Chapter 6. Uncharted Territory

Freighter Bill Thurston 12- Life Station

Moaning softly, Derek slowly opened his eyes before carefully rolling on his back. Directly above him, the bright fluorescent lamp and white acoustic tile ceiling forced him to squash his eyes closed and turn his head to the side. Gritting his teeth, he swung his legs over the cot as he brought himself to a sitting position.

"Captain Robinaux?" A soft voice called out. A privacy curtain folded to the left, revealing a thin blonde-haired woman, probably in her early 20's. Stopping in front of him, with an air of worry she looked him over quickly, "How are you feeling?"

Looking down he realized for the first time that his flight suit had been replaced with a set of loosely-fitting teal shorts and a matching button down jumper. He rolled his neck in a circle, testing the tender muscles before replying, "Good, my headache is gone." He paused a moment, concern washing over his face. "Where am I?"

"You're on the Freighter Bill Thurston 12; we're based out of Sagittaron. We picked you up about an hour ago." Waiting for him to nod his head, she continued, "I treated your concussion. Your last scan was clear, so you should be fully recovered." Putting the clipboard in the folder on the wall, she quickly added, "You can stay as long as you need, of course, but if you're up to it, I'm sure the Skipper would like to talk to you. Your flight suit is pretty grimy. We have some coveralls you can wear in the meantime."

"Thanks Doctor. I think I'll do that," he said taking the parcel of folded clothes from her.

"Actually, I'm just a nurse, sir," she corrected.

Standing up, he stuck his hand out, "I'm Derek, and again, thank you."

"I'm glad we found you. My name is Spera Harris." She paused a moment, "I'm gonna tell the Captain that you're up." With that she turned to leave, the curtain flapping closed behind her. Finding himself alone, he got up and crossed the two steps across the exam room to a shelf which held his flight helmet. Picking it up, he noticed a small dent on the back side of his helmet, and almost directly across from it, there was a small white scratch on the face screen. "No shit," he muttered quietly.

Following the nurse thru the freighter's narrow corridors, it only took a few minutes to reach the bridge, the hatch already swinging open toward them. Derek stood behind the young woman, bathed in yellowish light. The small confines of the compartment invoked a claustrophobic feel to the tall Captain.

"Skipper," Spera called out, addressing the short hefty woman standing at the plotting table. "This is Captain Derek Robinaux." She waited for Rebecca to acknowledge her, then turning to Derek she introduced the ship's C.O., "This is Captain Davenport."

Derek stepped past the nurse, engulfing the rough and calloused hand inside of his, "Thank you, Captain."

"Of course. Welcome aboard." Motioning towards the plotting table, she indicated two men watching him. "To the left, Parah Gammons, Chief Mate; and that is Marel Banners, my navigator and com officer."

Nodding his head at the two of them, Derek looked down at the table in front of him, studying a course which was taking them towards a cluster of contacts. They were unpowered and drifting. He watched as two green signals separated from the large commercial ship, speeding towards the wreckage in front of them.

Scratchy and distorted, a man's voice called across the bridge, "This is Grappler 1. I have eyes on the contacts now, approximately two dozen total, two Vipers, one Raptor, rest are life pods. The Raptor and Vipers are heavily damaged, no sign of life in either. The life pods have moderate damage, but are mostly intact."

Shaking his head slowly, Derek looked over the bridge crew, grief and futility pulling on their faces and bodies like an anchor. He closed his eyes, feeling his shoulders settle at the weight that he felt.

"Tony, start with the life pods, prioritize ones that are in the best condition. If we have time we'll grab the Raptor and Vipers." She paused a moment, looking at the overhead DRADIS. "Were going to bring the ship in close. Number 5 Hold is prepped. We'll stay here as long as we can, but first sign of trouble we're leaving, so be ready to drop everything and get your ass back here if called." Squaring her shoulders as she turned to the rescued Captain, she curtly asked, "Which ship were you on, Captain? Any chance of survivors?"

Refocusing on Rebecca, he was surprised by the strength and the resolve that shown through her eyes. "I was on the Odin, ma'am" he said. Adjusting the settings on one of the Navigation Screens, he pointed to a debris field near the Ouranos Belt. "Her reactors let go right below me, I don't see how anyone survived." A pang of sorrow welled up. He coughed into his fist briefly, "To be honest, I don't know how I survived." Pressing his eyes closed and open a couple times, he looked again at the com station, seeing the Viper's wireless set tied into their system for the first time. Smirking, "Is that working at all for you, Captain?" he asked, pointing.

Her lips twisted into an aggravated frown, "Rebecca, and no. Seems I need a security code."

"Thought so," Derek replied, quickly striding over to the com station. Sitting down, he began entering the required authentication. Moments later, the red LED on the wireless set turned green, and the receiver began to decode and display a list of messages that had been downloaded. Slipping on a set of headphones, Derek began going through the communication records. The first messages were status updates and readiness checks. But as he continued to sift through the com reports, the tenor quickly changed. A sense of dread worked its way up his spine as he read reports of Vipers and Raptors lost and Battlestars shutting down. Within three minutes of first contact, a staggering list of casualties was recorded. A list of ships both revered for their service and technological might, Battlestars which included the Erasmus, the Mercury, the Solaria, the Columbia, the Triton and her entire battle group, and the Atlantia, the fleet's flagship were all lost. He continued searching through the logs. Before long he found the Battlestar Ajax, the command ship for Battlestar Group 43. Bracing himself, he pushed on, searching, scanning, and there it was, right in front of him. Tears streaming down his face, Derek bowed his head down, covering his face in his hands, the reality of the day's losses assaulting him again, physically breaking him down. Like a sledge repeatedly pummeling him, the words in front of him brutally reaffirmed the pain, loss, and fear which had consumed him this day.

"E.C. Odin – System Failure – Malfunction. Destroyed 905/1237 Z"

Grappler 1

Tony struggled to keep the ungainly craft on an even course; burdened as it was carrying one life pod in the forward arms and trailing four more bundled together by magnetically charged "Smart Cables". Two hundred meters ahead of him, Marsha, the junior Grappler pilot, carried the same load effortlessly. At 150 meters from the BT-12 Tony brought his ship to a stop while Marsha transferred the life pods to the ship.

With an unnatural grace, Marsha brought her craft to a stop below the ventral cargo hold and then easily spun her craft 180 degrees. Oriented upside down relative to the ship, she lowered her Grappler, cargo first, towards the cavernous hold. The entire process only took her about ten minutes to complete.

Passing him as she headed back to pick up a second load, Tony couldn't help but curse quietly with a bit of mild jealousy. He carefully resumed his course back to the ship, driving his Grappler a little harder than he normally would. He was below the hold a little faster than he expected, and with a sigh of relief was able to bring his craft to a stop a few meters before the large accordion door in front of him. Checking the distance to the ship, he fired his lateral thrusters, spinning his craft over. "Grappler 1 to Loadmaster, ready for transfer," he called out. Switching on his ventral camera, he watched as a thick boom extended out of the bay towards him. The small ship lurched slightly as the freighter's arm attached to the cargo below him.

"Loadmaster to Grappler 1, we have solid attachment, release cargo." Parah's voice called out through the cabin.

Flipping a switch, he released the cable, feeling his ship shift slightly as it was relieved of its charge. He waited, watching the clock on his forward console as the boom slowly pulled the life pods into the ship. Below him the crew scrambled in the hold, positioning and securing the life pods to the deck. His agitation building, he waited as the boom slowly extended towards his ship again. With the dorsal arm on his Grappler already released and rotated back, he watched as the boom crept towards him, finally stopping with its attachment head directly above the life pod's dorsal anchor. Confirming that the life pod was fixed to the freighter's boom, he released the remaining two arms on his Grappler and anxiously waited for this last life pod to be stowed in the giant ship. After what seemed an eternity, he finally got the all clear signal. Gritting his teeth he saw that nearly fifteen minutes had passed. Quickly rotating the Grappler away from the freighter, he pushed the throttle fully forward, speeding back towards the drifting wrecks.

Cylon Basestar J529 – Command and Control Center

Alexei relaxed as the waves of data washed through and over him. He and his brothers enjoyed the intimate connection with the collective far more than the other models. The Two's, which he was a member of, had long ago discovered that it was far easier to let the current carry you where it will. The other models were too narrow minded and directed, and they often missed seemingly unrelated facts and clues as they tried to control and narrow the flow of information into neat and abstract digital bundles. His mind, now one with the powerful sensors and processors on the Basestar, casually bobbed and flowed with the torrent of information which passed all around him. His consciousness paused for mere nanoseconds, one of his brothers, a Five, assigned as an infiltrator on a Colonial Battlestar had perished during the admittedly lopsided battle. He rejoiced for his comrade, and offered a short prayer to the one true god; thanking him for his wisdom and faith in his creations.

Alexei found his consciousness being pulled in a new direction, breathing deeply, he went with the flow. Countless random data packets swirled around him, most skipping past his consciousness like shooting stars, some drifting away, while a few flashed ephemerally for his attention. One packet shone more brightly than the others, he reached out to it and serenely captured it. Turning it gently in his mind he absorbed the information it contained instantly.

He found himself examining a cluster of a dozen small ships drifting near a large, capital sized starship. At first glance, they appeared to be yet another knot of wrecked Colonial vessels. He contemplated discarding the data packet, but instead found himself drawn to the large vessel with the group. He realized that the large vessel was new. His curiosity piqued, he began to search the stream around him for additional clues, the process took time, but slowly, he began finding more pieces, finally, a tortuous 15 seconds later, he had the mystery solved. Previous scans had been periodically checking this clutch of lifeless vessels. Alexei reviewed the data and quickly observed that just two hours earlier, this same group of ships numbered as high as 25, and he noted, each previous scan all conspicuously lacked the large, unknown starship. Smiling at his discovery, he gently retreated from the stream. His mind now focused, he reentered the mainframe of the Basestar, this time interfacing with the communications and tactical arrays.

Cylon Raider D3174T76H

The single eye at the front of the autonomous fighter strobed as it received instructions from its Basestar. Instantly the agile attack craft and its three wingmen looped back to join with the approaching troop transport before heading towards the unknown targets designated by their superiors. Together they would commandeer the ship and take any survivors prisoner for interrogation aboard the Basestar.

Bill Thurston 12 – Hold 5

His foot tapping with nervous energy, Parah anxiously waited for Marsha to bring in the final four damaged planes. Looking at the chronometer, he cursed quietly to himself. If Tony were half the pilot that Marsha was they would already have the hold secured. They'd been at this for 44 minutes, far longer than he had hoped for when they arrived, and had already recovered 20 life pods. If luck could hold out a little longer they'd have the final load stowed and would be ready to escape. Glumly, he thought, escape to where?

"Braangh" the intercom called out again, interrupting his mental ruminations.

"Status check." Abrasive and curt, Rebecca's voice conveyed the fear and urgency that came with the knowledge that they were quickly running out of time.

"Grappler 1 is secured in the starboard hangar. Marsha is approaching with final load now, 1 life pod, 1 Raptor, and 2 Vipers." Checking the screens again, he continued, "Estimate 13 minutes for cargo stowage, five minutes to secure hold for transit, another seven minutes for Marsha to get the Grappler back to the hangar, 25 minutes Skipper."

"Too much time, Parah" she replied calmly. With a hint of resignation in her voice she continued, "Have Marsha bring the Grappler into Hold 5 directly, you can secure her towed cargo while she is docking her bird."

Closing his eyes in thought, he replied, "That's not gonna save us much time, she'll still have to wait for us to bring in the cargo in the arms before she can dock in the hold. And by that time, she would nearly be back to the hangar bay."

"Parah," an anguished strain in her voice, "have her land with the Viper still in the arms." Head bowed down, she waited for his response.

"Can't do that Skipper; that's downright dangerous. Loaded down like that, that Grappler will be way off balance. Lords only know the mess we'd have down here. One slip, she'll not only kill herself, she's liable to take out the entire deck crew!" he responded instantly.

"Frack procedure gods dammit!" she yelled into the phone. She took a quick breath, before continuing, her voice now deathly serious, "Parah, we have maybe 10 minutes, best case."

Parah felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Reacting to the sudden change in her tone, he responded dubiously, "What's changed, Rebecca?"

Rebecca paused a moment, and sighed quietly before answering, "John picked up five new contacts a couple minutes ago, four small craft escorting a larger shuttle sized ship. They're heading right at us, and based on their speed and formation, Captain Robinaux believes them to be Cylons. It looks like they found us."

Parah sat at his station in stunned silence. After a moment, he looked up at the screen in front of him. Sighing deeply, he toggled the com-line deliberately, "Copy your last, Skipper." His shoulders slouching in exhaustion, he took a moment to survey the frantic activity on the cargo deck below him. He pulled the mic to his lips and activated the com a second time, "I'll relay your instructions to her, be sure to say a prayer for us."

Rebecca looked down into her lap thoughtfully before responding. She understood what she was asking of her pilot and deck crew. Rebecca had been a pilot herself, and knew just how dangerous and seemingly suicidal her orders were. She looked at the DRADIS screen again, her eyes fixed on the five blinking icons. Their course hadn't wavered. She cursed quietly as she watched the five malevolent aircraft that were heading directly towards them; very, very quickly. She closed her eyes and muttered quietly, "Sometimes you have to roll a hard six." She opened her eyes and brought the phone back to her mouth, depressing the mic as she did, "Parah, Marsha is a good damn pilot, she can do this, and regardless we don't have a choice. Now tell her to bring in the Grappler with the Viper, and to be quick about it. That's all."

"Very well, Captain." Defeated and with a healthy amount of concern he relayed the orders to the pilot now holding position below the hold. He didn't mention the inbound Raiders; he figured the landing would be stressful enough on the young pilot.

Bright and energetic, Marsha's voice sang out "Grappler 2 copies, hands on landing Hold 5 with Viper in arms." Barely a moment passed before she burst out eagerly, "Now this'll be a trick!"

Grimacing at her attitude, "Youth over wisdom," he grumbled, forgetting that the channel to the Grappler and the Bridge was still open.

"Don't worry, Load, I won't leave a scratch on your pristine deck," she answered eagerly.

Short and aggravated, Rebecca's reply cut thru like a knife "Marsha, I need you to concentrate on not Fracking this up, clear."

Cylon Raider D3174T76H

The lead Raider held no compassion or misgivings towards the scores of humans that had been so efficiently exterminated earlier this day. Indeed, the Raiders had been programmed to see humans as a pestilence that must be eliminated as efficiently as possible. The DRADIS scans became clearer as the hunters closed the gap with the Colonial ships. The unknown starship had been identified as a civilian shipping vessel, and the smaller craft were marked as damaged military craft. With determination the lead fighter sped towards the slow lumbering vessels in front of it. The Cylon's prey was certainly aware of them, as they had been doggedly dragging the smaller vessels into one of its enormous cargo holds. The Raider was concerned that the vessel would attempt to get away, its scans could not confirm if the freighter had a Faster-Than-Light drive. The Raider sent a quick transmission to the squadron, "Increase velocity to maximum and engage immediately upon entering weapons range." Less than a second passed before it received a confirmation of the orders from the squadron.

Three seconds later, the leader received a message from the Heavy Raider, now falling behind the swift attack craft, "Centurions Active and Ready".

Bill Thurston 12 – Hold 5

Grappler 2 was holding position below the hold, impatiently waiting as Parah carefully positioned the broken craft so that they were suspended above the deck. Armed with ladders, cables and lifts, the five crewmen, dressed in pressure suits, feverishly began maneuvering the vessels through the hold. All hands were racing to clear an opening on the crowded deck for the Grappler and cargo below.

Parah winced as he watched Marsha begin to bring her Grappler into the hold, while below her the crew was still scrambling to move the cargo to the perimeter of the deck. His fingers, rapidly tapping the desk, tried to keep time with the fleeting seconds on the chronometer above. His nerves were frayed, his eyes fixed on the clock, and they were quickly running out of time. Turning back to the observation window, he watched Marsha carefully guide Grappler 2 towards the deck. Checking to make sure that she had cleared the Hold's threshold he determinedly reached over to the console in front of him. "Frack it," he said to himself as he flipped the large black toggle which controlled the outer doors. Dull yellow strobe lights flashed across the hold, and a metallic claxon sounded in his workstation, as well as throughout the ship. Toggling the mic, he announced, "Attention all hands, Outer Doors Hold 5 closing, repeat Outer Doors Hold 5 closing."

Bill Thurston 12 - Bridge

The monitors at their duty posts were all but forgotten, every member of the bridge crew watched Grappler 2 with baited breath from the main viewer. Her left hand in a fist, Rebecca nervously chewed on her knuckle as the now badly unbalanced craft slowly lumbered closer to the deck. Silently fretting, she knew that one slip of the hand would result in a devastating crash, certainly killing the pilot and likely many more of the deck crew as well. And now, with the hold closing above her, there would be no second chances, no escape for Marsha if the landing went wrong. Quashing her inner demons, Rebecca mentally regrouped. This was her call and Marsha would not crash, she told herself. She looked at the chronometer. It was a race against time, and they were losing. Soon, very soon she thought, the Cylons would be in weapons range, and if the cargo was not secured, or if the Hold's doors were not closed, then all would be lost. Grappler 2 was hovering about ten feet above the deck while a tractor carefully removed the wrecked Viper from her forward arms. "Shit!" she gasped, as she watched the Grappler lurch suddenly to the side, her confidence in the young pilot momentarily dashed.

But just as quickly, the craft righted itself; the pilot made a miraculous correction. The Grappler hung there now, waiting as the terrified deck crew began picking themselves up off of the floor. Relief flooding through her, Rebecca watched as Marsha brought the now unburdened Grappler to the deck as if it were a routine landing.

"That's a hell of a pilot you have there, Captain," the deep voice of the Colonial warrior called out.

Still recovering from the near disaster, she turned to him, "Most natural pilot I've ever seen." She paused for a second, looking at the headset next to him at the Communications console. "Are you done going through the com records yet?"

"Yeah," he replied. Climbing out of the chair, he strode over to the Plotting Table at the back of the bridge. Arriving just after him, he handed her a printed com report before bending down at the waist. In a low voice he began, "According to the com messages, the entire fleet has been shattered. In fact, the Cylons rejected an unconditional surrender from President Adar. Moments later, they launched a full nuclear attack on Caprica."

Stunned, Rebecca stood there, her head hung, all of the color drained from her face. She slowly lifted her head. Her deep brown eyes, earlier strident and resolute, were now filled with fear and sorrow. It took her a moment and all of her courage to weakly croak, "Sagittaron?"

"Gone." He replied softly. "They started with the capital, and bombed every city after that."

Refusing to accept his report, she shook her head slowly, even as it rested softly on the table. "That can't be right," she whispered; but she knew it was. She also knew from his voice that there was more. "What else?" she asked her voice dead and hollow.

"The Battlestar Galactica, is confirmed to have survived, and is organizing a counter action at Ragnar." Receiving no reaction, he continued tentatively, "I need you to take me there."

Looking up now, she fixed directly on his careful gray eyes, measuring them against her own perceptions and prejudices. She could feel the fire that burned deep start to rekindle within. "No. We are going to Sagittaron, your fleet be damned."

He was about to argue, hopelessly he knew, when the ship's P.A. bleated for their attention.

Parah's voice called out thru bridge speakers "Attention all hands. All cargo and Hold Number 5 are secured. The ship is ready for normal operations. Repeat, All Cargo and Hold 5 are secured. The ship is ready for normal operations. That is all."

Resuming her post at the center chair, she clicked her seat belt across her lap with one hand as she scrolled through system checklists with the other. Rebecca's heart skipped a beat as she checked the DRADIS screen, the incoming craft, almost certainly Cylons, had increased their speed, and were less than a minute out. "Marel, please confirm that the FTL is spun up!" she called out nervously.

He turned his head to face her, a light sheen of perspiration could be seen on his forehead, 'FTL board is green, ma'am, ready to jump at your command," he answered quickly.

"Well, let's not waste anytime then." Rebecca looked over at Derek, "Captain, you should find a seat; our ship is not as smooth as your cushy military boats." Motioning to Parah's now vacant bridge station, she waited for the rugged Captain to strap himself in. Picking up the handset out of the receiver, she quickly called out "Attention. Prepare for immediate FTL Jump. Mr. Banners, take us to Sagittaron."

Derek watched as the young man inserted and turned the translucent key into the console. Setting his jaw, he closed his eyes and waited for the jump to take them.

Cylon Raider D3174T76H

The lead attacker reduced its speed and set it's weapons to standby. Emotions in fighters, be they Raiders or Centurions were strongly constrained by their programming, but still, the lead attacker felt something close to disappointment as the civilian starship disappeared in a flash of light, just out of reach. With a quick blast from their Reaction Control Thrusters, the five ships flipped over as one, quickly returning to their patrol route.