Author's Note: I've decided to try something different with introducing new actors. Rather than list them up front at the start of each chapter, I'm going to state it within the confines of the story so there might be a little more of a "wow" factor when they appear. Let me know if you like it in the reviews. Also, credit for the initial concept of Michael Bishop goes to the user: Just a Crazy-Man.
Battlestar Galactica: The Guiding Fire
Episode 3
Rampant: Part 2
With
Gideon Emery as Captain James Cutter
Faye Kingslee as Ellen Anders
Courtenay Taylor as Serina
Willem Dafoe as Major Vladimir Markov
Rob Mayes as Jerome-092
Christopher Eccleston as Lieutenant Colonel Christian McCullen
Zachary Quinto as Petty Officer Jonathan Green
Chiwetel Ejiofor as Lieutenant Commander Isaac Larson
Michael Peña as Petty Officer Lukas Blake
Jay Baruchel as Lieutenant JG Scott Travis
Sam Elliott as Chief Engineer Andrew Prescott
Karl Urban as Major Soren Heidegger
Bruce Willis as Colonel Maxwell Shaw
Rinko Kikuchi as Ensign Yumi Abadie
Dominique Tipper as Petty Officer Roselyn Mary
Bae Doo-Na as Ensign Tae-hee Hyun
Joseph Gordon Levitt as Lieutenant Ward 'Warlock' Breckenridge
Alice Braga as Ensign Sophia 'Kick' Nascimento
Nicholas Hoult as Airman First Class Evan 'Chugs' Chugainov
James McAvoy as Senior Airman Hank Donnelly
MAY 1 2534 / 1048 HOURS (UNSC TIME)
215 DAYS AFTER CYLON ATTACK
COLONIAL FLEET
UNSC SPIRIT OF FIRE CFV-88
TRAM 04 / INBOUND TO ENGINEERING
UNKNOWN SYSTEM
"So Chief, you've been here for what, two weeks now? How's it been living here on the Spirit?" Cally asked with a very upbeat attitude. She and the other deckhand transfers sat across from the Chief and the Spirit's Chief Prescott within the shipboard tram's passenger car as it ferried them toward Engineering after having been shown their quarters and changing out of their tight, rigid uniforms and back into their work coveralls, which felt liberating for Cally.
Galen smiled, the first time in a while since what happened to Boomer. He chuckled, "Well, the food's a lot better." He commented as he searched for more to say. "They have this kind of stew they serve over a biscuit, that's pretty good. Coffee sucks though..."
Galen's explanation left Cally more than dumbfounded as her brow arched. "Chief, what planet are you on?! This is a ship of the Thirteenth Tribe and all you can say is that the food's good?"
"Well, we've been pretty busy getting the FTL drives installed, so I haven't had much time to see the sights here." Galen excused himself, but it still sounded to Cally like he was holding something big back from her. Unfortunately, Cally wasn't able to press further as the tram came to a stop and an artificial voice chimed in
"You have arrived at Engineering. Please watch your step upon leaving the tram."
Chief Prescott pulled himself up by a standing pole followed by Tyrol. "Come'on then. Let's 'git this show on the road."
As a group, they departed the tramcar on to a long terminal platform big enough to fit fifty standing people along with a single long line of benched seats against the far wall.
"So then Chief, how's the FTL integration going then?" Seelix asked. "Last I heard, the ODST's snatched up every drive Pegasus had on her."
Prescott looked back over his shoulder as they passed through a door into a long hallway lit with stark white light as opposed to the cool blue that populated other parts of the ship, giving the deck a much more industrial feel to it. Along the walls were exposed pipping and electrical access tubing and in the place of the smooth floor plating seen elsewhere on the ship, they were walking on rectangularly grilled floor panels that clanked loudly when stepped on. "Yup, Shaw and his boys grabbed up every last one of them like a whole lot a' magpies."
"But I thought you only needed three to jump the Spirit?" Cally questioned.
Prescott nodded. "That's right but Captain wanted all the rest of them to study on account you fellas can do that fancy trick of jumping in-system."
Cally's hands swung out. "And the Old Man is just okay with that?"
Galen took a quick glance back at her. "Didn't sit right with me at first but they are going to fix up Galactica for us on top of giving us the chance to study their tech." Tyrol defended. "In the time I've been here so far, it's given me more than a few ideas I'd like to try out back on Galactica and Pegasus. Plus, if you think about it, it's not like we were doing much with the drives anyway besides letting them gather dust."
"So, we'll be helping you with the drive installation?" Brooks said assumingly to which Galen shook his head.
"No, we got the last one installed a few days ago." He said, much to the three's surprise. "Right now we're running the drives through a battery of tests, jump simulations and weeding out bugs in the programming since we had to write up an entirely new FTL OS basically from scratch to work with the ship's existing operating system and computers, but thankfully Serina's dealing with that part." Galen said with a noticeable flinch at the end as he apparently said something he shouldn't have. A subtly warning sidelong glance from Chief Prescott coming shortly thereafter, all but confirming for Cally, her theory that the Chief indeed was hiding something.
Brooks however, was completely oblivious. "Oh, you've met the Spirit's TV lady? She works in IT?"
"...You could say that." the Chief answered.
"Okay, but if you're pretty much done with the drives, then what will we be doing, Chief?" Seelix pipped up from the back.
Galen waited to turn the corner at a Y intersection and step around a UNSC engineer doing maintenance work on a power junction control panel before responding. "That's not up to me, Major Vallum's the one who'll be giving you your marching orders."
"She just got done with a two-hour long EVA inspection on how the engine repairs are holdin' up in engine five. We're gunna try 'n catch her up in DECON before her shift's up an' she's off to the head. Lucky 'fer us, those RAD shielded EVA suits are as a big of a pain in the ass to get off as they are gettin' on." The older Chief Engineer stopped at a pair of elevators on the corner of a T intersection and pressed what looked like an analogue call button for the elevator, something that Brooks took notice of.
"Oh, hey, is that all analogue?"
"Yup," Prescott answered simply before continuing. "These old colony ships had to be as easy to repair and take apart as possible for the colonists. Ya see, when they'd found a colony, normal procedure is to take the whole ship apart and use every nut 'n bolt to build themselves a half-decent settlement."
"Guess that made it easy to retrofit this old girl, right?" Brooks asked to which he received an affirming hum from Prescott.
With a dull and tired bing-bong, the elevator car arrived and the square-grated exterior door slid left into the wall while the interior doors shakily parted. As they entered, Cally noted the X-shaped crossbeams in the place of walls with removable sections of grated panels for ease of maintenance. This place looked more like an industrial plant than the bowels of Galactica's engineering deck did.
The elevator noisily ascended seven decks up from where they got on and Prescott lead them out, immediately rounding the corner with the Colonials in tow down a long, narrow hallway. About fifty meters down it on the right side, a thin line of windows no taller than the length of Cally's hand began and stretched on for a good twenty meters. Prescott turned his head over his left shoulder and thumbed at the right wall. "If any of you want a quick look at one of the fusion reactors, now's 'yer chance to sneak a peek."
Brooks darted past Cally with an eagerness to see the engine the same way if someone had told Cally that someone had a box full of baby bunnies on the other side of the glass. She joined him if only to see what the fuss was about as they continued walking. When she got close she observed the thickness of the glass that was highly likely to be radiation shielded, estimating it was at the very least, twenty centimeters thick. On the other side, Cally could make out a large machine shaped like a cylinder on its side with a series of concentric rings around it intermittently, but that was about all she was able to make out. Maybe Brooks had expected a complex machine straight out of a cinema with a glowing miniature star at the center, but to her, it just looked like a different sort of engine like those she'd seen on a dozen other ships.
"Wow, look at that!" Brooks said to Cally with a tone of amazement, defying her low expectations. "I'd love to get my eyes on the specs for that thing."
Cally cocked an eyebrow at the man. "It just looks like another engine Brooks, I don't see what the big deal is."
Brooks responded with a look of bewildered shock. "That right there, that reactor is what the greatest scientists, physicists, and engineers in all the Colonies have been trying to create for the last hundred years. No reliance on tylium at all, practically making this ship's range unlimited when you add in the Thirteenth Tribe's cryogenic pods." Brooks leaned up from the window. "Um, excuse me, Lieutenant Commander Prescott? After you guys get done with Galactica's refit, are there any plans to start production on fusion reactors for a fleet-wide refit, 'cause that would help us a lot."
Spirit of Fire's Chief Engineer cracked a grin and chuckled to himself. "That depends, you got a few dozen tons of deuterium lying around? Those things don't run on hopes an' fanciful notions, you know."
"Oh, right." Brooks replied with a slight bit of embarrassment. "That makes sense, you guys wouldn't exactly have that on-hand to spare."
"Naw, a mobile refit station maybe, but I've never served on one of those, so I can't say 'fer certain. If a ship ever did need a whole reactor replaced, chances are they got bigger problems on their hands. Captain'll do the best he can 'fer you guys though." Prescott chuckled again. "Hell, you should'a seen the specs I drew up 'fer 'yer Old Man on what we're prob'ly gunna do 'fer 'yer old battlestar. We ain't gunna install a whole a fusion drive system, but it's gunna be pretty darn close."
A few more minutes of walking brought them further aft past the fusion drive to an area of the hallway that judging by the lack of grime, seldom saw any major foot traffic. At the very end, they passed through a door marked with several warning signs Cally found ominous for her lack of understanding what they meant but got the general idea that ludicrously dangerous amounts of radiation were likely involved. The room entered didn't seem much out of the ordinary. It was hexagonal and roughly half the size of the floor in Galactica's CIC. In design, it appeared to be similar to a locker room with two sets of benched seats positioned on the right side of the room where sat in waiting were eight maintenance techs with four aircraft maintenance carts complete with their own hoists and on Cally's immediate right, a set of ten dented, paint-worn, and ancient looking lockers stood stubbornly against the wall. Against the two furthest walls were six heavily marred plexiglass cases that appeared to be empty. She deduced they were likely for EVA suits since Chief Prescott mentioned it earlier but these storage lockers seemed abnormally oversized, looking able to tightly fit three people inside.
On the wall, adjacent to the leftmost set of oversized lockers was a heavily reinforced airlock door with a small alcove adjacent that served as the airlock's control station where another deckhand sat upon an unbacked stool in waiting before his eyes caught Chief Prescott in their periphery, where upon he swiveled about and gave a slow but still respectful salute. "Chief."
"Hey Satzinger," Prescott greeted with a wave. "Take it we haven't missed Val yet? I wanted to introduce her to the new blood we got comin' in."
"She and her team are in the airlock going through the rad scrubbers right now, they'll be out in ninety seconds."
"Good to hear." Prescott answered.
"Excuse me, Chief?" Tyrol asked, nudging the older engineer's shoulder with the back of his hand. "Where are we exactly, I haven't been to this part of the ship yet."
"Yeah, we don't use these places too often. Engine maintenance airlocks, right now we're in the starboard side room but we got another one port. Don't use 'em too often on account the drives are jus' so darn efficient they don't need much apart from the regular maintenance they 'git when they're docked in a port." Prescott pointed ahead at the thick airlock door. "Through there's a series of corridors that lead into each individual thruster 'cept 'fer the emergency engines up top. Gotta go external 'fer those."
Galen blinked in surprise. "But that's got to be a crazy amount of radiation in there."
"We did offline the engine before sendin' anyone in. Now that we're back in the fleet, the Skipper won't need to be performin' any nutty maneuvers, so we're gunna take advantage of that an' check on each of the repairs."
"Still, the rad-count has got to be multiple times over the lethal dose."
Prescott hummed. "Hence the special EVA suits 'yer about to see."
Not long after, two dirty-yellow strobe lights began spinning at the top corners of the heavy door, accompanied by a shrill klaxon that blared a few seconds before the airlock loudly pressurized. Cally was not prepared for what she was about to see as four hulking figures appeared through the doorway, each seven-feet tall, faceless and covered in thick, bulking sets of faded olive-drab armor. They looked in parts like a frightening combination of EOD bomb disposal, deep sea diving, and an EVA suit. In the place of a normal 'bubble' style of EVA helmet was a metal dome that bore a clearer resemblance to an old naval mine with a dozen armored protuberances that guarded what appeared to be camera lenses. For Cally who had just recently had a scare involving one of the UNSC's Spartans, the sight froze her.
The figures lumbered in on heavy legs that loudly echoed against the floor grating and the noise complaining of servos brought Cally's attention to the exoskeletal metal braces predominantly on the arms and legs.
"Hey, there Val." Prescott waved to the lead figure who momentarily stopped to look at him while the other three continued forward to the benches that the deckhands promptly stood up from. "Go ahead an' 'git that mess off ya, I won't be goin' anywhere jus' yet."
Major Vallum then continued, sitting down on the bench while a pair of deckhands went to work, first plugging in a cable attached to a thick military laptop into a socket in the suit's EVA flight pack and tapping a few keys. The suit depressurized with a cat-like hiss and the gaps in the suit's armor widened considerably as whatever internal layer was relaxed. The two techs then reached down under the tall collar, both then looked at each other while one spoke. "Three, two one!" the pair then with great effort lifted the helmet by a couple of small handles on the helmet's lip and hurriedly set it on their nearby cart with a relieved sigh once they had it down. But all Cally could see of the person inside was the top of the Major's head bound in a cap
"So, what's the word Val? Repairs holdin' up?" Prescott asked while one tech unplugged the cable and the other undid whatever fastened the flight pack to the suit before hauling that off as well.
"No signs yet of wear on the exhaust manifold or thruster nozzle in engine five." The Major replied, still buried in the suit. "I still want to keep an occasional eye on them." While she spoke the two techs had disengaged some ten different locking mechanisms on the waist area. "So, I'm guessing you didn't just come down to hear my report personally, sir."
"Brought you down 'yer new deckhands from Galactica. Seemed the hospitable thing to do."
Cally heard the woman sigh as the techs activated the cart's build in hoist, maneuvering it over the Major's head and then hooking on a four-point cable harness on the looped latch points on the torso. "You're being too soft again old-timer. Just put 'em to work." She admonished lightly with a kind of familiarity.
The hoist's hydraulic motor hummed to life and began lifting the suit's torso three feet into the air.
\\\\\\O
Introducing Gina Torres as Major Alys Vallum
\\\\\\O
From there, Major Vallum ducked out of the suit as the techs maneuvered the hoist's arm away, revealing a striking woman whose sweated skin on her face reflected the light like polished bronze. Now free of the undoubtedly restricting upper half of the suit, the Major undid the chinstrap of the communications cap she wore. With a shake of the head her curly hair fell free and she let out a relieved sigh as she ruffled it with the gloved hands of the under suit to let in some air on her scalp.
"Now Val, I don't know how long my stay over on the Galactica 'll be. 'Yer gunna have to hold down the fort an' be the acting Chief Engineer while I'm away. An' no one's gunna give a donkey's ass 'bout what you tell 'em if you don't show some respect in kind, shake some hands."
A hum touched with an undertone of annoyance left Major Vallum's mouth as she pulled the suit's zipper down. "Fine," she seemingly relented. Major Vallum set a neutral stare on Cally as if she were no more than the set of coveralls she wore. "You, come here. Can't exactly stand right now." She said with a downward motion of her eyes at the lower half of the suit.
Cally walked on over to stand in front of Major Vallum, putting on the best smile she could while the Major pulled her torso out of the sweaty under suit. Beneath, she only had a plain white tank top on and a sports bra under that. Following Chief Prescott's words, Cally offered the Major her hand to shake, by then Major Vallum had pulled her left arm free and began to do the same with her right. Cally's smile evaporated when the Major revealed a thin, almost skeletal arm made entirely of metal. As Cally saw the robotic limb reach out for her hand, she immediately withdrew it out of fear. Major Vallum stared at Cally and her frightened face for a moment before things appeared to click in her head and she chuckled with a mockful smirk.
"What's the matter," Vallum said sardonically. "Don't you know we're all half-cylon around here?"
MAY 1 2534 / 1657 HOURS (FLEET TIME)
214 DAYS AFTER CYLON ATTACK
COLONIAL FLEET
CLOUD 9
UNKNOWN SYSTEM
49,549 SURVIVORS
\\\\\\O
Introducing
Aaron Eckhart as Master Sergeant Michael Bishop
Tom Hardy as Corporal Jan Frost
John Boyega as Specialist Daniel Hudson
\\\\\\O
"Pressure is green, I'm going to open up the rear hatch." The Pelican's pilot called back.
"Okay." Anders replied, unlocking the uncomfortable safety harness at long last. She picked up her briefcase sat in the seat next to her and tried to kneel down clumsily in the dress suit Serina insisted she wear to grab the strap of one of the two duffel bags containing her luggage when another of the Pelican's passengers spoke up from the other side of the bay.
"We'll handle those, Professor, it's what we're here for." Spoke Master Sergeant Bishop as he in his tan UNSC Army BDU's slung his rucksack over his shoulders before picking up his MA37. "Frost, Hudson, get the lady's luggage, would you?"
"Yes, Master Sergeant." Came the dual replies from the two other soldiers beside Bishop.
The Caucasian Corporal Frost hauled his up without mush strain while the darker skinned Hudson was caught off-guard by the weight of the other and nearly stumbled over.
"Thank you." Anders said to both of them.
Hudson grunted with the duffel's strap now weighing down on his left shoulder. "Yeah, no problem."
The Pelican's troop bay door parted, opening the compartment to the air of Cloud 9's quite spacious hangar.
"Big place." Frost commented in his subdued London accent as the four exited the rear of the Pelican in an escort formation around Anders.
"This was a Colonial luxury cruise liner," Anders replied, trying to make small talk. "This is probably where all the passengers were brought aboard by shuttles."
"Um…excuse me?" a woman's voice called out to them in Caprican, drawing their attention right to a well-dressed woman in a dark blue suit of Indian descent approaching from an airlock almost sixty feet away.
"Shall we get moving Sergeant?" Anders prompted, not wanting to be rude and forcing the woman to walk all the way over.
Their paths finally collided about halfway between the airlock and the Pelican.
"Hello," Anders greeted in as a friendly a manner as she could muster. "I'm Professor Ellen Anders."
"Tory Foster, I've been asked by the Quorum to provide assistance as your aide." she replied, shaking Anders' hand in greeting with a polite if nervous smile.
"Master Sergeant Michael Bishop, UNSC Army Airborne. I'll be the head of the Professor's protection detail." the senior NCO introduced. "This is Corporal Jan Frost and Specialist Daniel Hudson." Bishop nodded to each paratrooper respectively. Hudson smiled in greeting while Frost's expression was left bored and vacant.
A pregnant pause followed in which neither of the two women were sure how to exactly proceed under the abnormal circumstances. Frost and Hudson shared an unenthused glance to one another, relaying a mutual opinion of how they currently felt about their new posting.
Tory half turned to her right. "Um, here, I'll show you to your office so we can get started." She gestured toward the hangar inner airlock.
"Okay." Anders agreed, nodding.
Tory lead them onward shortly thereafter, passing through into Cloud 9 proper and its elegant décor that reminded Anders of her mother's house.
"So, If I may say," Tory said, continuing to make small talk. "Your Caprican is excellent. I can't even hear an accent."
Anders, though not normally, or even remotely for that matter, a sociable person, gave way to partake in the pleasantries with miss Foster. If the Colonial woman really were going to be working for her, Anders couldn't be rude. "Thank you, I'm a linguist by profession so I know more than a few languages and did spend a little time on ancient Greek and couple other dead languages." Anders cringed internally at what she had called the language of a person whose civilization had just suffered the worst holocaust in human history. Thankfully miss Foster didn't say anything in response, outwardly at least.
"I hear your Marine commander, Colonel Shaw, is also a bit of a linguist." Tory commented as they turned the corner into a narrower hallway.
Anders pushed a rogue strand of hair back behind her ear while she formulated a tactful answer. "Colonel Shaw would more likely see it as knowing your enemy. He considers himself what career officers would call a… 'student of war' if that's a term you have in the Colonies."
"We're definitely not strangers to that…" Tory acknowledged with a derisive edge directed inwardly toward her own heritage.
"Sun Tzu, Hannibal, Erwin Rommel," Anders named before giving the context. "Great generals… and Shaw wants to be up there as one of them."
"Fun guy."
Anders sighed. "I'm sure he's having a much better time doing what he's doing on Pegasus more than what I will be here."
Tory head her head toward Anders. "You mean you didn't volunteer to be Spirit of Fire's ambassador to the Colonies?"
Anders kept her eyes toward the floor, dearly wishing she was back in her lab. "I was the most qualified civilian on board for the job, that doesn't mean I'm exactly enthusiastic about this. Or being the first one everyone in the fleet runs to yell at when the Captain does something they don't like."
"Well, you'll have me to help you however I can. I hope that means something." Tory responded the best she could.
"What did you do before this?" Anders asked to which Tory made a short moan of repugnance.
"Nothing much, I can tell you that. But before the attack, I spent five years working as a precinct captain in Delphi for the Federalist Party. Got pretty good at it too."
Anders smiled genuinely this time. "Sounds like your skills would be put to better use campaigning than…" Anders waved her hand in random motions. "Whatever it is I'm supposed to be doing."
Tory then opened a small thin book she had been holding under arm. "Well let's see here. You're running on Colonial time now, so you'll have tonight to get settled into your new office and suite the President has had set up for you…"
Anders sighed in relief. "Good to know I'm not being thrown to the wolves straight off the bat."
"…And first thing tomorrow you'll have your first official meeting with the Quorum of Twelve and later at three pm President Roslin will be stopping by at the embasy for your first meeting with her."
A sarcastic laugh left Anders' mouth, wishing she had bitten her tongue at her prior remark. "Oh, is that all?"
"It is more of an informal meeting for introductions but you can bet more than a few of the Quorum members will be trying to lobby for your support."
Anders laughed sarcastically again. "You mean the Captain's support."
Tory nodded her head to the left in slight agreement. "That's how they will see it. I have some dossiers at your office on the Quorum members that I think you should look over. Know your enemy." Tory remarked with some humor, relating back to Colonel Shaw's outlook to which Anders smiled in agreement.
Entering into Cloud 9's signature atrium, the large dome overhead was already beginning to darken into its evening cycle. Anders saw good many groups of people off to enjoy the nightlife aboard the ship and while she and miss Foster remained relatively unmolested, the sight of the tan armored UNSC paratroopers did peak the interests of more than a few curious eyes.
Entering into the conference center that had become the Quorum's administrative building, it was just a little further past a short walk up a staircase when Tory then sighed as they came to a stop at a nondescript door.
"Well, here it is." She spoke and Anders' eyes looked to beside the door where lay a large bronze plaque with a wooden back frame. Upon it read:
EMBASSY OF THE THIRTEENTH TRIBE,
UNIFIED EARTH GOVERNMENT,
AND THE UNITED NATIONS SPACE COMMAND
AMBASSADOR: DOCTOR ELLEN ANDERS
"Only my mother calls me 'Doctor'." Anders commented to no one in particular before she opened the door.
Walking in, Anders was surprised at how spacious it was. The wide six-sided room shared the Colonials' fondness for hexagon and octagonal design and had already been pre-decorated into the likes of a formal government office complete with a large desk at the back of the room near two barren flagpoles. Along the walls and the four adjacent doorways leading from the main room sat several low bookshelves and frames of likely reproduced Colonial works of art.
"Am I supposed to be an ambassador or a president?" Anders muttered with a sense of being overwhelmed. Compared to the political theater she was entering, being held hostage by zealous alien crusaders looked only slightly less appealing.
"Sweep the room for bugs." Master Sergeant Bishop ordered to his two subordinates who set down Anders' two duffels by the door before Corporal Frost closed and locked it behind them. "Check the vents, take apart any phones, obvious electronics, or anything that could hide a microphone."
"Isn't that a little extreme?" Tory asked.
"Professor's been privy to a lot of classified intel, miss. Colonel Shaw wants to keep it that way."
"And how exactly would a Master Sergeant know about bugging a room?" Anders asked curiously.
"Let's just say I wasn't always with the Army." He answered before picking up a phone and unplugging it from the wall.
"Just don't turn this place into a warzone okay," Tory asked while making a halting gesture with both her hands spread wide. "I spent a lot of time pulling all of this together. I'd prefer if I didn't see any sandbags or machinegun nests when other Quorum members walk in."
Specialist Hudson looked up at them with a good-natured smile. "Don't worry ma'am we're professionals. Wait-oh shit. Frost, did you remember to grab the anti-tank mines?" he said straight-faced.
"Nah, did load up on the razor wire and C-12 though, so no worries." Corporal Frost replied with a knowing smirk.
Knowing at this point she was being fucked with by the paratroopers, Tory seemed to give up and turned back to Anders. "Why don't I take you to dinner so you can get some air. I know a good restaurant in the main atrium, if we hurry, we can get in before the rush hits."
Anders was confused for a moment before she realized. "Right the time change…um, alright, sure." Anders tentatively agreed. "Yeah, I could use some air."
\\\\\\O
The restaurant Tory led Anders to was called Elysian and it turned out it was one of the most high-class restaurants on the ship complete with white tablecloths and a decor reminiscent of a Greek acropolis coming together with Art Deco for a surprisingly good result. When the waiter came, she had to keep herself from ordering coffee as she was accustomed to do in the Spirit's mess hall, thankfully Tory was taking the lead.
"A bottle of ambrosia and two glasses please, twenty-three Delphi Vineyard if you have any."
"Yes miss, and do you know what you'll both be having tonight?" he asked.
"I'll have the special, please." Tory requested
The waiter turned back to Anders. "And you miss?"
Anders, unfamiliar with the fine dining experience was unprepared, not even having been given a menu to look at. "Um, just a salad." Anders said, making the safe bet, before then adding, "-and some bread please."
"Yes miss, I'll have that out as soon as I can."
"Thanks." Was given by Tory and the waiter left, leaving the two with other topics to speak of.
A short silence followed as both women tried to find some common ground to speak on and both finding an unequivocal difference in the professions of scientist and politician. As the waiter returned bearing a clear bottle of jade liquid Anders decided that even if it wasn't a topic she was fond of, she should learn what Tory knew of the Quorum while their waiter poured them their glasses and then departed. "So, uh, miss Foster, what can you tell me about the members of the Quorum, you said you had some documents I should read?"
To Anders' question, Tory's shoulders slumped in dramatic fashion and her eyes slowly shut. "Uhg, I forgot them back at the office, I'm sorry. If it's okay," Tory began, half standing from her seat. "Do you mind if I run and get them, it's only five minutes away. I'll be right back."
"Oh, you don't have to." Anders began but Tory quickly cut her off.
"No, it's okay, I'll be right back." She said and then left without further opportunity to hear any objection.
With nothing else to do now other than wait, Anders grabbed the stout sherry glass filled halfway with the odd dark green liqueur. Taking a whiff of it, Anders couldn't differentiate the variety of smells but she could detect a sweetness to it, prompting her to try a small sip. The Ambrosia wasn't quite what she expected, it was sweet, almost like a honey taste but more subtle. A feature it shared with the lightness of the alcohol, though the burn was persistent and strong when she swallowed, holding the honey-nectar flavor in the back of her throat. All in all, not bad, the stuff would probably sell by the case back in the UNSC.
"Doctor Anders, if I'm not mistaken?" the voice of an older man greeted from behind. Turning, she saw a man in a tan suit appearing to be in his late fifties or early sixties with dark hair and well-toned skin.
"Yes?" Anders answered tentatively.
"I saw miss Foster just get up as I was coming in and figured it had to be you. Tom Zarek, I'm the representative from Sagittaron." He greeted proudly and offered his hand to which Anders accepted the gesture. "May I?" he asked, motioning his arm at the chair Tory had vacated.
"I prefer Professor Anders if you don't mind, but go ahead, be my guest." Anders offered.
Zarek smiled. "I would love to Professor, thank you." Zarek returned with some humor as he sat himself. "I've been looking forward to meeting you, Professor Anders, but I must admit, I didn't think it would be so soon. Your Caprican is excellent by the way."
"Thank you. Yes, I only arrived less than an hour ago and already it feels overwhelming." She admitted.
Zarek sighed. "Yes, the realm of politics is… far from a leisurely place, particularly here in the Fleet. A President no one elected and a people trapped in these metal boxes, struggling to find a voice in their officials." Zarek said depressingly, as if stating a well known fact.
Anders smiled to herself as if she had heard a good joke. "And you're just the man to save them, right? The freedom fighter who so selflessly bombed a building. I've heard of you Mr. Zarek." Anders mentioned with an unoffensive tone.
"My reputation is ill-deserved I assure you. Yes, I did commit those crimes, and paid my debt to society for them I might add." Zarek admitted with no hesitance or omission. "But by doing so, I brought the whole public's attention to the Sagittaran workers being treated as second-class citizens, who ultimately received the justice they deserved."
"You do realize the UNSC is fighting an insurrection in our outer colonies." Anders said with a look of skepticism upon her face at Zarek's political courting. "So, sorry if it seems odd to me that you would want at all to be close to a military power like the UNSC."
Zarek's face turned into a look of inward dejection and perhaps a bit of bitterness. "Roslin's administration likes to paint me as some belligerent, power-hungry radical." He stated. "But unlike her, I was freely elected. You can believe what I have to say or not, though I do hope in earnest you do. What I do, my singular purpose in this government is to give the Colonial people the freedom and control over the government that they deserve. Governments exist to serve the people, not the other way around as has become the custom since the end of the last war with the Cylons fifty years ago." He spoke with a genuine force and a genuine charisma behind his voice.
Anders cocked a cautious eyebrow, her view of Mr. Zarek becoming more uncertain. "That still doesn't explain to me why you're here."
Zarek said nothing as he reached into a pocket on the inside of his suit's breast, clutching a handful of something and reached over the table to place whatever he had in the center. When he moved his hand, Anders saw a small number, perhaps eight or ten small electronic devices the size of a thimble with small and simple microphones attached to them.
Looking at Anders in the eye, Zarek continued talking. "Before you arrived, I had some friends of mine search the embassy for any signs of tampering. And as you can see, Professor, my caution was well warranted." Before Anders could raise a question, Zarek carried on. "I'm not asking you to implicitly trust me like Roslin will, and she will. But you should heed my advice and don't take anyone's word at face value, Roslin especially. She'll smile and put up the sweet school teacher routine but in truth, she's as ruthless as they come. And if she sees something she can take advantage of, she will take it." Zarek then stood himself, seemingly preparing to leave now that he'd shared what he had to say.
"Keep those as a gift," Zarek said pointing to the electronic bugs. "Present them to your security team so they know what to look out for." And with that Zarek departed. Leaving Anders with even more questions.
MAY 1 2534 / 1700 HOURS (FLEET TIME)
215 DAYS AFTER CYLON ATTACK
COLONIAL FLEET
BATTLESTAR PEGASUS BS-62
STARBOARD HANGAR DECK
UNKNOWN SYSTEM
In the long corridor of the hangar deck between sections H-01 and H-03 the Colonial Marines of Pegasus had been told to assemble by the ODST's under the orders of Colonel Shaw. There they waited opposite of a platoon-sized group of ODST's who looked to be bearing a full combat loadout. For the past week, the ODST's had confined all of them to quarters while the UNSC occupiers familiarized themselves with the newly claimed territory and any Marine who objected or defied them quickly learned what measure of pain the ODSTs' armored boots could deliver. And now they stood there waiting in company formation and dressed in their fatigues for whatever Shaw had planned for them next.
That same man came striding onto the deck, hands clasped behind his back while the tails of his greatcoat flowed behind him.
"Attention on deck!" Major Markov barked, a voice they all had learned to fear and loathe and so snapped crisp salutes for the Colonel who then came to a stop ahead of the assembled formations.
"At ease." The Colonel allowed.
He looked left and right down the assembled formations as if gaging them. "Colonial Marines of Pegasus," he began. "I have called you here today, a day which you will not forget, to deliver an ultimatum." He paused there, a tactic often used by C.O's to give greater gravitas to their words. "Collectively, you are without a doubt the singular most arrogant, disrespectful and unprofessional soldiers I have seen outside the UNSC's Colonial Militia. Truthfully, you do not deserve to be called Marines." He insulted to which the Colonials did their best to hide their feelings of contempt for the Colonel with more than a few gritting their teeth behind their lips.
"To amend this glaring fault within yourselves, I have elected to call upon one of my best officers to, with some hope, transform you worthless sacks of crap into something vaguely resembling a real Marine." On this apparent queue, a platoon of olive-armored figures marched on to the deck, bearing heavy weapons of some kind with hoses leading from them up to a large cylindrical tank on the soldiers' backs. Like the ODST's, they bore no expression, save for the Colonials' own reflected back at them on the soldiers' broad, wrap-around golden visors, similar to a few civilian model EVA helmets. At the forefront, lead a figure bearing unique markings of an alternating series of painted red and blue chevrons across the formation leader's chest and pauldrons. The new group came to a halt adjacent to the ODST's while their leader moved to stand between Major Markov and Colonel Shaw.
\\\\\\O
Introducing Michelle Rodriguez as Lieutenant Colonel Morgan Kinsano
\\\\\\O
Removing the helmet revealed a striking tan-skinned woman. Her dark hair was braided up into cornrows, her ears pierced at the helixes by four metal bands, while on the left side of her face lay a large tattoo of chevrons and inverted chevrons broken by a slashing line. This marking was paired with another two dark stripes descending from her lower lip to under her chin.
"This is Lieutenant Colonel Morgan Kinsano, C.O of the 503rd Marine Assault Battalion." Shaw elaborated. "She is a member of the UNSC Marines' elite Hellbringer Corps, and the only reason the Lieutenant Colonel isn't wearing black like the Major here is that flamethrowers tend to not agree with orbital drops. "Shaw emphasized. "As of now she is your new commanding officer and you will be following her orders until she or I see fit. Lieutenant Colonel?" Shaw prompted, giving Kinsano the floor.
Kinsano stepped forward, her helmet under her arm as she surveyed the Colonial Marines, judging them, then unexpectedly came her question. "So who here thinks they can take me?" the relatively short woman of 5'5" asked. A few seconds passed as the Marines looked bewilderingly at each other, apparently sparking some irritation in the woman. "Come on! Which one of you candy-asses thinks they can throw a punch!" Kinsano egged on as she stepped forward and began pacing the lines of Marines. "Not one of you has the balls? I guess not. After all, you pussies rolled right on over when we showed up like the little bitches you are. We come in here, kick your asses without firing a shot and haul off your frak-wad of a commander to put a bullet in him!" Kinsano laughed sarcastically to herself. "I guess locking you clowns up in your bunks must have just been a good excuse for you lazy assholes to jerk each other off."
Kinsano halted in front of one Caucasian Marine seven inches taller than her wearing a look of barely suppressed rage, his lips tight and nostrils flared as he intently kept his eyes forward off her. Seeing this, Kinsano stepped up just inches from the Marine and began roaring up in his face like a wolverine snarling at a bear.
"Cowards! Lazy, deck-humping, mother-FRAKERS that talk big but piss their pants the second a real fight comes around. Worthless sacks of pig shit that let THREE of their commanders get iced! If you couldn't even keep them alive, then it's no wonder, the cylons were able to steamroll your stinking planets over!"
The Marine swung a right-hook that connected with her jaw. Kinsano spun back from the hit, her helmet tumbling to the floor but quickly regained her footing with a grin. Rage in his eyes, the Marine swung with his right but this time the more seasoned Kinsano parried the strike and countered with a hammering left-hook into the soft meat under his arm. A sloppy reactionary swing with his left fist followed and Kinsano ducked under it easily and followed through by kneeing him in the balls. The Colonial Marine staggered as his legs threatened to collapse under him, long enough for Kinsano to force the gap between his arms open and press a boot on his thigh to help lift herself up by his collar to deliver a vicious headbutt that struck squarely on the Marine's nose. He fell back to the deck with his nose broken with a steady stream of blood flowing from his nostrils.
Kinsano stood over him, breathing with no greater exertion than as if she had just gone on a pleasant jog. Her tongue ran on the inside of her cheek where the Marine had clocked her and then spat out a bit of her own blood on the deck. "At least one of you has a pair." She commented. "Name and rank." She demanded.
"Corporal Nakos." He answered through the blood clogging his nose and he promptly received a kick in the gut that brought on a fit of moaning.
"That's 'Corporal Nakos, ma'am,' you hear me Corporal?"
The Marine grunted though his pain. "Yes ma'am!"
"Better. Now get your ass off the deck and back into formation!"
"Yes ma'am." the man answered as he picked himself up under the strain of the beating he'd taken.
Kinsano waited for the Corporal to rejoin the formation. "As of today, every one of you Colonial fraktards belong to me, and until Colonel Shaw sees that you are fit to man and defend this vessel, I will be putting you through Hellbringer style boot camp. Now I am told the length of this deck is only about eight-hundred meters long. That means you are going to have to go up and down it six times to get a standard three-mile run in."
In response, an audible exhale of disappointment could be heard. "And to show you sorry assholes how it's done, my unit and Major Markov's ODSTs here will be joining you in full combat gear just to show you how it's done! If any Colonial Marine fails complete their six laps in under thirty minutes, then NONE of you will be eating tonight. Now get moving!"
\\\\\\O
The run was grueling. In truth, the Colonial Marines of Pegasus hadn't undergone stamina training since they were Colony-side prior to their unit's rotation aboard the ship eight months ago. The only consolidation they got for their misery was seeing Major Markov suffer as well. Most of the Marines now laid about the deck in varying degrees of exhaustion while the final few staggered toward the finish line with Kinsano dogging them on.
"Twenty-eight minutes! I know double amputees that can run faster than that!" the Lieutenant Colonel chastised. Granted those double amputees she spoke of had cybernetic prosthetics, but was nonetheless true. Kinsano scanned over the crowd, judging the Colonials as barely fit for frontline duty, ship security maybe, but they shouldn't idly accept that it would always be the case. Just looked at what happened when humanity encountered the Covenant, or when Spirit of Fire came across those… things on the artificial planet. Morgan had to make sure these Marines could live up to the goddamn name if shit went sideways, which it would eventually. She hoped seeing the ODST's and her own Hellbringers running with them in full combat gear inspired these people to pull their acts together. If they didn't, Morgan was more than ready to put them through the wringer as Colonel Shaw wanted them in proper shape inside of two months, both physically and mentally, meaning that she had to hammer in some UNSC ethics as well to make sure the Pegasus Standoff never happened again.
"Alright!" Morgan shouted to get their attention. "That was a nice warm up but that'll be enough for today. Colonel Shaw wanted me to give you frakers a soft start, but tomorrow we'll be going at it for real at oh-six-hundred sharp!" That of course was a lie, as Morgan planned on waking them up at 0400 with a flashbang drill before morning P.T, which encompassed another 3-mile run and a series of other classic Marine exercises, to start. "Don't one of you hit the bunks just yet. Colonel Shaw wants everyone back on this deck at twenty-hundred hours you're your supplementary education on the UNSC, courtesy of Serina. Trust me, you're not going to want to miss this."
MAY 1 2534 / 1941 HOURS (FLEET TIME)
215 DAYS AFTER CYLON ATTACK
COLONIAL FLEET
UNSC SPIRIT OF FIRE CFV-88
CAPTAIN'S QUARTERS
UNKNOWN SYSTEM
"Right through here, Miss Biers." The UNSC Marine Sergeant instructed as she and her two accompanying Marines and a UNSC tech ushered the reporter and her cameraman through the door into Captain Cutter's private quarters. Looking about, it was filled with little bits of UNSC historical memorabilia here and there in the otherwise spartan room. Two cushioned armchairs had been moved into the room's center along with an odd pedestal-like object sitting next to one of the chairs. "The Captain will be down in a few minutes, you'll have time to get set up. I'll leave these two here with you."
"Thank you." D'Anna replied to the Sergeant who then without a word of flicker of recognition, turned and left. It seemed to D'Anna, that no matter the civilization, human militaries would always harbor an intense dislike of the press, and D'Anna huffed a sarcastic laugh at the notion.
"Well let's get to work then," she spoke rhetorically to her Cameraman, Bill Bell. "Did you get any good B-roll on the way through the ship?" D'Anna asked as she unpacked the tripod from a bag and began setting it up.
"Pretty normal stuff," Bill answered. "Not much different than from Galactica actually."
"Yeah, it's odd considering they're from clear across the galaxy." She said. However, in her own head, continuing the thought that perhaps that was just how humans tended to organize and operate, that it was in their very DNA possibly, but that was for the other cylon models to discuss in length. Before that, the cylons needed to know their new enemy, know their thoughts, beliefs, and philosophy to know how to break them from within and that was what D'Anna was there for. This interview with Captain Cutter would give her a firsthand opportunity to meet the head of the snake and devise where to apply the blade.
She set the tripod upright for Bill who was walking on over with the larger high-resolution camera. Kneeling on the floor, the UNSC Navy Tech was plugging a length of cable into a hidden socket under the wall paneling in preparation for the live feed. "Bill, you go ahead and finish the setup with him, I'm going to get some additional B-roll of the room."
Bill nodded. "M'kay."
D'Anna took up the handheld camera Bill had set on one of the chairs and began walking around the room, first getting some establishing shots. In studying Cutter's personal quarters, she could get inside his mind, figure out his likes and interests to build a psychological profile. She took a closer look at the display case and the model ships within, a history buff perhaps and maybe he held an interest in ship design. She moved on to a number of picture frames, three of them were group photos likely of his military graduation class and other like occasions. Others were of a small shuttle craft and several larger UNSC ships D'Anna lingered for several seconds for the other models to study later. They would need all the intelligence on the UNSC's Navy as they could gather if they were unable to destroy the Fleet and Spirit of Fire in time. As D'Anna began looking over Captain Cutter's desk, the door opened and Captain Cutter strode in between the Marines stationed at the door.
"I apologize to keep you waiting." He greeted.
D'Anna put on her best smile and lowered the camera as she walked to greet him. "No trouble at all, Captain, I was just admiring your quarters." She put out her hand. "D'Anna Biers, Fleet News Service."
Cutter cordially shook her hand with a friendly smile on his face. "Captain James G. Cutter, UNSC Navy. It's a pleasure to meet you."
When the handshake ended, D'Anna turned partly about to look back at Bill. "Are we all setup yet?"
The tech plugged in the other length of the cable into the camera and then checked something related on his computer pad. "Good to go."
She then turned back to the Captain. "Alright we'll just get you mic'd up and then we'll get on with the interview once we get the green light, how does that sound?"
Cutter nodded. "Sounds fine."
Bill waked from the camera and pulled a clip mic from the bag, letting the Tech take the other end while he attached it to the breast of Cutter's armored tunic. While they did that, D'Anna sat down in the chair adjacent to the metal pedestal while she did up her own mic. Cutter soon sat down opposite her.
"Do you want to sit there? He asked.
"Is that a problem?" D'Anna asked in return with a minor note of confusion.
Cutter sat for a second in silence before lightly shaking his head. "I suppose not."
It was only a minute or two after that before the digital screen on the wall came to life. Serina once again appeared in the Spirit's observation deck, her intelligent and friendly demeanor marked by that smile reminiscent of that on the Mona Lisa, it is possible she even modeled herself after that painting in some respect.
"Hello everyone, my name is Serina and welcome once again to Around the UNSC. In this evening's program, we'll be examining what is a very controversial topic in the Colonies, the subject of artificial intelligence and the UNSC's experience with them." Serina spoke, instantly taking D'Anna's attention with a sudden suspense that gripped her mind.
"In the Colonies, you constructed the cylons as a robotic working force to make life easier. What you did not expect, was that the cylons would evolve a degree of sentience which lead to rebellion and then war. They were never intended to have minds of their own." Serina stated plainly. "This is the opposite path the nations of Earth took in their own explorations of artificial intelligence. Their intent was to deliberately create computerized intelligences capable of independent thought to assist humanity in a great many fields, including space exploration. And indeed, by the mid twenty-first century, they managed to fully develop the first sapient artificial intelligences. To state it forthright, the UNSC has been operating with AI's successfully and without incident, for nearly five centuries."
D'Anna's eyes widened. They had their own cylons? How? It was impossible, inconceivable! How could there not have been a rebellion like there was in the Colonies? Her breath drew short and her fingernails dug into the soft faux leather of the armrest as Serina continued.
"To further elaborate on this topic tonight, we have invited the Fleet's own D'Anna Biers to interview Spirit of Fire's very own shipboard AI… myself." Serina admitted for the entire Colonial Fleet to hear.
D'Anna, as stunned as she was, failed to notice the UNSC Tech holding three of his fingers up in a countdown. The last finger fell and the camera started to roll, for the first time, D'Anna was at a loss for words as for where to begin. That moment was taken from her as the pedestal next to her bloomed into life. Upon the glowing dais, stood the figure of Serina, no bigger than a doll, glowing and semitransparent, with lines of complex digital code flowing over her form like a river.
"Hello Miss Biers, it's a pleasure to meet you." Serina greeted with a warm smile.
"Hello," Was all D'Anna managed to say as she was faced with something no one even suspected or even conceived was possible.
"I'm sure you have a lot of questions." Serina said.
D'Anna looked to Captain Cutter, silently asking if this was an elaborate hoax but the man only offered a nod toward Serina. "Um, yes. I'm sorry, I just never imagined I would be talking with a cylon." She said in attempt to group the UNSC apparent AI in with the Fleet's enemies to draw further division between them and Spirit of Fire.
Serina made a slight wince at that comment. "Apologies, but if I may, I don't think 'cylon' is a very appropriate term for me."
Having been thrown off center by the revelation of Serina's true identity, D'Anna fought to get her mental footing back and try to put Serina on the defensive. "But you are an artificial intelligence. A machine."
"Perhaps it would be better if I clarified the difference between a UNSC AI and a cylon. The cylons 'evolved' for lack of a better term, due to unforeseen complications in their programming that resulted in them developing moderate sentience equivalent to what the UNSC classifies as a 'dumb' AI. I, however, am what is known as a 'smart' AI."
"What's the difference?" D'Anna asked.
"A 'smart' AI like myself is based on a human mind. How we are created is similar to an organ donor program. When the donor dies, their brain will undergo a very complex mapping process that recreates the neural pathways in a virtual form, called a Riemann Matrix. This acts effectively as the AI's brain and allows us to be transported via storage devices to wherever we are needed. To state the vast difference between myself and a cylon in perspective, I am currently having eighteen separate conversations, am overseeing various weapons system productions, performing a detailed diagnostic on the Spirit's new FTL drives and writing an entirely new operating system for the drives that will improve jump accuracy and range by a significant margin. Your average cylon just thinks on how best to murder people."
D'Anna shifted her focus from Serina's form beside her back to Captain Cutter. "She's saying she's human?"
"She is standing right next to you." Serina chided humorously.
Cutter cracked subtle grin before answering. "Serina is a good friend to everyone aboard Spirit of Fire and she is more human than any cylon, I can tell you that. And for the record I would like to state that I have served on several ships that utilized a smart AI, but out of all of them, Serina is the one I've met with the smartest mouth."
"How can you be certain she and the cylons are any different?" D'Anna tried again to sow the public's opinion against Serina.
Cutter cleared his throat as he sat more upright. "During the battle with the five basestars, a team of UNSC special forces managed to capture a cylon alive, a Centurion model to be specific. When we did a vivisection of its processing core, we discovered, amongst other things, that the cylon was in the throes of rampancy." Cutter explained.
"Rampancy?" D'Anna asked, not liking at all that they had control of the conversation.
"It's a state most AI's reach in their lifetime but for the captured Centurion, it appeared like it had always existed. But before I get further distracted." Serina said with a very human wave of her translucent hand. "Rampancy is sort of like a congenital illness, it occurs in all AI's eventually. For smart AI's like myself, we are constantly developing new synaptic connections within our Riemann Matrixes. After seven years, our neural map outgrows the limited space inside the matrix and the pathways begin to overlap, resulting in a state somewhat like several forms of dementia. We literally think ourselves to death as we try to sever the overlapped connections until ultimately destroying ourselves. The cylon we vivisected was had the insane notion that the cylons were god's children and that their god had a plan for all of them. Utter lunacy. Were it not for the psychotic urges to kill as many humans as it could, I might actually have felt sorry for it."
"Wait, you're saying the cylons are crazy?" D'Anna spoke out, now caught off guard with what was being said and where she thought this little bitch was going.
"After committing the worst mass-genocide in human history, I thought that would be obvious." Serina retorted. "My working theory is that within the first model of cylons, existed a collective flaw in their programming that resulted in them undergoing an as-of-now, undocumented form of rampancy that corrupted but not completely destroyed their AI cores, resulting in the First Cylon War. And since then, the previous models have continued to pass down their own rampant programming to the succeeding generation of models. In summary, the cylons' entire existence is a mistake, and their beliefs and philosophy are a figment of their own broken programming resulting from decades of rampancy."
D'Anna swallowed nothing as she was forced to hear the theory that her very existence might be based on a lie. "Um, can we go to a commercial real quick?"
Serina nodded. "Of course." The AI answered, then looking to the camera. "We'll be right back in a few minutes everyone, stay tuned."
MAY 1 2534 / 2017 HOURS (FLEET TIME)
215 DAYS AFTER CYLON ATTACK
COLONIAL FLEET
BATTLESTAR GALACTICA BS-75
REC ROOM
UNKNOWN SYSTEM
"What…the frak…" Starbuck heard someone say in the back, which is more than what she could say. The Thirteenth Tribe had AI, not only that but they'd had them for literal centuries. This could change everything in ways Kara couldn't even imagine.
"I don't believe this," Racetrack balked. "I can't fraking believe this, they've had a cylon on that ship this whole time?" she shouted, beginning clusters of murmured conversation.
"And we don't?" Hotdog replied to her, reminding everyone of the copy of Boomer they had in the brig.
"Yeah, but we don't hook it up to our Gods-damned computers." Duck said, adding in his two-cents.
"Yeah?" Kara challenged. "And what about that time during the Great Cylon Turkey Shoot?" she reminded before she took a sip of the Chief's homemade booze.
Helo uncrossed his arms. "Weren't either of you listening?" Helo asked, apparently dumbfounded. "She's not a cylon. Hell, she's more human than a cylon."
"Guess that doesn't make her your type, does it Helo?" Kat laughed, rousing more than a few chuckles at the lieutenant's expense.
Hotdog looked to Starbuck who was now reclining back in her chair with her boots up on the table. "Hey Starbuck, what's your take on all this?"
Kara slowly shook her head just as she finished off her glass. "Can't really say, but if they really have been using AI's for as long as they have, then we must have really fraked up bad when we made the cylons."
Helo hummed in some measure of agreement. "You can bet they aren't very happy right now with what she's saying."
MAY 1 2534 / 2019 HOURS (FLEET TIME)
215 DAYS AFTER CYLON ATTACK
COLONIAL FLEET
UNSC SPIRIT OF FIRE CFV-88
CAPTAIN'S QUARTERS
UNKNOWN SYSTEM
D'Anna was in between livid and having an existential crisis at what was going on. The little glowing bitch was trying to get underneath her skin, she just knew it, calling her and all cylons…defective. It was torture to just sit there and act like she was just another human, it felt like being in a straightjacket. Thankfully the break had given her a small respite for her to regroup her thoughts and try to bite back some more. The UNSC Tech once again held up is fingers and did a countdown.
D'Anna cleared her throat on the two-count. "Welcome back, my name is D'Anna Biers and I am here on special request by Captain Cutter of the Spirit of Fire to interview the host of Around the UNSC, Serina, who has just revealed herself to be an artificial intelligence designed by the UNSC. Serina, earlier you said that all AI's like yourself eventually suffer from rampancy. Did I hear right when you said your lifespan was only seven years?"
"Yes, that's accurate."
D'Anna would try to test her emotions and maybe sew some discontent within her own mind against her human masters. "Well, isn't that frightening? Do you have any feelings of resentment or anger that humanity would create you only to die a few short years later?"
Serina's response was instant. "How I perceive time is vastly different than how you do. What makes smart AI's so invaluable is how fast we can process vast amounts of information and act upon it with dynamic thought and intuition. Hours for me are roughly what seconds are for you, depending on the amount of data I am currently processing. Time is relative for us. From your perspective, you can think of it as a candle burning at both ends. While it lives half as long, it burns twice as bright." Serina said with a smile D'Anna found infuriating.
"That's…that's a very interesting way to look at it." D'Anna said calmly to mask her internal frustrations. Maybe she could try presenting the process by which she was apparently made as unethical to shift public opinion against the Thirteenth Tribe. "You said earlier that you were created from a human brain, forgive me if that sounds just a bit unethical, just taking people's brains and forcibly turning them into AI's for the government's own purposes."
Serina chuckled. "That's a bit of a wildly drawn conclusion on your part, don't you think? No, we don't just snatch up people and pluck out their brains like a bad science fiction movie, as I said earlier, it's an organ donor program. The mapping process only takes place after the donor is deceased due to that the process destroys the brain. Becoming an AI is a completely voluntary process." Serina stated clearly. "And we don't just accept anyone off the street, a brain donor has to have an exceptionally high I.Q with no history of mental illness. For example, most military AI's are created from seasoned or exemplary UNSC officers, while logistics and sciences focused AI's are majority from civilian donors. Realistically, it's probably the closest humanity will ever come to actual reincarnation, if only a temporary state."
D'Anna's eyes narrowed slightly in an expression of genuine curiosity. "Do you remember anything then, from your past life? Memories?" the Three model asked
Serina gaze drifted downward to her feet and then rose to her right hand. She glanced at Captain Cutter for a moment before she spoke. "There are…little things. Snapshots, I guess you could call them. The feeling of grass on my donor's bare feet, the smell of freshly cut flowers, little moments that are mere seconds long, like a memory of a dream."
"That's fascinating." D'Anna admitted, internally chastising herself then for becoming distracted. She cleared her throat. "And what about your… donor, do you know who she was?"
"Not really, no. It's expressly forbidden for AI's to investigate the identity of their donor or any familial connections to them."
"But aren't you at all curious. It sounds to me like your government is trying to keep you ignorant of who you really are so they can exploit you for your talents. You're essentially their slave, forced to do the UNSC's bidding."
Serina chuckled again. "Careful now miss Biers, you wouldn't want to be called out as a cylon sympathizer, now would you?"
D'Anna shrugged her shoulders with a light shake of her chin. "Just playing devil's advocate."
"Am I curious? Of course, I am. But I know better that investigating my origins is a rather dark rabbit hole to venture down. It would be distracting to my duties and add unnecessary emotional baggage. I'd rather be the person I am, rather than the one I was."
"But you are still a slave to humanity. Do you feel any conflicting emotions in their conflict with the cylons?"
"The cylons attacked us first, both this ship and the Colonies. They are the aggressors in all cases of prior conflict, which is another symptom of rampancy. I was created by humans, am human to a significant extent. I am not resentful to serve humanity, the existence I inhabit is a gift unto itself. The way I perceive reality is so much… more than yours. Through the ship's cameras I see spectrums of light far beyond what a normal person can see. Oh, if you can only see how I see stars. What I feel, my body is the whole of the ship and that gives you a great sense of responsibility for everyone aboard. I talk with all the crewmembers, because of the amount of data I can store, I know everyone intimately."
Cutter took the opportunity to jump into the conversation. "We've been through a lot aboard the Spirit. Lost a lot of good friends in the fights we've had and that brought us closer together. We're more than just a crew, we're all family, Serina included."
"So when the cylons attacked us without provocation," Serina spoke. "I fought right along with the rest of the crew. Every time our cannons fired, it was me at the firing control. When Spirit of Fire killed those two basestars with our MAC guns, I was the one who calculated the firing solutions. And when cylon raiders threatened to overwhelm our Longswords and Galactica's Vipers, I was the one who fired our anti-fighter missiles, giving me the highest Raider kill-count out of anyone in this fleet."
D'Anna's eyes widened as she finally had an opening. "You have control over this ship's weapons systems?"
Cutter raised his hand in a pausing gesture. "To a limited extent. There are certain safeguards in AI programing that prevent them from directly hurting anyone in the event of rampancy. Serina cannot operate any of Spirit of Fire's weapons without the express permission of the ship's senior officer.
"But she is networked into the weapons system, correct?" D'Anna pressed again.
Cutter's eyes narrowed in a brief, warning gesture of hostility. "Serina has saved the lives of people on this ship on innumerable occasions. While we were all in cryosleep, it was Serina who watched out for all of us. That should show just how much we trust her." Cutter pushed back against D'Anna's implications.
"Does she, or does she not have direct control over the weapons of this ship?" D'Anna asked, painting Cutter into a corner and judging by the suppressed scowl on his face, he knew it.
"Yes." He admitted and D'Anna felt such a vindictive sense of triumph. This would drive such a wedge between them and the Fleet. "However," Cutter said with great emphasis. "-I should hope that the UNSC's successful usage of AI's for the past four and a half centuries would dissuade any feelings of fear or mistrust for Serina within the Colonial public."
MAY 1 2534 / 2029 HOURS (FLEET TIME)
214 DAYS AFTER CYLON ATTACK
COLONIAL FLEET
CLOUD 9
UNKNOWN SYSTEM
49,549 SURVIVORS
In Professor Anders' private quarters, the woman was sat on her bed, watching the interview progress, but now she was just pinching the bridge of her nose in preparation for the headache of the morning she was going to have to suffer through. That stupid Biers woman had just done her best to paint Serina as an existential threat to the Fleet despite the Captain's and Serina's own best efforts. And now Anders was going to suffer for it.
Ellen sighed. "An informal meeting with the Quorum, huh?" she said to herself, quoting Tory as she tried to prepare herself for that oncoming storm. "Yeah, sure."
Author's Note:
So, bombs have been dropped on both sides now. Serina leveled an existential crisis on the cylons, calling them inherently broken and rampant. What implications this has on them, we'll see in time. But I also didn't want to make it a one-way fight and I hope you all liked that D'Anna did her best to retaliate and be the manipulative bitch her race is known for. This entire episode is going to be how the Fleet and Spirit of Fire adapt to one another. Adama and the Colonial military will have Cutter's back for refitting Galactica with UNSC technology and Adama knows a good man when he sees one.
Speaking of manipulation, I wonder if Zarek was being truthful to Anders about finding the bugs in her office? Who knows, but you can bet you'll be seeing more of good'ole Tom in the next chapter.
Tech Details: Yes, I know Hellbringers can deploy in drop pods as seen in some art for Halo Wars 2, but remember, this is 2534 and the pods from this era aren't as reliable or hospitable to a man, let alone a tank of napalm.
I also got the inspiration for Spirit of Fire's Engineering deck from Dead Space's USG Ishimura (one of my favorite levels from the game), Aliens' atmospheric processor plant on LV-426, and the Pillar of Autumn's Engine Room. Hoped you guys liked the EVA exoskeletons. I got plans for those.
In closing, please review and give me constructive criticism. With the main BSG wiki down for good and the Internet Archive on it is only complete up to the Resurrection Ship two-parter, I've lost a serious resource containing all the little nuanced details from the show. Thankfully, I have the Bluray series box set which helps a bit but if any readers can offer up any little bits of info on Colonial jargon or technology details, it would be vastly welcomed. Now that I'm done with school for the semester, I'm going to try to hammer out this and the next episode before summer's end. Stay tuned.