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 Post subject: Episode 16: We The People
PostPosted: Sat Sep 23, 2006 8:49 pm 
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Location: Proud Policy Wonk
Liza Liala
Day 76
Astral Dawn

The staff--what they had been able to find--was in place. The ID's were issued. The press badges were issued. Security was being handled. Supplies delivered. Rooms prepped. Copies of the new org chart she had drawn up, distributed.

And she looked into the mirror, and sighed. The sword and the pen, Elzenberg had once said. Some, suited to the sword. Some, as he had been, to the pen....and a rare few, as she had been, to both.

But that time was ending, now. Now, she felt as if she was being consumed by the teleprompter, the agendga, and the conference call. The press, upon hearing she did not desire the Presidency, attempted to convince her to take it, pushing ever harder the harder she refused. When they realized they wouldn't convince her to do such, they then seemed to have penciled her in as Vice President, without even asking her, or anyone else. She supposed it was the natural human reaction....unable to handle the unknown, they penciled in the farmiliar names and titles they lived by, even when they didn't quite fit.

Head of government. She shook her head, in amazement, in sadness, in anger.

Damn you, Adar. she thought How dare you get yourself killed? How dare you get your Cabinet killed?

She knew full well...Even if she could pull them together, for a new constitution...Elect a new President....and somehow avoid the Vice Presidency the Press had penciled her into...she would likely end up among the Cabinet. She, and Renatta, and Fields, and all the rest.

So long ago, she though, Elzenberg had thanked her, for her desire to serve the Colonies.

What would you think of me now?, she wondered. What would you think of what has become of that which we loved?

Invest In America, Buy A Congressman


 Post subject:
PostPosted: Sat Sep 23, 2006 8:50 pm 
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Joined: Wed May 03, 2006 10:50 pm
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Location: The Dark Side
Day 76 Time 1800
Battlestar Libra
Maj Duncan with Cmdr Rodrigues and Maj Riley, in the Commander’s office

When Commander Rodrigues got Duncan’s notification that he had arrested Colonel Cole for sabotage, he had ordered that the Colonel be brought over to the Libra, to be held in the brig there while Duncan explained exactly what was going on.

Rodrigues had been furious at Duncan when he first heard, but he also had a message from Captain Baker… Baker knew the evidence that Duncan had, and asked Rodrigues to hear Duncan out.

The Commander was still furious, but had agreed to listen; Riley was equally grim. Neither of them was prepared for Major Duncan’s appearance when he reported in Commander Rodrigues’ office, however. His uniform was immaculate, he was cleanly shaven… but he looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and although his manner was quietly professional, he couldn’t hide his inner torment.

Rodrigues returned his salute, saying, “Have a seat, Major Duncan.”

“I’d rather stand, sir, if you don’t mind,” Duncan said woodenly.

Rodrigues nodded slowly. “What do you have, Major?” he asked.

Duncan took a written report, folded lengthwise, from the inner pocket of his uniform and handed to Rodrigues.

“Sir, these are the facts that compelled me to arrest Colonel Cole,” he said flatly. “I have noted them all in my report.” He nodded to the still-folded report that Rodrigues had placed on his desk.

“The first instance of sabotage was discovered on Day 14, at 0810; one of the Perseus’ nuclear missile warheads had a count-down timer attached to it.”

Rodrigues nodded, waiting.

Duncan stated the facts in an empty voice. “On Day 11 at 1700 Colonel Cole left for the Iasoan for his eye surgery. On Day 12 at 1900 he returned to the Perseus after surgery. Day 13 at 0122 the starboard missile silo was accessed by someone using Col Cole’s personal access code. At 1700 on Day 13, Col Cole left the Perseus, going back to the Iasoan for follow-up therapy. And then on Day 14 the sabotaged nuke was found, with 68 minutes left on the count-down timer.”

He paused and cleared his throat. “There are a few other facts about this instance, sir,” Duncan went on. He felt numb, and continued expressionlessly, “Col Cole’s rad exposure badge shows that between Day 12 and Day 14 he was exposed to increased radiation consistent with access to a missile silo. Also, the count-down timer on the nuke was capable of being set to begin counting six days before it exploded.” He swallowed. “Perseus records show that no one else should have had the Colonel’s access code to the missile silo. And… Marine guard post records have logged that Colonel Cole left his quarters shortly after midnight on Day 13, and returned at 0215.”

He stopped, breathing in and out slowly, his gaze over Rodrigues’ head unfocused.

“Duncan,” Riley said sharply.

“Yessir,” Duncan nodded, looking at the Marine, and back to Rodrigues. “The second occurrence… On Day 18 at 2157 it was discovered that the refueling and security vents, as well as the external docking rings, had been opened; 10% of the Perseus’ Tyllium supply was lost before the open vents were discovered and closed.” Duncan rubbed his eyes wearily. “Refueling procedures to open and close the vents require input commands at two stations in the Perseus, the first always at the refuel station near the tanks being refueled, and the second usually at the engineering console in CIC. An alternate location for the second input station is in maintenance. No input commands were logged from either CIC or maintenance. Emergency override is possible at the refuel station for the second set of commands; five people have the override codes. Four of these people have air-tight alibis for the time period in question.” He breathed in and out. “Colonel Cole does not. Marine guard post logs show Col Cole left his quarters at 2015 and returned at 2150.”

Duncan’s jaw visibly tightened; he relaxed it with an effort.

“The final incident occurred on Day 36, sometime between midnight and 0400—the ammunition workshop’s propellant chemicals were mixed up. There are four access codes to the ammo workshops, and one of them was input at 0132.” He stopped. Godsdammit, what am I doing?

“Go on, Major,” Rodrigues ordered.

Duncan nodded. “Marine guard post logs notate that Colonel Cole left his quarters at 0105 and returned at 0159 on Day 18. Around 0630 that same day, the Colonel turned in a uniform to the ship’s laundry. The laundry staff found propellant stains on it… there’s a record because regs require that uniforms with hazardous materials on them be cleaned with special solvents… the solvents themselves are also considered hazardous, and have to be signed for.”

Oh, frak what I wouldn’t give for a drink right now… “Captain Baker and Lieutenant Palmisano have independently verified my findings, sir,” he finished.

Rodrigues turned his head and regarded Riley. The silence stretched out as they considered what Duncan had told them. Finally, Rodrigues looked back at Duncan.

“Major, sit down—that’s an order,” Rodrigues said abruptly. The motherfrakker looks like he’s about to collapse.

Duncan sat, then, as rigidly at attention as when he’d been standing.

“What does Colonel Cole say to these charges?” Riley asked Duncan.

“He denies all of it, sir,” Duncan answered.

“And the other instances of sabotage you’ve had on board the Perseus?” the Commander asked.

Duncan shook his head slowly. “I think we must have two saboteurs, sir. I haven’t found compelling evidence pointing to any one person for the others, although I can say they weren’t done by Colonel Cole.”

“Captain Baker said you’ve also accused Cole of being a biological cylon,” Rodrigues observed.

“He himself admitted to being affected by the radiation in the nebula… and why else would he have done all this, sir?” Duncan reply was faint and hoarse.

Rodrigues sat back, running a hand down his face. “Oh, frak,” he said softly.

“Believe me sir, I did everything I could,” Duncan sounded desperate, tortured, “to find anyone else who could have been responsible. You’re welcome to relieve me of duty--” Oh gods PLEASE relieve me of duty--

“At ease, Major,” Riley interrupted.

Duncan looked at him and nodded wordlessly.

Rodrigues’ earlier anger was gone, replaced by a weariness of soul. “It’s obvious you have been doing your duty, Major Duncan,” he said. He looked at his MarDet commander. “Have guest quarters assigned for the Major, Eric,” he said.

Riley nodded, standing, and Duncan stood also. Rodrigues regarded him. “Get some rest, Major,” he told him, his tone making it an order.

“Yessir,” Duncan said. I’ll try, sir, but I don’t think that’s possible.

He saluted and left with Riley; the latter returned a few minutes later, sitting at Rodrigues’ nod. “That poor sonuvabitch,” Riley murmured, referring to Duncan.

“How would you feel, if you’d found that kind of evidence against me?” Rodrigues asked him quietly. “Gods--Cole… Cole!”

Riley could only shake his head grimly.


 Post subject:
PostPosted: Sat Sep 23, 2006 8:54 pm 
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Location: The Grid
D76 T2030
Battlestar Libra Rec Facility
Captain David Dedrick, CMC

At about 1900 hours, Dedrick had received a call to his office, summoning him to the Libra's MarDet command. When he arrived, he found Gunnery Sergeant Razorski already there. Major Riley, his face grim, informed them he had called them to his office to brief them on a situation - a saboteur, another potential biolon, had been detained. He then proceeded to give them the details of Colonel Cole's arrest, and the evidence Major Duncan had against him.

After the briefing with Riley and Razorski, Dedrick had wanted to spend some time alone. He’d had enough, though, of long hours spent looking over reports and digging through computer records in the Intel section office. Going back to his quarters, he’d intended to settle in for the night and draft his final list of screeners for the mission aboard Palatine. Restlessness had overtaken him, however, and he’d given in to it and headed to the weight room.

He’d changed, into trunks and a loose-fitting tank, and was just finishing his stretch routine when the heavy bag came open. He dug through the box of communal supplies that lay near the mat, and found some light gloves that fit, and a set of wraps that weren’t completely sweat-soaked. It was odd, he thought, how the smallest items seemed precious now, and he made a mental note to look through his personal things and see if there was anything he could contribute to the gym.

He inserted a pair of ear-bud style headphones into his ears, and set the wireless Eartunes player next to his bag. The player had been a gift from his nephew, and plugged into its expansion memory slot was a collection of songs the boy had picked out specifically for his uncle. He thought back to that day, Todd Jr. in full gear with his dirt bike, in the driveway at Dedrick’s brother’s house - the young boy torn between presenting the birthday gift and showing his uncle the latest stunts he’d learned.

Dedrick turned the volume up on the player, and then tore into the heavy bag, venting his anger and frustration at the loss of those few he’d held dear, and trying to focus on the problem that now faced him. The first track from the data card began, and the pounding rhythm took hold of him, his fists slamming into the bag in measured hammer-blows. As the words of the song began, they struck a chord within him and he realized just how much care TJ had put into its selection.

make his fight, on the hill, in the early day
constant chill deep inside
shouting gun, on they run through the endless grey
on they fight for they are right, yes, but who’s to say

for a hill, men would kill. Why? They do not know
stiffened wounds test their pride
men of Five, still alive through the raging glow
gone insane from the pain that they surely know

In his mind’s eye, he saw the images from the photos of the biolons, and he unleashed his rage against them. Beyond that flashed images of his nephew, and his brother, his sister and their parents.

What have we done, that the Gods would abandon us? How can they exist, if they allowed billions of us to die? How can I have faith, when I am surrounded by death and desperation?

"War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things: the decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks that nothing is worth a war, is much worse." - John Stuart Mill, British philosopher and Member of Parliament

Last edited by RangerLord on Sun Sep 24, 2006 10:00 am, edited 1 time in total.


 Post subject:
PostPosted: Sat Sep 23, 2006 8:56 pm 
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Joined: Wed May 03, 2006 10:50 pm
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Location: The Dark Side
[With RangerLord]

Day 76 Time 1900-2030
Battlestar Libra
Major Scott Duncan
Captain David Dedrick

Duncan didn’t think he’d been able to sleep more than an hour or two in the past forty-eight; but he still couldn’t, even after laying out all the evidence against Cole for Rodrigues and Riley. He’d been almost certain that the Commander would throw him in the brig, and release Cole; he’d almost hoped that would happen.

But it hadn’t, and Cole was still in the brig, and he, Duncan, had put him there.

Technically, it wasn’t a betrayal, but to Duncan, it felt like he had betrayed Cole.

He’d brought a few things with from the Perseus, so now instead of following Commander Rodrigues’ order and getting some rest, he changed into t-shirt, shorts, and running shoes, and went to run the passageways.

The rhythmic pounding of his feet on the deck was as close to rest that Duncan could think of—or maybe it was just exhaustion on top of exhaustion. He tried to think of nothing and ended up thinking of death.

And the desert.

He supposed the two went hand-in-hand.

When he couldn’t run anymore, he found himself near the gym, so he went in with no clear plan what to do next. He was completely soaked with sweat, his t-shirt heavy with it, and he pulled it off, grabbing a towel from the stack to mop his face, neck, and chest.

The gym was mostly empty, just someone finishing up a rotation on the weights, and another person hitting the heavy bag with intense concentration. Frak… Duncan thought slowly, watching. He’s got nomad blood. He could tell by the way he moved--economy of power, and by the strong, lean body structure… and something else he couldn’t define in words.

He was hitting the bag hard, making it swing, and Duncan walked up. “You want me to hold it for you?” he asked, when he saw that the man had noticed him.

Dedrick nodded. He hadn't heard a thing that Duncan had said, but his arm movements indicated his intent as clearly as any words. Duncan steadied the bag, and Dedrick lit back into it, his attention now split between the bag and the man who held it.

The newcomer was a Marine, at best guess, but not one from the Libra's MarDet. Subtle clues from the man's stance, his physical condition, and the way he seemed to be watching the whole room while still focusing on the bag, told Dedrick quite a bit about him. What captured Dedrick's attention, though, were the features that marked him as Skorpian, and clan-born at that. The bone structure of his face, especially the brow and jawline, the color of his eyes, revealed his lineage. So did the furrows across his forehead, and at the corners of his eyes. Not only clan-born, but likely whelped and raised in the desert, though his face spoke of other blood as well. Dedrick glanced towards Duncan's left shoulder, looking for a tattoo below the clavicle, but the towel draped across his neck obscured it, if it was there.

Dedrick stepped back from the bag after a few minutes, pulling the ear-buds out and dropping them onto his shoulders. The music that had been thundering in his ears a moment before, became an insect-buzz at his neck. He stepped to his bag, shutting the wireless music player down, and tuned back to face the stranger.

Duncan had seen Dedrick’s quick glance to his left shoulder while he’d been working the bag; as he himself had automatically looked to see if the other man had the clan tattoo. His shirt covered where it would be, if he had one; but the fact that he’d looked signified a lot to Duncan. Maybe not born in the desert, but he’s left blood there, Duncan thought. He recognized the inner stillness, now, an awareness of everything around them.

“I’m Scott Duncan,” he said, offering his hand.

"David Dedrick." He gripped Duncan's hand firmly, shook it once and released it. "I've heard your name - you dusted one of the new centurions during DC on the Perseus."

“You got one yourself, on the Outpost,” Duncan replied. “I heard about that… you fried it.” He gave a single nod. “Good job.” The words were quietly spoken, but held satisfaction; the enemy, destroyed.

"I saw that my enemy's throat would yield no blood to the ground," Dedrick said carefully, watching Duncan's eyes, "but it seems that our enemy now bears a new face."

Duncan met Dedrick’s gaze. He knows the desert. “Water to sand, water to rock,” he said very quietly. “Even to rock, it still is gone.” The words ‘new face’ reminded him of the biological cylons, and of Cole. The knife in his gut twisted again. “The face of the enemy is ours,” he said grimly.

Dedrick raised an eyebrow at Duncan's last comment. He hadn't thought of it that way. He caught a certain... look, fleeting across Duncan's face. This biolon mess is really frakking with him, Dedrick thought.

"How certain are you about Cole?" Dedrick asked. I'm sure that didn't help his situation, either.

Duncan’s jaw tightened. “You know, then, what the evidence is,” he said flatly. “No witnesses… no smoking gun…” he looked away, swallowing hard. Cole never knew it, but I swore my water to him. “You can’t hide from the sun. Certain about Cole?” He looked back at Dedrick. “I. Don’t. Want. Any of this to be true. But why else would he do it?”

Dedrick glanced around, making sure that no one else was within earshot. "What's the chance he was framed?"

Slowly, Duncan shook his head. “I wish it could be,” he said soberly. “And… maybe it is. But I tried to make that, make it anyone else.” Again he shook his head. “I’m sure the Commander will order an independent investigation. I hope to Hades I’m wrong.”

Dedrick nodded solemnly. "You know," he began, "your name is on my desk for assignment to screen the delegates aboard Palatine."

“Yes, I was told about the meeting,” Duncan said. “There’s some water I’ll gladly pour on the sand.”

Dedrick raised his head, a half-nod acknowledging Duncan's statement. Have to watch this one... there's a storm brewing behind those eyes... Picking up a towel, Dedrick mopped his face, then his neck. "Thanks," he said, glancing toward the heavy bag. "I'm calling it a night - I hear my rack calling me."


 Post subject:
PostPosted: Sat Sep 23, 2006 9:03 pm 
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Location: The Dark Side
[With Perseus]

Day 76 Time 1930
Battlestar Libra
Gunnery Sergeant Razorski
Colonel Richard Cole

Major Riley briefed Razorski and Dedrick about Major Duncan’s shocking news… evidence pointed to Colonel Cole as one of the saboteurs on the Perseus, and subsequently, as one of the biological cylons.

She knew it wasn’t true… but how to prove it? The evidence that Duncan had was pretty damning.

She needed to talk to Cole himself, so she headed directly to the brig.

“Let me in,” she said to the guard.

“Yessir,” the private nodded, unlocking the door. Once Razorski was inside the cell with Cole, she told the Marine, “Wait outside. I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

Again he said, “Yessir,” but he left wondering what was going to happen with just the two of them alone in the brig.

“Richard,” Razorski said quietly. “What in Hades is going on?”

Slowly, Cole got up from his cot. "Ski...Frak, what are you doing here?"

Judging from the way he was looking, he had been run over by the proverbial truck, his lip was split and one of his eyes was swollen shut.

“I heard what Duncan briefed Commander Rodrigues,” she said. Her eyes narrowed. “Who worked you over?”

"Don't know their names actually....," Cole answered, carefully dabbing at his split lip and wincing from the pain.

"But you could look for a short Petty Officer with a shiner....and I bet his huge friend from MarDet is still talking like a little girl," he smirked.

Razorski nodded slowly. They’ll regret roughing up a prisoner while I’m around. “Richard, what about these charges. It sounds like Duncan has a case against you—but, frak, if you’re a biolon, then I am, too!”

He smiled at her for a short moment. "Be careful what you are wishing for Ski....and about these charges, I have NO idea what exactly happened. The only thing I can say is that his evidence seems solid. Hades, even I remember the stain on my uniform the day the ammo workshop was sabotaged..... But believe me Ski....I would never do something that could endanger my ship or my crew!"

“I know you wouldn’t,” she shook her head slowly. “That’s why none of this makes any sense. The Commander will send some of our people over to do an independent investigation, so maybe that will straighten things out.” She regarded him thoughtfully. “What can you tell me about Duncan?”

He looked at her for a moment. "Duncan?" Hmm...good question. "I like him... he's good at what he does without being arrogant about it. And I think he's not entirely convinced of me being a biolon himself... looked like he wanted nothing more than to just let me go when he arrested me..."

She nodded. “It sounded that way, from what Riley told Captain Dedrick and me. I guess Duncan actually asked Rodrigues to relieve him of duty?” She shook her head, not sure how to take that. She looked straightly at Cole. “Is there anything I can do for you? Get a medic in here? Anything else?”

"Post a trustworthy Marine at my door?" Cole dabbed at his lip again. "This one let unauthorized personnel in here.... Oh and some Ice packs would be nice!"

"And something else Ski..." he continued in a low voice "could you tell Sarah that it wasn't me?"

“Oh, you’ll get a new guard,” Razorski said grimly. “And I’ll have a medic come by.” She gave him a sympathetic look. “I’ll talk to Sarah; she’s still on the Iasoan, isn’t she?”

"Either that or she already moved... she said something about going to Harvest Moon for some experiments...Thank you Ski!"

“No sweat, Richard.” She paused. “I’ll check with you later. Hang in there.”

Last edited by GoldWolf on Sun Sep 24, 2006 5:51 pm, edited 3 times in total.


 Post subject:
PostPosted: Sat Sep 23, 2006 9:03 pm 
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Joined: Wed May 03, 2006 10:50 pm
Posts: 8185
Location: The Dark Side
Day 77 Time 0900
Battlestar Libra
Dr Ralph DeValera
Gunnery Sergeant Razorski

DeValera checked the Marine over with practiced ease, slightly amused at the presence of Gunnery Sergeant Razorski, standing there with her arms crossed. He’d seen the condition of her knuckles, and was certain that the majority of the damage to PFC Levens’ face and torso was at her hands. Earlier that morning DeValera had heard one of the medics talking about another Marine and a petty officer who looked like they’d been in a fight… and they’d been escorted to sick bay by Razorski, also.

“Just bruised,” he diagnosed. And I bet she pulled her punches. “Use ice for the swelling, and get some aspirin from the medic on your way out.” He glanced at the Gunnery Sergeant; he could tell that there was something she wanted to talk about, and it wasn’t her skinned knuckles.

“Return to your post, Levens,” Razorski said flatly.

“Yessir,” Levens replied in a low voice, leaving.

DeValera shook his head to himself and looked at Razorski with a raised eyebrow. She gave a short nod, and followed him to his office. Rather than sit behind his desk, he sat in one of the client chairs, and she sat in another.

“Mind reader,” she commented dryly.

“Occupational hazard,” he replied with humor. He’d been her primary doctor, when the SAR team had brought her battered body aboard after that day of bitter battles. Then, and since, they’d talked. “Administering a little four-knuckle discipline, Gunny?” he asked.

She nodded. “Easier than doing all that paperwork to bust ‘em,” she said. “One of them let the other two into the brig and roughed up a prisoner. I don’t think they’ll be doing that again.”

He nodded, and waited.

After she’d left Cole, the night before, Razorski had changed the roster for the guard post in the brig, and then gotten on the wireless to Sarah Vaillant. She was on the Harvest Moon, as Cole had thought. Dr Vaillant had been understandably upset, and Razorski had ended the call with the thought that she’d have to find out if Richard would be allowed to speak to Sarah over the wireless.

The entire situation was on her mind, and after doing the rounds to check on her jarheads, she’d gone to Captain Dedrick’s office, on the off chance she’d find him there that late in the evening. He was, not to her surprise, and he looked like he’d been working out. Their conversation was brief; as none of the charges against Cole had been proven, the entire matter would be kept quiet. They’d agreed, though, that Dr DeValera should hear the whole story. Perhaps he would have some insight on how to disprove that Cole was a biological cylon.

So she sat now in Dr DeValera’s office, and told him about the evidence against Richard Cole, finishing by saying, “I’ve known Cole for over seven years, Doc, and I just can’t believe he’s one of them.”

He frowned slightly, leaning forward in his chair and resting his elbows on the arms. “Seven years,” he repeated, deep in thought. After a moment, he looked directly at her. “I’ve only recently learned the details about biological cylons, so it’s all fresh in my mind—I read the transcripts of Leo Conoy’s interrogation, and I know there was a reference to how long they’d been in the Colonies before the attacks. Two years…”

She blinked, and nodded slowly. “Yes, that’s right.” And then wryly, she said, “And how much credence do we give the words of a proven biological?”

“We may have a better way than that,” DeValera said. “Not yet, but at some point—I’m working with R&D on making an omicron radiation chamber. Ensign Chandler had initially referred to it as upsilon radiation, but that’s merely a matter of nomenclature. Essentially, they’re the same.”

“So we’ll be able to screen everyone,” the Gunnery Sergeant murmured. “How soon?” she asked.

DeValera let his breath out slowly. “I can’t really say, unfortunately,” he said. “We’re having a hard time generating omicron radiation without the ionizing effects of gamma and x-radiation…” At her expression, he explained, “The radiation that harms humans. When I looked more closely at Ensign Chandler’s data, I saw that Leo Conoy had been exposed to gamma and x-radiation, as well as omicron; our equipment isn’t set up to use omicron rays at all, really. The gamma and x-rays that Conoy was exposed to may or may not have had some effect on him during Chandler’s examination; at any rate, it’s obvious that omicron is the real danger to them.”

“But we don’t want to expose a human to the harmful gamma and x-radiation,” Razorski nodded understanding. “… Hey, good news, the omicron didn’t hurt you, you’re not a cylon, but by the way, you got a lethal dose of x-radiation in the process.” She shook her head.

DeValera chuckled. “Well, we could always ask Commander Rodrigues to turn around and go back into that nebula.”

She sighed. “I believe Captain Dedrick already suggested that option, but the cylon baseships were a more pressing concern.” She met his gaze, and said, “So for now all we have to go on is the word of a biological cylon that they’d only infiltrated the Colonies for two years.”

He nodded. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“Well, I suppose it’s better than nothing.” She brooded a moment. “The other part of it is… what if Richard did do the sabotage? I talked to him last night… he didn’t exactly deny having done it, just that he has no idea what really did happen. He told me he wouldn’t endanger his crew or his ship, and I have to believe him.”

DeValera noted Razorski’s use of Cole’s first name with interest. She knows him, indeed… “You’re asking if there could be some other motivation to do the sabotage, if he’s not a biological,” he stated.

She nodded.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “The mind is a wonderfully complicated thing,” he finally said. “I don’t know Richard Cole at all. As a start, I’d have to review his medical and service records.”

She nodded again, taking for granted that he’d do that, and she stood. “Thanks again, Doc,” she said, shaking his hand. “Keep up with the mind reading.”

He nodded, smiling. I’m not all that good at reading yours, Gunnery Sergeant, no matter what you may think… Richard, hm? I’m going to have to meet this guy…

Last edited by GoldWolf on Mon Sep 25, 2006 11:08 am, edited 1 time in total.


 Post subject:
PostPosted: Sat Sep 23, 2006 10:15 pm 
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Posts: 3197
Location: Hurricane alley
D77 1000

It had been a harrowing couple of weeks at the Iasoan but things were finally getting back to normal. The virus had been identified, the culprit one of its last victims. And although a few more had died after Dr. Long, the treatment with immunosuppressants and in some cases cortisone, had proved a lifesaver. The survivors were weak, and some had suffered irreparable damage to internal organs, but they were alive and were slowly recovering.

Dr. DaSilva examined the pile of reports; they had finally caught up on performing autopsies on all the dead - they had even had to assign another doctor to assist the pathologist!

But it was done now, and they could finally make arrangements to dispose of the bodies. The ceremony was this afternoon, and finally they would be able to put the whole thing behind them.

Even if they never found out why Dr. Persis Long had created that killer virus.


[Dr. DaSilva? This is Dr. French. Could you come to Pathology? There's something I think you should see...] The voice at the other side of the line sounded puzzled. And anxious.

What now?, Antoine DaSilva thought with a sigh. "I'll be right down."


The bodies were lined up in gurneys; most were already in the body bags they would be disposed in, the rest were covered with white sheets. Two unbagged bodies were set slightly apart from the rest. Dr. French took DaSilva to that part of the room.

"Tom Ultrecht, the pathology assistant, was bagging the bodies when he noticed something odd. So he called me. Take a look." She uncovered the bodies.

One of them was Persis Long. The other was another woman, one whose uncanny resemblance to Dr. Long the difference in hair color and weight could not disguise.

"I didn't know Dr. Long had a sister. One who survived the attack." DaSilva said, confused.

"That's the thing, doctor. According to our records, Dr. Long was an only child, born in Caprica. This woman," she pointed at the other body, "is Joy McCord. She was a passenger at Pan Galactic 76. She died from radiation poisoning. In the nebula. I asked for any records they had on her. According to her papers, she was born in Picon."

"Could it be that they are related? Maybe close cousins?" Dr. DaSilva was trying to come up with a reasonable, logical explanation.

"On a hunch I checked their DNA. It's identical. They are identical twins."

"Perhaps they were separated at birth, adopted by different parents?" DaSilva was grasping at straws.

"Maybe. But if they didn't know about each other's existence, why would Dr. Long take such pains to change her appearance? She even wore non-prescription contact lenses to change her eye color." Dr. French was genuinely puzzled.

Antoine DaSilva remembered a rumor he'd heard; one he'd discounted as idle, paranoid speculation - about the cylons having cloned humans to use them as agents. Could Dr. Long be a cloned cylon agent? It would explain the killer virus...

He made a decision. "Dr. French, these two bodies will not be disposed of. They must remain in the morgue until further notice."

He then returned to his office, to write a message to CO Rodrigues.

404 Error - File Not Found

Last edited by Eaglestar51 on Sun Sep 24, 2006 9:52 am, edited 5 times in total.


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PostPosted: Sat Sep 23, 2006 10:28 pm 
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Cylon Resurrection Ship
Day & Time Unknown
Lt. Joshua Nordstrom


They had kept him drugged for most of the first few days aboard the Resurrection Ship. The blonde woman told him almost immediately upon arrival what it was… seemingly caught up in a burst of pride and unable to keep herself from bragging about the downloading process or the fact that she was model number Six. Most of the time passed almost instantaneously, but there were the other times – while the drugs were first taking affect or wearing off – when he would wake up strapped down to a table and fervently wished he was dead.

She also told him about their reproductive problems, how the fact that “God sparing a few remnants of humanity” had once again demonstrated his carefully pre-planned providence for the Cylon race… having left them the necessary “resources” to solve their problem procreating. The first few times she spoke of him, Joshua had listened and countered her arguments with angry jabs of his own. “
Whoever the thing is that you pray to, he’s certainly no god!” he had screamed at her. “And he’s certainly no frakker that you’ll ever find me praying to!

That had been his first mistake as a newly captured POW – finding out just how angry she could get. He now had two blackened eyes, cuts on his lip, and bruised ribs to show for his efforts.

Joshua was actually grateful that they kept him drugged those first few days, since several dark-skinned doctors who looked exactly alike were continually taking blood and tissue samples from him around the clock. The process required frequent injections in vital areas on or around his genitalia. The mere sight of needles, scalpels, and other medical equipment in his private room at the center of the Resurrection Ship terrified him; the fact that they were in the hands of the biological Cylons left him completely and utterly terrified.

They were taking no chances either… the room he was in was small and had a single exit that was guarded non-stop by two of the towering, intimidating metallic Centurions. They stood there – one on each side of the doorway – with their single red eyes whirring slowly back and forth as the doctors continued their experiments on Joshua. His screams of agony would regularly fill the room with the hideous sound of a person suffering and they would just stand there, watching with a complete and utter lack of emotion.

After what had to have been the first few days he saw the blonde woman again, wearing black this time as she arrived to check on him. At first he wondered if she might be one of the duplicates, but the Cylon woman made sure to let him know immediately that it was indeed her.

During one of his few, lucid moments since arriving, she ran the fingers of one hand softly up and down the top of his naked body as he lay helplessly strapped to an examination table. He felt himself becoming aroused, tried desperately to get control of himself, and quietly cursed his body for betraying him. He also hated watching the satisfied smile on the Six model’s face as she repeatedly caused him to lose control of himself. Toward the end of her visit, she had even leaned over and whispered in his ear over and over again… reminding him that he was now her personal research project.

They drugged him again shortly after that, and he just laid there on the table, staring blankly at the ceiling with his motor functions completely disabled. They had left him conscious this time, and the strange, alien sounds that echoed through the halls – most of them mechanical – played dark games with his imagination. Voices passing by in the hall outside sounded evil, distorted and wicked. Repeatedly the metallic footsteps of the Centurions walking back and forth poured terror directly into his heart, and on multiple occasions he tried as hard as he could to leap from the table and run but his body failed him and the restraints would have stopped him regardless.

Bits and pieces of conversation sifted through his mind, reaching a level of his subconscious that was still paying attention whenever familiar words like
Galactica or Libra reached them. Once in a while he even heard things other than ship names, such as Presidents and resistance and Kobol. Throughout it all, he tried his best to comprehend what they were saying but his mind had been numbed by the drugs… he was conscious, but other than that everything was an endless haze of distorted imagery mixed with the eerie background noise of the Resurrection Ship’s engines.


He had no idea how long he had been aboard before awakening suddenly to find that they had moved him to a new room. It too was almost completely white, but there were two doors to this one – a locked exit leading back into the ship and the entrance to a restroom. Bathroom supplies were inside the restroom and – completely soaked in sweat and the smell of his unwashed body – Joshua turned on the shower and began to clean himself.

He cried out in shock several times, since the water was completely cold and felt like the raging rapids of a river during winter stealing the warmth from his body. He applied soap with the water running alongside his body and then ducked himself beneath it only long enough to wash himself clean. There was no shampoo so he simply wet his head down and then turned off the water.

When he returned to the other room there was a small plate of food sitting in the center of the floor. Shivering and with his hands shaking, Joshua hungrily devoured the offering and then settled back down on the small bed with its single blanket over the mattress beneath him. This time fully conscious he shivered in the chilly room and returned to staring blankly at the ceiling as he wondered just what in the world was to become of him.

Last edited by SonOfTed on Mon Sep 25, 2006 9:35 pm, edited 1 time in total.


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PostPosted: Sat Sep 23, 2006 10:30 pm 
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Battlestar Libra
Day 78

(Co-Written w/ mcpojoe7845, GoldWolf, RangerLord)

"Ladies and Gentlemen...." she said, keeping a straight face, realizing too late that the marine before her would probably not appreciate being titled as such "....As I am sure we all have much more pressing things to do with our time and sit around and yak, I'm going to get straight to the point. All of you are aware of biolons, and the threat they pose. And all of you are no doubt aware of the threat that is posed by the possibility of their existence becoming public knowledge. Simply speaking, the biolons pose a two-way threat to the security of the convention. First of all, because they may attempt to sabotage it, and second of all, because I cannot allow most of people providing security to know of their existence. To that end, I submitted a request to Commander Rodrigues, requesting he loan me personnel, already in the know as to the biolon situation, to act as, for lack of a better term, biolon screeners. You--and any additional personnel the Commander believes can be spared--will act as our first line of defense, against the biolons, during the convention. You will screen all incoming delegates, staff, and visitors to the convention, comparing them against the information we have concerning known biolons."

She paused for a moment, took a sip of her coffee, and continued.

"Due to the sensitive nature of relations between Palatine and the convention, and the impossibility of screening the entire ship, the general passengers and crew of Palatine will not be subject to these measures, only those who will be attending the convention, or providing direct service to the delegates. Also, because of the classified nature of the biolon threat, and the need to keep these activities low profile, I would request that you wear civilian clothing, if possible, during your time aboard Palatine. You will be provided with accommodations aboard Palatine, for the duration of the convention."

She took another sip of coffee, and eyed each of them in turn, making sure that her face reflected the respect she felt for them all, and for the importance of the duties they would be performing.

"Any questions?"

"What information are we basing our screening on Director, pictures of the known Cylons," Fetter asked.

"Yes. Photographs of known biolons, as well as their vital statistics, have been provided to all of you."

Fetter nodded his head.

"Naturally, these visual aids and data sheets are not something which can be made public, so please memorize the data contained in them, before beginning your assignment aboard Palatine."

"I will make sure of it Director," Fetter replied.

“Ms Liala, can you give some idea how long the convention will last?” Razorski asked.

She fixed a sympathetic look on the female marine--one which made it clear this was a question she, too, wished she had a better answer to.

"Unfortunately, while events such as this have a starting date, they rarely have a fixed ending date. However, I am well aware that you all have more pressing duties...and if at any time any of you feel you absolutely must return to them, I will release you from screening duties, and make alternate arrangements. As for an estimate....on the low end, a month. On the high end....six to eight months. Personally, I am hoping to have matters concluded within 8 to 12 weeks."

“Once all the delegates and those attending the convention have been screened, how much of our presence will be required?” Because I sure as Hades aren’t going to leave my jarheads on their own for that much time, Razorski thought.

"Once initial screening of the delegates has been completed, the need for screening personnel will drop. However, one or two screeners will always be required, to screen incoming visitors."

Dear Gods, she thought, as if hearing herself from afar. I'm becoming one of them. I'm becoming a long-winded, circle-talking, idiot politician......

Dedrick spoke up. "Commander Rodrigues has assigned me as your liaison to the Libra, so I suppose I'll be with you for the duration.

"Excellent. Would you have any objections, Captain Dedrick, to also functioning as the primary biolon screener, after the initial screening of the delegates and staff is complete?"

“We can come up with a roster, sir, to share the duties,” Razorski commented to Dedrick.

Dedrick nodded to Razorski, then replied to Liala.

"That would depend, Ms. Liala, on how discreet you wish us to be. As your liaison, I was intending to be in uniform. The rest of my team, however, I had thought to have in civilian dress."

"As all visitors are required to submit initial documents--including a photograph--when requesting a visitor's pass, it should be possible to screen visitors very discreetly. I would simply have you look over the photos submitted, before we issue them the pass."

"Director, and in the event we do come across a Cylon--" Fetter asked.

“--Exactly what action do you expect us to take, if we identify one of these biological cylons?” Duncan finished.

"If you come across a biolon while screening an application for a visitor's pass, please inform Mister Jack Frasier, CBI, or myself, as soon as possible, and we will see that they are taken into custody, aboard whatever ship they are on. If you come across a biolon during the initial screening of delegates....take them into custody, as quietly as possible. Use whatever cover story you feel is appropriate to the situation. I trust your judgment." she said, with a smile.

Duncan nodded slowly. ’Into custody’ will probably be a lot harder to do than it is to say.

"And if they're openly hostile Director," Fetter asked.

"Then do whatever you have to, to ensure the safety of the convention, the delegates, and the Palatine." she said, flatly. "Up to and including the use of deadly force. I will back you, 100 percent."

"Even if it threatens the secrecy of the Biolon threat, Director?" he asked in a very curious tone.

"Yes." she said, her voice dropping and growing weary at the lack of choice they were faced with, despite her best efforts to control it. "Because if they become hostile to such a degree that such force is required....then their presence represents a much more imminent threat than the information."

"Understood Director." Fetter said respectfully.

"Ms. Liala, I have a couple of questions," Dedrick said.

"I'm assuming you are aware that the Marine contingent will be armed."

"Absolutely." she said.

"I am considering the advisability of keeping a Marine in reserve, out of the public view, with additional weaponry... as a contingency."

"I second that," Fetter said.

"I have no objections. It sounds like a wise precaution."

"Good. My second question, I am assuming the CBI's ability to perform background checks is limited, if it exists at all."

"You would be correct. The ability of the CBI and the Secret Service to perform background checks is, in most cases, limited to information we are able to secure from ship's records, travel documents, and interviews with those aboard the ship a person was travelling on. The rest of the records...Well, we all know what happened to them."

"That will limit us in our ability to detain and question individuals other than the few on these photos."

Duncan thought about Cole, but kept his mouth shut.

"Correct. Quite honestly, without better data, the entire thing is a mere formality. Unless someone has committed murder since coming aboard one of the ships, we aren't likely to have anything on them. However, rest assured, your task is to screen for known biolons--which we do have data on. The Secret Service, the CBI, the police, and Palatine's security will be taking care of the rest."

"That's all I have, for the moment, Ms. Liala." Dedrick said.

"Alright. Feel free to contact me at any time, if you think of others. Anyone else?"

“I’ll make up a roster for my jarheads to staff the reserve position.” Razorski said to the room at large. “Who should be informed of this?” The last part was addressed to Dedrick and Liala alike.

"I'll handle informing those who need to know, among the CBI, the Secret Service, and the police. Mister Masters has been spearheading coordination with Palatine's security forces, I'll let him handle that side of things. As far as those outside this room, Mister Masters, Mister Brown, and Mister Fraiser know....the marines are aboard as backup security, due to our inability to recruit enough personnel in time for the convention."

“Very good, thank you, Ms Liala,” Razorski nodded.

"Any further questions?"

When she saw that there were none, she nodded to each in turn, gave a final reminder that they could contact her at any time, should they have additional questions, and finally, left the meeting room. With Willborn glued to her side, as always, she made her way through the corridors, heading for the raptor that would return them to the Dawn.

Invest In America, Buy A Congressman

Last edited by ViperChickKaliyla on Sat Sep 23, 2006 11:16 pm, edited 1 time in total.


 Post subject:
PostPosted: Sat Sep 23, 2006 11:01 pm 
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Location: The Dark Side
[With RangerLord and mcpojoe7845]

D76 T0745
Battlestar Libra

With Willborn glued to her side, as always, Liza Liala made her way through the corridors, heading for the raptor that would return them to the Dawn.

Once Liza Liala had left, Razorski stood and looked thoughtfully at Dedrick. There was more to come, she knew; she could tell by his expression. She got up and made sure the hatch was secure, and got herself some more coffe. At Duncan’s nod, she refilled his cup, also.

Dedrick turned to Razorski. "Gunny, I'll need your recommendation on who you want with the weapons locker."

“Our Recon grunts,” she replied immediately.

“How many are you wanting on stand-by?" Dedrick asked, one eyebrow raising.

“As many as we can spare,” she said. “Two at a time on duty. Rotate them through maybe every four days; so we’d have four here at all times.”

"Alright," Dedrick responded, giving a low laugh. "For a second there I thought you were requesting a full deployment."

“To keep a bunch of windbags protected?” she asked with a snort. “We’d need more jarheads than the fleet has, just to protect them from themselves.”

Fetter put in, “I can free up some of my Marines, too.”

“Very good, thank you, Top,” Dedrick nodded.

"Major Duncan," Dedrick continued, looking him in the eye, "if you will, once we're aboard Palatine, do a full survey... I want to be ready to end anything that happens, before it gets started." A slight grin played across Dedrick's face. "I believe you have some experience with that."

Duncan nodded, returning the grin with a ferocious one of his own. “Gladly.”

Razorski looked from Dedrick to Duncan and back. Those two know something I don’t… She kept her mouth shut, though. If she needed to know, Dedrick would tell her.

"My opinion, for what it's worth, is that this assignment is going to be a baby-sitting job. I don't expect a firefight. We're facing an enemy that surely isn't so stupid that they'd send a recognizable agent... That said, I also realize just how juicy a target the convention is, so although I don't think we'll discover the enemy through the screenings, I do expect, if there are still enemy biologicals in the fleet, that these unknowns will take some form of action. So be ready."

Fetter nodded, saying, “Yessir.”

Duncan didn’t respond out loud, but he thought, I frakking hope they try something.

“Well, if they take out any of the bureaucrats, it’ll be no great loss,” Razorski said wryly.


 Post subject:
PostPosted: Sat Sep 23, 2006 11:27 pm 
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The Palatine
Day 76 T1100
Passenger Quarters

Allan Masters was back aboard the Palatine, supervising the installation of the last of their expanded security network. Going with the ship’s casino style, they had placed closed circuit digital television cameras in all public corridors, restaurants, and meeting places. Only personal quarters and private meeting rooms were left untouched – people who milled about in public while aboard would see the cameras and be duly forewarned that security was in place.

Masters knew that this would only be a partial deterrent – casinos in the Colonies had used similar security monitoring systems for years prior to the attack and had developed quite a long list of people still finding ways to try and cheat despite the fact that they were in plain view and on camera. As a civilian police officer, Allan had worked with local authorities on many occasions in order to provide adequate security at ballgames and large public gatherings. The few drunks or incidents of minor violence that would inevitably occur weren’t what had him most concerned… finding the bio-Cylons before they could do massive damage to an already terrorized population was.

There was no way to be completely fair to every individual in a high priority situation like this one, and thus he had promised Vincent Antaeus, Palatine’s security chief, that he could expect full access to all of their security measures with the sole exception being classified government material. As long as the military was working in concert with the developing new legislative process, Allan was fully confident that the proper checks and balances were in place to protect everyone’s rights.

But playing by the rules simply wasn’t going to catch people who themselves were behaving in a devious manner, and Allan was experienced enough to know that - if people still cheated at casinos when they knew they were on camera – covert Cylon operatives who wanted to kill and terrorize would not simply stop due to a few conveniently well-placed camera systems either.

There was no way to be perfect in law enforcement, at least some crime was an inevitable product of civilized society. So Masters and his crew had directed their objective more toward the minimization of incidents – not preventing each and every minor occurrence Realistic goals and reasonable compromises to normal personal freedoms in a situation such as this one quite simply had to be made. Thus Allan and his team of electronics experts deliberately left gaps in a few of the corridors where the newly-installed camera systems couldn’t see.To the casual observer it would appear that those areas were unmonitored, but within the light fixtures, wall hangings, or even concealed in the ceiling of these areas his team placed miniaturized versions of the camera systems.

Palatine’s park was set up in the same manner, with visible security cameras placed in trees or on restaurant signs and the open area containing the trees, grass and sky apparently left unwatched. But such was not the case – the visible security system was a warning, meant to put people on their guard that law enforcement was present – but it was only the first level in place. Other smaller cameras, including those with audio pickup, were expertly concealed as a secondary, more intense level of security. These were motion or voice activated, easily cluing in the secret service to ongoing conversations.

In some of the key areas the equipment was even sophisticated enough to isolate and pick out specific words like “bomb” or “Cylon” and instantly pop those transmissions to the top of the video queue for immediate review. It was a secret that Masters was not sharing with Antaeus, even though he knew the security chief must certainly suspect that they would take such measures. The acts of sabotage in the fleet since the initial attack, along with the number of Cylon collaborators already caught, simply left them no choice.

Manpower alone – particularly newly-trained and inexperienced manpower – was not going to prevent a crisis. Thus they had talked and met and planned and made the decisions that were necessary to grant them every chance to minimize the possibility of sabotage or an act of violence occurring during the Colonial Convention. Marines and other armed civilian police circulating through the Palatine would provide an additional deterrent, but the multiple-level camera system was being used expressly so that their presence could be minimized.

Their primary objective was to make the delegates feel safe, with security present but not in such a great amount as to make them feel as though their every move was being watched. Folks had a right to feel comfortable, and if they were not then their judgment would be affected and the positive outcome of the Convention placed in jeopardy.

Allan walked around the main control center, watching his best men switch the view on their computer screens between cameras. They were also testing the audio pickups, making certain that if the situation called for it they could automatically lock in on a conversation and listen in. Everything was being meticulously recorded and archived as well, so that – at any time – they could go back in time to any major area on the ship and review the movements of both passenger and crew.

Masters had made certain that Vincent could visit this room at any time, and that he knew about the secondary level camera system and audio pickups. But he was unable to tell the Palatine security chief about the existence of the bio-Cylons whom Antaeus knew as collaborators, and he also reluctantly was unable to circulate images of the specific, identified Cylon targets they were looking for. To do so would require too much of an explanation, and they simply were not ready for that yet. Ultimately their goal was the same – keeping people safe and ship’s operations running smoothly. Thus he was certain that Vincent would understand – and even approve – of the extra precautions they were taking to be certain that nothing happened to the Palatine or the people aboard.

Last edited by SonOfTed on Sun Sep 24, 2006 12:36 am, edited 1 time in total.


 Post subject:
PostPosted: Sat Sep 23, 2006 11:49 pm 
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Location: The Dark Side
Day 77 Time 1022
Battlestar Libra Medical Section
Dr Ralph DeValera

DeValera read the message that Commander Rodrigues had passed on to him. Dr Long, the person identified as the person behind the deadly mutated virus, was identical to a woman who had died from radiation poisoning in the nebula. Dr DaSilva had mentioned the possibility of cloned humans acting as cylon agents.

He knew it was much more sinister than that. Another one, he thought grimly. He had pictures of both women, from their IDs, and he went to let Captain Dedrick know.

[expanded material, with RangerLord]

Day 77 Time 1034
Battlestar Libra Intel Section
Cpt David Dedrick, Dr (Maj) Ralph DeValera

DeValera had arrived at Dedrick's office moments before, and had shown him the photographs he carried. Dropping Long and McCord's IDs onto the desk between them, DeValera settled into a chair.

Taking his own seat, Dedrick's eyes moved from the photos DeValera held, to the IDs on his desk. "This confirms it - we were right to add McCord's likeness to the list of enemy biologicals," Dedrick stated.

“Yes,” DeValera agreed. Soberly, he added, “Three… models, confirmed. Hans Dean/Leonard Conoy; Aaron Dirac; and Joy McCord/Persis Long.” He smiled without humor. “Twelve models, all together… perhaps we should number these, to keep better track of them.” He paused, then mused, “Five, ah, individuals, that we know of so far, in a population of around ten thousand.” He looked directly at Dedrick. “How many more are there among us?”

The question was clearly rhetorical, but it held chilling implications.

Silence held the room for a few moments while the two men considered the possibilities. Then Dedrick spoke, "Doctor, it's fortunate that you stopped by - I have a matter we need to discuss."

DeValera lifted a questioning eyebrow.

"You are aware of the upcoming constitutional convention, to be held aboard the Palatine?" DeValera nodded. "Commander Rodrigues has directed me to assemble a team to screen the attendees, in an attempt to intercept any biological Cylons. He feels that the convention will be a target. I concur." Dedrick reached out, drawing the two ID cards closer to him, comparing Long and McCord's appearances. Looking back at DeValera, he said, "I'd like to have you on my team."

Thoughtfully, DeValera considered. “What sort of a duty schedule are you looking at?” he asked. There are some things here I can’t just drop…

"I'm afraid we're looking at gavel-to-gavel coverage, and the convention is expected to last several weeks at the minimum." Dedrick sighed, "Conceivably, it could go on for months. Duty will be rotated, of course. At the start, this is going to be intense, as we essentially will be assisting the civilian government in screening the backgrounds of all who attend. Our primary mission, though, is seeking to expose enemy biologicals before they can act, and that will be ongoing throughout the conference."

"You understand how small a pool of talent I have from which to draw, Ralph," Dedrick added. "I didn't select you lightly - I know you have crucial responsibilities aboard Libra."

DeValera thought about it carefully. “If you can keep me to eight hour shifts,” he finally said, “And I can catch a shuttle back here when I’m not there.” He looked at Dedrick and nodded. “That would work. My medical cases I can pass on to someone else, but I can’t just drop some of my clients.”

Dedrick nodded, understanding obvious on his face. "It's a tough call, Ralph, but we need you. I'll make sure to accomodate you, regarding your patient load, and I'll get you out of this the second I believe we can continue without you."

Dedrick rose, rounding the desk and extending his hand to DeValera. "Thank you," he said. "Who knows? Maybe we'll even get a chance to have that drink..."

"I'd like that, David," DeValera smiled.

Last edited by GoldWolf on Sun Sep 24, 2006 7:26 pm, edited 1 time in total.


 Post subject:
PostPosted: Sun Sep 24, 2006 12:28 pm 
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Joined: Wed May 03, 2006 10:54 pm
Posts: 2117
Location: out there
Day 77

"Dear, are you ok"? Margaret Jarvick asked her husband through the closed bathroom door.

"Peachy." came the sarcastic reply.
He opened the door and smiled. "What do doctors know anyway?"

She returned his smile. "Are you sure you're up to this convention?"

"A man has to - ... Yes, I'm fine. I won't over exert myself. Maybe five more months if i'm lucky.

"And I'll be the judge of when you have." She remarked. "We took the trip so you could relax, not for you to plunge back into the headaches of politics." He can go at any time, but he's stubborn to the end.

"I'll make a pretty speech here and there, hold Liza's hand,.. and mostly just sit there."

"Smiling for the press." She knew him so very well.


 Post subject:
PostPosted: Sun Sep 24, 2006 3:52 pm 
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Joined: Mon May 08, 2006 8:12 pm
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Location: Proud Policy Wonk
Liza Liala
Day 80

Another smile. Another handshake. Another delegate passed through security, and down the line. Sooner or later, she thought, shaking the hand of some blond woman, I'm going to run out of smiles. Or out of handshakes.

The agenda she had drawn up left--thankfully--little room for socializing, before getting down to business. They'd been passing delegates through security for an hour now, routing those who had been cleared past her for the obligatory (on her part) greetings, and then to a reception room that she had made sure was stocked with the appropriate food, drinks, and decor. As soon as they finished clearing delegates, however, she intended to call the session to order, as soon as possible.

Then...the real work would begin.

Invest In America, Buy A Congressman


 Post subject:
PostPosted: Sun Sep 24, 2006 4:05 pm 
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Location: Proud Policy Wonk
Katharine Janine Vernon
Reception Room

Somehow, she had never expected it to be this nervewrecking. She had always dreamed that it was fun, that it was easy, that it was like the party it looked like. Like the parties her parents had thrown, back on Caprica. It certainly looked the same, from the elegant attire to the elegant decor, to the elegant refreshments. But she was fast discovering it was different. Different, in a way far beyond the ID's the delegates and staff wore. This wasn't a party. This was....stressful. She felt as if her every word, her every voicetone, her every little twitch of her pinky finger, for that matter, were being judged, by everyone in the room....and likewise, everyone else in the room was being so judged on everything they said, did, and even how they everyone else. It wasn't a party--it was a godsdamn dogshow. Only dogshows didn't hold people to such stringent standards as seemed to be being applied here.

Her only consolation was that Jacob Fields, standing beside her, seemed just as ill at ease in this environment as she was, picking at his tie, then flinching at the glances various people sent his way.

Invest In America, Buy A Congressman


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