Kobol's Legacies

The departure lounge on the Ark Royal was nearly empty of people as Jilleen sat in one of the leather chairs to wait for the next shuttle to the resort liner. It was late in the day according to the clock hanging over the gate door marked with the number 3. She had come to the Ark Royal unintentionally after she missed the cargo shuttle back to Shangri-la after her last session. Instead of waiting till early morning to take the next direct cargo shuttle, she hopped on one that had numerous stops, the last being to the Ark Royal. She had not been sure about the timetable of the civilian shuttle routes, but the Ark Royal was one of the  hub ships.

( Layover )

Cole stood in front of the door to Captain Tarix's door and raised his angry fist. He took a deep breath, paused and then lowered his arm. He couldn't bring himself to do it. He'd been given so many chances that it somehow felt wrong to just end someone's career as a Viper Pilot before it even started. Still, enough was enough.

( He turned... )

( rated R for drug use (needle). Not much detail, but you've been warned ;) )

Alone in her semi-private cabin with light music playing, Jilleen typed the last sentence of her report on her lap top computer. Her report documented all that took place from her point of view in the hanger earlier and listed the names of witnesses she knew were present.  She expected she would take the full blame. She was a Colonial officer, she should have known better than let her personal feelings interfere with the performance of her duty. 

( Leave of duty )

Vagabond relaxed with an easy sigh as he looked out at the endless star line. Somehow, here, behind the stick of a Mark VII, it all made sense. The fighter moved like a dart of mercury through the whale-like capital ships of the fleet. Vagabond took a kind of arrogant joy in the fact that as long as he was in the cockpit he was in control. He could outrun, out fly, and and out perform any other ship in the fleet and he knew it. This wasn't the time to stand on his soap box, though. That would come when the details of the 'military action' that had the fleet on edge were revealed. For now this was just another day, another cubit - a standard BARCAP.

"Vagabond to Avalon, things seem fine among the heavies and the civilian ships. Permission to sweep the forward quadrant?" His voice carried a static-ridden sense of boredom across the wireless.

A dull, almost irritated, "Permission granted" came back.

He shifted his weight a bit, and made a few adjustments to his sensors before opening the throttle up ever so slightly. The agile Mark VII zipped ahead, reaching the forward point of the fleet in seconds.

"What do ya say, Cupcake? You got my six as we sweep a whole lot of nothin'?" It was almost possible to hear the grin on his face as he called sardonically called to his wingman across the wireless.

“Frak, what have I done?” she said as she looked at herself in the mirror above the sink in the empty uni-sex rest room.  Her little talk with Lt. Lancelot had accomplished no favor. The pilot was one of those who still believed in the honor code, like Jilleen once had before the start of the war.  Her view changed after the start of the war and her experiences on the ground back in the Colonies.

If honor was so important, she should have stayed behind on Leonis with the un-selected and let someone else do the dirty work. Instead, she did her duty, like the rest of those with her on the ground to follow orders and to move on to the next assignment. Be that assignment to gather supplies or round up survivors to be rescued. There was no honor in what they had to do, nothing noble about leaving the un-selected, those un-important people. It did not make up for the fact that they did indeed rescue a good deal of people. Jilleen chose to live with that disappoint of having to leave.

How could a viper pilot understand that, one who saw things from a cockpit way above the ground, they did not have to live in the dirt. Lt. Lancelot and others can live with their honor intact.

( Solace )

Jilleen had the double role of being the Avalon’s operations officer and the Strike Group’s operations officer, a position of great responsibility, one of which she had been performing for years now. She had her set ways, and for the most part understood her place in the scheme of things.  It was her job plain and simple.

After Commander Burk informed her of the Sting, and its possible role in the close reconnaissance mission, she saw the merit. What she did not understand was why they would agree to allow the civilian captain to pilot the ship, there were plenty of talented and skilled military pilots who could do the job. She could herself, at least she believed so. Any ways it had been part of the deal, they get to use the ship if Anika flew it.
( Unwelcomed )

Stowing the last of his incidentals into a foot locker, Cole turned and flopped into one of the metal chairs that surrounded the tiny metal table sitting amongst the collection of bunks, photos and gear that the Black Hydras called home. He glanced around the room for a second and with a sigh he came to the realization that this was his home too. After pondering that thought for a moment or two he wasn't sure whether the idea of this new home was exciting or depressing. Still, the silence and solitude was causing some melancholy to slip into his mood.

He stood once more and took off his flight suit for the first time since he'd come aboard the Avalon. Now in his loose black pants and black and gray combination of sleeveless shirts, he reached for his guitar. Taking the beaten black case into his hands gingerly, he slowly opened the clasps. They groaned from age and wear. It was comforting, familiar sound. No matter where he'd gone in his life, Cole had always had his guitar.

( Lifting the simple )

Anika lay on her stomach on the bed, the pages of Jake's most recent letter in front of her as she read it. The others he'd written all lay in a pile next to her, along with a small stack of blank pieces and a pen. She grinned as she read his description of Dani and how she was going, wondering just what he'd say if she showed it to Dani. She wouldn't, and it was probably one of the best descriptions she'd heard, even if it wasn't particularly complimentary just due to the situation. "Poor Dani," she murmured as she read it. She read through the letter again, as usual, before starting to write one in return. About two to three times a week they would communicate through letters, ship-to-ship communication for personal or private conversations more hassle than they were worth.

They'd spoken a couple of times since the tournament, on the air when he'd happened to be able to get airborne when she was, but otherwise it had all been through letters. Slowly they'd gotten to know each other a little better, their daily routines becoming a familiar thing, plus small snippets of life previous to the Exodus, which would creep in from time to time. She was still a little more cautious with what she wrote, the idea that her letters were going into the massive military maw of Avalon making her a little wary. Even though she usually delivered them on her run to the ship from time to time she didn't know what happened once they left the hands of the young clerk who collected the bag from her on hangar deck each time, exchanging it for one to go back to the central depot ship if she was going that way.


( As she came in to land that afternoon,... )

Cole put the last thoughts of Colonel MacKenzie out of his head as he made his way down the hall. He still couldn't quite get over how fast the Colonel had been able to get inside his head. He shivered, the uncomfortable parallels to his father flooding his mind's eye. The speeches, the rants, the discipline; it had been over a decade, but somehow just thinking about it always seemed to create a fresh wound.

He cleared his mind once and for all as he stood before the office door of Captain Tarix. He smiled to himself and straightened his hair. Jester had said she kept a tighter line than he did, but still - it never hurt to look your best when meeting a lady.

Clearing his throat, Colton West wrapped at the door

The heavy echo of combat boots on the metallic flight deck carried across the hanger bay like the opening beats of some annoying song that gets stuck in the brain. A few working mechanics turned to see who was bothering to make all the noise.

He was lithe and lean and carried himself with the swagger of someone whose abilities were only outmatched by his ego. An athletic frame was wrapped in the gray-green flight suit of a viper jock. He was a short man, with an almost elfin sparkle in his dark brown eyes. The thin, well trimmed facial hair an loose cascade of brown hair only added to his mischievous aura. A duffel bag was held loosely in his right hand while an old fashioned guitar case was slung over his shoulder. Both were beaten and patched in several places.
( He nodded... )

( State of the Fleet Dilemma )

( 'Shore' Leave )

Jilleen stood before Admiral Sinclair. “My apologies Admiral. I was away on the Destroyer Delphi when your message was sent for me to come see you. I’d come straight here upon my return.” The Delphi had been on picket duty on the far outer perimeter of the fleet.

As part of her responsibility, Jilleen had spent her time on the destroyer visiting with the Captain of the Ship and reviewing the ship’s force protection procedures, along with observing a training exercise. The Delphi’s crew was extraordinary; the captain ran a tight ship. The destroyers may not have the glamour of a Battlestar, but they were vital in the defense of the fleet. In the last two years not one civilian ship had been lost to any Cylon attack.

She did not know why the Admiral had called for her to come see her. She could only presume it must be something about the fleet. It not like she had ever had many conversations with the admiral on any other subject.