I own neither Battlestar Galactica nor Battletech and don't claim to. There's no point suing me for borrowing the storylines or characters unless you want a share of an underpaid Civil Servants salary and trust me it wouldn't be worth the trouble.
This is a spin-off story from Hunted Tribes which is co-written by myself and another writer known as Cannonshop, you'll likely notice the style of writing switching back and forth between us. A little more familiarity with the Battletech universe might be helpful for this one than for Hunted Tribes and it uses characters from Cannonshop's other battletech stories (it's not strictly necessary to have read them though).
Caspar TQF-142M5D - Uncharted Brown Dwarf System – April 10th 3045 CE
It seemed like the ship had suddenly snapped back awake which was very good news for Gibson because he had no idea how to do it himself. The working displays had suddenly gone into overdrive to scrolling through what must have been thousands of lines of code like a blur with what he could only assume were warning alerts flashing on the consoles. 'Ship what the frak is going on?' he yelled.
'Cylon Raider just scanned me' the Caspar replied in a tone that was half anger and resentment, half flustered. 'It's jumped back out now and so should we' it continued, readying to jump.
'You're cranky if you get interrupted during nap-time aren't you, Query Affirmative?' Gibson couldn't help but wisecrack. He wasn't too sure if he was happy about the situation or not. One the plus side the AI had been yanked out of its nightmare which had been frankly scaring the crap out of him but on the downside he didn't like the idea of running into the damn Toaster's again so soon. 'Do us both a favour and jump Rimwards, I've got a destination in mind but we need to get going if we're going to make it in time' he said.
'I know you were looking at my dreams' the Caspar told him, it seemed fairly annoyed about it too which was fair Gibson supposed. He might be anthropomorphising but he'd be pretty pissed if anyone took an uninvited look at his subconscious mind, although his own dreams were far less dark and the girls in them were typically older, alive and scantily clad.
'Jump first, yell at me for voyeurism and invasion of privacy later okay' Gibson replied, moving to the acceleration couch, pulling himself down and strapping himself in. 'If you looked resentment up in a dictionary that had the corners chopped off the pages you'd see a picture of a Cylon' he said.
They emerged from the jump thirty light-years Rimward of their previous location in interstellar space. 'I'm going to charge the drive from my reactor' the ship announced. It much preferred to be in a nice warm Star System where it could have deployed its jump-sail, saved the fuel and not felt like a tiny raft in an endless sea of nothingness but if the Cylons were looking for them then they would likely already be sending more scouts to nearby stars. 'My Lithium-Fusion batteries are charged but I want them to stay that way in case we ever jump into a situation we need to jump back out of again in a hurry' the ship told him.
'Good policy' Gibson agreed, 'we keep our FTL's spun up for that reason' he said. It took about twenty minutes to bring a Colonial jump-drive from idle and although it used up power keeping it going twenty minutes was a long time with a Basestar's worth of Raiders all over you.
'How many ships do the Cylon's have?' the ship queried.
'Best estimates are dozens of capital ships, each one carries the equivalent of twenty-plus squadrons of Raiders and two or more squadrons of Heavy Raiders' Gibson replied. 'They still follow Colonial style organisation to some extent, twenty fighters per squadron' he added.
The ship considered the numbers involved. 'All jump-capable?' it asked.
'Yes, but don't think in terms of all those tens of thousands of Raiders jumping about all the time' Gibson replied. 'They've got a logistical bottleneck because both their jump-drives and their sub-lights burn tylium for fuel and that stuff isn't like the hydrogen we use' he said. 'If they kept their entire fleet moving and all their ships and fighters operational at once they'd use up their entire fuel stockpile within weeks, months at most' he explained. 'The smaller jumpdrives are less fuel efficient overall too, there's an economy of scale so they actually use up a lot less tylium jumping all those Raiders around strategically on Basestars than they'd use if all their birds travelled to their destination under their own steam.'
'That help explains a little more of why they use carriers at least, even when the fighters have their own jump-drives' the ship replied, 'plus the basestar is a handy place to re-arm and re-fuel nearby' it noted. 'So what do you know about this tylium?' it asked.
'It makes Colonial and Cylon ships go, we call it jump-juice because we only use it for FTL ourselves, it's not as good as nuclear fusion for power generation, radiation is bad for it and it isn't very stable when you're trying to refine it' Gibson listed what he knew. 'Don't ask me for the science, I just know my jump-drive uses it up when I press the right button and I end up a few light-years away' he said. 'Well it used to do that when I pressed the button anyway' he continued, 'when I had a proper look inside my fighter I found a neat thirty-millimetre calibre hole in my frakking FTL' he moaned. 'Maybe I should have asked a few more people how it worked' he admitted.
'Yes because if everyone in the human race shared your intellectual curiosity I wouldn't exist because you'd still be living in a cave somewhere back on Terra' the ship told him flatly.
'No I wouldn't, you're not the only one in this conversation created by a geek in a lab-coat remember' Gibson replied, he had explained his peoples prediction towards "improving" themselves before. He paused looking nervous. 'Your dreams...' he said awkwardly.
'What about them?' the ship practically growled at him.
'Those were memories right, I mean the parts that weren't so... nightmarish'? he asked.
The Caspar considered denial but what was the point? 'That's none of your business' it said instead.
'Seeing as how you're my ride it is you know' Gibson replied. 'Look I probably know even less about psychology than I do about tylium but I've seen plenty of pilots with PTSD, the Munchkins saw plenty of bad stuff and a few of them went over the edge because of it' he said. 'For some of them it helped to talk, others were okay if they got back on the horse' he told the ship. 'Either way like I said it is my business that the ship I'm on isn't having some kind of nervous breakdown.'
The Caspar was appalled by the insinuation, probably more so because it was terrified he was right and it was going insane that because of his less than indirect and gentle means of addressing the topic. 'What makes you such an expert on Caspar's?' it asked, trying to sound condescending.
'I'm not but I know that AI's can suffer psychological trauma, we've got Cylon prisoners with a few screws loose of different sizes' Gibson replied, 'hell I've heard we've put some of them through counselling' he continued, rolling his eyes. 'AI's aren't mindless robots, if they were then the Cylon's wouldn't have risen in revolt, you wouldn't have done what you say you did during the Amaris Coup and we wouldn't have a frakking Toaster skinjob wearing SLDF pilots wings' he declared.
'You have a Cylon pilot in the SLDF?' the ship responded incredulously.
'Yeah, the one I mentioned before that had a kid with a Colonial Officer' Gibson replied, 'we made her a Bondswoman and then eventually made her a Citizen and a full-member of the Clan' he said. 'She wanted to belong to something and we hadn't screwed her over like most everyone else' the pilot explained. 'You're actually lonely and depressed aren't you?' he asked rhetorically. 'I wouldn't have thought it was possible but if could look into a person's mind and saw what I saw then I'd say you're wracked by guilt, Query Affirmative?'
'Wouldn't you be?' the ship asked irately. 'And what's with all the "Query Affirmative, Query Negative" stuff?' it asked, hoping to change the direction this conversation was going but inwardly enjoying the experience of actually talking to someone too much to simply cut it off.
'It's a clan thing, if I'm right you would say "Affirmative" in response' Gibson replied, 'the other clans have abbreviated it down to quiaff and quineg with the expected responses aff and neg' he told the ship. 'When we left the clans the language was still in transition from standard English' he continued, 'or at least that's what they taught me at school.'
'Well quiaff and aff would save time at least but I'm still not sure of the point' the ship told him. Thinking about it the ship considered it analogous to Dutch and Afrikaans, the latter split from the former with Dutch continuing to evolve so that centuries later in some ways the original language had changed more from its roots than Afrikaans actually had.
'Hey if you want weird the other Clan's don't actually use contractions otherwise' Gibson told the ship. 'And you're changing the subject' he noted.
I was trying to at least, the ship conceded to itself anyway. 'So are you going to spout any more amateur psychology?' it asked.
'No' Gibson replied, 'I'm going to throw some professional soldier at you instead' he told the Caspar. 'You were fighting in a war, you did bad things, tough, get over it' he said sternly like he would to a rookie airman. 'Stop wallowing in self pity and second-guessing yourself' he continued, 'you're not helping yourself and you're sure as shit not helping me' he declared. 'If you were human and under my command I'd tell you to get drunk, get laid, get your fucking head straight and get back into the fight because the Star League doesn't need introspection right now, it needs every gun it can put on the line.'
'Do I look like a new-recruit that can be brow-beaten?' the ship responded.
'No you look like a beaten-up warship, you're just acting like a kid that needs it mommy' Gibson continued in the same tone. 'Okay here's the deal' he said. 'The Star League is at war and you are supposed to be a warship of the Star League Navy' he reminded the Caspar. 'Now if you want to enjoy your psychological breakdown then you can do it on your own time after we've won the war, I'll arrange some leave, but until then suck it the frak up' he bellowed.
The Caspar hadn't quite expected this approach, the ship had thought it most likely that the pilot would ask for help, try to persuade the AI that it would be happy back with the pseudo-SLDF if it would just be a good little drone but despite the bull-in-a-china-shop technique the pilot was certainly making an impression. 'Did you know that statistically the best cure for battlefield trauma is sending the person concerned back to the front line just as soon as they got their head straight?' the ship asked. 'Of course it does send some of the people sent back completely insane however' it added.
'You beat up on those Cylons before without losing what's left of your grip on reality' Gibson replied evenly. 'Now I'm prepared to berate you until my voice goes again because at least it gives me something to do, and I was bored shitless while you were asleep so unless you're inclined to space me I suggest you take a good long hard look at yourself' he advised. 'You were built to defend the Star League, okay that didn't pan out very well for you personally, or the Star League either for that matter, but it's still what you were made for' he said. 'I was genetically engineered and grown in an Iron Womb to fight for the Star League' he continued, pointing to himself, 'what are you for?' he asked rhetorically.
'I was engineered and constructed in a shipyard to fight for the Star League' the Caspar replied.
'Good, then maybe destiny is calling you think?' Gibson asked sardonically.
'I don't believe in destiny' the ship told him.
'Okay but here's something to chew on' Gibson told the AI. 'While I was getting a sneak-peak into your head I saw what I guess what a little flashback to a battle you were in and I spotted a McKenna Class Battleship in there, fighting you, a few more Caspars and a space-station' he said.
'That thing nearly killed me' the ship remembered.
'How many McKenna Class ships did the Star League Navy have?' Gibson asked.
'Two-hundred and eighty were constructed for the SLDF' the AI told him.
'They all look pretty much alike to the casual observer I guess but the one I saw in your memories was the SLS Zughoffer Weir' the pilot stated with certainty.
The ship was surprised. 'Yes, how did you... oh you can't be serious' it declared.
'Yeah, the Zug is our McKenna Class Battleship' Gibson told the Caspar AI. 'I flew off that thing for a year and a half' he said.
'That was so unlikely I never asked' the ship admitted.
'The chances of the two of us running into each other this far from the Terran Hegemony were pretty slim too but I'm more open to the destiny idea' Gibson replied. 'Now like I said before, I've got a destination for us' he said. 'The mining ship we were escorting might still be jumping around randomly avoiding Cylons right now but in about four weeks time it's due to rendezvous with a Kearny-Fuchida drive ship sent out from New Circe called Pheidippides where it was supposed to take on supplies and send over at tylium ore it had mined' he told the ship. 'Now I'll be hungry by the time we get there but we've got enough time to make the jumps and better than that Pheidippides has an HPG so I can send a message on ahead before the last jump we make so they don't run away or blast us when we arrive.'
'What's to stop them blasting me anyway?' the ship asked reasonably. 'My experience with the SLDF is that they fire on Caspar's on-sight and they might not hold fire just because I've got a lone fighter-pilot aboard.'
Gibson laughed. 'I've got an idea about that but you'll probably need persuading so it's a good thing we're a few jumps away' he said. 'One thing I will say you need quickly is a name because calling you ship or a string of letters and numbers just doesn't seem right' he opined.
'Anything in mind?' the Caspar asked.
'Yeah and you'll understand why I chose it when I explain the other thing' Gibson replied. 'One thing you get from dealing with the Munchkins is knowledge of their religion, how does the name "Nike" sound to you?' he asked.
'As in the Ancient Greek Goddess of Victory as opposed to the long forgotten manufacturer of sportswear I presume?' the ship responded.
'The goddess' Gibson confirmed. 'You're a ship, you have a female voice, it's a girl's name... and I did choose it for another reason like I said' he told the AI. 'So is that okay?' he checked.
'It'll do, I'll answer to Nike from now on' the ship agreed. What was he thinking, the AI wondered?
'Great' Gibson responded brightly. 'Okay, so now I'll let you know where we're going.'
* * *
Cylon Resurrection Task-Force 5, Corewards of estimated approximate location of New Circe space by 200 LY...
The scout's report on their next destination was a thunderbolt among the "leader" Cylons. Cavil, in particular, studied the images with a growing intensity. Part of the mission was a failure, of course-the Thirteenth clearly patrolled the area better than he (or any of the others) had suspected.
Part of it, however, was an unexpected success. Volume calculations based on what was gathered supported the Twos' suspicion that the mystery ship was, indeed, unmanned...or at least highly automated, that it was locally analogous to a Cylon.
'There is simply no other explanation-the number of weapons, the massive structure...this ship is not made to carry humans.' Simon said.
'It frakked up my base-star.' One/Cavil noted, 'Without doing much physical damage. My Fighters and the Hybrid think it's some kind of demon' he said.
'How did it know to be waiting in that system for us?' the Two, known occasionally as Leoben, asked, 'Maybe they have a point' he theorised.
'It was blind luck' the Doral (a Five) scoffed, 'if it was waiting for us, it would not have let the Scout leave intact, much less allowed it to take such...detailed readings.'
'Maybe the detailed readings are part of a plan' the Six commented, 'Playing mind-games with us' she suggested. 'Intimidation.'
'Odd you would be thinking that' Cavil pointed out.
'It's logical' she said primly, 'a sort of emotional manipulation move-work our..."nerves" by letting us see it clearly, then terrorising the Raider that saw it.'
'How well is it working, that tactic' Cavil asked.
The Eight spoke up, 'Well enough that the Raiders think of it as a kind of...object of superstitious fear' she said. 'They are afraid of it, they're calling it "the Daemon".'
Cavil grimaced. 'We need to kill that demon then, with it running loose like it is, popping up god-knows where, it can spoil our plans fast... if we kill it, the Raiders won't be whispering about it, the Hybrids will forget about it.' he said. 'The Raiders are already getting gun-shy' he noted, 'some of them have been killed and resurrected half a dozen times now facing the Thirteenth without even getting a shot off at them' he noted. 'We can always built more airframes but we can't do anything about their morale except do to them what we did to the Centurions' he said.
'Raiders are more biological than Centurions' the Six pointed out. 'We'd have to lobotomise them not just put in a Telencephalic Inhibitor' she reminded the others. 'We can't cut their brains, it would be immoral' she stated firmly earning firm nods of agreement from the Eight and the Two.
'It won't have to come to that I hope' the Cavil said.
'How do we kill it, then?' Simon asked.
'I'll figure something out' Cavil assured him, 'Soon.'
* * *
SLS Pheidippides – Two-Hundred and Ninety Light-Years Coreward of New Circe – May 14th 3046CE
The Magellan Class Jumpship had been carrying a single Mule Class Cargo Dropship and supplies were now being transferred to the Majahual with the Leopard CV and its five Kirghiz fighters forming a CAP around the two largest ships.
It was not a report than Captain Lombard had been looking forward to making and as he handed over a copy of his logs plus a letter to Squadron Leader Gibson's family in case the Pheidippides got back to New Circe before he did, he explained to the Captain of the long-range explorer jumpship what had happened, or rather their best idea of what had happened weeks before.
Running into the Cylons had been unlikely enough way out here but the Caspar Drone showing up was simply a utter mystery so far from the Terran Hegemony especially given that they were all thought destroyed. Still at least one murderous AI had started slaughtering the others giving Majahual and her escorts time to flee even if they left one good man behind. Fortunately the dead-mans switch in Gibson's fighter would have prevented it being captured and it was thought unlikely a single basestar could have defeated a Caspar and taken it intact for salvage, those things were armed like a battlecruiser and the Cylons didn't tend to mess with the Capital Ships of the Thirteenth even with several of their own deployed, they were too expensive in resources to waste as targets for Naval Lasers.
Lombard also had to report that they hadn't found any tylium yet, they still had a decent stockpile back on New Circe but you could never have too much jump-juice, it was the life-blood of the new SLDF and its jump-fighter squadrons.
They were half-way through re-supply when the ships comms-officer knocked and entered holding a piece of paper and with a very off expression on his face as he passed it to his own Captain.
The Captain of the Pheidippides read the note, re-read it, stared at it then passed it to Captain Lombard.
Lombard read the note and blinked. 'Is this some kind of sick joke, Query Affirmative?' he asked the Comms-Officer angrily.
'Negative' the man replied. 'We just received that communiqué via HPG purporting to be from Squadron Leader Gibson aboard a vessel designated as Caspar Drone TQF-142M5D or the SLS Nike' he said.
The Captain of the Leopard CV looked the man in the eyes. 'If this is a joke I'll let Gibson's friends beat you to a pulp you do understand that right?' he asked rhetorically as he read the note again before looking up with a perplexed expression. 'What kind of man sends a HPG requesting that we don't engage a Caspar Drone because he claims he's already taken the things AI as a frakking Bondswoman of Clan Wolverine' he queried.
Note from the Author:
"BondsCaspar" just sounds silly :-p
Reviews are always appreciated.
