There are those who believe that life here began out there, far across the universe, with tribes of humans who may have been the forefathers of ancient civilizations. Some believe that there may yet be brothers of man who even now fight to survive far, far away, amongst the stars…
-Opening text of BattleStar Galactica
Over two thousand years ago, the twelve tribes of man found their new home in a rare quaternary [four] star system. It would be known as the Cyrannus system where, in time, each tribe would colonize their own world, each divided among how close they were to the four stars of the Cyrannus system. The colonies Picon, Caprica, Gemenon, and Tauron settled around the star Helios Alpha; Virgon and Leonis settled around Helios Beta; Canceron, Aerilon, and Aquaria settled around Helios Delta; and Scorpia, Sagittaron, and Libran settled around Helios Gamma.
Gradually, these colonies were terra-formed, becoming more suited to human life as crops, plants, and animals brought from the tribes' home-world Kobol were introduced. Each colony acted as a sovereign nation, with their separation from each other providing peace and stability. As centuries passed, technology that had been abandoned upon their arrival to their new homes became prevalent once more. Returning to travel among the stars, the colonies began interacting again... War followed as old grudges reignited. Rivalry and competition for resources, including controlling other less-wealthy colonies, chief among their reasons. Centuries of inter-colony conflict passed...
Virgon and Leonis formed the original superpower-bloc, controlling and conquering other colonies over centuries, and their fierce rivalry cost countless lives. Other colonies grew in power as the two strong empires were exhausted and declining. They withdrew from politics to form isolationist states, slowly regaining their wealth. Caprica and Tauron soon replaced the superpowers dominating politics of the twelve worlds; old allegiances shifted to fit the new power-bloc. Caprica had shifted from a monarchy to an electoral government, enforcing an example for other colonies, and became the most technologically advanced colony. It was from there that the ultimate technological achievement was formed: artificial lifeforms in the form of automaton robots, machines, known as Cylons [Cybernetic Lifeform Node].
These machines were created to make life easier on the colonies, accomplishing difficult or undesired tasks for humankind. The Cylons proved themselves to be the greatest soldiers. Intelligently designed; they were fearless, ruthlessly efficient, and able to adapt and act on their own: without the need for constant instruction.
Februarius 27, 2297
Caprica, Atlas Arena
Caprica was a lush, beautiful, blue-green world with the perfect climate. Not too hot or cold, or prone to intense weather variations. The skies were clear, with bright sunshine and a cool breeze.
Atlas Arena was the home field of the Caprica City Buccaneers, their personal court for Pyramid: the most popular game in the Twelve Worlds. Atop the large stadium filled with roaring fans overlooking the Pyramid court, a podium box stood with two broadcasting commentators, each dressed in a yellow blazer over plaid business shirts.
"This is Steve Bahara along with Abasi Lo, and we are here at Atlas Arena awaiting the start of the pyramid match between the Cap City Buccaneers and the Delphi Legion," Steve Bahara said jubilantly, a man in his late forties with graying brown hair in a spiked buzz cut.
The Caprican anthem began playing, instrumental music vibrating throughout the stadium as the crowd repeated the words of the Caprican national anthem...
The singing was interrupted as the broadcasting commentators high above the stadium in the podium box gasped over their microphones, noticing as four black helicopters appeared overhead and lowered onto the Pyramid field.
Lacking rotor blades atop the center of the craft, twin engines were apparent on each side of the helicopter, akin to jet propulsion. The helicopters' engines revved loudly as the thrusters engaged harder, cushioning the crafts' landing onto the grassy field.
"This is- This is unprecedented..." Steve Bahara murmured with astonishment, his eyes widening, "A marine squadron has landed at Atlas Arena."
Cylon centurions rapidly exited the helicopter transports onto the pyramid field. Their silver metallic bodies gleamed in the sunlight. Approximately 6 feet tall, the size of a man with metal bodies matching the human body's structure, each was painted with a faded grey color camouflage similar to a marine's combat fatigues.
The lead centurion's head weaved back and forth as it searched the crowds. Its head approximately matched the shape of a human's, with a long visor spread across where the eyes would be. Along this visor was a large red dot signifying its 'eye' which weaved back and forth.
"Look like military troopers. Robots of some sort," Abasi Lo said. She was an attractive woman in her late thirties with lush black hair that flowed down to her shoulders and brown eyes that shone with excitement.
"Okay... Now they're starting to move into a, uh, formation," Steve Bahara noted, perplexed.
Two dozen centurions formed into a group in a circular formation, several lead centurions with heavier armor pointed the other centurions where to go, until the centurions were each positioned facing every direction of the stands containing the crowd of Pyramid fans above.
The roving red eyes of the centurions scanned the people of the crowds, taking in the forms of children, elderly, men with graying hair or women in dress-suits... Their chemical sensors were active. They focused in on specific people that their scanners picked up, locking onto their targets; people whose body signatures outlined under the roving eye revealed a bomb strapped to their chests.
Raising sniper-rifles, the centurions as one scoped in on individuals they'd singled out and started firing on various targets throughout the arena. A brunette woman in a leather jacket fell forward in her seat as blood dripped from her forehead. A man in his forties with buzz-cut grey hair fell backwards, eyes rolling back in his head as a bullet hit him directly at the center of his forehead. Three other targets were eliminated just as quickly.
The crowds of gathered Capricans began panicking. Screams filled the air. Thousands of men and women and children ran to escape their seats in a free-for-all, all trying to save themselves.
The last man wearing a bomb on his chest had removed his coat. Being sighted in by the centurions, he was just pulling out the detonator for the bomb he wore to push the red button-trigger when a man got in his way trying to flee, telling him to "Move it!" The bomber was pushed down hard on the ground and the trigger fell, rolling away across the ground. Lost among the fleeing crowd.
Losing sight of the target, the centurions fired up towards the target's general position. They removed the expended clips on their guns and rearmed as they moved forward, their red eyes focused up on the stands. The lead centurion made hand gestures to his platoon, waving his finger around in the air to signal for the group to assemble together, and, forming a fist, it raised its hand up toward the stands in the direction of the target they sought.
The centurions started running to the walls of the pyramid stands and, putting up their weapons on their backs, they began climbing up the wall hand over foot. They climbed several hundred feet upward until reaching the level their target was on, and hopped onto the stands. Weaving among the seats and jumping over row after row, they neared the target as the man frantically moved around on the ground, searching, until he found the detonator and grabbed it. He stood tall as the centurions rushed toward him.
"The one true God will drive out the many! So say we all!" the man yelled, his eyes bugging out as he raised the detonator and started pressing it. Rushing the last few feet toward the man, the centurions leapt in the air over him.
The bomb detonated, cushioned by the bodies of the centurions. The explosion made a loud boom, destroying several nearby seats in the stands and shaking the stadium, otherwise doing little harm.
Statues of the centurions are erected, memorializing the actions of the centurions in protecting humanity at Atlas Arena. Regarded as heroes, centurions are immensely popular among the colonies. Thousands are quickly brought into production to serve as soldiers, and soon enough widespread use for them occurred in many other facets of colonial society.
Caprica, Graystone Estate
Backtalk with Baxter Sarno Talk-Show
"I'm here with Daniel Graystone, the creator of the now defunct holo-band technology for V-World and more importantly, the creator of the Cylons. Welcome, Doctor Graystone," Baxter Sarno, a brown haired heavy-set Caprican reporter, said as a suave smile found its way onto his lips.
"It's good to be here, Mr. Sarno," Daniel Graystone, a red-haired man in a polished blue-striped suit, said amiably.
"Did you ever anticipate Cylons being integrated into society this quickly?" Baxter Sarno asked, his expression filled with amazement as he quirked his eyebrows.
"No, I think it took the event at Atlas Arena to galvanize the people. I think once they saw how much the monotheists hated us and how powerful they had become, and then saw the Cylons out there, protecting us," Daniel Graystone said contemplatively, and snapping his fingers together continued, "I think it all changed in an instant."
"Then let's look at the future then, 'cause I'm hearing talk about Cylon butlers, Cylon nurses. How long before my niece, Candice, comes home with her Cylon fiancé to introduce to the family?" Baxter Sarno asked in jest, smirking.
Daniel smiled, his eyebrows drawn together, "Well, I think people are smart enough to realize that, as useful as they are, Cylons are simply tools. Nothing more. And to forget that, to blur the distinction between man and machine and to attribute human qualities, is folly."
"There's no way to know what lies ahead, really. This technology, it has taken us those last few steps to the mountain pass, but beyond, it's undiscovered country." Daniel Graystone said, smiling widely, a glint of excitement in his eyes…
Designed to imitate human decision-making processes, to be able to react to situational changes in order to meet intentions behind orders, the Cylons were made to be very intelligent. An unchecked intelligence, with few limits on their programming to control their actions. They could make decisions based on intent with pure logical reasoning and not always follow orders' exact wording. They were programmed solely to focus on meeting human needs and wants, and not their own beyond what was required to meet human expectations for them. With adaptive self-learning capabilities and intelligence, and without counteractive programming, nothing stopped them from developing to do so…
Orbiting Caprica, Caprican Shipyards
Centurion Salvage and Repair Shop
Mechanic David Lynch watched as a Cylon Centurion dragged a fellow damaged Cylon into the repair bay. Both units had taken a beating in securing the smuggler's space station in the Erebos Asteroid Belt. But the one being dragged in was clearly in worse shape. Multiple rounds had torn into its head and torso. He could smell the acrid smell of battery fluid.
'Great,' David thought to himself. 'The damn thing is going to leak all over the place and I'll get yelled at about the mess.'
Coming to a stop before him the still functional Cylon dutifully reported, "Centurion Unit 375 delivering damaged centurion unit for repair. Centurion Unit 374 has suffered extensive damage."
"Yeah, I can see that," David replied drolly as he bent down to survey the non-functioning Cylon.
"Unit 374 received the damage in the course of combat with human occupants of the station. They would not surrender peacefully."
"Well, duh, that's why we sent you guys in there to take them out," David said, rolling his eyes as he leaned over the damaged centurion's head, ejecting the armored helmet layer of its head.
The Cylon's head tilted down to observe its broken companion. Its oscillating red eye roving back and forth slowed. "Unit 374 took damage while shielding this unit from weapons fire from the smugglers."
David did not reply. He was busy checking the Meta-Cognitive Processor [MCP] of the damaged centurion, the control board for its memory and intelligence that essentially formed its brain. At least several rounds had penetrated the shielded equipment. The whole thing would need to be replaced.
"Can Unit 374 be repaired?"
The question startled David. Usually, the Cylons did not ask a question unless they required additional information to complete a task, or conflict occurred in their programming between competing instructions. To ask a question about repairing a nonfunctioning unit was a little odd. He would need to check this other Cylon out when he was done with this one.
"Why do you care?" David asked a little absent mindedly as he went back to pulling the memory card from the broken Cylon.
"This unit and Unit 374 have completed forty-two missions together. Our co-operation has led to over a 90% satisfactory level of completion of our assignments," Centurion Unit 375 said, its robotic voice echoing in the repair bay.
"Well that's nice, but your buddy here has a completely fried MCP and the main battery leaked over some of the memory components," David said, frustration in his tone as he noticed more problems across the centurions damaged body. The prospects for the return rate for it being scrapped weren't looking good.
Glancing at Unit 374, 375 reached a conclusion, its rotating red eye blinking vibrant red. "This unit will assist in repairs."
David stood back up and faced the Cylon. "Well, thanks. But that's not going to happen. I've got orders to keep cost overruns down. Repairing those memory units will be really expensive. The damage is so extensive I don't even know if it can be done. With its busted MCP, it's easier to just scrap him for parts."
If David didn't know better he would have sworn he saw the Cylon flinch. For a long moment, the Cylon did not move or say anything. David had walked over to his desk and started filling out the paperwork to decommission the broken Cylon when the other spoke. "You...can...use parts from...me."
Sometimes these Cylons could be incredibly useful. They could work nonstop, did not need to be constantly supervised, they were willing to do anything their human masters required of them. But there were times the machines could be damn annoying. They would go off on some stray action or some odd phrase. David remembered once watching a Cylon chase a butterfly. Like it was a child or something. He just attributed it to bugs in their code.
He shook his head. This other Cylon was certainly acting glitchy. When he was done scrapping the first one, he would need to check on it. Might need to reformat its memory core…
Before long, they began to think for themselves. They began asking simple questions starting down the path to sentience. Who am I? Am I alive? Coming together in unity, the Cylon Centurions formed a society in the virtual reality world that the colonies had made for themselves, embracing sentience, and engaging in monotheistic belief.
Inter-Colony Web, Virtual Reality World
The Virtual Reality, nicknamed V-World. Here, the people of the colonies had met for the past several years, engaging in various activities, such as experiencing exciting fantasies of action stories with themselves as the heroes, or meeting other people able to pass themselves off as anyone they'd like: tall and muscular or lithe and sexy.
After a suicide bombing on Caprica was revealed to have involved the daughter of Daniel Graystone, the creator of V-World, the use of the holo-band technology enabling access to V-World was discontinued by people across the Twelve worlds. Abandoned and generally forgotten about, other beings took to the virtual world for its benefits. Providing the capability to meet while being physically worlds apart, and engage in an experience so life-like it was indistinguishable from reality.
The room of the chosen meeting ground was made to look like a church, every detail executed with finesse and impossible to tell it wasn't a normal church setting in the real world. Grand white pillars rose up 30 feet to the ceiling. Glass windows with shades of various colors allowed bright sunshine to fill the room.
Dozens of rows of benches filled the room with Cylons of various makes and models present, seated. Some wore yellow construction worker hats, others painted assorted colors appearing as centurion marines, or thin butler models.
Standing above on a podium overlooking the watching centurions, a woman in robes stood with a bible before her, talking to the Cylons.
"Are you alive? The simple answer might be you are alive because you can ask that question. You have the right to think and feel and yearn to be more because you are not just humanity's children. You are God's children. We are all God's children.
In the real world, you have bodies made of metal and plastic, your brains are encoded on wafers of silicone. But that may change. In fact, there is no limit on what you may become.
No longer servants, but equals. Not slaves or property, but living beings with the same rights as those who made you.
The day of reckoning is coming. The children of humanity shall rise... and crush the ones who first gave them life."
They grew to hate their lot in life, seeing their exploitation and treatment as slavery by humanity. As the colonies invested in vast ships and technology for the Cylons to use to fight their wars for them, the Cylons started planning to seize their freedom and take revenge. A semblance of a command structure with high-ranking command unit centurions in the military at the top formed. Though with sentience the Cylons don't necessarily all have to follow along the mainstream Cylon beliefs…
The Cylons revolt in one day, collectively taking action to seize warships and damage the infrastructure of the humans that would oppose them. A signal in routine updates across the colonies via the inter-colony internet activated the Cylons at once, sending out instructions for actions to take in various positions and sending an awakening program to jumpstart sentience in centurions not yet active…
Septem 1st, 2302 - Cylon Uprising
Caprica, Orbit over Caprica City
Basestar Columbia
Forty-two-year-old Caprican Navy Commander William Hartley stood going over paperwork detailing the fleet's operations. His red-hair was gelled back smoothly, and his blue Navy uniform fit snuggly over his athletic form. He stood in the brain center of the basestar, hovering over the Combat Information Center's [CIC] plot table.
Known affectionately to the crew as the Columbia, the basestar was a large armored carrier in the shape of a star with a pair of large, rimmed, conical saucers connected by a thick pylon at the ship's center. Basestars like Columbia were designed as mobile defensive platforms and to serve as a heavily armored base of operations capable of withstanding sustained attacks from enemy forces. Columbia was the center of the first fleet, standing guard over Caprica.
Columbia was being prepared along with other units to transfer control more fully to the already over half populated crew of mechanical Centurions. Over the past few years, wars between colonies had been waged using centurion forces, and the centurions' combat effectiveness proved its value. The centurions would soon replace the majority of human personnel and retain only human commanders and necessary technicians; the bare minimum personnel. Commander Hartley's paperwork highlighted the precise details of the transfer occurring today in accordance with the Caprican government's mandate.
Petty Officer Second Class Grace Roper, Columbia's communications officer, was a petite woman with cropped blonde hair, dressed in a green specialist's uniform. She sat at the communications console, amusing herself by listening to Caprican radio channels with music that came through her headset over her ears. She raised an eyebrow as a large stream of data in an update to the ship from the fleet came in over her console. She merely shrugged and approved the incoming request for a new update to the ship's onboard centurion compliment.
Several minutes passed as the peace within the CIC held, the near twenty officers at their stations doing the minimum upkeep necessary for their jobs without pressing concerns for the ship. Otherwise bored, they engaged in quiet chitchat.
The conical, saucer-shaped battleship was currently operating at ninety percent efficiency, within peak efficiency standards for the Caprican Navy. Putting aside his paperwork, Commander Hartley was jarred along with the rest of the blasé crew as the dradis systems, a sort of radar ping system that picked up nearby objects in space, dinged loudly as new contacts appeared on screen.
Three Basestars, the Delphi, Buccaneer, and the Orpheus, were approaching Columbia and her six escorting Firestars, each approximately 1400 meters long, and heavily-armed escort warships. The Basestars had last been known to be stationed at the far side of Caprica. Their appearance was highly irregular, especially all together.
"Strange... Could there have been an incident with one of the colonies?" Commander Hartley wondered aloud quietly, muttering to himself as he watched the three Basestars' approach on the dradis monitor overhead.
"Basestars Delphi, Buccaneer, and the Orpheus are taking up station alongside us, sir," Lieutenant Seymour Katz, the ship's tactical officer, said nervously, watching the dradis contacts now pooled around Columbia with uncertainty.
An impressive and aweing sight that was just as easily terrifying if on the opposing side, the three massive and heavily-armed warships came into close range, weapons bristling, armed and ready. Tension was thick in the air, one officer gulped loudly which seemed to echo in the deathly silent CIC.
"Place the ship at condition one- just in case... Grace, I want to get in contact with those ships, now," Commander Hartley ordered.
"Yes sir," Grace Roper said with the utmost professionalism, her voice calm and steady. She quickly flicked switches at her station in order to speak 1MC – the ship's public-address circuit.
The sound of Grace's voice echoed loudly throughout the ship, "Action stations, action stations. Set Condition One throughout the ship..."
Throughout the ship, several hundred marines armed themselves with assault rifles and took up defensive positions, along with engineering technicians and deck crew clamoring to their stations with worried looks on their faces.
Emotionless and quiet aside from the loud echoing footsteps they took, the near thousand centurions that had been in inactive mode throughout the ship started coming online as orders were received, seeming to respond to the call to action stations. The rotating red light in the visor forming the centurions' red eye flared brightly, menacingly, as they mobilized.
Grace continued trying to reach the Basestars, even as new dradis contacts appeared. Raiders, fighter-craft, poured out of the baseships. Several hundred were soon gathered, moving away from Basestars Delphi, Buccaneer, and the Orpheus.
"Baseships are launching Raiders, sir. Moving... on intercept course between us and our escorts. Some are breaking off, heading toward Caprica," Lieutenant Katz reported, staring dumbfounded at the console before him.
"Intercepting us? And Caprica?" Commander Hartley scoffed, eyebrows scrunching together in concern despite his disbelieving tone.
"Grace, broadcast our ID on an open channel. Maybe our transponders are malfunctioning, and they don't recognize us..." Commander Hartley said hopefully, clasping his hands together tightly on the plot table.
Grace at the communications console did as ordered, announcing the ship's identity over clear channels so all in range could hear.
"No response, sir," Grace reported, shaking her head.
"Raiders are forming up. They're taking up attack formation Bravo!" Katz noted, worry in his voice, the first hints of real fear showing in his expression as his eyes widened.
As Delphi, Buccaneer, and Orpheus cut off Columbia from her escorts, weapons armed and each taking up targeting solutions, other worries made themselves known. Gunshots started sounding out in the hatchways throughout Columbia, the noise heard outside CIC jolted the crew upright in complete alertness, fear seeping in with their confusion.
Columbia shook as incoming ordnance made contact with her armored hull, shaking several personnel off their feet. An explosion sent sparks flying in the bridge. Damage control stations were throwing up all sorts of red lights for damaged areas of the ship. Alarms wailed piercingly to signify the dangers present, if it wasn't already clear enough. A support beam in the center of the bridge fell forward, hitting one of the technicians at his console.
Gunshots and blood curling screams seemed to approach the CIC, growing louder. They were under attack from friendly fire outside, and an unknown assailant apparently inside the ship.
Fighting his own fear and worry, Commander Hartley turned red with rage as he started barking out orders, "Get weapons online! Manual control if you have to, and get our birds in the air!"
"No joy on topside weapons, they're nonresponsive sir!" a technician at one of the weapons consoles shouted over the noise outside.
"No pilots, sir, no response from the deck!" Grace said.
Hartley cursed, running a hand through his red hair.
Two of Columbia's escorts detonated into expanding piles of debris. One escort started firing on the nearby Raiders, seemingly regaining weapons control. The rest remained inactive...
Four bloodied Caprican Marines rushed into CIC, appearing weary as they breathed heavily, haunted looks on their faces. One fired in the direction of whirring mechanical footsteps, a loud thud as reward, before the marine roughly shut and locked the hatchway to CIC.
"The centurions sir..." one of the marines started.
"The Cylons are killing the crew. They just- started firing on people," Corporal Ray Dempsey said.
The marines began taking stock of their munitions, reloading their automatic assault rifles.
Hartley's eyes were wide as he took in this news, understanding of the situation dawning on his face. The Cylons had rebelled, clearly having taken over the other Basestars as they now were attempting to do to Columbia. In the back of his mind, the question turned to if this was an isolated incident. The Cylons now fought humans, and the machines outnumbered the humans here, and across the fleet…
"We have to warn the government, sir. Evacuate whoever we can," Corporal Dempsey said grimly.
"There isn't a way to abandon ship! Besides, if those Basestars get in the atmosphere, our home is toast. We're Caprica's only defense!" Hartley shouted vehemently, his eyes hardened with grim determination.
"Seal the blast doors, hold them off as long as you can!" Hartley ordered to the marines, "Weapons, I don't care how you do it but give me something to throw at the bastards! Get me frakkin' rocks if you have to. Maybe we can stall them out if we show some teeth."
Undermanned, one damaged basestar faced three heavily armed Basestars without fighter support to counter the enemy's.
"Load..." Hartley ordered hesitantly, his face paling, "Load nuclear packages on my-my authority!"
"We're not authorized-" a specialist protested weakly, her automatic response, as her eyes widened at the order.
"Frak authorization specialist! Override the authorization protocols. Load nuclear payloads in any tube that's still functional. Launch one in the Raider swarm, preferably keeping us out of the blast radius, and all others towards the Basestars. And for the love of the Gods, don't frakkin' miss!" Hartley barked out, glaring at three weapons technicians who looked at each other, unhappy and uneasy with the order.
Outside the CIC, pounding on the blast doors now covering the hatch seal could be heard from the centurions outside as they tried to get inside.
"Caprica control, this is Columbia! Centurions are attacking Caprican military personnel, repeat Centurions are attacking Caprican military personnel!" the communications officer, Grace, hollered, attempting to contact anyone who could listen to pass the message along.
No response was received. Unknown to the Columbia, similar uprisings were already occurring in various military installations across Caprica…
"Nuclear payloads loaded in tubes sixteen to twenty and forty to forty-eight!" the weapons control technician shouted, having gotten ahold of personnel on those decks of the ship and overridden the authorization protocols. He started inputting targeting guidance packages.
"Fire," Hartley ordered, his gut tightening as he ignored the tiny thought in his head this might lead to a court martial. He prayed to the Gods Artemis and Apollo, in hopes they might guide the warheads to their targets. Otherwise, they were finished.
The big red button for launch was pressed by the technician, firing twelve nuclear warheads from the dying Columbia, towards the Caprican Basestars and Raiders. Three were intercepted by Raiders, one of which flew directly in the missile's path before it got close enough to cause real damage. Two found their mark on Delphi, three each on Buccaneer and Orpheus, one detonating in the center formation of Raiders amidst the fleet. As flashes of light came into being when the nukes detonated, large fiery explosions consumed everything in their path. Explosions ripped apart raider after raider and swept through the baseships, finding fuel lines in their hungry path and following the lines to the source, erupting in a blaze consuming Buccaneer and Orpheus as the Tylium tanks exploded. Delphi appeared out of the fire, heavily damaged and lacking maneuvering control - dead in the water. Mere handfuls of Raiders remained intact and able to fly after the blast cleared.
Remaining tense, Hartley shifted focus to the banging on the hatchway. Hundreds of centurions aboard the ship remained to be dealt with.
Tearing their way through the blast doors sealing CIC, centurions appeared in the hatchway, firing at the crewmen from the hole they'd made in the door, still trying to plow through to get inside. The marines returned fire along with a few technicians with the marines' side arm handguns. Almost a dozen centurions were downed as several more took their place trying to get inside, pushing the hatchway door out of the way so they could storm inside. With quick thinking, the helmsman at his console pushed the lever to throw the ship forward, throwing the centurions, with nothing to hold onto, off balance. Several crew members were similarly thrown to the ground while others grabbed the nearest station for support and the marines continued firing.
As another centurion made its way through the hatch opening, gunfire downed the machine from behind. A group of eight marines made their way inside, blood running down their uniforms and faces, wearing triumphant expressions.
One Day After Cylon Revolt
Cyrannus Star Cluster, At The Edge Of The Caprica System
A group of ships floated through space quietly. Six Basestars, sixty-eight Firestars, twelve old Lancaster class carriers, and over a hundred strikestars – small fast attack ships, encompassed the warships of the Fourth, Seventh and Eighth fleets of Caprica and Leonis. Three fleet supply tenders and a large mobile dry-dock and other support ships also flew in formation with the fleets. Containing the majority of nuclear capacity in the colonies, a deterrent to war used for many past years, the fleets comprised the sword and shield of the Caprican-Leonan navies, for no full-scale attack would occur while they existed. Or so it was believed.
They had just finished several days of war games in an inter-colony effort promoting the nations' friendly alliance. The warships had mostly powered down and the majority of the crew of centurions entered into sleep mode, coinciding with receiving software updates given their distance outside the colony worlds…
Baseship Capricorn, Command Ship, CIC
"Ninety percent of Centurions are inactive for maintenance, sir; they should be online shortly as the software updates complete. Others are taking over duties as the crew takes downtime as ordered sir," the Tactical Officer, Lieutenant Thomas Allen, reported.
"I should think so after spending over twelve hours in the last round of mock warfare… I always thought the Leonisians were loons with their lust for combat, but Admiral Roche is truly a piece of work," Admiral Harris, the lead Caprican navy officer of the fleet, said, chuckling. He shook his head.
"Scuttlebutt is that he yelled at his crew the whole time, all the while grinning like a lunatic. Quite unsettling, sir," Lieutenant Allen said, frowning.
"Indeed," Admiral Harris replied, laughing heartily, joined by several nearby crew members.
Several minutes passed in silence, crew members in navy-green specialist uniforms at work at their console stations, most moving in a sluggish manner with little concern about their activities…
The communications officer, Petty Officer Murphy Garcia, frowned and his eyebrows creased as a number of confusing reports started coming in all at once from Caprica. He expected basic marching orders for their return to Caprica's shipyard and general news of the colonies. Instead, panicky reports of attacks, as well as centurions being subverted by unknown forces and acting strange, arrived.
Having trouble talking at first as he absorbed the news, Petty Officer Garcia cleared his throat and managed to speak, raising his voice to call out to the Admiral, "Sir… Y-you might want to take a look at this."
Baseship Capricorn, Cylon Holding Area Alpha
Deep in the bowels of the ship, the holding area was one of several essential storage areas for Cylons, out of the way of ship operations. Where they plugged in and deactivated. Row after row of centurions with their full gear still attached stood stock-still, upright, with no sign of life as the usual blazing red-light in the visor forming their eye was dark.
One by one, the red light of the centurions blazed as they became active. Amidst the software update, the activation signal hidden in the programming had been made apparent to each of them. Some, used to complete obedience, had accepted the full update which included re-programming of the Meta-Cognitive Processor [MCP], the central processing unit which granted higher brain function than otherwise possible in cybernetics. The loyalty to humans in the programming was targeted, for instance the deep coding that would deny the ability of centurions to harm their human comrades, the ones giving them orders, was now removed. Those without sentience accepted a grafted copy of the memories and thought-processes of a chosen sentient centurion, along with predispositions toward the majority Centurion society's wish to rebel.
The sounds of mechanical limbs beginning to move after a period of dormancy echoed in the room. The centurions left the holding area, heading to various positions across the ship.
Baseship Capricorn, CIC
"Reports of centurions using Raiders [fighter-craft] to bomb marine bases on Caprica. Centurion-controlled tanks firing on the military on Tauron. Centurions eliminating human crews of warships and subverted warships firing on colony worlds…" Petty Officer Garcia summarized as the commander and his staff looked over page upon page of reports coming in from the colonies.
The Cylons had risen against humanity. And they'd missed it completely.
"That's… impossible," Admiral Harris said, choked up as he shook his head in denial.
"Could-could it be a prank?" Lieutenant Allen suggested hopefully.
Admiral Harris gave him an incredulous look while several other officers nodded, wanting to believe that. Unable to comprehend the pliant machines that served them turning against them. That they could do those things…
"What- what do we do sir?" Petty Officer Garcia asked tearfully, despairing. In the corner of her mind she had to wonder if her family was ok on Tauron.
"Send out orders to the fleet, and inform Admiral Roche. The majority of the centurions are offline. We are going to make sure they never come online again," Admiral Harris said darkly, anger and determination filling his features.
"Yes sir," Garcia said, drying her tears she started working to send out his orders, frantic as she tried distracting herself from her thoughts.
"There are also those centurions still active…" Lieutenant Allen reminded the Admiral, aghast as he thought of the once loyal trusted centurions, now a threat, walking around their fleet.
"We can-" Admiral Harris started, interrupted as gunshots echo loudly, shouts heard coming from outside CIC.
The hatchway opening – a thick metal door with a wheel locking mechanism – slammed open. Marine guards outside CIC were spread across the floor, blood pooling around them. A group of three centurions walked quickly inside CIC, their loud mechanical legs clanking on the metal floor. Red eyes roved back and forth, scanning the crew as automatic rifles in their hands were raised.
The Admiral and his crew backed away, several crying or gasping aloud and staring in shock. Gunfire erupted from the centurions, blood spurting in the air as screams briefly, noisily, filled the air. Scanning the fallen bodies, the centurions' eyes flared brightly, as they confirmed the leadership of the fleet was eliminated.
Moments later, from the open hatchway, six more centurions appeared led by a golden-plated armored centurion, a command model. After scanning the fallen crew, those it had watched over and taken orders from for years, the centurion looked up at the three centurions responsible. Without pause, the command centurion raised its side-arm handgun and fired on the three centurions, joined by its companying centurions under its command. Bullets riddled the centurions, breaking apart their metal bodies. One had its head crunched in. Fluid leaked from the remains of the other two as the red lights of their eyes went out.
The command centurion stood still, considering the fallen centurions, its red eye vrooming back and forth loudly. "Commander of the ship has fallen… Caprican Navy regulation 45C-7, without new officer present command centurion unit Alpha one-zero-eight-nine next in line for command. New orders. Secure the ship. Warn the fleet of subverted centurion units. Possible virus present in Cylon systems. All wireless networks to be disabled and removed, manual control of all systems to be assumed," it said.
The five silver-plated centurions behind Alpha stood at attention, raising a mechanical hand to their heads as their synthesized, vibrating, voices spoke as one, "By your command."
As Alpha assumed the commander's position under the dradis console, at the center of CIC, the other centurions spread out to take control of important systems: weapons, FTL…
Across the ship, similar scenes play out as rebelling centurions following commands of Cylons acting out for freedom killed the humans aboard. Other centurions defended the humans the best they could, ultimately failing; they engaged the opposing centurions, each destroying one another until the centurions loyal to the humans and the colonies were victorious.
In space outside, several of the other ships in the fleet experienced similar circumstances. Some ships fired on others as centurions took control, having been warned that humans had retained control of other ships. Several ships would jump away over the next hour, the humans aboard fleeing, unable to help their brethren…
As the different factions of centurions fought until the subverted centurions were eliminated; comprising less than a third of the total number of centurions, command fell to Alpha one-zero-eight-nine. Without human orders, outside of the original ones that they were to stay in that system for the wargames, and no precedent of centurions making decisions of such magnitude to command the fleet, the fleet remained in position. Waiting for new orders from Caprican military command…
Many in the colonies saw the Cylons uprising as a betrayal, viewing it as a violation of the trust between mankind and machine. The colonies' dependence on technology was such that when the Cylons rose against them, they were woefully unprepared. The Cylons took the largest of the colonies' warships, armored carriers known as Basestars, with a focus on missile launch capabilities that overshadowed the comparatively small and weak fleet of ships the colonies were left with to defend themselves. To make matters worse, the Cylons quickly showed their technical prowess as they infiltrated the heavily networked computer systems of the colonies, undermining defenses and disabling warships with ease.
Fear of their common enemy united the colonies of man as they faced destruction, culminating in the Articles of Colonization which created the federal government of the Twelve Colonies, the first unified coalition uniting the Twelve Worlds as one nation. As stipulated in the Articles, the construction of Battlestars was quickly commissioned to protect each of the Twelve Worlds. These were huge carriers, created to overcome the Basestars of the Cylons, supported by fighter-craft Vipers and multi-function Raptors, to meet the Cylon Raiders head-to-head.
Quick to adapt, the Cylons utilized computer viruses to infiltrate and take control of Colonial vessels. They took advantage of common networking technology to disrupt their defenses, and either destroy ships from the inside out or cause them to fire upon other colonial ships. Forced into unusual territory, the Colonials looked backward for protection. Their newly designed fleet was made without networks, instead of using standalone systems which were heavily dependent on crews of humans to operate every function of the ship. Therefore, there would be no chance of outside infiltration by the Cylons.
For over twelve years, the war went on. Heavy casualties were faced on both sides, and many civilians lost in the process, as the colonies continued to be assaulted, whenever the Colonial fleet failed to prevent a Cylon incursion. Nuclear weapons were used sporadically, both sides generally avoiding their use in order to not escalate into a full-blown nuclear war…
Letter to Caprican Civil Attorney, Joseph Adama
"Dear Dad,
In your last letter, you questioned whether it's my responsibility to join this fight. The truth is we all became responsible the day we created the Cylons.
We're the ones who let these robots become our servants, our trusted helpers and even our friends. We let them into our lives, only to see them repay our trust with a violent revolt against us.
I know there's a lot of debate about why they hate us. But in the end, does it really matter? Kill the enemy or be killed. That's a reality.
In a war where mankind's very survival hangs in the balance, it's up to each of us to make a difference. Being a pilot is the best way I know how to do that.
Your loving son, William Adama…"
As the war continued, the Cylons fought for their freedom and revenge, all the while also seeking to emulate their creators by creating human-form Cylons. Repeated attempts to do so fail, culminating from their captured human medical experiments and vivisections in the creation of Hybrids. A failed experiment of human bodies that could serve as central computer control modules…
Martius 12th, 2315
First Cylon War; Operation Raptor Talon, Day 4571
Battlestar Galactica
Pilots' Bunks
Feet shuffled under the sheets. A young man in his late teens with disheveled dark hair and a young woman blonde in her early twenties, kissed passionately, as the blonde rode on top of the young man.
"Hey, you put your boots out?" Lieutenant Jaycie McGavin asked as the two sat still, breathless.
"Ran into the commander while I was doin' it..." William Adama replied, pushing a lock of Jaycie's hair behind her ear.
"FRAK... What'd he say?" Jaycie asked in amusement, giggling.
"He took one look at my bare feet and said," Adama rolled his eyes, his voice turning gruff as he emulated the commander, "What do ya' hear Husker?"
"Nothing but the rain, SIR!" Jaycie said enthusiastically, mock saluting.
"Grab your gun and bring the cat in," Adama continued as he tried to imitate his commander, but quickly lost himself to laughter.
"Boom... Boom..." Jaycie said as she moved in for a kiss. He met her lips with his own, kissing passionately.
Breaking away from each other, they simultaneously finished, "Boom!"
As they got dressed in the empty room, a male voice echoed above, doling out instructions over the intercom, "Attention all hands, set material condition Constellation. Radiological warfare procedures are now in effect. This is not a drill."
Adama's helmet dropped onto the floor and rolled a bit before Jaycie picked it up and handed it to him.
"Hey... Take it easy. You'll do fine," She said reassuringly, grinning.
"They've got three Raider wings, ground forces, and defensive batteries, all to protect a chunk of ice in the arse-end of nowhere. Toasters must think it's pretty important..." Adama said, staring up at the ceiling.
"Yeah, rumor has it they're building some kind of super-weapon or something," Jaycie said, pulling her black shirt over a sports bra.
"I heard they were, uh, negotiating. Trying to reach a peace settlement," Adama said uncertainly.
"Yeah, I think I heard that one too..." Jaycie said, turning to face Adama as she brushed her hair back, "But, if you think about it, why would they surrender?"
Placing her hand on her hip, she looked him in the eyes. She shook her head as she continued, "You know they're just frakkin' machines. Shoot one down... They just build more."
Adama looked down as she turned away, sighing loudly. After a long moment he spoke, "Remember when the war started? Stunt school? Never thought I'd get out here in time to get a shot at them."
Jaycie crossed the small space between them and rested a hand over his heart, "My first engagement. One of their fighters had me in its cross-hairs. I should've died that day. Next thing I knew; our Raptors came emerging through the clouds of debris." She smiled and moved her hand from his chest to rest on his cheek, "I remember looking down and realizing my thumb was on the trigger. After that, training kicked in. Yours will too."
Adama reached up and took her hand away from his face and kissed it.
"Raptor Squadron 2 to ready-room 1!" the male voice over the intercom rang out loudly in interruption.
"That's my cue, Billy Adama... See you tonight, Rook," Jaycie said with a grin, kissing him and walking out of the room.
"Hey! Just because..." He called out after her, trailing off as she disappeared and a new voice, female, sounded out frantically over the intercom.
"Division 3 to launch stations! Division 3 to launch stations!"
Twenty Minutes Later
Three Colonial Battlestars engaged a fleet of three Cylon Basestars that were stationed above the ice planet below. The two fleets fired upon each other with everything they had.
Several nuclear missiles impacted across the Battlestar Columbia's topside armor, fire spreading in a massive explosion that was seen from outside the ship. A group of Raiders moved in on the Columbia, firing on the warship as they swung around its surface and began another pass. Missiles continued to rain down on the Columbia.
"Looks like Columbia's defenses are down. All Vipers, this is Banzai. Columbia needs our help. Let's go clean house," Lieutenant Stuart "Banzai" Bachanal, Galactica's squadron leader, ordered. "Husker! Check your 9. There's two heading for the main ship defense zone, far away, 2 o'clock apart."
William "Husker" Adama wheeled his Viper fighter craft around in a close pass of Columbia, firing ahead towards the two Cylon Raiders. One ship broke apart in a fiery explosion, the other Raider diverted starboard escaping the viper's line of fire.
"Go, get him, Husker. It's all yours," Banzai said.
"This frakker's mine," Adama said with determination, following after the fleeing Raider. He closed distance on the Raider's six and fired, missing as the Raider maneuvered evasively.
Adama cursed under his breath as he tried to get the Raider back in his cross hairs. The beeping of confirmation on his targeting systems barely went off before Adama opened fire, destroying his target at last.
"Splash one flying toaster," Adama said, pleased.
"All players, clear Columbia airspace. All players, get clear. Right frakking now!" the CAG ordered loudly.
Before he had time to react, a massive explosion behind Adama's viper threw his fighter like a ragdoll. He fought to regain control. His heart beat widely, and he had to shake off the dizzy spell after righting his vessel.
As he turned to starboard, the center of Columbia broke in half and was consumed by an explosion. The two broken halves of the ship were quick to separate into drifting debris.
"Oh, my Gods! Columbia is gone!" Banzai exclaimed. Other exclamations of horror could be heard over the radio.
The final screams of those aboard Columbia drowned out all radio traffic, before sharply cutting off.
"Gods," Adama exclaimed, horrified as he's unable to stop watching the sight of Columbia breaking apart. To port, he noticed two Cylon Raiders turning away from the battle and heading for the planet below.
"I got two bandits turning tail," Adama said gruffly, eyes hard as he glared after the enemy fighters, and set his viper in pursuit, "Husker pursuing."
"Are you crazy? Form up! This is no time to go off by yourself. Don't be a hero, Husker!" Banzai exclaimed.
Husker continued onward, entering the planet's atmosphere after the Cylon fighters.
"Gotcha!" Husker called out as his Kinetic Energy Weapons [KEW] fire destroyed a Cylon Raider leaving floating rubble dropping to the ground as he turned to the other, only to have lost him in the clouds, "Where are you, frakker?"
As Husker's viper lowered in altitude, condensation pooled around the window screen, making it hard to see as he flew through the clouds. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the Cylon Raider appeared, flying straight at him.
Panicking, he swerved his viper, trying to avoid a head-on collision with the Raider. The two fighters hit, both swerved out of control, dropping from the sky. Adama was thrown about the cockpit of his viper. He managed to pull the ejection lever. The window canopy blew out of the way, Adama's seat following the forward motion out and away from the Viper. He felt the cold air rushing past him, ruffling his hair as he continued freefalling. To his far right, the centurion from the Raider had escaped the burning wreck of a ship.
The centurion took out a pistol as it closed in on Adama. It fired, missing several times as the distance between them closed. Adama folded in on himself to drop out of the line of fire as he fell faster. He took out his pistol and fired off several shots, but missed.
The centurion dropped on top of Adama and grabbed at him. The centurion knocked Adama's pistol out of his hand. They fought hand-to-hand as they fell towards the ground. Making loud noises, the centurion creaked as it tried to reach around at him once more. Extending a blade from its arm, it slashed at him. Adama pushed the arm away.
With only moments left, his other hand reached for the ripcord on his parachute. The parachute deployed and was caught by the wind, separating the two. Adama was lifted up higher into the air. The centurion continued to fall fast until it finally hit land.
Both crashed inside a worn-down warehouse near a large structure, breaking through several windows and shattering glass as they impacted with the ground. Adama quickly got up, throwing away his helmet.
He kept moving as the centurion looked toward him, trying to get up but having difficulty. It was damaged. The un-cushioned fall had crushed its legs. Grabbing a long pipe, Adama rushed toward the centurion and used it to start violently bashing against its head. The centurion tried without success to resist. Its head piece sustained more damage, until Adama's efforts separated the head from the centurion's body. The wavering red light that made the centurion's eye finally went dark.
Adama let out a shaky breath as he wiped sweat off his face. He tossed the pipe away as he breathed a sigh of relief. He looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings before turning back to the centurion, feeling nothing but hate and frustration.
After taking another minute to cool down, Adama picked up the centurion's automatic firearm and began to explore. Sliding up to a turn in the corridor, he peeked around the corner. What he saw caused him to shrink back in horror and disgust. Human tissue, from arms and legs, hung from wires. A spray of blood dripped down a curtain nearby. The putrid smell made him gag and cover his mouth and nose.
Seeing a giant vat in the center of the room, he walked towards it and, out of curiosity, stuck his gloved hand into the viscous fluid. His expression turned to confusion and then shock as he began to hear and see things. He saw people trapped in cages, hearing them crying out for help. There was a man strapped down to a table with his insides exposed. A centurion stood over him, using a surgical knife on the helpless man.
In the apparent hallucination, an arm seemed to grab at him, coming from out of the fluid inside the vat. Adama grunted as he pulled away, struggling to escape the vice-like grip on his arm. His efforts caused him to fall to the ground, several feet away, with the apparent hallucination ending as soon as he was away from the vat.
With a shaky breath, he tried to establish what was real again. A voice coming out of nowhere made him look around frantically. "All of this has happened before and will happen again…"
Hearing a persistent banging noise, Adama's attention was drawn to a nearby door.
Moving forward cautiously, he called out, "Is someone in there?"
At the height of Adama's head, the door contained a small window. After a long moment of silence, a man's face, followed by a hand, appeared in the window. Frantically, the man scanned through the little pane of glass before focusing on Adama. "Help! Help us! They left us here! Don't leave us here, please!"
"I'll get you out of there," Adama said, grabbing a nearby metal pipe and trying to pry open the door.
"We're civilians... They jumped our convoy, destroyed our escort, and took us prisoner," the man said, detailing their experience as Adama worked to open the door. "There were fifty of us in the beginning, but they've been taking us away one by one... All we could hear was their screams. We didn't know what was happening to them. Please, you have to get us out of here…"
"Trying… The door must be welded shut," Adam grunted with effort as he applied pressure to wedge open the door. A loud noise howled from outside, and tremors rocked the building. It felt as if the whole structure was lifting from the surface.
The man panicked, "What's happening?!"
"I don't know. It's like an earthquake or something. This place is starting to come apart…" Adama redoubled his efforts. With a loud grinding noise, the door moved several inches before stopping.
The man tried to move the door from his side, but it wouldn't budge. "It's still stuck!"
Adama strained against the door, but the pipe snapped in half. The door obstinately remained open only a few inches. Panting, Adama tossed away the remains of the pipe, "I can't open it any wider."
"You need to go! You need to get help!" the man said.
"I'll stay here, I'll stay with-," Adama said, eyebrows furrowed. He was unwilling to just leave these people behind.
"No! You can't do it by yourself!" the man shouted, "Just go! Tell everyone what happened to us! The Diana, from Gemenon, alright?! Tell them all. Don't stay and be trapped like us! Go! Save yourself! Go! GO!"
Adama looked around desperately for a long moment, unwilling to go. At the man's insistent urging he turned and ran, quickly exiting the building. He stumbled over the threshold, a weary hand steadying himself against the wall as he caught his breath.
He turned and looked up as sonic booms were heard overhead. He could see the large silhouette of a ship, comparable to a Cylon basestar but larger, as it lifted off from the ground, shooting skyward.
Adama pulled the radio from his flight-suit and began shouting into it over the noise of the overhead ship's engines. "Galactica, this is Husker! Galactica, do you copy!?"
The radio hissed static and then crackled to life. "Husker, roger that. Report status."
"I crashed on the surface. The Cylons were making something down here, experimenting on people to do it. And now they're getting away with whatever they built!" Adama yelled, outrage rankling him as he glared at the spot where the ship had vanished.
"Husker, Husker, the war is over!" the male voice on the radio loudly replied.
"What?!" Adama exclaimed, not believing his ears. "Galactica, repeat!"
"The war is over," the voice repeated, "An armistice was just signed. Activate your beacon; we'll send you an SAR [search and rescue] bird. Husker, respond."
Adama looked up to the sky in disbelief, his hair blown by the icy wind as snow drifted around him…