Chapter 4

SCHLEIN GAMMA – BATTLESTATION ALCUBIERRE – MEDCENTER ONE

"Here's your viral scanner, Doctor."

"Thanks, Teagan," Ian Dalle said to his technician. Dalle, the only child of Doctor Mackenzie Dalle and Commander Iris Tolbert, decorated war heroes during both the Khalian Conflict and the Syndicate War, was a tall, lean man with broad shoulders and a mop of dark hair that occasionally fell into his eyes.

Now Dalle ran the device over the ruptured tissues inside the exploded chest cavity of a Sakqua corpse on the examining table. The dead alien had been recovered during the Marine assault on its vessel several months ago. The creature was a six-legged, two-armed centauroid with a head that had a bulging cranium over a toothy muzzle. It was sprawled across the exam table on its left side with its head at the top of the table and meter and a half long tail drooping over the table's bottom. The alien's skin appeared more like a reptile's hide, brownish-green in color, somewhat similar to alligator leather.

After he'd completed his scan, he grabbed a slide from the instrument stand on his right. "Teagan, fix this sample, please."

"Sure thing, Ian," she said. Then when the old two-D communicator chimed for their attention, Teagan Jovanich slathered a coating onto the plexistrip with one hand and flipped on the switch of the communicator with the other. "MedCenter Lab," she announced. A moment later, she stared at the image on the view screen and cleared her throat noisily. "Commander Dalle," she snapped crisply, "it's for you."

Curious about her shift from her usual casual demeanor to military crispness, Dalle moved to her side of the table. Teagan then glanced meaningfully at the communicator. He narrowed his eyes at the screen before he snapped to attention. "Good afternoon, Admiral."

"Good afternoon, Dr. Dalle," Vice Admiral Amato said as he stared at Ian from the communicator's screen. "At ease," the Admiral ordered. "Doctor, we need a physician for a delicate mission. Fleet Intelligence thinks you're the right man for the job. That's why I'm asking you for your help."

"Sir, do you mind if I ask how I can be of assistance to you?"

Amato smiled slyly. "Caution is an admirable virtue, Doctor. We have a situation in which one of our destroyers has run across a small craft crewed by humans who claim to know nothing about either the Alliance or the old Imperium. These people speak a derivative of Ancient Greek and say that 'Earth' is a lost colony of theirs. But that's not all there is to the story, Doctor. These people also claim that their homeworlds were annihilated by creatures called the 'Cylons' and the few survivors are fleeing from their enemies in a refugee fleet in search of Earth. Do you follow me, Doctor?"

"Yes, I believe so, sir."

"Good. I want to send some people to make contact with the small craft and travel back to their fleet to check their story out. We need someone with a medical background to go for several reasons. First, we need to determine if they are truly human. Second, if they are human, we need to find out how they came to be so isolated from the rest of humanity. Third, we need someone to survey their humanitarian needs so we can provide proper assistance to them if warranted. Finally, we need to find out as much as we can about these Cylons to determine if they may be a threat to the Alliance. And so I come to you."

Dalle glared at the screen and said, "Let me guess—Action Jackson put you up to this."

Amato gave him a blank look. "Excuse me, Doctor?"

"Was my presence on this mission specifically requested by Senior Captain Malcolm Jackson of Fleet Intelligence?"

"Yes, that's right. Can you report to my gig in Docking Bay 101 within the hour, Doctor Dalle?"

Dalle fought to keep from cringing in front of the Admiral. Damn that Spook! his mind shouted inwardly. Dalle had worked with the intelligence operative on several occasions in the past. Even though Jackson had treated him well, Ian had never been comfortable around the man. Jackson had a few tics that didn't sit well with him. The man wore a hand-made Swiss timepiece that was so expensive only the CEOs of interstellar corporations could afford watches like that. The man's jacket, although tailored smartly, was cut to accommodate concealed hardware. The predatory sense of amusement he seemed to have for everything and everyone around him, made the hair on the back of Ian's neck stand straight up. However, nothing was worse, in Dalle's mind, than the completely emotionless face Jackson had when he tossed two helpless men out of an aircar thousands of meters above the surface of Dunholme.

Of course, Dalle couldn't say any of these things to the Admiral unless he was either bucking for a Section 8 and the end of his medical career or wanted to end up dead. So, all he could do was look sadly at his interrupted research project then at Teagen. Yet, he received no sympathy from her because she had an unrequited crush on him and also appeared to be quite impressed by the fact an admiral had asked him to do his bit for 'God and country.'

"Yes, Admiral," he said and sighed. "I need to gather a few pieces of equipment then I'll leave for the docking bay immediately, sir."

#

SCHLEIN GAMMA – BATTLESTATION ALCUBIERRE – INSIDE THE ENTRANCE TO DOCKING BAY 101

"Dr. Dalle! Come and join us, please!"

Ian painted on a smile as he approached Jackson and a young woman. Both were standing beside their duffel bags at the entrance to the docking bay where it opened outward in both directions as far as the eye could see and upward for six stories. Inside the massive structure, Dalle saw squadrons of fighters sortieing in and out to fly their CAPs, thirty meter long scout ships being maintained by deck crews, and one hundred fifty meter long corvettes parked carefully on the deck.

Jackson actually regarded him with a warm smile and that made Ian worried. It was strange to see something other than the predator's smile the other man normally had. "Doctor, let me introduce you to my partner, Lena Stenger. Lena, this is the physician I've told you about, Dr. Ian Dalle."

Lena smiled brightly at him, causing Dalle's heart to skip a beat. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Doctor Dalle."

He wanted to say the pleasure was all his because she was an extremely attractive woman; however, he held back because the unit patch on her jacket's right shoulder indicated she was a spook like Jackson. So, he decided to be a little reserved in his response to her. "It's nice to meet you, too, Commander," he said then returned his attention back to Jackson. "Captain, do you mind if I had a word with you for a moment?"

Now Jackson's predatory smile returned making Dalle feel like he was no longer in an alternate universe. "Of course, Doctor. Lena, why don't you proceed to the Admiral's gig's airlock? We'll join you shortly."

"Yes, sir," she said, lifted her luggage and strode away from the two men.

He watched the enticing sway of her hips as she walked away from them for several moments before an apparently bemused Jackson asked, "What would you like to discuss with me, Doctor?"

A sober Dalle asked, "Why me, Jackson? Why'd you have the Admiral ask for me when you knew what I've seen you do to those two prisoners on Dunholme?"

The other man narrowed his eyes at the doctor. "I chose you because I need a physician I knew to be both compassionate and highly ethical on this mission. You definitely fit the bill in both categories."

Dalle smirked in response. "Well, I guess that makes one of us."

Jackson returned the physician's smirk with his own. "Actually, Doctor, I believe, once you get to know Lena, you'll find she's a very compassionate person. As for being ethical, well, I wouldn't put much stock into that; having ethics in our line of work tends to be a liability."

"That doesn't surprise me at all, Captain."

A slayer's grin formed on Jackson's face then. "Look, Ian, I keep trying to teach you I'm not your enemy. Now, what you witnessed on Dunholme, well…that's over and done with—yesterday's news. You're a smart guy because I know you haven't mentioned what happened in that aircar to anyone. That's probably why you're still breathing and not planted six feet under. Honestly, I'd like to keep it that way. You're a great diagnostician and a compassionate healer. The Fleet needs more like you. But you need to understand if you continue to push me; I'll push back—and I push back real hard. Got it?"

Dalle suffered no delusions. There was no doubt in his mind that Jackson was one scary bastard. "Got it…sir."

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PROMETHEUS – COLONIAL FLEET

"This had better be good, Linden!"

Tom Zarek, former terrorist, Sagittaron delegate to the remnant fleet's Quorum of Twelve, and campaign manager of Gaius Baltar's bid for the presidency, found himself in one of the dimly lit corridors of the fleet's black market ship with a totally unsavory character. Even though Zarek had spent a lot of time behind bars for his terrorist activities, the fairly tall man still possessed a certain charm and boyish good looks despite the fact he was pushing sixty.

"It's good, Tom; trust me!"

Zarek laughed scornfully. "Trust you? Not as far as I could throw you! Let's not waste my time, Linden. Two thousand cubits is a lot of money even if the Colonies are nothing but radiated husks. So tell me, what kind of information is worth that much money?"

The other man shot a guarded look at the delegate. "Information that can turn an election, Tom. So, do you have the cubits on you I asked for or not?"

Zarek's face displayed no emotion whatsoever as he dug a pouch of the currency from his suit jacket's right pocket. When he handed the bag to Linden, he warned, "If this information's bogus, you're a dead man."

The Prometheus lurker gulped noisily and nodded. "No problem, Tom. I wouldn't try and frak you over."

"If you know what's good for you, you won't. Now give!"

"Okay, okay! Look, I've got a reliable source who's one of Galactica's deck crew. My associate told me one of the Raptors Starbuck took with her on her crazy-ass mission back to Caprica misjumped. At first, the Raptor's pilot and ECO both thought they'd frakked up royally but as luck would have it, they'd managed to pull 'full colors' out of their asses. Not only did they find a habitable planet nearby, they ran into a starship from the Thirteenth Tribe in orbit above the frakking planet!"

"Let me get this straight," a stunned Zarek gritted out, "The military has stumbled across a ship that belongs to the Thirteenth Tribe? You're not yanking my frakking chain, Linden, 'cause if you are, I am NOT amused!"

"I'm not frakking with you, Tom! My source is solid as a rock about this!"

Zarek blinked twice while he tried to process what he'd just heard. Frak! If the military had actually managed to stumble across the Thirteenth Tribe, Baltar's bid for the presidency and his own plan to be the 'power behind Baltar's throne,' was well and truly frakked! Frak the unbefrakkinglievable fortune of both the Galactica's Old Man and that gods damn school teacher!

Recovering somewhat from his shock, he narrowed his eyes at the man and asked, "The Raptor…who flew it?"

"My source told me Edmonson and McCall. They also had two marines on board with 'em but my source didn't pass along the names of the grunts to me."

Zarek simply nodded. That sounded about right. If Linden had relayed too many details, the story wouldn't have rung true. He then gave the man a hard look to let him know their meeting was over. "All right, I'll check out your story. Don't give any cubits to your source and don't spend any of it until I get back to you and give you the okay. Just give me until midday tomorrow and if this pans out, the money's all yours."

"Thanks, Tom!" the man said then scampered away from Zarek and faded into the shadows that cloaked the ship's dingy passageway.

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SCHLEIN GAMMA – BATTLESTATION ALCUBIERRE – DOCKING BAY 101

"Master Chief Hagen? Prepare to receive relevant charts and data for a rendezvous with the F.S. Huntress in Area GSD 700/800. Are you flight ready?"

My audio receptors perked up when I heard the Duty Docking Bay Officer, Commander Alexis Griffin, on the line. She's the officer responsible for my performance reviews and handling the assignments of all the scout ships assigned to the battlestation. Commander Griffin is a real nice lady but she's so stern she'd give the Grim Reaper a run for his money. Maybe she's like that because of all the cybernetics they implanted in her skull to keep her alive after she suffered a serious head wound during a pirate attack several years ago. As for me, although my brain's intact, both it and my sense of humor are the only things left of my old self.

"Yes, ma'am!" I said with enthusiasm because an Admiral's gig is always up and at 'em or you're liable to be demoted to flying milk runs between groundside spaceports and orbit. "Data received, Commander."

"Very good, Bill. Stand by!" she said warmly. Truth to tell, hearing the consideration for me in her voice made me feel a wee bit uncomfortable. Commander Griffin only warmed up to someone when she was giving them a tough row to hoe. "Admiral, Master Chief Hagen is ready for you, sir."

"Thank you, Commander. Master Chief Hagen." Vice Admiral Amato's soft tenor voice was crisp and clear. "I have an important mission for you. I need you to transport three Fleet officers to the third planet of a system located inside a gaseous nebula in ASD 736/838. You are to make your way there at your best speed. Once you arrive, you are to rendezvous with the F.S. Huntress and proceed to dock inside her boat bay. Captain Jackson, the senior officer among the trio you are transporting, will brief you on the way about the particulars of your mission."

Luckily, I don't have a face because the Admiral would have seen a sour expression on it. Not knowing the whole story until after I'd set sail didn't sit well with me but it was clear as a bell the Admiral wanted me to get his trio of brass-hats to the Adus, toot-sweet.

Yeah, I know the Adus. Despite the fact she's a brass-hat, Diana's a great shell person. And both her old man and her kid are okay in my book, too. When she'd married Denzel, the guy was the first person who managed to pry her out of her 'shell,' so to speak. For more than a century, she'd only identified herself as the ship that contained her control column because she'd never lived life as a living, breathing human being. Finally, after all those years, she'd fallen in love with one of her brawns and decided to place her consciousness inside a biochene body while off duty to experience a relationship with all the 'bells and whistles.' Then the couple had decided to avail themselves of the wonders of modern science to have a child and start their own family.

Now, me, I was a starfighter pilot long ago before my body started to give out. What's that saying? 'The spirit was willing while the flesh was weak?' Anyway, my outlook is different from shell people because I had experienced life as a human with a body, so I never associate my sense of self with the ship itself.

Even though I'd engaged in a little bit of woolgathering for a few moments, the Admiral didn't have to wait long for my response. "Aye, aye, sir!" I sang out like a fresh middie responding to his drill instructor.

"That's the spirit, Bill! May the wind be at your back and God speed!"

"Thank you, sir," I said right before the Admiral signed off.

Even while we were discussing the mission, I reviewed the data I'd received from the Alcubierre's computer banks. Almost my entire RAM was taken up by the download. You see, the computers of the Ocelot Mark 25 scout which I drove are pre-programmed for evasive maneuvers and maintenance. There isn't a lot of space for anything beyond the requirements of the immediate assignment.

As I waited for the arrival of the brass-hats, I marveled at the Admiral's thoughtfulness. Flag officers don't often make time to brief a scout pilot. Amato's different from the rest, though. When he goes out of his way like that for spacemen like me, it just makes us want to work even harder to make him happy.

I only had to wait ten minutes or so before someone activated my airlock com-unit. "Permission to come aboard," a man announced.

I took a look and found three people, a tall black man, a Caucasian woman and a Caucasian man waiting outside. The black man appeared to be the one who'd activated my com-unit.

"Permission granted, sir," I said and opened the airlock. After they boarded the Ocelot, I welcomed them.

The black officer smiled and said, "Malcolm Jackson, Senior Captain, Fleet Intelligence. This," he indicated with a sweep of his free hand toward the other man while he was toting a duffel bag in the other, "is Dr. Ian Dalle, Commander, Medical Corps. And this," he said and moved his hand toward the young woman, "is Lena Stenger, Lieutenant Commander, Fleet Intelligence."

"It's nice to meet you folks. I'm Bill Hagen, Master Chief Petty Officer."

"We're glad to meet you, too," Jackson said. They glanced around my cabin and he asked, "Where should we stow our gear, Bill?"

They'd all lugged duffel bags and a large med-kit on board. "There's some storage in the bins underneath the port couch. We Ocelots are a little tight on space."

"Maybe so," Jackson agreed, "but you're built for speed not hauling cargo. You're the fastest things in the Fleet!"

I certainly appreciated the captain's praise. At first blush, he seemed like a decent guy.

"Master Chief Hagen," Jackson announced crisply for the record, "please inform the Docking Bay we've come aboard. I believe you've received both the data and a preliminary briefing from Admiral Amato. I'm to provide the rest of your briefing after we get under way."

"Aye, aye, Captain."

After my passengers had fastened their safety harnesses, I signaled Commander Griffin we were ready to leave. She cleared us for immediate departure and I released the grapples that held the ship to the bay's deck. I gave my repellers a little juice, lifted off and glided toward the energy screen-protected opening to space. Once I penetrated the screen and entered hard vacuum, I switched on my magnetic drive and sped away from the Alcubierre.

I loved driving my Ocelot. She's the newest scout ship in operation in the Fleet, the twenty-fifth model in a long line of speed demons. She's as fast as lightning and as maneuverable as a gazelle on the run from a hungry lion. Now, she's not a gunboat and doesn't have any armor or shielding to speak of. These boats are only armed with four plasma cannons, two on the bow, two on the stern. The way I look at it, the best defense is to be quick enough not to get hit in the first place and an Ocelot's speed fit my way of thinking to a tee.

When we were point-five AUs from the battlestation, I double-checked the calculations Commander Griffin had downloaded into my nav-comp. I confirmed the numbers, laid in the course and announced to my passengers, "Prepare for Faster-than-Light transition." Then I activated the ship's FTL drive and the Ocelot opened a gate in normal space and hurtled through it into hyperspace like a shot!

Once we we'd reach the ship's best speed in sponge space, my three charges released their safety belts, stood up and stretched the kinks out of their spines. Jackson then showed me he was as thoughtful as the Admiral when he turned to address my control column. "Bill, are you ready to receive the rest of your briefing?"

"Fire away, sir!"

The man smiled. "After you dock and my party transfers to the Huntress, you are to remain on station inside her boat bay until her brawn brings a passenger or two on board your Ocelot. After that, you are to return to the Alcubierre to meet with the Admiral. Now Bill, these passengers may appear to you to be human but they claim they're not from the Alliance or any of the independent systems we know of. In the meantime, my party hopes to catch a ride back to these people's fleet. We need to check out their story and if they're legit, we'll help them as much as we can. Bill, from the little we know of these folks, their technology appears to be centuries behind ours, so we don't know how they'll react to ships driven by shell people and guys like you. I'd advise you to take your lead from Captain Adu in your dealings with them, all right?"

"I understand, sir."

"Great!" Jackson said. "Well, I guess that's it. So, what's the chow like on this boat, Bill?"

I smiled inwardly. "Why it's the best grub in Schlein Gamma, sir! After all, this IS the Admiral's gig!"

Then I proceeded to describe the items on the menu as the Ocelot continued to race through hyperspace.

#

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA – COLONIAL FLEET

Lieutenant Louanne 'Kat' Katraine heard the muffled "Enter" from the other side of the hatch leading into Admiral Adama's office. She'd just returned from flying CAP for the fleet and the pretty young woman's red dyed hair was pulled into the tight bun and she was still garbed in the vacuum protected suit she donned during flight operations.

A second after the Old Man's command, the marine who guarded the Admiral opened the door and announced, "Lt. Katraine is here as ordered, sir."

"Send her in," Adama ordered.

"Yes, sir," the guard answered before he stepped aside and she slid past him.

"Lt. Katraine reporting as ordered, sir!" she barked to the Admiral while the guard closed the hatch behind her. As she stood there, she took in Adama's craggy features and reflected on how comforting they were to her. Of course, she'd heard the tales about the Old Man's exploits, both in space and in a rack, during the first war with the Cylons. The word was, back then, he was as handsome as his son, Apollo, was now. However, even though he was almost three times as old as she, his current appearance was attractive to her in its own way, like the impregnable façade of a mountain.

"At ease, Lieutenant," Adama said, interrupting her musings. "Please take a seat," he directed as he pointed to the chair across from him. After she'd seated herself, he seemed to study her face for several moments before he said, "I've asked you here because you're one of the two best officers I have for this mission. I want you to understand I am not ordering you to go on this mission; it is purely voluntary. If you choose not to volunteer there shall be no further attempts to ask you to go on this mission and there will be no repercussions or recriminations if you choose not to accept, are we clear?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Lieutenant, what I'm about to tell you is classified and compartmentalized on a need to know basis. You are not to discuss anything I say during this briefing with anyone absent my express permission. Do you understand, Lieutenant?"

"I understand, sir."

He stared at her for a second or two then said, "Earlier today, Racetrack and Skulls misjumped during Starbuck's SAR mission. They ended up in orbit above a habitable planet inside a nearby nebula. While they were there, their Raptor encountered another ship allegedly crewed by people who claim to be from…Earth."

Her chin nearly dropped onto the floor. "They claimed they were from Earth, sir? Margaret and Hamish…they found the Thirteenth Tribe?"

"I'll come to that, Lieutenant. Now these people also claim they're part of a federation of worlds which includes sentient alien life forms as members alongside them."

Her eyes shot even more wide open at that revelation. These people supposedly interacted with honest-to-the-gods aliens?! What in the hell were Racetrack and Skulls smoking when they cooked this feldergarb up and where could she get her hands on the stuff?

"The ship's crew also said there's another alien race that has attacked them and intends to eradicate all of humankind."

She snorted. Well that figures, she mused. It seems the whole frakking universe had it out for humanity. Maybe both the hostile aliens and the Cylons could form an interstellar "We Hate Humans" club or something.

Meanwhile, as she reflected on what he'd just said, Adama continued his briefing. "The ship's crew said their people would provide warships to help protect the fleet from these hostile aliens they refer to as the 'Sakqua.' At any rate, the ship's crew agreed to Racetrack's and Skull's request to meet with us tomorrow same place, same time. President Roslin and I have approved of this mission and decided to send along two officers we can rely on to represent the fleet to the Thirteenth Tribe. Hopefully, the Thirteenth will send representatives back on our Raptor to meet with the President and me while our two officers remain with the other tribe until we return for them. Of course, the President and I realize this could be an elaborate Cylon trap and there is a substantial risk for the two officers involved. However, if there is a chance this could be the real thing, we can't afford to pass it up."

He stopped to take a sip of water from a glass on his desk. Then he set the glass down and said, "Kat…Louanne, I'd like you to go on this mission. If you decide to accept, I want you to take in everything you see, ask these people lots of questions, don't give them any of our sensitive military information and, for gods' sakes, don't do anything that might piss them off!"

She smiled slyly at him and asked, "So you don't want me to pull a Kara Thrace?"

He chuckled and quipped, "That sounds about right."

Her mood sobered quickly when she started to consider the parameters of the mission. "So…if we're supposed to be diplomatic that means we have to go in unarmed."

"I'm afraid so. Besides, it would be difficult for you to carry a weapon since you'll be wearing environmental suits. Doctor Cottle is concerned we may expose the people on that ship to a virus that may be harmless to us but deadly to them. So they may want to conduct medical tests on you to determine if exposure to you will be safe for them. Therefore, you will have to submit yourselves to their medical examinations so long as the tests are reasonable in scope and not intrusive. Of course, we're concerned about the same thing if they send representatives, so we hope they take precautions, as well."

She nodded somberly. "Sir, you mentioned 'two' officers. Does that mean you have another volunteer already?"

"I do. Captain Kelly has agreed to go. He will be in command of this mission. However, I've instructed him to exercise his authority over you only when absolutely necessary. On this mission, I want you both to focus on obtaining as much information as possible about these people and the Sakqua. I also want you both to show our people in a good light to the leaders of the Thirteenth Tribe."

"I understand, sir." She fell silent for a full minute while he waited patiently for her decision. It didn't take long for her to make up her mind because, in truth, she didn't really have it in her to turn the Old Man down no matter how dangerous the mission sounded to her. The Old Man had never questioned her about her past, had never doubted her even after she'd lost it for a time when she'd got strung out on the stims. He'd accepted her into the ranks of his beloved Viper jocks without any hesitation or reservation on his part. The woman she'd become realized she'd owed the Old Man everything; she couldn't let him down now. So Louanne Katraine looked him straight in the eye and snapped, "Admiral, you can count on me. I volunteer for this mission freely without any hesitation or reservation, sir!"

The Old Man smiled warmly at her. "Thank you, Kat. Both the fleet and I appreciate your courage." Then he stood up, snapped to attention and crisply saluted her.

Struggling to hold back her tears, she rose from her chair and returned the Admiral's salute.

After they dropped their hands back to their sides, he said, "Lieutenant, I want you to get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow at 1000 hours, you are to report to my office for your final briefing before you leave. I will approve field rations for both Captain Kelly and you to take along on your trip to ensure you have sustenance while you're with the Thirteenth Tribe. Well, I believe that's all I have for you at this time, Kat. If you do think of anything I might have missed or have any further questions, please don't hesitate to contact me. Dismissed."

"Yes, sir," she said and spun on her heels to leave.

"Oh, and Kat?"

She whirled about to face the Old Man again. "Sir?"

"Make damn sure you come back to us. Good Viper pilots are hard to come by these days, you know."

"Yes, sir!" she exclaimed with a broad grin before she turned again to leave, opened his hatch, stepped outside and marched down the corridor.

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