Author's comment: Deleted the call sign due to a change in ideas.

Update: I made a small mistake at the end, should be corrected now.


Scorpion Fleet Shipyards, Complex C

After completing the post-landing checklist and handing off the raptor to the responsible technician, he took out his 'mailbag' -the revised and updated version of the standard dufflebag for courier missions. It had an internal tracking device, as well anti-magnetic and anti-RFID coating to shield electronic devices in case they needed to be transported. What differentiated the new from the old was the addition of a small computing device, thus allowing the usage of biometrics as a security measure on top of the previously present 2-lock system. It also meant, that in urgent or ermegency cases, the correct override code would allow quick access to the contents of the bag.

After securing the bag to his body, he left the raptor to make his way to his destination.

The sheer size of Scorpion Fleet Shipyards, one of -if not the fleet's main docking and production facilities- never ceased to amaze him. Consisting of 4 main complexes (with a fifth one in the planning phase), supported by several smaller complexes, the Shipyards were the main axis of all naval traffic passing through Helios Gamma, both military and civilian. With each of the main complexes being several kilometers long and wide, the Shipyards had become a constant guest in the night sky of their home planet, Scorpia. Its constant complement of personnel was in the tens of thousand, with 2/3 of those being service members of the Colonial Navy. The remaining third were civilians, responsible for the civilian terminals that were connected to the Command & Control center. Permanent personnel referred to it as command, while incoming vessels and traffic referred to it as control or Scorpia control.

Hypnos had been cleared to Complex C. He had hoped to receive a landing clearance for Complex A, as it was the closest to the command center. With the amount of traffic present however, he hadn't been given that clearance. Fortunately, the shipyards had an advanced transit system, allowing quick transportation from any point to another, no matter how far apart they were. This was achieved thanks to a massive monorail system, which was originally built for transporting cargo during the early days of the Shipyards. By current day however, it had transformed into a mixed-use platform.

After a short wait on the platform, he boarded the correct train and sat down in one of the free seats. The train was not empty, but it was not jam-packed either. Then again, considering it was late afternoon on the station, he did not expect it to be rush hour either. That happened and passed while he was waiting in the approach pattern, waiting for his permission to land. A jolt signalled the moving of the train.

'Next halt: Complex C, Battlestar berths A. Doors open on the left.'

Arriving at the next station, he watched on as some technicians exited, while several groups of officers and non-comms boarded. Looking at their shoulder patches, he saw the patches of the battlestars Solaria andYashuman. Not recognizing the names, he gathered that those must have been new battlestars, coming from their shakedown cruises. The fleet was going through a modernization period to replace older vessels from the cylon war and modernize others. And according to rumors, they had put out a design competition for a new generation of battlestar.

Not that it was relevant for him anyway; he was stuck playing mailman and flying raptors. And he doubted the arrival of a new, revolutionary generation of raptors. There had been attempts, but the beige and boxy spacecraft had proven itself to be more than a match for any new design seeking to replace it. It held a reputation as being the best thing to ever come out of Aerilon. But it did not mean the raptor was left to its fate. There had been upgrades, both internally and externally. The newer raptors replaced the H-tail with two separate vertical stabilizers and received newer, more powerful engines at the cost of interior space. But they still ran on the same 50 year old platform as the first raptor to come off of the production line of Aerilon Aerospace. Battlestars were slated to receive them first, with other vessels receiving them next, while stationary bases and planet-based units would receive them second-to-last and last respectively. Not that he was complaining. He might have added some... slightly unsanctioned modifications to his own raptor over the past 3 years.

The train moved again, and soon left the complex. As it already happened previously, some people entered and others left at each station. This time though, a familiar face showed itself in the crowd. Familiar - but not welcome. Its owner promotly took the neighboring seat.

"Long time no see, Marcus. When was the last time we saw each other?" He asked with a smug look. "What the frak do you want?" Came the prompt answer. "Woah there mister grumpy. Are you not happy to see me, your old buddy?"

"We're not buddies. And if we were, you'd be a really shitty one, Holt." The last thing he had wanted was to see an acquaintance during his courier run. As the commander of a squadron of couriers, he mainly dealt with paperwork and briefings, but clearance level 0 and 1 documents had to be handled by him. That meant that once a week he'd come back to a mountain of paperwork after 6h of flying through the Cyrannus Cluster. A good mood would be challenging to come across on such a day for him.

"You break my heart, Marcus. I thought we were buddies!" Holt seemed to be in quite the jovial mood in comparison. "The new rank looks good on you, Captain." Holt gave him a lax 2 finger salute. He had evidently gotten under Marcus' skin. "You throw me under the bus and throw me to the hounds, then go silent for 3 years. And now, out of nowhere, you reappear to play buddy buddy with me. Don't try to play the fool with me. What the frak do you want? And you better not play around. If you do, so help me the Gods I'll beat the frak out of you. Right here, right now" He said more forcefully than he wanted to.

"Wow, we're so serious today! Crazy." Leaning closer, he said "Anyway amigo, you're being reactivated to limited status, whether you like it or not. Wallace's orders." The only answer Holt received was a grunt. "That only means good news for you though. I don't want to give you any hope, but your days of playing postman could soon come to an end."

That piece of information had him contemplate. Did Holt mean it? 'Or are they making a fool out of me again?' He didn't have an answer. "You wouldn't know by any chance what will happen after my postman days? With all my grievances, I'd still rather be the delivery man than the janitor."

"No, I don't know, I swear. The folks back at sentinel just asked me if I could pass the message along to you. I'm here for a different reason." The train came to a stop and Holt got out of his seat. "It was nice seeing you again Marcus." Holt disappeared into the masses.

Soon he reached his own stop, 'Complex A, Command Center'. After clearing the checkpoint to enter the military area, he made his way to the Senior officers compound. Said compound was present on most major space complexes, and acted as a separate and isolated area reserved only for department heads, commanding officers of docked ships, as well as the Admiral and/or Commander in charge of the station. Accessing the compound entailed a further security and clearance check. He finally made it to the officer in charge of reception. Repeating his previous recognition codes, he was let through. From there, an aide led him to the CIC, where he was scheduled to exchange the communiques with the officer in charge. A quick salute and introduction later, they began the exchange.

"It's been a busy one this time." The commander said, looking rather bored at the large pile of files now present on the plotting table. "Indeed sir." came the response "However, I took the liberty to organize the communiques a little. Most deal with personnel changes and material deliveries. The most important messages you want to look at came from SecDef in Caprica and KobolHQ on Picon, as well as a personal message for Admiral Thornton."

"Very well. Thank you for the heads up. Lieutenant Morgan, our communications officer, will organize the communiques you'll transport with you." The lieutenant in question approached the plotting table, carrying an air of no-nonsense with her. The commander in charge left them to attend to other duties.

"Lieutenant Morgan reporting, Sir!" The lieutenant gave him a stiff, but sharp salute. "At ease lieutenant. I might look like it, but I don't bite." He hadn't looked happy much in the past 3 years. "Let's go through the stuff, anything important?" He asked. "No sir, seems to be the standard stuff."

"Interesting accent you got there. South Leonis, no?"

"The Admiral expects you in his ready room, sir." Was all she answered. "Not very talkative, are we?" He asked. Seeing that he was not getting a reaction out of her at all, he gave up. "Alright, alright. I guess we're going to the Admiral then."

After securing the communiques, he was led to the ready room. After saluting, the lieutenant left them room. "Captain Orion reporting as expected, sir." After a short pause, he continued. "There was a personal message from HQ for you, sir. I am here to deliver it."

Thornton took delivery of the message, opened and read it. "So you're Marcus." He said. "Sentinel seems to have a mission for you."

"You know Sentinel, sir?" Orion hesitated, he felt tense, unsure of where the conversation would go. "Yes, I know Sentinel. However, I'm only affiliated, not a member. Then again, I'm the boss here. Anything that happens here has to go through me first in some capacity, and that includes the activity of entities such as Sentinel." He mentioned for Leventis to sit, opened and read the file.

The Admiral then poured them both a glass of water, offering the first one. "I'm afraid there isn't much information on here that I can give you. You are to report back here in one week and take your posting as the CIC operations officer on the 'Celestia'. It's a temporary posting; you'll be sent back to your unit or somewhere else afterwards. And that's essentially it." Drinking out of the second glass, he continued "You'll most probably find the vessel docked at Complex D once it's time. And with that, you're dismissed."

"Before leaving, there is a question I want to ask. Permission to speak freely, Sir?"

"Go ahead, Captain."

"Has your comms officer always acted like a toaster in a human body?"

The Admiral laughed and dismissed him from the ready room.


Alright folks. This is chapter 2. Finished much later than I expected it to, but I'm still finding my way with writing. Is it the best story you'll ever read? Probably not, but I hope you still enjoy my work.

I wanted to create some kind of world building first before jumping into the story proper. At the same time I don't have much planned out. All I know is that this story is currently happening roughly 30 years after the armistice, but I might still play around with that date a little.

The whole thing of transporting the very important documents in-person is to show the slight weariness the Colonials still have towards more advanced technology due to the cylon war. However, I'm also thinking of showcasing (much?) more advanced technology than the TV series showed us. But that is all for further in the future.

And Sentinel is a Section 31 esque organization (the Star Trek: Enterprise kind, not the Discovery kind)

The CIC Operations Officer is essentially the third in command of a vessel; the person who takes command of CIC and by extension the ship on the third watch. Its essentially another one of the extended roles Lt. Gaeta had in the TV series. Lets be honest, Gaeta's role went that little bit further than being just the tactical officer.

Also, I try to find as much data as possible from the BSG wikis and canon & canon-ish sources. The rest I either make up or take from other good quality sources, like analyses done by other fans of the franchise.

I'll be happy to read your comments for both praise and criticism.