Battlestar Galactica: The Rift
Chapter 6. Setting Course for the Promised Land
Fleet Rendezvous; Prolmar Sector. Day 77.
Derek stood at the center table, still gripping the handrail that he had used for support as the ship jumped back to the fleet. His mission a success, he watched with satisfaction as the ships of the fleet emerged on the DRADIS screen.
"Captain, wireless message from Galactica," the communications officer called out.
Derek reached for his headset and then stopped. "Put it on speaker, Mr. Barenton."
"Aye sir, on speakers."
The speakers popped as the audio connected.
"Galactica Actual to Argentum Bay. Report," the Commander called out, his voice sounding like well-worn leather.
"This is Argentum Bay Actual. Mission successful," he answered proudly.
"Welcome home and good work," Adama responded, a mixture of relief and satisfaction evident in his voice.
Derek relaxed as the Commander signed off from the wireless.
Lt. Dualla's voice replaced the Commander's a few moments later. It was the mundane traffic control and formation data that the fleet needed. Derek left the wireless connection open for the bridge crew to hear anyway. They were home, and he wanted the crew to fully take part in their return.
Fifteen minutes later, Argentum Bay had taken position at the left flank of the fleet. Derek watched multiple screens at once. In addition to the center DRADIS monitor and the systems monitors, additional screens tracked all the other countless operations occurring onboard. One screen of particular interest to Derek tracked the Vipers and Raptors as they launched one after another returning to Galactica. A second monitor detailed the activities of the loading crew as they reorganized and inventoried the materials salvaged from the doomed Fifth Fleet. He called the data from that screen to the monitor on his table. He spent a minute pouring over it before he grudgingly acknowledged that this was the task that he needed to focus on. He quickly gathered the files he needed and transferred them to his office.
"Captain Williams," he called out. "I'll be in my quarters; you have the conn."
"Aye, sir," she responded.
Argentum Bay; Captain's Cabin.
Derek's head hurt, he had spent the last two hours reviewing, compiling, and cataloging every item salvaged from the Fifth Fleet into a coherent report for review by the Commander. Satisfied with his efforts he sent it to the Commander, as well as Captain Williams and Chief Tyrol. He looked it over one more time, making sure he would be ready for his recall to Galactica. Unable to sleep, he grabbed one of the many engineering manuals for the ship. He looked at the title and groaned, "Load allocation, attenuation, and range parameters for the Ingenium Carpi Armature System."
He flipped past the table of contents and stopped at a detailed diagram of a large and complex derrick that was mounted to the ventral side of the primary hull. It was an impressive bit of engineering, both incredibly strong and nimble. As he studied the diagram more, he became more and more impressed with the crew that flew this remarkable ship.
Three quick knocks to the hatch stirred him from his reverie.
"Enter," he called out roughly.
He waited as the door pushed in, revealing Abel Persea and Chief Tyrol.
"Hey, guys. What's up?" he asked, silently hoping that they didn't want to discuss his report.
"'hought we have a celebratory drink, Cap'n. What with a successful mission and all." Abel responded. He was holding a glass jar filled with a clear liquid, gently rocking it back and forth for emphasis.
Derek took the jar and looked at its contents critically. Cautiously, he unscrewed the top and took a tentative whiff.
"Wheew!" he exclaimed; his senses temporarily overwhelmed by the potent smell of alcohol. He looked at the jar a second time. "Abel are you sure that's not one of your degreasers?" he asked, kidding.
"It's the Chief here's recipe. This came from your ship, not mine. Galen did set up a still, uh, but our first batch in'it ready yet, sir." he answered defensively.
Derek watched the Chief's mouth open in horror.
"Abel, it's fine." He paused a second, "As long as Galen will sign off on it and take the first shot."
Galen chuckled nervously; technically stills were illegal. "This batch came out a bit stronger than others, but it's safe."
"Then I definitely think we've earned it," Derek affirmed.
Derek held onto the jar, hoping one of them would produce a shot glass. When none appeared, he tilted the jar towards the Chief Mate and offered a quick salute.
"Abel, thank you for allowing us the use of this fine ship. You made it easy, and I appreciate that."
Abel met Derek's gaze, "Well, it wasn't like anyone give me a choice." he growled in response. "Still, I'm thankful you weren't an arse."
Derek tipped the jar again and took a healthy swig.
It felt like he was on fire. He squeezed his eyes shut and coughed as the potent liquor burned through him. "Gods!" he cried out. Finally recovered, he handed the jar to Abel before fixing Tyrol with a mock stern expression. "Don't let Tigh anywhere near this."
Galen's face turned red and a moment later he bent his head as belly-rolling laughter overtook him.
Abel grimaced as he took a pull from the jar. He squeezed his eyes closed and his face turned red as he swallowed the liquid. "Yah, that's strong stuff," he agreed a moment later.
For the next couple of hours, the three men exchanged stories, mostly leaving the jar of liquor untouched. Finally, Derek announced that he needed to hit the rack and bid his shipmates goodnight. He was meeting with the Commander in the morning and needed to be sharp.
B.T.-12 SHUTTLE 2.
Rebecca tried to relax in the co-pilot's seat as they made their way towards Colonial-One. Any relief that she had felt upon returning to the fleet had evaporated at the unexpected summons by the President.
The space in and around the fleet was buzzing with shuttles going back and forth between ships. Looking out of the canopy, she tracked a shuttle exiting the Zephyr and wondered if it was returning citizens to her ship. A sense of pride filled her as she watched the ship steam towards its destination. The souls that called the Bill Thurston-12 home relied on her and trusted her with their lives. The responsibility she carried was both humbling and overwhelming.
She jumped slightly as Marsha tapped her shoulder.
"We're approaching Colonial-One, Captain," the young pilot said quietly.
"Thanks," she answered.
She turned her focus on the small blue passenger ferry that now served as the executive office of what remained of their society. An intra-system liner that was designed for short local trips, not for the unending interstellar pilgrimage that had been forced on them. Frankly, she was amazed that the ship was still functioning. The jump drive it possessed was more of an afterthought, by all rights it should have been used up by now. Despite all they had been through, the ship, and the souls inside, persisted.
She watched as Marsha brought the shuttle alongside the beleaguered liner. Their ship matched speed before spinning on its axis, effortlessly aligning with the assigned airlock. With a quick puff from the reaction control thrusters, the ship came to a stop two meters from the hull. A low vibration rolled behind them as the shuttle's airlock extended, gently reaching out towards the liner. A moment later, the ship shuddered as the two ships joined.
Marsha studied one of the monitors on her console, waiting for the sensors to confirm that the airlocks were secured.
"BT-12 Shuttle-2 to Colonial-One. Hard-Seal established with airlock P-1. Requesting permission to come aboard." Marsha called through the com system.
The familiar voice of the man who commanded the President's ship sounded through the speakers. "This is Captain Neumann, Hard-Seal confirmed, permission to come aboard is granted."
Marsha turned to Rebecca, a satisfied smile on her face, "Ready when you are skipper."
Rebecca pushed through the heavy airlock to find a tall thin dark-skinned woman waiting for them. Her thick black hair framed her sharp eyes. She was impeccably dressed, wearing a trim navy suit complete with heels, both of which were in impossibly good condition. The intriguing woman met her eyes and took a step toward her.
"Captain Davenport, welcome aboard. I'm Tory Foster, aide to the President. She is finishing up a meeting, she will meet with you immediately after. If you and your pilot follow me, there are refreshments available in the lobby while you wait.
"Thank you, that sounds good," Rebecca answered easily. It was a short walk through the corridor before they entered a small and simply decorated windowless compartment. Looking over it quickly, Rebecca suspected that it was a storage closet before the fall.
Marsha was sitting down in one of the two cushioned armchairs. She was carefully placing a glass of water and a small plate with two biscuits on the small table next to her.
Rebecca turned back and looked up at their host. "Can you tell me what this is about?" she asked.
Tory's face softened, "I can't." she said regretfully. She looked at the door quickly and then back to Rebecca. "It shouldn't be long. I," she paused uneasily, "I have duties that I need to attend to. If you need anything, dial nine on the phone; otherwise, someone will fetch you when the President is ready."
Rebecca nodded in assent; "Thank you."
Rebecca watched as the young aide turned and exited the compartment. She made her way to the counter and filled a cup with water from the cooler. She looked to find Marsha watching her.
"You look like you're expecting to be dressed-down skipper," she said plainly.
"No, I just don't like being led around," she answered quietly.
"Hell, they're probably giving you an award," Marsha replied.
Rebecca scoffed at the thought. She stopped to look at a painting on the wall. The subject was a flower with six pale white petals and long bright yellow stamens in the center against a soft blue background. It was a copy of a famous painting from before the war, no doubt the original was vaporized in the attack. Before the fall, she wouldn't have given it a second look. Today she was stuck in a barren room, what else was she supposed to look at?
She turned back to her pilot, "We'll know soon enough." She refilled her cup and carefully sat down on the other chair. She looked at Marsha again, she suspected her pilot was the reason for this meeting. She took a sip from her cup, she was brooding and needed to get control of her emotions.
The President's bushy-haired and far too young Chief of Staff pushed into the cramped anteroom. He found Rebecca at once and turned to her.
"Ah, Ms. Davenport." he started. "The President is ready for you; if you'll follow me."
"Of course, and my pilot?" she asked.
The young man looked at the pilot before turning his attention back to Rebecca. "Umm, I'm sorry, but only your presence is required for this meeting."
He turned to face the young woman, he'd seen her before but hadn't bothered to learn her name. "Ms..."
"Marsha," she answered quickly.
"Right, Marsha. You're welcome to wait here, or if you'd like I can have someone to take you to the galley if you'd prefer."
"I just press nine, correct?" she asked easily.
Billy stammered "Yes, that's correct." Billy responded, stammering slightly.
He turned to Rebecca, "If you'll follow me."
Rebecca stopped when she saw the Commander waiting in the office with the President. This confirmed her fears, they were here for Marsha. Clearly, her piloting skills had not gone unnoticed by the Viper and Raptor pilots during the salvage mission.
"Welcome, Rebecca," the President had a warm smile stretched across her face.
"Madam President," she answered. Rebecca turned to Bill Adama who was standing to the side. "Commander."
"Captain Davenport, good to see you," he said quietly.
"Please sit, and we can get straight to it," she said.
Rebecca sat down and faced the President. "How can I be of help, Madam President, Commander?" she asked.
The President flashed a brief glance to the Commander, before clearing her throat.
"As you know Ms. Davenport, the Argentum Bay is in need of a permanent captain."
"Yes ma'am," she said. She tried to hide her surprise as she looked from the President to the Commander and back again.
"We would like for you to be the new Commanding Officer," Adama said in an understated tone.
"Me," she stammered.
The President was still smiling, her eyes seemed to be dancing with delight. "The Commander and I both agree that you are the most qualified candidate for this role."
Rebecca doubted that.
"I already have a ship, ma'am," she stated plainly
"Yes, you do," she answered. "You also have a very experienced Executive Officer, able to take over in your stead. Am I wrong in that regard?" the President asked.
"No ma'am, Parah is up for the job," she responded.
The President rubbed her hands together, "Excellent!"
She paused, beaming at Rebecca. "The last few weeks have been an extremely trying time for the crew of the Argentum Bay and we feel that an experienced and steady hand is needed now."
"Madam President, if stability is what the crew needs, why not promote Chief Mate Persea to the post?" she asked.
"Captain Davenport, may I call you Rebecca?" the Commander asked.
"Yes, of course, Commander," she answered.
"Rebecca, the President, and I have discussed this extensively. While we have every confidence in Mr. Persea's abilities, he was just recently promoted to Chief Mate. In short, he lacks command experience. The President and I feel that he is best suited to remain in his current post. There are also political considerations."
Rebecca looked back at the President for confirmation.
Laura studied Rebecca with a determined expression, "He served under Meirer for three years, we can't simply ignore that."
"There are other details that we need to disclose." the Commander added.
"Such as," she asked dubiously.
The Commander shared a long look with the President before returning his attention to Rebecca.
"We have decided to arm the Argentum Bay with anti-aircraft batteries; there will be a team of gunners stationed on board. They will be commanded by Captain Williams," he stated carefully.
Rebecca crossed her arms and felt her ire rise. "And who is in command of this ship? Me or Captain Williams."
"You will command the ship," he said sternly. "In addition to commanding the gunnery crews, I would ask that Captain Williams serve as your chief of security, and with your approval as your second officer."
"And the crew, are they aware of the designs you have for their ship?" she asked.
Laura looked down at her desk, she wasn't smiling. "We wanted to talk with you first," she answered softly.
"Captain," the Commander addressed Rebecca, "You weren't my first choice. The President convinced me that you are in fact, the best choice. Perhaps, the only choice for this command. To be blunt Captain, we need you to take this position."
"Captain," Laura paused, "Rebecca, you provide a bridge between the government, the military, and the citizens that we need. Since the fall, you have distinguished yourself as an independent and honest broker."
Rebecca looked at the Commander then the President. "Well, it seems like you have everything sorted." She fixed her gaze on the Commander, "Are you really asking? Do I have a choice?"
Adama met her gaze, "The decision is yours." he affirmed.
Rebecca closed her eyes and rested her head in her hand, contemplating her decision. Her mindset, she looked up and faced the President. "I accept."
The three remained in the President's office for over an hour. Huddled over a computer monitor and a legal pad, the three plotted the transfer of command, they reviewed the senior officer's files, and the details for the planned refit.
Rebecca stared stoically through the canopy as the shuttle returned to Bill Thurston. Her mood further soured as she focused on her ship, growing in size as they approached. A pit of doubt grew in her belly, and she couldn't help feeling as if she was abandoning the vessel that saved her and her "new" family from the Cylon armageddon.
Initially, excited at the news of her new post, Marsha had peppered her with a barrage of questions. Rebecca had responded to Marsha's effervescence with a curt admonishment to keep the news to herself. She secreted a glance at the pilot next to her. Marsha was unnecessarily focused on her console. Her expression was hardened and distant. 'Dammit,' she thought silently. Five minutes later they were taxiing into their hangar slot.
Battlestar Galactica – Primus Squadron Administrative Office.
Derek looked over the notes on his desk and tried to match them to the inventory on his monitors. Each of his three monitors was a jumble of spreadsheets and parts databases, the desk below was littered with roughly organized stacks of maintenance notes from Chief Tyrol. Having served as CAG on the Odin before the fall, Derek was well accustomed to bureaucracy and paperwork. But this, he thought, was more than any pilot should be able to bear. He couldn't get cleared for flight duty soon enough, he resolved grimly.
Bill Thurston-12, Wardroom
"Congratulations, Captain Hammonds and Chief-Mate Banners." Rebecca extolled.
She sat on the end of the table, silently watching as her senior officers absorbed the news of her transfer and their promotions.
"This is, well, a surprise," Parah said quietly. He furrowed his brows in thought as he absorbed the news. "When is all this happening, Rebecca?"
"Nineteen-hundred hours, tomorrow," she answered quietly.
Parah raised his eyebrows in surprise. "That soon?" he asked.
Rebecca shrugged. "Yeah," she paused. "The Bay lost their Captain and Chief Mate at Kobol, Abel Persea has been acting C.O."
Parah closed his eyes, picturing the acting C.O. in his mind. "He's been second officer for what, three years, now?"
Rebecca nodded in agreement.
"No offense, Rebecca, but he's a lot more familiar with the ship than you, or anyone else for that matter. Why not promote him to C.O. and bring in a new first mate to learn under him?" Parah asked.
Rebecca smirked, "Sounds like you're pining for a new ship."
"No, No, No!" Parah replied hastily. "I like it here, better or worse, this is my home now, family."
Rebecca chuckled under her breath. "That's why I'm glad you're staying." She looked at the two officers, "Honestly, I think they just wanted someone with more command experience," she said plainly.
"And someone they trust…" Marel said darkly.
Parah looked at his new Chief Mate quizzically. "What are you getting at Marel?"
Marel looked at Parah briefly before turning his attention to Rebecca. "Well, Abel was the second officer when Meirer and Duncan led the coup attempt. He served with them for years and remained at their side while Meirer was replacing officers he deemed independent with men and women he thought were loyal to him. So, I'm sure they want someone that they trust completely in command. Especially, since the Bay is one of two ships that the Commander is arming with anti-aircraft batteries."
"They're what?" Parah called out.
"How do you know about that" Rebecca exclaimed incredulously.
Marel gave her an almost dismissive look. "Please, I'm the comm. officer, I hear things."
Rebecca chuckled lightly. 'Of course, he knew' she realized. Marel may be quiet and meek, she thought, but he is also clever and sneaky.
"Taking anyone with you?" Parah asked.
"Camp," she paused, "Well, I haven't asked him yet," she added.
"Figured," Parah responded. "So, I have to find a new sheriff, too," he said ruefully.
Rebecca chuckled at that, "I'm sure you'll muddle through."
The three chatted for an hour before Rebecca sent them off. Alone in her cabin, she slowly looked the room over. She cataloged every scuff, scratch, and stain on the bulkhead and struggled to match each with the event that caused the mark. After a while, she closed her eyes and resigned herself to the task at hand. Rebecca looked at the stack of empty boxes and sighed. She grabbed a suitcase and began emptying her dresser.
Argentum Bay; Hangar Bay
Rebecca stepped down from the shuttle onto the deck of her ship. Her new home, she reminded herself. Abel and Brona Vaerge, the Chief Engineer, waited for them along the bulkhead.
"Now or never, right?" she whispered to Camp, standing next to her.
He nodded in agreement.
Rebecca took a tentative step forward, only to stop a moment later to adjust her pants. Rebecca had always hated her dress whites. Confining and scratchy, now three months after the fall, she was thirty pounds lighter and felt like she was swimming in the ornate uniform. She much preferred the softer and more pliable material of her coveralls from the B.T.-12.
"Permission to come aboard?" she asked as she met the officers midway in the compartment.
"Granted, and welcome, Captain." The two shook hands briefly. "This way," the Chief Mate said indicating to the hatch. "Ship's registrar is waitin' for us in the wardroom."
Rebecca paused as Camp studied the oversized passageways and hatches on their new ship.
"Nice," he said quietly. "I won't have to duck between Emergency Airlocks."
Rebecca nodded in understanding. At just 1.5 meters tall this hadn't been an issue for her as she fit through all but the smallest hatches on the B.T.-12. Camp, and other taller crewmen, had to duck between frames to avoid banging their heads while traversing their old ship; there had even been a few concussions she recalled. The corridors weren't just large, she observed, they were also brightly lit, and immaculately clean. The crew obviously took pride in their ship and work. She would make sure that the crew understood that she expected the same care and attention to detail as their previous Captain.
The wardroom was located on the dorsum of the ship, just forward of the galley. Large clear aluminum panels on both sides of the compartment provided stunning views of the stars outside. The room was elegant, if not luxuriously appointed. A stunning dark wood and marble table dominated the compartment. Surrounding it were four equally graceful individual workstations.
The remainder of the senior officers and department heads were waiting for them. They looked up as Abel escorted their new Captain. To her surprise, Tom Zarek, the Quorum delegate from Sagittaron was already walking towards her.
"Rebecca, congratulations," he called to her, his hand already extended.
"Delegate Zarek, this is a surprise," Rebecca responded, taking his proffered hand.
"Please, it's Tom," he said, shaking her hand warmly. "I hope it's okay that I'm here. I asked Abel to officiate the installation."
Argentum Bay; Captain's Quarters
The commissioning ceremony had been refreshingly brief. Rebecca had expected Delegate Zarek to use the affair to self-aggrandize, to proselytize, to call her crew to his cause. Instead, he followed the script that was handed to him. He had been polite, succinct, and boring. She had been both surprised and relieved. Even better he had brought his lovely assistant Evelyn with him. Evelyn remained onboard after the ceremony and she and Rebecca had shared a meal before catching a shuttle back to the Astral Queen.
Rebecca studied the monitor on her desk, ignoring the packed boxes that littered the deck. Technically, she wasn't on duty, she should have been setting up her office, but there wasn't time for such personal errands. Her ship, that still sounded weird to her, was preparing to take possession of a score of Raptors, drones, and various computer systems recovered from the remnants of the Fifth Fleet. She wasn't sure how it would go, the equipment they collected was fifty years old, and there was no way to know if they could update the gear to modern standards. She stared at the spreadsheets and transfer orders sent from Galactica and began to organize the equipment for repairs. It took two hours, but she was happy with the results and with the flick of her wrist she sent the itinerary to Chief Mate Persea for review and suggestions. She reached forward, closing that folder and opening a new one.
Rebecca grimaced as she reviewed the ship upgrades that Commander Adama had scheduled to be completed on the ship. The tasks to be completed stretched the entire length of the screen. Reluctantly, she scrolled through the list, skimming over each item until she finally reached the end. Sighing in resignation, she scrolled back to the top of the list and opened the first file. Rebecca waited a moment for the folder to load. She stared at the report blankly, seeing nothing. Exhausted, she turned the screen off and turned her attention to the closest box. Grabbing it, she pulled it towards her to open it. She looked at the label, "Fleet Organization and Operational Protocols."
"Screw this," she said to herself, pushing the box away.
Standing up, she grabbed her binoculars and pushed out of her cabin. She made her way to the wardroom. Arriving she walked to the forwardmost panel on the starboard side. She gazed through the oversized port, two stars and a nebula that she recognized caught her attention. She stared at them for a few moments, uncertainty creeping towards her. She turned and headed towards a cabinet on the far wall. Opening it, she looked over the few bottles of liquor that remained inside. She grabbed a tumbler and a bottle of brandy. Rebecca knew she shouldn't, but she poured two fingers of the amber liquid anyway. She pulled a chair behind her as she returned to the starboard panel. Sitting down, she took a careful sip from the glass. Now she just had to find it, she knew it was out there, and visible. It took an hour and a second glass of brandy, but she found it. Shining brilliantly in the void, she stared at their home. Or at least what had been before the Cylons ruined everything.
The End
Thank you for taking the time to read this latest edition of my story. I hope you enjoyed it. I am several chapters into the next installment, and hopefully, it will be worth the wait.