Battlestar Galactica: The Rift

Chapter 5. Forging AHEAD

Molecay System, Flare Sector. Argentum Bay, Day 71

Derek cleared himself of the effects from the FTL jump and waited impatiently for the underpowered sensors on the civilian ship to analyze the area around them. Anticipating the lag, he had sent two Raptors ahead of them to screen the area before they arrived. Fifteen minutes later, Raptor 674 had returned with the all-clear signal. Now, still waiting for the computers on the satellite tender to catch up, he was glad that he had sent the scouts ships earlier. If there had been a Cylon patrol waiting, they would have never seen them. In fact, he thought grimly, looking at the blank DRADIS screen, he still couldn't see either Raptor waiting for them. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the DRADIS computer beeped for his attention.

"Report," Derek called out relieved.

Derek watched as Ayana looked up from her screen. The young captain was the officer of the watch on the Galactica and fourth in line after Major Kelly. She had a pleasant and easy-going disposition, which made her a good choice for this mission.

"All ships are present; we are 2,000 from the center of the field and closing at one third speed," the navigator answered.

"Very good. Ayana launch the CAP, please," she directed him.

She nodded in acknowledgement, before speaking into her headset. "Hangar Bay, this is Control, launch the CAP."

Derek turned to the DRADIS screen and watched as the four Mark 2 Vipers accelerated out of the underslung flight pod.

"Cat to Control, we are in position," the lead pilot called out a minute later.

Ayana checked to verify the fighters' position. "Acknowledged, begin sweep and report anything unusual."

"Roger that," the brash pilot called back.

With the perimeter set, the shuttles and Raptors began launching with teams of marines, technicians, and engineers to acquire anything of use to the fleet. Fanning throughout the wrecks the small craft quickly identified targets for collection and further study.

Bill Thurston-12; Bridge

Rebecca looked out of the forward windows as the ships carefully made their way towards the debris field. She focused on what was left of the first war Battlestar Pegasus, her hopes fading as she watched it and the other wrecks surrounding it drift aimlessly in the cloud of ionized particles left behind from the battle that happened over forty years earlier. Behind it, the scorched planet Molecay orbited the bright yellow star, oblivious to the arrival of the small fleet. In the distance the twin Pulsars that the sector was named for flashed on and off like a giant radioactive beacon. There was no way they were going to find any repairable ships in this mess, she reflected.

Rebecca shifted her focus to the DRADIS screen, studying the formation of their flotilla steaming towards the wrecked warships. A quiet unease settled over her as she contemplated their mission. The mission was a huge risk.

Discovery by the Cylons was the most obvious fear. Isolated in enemy territory, there was little they could do if the Cylons found them; save run and pray. It was that reasoning that led to the frantic work on her ship before departing the fleet. She tried to clear her mind and found herself thinking of the hours just before they'd left the fleet.

She had been on the bridge, watching the last shuttle sail towards the Zephyr, the old ringed luxury liner. Almost a third of the civilians had been transferred to ships throughout the fleet. Cargo Bays 7 and 8 had been emptied, the contents of which were either repacked in the other bays on board or shipped to other ships on the fleet.

In her mind, the real danger to the mission lay in local politics.

"Captain," the helmsman called out to her. "We're at our assigned position. Engines have been set to station keeping."

Shaken from her reverie, she checked their position on her screen. She tightened the DRADIS, confirming that the other ships in her group were anchoring just outside the debris field. "Thank you, John."

Leading the rest of the recovery squadron, Argentum Bay carefully navigated closer to the fleet of wrecked warships. Rebecca watched the ship on the DRADIS for a moment, then, as if needing to confirm the data on the screen, she lifted her binoculars from her chest. Silently searching, she studied the ink-like blackness of the void for their flagship. It took only a minute to find the distinctive engine flares from the old satellite tender.

Since the fall, the Argentum Bay's previous captain, Eric Meirer had transferred personnel he deemed independent to other ships. One such former crew member, Jim Benson, now served as the Assistant Helmsman on the BT-12. Meirer had of course replaced those crew members with officers and air men that were loyal to him. Crew who held Adama and the military responsible for his death. She stood there, watching it, wondering how the crew was adjusting to their new Captain. Sighing quietly, she put the binoculars down and returned to her chair. There was no point worrying about Derek now.

Colonial One, President's Office; Evening

The mood in the President's Office felt eerily similar to their meeting at Kobol immediately after the reunification. He watched her; she was staring though the porthole into the void. He had been sitting at her desk for a minute, and she had yet to acknowledge him.

Trust was earned, he knew, and restoring it between them would take time and work. He hoped he had enough of the former to repair the damage between them.

"I've always found it soothing; looking into the black, that is," he offered quietly.

She turned to face him, her face telegraphing the mixture of thoughts coursing through her.

"I'm still adjusting," she started. "Honestly, I don't know if it has a calming affect or paralyzing." She gently tapped the window, "Knowing that this is the only thing between me and the 'black' is a bit terrifying," she admitted.

He nodded his head in understanding. "I've been living on these ships for over forty years." He stood and walked to the bulkhead and gently placed his hand on the paneling. "This," indicating the hull, "is how we keep the chaos at bay. This hull reassures us that we are in control, that we determine our path."

"That is an interesting perspective, Commander. Thank you." She took a moment to compose herself, before turning to notes stacked on her desk. "Why don't we begin," she said with an easy smile.

"Yes, ma'am," he answered easily. "Tactically, there have been no signs of the Cylons for twenty days. Raptor pickets have not detected any Cylon presence in nearby systems either. So that's good news."

The President nodded her head in agreement.

"The fleet has been able to make use of this quiet time to perform needed maintenance and conduct minor repairs," he said.

"I sense a 'but'," the President added quickly.

The Commander sighed, "Yes, ma'am, but it's minor. Damage to the FTL on the Virgon Express was more extensive than believed. Her crew reports that they will need an additional seventy-two hours before her jump drives are operational. The ship is small enough that it can be docked in Galactica's flight pod for an emergency jump if the Cylons find us before repairs are completed." He waited for the President as she finished her notes.

"How are we on supplies, Commander?" she asked nervously.

He looked down at his notes briefly. He had to find a replacement for paper, he thought, realizing they would quickly run out of that too.

"Nothing critical at the moment. We were able to top off our water tanks from one of the moons in system. We have mining operations in the asteroid field ongoing. We have even discovered a vein of Uranium on a few of the asteroids that we can exploit if we have time."

"The Galactica has set up temporary quarters for 215 citizens from the salvage fleet. I would like to reassign some permanently to the Galactica after the salvage fleets returns."

Laura looked up from her notes with a stern expression. "Are we talking about conscriptions?" she asked dubiously.

Bill took off his glasses, setting them delicately on his notes as he thought on how to frame his response.

"Some of my people are getting worn out, Laura. They need a break, and frankly, there are literally shiploads of underutilized civilians that we could use."

Laura kept her gaze focused on the Commander. "Where specifically, do you need people, Commander?"

Bill looked at the whiteboard with the count of survivors on the bulkhead. "Our three biggest needs are pilots, but that requires a special skillset, marines and security personnel, and maintenance techs."

Laura paused, considering his request. "You could force my hand Bill, by claiming it as a military necessity."

He met her eyes, gauging her intent. "I'd prefer volunteers. Conscripts typically make poor soldiers."

"Volunteers it is then. I'll have Billy assign someone to help with the effort."

"Thank you, Madam President."

Laura reached across her desk and grabbed a manila folder. "Very good, now moving on to other matters." Opening it she removed a packet and handed it to Adama.

He looked it over briefly. "This looks like a contract." he said neutrally.

"More like a framework, it describes our shared responsibilities, roles, and communication," she answered cautiously. "I would like you to look it over and comment as needed. Once I have your notes, we can meet again and draw up a final draft."

Bill placed it face down on the desk. "It may take some time to go through it Madam President." He said quietly.

Laura eyes hardened at his response, "This takes priority Bill. I will expect your response soon."

Bill sighed quietly and picked up the file. He looked over the first page quickly. "Yes, ma'am. I will attend to it without delay."

Her face softened at his response. "Thank you."

Bill pushed the chair back to leave. "Will that be all, ma'am?"

"Not yet, Commander," she said pleasantly. She waited for him to slide his chair back to the desk. "We need to settle on a new Captain for the Argentum Bay."

Bill nodded in agreement. This was a conversation he had not been looking forward to.

"First, we need to decide what to do with the former Chief Mate," she said.

The President had turned a screen with the Mariner's resume and personnel information on it towards him.

"You're sure Mr. Thorhild was involved in Meier's plans?" he asked.

"No question," she answered quickly. "My investigator provided communications between the two, as well as detailed plans from his cabin and statements taken from the crew." She pressed a button on her terminal and the display on the monitor changed, showing a copy of the evidence.

Bill looked over the summary, grimacing as he did so. "I'm guessing you have a proposal," he stated cautiously.

"You won't like it," she confirmed. Laura waited for his response. "We could transfer him to the Galactica," she suggested carefully. He didn't respond, his eyes hardened to stones, silently calculating the politics of her idea.

"I thought that we agreed against conscriptions," he responded tersely.

She paused, "You're right Commander, we did. But in this instance, he has the technical skills you need, and…" her voice trailed as she sought the proper phrase.

"And by keeping him close, I'll know what he is up to and who he keeps company with," he finished for her.

"Exactly," she answered delicately.

"Very well. I'll talk to my Chief Engineer, we can always use more snipes," he said casually.

The monitor changed again, a picture of Rebecca Davenport and her personnel file filled the screen.

"Rebecca Davenport already captains a ship, what makes you think she'd want this one?" he asked, crossing his arms. "I'm planning to arm this ship, and she is a civilian." He paused a moment for effect. "A civilian that defected to Kobol with you." He held his hand up, stopping Laura's nascent response. He handed the President a personnel file for one of his officers.

She looked it over, quietly chuckling. "Captain Robinaux, isn't that convenient" she responded sardonically.

"Think of the salvage operation as a trial." Bill answered quietly. "He's qualified, experienced, and has a good relationship with many of the civilians, Ms. Davenport included," he offered.

She looked over the pilots file. A bullet mark caught her eye. "He served under you while you were the executive on the Columbia." She stated.

"Yes, that was a long time ago," he confirmed.

She continued scanning the resume, responding without looking up. "Those roots run deep; I expect." She put the resume down and focused on Bill. "You made it clear a few minutes ago, that you need pilots, and the captain here is, or was, a squadron leader."

He studied her expression, it was unyielding. "Very well." He pulled a second personnel file from his notes. "Captain Williams would be my second choice," he stated neutrally. "She's very sharp, organized, respected, and you'll note is not a pilot."

"And happens to be on the salvage mission also," the President noted. "She's young. This is her first tour as Officer of the Watch, yes?" she commented, looking over the officer's jacket.

Adama tried to hide his frustration from the President. "Fine, Lee then. He has the experience needed and we both trust him," he offered forcefully.

Laura almost laughed out loud at the Commander's suggestion. They both knew that he wasn't serious.

"Bill, the next Captain must be a civilian. I have thought this through." She watched him, stewing in frustration as he processed the facts as she deemed them. "Can the guns you put on the Argentum Bay be controlled by the Galactica" she offered.

"That would require networking our tactical computers with the computers we install on the Argentum Bay," he answered sourly.

A non-starter, she knew. "Why not attach a gunnery crew from the Galactica to each ship?" she offered.

He looked up at her puzzled, "Each ship?" he asked.

She fixed a mirthful smile. "You said earlier that you wanted to arm the Adriatic and the Argentum Bay. I assume you had planned to have the officers you nominated to command each," she confirmed.

His head sank slightly. "That was my preference, yes," he admitted. "Your plan, attaching a gun crew to each ship should work, with some ground rules. Each ship will have a Marine detachment and weapons will be limited to anti-aircraft batteries only."

"That works for me, Commander" she answered brightly.

"What if she says no?" he asked darkly.

"Fair question," she answered directly. "She won't, it's against her nature to walk away from a challenge."

Adama nodded, that was his assessment as well. "And the Captain of the Adriatic, can we trust him?"

"He's an ally of Zarek's, but he had no knowledge of Meierer's plans or the coup attempt." She answered determinedly.

Bill looked at the monitor which now displayed the bio for Captain Stanislav Bautista. "I will need to meet him, before I agree."

"Of course, Commander. And we'll have ample time to continue to watch him while the ship is..." she paused searching for the correct word.

"Refit, Madam President." He finished for her.

"Yes, that's it, thank you." She responded earnestly. She looked down at her notes, reviewing the agenda one last time. Satisfied, she looked up at the Commander. "Well, I think we are finished here, unless there are some matters that we haven't addressed."

Bill nodded in ascent, "Then until next time, Madam President," he said graciously. He waited for her acknowledgment before taking his leave.

Molecay System, Raptor 245

Chief Tyrol grimaced as Shark flew over the dorsum of the wrecked Artemis class Battlestar. Galen remembered reading that when the battle had started to turn against the Colonials, the Admiral in command had used the warship to block the Cylon forces so the rest of the Fifth Fleet could escape. Unfortunately, the enemy got below the flagship and quickly cut it to shreds. With their escape cut off, the Colonials redoubled their efforts taking several Cylon ships and the planet side facility with them. None of the Colonial capital ships survived the battle. The only reports from the battle were carried by a few Raptors that managed to escape.

Galen closed his eyes as the pilot curled the Raptor around a spinning chunk of metal and plastic. Detached from the main hull, the starboard flight pod hung limply by itself, ejected from the main body. Moments later the pilot was lining up on what remained of the flight deck, carefully guiding the small craft towards the ragged entrance. Galen focused on the drifting hulk, quickly assessing its overall condition. His hopes for a successful salvage plummeted as he looked over the blackened and holed corpse in front of them. Battlestars were tough bastards he knew, but the damage to this one looked so severe he questioned if there would be anything intact to recover.

Floodlights supplied the only light as the Raptor entered the darkened landing bay. Flying slowly, the experienced pilot deftly avoided dangling cables and bent frame pieces that had been dislodged in the battle. Finally deciding he could go no farther, Shark set the Raptor down near an intact elevator pad.

"Alright boys and girls, make sure you're suited up, keep track of your radiation badges, and enjoy your stay on the Pegasus." The pilot quipped sarcastically.

A moment later the cabin lights turned red as the pilot began transferring the oxygen to the storage tanks.

"That is Frame 50," he announced pointing to a large vertical strut that was blackened from the battle. "The nearest pressure hatch is across from the elevator pad on the Starboard side. From there you should have access to the hangar below. Once down below, take stock of what we're looking at." He paused as he looked for Chief Tyrol. "Chief, if it looks salvageable, we'll bring in the cavalry to get the goods. If not, report back and we will move on to the next ship. Understood?"

Galen nodded in agreement. "Okay, guys. We have forty-five mikes to survey the hangar. We are working in teams of two, stay with your partner. If you see ANYTHING that looks fishy, contact me and the Lieutenant at once. Is that understood?" The Chief surveyed his team, looking for any doubts amongst them as they all grunted in assent.

Satisfied that his team was ready he looked over to the pilot for confirmation. "L.T., permission to deplane?" he asked.

Shark nodded silently "Permission granted. Good hunting, Chief." With that said, he turned back to his board and flipped a couple switches in sequence. A moment later, the Starboard side gull door began swinging up, giving the Chief's team access to the landing bay.

Galen grabbed the electronics case and headed towards the open hatch. Stopping at the edge of the hull, the twin mounted floodlights on his helmet struggled to pierce the pitch black of the landing deck as he tracked from left to right. Confirming the deck was clear, he activated the magnets in his boots and gently dropped out of the ship. He floated for just a moment as his boots became fully charged before slowly settling to the deck. Once secure, he made his way to the airlock on the Starboard side. Needing to power the locking mechanism, he plugged a cable from the case into an access panel next to the hatch. He turned to the Raptor to watch his team making their way to him while he waited for the electronics case to unlock the dog. The nearest of his team, Jammer, was about halfway across the deck when the case signaled for the Chief's attention. With the airlock powered Galen typed in an access code on the hatch. A moment later the data pad flashed green, showing the electronic lock was open. At the same time, a panel the size of an index card recessed at eye level in the hatch glowed bright red; warning that there was no oxygen on the other side. Galen reached for the manual lock and with strained grunt he twisted the wheel counterclockwise. It didn't budge.

"Zeus," he called out, shaking his hands as he recovered from the unexpected effort needed for the hatch. He looked over at the team member standing next to him.

"Jammer, give me a hand with this," he said, pointing to the locking wheel.

Galen stepped through the now open hatch and leaned over the ledge, scowling as his eyes chased after the quickly fading light in the dark access shaft below. He could only see the top third of the ladder that his team needed to climb down. It was twisted but looked passable. He hoped the rest of the ladder was in similar condition.

Cursing under his breath, Galen grabbed a small winch from a utility box that one of his tech's had brought from the Raptor. He attached one end to the ladder and the other to the chest grommet on his suit. Confident that the strap was secure, he took a large hand light and clipped it to his belt. He turned his attention to his team which surrounded him.

"I will check the area when I get to the bottom. Wait for my signal before you follow me down." He waited for everyone to nod in agreement. "We don't know what's down there so be ready to pull me back up if I call." He waited again for the team to acknowledge his orders.

"Barcone, you stay up here with the winch. I need you ready to yank us out if needed."

"Yes, sir" one of the two marines answered grimly. Next, he turned to the other marine, "Phillip's, you're after me."

He took a steadying breath, and then began carefully descending the perilous ladder. He reached the bottom a minute later and focused the hand light on the hatch. With more effort than should have been necessary, he turned the wheel and pushed into the hangar.

It took him a few moments to adjust to the pitch black of the hangar. He swept his hand light across the compartment and quickly surveyed the area for hazards. Satisfied, he returned to the access shaft and signaled his team to follow him down.

His team assembled, they quickly split into pairs and began surveying what was left of the hangar. Galen led Cally through one of the service bays and into a storage room. Despite cables hanging from the ceiling and shelves that had overturned, the compartment was in surprisingly good shape.

He looked at the contents in some of the cabinets and smiled. A cornucopia of boxes filled with gaskets, screws, nuts, bolts, and rivets sat trapped in their drawers or floated aimlessly throughout the small shop. On the far side an entire wall was taken with a rack that was filled with blanks of sheet metal.

He looked over at Cally, who was smiling. "Mark it," he said confidently.

She nodded in response as she entered the data into her tablet.

"Come on, let's see what else there is!" he said brightly.

The two pushed out and headed further into the depths of the flight pod. The causeway was fairly clear as he led his partner to his goal and within a few minutes they had arrived, a placard next to the hatch read, "SMALL CRAFT MAGAZINE".

A lot of the cabinets were bare. But there were kinetic rounds to be had, as well as drones, tracers, and the gear needed to maintain the guns on the Vipers, Raptors, and Sweepers that had been stationed aboard the Battlestar. Overall, a pretty good stash of supplies that they needed.

"Chief," Cally called excitedly, pointing to a storage closet attached to the bulkhead. Inside, forty-five air-to-air missiles were safely stowed inside several pallets.

"Nice!" he exclaimed. He reached subconsciously towards the cabinet, as if grabbing it would somehow make the treasure seem more real. He took a moment to gather himself before activating his microphone.

"This is the Chief, all teams report."

"This is Garcetti, we have a locker of Viper rounds."

"Loxley, Storeroom in Frame 47 is trashed, no joy," He reported glumly.

"This is Jammer in 58. Eight Mark 2's, look intact, lots of goodies in the machine shop."

"Billings, were in 43, control units, computers, sensors units, and other small craft parts, most for Vipers."

Galen listened as the rest of his team checked in. When they finished, he checked his watch and toggled his mic.

"Time to go. Everyone meet-up at the Frame 50 access. Good job."

Argentum Bay, CIC; Day 72

Derek finished reviewing the manifest of salvageable materials on the Brimir carrier that had been scouted earlier. The term 'ship' seemed inappropriate for the hulk they were heading towards. Clearly, the crew had fought valiantly, but they, along with the rest of the Fifth Fleet had been hopelessly outclassed. He grimaced as he studied the image. The entire engineering section, the engine pods, and the aft flight control tower had been torn from the frame of the ship. They floated separately from the whole, looming just out of reach from the twisted bracing and shredded stanchions that remained.

It didn't seem possible, but the engineering survey revealed that the forward section of the ship was relatively intact. Storerooms, maintenance bays, even magazines were miraculously available. The gravity generators were inoperable, the batteries gone. But with the Argentum Bay they could power the lights, the undamaged lifts, and even restore partial gravity.

"Mr. Persea, bring us alongside and prep the ship to dock with the Rhea."

"Aye, sir," he answered promptly. His eyes never left the screen as he entered the commands into his terminal. His task complete, he stood up from his station and walked to the helmsman station.

"Mr. Harris, begin docking procedures," he ordered crisply.

"Yes, sir." The helmsman responded.

Derek watched the monitors as the ship carefully made its way to the derelict Assault Carrier. A moment later, the ship turned, matching the orientation of their quarry. Now alongside the obsolete warship, the helmsman slowly closed the gap between the two massive vessels.

"Docking complete Captain," The helmsman stated formally. "Ships and moorings are secured, power couplings are attached and available at your discretion. Airlocks one through four have 'Zero-Ox' seals with the Rhea."

Derek looked over the status reports quickly. "Very good, Mr. Harris", he replied satisfied. He turned to the Chief-Mate, "Mr. Persea, how long will it take to verify the condition of the electrical systems before supplying power? I don't want to risk damaging our ship with unexpected shorts or surges."

Abel was already studying the report from his station. "Everything checks out on my board," he paused. "Figure forty-five minutes to verify external connections with EVA team and three engineering teams to look over relays and perform circuit diagnostic in the Rhea."

Derek nodded in assent, "Make it so, Mister Persea."

Assault Carrier Rhea, Flight Deck

Derek spent a few minutes studying the immolated remains of the Cylon Landing Craft on the flight deck. With enough room to carry two squads and bristling with guns, missile racks, and a very thick hide, the Cylons would have needed only a few of these ships to land an effective boarding force onto the Rhea. There were differences from the modern "Heavy Raider" that had crashed in to the Galactica a month ago, but similarities enough that he made sure that it was to be loaded onto the Argentum Bay and returned to the fleet for further study.

Derek carefully crossed through the charred and ragged hole in the bulkhead where there had once been an airlock. Climbing down the ladder to the hangar deck, he couldn't help but think of what happened to the poor souls on the other side of the hatch.

He entered the expansive compartment and took a moment, imagining the carnage that had besieged this ship forty plus years earlier. The fight for the ship had been savage and unrelenting. There were scorch marks on the deck and bulkheads, a second airlock at the aft end of the section had been similarly ripped out of its frame, indicating the Cylons had breached the compartment from multiple locations. He looked at a tractor, lying on its side, riddled with holes and blackened. With gravity restored, four Colonial Warriors now lay in a pile around the broken vehicle. He imagined them behind it, using it as cover during the onslaught. He pushed the image of the soldiers floating in the void for the last few decades aside. There were more bodies, both Colonial and Centurions, clustered in groups where they had died fighting. He would bring them back and give them the funeral that they deserved.

He took a step back as he watched a crewmen wheel a large cart filled with components and other needed hardware from the ship's storerooms. Similar carts, loaded with ammunition, computers, uniforms, and even rations were all steadily making their way to the Argentum Bay.

His initial hope had been to secure the primary hull to one of the flat-tops and bring the whole thing back to the fleet. Unfortunately, his engineers wouldn't sign off on the proposal. Instead, crews swarmed the outside hull, removing the guns and intact armor plating. While technicians inside disassembled and packed as much of the launch tubes as possible. Two frames aft, the remaining Vipers, Raptors, and even an old Sweeper were being positioned for transfer as well.

Derek spent an hour supervising the salvage operations. He visited the Combat Information Center, a small and cramped compartment compared to a Battlestar. A dark and surreal shadow seemed to settle over him as he surveyed the room. Technicians had already stripped out the useful consoles and hardware, adding to the disquiet that he felt. Even with the bodies removed, the shattered terminals and blood-stained stations spoke to the violence that had occurred. With one last scan he found the item he was looking for. Stretching as best he could, he carefully removed the ship's christening plaque from the bulkhead. He looked it over, committing the ship's charter to memory before gently wrapping it in a Colonial flag that he had taken from a technician. He turned to the remains of the center table, "Thank you, may the gods grant you peace," he stated reverently to the ship, the deceased crew, and the gods. It was time to go.

Argentum Bay, Bridge; Day 74.

Derek rubbed his eyes in a vain attempt to relieve the weariness he felt. It had been a very busy and successful three days. Unbelievably, they had recovered twenty-one intact Vipers, two Sweepers, and six Raptors. Nearing their scheduled departure hour, the salvagers were still steadily filling the holds with raw materials, spare parts, computers, ammunition, uniforms, wrecked fighters, and even a Cylon boarding craft from the deck of the Rhea.

"DRADIS contact!" the civilian sensor operator called out from his station. "Contact is at 27 karom 315, range 35,000. It's on a direct course to the fleet."

They were sitting ducks, Derek thought as he monitored the incoming bogey. Silently cursing the limited DRADIS scanner, Derek watched as the sensor operator manipulated the controls at his station in a vain effort to identify the incoming ship. Derek suspected it was the Raptor returning from Galactica. But, if it was a Cylon, they wouldn't be able to identify it until it was on top of them.

Derek turned to the communications officer, "Get me the CAP." he ordered. The officer nodded in affirmation to him a moment later.

"Actual to Kat. Intercept and I.D. Bogey at 27 karom 315, CBDR with Nest. Eliminate bogey if hostile."

"Roger that, Actual. Turning to intercept." Kat responded a moment later. "Beano, Hotdog, Ace form up on my six."

Derek listened as the other Viper pilots responded and turned with her towards the unknown craft.

"Mr. Barenton, signal the fleet. Instruct them to begin jump prep, all ships to return to base ASAP," Derek called out.

Abel's thick Aerlonian accent filled in seamlessly after him, "Engineering, spool the FTL drive and secure the ship for transit. Helm, set course to maximize distance from bogey and bring engines to flank speed."

"Captain, course set to 338 karom 45, engines set to full power!" the helmsman responded quickly and with more than a hint of panic in his voice.

Derek could feel the ship come to life as he braced himself at the center table. A moment later, he was on his controls, tweaking the impotent sensors. Finally at full power, Derek found himself reaching for the handholds at his station as the engines ignited. The ship leapt forward as if scalded.

"Ayana, can you confirm I.D. of incoming ship? Where's our Vipers?" he called out as the ship continued to barrel away from the intruder.

"Contact is still too far out for I.D." Ayana answered stoically. She checked the screen to her left, "CAP is approaching from the far side of the fleet, they should be in range in fifteen seconds."

"Thank you," he answered crisply, "Helm, keep the speed on until we have confirmed I.D." He turned his attention to the ship's captain, "Mr. Persea, status of the landing deck?" he asked cautiously.

Abel turned to face him, "Deck is clear, we are ready to recover our birds, Captain."

"Very good," he replied tensely.

Agonizing seconds passed as the crew waited for the Vipers to close.

Derek watched the overhead screens, focused on the incoming ship and the four fighters closing on it. Finally, with a disarming tone, the icon changed from 'Unknown' to 'Raptor 615'. Still, he waited for confirmation, if it were a trick...

The speakers came to life, "This is Kat, visual confirmation, incoming Raptor".

Racetrack's voice sounded next, "Raptor 615 to Argentum Bay Control, we are inbound request permission to dock."

Derek smiled as he recognized her voice, "Glad your back 615, code is Sea-Bucks." he said easily.

He only had to wait a moment for the pilot to respond to the challenge, "Wildcats rule."

Derek breathed out in relief. "Mr. Persea, incoming ship has verified challenge, we have visual and DRADIS confirmation from the CAP. That's our Raptor."

"Thank the gods," the Chief Mate breathed, visibly relieved. "Helm, reduce engine speed to one quarter. Engineering, secure the FTL drive. Comms, inform the fleet that the contact is friendly and instruct all ships to return to their previous station."

Derek waited as the bridge officers acknowledged his orders before switching one screen to focus on the Raptor approaching from aft.

"Mr. Persea, confirm deck is ready for the incoming ship."

Abel checked his board and quickly answered, "Deck is ready, Captain Robinaux."

Ayana toggled her mic, "Raptor 615, you are cleared for hands on approach to Argentum Bay Ventral Flight Pod. Make your speed your 102, Elevator # 2. Call the ball."

"This is Raptor 615; I have the ball Argentum Bay." Racetrack called back professionally. A minute later, she had landed and was being taxied into the hangar bay.

Derek looked to Ayanna, "Tell them I will meet them in the Pilots Lounge for a quick debriefing. Mr. Persea, you have the conn." He didn't wait for their response, instead he turned to the hatch, quickly making his way to the far side of the ship.

Derek was sitting in one of the comfortable vinyl chairs when the two pilots, helmets in hand, pushed through the hatch. Exhaustion hung on them like a wet towel. The top half of their flight suits were tied around their waists, their hair was grimy and slicked into a shell pressed tight to their skulls. Their dog tags seemed stuck to their sweat covered tank tops. He regretted not allowing them the courtesy to shower before the debriefing, but he didn't want to wait for their report. At the very least he could meet them here, he thought. He rose to meet Lt. Edmondson; she approached him with a sealed manila envelope in her hand.

"Thank you, Lieutenant, please take a seat."

He returned to his seat and leaned forward in anticipation as the pilots sat heavily in the chairs across from him.

Racetrack leaned forward too, matching the captain's attention. "The Commander reviewed your summary and asked me to extend his compliments on the success so far. He has agreed to extend the mission for another three days."

Derek leaned back, relaxing at the approval of his request. "Good. Anything else?" he asked.

Racetrack shook her head, "No sir. The Commander's formal orders and updated rendezvous coordinates are in the packet."

Derek rose to dismiss the pilots. "That will be all then. Thank you, grab a shower, some grub, and rack time."

The two pilots climbed out of their seats and casually saluted before turning and heading for the hatch.

Derek returned to the seat a moment later. He opened the envelope, smiling as he reviewed the orders. Three days, enough time to complete their mission. He hopped out of the chair with renewed vigor and made his way back to the bridge, anxious to get back to work.

End of Chapter 5