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Old February 10 2013, 11:46 PM   #171
Re: The Hunted (nBSG)

Mathias sighed and he rubbed his temples. “I cannot believe that these . . . imbeciles . . . failed to wipe the security logs. The first rule if you are going to do something as vile as this is leave no evidence,” he snapped. “Where was it?”

Sam Caldwell shook her head—and her expression was perfectly neutral. “That full inspection we completed yesterday turned it up among Admiral Cain’s personal possessions. It was all logged and sealed and stuffed in a container—the mainframe security logs were wiped, Commander. These were Cain’s personal copies, complete up to the day before her murder,” and although she didn’t allow any emotion to play on her face, the tone of her voice said it all.

Mathias snorted. “How bad are they?”

“Bad enough that I don’t want to watch them again,” she said with a sigh. “I’ve made three copies and put Cain’s original copies in my safe,” and she slid the disks in their protective cases across the table in Mathias’s office, along with a typed report that included two pages of names neatly spaced. “But I think this time we have the bastards cold, Mat.”

“How many?” Mathias asked and he steeled himself, but was surprised when Sam chuckled.

“Most of the crew may have lacked the confidence to directly act against Cain and her orders—but that didn’t mean they willingly joined in either,” she sighed. “Most of them just kept their heads down and tried to ignore what was happening. I have positively identified every single bastard that raped the prisoner—or cheered the rapists on from the cell-block. There were just sixty-seven active participants and another eighteen who served as the audience—and as advisors to the rapists, complete with requests for some exceptional perverse abuse for their amusement.”

Mathias sat back in his chair and he released a breath of relief. “Eighty-five out of a crew of one thousand seven hundred and forty-four,” he whispered. “Better than I hoped actually, Sam.”

Far better, Sir,” she answered just as quietly. “Of those, it includes the late unlamented Lieutenant Thorn and three others who have died since Pegasus joined the Fleet. Eighty-one remain aboard this ship, however, in their duty assignments.”

She paused and Mathias stared at the painting on his bulkhead—a landscape of a home overlooking the sea. And he shook his head. “Arrest all of them—immediately,” he ordered. “Your report has them separated into the actual rapists and the voyeurs?”

Sam nodded. “With that many, the brig will be standing room only, Sir,” she noted—but did not object.

“Understood—cram them in anyway, Colonel.”

“With pleasure, Sir. Are we going to shoot them?”

Mathias paused again and he shook his head. “I need to speak with the Admiral and Lampkin before we put them on trial—I will keep one copy in my own safe, and turn the other two over to Adama and Lampkin.” He snorted. “With hard evidence, they had better have courts-martial for these bastards, Colonel—if they don’t, they are leaving my ship either on a Raptor or on a walk out of the airlock. And I can assure you that Commander Jayne will flat out refuse to allow them aboard Scorpia as well.”

“Seven of them are pilots,” she added.

“Cannot be helped—if they are willing to rape a prisoner, they are willing to rape a shipmate, or a civilian.”

“Rape isn’t a capital crime,” Sam continued. “Even presuming that we do get a trial for them and each is convicted, what are we going to do with them?”

“We will cross that bridge when we come to it, Colonel. Right now, I want all eighty-one of them taken into custody—regardless of rank or duty assignment—and held in the brig. Has Major Aisne reported aboard?”

“Two hours ago, Sir—you were sleeping.”

“Good. I want his Marines to escort you and the JAG/FCIS officers making the arrests—fully armed Marines. And Sam?”

“Yes, Commander?” she asked as she stood.

“Hands off, Sam. I do not want a single one of them getting away on a technicality because we didn’t cross our t’s and dot our i’s. Understood?”

“Crystal, Sir.”

Mathias lifted the phone on the wall. “Flight, this is the Commander. I need a Raptor to ferry me across to Galactica.” He nodded at the answer and then racked the phone. “Colonel, Pegasus is yours until I return—get these animals under lock and key.”

“Aye, aye, Sir.”
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