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Battlestar Titanica	By : Phynxlegion Category: 1 through F > Battlestar Galactica Views: 2024 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Battlestar Galactica or anything which someone else has legal claim to like characters, settings, etc featured in this fic. I did create many original characters, but its just for entertainment and no money/profit is being m

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Chapter 4
Hunched over a table filled with displays, Commander Florus stood with Myosha and her best repair leaders at their sides. From shoulder mounted cameras, each display gave them a detailed view of the damage from the exterior of the ship. Each of the four inspectors on tethers expertly evaluated the damage to the ship. Listening to the feeds, each confirms the damage is confined to the cargo door itself. Nodding, Myosha takes still pictures of the feeds, and transfers them to a central display, pointing out four distinctive scorch marks around the edges of the door.
“Those are from emergency braking thrusters. My guess is that the vessel tried decelerating moments before the impact. If it hadn’t, I imagine we’d be doing this from inside the corridor rather than outside the ship. DRADIS tracked it originally travelling at 4000 meters a second, and it was only doing 800 meters when it hit; perhaps slower. And don’t even ask me if I know what this thing is made of. This green material isn’t metal, and it’s not even scratched from punching through our door.”
As the inspectors drift around the 60 foot long vessel, they discern no cockpit or hatches until they drift underneath. A third of the way back, a square panel with writing in a wide circle lies engraved in the square. Taking out a large painting brush, he sweeps away eons of dust statically adhering to the surface. Uncovering dozens of unknown languages, he pauses so Myosha can take several good pictures of the panel. Printing out the image, Myosha confirms a set of four good captures and moves on to help imagine removing the ship.
As Doneatha and Myosha scratch their heads, Captain Dutella Briar clears her throat.
“I don’t know about any of these others…”
She pauses and points out a poorly etched set of glyphs running parallel to the edge of the panel before continuing.
“…but these are most likely ancient Kobol. This isn’t my specialty, but I think Forester would know. Ancient history is his passion.”
Doneatha looks to Myosha in anticipation. Remembering their circumstances, Myosha extracts her head from the situation, and motions for Ensign Jalter to step forward.
“Get Captain Forester from the simulator, and expedite his butt here now!”
With an athlete’s determination, she disappears down the hall in a flash, as the engineers give their best choice to remove the vessel.
“I recommend we cut the door, remove the ship, and weld it all back together. The hinges are more than likely Frak’ed, and we’re not using the bay anyways, right?”
Myosha nods to the Commander.
“We were storing extra parts and junk, nothing we can’t relocate.”
The Commander sighs heavily, smelling her need for an emergency shower after the crisis has passed.
“Well, I don’t want to dump this ship overboard, it could have untold technologies or information onboard. Do we have a secure bay we could store it in?”
Myosha nods.
“Aye. The center raptor pod can easily house it. We can use the utility pods to move it there, like we do large cargo.”
Nodding, Commander Florus addresses the repair crews.
“Sounds like a plan, make it happen.”
Turning to Myosha, she continues.
“This is your area of expertise, so I’ll put this in your hands to oversee. If you’ll excuse me, I need a fresh uniform. Once the Captain has figured out the writing, convene a meeting in the conference room.”
Repressing a chuckle, Myosha grins realizing how true the statement was. Nodding, she stands erect as the commander excuses herself and they resume the extraction and repairs.
With dozens of books sprawled out on the conference tables, Captain Forester moves from book to book, taking notes of various symbols and glaring at the photos of the panel. He fails to notice the Commander and Myosha enter as he is engrossed in the deciphering. After a minute, Myosha sharply clears her throat pulling him back into reality. Resembling everything one would imagine from a book-junky, he only lacked the spectacles to round out the look. Doneatha’s patience begins to wane and Myosha speaks for her.
“You said you figured it out?”
He nervously nods, and motions to inspect the pictures.
“Well, I did…sort of.”
Seeing Myosha cringe, he apologizes and rewords his previous statement.
“I mean that I know what language is written at the bottom of that panel…early ancient Kobol…from the second age.”
Reading the lack of comprehension form his commander and friend, he stammers as he continues.
“There were three ages of Kobol. When the gods first arrived was the first, the second was during their reign, and then the language changed significantly marking the third age before they left Kobol. We deciphered a great deal of the third age, but very little of the second and first.”
Rolling her eyes, Myosha grits her teeth as she speaks.
“So you haven’t cracked this.”
Realizing his walking on thin ice, he throws his hands forward in defense.
“I’ve got a little bit done which is bringing up some interesting questions if I’m right. I’m no linguist, but the first eight characters is a warning. ‘Do not wake the green dragon.’ If I’m right, this actually answers a dozen questions regarding the prophets Pythia and Suranna the sister prophets. For ages, everyone thought Suranna was the crazy sister, who misread every prophecy she saw.”
Commander Florus shakes her head and takes a seat.
“I’m no religious authority, and I have no idea what you are babbling on about.”
Cautiously, he continues slowly.
“Pythia is the one all modern priests refer to as the visionary to the end of days, while her sister was insane and never got anything right. She was disregarded and buried in centuries of ridicule. Suranna foresaw the end of days similarly to her sister, but they diverge early and take two completely different paths.”
Flipping through a book to his left, he reads:
“Humanity will escape the wraith of the forgotten child on ships built by fools. The great deceiver will ensure humanity’s destruction, and the forgotten child’s minions will eradicate civilization.
All this has happened before. All this will happen again.
It cannot be prevented, nor will it be stopped.”
“Suranna was absorbed with a dragon of old. She foresaw this dragon being the greatest danger and savior for our people. I’ve got books and books over her prophecies, mostly because no one gives a care about what she saw. It will take me a while to read through them all.”
Doneatha mulls over the picture of dozens of engraved languages.
“And you have no idea what these other languages are?”
Shaking his head, Forester glances down at them once more before responding.
“I’m afraid not Commander. I’ve never seen anything like them before, but I do get the distinct impression, as a ship engineer, that these are meant as a warning for opening the access panel or maybe procedures perhaps, or even identification markings. All the writing in the circular pattern was from the original casting, while the Kobol is hand engraved. The writing in Kobol was an afterthought; not made when the original protective plate was cast. And from the looks of it, they had a hard time making a dent in this material. This is a bizarre form of armored ceramic material. Super light, practically immune to kinetic damage, and is older than anything we’ve ever seen. If we weren’t in our current dire straits, this ship would be the archeological find of the millennium.”
Biting her inner lip, Commander Florus rises.
“I’ll get my cryptographer to work with you. He’s pretty good, and might see something you can’t. This is your new assignment captain.”
An ensign enters the conference room and whispers into Myosha’s ear. Nodding, she dismisses him.
“Commander? The ship is in the center bay ready for you to inspect, and the damaged bay door is secured and welded tight.”
Doneatha looks at her watch and nearly falls over.
“Well I’ll be. I heard that Red Demeter was good, but 96 minutes? So much for a repair estimate of 3 days and 5 shifts.”
With a subtle smile, Myosha follows her Commander down to the center pod.
“All you said was make her flyable. In 96 minutes, you get flyable and combat worthy. Pretty…it is not. That door will never be used again, but it will not leak or be a security risk.”
The flurry of security surrounding the green ship seemed useless, as the ship had no apparent weapons or threats. As the commander enters the bay, she acknowledges the security detail surrounding her every move. Gazing on the wedge-shaped ship, she is surprised to see four, five-foot tall stilt legs deployed underneath the craft. As she starts to ask, Chief Gill Haddock smirks.
“The damn thing just lowered them as they got close to putting it on the deck. Scared the piss out of everyone. I think it was an automatic system, because we got no readings off it before or since.”
Walking around the ship, the commander admires the simple design. Noting dozens of concealed doors and panels, she can’t imagine the design was unknown to them. As she reaches out to touch a panel door, she stops and looks at the chief. He nods his approval.
“We cleaned her off and sterilized it before we lowered her into the bay. There was literally a ton of dust and debris caked on it. The Rad meter was high before we started and is now nominal. I’m glad we did it facing out the back. We registered an 1800 pound weight difference before and after. When we were done, we had this bright green monstrosity sitting in front of us. There’s not a scratch on it. No combat damage, no impact craters, not even micro-impacts. I have no idea what it’s made of, but I wish I could make this stuff. Think of a fleet of vipers made of this.”
Commander Florus nods in approval.
“So what about the door cover panel?”
He motions towards two roller beds on the deck, and he leads the commander underneath the ship. On their backs, they inspect the cover door. Pointing at a recessed door, he pushes it inwards and reveals a manual latch.
“Inside here…” He blasts his flashlight into the tight crevice illuminating five engraved images. Detailing which directions to turn the handle to open or close the door, he waits for the commander to give the order. He’s surprised that the commander takes nearly a minute to decide.
“Do it.”
With a quick nod, he twists the handle clockwise and the cover plate retracts two inches into the ship then slides aside revealing a small airlock door. Inspecting the airlock, he points out a control panel and a similar etched image on how to operate the panel. Rolling off the board, he crouches and begins cycling the system. In a minute, the door unlocks and swings down locking into position. As Commander Florus prepares to enter, Myosha grabs her arm stopping her.
“With all due respect Commander, how about you leave this to the experts.”
Suppressing the urge to override her XO, she nods and steps back as Captain Bickers and Ensign Bellows climb up the ladder into the small ship clad in space suits. Letting Myosha lead her to the emergency bridge and sit in front of a remote station, settling for two display screens with real-time review.
Passing through the second airlock, the pair shine their lights around a thin cramped corridor. With the path leading forward and aft, they stand and walk forward towards a door. Noting numerous panels and doors to their right, they open a random panel and find a drawer filled with coveralls and drab shirts. Closing it, they continue forward, and subtle red flash catches Doneatha's attention, making her key her mic.
“Stop! Turn left and down. What’s down there?”
Following her orders, the pair look down and use brushes to push off a light coating of dust. Shining their lights around, they gasp as they struggle to point their cameras through a glass sheet. Though the Commander could not discern anything from the camera angels, Captain Bickers exclaims.
“Commander? You’re not going to believe this. We have the pilot…and I think it’s alive.”
Emerging from the dust cloud, a pair of raptors begin sweeping the area and spend an hour doing reconnaissance. In haste they return to the cloud and dock inside the Achilles. Commander Florus anxiously awaits their report, despite the impending awakening of the pilot in the flight deck below. Over the past week, Doctor Hera Strom theorized their guest was in an advanced form of suspended animation. Through no actions of their own, he was slowly reviving and she guessed would awaken in another week. Though the process was a novelist’s dream, it was bizarre for the commander to view it firsthand. Wearing a gold-shielded flight helmet, it was anyone’s guess what he would look like. No more than five and a half feet long, the body resembled a meek human, with next to no body fat. Wearing a grey flight suit, it looked extremely common and unfitting of a pilot. With a security detail posted out front, the only monitor inside was a remote camera to the medical bay.
Doneatha patiently waits as the recon pilots fly aboard with the film and personally debrief her. The shuttling of the pilots did little to alieve her anxiety, as she never requested them to do so. With Colonel Themis joining them, she knew it was bad news. With her senior leaders around her the pilots enter and load their recon films.
“Commander, we exited and did our sweeps and immediately recognized we drifted 2 days off course. Apparently, the cloud was highly mobile and dragged us along. Worse, we detected that we still have another week of travel before we can completely exit this mess.”
The second raptor pilot instantly chimes in.
“There is a bright side to this, commander. I know we are only a week further to the Magellan Rock, and there is nothing blocking us from getting there.”
Stumped, Doneatha shrugs and Myosha interjects.
“MR-297. A secret war depot lost in time. Red Demeter was tasked with emptying these old sites and scrapping them. We had about a dozen of these secret sites on our list, but our hunt for the Titanica messed up our time table. We should be able to max out our fuel, ammo, and water.”
The commander nods and breathes a sigh of relief.
“Finally good fortune shines upon us. We’ll go there and refuel and rearm. I want a combat upload. There’s no telling if the enemy has eyes on that site, and I don’t want to be a sitting duck.”
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Battlestar Titanica