Battlestar Galactica 2003 is a copyright of the Sci Fi Channel. Battlestar Galactica is a trademark and copyright of Universal Studios. Ron Moore re-imagined Glen A. Larson's original idea; but then again, most people who would be reading this already know that. My use is in no way intended to challenge or infringe upon any established copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.
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XIV – A Day of Reckoning
Lee's eyes remained riveted on the two basestars that were bearing down on him as he tried to think of a way out of the no-win situation. So many ships had already been destroyed in the area that it seemed Pegasus's missiles hit debris twice as often as they impacted their cylon targets, and Lee had already received his first warning from Weapons Control that their ammunition stores were running critically low.
He didn't even have to look at the Damage Control station to know how badly his ship had been hit. The omnipresent red glow from that side of CIC was more than adequate to get the message through without him needing to take the time to give the matter any additional thought.
Lee looked over at Dee and smiled, impressed by the fact that she hadn't seemed distracted for even a moment. She'd handled communications flawlessly, and Lee knew full well that given the massive damage to the ship, and the endless rerouting of message lines that had doubtlessly resulted, Dee's success was no small feat of skill.
"We're almost done," Hawks muttered.
Lee looked at his XO, prepared to reprimand the Captain for his inappropriate comment, but held his tongue when he saw the stony expression on Hawks' face. He's not panicking, Lee realized, and he isn't giving up. He's just stating a fact. And he's right. We are almost done. He suppressed the urge to nod in confirmation, and instead looked at the DRADIS screen again, wondering where Kara was in the chaotic soup of Vipers, raiders, and debris that surrounded his ship.
He was about to ask for a channel to Kara's Blackbird, but immediately thought better of it. The first thing that crossed his mind was that Dee was the one who would've opened the channel, and Lee didn't want to see the look he knew Dee would give him if he did that. A moment later, he also decided that wasting time telling Kara goodbye probably wasn't the most appropriate thing he could do. Not that I have enough time to tell her everything I'd want to, anyway, he decided.
"Have Weapons Control route firing control for the nuke over to our station," Lee told Hawks. "I want to make sure they're right on top of us before we use it."
"Aye, Sir," Hawks nodded.
"Commander!" Barters yelled from his station at Tactical. "The basestars are backing off."
"What the frak?" Lee muttered, locking his eyes onto the DRADIS screen. What the hell are they up to?
"Maybe they know we're planning on self-destructing," Hawks suggested.
"Maybe," Lee acknowledged, though his gut told him the cylons were up to something unexpected.
"We're receiving a message from the cylons," Dee announced. "Commander… they're offering surrender.
"Huh?" Lee asked, standing dumbstruck at Command and Control. Yup… that was definitely unexpected.
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Samuel Anders gasped when the butt of his rifle slipped from his grasp and hit the ground, jolting him awake. He and what was left of his makeshift army had been on the run for a day and a half, finally holing up in this blasted ruin to make one final stand. Where he'd once had a few hundred men and women, he now had a few dozen. He thought back on the past couple of days, trying to figure out where he'd gone wrong and what he could have done better.
I did the best I could, he told himself, knowing in his heart that it was true, even as he continued to second-guess himself.
"Stand ready," he told his people, his voice waking everyone but failing to inspire even an iota of hope. He could see it in everyone's eyes – during the night, each and every one of them had made his peace with the gods. "It's starting to get light out; they won't hold back much longer."
"Is there a Samuel Anders among you?" a woman's voice called out. Everyone looked at Sam, and he simply shrugged his shoulders, letting them know he didn't know the voice any more than they did.
Time seemed to drag on as they all waited silently, knowing that the cylons firmly held the initiative. After several minutes that felt like hours, the voice called out again. "Samuel Anders… I'm looking for Samuel Anders."
"Who are you?" Sam called out, frustrated that he'd been reduced to this. He would have vastly preferred leading a charge at a woman he concluded must be a cylon, but doing that would just get his people killed more quickly.
"My name is Sharon Valerii," the woman called out. "From what I understand, you met one of my copies a few months back…. Before you met me in the rubble of a building you blew up."
"Great," Sam muttered. Once again, all eyes were on him. Every man and woman around him either remembered Sharon Valerii or had heard the story of the female cylon who had actually helped the resistance. They'd gained crucial intelligence that had helped them develop their tactics. And now, at the end, she's back. "What do you want?" Sam yelled.
"I wish to discuss terms of surrender," Sharon replied.
"Frak that," several people all said at once. Sam knew the score – several people had a separate firearm with one round, and that one gun with one bullet wasn't being saved for any cylons. My people won't surrender, and they won't be taken alive to be used in some kind of breeding experiment.
"You want us, you can come right the frak in here and get us," Sam told her. He closed his eyes and focused on his sense of hearing, hoping he could pick out where Sharon Valerii was standing, maybe give them all a slight moment's advantage when the cylon rush came.
"No, you got it all wrong," Sharon answered. "We're surrendering to you."
"Huh?" Sam looked around, seeing on every face around him the same bewilderment he was feeling, himself.
"It's a trick," someone warned him.
"I know," Sam said. "And it isn't even a good one. Like the toasters think we'd fall for that."
"I'm serious," Sharon called out.
Sam heard footsteps in the leaves, and he watched as Sharon Valerii's all-too-familiar face emerged from the morning mist. She was walking slowly, her hands on her head. Once she caught sight of Sam, she stopped and turned slowly, letting him see that she was completely unarmed.
"We surrender," she said. "On behalf of all remaining cylon ground forces, I'm surrendering and putting myself in your hands."
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"What the hell are they up to?" President Roslin asked, her hands on her hips as she stared at the DRADIS console, wondering how the admiral kept the mountain of data straight in his head. "Do you think they're serious about surrendering?"
"Don't know," Adama admitted. "But we can definitely use the breather."
"Two of their four basestars are in trouble," Gaeta said, pulling up tactical information on one of the DRADIS console's screens. "The reactor cores are running critical – they're probably gonna melt down."
"Our ships aren't doing much better," Adama grumbled. "Three destroyed, and the Aether is adrift."
"It could be the offer of surrender is a trap," Gaeta suggested, still looking at the readings of the cylon basestars. "Maybe they figure they can get their ships closer if we believe they're offering peace; maybe they just want to take us with them."
"Maybe…" Adama glanced at Roslin; he could see that she wanted a moment to talk, but for the time being she was holding her tongue, allowing him a few seconds to restore order in CIC. "Get me Pegasus," Adama told the communications officer, Specialist Annar.
"The cylons want to talk to President Roslin," Annar said in reply, reporting on an incoming message. "They know she's here, and they want to discuss terms."
"Are you ready?" Adama asked Roslin, looking meaningfully at the cradle for the wireless.
"If you could wait a few moments first," Gaius Baltar interrupted, walking into CIC through the one open entrance.
"Doctor Baltar," Adama said, trying to sound as surprised as he was. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be with the civilian ships."
"I'm not Baltar," he answered. "I'm Hesperos, actually. I believe Hades mentioned I was on Caprica."
"Yes," Roslin confirmed. "Why, umm…"
"Do I look like Baltar?" Hesperos finished for her.
"Yes."
"I've been taking this appearance for a while now," Hesperos shrugged, grinning broadly. "And I've grown quite used to it. Besides, it's just easier to continue taking a familiar form than it is to try something completely new."
"What do you want?" Adama asked.
"I'm here to advise you," Hesperos told them. "Prometheus asked me to remain behind, to relay any messages he sends."
"What's the message?" Roslin asked.
"From what I've heard, this cylon offer of surrender is probably legitimate," Hesperos explained. He leaned casually against the DRADIS console, oblivious to the flurry of activity around him. "Would it be too much trouble to get a cup of coffee?"
The admiral glared at him in reply, waiting for the god to figure out for himself that this was not the time or place for such an inappropriate request. All Adama wanted was the message, and every second he waited only served to irritate him.
"Yeah… that can probably wait," Hesperos decided with a sigh. "Fine. Prometheus succeeded in getting the Lords of Kobol to attack the cylon homeworld. When they reached the system, they found Cronus there, out in the open, with all of his supporters."
"Who won?" Roslin asked.
"The battle isn't over yet."
"Then who's winning?" Adama prompted impatiently.
"So far, no one has seized the advantage," Hesperos told them. He looked around at the personnel in CIC, smiled, stretched, and yawned for effect. "From the cylons' perspective, though, it doesn't matter who wins or loses. Cronus only wanted the cylons as broodmares for his human-cylon hybrids, and Zeus was eventually going to wipe the cylons out anyway, since, as far as he's concerned, they've served their purpose of trimming back humanity. So neither side is interested in limiting collateral damage. The entire system is being destroyed as the gods and titans hurl comets and moons at each other."
"So the cylons are busy enough in their home system," Roslin surmised.
"No, the cylons that were back in their home system have already been annihilated," Hesperos corrected. "You don't understand – the gods are making war, and nothing out there is going to survive. The entire system – planets, moons, asteroids, and even the star – will be obliterated before all is said and done."
"Meaning the cylons don't have reinforcements on the way," Adama said, nodding slowly, analyzing the cylons' situation in his head as he tried to appear unimpressed by Hesperos's melodramatic description of the battle in the cylons' home system. "All of the cylons' remaining resources are here in our Colonies – there are no more bodies to download into, no more basestars to replace the ones we destroy."
"You have exactly what you wanted," Hesperos said. "The cylons are in the same position as humanity; if this battle is brought to a conclusion, if you force an outcome, one side will be wiped out. Whoever loses, whether you or the cylons, is finished. Just rest assured, none of my people will play a part in the outcome, either way. You and the cylons are on your own in this."
"The cylons are willing to walk away," Adama pointed out, turning to Roslin. "They sound like they're ready to leave, to give us the Colonies back."
"Yes," Roslin agreed.
"And the decision is yours, Madame President," Adama said. He tried to make sure he kept his face an emotionless mask, afraid to indicate what decision he favored, praying she wouldn't ask for his opinion. This is her call, he knew. She's brought us this far. I disagreed when she said that the war was over, that we should flee the Colonies; I was wrong, and she was right. I disagreed again when she said we should come back to correct our mistake; again, I think I was wrong and she was right. And now we have to decide whether to cut our losses or go all-in; I know what I'd do, but I'm willing to accept that whether she agrees or not, she'll be right.
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What the hell are they doing? Starbuck thought restlessly. Pegasus was sitting dead in space, dozens of small fires raging hot enough to create an orange-red corona around the ship, allowing Starbuck to make out a handful of remaining Vipers flying in defensive formation. At the far end of the battlestar's range, two cylon basestars held their position, sitting just as motionless as Pegasus, space around them a far more customary black that helped conceal their remaining raiders. It didn't take a genius to figure out who'd been winning the battle when the shooting suddenly, inexplicably ceased.
Starbuck had listened in on the cylons' offer of surrender, and she had no doubt that over in Pegasus's CIC, Lee was wracking his brain as much as she was, trying to figure out why the cylons were seemingly giving up when they had victory in their grasp. It makes no frakking sense, Starbuck thought. But at least it's giving the damage control teams time to catch up. If we get just a little longer, we may be able to win this thing.
Even as the thought occurred to her, she was forced to tap her thrusters to evade a large, dull gray piece of a large ship's hull that was floating by. Part of the Myrmidon, she knew, though she had no idea what part of the ship that particular piece of hull had been covering. Once she started looking around her, she found herself unable to ignore the rest of the debris – raiders, basestars, and jagged, fiberglass shards of Vipers that had been flown by people she'd had dinner with the night before.
What's taking so damn long? Starbuck wondered. It seemed a simple question – accept the cylons' surrender or not. The Old Man must be kicking the crap out of them at Caprica, she decided. That's the only reason to surrender. We caught them off-guard, and though they might destroy Pegasus, they figure they won't escape Galactica and the admiral's ships. That thought, though, brought her to an uncomfortable realization. If they're surrendering, it's because they can't beat the Old Man. They probably figure that they can take out Pegasus and make a run for it if they have to, though. She took another few moments to look at Pegasus. Frak me… if the shooting starts again, I don't think she'll hold together.
Trying to divert her attention from negative thoughts, Starbuck started going through her pre-combat checklist, making certain that all of her ship's systems were in the green. She knew there were no problems, but the ritualistic familiarity of the routine helped clear her mind. She had just finished poring over her engine readouts when several bright flashes brought her attention back to the remaining warships.
Pegasus was firing, and judging from the slow cylon response, Lee had taken their enemies by surprise. They didn't expect us to keep fighting, Starbuck knew. They actually assumed it was over.
It was immediately obvious that Lee had targeted only one of the basestars, clearly hoping to even the odds before focusing everything he had left on one remaining target. The cylon basestar was caught by the full spread amidships, and Starbuck stared as the mammoth ship started to break up.
The second basestar was already in motion, swinging around Pegasus, remaining at the outer edge of effective weapons range, its point defense weapons getting the job done as the cylons searched for a favorable attack angle. The first cylon basestar exploded in a blinding flash as Starbuck realized with horror that Pegasus wasn't moving to counter the other basestar's maneuver. Her engines are offline, Starbuck realized. She's a sitting duck out there. The basestar can just circle around and hit Pegasus in the stern, where her defensive guns are least effective. Hell, the damn toasters won't even get close enough for Lee to use his last nuke to any decent effect.
Starbuck started flipping switches, spinning up her guns as she hit her thrusters. "Oh Starbuck… What the flying frak are you doing?" she asked herself, a devil-may-care grin spreading across her face as she streaked toward the basestar, laughing with pure joy as she slipped the Blackbird through the debris field. The basestar loomed larger and larger in her field of view as Starbuck continued to try to come up with a Step 2 for her plan. Okay, I'm in firing range… now what? In the absence of anything else, she decided she might as well drain her ammo pods and, if all else failed, slam the Blackbird into the most important-looking part of the cylon basestar.
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Colonel Tigh clenched his jaw and breathed heavily, doing his best to ignore the mind-numbing pain in his leg. He'd taken a round in his thigh, and as painful as it was, he knew he'd been damn lucky. A quick glance around him was all he needed to convince himself of the truth of that.
He'd led thirty-three marines down to this corridor, hoping to reach the strategically-placed chokepoint before any cylon centurions could make it here from the flight pods. He'd beaten the cylons to the punch, cutting them off from the engines, but his men had been pummeled ever since. The corridor was littered with body parts that had been blasted off of the men and women under his command. Being larger and stronger, able to carry more weight and absorb heavier recoil, the centurions had the advantage in firepower. Their large-caliber weapons were as likely as not to blast an arm, leg, or head clean off a human body.
Tigh's thirty-three marines were now down to fourteen, eight of whom were lying on the deck in pools of their own blood, heroically holding their rifles at the ready despite knowing that doing so kept them from receiving the medical attention that would keep them alive. Saul and Bill had shared countless conversations about how the military had gone soft since the First Cylon War, how the younger soldiers would never understand what it was to be in a fight, how they clearly lacked the mettle to handle such a conflict. Now, looking around, Tigh knew that he and the admiral had been wrong. These guys are the finest soldiers I've ever known.
Finally, despite his better judgment, Tigh looked past his marines and down the hall toward the handful cylon centurions that waited there, standing by until Bill and Roslin decided whether or not to accept the cylons' surrender. The cylons' red eyes continued back and forth, back and forth, the heavily armored machines indifferent to the fact that they were awash in human blood.
Waiting's the worst part, Tigh decided. And then the wait was over. The front cylon raised its arms and started firing, and Tigh felt the air knocked out of him. Moments later, he realized that he was on the floor, though he had no idea how he'd gotten there. I don't remember falling. I don't remember hitting the floor.
Bright yellow and bluish lights danced along the ceiling; Saul recognized it as muzzle flashes, though he couldn't hear the reports from any of the weapons. He slowly became aware of movement around him, of Corporal Madsen looking down at him. I guess Roslin declined their offer, Tigh decided, his mind finally starting to clear. Good for her. He started to become aware of sound around him. The gunfire seemed like it had stopped, but now there was an awful lot of yelling. Men and women were screaming in pain, while others were yelling for medics.
But no one's yelling about how the cylon boarding party is about to blow up the engines, Tigh realized. So I guess we held. The next thing Tigh noticed was that it was suddenly starting to get very, very dark.
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"Only a few batteries are still firing along the port side," Gaeta pointed out, watching the screen that was relaying information from the Weapons Control Room. "And there are still three basestars left."
The admiral nodded grimly. I've never been in a fight where we ran out of ammunition. Yet another battery ran dry, leaving an uncomfortably large section of the port flight pod completely exposed. Kat saw it and redeployed two of her remaining Vipers accordingly, but that only meant her resources would be stretched that much more when the next battery went offline. "We're down to rolling spitballs," Adama grumbled.
The deck shuddered underneath his feet, and he met Gaeta's uncomfortable stare. They both knew the feeling – a cylon raider had throttled up and slammed into Galactica. Bad enough we can't stop their missiles; we won't last long at all if we have to stand up to suicide runs, too. Just as he thought it, the deck shook again, this time a long, rumbling tremble that knocked several crewmen off their feet and cracked two of the DRADIS screens. It was more like an earthquake than an impact, and Adama felt his heart leap up into his throat. They took out at least one of our engines, he knew. It wasn't something he'd felt since the First Cylon War, in the Battle of Themnos when the Triton's engines were targeted by suicide raiders. One of the engine's blocks was damaged, knocking the engine out of alignment and creating thrust against the hull. The resulting torque was strong enough to partially shear off the engine, which then impacted another of the sub-light engines. If the Triton's engines hadn't all been shut down immediately, they likely would have lost the ship.
Remembering the past crisis, Adama didn't waste time giving orders; he dashed across CIC himself, tore the safeties off the engineering board, and slammed his hand down on the emergency cut-off switch himself, killing the engines and leaving them adrift with only their maneuvering thrusters to provide mobility. He looked back at the DRADIS console, where Roslin was fighting to her feet as the rumbling in the deck subsided.
"Status," Adama barked as he walked back toward Gaeta.
"Engines offline," Gaeta said needlessly. "Two weapons batteries are still firing, but they only have a few seconds left before they're dry. The civilian ships ran out of ammo long before we did; there are only nine of them left, and we have eleven Vipers still in the air."
"FTL drive?"
Gaeta shook his head. Adama looked around at the faces that were all staring at him, and he knew what they were thinking. "Well I guess that's it," he muttered, allowing himself a moment to look at Roslin.
"Admiral, incoming message," Annar announced.
I'm not surrendering, Adama thought immediately, expecting the cylons to be on the wireless.
"The Starlight Carousel has increased speed to full," Gaeta announced. "They've set course for one of the remaining basestars."
"It's Captain Samson," Specialist Annar added. "He wants to speak with Actual."
"Captain, this is Actual," Adama said as he picked up the wireless. "What are you doing?"
"Taking a page from the cylon playbook," Samson said. "Seems to me the cylons sub-light engines aren't strong enough to get them out of our way."
Adama wanted to talk the man out of his plan, but he already knew it was too late. The targeted basestar had started focusing all of its weapons on the Starlight Carousel, even as it did its best to get out of the freighter's path. The line went dead, and Adama watched the screen as Samson's ship collided with the basestar, wiping both contacts off the DRADIS screen.
"There were over three hundred men on that ship," Gaeta said.
Adama nodded, even as he watched the Prometheus and the Kimba Hutu increase speed and mimic Samson's maneuver. Neither of those ships reported in – for all Adama ever knew, both ships had already lost their wireless systems by that point – but the same result followed. By the time all was said and done, all three basestars had been destroyed by civilian ships, all while Galactica floated by helplessly, reduced to a mere spectator as the civilians finished the battle.
"I've never seen anything like that," Roslin admitted.
"I have," Adama admitted, nodding slowly, remembering how the Battle of Themnos ended. "That's humanity at its best, and it's why the cylons never had a chance of winning this war."
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"I don't get it," Anders admitted, looking from the slowly growing campfire to Sharon Valerii and the blonde cylon who had let him escape from the collapsed café. "Why did you surrender?" Uncomfortable with the stare they directed back toward him, Sam diverted his gaze from the women and gawked at the firepower in their main force – a full detachment of thirty-two cylon centurions stood passively, as still as statues. Sam couldn't remember ever being this close to one of them.
"The war is over," Sharon explained. "We were in the middle of a complete withdrawal from your worlds when your fleet returned, catching us unprepared. Our basestars and raiders were all offline, our centurions set to non-combat tasks. By the time we'd redeployed our forces, it was too late."
"You could have wiped us out," Anders admitted, conceding the point when he saw what Sharon had brought with her.
"We were withdrawing from your worlds because we made a mistake," Sharon told him. "We wanted to move on and never see humanity again. Killing your people would have run counter to what we'd decided."
"So you surrendered?" Anders asked. He started to wonder if maybe it was the lack of sleep that was causing none of this to make any sense to him. We could never have held against her centurions. She has to know that. Why the frak did she surrender?
"We'll escort you back to Caprica City and take your wounded to the hospital," Sharon said. "Our centurions will be deactivated and disassembled immediately."
"You're serious," Sam said, the reality of the situation hitting him. "Why are you doing this?"
"I want to settle terms quickly," Sharon said. "In addition to what I've already offered, I'll give you the location of every single one of our farms."
"And in exchange?" Sam asked, knowing this was the heart of the matter.
"There are women who accepted the program, who were matched with partners of their own choosing, male cylons whose personalities were tailored to their preferences," Sharon said. "If those women choose to remain with their cylon consorts, we wish for them to be left in peace."
"Left in peace?" Sam asked incredulously. "Where, exactly? Do you seriously think, for even a second, that we're going to allow cylons and hybrid children to live on Caprica or any other Colony? You said you're withdrawing – do it. Get off our planet."
"We will," Sharon assured him. "No one who's part of the program, whether cylon, human, or hybrid, will remain on any of your twelve Colonies for a minute longer than is necessary."
"Fine," Sam agreed. "You get what passes for your civilians off this planet, and we'll let you go. But the centurions are getting scrapped."
"Agreed," Sharon said, extending her hand. "Then you have our surrender."
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"Any luck yet?" Adama asked Annar. The communications officer shook her head, clearly uncomfortable with being on the receiving end of the admiral's undivided attention.
"They probably just lost communications," Roslin suggested.
"Or they may have been destroyed," Adama countered.
Roslin could see the pain in the admiral's eyes, and she wanted to give him every assurance that sprang to mind. But she knew that would be inappropriate, and she could just imagine how thoroughly Adama would not appreciate the sentiment in front of his crew.
"How many ships are jump-capable?" Adama asked.
"Three," Gaeta answered. "One of them is in decent shape, but the other two are pretty banged up."
"Did you calculate coordinates to jump to Pegasus's location?" Adama asked Sharon.
The cylon nodded, stiffening her shoulders formally as she locked her eyes onto the admiral's.
"Relay them to our jump-capable ships," Adama instructed. Then, turning back to Gaeta, he added, "If Pegasus and the Myrmidon were destroyed, that means some cylons may escape. We can't let that happen."
"Yes, Sir," Gaeta nodded.
Through it all, Roslin stood there silently, marveling at the admiral's resolve. His last surviving son may be dead, and all he's focused on is making sure that the cylons don't escape, that my roll of the dice – and all of our sacrifices – aren't in vain. She smiled thinly, satisfied that the gods had done well in providing her Bill Adama as a military commander. We'll get all the cylons, Roslin thought confidently. And we'll win this day.
To be continued……………………………