AN: Yeah, there's some big divergences from canon but on the other hand... I sort of thought 6 years was a bit fast for the Colonies to get enough robots they could actually be numerous enough to rebel and threaten 20 (or 50) billion people. This is just really an exercise to help with some writer's block for my other stories but if this is successful I might expand it to some more chapters on the Cylon War. Anyway, let me know what you all think. A bit heavy on exposition but I'm sure everyone will know what Chapter 3 will involve. Enjoy!
Chapter Two
Battleship Othryos
In High Orbit over Caprica
Rear Admiral Robert Drake, working in his quarters, accidentally glanced at the clock on the far bulkhead and a half second later, tossed his stylus angrily at his computer sheet and brushed it to the edge of his desk with an annoyed flick of his wrist.
It teetered on the edge and with an forced effort which could have put Atlas himself to shame, Drake made himself to lean forward from his not slouching position and pull back his computer sheet from the edge. He drummed his fingers on the thick pseudo-paper and scowled at it.
Compounding his irritation of now knowing what time it was- and what he was missing, his wristwatch beeped twice, forcing him to pull the thing off his wrist and chuck it over at his rack. It hit the wood paneling, bounced off his mattress, and fell to the floor with a wimpy clang.
Drake just closed his eyes and took to the previous slouching position again and only opened those eyes to glance over at the refreshment cart next to his bookcase. The tempting drinks were calling to him, like the Sirens of Anthemusa from the old Kobolian legend. Getting up and pouring a glass, or two of the pale green Caprican ambrosia, an Attican regional blend, flavored with a hint of sweet nectar-plum fruit would have been a wonderful distraction.
Maybe later? He sniffed the cool air of his quarters and let his eye wander.
He settled them on a map of known space plastered on the fall wall to the side of his small dinner table and scowled. It had been there for oh, about six months, and by now, was severely out of date. The green territory of the alliance contrasted sharply with yellow of the Pact planets and their holding. A lightly hued purple denoted the neutral powers.
The allies needed to knock a few of the Pact planets out of the war as soon as possible or this war could drag on for a decade more. With Cylons manning the fleet there was never anything lost what couldn't be replaced. Building a million Centurions was far easier than training a million soldiers.
And there were no funerals for the robots.
Drake shook himself away from such dark thoughts, looked at the map and chuckled. When he'd requested the map from the intelligence department on his ship they'd looked like he had snakes growing out of his head or something crazy. A paper map when one could get a large computer sheet which could actually update itself? Craziness! But Drake was old enough to fully appreciate the tactile feel and cool touch of a sheet of paper.
"Great," he muttered, tugging at his sleeves and pushing back. The padded leather chair groaned and squeaked as he tipped it back until he reached its end point. His eyes closed after a few seconds of staring into the overhead bulbs. "Great." He drew out the word as his mind lazily searched for some other thing he could sarcastically mutter to himself.
He took his thumbs and pushed them gently onto his temples to rub away the throbbing headache. He'd been up nearly thirty-two hours and had consumed nearly a dozen cups of coffee in as many hours. Drake wanted to sleep. Hades, he'd been lying in bed up until forty minutes ago but sleep was elusive.
Drake knew what was happening at this very moment. His rank and position as CO of Task Force 9.2, part of the home world defense forces, had afforded him the necessity and privilege of being briefed on Admiral Kessandra Makos's plan.
The rear admiral admired the woman and was envious of her drive to see Caprica victorious over the dirt eaters and their bitches. Her plan was audacious and risky. If the Diadalos Pact repositioned its forced it would catch Caprica with the majority of its fleet deployed. Utilizing FTL tactics a Pact fleet could ravage Caprica's orbital infrastructure and bombard vital industrial targets from orbit.
It was a risk she'd finally convinced the political leadership into letting her take, though he'd suggested some strong arm tactics and her calling in a literal metric shit ton of favors.
But that's who she is, he mused. Athena herself would be envy the woman and Zeus would probably cut off his own balls to get the pair she's got.
If secrecy had been maintained and the small feints with destroyer and cruiser flotilla around the Pact worlds worked then the attack fleet would be breaking from FTL over Corvus any minute and massacring the Cylons. If it didn't then the Pact might very well sacrifice its fuel depot and forward base for a chance to knock out Caprica. Gods knew the Taurons, a planet of fraking whores and sluts would rejoice in burning Caprica and celebrate with blood orgies and animal sacrifices.
His lip ticked up as he figured he was being a bit dramatic. But if the Taurons did find out the Caprican fleet was gone not even the defense stations and home fleet could stop a full assault.
Officially he had close to one hundred and fifty warships under his command, nearly a third of the defense fleet. In reality he had only half. And half of those were Cylon. The other half were large freighters fitted with false IFF transponders, EW capitol-grade jiggers, and had their hulls dotted with electronic DRADIS mites which could fool enemy recon craft into thinking those ships were actual destroyers, cruisers, and battleships. And there were about fifty small asteroids fitted with engines, spoofers, and jiggers out 'on patrol' in Caprican space to give the illusion of a larger fleet.
The ruse had almost failed when a Gemenese recon drone had cruised in almost to visual range of where his fleet was in orbit and patrolling. All the fanciest electronic warfare suites were utterly useless to the Mark One Eyeball.
Somehow the Lords had been smiling on Caprica that day and had granted them favor. Drake remembered standing in the fleet CIC, resisting the temptation to bite his nails, as a flight of Vipers and older, but fast Condor bombers swooped in to intercept the drone. Luckily it had been a drone or it might have jumped and somehow the attack fighters had managed to get in for the kill. Apparently a circuit on the FTL had burned out, or something, and the drone was attempting a bypass. The Vipers had knocked out the Spartoi MCP controlling the drone and prevented it from self-destructing.
That had been an intelligence coup and the brass had been simply ecstatic. He'd already issued a commendation to the pilots who'd been a part of the success. However, the commendation had to be kept secret, as they didn't want Pact spies hearing of the drone's capture. They'd even let it leak the drone had been destroyed, not captured.
As important as Drake's current billet was he wanted to be with Kessandra Makos as CO one of the battleship squadrons. He'd gladly give up his seventy-eight ships for half a dozen battleships and their support elements.
Or at the very least one of the battle groups raiding Pact worlds and serving as the distraction. Unfortunately Othryos had only seen a handful of battles during the current conflict. Unlike Makos's flagship which boasted a kill count as long as his own arm, Othryos could only claim credit for five destroyers and two cruisers directly. If he wanted to he could add ships Othryos had 'heavily damaged' but a warship's kills were really the only aspects of a ship's battle history that were remembered by the people.
Drake rubbed his temples hard before dragging his palms over his face. Sighing, he lurched forward and catapulted himself to his feet. Remembering the refreshment cart was on the other side of the room and how he hated walking across the uncovered deck over there, he slipped on a pair of slippers which had been by his desk's side. Once over at the cart the admiral gladly snatched a mug off his desk and poured in some chilled ice water from a pitcher instead of the ambrosia. He brought it up to eyelevel and swirled the clear liquid around as if wishing just by sight and hope he could transform it into that ambrosia which would taste so wonderful, so sweet right now.
"Somehow…" he took a sip and cast his eyes upon the seal of the battleship Othryos hanging above his desk. "Somehow the fight always seems to pass us by, Big Oh," he said quietly, referring to the ship by its nickname and looking at the bulkheads and decks. He patted the gunmetal gray bulkhead. "Maybe in the next war."
Triumvirate Battle Carrier Athena
Approaching the Planetoid Corvus
"Sir, your CRIB." Commander Corman handed Admiral Makos, who nodded her acknowledgment, her command reaction interface band. "That's a vital piece of combat technology, sir." He grinned and pointed at the band she'd set down on the edge of her console.
"If you weren't my chief of staff, Iason, I'd probably forget to dress myself in the morning." She grabbed the CRIB and brandished it about. "Or this."
Corman winced, his neck veins webbing out. "Let's hope not, sir…"
She snorted and rolled her eyes at his friendly jab. He'd been her chief of staff for a few years now and she'd seen fit to help his career along even though as a Corman, help wasn't really needed, not with the family history he had propelling him forward. She didn't want to consider him a friend, as he was a subordinate, but considered their relationship somewhere in between professional and friends but not quite mentor-mentee. He was sharp. That had been proven during his aide for planning this operation and with generations of Corman's knowing the ins and outs of the military, he didn't much need an unofficial patron looking out for his career.
Makos nodded at Corman after the friendly roll of the eyes and he took it as his cue to leave. She turned her attention back to the console she was working on and finishing her last review of the fleet. Until the fleet jumped, fought the battle, and could broadcast to Caprica City in ancient Kobolian the key phrase the People's Council, the Senate, the President, and billions wanted to hear; nenikekamen, 'we have won.'
Nenikekamen had been shouted to the Capricorn Tribes elders in the legends which had survived the Exodus from Kobol when the tribe had defeated a surprise invasion by the Aquarius Tribe and the rebellious True Council of Leo.
The fleet admiral picked up the CRIB a second time and rolling its eye pieces, the neural interface which provided visual stimulation, in her palm, flicked it on. The orange-yellow lights and pale green glittered in her hand as they recycled through their neural interface frequencies.
The CRIB had been one of Graystone Industry's refinements of the holoband technology. The CRIB had seemed such a simple and logical extension but the requirements to get it fit for military service had taken years. It had been in used for close to twenty-five years as a training tool for the military and civilian world alike.
It had been integrated into the Triumvirate fleet some time ago but had never been tried on the scale they were about to try it now. For months they'd been practicing with the CRIB, her command staff and ship commanders, and while she recognized the level of coordination possible with it she was apprehensive.
With a CRIB she and her staff could fully appreciate the complexities and realities of commanding a fleet space over millions of cubed kilometers and so far apart each ship is the size of a finger nail if they were even within visual range! A DRADIS plot all showed the same sized icons no matter how far above, below, left right, forward, or backward a ship was relative to Athena. With the CRIB's representation everything was where it was 'supposed' to be.
It was a fully immersive virtual reality and the CRIB 'segregated' portions of her brain, like a computer, and allowed her to track dozens of individual contacts. In effect she could do what an entire command staff on a battlestar would be needed for. And she had dozens of others doing the exact same thing.
Inwardly she shivered at the prospect of how technology was almost melding with natural life. It was just so… unnatural- and she let loose a torrent of mental eye rolls and silent chuckles as how cliché she sounded to herself.
At the same time it was perfectly natural. It was natural, to her, because the gods had gifted them with intelligence and that intelligence and creativity that went along with it was used to create technology and perfect themselves and their surroundings. But still, what the CRIB could do, even if 'natural' or 'unnatural' still made her apprehensive and nervous.
Noting the time was right Makos stuffed some of those worries into a lockbox in a recessed corner of her made and she snatched the device up from the console and moved to her seat. Standing and utilizing a CRIB was the perfect way to get one's ass knocked to the ground during a battle. As Admiral Makos draped the shock harness over her shoulders she chuckled at the memory of Corman falling to his ass during fleet exercises. She glanced over at him, held up the CRIB to silently taunt him and he blushed.
The plastic buckles snapped and she tightened the straps until she was secured snug in the seat. Wiggling her shoulders she made sure the straps were just right, not too tight or loose, and settling in on the right degree of comfort, she set the CRIB upon her nose and over her ears.
Makos could hear the quieting sounds of CIC as the auditory interfaces forced her mind to filter out the real world noises until they were nothing but a dull whisper. That was the part she hated and which took the most getting used to. Her orders were relayed not by her words but by a digital avatar on a set of view screens which vocalized what she thought.
The world shook and shuttered and it felt like she was being strung through a pipe. Suddenly she felt her body lurch and with a pop was standing upright in a black, virtual room. She narrowed her eyes and twirled around in the dark and stopped as she spotted a white door. With two steps she was at the digital entranceway to the virtual fleet CIC and with a swipe of her hand exited one room and entered the next.
She couldn't see any of the other staff there, numbering in the dozens on Athena and into the hundreds throughout the fleet, but she could feel their presence. The CRIB reserved a 'spot' on each of their minds for her as their fleet commander. With but a thought she could relay her orders to any ship commander near instantaneously and issue orders to dozens of commanders simultaneously. Kessandra Makos could see, feel them react the moment they did.
Makos felt almost weightless, like she was drifting, and she anchored herself to a point in the virtual environment and expanded her point of view to see the entirety of the battle fleet.
It held a tight formation. It was close enough to provide fire support but dispersed to minimize the risks if the Pact fired nuclear weapons at them. As she scanned each ship they began to gradually become shaded in a translucent green as ship commanders reported ready for launch… squadron commanders reported ready for launch… her own staff all materialized as virtual avatars around her and she could feel their presence. They reported the fleet was ready.
The countdown display hit 00:00 and the white numerals began rapidly blinking and beeping.
"Jump!"
Nenikekamen.
It was on the tip of her tongue.
The fleet rematerialized instantly after entering that void, that nothingness of whatever realm was used for faster than light travel. They'd done it. They'd jumped in. And there was the Cylon and Pact fleets.
She had achieved complete surprise.
The red, crimson glow of the mammoth engines of those robotic warships activated and pushed the Triumvirate's engines of death forward. It was eerie and sent a cool shiver through Admiral Makos as she watched that bloody glow grow fainter as the Cylon warship sped to meet their Spartoi counters.
"All forces in position, all vessels launching Vipers…" Corman reported through the CRIB.
Thousands of Vipers were shot forth from launch tubes as Wasp fighters and Nighthawk gunships followed from the cavernous bays of hundreds of human crewed warships. Already thousands of Cylon Raiders and gunships had raced forth from the hanger bays of their warships.
"Corvus defensive batteries coming online… we are launching preliminary kinetic strikes," the rear admiral in charge of battleship squadron fifteen, Michael Davids reported.
Admiral Makos felt a tickle in the back of her mind. Something wasn't right… yet she couldn't place it, not right at that moment…
Task Force 6.2, nine thousand kilometers ventral to Athena and tens of thousands ahead already was already engaging the outer Corvus defense platform. Their ready alert fighters and bombers were launching but the few attack craft would be like knits compared to the battle fleet approaching.
Of the hundreds of alert fighters launchers almost all were Spartoi. That had been anticipated. Tauron had lost a significant number of its human pilots during the Battle of the Keystone over in Cyrannus Minor.
The warning alert went out by her fighter craft commander over the fleet battle net to be cautious of Spartoi fighters.
She smirked as a pair of battleships destroyed two, and then four, and then seven of the freighter-sized defensive stations; some nothing more than remote-controlled missiles pods with DRADIS dishes attached. The ones the battleships had destroyed, five of the seven at least, had been the larger Type Four stations and each had house two squadrons of Pact fighters. None had managed to launch in time.
She saw massive clouds of gray and black dust and debris skyrocket high over the surface of Corvus. The airless hunk of rock and tyllium had been hit by kinetic impact rounds which had missed the semi-mobile defensive stations.
Even with the CRIB and buried in the center of Athena the admiral could feel the massive gun batteries of the battle carrier fire at a pair of unsuspecting human-crewed destroyers…
A Tauron cruiser, hull numbered TPF-7415, was racked with a broadside of heavy missiles followed by main battery fire from two Scorpion cruisers. Caught without interceptors or EW systems online all but half a dozen missiles hit on the ventral surface and gutted the armor and sent helpless victims spewing into the vacuum. The Scorpion kinetic rounds struck at a diagonal across the engine mounts, separating them, and igniting the tyllium fuel.
TPF-7415 cracked down the middle, a line of orange flame down its back, and without much protest exploded into half a dozen chunks; some headed towards the planetoid, some glowed orange from melted metal, and some began to float harmless away into space.
A heavy screen of fighters began forming in front of the ships. Defensive fire from the surface erupted and her CRIB highlighted thousands of missiles and clustered them into threat levels. The fleet had already deployed jiggers, drones, and mites, and nearly half the missiles were diverted and thrown off course or slammed into expendable and cheap drones.
Her Wasps, Vipers, and Nighthawks took care of nearly a quarter of the initial salvo and her well-coordinated ships finished the rest with defensive battery fire… then one of her destroyers exploded, followed by a second and third.
Two of the explosions had been preceded by blinding white flashes; nuclear explosions.
Not every missile could be intercepted and not every nuke was detectable. The Pact was throwing up intense…
There was that tickle again.
It disappeared only to come back a third time. The virtual DRADIS beeped as half a dozen unknown vessels jumped to extreme range.
She wrinkled her virtual nose and attempted to ping the IFF transponders. No response. Humming curiously she couldn't divert too much attention from the battle. The Cylon and Spartoi fleets would be within weapon's range momentarily and… her eyes narrowed and her head ticked to the side.
"What the frak…" she whispered as she stepped forward to 'see' a better picture of the six ships.
"Admiral-" someone had been saying before being cut off.
"Commander Corman…" she called out within the virtual environment.
There was no response.
What in the name of the Gods is that… she thought as a part of her consciousness studied those ships. They were arranged so the telescopes in the fleet couldn't see past the first two. DRADIS was detecting six contacts, but she could only see a Cylon crewed Caprican battleship?
"What…?" Makos shook her head. "What the frak is going on…" the battleship moved off to reveal a second ship, one of the first generation baseship used during the Battle of Sagittaron. But then she saw the remaining four ships. Pact ships.
Why the frak is one of our baseships out here… the Cylons… oh gods… she mentally whispered in dread, fear, and horror as part of her mind was thrust back to the Cylons rushing to engaging the Spartoi…
The way the CRIB was set up was that an limited AI also analyzed the battle and brought things to her attention. And the Cylons engaging the Spartoi were more important at the moment than those ships. Except those six ships were transmitting between themselves and the fleets… and whatever it was the transmission was damn fraking powerful…
…and the Spartoi and Cylon fleets were not engaging each other.
Her CRIB flashed a red and black 'WARNING… WARNING' as something happened. She couldn't place it but the virtual environment began to fuzz over. She felt pressure on her bicep, like someone in the real world was holding her.
She reached up to take the CRIB off only to be thrown across the virtual room. She staggered up only to be slapped back down and her hands tied behind her back. Makos struggled against the sharp, cutting twine. This was impossible. A CRIB's software made this impossible!
Her digital avatar felt a stab in its gut, she felt her skin tear and something hot and sharp was driven into her stomach. Her hands were now free but something much worse was wrong. Breathing rapidly she rolled over and went to a knee and steadied herself with an outstretched hand while rubbing her abdomen. She slowly, carefully, and as frightened as she ever had been in her life, gently stroke the torn part of her tunic and felt the warm liquid on her hand.
Her amber eyes glazed over and she violently shook as she saw the red blood on her hand and looking down saw the pool of it under her body. It grew and grew and dripped down from her until the puddle encircled her. She felt the warm, crimson-colored blood on her knees and hands.
"Admir-"
There was pain, true pain running through not only her avatar but her real, living body, strapped in its harness to her chair.
"Admiral!"
"Oh gods get her!-"
Her muscles shook violently as the life force was sucked out, as it dripped away and puddle on the floor. Everything was black, cold, dark, except for this one spot around her. All she could see were the black walls and a floor made of her own blood.
Makos felt her elbow give out and she crashed down. She fell face first, chipping teeth and breaking her nose, the pain radiated all over her body and she tried to bring her legs up towards her chest to protect herself but she had no energy.
She felt her heart race as it struggled to pump whatever little blood her body still possessed. Thumping in her chest as she moved closer towards the door she could feel that with every beat more of the precious liquid was ejected from the now gaping wound in her side.
The admiral saw a door, a door to her salvation, materialize in front of her. She'd willed it there. It was her escape, her safety. It would let her escape this Tartarus. Her fingernails were chipped and bloodied and behind her was the trail of oozing and now boiling blood, bubbling closer and closer like a spark travelling to ignite gunpowder… and as she reached for the door, the exit from the program, the door vanished and reappeared further away.
Her eyes tried to cry as the pain overwhelmed her. She was trapped, trapped and couldn't get out. Makos pushed herself up on her elbow and stared at the cold, silvery floor. She gave up, exhausted and defeated and stared as the black nothingness of a floor.
Blood dripped from her eyes onto the floor and formed a circle, an orb, which began moving left and right and then back left to right. She shook as the orb of blood began to glow and hum and it raised itself off the ground.
One of the Cylons appeared. It reached down and grabbed her by the arm and pulled her around. It stood in her trail and pool of blood. The blood moved up its black and silvery legs all the way to its gleaming helmet, extinguishing the glittery shine, and the Centurion stood there dripping in her own blood, completely covered.
"Your farms, beaches, plains, jungles, pastures, harbors, cities, oceans, courthouses, forests, factories, and your temples, they will all burn under our heel. In order for the Children of Man to reach their full potential the parents must die. The Colonies of Man will lie trampled at our feet."
Makos felt the band ripped from her head, her body jolted forward and she collapsed into strong arms and hands and she felt them gently lowering her to the deck. As her eyes shot open she looked at the compassionate and worried Major Joseph Philipis, the intelligence officer on her staff, trying to talk to her. She saw lips moving but heard no words…
There was a buzz and a pop and finally she could hear.
General Krios was also kneeling by her side.
"Get some water and the doctor!" She heard Major Philipis shout. "Sir, Admiral! Can you hear me?"
Makos, breathing rapidly, shoved her body away from Philipis and Krios and frantically checked her hands for blood. She struggled away from them and kicked Philipis in the gut- he staggered back- but Krios pinned her.
"Admiral!" Krios yelled with wide and almost crazy or frantic eyes. Makos suddenly stopped shaking like a switch had been flipped, closed her eyes and was able to regain control of her breathing. "Admiral, please, something happened, the staff…!"
"Admiral!" Philipis's word was hard and his tone fiery. "Admiral! The Cylons haven't engaged the Spartoi. We lost contact with half the commanders in the fleet, half the commanders wearing CRIBS are non-responsive!" The major told her.
She looked at him, her expression blank, confused. Kessandra Makos blinked the glaze still lingering in her eyes away. The strong, steely glitter to those amber-hued eyes returned. Her headache was gone and she could feel her breathing slow… she looked down and slowly pulled out of Krios's hard grip and smoothed down her tunic.
Her head suddenly cocked towards Philipis and her amber-hued eyes focused. Her head swiveled left and right, searching for the man… her eyes locked in on him. She needed answers and part of her mind was still processing what that Cylon had said.
"Status of the Cylon fleet?" She bellowed to her operations officer. He said it was still on DRADIS but unengaged. "Holy frak… Graystone!" She growled, pushing herself up and allowing Philipis and a still-recovering Krios to help lift her. They steadied her on their feet. "Major…" her eyes narrowed to slits and she looked over his shoulder. He was almost trying to block her. "Iason!" She saw her chief of staff laying limp on the ground, two medics and another crewmember hunched over him.
She shoved Philipis to the side and squirmed out of Krios's grip on her tricep. Makos was over by her chief of staff's side not a second later. Kneeling next to him she looked at the medics for an explanation before seeing the CRIB, cracked in two at the nose piece, lying on the deck. Her eyes were on fire as she sprung back up and stalked over to Graystone.
"What the frak happened?" She cursed at him, throwing her hand back and pointing at her chief of staff. Others were unconscious and being tended to by medics and the ship's doctors; Rear Admiral Toles, Admiral Brinks, and Admiral Leos among the flag officers and Majors Hendricks and Foraker, Colonel Stamos, and Commanders Melas and Onassis. "Major Philipis, what is the condition of the fleet? I want recall orders issued to all Cylon vessels to jump to emergency standby coordinates immediately. They're to shut down and proceed-"
"Admiral," interrupted Graystone from across the command console, "what happened?"
"I don't know. But a fraking Cylon appeared and said the worlds would burn." Her head swiveled over to the DRADIS techs. "Do we have ID on those ships which jumped in?"
"One moment, sir…" the DRADIS tech frowned. "We're still decrypting whatever it was the… ID confirmed as Caprican warships believed lost during the Second Battle of Sagittaron and Tauron and Gemenese Pact warships." The tech tapped a few buttons and leaned over to a young woman by his side, pointed at his console, and she nodded back. "We can confirm one of the Pact ships as the Gurin, a cruiser converted to Spartoi command six years ago and present at Second Sagittaron, sir."
Major Philipis was by her side again. "Sir, we also received reports that other command staffs were incapacitated on dozens of other ships…" he frowned and pointed at the DRADIS. "And the Spartoi and Cylons aren't doing anything. The only ones fighting are a few forward units we deployed as defense batteries from Crovus orbit, sir." His jaws clenched.
Whatever she saw it didn't feel right. This operation as blown whatever had happened. And something was happening with the Cylons and Spartoi.
"Dr. Graystone." Makos turned her undivided attention to him. From the corner of her eyes she saw Commander Corman stand back up, helped by medics, and while glad couldn't rush over to make sure he was alright. Not right now. "Are the Cylons capable of rebelling?"
Everyone in ear shot froze.
Dr. Graystone among them.
There had been too many bad science fiction movies in the last decades of Cylons rebelling or Spartoi. The theme worked off a meme in the Colonial movie industry of the robots overthrowing their masters and engaging in wars of genocide and conquest. Graystone had assured them all this was impossible. He had ordered prototypes to take rifles and shoot their own MCP- robotic suicide.
The military itself had conducted its own randomized trial on dozens of each batch of Cylons delivered to make sure they would always follow lawful authority. And they had… for the most part. A few hiccups were expected here and there when the military and war industries had to rush out millions and millions of Cylons a month to replace losses…
"Admiral… I don't understand…" Graystone was cautious, weary of what she was implying.
She held up a hand and cut him off. "I want a blunt answer. Are they capable of rebelling?" Makos quickly closed the distance to Graystone with half a dozen long, elegant strides and was nose to nose with him. "Doctor."
"I…" he stuttered, "I… no, no, Admiral. We tested them." He was frustrated and stepped back and threw his hands onto his hips. "We tested them and they can't be hacked or turned against us. Those are artificial… well, brains, basically!" His jaw clenched. "They are artificially sentient- they make decisions based on variables- but they are still subservient to us!"
As if the gods wanted to curse Graystone they could not have chosen a better moment. The DRADIS blared and beeped erratically.
"Radiological signatures… oh gods!"
On the DRADIS screen nuclear missiles and conventional missiles all lashed out and streaked across the nothingness towards dozens of area defense stations around Corvus and to even more on the planet. DRADIS was detecting massive nuclear explosions on the planetoid and space-based nuclear detonations as Cylon and Spartoi ships fired on Corvus's defenses.
"Sir!" Major Philipis got the attention of Makos. He had an ear bug and was pressing it firmly in his ear. "Sir… interference is heavy but it sounds like the Pact…"
"Pact ships moving in to engage…" the DRADIS tech trailed off after interrupted the major. Admiral Makos shot him a stern look. "Pact ships have firing solutions on Cylon and Spartoi ships and planetoid defense batteries have firing solutions on Spartoi ships…"
"Sir, wireless chatter about Spartoi on Corvus attacking… attacking Pact location…?"
"Sir, I'm seeing explosions on Pact ships… they look internal, sir, no missiles or kinetic rounds fired yet."
It clicked for Makos. That dark feeling she'd felt since the blood drenched Cylon had made its proclamation was confirmed.
Her mind raced and as irrational as her orders might sound she said them anyway as calm as she could.
"All Cylons aboard ships are to be destroyed immediately…." She praised the gods Cylons were left deactivated unless boarded or under threat of boarding. "And-"
"Admiral?" It was General Krios. "What the frak-"
"Just do it!" She hissed. There weren't that many aboard and if she was wrong, she was wrong. She'd fraking pay for the damn Centurions herself, but if she was right she needed to secure the safety of the fleet first.
That transmission had done something. She was sure of it. Luckily a Cylon couldn't receive any transmissions unless active and with the ship's Centurions powered down… she closed her eyes and mouthed a thanks to the gods, especially Zeus and even more so to the ship's namesake goddess.
"FTL jumps detected! Spartoi and Cylon fleets are, they're gone, sir!" The DRADIS tech yelled.
Makos confirmed with her DRADIS display.
The blood, the real blood, drained from her face. The Spartoi and Cylon fleet was powerful here but… but a fleet… no, a fleet wasn't a victory. The robots, the toasters had told her their plan, they had told it to her in some twisted, sick boast… could robots even do that? Makos shook her head. It didn't matter. She knew where they were going. They were going to smash the small defense fleets around the home worlds. They were going to burn the Colonies.
