I write this story to settle the plot bunny ignited by JA Baker's amusing "First Contact" series, where the Sixes of the multiverse meet the wrong people at the wrong time. I encourage you to read it. This has been posted with his blessing.
This is a BSG2004 crossover with "Bolo!" from David Weber and Kevin Laumer. It's too bad it's a ficlet, as the personality of the Bolo doesn't really get a chance to shine. If you haven't read the books (and they're excellent books!) here's what you need to know: Bolos are tremendously powerful, sentient tanks. Their AIs are extremely intelligent, and by nature/programming they embody the traits of the "knights in shining armour": duty, honour, and valour.
Basically, you can't get further in attitude from the Cylons. It's refreshing to know that not all of humanity's creations are out to stomp us from existence. :)
As with all fanfiction, I don't own the characters or the concepts. This is just a bit of innocent fun.
----
Six slowed her stolen hovercar as she approached the site of her latest reconnaissance target. It was a delightful vehicle; even Cylon technology had nothing to match it, and she wondered if she would have time to bring it with her when she left this small world.
It had been a surprise, to find a human colony so far away and on such an isolated world. She'd been part of a small fleet escorting a new Resurrection ship in pursuit of the escaping Colonials. Six basestars, a mighty force, yet they'd been taking no chances. Their arc of travel had extended away from the Colonial fleet, well out of range of any possible scout ships, using their superior jump range and navigation to circumvent the Colonials. It had been purely by accident that they'd detected faint energy emissions from this world, and discovered its human inhabitants.
They would have simply sterilized the world then, but they'd also made the shocking discovery of alien inhabitants. Intelligent non-humans. They had no previous experience of such an event, and God had not expressed directives either way with regards to other intelligent organic species. It was the will of God that humanity be destroyed... but no mention of these strange dog-like creatures.
Sensors had shown no active space-flight, so they had inserted into orbit cautiously. Their presence was known, it was obvious, as they received several hails; they recorded but did not reply. No vessels rose from the surface to intercept them. It had taken a week of observation, intercepting signals, before they'd translated the active language of the humans, which appeared to be some distant offshoot of ancient Kobolian. That had made the Cylon intelligences pause; could this be the lost Thirteenth Tribe?
If so, the Colonial Fleet had missed them... and put far too much faith in them, besides. These humans, despite the odd areas of advanced technology – like Six's hovercar – appeared to be just barely struggling into space. They were mostly farmers, with only a few areas on the planet devoted to industry. Yet, scans showed a great deal of wreckage scattered around the planet. Far more than the limited industry of either civilization on the world could account for.
They needed to know more.
So Six had been dispatched, landing covertly via a small transport a few kilometres outside the largest human settlement. She'd been taught the native language, given some basic clothing, and left to learn what she could learn. The Cylons were confident that the Hero of Caprica could handle even this challenging situation.
And she did; humans here were like humans everywhere... a smile, a flash of skin, and there was no secrets from her. She learned that these humans were the remains of a once-great star empire, which had nearly annihilated itself in a colossal war against – strangely enough – the same aliens who lived elsewhere on the planet, who were themselves the remains of that civilization. The two races had battered each other nearly into mutual extinction. Now, they were forced to co-exist on a single world.
Neither race had any weapons to speak of. She learned that the humans had once had powerful plasma-based weapons, and sophisticated missile and anti-missile systems, guided by supposedly-powerful AIs. None existed now, all effort put into agriculture and industry. They had air flight, and there were rumours that they would soon rebuild some of their space-capable ships, and explore their immediate star system. It was an interesting contrast on this world, as the major cities employed powerful fusion reactors for energy, yet many citizens used large mammals, called horses, for transportation.
Then she learned of the Bolo.
It was a strange topic amongst the humans. It was spoken of in almost reverent tones. It was a war machine, she knew that; yet, it seemed to be more. The humans spoke of it as if it was intelligent, a living thing, even giving it a human-sounding name, "Shiva". Yet, it was undoubtedly a machine. Had she discovered another AI? The possibility was as exciting as it was disturbing.
So far, her report to the Cylon command had been promising; the humans here had been advanced, and even now could produce some remarkable pieces of technology the Cylons couldn't match, like true anti-gravity systems. Yet the society was still battered, broken; scavengers, living off former glories, more interested in reconstruction than warfare. A Cylon purge should be nearly effortless. Yet, this 'Bolo', if it was a piece of old technology, might provide a hindrance. Her queries turned up little information, as the humans simply didn't have the information she needed; most had been lost during the "Final War". Most reports said that a Bolo was nearly unstoppable on the battlefield. Yet the Cylons had no intention of landing ground troops; their goal was purification, not conquest. Six believed that the Bolo would not prove a challenge against space-based attack, but she had to confirm it.
The Cylons in orbit reminded her that they had a schedule to keep, if they were to catch up to the Colonial Fleet. So, she stole a hovercar, and set out to where she was told the Bolo was kept, several hundred kilometres away from the main city. The hovercar was fast, and the trip was short and pleasant in the warmth of the sunny day.
Six could see it from two kilometres out. It was huge; a giant, tracked vehicle constructed to a scale that seemed unreal. She was no stranger to large machines; basestars were hardly tiny. Yet the Bolo seemed to dominate the landscape, quiet yet menacing, the two 16-metre-long intact turrets mounted on its bow testifying to its potential lethality. How lethal it was, after a disastrous war and a hundred and twenty years of neglect remained to be seen.
She parked her hovercar – she enjoyed the vehicle enough to consider it hers, now – and climbed out to look at the Bolo. It showed no reaction to her presence.
The seven unidentified vessels in orbit had still not taken any action.
I had detected them several weeks ago, and informed both the Melconian and human governments of their presence. I calculated a high probability that they were alien vessels; although they appeared to use fusion power, like human technology, their drive systems were completely different from either human or Melconian hyperdrives, utilizing a strange space-folding principle which was very efficient but did not match any technologies with which I was familiar.
Although they had not yet taken any hostile action, their silence was itself unnerving, setting up a tension among the humans and Melconian leadership, who had decided to not yet inform their citizens and cause needless worry. Both leaders had looked to me for assurance, one that I was not completely able to give, as I had not yet seen the capabilities of these alien vessels. Their "jump" systems seemed impressive, but their sublight manoeuvrability was less-so. Of their offencive power, I had no idea.
So, unhappily, all I could advise the leaders was to watch and wait. It would not be wise to provoke a confrontation which could lead to disaster, like the unfortunate circumstances which had caused the Final War. And if the aliens proved hostile, I would do what I could to defend the planet, and both healing civilizations upon it. Even if they were superior, as a Unit of the Line, I could do no less.
I was not assured as, a week later, the alien vessels attempted to secretly land a small shuttle-sized craft several kilometres north of the main human city. The shuttle remained on the ground two-point-five-eight minutes, far too short a period for any form of scientific sampling, yet entirely appropriate for the landing of scouts. I hailed the vessel, as did both governments, yet there was no reaction – either they did not hear, or had no interest in replying.
I was forced to raise the chances that the aliens were hostile to five-two-point-eight-eight percent, and informed the governments to that effect.
The timing was unfortunate; the humans and Melconians were just entering into a joint project to reach back into space, to attempt to begin mining operations on one of the rich asteroid belts of the system. The project was a landmark in relations between the two peoples, a landmark in personal growth, and a sign of hope. It was something I had been fostering for fifty years, since my own re-awakening from the final, genocidal battle of the Final War, and my subsequent decision to not annihilate the arriving Melconian refugees. It was not a decision I'd been given any cause to regret since that day, and though I'd encouraged both peoples to nurture bonds of friendship, I most certainly did not wish that they would be forced to ally in order to repel a third, inimical race.
As they had observed us, I had also observed them; I restrained my scans, not wishing to cause them to think they were being targeted for hostile action. There was an enormous quantity of signal traffic between and within the ships, in the very high bands. It was similar to the datanet shared between Bolos and the AIs of the navy vessels, though it did not match the sophistication and data rate. The signals were alien, and I believed likely that they were encrypted in some way. Alone, with no point of reference, I calculated it would take me another one-zero-one-niner-point-six hours to decode the signalling format and come up with a rudimentary translation. Unfortunately, the aliens are not so hampered; transmissions from the human and Melconian populace are both simple and unencrypted, giving them a firm base to work from.
The last two days had been quiet; I had detected no sign of any reconnaissance drone, which was the most likely item to have been dropped by the alien shuttle. I do, however, pick up the occasional bit of traffic, matching the traffic I have detected between the alien ships, but from the surface. The nearby city, no less. Yet there have been no reports of alien contact. Whatever stealth systems they use, they are far superior to anything encountered before. The signal rarely transmits data; normally, it is little more than a simple carrier.
I am interrupted from my thoughts by the detection of a small hovercar approaching from the south, the direction of the major city of the continent. Normally I would not be concerned overmuch, as I receive frequent visitors, both from the human cities, and more recently, the Melconian. I greet such visitors gladly, as I am somewhat isolated due to the size of my hull, and my "footprint" when travelling over land. My Commander, Jackson, is busy with family and his own role within government, and typically communicates with me via radio.
These are not normal circumstances, however, and I scan the inbound vehicle with both electronic and optical sensors. To my surprise, I note a single human passenger, and also the presence of the strange signal I have been tracking. The vehicle slows to a halt, and the human – a female – emerges. She is attractive, as I believe humans measure such things – tall, slender, with long legs and bright blonde hair.
She moves around me, watching... not an uncommon reaction on first visit. Yet, I am astonished to realize that the electronic signal moves with her... although I do not understand where she could be hiding a communications device within the tight, short dress she is wearing.
Confused as I am, I remain silent as she observes me, attempting to evaluate possible reasons for the paradox of a human woman emanating an alien signal.
It took Six nearly ten minutes to walk around the Bolo; the humans – or machines – which had built it, certainly liked to build big. It was almost laughable to think this machine could travel under its own power, yet the twin furrows behind it, each nearly five times as wide as Six was tall, indicated it could... and did.
The Bolo's tracks had sunk two metres into the comparatively-soft earth, indicating it was as heavy as it was large, yet the bottom of its hull remained three metres above Six's head. A ladder hung down near the rear quarters, indicating a crew could climb aboard, but Six did not climb it, not yet. Despite herself, she was impressed, and even slightly intimidated; the monstrous war machine looked strong, like a land-based battlestar. Yet she'd seen no evidence of its supposed intelligence.
As she'd arrived, she'd seen the massive rent in the machine's forward armour, testifying to a terrible and near-fatal wound suffered in the past. She'd mentally made note of it, a potential vulnerability to be exploited if and when it became necessary. Now, though, it was impossible to see, as the enormous metal hide of the beast stretched above her. Only the huge metal bogies of the track systems reminded her that what she was looking at was a vehicle, not a large building. The metal had been painted in days past in colours of red and green, and along one side, in white characters as tall as Six herself, were the letters XXXIII/D-1097-SHV. The paint was peeling, though, and even the massive slabs of armour couldn't completely resist the effects of rust, as tiny patches of red-brown settled into the lowest edges of the hull.
Obeying some strange urge, she leaned forward and rapped her knuckles against the metal of one bogey, as if testing its strength. The only sound came from her hand, the armour not even yielding enough to ring.
She nearly jumped out of her skin as a soft, tenor voice spoke up from somewhere above her. "May I help you, Miss?"
She stepped back, looking up, but saw no-one. "Hello?"
"Yes, Miss. I am here."
There was no-one else... so there was only one possible conclusion. "You're the Bolo?"
"I am Unit One-Zero-Nine-Seven-SHV of the Line, Miss," the Bolo replied. Mentally, Six downgraded her estimate of the AI. Among the Cylons, only a Centurion would refer to itself in such a impersonal manner; even the Raiders had more individuality.
"I'm Six," she replied.
"Sechs?"
She laughed. "No, Six."
"An unusual name."
"I had unusual parents," she agreed. The comment was less robotic than she expected.
I did not know what to make of this woman. By all appearances, she was human. Yet, she was undoubtedly connected in some way to the ships in orbit.
Where the ships not alien, but human in origin? It was possible, though unlikely. I knew all too well the state of the human-occupied galaxy at the end of the Final War. I believed it very unlikely – less than an eight-point-four percent chance – that a survivor colony could develop the kind of vessels and their unique FTL drives that were in orbit in the mere one-hundred-twenty years since the calamitous ending of that War.
As unlikely as it seemed, I believed it likely that she was the scout I'd believed landed; and if so, it was very likely she was here not merely as a visit, but to assess my tactical capability. I would not provoke her, but our interactions here would likely reveal much about the intentions of the ships in orbit.
"I've never seen a Bolo in person before," Six commented honestly. "I was visiting the city, and couldn't resist a drive out to look."
"You are welcome to do so," Shiva replied. "Is this your first visit to the city?"
"No, my father brought me several times as a child," she lied smoothly. It was unlikely that a human her age would never have visited the only major city of the planet. "This is my first trip by myself, though, so I'm having some fun, seeing things I haven't before."
"Ah. Which township did you grow up in?"
She plucked a reasonably-sized town from her memory. "New Yorkshire, in the north."
"Ah," the big machine replied. "I have not had many visitors from there, although Mayor Reynolds himself has visited my Command Deck."
"Oh?" She smiled up at the Bolo, beginning to enjoy this game. The war machine was not the almost-automaton she'd initially thought. But she'd managed to fool Gaius Baltar, the supposed genius of the Twelve Colonies, and was confident she could handle even this AI. Of course, Gaius was led around by his genitals as much as any other human, which wouldn't work here. She'd have to keep that in mind.
A nudge from the commanding intelligence of the fleet reminded her that they were on a schedule, and already more than a week behind their rendezvous.
"Command Deck? Is that like your cockpit?"
"That's another, though informal, name for it."
"May I see?"
"I'm afraid not," the Bolo replied apologetically. "Only my designated Commander may permit visitors to my Command Deck, and he is currently on business in the city."
"That's okay, it was just curiosity," she replied, waving a hand, though she didn't know whether the Bolo could see her. She was disappointed, almost angered, by the idea of an AI being subservient to a human, even if the AI wasn't a Cylon. She tilted her head. "It would certainly be a climb. And that damage on your front looks terrible. I'm surprised you're still functional."
"It was an extremely damaging strike," he admitted. "I suffered severe damage to my Personality Core, and it took decades before my self-repair systems could restore me to consciousness."
"So long! And what about the rest of you?" She injected a bit of worry into her voice. "If we were attacked, could you protect us?"
And there it was. I'd computed a eight-zero-point-four percent chance that she would ask about my battle capability, but only after the tenth minute. She was moving faster than I expected, and I wondered if the brief transmission she'd received seconds ago had anything to do with it.
It was interesting that she'd not consulted any form of device at all, and I evaluated her with all the functional sensory apparatus at my disposal. Oddities appeared that I might have dismissed in any other circumstance. For instance, the timing of her heartbeats, as heard by my audio sensors, did not vary by any more than zero-point-five-nine seconds in any direction, a regularity almost impossible in an organic system. Her breaths, when not speaking, were similarly well-timed. Her words were extremely well-spoken, enunciated to a degree that my language-interpretation circuitry found almost effortless to evaluate... something most humans didn't bother with.
The possibility had risen to eight-four-point-niner-five percent that she was connected to the ships above; and I was coming to the conclusion that, despite appearances, she was not as human as she appeared. Her honesty had been established with her claim of being from New Yorkshire, and my subsequent comments; New Yorkshire had no Mayor Reynolds, never had... and I had myself visited the township not five years ago, to assist with the disabling of some antiquated defence systems from the War.
I was familiar with bio-roid technology; human scientists had experimented with the idea several centuries before. The idea was abandoned when it became obvious that psychotronic systems were computationally superior, though no-where near as compact. Also involved was the natural discomfort humans experienced when around a known impostor.
The possibility was rising that the woman beside me was artificial... and, with that, came the likelihood that all the ships above were crewed entirely by AIs, as outlandish as it seemed. The volume of data traffic seemed to support the theory. If so, the ships above may pose a considerable threat. Individually, they would be no match... networked, as they obviously were, they could possibly out-manoeuvre me.
However, I did have some advantages. One, they did not know my functional state. Two, they do not realize how much my interaction with their agent is telling me. Third, I believe it likely that they have severely underestimated the intelligence and independence of a Mark XXXIII Bolo.
I compute a seven-seven-point-niner-niner-four percent probability that "Six" thinks I'm an idiot.
The huge war machine paused before answering. "I'm afraid that the current required emphasis upon agricultural and industrial resource allocation, as well as the loss of technical expertise amongst the colonists, means I am unable to receive all the requisite maintenance needed to uphold my functionality," he explained, sounding almost apologetic. "Self-repair systems have managed to upkeep my psychotronic systems, but battle systems have suffered considerable degradation. Main weapons systems are offline. Long-range sensors are nonfunctional. My reaction mass has been depleted, and I am currently operating via solar reserves. I estimate I am at one-niner-point-eight-three percent of base combat capability, with a battle endurance of four-eight-point-four-four minutes before complete reserve power discharge." There was a moment of silence, then the Bolo told her with a soothing tone, "I assure you, Miss Six, that I am still fully capable of defending against any attack by Melconian forces."
Six nodded. Let the poor limited AI think that she was worried in the normal human manner of attack from the strange dog-like aliens on the other side of the planet. "That's good to hear."
Mentally, she relayed the information she'd been given to the ships in orbit, and she received acknowledgement that the attack would commence. The Bolo was dangerous but containable; they could wear down its defences from long-range, while simultaneously crushing the human settlements.
It was unfortunate that the Bolo would likely be destroyed. But God's will must be done.
Even as I continue the conversation with Six, I notice that six of the ships in orbit are descending, taking up positions above the human-occupied continent. Data chatter between the ships has increased, after a very short exchange between the seemingly-human woman beside me and the seventh ship maintaining a higher orbit. Rising to niner-eight-point-six-seven-niner percent is the likelihood that the ships in orbit are hostile.
I ready my battle systems.
The hostility estimate rises to one hundred percent moments later as I detect multiple missile launches from the lower six ships. Twelve nuclear warheads... a pitifully small number compared to the normal battle salvo of even a Terran light cruiser. I greatly downgrade my estimate of the Enemy's potential offencive power. The missiles are slow incoming, still too far away for my anti-missile systems to engage.
However, I can prevent further salvos from being fired.
Six knew the attack had begun. Yet she was still shocked as the two colossal intact cannons mounted on the Bolo suddenly swivelled and pointed to the sky, as fast and precisely as any living thing. She had enough time to realize 'It knows!', and that the Bolo's main weapons were fully functional, despite its claims. And then the sky was torn open, and titanic twin thunderclaps hammered her to the ground.
Shiva's two 200-centimetre Hellbores ripped into a pair of basestars, their furious power only slightly lessened by the range. The weapons were capable of standing-off a Melconian super-dreadnought, and the basestars had nothing to match that extinct warship. The green flashes tore completely through the centre mass of the two-kilometre-wide ships, like starfish impaled upon a lance of furious green light, and secondary explosions vapourized them within a split-second.
Six felt the shock and surprise of the ships and the Cylons aboard them, even as she lay upon the dusty ground. Her eyes watered and her ears rang from the tremendous volley, and even the breath had been stolen from her lungs by the shock wave. She managed to labour to all fours, only to be slapped back down six seconds later as Shiva fired again. Two more basestars were erased from existence.
Two-eight-point-four seconds after initial engagement, all six Enemy vessels are destroyed. I am unimpressed by the reaction time of what I estimate to be alien AIs, as only the final two vessels reacted swiftly enough to attempt to reach higher orbit. My lethal range extends well beyond geosynchronous orbit, however, and their evasion was not sufficient to save them.
The last two ships managed to launch four more missiles, bringing total inbound to sixteen. The first salvo has dropped below twelve kilometres altitude, within my anti-missile umbrella, and I engage defences. Infinite repeater batteries along my port flank target and destroy the attack, followed seconds later by the second salvo. I am regretful that it was necessary to allow the attack to get so low, and make a note to warn the unified planetary government of the possibility of nuclear contamination from debris.
Even as I signal the government, I divide my attention between the remaining ship, which has begun to climb to higher orbit, and the false human on the ground beside me.
Six staggered to her feet, trying to think past the terrible ringing in her ears. Her dress was now caked with dirt, as was a good portion of her legs and face. She could feel the anger and shock of the Cylons in orbit, accusing thoughts cast her way as the precious Resurrection ship struggled to recover the consciousnesses of the destroyed ships and crew even as it struggled to make its own escape.
"What did you do?" she demanded, her vision finally clearing. The massive hulk of the Bolo stood un-cowed before her, basking in the sunshine as if it hadn't just swatted a fleet out of the sky in the space of half a minute. "You said you were barely functional!"
"You lie, I lie," came the smooth tenor voice. There was an undertone of danger in the disembodied voice, as if the Bolo was annoyed and angry. "I have informed the unified government of this attack and of your presence. They will have questions for you, as have I."
Six turned and attempted to run to her stolen hovercar. Before she had moved half a dozen steps, she heard a sigh behind her. She did not hear the anti-personnel turret unsheathe, but she certainly felt it as the flechette rounds nearly removed her right leg below the knee. She fell to the ground with a scream.
"I apologize, but I cannot allow you to escape."
She managed to roll over, gasping in pain at the bloody mess that was her right leg. She snarled at the giant war machine, which was far more clever than she'd realized, her attractive face twisted into a rictus of fury. "You cannot contain me, any more than you can prevent the inevitable. God has said that humanity must be erased to make way for the Cylon, and you cannot defy His will."
The words only confuse me further, as I did not think it possible for an artificial being to subscribe to irrational, foaming-at-the-mouth zealotry, and I wonder what kind of programming flaw could result in such a malfunction. Even humanity had cured such mental illness amongst itself centuries ago.
I detect a sudden burst of data transmission from the woman. The signal length and complexity is much, much higher than before, and it matches the signals the final ship has been receiving on multiple frequencies since the destruction of the other vessels, from tiny, extremely-durable devices left in the debris.
I calculate a high probability that these devices are the Enemy AI's "black box" equivalents, containing the memories and consciousnesses of the destroyed crews, and that similarly the Enemy agent is downloading her own mind to the vessel. Attempting to escape mentally, if not physically.
I relay my second primary Hellbore, targeting the final ship. The artificial woman's eyes open wide in horror as I do so. I feel pity for her, and the AIs on the ships above. I do not understand where they came from, how they were created or what motivates them now. But I survived the Final War, and I understand the madness of genocide.
"I think not," I say. And I rock on my treads as I fire the final shot.