Then lat eone night, the door slid open on the cubicle, and the head of a Colonial Warrior stuck in and with a sort of jaunty politeness asks, "Hello, anybody home?"      I was back in a corner trying to bond-glue a slide rack back onto the wall where a hastey laser-weld had snapped off, so the warrior probably didn't see me.

   Anyways, some were the usual extroverts, always talking and making jokes. Others moved more quietly, as if having seen too much action. Perhaps everything seemed unreal to them. A few pastdays, they had been at war. Now there was a Rescue, now a cease-fire, and now negotiations about a general armistence seemed ready to begin.

   Anyways, some were the usual extroverts, always talking and making jokes. Others moved more quietly, as if having seen too much action. Perhaps everything seemed unreal to them. A few pastdays, they had been at war. Now there was a Rescue, now a cease-fire, and now negotiations about a general armistence seemed ready to begin.

   Anyways, some were the usual extroverts, always talking and making jokes. Others moved more quietly, as if having seen too much action. Perhaps everything seemed unreal to them. A few pastdays, they had been at war. Now there was a Rescue, now a cease-fire, and now negotiations about a general armistence seemed ready to begin.

Why blame me? I just got maps for those who worked in Enforcement.  And that is when I started to see them. The distinct brown suede jackets of the Colonial Warriors. They all seemed to be going somewhere else. Nobody noticed me too much. Which may have been for the better for reasons given above.

   There had been run-ins between Internal Registrations and the Services before as some personnel seconded as import-export services (The war had made certain materials in the colonies scarce) or had opened their very own loan services or other forms of enteprenourism.

   But of course, if I obtained the necessities on my own, then there would be sheaves of paperwork needed.  So of course, Subassistant Scurridae gets to fill out reams of forms, make the proper transmissions, and sure enough the proper files, slides and drives would then be delivered by a ships personnel who would be slighlty grumpy because they had lots of other important things to do than deliver cargo to a mere subassistant. And one who worked for Internal Registrations at that.

   The next two workdays I think, were spent setting up my cubicle to handle the influx of paperwork certain to occur after the coming Exchange.  And I thought there would be another way to get a quick tour of the famous Battlestar. Like I woulod need desks, computers, slides, files, and all that. And a little roundabout routing could produce a fairly thorough tour. You would just have to know when your oppurtunity came up.

   As best as i can figure, I was located on a lower rear floor, er, deck of the battlestar. I'll have to ask Webstrum and Meadows on that. They can get maps of about everything. Registrations needs to know where everything is, of course.

As things went, I was wedged down between other passengers and didn't get to see the Galactica before we set down. My tour consisted mainly of riding a tracked-mover, then disembarking in a dimly lit corrider. And after a considerable hike, I was shown an after-compartment. I was told that it was to be my cubicle for the next few work-days.