"The Twilight Beyond The Horizon"
The Continuing Challenges Of The Struggle For Survival Of The
Society of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol
As Recounted From Reconstructed Federal Archives
and Personal Journals Of Our Ancestors
By Steven James Robeson
Inspired By the Story
"Battlestar Galactica"
By Mr. Glen A Larsen
And As "Re-Imagined" In the 2003-2009 SciFi Television Series
"Battlestar Galactica"
By Messers Ronald D. Moore and David Eick
This Unpublished Work Is Copyrighted ©(2011),
(Except For The Original Intellectual Properties of Messers Glen A Larsen, Ronald D Moore, and David Eick) Under The Laws of the United States of America By Steven James Robeson.
Unauthorized Use Of This Original Work Will Be Prosecuted.
THE AUTHOR OF THIS WORK RETAINS ALL RIGHTS NOT RESERVED BY THE ORIGINAL INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY OWNERS.
Introduction
It is assumed that the reader of this archive has already read "Shadows of Futures Past". In that work we were introduced to the passengers and crew of the Colonial Deep Space Freighter "Breaker Castle" and learned of her harrowing escape from Aerilon at the onset of the Cylon Holocaust in the Year of Kobol (YKb) 3517. Captained by Jahlee Rohs, the Breaker Castle managed to evade destruction with a daring high-atmosphere, faster-than-light jump as the Cylons opened attacks on Spaceport City on Aerilon. The Breaker Castle arrived at the deep-space mining facility of Menno Seven-Three. It was on Menno Seven Three that Master Chief Warrant Officer Dewayne Kells, a passenger on the Breaker Castle, was reunited with his old friend and military service colleague, Sven Robbins. Robbins, then the Chief of Security for the facility, had served in the Colonial Armed Forces as a Special Surveillance Team operator and had trained in multiple covert warfare disciplines and skills. Together, they organized the remote colony into a deep space refugee camp and prepared both themselves and the staff of the mining colony for what was to come.
In the days immediately following the attacks, the Mennoans organized a recon mission to Aerilon in an attempt to learn the fate of the inhabitants of that world, and to seek out any other survivors. On the second flight to Aerilon to recover their recon buoy, however, the Colonials were attacked by a patrol of Cylon Raiders, forcing them to take an alternate route home. Rather than risk a direct jump back to Menno Seven Three and subsequently being found out by the Cylons, they executed a daggit-legged journey that led them to discover yet another small group of survivors on the colonized planetoid "Harlow's World." In a subsequent rescue flight to Harlow, twenty other Colonials were safely evacuated to Menno Seven Three.
Unbeknownst to the Colonials, the civilian manager of Menno Seven Three was herself a Cylon Model Three known as Samantha O'byea. Even then, it wasn't until several weeks after the attacks that she herself became aware of her own true nature, having been programmed and prepared to function as a covert sleeper insurgent within Colonial society. It had been a fateful set of circumstances that found Samantha O'byea on Menno Seven Three, and not within the offices of Outer Belt Mining Industries where she had been pre-positioned. It was, for the Cylons, a stroke of luck that she was found by them and brought to operational readiness without the knowledge of the Colonials she was then imbedded with.
During the course of one of the incursions to Harlow's World, however, Colonial Marines had been in a firefight with a Cylon forces that included yet another Model Three Cylon. Now alerted to the possibility that their safety and operations on Menno Seven Three might be compromised by the facility administrator herself, factions quickly developed within the Mennoan survivors; those loyal to "the company", and by proxy, it's administrator, and those who sided with the military forces of MCWO Dewayne Kells and Security Specialist Sven Robbins.
Following the events of the circumstances that brought Model Three Samantha O'byea to operational readiness, the Central Cylon decided to allow the Mennoans to believe they had escaped detection and permitted them to continue to believe they were unmolested. Yet they followed the social and political upheaval that followed O'byea's compromise under the altruistic camoflauge of research while 'studying human behavior'. In fact, they were amassing data for an intended experiment in social and biological engineering, the intent of which was the melding of human biology and Cylon technology.
This is the continuing story of the survival of the escape from Aerilon and the events leading to their forced repatriation of the devastated homeworlds.
Board of Governors of the Federal Historical Archive
Castle New Baeleigh, Caprica
YKb 3833 / 05 / 22
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PRELUDE
From the Journal of Dewayne C. Kells
Master Chief Warrant Officer, Colonial Fleet Marine Corps
"Seventh Month of Aerilon, Thirty-One, Year of Kobol thirty-five seventeen. It's about three fifteen in the morning. This is my first effort at keeping a personal journal, but it's the fourth night in a row that I've been awakened from an otherwise sound sleep to a feeling of sheer dread. Not even in the midst of the worst of the fighting on Tauron during the uprising of the fiefdom clans have I ever felt such fear. Dr. Sayid recommended that I try to chronicle each event as soon as I awaken, yet I cannot remember having had a nightmare or other restless event in my sleep prior to awakening. It's left me exhausted each time. Sayid says it will help if I 'get it off my chest' as soon as it happens. Sounds like some mystic mumbo-jumbo to me, but if it means I can get a whole night's sleep again, I'll try just about anything.
It's been sixty-nine days since the attacks on Aerilon and Harlow's World by the Cylons, and we've still not heard directly from the Fleet or any commercial or civilian facilities. We've heard intermittent civilian wireless traffic and some scrambled military traffic, but Menno Seven Three's wireless station is not configured to handle it. Not that it would do any good. As soon as war broke out, all of the standing codes would have been discarded and war codes implemented. In short, other than broadcasting in the blind on open civilian channels, we have no way of calling for help.
We conducted a robotic recon of Aerilon not long after we arrived here, and the findings were horrifying. The planet was almost completely covered in radioactive clouds of fondatonium. What few areas that were observable were desolate and barren. Aerilon's major moon, Azur'a, was also devastated. All of the scientific and research stations, in addition to the DRADIS and defense stations, are wiped out. It appears that the destruction is complete.
Many of the other survivors want to launch yet another recon mission, this time to Caprica, to see if the capital is destroyed too, however Sven Robbins and I have been successful in preventing that right now. The Cylons would be expecting just that sort of thing at this point, and there's no use showing our hand. We've taken a more accurate count of our resources, and we can hold out for almost two years if necessary, so there's no need rushing things. Needless to say, the civilians are somewhat up-in-arms over this, but we've been able to convince them that right now is not the time to be waving our arms saying 'Here we are! Come and get us!'. Our recon team had to fight their way off of Harlow and suffered some injuries in the process. Any defense we might have to mount here will only be token in the face of the forces we would be up against, and the results would certainly be in the Cylon's favor once again. Even if this is only a regional conflict, it appears we're in the wrong region!
Sven, Alastair Kohn, Captain Jahlee Rohs and myself have also been worried about our host, facility manager Samantha O'byea. During our recon of Harlow's World, we recorded footage of what appears to be a woman who was working directly with the Cylon surface force there. Much to our shock, she was an exact twin of our Ms. O'byea. That this may only be coincidence is probable, yet we're not ready to completely allow a 'civilian' who may be compromised by the Central Cylon to exercise full political control of our resources just yet. However there is mounting resentment amongst the miners, and if we can't prove anything soon, we'll be forced to either turn over all control to her, or at least permit some sort of elections to permit the forming of a consensus government. My previous comments about not permitting a recon mission to Caprica notwithstanding, I'd almost be for it if it means proving that the devastation is as bad as we think it is now. Perhaps, now that I've said it aloud, it makes more sense to me to go ahead and do it anyway.
We keep a close eye on our host, and other than a poorly focused paranoia that seems to nag at myself and some of the others, there is no evidence of any subterfuge…Yet something isn't quite right.
I hope my fears are allayed. I hate politics."
PART ONE
What Evil Doth This Night's Eve Portend?
Chapter One
Samantha O'byea sat on the couch on the Observation Deck. Behind her was the soft whirring sound of the air circulation ducts as they filled the room with freshly purified air. On the wall to her right, the softly ticking sound of the clock. She glanced over at it, watching the sweep-second hand as it made it's way around the face. It was an older mechanical clock, and she could see the hand as it jerked slightly with each passing second. Unlike the smooth, fluid movement of the one in her office, this one moved with the latching and un-latching of mechanical gears, turned by a motor. How antiquated, she thought.
Without thinking about it, she arose from her seat and made her way to the timepiece on the wall. She stopped, not quite an arm's length from it, her arms across her chest, her head canted to one side, pondering the clock closely. It was almost midnight, and the minute and hour hands were already just a heartbeat away from being aligned straight up.
She watched, almost in awe, as the second hand continued it's relentless chase of the other two hands. Thirty seconds to go. It was almost as if she were watching a shark stalking swimmers at the shore. She thought to yell out a warning, but then thought better of it. Fifteen seconds. The second hand creeped closer to the others with each passing second.
Fifty-seven…fifty-eight…fifty-nine….
The clock's electronic chimes began to ring its familiar tune as the hour, minute and second hand all snapped to the 12 o'clock position. Just as the second hand moved past the twelve, the chimes began to peel out the hour…Dong….dong…dong…
As the twelfth and final tone peeled, Samantha O'byea suddenly felt herself being pulled to the observation windows, her gaze now turned towards the Heavens. It was a familiar part of space, and she immediately recognized four familiar stars in the distance. She slid over to one of the telescopes mounted by the window, and she swung it with precision to the exact middle of the formation. There, as she had found almost every night since the Harlow mission, the red light called to her.
She quickly centered the distant beacon in the reticule of the telescope, and then began to bring it into focus. Her hand, once shaking and almost fearful at what she saw, now adjusted the telescope with tenderness and finesse. Where she had once needed several seconds to bring an object into focus, she could now do it in the blink of an eye.
As she did, the light spoke to her. It knew her name and it knew her thoughts. Where she once thought the light in the distance was trying to seduce her, she now knew that there were friends, even 'family' there. There was a comfort and familiarity with the voices she heard that she'd not known since childhood. Whatever loyalty she may have thought she owed to Outer Belt Mining Industries or the Colonies themselves, they were not her family. Menno was not her home. And these people? The Colonials? Well, they weren't her friends. In fact, her life had been one disappointment after another since she left her home. Hadn't it…?
The message was simple. Tell us what you know. Tell us about your day, and with whom you interacted. Tell us about the Colonial Marines and the weapons they have. Tell us about Menno's resources and reserves. Tell us about the sense of the people there, what their morale is, their fears and worries. Tell us.
And tell, she did. Without hesitation. She told them about the morning's staff meeting. She told them of the impatience of some to go home and the reticence of others to expose Menno to the outside world. She told them of their daily diet, their daily routines and their fears. She told them everything.
And when she was done, they spoke to her. They thanked her and praised her, and they promised her she'd be going home soon. But before she could come home, they needed her to do something for them. They needed her to be silent. They needed her to continue to watch…to listen and to learn. She was to allow the military forces on Menno to conduct their recons and patrols. And when she could, she was to find out from them what news they had of other Colonial Forces that may have survived, and where they too may be hiding.
Tell no one, save us, they told her.
Then the light was gone, and once again Samantha O'byea was alone on the observation deck. The voices were gone, and all she could hear was the clock on the wall.
Tick…Tick…Tick…