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"And so from the
backround noise, were you able to judge how many Raiders there were?"
The slightly graying, somewhat grizzled civilian space pilot
looked over to the young woman questioning him, he rubbed his chin a moment,
entirely ignoring the bruise on the right side of his face. There was
something a little too familiar, too confidential, too professional in the
young lady's voice.
And then the pilot spoke, "I see that besides the audible
record, you are taking personal notes of this interrogation," the pilot
pivoted his chair towards the young lady slightly, "In my experience,
young la-, um, Leiutenant, that when many people are asking a person many
questions that one is wise to be careful to whom one speaks."
Just then, there is a near imperceptible tread. the young woman looks
up, past the pilot. A voice, low, but firm, speaks, "You will find the
Leiutenant to be entirely worthy of your trust and
confidence,...Gammon."
The pilot, Gammon, has swiveled back around, and is half out of
his seat, not knowing whether to salute or give the speaker an arm-clasp,
"Tigh, you old Plantar's-Peccary-Driver, imagine finding you here."
"And Good Day to you," Colonel Tigh answers with a
slight smile, motions to Gammon to be seated.
The Colonel himself takes a seat, "I apologize for my late
arrival, however you will find Leiutenant Athena completeley competent to
conduct the briefing in my absence."
Gamman nods in the Leiutenant's direction, "Didn't mean any
offence, maam-, um Leutenant, Athena, that is."
Leiutenant Athena smiles, "On a battlestar, headed for who
knows where, after what you have been through, your reaction to further
interrogation is quite understandable."
"And so Gammon," Tigh is speaking now, "how have you
endeavored to keep yourself occupied since we last parted company?"
Gammon shifts his weight back and tries to remember, a lot of
things, and to consolidate his words, "Well, about the time the Cylons
started substituting brick-layers and runway sweepers for pilots, and the
offer came up for an experienced hand to troubleshoot Vipers on the inspection
lines," Gammon shrugs slightly, "and strategists were using terms
like, 'Attritional,' the thought occurred to me that the time had arrived to
leave matters in the capable hands of the younger cohort," nods to
Athena, "and strike out on my own."
"And how have matters worked out since then?" Colonel Tigh
asks.
"The usual felgarcarb," Gamman answers, "the
inspection line started getting too confining pretty fast, and since then,
the usual oddball assortment of work here and there where I could get it, and
then the Space-Bus job came up."
"And the SpaceBus Job," Athena is tanscribing again.
Gammon looks back, holds back a laugh, "Bowdie's SpaceBus
Tours, with the, 'Get Back to Outer Space,' movement folks needed a way to
get back to the unsettled moons and asteroidal frontier areas of the
Colonies. A woman named Bowdaccia, with a flair for the business side of
things had strung together a circut of touristy and resource outfits that
needed regular service of customer and supplies, and she obtained a
space-craft to deliver the same. But Bowdie needed a driver to deliver the
same and that is how yours truly entered the picture."
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