Battlestar

Artemis

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Precautions

Posted on 07/22/2019 @ 5:39am by Major Hamilton Stockwell

Mission: 1 - Twilight
Location: Picon | Radamanthus Shipyards
Timeline: MD 1 - 2100 Z

Ham stared out the window and sighed. Looking down at beautiful Picon, he couldn't help but yearn for the sea. Just finishing his most recent vacation, he closed his eyes and reminisced about the sun, the sand, and most importantly the money he won on a longshot bet against his Picon Panthers - the local pyramid team. Not often did he bet against his hometown heros, but he took a chance against a worthwhile opponent which happened to pay off handsomely.

Operating without a helmet as he often did, he took a deep breath from the stale air of the Raptor. Opening his eyes, he took one last look at Picon and waved his hand, "See you in a few weeks," he said. Ham was off to Radamanthus Shipyards, his most recent posting, where he was assigned to basically move ships around and make sure they didn't run into each other. Most of the time he was piloting one ship or another straight into a sun after it finally breathed its last. He rotated between Radamanthus and various other low-key postings wherever the fleet needed him. Long gone were the days where they needed guys with his number of flight hours. He was just finishing out his last good years.

Spooling up the FTL drive he signaled his intentions to Picon Fleet Command. After receiving his go-ahead, Ham initiated his 643rd FTL jump and soon found himself right where he intended - just on the edge of the shipyards. He could see the CAP off in the distance making their rounds from where he was. He punched in the coordinates of main docking bay and his trusty Raptor began to make the short ride over to the station.

The yards were massive. The number of vessels varied from time to time, but there were usually about 50 or so vessels of varying size and condition. While it was supposed to be a 'Reserve Fleet,' Ham didn't exactly trust that half the vessels could be turned around quickly enough for any type of war-footing. He flipped a switch to turn on the comm traffic and signal his intentions to dock. "Radamanthus station, this is Raptor 45-GT requesting permission to dock." A few seconds passed with no response. Quizzically, Ham re-checked he was pinging the right channel. "Radamanthus come in please, this is Raptor 45-GT. Do you hear me?"

Nothing.

Ham, still operating without his helmet on, rubbed his goatee and tried turning his comm channel to receive any transmissions going back and forth, perhaps they were busy. Instead what he heard was horror. After what seemed like several minutes of listening to Colonial transmissions start, stop, and restart, he instinctively put his helmet on. Ham looked out his window, everything looked normal. Nothing on DRADIS. Maybe the Cylons weren't coming here. Ham tried once more on emergency frequency, "Raptor 45-GT to Radamanthus, do you copy?" A shaky voice finally responded, "Raptor, all remaining crew and equipment is heading to Artemis. I say again, report to the Artemis on the double!"

Ham pinged the Artemis on his DRADIS and began pointing the Raptor in that direction. "Copy that, Gods be with you," he said.

 

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