AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Many Old Timers on the site may remember this story. I took it down a year ago to pursue a commercial publishing effort that, I'm not too proud to say, failed! But I DID receive several "Where's Shadows of Futures Past" e mails and PMs, so I am re-posting it here!
The story is in five parts of twelve chapters each and it will be several days in getting here. Please be patient! I have to re-format it.
If you're a new reader, please enjoy!
Steven J Robeson
GySgt USMC(ret'd)
Winchester, TN
"Shadows of Futures Past"
A Saga of Human Survival of the
Cylon Holocaust in the Year of Kobol 3517
By Steven James Robeson
This Unpublished Work Is Copyrighted ©(2012),
Under The Laws of the United States of America By Steven James Robeson.
Unauthorized Use Of This Original Work Will Be Prosecuted.
PROLOGUE
"In The Beginning…"
It has been over three centuries since the destruction of the original Colonial Homeworlds. Three millennia of our history prior to that tragedy were lost in those horrific and ominous years. Much of what we consider today as "the truth" about that era is based partially upon oft retold tales, handed down generation to generation, and partially upon the few reliable archives that actually survived the attacks. Many tribes of humans that survived the holocaust worked diligently to preserve what few of the old libraries, both printed and electronic, that they had at their disposal. Tragically, most of those resources were only remote facilities of larger archives and were not, in-and-of-themselves, complete.
We are indebted to those ancestors who had the foresight to recognize the need to protect our heritage and the fortitude to do what it took in the face of great personal tragedy and sacrifice.
That we will never have a full, true accounting for all of the events leading up to the devastation of the Colonial homeworlds is certain. The centuries of peace that man and Cylon have enjoyed since then have been occasionally tempered by the reticence of the Central Cylon to share certain historical archives. However unlikely the premise, there is clear evidence that they remain anxious over any re-examination of the events of that era for fear of a possible resurgence of violence and a perceived need for revenge. That the descendants of Kobol might ever seek to re-stoke a long since quenched fire is unthinkable, especially in light of humanity's lack of resources for war-making.
That the Central Cylon continues to believe that there is a need to keep the complete truth from us is disheartening and, to some significant degree, somewhat chilling. This author, for one, would rather know the whole truth, for it is only through truth that peace is truly kept.
To the majority of our society, the Year of Kobol 3517 is known simply as the 'The Fall'. To others, it is the Second Colonial / Cylon War. That title, however, is a misnomer of gross disproportion. The Cylon attacks on humanity were swift, severe and decisive. With the exception of a small number of warships and civilian freighters (which we will discuss in a moment) and numerous small enclaves on the surface of the lesser impacted zones on the homeworlds and within the Perimeter, the bulk of the human civilization was destroyed in the opening hour of the attacks. While there were a few fierce battles in space and an enthusiastic but unorganized resistance by a few survivors on the ground, to call that period a 'war' is permissive at best.
To understand much of that period, one must understand Cylonian Monotheism as it was central to their beliefs in planning the attacks. Even today, it continues within human society. To a numerically few but markedly vocal religious sect, this period is known as 'The Reckoning Of The One True God'.
In the four decades after the initial Cylon exodus from the Colonial homeworlds (and possibly in the years immediately prior to the war itself which occurred in YKb 3477) the Cylons came to manifest a monotheistic belief in an un-named deity that they refer to simply as 'the one true god.' It is believed that this belief was adopted from a segment of our own society, a group known as "Soldiers of The One" which appeared approximately seventy years before "The Fall". That order has undergone numerous reformations, and has since come to become known by its Gemonese name of 'Zar'au Om Dominem'. Literally translated into traditional Caprican, it means "Faithful of the One."
The basic tenant of their faith is that this single, omnipotent deity commanded the Cylon to undertake the attacks on Colonial society with the belief that this deity's great master plan would place them as the head of the known worlds. Then, for reasons unknown, this deity then manifested the Great Cylon Awakening which precipitated their own civil war. Ironically, this civil war also resulted in the final peace between Cylon and humans.
That the order of Zar'au Om Dominem formed in that era and during the Colonial Reformation only serves to suggest that its leaders took advantage of an overwhelming desire to believe that there was some greater good in the holocaust. More objectively, however, by placing the onus of responsibility for the holocaust on this un-indictable deity, the Central Cylon and our own federal Government could be absolved of any complicity in the deaths of tens-of-billions of humans and Cylon alike. Coincidence? Perhaps, but the probability of a cover-up is high.
Of the few archives that the Central Cylon have made available is that of the exodus of the homeworlds by a great fleet of starships that rallied around a gallant capital warship called Galactica. That this event occurred is corroborated by human and Cylon archive alike and is without contestation. The details of that exodus, however, are piecemeal at best and subject to the dilution of time.
It is believed that this fleet, estimated to be anywhere from 30,000 to 100,000 survivors on forty to fifty ships, set out to find the prophesized thirteenth tribe of humans as cited in the Testament of Pythia, only to be hounded by a fanatical Cylon leader known as Cavil. Cylon and Colonial archives of this exodus ended abruptly in YKb 3521 with the reported destruction of the Galactica, her civilian fleet, and the scattering of what few humans remained. All efforts to find any remnants of this fleet or the Cylon factions that pursued them since our repatriation to the Homeworlds have been to no avail. The Central Cylon has been less than supportive of any efforts to do so and the New Federal Government has been reticent to push the issue. There have been privately funded 'archeological missions', but to date, none of them have been successful. A few have even disappeared without ever being heard from again.
We also now know that the Cylon Holocaust did not enjoy unanimous support by the entire Cylon civilization. There were members of Cylon society that, although unable to prevent the holocaust, were later able to bring about changes in the Central Cylon that led to the Cylon Civil War, the restoration of our own society, and the preservation of our species. For whatever greater altruistic reason they did it, those few Cylons refused to allow our species to simply be lost to the ages, and are due our undying respect and gratitude.
That we now share our peace and prosperity with those who initially sought to exterminate us is testimony to the undeterable human spirit, our resilience to adversity, and our indelible propensity to forgive.
This story chronicles the tribulations of one band of those human survivors. It is taken from both archived records and from personal journals that have survived the ravages of time and represents the most factual representation possible. We present this story so that future generations might learn of and appreciate their heritage, and to give thanks to those who refused to go quietly into the night. It is to these brave and determined survivors of the Year of Kobol 3517 that this telling is dedicated.
Board of Governors of the Federal Historical Archive
Castle New Baeleigh, Caprica
YKb 3833 / 05 / 22
PART ONE
The Flight of the Breaker Castle
CHAPTER ONE
The space between Aerilon and her major moon, Azur'a, was some of the most heavily traveled space inside the Colonial Perimeter. Much of the interplanetary shipping of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol passed through here, yet the sector trailing just five light-seconds behind the orbit of the massive moon was a desolate place. This moving target was the keyhole through which faster-than-light ships arrived at Aerilon. Those who knew better avoided entering here like the plague.
To those who did wander here unaware, it was a place of almost certain death. If the translight vortex of an arriving ship opened on top of you, the subspace distortion would rip you, and whatever ship you were in, apart. Colonial Search and Rescue vessels knew this place all-to-well and knew that the number of survivors of such incidents was nil.
Those who did survive to tell about it suffered horrifically.
To the pilots who traveled here and the aerospace traffic controllers that watched over them, this place was known as Point Daggit. It was named that as it loomed in plain view of the well known image that the shadow of one of Azur'a's craters made, giving all those who viewed it the impression of a wily smiling daggit. To those who traveled the commercial cargo circuit it was a welcome signpost to the end of their long trek through space.
It was here that the deep space freighter Breaker Castle dropped out of its translight vortex, it's final destination; Aerilon Spaceport. As the ship recovered from the jump effect, Captain Jahlee Rohs, master of the giant space freighter, scanned the instrument panel for any indication of post-translight malfunction or navigation error. As she had been rewarded so many times before, the nav board was green. Another flawless arrival would go into the Breaker Castle's logbook, due in no small part to the excellent stewardship of her captain and crew.
The BeeCee, as the Breaker Castle was affectionately known, had just completed her fifth supply run to the outer mining posts this season. She'd made deliveries to several Colonial Fleet Distance, Ranging And Defense Identification System, or DRADIS, installations. Those outposts were the first line of defense of the Colonial homeworlds, and as such were as close to the Colonial / Cylon demarcation line as any Colonial ship, military or civilian, dared to go...at least officially. The BeeCee had also made deep space rendezvous with Battlestars Oreyus and Galactica. It had been a long six weeks, and now Captain Rohs was ready to park the BeeCee and enjoy some unfiltered air and real sunlight. Aerilon wasn't home, but it would do just fine for some overdue R & R.
The Breaker Castle was unique among her counterparts in the Colonial Merchant Fleet. Unlike many of her competitors, the BeeCee was also designed to be a terrestrial freighter. Her sleek contours and aerodynamic flight surfaces served to create graceful, almost majestic lines. Even in the darkest voids of space, the BeeCee looked like she was traveling fast, even when she was at a dead stop. Only a handful of executive transports and the newest Colonial Fleet fighters and warships could best her at sublight speeds.
At just over eighty-five meters long and twenty-two meters abeam, she wasn't a small ship for atmospheric operations, either. Even now, her cargo hold held a combination of environmental pods for passengers and cargo pods for goods. And nestled between those pods were a Colonial Fleet Raptor and two Mark II Vipers headed for the refit station on Aerilon. Yes, the BeeCee was truly a magnificent and versatile ship.
And Captain Rohs was as unique among her peers as the ship she mastered. A little over one and a half meters tall and barely fifty kilos, she hardly looked the part of a deep space freighter captain. Wire-framed glasses sat on the end of her nose and long brown locks flowed to her mid-back. At a distance, Captain Rohs looked more like a middle school student than accomplished star-pilot. Yet accomplished and skilled she was. More than a few trophies sat on her mantle at home for her flying skills.
Unlike many of her colleagues, though, Rohs was a hands-on pilot. Whenever the opportunity arose and company policy allowed (and sometimes despite company policy), she would happily switch off the autopilot and do a little stick-and-rudder flying. A former Viper driver in the Colonial Fleet, it was often difficult for others to tell where the human stopped and the machine started. Rohs almost melted into the controls. She knew every vibration, every squeak, and every mechanical nuance of her ship. More than one of her peers had marveled at how she was able to put this monster of a space truck into the smallest of LZ's and not even scratch the paint. When she got into the left seat of this or any other ship, it was more like she strapped the ship on rather than strapping into it. If anyone had been prejudiced by her physical stature before flying with her, they were forever a believer afterwards.
The captain's reputation was as well known to her passengers as it was to her colleagues, too. Many were the passenger that had been known to book passage on the BeeCee, not because of the economy of minimalist flying on a cargo ship, but because of who was flying it. And no one expected less today. Aerilon Spaceport was one of the largest facilities of its kind on any of the Colonial worlds and Spaceport City was one of Aerilon's largest metropolises. With landing pads and runways covering several square kilometers, anyone who botched a landing here probably shouldn't be flying, and Jahlee Rohs was the first one to say so.
Over the years Rohs had learned to love the language of flying as much as the flying itself. There was an implied professionalism between pilots and the aerospace traffic controllers who helped them move safely through the night.. Now it was time to put that skill to work. She cleared her throat once, as she found the wireless transmit button on the throttle quadrant. She flipped it up.
"Aerilon Center, this is Colonial Merchant Freighter Breaker Castle, Uniform Sierra One Seven Seven Five Mike Charlie, out of translight at Point Daggit for the Aerilon Three approach, requesting aerobraking descent to full stop at Colonial Fleet Maintenance Depot with fifty-two souls on board, over…"
As she took her thumb off of the transmit button, Captain Rohs could almost imagine the look of astonishment on the controller's face. Most pilots preferred the slow descent that the Gravity Assisted Braking System afforded rather than five minutes 'riding the dragon', as most pilots called conventional re-entries nowadays. GABS allowed re-entering spacecraft to actually use an energy field that worked against a planet's own magnetic field to slow it down, eliminating the need for expensive heat tile replacements and frequent paint jobs. But where was the fun in that, thought Jahlee? Any monkey could fly a GABS approach!
"Breaker Castle, Aerilon Center, roger your request for the Aerilon Three approach. Primary DRADIS contact. Squawk code five two two tango papa, descent approved as requested, advise prior to entering blackout for final traffic advisory." The controller's voice was smooth and well spoken. He'd obviously been doing this for more than a day or two!
"That's the way I like it…My way!" said Captain Rohs. She smiled with the immediate reply and approval for the approach. She was looking forward to the ride down.
"Time to get busy, Will". Rohs turned to her First Officer, Will Cately, and gave him that "Let's Get It Done" smile and nod that he knew all-too-well. Rohs and Cately had been flight crew partners for two years now and Cately already had the aerobraking approach checklist on his electronic flight instrument display. Theirs was a well-tuned routine in the cockpit. An observer once told Rohs and Cately that they looked more like ballroom dancers than pilots, their movements were so fluid and precise.
Cately also enjoyed the sense of fulfillment that hands-on flying provided, although being out of wireless contact for the time it took to get through the atmosphere often left him a bit edgy. Even though the Aerilon Three approach was only about three to five minutes as opposed to the GABS approach of fifteen minutes, that was three to five minutes that they couldn't communicate with traffic control. In an environment as busy as Aerilon's, that made him more than a little edgy. It made him downright nervous.
No matter…Will was as equally skilled in the cockpit as Rohs. Although he'd never flown for the Colonial Fleet, he had been in the cockpit of one sort of air or space craft almost since puberty. He even had his card to fly Vipers and Raptors as a ferry pilot. As a child, Cately would insist that his father toss him into the air, crying out "Up, Daddy! Up, Daddy!"
As a teenager, and without his parent's knowledge or consent, Will had taken lessons and became a qualified hang glider pilot. He was a natural aviator. No doubt he'd been a bird of some sort in a previous life, or would be in the next, and that was alright with him.
The checklist completed, Rohs set the DRADIS squawk code as directed and tugged on her restraint belts one more time. Last item on the list, Rohs clicked her intercom from "COCKPIT" to "INTRASHIP".
"OK folks, this is Captain Rohs, we're beginning our approach to Aerilon. Everyone to their stations and prepare for aerobraking. We'll be in the chocks in about 15 minutes." She thought about adding a quip about tipping the stewardess, however her load master might not find the humor in it.
Unlike a regular spaceliner, the BeeCee didn't have stewards or stewardesses, so the BeeCee's Loadmaster, Greto Park, would make a quick tour of the cabin and make sure the folks in the pods were belted in for the ride down. A burly man in his mid 40's, Park would be hard to miss in any crowd. One might almost be intimidated by his bulk at first, but it only took the average person a minute or two to see what a gentle, beguiling bear he really was!
This time the loadmaster's rounds would be brief. This trip only had thirty six Colonial Fleet personnel and a dozen miners in the passenger pod, all of them on their way to Aerilon to enjoy some of the same fresh air and sunlight that Rohs and crew were likewise anticipating.
As Park finished his checks of the cabin and cargo holds, Flight Engineer Brad Westling called forward from "The Pit" as he liked to call his little world in Engineering. "Captain, Engineering, FTL drive is stand-by, atmospheric flight surfaces ready to deploy at your discretion. Sublight throttles to manual. All airlocks secured and long range DRADIS array stowed. The ship is clean and ready for atmosphere interface."
If there was a grease monkey who was better at turning the bolts of a star freighter anywhere in the Colonies, Rohs hadn't heard of them. Brad Westling was as good as they came. Other mechanics 'best' was his average, and he was at his very best when things were at their absolute worst. Not that there were many times that Rohs had to call on those talents, but she was able to sleep well on deep space trips knowing that Westling was on her crew and not someone else's.
Just after the engineer's call, Greto Park finished his rounds and called up to the cockpit. "The passengers are tucked-in, Skipper. All cargo and gear secured and ready for aerobraking descent. I'm looking forward to a meal that doesn't have a 'Remove Before Microwaving' label on it!"
Rohs allowed herself a chuckle. There was a certain romance and way of life in the merchant fleet to be sure, but there were it's drawbacks, too, and Greto had hit it on the head…nothing beat a fire-braised steak!
Jahlee took one more glance over the status board. Everything that was supposed to be green was, and everything else was as she expected it. The diminutive captain gazed out at the great ball of blue and green that was looming in the windscreen. She allowed herself the momentary luxury of trying to catch a glimpse of the beaches of the Greater Aerilonian Ocean. Somewhere below her was a pristine stretch of sand, a small plot of which she soon hoped to be holding down with a new bathing suit bought on Caprica just for this occasion. Satisfied that the BeeCee was ready to commit to the approach, she keyed the wireless again.
"Aerilon Center, Breaker Castle is outer marker for aerobraking approach, roger DRADIS squawk five two two tango papa with fifty two souls aboard, we'll be comms no joy in thirty seconds."
Unlike her first call, this time, she had to wait for a response. Or maybe it was just that she was anxious to get down and into the showers. Odd, sometimes, that ten seconds could seem like an eternity, and at other times less time than it took to snap your fingers.
"Breaker Castle, Aerilon Center, DRADIS contact confirmed. You're cleared for the Aerilon Three approach, however be advised I have several primary targets at your six o'clock. No DRADIS squawk and they're keeping pace with you about 300 clicks back. Looks like you might be dragging some debris out of translight with you. I'll advise further when you clear blackout."
"Oh…great" Rohs said out loud. "Some of that junk will land in the Mayor General's driveway. Won't that look good on the cover of Space Freighter News next month?" she said with a feigned sarcastic tone. She could see the headlines now…'Breaker Castle Crew Fined For Littering.' She'd be catching flak from the other captains for who-knows how long.
Cately read through Rohs' lament. "No problem, Skipper" he said. "If it's not big enough for Center to wave us off the approach, then they can't be big enough to get through the atmosphere and cause any damage. Ought to be a pretty light show, though!"
Rohs nodded in acknowledgement and smiled. "Let's hope that's all that happens! If any of that junk hits atmosphere I won't hear the end of it for six months!" Rohs chuckled then clicked her wireless transmit again. "Aerilon, BeeCee, we're no joy on the traffic right now, but we'll keep our eyes open…"
Yeah…Right…'eyes open'. Not that it would do much good while in re-entry. They could set a nuke off right next to the cockpit and no one would be able to see it through the ionized gasses that surround the ship while descending.
She had no idea how prophetic that thought would be.