Chapter 5
Adama was still frowning when the comm tech twitched again visibly, he was already turning to face the youngster when the boy looked up “Sir, I’m picking something up, but I can’t understand it at all.” he looked… very confused.
“How so?” Adama asked, arching one eyebrow.
“It’s some language I can’t really understand, a few fragments of it are familiar, but it’s mostly just gibberish.” came the response.
Adama was across CIC in a few steps and held out his hand for the headset, which the baffled comm tech handed over immediately.
Indeed, whatever was being said was gibberish. A few syllables were familiar, and his mind latched onto them, but otherwise it was incomprehensible jibber jabber. He pointed to the transmit button and the tech hastily pressed it.
“This is Admiral Adama of the Colonial Battlestar Galactica. Halt your approach or I will be forced to consider it a hostile action.” he said firmly, in his typical Voice Of Command.
His eyebrow twitched, as he was sure that most of the CIC crew who weren’t long service veterans probably expected the other side to obey simply because The Old Man said so. More likely they’d at least slow down to investigate, because this was an attempt at communication. Whoever these ships belonged to, it at least wasn’t the Cylons they knew about.
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Onboard Constitution the Comm Officer started, adjusting his controls slightly. “I think I’ve gotten something, Skipper, but it’s… not in English, Sir, that I can say for sure.”
Dacre nodded. “Back port it through the HPG link to Circe Base, they’ve got linguists.” he ordered calmly. “Meanwhile, Helm, hold position relative to the unknowns, maintain sensor locks and make sure Petra and Kurogami have their birds on hot alert. If they want to actually talk, we’ll let them. Sensors, let me know if that other group of vessels an AU away does anything.”
The Helm Officer responded crisply even as he operated his console, bringing the heavy cruiser to a relative halt acceleration wise with a powerful retro burn. “Holding position relative to the unknown, Sir, Aye.”
“Aye sir.” the Comm Officer replied, tapping a few controls. After a few moments he looked up at Dacre. “Petra and Kurogami report full readiness, Circe Base has acknowledged receipt… hold one… Sir, Circe Base would like to speak with you.”
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Kerry was frowning as she listened to the audio, taking notes on a notepad in her isolated office. Surrounded by her beloved computers and well away from other people she was actually relaxed, rather than having to fake it and bluster through on sheer bravado.
She’d picked up a mix of Classical Attic Greek, Aramaic and Akkadian roots, with a hint or two of Ancient Egyptian at points. It was a fascinating mix that seemed far too organic to be an artificial construct.
She tapped her pencil on the notepad as she listened with one ear, waiting for the ship on the other end to respond to her request.
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“Very well.” he picked up the spare headset. “Constitution Actual here.” he said shortly, confident that the Comm Officer had already set up the link.
Kerry’s voice came through. “Circe Base here, Captain. The language is very similar to classical Attic Greek with some Akkadian and Aramaic elements. An Admiral Adama of something something Galactica ordered you to halt your approach or he’d consider us foes. Galactica sounded like a proper noun, probably the ship's name, so the unknown words are probably the designation, might be something like conflict star or the like since it sounds like a compound word. The first word could be either outpost, colony, or port. Voice Stress Analysis indicates an older man, probably a lifer, has harmonics typical of long service officers. Determined, stressed, but not really hostile.”
Dacre nodded even as he spoke. “If I linked you into a conference can you handle translations realtime?”
“Of course I can!” came a somewhat amused sounding response. “What do you want me to tell them?”
He nodded over to the Comm officer, who manipulated the controls. “You’re live and microphone’s hot, Sir.”
“Galactica, this is Captain Dacre of HWS Constitution you have entered space claimed by the Terran Hegemony. State your purpose for being here.” Dacre said, then waited for Kerry to make the translation.
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Adama’s eyebrow twitched again as the incoming vessel actually came to a relative halt, although it did require a rather considerable retro thruster burn to cancel the momentum it had built up in a fairly short amount of time. Then came another rush of gibberish, followed by a very heavily accented but barely comprehensible statement in Old Caprican.
He frowned, then went very still. “Repeat that last, did you say Terran Hegemony?”
Heads across CIC snapped over to stare at him, and for once he didn’t immediately order them to attend to their duties. Could it be…
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Dacre blinked as Kerry translated the response. “The Terran Hegemony in Exile, yes. Please explain your presence here, Admiral Adama.” he said slowly, eyes narrowing in thought.
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Adama straightened, a light burning in his eyes. The ‘in exile’ part concerned him, but this must be the 13th Tribe, Terra was the Old Caprican term for ‘Earth’.
The CIC crew caught his reaction and looked to be on the verge of pandemonium, but he quickly glared everybody back to their duties, although he knew they were all listening to him.
He tapped one finger on the console, trying to decide just what to say. He looked over at Tigh.
“Is Racetrack’s Raptor available?” he asked, frowning slightly.
“Yes.” his XO said, but Adama cut him off before he could say anything more.
“Good, send it back to the main fleet and request that Colonial One return. Tell President Roslin.” he paused, then slowly smiled. “That we may have made contact with the 13th Tribe.”
CIC erupted.
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Dacres was frowning, waiting for a response to come through. Longer than he’d thought it would take the gruff incomprehensible voice returned.
“Sending a… bird?... to bring authority.” came the translation from Kerry. “Sounded like a proper noun, but maybe raptor, or hawk, or something predatory and avian.”
Dacre blinked, a bit floored. “You mean that we’re close enough to their space that they have a political sort this close that an Admiral has to ask permission to talk?” he was incredulous. “And we never knew they were out here?”
A/N - I am not 100% satisfied with this chapter, mostly because it is dialogue heavy and that is my weakest area as a writer. Quick note, in the Battlestar Galactica Writer’s Guide, 1 parsec is equal to the distance between Earth and the Sun (IE 1 AU), which is wildly different from the actual scientific definition. A metric is a kilometer. DRADIS is a sort of jack-of-all-sensors thing, as DRADIS is used for things radar would never be useful for.