Dum spiro, spero – Stage One
Dum spiro, spero – Stage One
Summary: A raptor crew (NPCed by Micah) and a comms Specialist (NPCed by Desusa), take a trip to verify a distress call.
Date: 35 ACH
Related Logs: None
Players:
Desusa..Micah..

Locale: Live from frakking nowhere!

Specialist Broadchest stands near a raptor that is getting ready for the excursion out into space. A small PDA in one hand, as she watches the deck crew scramble at the Condition two rhythm.

The raptor's crew arrives mostly on time, though still in the process of tugging on helmets and doublechecking flight suits. "Specialist," greets the pilot with a grin as she sweeps past, "Let's kick the tires and light the fires already." The ECO is climbing inside and running a few quick preliminary systems checks while the deck crew bustles about.

The specialist briskly salutes as the flight crew moves closer, "Sirs." A shy nod of her head, and Sonia Broadchest enters the raptor after the pilot and ECO. "Sir, here is the location of the satellite we will visit first. Once we get the data decoded, we relay back to the Pandora." There's a small smile given to the pilot as she hands out the tiny hexagonal note with the coordinates.

The pilot turns to accept the note, visually checking the coordinates briefly before tucking it into a pocket of her flight suit. "Gotcha." A pause. "You coming with us, Specialist?" The ECO glances over briefly, then resumes his fiddling. "DRADIS is.. up. Data recorder, I'm having a little trouble.. cancel that, I think we're good to go."

Sonia bobs her head once and begins to strap-up for the flight. "You might need the secured code breaker I am carrying," she shakes the PDA a bit and bites her lower lip. "Ready when you are, sir." The navy specialist is very skittish when it comes to raptor flights, but orders are orders.

"Not a frequent flier, I see," remarks the pilot with a smile, clapping a hand gently to the specialist's shoulder. "Just buckle up and do what the bear does-" She jerks her head toward the ECO. "-if he isn't worrying, neither should you." The hatch is shut and the cabin pressurized, and then she finishes strapping on her helmet as she settles into the pilot's seat. "I'm Marianne, by the way. Or Hooter, if you like." Nope, not gonna explain that one. There's a surge of power as the ship's engines start up, and within moments they're moving.

The naval girl nods slowly, "Delighted, sir. Sonia Broadchest," she offers as she grabs tightly on the straps of the seat harness, "Oh dear," she mutters, as the raptor takes off.

The ECO is introduced as well, as 'Tinker', though he seems a fair bit less talkative than the pilot half of the pair. Once the deck crew's waved them off, the thrusters fire in a long burn to lift them off the flight deck and out into the vaccuum of space. "Nice to meet you, Sonia," Marianne replies, handing the card across to Tinker. "Settle in and get comfortable," he tells the Specialist as he finishes inputting the coordinates. "FTL spooling up, prep for jump in.. five, four, three.."

Broadchest closes her eyes and prays, "Gods of Kobol and…" The specialist looks adorable, as she lets the countdown to FTL speed continue.

And just like that, they blip out of existence and into another one. Hopefully a lot closer to that satellite. It's probably not the most pleasant sensation, but they all get there in one piece. "Jump complete," Tinker confirms. "We have the contact on DRADIS."

Navy specialist 'Amplechest' kept holding her breath all along the jump. She exhales deeply once it is over and opens her eyes. Now that she has gained her bearings, she leans over to take a peek outside the forward window, "Move us closer and open up the aux com relay, Hooter," says the girl, moving to the console in front of her to plug in her PDS device. The data will begin to download, as soon as the aux channel is opened.

"Copy that," replies the pilot. The raptor is guided in closer with a tap-tap of thrusters to send it drifting forward, and she flips a switch or two on the console. "Encrypted relay open, lock it and load, specialist." The ECO meanwhile, is keeping a close eye on DRADIS to make sure they aren't joined by any unexpected guests.

Seems that no one is on a rush to get to this side of space in the near future. The only thing moving is the raptor, as it hovers close to the old satty to get a better reception of the call. "Streaming has begun. It will just take a sec to come thru and decode," says Sonia. The techie is happy to work the comm console, probably because it distracts her from the fact that she is far away from her ship. Beep. Beep. The crypted message is received and the conversion process begins. "Hmm. This is some old code. I don't think the cylons could pick it up. Its really… weak." And that summarizes the comm tech's feelings on this one. Let's all pray she's right.

"All the same, let's keep the FTL hot and get the jump coordinates ready for the hop back," Hooter replies, swinging a look toward her ECO. "Inputting jump coordinates," he replies quietly. "DRADIS still clear, no bandits in sight." No questions are asked about the satellite, though the pilot seems to be musing over it silently.

Sonia nods a few times, keeping her eyes on the PDA decoding task. "You know, my buddies back at the base would flip if I told them I am decoding LAMA<tm>. This stuff is grand pappy old." She giggles to herself and a few seconds later, she says, "Hooters, sir, data decoded." Sonia pushes a button on her PDA, "Transmitting back to base."

"LAMA?" repeats the ECO, twisting around to look at Sonia. "You sure?" He stares at her through his helmet for a moment, then looks out the windscreen at the satellite not too far away. "Either I'm mistaken, or that isn't a protocol that's been in Colonial use since the first cylon war. Maybe we should've warned Pandora to throw up a firewall.." Hooter shrugs, clearly feeling the matter's above her pay grade. "Let's just get ready to jump out of here, Tinker."

Sonia nods to them both and awaits the reply from command.

The pilot takes this opportunity to kick back a little, arms folded behind her head, while Tinker continues to eye the DRADIS now and then. There should be elevator music playing somewhere.

The TAC line comes alive after the transmission is sent. Fotilas’s voice is heard with the following: 'Move to the last known Persius location. Visual recon only. Do not engage in any audio comms.' Sonia looks over to her pilot and a hint of amazement hits her face after that. "Oh lords."

The pilot sits up when the transmission comes through, quickly focusing again on her job. "Well, frak. Do we have coordinates for this Persius, Specialist?" The ECO is frowning a little, but otherwise silent.

The girl blinks a few times, "Uh? Y-yeah…right here." She punches a few buttons and gets their new heading. "H-Here, S-Sir. Mark D15. YW245." That would place them right besides the battlestar's last know location. Safely off DRAIDS too, it seems.

"You sure about that?" prompts the pilot, shuffling closer so she can check the heading herself. Presuming it checks out, she shakes her head and signals to the ECO to begin jump prep again. "Sit back and relax, we're going in five. Sure hope you're right about that," mutters Tinker. The ship's engines are cut as the FTL spools up, and then there's another sickening lurch as they're whisked away once more.. and jolted into a new sector of space.

Space. The final frontier. This are the voyages of the Raptor AZ-Idonwannabehere. Once the craft emerges from the FTL jump, the DRAIDS on it should pick up on the battlestar they are searching for… how can it not?! The raptor is hovering just about 25 feet from the massive vessel's starboard side. It's been several days since the cylon virus attacked the Colonial Fleet's defenses. Next to none vessels where lucky enough to have escaped the lethal interface to it's systems… one of them, was the Persius battlestar. The heavily damaged battlestar looks like it just managed to take off from a scrap yard. The whole port hangar bay is missing but somehow, the emergency pressure doors keep the ship from imploding. There is no viper CAPs flying about and the battlestar's propulsion is down to just one engine. Most of its anti-aircraft turrets are gone or unoperational. It drifts slowly around this section of space…

There's a low whistle from the pilot as the ruined hulk of the Persius comes into view. Aft thrusters are kicked up and the bird is guided in closer until the beacon light can be switched on to aid in visualizing things. "Jump complete, looks like a graveyard out there though, Hooter," remarks the ECO from the rear. "Copy that," the pilot murmurs. "Keep an eye on that DRADIS. I'm going to take us in for a closer look."

Sonia B. is shaking a bit after the jump. When they pop up just a few feet shy from the Persius’s hull, she jerks back on her seat, almost falling off, "Frakking Hades!" Once Hooters initiates the recon movements, she settles back on her chair and begins working the raptor's camera. "This is horrible," she says in a sobbing voice. Tear running down her cheek; she tries to getting the best snaps possible.

"Keep it together, Specialist," murmurs Marianne, not unkindly. But firmly. "We need to keep our eyes and ears peeled, and stay on our game. I know this is shit, but you've got to keep those pictures coming." The ship is maneuvered delicately, searchlight slipping over twisted bits of bulkhead and jutting struts. A hunk of cannon is spotted, and deftly rolled around. "Coordinates set for the jump back, and I've got a decoy prepped in case we need to be out of here on the double," Tinker calls from the back.

Broadchest continues sobbing for a few more seconds, as the camera registers the disaster that has become the Persius. "S-Sir, the s-sound monitor has picked up voices emanating from within the battlestar. P-pattern registers multiple tones. No DRAIDS signal is coming out. She's def." She smiles a bit sheepishly and adds, "I guess we got lucky that the satellite caught that transmission before they lost their transmitter."

"Then it looks like we're going in," Hooter murmurs, bursting the thrusters and guiding the raptor in the direction of what used to be an intact flight deck. "Might want to check your sidearms, kids. Tinker, keep that chaff hot, just in case." Shadows engulf them as the ship descends into the belly of the beast, so to speak; the light from the raptor's nose illuminates the detritus and debris.

Navy comm chick does a double-take, "S-s-sir, are w-we cleared to g-g-go in?!" The poor specialist is swallowing deeply now.

"Just taking a closer look, Specialist," the pilot assures, slipping in through a gaping hole in the bulkhead to set down on the flight deck. "Let's get a few pictures from here, but stay inside. Do not get out. Just a couple of pictures, and we're done."

Specialist does what specialist does. The small camera pans around and takes pictures of the landing bay. It looks sturdy and stable enough for at least three or four raptors to land if need be. "IR data g-gathered, sir. We got solid info for the debrief, I think."

"Right, let's get out of here. Tinker, get that FTL ready." The raptor lifts off again and is guided delicately back through that gaping hole, to whence it came. Once they're a safe distance away from the battlestar, the jump is made and they once again blip out of existence… and hopefully blip back to the fleet. Minus the Carina and the Pandora, of course.

The recon intel is forwarded to command. The raptor crew and specialist are ordered to keep tight-lipped about what they saw and recorded.

OOC: Needles to say is that unless Regas, Fotilas or Desusa disclose any of this information to you, not a soul knows the details.

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