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Old January 29 2013, 11:46 PM   #114
MasterArminas
Commander
 
Re: The Hunted (nBSG)

Episode 12: Cacophony

Captain Marcia Case—known to her fellow pilots on the Battlestar Pegasus as Showboat—frowned at the instrument she held in her hand. And then she slapped it.

“HEY!” barked Technician 2nd Class Eduard Cairnes. “Don’t be so rough on it. These things are delicate!”

“Quiet,” Showboat hissed. “Is the needle supposed to be doing that?”

The tech looked at and he frowned. And then his face went white and he nodded. Showboat handed him the detector and lifted the phone to the wireless that one of her Marines wore on her back. “Galactica, Showboat,” she transmitted. “I’ve got plutonium traces on Cloud Nine.”

************************************************** **

That was the only scanning team on the fifty-nine civilian ships of the Fleet that reported any traces of the fissile material, Tigh thought as he lifted the phone. So far, at least. “Showboat, Galactica,” he said. “Try and isolate the source—additional personnel including EOD are en route to Cloud Nine.”

And he racked the phone as Bill Adama walked into CIC. “Do we evacuate the President and the Quorum?” he asked.

The pained look in Bill Adama’s eyes made Saul wince and then the Admiral shook his head no. “If they have managed to rig up a means to light off the plutonium—we don’t dare give them a warning, Saul. No evacuation—but let’s put some distance between Cloud Nine and the other ships of the Fleet.”

“Aye, aye, Sir,” he said. “Petty Officer Dualla, raise the commander of the Cloud Nine. I want her to alter course to heading 122 carom 14—maintain current velocity.”

“Aye, aye, Sir,” she answered and passed along the information. “Cloud Nine requests the reason for the course change, Sir.”

Saul blinked and then he snarled. “Tell that . . .,” but he caught himself. “Inform Cloud Nine that we have decided to begin refueling operations from Pegasus—she is proceed on that course immediately or will forfeit her place in line.”

After a few moments Dee looked back up. “Cloud Nine altering heading to 122 carom 14—they report needing fourteen hundred and seventy-two tons of tylium to top off their tanks.”

Saul snorted, but he watched the DRADIS as the luxury liner slowly thrusted away from the rest of the Fleet towards the distant bulk of Pegasus. “Petty Officer Dualla—when they reach the half-way point, inform Cloud Nine that Pegasus is experiencing technical difficulties with the fuel transfer systems—the vessel is to maintain their current station at that time until further notice.”

“Aye, aye, Sir.”

************************************************** **

“Bloody hells,” one of the Marines whispered and Showboat narrowed her eyes as well. “Is that . . . ?”

“Yes,” she snarled. “Follow me—but at a distance,” she ordered.

She moved through the crowd in her flight suit—keeping her eye on the woman with dirty-blonde hair in a pony-tail, wearing glasses and dressed in clothing that concealed her frame. But Showboat knew her. She was certain that it was her. And she walked through the open-air market as the crowd began to thin out—and then she drew her weapon.

“GINA INVIERE!” she barked as she raised her sidearm. “STAY PERFECTLY STILL!”

The woman flinched and half-turned, and then she broke into a run, pulling a sidearm of her own from beneath the coat.

Showboat exhaled and she squeezed the trigger as she settled the sight picture on the Cylon’s chest—and the bark of the pistol surprised her. Gina staggered, and Showboat’s pistol barked again and again and again, and three more bullets impacted her, sending out fountains of blood.

The woman collapsed to the ground, dropping the pistol from a hand that no longer had the strength to grasp it.

The crowd screamed and scattered in a panic. Showboat—and her Marines—approached the Cylon cautiously, it—she—was still breathing.

“Finish it,” Gina begged. “Kill me,” she whispered as she coughed up blood.

“Frack you—you are going back in the hole on Pegasus, bitch!” Showboat snarled. “And this time you are never coming out! Not until you rot!”

The Cylon began to moan horribly and Showboat realized that it was a strangled incoherent scream, and she swallowed at the wail of pure misery, kicking away the weapon that Gina had dropped. “Get a corpsman,” she barked at the Marines. “We’ve recovered the prisoner. The one that killed the Admiral."

Last edited by MasterArminas; January 30 2013 at 12:23 AM.
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