Chapter 6
CIC of the BATTLESTAR GALACTICA – COLONIAL FLEET
"DRADIS contact!" Lt. Felix Gaeta reported. "IFF squawks as Racetrack's bird."
In response, Colonel Saul Tigh picked up the intercom phone and announced, "All hands, this is the XO! Set condition two throughout the ship. I repeat—Set condition two throughout the ship! This is not a drill! I repeat, this is not a drill!"
After the XO had placed the phone back in its cradle, Admiral William Adama glanced up at the DRADIS screen. He noticed the plot of Racetrack's Raptor was fairly close to the pair of Vipers flying CAP. "Dee, get me Racetrack on the horn," he said.
Petty Officer Anastasia Dualla flipped several switches on her console and said, "You're on, Admiral."
Adama activated his microphone and said, "Raptor 841, this is Galactica Actual."
"Actual, this is 841. Admiral, Skulls and I have brought three guests home with us. We're all wearing environment suits and our guests are unarmed, I repeat, our guests are unarmed."
He shot a guarded look at Tigh for several moments before he keyed the mike and said, "Message received and understood, 841. Proceed to the landing bay and I'll see you in the barn, over?"
"Roger that, Actual. Raptor 841 proceeding to landing bay, over and out."
After Racetrack had signed off, Adama turned to Dualla and said, "Tell the Viper CAP to escort Racetrack's ship in. Then call the Master-at-Arms. Tell Hadrian I want the Alert Guard in the hangar deck in five minutes. Tell her to make damn certain that Gunny Sergeant Mathias is leading the Alert Guard." Adama wanted to have the marine who performed so well during the mission to the Guardian Basestar on this assignment rather than Hadrian. He still hadn't forgiven the First Sergeant for the witchhunt she'd conducted during her investigation of the explosion caused by that Cylon skinjob, Doral. Perhaps, when he had the time, he might decide to transfer Hadrian to be the Master-at-Arms for the Pegasus and promote Mathias into that role for the Old Girl.
"Aye, sir," Dee said.
"Saul," he tossed over his shoulder as he started for the hatch leading out of the CIC, "you're with me. Mr. Gaeta, you have the CIC."
"Aye, sir, I have the CIC," Gaeta repeated as the two old warriors exited the room at a brisk pace.
As the two men rushed down the passageway, Adama said, "I want you to go to Hadrian and tell her I want the brig to be ready to receive our guests."
"The brig, Bill?"
"Yeah, Saul. Until we determine this isn't a Cylon trick, the brig's the safest place on the ship to keep them. We can control access to the area and isolate it if 'our guests' turn out to be a danger to the ship."
"Understood, sir," Tigh said before he veered off down a corridor that branched to the left while the Admiral continued on toward the hangar deck.
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PORT HANGAR DECK - BATTLESTAR GALACTICA – COLONIAL FLEET
"Those look like automatic carbines to me, Malcolm. They kind of remind me of the ancient Belgium FN Herstal PS90 of pre-Imperial Earth," Lena Stenger observed.
Jackson gazed out through the Raptor's windscreen and nodded. He knew better than to argue with the woman about any firearm. After all, she was most likely the best sniper in Fleet Intelligence. "I think you're right, Lena. Since they've mastered artificial gravity on their vessels, they probably figured it's more efficient to use firearms rather than energy weapons."
Racetrack gasped and whirled in her seat to glare at him. "What the frak?! Energy weapons? What the hell are you talking about, sir?'"
"You know, Lieutenant Edmonson, lasers, plasma weapons, pulse rifles…" He paused when he saw her wide-eyed look of astonishment. "And…I think it's evident from the expression on your face that you people don't have energy weapons."
"You've got that right, sir!" Skulls answered for his still apoplectic pilot. "We've only dreamed of stuff like that in sci-fi movies!"
"Actually, Skulls," Stenger said, "our ground forces still use firearms along with pulse rifles when they're planetside. Trust me, a bullet fired from a firearm or a pulse rifle can kill you just as dead as a laser beam or a plasma charge."
"That's right, Lena," Jackson noted. "That's something we all should remember because the firearms those troopers out there are pointing our way can ruin our day. So let's take it nice and slow so they don't have to prove how lethal their weapons are, all right?"
All of the occupants of the small craft murmured their agreement with Jackson's sentiment. Then Racetrack pointed out a man who was approaching their craft. "Hey! Admiral Adama has just arrived!"
Jackson stared at the man who'd captured the pilot's attention. The man was of medium height and medium build with a small paunch in his stomach and appeared to be pushing sixty. The Admiral had a craggy face, far more pock-marked than the face of the troubleshooter for the Secretary of Planetary Affairs, Alfano had been. He was dressed in a dark blue pair of pants and a double-breasted tunic which overlapped toward his right side and was secured by a column of buttons. Jackson noticed the man wore what appeared to be a pair of wings over the breast pocket on the left side of the man's tunic.
"Is he the senior military commander of your fleet?" Dalle asked.
"Yes, Doctor," said Skulls.
The Admiral gave Racetrack some sort of signal and the Raptor jock activated a switch on her console. "I'm opening the hatch," she explained. "The Old Man wants us out on the deck."
"All right, people," Jackson said, "let's not do anything stupid because the Fleet doesn't like it when we bring its environmental suits home with bullet holes in them. Besides, I hate being stuck with filling out the paperwork; it's a real bitch," he joked. "Seriously, make damn certain we don't do anything those grunts might consider as hostile. Now Lieutenants Edmonson and McCall, please exit the craft first and move directly toward your admiral. We'll wait for you to reach his side before we attempt to leave your craft. This way, you won't get hurt if something goes wrong."
"But, sir—" Margaret exclaimed; however, Jackson immediately cut her off.
"I don't want to hear it, Lieutenant!" he admonished. "You're the ride home for both Captain Kelly and Lieutenant Katraine, not to mention us! So I don't want either of you to stop a bullet, you've got that?"
Margaret Edmonson regarded him with a look that said if he'd asked her to do it, she'd storm the gates of Hades for him. "Aye, sir."
He nodded to her, touched by her faith in him. "Okay, you two. Get going. We'll see you outside."
Still reluctant to leave, the pair of Colonial officers moved toward the hatch. Moments later, they exited the craft, stepped onto the wing and climbed down onto the deck.
Now Jackson turned to his companions and said, "I'll go first. Lena, you stay inside behind cover until I let you know it's safe to come out. Doctor, I want you to follow Lena. Remember, no sudden movements; these people have suffered through a lot," he noted as he recalled what Kelly had told them. "They're probably on the edge; so let's play it safe."
"Don't worry, Malcolm," Lena said, "we'll follow your lead."
He flashed a smile at her then drew himself up, took a deep breath, exhaled and strode toward the open hatch. Exiting the craft, he stepped out onto the Raptor's wing and approached its leading edge to climb down onto the deck. Suddenly, he heard the SNAP of weapons being raised into firing position as the sound reverberated throughout the vast hangar bay.
"Marines, hold!" the craggy-faced officer barked.
Jackson tamped down the temptation to glare at the ebony-clad soldiers to see if they'd complied with the elder man's command while he continued his descent. Once he stood upon the deck, he turned to face the pockmarked-faced man and smiled. "I am Senior Captain Malcolm Jackson of the Alliance of Planets. My superior, Vice Admiral Amato, sent me here to welcome you on behalf of both the Alliance and the people of Earth."
The other man stared at him and said, "I am Admiral William Adama of the fleet of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol."
Jackson blinked twice. For people who spoke a derivative of Ancient Greek, they certainly had names that were quite common to current-day Alliance humanity! William, Margaret, and Louanne certainly weren't found in the Hellenic language on Earth.
Then the Admiral continued his introduction, derailing Jackson's train of thought. "Thank you for your warm welcome, Senior Captain Jackson. We appreciate your coming to the Battlestar Galactica to meet us. We'd like for your party to accompany me and these marines who are here to ensure your security," Adama indicated the black clad guards with a glance, "to continue our discussion in a more private setting."
Jackson almost grinned at the Admiral's choice of words. Well, that's certainly a nice way of saying his guards won't shoot us out of hand before he throws us in the brig! I'm certain he'll have us cool our heels there until he's had the opportunity to debrief his flight crew to determine if we're legit! he mused. Then he said, "Admiral, we'd be happy to accompany you as soon as the other members of my party have joined us. Lena? Doctor? You can come out now."
Thirty seconds later, both of his companions stood by his side. "Admiral, may I introduce Lieutenant Commander Lena Stenger," he indicated with a nod to the smaller suited figure next to him, "and the gentleman beside her is Dr. Ian Dalle. The doctor is both a physician and a Commander in the Fleet. The Fleet is what we call the Alliance's interstellar exploration and military force. Dr. Dalle is here to coordinate with your medical personnel to see to the nutritional and medical needs of your people. The Doctor shall also coordinate with our people once we return to our ship inside the nebula to arrange for the delivery of immediate humanitarian aid for your fleet while we negotiate with you to determine when it would be appropriate to move your vessels to our base of operations in this sector."
A tiny smile dawned on the Admiral's face. "That's quite thoughtful of your, Vice Admiral Amato, was it, to have assigned a physician as a member of your party, Senior Captain, to address our needs."
"Think nothing of it, sir. Based on the briefing we received from your Captain Kelly, I have been instructed to relay to you that both the Alliance and the people of Earth express their heartfelt sympathies for the tragedy that has befallen your people at the hands of the Cylons."
The man seemed to choke up for a moment before he said, "Thank you, Senior Captain."
"Admiral, just to make it easier for you, please call me 'captain.' We only use the term 'senior' within the Fleet to determine the chain of command during fleet operations. I should also tell you that in the Alliance's space navy, a captain is the senior commander of a capital vessel similar to your 'battlestar.' As for Lena, it is customary to refer to her as 'commander' and to drop the 'lieutenant' designation during day-to-day interactions with her. Last, but not least, although Dr. Dalle is an officer of the Fleet, it's customary to refer to him as 'doctor.'"
"That is good to know, Captain," Adama said with a smile. "Now would you please come with us?"
"Admiral, before we accompany you, may I respectfully request that Dr. Dalle be allowed to bring his Med-kit with him? It is a kind of carry-all that contains medical diagnostic and treatment equipment as well as a variety of medicines. The doctor can use the equipment, for instance, to sample the environment aboard this vessel to determine if it's safe for both you and us to remove our environmental suits. Of course, Dr. Dalle would be happy to share his findings with your chief medical officer before we'd risk any exposure to either party."
Adama glared at him for several moments before he sighed deeply. "Permission granted, Captain."
"Thank you, sir," Jackson said before he directed Dalle to retrieve the Med-kit. Then when Dalle had returned with the case from the small craft, Adama and the marines escorted the trio of Fleet officers off the Galactica's hangar deck.
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