Chapter 6.
Battlestar Galactica – Admiral Adama's quarters.
Colonel Tigh raised the lights back up to full as the camera footage of Raptor 6 came to a stop on the mangled flight pod bearing the name Solaria. Adama sat at his desk in contemplative thought as Culverhouse searched for a hint of reaction from his old friend.
"The Solaria was Commander Mason's ship, how in the gods names did it get way out here?" asked Adama. "Initial intelligence reported that she was lost in the opening attack along with the Columbia and Triton."
"Unknown Bill, I've assembled three Raptor teams from Pacifica to investigate the wreckage, and whomever you see fit to add to it… awaiting your orders." Said Culverhouse sipping his coffee.
"Saul I'd like you in on that investigation as well," began Adama. "I'd like to keep us all together in the event we need to jump away soon, we'll hold the fleet on station in orbit in the event we have to recover the Raptors quickly."
"Will you be informing the President and the quorum?" asked Tigh.
"The president yes, I'm undecided about the quorum, or if this discovery should remain classified and for how long a period." Replied Adama.
"How do you propose to keep it a secret, the other ship captains will wonder why we're orbiting a dead planet?"
"Let them wonder!" snarled Tigh in his usual gruff voice. "Since when do we inform civilian ship captains of military operations?"
"Saul you never change," laughed Culverhouse. "You're still one cantankerous son of a bitch!" Mack Culverhouse knew Saul Tigh just as long as he knew Bill Adama. He liked the man personally but thought him flawed militarily. He did not approve of his willingness to stick his finger in the eye of anyone outside the military and barely-contained sobriety, especially on duty. He knew when Tigh was on his game he could be depended on when push came to shove.
The meeting ended, and it was decided to keep information on the Solaria to those with need-to-know clearance for the time being.
Baltar couldn't catch his breath, the beautiful woman with blonde hair and piercing blue eyes sat atop him, sweat glistening down near-perfect breasts, her smile put him at ease just as much as the last hour of intercourse had. He loved her deeply, even knowing she was not truly human, it did not matter. The woman known as "Six" or "Caprica Six" had been by his side both physically and mentally since before the attacks on the colonies. She was his conscience, and his rock. Here he sat within a Cylon capital ship, the only human, the unknowing architect of the near-destruction of mankind…alone.
"What are you thinking, Gaius?" she purred, gently raking her nails down his bare chest. She loved him just as much as he loved her, and she knew every change in emotion without visual recognition. Back on Caprica, her mission was to meet and seduce Dr. Gaius Baltar; lead defense systems developer working for the Colonial Ministry of Defense. Never did she think she would develop feelings for this human, and she had been primarily responsible for his surviving the attack on humanity because the Cylon agent sacrificed herself to protect him from the devastating pressure wave of nuclear blast.
"Is this all that my future holds, surfing the cosmic storms in a starship containing the instruments of humanity's demise…the lone human?" He did not sound sad, but contemplative. He was not a prisoner, but a guest. The six models in general, Caprica 6 in particular, assured his safety. His quarters were quite regal; he lived far better than any human did in the fleeing Colonial fleet. The best foods, reproductions of the best artworks ever created in Colonial history, and a beautiful woman at his side. He had been elected president by the people of the fleet in an open election, something Laura Roslin had not been, and had not Felix Gaeta found proof of electoral fraud at Roslin's behest, he might have lost the election and remained safely aboard the Galactica to this day, in search of the 13th tribe.
"Are you unhappy here Gaius, have I displeased you?" asked six sincerely.
Baltar detected her concern and replied immediately. "No, of course not. You are the one constant that keeps me alive both emotionally and physically." The last word truer than any other he thought. If not for her, Baltar was sure that the Cavils or Dorals would have introduced him to the nearest airlock.
"What makes me somewhat melancholy I suppose, is that I inhabit magnificently opulent living quarters within a cold and sterile prison. Purposeless, and with one exception utterly alone."
"We will find the home of the thirteenth tribe, Gaius." She began. "When we do, it will be a whole new frontier to explore, perhaps with you revising your role as president?" she said teasingly, her fingers running through the longish hair along his temples.
"Just when I thought this was a prison." He said rolling his eyes. "I'm a scientist, not a politician in need of pontificating and glad-handing."
She slowly lifted herself off him and walked across the thick reproduction of a beautiful rug crafted during the Federal Era. Her height at five feet ten inches tall was two inches taller than Baltar and with the heels she normally wore placed her at six feet. She slipped into a form-fitting black jumper, with a loose-fitting white blouse. Baltar sat up and placed his feet to the ground. A tray composed of silver contained a crystal decanter of strong Aerilonian coffee. He poured two cups, added synthetically made honey and some milk to both. Walking over to the six he handed her the cup, she took it and gently kissed him on the lips.
"We're entering a new star system today, let's see what it offers."
Battlestar Pacifica's recon mission – breaking planetary orbit.
Three Raptors flanked by at least twelve vipers flying protection broke through the gravitational field surrounding the planet. Widowmaker was flying point, and she was taking the deep descent to the planet's surface. The trip took forty minutes from space to surface and soon they were flying over the massive impact crater following the long-jagged trench that scarred the landscape. The debris field was incredible and stretched for miles.
The "alligator head" of the Battlestar was barely recognizable, the damage was indescribable. After three slow passes above the main body of the wreckage, the three Raptors came to a landing at a staging area within walking distance from the biggest part of the wreckage.
The atmosphere was barely breathable. The composition of nitrogen, oxygen, argon and other variable components found on the twelve worlds that made up the former colonies were far below optimal levels. The teams all wore environmental suits and carried various equipment.
Team 1 was tasked with the "alligator head" of the Battlestar, where the main hull meets the mid-ship section. Team 2 were assigned the one flight pod that was still somewhat intact, and team 3 assigned to one large section of wreckage that seemed the least damaged.
Colonel Saul Tigh walked behind two technicians holding radiological detectors, all indications pointed to a radiation-free zone. They gained access through a gaping hole through the crumble up front of the 'head.' Obviously, the ship struck the surface head on. Wreckage consisted of hanging wires, cables and support beams. Skeletal remains filled dark blue duty uniforms, and they were strewn across the area that was nearest to point of entry. Apparently, the force of the impact hurled the unsuspecting bodies against bulkheads with enough force to pulverize or liquefy the fragile human body.
"Numerous remains Colonel, most likely due to the force of impact." Advised a technician.
"Poor bastards, they probably never felt it, force of the damned impact must have turned them to Godsdamned jelly." Replied Tigh over the comline. Commodore Morlock also suited up and in command of the mission nodded in agreement. It took almost an hour to get through the main causeway enroute to the CIC. Teams equipped with cutters led the way, clearing hanging wires and cables, occasionally being slowed by steel support obstructions.
The main objective of the mission was to seek out the remains of the Combat Information Center and access any computer hard drives that might have survived to retrieve any salvageable data that shed light on the last moments of the Battlestar Solaria. The journey to the CIC took far longer than expected due to the massive amount of structural damage. Once the CIC was reached, the recon teams was stunned speechless at the amount of devastation before them. The second deck of the CIC, known only as "the core", was a twisted and mangled mess that was littered with human remains.
The CIC was situated deep within the "alligator's head" for tactical and safety purposes, to protect it from enemy fighters ramming it, or to protect it from decompression due to attack. The fact that there was so much damage present indicated how clear and complete the trauma of the impact was.
Team number 2 crawled up into the forward opening of the flight pod; they would have to make their way towards the middle of the immense landing strip to reach an access hatch. The two hatches they passed were too badly damaged to gain entrance. The team operating the cutters made their way through the blast doors after a half hour and many blades later. A vertical causeway was opened, and the team made their way into the bowels of the port flight pod.
They emerged on the lowest portion that contained the hanger bay. Multiple battery-operated torches were set up in the cavernous bay. It revealed widespread damage. Mk. VII vipers not in their launch tubes were scattered throughout, many of them resting in a mangled heap towards the front of the bay. The result of an immediate de-acceleration, and impact. They would discover at least one squadron firmly locked in the launch tubes, most likely the viper squadrons on alert status when the attack came but were never able to launch. The transmitted their find via wireless to Commodore Morlock.
Team 3 finally gained access to the section that used to house the sickbay. As expected, there was massive devastation and human remains. The Captain in charge of that team gained access to the still-secured medication vault. He radioed to Morlock that the vault was still secure. The remainder of the mission was carried out over the course of twelve more hours as crews rotated out of the dead hulk that was once Solaria.
Aboard Pacifica, Culverhouse and Adama are on a conference call with Morlock down on the surface.
"Our technicians are removing all hard drives from the CIC computers, and any logbooks from the commander's private quarters." Began Morlock. "There is one full squadron of Mk VII's still in the tubes that had remained secured via the rail locks. The remaining air wing has been destroyed or disabled beyond repair, at best we can salvage parts from what's left. The destruction is near total, and the bright spot here may be that the medical vault is still intact with all medicines still within.
"That would be an incredible bright spot Tom, thank you for the report." Said Culverhouse. "What was the fuel load, and can we access any of the munitions?"
"The tanks were literally cut in half, whatever load she was carrying is spilled throughout the debris field. We have unexploded ordinance everywhere, for miles to be exact. We'd be here weeks just trying to collect half of it."
Adama sat across Culverhouse on an extremely soft leather sofa, the one luxury item that Mack allowed himself when he took command of Pacifica. He wanted whatever ordinance they could salvage and knew that Mack would also.
"I think I can speak for Bill when I say that we'll remain on station as long as it takes to salvage what we need. The unexploded ordinance will require specialists to retrieve, and time to do it safely. I think we can arrange for one of the medium-sized civilian ships to touch down so you
guys can establish a temporary base-camp."
"Message received…Morlock out!" The wireless connection was severed, and Culverhouse swiveled in his chair to face Adama.
"Morlock is a good number two Mack, very efficient. While it is paramount to ascertain what happened to Solaria, we need to salvage what we can and get out of this system. I don't like being in one place for too long; we can always go over their logs enroute."
"I concur, Bill. If we can get those fighters out of the tubes, that itself would be a major tactical score. The medicines itself would also be a much-needed boon."
"Agreed. I'm going to put Raptors out on the system's perimeter for an early warning picket, they'll remain on station in 12 hour shifts until we can secure whatever is salvageable and get out of here."