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 Post subject: Episode 15: Before the Storm
PostPosted: Fri Sep 15, 2006 10:51 pm 
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Battlestar Libra’s Fleet
Day 75 Time 1730
CPO Alexandra MacLean and Cpl Frankie Laffitte

Mac and Frankie were curled up together in one chair in Deck Two’s observation lounge. The chair was fairly comfortable, and even though it was made for just one person, Frankie didn’t mind having Mac sitting sideways on his lap.

“This is a public place,” she said into his ear, tapping him on top of the head with her forefinger.

“Oui!” he exclaimed, his arms around her; he tried to look down her shirt. “Exactly what I was going to say, ma petite! But if you keep on wiggling around, I will have to carry you off to a non-public place and—,” he pulled her head down and whispered in her ear.

“You better!” she said, laughing, but she stopped wiggling. Settled into his arms, she turned her head to look out the observation window. She sighed softly, contentment tinged with a little melancholy. “Seeing the stars like this reminds me of home,” she said softly. “I miss… I miss…” she stopped. There were too many things to list.

“What do you miss, mon coeur?” Frankie asked her tenderly.

“I miss driving!” she exclaimed suddenly.

“Driving?” he asked, taken aback. He had expected her to say her parents, or one of her brothers. “You miss driving?”

She sighed and nodded, her head against the side of his shoulder. “My brother Gordie and I used to race in cross-country rallies. We’d take turns, driving… sometimes, I’d use the stars to guide me, when I was driving at night.”

“You drove in races?” Frankie asked, impressed.

“Oh, yes,” she nodded. “We won some, too.”

“I am not surprised,” he hugged her more tightly. “Tell me about driving in a race.”

“Driving in a race,” she murmured. “Okay… I will tell you about the last time we drove in the Sea to Sky 3,000. That’s three thousand kilometers, and it takes… took… five days.”

“Five days?” he asked doubtfully. “That’s only 600 kilometers a day!”

She snorted. “Cross country, you ninny. No roads! And besides, it’s run in stages.”

“Ahhh,” he nodded. “Of course. Tell me about driving on no roads.”

Warm and comfortable in his arms, she began to tell him about the Sea to Sky 3,000.

“It was the summer before I joined the Navy,” she said. “Four… four and a half years ago…”


Last edited by GoldWolf on Sat Sep 23, 2006 8:11 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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PostPosted: Fri Sep 15, 2006 10:51 pm 
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Four and a half years before the storm
Aerelon
Sea to Sky 3,000 cross-country endurance rally
Alexandra and Gordon MacLean

Alex wasn’t driving as fast as she wanted, but it was dark, and this leg of the race, across the southern arm of the Loftaine desert, was especially hard on the car. The headlights seemed to cut through the darkness as sharply as a knife. In the passenger seat next to her was her brother Gordon, sound asleep in spite of the constant pounding from the rough ground.

Their rally car, a four-wheel drive car licensed to drive on the street, had been modified to stand up to such punishment… usually. They’d lost time because the car had punctured a radiator hose earlier in the day; a real fluke, a sharp rock had been kicked up by one of the tires and somehow holed the steel-braided hose. Repairs had taken too much time, and they had to reach the next checkpoint by 6 in the morning, or they’d be too far behind in the points to have any chance at finishing in the top five.

So Alex was driving as quickly as she dared over the irregular terrain. She wasn’t going too fast, though, to see several large, dark shapes a short distance ahead, and she braked carefully, looking for a way around the obstacles.

The obstacles suddenly became vehicles, trucks, as several sets of headlights came on, shining through the windshield and temporarily blinding Alex. She slowed the car, squinting, and stopped it, leaving the engine running but setting the parking brake.

She released her safety harness and got out of the car.

“Hmm? How come we’re stopped?” Gordon woke up, sitting straighter in the passenger seat, and shading his eyes to look out. He blinked, wondering if he was still asleep and dreaming…or maybe it was a nightmare. “Oh, frak!”

Backlit and silhouetted by the truck headlights were about five or six burly men, all of them unmistakably holding rifles.

And slender little Alexandra was walking towards them…


Last edited by GoldWolf on Sat Sep 16, 2006 10:32 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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PostPosted: Fri Sep 15, 2006 11:26 pm 
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12 months before the Storm
Caprica


“Hello, ladies and gentlemen, I’m Kellan Brody,and welcome to ‘The Spotlight’, the weekly interview show of people making news on Caprica.”

The media personality sat up straighter in the plush chair, and the camera zoomed out to reveal that she was seated next to a well dressed man. Today, my guest is Kalrk, the President and CEO of K Industries, and most famously known as the inventor of the EarTunes digital music storage and playback system.”

She smiled at him ans they shook hands. “Thank you for being my guest today, Kalrk.”

‘The pleasure is mine, Kellan. Thank you for this opportunity.” He smile pleasantly.

“Kalrk, you’re a Saggitaron, who built his business complex on Leonis. Why are you here on Caprica?” She smiled sweetly at him.

“Well, Kellan, I had several meetings here on Caprica, including the Board of Directors of the First Caprica Bank and Trust; it seems my company’s stock is rising at a respectable rate.”

“You’re far too modest, Kalrk. K Industries is rocketing beyond anything ever seen1 Eartunes has revolutionized the entertainment industry! Tell us, how did you perfect the minitiarization technology that makes EarTunes the number one digital music system in the twelve Colonies?”

Kalrk raised a hand, even as he chuckled, ‘I’m afraid that my competitors would like to know the answer to that one, Kellan. But I mustn’t go into the details. Let’s just say I’ve had a vast imagination all of my life.” He reached for his glass of wine and took a sip.

Kellan changed the subject. “I must point out to the viewers that we are seated inside the Presidential Suite of the Caprica Grand Resort: the newest, and most elite hotel accommodation on the planet. What is your home like on Leonis?’

“It’s not quite this opulent, I assure you.’ He responded with a gentle smile. “When I’m at work,… it’s business. This is a treat. I think I owe it to myself.”

“Well, Kalrk..” She was almost purring. “… what are you working on now? What next from K Industries?”

“It’s no secret, Kellen.” He put his empty wine glass down on the glass table. “Communications. It’ll be something to do with communications.”


Last edited by Silon on Sun Sep 17, 2006 12:07 am, edited 1 time in total.

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PostPosted: Sat Sep 16, 2006 12:29 am 
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Iasoan
D75 1013

Captain Inga Mueller took her daughter’s bruised, limp hand in her own and brought it to her lips. Against her lips, the pulse was faint as the flutter of butterfly wings.

But it was a pulse.

For the last two days they’d kept guard over her still form, as her tortured body mended, her mind slipping in and out of consciousness.

“Mama?” Her voice was low and hoarse.

“Yes, baby, I’m here.” Inga kissed her hand again, “Are you feeling better?”

“A little.” She closed her eyes again. “Mama, would you… tell me a story?”

“Of course, honey. Which one?” Inga caressed her daughter’s arm tenderly. Ever since she had been allowed to see her daughter, she couldn’t stop looking at her, touching her. They’d been so close to losing her!

“When you and Papa met?”

“Sure…” Inga closed her eyes and remembered many years ago…

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PostPosted: Sat Sep 16, 2006 12:32 am 
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Fourteen years before the storm
Fast Attack Ship “Jumpstar Class” Victor B. Stevens
Planetside Detachment, Virgon

Corporal Christopher White shaded his eyes and watched the next Marine coming through the obstacle course. He didn’t recognize who it was… he’d been assigned to the Stevens MarDet for only two weeks, but a fast attack ship’s MarDet was small, and he thought he’d met everyone already.

“Who’s that, Sarge?” he turned to Sergeant Roman questioningly.

Roman glanced up from the stopwatch he held, then he grinned and showed it to White.

“Holy shit, that’s fast,” White exclaimed. “Who is that?”

“You don’t know who she is?” PFC Nate Lim asked White incredulously; he was still out of breath from his run through the course.

White gave him an exasperated glare.

“That’s Corporal Razorski,” the Sergeant said, still grinning.

White stared at Roman.

“Yeah, the Razorski,” Lim added.

“Frak me,” White murmured, watching Razorski again.

“She might, if you’re lucky,” Roman teased him.

“Or unlucky,” Lim put in, smiling. “Last guy she frakked was never heard from again… they say he’s in rehab somewhere, she frakked his brains out!”

White rolled his eyes. “She didn’t come out here with us this morning…” he said to Sergeant Roman. He’d seen the name on the rosters, but it hadn’t registered that she was that Razorski.

Roman shook his head. “She just got back off leave,” he said. “And the doc had to clear her for duty.”

Slowly, White nodded. He’d heard of the action in Vencelas Province… he didn’t know of any Marine who hadn’t heard of the ‘battle for Boothe Station’. Six weeks ago, the station had been attacked by Bernadino militia, and the Stevens MarDet Recon platoon had ‘chuted in to reinforce the locals. The locals had greatly underestimated the number of attackers they’d reported to the Stevens, and those defending the station were quickly outnumbered and overrun. White had heard all sorts of stories, but one element was common to them all: if it hadn’t been for Razorski, the MarDet Recon would have lost more than just three jarheads, and the total number of Virgon Federal Army troops killed would been a lot higher.

White himself had been assigned to the Stevens’ MarDet as a replacement for one of the Recon members killed. He continued to observe Razorski as she scaled the last wall and raced across the finish line; she slowed and went to look at Roman’s stopwatch.

“Slow,” she grumbled, breathing fast.

“Yeah, right, Ski,” Roman teased her. “It’s what, half a minute slower than your best time?”

She snorted. “Slow,” she repeated.

White was studying her with interest. Well it’s no frakking wonder she held off the ‘Dinos… and I sure wouldn’t mind frakking THAT body…

Ski felt his gaze on her, and looked over at him. She went right over, holding out her hand. “I’m Ski,” she said. “You’re one of the new guys for Recon.”

“Chris White,” he replied, shaking her hand. He noticed she’d nearly caught her breath already.

“Good to have you on board,” she said to him with a nod.

“How’s the leg, Ski?” Lim asked.

“Hurts like a frakkingsumbitch,” she said with a slight grimace, walking around to cool off.

“It’s almost your turn, White,” Roman said.

He nodded, noticing that Razorski was limping slightly, then he went and looked at the Sergeant’s stopwatch. “Gonna try and beat her time?” Roman asked him with humor.

“You can count on it,” White said.

Ski heard him, giving him a level look. Cocky bastard. “Good luck,” she said calmly. If anyone can, though, he looks like he’d be the one… good looking jarhead, too. Question is, does he have… stamina? She kept her amusement hidden. And I don’t mean on the obstacle course!

“Don’t need luck,” he replied with irony. Cocky bitch.

He ran the course faster than he ever had before, and he did beat her time—he even beat her best time, by eighteen seconds.

“Good job, White,” she congratulated him. “Are you up for a rematch?”

He was doubly surprised; first at her forthright admiration of his performance, and also that she wanted to go through the course again. “Are you sure you’re… uh…” he said without thinking, then stopped himself. Lamely, he finished, “I mean, your leg…”

She raised an eyebrow. “The doc cleared me for duty,” she said mildly.

He thought, But that doesn’t mean you should be running the obstacle course over and over, your first day back on duty.

“What’s the matter, afraid I’ll beat you the second time around?” she asked with a glint in her eye.

He groaned mentally. Frak, and I’ve already challenged her… “No,” he said, truthfully. “But I want a fair match.”

She put her hands on her hips, looking at him and grinning slightly. “Eh, you’re just afraid I’ll beat you.”

“Run it as a heat,” Lim said, grinning. “At the same time!”

Razorski walked over to the starting line. White could tell that she was doing her best not to limp. She looked over at him, waiting.

“Ski,” Sergeant Roman said slowly.

She turned to him. “C’mon, Sarge, it’s me,” she said. “We were fighting for three days after I got shot.”

Roman sighed.

“The doc cleared me,” she reminded him.

Roman nodded, and looked at White.

“You’re both nuts,” White declared, but he stepped up to the starting line.

They ran it twice more, and White beat her both times… but the last time, only by a step. “Once more?” she asked him.

“No,” Sergeant Roman said firmly. He glared at Ski. “That’s an order!”

“Yes, Sergeant,” she sighed. She said to White, “Give me a couple weeks to get back up to speed, then I’ll beat you.”

“Oh, we’ll see about that,” he replied. Cocky bitch.

She nodded agreement. Cocky bastard.


Razorski, age 19:
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Chris White, age 20:
Image


Last edited by GoldWolf on Sat Sep 16, 2006 6:31 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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PostPosted: Sat Sep 16, 2006 2:49 am 
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25 years before the attacks
Picon Museum, Picon city, Picon


Some weeks ago Mrs Jones, their class teacher had had the wonderful idea of taking the children to a museum. Of course the children, eleven year old Richard Cole included, had been less than thrilled to hear about that.

And until now, Richards worst fears about this trip had been confirmed....it was boring as Hades! T

heir guide had been talking about the wars between the Colonies, about the exodus from Kobol, even about the Lords of Kobol themselves, but had totally skipped the only topic Richard might have had interest in, the Cylon War.

Which was exactly why he was all alone now...in the museums west wing, that was completely dedicated to the War.

Wide-eyed he slowly ambled between the Fighters, letting his hand wander over the sleek form of a Viper....then standing in front of a captured Cylon Raider feeling in awe of the pilots who even 'dared' to challenge such a deadly machine.

But finally, he arrived at the model he had been anticipating the most....an almost five meter long model of the most famous warship EVER.....the Battlestar Galactica!

He stood there for several minutes, fascinated by the ships form and all these tiny details when suddenly, right behind, someone started to speak. "Ah, admiring the old Lady, aren't you?"

Richard whirled around, afraid that his teacher Mrs Jones might have found him sneaking away from class, but it was only an old man standing there, leaning heavily on a cane and looking like he would probably 'belong' into a museum like that.

"She was my ship once," the old man continued, "and if you think she looks great like that, you should have seen her when she was new!" Slowly the old man walked over to one of the benches and with a painful sigh lowered himself on it.

Richard was torn now....stay and watch the model some more or go and talk to the old man? Deciding that the model wasn't able to run away, he went over and seated himself on the bench too.

"You were stationed on a Battlestar during the War Sir?" he asked the old man, glad he had remembered to add the 'Sir'. One of the old men who was living down the street from the Cole's residence had been a Viper pilot during the War, and he insisted on being called 'Sir' everywhere....Richard thought it was kind of funny, even though his mum had told him it was rather sad....

"Oh yes, I was stationed aboard one alright...." the old man smiled at Richard. "I was XO..., you know what that is?" Richard nodded. He had read 'everything' about the Fleet and it's ranks already!
"Well, I was XO on a cruiser when the War started, and after a while, they promoted me and gave me my own ship.....the old Lady you can see there." He pointed at the model.

"Oh I remember the first time I saw her like it was yesterday....she looked different then....she was painted a gleaming white! Of course the cylons took care of her paint pretty quick...." At the last comment the old man looked pained, but the eleven year old Richard Cole couldn't just leave it there.
"So you mean that the Battlestars were supposed to be 'WHITE'?" he asked the old man, an unbelieving expression on his face.

But the old man just let out a laugh. "Oh yes, they were. Have you never noticed how, on the older pictures, the ships always seem brighter? That's because they were painted white when they were commissioned....but sometime during the War, it became more important to have a working ship than to think of the paint job."

Young Richard Cole had stayed with the old man for another two hours, listening to the stories from the War before remembering about having to meet up with his class. After a hurried good-bye to the old man, he had run back to the meeting point as fast as he could.

But of course he had been too late and Mrs Jones had chewed him out for that, and had even called his mum, who had chewed him out again as soon as he arrived at home.

And over her rant he almost missed the News:

"The Colonies mourn the death of one of their greatest heros, today Commander Russell Nash, the first Commander of the Battlestar Galactica and veteran of the Cylon War, died during a visit to the Picon Museum. Reports indicate that Commander Nash, aged 77, passed away peacefully on a bench somewhere in the museum's west wing....."

Never in his whole life would Richard Cole forget the time he had spent with Commander Russel Nash, the first Commander of the Battlestar Galactica....

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PostPosted: Sat Sep 16, 2006 3:04 pm 
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Background:

The Cardelli family

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Raptor pilot Patrick has an older sister Adrianna. His mother's name is Mariah and the three of them are shown here in a family photo taken twenty years ago. (Dad was busy working that day!)

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Mason Cardelli
The CEO of the "Cardelli Corporation".
Age: 57

Patrick's father is a ruthless, corporate tylium tycoon whose "step on anybody who gets in my way" attitude drove his son to military service. Patrick desperately wants "to be nothing like Mason Cardelli"...

The Cardelli family owns a large corporate tylium mining company with refineries and lots of heavy industrial equipment. CCorp is also equipped with its own fleet of Tylium refinery ships, including the Necromancer and the Hades Horn, both stationed at a mine on Cassiopeia - a moon orbiting one of the outer planets in the Colonial system.

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Adrianna Cardelli
Age: 25

Although Patrick will have nothing to do with the family business, Adrianna works as part of her father's Administrative staff and has essentially become the "moral compass" of the business.

..

Aerelon - Twenty years before The Storm

Five year old Patrick tugged at the hem of his mother’s skirt impatiently, looking up at her with frustration. Mariah Cardelli was busy watching three of the high speed aerial jets fly over them, and the crowd surrounding them cheered as each fighter proceeded to climb steeply skyward and then split off into different directions. Each pilot flew his or her own course for several minutes, then regrouped into formation and rejoined the other three fighter planes in the squadron to begin a new maneuver.

“Momma, when is Daddy getting here?” the small boy asked curiously.

With a warm smile, Mariah reached down and ruffled her son’s hair. “Your father quite probably got a last minute call and has to work,” she said. “He’s building a corporation from the ground up, and that takes a lot of time and effort.”

She didn’t expect her young boy to understand… about adult issues like the sudden, booming need for tylium as each civilian Colony competed with each other in order to offer ease of transportation and ready access to civilian space travel. She didn’t expect Patrick to understand about the long hours, or her husband’s furious devotion to meeting all of his meticulously defined objectives and his attitude toward anyone who got in the way. Hell, she was an adult and during those times when he was away for the longer periods, she didn’t even understand.

“He promised he would be here for my birthday,” the little boy said, standing with his arms folded and pouting.

Mariah picked up the five year old child and hugged him warmly. “Don’t worry if Mason doesn’t make it home,” she suggested, whispering quietly in her son’s ear. “Just enjoy the show – he made sure we had tickets to the best show on Aerilon.”

As she spoke, all six of the fighter jets roared by them in a high speed series of maneuvers that continued to dazzle the crowd. Patrick’s gaze suddenly became captivated by the airplanes and he watched them continue to fly their demonstration intently.

“They’re so fast,” Patrick’s sister Adrianna said. She was standing on the other side of her mother, also watching the air show with interest.

“When I grow older, I’m going to fly one of those,” Patrick said confidently.

“Yeah you are,” replied Adrianna, sticking out her tongue at her younger brother.

“I am!” Patrick insisted. “Haven’t you seen the commercials advertising for the military…” His face twisted into a mocking sneer as he glared at his sister. “Even you can join if you want to… when you’re old enough.”

“All right children, let’s be on our best behavior today,” Mariah suggested, smiling at her children. “Even though your father couldn’t be here, he has made arrangements for us to meet some of these fighter pilots after the show. You can even get their autographs if you want.”

“Wow…” young Patrick said with a wide smile. “That sounds so cool… will they give us a ride in one of their planes too?”

Mariah laughed, her light and cheerful voice almost drowned out by yet another low altitude flyover, followed quickly by another rowdy cheer from the crowd. “I think you’re a little young for that yet, Patrick.”

The children continued to watch the air show with interest and Mariah Cardelli found herself enjoying their happiness at getting to watch the event even more so than the show itself. She watched the happy smiles on their faces and the shrieks of delight as one of the fighter jets unexpectedly accelerated past the speed of sound and sent a huge sonic boom resounding through the countryside.

Patrick squealed with delight. “I hope they do that again!” he said excitedly.

Mariah leaned down and sang softly to her son:

"Joy on your birthday!
Joy on your birthday!
Joy on your birthday and blessings
For many years to come!"


Her children were all smiles today, and even though life was far from perfect she was happy.

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Last edited by SonOfTed on Sun Sep 17, 2006 5:41 pm, edited 5 times in total.

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PostPosted: Sat Sep 16, 2006 4:21 pm 
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Caprica - Five years before The Storm

Mason sat in Doctor Angelo’s office and regarded the psychiatrist carefully. “So you see,” he finished bitterly, “something has to change. I thought I could go on this way, but I can’t…”

The Doctor was quiet for a moment and studied him thoughtfully. “It doesn’t seem to be the long absences away from your family that are bothering you as much as the impact you are having on other people’s lives – specifically those you hire and then fire.”

Cardelli nodded with agreement. “Absolutely. One of them was a husband and father just like me, and he killed himself because he didn’t know where else to go… he shot himself over losing a frakking job! That was the final incident in a pile of incident reports that told me something about my company needs to change.”

“Motivating workers is a constantly challenging process,” the psychiatrist told him. “I used to run my own practice before joining this clinic, and let me tell you good help can be difficult to find. If employees don’t have some sort of stake in the company’s future, or if they have problems at home in their private life…”

“…or if they simply don’t give a damn!” Mason snapped the last sentence out angrily. “It is a constant challenge to administrate and set up aggressive plans for expansion, and sometimes just getting someone to stay an extra hour so that they’re all organized for the next day is like pulling teeth. They act like they’re asking me to give them their first born child, for gods sake.”

Cardelli took a moment to admire the nice furniture in the Doctor’s office, the computer on his desk, and the general neatness and professionalism of the clinic and its staff in general. “I should have been a Doctor,” he decided.

“My job is not easy either,” Angelo told him truthfully. “I began my career as a surgeon, and if you think being a Doctor would keep you from negatively impacting lives, you are certainly incorrect. Some people are beyond help, they do not always realize that they are responsible for their own behavior and the best leader of their own destiny.”

“The problem is that work is just that – a frakking job to most people,” pointed out Mason. “What I knew when I started I learned from my father and a high school education… but the past ten years I’ve been taking extra college classes and progressing toward a Masters degree in business administration. When I started to learn how to handle people better, that’s when my management team decided to file for corporate status and we really got our company growing. Our stockholders love us…”

“And?” the Doctor knew the answer to the question but he wanted to hear how Mason phrased his answer.

“And all of our families have lots of bones to pick during those precious minutes when we can find some time to spend with them.”

Angelo chuckled. “I am on call a lot for some of my patients who have mental difficulties or retardation.” He nodded all too knowingly. “So my own wife and children get a little frustrated once in a while when I’m called away in the middle of the night or during a family social gathering. It’s unavoidable.”

“The college courses I have been taking have effectively isolated me from my own family,” Mason told him. “They are a necessary investment of time and effort for me to truly lead CCorp onto a new path, but at the same time I have paid the price by being virtually an unknown presence to the woman I swore an oath to honor for life.”

“It is the price of success, and you cannot escape it so long as you lead,” the Doctor told him honestly. “There are always trade offs – we must sacrifice something important in order to achieve another objective. What you might honestly consider is that at some point in the future you can sit back, count all of the profit you have made and realize that you have acquired more than you will ever spend. When that time arrives, I seriously urge you to consider stepping down and starting something a little quieter and less intense – something that will allow you to reconnect with your family.”

Cardelli paused for a few moments before answering, mentally analyzing the Doctor’s comments. “I’ve thought of that option often, but I want to make sure CCorp is transformed first,” Mason told him. “There’s no way a legacy I leave for others is going to be something that destroys people’s lives in exchange for profit. Right now the employees who keep CCorp running are just a… resource… to us. If you can’t make your deadlines, or one of those deaths in the family that are inevitable in life affect your work – hey, sorry but we’ve got stockholders to please.” Cardelli shook his head. “That’s our frakking attitude… we take care of our stockholders better than the people who have given so much of their lives to building that company up to what it is.”

Dr. Angelo scribbled some notes on a pad in front of him and stroked his chin thoughtfully. “It’s good that you think about these things, Mason, it truly is. Most people would bank the money and go on, never even pausing to think about the consequences of their actions.”

“Most people’s adult behavior is most directly influenced by how they grew up. When I was a kid, we had the Cylon war, unpredictable economies, and constant, unpredictable monopolies seizing control of their entire market share.” Cardelli shook his head. “So the world I grew up in was survival of the fittest, and I discovered at an early age that I had the ability to think ahead, plan for the long term, and outwork just about anybody I met.” He chuckled loudly. “And I’m far from the brightest bulb in the bunch – just someone who does his best to do a good job at everything he does.” There was a long pause as the CCorp CEO reviewed his last comment silently. “Except for that family thing…”

Angelo sat quietly for a few moments more, allowing his patient to think about their conversation a bit more in depth. “What have the college classes taught you?” he asked curiously.

Mason’s expression was optimistic. “That things have changed a lot in business,” he began thoughtfully. “These days, a lot of employers are including some of their company’s stock as part of their employees’ benefit plan. They’re offering flexible work hours, and changing some of the traditional full time jobs to part time positions so that some parents can still have the extra income and simultaneously maintain a solid family relationship. CCorp is going to be like that, and as fast as I can make it happen too. We’re going to begin rewarding the people who work hardest for us better, and mirror the company after a family image – not just as a mere team.”

The Doctor smiled. “That is extremely admirable Mr. Cardelli,” he said with great sincerity. “As I said, not all leaders are as concerned with the details of a journey toward long-term goals as they are with achieving them.” He regarded Mason thoughtfully. “But then, you rarely do things without a dual purpose do you… like beginning a relationship with me and my clinic…” he guessed.

“You are correct Dr. Angelo,” Mason nodded. “I can’t change the fact that a guy killed himself over losing his damned job, but I can learn from that experience and offer whatever assistance my corporate resources can provide to prevent it from happening again. I want to make certain all of my employees know there are non-profit organizations out there that provide temporary food and shelter, that medical help is available, and that the government has vocational rehabilitation for people who burn out and need to switch careers. I was also hoping to establish a relationship with your clinic as well.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Mason continued. “Health care is expensive, and often times I have noticed that the family crises that most people go through are temporary… lots of times they lose someone close to them and simply need time to heal emotionally. Right now many folks who go through this have a lot of trouble because their family is far away, so they end up fired or moving to a less stressful job. If they simply had someone to talk to during that vulnerable time, perhaps we would not lose their experience and leadership entirely. I need something…”

“…like our Employee Assistance program?”

“Exactly,” Mason stated firmly. “Most people would balk at the prospect of talking to a shrink… they don’t want folks to think they’re crazy.”

“Most of the time they are not.”

“But there is a definite stigma attached to your profession, Doctor, and that’s what I don’t like,” Cardelli continued. “Your services are also very expensive. That’s why your Employee Assistance program appeals to me… people can come in and talk to a counselor – someone who would keep their sessions confidential. Even if word does leak out it would still be an Employee Assistance program that they were visiting and not a … psychiatrist. In addition to getting some help for my own sagging ego I’d like to set up a relationship with your clinic and others so that my employees can confidentially get counseling when they need it with CCorp paying all of – or at least a large share of – the cost.”

“You have thought a lot about this, haven’t you?” Dr. Angelo asked curiously.

“Of course… you don’t get your Masters degree in business without studying the human mind, people’s varying personalities, or learning a few things about Human Resources.” Mason stared at a picture on the wall thoughtfully, noticing that it was an image of a simple tree in the center of a colorful garden. What I wouldn’t give for a few days in the sun and fresh air without piles of paperwork stacked on my desk, he thought helplessly. Maybe with my entire family around me, just relaxing in the sun

“During all of this reflection you have done, have you taken the time to think about your own family?”

“Oh yes, and that’s the most difficult task ahead of me,” Mason admitted. “The trade off you spoke of earlier. Getting the Masters degree, in addition to my regular role with CCorp has all but alienated my son. He joined the military so that he didn’t have to be around me ever again, and he did so because all of these employee problems that I have been trying for years to get a better handle on have given me and some of my Administrative staff a rather fearsome reputation.”

“Those rumors will not die down for awhile I’m afraid,” Dr. Angelo predicted. “They never do.”

“Part of me doesn’t want them to,” replied Mason with a bit of anger. “Ultimately a manager’s job is to motivate others to do their jobs, and there are plenty of people out there who will always be in it for the paycheck… nothing more. So fear of losing their job can be a great motivator, but I just don’t want it to be the driving factor that honest employees are worrying about when they go home to their families every night.”

“What about your son…”

“Patrick will be fine,” Mason predicted. “He grew up in a one parent household – for the most part – but he’s highly educated and very intelligent. That kid got an electrical engineering degree in three and a half years… and now he’s training to fly Vipers. Can you imagine?”

Angelo smiled at the pride the father was displaying for his son.

“Everything I’ve learned is a bit too late for my own family, though… I rarely see my wife anymore and – other than the fact that my daughter has gone through college too – I haven’t seen her much either.”

“You like to solve multiple problems with one idea,” Dr. Angelo pointed out. “That is one of your greatest strengths… can’t you apply it to your family also?”

Mason was quiet again as he thought the idea through before answering. “Now you’ve got me thinking,” Mason decided optimistically. “For now at least my son is a lost cause, but I’m wondering if Adrianna would consider interning on my Administrative team for a few years. It would allow me to reconnect with her and give her on-the-job experience at the same time. She’s a very caring person, and I think she has a great future ahead of her too.”

Angelo scribbled additional notes on his legal pad as Mason contemplated the possibilities behind his most recent idea. “It may take years,” the Doctor said finally, glancing up at the CEO sitting in front of him. “Or you can make your family a priority and reconnect with them sooner. But ultimately you can re-establish good relations with your family.”

“The business world has been transformed,” Cardelli admitted, “as has the modern family. I was fortunate to make enough money so that my wife could raise the kids – not every family has been as lucky. Married couples where both work spend a lot of time away from their children too.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m sorry I took up so much of your time,” he said abruptly and with a bit of irritation, thinking of all the meetings and desk work he had postponed to come to Caprica. “I have been thinking about these matters all the time lately… talking about it really helps.”

“Don’t ever stop listening to your conscience Mason, but don’t expect too much of yourself either. All of us, as individuals, are responsible for our own destiny. You can give people options, train them and even provide extra assistance to those who stumble, but ultimately each of us is responsible for finding our own road to peace and happiness. And you shouldn’t forget about that family of yours, either. They deserve your support, most of all.”

“I know.”

“Starting with your daughter sounds like a good beginning,” Dr. Angelo told him. “You’re not going to fix everything at once – I hope you realize that. It may be years before you are able to re-establish relations with all of them.”

“What if my son never speaks to me again?”

“It’s not your fault if he doesn’t,” said Angelo firmly. “If you truly work toward change and offer Patrick the sincere hand of friendship from a father who is sincerely sorry then it is his decision and not your fault if he chooses to remain angry.”

“Mariah has always understood, and not gotten as mad at me as she should have at times…”

“I want you to schedule another appointment to come see me in eight weeks,” Dr. Angelo said simply. “We’ve talked a lot about the Cardelli Corporation today, so next time we’ll focus more upon your family. Your objective to improve the Human Resources of your business is very admirable… but you’re going to have to make your family a priority too.”

“Adrianna has always been a great daughter,” Mason said proudly. “I love both my children and my wife very much.”

“Then tell them that,” Angelo suggested firmly. “And next time you visit me, consider bringing Mariah along. I’d love to meet her.”


Last edited by SonOfTed on Sun Sep 17, 2006 5:41 pm, edited 3 times in total.

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PostPosted: Sat Sep 16, 2006 6:00 pm 
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Eighteen years before the attacks
Picon Military Training Grounds,
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When he passed the gates of the Base, eighteen year old Richard had known this was going to be a totally new chapter of his life. But in the first weeks of the basic training, he had not much time to even think about how exhausted he was.

But no matter what the instructors had them doing, Cole still did what he had done since he remembered.....he had been the older brother.
If someone in his unit was too slow, Cole would train with them, if someone wanted to give up, Cole would give them a pep talk. And if someone wanted a fight, well.....

Of course, his work went not unnoticed, a few weeks into Basic training, Cole became 'Lead Cadet', but with this title, the instructors requirements increased too.
More often than not, Cole would still be hitting the books or be working out when his comrades had fallen into bed hours ago....

One of these evenings, Cole was just returning from a work-out, he saw there was still light in one of the rooms of the 'dojo'. Falling prey to his own curiousity, he silently made his way to the door and risked a peak. And what he saw there was a real surprise....

Major Samantha Martins, an 35 year old Caprican, that was one of the officers in Base Administration, was kneeling on the mats that covered the floor. And before her, a sword was lyin on the ground.

What the FRAK is Major Martins doing with a Sword?

But Cole's unspoken question was answered soon, as she suddenly grabbed the sword and jumped up to start a set of strangely fluent moves. To Cole's eye it seemed like she was dancing, and there was a kind of beauty and calmness in these movements that he had never before encountered. He was so distracted by the Major performing this strange dance, that he hadn't even noticed himself fully entering the dojo, and as soon as Major Martins turned in his direction, she spotted him just standing there.

Finishing her pattern, she slowly walked over to the young Cadet, wiping away some sweat from her forehead.

"At Ease Cadet Cole, what are you still doing here?" she asked. Word about his dedication to his comrades just as his excellent grades had gotten around, and all the instructors were speaking fondly of him, so she gave him a short smile.

When Cole noticed she was coming his way, he stood at attention almost immediately, cursing his curiosity. Should have gone straigth to bed, but NOO.....

"I was working out Major, and on the way back I noticed the light. Thought someone had forgotten to turn it out, so I went here and saw you." He paused for a short breath. "If you don't mind me saying, what you did there looked very.....beautful?....professional Major."

The Major shot him an amused glance and Cole felt himself blush profusely. How did she know what I wanted to say?

"Would you like to learn it Cadet?"

At first he thought he had misheard her, but after a few seconds, it became clearer that she had 'really' just asked that.

"Of course Major, if that's possible?"

And thus began Cole's real hardship....learning the way of the sword from Major Samantha Martins, triple Military Athletics Championship Winner.....

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PostPosted: Sat Sep 16, 2006 6:31 pm 
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Nine months before the storm
Carthage Station, orbiting Leonis
Annual Military Athletic Championships: Boxing
Gunnery Sergeant Razorski

She didn’t sit on the stool in the corner of the ring when the round ended. She was pissed, and stood there, moving lightly from foot to foot. She spat her mouthpiece into First Sergeant Garrett Cannigher’s hand and said, “Godsdamn it, Gar, they’re lettting this frakker get away with murder!” She put both gloved hands on her protective headgear, settling it more squarely on her head.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve registered a complaint with the judges about those illegal blows,” Cannigher said. “We’re already in round six, Ski, just knock his head off and get it over with.” He squirted a stream of water into her mouth; she swished it around and spat into the bucket. He put the mouthpiece back into her mouth and said, “The next time he goes for a kidney shot, try an uppercut… get him in the back of the jaw, under the ear.”

She nodded, her eyes already on her opponent, and moved back into the ring when the bell sounded. Her opponent, a Navy member named Johnson, was the same height she was, 5’10”, but he was near the top of this weight class while Razorski was at the bottom. By this point of the fight, though, the fifteen pounds he had on her was slowing him down.

She moved in on him right away, getting in close, pounding his body with jabs, then she danced back. He followed, his guard up, and he swung with a left hook, but she ducked it and feinted with a right cross. He moved his left arm to block, and dropped his right hand slightly, so her left jab went right over the top of his glove and got him on the side of the face. He stepped back fast and she went in at him, a left-right combination to his head, then a powerhouse blow to his torso that visibly knocked him back.

He tried the kidney punch again, but she saw it coming, and followed Cannigher’s advice. She put all her 155 pounds into the uppercut, the technique picture-perfect, and he toppled back like a felled tree. As the referee came over, Razorski backed up, still dancing, staying loose.

Johnson pushed himself to his knees and the referee crouched, looking him in the face. “How many fingers?” the ref asked, holding up three.

“Uh… uh…” Johnson’s eyes weren’t completely focused, and the ref shook his head, standing.

“You know that makes you middleweight champ, Ski,” Cannigher said to her, grinning as he took her mouthpiece and unfastened her headgear, pulling it off. “You are allowed to smile, even if you are Gunnery Sergeant Razorski!”

Her lips twitched, as much of a smile as she’d allow, and she replied, “Hey, Gar, don’t want to tarnish my image… let’s get this over with, there’s a sword match I want to watch.”

She took her victor’s bows, shook gloves with Johnson, then went back to her corner to let Cannigher unlace her gloves.

“Be sure to stay warm,” he cautioned her, handing her a towel.

She nodded, wiping her face and neck, her smile this time was almost obvious. “Oh, if I’m right about who’s going to win the sword championship, staying warm will be no problem.” She pulled her sweatshirt over her head and winked at Cannigher; then hopped out of the ring, leaving him staring after her with thoughtful amusement.


Razorski, age 33:
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PostPosted: Sat Sep 16, 2006 8:15 pm 
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Twenty years before the storm
Scorpia
Ruaidri Clan

S’kyan lay motionless, watching the landscape below. He could see clan members working steadily, digging in the hard ground, carefully sifting through the sand and dirt they loosened. He had to look very closely to see them; they nearly blended into the tans, browns, and grays of their surroundings.

He knew that if it was hard to see them, it would be impossible for anyone to see him. It was his turn to keep watch, so he moved only a little, lying there propped on his elbows. The rifle was as carefully camouflaged as he was, wrapped in strips of ragged cloth, resting under his hands.

S’kyan wasn’t the only clan member guarding. The Ruaidri knew that both the Malaxi and the Etheni clans weren’t far, so they were being especially careful to keep watch over this deposit of texa gems. So far they’d found half a dozen, one a true treasure that would go for a good price in the clanless market.

The clans themselves didn’t care much about the texa gems—although they were beautiful, you couldn’t eat them and certainly couldn’t drink them--but they were rare and expensive, and you could eat and drink the supplies their selling prices brought the clans.

Which is why the clans fought for them and the places they were found. S’kyan let his gaze travel idly across the rugged ground, looking without looking for any rival clan trying to sneak up on the workers.

He saw the first one right away; a jagged rock that moved. Slow and stealthy, but moved all the same. And then he saw the others, counting fourteen, spread out and moving in on where his clan dug.

Never before had anything happened while he’d been guarding, but he was prepared. Even more slowly than the attacking clan, he took up the rifle, settling it in his arms, aiming carefully. Once he fired the first shot, everyone would be alerted. The first shot was the most important.

He gently pulled the trigger and the flat crack surprised him slightly. He didn’t move his eye from his target, though. The one he’d been aiming at was still, as was everyone else. All invisible, blending in… except he’d hit the one he was aiming at. Blood was soaking up through the cloth of his shirt, and he twitched, then rolled on his side.

S’kyan switched his aim to the next one. In the dry desert air, the sound of his single shot wouldn’t give any indication of where he was firing from. No one was moving at all, not the attackers, not his clan’s workers. Invisibility was the key… but S’kyan had seen the attackers, and knew where to shoot.

He fired the next two shots quickly, and then the skirmish began in earnest.

He’d shot once more when he heard it… the quiet click of stones being stepped on. He rolled instinctively, the rifle still in his hands, firing desperately from the ground as his attacker fired at him. He rolled onto his stomach again, gathering his feet under him, and ran and dove; then turned, ready to shoot again.

He didn’t need to, though. Three of his shots had taken his attacker square in the chest. Even as S’kyan pulled the man’s rifle out of his hand, his breathing was slowing. S’kyan crouched by him, feeling oddly detached. Malaxi, he noted, pulling the neck of the man’s shirt down to look at the tattoo on his upper chest. A thin stream of blood ran past the tattoo and S’kyan jerked his hand away.

The man died, and S’kyan rolled him over onto his stomach. “Water to sand,” he murmured, knowing the ritual even though he’d never had to do it before.

The sound of his voice reminded him of the enemy, but the battle was over. S’kyan went back to guarding, not far from where he had laid before. He waited; he wouldn’t be alone there for long, and he saw two of his clan members coming. He didn’t move. Let them see me if they can, he thought rebelliously.

As they got nearer, he saw it was his father and Ruaid himself, the clan leader. Still he didn’t move, and the two stopped not ten feet from where he lay. They looked toward the body of the Malaxi, and both turned slowly, scanning. Finally, his father said in a low voice, “S’kyan?”

Then he rose from where he lay, the rifle in his hands, and said, “Here, Father.” The look of surprise on the two men’s faces gave him a quick thrill, but he hid that. He stood facing them, holding the weapon, and waited.

“S’kyan,” Ruaid said, regarding him. The clan leader looked at the dead Malaxi, then back at S’kyan. “You killed two, and wounded two,” the older man said. “Well done.”

S’kyan knew he should reply, but he just nodded. His father’s dark eyes bored into him. Finally, Ruaid nodded back, then turned to the other man. “Your son is an adult today, Vekar,” he said.

“Yes,” Vekar agreed, and S’kyan heard the pride in his father’s voice.

Ruaid looked at S’kyan once again. “The Malaxi will come to collect their dead. When they are done, come in.”

Finally, S’kyan spoke. “Yes, sir,” he said.

As Ruaid and his father left, S’kyan could hear Ruaid talking quietly over the clan communication network, reporting ‘all clear’ to the other adults on guard.

S’kyan was his clan name; his Scorpia name was Scott Duncan.

He was fifteen years old.

He had killed for the first time.

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Last edited by GoldWolf on Sun Oct 08, 2006 8:06 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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PostPosted: Sat Sep 16, 2006 9:46 pm 
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Four and a half years before the storm
Aerelon
Sea to Sky 3,000 cross-country endurance rally
Alexandra and Gordon MacLean

Quote:
“Hmm? How come we’re stopped?” Gordon woke up, sitting straighter in the passenger seat, and shading his eyes to look out. He blinked, wondering if he was still asleep and dreaming…or maybe it was a nightmare. “Oh, frak!”

Backlit and silhouetted by the truck headlights were about five or six burly men, all of them unmistakably holding rifles.

And slender little Alexandra was walking towards them…


“Alex!” Gordon exclaimed, in his panic trying to get out of the car without releasing his harness.

“Stay in the car, Gordie,” she glanced over her shoulder at him without breaking stride.

He finally found the release on the harness, but something in her voice made him obey her. He watched, his heart in his throat, as she approached the armed men.

She stopped a few feet from them and looked at each one in turn. Finally, she said, “Can I help you gentlemen?”

“Frakking hell, help us?” one growled. “Yeah, you bet you can, girlie…”

The leader of the group turned his head and gave the speaker a flat stare, then he turned his gaze back to Alex. “If you’re in that race, you’re out here pretty late,” he said.

“We had to stop for repairs,” she nodded calmly. “We’re hoping to make up our lost time tonight.”

He gave a short laugh, completely without humor. “You know it’s not frakking safe to be out here at night,” he said.

Brightly, she said, “I guess that’s why you guys have rifles, huh?”

He laughed again. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Yeah, we have ‘em to defend ourselves, right guys?” He turned, looking around at the other men.

“Sure, Ed, wouldn’t want no little slip of a girl taking advantage of us,” one chortled.

Ed faced Alex again, reaching out to run his finger along the side of her face. She tilted her head a little, smiling slightly. “That your boyfriend in the car?” Ed asked her.

“My brother,” she said.

Ed looked over at the car. The truck headlights lit the inside of the car, showing Gordon looking mostly angry and a little worried. “He don’t seem that concerned about you,” Ed observed.

“He’s my brother,” she said, grinning. “I’ve whipped his ass plenty. He’s probably just worried that he might have to drive.”

Ed laughed again, with humor this time. “You got enough guts for someone ten times your size,” he said.

She nodded. “I have to. I have four other brothers besides Gordie.”

“You know we could kill you both and take your car,” Ed told her.

“Yes,” she said. “But I better warn you, it’s a persnickety vehicle. It has a tendency to overheat, and I think the fuel injectors are starting to get clogged again.”

He regarded her thoughtfully. “What you got in that car besides your brother?”

“About a fourth a tank of fuel,” she listed, “two spare tires… a compass… the stage notes… a few stale sandwiches… a jug of water and two jugs of antifreeze…” she paused, thinking. “Two flashlights,” she offered.

“A compass?” he asked incredulously. “You racers don’t use GPS?”

Alex shook her head. “Against the rules,” she explained.

“Against the rules,” he repeated. With irony he said, “And you follow the rules.”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “What’s the point of winning if you cheat?”

He studied her a moment. “You’re gonna win?” he asked.

“Try our best to,” she nodded.

He chuckled. “Well, I guess we better let you get on with it, then,” he stepped back and turned away. “C’mon boys, let’s go.”

There were some grumbles, but the others obeyed.

“Thanks, Ed!” Alex said, and got back into the car, fastening her harness. “Come on, Gordie, buckle up,” she said.

“Alex…” he said slowly. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He fastened his harness; as he was, the trucks all backed up and turned, rumbling off into the darkness. One by one they turned their lights off, the sounds of their engines fading in the night.

Alex put the car in gear and drove on.

“Allie,” Gordon said a short time later.

She stopped the car, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

“Let me drive,” he said.

She nodded. They got out to switch places, but at the front of the car Gordon pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly. “That was the most idiotic thing you’ve ever done,” he said.

She was shaking a little, but calmed in his arms. She sniffed, and said, “Oh, I don’t know… I think that date I went on with Carl Clouser was the most idiotic thing I’ve ever done.”

He laughed. “Okay, you got me there,” he agreed. “Now let me drive.”

“You drive,” she agreed.

She got into the passenger seat and looked at what one of her feet had touched. Grinning, she bent down and picked up the big pistol. “Gee, I think I forgot to tell Ed about this!


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PostPosted: Sat Sep 16, 2006 10:34 pm 
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Second Lieutenant Brennan Samuel Herald
- Thirteen years before the storm-

The 22 year old stood in the mirror, and looked his uniform over from top to bottom just before grabbing his sea-bag. This would be the last time he set foot in this room. He quickly said goodbye to his roommates and was out the door.

The bus to the space port was waiting for the junior officers at the door to his building. the space port was no more than 3 miles from the base, and Herald could see traffic flying all over the sky. "It'll be different without the barracks shaking in the middle of the night," Herald thought to himself. Every night since he had been at the college, he thhe barracks would quake every night with large transports taking off.

Herald jumped onto the bus, and found an empty seat near the middle. Battlestar Group 26 was in outer orbit around Aquarias, and would be there for one more day before moving on...not without a few new crewmembers.

Suddenly, his pocket began vibrating, and Herald pulled out his PDA.

"Hello," he said.

"Good morning son, how's our Lieutenant today," the familiar voice of his father was heard.

"DAD, how are you feeling today," Herald asked (knowing that his fathers health was slowly declining due cancer).

"I'm going to make it son, are you ready for your first assignment," he asked with curiosity.

"Can't wait to get up there and onboard ship," Herald replied, then realized that the short drive to the space port was complete, "hey dad... uhh... I got to get off of here, I'll call you and mom when I get a chance."

"Okay son, be careful and remember... keep your goals in sight," his father said as he hung up.

Herald quickly viewed the screen showing which departure gates were which.

---Three hours later---

The Raptor was breaking orbit, and the fleet came into view. The large shapes of the ships was almost breath-taking... even though Herald had seen it before.

The Raptors travelling in formation to the fleet broke off and began heading towards their individual destinations. The Raptor Herald was on began arching towards his new home... the Destroyer Douglas J. Griffyn.

Sure she was an older model Destroyer, but she was the only ship in BSG 26 that had the position Herald was interested in... CIC DRADIS operator.

---The next day---

The first day had been wonderful. Herald's roomates seemed very friendly, and funny to boot! He reported to CIC for his first shift in the morning, and found it to be close to the simulations. With no enemies to fight, the simulations seemed almost pointless in such a peaceful environment. BSG 26 had moved away from Aquarias, and was headed towards Tauron for combat exercises.

Suddenly, one of Herald's roomates called for him, "hey newbie, message for you."

Herald walked over to the console in the room, and opened the file.

Code:

Brennan,

This is your mother. Yesterday after talking to you, your fathers health got worse. He declined so rapidly that it baffled the docotrs. Brennan, during the night he passed, and he wanted me to tell you something before he died: "keep your goals in sight Brennan." The docotrs and I were the only ones here when it happened. Don't worry, he went peacefully. I hate to bring this load upon you son, please contact me once you receive this.


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PostPosted: Sat Sep 16, 2006 11:14 pm 
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Eaglestar51 wrote:
Iasoan
D75 1013

“Mama, would you… tell me a story?”

“Of course, honey. Which one?” Inga caressed her daughter’s arm tenderly. Ever since she had been allowed to see her daughter, she couldn’t stop looking at her, touching her. They’d been so close to losing her!

“When you and Papa met?”


Dr. Nathan Santana smiled with quiet relief as he watched the mother comfort the daughter and eased the door to the room slowly shut so that they could have some privacy. He had left orders for a nurse to check on Ilka in a few hours. Her condition still required a watchful eye, but Nate was confident that with adequate rest and continued treatment the young woman would make a full recovery.

He logged into the work station computer and signed out of his current shift, burst of hatred and rage surging through him periodically. Nate was planning on getting a prolonged period of rest, something that he had gone without for many days now since the quarantine crisis began. The fact that the virus they had encountered – on top of the annihilation of their home worlds – had been deliberately designed to kill humans made his heart burn with patriotic fire again, just as it had those many years ago.

With fingers poised to log off of the computer and leave, he hesitated for a moment and then retrieved the message that he had composed just days ago and reread it again.

Code:
To: Commander Benito Rodrigues, CO
From: Nathan Santana, Ph.D, Iasoan
Re: Military Service

Dear Commander,

Years ago I served as a field medic to a marine unit deployed on Canceron. During those turbulent times I was able to keep a lot of injured men and women alive, and also gain a lot of “in the field” surgical experience. These past few years I have been serving on Iasoan and trying to find ways to use my medical knowledge to help the human race.

The virus recently released by accident on Iasoan has left me angry and outraged – in particular because its creator was also trying to develop an airborne version to kill us all. Although my position as a physician has required me to swear an oath to do no harm while practicing medicine, the same does not hold true when it comes to protecting my own life or those of the civilians in this fleet.

Life here on Iasoan is pretty bland… and I have found that the normal patience required for the research conducted here has abandoned me. I am often bored and left feeling extremely helpless considering our current situation. I want to do MORE, particularly since it is clear that the Cylons mean to wipe us out if they can possibly do so. I would like to do everything in my power to assist you in preventing that.

Please consider accepting me back into the military as a medic. I know how to patch up battle wounds, keep people alive, and I can shoot back at the enemy if the situation calls for it. I can no longer sit here fully protected on Iasoan and do nothing to stop the Cylons. They have relentlessly demonstrated to us time and again that they will kill anyone to accomplish their goals: be they military, civilian, man, woman or child.

Sincerely,

Nathan Santana


Grimly, Nate keyed the “send” option into the computer and then logged himself off of the work station. He left the isolation ward feeling a lot better, and hoping that life or the gods would grant him the chance to see his people free and able to live in relative safety some day soon.


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PostPosted: Sat Sep 16, 2006 11:33 pm 
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9 months before the storm
Leonis


K Industries’ complex of buildings was just within the Large Desert. Most of Leonis was either desert or steppe. Forests were few. Oceans were non-existent.

It was the perfect place for a secret cylon base.

[“Mr. Kalrk.”] It was Melinda Votra’s voice coming through the speaker on his desk. [“Ms. Godfrey and Mr. Darun are here.”]

“Thank you, Melinda. Send them in please. And hold all my calls.”

I wonder what has changed.[i] The cylon known to humans as Kalrk wondered. [i]Their regular visit was to be in another month… yet I got that notice that they would be here today. Could he be nervous?

The stunning blonde in the red pant suit, and the man in the blue suit, entered his office and the man closed the door behind them.

“What’s changed? I was expecting you in a month.” Kalrk said as a greeting.

“K Industries has become too well known.” The blonde said plainly. “Your face is all over the Twelve Colonies.” She tossed some magazines on his desk.

“We’ve had to remove the others of you.” Cylon Five said. “You were supposed to blend into society, not become a media star.”

‘”It was the EarTunes’ use of our technology that drew attention to K Industries, not me.” Kalrk said somewhat defensively.

“You went to Caprica and did that interview.” Six said directly. “And spoke to several reporters of various magazines.”

“You’ve jeopardized our plan.” Five added. “We need you to lay low. No more grand public appearances. No more statements of what is next from your ‘company’.”

“How is the time table?” Kalrk asked, to change the subject.

“The Command Navigation Program is being uploaded throughout the Colonial Fleet, and some civilian craft are also using it.” Six answered. “The Day is coming, in less than a year.”

“The RistComm could be ready by then.” Kalrk remarked.

“It won’t be necessary.” Five said. “It’s not needed now.”

“But it was so that we could communicate -”

“We don’t need it.” Six cut him off. “Their Colonial Defense Mainframe will be their undoing. It will be a very short war.”

“Just keep a low profile.” Five commanded, then asked. “How much does your secretary know?”

“Melinda’s a good employee. She does her job, and -”

“Fire her. Today.” It was Six giving the command.

**********

An hour after Five and Six had left the complex, Kalrk called Melinda Votra into his office.

“Yes, sir?” She asked while standing just inside the room.

“Melinda, you’ve been a good employee. You’re always on time; you keep my schedules organized. You’re pleasant and cordial.”

The blood drained from her face. “Oh gods. This is it, isn’t it. You’re firing me. What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing. You didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just… you’re not fired, Melinda. That’s not what I was going to tell you.”

“It’s not?’ she was relieved. “It sounded like it.”

“You’ve… been under a lot of stress, Melinda, and so.. I’m sending you on a vacation. One month.. on company expense. Go on a trip; take a cruise, whatever.”

They don’t run my business.


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