AWD #236: Teatime and the Briefing
Teatime and the Briefing
Summary: Commander Spree delivers the intelligence on the strike at Caprica City.
Date: 30/08/2013
Related Logs: Lots
Atalanta Dropkickst 
Interrogation Room
In the set.
AWD #236

Various members from Tactical have been wanting to interview the Nine so she's been taken to an interrogation room. Clad in an orange jumpsuit and multiple sets of cuffs, its pretty clear this Nine isn't getting royalty treatment Spree has brought her here under the highest security. She's currently sitting at a table in the room and doesn't look any worse for wear. On the other side of the mirror, in the observation room, is Commander Spree and one of her Marine guards. She has her sidearm on and her flat green fatigures, but it looks like she's stained in camo patterns using motor oil or something like it. So far she looks fairly relaxed and awake, standing at the rear of the room and leaned against the wall.

Franklin is not the sort of woman to put things off. She'd been told by St. Clair that the Commander wanted to speak with her and so, when she'd gotten word that both Spree and the Nine were aboard the ship, she made no delay. Well, aside from… navigating her way to the brig, that is. It's not an area that the DCAG has spent much time in, either personally or on as part of her professional responsibilities. So she stops outside the door, double-checking that she has the hatch number right, before pulling it open and stepping through. Green eyes quickly sweep the room; given the limited number of occupants, it's not a particularly difficult guess. "Commander Spree?," she asks in her crisp, upperclass Caprican burr.

Seeing someone new arrive doesn't seem to shock the Commander. People in and out all day, she nods. "That's correct, Major." She stands off her lean and takes a few steps closer, but she notes the wings on the uniform. "You the CAG?" she says with a hopeful lilt to her voice.

"The DCAG, to be more specific. Major Straton is the CAG," she explains, without… well, really explaining anything whatsoever. Like why St. Clair brought the message to her instead of her superior and why the man isn't here. "Major Atalanta Franklin." And then, before the question is even posed, "Yes, of the Caprican Franklins. Captain St. Clair said that you were hoping to have the 11th's assistance with Avery Hall?" Both of her brows raise, the proximity to her hairline highlighting the difference in coloring. It's the only change in the woman's expression, despite knowing perfectly well what it is the Commander wants.

"Ah yes. Pleasure to meet you, Major." Rather than expect a salute, the Commander sticks out her hand to shake. "But yeah, I had the Captain deliver a quick and dirty to start getting your people spun for it if you're interested. Its dirty but you guys have put down a lot of hard work. I've got the pilots around Picon and the other colonies, but I wanted to offer it to your boys and girls first." She moves towards a locked case on a table by the mirrored glass and goes about opening it.

To be perfectly frank, Commander, I'm really not sure that I consider it an offer." Her head tilts to one side, lips pressing together until they form a thin line. The color slowly drains away, leaving them white instead of the pale shade of pink that they ought to be. "Unless, of course, there was some fundamental miscommunication between the Captain and I about what, exactly, it is that you want us to do."

Spree stops once the case is opened and looks towards Atia. Her brow lifts across her forehead and she tilts a bit. "Its a strike I want pilots on who are some of your strong-nerved and have a lot of recent experience. My own are capable but they're just not flying the hours yours are." She looks down and takes out a file folder and a folded map. "Is there a problem, Major? You seem a little unhappy." Her eyes lift back towards Atia.

"As I understand it, sir, your request is that we bomb Avery Hall during the induction of the newly elected Quorum, with the intention of killing all of the representatives present." Franklin's expression is cool. Calm. Even… impassive, some might say. But then her green eyes flick to the cell in which the Nine is being kept and one long, slender fingers points to the prisoner inside. "As I understand it, you would like me to arrange for the murder of what may well be the last democratically elected government of mankind, with their universal guilt determined based on the word of…. that."

Spree listens to the first part and looks back to shut the case. She follows the finger towards the Nine in the cell and then back through to Atalanta. "No, my request is that you bomb the ceremony, not Avery Hall. It will be held at Avery Hall, but out front." The Commander leans a hip into the table. "Murder. That's an interesting way to put it. That almost sounds like you've got your mind made up without hearing the full briefing. I do hope that's not the case because that would be incorrect. This strike request is coming from my on-Colony commander, Major Jankovic. The information and intelligence is largely his own. This Nine has provided some important details about the strike to supplement and independently confirm his intelligence. She's actually here for additional strike information for your wing. I thought you should have an opportunity to hear that intel from her, yourself, since it would be something for your Wing."

"I am not particularly inclined to bomb the entire Quorum without an abundance of rather convincing evidence, Commander, no. I have no issues with admitting as much and, as I told Captain St. Clair, I wouldn't be comfortable flying with anyone who follow such an order without questioning it, first." She drops her hand, folding it together with its twin before bringing the pair of them together to rest on one hip. "I'd like to see Major Jankovic's intelligence before issuing any orders to my men." Apparently, Franklin is far less concerned with the word of the Nine than she is with the word of the resistance's Caprican commander.

"Quorum and People's Council, actually." Spree takes up a small stack of papers and looks it over before handing it off. There's probably 25 or 30 pages there. "That's his notes on the build of this vote to this point. Specific examples cited, a few intel sources. Most of those sources are now dead." She crosses her arms once the papers are taken. "The Adar collaborationist government has been advocating that people turn in anyone fighting a resistance operation or working with one. Families being executed because a mother, father, son, or daughter has been working with our people. In some cases, they aren't even executed, they just disappeared. In the last four months alone we estimate roughly seventy thousand people have been taken on Caprica alone. They vanish for a few months and then come back as Jacks. The rate is accelerating." She shakes a finger at the pages once. "The Cylons are allowing a vote of approved humans to run for public office. The motherfrakker of that? Every single one of them that we've identified have been tied to executions, resistance operations collapses, and large disappearances. One of the big hitters, Emery Ithica, is who we flagged two months ago as being responsible for the disappearance of a whole town of about two thousand people that had been sheltering the fifty-fifth. The Cylons love him." Spree holds her eyes on the Major. "In order to vote, you have to be a citizen of the new government they are forming. In order to be a citizen, you have to be a member of their new political party in good standing, which effectively means that you're dealing with what the Pican government pulled centuries ago with the genocide of ethnic Gemenese. You can call it democratic because technically there is a vote. But there's as much freedom and spirit of colonial democracy involved as you might expect from any disgustingly rigged election. They aren't even hiding what they are doing. They're just telling people how its going to be and if they want a future? They collaborate and turn. Meanwhile Adar has been telling that whole Colony, for nearly five months, that nobody else is fighting. That the resistance operations are being killed off and that the fleet is completely gone. The reports of my command are coming with nothing but defeats after defeats from my people. Caprica thinks everyone is giving up. Adar being shot was the first indication of serious resistance for that planet."

"And there's no indication at all, none, that any of these people could be useful to us? Could be turned?," Franklin asks, her lips pursing into a pensive little moue as she begins flipping through the pages, one by one. It isn't a deep read. It's a cursory inspection, really. "What happened to the last legitimately elected representatives? Are they all dead, or are some of them still lurking in the halls of government?" In short, she wants to know who is a legitimate collaborator and who may simply be cooperating after having a gun held to their child's head. "Has there been any contact made with anyone on the inside?" At that, she drags her eyes up from the papers, focusing instead on Spree's face. A slight tic has formed in the left corner of her mouth, an involuntary thing she doesn't yet seem to be aware of, let alone in control of.

"If we finish this war and get the Cylons out, these people 'running for office' would be best-advised to leave with them. Given the evidence we've been gathering of atrocities, when this is over, there will be a reckoning. We'll be hunting down people for decades. These people going into office are some of the worst political cowards and criminals we've seen. Even if you could legitimately turn them, getting your people to trust them or work with them would be an exercise in heavy resistance. I've got people in my command post who like this Nine better than anyone running for office. At least she's killing the enemy." If the Commander is kidding, there's no indication of it on her face. She seems drawn and serious like a blade. "Most of the legitimate government was either killed or has fled into hiding. The Fifty-Fifth has wrapped up approximately two-hundred members of the council, their families, and four surviving Quorum members. Your family may be among them, Major. They've been placed in locations as secure as we can find on Caprica. These people are supposedly ready to step back up, but they all have massive prices on their heads. And yeah, Jankovic had a few sources on the inside. They dried up in executions, though. The Cylons are cleaning up the political theater in Cap City and installing it with a blank slate and a completely new membership and staff. Our last intelligence from the inside siad they're planning to immediately draw up a new constitution and articles and burn the old ones. I'm terrified of what they're doing on Libran." The home of all their written history.

Franklin's mouth finally turns down into a frown, cutting lines into otherwise smooth, fair skin. It makes her age show, when she otherwise wears it quite well. Her nostrils flare briefly. "I'm presuming these copies are mine to review, sir?," she asks, her eyes flicking down to the pages again. One nail, filed and well-kept, though entirely unpolished, taps the top of the file. "Or will you need them returned to you before your take-off?" There's a pause, a long one, during which she swallows down a lump in her throat. "If all of this is true, you'll get your pilots. If all of this is true, I'll lead the mission myself. But I've spent the last three months cleaning up the mess of my predecessor — the last three months piling up more and more bodies, all people who died not because of the Cylons, but because this Fleet put their trust in the wrong man. We can't afford to lose anymore. Not with ninety-five percent of humanity dead, according to all our best estimates. My family has served Caprica and the Colonies for well over two hundred years. I want Jankovic to know that if he's wrong, if it turns out that…," she trails off, her features darkening. "The Cylons will be the least of his problems, Commander."

Spree nods slowly. "That's correct. You'll have to excuse the small font but paper is a commodity we have to use sparingly. But its all there to review from the text." She turns to the file folder and slips the map back inside and tosses it to her, settling it on the table closer to Atia. "Photorecon, pictures of the heavy hitters, photos of the bodies they left behind are in there, too. Its ugly. I read it and lost a lot of sleep over it so make sure you have a case of wine or something handy." If its a joke, the Commander isn't laughing. The rest has her nod slowly, though. "If he's wrong then we're as guilty as I believe these individuals to be and I'll burn for it. I might still burn, anyway. But I'd put my life in Jankovic's hands. The man has one of the highest levels of clearances of anyone I've heard vetting by the Colonial government. I can understand the frustration of the prior CAG, but all we can do is move forward, Major. We can hate people afterwards. For now all we can do is clean up the mess and get ready for more of them. But unless you've got more for me, which is fine, you might want to talk to the Nine and hear what she has to say. She's the reason Adar is dead. That operation was intel provided by her. Wants people to call her Colleen, though. Claims she's a Sister of Ceres. You're going to want to hear what she's got, Major."

Franklin chews on the inside of her left cheek for a moment; it's already concave, from months of severe rationing aboard the Rubaul. The gesture only worsens the sunken effect. "Lucius Franklin," she says, suddenly, in what may seem to be a non-sequitur. "Lucius Franklin. He's my cousin — the Chief of Staff for the People's Party representative for the city of Delphi. If he's still alive, he'll help you. Whatever the cost or the threat may be. He's a Franklin, after all. Let Jankovic know. If he's alive, he'll bring you whatever might be left of the family, and whatever might be left of its resources." That said, her eyes drift over towards the captive Nine. She regards the skinjob skeptically, at best, her expression sullen and silent. "Can anything she's said been confirmed, sir?", the DCAG asks point blank. She makes no attempt to hide her distrust of the Cylons — even the supposed turncoats.

"I'll pass the name along, Major, but it'll take awhile. The names of individual families and the survivors he has are never discussed in radio and we agreed to never even exchange them in writing. I'm curious who he has, but I'm more concerned about the Cylons having the names and what they could do with the information. If you opt to fly this yourself, you can ask the Major when you see him. He's got the aircraft fueled, armed, and sitting on a roadside under camo netting from what I understand." She comes off her lean to the table and looks over towards the Nine. Its still sitting there silently, someone left her a plastic cup of coffee and she's having a sip, glancing at the door. "Yeah," Spree tells Atia. "We've blind-confirmed information we obtained and confirmed through other sources. But the proof is in the puddin. Adar is roadkill. I'm not about to throw her a ceremony or give her a medal, but she's risked her ass, I think. But I've got enough respect for command understanding to bring her here and let you make the call yourself. If what she says sounds good to you, that's your business. They're your pilots. But she volunteered the info, just like the Adar intel. And if she was going to screw us, it would've been to save Adar. I've tried shooting this from a lot of angles and I can't make sense of it being bullshit. That's about all I can say, though. She seems genuine."

So did the Six aboard the Rubaul, until he started throwing grenades into our berths when we were sleeping," the Major mutters under her breath, perhaps unaware that she's said it until it's already come out of her mouth. Her eyes narrow slightly at the orange-clad figure. "Thank you, sir," Franklin continues, before moving to the door. Let it never be said that the woman lacks manners. Even in the case of a Cylon, she raps her knuckles twice against the door to the interrogation room before turning the handle and stepping through. Her jaws sets almost immediately and she regards the nine in silence for several long moments. "I was told that you have information for me."

Commander Spree just nods and watches the Major leave. Once in the interrogation room, the Nine see's the uniformed Major enter and she immediately flicks her eyes to the rank. Its the reflex of someone in the military. She stands quickly as if to come to attention for a ranking officer on deck. "Sir," she greets simply. "I'm not sure what information that would be. I have information for the Eleventh's leadership, sir. To my understanding that is Lieutenant Colonel Zachary Sheperd." Nobody has bothered to tell her? This seems to track, though. Ceres was killed before Zach fled his post and went AWOL.

"Lieutenant Colonel Shepherd abandoned his post, taking his wife with him into the Piraean wilderness," she replies, crisply. "He is currently being hunted down, so that he can be tried for it, as well as for neglecting his duties in such a way that it resulted in the deaths of several thousand civilians and several hundred soldiers." One of her brown brows arches mildly when she's finished speaking, clearly waiting for the Nine's reaction to the announcement which she's just made. "If you're determined to speak to him, you're going to be waiting for some time."

Its hard to register shock on a skinjob's face, but that sure as hell looks genuine. "He did what?" she nearly spits. Her lips turn thin with a frown and she looks back towards the mirror. The rage comes to a slow boil beneath the surface and her arms tremor with it. More than half a minute passes while she regains control before looking to Atia. "Cowardice. I hope he gets what he has coming to him." A pause. "No, sir, I'll speak with you then." The skinjob 'Colleen' stands there like any other officer. "After I was shot by resistance forces on Caprica the last time, I came back on a ship preparing to jump back over the lines. We went back and I was in the control center of the basestar when we arrived at our destination: It was one of our primary refueling posts. Its one of three logistical keys we have over the line. They refine, process, and produce tylium fuel to be used in Raiders, basestars, and other ships that we use. It takes about a week to gas back up a ship and all the tertiary support and attack craft associated. At any given time we've got about half a dozen basestars at each one and most of them are left unmanned." The Nine just looks at Atia calmly. " ican provide the coordinates from memory. I heard you all were developing a fleet. If that's the case, and you want to risk it, go check it out, Major."

Atalanta calmly reaches into the pocket of her jacket, withdrawing one of the pens which she has tucked therein. It clicks as she depresses the button on the end of it, the point peeking out. She doesn't seem inclined to discuss the conditions of the Colonial Fleet with 'Colleen'. "Go ahead," she says coolly, her pen poised over the corner of the folder which Spree had provided her. "Speak slowly and repeat it once." The woman is no ECO, but she knows perfectly well that if she copies a single digit down incorectly, someone's going to end up jumping into the heart of some other system's sun.

The Nine slowly rattles off the coordinates. Each number is given with precision. Its all repeated then again at the same speed. She's not asking for anything in return, though. There's no negotiation, no demands, nothing to be traded. She just freely hands over the coordinates for a major strategic asset. "Sir, I do have a question or two. I'd like to inquire about the status of a few people if I might? I'd like to know if they're okay so I can pass it along to others who are also worried."

The pen moves across the page with a soft, slow scrrrtch-scrrrtch. She's noting the coordinates down carefully. She's making sure. "Ask, if you like, but I won't be providing you with any sensitive information regarding the functions of this Fleet. For obvious reasons," Atalanta intones dryly. Of which there's likely several, ranging from suspicion to the simple fact that anything the Nine knows is likely to be downloaded some time later.

The Nine shakes her head. "No sir, I have no interest in knowing classified information. It does me no good. I'm more concerned on the personal level. I mean to ask about Cooper. Phin. Holtz. …The ones that Ceres was close to. I can remember them. I worry because she worries." There's something a little hopeful there. There's nothing classified about that, right? At least not at first blush.

All three of them are still alive and in good health," Franklin replies, though she offers nothing else in the way of details about any of them. Of course, it can likely be assumed that if Atalanta knows this — Atalanta, who was transferred after Cere's death knows this — they're likely all still aboard. Or were, recently. She returns her pen to its proper place, hugging her scribbled-on folder to her chest. "Is there anything else?"

The Nine finds relief with that and looks to the ceiling as if in prayer of thanks. They're alive. That seems to be all she was concerned about. Colleen looks back to Atalanta and shakes her head. "No, Major. That's all I wanted to ask about and that intel is what Spree wanted me here to deliver in person. Thank you, sir." Nothing else? Still no demands? Not holding anything in reserve?

"Would you like them to know that you've asked after them?," she says, lifting both brows now. It might — might — be an invitation to deliver a message to them, but that would be a rather… generous assumption, given Franklin's demeanor thus far. "I don't speak to the Six, personally, but I'm certain that I could find someone to inform him of your visit and your concerns. Discretely, of course."

"It would be appreciated, sir. I don't know that they will react positively to being informed, but Ceres does care. Leaving and not coming back must be extremely hard for her. But she has work to do. Many of us do. But I suspect Cooper will be pleased." The Nine looks more serene with the knowledge. "I know you probably hate me and that's not unexpected. But there is a very deep attachment my model feels to this place and this Wing. Its service and sacrifice. Family and the fight."

There is something about… it's the word 'family'. That's got to be it. The Nine's words make the edges of her mouth twitch, an involuntary gesture that results from trying — fiercely — to bury down the sudden flash of anger that wells up from somewhere in the deepest, darkest, most primitive parts of her brain. "Family," she says once, the word barely a whisper. "There is a message that I would like delivered, too. One that I want you to bring back to your people, the next time that you download. I want you to tell them exactly who I am." It's an assumption, but one she's confident in. "My name is Major Atalanta Franklin. My family has served the Colonies for ten generations. We've fought the Cylon threat — three generations of us — for over fifty years. You tell them — all of them — that it doesn't matter what they do, or how desparate we may become. So long as I'm alive, this war won't be over. So long as I'm alive, they'll have to fight."

Colleen stares at Atia, listening without much outward reaction. When she finishes, the Nine waits a second before speaking one more, "I'm glad that you have this attitude. Its one that my model are developing as well. We believe the Sixes will as well when they receive Cooper. I'll be sure that other Nines pass it along and discuss this moment, though. Its worthy of note and this whole trip is likely the be remembered for a long time. I'll pass it along to the others when their own models are faced with the dilemmas." Probably not the response she was expecting, but that's what she gets.

Colleen stares at Atia, listening without much outward reaction. When she finishes, the Nine waits a second before speaking one more, "I'm glad that you have this attitude. Its one that my model are developing as well. We believe the Sixes will as well when they receive Cooper. I'll be sure that other Nines pass it along and discuss this moment, though. Its worthy of note and this whole trip is likely the be remembered for a long time. I'll pass it along to the others when their own models are faced with the dilemmas." Probably not the response she was expecting, but that's what she gets.

Maybe not, but it will do. Her features smooth, once again falling into the placid, neutral expression she so carefully maintains, ninety-nine percent of the time. "Good," she says, simply. "Will that be all?" Franklin's tone is quickly losing any of the heat that it had a moment ago, instead becoming stony and hard.

"Be careful, Major. I hope that the Eleventh will one day, or maybe it already does, have a leader that will stand their number tallest." The Nine says it easily before retaking her seat. "Good luck and check six, Major."

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