AUTHOR'S NOTE: Have rewritten the story, setting has changed from the First Cylon War to a point in time a few months before the Miniseries in a slightly alternate universe where the Galactica is sent on one last outer system patrol for its swan song. The story is made up of individual POV snippets.

Battlestar Galactica - Recreation Room

Racetracks' nose wriggled up and she winced at the writing pad in front of her; this was serious business- it was her turn to give the brief for a routine patrol that'd be run in a couple of hours time. It wasn't a big deal. Every pilot had to go through the process of delivering a briefing because that was part of the job: you were an Officer and it came with the territory, and no matter that the CAP was as simple and as straightforward as you liked... it had to be done: she didn't look forward to it. Some pilots had that glint in their eyes when you mentioned 'Command' to them- and it was like the Viper or Raptor seat they were in meant frak all; it was just a stepping stone. Not Racetrack, she'd want to be in a Raptor til the end of time.

So whenever little tasks like these came up that tested the Command abilities of the pilots, no matter how light a test it was, she felt it lost on her. Her audience was just her Raptor team and the Viper element that'd work with it: four bodies. Her aim was to set out, explain and impart the directives of a standard combat air patrol off the Galactica. Easy- but still she was here, just looking over the scribbled down key points of the mission like she might forget them if she didn't go over it for the hundredth time. A table behind her had two voices going; she recognised the first as the CAG- Dipper- and the other as a tattooed Viper jock whose name escaped her.

"Worst thing the Fleet can do," that was Major Jackson "Dipper" Spencer "is pay off and retire this ship."

A grunt, but agreeable one, came in return.

"I understand that this ship is Cylon War era," Dipper conceded in one long breathe "that it was built halfway through that fight and was designed for that fight, and that since then the standard for a war machine has moved on but-"

And he sounded confident in the fact that just now he'd be delivering the argument that'd turn around the Fleet decision to decommission the Battlestar "this is the best place a person can learn to fight. I mean Galactica might not be what they want on the front line with those new Mercury beasts but it can still give a good account of itself, and this is the only hull that's still operating like you'll have to during war."

Racetrack frowned and the tattooed pilot behind her sang "Gods bless the old man..." like he was reading off the same sheet as the CAG. The young Raptor pilot didn't get how exactly Galactica was operating like it was wartime, maybe war at its most awful and if all the advantages the modern Fleet had were taken away. So yesteryear's Cylon War maybe, but tomorrow's war? That would be about connecting the Battlestar, the Raptor, the Viper all together so that everyone got the whole picture and whomever was in the CiC could efficiently direct weapons and pilots towards objectives- victory. It was carefully, safely networking and exploiting computing power to squeeze the very best out of pilot and vehicle, crew and vessel.

Galactica eschewed upgrades and overhauls that kept its sister ships competitive. It was one of the first twelve built and out of that run one of the three that had survived the War. The brain power you had to use up to survive on this thing was incredible. Galactica didn't have the best ratings in the Fleet but when you factored that a lot of the calculations and processes in drills came from the craniums of its crew and not a computer it meant something. Dipper was going on:

"Frak when you hear what the Mercury has: wired up this, connected that... pilot doesn't have to worry about this and the computer will give him the answer to that you wonder 'hang on'- that's not how we learned to fight. The best place to train and prepare a Mark Seven driver is right here on this Battlestar: where they have to rely on their ability and training, and be sure of themselves rather than a computer reading that tells them yup you're lining up good, or yep you've got this plot bang on."

The other pilot seemed to agree "Turning it over to the Education department? I mean if ever there was a better learning, fighting environment in existence..."

"Yeah," Dipper was agreeable "I mean this is the only Museum I'd go to but still, Galactica has so much more to give to the Fleet."

"I thought they'd use this ship til it fell apart..." The CAG lamented "instead they're tarting it up and palming it off."

Racetrack smiled to herself at the image, but really she was saddened by the idea the Galactica would retire to become something to gawk at, with all this fight left in it. She returned her attention to her writing pad; her dot point prompts. She was lost and realised she'd have to start her revision from the top, she checked her watch before that though, and realised quietly that time had rolled along and if she wanted to be at her briefing without a hurry she'd have to pack up and head out now. She flipped closed her pad and slid out from her chair before pushing it in; her thoughts on this last patrol of the Galactica before it was scheduled to take on teams. Teams that'd turn it from one mean monster into one floating museum. At least they'd given it a long patrol to go on before then... it would have been a shame if Galactica had been left with intra-system duties for the last two decades when otherwise it had been at the forefront of Fleet endeavours.

Pilot Briefing Room

Racetrack could see Helo at the door to the briefing room looking as casual as ever and she was beaming by the time she reached him.

"To what do I owe the honour?" She asked, taking a peak around him into the room where only one person was settling themselves in.

"Can't just hang out here?" he teased and was playing it very casual "it's a free corridor."

"Felgercarb," she hushed and then an idea struck her and with a fair ounce of hope in her voice asked "You're not going to be my ECO on this one are you?"

"Nah," he shook his head and his cool act seemed to drop just long enough to convince her he was genuinely disappointed that wasn't the case "I've still got that nugget who's putting dents in the deck to look after."

"I don't need looking after." Racetrack corrected though she didn't mind the idea of Helo watching her six- and he knew it. They had a rapport.

He shook his head and held his hands up, palms out "That's the truth. I know it. Just here to wish you luck- heard you were calling it today."

"Awww," Racetrack smiled so hard she knew behind his mark ones he was having a hard time resisting her "You are one sweet animal."

The square-jawed looker of an ECO, Helo, smiled at the complement and noticing no one had rounded the corridor on them reached around to give her a playful tap on the back before nodding his head to the door beside them.

"Go on; get in there and pretend you don't like playing boss."

Starboard Flight Pod

Hammerhead absent-mindedly poked his tongue into right cheek til it bulged a little. He was sealed up and being shunted out of the basement and into a tube. A few minutes before he'd done his walk around and chatted to the Chief, no issue with the bird, and so had climbed in and been handed his helmet. It took a bit of time, but the Deckhands hauled him into the Launch tube and onto the catapult. The klaxon told the monkeys outside his Viper to clear out, and they retreated behind the Mark Seven back to the Deck through a closing door. To the right sat the Landing Signals Officer with headset on, smart in his duty blues and no nonsense.

Hammerhead had been through the briefing, there were no real routine patrols out here because the Galactica had been sent far far out on its last cruise to kiss the stars goodbye. No traffic went through here except maybe a prospector or two, and if you were really hard up for brain cells you'd believe their stories that pirates stashed their plunder on one of the dirty rocks or icy dwarf planets that dotted the region. The Raptor pilot who'd given him and Ninja the breakdown had done her best to make it interesting but really there wasn't that much too it: roll out ahead of the Battlestar and make sure everything was cool- maybe train your DRADIS on the asteroid cluster they would be passing near. But that space feature wasn't anyone's problem: Galactica would jump to the next star before it got close enough to factor in the planning surrounding quietly rolling through this system.

A quick look around the tube told Hammerhead the area was secure and he noticed the blast doors ahead of him opening down the long straight barrel to clear space. His Heads Up was on and he keyed his TacNav to actively operate, then adjusting flaps down a little and goosing the throttle forward a bit where he sat he got ready to launch. There was a comforting rumble and whine from the Viper's thrusters- raw power in the palm of his hands. Hammerhead had a look at the Landing Signals Officer again and couldn't resist giving the thumbs up. The guy was speaking, likely getting the CIC's final permission then he came into the ear of the Viper jock:

"Viper One One Seven Galactica, clear forward," the LSO dropped his eyes for a second "Nav-con green, thrust positive and steady. Interval check."

Hammerhead turned his head away from the little side booth the LSO sat in and looked down the line towards a small dark hole that was his window to clear space. He rested his head on the padded bit of the seat behind him to avoid getting whiplash when he was fired and kept his hands off the controls while the shot warning was up and LSO signalled. Just before the button was pressed he heard "Goodbye" and then he was accelerating from dead stop out into space.

In an instant the pressing confines of the launch tube was replaced by the open starscape and Hammerhead had his hands on throttle and stick, already out there was the Raptor and his wingman Ninja. He got on the wireless to Galactica's CIC and reported in, was given heading and speed in return and followed the directives to link up with the patrol. The sweet part was over, now he had a BOREX to look forward to.

Deep Space: Patrol Route

Racetrack took her eyes of the stars in front of her to chance a glance at Easy back in the Raptor's cabin- the young Ensign had been looking at the cluster of asteroids quite a few units ahead of them with the pilot's permission... and not much else to do, she had been more than casting the odd look at the landmark. Racetrack would never have picked her for a budding astronomer; about five minutes back Easy had told her she had seen something in the asteroid cluster. Racetrack was sceptical and when the Viper pilots had caught up they weren't too ready to believe it either.

"Can't see frak; Raptor Two Two Three." One had called in and the other had crackled over the frequency about the same.

Easy was experienced enough, but still a bit uncertain of what it was she was observing and not willing to commit them to informing Galactica then asking to investigate. Racetrack asked Easy again;

"What is it you're seeing?"

"I don't know," Easy had her head over a screen and relayed the information at hand "Nothing is showing up on DRADIS and it's not because of range or potentially interference- there is nothing there, but visuals... if I turn the camera out there I'm getting something catching the light from the star or the gas giant a few stellar units away. It's like there's something out there but there isn't."

Racetrack felt like telling her not to worry about it, there were a whole lot of reasons for thinking you saw something- the dreaded phantom contact that might get you laughed at in the Ready Room if you got too sighted on it. Still Easy had said she'd been watching it for a while and was continuing to observe: something big and shiny could be sitting between those rocks catching rays at just the right angle to throw them out at just the right angle down the Raptor's lens. In space, once in never, you could get that lucky. The Lieutenant piloting checked her state and then got the Viper pilots to call in there's. They did so without further comment, they were professional enough, but she could tell lost in the distortion was the suspicion and 'for now' restrained opposition to anything that might extend their time out here- unless it was a release to practice ACMs.

"Alright," Racetrack made her decision and reached to toggle wireless frequency "we'll stay out a little longer and you can take pictures. I'll call Galactica with the request."

Battlestar Galactica - CIC

It was three hours later and the Battlestar likely wouldn't make its scheduled jump to the next point on its patrol. The CAP of two Vipers and a Raptor had long since returned and done a summary debrief while the photos they'd been allowed to take, that had kept them out a little longer than planned, were being processed. Prints now lay in front of the Tactical Officer and XO. Mister Gaeta and the Colonel looked intently at the object that had been pulled from the camera and enhanced to the point where it was just a blurred shape.

"It's an asteroid." Tigh was dismissive and disagreeable

"Sir," Gaeta's finger landed on the blur pointing out a short thin 'head' and long thin 'tail' on the asteroid that had to be solid, a very different configuration compared to the lumpy rocks around it, this thing was funny looking "that's one interesting looking rock, an asteroid shouldn't have features like that."

"Tell it to a scientist; we're late to our next stop off."

"Maybe we could direct a Raptor out there just to clear up whatever it is? It looks interesting enough to investigate."

"We're not out here to look for interesting things and to investigate them. What kind of organisation would we be then?" The answer was a stupid one.

The old man, in spectacles was on the other side of the Tactical board looking down at another picture the Raptor had taken. He was silent and if he knew both Gaeta and the Colonel had quietened down in the hope he'd tell them what they'd be doing about all this they had to wait a few moments. He finally, in a slow gravelly voice ordered;

"Send a Raptor out." Adama looked at his XO "We don't need to rush along our route knowing what's waiting for this ship at the end of it."

An hour afterwards

When the three met over the Tactical board again, they like the rest of the CIC, had their eyes glued to the Tactical display where a live feed of the strangest thing they'd ever seen was being streamed from the Raptor they'd sent out. The pilot wasn't saying much beyond station keeping directives then manoeuvring directives as the camera hung off the object and took pictures then chose another angle. Adama looked down from the display, his bespectacled eyes falling on the Communications station and he didn't waste a breath in telling the crewer there just what he wanted.

"Priority signal, tight encrypt protocols, simplest and shortest language for the transmission: I want Fleet Headquarters to be advised we are sending a messenger along with request for orders."

Gaeta realised they weren't beaming out the pictures and data they were collecting because this was something big and the implications were unprecedented. You didn't squawk because you didn't know what the outcome could be. Likely the Battlestar would camp here until relieved by another Battlestar Group, an Admiral and the brightest minds in the Colonies... who at the least might make something out of whatever that huge floating alien object was. The old man was treating this like war, like the message could be intercepted and decrypted and like the best way to go about it would be to send a runner off. The old man ordered a Raptor prepped and what readings and pictures they were getting up until the bird was ready to roll packaged to be carried by it in an old school data box.

The Tactical Officer was making arrangements; what they had was a picture of a giant orb with long arms travelling around it and stretching straight out behind it. It didn't show on DRADIS and didn't give off heat of readings, radiation or much else of the typical identifiers the Colonials looked for in an active artificial space object. It didn't look like it could house anyone or do anything. Was it a monument? Gaeta stopped hypothesising and got down to the task at hand.