Flesh & Machinery

Virtual Season Three, Episode Seven

By Visi0nary

FROM THE ADAMA JOURNALS

"We are now a full sectan into the vast expanse of space that lies beyond that region dominated by the Zykonians and Ziklagi. Of course, I use the term "unknown" in a spirit of humor because our recent stopover at Space Station RB-33, which I am pleased we made despite my early misgivings, allowed us to acquire a great deal of information about this region.

Called the Bosaq Frontier, in reference to a political entity which once controlled it, it was described by our departed friend Ozko Bolzakian as a region that had descended into a "free for all." It's a term that demonstrates further the kindly alien's penchant for understatement.

Though the region contains a good number of habitable worlds, both peopled and empty, the peoples of which are predominantly hospitable, it is also rife with pirate activity and petty wars. According to the information gathered at the space station, adventurers and profiteers from both the Zykonian and Ziklagi nations, along with various others, gravitated to this region to escape the tight control of both those governments in much the same way some of our own people ventured into the Colonial Frontier to escape the ravages of the war with the Cylons. An unfortunate byproduct of this migration was the ascendancy of small groups of malcontents who chose to feed on the chaos wrought by the fall of the Bosaq Empire.

It's a story that is almost as old as man, and a disheartening one.

It's also no wonder that the reports of traveling merchants like the Horks paint the inhabitants of the free worlds of the region as largely xenophobic and inhospitable.

If genuine, those reports tell us that the majority of the peoples of the area have been fighting a near constant struggle with these pirates since the Bosaq Empire's demise some ten yahrens ago. While their success is a hopeful sign I am bothered by the idea of our fleet passing through this area. While the native peoples have the convenience of nearby planets and bases, we have only the ships that carry us, and though I have little reason to doubt that the military might of these pirates would be sufficient to do lasting harm to the Galactica or Baltar's BaseShip, the thought of these parasites preying on our patrols or the less well defended ships of the fleet terrifies me, especially in light of information that was brought to my attention just this morning.

A patrol of Raiders from the BaseShip operating on our rear flank reported picking up a vessel of unknown configuration on their scanners. When they moved to intercept the craft disappeared from their scanners in a manner consistent with a vessel equipped with Zykonian cloaking technology. It's this technology that makes any possible encounter with these renegades especially frightening. If they're able to use it in concert with a matter teleportation unit the same way the Ziklagoio did when they provided me with data on the Earth ship Saint Brendan following our departure from Brylon Five, they could come aboard our ships or steal the cargo from our holds by stealth without ever making their presence known. Even more disconcerting is that some peoples in this region are known to engage in the slave trade. Though its within our ability to detect cloaked vessels, the terror and paranoia that could result if people were to start disappearing from the fleet, as well as the effect on morale when we weren't able to use our military resources to rescue them could very well bring about the destruction of what remains of our people.

"Free for all," indeed. It's almost enough to consider turning the fleet around, going back to RB-33 and plotting a new course.

Of course I know this is impossible - our only choice is to move forward.

Though Earth's exact location remains unknown, circumventing this region would add sectars, possibly a yahren, to our journey before we would be able to return to our Epsilon 22 heading in a region free of pirate activity. While I maintain optimistic that we'll brave this region no worse for wear in public, privately my only comfort in light of the news brought by the Cylon patrol is the knowledge that our brothers made this voyage successfully so long ago to reach Earth.

On that front, the presence of Captain Byrne, his daughter and now his comrade Commander Allen seems to have caused any remaining doubt about the existence of Earth to evaporate. Cycle after cycle our people are regaled by tales of our long-lost brother world. While I've asked both men to remain silent about the possibility that the planet could be threatened by a passing asteroid in the relatively near future, they've had no shortage of stories to tell. It fascinates the people, especially our younger population who have been accustomed to Battlestars and Vipers their entire lives, when they hear stories from the mouths of people whose current level of technology corresponds closely to our early sixth millennium – a period of time that was considered revolutionary, since it was when we began venturing beyond our own planetary system.

Now that I've taken time to "put these thoughts to paper, "as it were, I realize that with the time its taken to study the region and plot a course ahead, on top of my regular command duties and responsibilities as council president, that its been cycles since I had any spare time to be bothered by the budding relationship between the Captain and Siress Lydia or the unanswered questions surrounding the crew of our resident BaseShip or the motivations of its Commander. Indeed, I've reached the point where I have to actively try to remember how ironic it is to regularly communicate with, map out strategy with and give orders, though framed as polite suggestions or requests, to a man who is responsible for the destruction of our nation and the death of billions. I find that for the first time since the beginning of the détente I'm going to bed at night and waking up in the morning without dwelling on the idea that I've thrown all of my principles and morals out the airlock by allowing Baltar back into our ranks. It's even become routine, rather than disturbing, to hear the sound Cylon voices during communications between the Galactica and the Base Ship, as well as the recorded logs of integrated patrols.

As for Siress Lydia, I admit that her recent behavior has me befuddled. An opportunistic woman at the best of times, I remain of the mindset that she has a desire to challenge my authority at some future point. Recently, however, I've seen no signs that she's actively plotting in accordance with that goal; seeing her behavior when in the presence of the Earth astronaut a part of me wonders if she's not genuinely taken with him in a way that transcends the physical. Indeed, every indication is that the Captain is a good and honorable man. Could it be that his strength of character is effecting a change in the good Siress? My experience tells me that such things are impossible, and yet I wonder…

At any rate the Siress, in her capacity as Council Vice President, has been as good as her word in not revealing the Cylon encounter with the unknown vessel but also keeping confidence regarding the attempted murder of Lieutenant Sargamesh, the stockpile of deadly piiglin gas found aboard the Galactica and the subsequent arrest and suicide of Technician Aldebaran in connection with it.

Aldebaran...

Is it vanity that keeps me from forgetting that the unfortunate man referred to me and the council as "the demon and his eleven minions," or is it a new manifestation of the guilt that Ayesha told me was irrational when I agreed to Baltar's conditions for the détente?

I wear the cloak of not just a military Commander but also a bureautician. Balancing those two careers has never been an easy thing, and I've gotten used to being referred to by unflattering names in my time, but to be referred to as "the demon"; not just a demon but the demon, as though I were Iblis himself…

As much as it bothers me that this singular individual thought of me so poorly, I can't help but suspect that there are others who feel the same way. One man alone, especially a maintenance worker, could sabotage a Viper; one man alone could not have been responsible for acquiring, transporting and storing the piiglin gas. While officially our inquiry into the man's actions reached exactly that conclusion, we privately remain vigilant, expecting that Aldebaran's co-conspirators will reveal themselves at some future point.

I only hope that God grants me the strength to carry on until we reach that point."

Switching off the recorder, Adama leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. It had taken more of an emotional toll to record those last few words than he'd expected. It was one thing for Aldebaran's words to echo through his mind day after day, moment after moment, but another thing to actually hear them come from his own mouth.

He could believe that some of his actions since the Destruction were unpopular with certain members of the populace, but had he truly been so much of a tyrant to be considered on the level with Iblis?

Shaking his head, he drove the thought from his mind. He wouldn't allow himself to be crippled as the Commander or as the President because of the fanaticism of one man - or one hundred men.

His desktop chronometer told him that the time for the combined briefing was drawing near. He stood, squared his shoulders and straightened his tunic. Another chapter in their relations with the rebel Cylons was about to be written.

PROLOGUE

Two men, one a Zykonian and one a Ziklagi, sat across from one another in a nondescript room with only a plain, battered metal table between them. In the center of the table were two digital displays back to back – one meant for each of them. Aside from the screens a row of three recessed lights set to a minimum setting was the only other source of illumination in the room. For all intents and purposes, it was an island in a sea of blackness.

The whole layout was symbolic of what both of them had "brought to the table" when they'd left their warring nations behind and ventured out into the unforgiving darkness of the Bosaq Frontier. They'd literally escaped the greatest of capital punishments prescribed by both of their species for their mutual crimes with nothing but the clothes they were wearing and the ships that carried them. Years later, both dressed much better and both commanding superior vessels they continued to meet in person when the situation required it on the derelict barge that they'd built on their own with pieces of the vessels they'd escaped in. No longer space-worthy, it lay among a vast field of wreckage on the smallest of three moons that orbited the planet which was home to their vast base of operations.

"But I'm telling you, they KNEW we were coming," the Ziklagi exclaimed, slamming his fist down on the table in emphasis. "Xegex's Left Foot, they knew it!"

"I'm growing tired of your incessant excuses, Grelex," replied the Zykonian. "They don't possess cloaking technology; otherwise they'd be using it! How could they know you were coming?"

"How do you know they don't have cloaking technology? They were parked at Brylon Five for months practically rebuilding their ship from the keel up! These people are smart and tenacious, as all that lovely scrap from the Gee-tih we stole attests to! Do you really believe they wouldn't have bartered for every advantage they could get? For all we know the Zykonian government could have equipped them with it on the condition that they help catch us!"

"You're assuming that my people's government is far more forward-thinking than it actually is, my friend," the Zykonian challenged.

Ignoring the suggestion, the Ziklagi raved on, "Even if they don't have cloaking technology we know from our people on the space station that they're highly advanced; look at the size of their capital ships! They probably have sensors that can spot our ships through the cloak! Don't tell me the thought never crossed your mind, Krasak."

"Alright, fine! I can accept that," the Zykonian shot back, grudgingly, "But then why didn't they follow you all the way back here? You said they followed just to the point you altered your heading."

Grelex sighed. "I don't know."

"Obviously," Krasak quipped.

"You fool; they can't sit in the shadow of the nebula forever! They'll send out other patrols. Sooner or later we'll get a hold of one of them."

"For your sake, it best be sooner rather than later. Now that the peace accords have been signed the Ziklagi and the Zykonians have been moving on us! And, now that Krylon and his operation have been eliminated, a major conduit of information has been slammed shut, leaving us in the dark. While I seriously doubt that these foreigners are working on either of our governments' behalf, we need their technology or their combined might is going to wipe us out!"

"I understand what's at stake," the Ziklagi said, his volume not as elevated as it had been.

"No," his friend and partner replied. "I don't think you do."

"My friend, there could be no better way to cement a thousand years of peace between our native peoples than to parade our lifeless bodies through the capitals of both our home worlds. I have no intention of allowing myself to be held up like a hunters' quarry."

"Then you best find a way to get your hands on those robots – soon! Otherwise we'll both be joining our dear, departed Krylon."

"Even if I'm able to capture one, the Malaabian scientists can't guarantee that they'll be able to reverse-engineer one."

The Zykonian looked his opposite straight in the eye as he relaxed his body forward in his chair. "Remind them what's at stake if they fail - blast one or two of their women, the upper class women not the slaves, along with some of their children out the airlock. That should get their attention."

"I'm parsecs ahead of you," the Ziklagi replied with a sadistic grin. "Unfortunately, in the REAL world, that isn't having the desired effect. And even if it does, I'm somewhat skeptical that you can deliver on your promise of having the necessary manufacturing capacity for our little project."

"You worry about your end, Grelex, and I'll worry about mine," the Zykonian shot back, a grin as sadistic as his friend's washing over his features as his eyes dropped downward to observe the screen in front of him.

On it was a rough diagram of a robotic being known as a "Cylon."

AUTHOR'S NOTES

With thanks to Senmut, Lisa Zaza, Eric Paddon and others who've worked so hard since 2004 to create the Battlestar Galactica (TOS) Virtual Season Project. It's their universe; I'm just playing in it!

http:/ /galacticafanfic. com/stories/season2. html

Glen Larson owns all things Battlestar Galactica.