birds than fighters. They couldn't look after themselves in a fight.
Dairen's wrist bleeped. He looked down at his chrono. "I've got the deck this shift," He said.
"Sure," Tigg said. "You coming by for Rachel's birthday party?" The Commander asked, still looking through the dispatches.
"I didn't think they let you down there if you weren't a pilot," It was a dodge. In truth he didn't much want to go fraternize with the pilots. His ex was close to the Commander's niece. Doubtless she'd be there.
"Oh come on Jer, she can't extract any more money from you now." Tigg said. "Rachel would be happy to see you."
"I'll... see. Sir." He said, nodding. Tigg dismissed him with a wave of his hand. She couldn't extract any more money sure, but she could pick at him. He saluted the Marine guard as he left CIC on his way to the bridge. He preferred the bridge to the CIC. There was just something about being where things seemed smaller. All they worried about here was steering the ship, keeping things moving. They didn't have to worry about patrols and task force spacing. Everyone else keyed off of Pacifica.
"I have the conn," Dairen said after the formalities of the change of the watch. He took up his place behind the helmsmen. He sighed and relaxed. At least he didn't have to deal with Yeahrly this way. He'd changed the duty roster specifically so he didn't have to be around when Commander Tigg and the little fireplug of a General had their weekly meeting. He was sure it would be a boring de-brief on the MEU's recent exercises in the asteroid belt.
"Steady as she goes Chief," he said, settling in.
"Ladies and Gentlemen this is your Captain speaking. We've just completed out climb out from the atmosphere and are on schedule for our FTL jump in a little over an hour now. You are free to walk about the cabin, but it is the policy of Picon Connection to keep your seatbelts fastened when you are seated. The stewards will be serving refreshments in the main cabin momentarily. Thank you again for flying Picon Connection." Rachel said over her headset. She sighed as she switched the intercom off.
"Picon 327, contact system departure on 234.325," Her headset crackled in her ear. Her co-pilot, James, responded to the instructions.
"234.325, thanks control," he said, and re-set the radios. Rachel looked over her panels, checked the FTL computers. Everything looked fine.
"You seeing Alistair when we get in?" James asked, setting the auto-pilot. "Departure Control, this is Picon Connection 327 with you on 234.325." He said at the microphone in front of his face.
"We see you Picon. Maintain course and speed. You're looking fine for your FTL point." the radio crackled.
"Course and speed roger departure." James said.
"If you must know Alistair had to cover for someone, he's on a shipping run to Virgon." Rachel said, trying to look busy with her monitors.
"Ah. Stood you up 'eh?" James asked.
"No. You know how Colonial is, play ball or you're passed over." She said.
"If you say so," James said.
"You guys want anything?" a steward asked from the door.
"I'll take a coffee," James said.
"You got it?" Rachel asked James, meaning control of the ship. She needed to use the head. She hadn't been feeling well recently. It seemed like nothing agreed with her system this last week. Maybe it was her schedule. She'd pulled the Picon to Caprica run five days in a row now.
"Yeah," James said as Rachel unfastened her restraints.
"Anything for you Rachel?" The steward asked.
"Club soda, with a cap please," She asked, skirting by the steward. The lavatory was as cramped as usual. She was beginning to think she'd seen nothing but the inside of a liner for weeks. She'd been off just last week, but it seemed like longer. He stomach grumbled. She'd have to eat something sooner or later. The club soda wouldn't do much for her. Maybe some crackers.
She splashed a bit of water on her face, rubbed her neck, the fatigue of the week setting on her like a yoke on her shoulders. Her stomach rumbled louder and then...
"Oh no," She gasped. She managed to get most of it into the small toilet bowl. It wasn't like there had been much in her stomach. She heaved for a little bit after she was empty, the bitter taste of acid flavoring her mouth. She clutched at her abdomen, shivering a bit at the effort of purging herself. She cleaned up what had splashed on the seat and looked at herself in the mirror.
What a mess. She wiped her mouth, straightened her tie, sighed and opened the door.
"You okay in there?" The steward asked quietly, so that the first class passengers would be hard pressed to hear.
"Yeah, just... long week, you know?" Rachel said.
"Yeah. You off after this run?" She handed Rachel a club soda in a resealable bottle.
"I should be. You know how it is." There was no way to know if she'd have a turn around when they got into Caprica. Picon Connection was a small carrier, if even two pilots were out for whatever reason she'd get pushed back into service.
"You should tell them you need a break," the steward said, a look of concern in her eyes. It was professional concern though. They both knew that calling in sick wasn't looked on very highly unless you were on your deathbed.
"Hopefully I won't need to," Rachel said. She got back onto the flight deck before the conversation could get drawn out any further. The last thing she needed was to be consoled by a steward on her fifth marriage.
"You ever think about going to work for Colonial?" James asked as Rachel fastened her restraints. It didn't take her long to get the five point system hooked up. She pulled the top off the club soda and tried to wash the taste of bile out of her mouth.
"Think about it? Sure. Seriously? No. They wouldn't have me," The taste was persistent.
"Oh come on, you're a good pilot." James said.
"Thanks," Rachel allowed. Her stomach growled at her. She could feel the bile welling up, but managed to choke it back. Hopefully James didn't notice. If she could just get past the jump she'd be fine.
"I'm missing that all important career point," Rachel said. Colonial somehow managed to stay out of trouble with non-discrimination suits, but it was an unwritten rule. Don't bother applying if you hadn't been 'fleet. She hadn't been.
"Oh that's just an overrated rumor. Hell, a buddy of mine got in, he was never 'fleet."
"You sure about that?"
"Yeah, of course. It's kinda hard to miss the brown suit." He said.
"I meant about him never being fleet." James made a few corrections to their course and speed. They were slowly crawling out of Picon's gravity well. They'd pass the magnetosphere in a few minutes. That always played a little bit of havoc with the nav systems.
"Oh come on, you can't be serious."
"Hey, I'm just saying, sometimes you don't know."
"I know."
"I believe you," she lied. She really didn't have the energy to argue with James. She needed to focus a bit more on the controls and fighting back her nausea.
"I'm just saying you should think about it. It'd probably be easier to hook up with Alistair if you worked at the same company." James said.
"I'll think about it," Rachel allowed.
"How long are you here for?" He asked, as she pulled at her BDU shirt. They hadn't seen each other for over a week now, two wasn't it?
"An hour? Two?" She wondered out loud, throwing her shirt on the chair next to his bunk. "Long enough," she said, pushing him down onto it. He smiled up at her as she pulled off her sport bra.
"I don't know, you think that's long enough?" he teased.
"You've been without for a couplea weeks, you'll have a hair trigger," she said, tugging at his belt.
"Hey Charley?" someone asked, walking into the Goat Locker.
"OUT!" She commanded in a drill instructor's voice. The other Chief withered and left. "I want you squared away and ready for maneuvers in thirty seconds Senior Chief," She commanded. He fumbled with his pants as she stripped off the rest of her uniform.
"You think the old man knows?" He asked, watching her dress from his bunk. He made a move to grab at her ass, but she slapped his hand away.
"Professionally?" She asked, pulling her belt tight, moving on to her polished boots. "No. Personally? Probably. Not much gets past the General. Don't worry about it Zach, if we weren't discrete enough he'd get someone else to come over as his guard." She snapped her collar down and adjusted her beret. The silver special ops flash glinted in the artificial light in the Goat Locker.
"Hey, I just, you know, I don't want to screw this up." He said. He grabbed his own clothes and started dressing a bit more leisurely than she had. He didn't have to be on duty for another hour, whereas she could be called to leave at any moment.
"You hear anything on when we put in?" She asked, pulling the laces on her boots tight, far tighter than he would have.
"The 25th, at least that's when Fleet wants us in dock. You'll probably hit the beach earlier. I'll be here..." He shrugged his shoulders. There was no knowing how long he'd be on board getting things squared away and getting ready for the SLEP.
"It won't be long," She said reassuringly. It had been months since they'd been able to sneak away together. They'd hoped to get away while the Pacifica was in dock for the SLEP refit, but with his promotion that was looking less and less likely. "I'd better get going. No telling how much longer the old man will be."
He'd managed to get his pants on. He always felt a little inferior when he was around her. She was 'born again hard,' as the Corps said. He was a pasty Technician three. Well, he was a Sr. Tech now, with a crew of his own, but he hadn't started to think of himself that way yet. He was more accustomed to sitting in darkened rooms lit by monitors than leading a squad under the jungle canopy like she did. He seriously didn't know what she saw in him.
She gave him a quick kiss. "We should be back over next week, I'll try and give you a heads up."
"I've got ears on the LSO's crew," He said, waving his hands across the bay. All of the Chiefs bunked here. This was gossip central for the Pacifica. Maybe they should have found a broom closet rather than using the 'Locker.
"Alright, I'll see you then."
"I love you," He said quietly. She stopped for just a second on her way out.
"Yeah, I know you do," She said, not turning back.
"Steady on course 345 mark 80," the helmsman said quietly. Rains hated this part. The waiting. He wanted to be over with this assignment. Nothing ever happened. They came out here to listen in on anything that happened at the negotiations, but nothing ever did. This was the third year he'd been tasked to watch while the Colonial Envoy sat for several hours and the Cylons never made an appearance. It was his first as the CO though.
"EM, Conn, report all contacts," He said, pressing the appropriate intercom button.
"Conn, EM, I have civilian traffic only." the EM Officer said. Rains wanted to sigh. They were twenty days out of Geminon. His people were getting tired, antsy. They'd been on station for the better part of a week now with hardly even civilian traffic. No one came out this far, this close to Cylon territory.
"Conn aye," He said. He stood up and stretched. "You've got the conn Paul," He said, nodding to his XO. Kurtz nodded back, taking over. Rains walked the few steps to the wardroom, hunting for coffee.
"Heya Skipper," His Weapons Officer, Niel, said as he entered the wardroom. Things were pretty informal in here, as he liked it. They could be spit and polish in front of the crew. In the wardroom he didn't want to deal with it, even if Kurtz objected. Niel was watching a game that they'd recorded the night earlier. Rains had seen it live.
"That's not a pretty game," He said wincing as he poured his coffee.
"Hush, I still have my illusions," Niel said with a smile on his face, he was a big Geminon fan, unlike the majority of the officers aboard. "Aren't we about done here Skip?"
"Yeah, I hope so. Haven't heard anything from the Envoy yet." That worried Rains a bit, though those old shuttles were notorious for mechanical failures. The Athens had rescued two this year and directed Fleet to a half a dozen more when their distress signal was too weak to reach into the inner systems.
"CO to EM control, CO to EM control," came across the intercom, somewhat urgently. Rains finished filling his mug and headed for EM control.
"What have you got?" He asked waling into the darkened shrine-like nerve center of the Athens.
"Multiple contacts sir," The EM Officer said, "at the extreme range of ELINT. They look big. We're working on an ID."
"No transponder though?" Rains asked, sipping at his coffee.
"No sir, they're not illuminated by anyone yet," The Athens didn't use active sensing techniques, she just listened for stray radio emissions from others ships. If a ship was illuminated by someone else's radar though they could usually read the bogie's transponder code.
"They coming from our space?" Rains asked.
"No sir," the EM officer said a bit nervously. It wasn't the first Cylon they'd tracked, if that's what it was. They didn't usually track them though. Rains stuck his head out of EM control, raised his voice just a little.
"XO, spin up an FTL probe."
"Aye sir," Kurtz said down the small hall to EM control. If they couldn't identify the contacts in a few minutes Rains would send a probe a bit closer to see if it could hear anything. It would expose them a bit, but not too much.
"New contact, bearing 230 mark 25," one of the EM techs said, plotting the contact on the large display in front of them. "Designate contact Echo 5. No ID on contact."
"Range or velocity yet?" Rains asked.
"Negative sir, what we're getting is fading in and out." the EMO said. Rains didn't like this. He didn't like it one bit.
"I'll be in the conn," he said, heading for the control room.
"Bird one is hot and in readiness sir," Kurtz said as Rains walked the few steps to the center seat.
"Take us to condition two Paul," Rains said as he sat down and looked at the tactical map.
"Aye sir," the XO lifted the intercom and spoke into it, "Set condition two, all hands to duty stations. Set condition two, all hands to duty stations. This is not a drill," echoed through the small ship.
It took a few minutes before Kurtz could report, "Duty stations manned an ready sir."
"Very well. EM, conn, report contacts." Rains said into the intercom.
"Conn, EM. We now hold seven non-civilian contacts, Echo 1-7. We have velocity on Echo 1 and reason to believe that this is a formation with similar velocity. We cannot identify this formation."
"Very well," Rains said. "Weps, get me a firing solution. Warm up tubes three and four. Comms prepare for flash traffic." His people moved smartly, as they'd been trained to do. Standard procedure for flash traffic was to send off a tightly directed message to Fleet headquarters then move with a small FTL jump so that if their transmission gave them away they wouldn't be around long enough for anyone to localize them. That was the idea anyway.
Several minutes passed while firing solutions and better information came in. Rains managed to finish his coffee before anything significant came back.
"Conn, EM. We now have an 80 probable ID on Echo 4, 6 and 7," The voice that came back over the intercom sounded scared. "We identify these contacts as probable Cylon Base Stars." The control room went dead quiet. Time seemed to stand still. That couldn't be right. No one has seen a Base Star in over forty years. Rains' mind suddenly accelerated.
"Comms, update that flash message. XO prepare to deploy that rece bird. Navigation, plot an FTL jump that will take us back in closer to the inner systems, along the vector of those... contacts." He couldn't bring himself to say Base Stars, not yet, not until the rece bird got them a better ID.
It took another few minutes to get things ready. Rains resisted the urge to fidget. This was what they'd trained for, practiced for. They were ready. There was no way the Cylons could have seen them yet, the Athens was as electromagnetically quiet as a tomb, quieter. The carbon 12 in a tomb would release EM noise via radioactive decay. The Athens masked all EM, it was a veritable hole in space.
"We're ready Skipper," his navigator said.
"Alright, by the numbers people," He said standing. "XO, launch the rece bird." The XO gave the proper orders down to the weapons technician that pressed the button to eject the bird from the ship.
"Rece bird is away and will go FTL in thirty seconds," the XO reported.
"Flash traffic," Rains commanded. The message went out and two seconds later he felt the momentary disorientation associated with Faster than Light Travel. It only lasted a second. The tactical display changed to reposition the contacts around them, now that they were significantly further from where they had been.
"Conn, EM. We've lost the rece bird."
"Well, that's that isn't it?" Rains said to the XO. The big man's face was as white as a sheet. "Set condition one."
