Chapter III: "The Hangover"

Chapter  3: "The Hangover"

  14 Days Before the Fall of the Colonies

    Pherin squinted her watery, bloodshot eyes against the incoming light from the skylight above her. Clumsily putting on her sunglasses, which had mysteriously found their way in to the pocket of her dress uniform, she stared in awe at the rotating ceiling fan above her.

  Her hair was an absolute mess as she stood in the center of her living room, clothed only in her dress uniform jacket and one sock, surveying the aftermath of her wild celebration from the night before. Shortly after leaving the pub with the woman who called herself "Six" and her current time everything was a giant, alcohol consumed, sex filled blur. Waking up minutes after noon, still completely drunk, and now (apparently) alone, Pherin realized that she had, at some point during the course of her wild night, lost her underwear. Just moments ago she had stumbled in to her (normally) tidy living room to find a complete warzone; the window blinds all but destroyed, pieces of broken glass and porcelain strewn about the floor, remnants of eviscerated couch pillows lay like snow across the sofa,a fist sized hole in the wall, a decorative candlestick wedged through the television screen and a few smashed bottles of alcohol greeted the intoxicated Pherin. Despite all this only one thing mesmerized the drunken ensign: her missing pair of underwear, draped around the blade of the ceiling fan, as the fan spun lazily.

  "Frak me," Pherin giggled as she stared at the underwear clad fan and shook her head. Placing hand on her cold, perspiration soaked head she stumbled back down the hall and in to the bathroom.

  Looking at her reflection in the mirror she blushed, realizing that her dress uniform just barely covered her. Naked from the waist down, sans the sock on her right foot, she grabbed a fresh pair of underwear and a shirt from the counter and slipped the underwear on. Removing her jacket, with every intention of putting on the shirt she had just grabbe, Pherin stopped and inspected herself in the mirror. Several fresh, tender bruises had appeared on her neck; love bites, no doubt left by Six, indicated what may, or may not, have been a good night. Pherin grinned mischievously, a grin that slowly began to fade.

  The effects of the alcohol beginning to wear off Pherin stared her reflection first in disgust then to depression. At the age of eighteen her body hadn't quite filled out in all the areas she had hoped. While other girls her age flaunted perfect, full asseted bodies the gods seemed to have left no bounty for Pherin, who felt that her body lacked what made other girls beautiful.  making a face at her reflection she finally pulled the shirt over herself.

  Exiting the bathroom she made her way back to her bedroom as her head began to pound with the incoming, most likely epic, inevitable hangover.

**                             **                                   **                               **

  3 Days Before the Fall of the Colonies

  Colonial Transport Ship Gambit

  "This is the captain speaking," a mans voice announced through the overhead speakers. "We will be taking off soon. All passengers and crew please stand by."

  Pherin sighed as she leaned back in her less than comfortable seat. Checking the restraint harness, that crossed over her chest and held her back in the seat, for about the hundredth time she made a face. As much as she loved to fly she preferred the close quarters, not to mention control, of a cockpit over the spacious cabin of a passenger transport.

  Around her about forty, or so, other ensigns, medics, a few marines, techs and officers sat strapped to their seats, awaiting takeoff. Aside from herself nearly all, who were in the cabin of the transport, wore blue uniforms bearing the emblem of Battlestar Olympic on their shoulder. Pherin subconsciously ran her fingers across the embroidered Battlestar Pegasus patch on her own shoulder and grinned.

  Two days prior she had been notified by Fleet Command that she was to report to The Colonial Hub, the major port and debrief point in Caprica City, for deployment. Though assigned to the Pegasus the young ensign was instructed to report to the the Olympic and transfer to the Pegasus at Scorpion Fleet Shipyards three days later. During this time Pherin was instructed to run drills with the flight crew of the Olympic.

  Pherin had studied the Olympic class Battlestars in the Academy. The three ships of the class, Olympic, Titanic and Britannic were built in the early years of the Cylon War. Nearly identical to the Galactica Class, the Olympic Class Battlestars were built to the then specifications and standards of the Cylon War; manual valves and hatches, corded telephones, non-automated landings as well as non-networked computer systems. Constructed using roughly the same blue prints used with the Galactica, Atlantia and Archeron, as time and resources were stretched thin during the War, the Olympic class vessels were constructed with an extended girth and beam, redesigned passages and altered CIC. Additionally the three ships were equipped with an experimental Faster Than Light (FTL) drive based on captured Cylon technology. Proposed to be more accurate, safer as well as giving a ship an expanded range, the new FTL drives were promised to allow fewer 'jumps' and a smaller 'spool' time than a standard FTL drive.

  According to the records, however, the experimental drives installed on the three Olympic Class vessels was unpredictable, dangerous and an absolute disaster. Battlestar Titanic was lost on her maiden mission after after a premature, uncalculated miss fire of the new FTL drive sent the ship in to a crashdown on the Cylon occupied moon Djerba. Four years later the Britannic met a similar demise when a malfunction in the FTL drive computer over shot jump coordinates, sending the doomed Battlestar straight in to the heart of a Cylon minefield. In both cases, Pherin had learned, many lives, as well as military assets, were lost. Fearing that a similar disaster was to befall the Olympic Colonial Command withdrew the ship from service, grounding the ship while crew hastily worked to retrofit the ship with a standard drive to get her back in action. Only two months later the ship was cleared for active duty and returned, serving with many famous Battlestar and Gunstars for the duration of the war.

  Following the Cylon War the Olympic went on to serve as a patrol ship along the Armistice Line as newer, more technologically advanced Battlestars were constructed and entered service. Through the years, despite all advances made in technology, the Olympic retained her operating systems and wartime fixtures, even to the present.

  A slight commotion in the cabin of the Gambit jarred Pherin back to reality. Turning in her seat she watched as four armed marines literally dragged a man in a Colonial uniform to the vacant seat beside her.

  "I told you," a fifth, female marine grumbled to the man as her associates strapped him to the seat. "This plane is taking off soon. Now stay in your seat."

  The man, of whom Pherin guessed to be about the age of thirty, was a head taller than her, had hints of five o'clock shadow with short, dark colored hair and steel gray eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the marines.

  "I had a nice seat," he argued. Pointing back down the direction they had dragged him from he added, "Nice and cozy in the bathroom."

  The marine rolled her eyes as her associates finished strapping the man down. "I promise you, if I catch you out of this seat again, I will not hesitate to knock your fracking ass out. Now you have a nice flight."

  As the marines turned and walked away the man turned to Pherin and spoke. "They just don't get it," he said in a low voice. "One tiny crack in a porthole, the hull, a rupture in a fuel line, leaking oxygen feeds, a single iota of life support failure or malfunction in navigation equipment and boom; just like that you're a floating piece of space junk or, worst yet, careening in to a sun."

  The man turned from Pherin and pulled a small flask from the breast pocket of his uniform. Shaking his head he sighed and offered the flask to the ensign. Assuming the flask was filled with alcohol Pherin shook her head.

  "Suit yourself," the man shrugged as he unscrewed the lid and brought the flask to his lips. Taking a swig he held the flask in his hand, waving it as he continued. "I guess it's my own fault. I never should have signed up for this. Me, aboard a Battlestar. And now they are talking. They think I'm nuts; fracking insane, is what they're thinking. I'm not crazy. It's the fracking astrophobia. Heh, which I'm sure you don't have any clue as to what that is."

  The ensign was quick with her rebuttal. "Space," she began. "The fear of outer space and the great beyond, the fear of the nothingness in the outer reaches of universe and the unsettled fear of dying in space." Pherin, raising an eyebrow, turned to the man. "You do realize the Colonial Fleet operates in space, right?"

  "Not a lot left for me on Caprica," he said as he took another swig. "Ex wife took everything in the divorce, left me with no place to go except up. Fracking bitch. Anyway the Olympic needs a new medical officer and, combined with my current situation, figured I'd make for space." Drinking again he shook his head and extended a hand to her. "Malloy, Leonard Malloy."

  Shaking the mans hand she introduced herself. "Pherin Nevarro."

  "Attention," the captains voice echoed through the speakers overhead. "We are now departing. Estimated time to the Olympic is two hours and thirty minutes. Please sit back and enjoy the flight."

  The transport shuddered lightly as the craft lifted off the ground, traveling toward the sky. The quietness of the cabin was soon filled with a light whine as the engines fired and the ship gained speed.

  Pherin looked out the window and watched as clouds rushed by and soon enough the blue skies over Caprica fade to black as the Gambit left the planets atmosphere. The shuddering slowly began to subside as the ship gently glided through space.

  Looking back at Malloy, Pherin shook her head. "I think I'm gonna try and get a little bunk time."

  "Pleasent dreams," Leonard said as he unhooked his harness and looked around the cabin cautiously. Spying the group of marines he quickly re attached the harness. "I'll wake you up if we're gonna crash land."

  The ensign smiled, glancing back out the window, at the vastness of space allowed to her through the porthole. She nestled her head back into her seat and made herself comfy. Her eyelids becoming heavy as she felt herself drifting off to sleep. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a reflection in the glass of the porthole, the blurred reflection of a woman in a red dress. Opening her eyes she did a double take before whirling in her seat to look toward the aisle. Nobody was there.

  "You okay?" Malloy asked.

  Nodding she tried making herself comfortable again. Keeping one eye on the reflection in the porthole she slowly drifted off to sleep.

**                                    **                                            **                                              **

  "Hey Nevarro," a man's voice said in the darkness.

  Pherin tensed as she opened her eyes and turned her head. Adjusting to the light momentarily she blinked and soon found herself face to face with Leonard Malloy who, at the moment, was standing, leaning across her lap as he peered out her porthole.

  "You gotta see this..."

  Fully awake now Pherin turned and stared out the porthole. As she did a smile formed on her lips. Without meaning to she whispered the first words that ran through her mind: "Gods damn..."

  Through the porthole, and about two hundred yards from the Gambit, the hulking, gray plated, massive fuselage of a ship slipped past her view. As she watched large, red letters bathed in spotlights proclaimed the identity of the vessel: Olympic BS76. Though only the steel plating of the flight pod could be seen through the porthole Pherin could tell the the (comparatively) smaller Gambit was coming about on the Olympics port side flight pod toward the behemoth entrance at the stern of the flight pod. Pherins heart beat faster as her excitement grew. She was about to step aboard her very first Battlestar.

  After what seemed like the longest landing in history which, realistically, only about ten minutes between touching down, being brought below deck and securing the airlock, Pherin stood on the deck of the Olympic. Clutching her backpack straps the young ensign stood, frozen in place, looking around the emense hanger deck as flight engineers, pilots and officers worked around her. The noses of dull gray Viper Mark VIIs could be seen poking out of aircraft bays as rows of earth toned Raptors could be seen further down the line. Voices, announcements over the PA, metal grinding, wrenches ratcheting, hammers falling worked together in an endless, yet managable, roar. Sparks, lighted computer monitors, indicator lights and flashlights in the midst of moving people added to the hustle and bustle as Pherin, still awestruck and mouth gaped, stood (dumbfounded) in the centre of it all.

  "Move it along rookie!" a marine barked behind her.

  Pherin flinched, looking around for the group of new arrivals she had traveled with aboard the Gambit. Seeing the back of Leonard Malloys head in the crowd she hurried her pace to catch up, carefully navigating through the hanger so as not to end up in anyones way. Catching up to the group she was forced to slow as the group itself was forced to stopped by a group of officers from the Olympic.

  "All right people," a man holding a clipboard shouted. "I am Captain Jensen Stacker. On behalf of the crew of the "Olympic" we would like to welcome you aboard. If we could have all medical personnel stay with me, all pilots report to Captain Landriss on my right and all military personnel to Captain Choi. Let's move people."

  As the group split up and reported to their respective captains Pherin found herself with six other pilots and followed them to Captain Landriss.

  Captain Landriss, as it turned out, was an average looking woman with almond colored skin, dark hair and brown eyes. She stood roughly a foot taller than Pherin, was slightly muscular and dressed in the standard, non-dress uniform; olive pants, sleeveless shirt with black tanktop overshirt and boots. The woman stared at the new pilots, scrutinizing each one. As the medical and military groups left the hanger deck, leaving only the new pilots, the woman crossed her arms over her chest and finally spoke.

  "This is," she said sternly and began pacing. "Is the sorriest group of nuggets I have ever laid eyes on. You are on the Olympic, one of the oldest Battlestars in the fleet. This ship has a reputation, spanning across decades, for having nothing but the best flight crews and pilots in the fleet. And I intend to uphold this reputation. I am the CAG; if I don't think you belong in a cockpit, gods dammit, I will ground you as fast of lightning. Any hotheads will be grounded as well."

  At the mentions of 'hotheads' Landriss locked eyes with Pherin. Shaking her head the captain marched up to the ensign, looking her over head to toe as she advanced, and stopped. The other six pilots looked on as the captain addressed the group again.

  "I realize that you all just arrived but I want everyone suited and booted in ten." Landriss stepped closer to Pherin and said, "That includes all non Olympic pilots."

  Pherin fearlessly stared back in to the captains eyes, her confidence unshaken. "Yes sir," she saluted. Following the other pilots her heart began to beat with excitement. Looking up to the ceiling she whispered, "So say we all."

Join us Wednesday May 7 for Chapter III "The Hangover" 

Following her graduation from the Colonial Academy, Pherin receives word from Colonial Command that she will travel with the Battlestar Olympic (BS-76) before transferring to the 'Pegasus' at Scorpion Fleet Shipyards. However, the young ensigns arrival aboard BS-76 is less than well received.

Trailer

Chapter II: "The Lady In Red"

Chapter 2: "The Lady in Red"

15 Days Before the Fall of the Colonies

 Pherin sighed as she fought with the last button on her dull gray dress uniform. The small, brass button was putting up one hell of a fight against the equally determined girl.
  "Come on," she muttered and bit her lip. "You...little...motherfrakker!"
  Finally able to clasp the last, stubborn button Pherin looked herself over in the mirror, doing a last minute check for the nights festivities. The drab gray dress uniform clung to her short, petite torso without a wrinkle in sight, her dress pants following suit without so much as a deviation from sheer perfection as they hung around her fit, muscular legs and her dress boots, which she had spent nearly two whole hours shining, also looked their best. Pherin then took another opportunity to inspect herself. Her large, shining green eyes and dark hair that she had, painstakingly,  straightened and combed to perfection. Standing up straight, squaring her shoulders, she clicked her heels together and raised her right hand to salute the mirror, holding that pose for a moment.
  Tonight hers, and her hundred (or so) classmates, months of boot camp, basic training, weapons training, basic flight, simulations and hard work would be rewarded. Tonight she, and the others, would graduate from the Academy and in to the Colonial Fleet. To a degree she couldn't be happier. All her life, the eighteen and some odd months of it, she had wanted nothing more than to be a pilot in the Fleet. Stories of William Adama and his many exploits during the Cylon War had filled her otherwise mundane childhood with notions of grandeur,  courage and valor. Now, just a few months after her eighteenth birthday, she was ready to follow in the footsteps of the great Viper jocks and make a name for herself in the Colonial Fleet.
 Turning off the light in the bathroom Pherin walked through her sparsely decorated,  clean apartment and to the large picture window on the northern wall. Below her nineteenth story window, in the darkness of the evening, the street lights, neon signs and luminescent buildings of Caprica City lit up the night sky with its amber hue. Below the lights of the multiple structures the headlights of automobiles created a stream of light, snaking between the buildings and monoliths. Looking up in to the night sky, which Pherin was fortunate enough to find an apartment with such a view, beyond the passing airships and skyscrapers, to the twinkling stars and the inky, black beyond. Smiling she drew the blinds across the window and turned to back towards the living room. She knew that one day, one day real soon, she would be among those stars and closer to them than she ever could have dreamed.
  "Miss Nevarro?" a mechanical voice chirped through the intercom by the door. "Your cab has arrived."
  Pherin sighed and grabbed her wallet and keys off of the table. It was finally time to get her wings...
                                     * *                                              *  *                                  * *
  3 Hours Later
  "Isaiah Lemond," a voice thundered through the pa system. This was followed right after by the soothing, almost water sounding applause of the assembly in the grand stands.
  Bright lights.
  Pherin squinted against the harsh stage lighting as she and her fellow graduates, all dressed in the same boring dress uniforms, stood in formation. After hearing a long, aspiring speech, that was intended to both commend and encourage the graduates, though the intention was soon lost in translation, from Admiral Negala the graduates all had their names announced over the pa system and personally recieved their junior pilot wings from Vice Admiral Cormac and Rear Admiral Cain.
  "Galen MacNerra," another name echoed through the stadium. The audience applauded.
  Out of the corner of her eye, as she dared not to break her stance, Pherin could see the Vice Admiral and Rear Admiral stopped in front of the graduate to her immediate left. She was next.
  "Pherin Nevarro," her name echoed through the stadium. The audience applauded.
   Standing before Pherin now, the Vice Admiral and Rear Admiral smiled politely.
  "Congratulations," Admiral Cormac said as he pinned the junior pilot pendant to Pherins uniform. "And welcome to the Colonial Fleet."
  Standing with her heels pressed together, back straightened and hand raised in a salute Pherin held her breath, not daring to move. Shifting her gaze temporarily she found herself staring in to the eyes of the Rear Admiral Helena Cain, the commander of Battlestar Pegasus. The cold, razor sharp gaze caught the young ensign off guard and, embarrassed,  she looked forward again.
  "Moses Remmington," the announcers voice echoed through the stadium followed by a quick round of applause.
  As the admirals moved on to the next graduate Pherin lowered her salute and stood patiently in line as the ceremony continued.
  Nearly half an hour later the graduation ceremony had come to an end. Friends and family of the graduates swamped their respected graduate with congratulatory hugs, kisses, hand shakes, hearty pats on the back and words of praise as they, and many more, made their way toward the exits. Making her way, nearly wading, through the dense crowd Pherin made a face. Out of the corners of her eyes she watched joyous families, proud mothers and fathers and good friends celebrate with equally happy and proud graduates. For Pherin there would be no one. No proud mother or father, no smiling family and, what friends she did have, were fellow graduates. Such was the life of...
  "Pherin Nevarro?" a gruff voice called behind her and over the many conversations surrounding her.
  Turning Pherin found herself face to face with a stern faced military police officer.
  "Admiral Cain would like a word," the MP said flatly.
  Pherin raised an eyebrow. What in the worlds could Cain want with her? As she followed the MP through the crowd her heart began to pound with uncertainty. This could be good...or this could be really bad.
  Pherins internal debate and walking were both interrupted as a man stepped out of a door and in to the hallway. Her eyes grew large as she quickly recognized him.
  Though not much taller than the average man the rough, yet soft face, dark haired man was an important figure in the Colonial Fleet. All knowing eyes that were hidden behind a small pair of eye glasses focused on Pherin who, forgetting professional protocol and courtesy, stood frozen in her tracks and gaped.
  "William...Adama..." she marveled as the man strode toward her. Suddenly remembering that this man was a commander and she a lowly ensign Pherin clicked her heels together and saluted. "Commander Adama," she greeted. "My apologies, sir."
  Stopping before her the old man smiled. "As you were," he said in a calming voice. He chuckled and shook his head. "You must be Pherin. I've heard a lot about you."
  Feeling as though a star pyramid player had just acknowledged her existence, and not a military officer, Pherin bubbled inside like a teenage girl. This man had been her idol growing up, the reason she had enlisted in the Colonial Academy in the first place. To say that she had studied Adama's records closely would have been an understatement. Every available flight log, declassified document, flight record or transcript on William Adama had been poured through and dissected by Pherin who, whilst still in the Academy, tried to emulate the famed Commander who had risen through the ranks; from his early days as a Raptor driver to his command of the worlds famous Battlestar Galactica. Losing herself in her thoughts again Pherin shook her head.
  "Yes sir," she replied simply.
  The man removed his glasses, holding them up to a light as he continued. "You're a hell of a pilot. You remind me a lot of myself when I was your age."
  Pherin fought the urge to grin. Here was was her idol, comparing himself to her.
  "Heard you broke some of my records at the academy too," Adama said as he put his glasses back over his eyes.
  Frak. Pherin wilted a bit, fearing that she had, in some way, offended a man she revered as a god. Despite her best efforts she wasn't able to hide her disappointment from Adama.
  "Records are meant to be broken," the old man said with a reassuring smile.
  A hand tapped her shoulder, causing Pherin to flinch. Startled she turned and found herself face to face with the MP. In the course of running in to William Adama, Pherin had completely forgotten that Admiral Cain had requested the ensigns presence.
  "Admiral Cain will see you now," the MP said matter-of-factly.
  Adama smiled. "I guess that's my que," he said to Pherin. "It was nice meeting you, Pherin. Good luck."
   Pherin watched as the commander walked  away and out of sight, smiling. One day, she told herself, she might be half as good as that man. Turning Pherin walked ahead a few paces and turned in to the room the MP pointed out. As the door closed behind her Pherin found herself in a sparsely decorated room with a single window and no furniture.
  Standing before the window, bathed in the incoming light of the Caprica City skyline, stood Admiral Cain. Her back to Pherin, shoulders squared, hands clasped behind her back, uniform complete in its perfection and a demeanor that commanded respect. Looking over her shoulder, through her long brown hair the admiral turned and faced the young ensign who, in turn, saluted respectfully.
  "Pherin Anabella Nevarro," Cain said without so much as a denotation of emotion. The admiral looked the ensign over, from head to toe, as if sizing her up before continuing. "As I am due to return to the Pegasus shortly I will keep this meeting brief."
  Pherin stood at attention, not daring to make a move or sound while Cain addressed her.
  "First of all," the woman began. "Congratulations on a job well done are in order. I don't think anyone expected you to excel the way you did in the Academy. Your academic record is spotless. Etiquette? Spotless. Basic training and advanced training? Spotless. And let's not forget your flight, simulation records and combat scores. Phenomenal. After seeing your progression through the Academy, and being no less than pleased, I was rather surprised to see what your superiors assigned for you."
  Pherin was puzzled. She and the other graduates would not find out their designated ships for another three days...
  Cain shook her head. "A flight engineer aboard the research vessel Ferrigate." Cain looked in to Pherin's eyes. "Does this sound like a a job you are willing to perform?"
  Though heartbroken Pherin maintained her composure.  "Sir," she began. "The ensign will perform the duties asked of her without any and all hesitation, sir."
  Cain took a few steps towards the young ensign and smirked. "I see that they have trained you well," she said quietly. "But I can tell that you are a strong, independent and opinionated young woman. Permission to speak freely; I want you to tell me how you really feel."
  "I think," Pherin started to say but then hesitated. She tried again. "I think that being a flight engineer would be...a waste of my skill set and potential. I'm a pilot...sir. I belong in a bird."
  The Admiral stared at Pherin for a moment, without saying a word or changing her expression. After a moment a smile of satisfaction crossed her lips. "I couldn't agree more, Pherin," she said as she walked past the slightly frazzled ensign. Stepping out of the door as it opened from the outside Cain called back, "That's why you will be reporting to me on the Pegasus."
**                                      **                       **
  The Admirals words still echoing in her mind, an hour later, Pherin found herself st McGinty's; the local pub just a few blocks from her apartment. As there was no one to celebrate her graduation with, Pherin decided that a night of shots and a blazing hangover to be slept off seemed like a fitting celebration. After half a dozen shots of Ambrosia and a couple of girly named, alcoholic beverages her alcohol soaked, numbed mind was making it hard to see straight.
  Around her in the pub glasses and dishes clinked, cubits clattered across wooden tabletops, billiard balls clacked together and cards shuffled over the sounds of the television as a pyramid game rages beyond that. All the while an unaccounted number of conversations, ranging from idle chatter to sexual favors, and laughter jumbled together from every corner of the pub.
  Starting to feel dizzy Pherin placed her cheek in to the palm of her hand and leaned her elbow in to the counter top of the bar, closing her eyes to keep from becoming nausea. After a few moments she slowly laid her head on the counter, crossing her arms around her head.
  "Are you alive?" a woman's voice asked.
  Pherin opened her eyes. Sitting up and turning she found herself face to cleavage with a taller woman. Looking up she found herself gazing upon a golden blonde, shimmering blue eyed, thin figured, beautiful woman dressed in a form fitting, revealing red dress. The woman bit her ruby red, lipstick coated lip with perfect, pearly red teeth as she waited for a reply.
  Whether it was the over abundance of alcohol or the sweet, intoxicating pheromone if the woman's perfume, she wasn't sure which, but Pherin suddenly wanted nothing more than to take this woman home and have her say with her. Puzzling, she told herself, as she had never been with a woman before nor had she ever wished to be.
  "You..." Pherin slurred. "You...come to...my place...miss...?"
  The woman grinned, chuckled warmly and wrapped her arms around the dumbfounded ensigns neck. Leaning close she whispered in to Pherins ear, "You can call me Six."

  
 Join us Wednesday April 2nd for Chapter II "The Lady in Red"!
  Following her graduation from the Colonial Academy Pherin has an up close, and personal, encounter with an all too familiar face from the BSG universe...

Chapter 1: "Error"

CHAPTER 1: "ERROR"

 24 Days Before the Attack on the Colonies

  Her green eyes scanned her surroundings with heavy discretion through the plexiglass visor that continued to fog with her every breath. Hardly daring to make a move or a sound she turned just far enough so she could just out beyond the glass canopy of the cockpit and in to the vast, dark vaccuum of space. The soft, green glow of the Viper's DRADIS reflected off the tinted canopy, slightly obscurring her view as she continued watching. Looking down at the small screen she squinted as the DRADIS made one pass...two passes..three passes. All clean.

  "Come on," she murmured as she peered out of the canopy again. "I know you're out there."

  Outside the silver skinned Mark VII Viper only the vastness off space, distant stars and unknown nothingness continued to greet the young, eager pilot.  Intelligence from the Admiralty had indicated that the Cylons had been working very close to the Armistice Line and, possibly, even over it; a move that had left the Admiral rather uncomfortable. Sent out to inspect the area the Cylons had been seen she now drifted alone in this sector of space and had laid a trap for her enemies. Surely, she had reasoned, an enemy scout would be drawn to an abandoned Viper drifting aimlessly this close to the Armistice Line.

 The DRADIS beeped, drawing her attention. 2 red blips had appeared on screen. Bogeys. Bearing down on her position. Like predators swooping down on a wounded prey, they had taken the bait. The computer beeped again and revealed the bogey's identification: raiders. 2 Cylon Raiders.

  "Viper 1517," the garbled voice of the CAG spoke through her headset."DRADIS contacts at one four hundred meters and closing. Cylon Raiders inbound. Weapons live, execute targets."

  She clutched the joystick between her legs and placed her finger on the trigger. A sly grin crossed her face as the Viper's engine sprang to life. Jetting forward the young pilot drew in a sharp breath as the G force pulled her back in to the seat.

  Through the Vipers canopy she could see the inbound Raiders. The black and silver hulls of the Cylon ships nearly blended with the black, star filled horizon that dominated the view through the canopy. She could just picture the three Cylon Centurions that were, no doubt, piloting each Raider. Their silver, metaloid bodies and red visored faces always struck fear in to a Colonial Marine but she was a pilot, a Viper pilot. Fear was not in her vocabulary and she had the records to prove it.

  "Viper 1517," the CAG  said. "Inbound Raiders are on a collision course. Suggest a change of heading to one five niner. Acknowledge."

  She shook her head. "Negative, CAG," she said. "Maintaining current heading. Thanks for the heads up."

  "Have you lost your godsdamn mind, nugget?"

  She shook her head. She knew what she was doing. Shifting her course ever so slightly she brought her Viper in to a collision course with the approaching Raiders and boosted her speed. The flight computer began to blare with a shrill alarm as the words 'collision alert' flashed across the screen. Focused on the approaching Raider the young pilot bit her lip and braced herself as the distance between the two vehicles shrunk.

  Two hundred yards...one fifty...one ten...eighty five...thirty five...

  Just when it seemed as though the Viper and Raider were going to make contact she punched the button to activate her aft-most, port thrusters, throwing the tail end of the Viper out of the collision course while also pulling the nose just beyond the course as well. Traveling full speed on a diagonal course to the approaching Raider she brought the nose of the Viper up just a few degrees and aligned the starboard and port side guns to intercept the Raider. Squeezing the trigger on the joystick she watched, with a great deal of satisfaction, as round after round found their mark in the hull of the Raider. As she watched the Cylon vessel began to shudder then exploded, an explosion that was silenced by the vacuum of space, and the remains of the vessel drifted off in to space.

    Punching the aft, starboard thruster button she brought the Viper around until she had the second Raider in her gun sights. Unable to match the young pilots speed the Raider began to bank to starboard, exposing the lightly armored, extremely vulnerable underbelly of the ship to the waiting Viper. Firing off just four rounds she watched as the second Raider met a similar end to the first. Within ten seconds both Raiders had been reduced to heaps of shrapnel floating through space.

  Before she had time to celebrate the DRADIS blared again, alerting the young pilot to four more bogeys bearing down on her position. Adding a degree of difficulty her navcom also alerted that a weapons lock had been detected, indicating that the Cylons had fired a guided missile on her.

  "Oh," she muttered with a smile. "Wee lamb..."

  Slamming the throttle forward the Viper quickly jumped to full speed as the incoming missile and Raiders gave chase, staying in her wake as she banked the Viper from side to side in an attempt to shake off the pursuit. Seeing that the serpentine method wasn't going to cut it she twisted the joystick to the right and made a wide, high speed roll with her Viper. Before finishing the roll completely the young pilot shoved the throttle forward again while pulling back on the joytick, sending the Viper on a new course in a split second. The sudden change caused a lot more g's than she had anticipated and winced as the pressure made it hard to breathe.

  "Are you crazy nugget?" the CAG called over the radio. "You can't bank at that speed."

  If the CAG was concerned after that last maneuver,  she reckoned,  the next one she had in mind would have him squirming in his seat for sure. Punching the aft portside thruster and the bow starboard thruster switches simultaneously she sent the Viper in to a spin, something pilots referred to as a 'dead spin'. As the horizon began to swirl around the Viper she closed her eyes momentarily and fought to remain calm as she became nauseous. The alarm from the nav computer shrieked in detest as the flight systems struggled to compute the abnormal flight as the engines of the Viper whined from the stress that they were being put under.

  One spin...two spins...three spins...four spins...five spins...

  "For frak's sake, nugget," the CAG scolded over the radio. "You're approaching the atmospheric, no-return zone. Correct your heading and get the frak out of there."

  Opening her eyes she grabbed the joystick and brought the Viper back to a controllable state and jetted the plane forward at top speed. Letting out her breath, which she hadn't realized she had been holding, she grinned. Despite suffering the after effects of the g-force her plan to throw the guidance system of the missile paid off. Unable to fully track the erratic flight pattern of the fleeing Viper the Cylon missile flew off in to the void of space and exploded, harmlessly, four hundred yards later. Staying on the chase the four Cylon Raiders struggled to keep up as the young pilot made a sudden one hundred and eighty degree turn. Traveling backwards and now facing the approaching Cylons she pressed the missile release button on the joystick, releasing a decoy drone right in to the path of the Cylons. Quickly anticipating their next move she then brought the nose of the Viper up a few degrees, fired off three rounds and destroyed a Raider. Continuing on she readjusted to the right a few degrees and destroyed the next Raider before it had a chance to react. Two down and two to go. Adjusting down a few degrees she squeezed the trigger...

  Nothing.

  Puzzled she squeezed the trigger again. No response. Looking through the canopy at the two remaining Raiders she narrowed her eyes as the Cylon vessels seemed to waiver in place. Upon closer inspection she also noticed that her environment had completely frozen; the space around her and the Raiders suspended as though someone had stopped time. Everything became fuzzy for a second then became clear again but she noticed that something was off. Before she had further time to think about it she noticed an oddity just outside the canopy of the Viper. Suspended in space red letters seemed suspended in space that spelled out the word "ERROR".

  A man dressed in a Colonial officers uniform suddenly stepped in to view with a stern expression on his weathered face, a man she knew as Haslinger. "Congratulations,  Ensign Nevarro," the man grimaced as he crossed his arms over his chest. "You've managed to wreck yet another simulator. I hope you're proud of yourself."

  The young pilot (Nevarro) grinned sheepishly.  "So did I pass?" she asked with a shrug.

  The other cadets in the class laughed and some applauded as the man shook his head.

  Haslinger rolled his eyes as Nevarro climbed out of the mockup of the Viper cockpit and removed her helmet. "The day the Admiralty make you a pilot, Pherin Nevarro, is the day the worlds end."

  Pherin grinned as she handed off her helmet to a classmate. That would be the day...

Tune in Wednesday, March 12 for part one of the Battlestar Olympic sag, "Error".