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Tanglia trudged to
the top of the low ridge.
Her hair was all in dissarray. The air was thinning. But at the
top she could see below the ground was more open, though there would be
plenty of places to evade through.
Tanglia pulled a wrapped parcel from her pack and opened it. She
crinkled her nose.
The seasoned meat was,well, smelly. and the time in the backpack
had done it no favors in the aroma department either. And of course if she
just tossed it, the Pugeant trackers would pick up the scent.
Tanglia stopped and brushed back a hair thoughtfully. It would
fit into her plan.
It would do no good for her to lose her pursuers in the
hinterlands. She had figured she was nearing her turn back point anyways. And
one more layer would fit in nicely.
Tanglia looked and found a sand and gravel bank.
She pulled out a comb, pressed a button, and a spoon flicked
out. A spoon wasn't quite what she needed so she pushed it back in.
Tanglia pushed another button and a fork swithched out thie
time. It would do.
Tanglia knelt down and excavated a small hole with the fork. She
shoved the aromatic meat to the back of the hole and hastily pushed the dirt
in after it.
Then using the fork, Tanglia carefully raked the dirt around it
until someone would hardly noticed anything would be buried here, even if
they had been looking for it.
Tanglia stood up and smiled. No one could see it, but she was
certain that t he Pugeants with their flicking tongues would certainly detect
the aromatic victuals buried shallowly under some gravel as if someone had made
a cache. The Pugeants would certainly beleive that their superior trailing
skills had led them to a valuble clue on pursuit of their quarry.
Tanglia double-checked her set while absently forking her hair
back into place. Then Tanglia rehoisted her pack, and started on a loop back
to her starting point. She still had a ways to go, before she could rest.
"Let's see what this little number can do," Starbuck
says as he turns up the tiller-stick.
The engine gives off a whirring sound as the launch lifts
up off the deck and exits from the back of the port landing bay.
Boomer's observations notwithstanding, the launch ambitiously
churns into the short transit to where the communications cruiser waits.
"Galactica Launch requesting permission to come
alongside," Captain Apollo speaks into the com-link.
A voice speaking rather quickly replies, "Galactica Launch,
permission granted," then the voice takes on an instructive tone,
"Cockswain, this is the Communications Cruiser, Radii Delta, pull up on
the starboard side and hold your launch steady, we'll handle the rest."
Starbuck is setting there with an unlit fumarillo clenched
between his teeth, "Always looking to increase my occupational
skills."
"You can always take up being tiller-man on a gondola in
the canals of Piscince," Boomer agrees.
Captain Apollo lets Starbuck keep his concentration up until he
has the launch steady alongside the communications cruiser.
Then the Captain looks back to Starbuck and reminds him,
"We're on duty."
"Oh yeah," Starbuck rtemembers looking down at his
fumarillo, "Just that we were going to a civilian ship and,"
"Hey, take a look at this," Boomer speaks up.
Captain Apollo looks over Boomer's shoulder to see where a
video-screen is tuned into an exterior moniter.
The fumarillo quickly disappears into an interior jacket pocket
as Starbuck tunes a rear moniter to match Boomers's.
A long cargo boom rotates from the stern of the Cruiser and
pivots to where it stops directly over the Launch.
And then the Launch shakes slightly as the boom lowers and
clamps onto the sides and front and back of the launch.
The Warriors feel the slightest momentum as the boom lifts up
the Launch, swings it over a space on the deck and sets the Launch down. There
is a slight jolt.
"There goes my string of perfect landings,"Starbuck
quips as he readjusts his seating.
And then the Warriors feel the Launch drop a couple of kinches
as the supercunductive mooring bands kick on, and the boom releases its clamp
to swing away.
There is a sliding noise, as a cargo hanger slides over the
Launch. And then a rushing sound is heard and increases in volume as the
cargo hanger is pressurized and given an atmosphere.
"We made it," Apollo comments.
"We waifs of the Fleet have arrived at our next
station," Starbuck offers.
"Nothing left to do but go in," Boomer adds as he
presses a square. The panel doors slide away to either side.
On the other side of the door, a crewman awaits them.
He stands aside and points to a yellow triangle painted onto the
deck for the Warriors to step down onto, "Names Vivaldi," its the
quick-talker from the com-link, "Just call me Valdi, the ShipMaster has
selected me to be your company during your stay on our little dory."
Valdi motions the Warriors to follow him.
They exit the cargo hanger and are in a plain lit corrider.
"Rather Spartan accomadations," Starbuck mentions to
Boomer.
Starbuck is accurate enough, the corrider is plain ship-metal,
lit every so often by a lamp.
"And the crew, not the usual merchant-marine," Boomer
remarks back.
The Warriors pass a few of the crew in the narrow corrider.
Aside from making way for each party to pass, the crew say little. They are
dressed in slate-blue duty uniforms. The crewman seem to show no major awe or
hostility toward the appearance of the three Warriors in their battle-gear.
They reach the end of the corrider. Valldi is stopped before a
metal-ladder, "We go up this to the raven's roost."
"I thought civilian vesssels were required to be equipped
with an elevating system," Starbuck says, surveying the ladder and
imending climb.
Valdi shrugs, "We was planning to get one, sometime."
Captain Apollo gently gives Starbuck a push to the base of the
ladder, "We'll tell Colonel Tigh that you have passed your fitness trial
for this quarter."
Rigel looks up from her com-board, "All stations reporting
battened and secured, " she reports matter of factly.
Athena looks up to Colonel Tigh, "Dr. Salik reports that scanners
have been primed to their most sensitive settings."
"Very well then," Colonel Tigh looks over to where
Omega sits with two other technicians.
"Bridge-monitering is ready-to-go," Omega confirms.
Colonel Tigh turns to where Commander Adama stands on the
bridge, "Commander Adama, the Battlestar Galactica stands prepared to
initiate her trial of silent running upon your order."
Commander Adama takes a micron, looks out a veiw-port, and then
turns back and gives his order in a voice that seems to fill the entire
battlestar, "The Battlestar Galactica shall now commence its run of
silence."
The members of Blue Squadron who weren't immediately required
for other duty, were seated in their cockpits with the Vipers set to launch
with minimum notice.
"An entire shift seated in a viper loaded in a luanch
tube," Jolley remarks over the Com-link.
"And?" asks Stringbean.
"As I understand it, they've got the Galactica wading
through that debris field we already mapped," Jolley states, "A
battlestar can take'em, but to launch a Viper through that felgarkarb."
"I think the Commander will find an open space before he
would launch the Vipers," Greenbean counsels.
"Colonel Tigh likes to travel with his missiles
racked," Moorgan comments.
"You would be the one to enjoy an spending the entire shift
in the seat of a Viper cooped up in a launch tube Moorgan," Jolley
replies.
"A Viper can be home sweet home, as long as nothing is
shooting at you," Moorgan observes.
"It is said that one Warrior paid a considerable sum of
cubits to have their Viper-cockpit custom-fitted," Greenbean says
confidentially.
"Got the wrong FlightWarrior there," Moorgan replies,
"The way Vipers get assigned randomly, I'm not sure that would be a
great investment."
"It could be worse," Jolley decides, "I've had
enough being hunched over a scanner-screen for awhile," then adds,
"But was looking forward to a shift spent playing a quiet game of
Colonial minutae."
"You Jolley? A quiet game of anything?" Moorgan asks.
"Well, if I could just get the capstone," Jolley
starts.
Rigel's voice comes on over the Com-line, "We are under a
trial of silent running. It is requested that all personnel refrain from
unnecessary communication and use of equipment as this may affect the outcome
of the trial adversely."
"We're staring at an entire shift vaulteded up in these
launch tubes Rigel," Jolley protests, "What would you have us
do?"
"I beleive that reveiwing the cockpit layout and the
functions of each insturment, and going back through the flight procedures
manual would occupy most of a shift," Rigel answers, "But I am only
speaking for myself of course."
The Com-lines fall silent as the FlightWarriors adapt as best
they can to Rigel's missive. Moorgan leans comfortably back into his
flight-seat. Actually an entire shift in the seat of a Viper without
incessant chatter is something of a novel experience.
It seems as if the lighting goes off on the Battlestar Galactica
bank by bank as nonessential systems are shutdown and secured both to enter
silent running, and to enhance the sensitivity of the scanners which will be
needed to ferret out the smallest signs of the missing SpaceBus, or their
captors.
Soon it seems like there is only a very faint redlight coming
from the bridge of the battlesar. And even that is eliminated as the
veiw-sheilds are closed over them. The Galactica runs on her considerable
instrumentation.
Omega is hunched over his scanning screen watching the targets
of debris and ice approaching the Galactica as she begins to enter into the
debris field.
Omega is looking down onto his scan-screen. A light comes on
which indicates that Omega and the thechinicians to put on headsets or
com-plugs.
Dr. Salik's voice comes over the line in a very muted tone,
"If you watch your scan-screen, you will see the exercise the Galactica
is performing. We have calibrated the Galactica's electronic sheilds to the
mean magnetic density of the objects within the debris feild we are entering.
Fortunately for us the composition and sizes of the debris within this debris
field are signifigantly consistent which in turn should allow the Battlestar
Galactica find a state of magnetic bouyancy."
Omega looks down to his scan-screen and he can see the targets
which in reality are pieces of the debris feild come into contact
with the battlestar's electronic shields, and then seemingly slide to the
flanks, and then slide along to the sides of the battlestar, and then are
left in her wake, the debris ending up practically in its original
location.
Apparently
colonel Tigh has been monitering Dr. Salik's explanatory remarks, he
observes, "Rather impressive, but tell me, what occurs if a piece of
debris does not match the mean magnetic density?"
"Nothing major, but perhaps some minor discoloration on the
hull of the Galactica will need scraped off."
It sounds like Colonel tigh is making a note to himself,
"That's why we have Blue Squadron."
Omega comes on, speaking softly, "Dr. Salik, if the debris
from the civilian bus is has a different magnetic density, won't it be lost
when it contacts the electronic shields?"
There is a note of slight concern in Dr. Salik's reply,
"That is problematic, to bet to the right portions of the debris field
there will be a certain risk of destroying the very data we are searching
for," then he sounds determined, "but it is the best means we have
of bringing the entirety of the Galacitca's scanning capabilies to
bear," he pauses to conclude, "That is why the skill and diligence
of our people manning the scanners is so important to a successful outcome to
this operation."
In the launch cribs, a pre-selected com-channel comes on.
Greenbean speaks almost in a whisper, "Do you realize that
the Galactica has enough scanning power to thoroughly scan an area six times
larger than everything we scanned in the shuttles?"
"Maybe they'll want us to renumber our rock," Jolley
growls, "We put a lot of time in on that search for them."
"Sort of left us in the stardust," Greenbean agrees.
The com-link is interrupted, Ahmmmmmm," it is Rigel, but
then her tone changes, "But your efforts did lay a framework for the
Galactica to search, she agrees, and then the com-line goes off.
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