WSG-1: Fall of the Twelve Colonies

by Kelso323

As the Cylons unleash their genocidal strike upon the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, disparate groups of survivors struggle to defy bleak odds and the cold, calculating wrath of the Cylons; aged veterans and a new generation of inexperienced warriors band together to safeguard the addled survivors in their care. Their only mission; ensure the survival of humanity.

5. Part 4 - Father, Son and the Ghost

Warstar Galactica
Colonial Fleet Capital Vessel Proving Grounds
One Light-Day from Caprica

Commander Sean Kelso, temporary CO of the newly completed Warstar Galactica, felt like a boulder had landed upon him.

"Is this confirmed?" muttered Kelso evenly as he continued to read, then re-read the short message.

"It was broadcast in the clear, Commander," replied Petty Officer Harris, her voice choking slightly.

Glancing over at the young woman, Kelso could see a hint of tears welling up at the corners of her eyes, her hands trembling.

"Steady, Harris," he whispered, reaching over and taking hold of her shoulder as he looked back down at the message.

But even as he tried to console Harris, as he scanned through the text one more time, Kelso could barely repress his own lingering numbness and shock.

"Attention all Colonial units; Cylon attack underway; this is no drill."

Bitterly, Kelso then noted the simple time index at the end of the message.

The message was over a day old.

One entire frakin' day.

Silently, Kelso reached out and let the message fall gently down upon the surface of the plot table.

"Keep monitoring as many wireless channels as possible, Harris, military and civilian, and keep me updated," said Kelso simply as he reached up and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Aye, sir."

As the young woman stepped back towards the Communications station, Kelso looked up in time to see his temporary XO, Major Tyra Burke, as she stepped into CIC. Having apparently been awoken by Kelso's summons to CIC, Burke was hurriedly adjusting and straightening her uniform as she made her way towards the plot table.

"You asked to see me, Commander?" asked Burke, sliding her thin rimmed glasses into place as she stepped up.

Without a word, Kelso reached out and slid the simple printout towards Burke, who reached over somewhat quizzically and picked up the communiqué.

As she looked down at the sheet and began to read, Kelso noted the none-too-subtle change in her expression as she finished the message and looked back up at him.

"This message is over a day old," he muttered evenly. "And we've only just now received it."

Shaking his head slightly, Kelso bit down on the harsh irony.

Although they'd harnessed the technology to move massive warships instantly from one point in space to another, were capable of traversing dozens of light-years in the blink of an eye, the Colonies still relied on communications technology that plodded along at 'mere' light speed.

"So what are our orders, sir?" asked Burke evenly as she put the communiqué back down on the plot table.

"We haven't received any, not yet anyways," replied Kelso simply.

Taking a deep breath, he looked up at the blank DRADIS screen overhead and mulled over the question.

Perhaps a more important question to ask was what were they in a position to actually do?

The new Galactica, built to replace the retiring Battlestar Galactica, was by every measure one of the most advanced and powerful warships ever constructed by the Twelve Colonies. At least, she would be once she was fully commissioned and operationally manned several months from now.

But since this was an engineering shakedown cruise, a trial run designed to test the ship's systems to ensure that they were operating as designed, she was far from ready. While he had at his command a very talented crew, most of them the tops in their respective fields, there were only about seven hundred total personnel currently aboard, a mere percentage of the ship's designed operational crew complement. The single squadron currently embarked for tests of the launch and recovery systems likewise fell far short of the overwhelming military capacity she was designed to carry. And as for ammo for the ship's own defensive and offensive weaponry, there were only enough munitions currently aboard to test the weapons for accuracy against unmanned targets.

And yet Major Burke's question still hung over him.

What should they do?

What could they do?

Taking a deep breath, Commander Sean Kelso looked back across to Major Burke.

"For now all we can do is wait, Major," he began evenly, himself not liking that answer much. "We're in no shape to enter into a combat situation."

"Shouldn't we at least try and contact Picon Fleet Headquarters?" countered Major Burke.

Commander Kelso scoffed slightly, the barest hint a grin creasing his lips.

"At this distance, it will take a day for our transmission to reach HQ, and one more day for any reply to reach us," stated Kelso evenly. "Considering our current status, it might not be such a good idea to give away our position with a wireless transmission without having a better picture of what exactly is taking place back in the Colonies."

"What about dispatching a Raptor?" offered Burke.

"It's possible," conceded Kelso. "But somehow I doubt command would have so completely forgotten about us loitering about out here. We send back a Raptor now, without a clearer picture of what is taking place, we could be just as easily handing over our position to any Cylons they stumble into."

"Understood, Commander," replied Burke evenly, clearly hesitating for a moment as though she had been about to say something more, but decided against it.

Kelso was actually surprised by Burke's unexpected restraint. He'd half expected the decidedly driven young woman to espouse a more aggressive response.

Absently, Kelso began to lightly drum his fingers on the plot table as he continued to mull the situation over.

"However," began Kelso as he again looked down at the communiqué lying on the plot table. "One thing we can do is begin taking some steps to get this ship ready, just in case we have an opportunity to do something more proactive."

Taking a deep breath, Kelso reached down and picked up the handset and toggled the switch for overhead One-MC.

Holding it for a moment, he couldn't help but feel as though it were little more than a leaden brick in his hand.

This wasn't going to be easy…

"This is the Commander," began Sean Kelso evenly, hesitating as he glared down at the communiqué. "Moments ago, this ship received word that a Cylon attack against our home worlds is underway."

As he said as much, Kelso could practically feel the building collective tension of his CIC crew. It was one thing to read a message on paper, it was a whole other matter to actually hear someone confirm it verbally.

"Now, at our current distance from the Colonies, any information we receive via wireless is already a day old," continued Kelso, his fingers slowly sliding the communiqué back over to his side of the plot table. "Right now, all we know is that an attack has begun; we have no information on the enemy's disposition, strength or location."

"Now I know we don't have a full load of supplies, equipment or crew," sighed Kelso as he continued to look around to the handful of men and women around him. "Nevertheless, we need to concentrate on getting this ship ready, in case we have to defend ourselves, or in case we do get the call to join the fight."

Pausing Kelso looked out into the eyes of his CIC crew.

"I know many of you will be thinking about your families, your friends," continued Kelso as his own thoughts briefly settled on his father. "But I need you to put those things aside and concentrate on your assigned tasks for the sake of your fellow shipmates. Trust one another, support one another; I will provide you with more information as it becomes available. All hands pass the word to Major Macedo and Major Culver; report to CIC immediately."

Hanging the handset back in its place, Kelso looked over at his Tactical Operations Officer, Lieutenant Cortez.

"I need a plot overlay down here, Lieutenant," said Kelso as he motioned for Cortez to retrieve the requested chart. "Petty Officer Chapman, step over here as well."

As Lieutenant Cortez stepped up with the requested chart, the ship's helmsman, Petty Officer Chapman likewise stepped up to the plot table beside Kelso.

"This is the most up to date information we have on the fleet's current deployment and patrol locations, Commander," stated Lieutenant Cortez as he finished unrolling the chart.

"This is our current location," said Cortez as he pulled a grease pencil from his pocket and made a small circle near the region labeled Colonial Fleet Capital Vessel Proving Grounds, setting the pencil down as he looked over at the Commander.

Drumming his fingers lightly, Kelso looked over the chart, the myriad of lines and marks indicating the assigned patrol routes of various Battlestar Groups, the orbits, both regular and irregular, of celestial bodies and objects within the Colonies; everything they needed to navigate safely.

"Ok," sighed Kelso as he leaned in over the chart and picked up Cortez's grease pencil. "Let's go ahead and set a low velocity return course back to Scorpion Shipyards."

"How low a velocity, Commander?" asked Chapman evenly as he watched Kelso pick up a long plot ruler and lay it out across the chart.

"Standard cruise; point one-five-C," replied Kelso as he began making a series of lines along the chart. "We'll come in on a wide angle approach outside the prime patrol routes, avoid the outer Colonies."

"At standard cruise, it will take about several days to reach Scorpia," noted Lieutenant Cortez as he looked over the course laid out by Kelso.

"Time enough to get a better idea of what exactly the Cylons are up and how the fleet is responding," replied Kelso evenly as he set the grease pencil back down. "As we move closer, the time-lag in the wireless messages will shrink; intel will become more reliable."

"What if it becomes necessary to execute an FTL jump, Commander?" asked Burke pointedly.

"That depends on the progress Major Macedo and his team have made with the CNP," replied Kelso as he looked up to see Macedo himself enter into CIC.

Following close on the computer programmer's heels was Major Thomas Culver, the ship's temporary CAG.

As Kelso watched the two newly arrived officers make their way towards the center plot table, Kelso turned back to Petty Officer Chapman.

"For now, go ahead and get us underway as planned at standard cruise," said Kelso evenly.

"Aye, sir," replied Chapman simply as he turned and headed back over to the Helm.

"Lieutenant Cortez, go ahead and start bringing the computers for the main batteries on-line," began Kelso, holding up his hand as Cortez opened his mouth to speak. "I realize we haven't had time to fully calibrate them as yet, but we need to start preparing for every contingency we can, even if the ship's systems aren't at one-hundred percent yet."

"Understood, Commander," replied Cortez as he turned and stepped back over to the Operations station.

Turning back, Kelso now found himself staring across the plot table at the expectant faces of not only Major Burke, but Major's Macedo and Culver as well.

"Okay, Major Macedo, what new information do you have on those anomalous algorithms keeping my FTL systems offline?"

For a moment, Major Macedo hesitated, looking around at the various crewmembers around CIC.

"Commander, it might be better if we discussed this in a more secure area," stated Macedo evenly as he leaned in over the plot table, clutching his ubiquitous binder a little tighter.

For a moment, Commander Sean Kelso stood staring across the plot table at the computer expert, taken aback as much as anything else.

Slowly, methodically, Kelso reached down, put his fingers on the communiqué regarding the Cylon attack, and slid it towards Macedo.

"Major, let me be clear with you," began Kelso evenly as his fingers slowly edged the communiqué even closer to Macedo. "Circumstances being what they are, with a real live shooting war ripping its way through the Colonies, I would appreciate it if you would just come to the point, clearly but quickly."

Finally withdrawing his hand from the communiqué, Kelso left it sitting in front of Macedo, its presence acting almost like an indictment.

Macedo hesitated for one more moment, but glancing away from Kelso, he only found himself staring into the equally demanding gazes of the XO and CAG.

Finally, taking a deep breath, Macedo released his veritable death-grip on the binder in his hands, setting it down upon the plot table as he leaned in a little more.

"First off, Commander, Majors, what I am about to say cannot be on the record," began Macedo, fumbling a bit as he opened the binder. "No logs entries, no scribbled notes, nothing. By even telling you this, I am opening myself up to possible prosecution under numerous Articles, possibly even the Federal Treason Acts. In fact, if you ever discuss openly what I am about to tell you, you yourselves will likewise be open to prosecution as I will be forced to deny that I was ever the source. I cannot overemphasize this point, Commander, Majors. Do you still want me to continue?"

Pausing, Macedo looked back across at Kelso, waiting for some sign of acknowledgment from the Commander. Although his interest was immediately piqued, Sean Kelso didn't appreciate the Major's continued evasiveness.

"Major, I really hate having a question of mine answered with another question," continued Kelso, his eyes locked intently with Macedo's. "Now, I am going to ask you again; what is the status of our FTL?"

Taking a deep breath, Macedo seemed to gather himself together as he continued to leaf through the pages in his binder.

"As you know, prior to this assignment I was posted to the Research and Development arm of the Ministry of Defense. While there, I was part of the team tasked with developing some of our most secure computer protocols, computer firewalls and network security measures for everything from Battlestar computer systems to the aeronautic interface systems on the latest Mark Seven Vipers."

Kelso nodded, this much he knew about Macedo from his service records; hardly a guarded military secret.

"Well, in order to test whether our security measures would be viable against the enemy, we had to have an effective way of testing them," continued Macedo, pausing, visibly hesitant and uncomfortable. "The best, most efficient way we came up with was to pit them against an actual, bonafide artificial intelligence system."

In an instant the expressions on the faces of all three senior officers turned to stunned silence and shock.

"A bonafide artificial intelligence system," echoed Kelso evenly. "You mean a Cylon?"

Again, visibly uncomfortable, Macedo simply nodded.

"Are you saying that the MOD has an actual, functional Cylon lurking about in the basement?" sputtered Major Burke.

Wincing, Macedo motioned for Burke to lower her voice, but quickly began shaking his head as well.

"Not exactly, Major," replied Macedo. "The Ministry does have an active Cylon computer matrix, however; a Cylon brain, for lack of a better way of describing it. It's isolated in a stand-alone setup, not hooked into or linked to any other system, not even the power grid, sustained by a dedicated generator it's used to test whether the security measures we create are effective."

"You're right, Major, you could be prosecuted for treason," stated Commander Kelso flatly. "It's against about a dozen Federal laws to operate any form of artificial intelligence."

Coughing slightly, Macedo began to fidget slightly.

"I'm not telling you this to open myself to recriminations, Commander," replied Macedo evenly. "I'm telling you this because we may have a much bigger problem on our hands than we first suspected, much bigger than simply having a Cylon in the basement, as Major Burke so eloquently put it."

"Out with it then, Major, before I have you dragged down to the brig," snapped Kelso curtly. "Or an airlock."

"The deeper I dug into the CNP, the more I looked at the hidden algorithms that were causing problems with our systems, the more I realized that they looked familiar," continued Macedo. "These algorithms have a great deal in common with adaptive heuristic algorithms utilized by the Cylons."

Kelso literally began to feel the blood drain from his face.

"Are you saying the Cylon A.I. used by the Ministry of Defense somehow managed to corrupt our Command Navigation Program?"

"No, sir, that's not possible; the Cylon A.I. matrix at the MOD is kept strictly quarantined," corrected Macedo, shaking his head slightly. "Even when a system or program is tested against it, that specific piece of hardware or software is routinely destroyed when the tests are complete explicitly to prevent the A.I. from having a way to propagate itself into other systems."

"Then how did these Cylon algorithms become part of the CNP?" asked Major Burke pointedly.

"There's only one possible explanation," began Macedo as he looked Commander Sean Kelso directly in the eye. "There's a Cylon conspirator within the Ministry of Defense."

Upon hearing that, Commander Sean Kelso felt his skin go cold, as though every drop of blood had somehow been drained from his entire body, his heart rate utterly skyrocketing as a peculiar queasiness took hold over his stomach.

"I feel like I'm going to throw up," muttered Major Culver as he gulped in a deep breath.

"That's still not the worst of it," continued Macedo.

His head swimming, Commander Sean Kelso took long, slow breaths to try and quell the uneasiness gripping his body.

"What could possibly be worse than a conspirator at MOD intentionally compromising this ship's CNP systems?" asked Major Burke pointedly.

"A conspirator intentionally compromising the systems of the entire fleet," replied Macedo flatly. "Every Battlestar, Cruiser, Destroyer and Viper in the fleet operating the Command Navigation Program is at risk."

For a moment, that terrible statement hung over the quartet of officers.

For his part, Sean Kelso found his gaze settling back in upon the communiqué lying on the plot table.

A Cylon attack with the entire fleet vulnerable to having their computer systems hijacked.

The potential consequences were so staggering Kelso found himself recoiling in horror from the thought.

"Are you telling me that the entire Colonial fleet is compromised?" asked Kelso pointedly.

"If a vessel operating the CNP keeps that one computer in stand alone, with no links whatsoever to either a wireless communications grid or a DRADIS feed, these algorithms will remain dormant," continued Macedo. "But the moment that CNP-equipped computer is linked into a network with any connection to any medium for sending or receiving a transmission, the algorithms could become active and begin learning at a near exponential rate how to bypass any security lockouts."

"And do what, exactly?" asked Major Culver.

"Best guess, commandeer those other systems, take over their functions," replied Macedo gravely. "Depending on which systems are accessed, the results could be catastrophic; it could shut down power systems, turn automated weapons grids against friendly ships, access to damage control systems would allow it to vent a ship's atmosphere into space, even commandeer helm functions and ram ships into one another; the potential damage is limited only by which systems the CNP is able to access through the network."

"Oh my gods," muttered Burke, her head drooping as she reached up and adjusted her glasses as she looked back across at Commander Kelso. "We need to warn Fleet Command, sir."

"First things first, Major Burke," began Kelso evenly, his gaze never leaving Major Macedo. "I want this entire fraking program root-canalled out of our systems right fraking now."

"I've already got my team pulling together a replacement program," replied Macedo, his own gaze likewise never leaving Kelso. "If we can get it to work, we should be able to make FTL jumps, range will be shorter though, and it's going to take time to patch it together."

"What about our other systems, Major?" asked Kelso evenly. "Is there any possibility that other systems may have been compromised before we shut down our network?"

"Is it possible?" countered Macedo, remembering too late what Kelso had said about answering a question with another question, and thus quickly amended himself. "Yes, sir, our other systems may already be compromised."

"Then what do we do?" asked Major Culver.

"Complete wipe, every system, every hard drive," replied Macedo flatly. "If we format every system simultaneously and reboot with the protected archive copies in primary storage, we'll lose the calibration adjustments we've made, but it will also erase any compromised lines of code."

Taking a deep, frustrated breath, Kelso turned and began to slowly circle around the plot table as he considered the drastic measure. As he moved, Sean Kelso soon realized just how much the crew around CIC had been paying attention to the conversation, at least as close as could be without outright gawking. From the looks on their faces, the full implications of what Macedo had revealed had been no more lost upon them then it had on him.

A Cylon conspirator at the Ministry of Defense, the entire fleet vulnerable to any number of catastrophic computer malfunctions, just as a shooting war with the Cylons erupts throughout the Colonies.

"You said the Vipers we have aboard may be compromised as well?" asked Kelso as he continued on around the plot table.

"Yes, sir," answered Macedo. "Taking care of that problem could be a touch more problematic since the avionics are more tightly integrated. I'd have to take a closer look, but the fly-by-wire systems may need to be bypassed completely."

"Which we can't do, at least not with the limited resources we have on board right now," interjected Major Culver. "Fabrication wouldn't be an issue, there's plenty of machinery in the AIMD work spaces, but we don't have the raw resources to mill the hardware."

"Every problem in due time," said Kelso as he again leaned in over the plot table. "First we secure the ship's computer systems, then we work on the Viper issue."

"What about the Raptors?" asked Major Culver as he glanced over at Macedo. "The CNP hasn't been installed aboard any of the craft we currently have on board."

"Then they shouldn't be affected at all," replied Major Macedo flatly.

"The only trouble is they're not designed for fighter-style combat," interjected Major Burke.

"But a Raptor would be able to jump back and warn the fleet," countered Major Culver.

Digesting all that had been said, Commander Sean Kelso now found himself facing three expectant officers waiting for his decision.

Taking a deep breath, Kelso was beginning to feel the true weight and burden of command for the first time in his entire career.

Grimacing slightly, Kelso forced himself to refocus on the issue at hand.

"Triage," he muttered absently, immediately drawing a quizzical look from all three Majors. "We address the most serious and immediate problem first; we wipe this ship's computer systems and restore the software from the protected backups."

The first decision made, Kelso began to feel peculiarly invigorated; that strange sense that no matter how ineffectual overall it might be, even small steps were better than complete inaction.

"When that's complete, Major Culver, I want a Raptor ready to go," continued Kelso as he settled back in to place. "While we work on getting the FTL systems back into operation, they'll jump back, taking all measures possible to avoid contact with the enemy and try to establish contact with either Picon Fleet Headquarters or any Colonial units they can, try and raise the alarm about the CNP being compromised to Cylons."

"Aye, sir."

"Major Macedo, I want you to have some data backing up your assessment ready to hand off to the Raptor crew as well as your recommendation for quickly removing the threat to our forces."

"Understood, Commander."

As the two officers turned to depart CIC, the overhead DRADIS system let out an alarm.

"Contact!" snapped Lieutenant Cortez from Operations. "One DRADIS contact at extreme range, Commander."

"Signature indicates a small craft," muttered Major Burke as she stood looking up at DRADIS. "Raptor, maybe?"

"IFF?" snapped Kelso a moment later as he watched the small ship continue to close in.

"Checking now, Commander," replied Cortez instantly.

Burke was correct in that the small return signature indicated a small ship; it might be a Raptor.

But then again, it could just as easily be an unknown type of Cylon vessel as well.

For a few moments, the tension around CIC was palpable; everyone watching DRADIS intently as the icon at the edge of the screen continued to slowly move closer.

"IFF complete, Commander," called Lieutenant Cortez. "Transponder code indicates a friendly, sir."

As the icon's label changed to indicate that the craft was a Colonial unit, Kelso let out a low sigh of relief.

"Petty Officer Harris, get on the wireless and try and establish contact," stated Kelso as he watched the lone contact continue to close in.

"Understood."

"If it's a Raptor, it could be a courier," offered Major Burke as she too stood with arms folded watching the small icon. "Orders from Command, perhaps?"

"Maybe," replied Kelso, drumming his fingers slightly as he watched the overhead screen.

"I'm not so sure, sir," interjected Culver as he continued to peer up at the DRADIS screen. "Because that's not a Raptor."

"DRADIS signature is right for a Raptor," observed Burke as she absently pointed up at the screen.

"Right size, maybe, but not the right transponder prefix," countered Culver flatly. "I think that's the code for a Scimitar, a Marine ground support gunship."

"What the hell would a Marine gunship be doing way out here on its own?" grimaced Burke.

"If we can raise them on wireless, maybe we'll find out why," replied Kelso as he looked over towards the Communications station. "Any luck raising them, Harris?"

"Not yet, Commander."

---

Scimitar One-Zero-Five

"Any luck raising them on wireless?" asked Lieutenant Samantha Larson as she carefully piloted the Scimitar towards the distant Colonial contact.

"No love here," replied her Weapons Officer, Lieutenant Becker flatly. "Looks like more than just our nav computer got hit, main comms are out too."

"Then here," burst Larson as she turned and tossed an emergency handheld wireless unit to Becker. "Try and raise them on this; I'm not too keen on being shot from the sky by a friendly."

"What friendly?" shot back Becker as he began adjusting the frequency dial on the wireless handset. "IFF shows a Colonial Military prefix, but I can't find her main ID code in our database."

"Are you saying it may be a Cylon ship?" asked Larson pointedly, decidedly spooked by the prospect.

"Let's hope not," replied Becker as he finished adjusting the wireless handset. "That's one big fraking DRADIS signature; if they ran us over it'd be like an insect on a windshield, and we'd be the insect."

Suddenly, the wireless set in Becker's hand let out a harsh squeal before resolving into a faint, yet decidedly human sounding voice.

"…say again, this is the Colonial Wars…ica…identify yourself…diately…"

Lifting the handset to his face, Becker literally bumped the wireless device against the closed visor of his flight helmet. Groaning a bit at his own foolishness, Becker quickly pulled his helmet off and again lifted up the handset.

"This is Colonial Scimitar One-Zero-Five, we read you…," began Becker, realizing quite abruptly that the portion of the other vessel's transmission in which they'd identified themselves had been garbled. "Uh, we read you Colonial warship, request immediate clearance for landing."

While he waited for a response, he adjusted the handset a little more.

"We read you Scimitar-One-Zero-Five," replied the voice on the other side of the transmission, now decidedly much clearer. "You are clear for approach on our portside landing bay, upper deck."

"Must be a Battlestar," muttered Larson as she throttled the Scimitar up a bit to hasten their approach. "Go ahead and acknowledge the approach order."

"Scimitar One-Zero-Five to Colonial warship, we copy order to approach Port side upper deck," stated Becker.

For a moment, Becker sat holding the wireless handset, then glanced over at the DRADIS console.

"I still think that signature is a bit too big for a Battlestar," he muttered, chewing slightly on his lip. "Even a Mercury class doesn't ping that large."

"If you're so curious why not just ask them to identify themselves again," offered Larson. "Might be nice to know where I'm about to land our wounded bird."

"Didn't want to look stupid, I guess," replied Becker weakly, wincing as he realized what he'd just said.

Glancing back over her shoulder once more, Larson couldn't help the sarcastic grin creeping onto her face.

"Don't even fraking say it, Sam," groaned Becker, sensing Larson's eyes upon him.

"Say what?"

"Two years as your back-seater, I know how you think," he continued.

"I suppose you think I've let you off the hook for getting us lost," countered Larson, still grinning as she turned back to her instrument panel.

"It'd be nice if you did, after all, isn't it for the gods alone to judge us?"

"The gods?" scoffed Larson as she continued to pilot the Scimitar. "And since when did you find religion?"

"Since we were about half a heartbeat from having two Raiders put some rounds right up our ass," replied Becker.

"Oh, a deathbed convert," shot back Larson, chuckling slightly.

"What deathbed, last time I checked I still had a pulse."

"Only because I haven't yet had time to strangle you for getting us lost in deep space," finished Larson.

"Again with that," sighed Becker, resigning himself somewhat to the very real likelihood that he was never going to live it down. "That's the problem with one track minds; they run in circles."

"Would you just go ahead and ask them to repeat their designation already," shot back Larson.

With a slight groan, Becker looked down at the handset, then lifted it back up.

"Scimitar One-Zero-Five to Colonial warship, be advised your first transmission was garbled, can you please give your identity again?" said Becker as he looked out past the canopy.

"Be advised Scimitar One-Zero-Five, this is the Warstar Galactica."

"Galactica?" muttered Larson quizzically.

"What the frak is a 'Warstar'?" muttered Becker.

"I guess we'll find out when we get there," countered Larson as she peered out into the darkness trying to visually pick up the warship. "DRADIS says we're getting close, but I can't see her."

"There, running lights dead ahead," muttered Becker as he stood up and stepped up beside Larson.

"Afraid I'm going to need a bit more than that to line up," sighed Larson as she squinted at the few flashing navigational lights. "What the hell kind of carrier runs with their flight-ops lighting out? Becker, get back on the wireless and ask them to switch their approach lights on."

"Scimitar One-Zero-Five to Galactica, we're having difficulty obtaining a good visual on you," began Becker evenly as he too tried to discern the outline of the warship. "We have your nav markers, but can you to activate your exterior lighting?"

"Affirmative, Scimitar One-Zero-Five, standby."

As the two Scimitar crewman continued to peer out into the murky expanse before them, searching for the warship in the nearly non-existent ambient light of deep space, they were slightly started when out of the darkness, the ship illuminated itself.

"Gods damn, she's big," muttered Larson as she looked out in near awe.

"There's the Port pod," said Becker, pointing out past the canopy.

"Thanks," mumbled Larson, rolling her eyes a bit as she slowly turned the Scimitar for approach. "Never would have found it without your help."

"Scimitar One-Zero-Five, this is Galactica, you are clear for final approach on pad five; speed one-zero-zero; call the ball," cut in another voice over the wireless.

"Roger, we have the ball," replied Becker when Larson nodded her head.

Lining the Scimitar up with the landing indicator, Larson sailed the Scimitar ahead, gently settling her down over pad five. With a slight bump, the magnetized landing pads held the craft firmly to the lift, and it began to descend into the hangar deck level.

As Larson and Becker began securing the small crafts systems, a deck crew quickly moved the Scimitar off the lift into one of the hangar service bays.

"Looks like someone is waiting to talk to us," muttered Larson as she noted two Colonial officers in standard duty uniform making their way towards the Scimitar.

"No time like the present," replied Becker as he toggled the switch, opening the entry hatch.

Stepping out onto the winglet, Becker and Larson looked out into the rather cavernous hangar deck, taking particular note of the fact that the majority of the service bays were empty.

Glancing at one another, Becker shrugged as Larson turned and stepped down off the winglet.

Almost as soon as her boots hit the deck, the two waiting officers stepped up.

Snapping to attention, both Becker and Larson rendered a salute.

"Lieutenant Samantha Larson, request permission to come aboard, sir," she said as the officer bearing the insignia of a Commander stepped up to her.

"Granted, Lieutenant, at ease, both of you," replied the Commander casually as he gave the two Scimitar crewman a visual once-over before extending his hand towards them. "I'm Commander Sean Kelso, this is my CAG, Major Culver."

"It's good to be aboard, sir," said Larson as she took hold of the Commander's hand. "This is my Weapons Officer, Lieutenant John Becker."

"Not to be rude, but what the hell is a ground attack ship doing this far out in open space?" asked Commander Kelso flatly as he likewise took hold of Becker's hand, his expression clearly puzzled.

"Navigational error, sir," replied Becker evenly.

"Wouldn't have anything to do with those munitions hits, would it?" asked Major Culver he pointed over towards the aft end of their Scimitar.

As both of the Scimitar crewmen looked back over at their craft, they easily saw the neat line of holes, about half a dozen total, stitched along the side of the ship.

"Told you we got hit," muttered Becker as he glanced over at Larson.

Rolling her eyes slightly, Larson turned back to Commander Kelso and Major Culver.

"Don't suppose you'd care to enlighten us as to exactly how you got hit?" continued Culver.

"Or perhaps more to the point, who it was that was shooting at you in the first place?" interjected Commander Kelso.

"Cylons, Commander," replied Larson flatly, pausing a moment to shake her head lightly. "With respect, it's been one-hell-of-a day."

---

Serenity Valley
Sagittaron Colony

"Okay, this isn't fun anymore," muttered Lance Corporal Chance Auric as he picked himself back up from the ground.

"And when exactly was this fun before?" muttered Lance Corporal Jasper Sims as he helped hoist Auric back to his feet.

"Would you two mother-frakers shut-up?" snapped Lance Corporal Pete Chaffey as he kneeled nearby, his eyes darting nervously about as he peered into the dense underbrush. "Tripping over stumps, gabbing it up like a couple schoolgirls, you're liable to tip our position to the entire fraking Cylon army."

"You're not exactly the king of stealth right now yourself, Chaffey," muttered Bowman as he stepped over to Auric and Sims.

"Aye, Corporal," muttered Chaffey somewhat derisively, his eyes still focused on the underbrush.

Ignoring the tone in Chaffey's voice, Bowman looked over Auric as the Marine stood swiping away the layer of leaves clinging to his gear.

"You okay, Auric?" asked Bowman.

"That would be an affirmative, Corporal Bowman," replied Auric, grinning slightly. "I'm humbled to know the mighty Corporal is concerned about the welfare of a lowly Lance Corporal such as myself."

"Knock it off," muttered Bowman, grinning slightly himself.

Even though he had now had several hours to absorb his literal battlefield promotion to Corporal by Captain Gaines, in truth he still found the idea somewhat strange.

"Been meaning to ask you about that," began Sims as he absently snatched the last leaf clinging to Auric and dropped it onto the ground. "How's it feel to be the man in charge?"

"I'll let you know when I get the first paycheck," replied Bowman flatly. "Now if you're done tripping over your own feet, I need you two to get back out there on point; the whole column took a knee when you went down, we need to get moving again."

"Copy that, Corporal," replied Auric with a grin as he stepped off towards the underbrush ahead.

As Auric and Sims began pushing ahead into the forest again, Chaffey stepped up beside Bowman.

"Those two are going to get us killed," he said.

"Shut your fraking mouth, Chaffey," snapped Bowman. "I'll worry about Auric and Sims, you worry about yourself; you're so fraking on edge, you're liable to rip off a few rounds if someone farts too loud."

Leaving Chaffey to fume, Bowman brought his rifle back up to the ready and followed behind Auric and Sims as the two Marines continued to push their way through the dense, untouched foliage.

It had been several hours now since they'd made their break into the forest beyond the depot perimeter. With the all-to-likely probability that the Cylons were following close on their heels, the staggered line of stunned troops spent all night pushing into Serenity Valley, trying to put some critical distance between themselves and the now-abandoned boneyard.

Looking up, Bowman could see the sun rising over the horizon, a few birds overhead beginning to chirp.

If they hadn't all just been in the midst of a fierce and costly firefight only a few kilometers back, Bowman guessed he might have been better able to appreciate the subtle beauty of the scene. As it was, he was more pleased with simply being able to put his night vision goggles away.

Useful as they were, Bowman found it disconcerting to see the world cast in the garish shades of green of NVG's for hours on end. That plus the distinct lack of depth perception always left his eyes sore.

Rubbing his aching eyes for a moment, Bowman let out a long yawn as he picked up his pace enough to catch back up with Auric and Sims.

"Slow up you two, I said we need to move, not sprint," muttered Bowman as he got to within a few feet of the point men. "Remember, there's about three hundred Marines gaggling behind you."

"Just trying to get as far away from those fraking Toasters as we can, Corporal," muttered Auric as he stepped over a fallen tree.

"Can't argue with that, just don't want you two wandering off," stated Bowman as he looked around. "This brush is getting thick; get too far ahead and turn left, we might not see you and go right instead, then you'll both be fraked."

"That would be bad," grunted Sims as he hopped over the fallen tree.

"Did you notice how those Toasters were different?" began Auric as he continued to push ahead. "From the ones in the museums I mean."

"Hard to miss," replied Sims. "Damn carbines were useless against them."

"Makes sense when you think about it," offered Bowman. "Our military hardware has improved over the years, why wouldn't theirs?"

"Hey, Bowman," began Sims, pausing a moment to glance back over his shoulder. "Sorry, I mean, Corporal Bowman, sir, I was wondering something."

"What is it, Sims?" smiled Bowman.

"You know we have a couple civilian cops back in the column who didn't make it aboard the last transport, right?" asked Sims.

"Yeah, what about 'em?"

"Well before I got moved up here on point, I was chatting with one and he said something about this area being restricted. Do you know what that's about?"

"It's a protected memorial reserve," replied Bowman evenly.

"Memorial reserve?" muttered Auric. "What memorial, it's just a bunch of trees out here."

"Don't you know the history of your Corps, Marine?" barked Bowman lightly, doing his best mock impersonation of Drill Instructor. "This here is Serenity Valley, hallowed ground for those who've sworn their lives to gods, colony and Corps."

Auric and Sims chuckled slightly, if only because they'd known Bowman long enough to know he was being sarcastic.

"Seriously, what's the story?"

"The boneyard wasn't always the fleet's dumping ground for old junk," began Bowman. "During the war, it was a preposition base. Tanks, troops, ammo, you name it, that's where they stored it for operations all across Sagittaron."

"I'm waiting for the part where this becomes interesting," muttered Auric derisively.

"Near the end of the war, the Cylons launched a massive offensive, hit several Colonies all at once; Baseships, Raiders, ground forces, the works. The depot was one of their objectives. Toasters landed nearly two divisions up ahead in the Hera mountain range."

"Wait, I think I saw this in a movie," interjected Auric sardonically. "Real ultra-moto, the Marines rushing in where the gods feared to tread, right?"

"Not quite," replied Bowman flatly. "The Two-Hundred-and-First and Fifty-Seventh Overlander regiments were on deck in time to meet the assault, but they were outnumbered. Cylons pushed them all the way back down here into Serenity Valley."

"Let me guess, a 'last stand' right."

"Shut up, Auric, I want to hear this," countered Sims flatly.

"Anyways, the Two-Oh-One and Five-Seven dug in and waited for the Cylons to advance on their lines. For five weeks they held their ground, but it was bad. By then, only the Fifty-Seventh Overlanders had anybody left over the rank of Corporal, and he was just a Sergeant."

"Did they hold the line?"

"They must have, depot's still there, isn't it?" interjected Auric.

"Resupply was impossible after the Cylons set up some AA so command ordered the Marines out of Serenity Valley," sighed Bowman, swiping his hand at an insect buzzing near his ear. "But, their lines were too heavily invested, there was just no way to get them out, fighting was just too thick, grinding on another two weeks. By the time it was over, the Two-Hundred-and-First had suffered over ninety-eight percent casualties. The entire Fifty-Seventh regiment had only two survivors."

"But they held?"

"Just long enough for the Armistice to be signed and ratified," finished Bowman. "The hundred or so Marines still alive watched as the Toasters just turned around, went back to their landing craft, and took off."

"Just like that the fighting stopped?"

"War was over; Toasters didn't give a damn, they just did the whole 'by your command' thing and walked away as if nothing had happened."

"That's fraked up," muttered Auric.

"Anyhow, the leaders of Sagittaron closed this area off after the war," finished Bowman. "Guess they wanted to give the souls of the men and women who died here a chance to rest in peace."

"Sagittarons are a superstitious lot," muttered Auric as he swiped his hand out at a lizard on a nearby tree, the small reptile scurrying out of sight within an instant. "How you know so much about it anyhow?"

"He knows because the Corporal is a long-gone lifer," grinned Sims. "He lives, eats and breaths the Corps."

"Hardly," countered Bowman, chuckling a bit. "Unlike you two uneducated dirt-eaters, I can read; all those hours on post, I wasn't out there painting my toe-nails."

As Sims and Auric chuckled as well, the trio stepped up and then quickly over a small ridge.

Almost as soon as they'd crested the peak, Bowman caught sight of a small glint up ahead.

In front of them, hidden amidst the dense undergrowth, a polished piece of metal glistened in the early morning sunlight.

"Down!" snapped Bowman a split instant after his brain registered what he'd seen.

Instantly, all three Marines dropped down onto the ground, Auric and Sims looking frantically about, apparently not having seen what Bowman had.

"This is Junkyard-One-One, I have a possible contact at my direct front," said Bowman as he toggled the switch for his wireless set.

"This is Junkyard-Six, copy Junkyard-One-One, confirm and report," came the voice of Captain Gaines over the wireless. "All other units spread out, weapons outboard."

Behind them, the long line of Marines dropped to the ground and up behind tree trunks, weapons pointed out into the surrounding forest, wary eyes searching for movement.

Crawling forward on his belly until he was able to peer back up over the crest of the small ridge, Bowman searched the underbrush for the same glint of polished metal which had caught his eye, certain it had been more than just his imagination.

And there it was…

Hidden within the thick underbrush, the glint was unmistakable in the early morning light.

"This is Junkyard-One-One; I have one unknown metallic object in the brush approximately fifty meters to my direct front," began Bowman, whispering into the wireless mic as he continued to weave his head back and forth, trying to get a better view without outright breaking from cover.

"I need a better definition than 'unknown', Junkyard-One-One," came the mildly annoyed voice of Captain Gaines. "We have to get up this valley, the longer we stay put, the more likely the enemy will be able to catch back up to us. The last thing we need is to be held up because someone flying by overhead tossed a candy wrapper out a window."

"Copy that, Junkyard-Six," sighed Bowman as he continued to try and get a better view.

Resigning himself somewhat to the reality that he'd never be able to get the vantage point he'd need to make a positive ID from the ridge, Bowman took a deep breath and looked back over at Sims and Auric, motioning for them to join him.

"What's up?" asked Auric as he quickly peeked up over the ridge.

"Okay, here's the deal," began Bowman as he pulled the bolt back on his rifle to verify that a round was in the chamber. "I'm going to make my way down there. You two stay here and cover me."

"Copy that," muttered Sims as he pointed his weapon out over the ridgeline.

"What do you want us to do if you come under fire?" asked Auric.

"That depends, what did you score on you last rifle qual?"

"Marksman," mumbled Auric sheepishly.

"Sims?"

"I scored Expert."

"Well then, Sims, you cover me," sighed Bowman as he took one last look over the ridge. "Auric, you just try to not shoot me in the ass."

As Sims chuckled slightly, Bowman crawled up over the ridge and began making his way down the gentle slope.

As he went, Bowman tried to keep his eyes on the grouping of bushes where he'd spotted the glint of metal. Pausing every couple of steps, Bowman tried to keep his breathing under control, very much cognizant that he might very well be crawling up on a concealed Cylon.

After what almost felt like an eternity, his heart pounding away in his chest, Bowman snuggled up behind the trunk of a tree, brought his rifle up to the ready, and slowly stood up, his weapon trained on the small cluster of bushes.

His eyes focused down along the iron sights of the rifle, Bowman watched as a gentle breeze caught the thick leaves, moving them just enough to get a clear view of the object…

And found himself looking directly into the eye slit of a Cylon Centurion…

Reflexively, Bowman pulled back on the trigger, the sound of a single round firing echoing out through the forest, followed a split second later by the hollow 'clink' of the round slamming through the chrome surface of the Cylon's head.

With the shot's report still echoing out through the far reaches of the valley, Bowman watched, surprised, as the Cylon head spun around, rapidly at first, from the impact of the round.

With the barrel of the rifle still aimed in on the bush, Bowman slowly nudged aside the branches surrounding the now-slowly spinning Cylon head and saw that instead of being attached to the chrome torso he'd expected, it was instead impaled upon a wooden stick stuck into the ground.

And it wasn't the only one.

At least half a dozen more likewise severed Cylon heads sat impaled upon sticks and branches behind the bushes. Cracked visor plates, bullet holes, flecks of corrosion marring the surfaces; one thing was apparent, they'd been there quite a while.

"This is Junkyard-Six, give me a report," called the voice of Captain Gaines over the wireless.

"This is Junkyard-One-One, uh, that's a negative situation here, Junkyard-Six," replied Bowman as he continued to sift around the bushes.

"Then what did you engage, I heard a weapon fire."

As he stood looking down at the collection of severed Centurion heads, Bowman half-smiled, gently tapping at one of the chrome skulls with the barrel of his rifle.

"Looks like someone's collection of old Centurion heads, Junkyard-Six," stated Bowman. "Been here a while, definitely deactivated, looks like the older models from the war."

"Copy that, Junkyard-One-One," replied Captain Gaines, sighing, either in frustration or relief, Bowman couldn't tell exactly which.

Hearing a slight rustling behind him, Bowman looked up to see Auric, Sims and Corporal Sera Lenore slowly making their way down the gentle slope, rifles at the ready.

As he was about to call out to them, Bowman watched as the faces of the three Marines went pale, all of them suddenly stopping midstride. His own half-grin beginning to fade, Bowman felt the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand up, his skin growing cold and clammy as he realized he could see someone, something, moving just at the edge of his peripheral vision.

As he continued to watch Auric, Sims and Corporal Lenore, the three Marines began slowly raising their weapons towards whatever it was that had emerged from the surrounding forest; Bowman felt his heart racing, threatening to burst from his chest.

Taking deep, steadying breaths, Bowman slowly began to turn around…

And saw not the imposing Cylon Centurion he'd half expected, but instead a man…

From what few features Bowman could make out of his face from beneath the thick layer of camouflage face paint, an older man, in an old uniform, the type worn by Marines forty years ago during the Cylon War, indeed the type that would have been worn by the Marines who had fought in this very valley. Even the rifle the man was carrying would have been made a fine museum piece from the war…

Except that this particular rifle wasn't in a glass enclosure but was instead aimed directly at his chest.

Almost as an afterthought, Bowman felt an even greater chill run through his body, a full body shiver as he realized that he recognized the figure standing there before him from nearly half a dozen dark nights out on lonely posts, the haunting figure who'd come and gone time and again with the twilight; the man standing before him was the Ghost.

"Don't fraking move," warned the Ghost, his voice harsh, raspy.

"Take it easy old timer," muttered Bowman as he began to take half a step back.

"I said don't fraking move," restated the Ghost flatly as he slowly lowered his rifle and took another couple of steps towards Bowman. "Unless of course, you'd rather snap that trip wire and set off a charge large enough to turn everything from your knees up into jungle jelly."

Slowly looking down towards his feet, taking a few hesitant pauses to glance briefly back up at the Ghost, Bowman eventually saw that he did indeed have a thin length of wire running across his boot.

"Frak," groaned Bowman as he stood looking at the tripwire.

"Junkyard-Six to Junkyard-One-One, what's the hold up; why haven't we started moving again?"

"This is Junkyard-One-One, be advised," began Bowman as he stood looking down at the tripwire. "We have another situation up here at this time."

"How big of a situation?"

Looking back up at the Ghost, Bowman watched as the tangible apparition stepped over towards the base of a nearby tree, pulled away a low-lying bush, and revealed the sizeable explosive charge attached to the trunk.

"About five pounds worth of G-Four explosive 'big', Junkyard-Six," replied Bowman, feeling his skin frost over with sweat as he watched the Ghost carefully slip the safety pin for the tripwire detonator back into place.

"Using a wireless is not recommended right now," stated the Ghost evenly, his gravelly voice resonating a bit as he continued to reinsert the safety. "Static discharge might just set off the blasting cap."

Chewing on his lip slightly, because he knew damned well the Ghost was right, Bowman rather sheepishly lowered his hand back away from the wireless transmitter.

"Okay, you're safe," announced the Ghost a moment later, standing up straight as he turned and looked over at the highly expectant Bowman.

For a moment, neither Bowman nor the Ghost moved.

"You can take a step back from that tripwire now," stated the Ghost flatly. "Safeties are back in place."

"How do I know you're not lying?" half-chuckled Bowman as he looked back down at the tripwire resting taught against his foot.

"Well, for one, I'm still standing in front of the main charge, so if it goes, I'll die a split second before you do," began the Ghost as he took a couple tentative steps towards Bowman. "And second, I'm not about to waste good G-Four on anything that's not a Toaster."

Holding his breath, Bowman slowly moved his foot, releasing the tension on the wire. When his foot had fully pulled away from the wire, Bowman let out the breath, taking a couple more hesitant steps away as he looked over at the Ghost expectantly.

As he stood looking eye to eye with the old man, Bowman heard some more rustling up above on the ridge, and looking back over his shoulder, caught sight of Captain Gaines as she made her way down the slope to Auric, Sims and Lenore.

"What the frak is going on?" asked Gaines as she stepped up next to the three Marines, a split second before she caught sight of Bowman and the Ghost. "What's going on Bowman, who is this?"

Turning back to face the old man, Bowman let out a small chuckle.

"This, Captain, is the Ghost," he said rather nonchalantly as the old man slung his rifle up over his shoulder.

"The Ghost?" muttered Gaines. "Look Bowman, and whoever the hell you are, I don't have time for games; we've got to get this column moving again before too much more fallout starts raining down on us."

"With all due respect, Captain," began Bowman as he pointed over at the tree bearing the now-safe charge of G-Four. "The area appears to be booby trapped."

"Did you set that charge?" snapped Gaines as she took a few curt steps towards the Ghost. "If so, you're in a lot of trouble; this is a restricted area, no civilians are allowed to be out here."

"Then it's a good thing I'm not a civilian," replied the Ghost flatly as he leveled Gaines with a curious gaze. "Moreover, if this is a restricted area, just what are you and your men doing out here, Captain?"

"Not that I have to explain myself to you, but there's a war on," said Gaines angrily. "We may very well have Cylons following us right now."

"Then you'd better follow me, Captain," said the Ghost flatly as he turned and began pushing back into the underbrush. "Fall your people in behind me and I'll guide you in through the perimeter."

"What 'perimeter'," muttered Gaines, plainly flabbergasted. "Just who the hell are you?"

"Well who the hell are you?" countered the Ghost flatly as he glanced back over at the young officer.

"Captain Jordan Gaines, Sagittaron Depot Detachment, Colonial Marine Corps," she replied matter-of-factly.

"Good to meet you, Captain Gaines," replied the Ghost as he turned and extended a hand out towards Gaines. "I'm Corporal Kieran Marius, Two-Hundred-and First Regiment, Colonial Marine Corps."

---

Battlestar Pacifica
Near Emergency Fleet Rally Point 625NW

Adrian Kelso, former Colonial Fleet Commander stood watching the DRADIS feed coming in from the small flotilla of Raptors that had been deployed as pickets.

Although there was no longer any doubt that the Cylons knew about their existence, it seemed that for the moment they had made good on their escape from Sagittaron. What remained to be seen was just how much longer they would be able to evade their pursuers.

Beyond that, Adrian Kelso took some measure of satisfaction from the fact that in spite of possible pursuit, there had been no arguments raised over their current efforts to rescue as many people as possible from the shattered Colonial Fleet battlegroup they had stumbled upon.

Although the initial recon run made by Lieutenants Lee and Cooper aboard Raptor Three-One-One had indicated that the smaller escort vessels had been utterly destroyed, Kelso and Director Bess, himself aboard the decommissioned Battlestar Asterica, had been heartened when the Raptor crew reported relatively little damage to the Battlestar Vanguard.

Emphasis on 'relatively'…

Although the bulk of the vessel's midsections and both flight pods were intact, the rear engineering sections had been utterly destroyed, rendering the newer Mercury Class vessel little more than a hulk. Nevertheless, once Pacifica and Asterica had maneuvered in alongside the warship it had taken little time to ascertain that there were indeed survivors still aboard her.

Moreover, it had been Bess who'd suggested that the accompanying Combatstar Proteus likewise link up in order to transfer over as many supplies and munitions as they could access.

Whereas Pacifica had been demilitarized during her conversion into a museum, and Asterica, Limnos and Kilkis had all been stripped of their combat systems when decommissioned, Proteus had only just been removed from service and thus still had everything from her main armaments to her flight decks in operational condition when the ad hoc flotilla made its escape from Sagittaron. Until they managed to link up with more significant Colonial forces, or perhaps more accurately, unless they linked up with more significant Colonial forces, the Proteus would be serving as their tiny fleet's lone protector.

But for everything that had already gone from bad, to terrible, to horrific as the Cylons unleashed their apocalypse upon the Twelve Colonies, Kelso had to admit that at least on their level, the immediate things over which they had some measure of control, the gods were shining a great amount of favor upon them. They had ships on which to escape, good, knowledgeable people with which to man them, and now had at least some ability to defend themselves if the Cylons showed back up.

That is, if they managed to complete the evacuation of the shattered Vanguard before the enemy returned.

"Somehow I doubt this is something they would have covered at the War College," muttered Kelso as he looked across the plot table at Ensign Jinara Cole.

"I don't think they would have either, sir," sighed Ensign Cole as she sifted through a small stack of hand-scribbled notes. "You'd have to be positively mad to think of a situation like this."

Kelso grinned.

For her part, Cole seemed to wince a bit when she realized what she'd said.

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to imply you were crazy," she offered a moment later.

"Your grandmother might have disagreed with you," chuckled Kelso as he looked back up at DRADIS. "But, in case you have any linger doubts, let me just say this; there's an old saying in the service, if it's crazy but it works, then it's not crazy."

Ensign Cole smiled and resumed her attempt to organize the notes before her.

"So what's the count thus far, XO?" asked Kelso, glancing over at Cole to gauge her reaction at his specifically referring to her as 'XO'.

Surprisingly, if she'd noticed, she hardly batted an eye.

"So far, between Pacifica, Asterica and Proteus, we've managed to take on just over twelve-hundred survivors," replied Ensign Cole. "Ninety-two Mark Seven Vipers, twenty-three Raptors, and ten shuttles have also been cross-decked to the Proteus."

"Add those to the forty Mark Two's and Sixty Mark Six's that Bess' people shuttled up from the boneyard, that's a respectable air wing to contend with if the Cylons show up," noted Kelso evenly, lightly drumming his fingers on the table top as his eyes continued to scan the DRADIS.

"And the crew we've recovered goes a long way towards filling out some of the gaps in our personnel," offered Cole as she made a quick note on one of the pages. "We've also been able to salvage a good number of supplies; foodstuffs, medical equipment and other materiel."

"What about the ship's munitions?" asked Kelso evenly. "Has the Proteus' teams had any luck accessing the Vanguard's main magazines?"

"Some," replied Cole, raising an eyebrow as she absently brushed an errant lock of hair away from her glasses. "Some of the survivors report the Vanguard's CO ordered an ejection from the stern magazines when the engineering sections were damaged, but the forward magazines were still stocked."

"Good."

Kelso let out a long yawn, half wondering to himself when the last time he'd actually managed to get some sleep.

He couldn't remember.

Outlook wasn't so good for getting any in the near future either.

"Too much to do," he muttered weakly.

"Sir?"

"Just thinking out loud, Ensign" smiled Kelso as he looked across at the somewhat quizzical gaze of Ensign Cole.

Just then, the main hatch to CIC opened and his former, well at this point, his once-again current Operations Officer Theo Cullen stepped in carrying a small duffle bag.

As he looked over at his former CIC officer, Kelso was bemused to see that Cullen had actually changed his clothes, trading out his former civilian garb for a set of simple olive drab fatigues.

Stepping up to the plot table, Cullen smiled a bit as he noted the attention his former Commander was paying to his change in attire.

"Got an extra set from one of Vanguard's quartermaster stores," muttered Cullen as he absently smoothed the front of the uniform blouse.

"Just be sure to get those 'boots' polished up when you have the chance," chuckled Kelso as he noted that Cullen was still wearing his more comfortable civilian footwear.

As he reached up and set the duffle bag he was toting onto the surface of the plot table, Cullen also chuckled for a moment.

"Has there been any luck gaining access to Vanguard's CIC?" asked Kelso as the moment of levity faded. "Did any of her command staff survive?"

Pausing, Cullen began to gently shake his head as he pulled a schematic of the shattered Battlestar Vanguard from the duffle.

Laying it out on the plot table, Cullen pulled a grease pencil from the uniform pocket and leaned in over the schematic.

"Along with the engineering sections, the forward command sections took a lot of damage," began Cullen as he pointed to various areas of the schematic. "Based on the information we're getting from the survivors, the Vanguard's entire computer network was infected by some sort of Cylon virus that compromised their systems."

Pausing, Cullen fiddled uncomfortably with the grease pencil in his hand for a moment.

"From the looks of things, the environmental controls in CIC malfunctioned, sensed a false breach in that section and began increasing the atmospheric pressure inside to compensate. All the exits hatches locked down as the pressure inside CIC shot to over one hundred and ten pounds per square inch."

"What would that have done to the people inside CIC?" asked Ensign Cole hesitantly.

To his dismay, Cole's question immediately sent Kelso's mind on an academic run-through of the effects of atmospheric overpressure and barotrauma on the human body; ruptured lungs and internal organs, bursting blood vessels…

"Believe me, you don't want to know, Ensign," muttered Kelso grimly a moment later as he gently rubbed his eyes.

For her part, Cole seemed to take Kelso's warning at face value.

"Any reason to think our computer systems might be vulnerable?" asked Kelso pointedly.

"Doubtful, Pacifica's systems are pretty obsolete," replied Cullen, biting down on the irony. "Same with Asterica, Proteus, Limnos and Kilkis; all are war vintage and thus presumably hardened. Plus, all of our systems are also in a standalone mode, no network for the Cylons to hack into in the first place."

"Nevertheless, we should probably still check whether the civilian freighter and liners are vulnerable," offered Ensign Cole as she made a few more scribbled notes on one of the pages in front of her.

As Cole finished making the notations, Kelso looked over as the CIC entry hatch swung open, a tall, dark skinned figure stepping through. Catching sight of Kelso, the man quickly stepped up to the plot table.

"Commander Adrian Kelso, I presume?" asked the gentleman as he stood looking across the plot table.

"That's what it says on my driver's license," muttered Kelso as he slowly extended a hand across the table. "From your voice I'm guessing…"

"Director Paul Bess," grinned the man simply as he took hold of Kelso's hand.

With a sincere grin spreading across his face, Kelso gave Bess' hand a firm shake.

"Nice to finally meet you face-to-face," stated Kelso evenly.

"It is indeed," agreed Bess as he leaned in over the plot table. "Appreciate your assistance getting our people off of Sagittaron."

"And I appreciate all the supplies and equipment you had ready for us when we got there," replied Kelso. "But, somehow I doubt you came over here on a simple social call."

"There's truth in that," answered Bess simply as he looked around Pacifica's CIC. "I don't suppose there's somewhere we'd be able to speak a bit more privately?"

"Sure, follow me," said Kelso as he motioned for Bess to follow. "Ensign Cole, you have the conn."

"Aye, sir."

With Bess close behind, Adrian Kelso made his way up the ladderwell to the upper gallery. When she'd still been in commission, this area had been routinely manned with nearly a dozen specialists. Right now, however, all the stations were empty; none of the systems monitored by the stations here were important enough to spare what few trained personnel they had, veteran or active duty, to man them

Leaning back against one of the inactive consoles, Kelso turned and looked Bess in the eye.

"You're here to hash out just who it is who'll be in charge of this fleet, aren't you?" asked Kelso flatly.

"You don't mince words; I like that," replied Bess with a slight smirk. "I thought it might be a good idea to figure out what the ad hoc chain of command will be, yes."

"Well, the captains of the civilian liners are tagging along already, I doubt any of them will be trying to make a break for it on their own," sighed Kelso as he absently thumped the heel of his shoe against the deck. "You already have some of your people in charge of the decommed Assaultstars, correct?"

"I've got Nakaya Foteva over on the Limnos, and Mark Shipman on Kilkis," nodded Bess as he slowly folded his arms in front of him. "I've left Major Tyle in command of Proteus, didn't make sense to switch her out as CO; better to leave our one combat-capable ship under the command of our highest ranking active-duty officer."

"Agreed," sighed Kelso as he too folded his arms. "So that just leaves top billing; who's going to be in overall command?"

Bess let out a half-chuckle.

"Look, instead of dissecting our respective resumes, why don't I just make this simple," began Kelso, taking a deep breath. "You go ahead and take command of the fleet, Bess."

Bess stood silent for a moment, shifting his weight slightly from one foot to another.

"Actually, I was about to say the same thing to you," stated Bess, his deep voice resonating a bit in the empty upper gallery.

"Really, why? I certainly have no reasons to doubt your ability to…"

"This is not about doubt, or even so much ability, this is about experience," interjected Bess evenly. "Now we were both Commanders in the fleet, both have that training ingrained in us, but, you have the combat time under your belt, the bonafide knowledge of what it is to be under fire. I don't. Under the circumstances I'm inclined to defer to that experience."

"That doesn't count for as much as you might think it does," sighed Kelso as he momentarily recalled the haunting image of so many bodies lying on Pacifica's hangar deck.

"If you want me to take command, I will," countered Bess flatly. "But I think our chances would be better with someone in overall command who's got real battle experience with these bastards, and that is you."

Looking over at Bess, Adrian Kelso mulled over what his counterpart had said.

The heaps of irony created by this crisis were getting deep enough to need a shovel to sift through.

He'd spent so many decades wrestling with the guilt he carried over having gone toe-to-toe with the Cylons and survived while so many of the good men and women under his command had perished. And now, decades after he'd forsworn such daunting responsibility, the Fates were tossing him head first into an even greater task, one with far more grievous consequences should he fail.

"If we're going to survive this, we need the man who faced off with five Basestars from this very CIC, and won."

"I can't take all the credit; my CAG took one of them down solo," muttered Kelso, looking away from Bess.

"And if he were here, I'd be thrilled to have him in the cockpit of a Viper, but he's not here; you are."

Letting out a long, deep breath, Kelso glanced back down into the CIC below.

At the plot table, Ensign Cole was keeping a vigilant eye on the DRADIS.

Elsewhere about the Pacifica, veteran members of his old crew, men and women who'd also been there on the day when Kelso 'faced off with five Basestars', as Bess so eloquently put it, were busying themselves with relearning old tasks.

Moreover, somewhere in nearby space, holding a watchful vigil in a Raptor over the Vanguard's evacuation were Lieutenant Lee and Lieutenant Cooper, themselves initially the epitome of skepticism regarding Kelso's leadership.

All these people, still alive because at some point they'd placed their faith in his ability to get them through this horror.

And now Paul Bess was voicing a similar sentiment.

"Okay," sighed Kelso finally, looking back over at Bess with the slightest hint of a smile. "But if I'm the Admiral, you're my Chief of Staff, so don't think you're off the hook for anything."

Chuckling, Bess took hold of Kelso's hand in a firm shake.

"None of us are off the hook until we find a way out of this mess," smiled Bess as he turned and began making his way back over to the stairwell. "I'll see what I can do about speeding up the evac so we can get the hell out of here."

"I guess that means I need to figure out exactly where it is we're heading," said Kelso as he stood up and likewise made his way towards the stairwell.

As he made his way back down to the lower main area of CIC, Adrian Kelso took several steadying breaths, fighting the subtle, curious vertigo that was taking hold over him.

He was in command again.

Not just of one ship, of just Pacifica, but now a fleet.

"Never dreamed I'd make Admiral," muttered Kelso as he reached the bottom of the stairwell.

"Sir?" asked Cullen, pausing midstep.

Adrian Kelso hadn't seen his former Tactical Operations Officer at the bottom of the stairwell, and frankly felt a bit foolish now having been caught talking to himself, nevertheless, he looked over at Cullen with the slightest of grins.

"Apparently the other captains drew straws and drafted me into command of our fleet," smiled Kelso lightly. "Serves me right for missing the meeting."

Chuckling slightly, Cullen held up the small duffle bag he'd brought into CIC.

"Then I suppose this might be a bit more appropriate than I'd originally intended," said Cullen as he handed the duffle over to Kelso.

"What's in the bag?" asked Kelso somewhat dubiously as he took hold of the straps.

"You won't know till you open it, sir," replied Cullen, tilting his head towards the bag as Kelso slowly reached for the zipper. "At first I just grabbed it for fun, a bit of whimsy to try and lighten the mood a bit around here."

Pausing, Kelso looked up from the bag and gave Cullen a curious onceover. When Cullen had remerged into CIC a few minutes ago in a set of Colonial Fleet fatigues, Kelso had thought that act whimsical enough considering the circumstances, what else could he have had in mind?

Holding Cullen's gaze, Kelso slowly unzipped the bag, reached one hand inside, and pulled out an officer's uniform tunic.

"Insignia isn't right for an 'admiral', but it's a start, sir," continued Cullen as Kelso stood appraising the tunic, and the gleaming Commander insignia on the collar.

"You can't be serious, Theo," chuckled Kelso as he went to put the tunic back into the bag.

As he looked back up into Theo Cullen's eyes, however, there was something genuine, even disappointed in the man's eyes.

This had been another act of faith…

…and Adrian Kelso was on the verge of thoughtlessly discounting it out of hand.

Smiling, Kelso withdrew his hand from the bag and extended it to Cullen.

"Thank you, Theo," smiled Kelso as he shook hands with his former Tac Officer.

"Sir," nodded Cullen with a slight smile as he turned and headed back over to the Operations Console.

Looking back down at the bag, Kelso slowly pulled the uniform tunic back out, slowly running his thumb over the polished Commander insignia on the collar.

Although he felt he had led a good life, generally considered himself to be an ethical man, Adrian Kelso had always had difficulty placing much faith in faith. Ever since he was a child, he had always had trouble wrapping his mind around the idea that some unseen, ethereal men or women were weaving together the tapestry of his life regardless of his will. The idea of fate had always simply struck him as an excuse for those who didn't want to take responsibility for their lives.

And yet, he was finding it hard to ignore coincidence, especially such an eerie coincidence…

With the barest hint of a smile, Kelso glanced at the size on the tag, placed the uniform back into the bag, and stepped down towards the plot table.

"Anything to report, Ensign Cole?" asked Kelso as he slid the bag straps over his shoulder.

"Negative contacts on DRADIS, Commander," replied Cole as she turned and prepared to relinquish her space below the DRADIS to Kelso. "Best estimates we have say the evacuation of the Vanguard should be completed within the hour."

"Very good, Ensign," said Kelso as he gave the bag on his shoulder a gentle pat. "Maintain your station, I have something I need to take care of real quick; I'll be back momentarily."

"Aye, sir."

With that, Kelso turned and exited CIC.

---

Warstar Galactica
One Light-Day from Caprica

Helplessness.

As he quickly made his way back to CIC, Commander Sean Kelso had run the full gambit of emotions from terror to rage.

But underlying it all was a cruel sense of helplessness.

One Light-Day out from Caprica, the first wireless messages regarding the Cylon attack had only just begun to reach them.

It now struck him as a bitter irony that those day-old messages would now be little more than cruel bylines, a rehash of battles Kelso now knew to be long since lost.

While he and his meager command staff had held out some hope of receiving a measure of reassurance when they'd first detected the wayward Scimitar gunship on DRADIS, after a few minutes of the informal debrief down on the hangar deck, Kelso had been left feeling nothing if not abysmally sick to his stomach.

Here he was, in command of one of the most powerful warship ever produced by the Twelve Colonies, and she'd been rendered completely impotent by circumstance; what good was a warship when the war had already been fought and lost?

As he rounded the last corner, the Marine in plain fatigues posted outside CIC caught sight of him and came to attention.

As he stepped up to the Marine, Sean Kelso paused.

"At ease, Corporal," said Kelso evenly as he paused to give the Marine a pat on the shoulder.

Taking a steadying breath, Kelso then stepped through the open hatchway into CIC and made his way towards the plot table.

Casting his eyes around CIC, he could see the questioning expressions on the faces of his crew.

Even Major Burke seemed to watch him expectantly.

The news of the attack had them on edge.

The knowledge that a lost ship had linked up with them had only fed their anticipation.

And now it fell to him to take the next step forward, uncertain, at a moment when as the Commander he was expected to display nothing but certainty.

Silently making his way over to the plot table, Sean Kelso glanced over at Major Macedo and Lieutenant Cortez, motioning for them to join him and Major Burke.

"What's the word, Commander?" asked Cortez as he stepped up to the plot table. "How goes the battle?"

Taking a deep breath, Kelso looked at each of his officers, then settled his gaze upon his XO.

"Lieutenant Cortez," began Kelso, taking another breath as he cast his eyes up to DRADIS. "Sound Action Stations."

"Sir?" asked Burke, clearly puzzled.

Looking back over at her, there must have been some measure of impatience conveyed in his expression for Burke instantly picked up the handset on her side of the plot table. Hesitant, Burke nevertheless passed the handset to Lieutenant Cortez, who took hold of it, gave Kelso a hesitant gaze then held it up to his ear as he toggled a switch on the panel. Instantly, throughout CIC, indeed, throughout the ship, the overhead alarm began to blare as Cortez began speaking.

"This is CIC; Action Stations, Action Stations; set Condition One throughout the ship; this is not a drill. Action Stations, Action Stations; set Condition One throughout the ship; this is not a drill. Section heads report to Combat upon manning of Action Stations."

As the few crewmembers around CIC set to the task of verifying the status of their subordinate sections around the ship, all three officers settled back in around the plot table, waiting.

And they continued to wait.

For his part, Sean Kelso stood motionless, watching the overhead DRADIS with a detached numbness as he waited for the various departments aboard ship to report in.

The fact that they had only a weak percentage of the ship's intended crew complement on board slowed the process, but within minutes, each station aboard ship had checked in with Petty Officer Harris at the Communications station.

"All stations, all departments report Action Stations manned and ready, Commander," she called.

"As best as can be at least," amended Burke a moment later.

Hearing her comment, Kelso cast a stern glance towards her, his expression severe enough that she suddenly looked very uncomfortable with the attention he was paying her.

Looking back up at DRADIS, Kelso began to absently drum is fingers on the plot table, unaware, or more accurately, uncaring as to whether or not Burke found it annoying.

"Are we prepared to perform the complete wipe of all computer systems and reload the protected software backups, Major Macedo?" asked Kelso evenly as he continued to scan across the empty DRADIS screen.

"Affirmative, Commander," replied Macedo evenly as he set his binder down on the plot table. "The onboard network is shut down and we are prepared to reformat all drives on your command."

"Get to it," replied Kelso simply as he looked over at the computer programmer. "Be prepared to give me a full status report on the software reload when I return."

"Aye, sir."

With that, Kelso motioned for Major Burke to follow as he turned and headed back out the entryway.

Without a word, Sean Kelso made his way briskly along the corridor towards his quarters with Major Burke following closely behind.

As he stepped through the hatch into his temporary quarters, Kelso made his way over to the safe mounted on the wall.

"Your key, Major?" he said simply.

For a moment, Major Burke did not move.

"The Emergency War Orders, sir?" asked Burke.

"That's why we came down here, Major," replied Kelso flatly, his hand stretched out to Burke expectantly.

"Sir, with all due respect, I have a separate key for a reason; this ship may not have any nuclear ordnance currently aboard, however, those orders do contain remote launch codes for several defense platforms. In order to access that sensitive information, I have to be convinced that the situation is grave enough to warrant opening those sealed orders; I need some answers from you first before I hand over my key."

Dropping his hand, Kelso looked over at his XO rather sternly.

In response, Burke folded her arms across her chest, hesitant, but firm.

Taking a deep breath, Kelso gently scratched his forehead, then took a seat on the armrest of the utilitarian couch next to the safe.

"I'll spare you some of the more grisly details, Major, but suffice it to say, the situation back on the Colonies is far worse than we could have guessed," sighed Kelso, uncertain of exactly how to be concise with the overabundance of information he'd received from the Scimitar crew. "Put simply, take the worst case scenario you can come up with, then make it worse."

Her brow furrowing, Burke likewise softened her stance.

"According to the Scimitar crew, the Cylons were successfully able to execute a massive strategic level offensive," began Kelso, his heart pounding in his chest. "Scorpia, Picon and Caprica were the first hit, and hit hard; fleet losses were one hundred percent in the first few minutes of the attack. The Cylons then launched massive orbital strikes against all population centers with MIRVed thermonuclear ordnance. Raider strikes played havoc throughout the remainder of the Colonies with the Baseships following up soon after in-force; all organized resistance collapsed within the first several hours of the assault."

Taking a deep breath, he looked directly into Burke's eyes.

"By the time we received that first message, Major, the war, such as it was, was already over…and we've lost."

"What about the Colonies?" muttered Burke, shaking her head slightly in disbelief. "Have we surrendered? Are the Colonies occupied?"

Taking another deep breath, Kelso simply stared across the bare space at Burke.

"The Colonies are gone, Major," he said simply.

"What do you mean gone, sir?" sputtered Burke, a half chuckle of disbelief escaping her.

"I mean gone, Major," sighed Kelso, feeling as though a leaden weight had settled in upon his shoulders. "The Cylons didn't return to occupy us, Tyra, they returned to annihilate us."

The continued expression of utter disbelief on Major Burke's face conveyed far more desperation and horror than any words she might have uttered ever could.

Reaching into his pocket, Kelso pulled out a simple folded sheet of paper. It was a printout given to him by the Scimitar crew, a communiqué listing in brief the relevant information regarding their home worlds. Unfolding the simple sheet, Kelso handed it over to Burke.

With her hands beginning to shake, Burke scanned over the communiqué, her face growing pale, before finally looking up at him again.

"Twenty-one billion casualties?" she muttered in utter disbelief.

"An estimate at best," replied Kelso. "And just a preliminary one at that."

Her whole body beginning to shake, Burke took a few hesitant steps back, the communiqué beginning to crumple as her hand reflexively began to clench into a fist around it.

For a few moments, the two of them stood staring at one another.

Uncertainty…

Hopelessness…

Reaching out with his hand, Kelso motioned for Burke to hand the communiqué back to him.

Looking down at her own hand, knuckles ghostly white from how tightly she was clenching the printout, Burke slowly handed the message back to Kelso.

Absently smoothing some of the new creases out, Kelso folded the message back up and placed it back in his pocket.

"What do we do now, Commander?" she asked, her voice raspy with choked-back tears.

At first, the question simply hung there between them, so profound that it almost seemed like a third presence there in the nearly empty quarters.

Looking back over at her, Kelso suppressed the first thing that came to his mind.

He didn't dare say that he didn't know what to do.

And that was when it truly hit him.

Never during the entire scope of his career had Commander Sean Kelso been so keenly aware that he was an engineer by trade, not a line officer. His command of this ship was meant to be temporary, his authority only for the duration of her shakedown. He was certainly never meant to take her into an operational situation, much less combat.

As he sat on the armrest, mulling over Burke's question, acutely aware of her expectant gaze, Sean Kelso knew only one thing for certain; whether he was meant to be or not didn't matter; right now, he was in command.

"Commander?" prodded Burke.

Looking back over at her, Kelso took a deep breath.

Overhead, the lights flickered for a moment.

The computers being reformatted…

When the flickering stopped a moment later, so too did Kelso's apprehension.

"As I see it, Major, we have one distinct advantage going for us right now," began Kelso as he stood back up. "It would seem the Cylons have absolutely no idea that we're out here, otherwise they would have jumped in and attacked us by now."

"Yes, sir."

"Now, she may not yet be in commission, but this is a Colonial warship, and we are Colonial officers; those two factors considered, I'll be damned if I'm just going to sit on my hands out here and wait for the Cylons to find us, and that's why I need to get our EWO's."

With that, Kelso once again stepped up to the wall safe, pulled the dog tags from around his neck, and inserted the lone key hanging down on the end of the chain into one of the two tumblers.

Without a word, Major Burke likewise pulled a key from around her neck and inserted it into the second tumbler, taking a step back once she had done so.

Turning both keys then the locking latch, Kelso opened the safe door, reached inside, and pulled a binder and several plastic-encased key-code cards from within.

Handing the key-codes over to Burke, Kelso retrieved the two keys, handing Burke's back to her before hanging his own back around his neck, then stepped over to the simple desk and opened the binder.

"Sir, are you planning to take this ship into the fight?" asked Burke as she watched Kelso flip past the first several pages in the binder.

Quickly skimming through the pages of the binder, Kelso paused as he came to the page he'd been searching for.

"According to Major Macedo, the CNP has been compromised by a saboteur at the Ministry of Defense," began Kelso as he ran a finger along the lines of text on the page. "Considering the vast majority of the fleet has already been lost, it would seem that whatever those Cylon algorithms were meant to do they accomplished. Now, if our computer wipe is successful, we may be the only vessel capable of operating without interference from the Cylons."

Pulling the sheet from the binder, Kelso handed it over to Burke.

"My intent is simple, Major. We're going to take this ship into the combat zone, and either link up with any surviving friendly forces or otherwise try and rescue as many people as we can."

With that, Kelso saw something he'd never seen nor truly ever expected to see; Major Tyra Burke was smiling. It wasn't as much a smile of amusement, but more of satisfaction.

He understood why too.

A plan, any plan, no matter how small, could offer some measure of hope out of despair.

"Now, this sheet," began Kelso pointing to the page he'd just passed to Burke. "This is a list of all the emergency fleet rally points assigned to us. As soon as Major Macedo has our FTL back up, we'll start jumping to those points."

"Aye, sir," replied Burke as she glanced down at the sheet.

After a moment, Burke looked up at him once more, a question in her eyes.

"What's the likelihood of finding survivors, Commander?" asked Burke pointedly. "If the devastation is that bad, other than these rally points, where do we look?"

Looking back up at the Major, Kelso didn't reply, but Burke must have read his expression.

"Got it, Commander, one step at a time," amended Burke a moment later.

Closing the binder, Kelso straightened up, tucked the folder underneath one arm and began moving back towards the entryway.

As he reached out to open the hatch, Kelso paused, turned and looked back over at Burke.

"Look, Major, I think I have a pretty good idea what you think of me," began Kelso, taking a tentative step back towards Burke. "You are a line officer, I'm an engineer."

Taking a breath, Kelso relaxed his stance a bit.

"Now, we're about to take this ship into harm's way. I need to know, right now; do I have your support?"

Burke stood there for a moment, her fingers playing with the page in her hands. She seemed uncertain, hesitant. But the question remained, would she trust Kelso's judgment? Could he trust hers?

"Major?"

After a moment, Major Burke took a steadying breath, step towards him and saluted.

"Ready to serve, Commander," she said simply.

---

Battlestar Pacifica
Near Emergency Fleet Rally Point 625NW

Taking a deep breath, Adrian Kelso ran one last hand down the front of the uniform tunic as he stood outside the entry hatch to CIC. Standing next to the entryway, one of the Marines who'd been part of the reunion's honor guard, at first clearly surprised to see the old veteran in a full uniform, came to full attention and rendered a salute.

"Looks good on you, sir," he remarked as he noted Kelso's repeated preening.

"Been a long time since I wore a uniform," smiled Adrian Kelso.

Taking a deep breath, Kelso looked at the worn CIC hatch.

One last swipe of his hand along the sleeve, Kelso nodded to the Marine, who immediately opened the hatch for his entry.

Stepping through, Kelso was greeted by more than a few of the curious glances he'd expected.

What he hadn't expected was the sight of Ensign Jinara Cole immediately snapping to attention at the plot table.

"Commander on deck!" she snapped, smiling slightly.

Slowly, everyone around CIC, veteran and impromptu crew alike, rose to their feet.

A few, Theo Cullen included began to clap.

Shaking his head, Adrian Kelso made his way back over to the plot table.

"Okay, knock it off," chuckled Kelso as he waved dismissively towards them.

As they each went back to their tasks, Kelso settled back in below the DRADIS, casting his eyes up at the display.

"Status of the evacuation, Ensign?"

"All personnel have been transferred, Commander," replied Cole as she handed a stack of hand scribbled reports over to Kelso. "A good amount of stores and material were also retrieved."

"Good to hear, considering the circumstances," muttered Kelso as he looked over a few of the annotations.

After perusing the pages a bit longer, Kelso set the stack back down on the table and looked back up at DRADIS.

"Capshaw, go ahead and signal Asterica that we are ready to get back underway," called Kelso as his eyes settled back in on the icon of the now-abandoned Vanguard.

"Aye, sir."

"Proteus has already severed her docking connections and is clear," continued Ensign Cole.

"Now comes the really important question," sighed Kelso as he looked back across at her. "Where do we go next?"

"What about jumping to another rally point, Commander?" offered Cole evenly. "We might be able to locate more survivors."

Taking a deep breath, Kelso looked once more at the icon for the pulverized Battlestar Vanguard.

"If we were all combat vessels, I might agree with you Ensign," began Kelso evenly. "But here's the problem; we're not combat ships anymore. We're unarmed and awfully conspicuous on DRADIS, not to mention crammed to the rafters with tens of thousands of civilians; much too tempting a target for the Cylons to pass up if one of their recon patrols stumbles across us."

Lightly drumming his fingers on the plot table, Kelso fought to absorb the harsh reality he knew he had no choice but to accept; there was only so many people that they would be able to save.

"The more time we spend hopping about inside what is now enemy territory, the more we'll be pressing our luck."

"But we did manage to get a significant amount of munitions loaded aboard Proteus, sir," countered Ensign Cole. "That plus her air wing, we should be able to fight off an attack."

"But only to a point," countered Kelso evenly. "One aged Combatstar would be no match for a single Basestar, much less if the Cylons come at us in force, which they're almost sure to do."

Taking another deep breath, Kelso looked back across into her youthful, expectant eyes.

"We need to concentrate on getting everyone situated and then taking the survivors we have the hell out of here before our luck runs out."

"Understood, sir."

There was obvious disappointment in Cole's voice, but it couldn't be helped.

Looking over to Theo Cullen, Kelso waved the man over to the plot table.

"Bring that overlay with you," called Kelso as Cullen began making his way over.

"This is our current position," began Cullen as he stepped up, unrolled the large chart across the plot table and made a grease pencil mark on the overlay.

Leaning in over the chart, Kelso picked up the grease pencil.

A proverbial 'top-down' view of the Colonial system, Kelso's eyes began searching for something, anything in which they could hide or evade detection. Trouble was, their current position was deep within a clear, unobstructed area of space, far from celestial bodies. After a few fruitless moments of looking over chart, growing somewhat frustrated, Kelso glanced back up at DRADIS.

And was startled to see a massive wave of distortion pass across the screen.

"What was that?" muttered Cole, having also apparently noticed the distortion.

Looking up at the DRADIS, Cullen expectantly watched along with Cole and Kelso as the screen remained clear for a few moments.

Suddenly, another distortion wave passed, flaring a bit more intensely than it had before.

"Cullen?"

Focusing in, Cullen watched as yet another distortion wave crossed the DRADIS.

"We must be passing into the emission path of a pulsar," noted Cullen as he continued to watch the distortions. "They're occurring at regular intervals."

"Must be pretty close to be having that much effect of DRADIS," noted Ensign Cole.

"Here," snapped Kelso as he pointed to a formation near the edge of the chart. "Leto's Twins."

"Binary pulsar formation," noted Cullen as he looked down at the area indicated by Kelso. "Not quite as far as the Red Line, but still pretty far out there, sir."

"But close enough for us to make a jump, try and hide till we get ourselves better situated," continued Kelso as he absently made a circle around the formation with the grease pencil. "Think you can plot that jump?"

"Might need to make a series of shorter jumps," muttered Cullen as he gently rubbed his jaw if thought. "It's about ten light-years; never plotted one that far, not even during the war."

"But can you do it?"

Cullen gently rubbed his chin, his expression thoughtful as he played with the stubble forming around his jaw line.

"Guess we won't know till I try," he replied a moment later.

"Get to it," said Kelso simply.

As Cullen stepped away towards the larger plot board, Kelso settled back in underneath the DRADIS, watching the regular pulses of distortion with great interest.

"I have a question, sir," began Cole as she leaned in a little over the plot table. "If we're picking up this much distortion from the pulsars at a distance of ten light-years, won't we risk having our systems fried by the emissions by getting right in on top of the pulsars?"

"The energy emissions of the pulsars radiate outwards along the same magnetic axis as their orbit around one another," began Kelso as he looked across into her questioning eyes. "The distortion effects on DRADIS will increase dramatically the closer we get to the pulsars, in fact I'm counting on it. But as long as we stay above the rotational and orbital plane of the pulsars, we should be able to stay clear of the more damaging levels of interference."

"Like the eye of a hurricane?"

"More or less," continued Kelso, lightly shaking his hand as he continued to mull over the chart on the table. "It won't be easy navigating through such strong magnetic currents, but if we can get in there, the Cylons could practically sit on our proverbial doorstep banging away with DRADIS and never know we were there."

"Commander?" called Aria Capshaw from Communications.

"What is it, Aria?"

"Report from Asterica, sir; Director Bess says the rescue and offload from Vanguard is complete; we're ready to get back underway at your discretion."

"Very well," replied Kelso evenly. "Are the scuttle charges set on the Vanguard's main tylium tanks?"

"Affirmative, sir."

"Are we certain there's no one still alive left aboard, Commander?" asked Cole, keeping her voice low.

Looking back across to her, Adrian Kelso had to remind himself just how inexperienced she truly was. By her own admission, she'd just barely graduated from the Fleet Academy.

So young…

"There's no way we can be absolutely certain, Ensign," sighed Kelso as he glanced back up at the dead Battlestar's DRADIS icon. "She suffered some fairly extensive damage, lots of spaces were sealed shut because of decompressed compartments. All we can do is hope we got everyone."

Gently nodding her head, Cole looked back up at DRADIS.

"Signal all ships to form up," began Kelso, straightening up, absently running a hand down the front of his new uniform tunic. "Begin sealing all Starboard side airlocks, prepare for break away."

As he stood stoic below DRADIS, Kelso watched as first Pacifica, then Asterica severed their connections to the lifeless Vanguard.

At least, he hoped she was lifeless.

There was no way to know for certain that there weren't still some hapless crewmembers trapped behind a sealed bulkhead, struggling, desperate.

But for all the uncertainty, Adrian Kelso had to focus his attention on the concrete, the known, the definite.

Huddled aboard this handful of ships that made up his impromptu fleet were several thousand survivors, military and civilian alike. He couldn't afford to risk them on an uncertainty.

As the smaller civilian liners and freighters formed up close to the larger former warships, the improvised flotilla began putting distance between themselves and the pulverized battle group they left in their wake.

"We have now reached safe distance, Commander," called Theo Cullen.

"Prepare to detonate the scuttle charges," replied Kelso evenly as he eyes remained intently locked on the icons of Vanguard and her pulverized escorts.

While he'd initially had some qualms about outright destroying the Vanguard following the evacuation, in the end, the same lingering military training that had apparently landed him squarely back in overall command had finally worn through his hesitation.

In purely military terms, if they left the Vanguard intact and the Cylons returned and boarded her, they would be able to determine that survivors had been rescued, supplies transferred. Worse still, if the Cylons returned and learned that Vanguard's crew had been rescued, then detected emissions from Leto's Twins, the Cylons might very well be able to track down the fleeing Colonials.

It was better to leave as few traces of their presence as possible.

The Cylons were many things; murderers to be certain, butchers on a genocidal scale, but he would never accuse them of being stupid. And with nothing better than an obsolete Combatstar to protect them, Kelso wanted to avoid a confrontation with the Cylons at almost any cost.

Still, he found it hard to issue the order to scuttle Vanguard.

"Commander?" prodded Cullen after a few moments of Kelso starring silently up at DRADIS.

"Detonate the scuttle charges, Mr. Cullen," said Kelso evenly, his eyes never looking away.

A few moments later, under his vigilant gaze, Kelso watched as the DRADIS flared once more, not from the pulsar, but from the massive detonation of Vanguard's remaining tylium fuel.

As the distortion cleared, the Vanguard and the remains of her pulverized escorts were gone.

At last looking away, Kelso caught sight of Cole, the young officer's head dipped slightly, her eyes closed as she silently offered a prayer to the gods.

He'd almost forgotten how religiously devout the young woman's grandmother had been, the elder Cole often seen muttering a prayer before the Pacifica had gone into battle time and again so many years ago.

As Ensign Cole finished, she looked up, her cheeks flushing slightly when she noticed Adrian Kelso watching her.

"Be sure to say one for us as well, Ensign," smiled Kelso.

"Might have more influence with the gods coming from a Commander, sir," replied Cole, smiling slightly herself.

"Takes a pure heart to offer the gods an honest prayer," countered Kelso evenly. "Considering everything that's happened recently, I'm not feeling very pure right now."

"Then I'll be sure to offer one for you as well, sir," replied Cole earnestly, honestly as she focused her attention back up at DRADIS.

"Never too late for redemption, I suppose," smiled Adrian Kelso.

As he let the moment of levity pass, Kelso looked across CIC to the larger plot table where Theo Cullen was still diligently plotting, or at least attempting to plot the jump to Leto's Twins.

"Waiting for the good word, Mr. Cullen," prodded Kelso.

Glancing up momentarily, mostly in earnest annoyance, Cullen didn't respond at first. Instead of pressing the issue, Kelso instead waited, watching.

"I think I have it, sir," called Cullen a few moments later. "I've done my best to correct for stellar drift, these charts are rather old, but I've broken the trip down into half-a-dozen smaller jumps just to be safe."

Picking up the overlay on which he'd been working, Cullen made his way back over to Kelso and Cole.

"We'll have to take a pause at the end of each leg for the cores to recharge, but it will give us time to take some astrometric readings to verify our position before the next jump," began Cullen as he laid out the overlay. "But, it's the best way to avoid having the coordinates too far off the mark."

"Go ahead and distribute the first set of coordinates to the fleet," said Kelso as he took a cursory glance at the overlay. "And just to be safe, let's see if the nav computers on any of the civilian ships can help mitigate the margin of error."

Looking up from the chart, Kelso looked over at Cullen, his former Tactical Officer's expression clearly concerned.

"Look, Theo," sighed Kelso as he reached over and placed a hand on Cullen's shoulder. "I know these charts are old and this situation sucks, so I'm not expecting miracles to be trickling down as though from the fingers of the gods here."

Visibly heartened, Cullen let out a chuckle.

"All I need is for you to do, not the best you think you can do, but the best that I know you can do, alright?"

"Aye, Commander," chuckled Cullen as he stepped away.

"Capshaw, get on the short range wireless and advise the other ships to standby for the first set of jump coordinates," said Kelso.

"Aye, sir."

Absently drumming his fingers on the plot table, Kelso stood waiting for verification from the other ships that they had received the coordinates from Cullen.

The last thing he wanted to do was risk leaving someone behind.

"Sir, all ships have checked in and report solid copy on receipt of initial jump coordinates," called Capshaw.

"Very well," replied Kelso, straightening up a bit.

Reaching down, Kelso picked up the handset on the side of the plot table and toggled the switch to engineering.

"Franklin."

"Everything still a go with the FTL, Mike?"

"Board still shows green on this end," replied Franklin evenly.

"Very well," said Kelso simply, hanging up the handset a moment later.

Taking a deep breath, Adrian Kelso looked around at the faces in CIC.

They were all tired, each one, he could see it plainly in their eyes.

Gods knew he was tired too.

But not one of them had begun to show any sign of wavering in their tasks, and from that he drew a clarity that sliced through his fatigue.

In their strength, he found strength within himself.

"Start the clock, Mr. Cullen."

---

Warstar Galactica
One Light-Day from Caprica

With his XO, Major Tyra Burke following close behind, Commander Sean Kelso stepped back into CIC, quickly cutting a path back towards the plot table.

Having been escorted up by Kelso's temporary CAG, Major Thomas Culver, the two Scimitar pilots, Lieutenants Samantha Larson and John Becker stood waiting at the plot table.

After his initial debriefing of the two pilots down in the hangar bay, Kelso had been quick to order the two pilots not to discuss with anyone else what they knew about the extent of the devastation unleashed upon their home worlds. For all his crew knew at this point, the Cylons had begun an attack but the Colonial Fleet was still in the fight.

As he looked around at the faces in CIC, however, by their expressions he could see that they were beginning to suspect that something far worse had taken place. The arrival of the Scimitar crew was too unusual to simply write off as part of the fortunes and folly of war.

Stepping into the very heart of CIC, Kelso looked out into their eyes, felt them in turn watching him.

He knew he owed them the truth.

Terrible as that truth was, they deserved honesty.

If only he didn't also feel as though he were robbing them of hope.

Stepping up to the plot table, Kelso nodded to the quartet of officers assembled around it.

Taking one last, silent look around CIC, Kelso steeled himself as he reached down, picked up the handset and slowly raised it to his lips.

"Put me on the One-MC, XO," said Kelso, his throat dry.

Setting the Emergency War Orders they'd retrieved from his quarters down onto the plot table, Burke reached over and toggled the switch.

"You're on, sir," she said simply.

"This is the Commander," began Kelso, clearing his dry throat. "As you know, a few hours ago, this ship began receiving reports of an attack by the Cylons against our home worlds, reports that at our current distance from the Colonies are already one day old in real time."

Pausing, Kelso again looked out into the faces around CIC.

"A short time ago, we made contact with a Colonial vessel that jumped out into this region due to a navigational error. While I wish to the gods that I could tell you that they brought good news regarding a successful counterattack by our own forces, regrettably, that this is simply not the case."

"From their reports and the information contained in their communication logs, it is clear that all effective resistance against the Cylons has completely collapsed, with the most conservative estimates placing the fleet losses in excess of ninety-six percent since the opening of the attack."

"An offer by the President of the Colonies of a complete and unconditional surrender was rejected, the Cylon forces instead initiating heavy orbital bombardment of all major population centers throughout the Colonies, and reports of numerous high-yield nuclear detonations have been confirmed."

"While I know you are all thinking about the safety of your friends, your families, I need to ask each of you to try and stay focused and concentrate on the task which we must now undertake."

"We will be returning to the Colonies in order to find and rescue as many as we can in the wake of this atrocity. That is our mission. That is our duty."

"We will be sailing into harm's way, and on the uncertain path that lies ahead, I can only promise you my resolve. I ask that you find that same determination within yourselves to carry us through what will certainly be difficult times yet ahead."

With that, Kelso passed the handset to Major Burke.

"All hands, all stations; this is the XO; maintain Action Stations; submit bi-hourly reports on status to Combat."

As Major Burke hung up the handset, Commander Sean Kelso caught sight of Major Macedo as the computer specialist made his way down from the upper gallery.

"Status of our computer systems?" asked Kelso simply as Macedo stepped up to the plot table.

"Network has been severed and all systems reformatted, Commander," replied Macedo evenly. "All software has been reloaded and systems are operating normally."

"What about our FTL?" continued Kelso as he slowly turned opened and then began leafing through the pages of EWO binder.

"The protected archives did contain an older navigational program that should be compatible with our systems. Calculations may take a little longer to complete between jumps, but we should be ready to jump within the hour, sir."

"I'll hold you to that, Major," replied Kelso evenly as he looked up at Macedo. "Nevertheless, as soon as that is complete I have another important task for you and your team."

"The Scimitar down on the hangar deck took some damage, knocked out their primary navigational computer," began Kelso as he nodded his head over towards the Scimitar crew. "I need you to try and retrieve the original coordinates they were supposed to jump to."

"Depending on which components were hit, that could be tricky," sighed Macedo as he opened his own binder and scribbled and annotation down inside. "If the system completed the jump before the computer gave out, the coordinates should be in the nav log on the hard drive, but if they were still lingering in flash memory, that would be more problematic."

"Which is why we're turning this over to the computer experts," said Kelso, closing the EWO binder and sliding it back over to Major Burke. "Exhaust every option."

"Is there any particular reason we need those coordinates, Commander?" asked Major Burke.

Instead of answering directly, Kelso motioned over to the two Scimitar crewmen.

"Before we jumped, we were assisting in an evacuation operation from Sagittaron, Major," began Lieutenant Samantha.

"Several passenger liners and freighters were supposed to rendezvous at those coordinates," continued Lieutenant John Becker. "And us with them."

"Confirmed survivors," stated Kelso evenly. "If those civilian ships have been able to evade the Cylons, then I intend to find them."

"We'll need to do it fast," said Major Burke as she began flipping through the EWO binder herself. "Without an armed escort, they won't last long if the Cylons find them."

"They're not exactly without armed escort, Major," interjected Lieutenant Larson.

Looking up from the binder in subtle surprise, Burke looked over at the Scimitar pilot, then to Kelso.

For his part, Kelso also seemed somewhat surprised.

"You didn't mention anything about an escort before," began Kelso as he leveled both Scimitar crewmen with a mildly chiding gaze. "Who's escorting them?"

"Did they manage to link up with survivors from the Fleet?" interjected Major Culver.

"Not exactly," began Larson, looking over somewhat hesitantly at Becker.

For his part, Becker simply shrugged.

"Might as well tell them, Sam," he began. "They can't exactly throw us in the brig for someone else's crazy idea."

"But I can throw you in the brig if you keep evading my question," warned Kelso, his tone taking on an edge. "Who is escorting those civilian ships?"

"On Sagittaron there is, or was, an old reserve depot," began Larson, obviously taking Kelso's warning quite seriously. "The depot's director evacuated a large number of civilians up to a couple of the mothballed warships in orbit and used them to escape along with the civilian ships."

"If the ships were mothballed, how did he manage to get them ready so quickly?" asked Burke. "I've seen some of the ships at that depot, was assigned there, briefly thank the gods, any one of those ships should have taken weeks to get space worthy."

"Not necessarily," interjected Kelso thoughtfully. "Several of those derelicts were scheduled to be FTL'd out to us for the weapons tests next week; they were going to be our targets."

"Why would they put FTL's on target ships, though?" asked Major Culver. "Seems like a waste of effort for something destined to be shot up."

"Because at sub-light it would have taken over a week to move them out to us," replied Kelso evenly. "Several years before his people blew up that Federal building on Sagittaron, Tom Zarak ordered a few of his merry band of miscreants to try and seize an old derelict being towed to the breakers."

"But if it was decommissioned, there wouldn't have been any weapons aboard," noted Major Burke. "What would be the point of seizing control of an unarmed hulk?"

"A big ship makes a fair substitute for a big missile, Major," replied Kelso evenly. "Drop it from orbit down onto Caprica City and the blast wave would be greater than a fifty megaton detonation."

"They obviously weren't able to make good on the attempt," interjected Major Culver.

"No, but the Ministry of Defense took the threat of it seriously enough to change policy," continued Kelso. "Since an entire FTL core is simply too large to extract without ripping a ship apart, only key components are removed when a ship is decommissioned to the mothball fleet. Those parts are relatively cheap, especially when weighed against the possibility that someone else might be able to succeed where Zarak and his zealots failed."

"So okay, the director of the Sagittaron depot managed to evacuate some civilians aboard a bunch of derelicts; where does that leave us?" asked Burke pointedly.

"Leaves us with the mission to find them," stated Kelso evenly as he looked to each and every officer assembled around the table.

"About how many ships are we searching for here?" asked Major Culver as he looked over at the two Scimitar crewmen.

"Presuming they all got away, there should be about ten passenger liners, four freighters, two old Assaultstars from the depot, two old Battlestars and an old Combatstar riding as prime escort," replied Lieutenant Larson evenly.

"That's a lot of ships," muttered Major Culver.

"Precisely the reason we need to find them," stated Kelso, a split second before his mind digested all of what Larson had said.

Pausing, Kelso scowled as he reached down and picked up the now relatively useless testing agenda and flipped through the stack to the page showing next week's cancelled weapons testing schedule.

"Wait, you said two old Battlestars?" asked Kelso as his finger settled on a line item in the schedule. "According to this manifest there was only supposed to be one used as a target."

"Wait, he's right, one wasn't at the depot originally, remember?" interjected Becker as he gave Larson's shoulder a gentle nudge. "The one that showed up mid-evac?"

"Yeah, that's right," muttered Larson, snapping her fingers lightly as she too remembered. "What was the name of it...?"

"It was that old museum ship from Libran wasn't it?" continued Becker as he too sought to try and remember.

For Commander Sean Kelso, however, the brief exchange immediately grabbed his attention.

A museum ship?

It couldn't be…

But then again, if anyone could find a way to survive this…

"Pacifica?" asked Kelso tentatively.

"Yes, that's it, Pacifica," snapped Larson instantly.

"Crazy story, the ship's veteran crew from the war was having a reunion when the attack started," continued Becker, chuckling slightly. "Apparently they just started up the old girl and flew her straight to Sagittaron for the spare parts they needed to get their FTL back up."

Commander Sean Kelso's heart skipped more than a few beats as he digested this new information.

"Do you know who was in command of Pacifica?" asked Kelso evenly, fighting to keep his racing heart from jumping through his throat.

"Can't say, sir, we were too busy on the surface," replied Larson evenly.

Taking a deep breath, Commander Sean Kelso turned and took a few tentative steps away from the plot table.

"Commander?" asked Major Burke as she looked over at the Commander's back.

"My father, Major," he replied, turning back to face his XO. "My father was supposed to be aboard the Pacifica for the reunion."

"Wait, your father is Commander Adrian Kelso, the Pacifica's CO during the Battle of Libran?" asked Major Culver pointedly.

"Yes," replied Kelso simply.

For a moment, the assemblage of officers simply exchanged a few clipped glances, unsure how to react.

Wasn't the first time he'd gotten that reaction; since his first day at OCS, he'd been very deliberate in his efforts to avoid the scrutiny that came with being the son of a sanctified military hero.

Outwardly ignoring the reaction of his senior officers, Commander Sean Kelso stepped silently back up to the plot table as he digested the information provided by Larson and Becker. His father had been planning to go to the reunion, had he made it aboard, was he in command of the Pacifica?

After a few moments, he looked back over at his XO.

"What are your orders, Commander?" she asked evenly.

Taking a deep breath, Kelso could read in her eyes what she hadn't outright asked…

As Commander, would Sean Kelso unduly risk the Galactica and her crew in an effort to rescue his father?

But as calculating and intelligent an officer as she was, Burke's professional discretion kept her from asking so toxic a question outright, especially in the middle of CIC.

Later, however, away from prying eyes, it was clear from her expression that something more might still be said…

"We continue as planned, Major," replied Kelso evenly. "We make a series of jumps to the emergency rally points listed in our EWO's and attempt to link up with other surviving Colonial military forces. If or when Major Macedo and his team are able to retrieve the coordinates from the Scimitar's nav computer, we will jump to the refugee rendezvous point and begin to search for those civilian ships."

"Understood, Commander," replied Major Burke evenly, pausing to look him in the eye, attempting to read what was lurking within his thoughts.

After a moment, Major Burke stepped away with the list of emergency rally point coordinates towards Lieutenant Cortez.

"Advise me when we're ready to make our first jump, Major," called Kelso as he focused his attention back in on the DRADIS overhead.

"Aye, sir."

"Major Culver, go ahead and take Lieutenant Larson and Lieutenant Becker below," began Kelso evenly, his gaze never leaving DRADIS. "Get them a shower, some chow, hustle them up a change of uniform, then get them back down to the hangar deck to assist Major Macedo with the data retrieval."

"Aye, sir," replied Culver as he motioned for the two Scimitar crewman to follow.

"Oh, and one more thing," began Kelso as he looked over at the two junior officers. "Damned fine work."

With that, both Lieutenant Larson and Lieutenant Becker came to attention and rendered a salute. Returning the salute, Kelso refocused his attention on DRADIS as the pilots followed Major Culver out of CIC.

"First jump coordinates have been entered, Commander," called Major Burke a few moments later. "The board shows green; all systems go for jump."

"Very well, Major Burke," replied Kelso as he picked up the handset on the side of the plot table, toggling the switch for the overhead One-MC. "All stations, this is the Commander; it's time for us to join the war; all stations secure for FTL jump."

"All decks report ready for jump, sir," called Lieutenant Cortez.

"Start the clock, Lieutenant."

"Aye, sir, jumping in five, four…"

As he listened with an almost detached awareness as Lieutenant Cortez counted down, Commander Sean Kelso's mind raced.

Would they find any other surviving Colonial units at any of the rally points?

"Three…"

Would they be able to find the civilians before the Cylons did?

"Two…"

Was his father still alive?

"One; jump!"

As his perceptions skewed with the transition of the Warstar Galactica beyond the confines of normal three-dimensional physics, Commander Sean Kelso felt a renewed drive, a determination that grew more powerful, more resolute.

If Adrian Kelso was alive, then Sean Kelso was going to find him.