WSG-1: Above and Beyond

by Kelso323

Having escaped the genocidal Cylon onslaught, the beleaguered survivors of the Twelve Colonies find themselves confronted with new challenges and dangers none of them could have foreseen. Caught up amid a brutal interstellar war, old sins and secrets rise from the shadows of a forgotten past to threaten humanity once more.

17. Part 17 - Not With A Bang

Viper Two-One-One-Three
Combat Air Patrol
Joint Reconnaissance Mission
Chig Territory - Pegasus Sector
Day 20

Despite all her attempts to avoid it, Lieutenant Marcia 'Fancy' Yansey let out a long, deep yawn as she brought the nose of her Viper around in a wide turn.

"Hey, watch it with the yawning over there," muttered her wingman, Lieutenant Ghadir 'Risky' Betts with mock frustration over the wireless as he too let out an audible yawn of his own. "Damn things are contagious."

"Sorry, didn't know you could hear it over the wireless," smirked Yansey as she completed the turn and straightened out along the next leg of their patrol pattern around Savitri and Enceladus.

Taking a moment to glance down at her flight panel, a minor attempt to distract herself from the next yawn coalescing at the edge of her perceptions, Yansey noted with no small measure of bored dismay that she still had approximately two hours left out on CAP.

Although there was no one particular reason as to why, today was a day where she simply felt bone-deep tired and was looking forward to nothing more than getting back to her rack.

Before long, lulled by the gentle rumble of her Viper's engines to fatigued distraction, Yansey's concentration again began to wane, her eyes drooping slightly as a mental miasma closed in around her awareness. With an almost burning defiance, Yansey violently shook her head and did her best to wriggle her body around within the tight confines of the cockpit, a desperate bid to get her blood moving enough to ward off the creeping fog of fatigue.

"You okay over there, Fancy?" asked Betts as he tightened up a bit on her wing. "You look like you just had a stroke or something."

"Just trying to keep the blood pumping," replied Yansey as she looked out past her canopy into the trackless depths of space. "All this black is really wearing on me today; really wishing I had some coffee right about now."

"Probably do more harm than good at this point," countered Betts, a slight chuckle escaping him. "All coffee's gonna do is make you need to take a leak; think about it, which is worse, a little fatigue or squirming in your seat for the next two hours because of a full bladder?"

"Bit of a tossup at the moment," replied Yansey as another yawn escaped her.

For his part, Betts merely chuckled.

It was at that moment that a low alarm echoed out from her panel, instantly excising her fatigue with a fresh dump of adrenaline.

"Savitri, Viper Two-One-One-Three," she snapped as her focus sharpened a bit. "Be advised, I have a bogey inbound at zero-eight-seven carom zero-two-five, negative squawk, no transponder."

"Viper Two-One-One-Three, Savitri, we copy your bogey, no known friendlies in the area, designate probable hostile; we're scrambling Alert Five, they'll take position at your six; close with contact for visual confirmation, you are cleared hot if engaged; good hunting."

"Copy that, Savitri," replied Yansey as she glanced over to Betts' Viper. "You ready to earn your pay, Risky?"

"What, fifty extra cubits?" snorted Betts. "Sure, why not? At least you've caught a second wind."

"Let's just get this guy before the adrenaline wears off," smirked Yansey as she glanced back down at DRADIS while pulling her Viper into a wide turn that would put her and Betts in a perfect position for intercept, and if necessary, a quick and lethal head-on deflection shot on the target.

Throttling up, Yansey flexed her fingers around the control stick as she returned her eyes to the bleak darkness beyond her canopy, watchful for some visible sign of the closing contact.

Although acutely aware that she and Betts were likely moments out from a full-on fight, Yansey at least tried to take heart from the fact that since the contact was showing up on DRADIS it likely wasn't one of the enemy stealth ships they'd been briefed about that morning.

As long as they could see it, they could shoot it.

But as she continued to visually hunt for the contact against the infinite backdrop of stars, Yansey unexpectedly caught sight of something that made her heart skip a few beats; thin intermittent trails of racing lights.

Weapons fire.

"Oh, frak!" burst Betts over the wireless. "Fancy, you seeing what I'm seeing?"

"Wish I could say I wasn't," muttered Yansey as she thumbed her wireless transmit button. "Savitri, Viper Two-One-One-Three, we're gonna need the cavalry to step it up; we have more than one contact out here."

---

Combatstar Savitri
Combat Information Center
Chig Territory - Pegasus Sector

"What have we got?" snapped Webber as she stepped into CIC and began quickly cutting a path to the main plot table.

Following close on her heels through the entryway, Colonel McQueen, his eyes taking in the clearly charged scene around him, made his way over to Major Giles Danton, the officer from his detail assigned as direct liaison in Savitri's CIC.

"CAP is en route to intercept an unknown bogey, Colonel," began Captain Golan as he quickly made his way back over to the Tactical Operations console. "Alert Five is in the air, but we have another problem."

"What problem?" asked Webber curtly as she glanced over at Golan.

"According to Risky and Fancy our bogey is not alone, sir," replied Golan as he met her gaze. "From the looks of things, we have at least two enemy stealth ships out there as well."

"Have the rad-detection systems picked up the stealths yet?" snapped Webber as her eyes focused back in on DRADIS, her mind immediately flashing back to the photos of the Silicates' new and hauntingly Raideresque stealth fighters.

"Must still be too far out, Colonel," replied Golan as he returned his attention to his console. "We're only picking up the one bogey on DRADIS, rad systems are clear."

"Then how do they know?"

"They're reporting weapons fire, Colonel," replied Golan evenly. "From the looks of things, the two stealth ships are firing on our bogey."

"Could the bogey be one of the Raptors that inserted our team onto Anvil?" asked McQueen as he too looked over at the DRADIS displays.

"Negative, Colonel," interjected Major Danton evenly. "I ran a check, the signature on the bogey matches a standard Chig scout ship."

"Are you saying we have two enemy birds firing on one of their own?" muttered Webber, her tone clearly perplexed.

"That's what it looks like, Colonel," replied Golan evenly.

"Well that's certainly different," muttered McQueen sardonically as he took a couple tentative steps closer to the center plot table.

"Petty Officer Deyja; get on the wireless to Enceladus," began Webber, her hawkish eyes alert for some sign of the approaching threat on DRADIS. "Confirm that Colonel Runel has been advised of the situation."

"Aye, sir," replied Deyja simply.

But even before Deyja had a chance to send the message, Webber seemed to get her answer as she watched the imposing bulk of Enceladus shift position on DRADIS, the stout battlecruiser deftly dropping in below the Savitri, a position that brought her imposing AA batteries to bear on the closing enemy ships while moving Webber's ship out of the line of fire.

"You always did know how to dance, Thadius," muttered Webber, the barest hint of a smirk on her lips, Enceladus completing her maneuver as Webber reached down and snatched up the handset from the side of the plot table. "How long before Risky and Fancy are in position to intercept?"

"Two minutes," replied Golan.

"Patch me through to our Vipers."

---

Viper Two-One-One-Three

Although she and Betts were still far outside of direct engagement range, Yansey felt the muscles in her body continue to tighten with anticipation as she watched the lethal dance taking place beyond her canopy.

"Fancy, Savitri-Actual."

"Send it, Actual."

"Give me a sit-rep; straight and simple, what are you seeing out there?"

"Firm DRADIS contact on one bogey, craft is maneuvering evasively and under fire from two other craft, negative contact on DRADIS, probable stealth, but well armed."

"Any chance this is some kind of ruse?"

"If it is, Actual, they're playing it to the hilt; have observed multiple glancing impacts on primary bogey and she is trailing smoke."

In spite of, or perhaps because of, her senses being heightened by the adrenaline coursing through her system, the pause in the conversation with Actual hit Yansey with all the acute subtlety of a speed bump on a racetrack; with both her and Betts barely a minute away from jumping feet-first into the center of the firefight taking place of their noses, even seconds felt like eons while waiting for instruction.

"With respect, Actual, we're getting pretty damned close," prodded Yansey. "Do we engage?"

---

Combatstar Savitri
Combat Information Center

Taking in a deep breath as she stood there, handset poised at her ear, eyes locked on the only enemy contact that was actually appearing on the screens overhead, Colonel Webber hesitated to make what one part of her mind was screaming was an absurdly simple call; take all three down, eliminate the threat.

Honestly, did it really matter why the two ships were firing on the third?

Nevertheless, she couldn't help hearing that tiny whisper of doubt, a quiet yet relentless uncertainty of the same ilk as that which had prompted her to back Runel's proposition to McQueen about sending a team to Anvil.

Glancing over at McQueen, Webber noted the curious questioning in his eyes as well, his exclamation only a few moments ago impressing upon her that this was apparently an unprecedented event, one perhaps worth investigating further.

Webber made her choice.

"Risky, Fancy, this is Actual," began Webber as she returned her attention to DRADIS. "Weapons tight, I say again, weapons tight; engage and destroy stealth fighters but do not fire on primary bogey unless fired upon."

---

Viper Two-One-One-Three

"Okay, Betts, you heard her," began Yansey, gently flexing her fingers around the stick as she took in a deep, steadying breath. "Intel says these new birds are slippery bastards so let's make this pass count."

"Copy that, Fancy; holding tight to your wing," replied Betts evenly.

"Fancy, Betts, this is Hotfoot; Stag and I are coming in hot, throttles to the firewall at your six, fifty-five seconds from the merge."

"Roger that, Hotfoot," replied Yansey, her eyes never leaving the firefight looming ahead. "All units, be advised, I've got visual, confirm two of the new enemy bandits on our bogey's tail, still negative register on DRADIS."

"Either they don't see us coming or they don't care," muttered Betts.

"Don't really give a frak either way," countered Yansey, her thumb settling in above the trigger as she pointed her nose directly towards one of the maneuvering enemy stealth ships. "I'm gonna try and clip one with a straight pass, you worry about keeping visual on the other."

"Copy that."

"Twenty seconds," snapped Yansey, her body tensing as she lined up for her deflection shot.

But as Yansey was about to unleash her first burst, both of the pursuing stealth fighters suddenly broke off, banking away violently from their pursuit of the bogey, each of them peeling away in opposite directions.

"Frak, looks like they saw us coming after all," burst Yansey as she reflexively yanked her Viper into pursuit of the nearest of the two fighters. "Risky, I hope you're keeping eyes on that second bandit; we don't need that bastard turning onto our tails."

"Fancy, this is Hotfoot, no worries, we've got visual on bandit two; he's ours."

"Copy that," replied Yansey, a silent sigh of relief escaping her.

Although grateful to be able to focus in on just the one bandit, confident in the knowledge that Hotfoot and Stag, both of whom were good sticks, had their backs with the second, Yansey was nevertheless having trouble getting a firm bead on her target.

Maneuvering wildly off her nose, banking and turning in grueling defiance of her attempts to slip into firing position, the bandit kept denying her even one moment to line up a shot.

"Frak, this bastard's good," grunted Yansey, the g-forces of her latest turn pushing down hard on her entire body as she held tight to the bandit, its twin engine exhausts looking like a pair of fiery demonic eyes glaring back at her.

"Offensive weave?" called Betts, the strain the maneuvers were likewise exerting on his body evident in his tone.

"Do it!" burst Yansey as she pulled into another tight turn. "I'll lead left."

As if it had been listening to the transmission; who knows, maybe it had been; the bandit suddenly lurched upward and away, like a leaf caught in an abrupt updraft, the unexpected maneuver immediately carrying the craft up and almost behind Yansey's Viper.

"Frak!" snapped Yansey as she instinctively countered the maneuver by throwing open her thrust reversers while pitching up the nose of her Viper.

For a split second of sheer terror, Yansey was seized by an utterly disorienting sensation of falling as her Viper lurched backwards, the reversal of thrust and resulting violent shift in inertia sending her stomach up into her throat as she strained to keep her eyes on the bandit, the craft remaining just above her line of fire as it continued to angle back in onto her tail.

Then, just as the bandit began to drop its own nose back towards her and thus bring its own weapons to bear on Yansey's Viper, a maneuver which momentarily gave her an acutely horrifying view almost directly down its cannon barrels, the craft suddenly disappeared in a blinding flash of light.

"Savitri, Hotfoot, bandit two has jumped away."

"Bandit one as well," gasped Yansey, her breathing rapid, her hands and legs beginning to quake ever so slightly as she wrestled with the effects of the copious adrenaline coursing through her blood.

"Savitri copies, both bandits have jumped; status of our original bogey?"

Prodded to the realization that she had for all intents and purposes completely forgotten about the bogey, Yansey's eyes almost frantically darted back to DRADIS.

To her profound surprise, Yansey saw that the bogey had quite literally stopped.

Looking out her cockpit as she straightened back out and brought her nose around, Yansey looked over towards the craft.

"Savitri, be advised, bogey has halted its approach," said Yansey as she pulled back on her throttles, kicking out a little reverse thrust in the process to slow her approach. "It's just sitting there at fifteen hundred from your position."

---

Combatstar Savitri
Combat Information Center

"What the hell could they be up to out there?" muttered Colonel Webber as she glared at the contact on DRADIS.

"Could be damaged," offered Colonel McQueen as he likewise stood watching the screen. "Your pilots did say they saw it take impacts."

"Damage could have left it adrift," countered Webber with a slight shake of her head. "But that ship has come to dead stop."

"And halting its approach wouldn't make sense either if it intended to make a suicide run," sighed McQueen as he likewise continued to eye the lone enemy contact. "Sorry to say, I'm as mystified as you are, Colonel Webber."

Taking in a deep breath, Webber glanced over to Golan.

"Any read on the bandits?" she asked simply.

"Nothing, Colonel," replied Golan evenly. "Rad-detection systems are still clear."

"Get on the horn down to the flight deck," began Webber as she slowly returned her attention to the screens overhead. "I want Raptors and Viper escorts to push out along ninety degree angles from our position; let's get some feelers out there in case they come back."

"Aye, sir," replied Golan simply as he snatched up the handset from his console to relay the order.

"Colonel, our Vipers are requesting instructions," called Petty Officer Deyja.

Pausing a moment to regard the motionless contact on DRADIS, Webber then looked over to McQueen.

"What do you think, Colonel?" she asked simply.

---

Taking in a long, slow breath, McQueen pondered Webber's question for a moment, a peculiar uncertainty gripping him as he recalled the only other time he'd witnessed a Chig vessel acting this way; a lone scout ship which had borne the Chig Ambassador to the Saratoga, a brief hope for peace which had evaporated in the fiery conflagration of the suicide bombing that not only killed several high-ranking officers but cost McQueen his own lower right leg.

Absently, somewhat self-consciously, McQueen reached down and scratched at the area where his prosthetic replacement met natural flesh.

But as he was slowly withdrawing his fingers from the phantom itch, McQueen glanced over at Major Danton.

Hunched as he was over the IFOR radio equipment set up in the CIC for this mission, one hand cupped over the earpiece, his expression lost in concentration, McQueen could hardly ignore Danton's clear preoccupation with whatever he was monitoring.

"Do you have something, Major?" asked McQueen flatly.

Prodded out of his ruminations, Danton looked back over to McQueen, the barest hint of a smirk on his face.

"I'm picking up a signal, sir," began Danton as he absently glanced over at the screens arrayed above McQueen's head. "That Chig is sending out a message in Morse code."

"Well, what does it say?"

"Just one word, sir, over and over," replied Danton, chuckling slightly as he met McQueen's eyes. "Asylum."

---

Dolphin Island

"Good afternoon, Commander."

Lounging in his chair at the edge of sleep, savoring the briny caress of the offshore breeze rolling over him, Adrian Kelso nevertheless opened his eyes to see his former chief engineer, Mike Franklin, ambling his way along the beach.

For a moment, Adrian couldn't help but smirk a bit at the sight of Franklin, dressed as he was in a t-shirt, shorts and sandals, his almost embarrassingly pale legs exposed to natural sunlight for what Kelso only half-jokingly estimated to be the first time in the better part of a decade.

"How's it going, Mike?" grinned Adrian as he did his best to not stare at Franklin's pasty legs.

"Just trying to salvage a bit of my day," grumbled Mike as he sidled up beside Adrian's chair. "They postponed the damned referendum vote again."

"The President probably just wants to wait until our people get back so they can have their say on what to rename the island as well," ginned Adrian as he took in a deep breath.

"They still could have handled it better," huffed Mike as he slowly crossed his arms and looked out towards the horizon. "Damned bureaucrats; I was standing in that fraking line for over two hours before word came down."

"No reason to get excited," countered Adrian evenly, a grin still creasing his lips as he too looked out towards the horizon. "You're retired, Mike; what the hell else did you have planned for the day?"

"Well, for one thing," smirked Mike, making a deliberate show of reaching back behind his back and retrieving the simple flask he'd apparently tucked away in his waistband. "I wouldn't have had to hide this from the poll workers."

"Didn't realize the temperance rule was putting such a cramp in your social life," muttered Adrian as he watched Mike take a sip from the flask.

"It's just frakin' ridiculous," countered Mike as he casually offered the flask over to Adrian. "Acting as though a little liquid lunch is really going to make me choose something more ridiculous than what's already on the ballot; what am I gonna do, pencil in 'Frakwit Island' as an option?"

Smirking a bit, Adrian took hold of the proffered flask and took a swig, a gut-wrenching cough immediately seizing him as the particularly harsh liquid contained there-in scorched its way down his gullet.

"Frankly I can see why they wouldn't want you sipping off of that beforehand," wheezed Adrian as he handed the flask back to Mike. "Potent as it is, I'm surprised you aren't blind."

"Potent, hell, I was practically weaned on this growing up," growled Mike, thumping a fist against his chest with gusto as he took another sip. "My granddad used to cook it up in the shed behind his place; puts hair on the chest."

"As if you really need any more," muttered Adrian as he absently pointed up at the grayed tuft poking out of Mike's shirt collar.

"Badge of honor," countered Mike, chuckling slightly as he slipped the flask back into his waistband. "Having a natural sweater makes it easier to cope with those long winters on Aquaria."

"All things being equal, I think I prefer the beach," grinned Adrian as he settled back a little more into his chair.

"My family would certainly seem to agree with you on that," chuckled Mike as he pointed off along the beach.

Following his former Chief Engineer's gesture, Adrian looked over and caught sight of Mike's grandsons, Joshua and Alexander, playfully tossing rocks off into the surf nearby, the two of them just as gleefully retreating away as the next incoming wave chased them up along the sand.

Nearby, walking along the shimmering shoreline with an almost regal grace was Mike's daughter, Gianne, the slumbering bundle of her daughter Adriana cradled lovingly in her arms.

"Gianne!" barked Mike, his booming voice instantly catching her attention as he insistently waved her over.

Stepping away from her nephews' game of tidal brinksmanship, Gianne made her way over, the gentle breeze catching her long hair as she stepped up to her father and Adrian.

"And how is the youngest Franklin girl doing today?" asked Adrian as he pointed over at the slumbering Adriana.

"It's Adama, actually," grinned Gianne as she slowly knelt down so Adrian could see the face of his nominal namesake, Adriana.

"She's a Franklin," interjected Mike adamantly.

"She's an Adama," countered Gianne, her tone equally firm as she glared back over at her father. "I'm really sick of having this argument with you, Dad; Lee is her father and his daughter will carry his name; you don't have to like it, but you will accept it."

Suddenly feeling a flush of discomfort at inadvertently prodding what was clearly a potently contentious bit of Franklin family drama, Adrian was nevertheless surprised to note that the normally unflappable Mike seemed to be cowed by the unwavering tone in his daughter's voice, the old engineer mustering little more than a petulant huff as he reached back and once again retrieved the flask from his waistband.

"Well, whatever her last name, she is truly an angel," muttered Adrian as he reached out and gently stroked the slumbering child's particularly pudgy cheek.

Reflexively, Adriana stirred a bit at his touch, pursing her lips slightly as she let out a gentle murmur.

"Looks like it's getting close to feeding time," muttered Adrian as he grinned over Adriana turning towards his touch, her tiny pink lips making a sucking motion.

"Shouldn't be," replied Gianne, chuckling a bit as she watched Adriana stir just a bit more from her nap. "Then again, she doesn't really do much else."

"I have a clothesline full of drying diapers outside our shelter that says different," muttered Mike as he looked back over towards Joshua and Alexander.

"Is that your subtle way of saying she's as full of shit as her grandfather?" smirked Gianne as she gently shifted Adriana around in her arms, masterfully accomplishing the twin tasks of unbuttoning her blouse at the same time she positioned her daughter for feeding.

For his own part, Adrian felt his cheeks flush again as Gianne, completely devoid of any sense of self-consciousness, exposed her breast, Adriana's tiny pink lips instantly latching on to the engorged nipple, an act which elicited a slight hiss of discomfort from Gianne.

Sheepishly going to very deliberate lengths to find someplace for his eye line to be anywhere but in the vicinity of Gianne as she breastfed her daughter, Adrian wrestled with what to even him was a surprising amount of almost squeamish discomfort. Perhaps even more mortifying, his uneasiness was apparently not lost on Gianne.

"You're not embarrassed are you, sir?" she muttered, no small amount of amusement permeating her tone.

"Not embarrassed," muttered Adrian, still going to deliberate lengths to avoid looking at her as he spoke. "Just being respectful; I know this can be a very private moment."

"Private my bulbous pimpled ass," snorted Mike. "That little girl stirs and Gianne just flops 'em out never-no-mind where she is; the marketplace, at temple; hell I've know strippers with more modesty."

"And just where in the name of the gods have you been meeting strippers, Dad?" shot back Gianne, her tone dripping with coy amusement.

"You just never mind where, young lady," replied Mike, coughing slightly as he deliberately avoided Gianne's mockingly accusatorial gaze, instead looking off along the beach towards Joshua and Alexander. "Oh what the hell are those two up to now?"

Prodded by Mike's statement, Adrian looked back over towards Mike's grandsons, the two young boys having apparently abandoned chasing the tide in favor of using a stick to poke and prod something lying unseen in the sand.

"Oh for the love of the gods," growled Mike as he started off along the beach towards the two boys. "Don't tell me they've actually managed to kill something this time."

Chuckling slightly at Mike's grandfatherly frustration, Adrian settled back into his seat, a long breath escaping him as he continued to avoid glancing over at Gianne while she fed her daughter.

"You know, it's really no big deal," muttered Gianne, apparently still very much aware of Adrian's lingering discomfort. "It's perfectly natural."

"I know," smirked Adrian, his voice a bit gravelly from a surprisingly dry throat. "I just don't want to look like some dirty old man angling for a peek."

At that, Gianne chuckled.

For the next few minutes, a subtly awkward silence fell over the two of them, the only sounds being the gentle murmuring of Adriana as she continued to feed and the wind-drowned resonance of Mike's voice as he towered over Joshua, Alexander and whatever it was they'd been poking with a stick.

Within moments, Gianne placed her breast back within the folds of her blouse and lifted Adriana to her shoulder, casting a quick glance over in the direction of her father and nephews as she did so.

"So," sighed Gianne as she looked back over to Kelso and began gently patting Adriana's back. "Has there been any word yet from your son?"

"None that I know of," muttered Adrian as he at last braved a glance back over at Gianne. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, there's just been a lot a rumors going around lately," began Gianne, her tone gauged, somewhat hesitant. "About how your son went out to bring another fleet of survivors back here to Earth."

"People have rumors for every occasion, Gianne" smirked Adrian, his gaze wavering slightly as she continued to watch him.

"I suppose," muttered Gianne as she gently adjusted Adriana. "I just thought that since the Commander is your son you'd have a better picture of what's going on out there."

Taking a deep breath, Adrian held Gianne's gaze.

For most people, rumors were merely about satiating basic human curiosity, an intense nosiness that could sometimes border on intrusive but was still merely a form of tabloid inquisitiveness whose importance could be quickly forgotten amid the minutiae of everyday life.

But as he sat looking into Gianne's eyes, Adrian could hardly miss the pensive intensity in her expectant expression

"I haven't exactly been keeping tabs on the latest gossip," began Adrian as continued to hold her gaze for a moment, gauging her body language. "Why, what have you been hearing?"

"That there's a civilian fleet out there being escorted by two military ships," sighed Gianne as she slowly lowered a happily cooing Adriana back down into her lap. "Battlestars actually…the Galactica and Pegasus."

Pausing, Adrian took in another deep breath.

"Mind if I ask why it's so important to you?"

This time it was Gianne who paused, her brow furrowing a bit with worry as she once again glanced back over towards her father.

"It's Lee," sighed Gianne, the barest hint of a smile creasing the edges of her lips as little Adriana reached up and grasped onto one of Gianne's fingers with her tiny hand.

"Adriana's father?"

"Mm-hmm," mumbled Gianne, nodding slightly. "Last I heard, he was supposed to be aboard the Battlestar Galactica the day of the attack."

As he continued to watch Gianne, Adrian could hardly miss the lone tear welling up in the corner of her eye, the offshore breeze catching hold of it and splaying it out across her cheek as it finally spilled forth.

"I know it's a long-shot," began Gianne, rolling her eyes a bit as she quickly reached up and preemptively wiped away a second tear. "I mean, out of all the billions of people in the Colonies, it's stupid for me to hold out hope that he somehow managed to survive, but I can't help but think that after everything else we've been through, maybe, just this one time the gods might actually have given a frak enough to give my daughter a second chance to know her father."

"Your Dad might not be too happy to see him," smirked Kelso as he nodded over towards Mike.

"Dad blows a lot of bluster," grinned Gianne as she too glanced over towards her father. "But the one thing he holds dear is the importance of family; if Lee is alive, Dad won't keep him from seeing Adriana…he might beat the crap out of him first, but he'll still let him be with his daughter."

At that, Adrian let out a loud laugh.

"Well, as much as I'd love to be able to give the provisional police a heads-up about your Dad's imminent eruption, I'm afraid I'm not really privy to much more than you've apparently already heard through gossip," stated Adrian, his tone little more than an audible shrug.

Her expression clearly disappointed, Gianne nevertheless seemed to accept Adrian's response, another tear rolling down along her cheek as Adriana let out a loud squeal, excitedly kicking her feet as she looked up at her mother with that utterly wonderstruck innocence that only an infant could as an offshore breeze rolled over her.

With the sound of flip-flops moving over sand marking his approach, Mike Franklin stepped back up with both Joshua and Alexander a scant step behind.

"So what did you two find over there?" asked Adrian simply as he eyed the two young boys.

"Jus' some ol' jellyfish," shrugged one of the boys as he impulsively reached down and snatched up the broken half of a shell.

"And what have you two been talking about?" asked Mike evenly as he seemed to notice the somewhat distant look on Gianne's face.

"Old war stories; I was just telling her about that one weekend liberty we took on Picon," grinned Adrian, his statement a blatant attempt to distract Mike from prying into something Gianne clearly wasn't ready to discuss.

From the way the man's eyes went wide, it was clear it had worked.

"You'd better damned well not be telling her about that weekend," sputtered Mike, his tone instantly defensive. "You know damned well I had no idea that woman was a…"

Seeming to catch himself on the verge of divulging what he clearly had no desire to, Mike's voice suddenly cut off as he noted the smirk on Adian's face.

"You weren't talking about Picon, were you?" muttered Mike, scowling a bit as Adrian simply shook his head in reply.

"But now that the subject has been brought up, what exactly did happen on Picon, Dad?" chimed in Gianne, clearly enjoying the prospect of giving a little twist to whatever embarrassing mental knife her father plainly had from the incident.

"You just never mind what the hell happened on Picon, young lady," shot back Mike, his already generously sun-kissed and alcohol flushed cheeks still managing to grow just a few shades redder.

With an uncomfortable cough as his best attempt at hurriedly burying the issue, Mike simply began waving his arms a bit.

"Alright, we'd better get going over to the distribution center," barked Mike as he reached down and helped Gianne back to her feet. "Our ration group is up and our cupboard's been getting a bit bare; I don't want to have the same boring damned noodles for dinner again."

"See you later, Mike," grinned Adrian as he watched Mike begin herding his family off along the beach.

As he watched them go, Adrian's thoughts, prodded as they were by Gianne's inquiry, naturally settled onto his son.

Much as he'd feigned to the contrary, truth was he too had been keeping an open ear to much of the gossip making its rounds through the community, if only for some subtle reassurance that Sean was okay. The only thing he was certain of for all his passive efforts, however, was that real information, or even just consistent information, was scarce as best.

Taking a deep, almost resigned breath, Adrian did his best to excise the worst thoughts from his mind and settled back into his chair.

Before long, however, his ear began to pick up on something else underlying the crashing sounds of the relentlessly rolling waves, a building crescendo resonating out through the briny air that he couldn't help but notice as it steadily grew in strength.

Glancing off to his right, Adrian caught sight of two neat lines of gray sweats-clad bodies making their way along the beach, the booming call of their collective cadence cutting through the din of the surf as they came inexorably closer; it was the island's Marine detachment on a beach run.

With a subtle mental groan, Adrian recalled the one time he'd endured a beach run during Officer Candidates School; so many decades later and the most compelling memory he had of the surprisingly arduous experience was just how thankful he'd been when it had come to an end.

Beach runs were their own particularly potent form of hell; try as you might, a lot effort was expended in just trying to keep your footing in the shifting sands, so much in fact that even strong runners could find themselves floundering a bit to keep their feet moving forward.

Nevertheless, Adrian couldn't help but feel the approach of the Marines at that moment had an almost serendipitous quality to it as he caught sight of Major Gaines out in the lead of the formation.

Lifting himself from his chair, Adrian began ambling his way down towards the approaching formation, making a very deliberate show of waving at Gaines.

Catching sight of his approach, Gaines pulled out from in front of the formation.

"Sergeant Bowman!" she shouted as she continued to peel away.

"Major?"

"You have the formation," continued Gaines as she slowed to a walk. "Take them out to Marius Point, then back to the guard shack."

"Copy that, Major," replied Bowman as he slipped into the lead of the formation.

Her breathing still a bit heavy, her brow glistening with sweat, Gaines continued making her way over to Adrian as she watched the two lines of Marines continue off along the beach.

"Okay Marines, this one's for the Major, so sound off," shouted Bowman. "This little run is nothing but a test."

Instantly, the combined roar of the Marines rose up in response.

"This little run is nothing but a test!"

"And if you fail this test you go to OCS," finished Bowman as he cast a smirk back over towards Gaines.

Instantly, the Marines echoed the line with gusto.

"And if you fail this test you go to OCS!"

Chuckling to himself as the Marines continued off along the beach, the retreating resonance of their cadence fading back into the background din of the rolling surf, Adrian looked back over to Gaines as she stepped up to him.

"Fraking smartasses," murmured Gaines as she watched her Marines go.

"At least their morale is high," offered Adrian, a slight smirk creasing his lips.

"Well, it needs to be," sighed Gaines as she wiped at the film of sweat on her forehead. "This place may be a paradise, but it's also pretty damned boring."

"Still stinging a bit at being left behind?" muttered Adrian as he and Gaines began ambling their way back towards his chair.

Reaching back, Gaines somewhat absently fiddled with the band that was holding her hair back in a ponytail.

"Over the last several months I've had a lot of rounds thrown my way, one damned near took my head off the first day of the attack, can't say I'm particularly keen on pressing my luck in that respect," replied Gaines as she let out a long sigh. "Still, there is a war on out there; part of me can't help but feel like I'm…shirking my duty a bit."

"I don't think Sean would have assigned you to command the defense detachment if he didn't feel it was important," countered Adrian simply.

"Maybe," shrugged Gaines as she cast a sidewise glance over at Adrian. "But something tells me you didn't flag me down to chit-chat about my career prospects."

"Is that your subtle way of telling me I'm getting a bit single-minded?"

Smirking a bit, Gaines playfully nudged up against Adrian's shoulder.

"No, I'm worried about him too," sighed Gaines.

"I take it there hasn't been any real word then?"

"No, nothing," replied Gaines, biting her lips slightly as she glanced out towards the open sea. "I'm trying not to read into it, I mean, it's only been a few days now and mission rules don't call for a Raptor to check in till the end of the week, but…"

"But it's just not like him to not give us some word on what they've found," muttered Adrian, completing the thought that was clearly making its way through Gaines' mind.

Trouble was it was also going through his own.

Growing up, Sean had been a study in contrast with most of his friends in that he'd been studious about letting his parents know where he was going, what he was up to, even while on dates. And while age and responsibilities may have tempered that tendency somewhat, it was still a part of Sean's nature. The tenets of military protocol might not suggest anything was wrong, but it just wasn't in line with his son's temperament to go this long without sending back some word.

From the shadow of concern lingering in her expression, it was clear that Jordan Gaines understood that as well.

"Well, this is your son we're talking about," sighed Gaines, a strained smile creasing her lips as she looked back over to Adrian. "Damned crazy fool that he is, if the situation warranted it he'd likely find a way to tape a note to an FTL drive and jump it back to us if something fraked up was happening out there."

"I suppose," muttered Adrian. "Still, you'll let me know if you do hear anything?"

"First thing," nodded Gaines as she gave Adrian's shoulder another nudge. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'm going to head back to the guard shack, get a shower, maybe get some paperwork done before those boisterous apes of mine get back from the run."

Chuckling a bit as he watched Gaines make her way up along the beach towards the settlement, Adrian turned back towards the rolling tides as a stiff breeze suddenly rolled in.

Now Adrian had never considered himself a particularly religious man; in his life he'd seen things that others might call a miracle, but he'd also seen things that left him utterly bereft of any belief in a higher benevolence at work in the universe.

But in that moment, as he looked out at the very edge of the horizon, Adrian noticed ominous clouds beginning to appear, roiling, angry, their dark billows punctuated by flashes of lightning, and couldn't help but succumb a bit to bitter irony for a moment by wondering if it the approaching storm wasn't in fact meant as some sick joke by the gods, a purposeful portent meant for him alone.

"Oh, frak you," he hissed as he watched another series of flashes erupt across the distant storm front.

---

Battlecruiser Enceladus
Joint Reconnaissance Mission
Chig Territory - Pegasus Sector
Day 20

Taking very slow, deliberate breaths as he made his way around the periphery of the empty Combat Operations Center, Colonel Thadius Runel gently ran his fingers along the acrylic surface of the large operations table, his mind very much preoccupied with cataloguing the potentials and possibilities the next few minutes might present.

Once the IFOR contingent aboard Savitri confirmed that the lone alien craft was indeed transmitting a request for asylum, he couldn't help but feel it was perhaps moment of minor providence, a chance to do what Commander Kelso had proposed and from Runel's perspective the upper echelon in Earth's military were too myopically intransigent to do; sever the alliance between the Chigs and the Silicates, and by extension, the Cylons.

True, there was as yet no irrefutable proof of Cylon involvement in the conflict, but the stack of circumstantial evidence of such was getting thick enough to build a bunker.

From his perspective, meeting with this apparent envoy was an opportunity that was simply too valuable to turn away.

As he completed his fifth circuit of the table, Runel's fingers came to rest on one of the two translation devices he'd place there.

Would they help in building a bridge, or bear witness to the burning of one?

Roused from his ruminations by the sound of the main entry hatch opening, Runel looked up as Colonel Webber and her IFOR counterpart, Colonel McQueen, made their way into the room.

"Been a while since I was in here," muttered Webber as she made her way over towards the table. "Feels smaller than the one aboard Savitri."

"You've never complained about the size of my equipment before," smirked Runel.

"Really?" scoffed Webber as she motioned for Runel to pick up one of the translators. "Fate of the universe could be hanging in the balance and you're quipping light about your endowment?"

"Just trying to lighten the tension," grinned Runel as he reached down and picked up a device, then slipped a wireless earpiece into place. "Not every day you have a chance to make history."

"Speaking from experience, it might not be a good idea to get your hopes up too high, Colonel," chimed in McQueen, his voice filtering in through Runel's earpiece. "Last time one of their envoys met with us, he damned near blew a hole in the side of the Saratoga."

"I'll concede that some healthy skepticism is in order, Colonel McQueen," replied Runel as he slipped the device into his pocket. "But since we are still somewhat on the outside looking in on this situation, grant me a little leeway to at least hear what he…it…whatever has to say."

Letting go with a long sigh, McQueen opted not to say anything further, simply bowing his head slightly as he crossed his arms in silence.

With the bulk of the accompanying IFOR contingent aboard Savitri, Runel had had little direct contact with McQueen to this point in the mission. The few times he had met with him, Runel had come away with the impression that McQueen was very much a man that played things so close to the vest that the proverbial cards in his hand might as well have been in another room.

Nevertheless, McQueen had also come aboard with impeccable recommendations from numerous high-ranking IFOR officers, their near unanimous consensus being that he was extremely pragmatic in outlook, a trait Runel could respect, or perhaps more accurately, would be counting on during this meeting.

But as McQueen stood waiting by the table, there seemed to be a subtle edge to his demeanor, something difficult to discern, nebulous, a subdued agitation percolating beneath his overall cool exterior.

After two years of war against the Chigs, McQueen could be forgiven for being more than a bit jaded when it came to accepting this envoy's sincerity or legitimacy, but his role in this meeting, what Runel would be counting on, was McQueen's experience in dealing with the Chigs, his greater familiarity with the enemy's habits and nuances.

All he could hope for was that anything McQueen might be feeling at that moment didn't prejudice his perceptions when interpreting those nuances.

As anticipation gave rise to silent tension between the three officers, each of them ruminating over whatever concerns were holding sway over their thoughts, the phone on the wall let out a terse series of buzzes.

Quickly cutting a path over to it, Runel snatched up the receiver.

"Colonel Runel."

"Sir, Lieutenant Kucero here."

"Is the envoy aboard?"

"Yes, sir; no resistance, no weapons, we're on the move to you now."

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

Setting the receiver back in place, Runel let out a long breath.

"Well, the ball is in play," he said simply.

"You know, we never did get an accurate read on the type of explosive the bomber used aboard the Saratoga," muttered McQueen. "Best guess was some sort of polymer-based compound woven into the armored suit they wear."

"Then I guess that means you'll be on this end of the table when the envoy gets here," smirked Runel. "I just hope that also means you'll be on our side during this meet-and-greet."

"I'll back your play," sighed McQueen as he looked over towards Runel. "Though I am curious why you didn't send a courier back to advise IFOR of this meeting."

Meeting McQueen's unwavering gaze, Runel let out a slight chuckle.

"My task force, my mission; I hate being micro-managed," said Runel as he ambled his way back over to the table. "More to the point, I'd prefer to have a grasp on the bigger picture before I send back a courier; we send back just bits and pieces, the brass back on Earth might be apt to make some rash decisions. But, if you're worried this might somehow come back on you once your chain-of-command is advised, if you want, my after-action report can say that Colonel Webber and I dragged you kicking and screaming into this meeting."

Surprisingly, McQueen actually grinned a bit.

"Off the record, I couldn't give two cents whether the paper-pushers back on Earth have a full-on stroke over this meeting," began McQueen evenly. "Anything that could rob the Silicates of their safe haven in Chig territory and hasten an end to this war is worth looking into. But as the 'outsiders' in this situation, you should also be prepared for this to turn out to be nothing but crap."

"We're deep inside enemy territory tied to a compromised position while we wait for our recon team to return," chimed in Webber as she looked over at the clock on the wall. "By most measures I think we're already about hip-deep in a pile of crap."

"How much longer before they jump back?" asked Runel simply as he too looked over at the clock.

"Mission rules, thirty minutes," replied Webber. "After that we can jump to the alternate coordinates."

Runel was about to say something further when the entry hatch opened with a loud thump.

As Runel, Webber and McQueen all straightened up a bit at the table, half a dozen heavily armed Marines stepped quickly into the space, weapons at the ready. Fanning out a bit, a measure as much to keep one another out of any potential line of fire as anything, they turned back towards the entryway as another tall, imposing figure stepped into the compartment.

---

As the Chig entered the room, McQueen felt every muscle in his body tense.

Ever since the bombing which had taken his leg, McQueen had tried to imagine how he'd react if he ever found himself in a room with another Chig.

Potent as the experience was, fighting on a modern battlefield could sometimes have an almost curious amount of detachment to it. During most skirmishes, combatants exchanged fire with one another from afar, the stand-off range of most weapons introducing a measure of space that could make it an almost impersonal affair; you engaged 'targets' rather than living beings.

Moreover, with the Chigs always hidden within their armor, shrouded from view, even a kill at close quarters lacked a face to see, eyes to watch as the light of life faded away.

All that considered, McQueen would have guessed that being so close to a Chig again would be little or no different from any of the other times he'd encountered them.

Much to his surprise, he was wrong.

In truth, it was a surprisingly visceral experience, a primal fight or flight reaction coursing through every nerve, muscle and cell in his body like an electrical current, prodded and stoked by the shockingly potent memory of how the last time he'd been so close to a Chig it had literally exploded.

But even as dizzying amounts of adrenaline were pouring wholesale into his system, at least one portion of his mind was still cogent enough to notice something else about the Chig.

Although Major Danton had decoded a clear and unambiguous message indicating the Chig was seeking asylum, what the message had not included was exactly whom it was that was making the request.

Most Chig armor had little to nothing to distinguish one alien grunt from another. Officers typically had red highlights and striping of varying complexity; the more ornate the pattern, the higher the rank. To this point in the war, the highest ranking officer ever encountered was the one who'd played the role of suicide envoy aboard Saratoga.

From the degree of ornamentation on this Chig's armor, however, it was clear that he was that Chig's superior officer.

"Lieutenant Kucero, pull your Marines back a bit," stated Runel as the Chig stood perfectly still just inside the entryway.

"Aye, sir," replied the surprisingly burly woman standing closest to the Chig.

With a few crisp hand signals, the armed escorts slowly backed off the Chig, placing distance between them, but not necessarily lowering their guard.

"I've got two more teams standing by in the corridor, sir," stated Kucero as she continued to eye the unmoving Chig.

"Were there any others aboard the ship?" asked Webber as she too stood watching the Chig.

"Yes, ma'am, one other, pilot most likely; have a squad watching it down on the hangar deck."

"That's a lot of guns keeping watch, Lieutenant," muttered Runel as he extended a hand, bidding the Chig closer to the table. "Just do me a favor and unpucker a bit; last thing I want is to catch a round because someone in this room let out a fart."

"Aye, sir," nodded Kucero, relaxing, but only ever so slightly.

Consciously aware that its every move was being warily observed by a half dozen heavily armed guards, the Chig slowly stepped up to the table opposite of Runel, Webber and McQueen.

"Okay, now comes the fun part," muttered Runel as he reached out towards the unused translator still resting on the table. "How do we explain that he can use this to talk to us?"

Glancing over towards the Chig, McQueen took in a deep breath, reached out to Runel, took hold of the device, then began making his way around the table.

Although his heart was pounding away in his chest at a rhythm worthy of an amphetamine-fueled drummer, McQueen nevertheless managed to maintain his overall composure as he handed the device over to the Chig, making a very deliberate show of holding the earpiece up to his own ear before handing it over as well.

Since the Colonials were unable to create a contained area for it to breath its own atmosphere, the Chig remained fully ensconced within its armor and helmet, thus hiding from view its not-too-inhuman facial expressions. In spite of this, however, as McQueen handed over the earpiece, from its somewhat hesitant body language it seemed clear that the Chig was not entirely comfortable accepting the device, as if not fully convinced it wasn't some sort of concealed weapon it was now expected to hold up beside its own head.

If he were to be honest with himself, McQueen would have to admit he almost wished the device were a weapon; standing so close to the Chig, the surprisingly compelling impulse to strangle it with his bare hands was a hard temptation to resist.

Nevertheless, after a few pregnant moments, the Chig complied.

"Can you understand me?" asked McQueen simply.

Instantly, the Chig uttered a few guttural noises and clicks which McQueen from far too many close encounters recognized as Chig speech.

"Yes, I understand you," came the computer translation through the earpiece.

"Good," muttered McQueen curtly as he turned and made his way back around the table to Runel and Webber

In his own mind, it was very much a conscious act; in no uncertain terms did McQueen want to be anywhere near the Chig should the semi-circle of armed escorts feel the need to fire. Moreover, creating space was the surest measure he could take to ensure he himself didn't succumb to the impulse to dispatch the Chig.

"And how about me, can you understand what I'm saying as well?" asked Runel evenly as he looked across at the Chig envoy.

"Yes, I understand you as well."

"Good," sighed Runel, a faint smirk creeping onto his lips. "My name is Colonel Runel, I am in command of this task force; anything you have to say you can say to me."

"As commander of this task force are you authorized to speak on behalf of your government?" asked the Chig.

"I guess that depends on who it is I'm speaking to and what it is you have to say," replied Runel evenly.

"I am…," began the Chig, the translation device cutting out momentarily as the Chig spoke what McQueen could only guess was its own name, something the device clearly had no analogous reference for. "…Supreme Commander of my people's military forces."

"Well, Supreme Commander, since you are the one who contacted us, I guess the best place to begin this conversation is to ask why you did?" said Runel.

For a moment, the Chig seemed to hesitate.

"I am here…to ask for your assistance in driving the Silicates from our home world."

Although his heart had only marginally slowed its pace within his chest, McQueen nevertheless felt it quicken once more as an unanticipated flush of anger swept over him like a tsunami.

"Our assistance?" he spat, his tone taking on an edge he felt almost overwhelmed by. "For the last two years you have been waging an utterly merciless war against us, and now you want our help?"

"Colonel McQueen," snapped Runel, his own tone just sharp enough to slice through naked rage sweeping over the InVitro.

Sucking in a clipped breath, McQueen looked over and met Runel's gaze.

A rational mind detached from the moment would be able to intuit that antagonizing the Chig served no purpose. But in a very real sense, McQueen realized that at that moment he was very much teetering on a psychological precipice that defied reason.

Beyond the traumas and torments he himself had suffered or witnessed at the hands of the enemy over the course of the war, there was a deeper dignity that seemed to be screaming out from every cell in his body that for this Chig to come here and ask for their assistance required an audacity which bordered on madness. Merely asking the question struck McQueen as an act tantamount to trampling on the graves of the good men and women, the good friends, who'd lost their lives amid the senseless slaughter of the last two years.

It was then that the Supreme Commander unexpectedly asked something that managed to slice through McQueen's roiling indignation.

"Are you the same Colonel McQueen who was present during the negotiations aboard your vessel Saratoga?"

At that, McQueen looked back over at the Chig Supreme Commander.

Although the translator had not been able to translate the Supreme Commander's name, surprisingly, it apparently had no such difficulty translating human names.

But more than that, throughout the course of the war, the Chigs had repeatedly demonstrated an almost uncanny ability to ferret out information, often managing to do so in spite of stringent security measures or outright subterfuge. Hearing that the Supreme Commander of the enemy apparently knew him by name was a realization McQueen found decidedly unnerving.

"I am," replied McQueen as an uncomfortable tingle continued to work its way along his spine.

"The bombing aboard your ship…it was a deplorable catastrophe," stated the Supreme Commander. "My subordinate acted quite foolishly; I assure you, his actions were not sanctioned."

"If the negotiations were meant to be in good faith, Supreme Commander, why was the envoy armed with explosives?" asked McQueen flatly. "More importantly, why did your forces renew their attacks following the bombing if it wasn't a sanctioned act?"

"We were unaware he had impregnated his armor with explosives," replied the Supreme Commander evenly. "As for our immediate response, we were not aware that it was our own negotiator who had caused the detonation; we mistakenly believed he had been assassinated. By the time we realized our mistake, the Silicates had overthrown and eliminated our civil government. After that, we had no choice but to continue the war; it became impossible to make peace with your world when the price of defying them was our extermination."

Much to his own surprise, or even his chagrin, McQueen realized that the Supreme Commander's answer was one he could find little rational fault with; quite simply, had the situation been reversed would IFOR have responded any differently?

"Colonel McQueen, I can understand your hostility towards me, it is reasonable, the sentiment behind it one I can only too well understand," said the Supreme Commander. "I have lost my only three offspring in this conflict; losses such as these instill deep and potent attitudes that cannot be easily set aside."

Watching the Supreme Commander as he said as much, McQueen could almost swear that the translator had imbued the Supreme Commander's 'artificial voice' with a somber tone. Was it genuine, something the translator was legitimately able to detect, or was it merely McQueen's own imagination, a shadow of the melancholy in his own heart?

"Nevertheless, events have evolved in ways that force me to consider actions which I once considered unthinkable," continued the Supreme Commander. "If I can come here, set aside my own sense of loss at the hands of your species, can you do the same?"

For a moment, the question hung in the air.

To say that it prompted McQueen to search within his own soul was perhaps a stretch. Nevertheless, it did force McQueen to wrestle with a much more fundamental and perhaps more pressing question; with the survival of the human race very much at stake, was it still possible for him to set aside his animosity and really listen to anything the Supreme Commander might have to say?

---

"So you've come here to ask for our help against the Silicates," said Runel evenly, his statement a deliberate redirection back to the underlying issue at hand as he watched the simmering rage ebb somewhat from McQueen's expression.

"It is a request I am compelled to make for the sake of my people's survival," began the Supreme Commander.

"But if you believe the Silicates are willing to destroy your sacred moon in retaliation, why risk coming here?" cut-in Webber as she leaned in over the table a bit. "What's changed?"

For a moment, the Supreme Commander did not answer, instead he simply stood there, silent, his head bowing ever so slightly.

"Because in spite of our acquiescence to their demands, it is clear they are preparing to annihilate my world anyway…just as they are preparing to annihilate yours."

---

Raptor Four-Five-Eight
Chig Territory – Helios System

Squatting in the rear of the Raptor, trying her best to find some measure of comfort within the cramped space, Captain Shane Vansen scrolled through the information on the data pad in her hand.

"You're gonna go blind you keep going over that data," quipped West as he gave Vansen's shoulder a gentle nudge with his knee.

"It just doesn't make any sense," sighed Vansen, a slight snort of disgust escaping her as she handed the pad back over to Warrant Officer Gerrity.

"Don't know why you're letting it bother you so much," replied West as he let out a long sigh. "Look, we got something better than we'd been hoping for; proof that the bombs are fake."

"And how many lives did we lose because of those fake casings?" muttered Vansen as she slowly shook her head. "The Chigs thought they were real and they've been hammering our people relentlessly because of it."

"You can't let it eat you up, Captain," chimed in Gerrity.

"How can I not?" spat Vansen bitterly. "If it wasn't for the god-damned Silicates, this fucking war could have been over months ago."

Seething with pent-up anger, Vansen stood back up and began pacing, at least, as far as she could within a confined space occupied by half the recon team; about two paces either direction.

Suffice it to say, it did little to quell her agitation.

Neither did the fruitlessly frustrated punch Vansen gave to the Raptor bulkhead.

"All right, you might want to grab hold back there," called the Raptor's pilot through the translator earpiece. "We're spooled up and ready to jump."

Reaching out, Vansen took a handful of the cargo netting bolted to the bulkhead as her ears picked up the sound of the ship's engines winding up.

A moment later there was a bright flash of light outside the forward canopy.

"Jump complete," called the pilot casually.

"What about the other Raptor?" asked West as he eyed the visibly fuming Vansen.

"No worries, they made the jump too, Captain."

"You know, this whole 'jumping' thing may shave the time it takes to go from one spot to another, but you gotta hate the nausea it gives you," muttered Gunnery Sergeant Rakunas as he sat hunched over, taking in deep breaths.

"It goes away the more times you do it," grinned West as he looked over at Rakunas.

"God, I hope so," muttered Rakunas as he looked up, eyes blinking rapidly. "Usually takes nine or ten shots of straight Jaeger to knot my stomach up like this."

"Suck it up, Gunny," chuckled Gerrity as she took a swig of water.

"Just do us a favor," began in the Raptor's rear seat co-pilot as he glanced over from his panel. "If you're gonna hurl, do it in your helmet."

Although he grinned at first, within the span of a breath a flicker of genuine concern flashed across Gunney Rakunas' expression as he slowly reached over, picked up his helmet, and cradled it in his lap.

Chuckling slightly, West began making his way forward into the cockpit area.

"Mind if I sit side-seat?" he asked simply.

"You can as long as you don't touch any buttons," smirked the pilot as she glanced over at him and motioned towards the empty seat.

Chuckling a bit as he settled into the seat, West let out a long, genuinely satisfied sigh, grateful for the chance to sit after having spent the last few hours humping it through heavy jungle.

"Ensign Placencia, right?" asked West as he glanced over to the pilot.

"That's what it says on my driver's license," replied Placencia.

"Driver's license?" muttered West as he cast her a somewhat quizzical glance. "You had driver's licenses on the Colonies?"

"Oh, yeah, we had all kinds of bizarre things like that," began Placencia, the sarcasm positively dripping from her tone as she reached out and tapped a few controls on the console. "We also had these strange machines called 'cars', wrote bad checks, paid taxes…"

"Alright, point taken," chuckled West. "I guess I just hadn't really thought about it that way before, that on an entirely different planet, things could also be so 'ordinary'."

"Well, all things being equal, as long as the ass is in the same spot, it'd be kinda hard for chair to look any different," offered Placencia as she gave her own posterior a gentle pat.

"You've obviously never seen those Swedish ergonomic ones," countered West as he looked out at the stars beyond the cockpit.

"Your friend back there seems a little pissed," sighed Placencia as she casually motioned back towards Vansen.

"Subtlety's never been her style," smirked West as he glanced back over his shoulder. "Fighting the Chigs has been a hard fight, but when it comes to the Silicates, she's got a pretty big score to settle with them."

"Guess I know how she feels then," muttered Placencia. "Gods know, if I ever run into the Cylons again…"

Just then, the screen at the center of the console let out an alarm.

"Looks like we have a welcoming committee," said Placencia as she quickly tapped at a few icons on the screen.

"Enemy ships?" asked West flatly as he reflexively glanced down at the screen.

"No, IFF tags are coming back as Colonial," replied Placencia as she looked up and pointed out past the canopy. "There, four Vipers and a Raptor."

"Something must have happened while we were away," chimed in the co-pilot from the rear seat. "I'm tracking triple the number of birds out on CAP since we jumped out."

As the quintet of ships continued to close in, the overhead speakers inside the Raptor crackled to life.

"Inbound Raptors, this is Raptor Niner-Three-Two; verify identity immediately; challenge password is Ridgeview; thirty seconds to respond."

"Raptor Nine-Three-Two, this is Raptor Four-Five-Eight; challenge reply is Brookhurst," said Placencia as she continued to eye the closing planes.

Although two years of combat had more than acquainted Nathan West with stringent needs of fleet security, as a mere passenger on this flight, he nonetheless had a moment of acute sphincter pucker as he watched the Colonial fighters vectoring in for intercept on the ship he was sitting in.

Nevertheless, from the way the planes suddenly peeled off, it was clear that Placencia had given the correct response.

"I wonder what happened while we were away that they beefed up the aerial patrol," muttered Vansen as she sidled up in between the seats. "Think they'll tell us if we ask?"

Before Placencia had a chance to act of Vansen's question, however, another message filtered in through the overhead speakers.

"Raptor Four-Five-Eight, this is Niner-Three-Two; verify you have IFOR callsign Queen-of-Diamonds aboard?"

Glancing back over her shoulder at Vansen for a moment, Placencia immediately answered.

"That's affirm, Niner-Three-Two."

"Be advised, we have a relay message from IFOR command authority afloat; you are directed to report to IFOR Queen-Six aboard Enceladus for immediate debrief."

"Guess a shower is gonna have to wait," sighed West as he glanced over to Vansen.

"Almost hate to say it, but I'm not so sure that's a bad thing," muttered Vansen as she gave her uniform sleeve a slight sniff. "My field funk isn't that bad right now, and to be honest, Hawkes seems to be enjoying those co-ed showers aboard Savitri just a little too much for my comfort."

---

Battlecruiser Enceladus
Joint Reconnaissance Mission
Chig Territory - Pegasus Sector
Combat Operations Center

"So now that your world is under threat as well, you want our help," sighed Runel as he continued to stare across at the Supreme Commander. "That's not exactly what we'd consider an altruistic motive."

"Altruistic motives have been lacking on both sides of this conflict," replied the Supreme Commander evenly. "Nevertheless, I believe the situation has reached a tipping point where we either take the risk of working with one another against this threat, or we risk suffering extinction separately."

"You seem intent on portraying the situation in rather stark terms," began McQueen, pausing long enough to draw a long breath. "However, I'm sure you can understand if we are not so ready to accept the situation as hopeless; our fleet is rebuilding, our forces gaining in strength…"

"Your species' ability to adapt to military realities is impressive," cut in the Supreme Commander. "However, the information your intelligence assets have gathered on Silicate activities in our territory is doubtless incomplete."

"Care to enlighten us on what we've missed?" asked Runel flatly.

For a moment, the Supreme Commander stood silent.

"Only if you agree to help us," he finally said.

"But how can we be sure it's worth the risk if we don't know what you have to offer?" interjected Webber.

Again, the Supreme Commander stood momentarily silent.

"Interesting that you put it in those terms yet only a moment ago questioned my lack of an altruistic motive in contacting you," said the Supreme Commander, the translation device imbuing the statement with an audibly perceptible amount of irony.

"You attacked us first, drew the first blood in this war," countered McQueen coolly. "We have every right to demand that our trust be earned, not just given; you need to give us something or this conversation is pointless."

As he glanced over and saw McQueen little more than staring coldly across at the Supreme Commander, Runel was beginning to question whether including McQueen had been an error.

To be sure, even by the Supreme Commander's own admission, McQueen had cause for bitterness; the war between humanity and the Chigs had been marked by moments of vicious fighting and abject barbarism, one only needed to reread Major Gaines' after-action report regarding the butchered human bodies her team had found to know that.

But, there was also a point where antagonism ceased to be anything but its own deleterious servant.

To Runel, McQueen seemed to be treading along the razor-thin edge that delineated helpfulness from hindrance.

For a moment, it seemed as if the negotiations, such as they were, had completely stalled, with neither side speaking so much as a word; it was a painfully palpable silence that was broken only when the handset on the wall began buzzing incessantly for attention.

Somewhat thankful for the break in the tension, Runel took in a deep breath, removed his translator earpiece, tossing it down with a slight clatter on the tabletop, and stepped over to the handset, snatching it up like a veritable lifeline.

"Runel."

"CIC, Lieutenant Birch, sir; the recon team has returned, no casualties reported; the Raptor with Captain Vansen is coming aboard now."

"Contact the Chief of the Deck, have Captain Vansen brought to COC then coordinate with Savitri, bring the CAP back in and jump us to the alternate coordinates when all birds are skids-down."

"Aye, sir."

Hanging the handset back up, Runel turned back to the expectant faces of Webber and McQueen.

Stepping back over to the table, Runel retrieved the earpiece and slipped it back into place.

"Colonel McQueen, you'll be happy to hear that your people are back safe and sound," began Runel as he met McQueen's somewhat questioning gaze.

"Casualties?"

"None reported," replied Runel. "Per your request, Captain Vansen is coming aboard now."

---

It really didn't take much more than a stroll to remind Vansen of just how big the Colonial warships were by comparison to the Saratoga.

Even the corridors themselves, with their vaulting A-shaped ceilings, were comparatively spacious; one almost never needed to duck while stepping through an access hatch and rarely needed to side-step someone coming the opposite direction. She'd certainly banged her shins on enough knee-knockers and run up against enough exposed pipes aboard the 'Toga to be able to appreciate such comparatively palatial amounts of space.

The only down side was that it seemed to take forever to actually reach any one particular location, with enough twists and turns that even the crude handwritten signs in English taped to the bulkheads were of only dubious worth.

Fortunately, the armed escort leading both her and Warrant Officer Gerrity through the labyrinth seemed to know exactly where she was going, taking each turn and ladderwell without the least sign of hesitation.

"Just make sure you have that data ready, Gerrity," muttered Vansen. "From the looks of that Chig ship down on the hangar deck, I'm guessing Colonel McQueen is going to be very interested in what we found down on Anvil."

---

Although McQueen had been somewhat taken aback at first when Runel suggested he step out and take Vansen's report out in the corridor, ostensibly to hear what the recon team had found away from the potentially prying ears of the Supreme Commander, having had a few minutes now to cool both his heels and his temper, he had to admit it had probably been a smart idea.

And yet that alone irked McQueen on an entirely different level; not only had he lost his objectivity, he had clearly done so in such a blatant fashion that someone else had felt the need to reign him back in, however obliquely.

Taking in a deep breath, McQueen wondered which wounded his pride more; losing control, or someone else knowing he had.

With his ears perking up a bit at the sounds of booted footfalls on the hard alloy decks, McQueen looked up in time to see Vansen and Gerrity as they and an armed escort rounded the corridor at the far end.

Rather than simply waiting, McQueen instantly set off towards them.

As she stepped up, the armed guard who'd been escorting Vansen and Gerrity gave only a slight nod and took a few steps off down the corridor.

"We saw the Chig ship down on the hangar deck, sir," began Vansen as she glanced past McQueen and noted the armed squad waiting in the corridor. "I take it we have a visitor onboard?"

"You could say that," muttered McQueen laconically. "How did the recon mission go, did you meet any resistance?"

"None, sir," replied Vansen as she motioned towards Gerrity. "No Chigs, no Silicates, but we were able to get a good look at a few of the devices on the surface."

As Vansen spoke, Gerrity held out the data pad in her hand to McQueen.

"Since you're here in one piece, can I assume you figured out a way to disarm the bombs?" asked McQueen as he took hold of the pad.

"Better," grinned Gerrity as she watched McQueen begin scrolling through the information. "We checked out five devices just to be sure, but as you can see, Colonel…"

"They're empty?" popped McQueen, looking up from the pad with little more than surprise.

"Yes, sir," nodded Vansen. "From the outside, they look pretty impressive, have some flashing lights and bits of faux electronics, but they're nothing but shells, no explosives or toxins of any kind."

Pausing, McQueen scrolled through the information again, reading and rereading the truncated data in little more than disbelief, a peculiar excitement creeping into his calculating expression.

"You have no idea how important this discovery is," he said simply.

---

"Here's what I have trouble understanding," sighed Runel, pausing for a moment as he looked across at the Supreme Commander. "If your people have been watching Earth for several millennia, you obviously have vast technological advantages; why did your people wait until now to attack?"

"Primitive as your species is, we had no desire to conquer you," replied the Supreme Commander evenly. "We were content to leave your world alone, at least, until you began encroaching on our territory."

"Nevertheless, your planet did develop an impressive military capacity," interjected Webber. "Seems to me that you thought a conflict was inevitable; you didn't even try diplomacy, peaceful contact."

"In watching your world, the wars your people have fought, the suffering you have inflicted upon yourselves time and again, we had no reason to expect you would react any differently once our civilizations came into contact with one another," began the Supreme Commander, pausing to look over at a couple of the armed guards posted around him. "For better or worse, those beliefs were only reinforced by the Silicates when we first came into contact with them."

Although he found it strange to hear the Supreme Commander speaking in terms such as 'your world', seemingly as though he thought the Colonials were from Earth as well, there was a deeper underlying nugget of truth about his 'species' that Runel could not readily deny.

While Runel had spent more than a few of his off-duty hours over the last couple months going through information about Earth's history, most of that pertained only to the current conflict. But when it came to a subject with which he was quite well versed, specifically the history of the Twelve Colonies themselves, he could readily provide replete examples of the brutal depravity human beings were capable of inflicting upon one another, especially from the periods before unification.

Hell, even the Cylons themselves had at one point been merely another weapon for humans to unleash upon other humans.

"Nevertheless, that was the testimony of a vanquished enemy," countered Runel, a long sigh escaping him as he buried down his internal musings on human barbarism. "The Silicates had been driven from Earth after they rebelled; did it never occur to you that they might be lying about humans?"

"It did," replied the Supreme Commander. "But when we saw that your world was developing a military fleet capable of reaching our territory, it only seemed to confirm what we already feared; your people were a threat that needed to be contained."

"And so, in response, you developed a fleet of your own," sighed Runel, the conclusion seemingly obvious.

For a moment, the Supreme Commander was silent.

"No, you misunderstand me," he finally said. "We already had a fleet, we simply prepared ourselves to meet what we saw as the most immediate threat."

"But you just said that you didn't begin to see Earth as a threat until it developed a fleet," muttered Webber, her eyes narrowing a bit as she looked at the Supreme Commander. "If you didn't see human beings as a threat before that, why did you already have a fleet?"

"Because we also found the ship," replied the Supreme Commander evenly. "We've never encountered those who built it, but its mere existence was enough to convince us of the need to defend ourselves should they ever return."

Now it was Runel and Webber who paused, the two officers exchanging a momentary yet utterly confused glance.

"What ship?" asked Webber as she slowly looked back across to the Supreme Commander.

Again, the Supreme Commander hesitated, his head turning ever so slightly, looking first at Webber, then at Runel.

"Your feigned ignorance is hardly convincing," began the Supreme Commander, his hand slowly motioning at the room around them. "We know your world discovered it as well, the evidence is all around us. We had assumed that because of its physical state there was little your race would be able to reverse engineer from it; clearly we were wrong."

Almost instantly, Runel felt as though he'd been thrown head first into a murky pool of perplexity; simply put, he had absolutely no idea what hell the Supreme Commander was talking about.

Were the translators malfunctioning?

"Forgive me, Supreme Commander, but I'm just a little confused," began Runel, hesitating a bit as he tried to grope his way through his sudden puzzlement. "Are you saying that your people found a ship built by some other aliens?"

"Yes."

"And you think Earth found it too and built this ship, my ship, using technology salvaged from it?"

"Yes."

Again, Runel and Webber looked to one another.

"Okay, this whole conversation just took a hard left turn into bizarre," muttered Webber, sucking in a slight breath, her expression contorting a bit with the confusion she felt. "Supreme Commander, are you saying you think we are from Earth?

"Yes," replied the Supreme Commander flatly.

Taking in a slow breath as he tried to wrap his mind around the Supreme Commander's perplexing assertion, Runel was left bereft of any explanation that didn't involve the translators suddenly developing a serious glitch. The only evidence he had to the contrary was that Webber was apparently hearing the exact same responses he was from the Supreme Commander.

"Okay, I think there's been some rather profound miscommunication here," sighed Runel as he reached up and scratched at the stubble forming on his chin. "Supreme Commander, we are not from Earth."

"But you are human," countered the Supreme Commander, his tone clearly growing flustered. "I fail to see what this attempt at deception serves; I came here in good faith to seek your assistance."

"I assure you, Supreme Commander, we are not trying to deceive you," countered Runel firmly. "Colonel McQueen is from Earth, but we are not, our ships were not built by Earth…frankly, I'd think the rather drastic design differences would be an indicator of that much to you…and our uniforms, frak, our language…"

At that, Runel's voice trailed off; partly because he was little more than dumbfounded as to how the Supreme Commander had come to the conclusion they were from Earth, and partly because he felt stymied in proving it since they themselves still did not know where the Twelve Colonies were.

For a moment, the Supreme Commander stood silent, the only sound being what Runel and Webber could only guess was deep and increased respiration; an unsettling sign of the Chig's mounting agitation.

"Okay, let's try this another way," muttered Webber, a cold tingle rolling along her spine as she tried to divine what was happening behind the expressionless helmet staring at her. "Why do you think we're lying?"

At first, the Supreme Commander answered her question with silence, that same damned maddening silence as it slowly looked at Webber, then to Runel, then at the armed guards encircling it.

After several tense, uncertain moments, the Supreme Commander slowly reached down to a device affixed to his thigh. As he did so, Runel's mind instantly flashed to Colonel McQueen's warning that IFOR had never figured out what type of explosive had been used aboard Saratoga.

"Marines!" snapped Runel.

Instantly, six rifle muzzles popped up, each aimed squarely at the Supreme Commander's torso.

Save for an almost imperceptible head movement, the Supreme Commander froze.

"Trust," he said simply, then resumed reaching for the device.

With slow, deliberate movements, clearly very much aware what the six rifles aimed at him were capable of unleashing, the Supreme Commander retrieved the device, then slowly set it onto the table top.

His heart racing at a few hundred beats more than he would have wished, Runel watched warily as the Supreme Commander pressed a small protrusion on the device.

Almost instantly, directly above the device, a swirl of pixilated light appeared.

"Is that a hologram?" muttered Webber.

"Yes," replied the Supreme Commander evenly as the pixels slowly resolved themselves into an image.

"Pretty remarkable technology," said Runel, his tone genuinely impressed.

But even as he expressed his admiration of the device itself, a slow tingle began working its way along his spine as the pixels resolved themselves into a recognizable image.

"Holy frak…," whispered Webber, her tone both stunned and astonished, perhaps even a bit frightened as she leaned in a bit over the table. "Thadius, is that what I think it is?"

Caught momentarily speechless, Runel could not reply; the image was indeed one he recognized only too well.

The ship was wrecked, ravaged, with large sections of her armor plating sheared away she was little more than a battered hulk resting amid a scattered smattering of debris within a deep ravine, a runoff path gouged into a planet's surface by her impact.

Shattered as it was, though, it was nevertheless all-too-easy recognizable.

A Colonial Battlestar.

"You accuse us of lying to you?" snapped Runel, a sudden flush of anger sweeping over him. "That is fake, a forgery generated from any number of images your forces could have taken of the Pacifica or Asterica…"

"No!" burst the Supreme Commander, his tone, even through the translator, clearly incensed. "This is the ship which resides on the innermost planet of your system, the one your people call 'Mercury'."

Looking again at the image of the broken Battlestar, Runel felt his body begin to quake ever so slightly, a faint nausea gripping his stomach.

This had to be a lie.

"We discovered it on the planet's surface approximately ninety thousand of your years ago," continued the Supreme Commander. "Based on our projections, by that time the ship had already been there for sixty thousand years."

Transfixed, wholly unable to look away from the image, Runel felt his heart pounding in his chest as he mentally fumbled with the impossible numbers being quoted by the Supreme Commander.

"Are you telling us that that ship crashed onto the surface of Mercury one-hundred and fifty thousand years ago?" muttered Webber, her tone lost in awe.

"Yes."

His previous flash of anger still seething at a low boil, Runel looked up at the Supreme Commander with little more than reactionary contempt, a thousand random thoughts rampaging through in his mind.

One-hundred and fifty thousand years…that had to be a lie.

But beyond that, the image of the demolished Battlestar prompted still deeper concerns in Runel.

Was this the proof they'd been looking for, evidence that the Cylons were in fact lurking nearby?

Had the Chigs destroyed the ship themselves and were now attempting to mask their culpability behind this ludicrous story of it crashing there untold millennia ago?

Had the Silicates destroyed the ship?

Dear gods; had Earth?

As Runel's eyes returned to the image of the shattered Battlestar, his mind reeling with all the potential ramifications, real, imagined or simply paranoid as the case may be, the Supreme Commander again reached out and pressed the protrusion.

Instantly, the image changed, the pixels blurring for a moment before once again resolving into another image, this one apparently much closer to the wreck; it was the forward section of the mangled remains of what would have been the port flight pod.

"Oh, my gods," whispered Runel, his reeling indignation of only moments ago choking within his throat as every hair on his body stood on end.

Marred as it was, charred and weathered, one word nevertheless stood out with chilling clarity, utterly heartrending but nevertheless recognizable.

One word.

One impossible word.

Galactica.

Looking up at the Supreme Commander, Runel's glare was dripping with acid disdain.

"Thadius," prodded Webber, watching him intently as she motioned her head towards the ready Marines.

Glancing over into her eyes, one very simple idea coalesced out of the swirling maelstrom of Runel's thoughts; he need to know rights gods damned now whether the Supreme Commander was lying.

And if he wasn't…

Turning hard on his heels, he purposefully strode over to the phone on the wall and snatched up the handset with all the brooding fervor of a man ordering a vengeful execution.

"CIC, Lieutenant Birch."

"I want two Raptors prepped immediately; one outfitted with a full ELINT and surveillance package, the other fully armed as escort, then get your ass down here to COC," snapped Runel, slamming the handset back down as he looked back over to the Supreme Commander. "You want us to believe you, to help you, tell me exactly where that ship is."

---

After she'd given him her full report, frankly nothing short of an exhaustive analysis of the fake casings right down to what color each of the individual flashing lights were, McQueen had dismissed Gerrity, the EOD tech returning to the hangar deck with the guard who'd escorted them there in the first place.

Now alone with Vansen in the corridor, at least, as alone as they could be with half a squad of heavily armed guards milling about only a few meters away outside the conference room, McQueen took a deep breath as he considered his next move.

"Whoever is in that room will probably have a lot to say about what we found, sir," prodded Vansen as she noted McQueen's reticence.

"To be honest, important as this intel is I'm not all that keen on going back into that room, Captain," muttered McQueen as he cast a wary glance back over his shoulder towards the hatch. "Looking at that Chig really got under my skin."

"Can't say I blame you, sir," sighed Vansen as she too looked over towards the entryway. "Just looking at a Chig has creeped me out ever since we ran into that first one on Mars; with everything that's happened since, they're hardly what I would consider warm and fuzzy to be around. To be honest, after what they've put you through, I'm surprised you didn't gut him with that butterfly knife of yours."

Smirking a bit, McQueen let out a long breath.

"The thought crossed my mind," muttered McQueen as he looked back over to Vansen. "Hell, if word got back that I'd killed the Supreme Commander of the entire Chig military, I'd likely never have to buy a drink in a bar again for the rest of my life."

"Supreme Commander?" asked Vansen as she cast a glance over towards the entryway.

"His armor stripes are certainly ornate enough," nodded McQueen. "Granted we only have his word and nothing else to vet his credentials, but he claims to be the highest ranking officer in their military."

"Kill him and they ought to give you a medal," muttered Vansen as she let out a long sigh.

"Forget the medal, I'd rather take the drinks," smirked McQueen. "But if this envoy is legit, my personal feelings aside it might be worth hearing what it has to say; if it has some new intel on what the Silicates have in store for Earth, it could save a lot of lives."

As the two of them slipped back into silence for a moment, McQueen pausing to not only digest the report a bit more, but to consider how he might be able to best leverage that information with the Supreme Commander, the dull thump of a hatchway opening resonated down the corridor.

Both of them glancing back over to the conference room, McQueen and Vansen caught sight of another Colonial officer ducking into the room.

"I'd better get back in there," muttered McQueen as he turned and began making his way back to the entry hatch.

After a few scant steps, he paused, then glanced back over his shoulder to Vansen.

"I want you in there too, Captain," he muttered. "This report might have more impact if it comes from the one whose boots were actually on the ground."

---

Following close on Colonel McQueen's heels, Vansen stepped into the compartment.

Although she'd left most of her combat and environmental support gear down on the hangar deck, with the dull, moldy stench of the Anvil's jungle environment and methane atmosphere mixed with the grimy musk of her own body's sweat and grunge doubtless wafting from the very fabric of her uniform, she couldn't help but feel a touch out of place being in the midst of a formal negotiation.

Nevertheless, there she was.

Colonel Webber she recognized almost instantly, the CO of the Savitri standing to one side of a large plot table with two other Colonial officers.

But for Shane Vansen, the most striking facet of that moment was the sight of a Chig, ostensibly the Supreme Commander of the Chig military, standing at the center of a semi-circle of heavily armed guards opposite of them.

Although most of her own worst traumas in this conflict had actually come at the hands of the Silicates, the mere sight of the Chig nevertheless sent a cold chill along her spine, her eyes reflexively scowling a bit as the animal segment of her mind stirred with an almost instinctual disdain.

As such, she barely managed to look away from the imposing figure as she and McQueen made their way around the plot table towards the trio of Colonial officers.

---

As he and Vansen stepped up to Runel and Webber, McQueen couldn't help but notice that their overall demeanor seemed to have shifted considerably since he'd left the room.

Subdued, guarded, they both looked over at him and Vansen, their eyes, at least to him, almost wary as Runel slowly held up his hand, motioning for McQueen to wait a moment.

As he stood there, McQueen watched as Runel and Webber spoke a few brief words to the third officer with them and noted, much to his puzzlement, that he was not hearing a translation through his earpiece.

Pulling the translator from his pocket, McQueen looked at the screen and was genuinely surprised to see that Runel and Webber had blocked their links to his device.

Scowling slightly as he looked up from the screen, McQueen watched as the third officer nodded, then began making his way around towards the Supreme Commander. Pausing for a moment as he stood beside the imposing figure, he then took hold of an odd looking device resting on the table, Chig technology best as McQueen could tell from the looks of it, and quickly made his was back towards the entry hatch.

As the officer exited the room, Runel and Webber both stood there for a moment staring at McQueen and Vansen, a few more curt and frustratingly untranslated words passing between them before both Runel and Webber pulled their translators back out of their pockets and tapped a few icons on the screen.

Looking back down at his own device, McQueen saw that the links to Runel and Webber had been unblocked.

"Is something wrong?" asked McQueen simply as he looked up from the screen and slipped the device back into his pocket.

Taking a long breath, Runel looked across at the Supreme Commander, then back to McQueen.

"Is this the officer who was in charge of the recon mission?" asked Runel evenly.

"Yes, Captain Shane Vansen," replied McQueen, looking first to Runel, then to Webber. "Vansen, this is Colonel Runel, commander of the task force."

"Sir," nodded Vansen.

Runel in turn gave her a slight nod as well.

"Before Vansen gives her report, Colonel Runel, is there something the two of you have to tell us?" asked McQueen flatly.

Exchanging a momentary glance with Webber, Runel let out a long, almost gloomy breath.

"The Supreme Commander just turned over some new intel to us," began Webber, her tone guarded, precise. "Rather provocative really."

"What kind of intel?" asked McQueen as he watched the two Colonial officers intently, gauged their expressions.

"His people may have had contact with another Colonial warship," replied Runel, a cool edge evident in his voice, cautious, almost accusatorial. "As an act of good will, he's given us their location; we're sending out a recon mission to see if the information pans out."

"That sounds like good news," muttered Vansen.

From the tone in Vansen's voice, it seemed clear, at least to McQueen, that she too was picking up on the undercurrent of tension emanating from Runel and Webber. With that as confirmation that he wasn't just imagining it, McQueen's curiosity over why their attitudes had indeed shifted so profoundly only deepened.

"I should think that word of other survivors from your civilization would be cause for celebration," said McQueen as he continued to watch for any subtle cues in Runel's and Webber's expressions.

"Time will tell," replied Runel, his own eyes clearly reading McQueen as well. "But back to the recon mission; did your people find anything useful?"

McQueen had been given the brush off enough times to know that that was exactly what he was receiving at that moment. Worse still, it was clear that whatever had transpired in this room, whatever information the Supreme Commander had turned over while he'd been out in the corridor, it had had an acute effect on how Runel and Webber were now regarding him.

For Colonel Tyrus Cassius McQueen, a man who was nearly devout in adhering to the dictates of honor, regarded his own integrity as both sacrosanct and inviolate, it was little short of infuriating to think that Runel and Webber might now be judging him through the prism of some unknown information without giving him an opportunity to refute or challenge it.

Nevertheless, the more pressing concerns of the moment, of being deep inside enemy territory, of a Chig standing on the other side of the room, seemed to trump, at least for now, his personal feelings on the matter.

"Are you certain you don't want to hear what she has to report in private first?" asked McQueen evenly, casting a subtle nod towards the Supreme Commander as he did so.

"No, I don't think so," replied Runel pensively as he looked across to the Supreme Commander. "Maybe hearing it right now, first hand, will go a long way towards establishing that trust the Supreme Commander is so anxious to create…"

Slowly, Runel's gaze returned to McQueen.

"…as well as ensure everyone in this room is telling the truth."

While it struck McQueen as perhaps the most blatant double-standard he'd ever come across for Runel to be paying lip-service to everyone being truthful while clearly withholding information himself, until he knew more about what had transpired while he was in the corridor, McQueen was left with seemingly few avenues of protest; Runel was after all still in command of the mission.

---

As she watched the frankly brusque and sub-textually charged interplay taking place between McQueen, Webber and Colonel Runel, Vansen couldn't help but feel a bit indignant.

For reasons she couldn't even begin to guess at, the two Colonial officers were acting as though Colonel McQueen had in some way betrayed them, a notion she found as ridiculous as it was infuriating; if ever there was a man whose word could be trusted like that of the most holy on high, it was the word of Colonel Tyrus Cassius McQueen.

You might not like what he had to say, but you could damned well be certain it was the truth.

"What did your team find, Captain?" asked Runel simply as he looked over at her.

Glancing over at McQueen as he took a subtle step backwards, Vansen locked eyes with him for a moment, hesitant until she saw him give the slightest nod.

Drawing in a breath, Vansen looked back over to Runel and Webber.

"As you know, my team inserted was inserted onto Anvil…"

As the words left her mouth, a deep, sonorous growl erupted from the Chig standing on the far side of the room.

Instantly, the attention of everyone snapped back to it.

Indeed, so abrupt and startling was the outburst that the semicircle of armed guards surrounding it had their muzzles poised and ready even before Vansen had completed sucking in a startled breath.

"You sent soldiers to our sacred moon!" burst the Supreme Commander, the translation filtering in through Vansen's earpiece with little short of acid contempt dripping from every word.

Genuinely surprised that the guards had not simply gunned the Chig down, Vansen hesitated as Runel, Webber and McQueen all stood staring back over at it, all of them clearly as unnerved by the outburst as she was.

"We needed to ascertain what threat the Silicate devices on the surface posed," snapped Runel as he surged a few steps forwards towards the table.

"If the Silicates detected the presence of your team…"

"Our presence was not detected," countered Vansen flatly.

"How can you be certain?" growled the Chig.

"We encountered no patrols, took no fire…" snapped Vansen, her previous shock giving way to reflexive anger.

"There could be surveillance drones, sensor nets, clandestine scouting parties, any one of these things could be deployed in the area," replied the Supreme Commander, by his very demeanor clearly not taking any appreciable heed of the six heavy rifles aimed squarely at it. "How do you know the Silicates won't detonate the devices in retaliation?"

"Because there are no explosives!" burst McQueen, his statement instantly grabbing the attention not only of the Supreme Commander but of Webber and Runel as well.

As the guards surrounding the Supreme Commander stood poised, very much still ready to fire, a moment of tense silence held sway as Runel slowly looked back over to Vansen.

"Is that true, Captain?" asked Runel evenly.

"Yes, sir, it is," replied Vansen, her breathing still a bit ragged from the surge of adrenaline prompted by the Supreme Commander's outburst.

As another moment of tense silence fell over the room, everyone looked back over to the Supreme Commander.

With his upper body heaving slightly, it seemed clear the Supreme Commander was every bit as agitated as the rest of them were, nevertheless, it said nothing.

"Continue your report, Captain," muttered McQueen evenly as he continued to watch the Supreme Commander pensively.

"Supported by Explosive Ordnance techs familiar with both Chig weapons and Silicate improvised explosives, we scouted five separate devices," continued Vansen as she casually motioned towards the data pad McQueen was still holding. "All five when opened were found to be empty; no explosive charges, no toxins; they're just hollow shells."

As everyone fell silent once more, looking across at the Supreme Commander, waiting for some sign, some hint of what it was thinking or about to do, McQueen suddenly turned on his heels and began making his way around the table towards the Supreme Commander.

"I'm not going to lie to you," began McQueen bitterly, almost mockingly as he looked down at the pad and began slowly panning through the photos. "There's a part of me that really wouldn't give a damn if the Silicates wiped out your world, would almost be your just reward for starting this damned war in the first place, for allying with Silicates, for giving them safe haven within your territory and the resources they needed to build ships and new bodies."

Clearly watching McQueen as he made his way around the table, the Chig Supreme Commander flexed the fingers of his free hand, a clenched fist soon forming that seemed all-too-ready to strike once the Colonel was close enough.

"But, there's also a part of me that understands that in every war there are innocents who suffer needlessly," continued McQueen as he looked up from the pad. "Now I don't know if you swear any sort of oath, but I do know that as a soldier, like me, your duty is to protect the lives of those innocent people, at the cost of your own if necessary, not to offer them up as slaves."

As he at last arrived on the far side of the table, McQueen nudged his way past one of the armed guards, motioning brusquely for them all to back off as he boldly came virtually nose-to-nose with the Supreme Commander, holding up the data pad for him to see as he again almost mercilessly scrolled through the photos of the casing interiors.

"Now, you want us to trust you, to help you, first I want to know what you plan to do about this," growled McQueen contemptuously as he practically shoved the data pad closer to the Supreme Commander's helmeted face. "You said the only reason this war has gone on this long is because the Silicates were holding this phantom threat of genocide over your people, well, how do you plan to respond now that you know the truth?"

His frustration clearly bubbling over at having to stare into an unreadable helmet, McQueen, little more than disgusted, tossed the pad town onto the tabletop with a clatter.

"The Silicates lied to you, Supreme Commander," hissed McQueen. "You failed to protect your people once already, betrayed them over a baseless fear, so now I want to know; what will you do about this?"

---

For a moment, the human's scathing question simply hung heavy in the air, the words themselves little more than a scornful indictment leveled against everything the Supreme Commander had done, every choice he had made since the Silicate coup.

Slowly looking over to the device McQueen had tossed down onto the table, the Supreme Commander took a few heavy, tentative steps towards it, his eyes locked on the images of the empty casings, his mind was reeling.

In that moment, with the apparent revelation that his people had suffered and died by the scores, had been enslaved and sacrificed in the vain hopes of preventing their genocide at the hands of the Silicates, only to be once more betrayed, that it had been nothing more than a deception far beyond cruelty was at last more than the Supreme Commander could bear.

With his respiratory membranes shuddering from the irresistible rage quaking through every cell in his body, the Supreme Commander, utterly bereft of caring whether the armed guards surrounding him opened fire, threw his hands into the air and howled.

---

As the blood curdling screech resonated off the very walls, everybody in the room jumped back in little short of startled terror at the naked rage emanating from the Supreme Commander.

For an instant, the entire scene seemed to spiral towards utter chaos as the hatchway exploded open, a flood of additional armed bodies rushing in, weapons at the ready.

"Hold your fire!" cried Runel, arms thrown wide, his voice almost drowned out by the Supreme Commander's reverberating cry, his entreaty little short of a desperate bid to keep the Marines from gunning the Chig down.

With uncertainty and trepidation reigning supreme, it seemed no small miracle that a hail of gunfire didn't erupt, Runel's entreaty apparently enough, if only just, to stay his Marines' trigger fingers as the Supreme Commander suddenly lunged forward.

With a crash, the Supreme Commander brought an armor-encrusted fist down hard onto the data pad, the device and the acrylic surface of the plot table shattering from the impact.

With anxious, expectant eyes, everyone stood watching the Supreme Commander, his entire form visibly trembling, his quaking fist still resting amid the shattered remains of the data pad and splintered table top, head bowed slightly.

Her own body trembling slightly, Vansen cast a wary glance over towards McQueen as he stood near the epicenter of over a dozen heavily armed and poised soldiers.

McQueen for his own part took the slightest step backward from the hunched form of the Supreme Commander, a prudent acknowledgment of the fact that if gunfire did erupt, there was no way he'd emerge unscathed at such close quarters.

Both Runel and Webber seemed equally uncertain, Runel's expression one of clear and legitimate concern that one of his still visibly keyed-up Marines might still fire as he silently motioned them all to back away.

After an utterly agonizing pause, the Supreme Commander at last looked up from the shattered data pad, his gaze seeming to settle on Colonel Runel as it lifted the translator ear piece, almost miraculously still intact, back up beside his head.

"Return me to my people."

---

Fifth Planet of the Helios Star System
Orbit

"It is confirmed, your Excellency," began Cain Six-Zero-Seven as it knelt before the aged figure resting in the seat. "The Supreme Commander has made contact with the Colonial forces operating in this region."

"Have there been any updates from our forces in the Ceres region?" asked Cavil, his hand trembling ever so slightly as he looked over at Cain Six-Zero-Seven.

"None, your Excellency," replied Cain Six-Zero-Seven evenly. "Every available scout has been deployed throughout the system, but we have not had any contact since our forces intercepted and destroyed the last courier four days ago; environmental conditions in the system are hampering efforts…"

"I'm sure I don't need to explain how displeased I am that you have not hunted down and destroyed them by now," interjected Cavil, his weathered brow scowling deeply as he spoke. "I want that ship, not excuses."

"Yes, your Excellency," replied Cain Six-Zero-Seven, bowing slightly as it spoke. "For the time being, however, they are at least cut-off and contained; should not our primary concern be the apparent defection of the Supreme Commander? The information he has…"

"Could not possibly be used effectively by the humans in the time remaining to them," interjected Cavil, pausing to take in a labored breath as a slight smirk creased his lips. "And with the array nearly complete these creatures have now outlived their usefulness; assemble our available forces and prepare to attack."

---

Battlecruiser Enceladus
Combat Information Center
Alert Status – Condition One
Helios System

"Jump complete, Colonel," called Lieutenant Thorpe.

"What's our position, Lieutenant?" asked Runel as his hawkish eyes reflexively focused in on the screens overhead.

"We're holding position three-hundred-k out from Anvil, sir," replied Thorpe. "DRADIS is clear, no contacts on rad systems."

"Going to be hard seeing what's happening deeper in the system," muttered Colonel McQueen as he glanced across the plot table to Runel. "Anvil's blocking our view of the Chig..."

Pausing, McQueen glanced momentarily over at the Supreme Commander standing by the entry hatch flanked by six armed guards.

"...of the Supreme Commander's home world," amended McQueen as his eyes slowly returned to the screen overhead. "Can I presume you have an idea for getting around that?"

"Sir, message from Savitri; Raptor is skids up and moving into position now," stated Petty Officer Templeton.

"Thank you, Petty Officer," said Runel as he looked back over at McQueen. "The dossier IFOR gave us said you've been in ground combat before, have fought in urban environments; ever used a mirror to peek around a corner, Colonel?"

"A few times," nodded McQueen.

"Same principle, bigger scale," sighed Runel as he motioned up to the Raptor icon on DRADIS. "Slip a Raptor with a full ELINT package out just over the horizon; gives us a peek of what's going on around the corner without having to stick our own big nose out there."

"That's still a lot of dead space showing up on your scope," noted McQueen, nodding slightly towards the screens overhead. "Could be the enemy has feelers of their own out there."

"True," sighed Runel as he too looked back up at the screen. "I guess we'll know they do if we come under attack in the next few minutes."

Letting out a long sigh, McQueen simply stood staring across at Runel.

Casting a sidewise glance back over at McQueen, Runel couldn't help but notice the attention he was receiving.

"Something on your mind, Colonel?" asked Runel as he watched the Raptor's progress on DRADIS.

"Quite a few things, actually," replied McQueen flatly.

Pausing, Runel gave a quick glance to the personnel around CIC then motioned for McQueen to follow as he began making his way over towards a somewhat more secluded section of the space.

"Our Raptor will be slipping over the horizon in about six minutes," sighed Runel as he glanced back over at the DRADIS screens. "As a professional courtesy, I'll give you five; speak your mind."

"Then let me start by saying this," began McQueen, his subdued voice taking on a cool edge as he cast a glance back over at the Supreme Commander. "Up until now, I've pretty much paid only the perfunctory amount of lip service needed whenever you've stretched the bounds of your mission out here."

"Just so we're clear, how exactly have I stretched those bounds?"

"Our mission was supposed to be reconnaissance, gathering hard intel on enemy movements and disposition."

"Which we've done," interjected Runel with a slight nod.

"But the point of gathering that information was so we could relay it back to IFOR Command and let them decide what to do next," shot back McQueen, taking a half step closer to Runel. "Now I have gone along so far and backed your plays, I even let you use my people for the mission down to Anvil…"

"Get to your point, Colonel," snapped Runel, a clear tenor of impatience creeping into his voice.

"In my opinion, bringing your ships here not only exceeds the parameters of this mission, it is reckless."

"Any more reckless than you taunting the Supreme Commander with the images your team took on Anvil?" countered Runel, a smug smirk flashing across his face as the words left his mouth.

"My point still stands," replied McQueen. "Provoking a single Chig to face up to some cruel facts is one thing, actively courting mission creep is quite another. The way you and Colonel Webber have been progressively rewriting your orders, it smacks of chasing after some hidden agenda, and frankly, I think it's damned well time you let me know what it is."

Holding McQueen's unflinching gaze, Runel took a deep breath.

"What's more important to you, Colonel?" began Runel evenly. "Confirming your suspicions, or seizing onto the fact that right here, right now, we have a damned good chance of really altering the balance of this conflict?"

"That's not an answer," countered McQueen flatly. "You could have simply let the Supreme Commander go back in his own ship to tell the Chigs what we learned, the damage done would have been the same; what I want to know is what he told you down in that conference room. It must have been pretty damned compelling for you to order up that other scouting mission you sent out, the one without any accompanying IFOR personnel. What are you really looking for?"

Again pausing to digest the myriad of thoughts and uncertainties bounding through his mind, Runel glanced over towards the Supreme Commander.

"Let me ask you a question, Colonel," began Runel as he looked back over to McQueen. "When you were chosen for this mission, were you also told to keep an eye on us, maybe gather a little intel?"

Now it was McQueen who paused, the hesitation and subtle change in his expression indicators Runel interpreted as tacit admission.

"To answer your question, yes, he did tell us something," began Runel, a long sigh escaping him, his expression growing almost apologetic. "And as one soldier to another, a courtesy I extend because we could still very well have out asses shot out from beneath us in the next few minutes, I wish I could just tell you what it was, but the fact that someone in your chain of command did order you to spy on us makes me wonder."

"Wonder what, whether you can trust me?"

"Perhaps," answered Runel flatly. "But more importantly, it makes me wonder why they gave you that order; all too often, paranoia walks hand-in-hand with deception."

"Isn't it possible such an order is simply about prudence, Colonel Runel?" countered McQueen, his own mounting impatience creeping into his tone. "All over the planet, there are people who believe you are who you say you are, and there are people who don't; simply being in a position of authority doesn't trump that aspect of human nature."

"It might be that simple," conceded Runel. "But I also have to consider the possibility there's something else going on here, that for all the bits and pieces we've gathered together, there's a bigger picture we're still missing, and that someone has gone to great lengths to try and keep it that way."

---

As he stood holding Runel's gaze, McQueen couldn't help but admit, if only internally, that there might be a rather sizeable nugget of truth in what his Colonial counterpart was saying.

McQueen had not been particularly comfortable when Air Chief Marshal Howe and General Fournier had ordered him to 'keep an eye' on the Colonials; save for their apparent withholding of whatever information the Supreme Commander had given them, they really had not done anything he would come close to describing as duplicitous.

By contrast, McQueen was only all too acutely aware of the veritable mountain of dirty little secrets which had come to light over the course of the war, most especially those surrounding Aero-Tech.

Before the war had begun, the executive board of Aero-Tech had known the Chigs were out here, but had told no one in order to prevent the cancellation of their lucrative colonization programs.

And once it had erupted, they very quickly began a campaign to bribe, cajole or outright strong-arm their way into possession of advanced enemy technology with little to no appreciable benefit to the grunts fighting and dying on the line. In fact, the only noticeable results of so many shady dealings were a massive inflation in Aero-Tech's global military market share and stock prices which had been spiking through the roof until the Colonials arrived.

But perhaps most egregious of all were the vast and shadowy tentacles the corporation seemed to have entwined around a long list of military and government officials from Secretary General Hayden on down, a decidedly unwholesome level of political influence, either actual or perceived, which had stifled any attempt to truly bring Aero-Tech to account for their role in precipitating this war.

Was that it?

Had the Supreme Commander clued the Colonial officers in on something that now made them wary of trusting Earth?

---

Raptor Four-Five-Eight
Helios System

"See, this just proves that having 'experience' can be a double-edge sword," muttered Ensign Kibby as he adjusted several controls on the rear panel. "You make a single drop on an alien moon and suddenly you're the resident expert on the gods-damned thing, your ass hanging in the wind again before you've even have a chance to shower."

"Just keep you're fraking eyes out for contacts," muttered Ensign Placencia as she watched the diffuse clouds in Anvil's upper atmosphere streak by below. "I don't want that crappy ball of mud and methane below to be the last thing I see in this life."

With her hands firmly gripped around the controls of the Raptor, Placencia's eyes continued to dart about, from the control panel, to the view beyond her canopy, the rapid beating of her heart energizing her every sense as she watched for some sign that the enemy was closing in on her lone craft.

For better or worse, Placencia saw no such enemy craft, her eyes instead catching sight of the Chig home world rising into view from beyond the horizon of Anvil. Much like the moon below, the muted tones of the methane-dominated home world seemed almost sickly when compared to the stark blues and greens of her home colony of Picon.

But even as she watched the alien world continue to rise before her, Placencia's eyes soon settled in on something else hanging motionless within the void of space.

Bathed only in the faint light of the system's distant star, it was hard for Plancencia's mere human eyes to discern anything beyond a diffuse smudge against the backdrop of stars. Worse still, a quick glance at empty DRADIS only served to make her wary of what she was seeing; either a bug had been smeared across the canopy somehow, or the object was stealth.

"Kibby, get your butt up here," burst Placencia as she looked back out at the object, her eyes squinting as she attempted to at least eyeball whether the object was far away, close, or worse closing in.

As Kibby popped up beside her seat, Plancencia pointed out at the object.

"You see that?"

"Yeah, I see it," sighed Kibby, bobbing his head a bit as he too looked out at the diffuse object. "Whatever it is, it's not showing up on DRADIS, must be stealth."

"Thanks for the hot tip, genius," muttered Plancencia derisively, rolling her eyes a bit. "Don't you think now would be a good time to maybe get those guncams focused in, see it you can ID it before it shoots us down?"

As Kibby made his way back to the rear seat, Placencia continued to eye the lone object.

"Contact," snapped Kibby, his statement instantly prompting Plancencia to return her attention to the DRADIS screen. "Correction, multiple contacts, bearing zero-six-five carom zero-two-niner, extreme range."

"Now that looks like the Chig fleet," muttered Placencia as she watched the cluster of contacts eek closer on the screen. "But whatever that big blob out there is, we're still not picking it up."

"Rad-systems are starting to get a faint reading, either they're pretty far out, or that is one helluva big Sewell signature," stated Kibby.

"What about the cams, you got anything yet?"

"I think so, piping my feed to you now."

Her eyes practically glued to the center screen, Placencia watched as the powerful optical cameras mounted in the surveillance pod tucked under her Raptor's winglet began zooming in on the object.

At first, there wasn't much more to see than her own eyes had been able to detect, a diffuse outline, the minor glint of faint sunlight reflecting off dark surfaces.

But as the surveillance pod's onboard imaging software began to process the feeds coming in from the cameras, Placencia's heart began to quicken as the object was brought into far more stark relief.

"Frak, Placencia, you see…"

"I see it," cut-in Placencia curtly.

To say the image was haunting was almost an understatement.

Although pictures of the new Silicate baseships had been included in briefings ever since the first recon team had brought back images, there was an acute difference between seeing a picture projected on a screen and seeing one on your own damned gun cameras; a picture on screen couldn't kill you, but a ship close enough to appear on cameras might.

Worse still, it stood to reason that where there was a stealth baseship, you could damned well bet there were stealth fighters lurking nearby.

Although it was likely a fruitless effort, Placencia nevertheless glanced back down at DRADIS, a paltry attempt at best to allay that fear.

Returning her attention to the guncam footage, the image now focused and crisp enough that Placencia could practically see the rivets holding the monstrosity together, the frightful image of enemy stealth fighters likewise came into view.

Spread out like a diffuse cloud around the baseship, tens of dozens of them were simply hovering around it like a deadly veil.

"Well that doesn't look very encouraging," sighed Placencia. "Do we still have contact with the relay drone we dropped?"

"Loud and clear."

"Then start the upload to Enceladus."

---

Battlecruiser Enceladus
Combat Information Center

"Colonel?"

At the sound of Lieutenant Thorpe's voice cutting out across CIC, Runel looked away from his brooding staring match with McQueen.

"What is it, Lieutenant?" asked Runel as he began making his way back over towards the center plot table.

"Raptor is beginning to send us a feed, sir."

As his eyes focused in on the screens overhead, Runel watched as one of them shifted to the feed coming from the Raptor.

As the gun camera images of the Silicate baseship appeared overhead, two thoughts flashed through Runel's mind; where were the other three they'd seen before, and what the hell were they doing?

Reaching out with his hand as he glimpsed McQueen settling back into place opposite of him at the plot table, Runel lifted a handset to his ear.

"Get me a scrambled channel to our Raptor."

---

Raptor Four-Five-Eight

As she slowly pulled back on her throttles, settling the Raptor into little more than a coasting orbit that kept what they were seeing in view without actually drawing them closer, Placencia's ears perked up a bit as the gentle crackle of a wireless feed began to filter in through the speakers in her helmet.

"Raptor Four-Five-Eight, Enceladus-Actual."

"Go ahead, Actual," replied Placencia as she passed her eyes over her instruments and verified that her throttle-down hadn't slipped her Raptor into a decaying orbit.

"We're getting your feed, but your eyes are on the scene; give me the sit-rep."

"Actual, be advised, we have positive DRADIS contact on the Chig fleet, looks like they're holding in mass formation near the home world. Have only intermittent contact on rad-systems with another object, but firm visual contact, from configuration looks like one of the Silicate baseships with at least a wing of supporting fighters."

"Copy, we're seeing that here too."

As she watched the screen and waited for Colonel Runel to say, well, anything, the magnified image of the Silicate baseship suddenly flared with a few quick bursts of light.

"What the frak was that?" burst Kibby. "Whoa, that diffuse Sewell signature just jumped in intensity."

"Kibby, pull the magnification back a bit," muttered Placencia, her brow furrowing a bit in a scowl as she looked out towards the actual object beyond her canopy

Looking back down at the center screen as the camera image began to pull back from the Silicate baseship, Placencia felt her stomach knot considerably…as four more Silicate baseships came into view.

"Enceladus-Actual, Raptor Four-Five-Eight; looks like we have a situation brewing out here."

---

Battlecruiser Enceladus

Scowling at the image of the Silicate baseships overhead with little more than acid contempt, Runel watched with mounting anger as the screen filled with Silicate raiders, scores of them, the craft spreading out like vicious pack hounds spoiling to be let off the leash.

In laymen's terms, it was a classic combat spread, the Raiders moving into position out in front of the capital ships, a marshalling of forces in preparation for an attack…one that was clearly aimed directly at the mass of Chig vessels being picked up by DRADIS.

Dropping the handset down onto the table top, Runel turned hard on his heels and practically vaulted over towards the Supreme Commander, the imposing figure lifting the earpiece in his hand up beside his helmet as Runel approached.

"I presume I don't have to explain what that formation means, what the Silicates are preparing to do out there," snapped Runel as he pointed contemptuously back over at the image on the screen.

"No, you do not," replied the Supreme Commander soberly.

"Then at least tell me your forces will fight back, tell me they won't just sit there and let themselves be wiped out by that strike!"

Bowing its helmeted head slightly, the Supreme Commander seemed to look right back into Runel's burning, indicting gaze.

"They don't know the devices are fake," replied the Supreme Commander dejectedly. "As long as they think the crèche moon is in danger, they will not fight back."

"This is insane," burst Runel angrily. "Once the Silicates wipe out your fleet, your planet is the next target they will hit; your entire civilization is about to wiped out and you're telling me they're going to do nothing to stop it?"

Maddeningly, the Supreme Commander said nothing in reply.

"You've got to be fraking kidding me," sputtered Runel, shaking his head in utter disbelief as he made his way back over to the plot table

With his mind churning with stunned astonishment that the Chig fleet was about to simply surrender itself to oblivion, Runel leaned in over the plot table as his eyes focused back in on the impending carnage gathering on the screens overhead.

The Silicate baseships and Raiders gathering on one screen…

The icons denoting the Chig fleet floating helplessly, worthlessly, on the other…

With the tension mounting within every muscle in his body, Runel was all too acutely aware that every set of expectant eyes around CIC was focused squarely on him.

He was even more acutely aware of Colonel McQueen's piercing gaze.

"I'd suggest advising IFOR command, but somehow I don't think you'll listen," muttered McQueen as he slowly looked back up at the screens.

"Jumping back for a confab with the brass isn't going to make a damned bit of difference," snorted Runel, his tone little more than disgusted. "By the time they make a decision this will all be over; the Chig fleet will be debris, their home world radioactive slag."

"You seem pretty certain of that," muttered McQueen.

"From experience," replied Runel soberly, watching as the Silicate Raiders continued to fan out into formation.

"Sir, Savitri is hailing us," called Petty Officer Templeton.

Reaching out, Runel snatched up the handset from the side of the plot table.

"Enceladus-Actual."

"Tell me you have one of those famous seat-of-your-pants ideas over there," began Colonel Webber.

"I'd love to say I do, but no matter how you slice it this is a bad situation," replied Runel, a long breath escaping him as he glanced over to the Supreme Commander. "Our guest says his people won't fight back unless they know the canisters are fake and we can't transmit that info without giving ourselves away. Even if we do, there's no guarantee they'll understand what we're telling them, much less believe it."

"Gods-dammit, I know you're not blind over there, you know what's about to happen," snapped Webber. "That strike force hits the Chig fleet, this will all be over in minutes; just send the transmission."

"I pop the cork on our position, part of that strike force is going to come right for us and you know it," countered Runel as he glanced over at the DRADIS, at the fleet of Chig ships about to annihilated. "They jump in on us, we'll be pinned in without room to maneuver; that's a bad tactical position, especially with just two ships to combat…"

Pausing, Runel felt a tingle roll across his skin as he looked at the Silicate baseships, then over at the Chig fleet.

Tactical position…what if…

"Wait one," snapped Runel, dropping the handset down onto the plot table as he spun on his heels and made an immediate beeline towards Lieutenant Thorpe.

"Lieutenant, can you get a general fix on the Sewell signatures detected by the Raptor?" asked Runel as he stepped up beside Thorpe and pointed at the image of the baseships on the Lieutenant's console screen.

"Not enough for a target fix, sir, especially not at this distance," replied Thorpe, shaking his head slightly.

"I don't need a target fix," replied Runel as he snatched up a blank acetate sheet and a grease pencil. "Just a general location fix."

Pausing to watch Runel as the Colonel quickly scribbled out a crude drawing on the acetate, it suddenly dawned on Thorpe what it was Runel was planning; he wasn't particularly heartened by it.

"Yes, sir, I should be able to get a general fix," answered Thorpe warily as he looked down at the picture Runel had drawn. "Where did you want me to make the plot?"

Smirking slightly, Runel took the grease pencil and made a simple 'x' on the acetate.

"Right there," he said, passing the acetate off to Thorpe.

"Aye, sir," replied Thorpe as he popped up from his station and quickly made his way over to the FTL plot table.

Turning back around, Runel looked over to McQueen, the Colonel's clearly questioning eyes meeting his for a moment, before in turn looking back over to the Supreme Commander.

Dropping the grease pencil down onto Thorpe's station console, Runel returned his attention to the screens above plot table as he briskly made his way back over.

Settling back in at his place, Runel motioned the Supreme Commander closer.

Hesitant, the Supreme Commander nevertheless complied, the imposing figure stepping up beside Runel at the plot table.

Reaching out, Runel picked up the handset resting on the surface of the plot table and handed it to the Supreme Commander.

"When I say, press this button on the side and tell your people about the canisters on Anvil," said Runel evenly as the Supreme Commander took hold of the handset. "If you don't, my Marines will shoot you where you stand."

---

Watching silently from across the plot table, Colonel McQueen was all too cognizant of just how significant that moment was; the Silicates new-found military might was about to be unleashed for the first time; the Chig fleet, in complete contrast to the formidable enemy they'd been for the last two years, were simply going to surrender to fate and allow themselves to be wiped out.

The convergence of these two factors pointed to just one end; they were about to stand witness to a genocide.

And right there, at the epicenter of it all, was an image of almost comical absurdity; a two meter tall armor-encased alien being, a member of the race who had spent the last two years killing humans by the score and instilling men, women and children the world over with horrific nightmares of death and destruction, in all its ferociousness standing with a translator earpiece held in one hand and a Colonial phone in the other.

Nevertheless, something else about the situation was all too clear; Runel was up to something, and McQueen had an unsettling inkling that he knew what that 'something' was.

"Templeton," snapped Runel as he returned his gaze to the screen overhead. "Advise Savitri they are to hold this position; this goes sour, at least one of us needs to get word back to IFOR. Once they acknowledge that order, prepare to broadcast on all known Chig frequencies."

"Aye, Colonel," replied Templeton simply as he promptly relayed the order to Savitri then set about adjusting several controls at his station.

"Where's my jump solution, Lieutenant Thorpe?"

"Solution input, Colonel; LOS jump is set; drives spooling, thirty second till board is green."

With his heart quickening within his chest, McQueen's eyes flashed back to the swarms of Silicate ships on the screen overhead and suddenly felt like a man trapped in the passenger seat of a car careening across black ice towards a light pole.

Taking in a deep breath, Runel reached down, his hand fumbling for the briefest of moments before he suddenly remembered he'd handed off his handset to the Supreme Commander.

With a slight huff, he quickly stepped around to the opposite side of the plot table next to McQueen, the Earth military officer watching him intently as Runel snatched up the other handset, toggled the switch for the One-MC, and lifted the receiver.

"This is the Colonel; all decks, all stations, standby for combat jump; all batteries prepare for visual target acquisition to broadside port, I say again, broadside port, main odd batteries one-to-one HE-to-AP, main even batteries prep for Raider suppression."

As the air around CIC became charged with the collective anticipation and angst of a crew hurriedly preparing itself for battle, Runel set the handset back into place and looked over into McQueen's clearly disapproving gaze.

"You want to abandon ship?" muttered Runel.

"I'm supposed to be 'keeping an eye' on you, remember?" countered McQueen, shaking his head slightly. "Do you really think you can pull this off, engage a task force that large with just one ship?"

"Just stretching the bounds of my mission," smirked Runel as he quickly began making his way back around to his own side of the plot table. "Besides, this works the way I'm hoping, we might just throw the enemy for a loop."

"Somehow I doubt they'll be impressed by the spectacle of one lone warship suicidally engaging a numerically superior hostile force," muttered McQueen as he watched Runel move back around the table. "I sincerely hope whatever you've got in mind is a little more sophisticated than charging in with guns blazing."

"It is…somewhat," sighed Runel as he came to rest beside and looked up into the helmeted face of the Supreme Commander.

Taking a deep breath, Runel then returned his attention to the screens overhead as the massed formations of Silicate Raiders began to move forward.

"We're going to see if we can open up a second front."

---

Silicate Command Baseship
Near the Fifth Planet of the Helios Star System

"Raider forces moving towards enemy targets now, your Excellency," stated Cain Six-Zero-Seven, the data feed it was receiving from the interface terminal scrolling through its consciousness.

Stepping slowly up beside Cain Six-Zero-Seven, the aged Cavil still managed a self-satisfied smirk as he looked across at the lone screen in the command core, the massed swarms of Raiders spreading out, stalking in towards the Chig warships and fighters like ravenous predators who'd caught the scent.

"Been a long time since I witnessed a moment like this," sighed Cavil, his voice gravely with age, yet nevertheless smug. "I'd almost forgotten how satisfying it was when things go right for a change."

As he stood there, watching and waiting, deeply savoring the moment, all Cavil could think about was how much more gratifying it would be when Earth's time came.

With every twisted impulse in his poisoned heart, he longed for that final victory, the moment when he would finally step his proverbial boot down hard upon the neck of humanity once and for all; the righteous fulfillment of his vengeful will, delayed for millennia but now once again all but inevitable, the final victory over the humans once more within his withered grasp.

And oh, how much easier would it be this time, confined as they were to just one lone world, one solitary planet to tear asunder; they'd have nowhere to run this time.

So it was that as his ego marinated within the heady brew of thoughts regarding the inevitable extinction of the hated pestilence known as humanity, Cavil almost missed the miniscule flash of light that flared into being in front of his advancing strike force.

"There is a new contact," stated Burke MR Eight-Zero-Nine as new sets of data began scrolling through its consciousness.

Prodded by the statement, Cavil took a few trembling steps forward, the withered flesh of his brow furrowing in a scowl as he tried to discern the blurry image which had appeared.

"Identify that," he snapped, a searing cough seizing him as the words scoured their way from his throat.

"Contact identified; Colonial, Erinyes Class Battlecruiser, Enceladus," replied Feliciti OH Nine-One-Three.

A moment later, the tell-tale contrails of rounds erupted from the lone Colonial ship, heavy flak suppression loads quickly blossoming moments later amid the forward edge of the vast formations of Raiders.

"Shall we strike, your Excellency?" prodded Cain Six-Zero-Seven.

Watching as the Enceladus continued to hurl a relatively miniscule smattering of flak loads into the midst of his vast formations of Raiders, Cavil considered the proposal; to be sure, his Raider forces held such an overwhelming superiority in numbers that if he ordered them in en masse they would without question overpower the lone battlecruiser in a matter of minutes, never mind the fact that he also had five baseships at his disposal.

Mathematically speaking, the lone Colonial vessel's attack was tantamount to suicide.

Nevertheless, Cavil had other considerations to take into account; losses were still losses, and with the real victory still ahead to be won he could not abide taking any risks which might thwart his relentless ambition to wipe humanity out proper. No, he needed to keep as many of his formidable yet still finite forces as possible intact for the more important battle ahead.

"No," wheezed Cavil, his brow furrowed in a deep scowl as the lone Colonial interloper began to heave ordnance in the direction of his baseships; close but still wide of their mark. "Pull our forces back, defensive posture; order our vassals to destroy the ship; once they're done killing each other, we'll swoop in and wipe out whatever remains."

---

Battlecruiser Enceladus
Near the Fifth Planet of the Helios Star System

"Well, we're in it deep now," muttered Runel as he watched the swarms of Raiders closing in on DRADIS.

Although the stealth technology employed by the Silicate ships prevented DRADIS from getting firm locks on individual ships, massed as they were the radiation detection systems would have to have been turned off for so large a Sewell fuel signature not to pop up on the screen.

The position fix wasn't enough for his gun battery crews to use DRADIS targeting, nor was it enough for them to be able to engage the enemy with missiles, but with just enough signatures blinking into and out of contact on the screens overhead, they were able to get a sense of just how close the mass of enemy ships was coming to his lone battlecruiser.

Frankly, it was becoming too close for even his bravado.

"Main batteries continue firing," began Runel, the diffuse 'cloud' of intermittent contacts on the screen overhead making it seem as though his ship were slugging it out with a phantom. "Secondary batteries commence fire, local control, optical tracking on any targets of opportunity, let's see if we can't thin the herd."

"Sir, change in aspect readings," called Lieutenant Thorpe. "It looks like the Silicate forces are pulling back."

His eyes narrowing a bit, Runel watched as the intermittent contacts did indeed appear to be turning away from Enceladus.

Militarily speaking, it made no sense; the Silicate advantage in numbers was such that even if they were able get a firm DRADIS track on every ship, they could never have thrown up enough steel to fend them off.

With a slow tingle crawling up his spine, Runel's gaze drifted over towards the firm contacts on DRADIS that denoted the Chig fleet.

"Colonel, we have movement," burst Lieutenant Thorpe as the contacts on the screen surged forward. "Chig fleet is accelerating, now inbound, CBDR at bearing zero-nine-two carom zero-eight-five; they're coming right at us, sir!"

Almost in spite of himself, in spite of the situation itself, Runel actually grinned.

"That's right, come on in," muttered Runel as he watched the entire Chig fleet begin to bear down on his vessel. "Thorpe, advise all starboard batteries; weapons hold."

"Sir?"

"You heard me, Lieutenant; weapons hold," snapped Runel, his eyes never leaving the screen overhead.

"Aye, sir," replied Thorpe tentatively as he snatched up the handset at his console and relayed the order.

"Those ships are going to be in position to fire pretty damned quick," stated McQueen as he watched the Chig fleet closing in on the screens overhead.

"That's the point," replied Runel evenly, his eyes never leaving the screen. "I want them in real close."

Watching Runel for a moment, McQueen's eyes narrowed a bit, his mind clearly working on puzzling out what it was Runel was up to.

"Inbound fleet thirty seconds from engagement range, sir," called Thorpe as he set his handset back into place. "Fighters are spreading out, sir, looks like they're clearing lines of fire for the capital ships."

With a deep breath as his only response, Runel leaned in just a bit more towards the screen, his eyes taking on an almost predatory edge as he watched the Chigs continue to close in.

"Fifteen seconds, sir!" called Thorpe, the clear tension evident in his tone as he reflexively gripped onto his console.

Snapping his head around, Runel looked directly at the Supreme Commander.

"Now!" he barked flatly. "Tell them!"

With the barest hint of a nod, the Supreme Commander pressed down on the transmit button of the handset.

---

Fleet Command Vessel
Near the Blessed Homeworld

With his respiratory membranes shuddering with acute agitation, the Sub-Supreme Commander watched as his forces spread out and prepared to attack the lone human vessel.

The attack order from the Silicates was not one he had any particularly desire to carry out; were it not for the threat against the crèche moon, he'd just as soon unleash his forces against the Silicates themselves for all the suffering they had inflicted upon his people.

Moreover, the Sub-Supreme Commander was no fool; the Silicates had clearly been preparing to wipe out his fleet before the human ship appeared. Now, it was equally obvious they were merely ordering his forces into the attack for the express purpose of having the human vessel cull a great number of his ships in order for the Silicate assault to be that much easier.

He'd just as soon prefer that the Supreme Commander had not embarked on his foolish mission, at least, that is how the Sub-Supreme Commander viewed it, to contact the humans; the idea of allying with such barbarians was only marginally better than with the Silicates if only because the humans did not hold the entire future of their species hostage.

Nevertheless, with no word as to whether or not the Supreme Commander was even still alive, much less whether he had actually managed to make contact with the humans, the decidedly unpalatable responsibility to order his people's military forces into this last forlorn attack fell to him.

Bowing his head slightly, he drew in a long, almost dejected breath.

"We are entering nominal engagement range, Sub-Supreme Commander."

"Very well; order attack wings to…"

Cut-off mid-sentence by a sudden squeal of static erupting over the communications channels, the Sub-Supreme Commander recoiled a bit as the piercing screech echoed for a moment off the bulkheads before resolving into a recognizable voice.

"This is your Supreme Commander; the Silicate threat against our crèche moon is a deception."

Listening in disbelief, the Sub-Supreme Commander glanced over to a data readout which clearly indicated the transmission was coming from the human vessel.

Yet even before he had a chance to fully consider or question whether the transmission itself was a deception, he heard the voice of the Supreme Commander utter words which instantly excised all other thoughts from his mind save vengeance.

"For our world, for our people; strike!"

---

Battlecruiser Enceladus
Main Battery Two

Perched within his battery's command cupola, Gun Captain Gunner's Mate Saul Kowalski looked out past the two poised but unnervingly silent barrels of his mount towards the mass of alien ships rapidly bearing down on Enceladus, his breath held in absolute baited anticipation.

Although his battery was more than ready to begin hurling ordnance directly into the face of the advancing alien fleet, the orders from CIC had been clear; all starboard batteries were to hold fire.

With little between him and the frozen oblivion of deep space but a relatively thin laminated layer of plexiglass, Kowalski was not heartened by that order as he watched the swarms of alien ships continue to churn up the distance, feeling nothing so much as though they were flying directly towards his own nose.

As his hands began reflexively gripping tighter to the console in front of him, every cell in his body screaming out that at any moment he could expect little more than for his entire world to become a chaotic maelstrom of destruction and enemy weapon impacts, Kowalski glanced away only for a moment as the battery's DRADIS link signaled that the alien ships had crossed over the demarcation line that placed Enceladus squarely within their engagement range.

But instead of erupting in a withering hail of weapons fire, the breathless void of space instead yielded a sight which left Kowalski stunned beyond words.

With his heart leaping up into his throat, Kowalski and the rest of his gun crew watched in awe as the alien fighters and bomber craft raced by outside the cupola canopy, for all the worlds paying the Enceladus no more attention than if she'd merely been an asteroid in their path.

Moments later, the formations of alien capital ships following hard on the heels of their vanguard sprinted by as well, some of them actually rotating their tall, sail-like hulls around in order to fly past Enceladus without actually altering course, passing close enough that Kowalski could see the individual seals between hull plating.

With the trackless depths of space beyond the plexiglass now empty save for a sea of stars, Kowalski let out a breath and became aware of how badly he needed to pee.

---

Fleet Command Vessel
Near the Blessed Homeworld

Before his people had come into contact with the humans, they'd had no concept of religion, no notions about a god, gods or other mysterious phantasmal supreme beings. Life had no 'grand design', there was no such thing as 'destiny'; life was merely an incidental occurrence, the result of very specific chemical reactions occurring in a precise sequence purely by random chance.

But while they had no notions regarding ethereal absolute arbiters of right and wrong in their culture, the Sub-Supreme Commander's people had nevertheless developed strict codes and concepts about justice.

And just as it was in human society, for every transgression there was an atonement that must be paid.

Thus, for all the crimes committed by the Silicates, for the untold lives lost at their bidding, for the subjugation and outright enslavement of his people, to the Sub-Supreme Commander it was clear that there was but one suitable punishment.

So it was that in that moment, the Sub-Supreme Commander's entire fleet became an instrument of righteous vengeance, the howling cry of the legion under his command resonating within the very bulkheads and stanchions of the vessels they piloted at the order they'd all received to strike, each one becoming the visceral personification of wrath itself unleashed.

With unrepentant rage, they charged headlong into the vast formations of retreating Silicates fighters; it did not matter that their fighters were outnumbered, it did not matter that their capital ships were outclassed, all that mattered was that the time had finally come for them to exact their just reprisal.

Thus it was with nothing short of supreme satisfaction that the Sub-Supreme Commander issued just one order as his forces sliced into their erstwhile oppressors like scythe.

"All units; push through to the command ships, leave nothing in our wake!"

---

Battlecruiser Enceladus
Combat Information Center

With no small sense of relief, Colonel Thadius Runel released the breath he'd been holding, the act itself a silent prayer of thanks that his act of almost insanely speculative audacity had apparently paid off.

"Thorpe, relay to all batteries, port side, check fire; we don't need to fell any friendlies," snapped Runel as he watched the Chig ships pour across the screen past his lone warship, slamming headlong into the retreating ranks of the Silicates.

To say Runel's admittedly half-baked gambit had been a 'plan' was generous beyond words; in short, he'd tossed the Enceladus into the mix as little more than provocative bait, a weighted guess at best of what the outcome would be once the Supreme Commander sent his transmission.

To be sure, both fleets could just as easily have swarmed in over his lone ship and pounded it into oblivion.

Nevertheless, as he watched with nothing short of thankful satisfaction, Runel was instead greeted by the sight of the entire Chig fleet hurtling itself en masse directly into the withdrawing Silicate formations, a narrow concentrated thrust at the center meant to penetrate through to the waiting baseships.

In many ways, the situation was actually better than he could have hoped; since the Silicates had actually been in the process of pulling their forces back from the Enceladus they'd literally been caught with their proverbial asses hanging wide open as the Chigs pressed into a vicious attack.

"Son-of-a-bitch," muttered McQueen, no small amount of surprise in his tone.

"Sir, the Chig fleet is fully engaged," called Lieutenant Thorpe as Runel looked over at the Supreme Commander, the imposing Chig giving him the slightest of nods before returning its attention to the icons representing his people's fleet.

"The Silicates may have been caught off-guard, but it's not going to take them long to rally," noted McQueen as he motioned up at the screens overhead. "And they still have a considerable numerical advantage."

"Which means we still have work to do," muttered Runel as looked back to the screens and watched the mass of Chig ships continue to push relentlessly through the center of Silicate line. "Helm, all ahead flank, come to course three-five-zero carom zero-one-two, push us out onto the flank of the Silicate line."

"Aye, sir; engines all ahead flank," called the Helmsman. "Coming around to three-five-zero carom zero-one-two."

As Runel felt the sturdy deck beneath his feet heel somewhat at the sudden turn and kick of acceleration, he watched as the virtual battlefield on the screens overhead shifted.

With the Chigs ferociously slugging it out at point-blank range at the center of the Silicate line, the enemy's attention seemed to be wholly focused on wiping out the alien formation that was now vengefully cutting into their forces.

Nevertheless, McQueen was also correct.

Although the initial assault had clearly caught the Silicates completely off-guard, staggering as the Chig blow was, it was by no measure a knockout; already there were indications the Silicates were beginning to rally against the Chig fleet's piercing thrust, the diffuse mass representing the Silicate forces on the DRADIS display slowly beginning to envelop the firm Chig contacts like cloud.

Looking over to the Supreme Commander, Runel held out his hand, the Supreme Commander dutifully handing the handset back to Runel as he stoically watched his forces continue their assault on the screen.

Handset now in hand, Runel reached down and toggled the switch for battery plot.

"This is Actual, all batteries, action to port, optical tracking, acquire and take under fire nearest Silicate baseships, straight AP ordnance; hit them hard and fast!"

Dropping the handset down onto the table, Runel returned his attention to the screens overhead as the Enceladus completed her turn.

With Chigs and Silicates hammering away at each other with all the grace and ferocity of a drunken bar brawl at the center, their forces were all but impossible to distinguish effectively on DRADIS. As such, Runel could only see one truly effective way to support their newfound allies in their attack; by pushing out onto the enemy's flank, the Enceladus' main batteries would be able to take Silicate baseships themselves under fire.

Although the limits of optical target acquisition and tracking meant his ship could only viably engage the two left-most baseships of the Silicate line, it might just be enough to divide the Silicates' attention and blunt their ability to reinforce the besieged center of their line.

As per his order, the stout battlecruiser sailed wide onto the Silicate flank, thus clearing any potential fields of fire of any Chig units, the main batteries opening up with a hail of heavy armor piercing rounds that cut through the depths of space to slam into the Silicate baseship anchoring the enemy line.

"Damn," muttered Runel as he watched a series of initial damage assessments begin to scroll across one of the screens overhead. "If Adroa and Ikenga were here, they'd be able to push out…"

"New DRADIS contact!" snapped Lieutenant Thorpe as the dull thump of the main batteries firing continued to echo through the air in CIC.

His eyes instantly snapping over to the new icon on the display, Runel didn't need to wait for the IFF; in his gut, he already knew exactly what it was.

"It's the Savitri, sir!"

"Gods damn it, Brie, I told you to stay put," muttered Runel, smirking as he shook his head slightly. "I knew there was a reason I loved that woman."

---

Combatstar Savitri
Combat Information Center

"Jump complete!" snapped Captain Golan.

Reaching down, Colonel Webber snatched up her handset and toggled the switch for battery plot.

"This is Actual; all main batteries, action to starboard, local control, optical track, weapons tight, engage nearest enemy baseships only, AP ordnance; execute."

As she set the handset down onto the plot table, Webber let out a long breath as she eyed the screens overhead, very much cognizant that she'd thrown her ship and people right into a battle whose outcome was anything but certain.

Although Runel had ordered her to keep Savitri loitering out behind Anvil, it didn't take any sort of military genius to figure out that bringing her ship into the fight made more tactical sense; divide the enemy's attention, divide their ability to fend off the attack.

Besides, if Webber had left her fiancé to win this fight through his own audacity alone, she knew going forward his ego would become nigh insufferable.

Opting to blunt not only her fiancé's potential bragging rights but the Silicate counterattack in the most effective way possible, Webber brought the Savitri into the mix on the opposite flank from the Enceladus. With the Chigs hammering away at the center, Enceladus laying down a withering fire on the Silicate left flank, the Savitri now readied herself to unleash the same on the Silicate right.

In a matter of mere moments, the Silicates had gone from being the aggressors to being the focus of a three pronged attack.

As the sound of her ship's main batteries opening up began to reverberate through CIC, Webber let out a long breath.

"Okay, Thadius, what now?" she muttered as she watched Enceladus continued to maneuver along the opposing flank.

---

Fleet Command Vessel
Near the Blessed Homeworld

To the Sub-Supreme Commander, it looked as though space itself were burning.

All around his ship, fighters mixed with fighters, a harrowing exchange of fire erupting from all parties, weapon impacts tearing finite hulls asunder, exposing any within to the lethally traumatic extremes of explosive flames and the eternal cold of hard vacuum.

Sometimes it was a Silicate fighter that was ripped apart, blossoming into spectacular detonations which were quickly suffocated within the breathless void as hull fragments became aimless clouds of hurtling shrapnel.

Sometimes it was one of his own fighters, rapid weapon strikes sending a craft careening out of control until the inertial stresses became more than the compromised structural alloys could bear, plating shearing away as the craft entered a lethal spiral, blasted free as the craft erupted from within in a blinding fireball, the irreplaceable lives within forever lost to universe.

Even his own ship was not immune to the relentless carnage that was taking place.

Surging ahead through the very center of the Silicate lines towards the line of capital ships, his ship was at the very epicenter of the action, simultaneously the spearhead of his own people and the focus of the Silicates withering counter-attack.

From stations all over the ship, damage reports were flowing in like a raging river, numerous critically damaged systems teetering on the verge of collapse as Silicate ordnance repeatedly bit into the armored hide of his command like ravenous teeth.

Throughout the ship, his crew were suffering and dying by the score, those ravenous teeth ripping open hull breaches, the desperate flailing of arms and legs proving no match for the raw force of explosive decompression as his people were blown into breathless oblivion.

But for all the horror, all the suffering, all the terror and chaos of the moment, the Sub-Supreme Commander still felt himself burning to the very core of his being with an inexorable rage.

His eyes focused and fixed on the massive Silicate warship at the very center of the enemy line, the Sup-Supreme Commander willed himself forward across the trembling deck.

Reaching out with his hands as the entire ship rocked around him, the Sub-Supreme Commander clawed his way towards the helm, pushing aside the partially eviscerated body of his helmsman as took over the controls himself.

Looking back up at the imposing Silicate warship upon which he'd set his vengeful sights, the Sub-Supreme Commander let out a piercing, defiant cry that still managed to cut through the frightful din of his command ship being torn to pieces around him as he pushed the critically damaged engines to the limit.

---

Battlecruiser Enceladus
Combat Information Center

Runel was all too aware that entering into an engagement with such a numerically superior hostile force meant that it wasn't a matter of if his ship would be taken under fire, merely a matter of when.

When the Chig fleet had slammed headlong into the withdrawing vanguard of the Silicate forces, all of the enemy's attention had initially focused in on that initial breach, almost the entire force heeling about to meet that most immediate threat.

But as the Chigs continued to slog their way through a mounting level of resistance, the converging mass of Silicate Raiders were beginning to take their toll. In purely mathematical terms, the outcome was merely a matter of time; as long as the Silicates were willing to absorb the attrition, they'd eventually grind the Chig fleet down to nothing.

And while Enceladus and Savitri had begun to put rounds on target themselves, the battle damage assessments seemed to indicate that the Silicate baseships had rather thick hides; even the AP ordnance was having difficulty doing any appreciable damage.

So it was that as the Silicate baseships finally unleashed a volley of missiles towards Enceladus, Runel was more-or-less resigned to the inevitability that his ship was in no way going to come through this fight unscathed.

The one saving grace of the moment seemed to be that the Silicates had not managed or perhaps felt it necessary to try and adapt their stealth technology to their ordnance; missiles that could be seen could also be engaged by the defensive batteries.

"Enemy missiles inbound, count twenty-five…correction thirty," called Lieutenant Thorpe. "Negative for radiological warheads."

"Conventional ordnance," muttered Runel eyeing the inbound missiles as he snatched back up the handset on the plot table. "Battery Plot, verify track on inbound missiles."

"Affirmative, solid track, shifting defensive fires now."

His eyes locked on DRADIS, Runel watched as the icons representing the inbound missiles began to wink out one at a time as the defensive batteries began hurtling literally hundreds of large-caliber rounds into their paths.

Counter-fire was a tricky thing, even with full DRADIS track there were no guarantees of successful engagement, but with conventional warheads, he could at least take heart that any actual hits were likely ones his ship would be able to weather.

So it was that as a trio of missiles managed to make it through the curtain of lead and steel being thrown up by the defensive batteries, Runel instead allowed himself to focus on the seemingly more pressing issue of bringing this engagement to a successful conclusion.

What he had not expected was to be vaulted up onto the plot table, landing hard enough that his cheeks bone cracked the acrylic surface.

Shaking the stars from his vision, Runel pushed himself back off the plot table, casting a surprised glance around the CIC as his feet came once more into contact with the deck.

"Lieutenant, damage report; what the frak his us?" snapped Runel as he watched Thorpe claw his way back into his seat.

For a moment, Runel wondered if his ship had in fact been struck by some rogue asteroid, the impact seeming to be way out of proportion for the three conventional missiles which had impacted Enceladus.

As he waited for Thorpe to reply, Runel reached up and rubbed at the throbbing in his cheek, his eyes catching a glimpse of the spider web pf cracks in the plot table surface. As McQueen groped his way back into view on the opposite side of the plot table, from the look on his face no less shocked by the impact than Runel was, Runel himself returned his attention to the screens overhead.

"Where's my DRADIS, Lieutenant Thorpe?" snapped Runel as he saw that the screens overhead were blank.

"System wide crash, Colonel," replied Thorpe, wheezing a bit as he sat holding his side with one hand. "Rad-detection systems are down as well, some sort of weird white-out…"

"We're still in a fight, I need DRADIS back right fraking now," burst Runel.

"Reinitializing system now," nodded Thorpe.

Reaching down, Runel toggled the switch for damage control then snatched up his handset, dangling as it was by the cord from the side of the plot table.

"Damage control, give me a report," called Runel as he reflexively reached one hand out and help lift the surprisingly hefty Supreme Commander back to his feet.

"Three impacts amidships, reports of hull breaches but no fires, DC teams moving in at this time."

"Keep me advised," sighed Runel as he reached down and toggled the switch for battery plot. "Main battery status."

"Gun captains reporting in now, sir, they're pretty shaken up; DC teams are working to realign ammo hoist systems in batteries one, seven and nine, but all other main batteries are coming back into action now."

"Copy, DRADIS is down, keep them in local control, but I still want steel flying; I don't want those bastards thinking we're out of this fight."

"Understood, sir."

As he set the handset back on the plot table and returned his attention to the blank screens overhead.

"Okay, no radiation signatures, so they weren't nukes…" muttered Runel as the reassuring dull thump of the main batteries resuming fire began to reverberate once more through the air. "Just what the hell did they shoot at us?"

"Could be Sewell fuel warheads," groaned McQueen as he slowly rotated his right arm, grimacing a bit for the effort. "Same properties that make the ore an effective fuel source packs one helluva punch when detonated…eggheads have a lot of techno-babble to describe it, but suffice to say it has all the power of a tactical nuke without the nasty radiation."

"Well isn't that wonderful," muttered Runel sardonically as he watched the DRADIS system finally begin to reboot. "What the hell is taking so long with my eyes, Lieutenant?"

"Bringing the DRADIS back up now sir, but rad-systems are still blind," replied Thorpe. "Detectors are showing red, it's possible they've been burned out, Colonel."

"Which means we can't see the Silicates," muttered Runel, shaking his head in frustration as he watched the icons representing the Chig fleet begin to reappear. "Can we get a datalink from Savitri?"

"There's a lot of interference out there, sir, could take several minutes," answered Thorpe.

"Won't get done any quicker just talking about it; get on it," countered Runel. "In the meantime, see if we can get a visual feed from one of the main batteries."

"Aye, sir."

---

Fleet Command Vessel
Near the Blessed Homeworld

His crew were dead or dying.

His ship, torn and burning from innumerable weapons impacts, was nearing structural failure.

All around him were fires, shattered consoles, the bodies of his fallen comrades.

Still, the Sub-Supreme Commander would not be deterred.

With all trepidation excised from him by his burning desire for vengeance, the Sub-Supreme Commander coaxed the last bit of life from his dying vessel, bidding the ship as much by force of will as anything to accomplish one last task for the sake of his people.

---

Silicate Command Baseship
Near the Fifth Planet of the Helios Star System

"Confirmed impact of Enceladus, estimate moderate structural damage," stated Burke MR Eight-Zero-Nine.

"I don't give a damn about that annoying human gadfly!" barked Cavil, his aged body trembling with little-restrained rage as the ship around them shook from a weapons impact. "We can destroy them easily enough once the breach at our center has been contained; I want those traitorous creatures wiped out."

"Chig fleet estimated at twenty-percent remaining strength, your Excellency," began Cain Six-Zero-Seven. "Tactically speaking, the Colonial vessels now represent the primary threat."

"Oh really?" coughed Cavil angrily as he extended a withered hand towards the lone screen. "Then what the hell do you consider that?"

Following Cavil's hand, Cain Six-Zero-Seven looked up at the screen.

In the center, pushing through a maelstrom of weapons fire and a menacing encirclement of Raiders was a lone Chig capital ship. With vast sections of its hull ripped away, it was burning and clearly nearing destruction, yet nevertheless continued to push forward.

"The Chig vessel has sustained critical damage, weapon systems are non-functional," stated Feliciti OH Nine-One-Three dispassionately.

"The ship itself is a weapon!" growled Cavil, his voice quaking with rage. "I didn't survive a hundred and fifty millennia only to die because a bunch of second-rate toasters can't recognize a threat when it's flying right at them; destroy that ship now!"

---

Battlecruiser Enceladus
Combat Information Center

Watching as one of the screens overhead shifted to a live-video feed from one of the main batteries, Runel tried to get a sense of what was taking place.

Although it in some ways defied conventional thinking, DRADIS was a much more effective tool for coordinating battles because unlike a mono-directional image, like a video feed, it instead gave a ship's commander a veritable gods'-eye view of the battle space; all the ships within a three-hundred and sixty degree sphere could be seen at once, not just those that happened to be floating into view on a camera.

But with only the Chig fleet showing up on screen and the radiation detection systems apparently down and thus unable to give him a sense of where the Silicate fleet was, the gun cameras from his main batteries were Runel's only option for getting a feel for the fight his ship was still most decidedly in the midst of.

The one saving grace of the situation seemed to be that with Enceladus out on the flank, the camera angle was more-or-less a wide panoramic shot along the line Silicate baseships.

So it was that as Runel began forcing his mind to come to terms with fighting his ship with what was still an incomplete picture of what was taking place around Enceladus, his eyes picked up on one detail that immediately seized hold of his attention.

"Thorpe, focus in on grid four-seven," snapped Runel.

As the camera image zoomed in, the starboard profile of a wrecked Chig capital ship was brought into stark relief. While the damage that had been wrought upon the craft was clearly significant, what had drawn Runel's attention was just how close the ship had managed to penetrate through the relentlessly maneuvering mass of Raiders.

"That is our fleet command ship," stated the Supreme Commander evenly as he too stood watching the video feed.

"Looks like they've taken heavy damage; they're not going to last much longer in there," muttered McQueen, his tone genuinely holding a measure of sympathy for the burning Chig command ship.

But as he continued to watch, something else seemed to dawn on the Colonel as he watched the Chig command ships continue to push relentlessly forward through a hail of fire and strafing Raiders, forwards towards the line of Silicate capital vessels.

"Oh, my gods," muttered Runel, his voice an almost breathless whisper as he continued to watch the Chig command ship surge forward.

"They're going to try and ram the Silicate ships," interjected McQueen, shaking his head in near disbelief as the violent spectacle continued to unfold on the screen.

As all eyes continued to watch, utterly transfixed by the sight, one of the Silicate baseships suddenly pulled out from its position along the line, a volley of missiles erupting from it as the baseship interposed itself in between the charging Chig warship and the Silicate baseship at the very center of the line.

Although the missile volley at first seemed destined to completely tear asunder the faltering Chig command ship, a smattering of surviving Chig fighters suddenly raced into view with weapons blazing. Defying the damage they themselves had sustained, the tiny craft expended themselves, either by ignoring the plethora of Raiders trailing them to fire at the inbound ordnance, or even by outright ramming into the missiles; a final and defiantly furious effort to ensure the Chig command vessel survived for a few more moments.

The net result of this orgy of self-sacrifice was that the way was now clear for the Chig command ship and the crew aboard it to give their own last full measure for their species.

Without the slightest hint of hesitation, the Chig command ship, trailing flames and debris, accosted from all sides by waves of relentless Raiders, slammed headlong into the baseship which had sailed into its path.

As the fiery conflagration of the Chig command ship's death enveloped a significant portion of the baseship, the visible sections of the hull almost instantly began to erupt in a cascading series of secondary detonations. With each new fireball, large sections of hull and debris were blasted free into the void, the entire hull visibly trembling, some sections even undulating like a wave as the baseship was seized by its own death throes.

Within moments, the Silicate baseship succumbed to the irrevocable damage wrought upon it, pyrotechnically evaporating in a fantastic explosion.

Much as the potency of the missiles had come as a surprise, so too did the magnitude of the explosion which marked the Silicate baseship's passing. Even in the vacuum of space, the detonation had managed to promulgate a considerable blast wave that swept over scores of Raiders, their comparatively fragile frames crushed outright, pulverized against the expanding wave front hurtling shards of splintered armor and other shattered debris into the void.

As the destructive crest slammed into the remaining baseships, the results were less spectacular but no less notable as they each visibly faltered. Sections of hull exposed directly to the blast wave were visibly buckled and crumpled back like a vehicle in a low-speed collision, a smattering of secondary eruptions erupting in several places though not engulfing them, the four remaining ships momentarily set adrift as they suffered an apparent loss of attitude control.

But what was more interesting is that the damage wrought upon the surviving baseships apparently compromised the stealth materials used in their hulls enough that they all instantly blinked into life on DRADIS.

"Colonel Runel, I may be out of place by saying this, but you'd be an outright fool to come this far and not seize this opportunity," stated McQueen flatly as he watched the four remaining baseships continue to flounder a bit.

"You're gods damned right I would be, that's why I'm taking it," nodded Runel, his eyes holding fast to the icons representing the now-detectable Silicate baseships as he snatched back up his handset. "Battery plot; DRADIS has firm track on enemy baseships; all main batteries, acquire targets; one-to-one HE to AP, rapid salvo fire; their shells are cracked, now's our chance to bust them open."

"Aye, sir."

Dropping the handset back away from his ear, Runel watched as the new wave of fire erupting from Enceladus began raining down onto the nearest Silicate baseships.

---

Silicate Command Baseship
Near the Fifth Planet of the Helios Star System

"Get your gods-damned, motherfraking hands off of me," growled Cavil as Cain Six-Zero-Seven finished lifting the aged man back to his uncertain feet. "I fraking told your to destroy that ship."

"One baseship confirmed destroyed," stated Burke MR Eight-Zero-Nine dispassionately. "Ninety-seven Raiders confirmed lost."

Wheezing from the effort it took for his aged muscles to defy the trembling deck beneath his feet, Cavil looked up at the screen with little short of acid disdain, in spite of his previous caustic entreaty for Cain Six-Zero-Seven to leave him be, now firmly gripping onto the solidly-planted Silicate as his mind reeled with both rage and utter panic.

"I can't believe you actually managed to frak this up!" burst Cavil angrily, a harsh cough seizing him as he barely managed to look up into Cain Six-Zero-Seven's unreadable metal face. "You had one mother-fraking job to do, and you've completely fraked it up!"

"The Chig warship's suicidal maneuver was unexpected, you Excellency," replied Cain Six-Zero-Seven.

"They were losing you metal moron," barked Cavil, looking back over at the screen in time to see new salvos erupting from the two Colonial warships. "When biologicals are losing, they ram, I don't know why but they always ram, gods-dammit…"

A hard impact sent Cavil once again scrambling across the pitching deck.

"Our stealth plating has been compromised by the detonation," stated Feliciti OH Nine-One-Three. "We are visible to Colonial DRADIS."

"We are taking too many loses," coughed Cavil as he groped his way, this time conspicuously unaided, back to his feet. "Order all our forces to withdraw, immediately."

"If we remain in this engagement, our eventual victory is a mathematical certainty…" began Cain Six-Zero-Seven evenly, another series of Colonial salvos slamming into the ship cutting him off midsentence.

"I don't give a frak about 'mathematical certainties'," barked Cavil as he once again began the plainly arduous task of regaining his purchase. "I order you to withdraw, now!"

Pausing, Cain Six-Zero-Seven said nothing, merely watched the fumbling figure that was Cavil for a moment, its central processor as close to amused at the spectacle as its collection of digital algorithms could be.

To be certain, the aged creature's usefulness was drawing to a close, he was in the end still a biological creature as well, his eventual termination as much a certainty as the destruction of humanity, but for now a truncated cost-benefit analysis led Cain Six-Zero-Seven to conclude that it best served the eventual goals to continue to humor Cavil.

Accessing the streams of data flowing through its consciousness, Cain Six-Zero-Seven issued the withdrawal order.

---

Battlecruiser Enceladus
Combat Information Center

"Sir, change in readings," called Lieutenant Thorpe. "Picking up spatial…sir, they're spooling to jump."

Watching as he was with subdued satisfaction as the latest salvos from Enceladus and Savitri slammed home, at hearing that their injured quarry was in the midst of a jump prep, Runel was seized by a most peculiar rage.

"Gods dammit, they're getting away," he growled as he snatched up the handset and toggled the switch for battery plot.

But before he could lift the handset to his ear, the firm Silicate contacts on DRADIS blinking out of existence, the mass formations of Silicate Raiders and the baseships on the video feed vanished in a cascading series of flashes.

"All enemy contacts have jumped, sir," called Lieutenant Thorpe.

Letting out a long sigh, Runel almost dejectedly tossed the handset back down onto the table.

Taking in a long breath as the reverberating sound of the ship's main batteries firing disappeared, Runel slowly looked around CIC, to Colonel McQueen, to the Supreme Commander, as an almost surreal calm settled in; a palpable sensation hanging over them that seemed to scream, 'what now'?

His gaze slowly returning to the screens overhead, Runel watched as the battered remnants of the Chig fleet slowly began to consolidate on DRADIS.

Turning to the Supreme Commander, Runel held to helmeted figure's gaze.

"Much as I am loathe to say anything trite right now, I must admit, your people fought bravely," sighed Runel.

"Our losses today were great," replied the Supreme Commander soberly as he looked over towards the DRADIS, towards the almost painfully few icons which represented the remainder of his fleet. "But at least they were not lost in vain."

"I just wish we'd been able to inflict more damage on the Silicates before they withdrew," sighed Runel as he slowly looked back up at the screens as well. "With their jump drives, they could just as easily come back once they've had a chance to regroup."

Likewise looking up towards the mere smattering of contacts which represented the remainder of his fleet, the Supreme Commander bowed his head slightly.

"If they do return, we will at least be fighting them as a free people," he stated evenly.

"Considering how badly your fleet's been mauled, you'll likely need every available ship if they do come back," interjected McQueen, a long breath escaping him as he likewise looked over towards Supreme Commander. "Not a lot of fighters or troops to spare for any 'other' operations."

"That is correct, Colonel McQueen," replied the Supreme Commander evenly as he momentarily met McQueen's gaze. "Protecting the homeworld is now our only priority now."

With that, the Supreme Commander turned back to Colonel Runel, and under the curiously watchful, and in the case of the armed Marines nearby by, cautiously vigilant eyes, slowly knelt down in front of him.

Slowly reaching up, the Supreme Commander then removed the curved metal plate attached to the protrusion on his chest, his glove-encrusted hands cradling it for a moment before holding it out towards Runel, the Supreme Commander bending down still more before Colonel Runel.

"As the Supreme Commander of my people's military forces, I formally surrender to you, Colonel Runel," stated the Supreme Commander evenly. "We are at your mercy."

Uncertain, even hesitant, Colonel Runel looked down at the nearly proned-out form of the Supreme Commander, then over to Colonel McQueen.

"Colonel?" prodded Runel.

Taking in a quick breath as he looked over at the prostrate Supreme Commander, McQueen looked genuinely surprised.

"Every other Chig who's ever been taken prisoner has resisted, sometimes violently, having that object removed from their person," stated McQueen as he pointed over towards the concave metal plate held up by the Supreme Commander. "If he is offering it to you, then he is formally surrendering."

Looking down at the object being held up by the Supreme Commander, Runel tentatively reached out towards it, his fingers pausing just short of touching it.

Then, taking in a deep breath, Runel slowly pulled his hand back.

"No," he said evenly as he looked back over to McQueen. "We are still the outsiders here, Colonel McQueen."

With that, Runel nodded his head slightly towards McQueen, motioning for him to come around from the far side of the plot table.

Visibly taken somewhat by surprise by the action, McQueen nevertheless made his way around the plot table, slowly stepping up before the still-prostrate Supreme Commander.

Looking up for a moment, out into the myriad of eyes looking back at him, McQueen was suddenly all too keenly aware of the full ramifications of the moment he now found himself the center of.

Taking in a deep, steadying breath, McQueen reached over and gently took hold of the concave plate.

"Supreme Commander, as representative of the United Nations International Forces, I hereby accept your surrender."

Slowly returning to an upright kneeling position, the Supreme Commander looked up at McQueen.

McQueen for his part merely stood looking down at the concave plate in his hand.

"Are you okay, Colonel?" prodded Runel as he noted the somewhat distant look in McQueen's eyes.

"I just can't help but think," sighed McQueen as he looked back over at the kneeling Supreme Commander. "Two years of war, uncounted lives lost; one of the most costly and vicious conflicts in our history, now over in so simple and almost absurd a way."

Pausing, McQueen gently closed his hand in around the concave plate, a long sigh escaping as he continued to look down at the Supreme Commander.

"Ending not with a bang, but a whimper."