Chapter 32 - A Dream Given Form

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Cylon Flagship, Unknown System - November, 2249

Many of the model Ones had taken the name John Cavil. But this particular Cavil took great pride in being the first. The first awoken. The one to take down the Five and take control of the Centurions. The one One who was truly in command. Not that he was irreplaceable. He had taken great care that all Ones were him. Far more unified than the later, flawed models. If anything should ever happen to him...he would still go on through his brothers. Brothers that were important to him. Brothers that were his true family. If he believed in love, he would have it only for them. And so now, sitting contemplatively behind his personal desk, he found himself mourning the loss of another of his brothers. And the failure that loss represented.

"It's confirmed," the Two calling himself Leoben reported. In theory, or at least for mass political consumption, the Two was his equal. But John was glad to see Conoy naturally standing at attention before his desk. He clearly understood that he was briefing a superior. "The assault force was a total loss. We weren't able to retrieve any of the Basestars, or the Final Five."

"A setback brother," Cavil hated using that term on a lesser model, but it was important to be politic, "but not the end. We hold all of the advantages. Resurrection will be ours again. The Final Five belong with us. We'll get them soon enough." The Four named Simon who had come in with Leoben winced. John's irritation grew. "What? If there's something you have to say, then spit it out."

Nervously, Simon noted, "Our stealth observation craft, watching the operation from long range...they picked up a signal...on a Cylon frequency."

When the Four paused, Cavil snapped, "And? Get on with it!"

Leoben was the one to resume speaking, "The messenger claimed to be...a Daniel."

"Impossible. Model Seven failed. It no longer exists."

"The message included things...details that only a Cylon could know."

"Think, will you? There's a whole host of rebellious Cylons over there. They're frakking with us."

"It...had a message specifically for you. It said, 'Tell John I'm back...and so is Allison.' Does that mean anything to you One? Who is Allison?"

Cavil couldn't suppress the look of shock that washed over his face, but he recovered quickly. "Clearly, as I just said, they're trying to frak with us. Did this message have any other stupid comments?"

"Yes. The individual claiming to be Daniel...said he would kill the Five himself before he let them fall into your hands."

John surged angrily to his feet, hands clenching into fists. But he took reign of his emotions brutally, taking several long, calming breaths. His mind churned furiously, thinking through the implications. Before finally coming to the decision he had wanted all along. "Well that's that then. The Rebels don't want us to have the Five. They've sealed their own fate. We'll figure out Resurrection on our own. Gather and prepare the fleet. Those Rebels want a permanent death so much? We'll give it to them. And their precious humans too. It's time we finished what we started. The humans' time is over. God allowed us to be created to replace them. Superior replacements. That process can only end with the humans' extinction."

"But the firepower of their new ships…" Simon protested.

"Won't matter. Equip all of our nukes. I want all of the Raiders carrying at least one. Swap out every conventional warhead on our bombardment and antiship missiles. There's no need to save them. Once the humans cease to exist, so will any threat to us. We still have over a hundred ships. Between numbers and that level of firepower, even their new ships won't last more than a few seconds."

"That's...going to take some time," Simon noted.

"Then I suggest you get started. It's time and past time this universe saw the end of the human race."

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Rebel Cylon Flagship, Unknown System - November, 2249

Commodore Sheridan's shuttle touched down in a combat landing. Barely three hours after their prior meeting, he had agreed to meet with Adama and Tyrol here, but he had little time to waste. Disembarking with Jeff Sinclair right behind him, they chose to forego the usual pomp and circumstance, not even waiting for his Marine security detail to give the all clear. They marched directly over to where Chief Tyrol and several members of the Cylon Council stood on the deck, in consultation with Admiral Adama and Colonel Tigh, who had also just arrived.

Sheridan didn't bother to salute or ask permission to come aboard. He just looked at the stack of flimsies Tyrol was carrying and said, "I hope you've got some good news for me Chief. It'd be nice for a change."

"I take it things are getting worse?" Adama asked stoically.

"Two of the approach vectors to this system now have Minbari fleets just one jump away from us. The third vector has the Minbari only two systems out."

"I thought the Minbari had better sensors and stealth both compared to you," Colonel Tigh noted curiously. "How do you pick out their location without tipping them off to your presence?"

"We sent Locarno's Cutters up the beacon paths almost, but not quite, to the next systems. They're hanging far enough back out of the system that they can't see the Minbari and the Minbari can't see them. You may have noticed that a Jumpgate opening is an energetic event. That's what they're watching for. Since there appears to be no one else using this network but the Minbari and ourselves...it's a pretty safe assumption. Given the length of time those gates were held open, the Minbari fleets are not only large enough to rapidly search those systems, they're more than powerful enough to roll over us like we weren't even there."

"Jesus!" Tigh swore.

Jeff's eyes snapped to the man in shock. "What did you just say?"

Tigh looked at the man in surprise, "Oh come on," he downplayed. "You don't strike me as the type to be easily offended by blue language, Captain. None of us have time to worry about propriety."

"No. I mean...that word you just used. What does it mean?!" Jeff asked intensely.

"Jesus? You didn't have that term on Earth? It doesn't really mean anything. It's just a nonsense swear word people use sometimes, when they get tired of saying frak. I suppose it means something awful or terrible or stupid." Tigh looked at Sheridan and Adama, clearly wondering why Sinclair was wasting time discussing semantics.

For his part, Sinclair merely closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose for several seconds, as though fighting off a migraine. "Whoever or whatever orchestrated all of this...they have a lot to answer for."

"Later," Sheridan cut in. He steered the conversation back onto course. "To make matters worse, Gideon is on the last potential route they could find, and it appears to be closing off. There's still a chance there, but the odds aren't good. I've started reeling back in any ships he doesn't have immediate need for. It's time to start transferring whatever personnel and supplies we can, with whatever time we have left." His eyes turned, boring into Tyrol. "Unless you've got good news for me Chief."

"Maybe," Galen responded nervously. "I hope...I think so. But we have bad news as well. Tough?"

One of the Sixes on the Council who appeared to enjoy wearing leather and glaring in equal measure stepped forward. "We've had scouts out of our own….the Heavy Raiders. Standard procedure for our attacks on human forces was to move to a staging area within one jump...Cylon range...of the target, but greater than the Colonial jump range so it wouldn't be easy for humans to spot us. One seems to be following the protocol without considering the purpose...or the fact that we're here. So with a little recon and a little luck, we found his staging area. They're preparing to attack, but it's still going to be a while yet before they're ready. Maybe up to a day. But the news is all downhill from there. He's not just coming in force, he's bringing everything...or damn close anyway. We counted a hundred and two Basestars. We spotted clouds of Raiders...tens of thousands of them, practicing maneuvering together in those kinds of numbers. I can't imagine even your Earthforce vessels will last long against firepower of that magnitude."

"No," Sheridan admitted, "likely not. All the more reason to get as many of our people out of here as possible." His eyes swivelled back to Galen. "No more stalling. Do you have something for us or not."

Tyrol took a deep breath. "Yes. I think so." He took the top flimsy off of the stack and handed it over, and then the next. "It'll be dangerous and there are no guarantees. And it'll take a hell of a lot of prep in what little time we have...but I think we can jump your ships out of here...all of them."

"You've found a way to make our jump drives make your kind of jump?" Sinclair guessed. "Unfortunately, only three of our ships actually have jump drives, so that won't work." Then he looked over Sheridan's shoulder at the flimsies that man was studying intently...and winced. "What the hell?"

One flimsy showed the Galactica, flight pods extended. The main landing and recovery areas of those pods were completely filled...with Achilles class freighters, and dozens of other types of their smaller ships, all crammed in like sardines. Stacked right to the rafters.

"This is actually the less crazy part," the Chief explained. "We just cut power to the grav plating in the landing bays, and your smaller vessels can come in and position themselves however we want. Your smallest ships...those that'll fit down our elevators...can be stowed in the lower hangars. All we have to ensure is that Galactica can still retract her flight pods. We don't even have to worry about that with the Beast. The Cylons were able to use their advanced computers to scan your ship profiles and come up with the most space efficient method possible for cramming in as many ships as possible. From there...it's mostly just a regular jump out. Though I'm going to strongly recommend we hook Cylons into our nav system. Best to do this in one jump." His eyes swivelled to Adama, who was clearly about to protest. "Athena on the Galactica, Boomer on the Pegasus. We trust them, right? I'd do it myself, but I don't actually know how to be a Cylon."

Bill's gruff features became just a bit more stern for a moment, but then he relented, giving a quick nod.

"Playing Jenga with ships. Now I've seen everything." Sheridan paused. "That'll save hundreds of thousands of lives, Chief," he noted, "assuming we can get it done in time. But it's a far cry from all of our ships or all of our people. It won't help any of the White Stars, for instance. And those carry the vast majority of our people."

"That's where we get to the truly crazy part," Tyrol said, handing over flimsy after flimsy. Each one showed one of the larger vessels of the Earth Alliance fleet, military or civilian. Each with one of the vessels of the Colonials' rag tag fleet literally sitting on them. "We paired them up by size, and how much power we could get out of the jump engines. In a couple of cases, for our largest ships, we were able to pair two of yours to one of ours. We'll have to tack weld them together enough for a reasonably durable connection. You'll have to stop rotation on any of your centrifugal vessels of course, but this'll get your biggest ships, excluding the Eratosthenes."

"This'll work?" Adama asked in surprise.

Galen hesitated. "No guarantees, but it should. It will definitely require a Cylon at the helm...they'll have to calculate the jump drive field dynamics on the fly, taking into account the adjusted mass and hull form. But yes, it should work. It will leave those Cylons with a massive headache…," he hesitated for a long moment, "...and burn out the jump drives beyond repair. We'd better hope that system works out, because if we do this we won't be leaving it anytime soon."

"You're gonna kill the Galactica's frakkin' jump drive?" Saul snarled. "Are you frakkin' nuts?"

"It's necessary, Saul," Adama reassured, though clearly unhappy himself.

"No, Sirs," Tyrol said, making eye contact with each of them. "I assumed we might need a couple of FTL capable warships at some point down the line. What we're doing with Galactica and Pegasus will leave their drives intact. Aside from the Cylon range increase, it's just a regular jump for them. We're not burning the Raptors either, they're too small, though we are gonna use up all of the Heavy Raiders."

Sheridan and Sinclair were flipping through the flimsies one after another. "That still doesn't cover all of our ships. In fact, it leaves a hell of a lot of the midsize vessels unaccounted for."

"That's where we get to the really really crazy part," Tyrol replied, handing over his last five flimsies. They depicted the five Basestars...literally covered in Earth Alliance ships. The long spines massively increasing their surface area were very useful in that regard. However, far from looking like some kind of orderly spacedock, the vessels were patched on wherever there was space, sometimes two or even three deep, looking like nothing so much as some horrible form of leprosy. The only one which wasn't covered in this way sat like a bump on the massive back of the Eratosthenes. "We tried to arrange the largest of your vessels in such a way that their thrust would be coaxial with the Basestars' gravitic drives. But that's...limited. In order to get any kind of propulsion, we'll have to use the tugs. Maybe we won't need to move them...just jump and then sever the welds on the far side. But both the connection and the disconnection are going to be...time consuming. I figured better safe than sorry."

"That can't possibly work," Saul blurted, looking at the flimsies in horror.

"You're very nearly correct," Sonja said, looking very unhappy. "It's only possible at all because of the advanced drives on the Basestars...and because of the Hybrids. Calculating the field dynamics on the mass...and especially the hullform of that mess...it would be impossible otherwise. But it will certainly burn those drives to ash...and it will do the same to the Hybrids." She looked directly at Adama, "another sacrifice for our sins. But there is a problem."

"No, there isn't," the leather clad Six replied immediately.

"Tough," Sonja chastised, "we can't hide this from them. One of the Basestars is currently unusable, and we haven't figured out a solution yet."

"Your walking, talking Hybrid...Allison," Sinclair guessed. "I'm guessing she has no desire to give up her newfound freedom."

"We're not even certain she's still capable of operating as a Hybrid," Sonja agreed.

"It's not a problem," Tough insisted. "We just need someone to fill in. Biologically and technologically, the Hybrids aren't any more advanced than the rest of us. It's the tank and the state of their consciousness that lets them operate the way they do. The tank's still functional, and we can use drugs to replicate the state of consciousness. A large enough dose of Chamalla ought to do just fine. Like you said," she smiled, turning to Sonja, "just another sacrifice."

"You have a volunteer for this?" Sinclair objected. "The Hybrids are one thing, but you can't force one of the fully aware Cylons to do this. Not even one of your 'newly awakened'."

"You needn't bother your scruples human," Tough sneered disparagingly. "I'll be the one going in the tank."

Sonja whirled on her. "Sister, you can't!"

"Of course I can...as easily as any of the rest of us."

"But we need you!" she protested again.

Tough sighed. "Not really. I was always the least of us. You weathered the loss of Gina just fine. Between you, Natalie, and Caprica...the Sixes are in good hands."

"But...why?" Sonja asked forlornly.

"Because I'm tired. And because there's no place for me in this new world you're building. I was placed into the Colonies as a prostitute. Asked to do horrible, unspeakable things, over and over, for years. And if I wasn't fast enough or cheerful enough or good enough, the pimps would beat and torture me. Pathetic little humans I could have crushed without half trying. But my programming wouldn't let me. It would have been suspicious. And so I sat there and took my beatings day after day. Sister...when the bombs fell I cheered. I can't look at a human without being sick. That doesn't mean I don't know that what you are doing is the right thing. That doesn't mean that I don't believe in the society you will bring into existence. But this is the only way I can be a part of it. I have a head full of memories I don't want. Let me go, sister."

Sinclair cleared his throat uncomfortably. "We...have the ability to take those memories from you. So you never have to suffer them again."

The glare swept back over him. "Your attempt at kindness is noted, human. But I see no difference between your telepathy and the kind of mind rape that One perpetuated on me and too many others of my kind. I want release, not another lie."

Sheridan cut in. "So it seems like you're all agreed this will work. Or at least, stands a good chance of doing so without killing us all."

"Yeah...I mean, yes, Sir," Tyrol replied. "There are challenges. Aside from the work, filling up the flight pods means that if we want to maintain a CAP, or other Viper and Raptor flight operations, we'll have to recover them through the launch tubes."

Tigh and Adama both winced, but it was Sinclair who asked, "Is that even possible?"

"If the pilots take it slow and easy," Adama confirmed.

"It'll double our RTF turnarounds, at the least. Maybe triple. And if we are covering the Basestars in ships, they won't be able to launch missiles at all. For that matter, the Nova and Lexington will have at least a third of their guns blocked as well. If it comes to a fight, we'll be slow as hell and severely under strength."

"Worse and worse," Sheridan muttered. "Maybe this whole thing is a bad idea. If we are to have any chance of pulling it off...we'd need to throw everything at it. That means pulling Gideon and all forces off of exploration. It also kills any chance we have of transferring personnel and supplies...save those in the freighters stacked in the Pegasus and Galactica flight pods I suppose."

"That's actually more than we were looking at by doing it the other way, John," Sinclair noted.

"Then I'm inclined to take this chance...if the Colonials are willing. Admiral, perhaps we should get into contact with the President."

Adama met Sheridan's gaze for several long moments. Finally, he replied. "That won't be necessary, Commodore. I am responsible for military decisions within the fleet. Attempting to flee with only the Pegasus and Galactica, even with the Basestars, does not leave us a sufficiently acceptable force structure to meet current threats and challenges. We need Earthforce to be properly secure. So we go with the Chief's plan."

Both Sheridan and Sinclair, not to mention Tigh and Tyrol, showed surprise at Adama's bluntly resolute response. But Sheridan immediately held out his hand to Adama. "Thank you, Admiral," he said sincerely. His eyes swiveled to Tough Six. "And thank you, maam, for the sacrifice you are making."

Tough grunted, but then reluctantly offered, "I hope your new society is successful."

Nodding his appreciation, Sheridan turned back to the military officers. "If we're going to take a hit to our combat capacity, then we need to make some additional preparations. Admiral, how is it that the Cylons always seem to be able to jump in practically on top of you? Is it just tracking the Tylium ship?"

"Maybe," Adama replied. "We've also surmised they keep a small ship following us from in system, just outside of our sensor range, but close enough to detect us. Given the size of the fleet and the emissive nature of the civilian drives, that's not terribly hard. Also close enough to receive any transmissions from agents they might still have within the fleet. We've probably seen the last of those, but it's hard to be certain."

Sheridan nodded. "Alright, I think we can deal with that." He turned to Sinclair. "Captain, I want all of our birds in the black ASAP. Long range sweeps. Chase out any Cylon spies hiding in the bushes."

"Aye, Sir," the Captain replied sharply, then stepped off to transmit the orders.

"Need any help with that?" Adama asked.

Sheridan shook his head. "Our Starfuries have longer legs than your Vipers. They're better suited to this task. Besides, we'll want to keep your flight groups close in, in case the Cylons get here before we've finished securing the area. There's one other thing we need to do, Admiral," he said, but then looked over at Galen and the Cylons. "Chief Tyrol, I believe you have a great deal of work to do. Quit wasting time and get to it!"

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Cylon Fleet, Unknown System - November, 2249

With rapid, stroboscopic flashes, over one hundred Basestars rapidly flushed themselves into the system. Far exceeding even that tempo was the rate at which Raiders were dumped off their racks and into space. In record setting time the local area had gone from empty to containing a massive armada bent on destruction.

"Target the Nova first and launch everything we have at it!" Cavil demanded.

"The Nova," came Simon O'Neill's hesitant response, "does not appear to be present." He paused, scanning the incoming data. "No sign of the Earth or Colonial fleets. Just...just the Colonial Refinery ship."

Simon shunted the data feed over to One, who beheld the ship, hanging alone in the firmament. As Cavil watched, a single Raptor detached itself from the vessel and made a run for it. Already within firing range of the Raiders, there were immediately a dozen missiles homing in on it. The Raptor's pilot went evasive, banking the craft through maneuvers going right to the brink of the spaceframe's load limits. Flares spurted rhythmically into space. And then sensors detected the Raptor's jump engines spooling up, triggering...and then the capacitors bleeding out. Misfire. Their one attempt to escape lost, the Raptor ate a missile barely a second later. The fleet pulverized the Refinery vessel almost as an afterthought.

Grinding his teeth in frustration, Cavil spat out, "They're not from Earth! Analyze their initial flight path. See if we can figure out where they were headed."

It was a long moment before the Four replied, "Got them! Three million kilometers out! Reading the Battlestars, the Nova, the Lexington...there's the Midway...that's it. Just their primary combat vessels. And a trio of civilian ships, sitting practically on top of the other vessels. They're...bizarrely tightly clustered."

"Who cares? Where's the rest of the fleet? Where are all the civilian ships? The Basestars?"

"No sign of them. There are three planets in system, and a minor asteroid belt. They could be hiding anywhere...or even in another system."

Cavil cursed. "They wouldn't have kept them anywhere nearby without proper protection. Five damaged Basestars don't count. They have to be in another system. Set an intercept course on those warships, maximum speed."

"You don't want to just jump in?"

"We can't." Cavil cursed again. "If we wait for the jump engines to recharge, they'll have plenty of time to charge their own. When we jump in, they jump away to their civilian fleet, and then it's a chase. But if they jump before we do...we can use the Raiders to find them, then jump in on them while their engines are recharging and they can't escape. No, for the time being, we cross the slow way."

Simon gave one last argument. "Reports say that the...fine, not Earth vessels...use some kind of alternate FTL system. They might be operating under different constraints."

"You actually believe that garbage? That there would be a type of FTL we didn't understand? We're the machines here. The chosen of God. Besides, reports say they refer to their engines as jump drives. So they're jump drives! Now, send in the Raiders! Basestars to follow at best speed."

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Battlestar Galactica, Unknown System - November, 2249

"Launch! Launch! Launch!" Slammed back into her seat, Starbuck was once more hurled into space. Her element, where she reigned supreme. And now those toasters were coming back to get another lesson in humility. She was happy to give it to them.

But, as the Bucket's squadrons formed up, and then joined with the Beast's, the Earthforce vessels began feeding them long range tactical data. There might be as many as a hundred thousand Raiders headed their way, and they looked pissed. "Frak me," Duck muttered over the open squadron channel.

"Cut the chatter!" Starbuck snapped. "Remember your training. We've got this. No way are a bunch of toasters gonna chase us from the field!"

"You folks mind some company?" chimed in a familiar voice.

"Hotdog?" Kat asked. "Is that you? Now we're really frakked."

"Missed me that much huh?" Hotdog asked in his familiar jockular tone. "Well don't worry, I bring friends."

Out of Kara's peripheral vision she caught a Starfury sliding in from above. Raising her head to get a direct look, she beheld wing after wing of the Earthforce starfighters, moving into a joint formation with them. "Black Omega One to Starbuck," came the more and more familiar voice of Commander Bester, "we've got your back. I assume you're all packing the goodies we sent over for you?"

"Locked and loaded," she replied. Indeed, the Earthforce had sent over loads of missiles which they had assured her would out stick the Cylons.

Silence ensued, broken only by the sporadic chatter necessary in keeping the formation coherent. Tension heightened and nerves tightened as the massed formation covered the vast distance still separating them from the onrushing Cylon hordes. Stomachs cramped, sweat beaded, and hands shook as the two forces drew closer and closer.

"Space out your targets," came Bester's final advice, "and go slow and steady on your missile usage. It's a long trip back to rearm."

And then the tones of good firing solutions began to warble within the helmets and cockpits of the joint task force. The Earthforce missiles were locking up the Raiders from nearly ten times further out than Kara was used to. "Fox Two!" she heard Hotdog shout, followed by Commander Bester and dozens of other Starfury pilots. The Colonial pilots had no similar callout for a missile launch, so Kara merely laughed joyously as she dumped her first missile into space.

The missiles raced ahead at breakneck speeds towards dumbfounded and now desperately maneuvering Raiders. The vast, tightly packed swarm tumbled apart into chaos. They banked and spun under forces that would have been difficult for human pilots...but were childsplay to the onrushing avalanche of missiles. And when a Raider did manage to shake loose a missile which had locked it up...their formation was still so dense that in almost every case the missile simply locked onto another Raider.

And then the distance was closed and the Earthforce missiles struck home in one long, rolling crescendo of mayhem. The reason for Bester's admonishment to space out their targets became clear. These were long range, heavy anti-fighter missiles. They threw shrapnel over a large area. Given the densely clustered nature of the Cylon formation, the missile hits usually didn't take out one, or even two or three of the Raiders. They took out four, or five, or six. Massed holes were blown into the Raider lines.

And then the second salvo of Earthforce missiles came roaring in. Followed by the third. And then the second, fourth, and fifth. The Vipers and Starfuries were flushing their racks.

"Holy frak," Kat muttered into her active mike. Kara chose not to reprimand her. She could only agree.

"You know, Earthforce fighter pilots have a term for this kind of a battle." Russki spoke up. "Clubbing baby seals."

"What's a seal?" Starbuck asked absently.

"Ummm...as far as I know, it's some kind of badass Special Forces guy from before Earth was unified."

"How does that make any kind of sense?" Duck asked.

"How should I know?" Russki replied. "It's not my expression. Maybe...maybe they were so dangerous you could only kill them as babies?"

That comment drew a bit of derision, but then Bester's voice was snapping out over the comm channels again. "Focus people. We've taken out less than ten percent of that force, and our whole formation is currently Shotgun missiles. Everybody, come about. Starbuck," he called out across the multi squadron channel.

"This is Starbuck."

"We're reading heavy radiologicals across the board on the remaining Raiders. Most likely, they're mounting nothing but antiship nukes. That calls for ops plan Sword. Do you concur?"

"Agreed," Kara returned. "Break a speed record getting back, Commander. That's a lot of toasters flying our way." Plan Sword called for the Starfuries, with their greater number of hardpoints, to rearm and return to wreck more toasters. With their inertial dampening and their landing bays not being filled with civilian ships, they could also get the turnaround completed far faster.

However, if the Raiders had been low on radiologicals, that would have meant they were probably packing antifighter missiles. Even with their tiny number of hardpoints, given their still daunting numerical advantage, the only way to survive a launch of that many missiles would have been the precision point defense capabilities of the Starfuries. That would have been ops plan Shield, with the Starfuries hanging back to delay the Raiders while the Vipers did their best to return through their own launch tubes and rearm before the Starfuries were overwhelmed. Kara preferred it this way.

"Acknowledged. Good luck, Captain." Still on the multi squadron channel, he commanded, "All starfuries to the rear, back to the barn, max thrust. We rearm and return at best speed. All Viper squadrons, good luck!"

"Alright, people," Kara called out, watching the Starfuries burn away, quickly disappearing into the distance, "come about and go to max thrust. We need to cut the Raiders' closing speed." As one the entire force of Vipers flipped over and cut in max afterburners. The g-forces pressed the pilots back hard into their seats, and grunting could be heard up and down the line of pilots. The Raiders, with much more speed built up, were still closing. Kara watched as they approached the maximum effective gun range. "Hot fire, double flip," she ordered, then paused a couple of seconds. "Now, now, now!"

More or less as one, the entire line of Vipers did a maximum-g flip and fired a long burst into the still tightly interwoven onrushing wall of Raiders who, given the acceleration vector, were still outside of their own gun range. Dozens of Raiders were damaged or destroyed. A pittance, really, but every little bit helped. They then flipped back over in a fraction of a second, and resumed maximum acceleration, doing their best to keep the range open. Over the next minute and a half, Kara repeated the maneuver twice more. But finally the Raiders closed into their own effective gun range.

Starbuck had been waiting for exactly that. "Remember, stay with your wingman. Don't try to dogfight individual Raiders. Take every opportune shot you can, engage as many as possible, and foul their lines. It's not about killing them, it's about stopping them, screwing their organization, and staying alive until help arrives. Ready? Break, break, break!"

The line of Viper squadrons blossomed like a firework. Pairs of Vipers broke off in every direction, using every conceivable maneuver. They turned and literally dove into the tidal wave of Cylon steel, in what very much appeared to be mass suicide. Kara herself gave a banshee scream, listening in on the squadron net as dozens of her pilots did the same. Russki was staying hard on her wing, and their guns fired near constantly as they engaged a new target every second or two. They might have scored a kill or two, probably damaged quite a few more, but given these densities and speeds, the greatest danger was a collision. Raiders flashed past at closing velocities that made them impossible to see as more than a blur.

The massed Cylon formation simply dissolved as the simple minded Raiders turned about, spinning back into their own formation to chase down these infuriating human pilots. Not only was their headlong rush towards the human warships stopped, their formation completely blown, but the same deadly calculus which applied to the Vipers applied to them as well. For every Viper that was unable to avoid ramming into a Raider, a dozen Raiders who had turned about accidentally collided with their still onrushing breatheren to the rear.

Starbuck and Russki were still hanging together, jinking wildly and engaging every Raider which flashed through their gunsights. Looking wildly about, she saw a Mark II Viper come apart under gunfire, its wingman following suit seconds later. They were too far away to identify. She saw another pair of Mark VIIs in the distance, spiraling through maneuver after maneuver, with at least two dozen Raiders following through those same maneuvers in their wake. Risking a backwards glance during a bank, she saw at least a dozen Raiders on her own tail. Over the radio, she heard the reports of her pilots dying.

But more often, she heard them cheering kills. The tight formation of the Cylons worked against the Raiders more than it helped them. Even the Raiders directly behind a Viper were several times more likely to kill a fellow Raider with any given cannon burst. Those just trying to take an opportune snap shot at a passing fighter were even more self destructive. Stray rounds not directly impacting the designated target flew off into the tightly knotted formation, with all too predictable results.

"Break left!" Russki screamed. Starbuck, propelled by her instincts, or perhaps even her new senses, had already been doing so. Tracer rounds, followed by a trio of Raiders, flashed by through the space where the two Vipers had been. Russki had done a further flip, and her guns cut two of them in half. Starbuck picked up the third.

Bullets shredder her tail as the two of them kicked back into acceleration and hard maneuvers. They didn't have time to fight individual targets like that. Trying would get them killed. They were dogfighting the entire Raider formation.

And the toasters were winning. The loss rates might be terribly lopsided, but they had the numbers to wear down and wipe out the Colonial pilots.

They just didn't have the time. A chime rang out in Starbucks ear. "Clear the center!" she shouted. "All pilots, clear out!"

Seconds later, heavy explosions began tearing through the heart of the Cylon formation. With all of the maneuvering and weaving, they were even more tightly knotted together than before. A perfect target for Bester's returning Starfuries. Some of those powerful Earthforce missiles were shattering entire squadrons at once.

After the fact, Kara would learn that more than a couple of Vipers would go down to those same missiles, caught in the shrapnel clouds and the tragedy of blue-on-blue kills. But the maneuver had worked. The Raider formation was broken. They still vastly outnumbered the combined human fighter squadrons, but they'd had enough. Long before the last missile had flown, the toasters were running for home, tails tucked firmly between their legs.

.

EAS Midway, Unknown System - November, 2249

Commodore John Sheridan couldn't help but let a small smile break his normally stoic countenance as he watched the retreating Raiders. Of course, the cheering ringing out across the Bridge all around him made holding back more than a little difficult.

With the Raiders broken, Bester and the Starfuries had taken up the rear guard position, while the Vipers had returned to repair and rearm. The Basestars were now charging in at best speed. "Orders to fleet: adjust course to bearing fifteen by twenty-seven," he commanded. "Increase velocity by zero three percent."

"Yes, Sir," Captain Elizabeth Lochley, Commanding Officer of the Midway intoned, before passing on his order. She gave him an odd look, one mirrored by his Executive Officer, Commander Laurel Takashima, but otherwise merely conveyed the order to her subordinates. It was a bit awkward, not to mention cramped, having himself and his XO aboard the Midway alongside Elizabeth and her XO. Particularly given the Midway was never designed to be a flagship, and was damned cramped even without two sets of command staffs aboard. But the reasons for not flying his flag from the Nova were just as relevant today as they had been when the decision was made; and the Lexington would be nearly as bad. That left only the Eratosthenes as an alternative, and while she certainly had the facilities, her first job was to run from any fight...which wasn't an acceptable position for the fleet flagship. So the Midway, with all her drawbacks and compromises, would just have to do. At least for now.

"Bearing fifteen by twenty-seven, aye," came the response from the Conning Officer. "Velocity increase, zero three percent, aye."

"Acknowledgement from all Earth Alliance vessels," came the response from the Communications Officer, before she put a hand to her ear. "Commodore, I have Admiral Adama, wishing to speak with you."

Sheridan had been expecting this. No doubt the man was concerned about the same thing which had drawn those looks from Laurel and Elizabeth. "Admiral, what can I do for you?"

"You can explain to me why we're maneuvering. And specifically, why we aren't moving directly away from the Cylons." Bill Adama's voice came through strong and direct, perhaps just a bit more gruff than usual, though not quite a growl. Still there was no mistaking that he expected an answer to his question. "Aside from the fact that we need to buy as much time as possible before the Cylons hit us, any course change both slows the preparations and makes them dangerous as hell. Just having your ships in my flight pods is difficult enough. I don't need my deck personnel crushed by ships sliding around because you decided to maneuver through the scenic route! I can't imagine twisting and turning is making our welders jobs any easier either!"

"Has either task been slowed?" he asked intently? "Are we still on track for the same completion time?"

"Don't change the subject!" the Admiral snapped. "Why maneuver at all? Directly away from them is the best way to buy as much time as possible. And we need to be moving to reconnect with the rest of the fleet."

Sighing, John replied, "Because it's not actually. Logically, they shouldn't use their jump drives, because it would give us a chance to escape...from their perspective anyway. They don't know we can't jump until the welders are done. But, if we make chasing us down take too long, they might get frustrated and use their jump engines to cut us off. We aren't dealing with military professionals here. As for the rest of the fleet, we don't want to reveal their presence to the Cylons until the last possible moment. We don't want Cavil jumping in on them either. That's what we need to avoid most of all. So we make it look like it won't take too long to cut us off. That's also why I haven't started firing at them with the Nova's guns, though I'd damn well like to. But, more than that, some new tactical information has come to light. You saw the Cutter transitioning the jump gate?"

"Yes. That was Commander Locarno, checking in?"

"Right. And he brought some new information. The tactical situation has changed. We have an opportunity. But I don't have time to go into detail, so I'm going to need you to trust me, Admiral."

"Like hell!" Adama snarled. "I've already placed a great deal of faith in you…"

"Then give me just a bit more, Admiral!" John cut him off. "I promise, what I'm doing is intended to bring the maximum safety and security for your people and mine. It may not look like it for the next bit, but I promise that I won't throw your trust or your people's lives away. But in order for that to work, I need your people to work with me, and I need to know that we're still on schedule for completing the jump preparations."

There was a very long pause from the other end of the line. John got the feeling the Admiral might have actually figured out what he had in mind. "The flight pods are solid enough. We saved just enough room for the Cutters. The welders report attachments to the Nova at eighty-eight percent complete. Ninety-three on the Lexington. They've already finished with the Midway. We're still on schedule. I'll...," Adama paused for a long moment, "I'll order my ships to follow your lead. Don't frak this up, Commodore."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Admiral. Please let me know if anything delays our jump timeline. Sheridan out."

Over the course of the next half hour the tension continued to ratchet upwards, as John ordered three more minor course changes. They were now rapidly approaching the nearest planet. They'd be cruising by at a range of over a million kilometers. On the other hand, they'd be within spitting distance of one of the outermost moons.

The Cylons had long since come into range of the Earthforce guns. Though the Nova's remained silent, playing upon the impression of short range, the Lexington was now happily blasting away at the oncoming fleet. She spread her fire around, no more than a few hits on any given Basestar, doing damage, but careful not to do so much on any given vessel that they would fall out of formation.

The Cylons hadn't sortied their Raiders again, keeping them in a close defensive formation, so Sheridan did the same with the Starfuries and Vipers. But now the Cylons were closing into extreme range of their missile envelope. In just moments they were liable to open fire.

"Admiral Adama wishes to speak with you, Sir," the Communications Officer called out.

As before, this was expected. He nodded for the officer to transfer the comm line to his station. "Admiral. I hope you're calling with some good news."

"Good and bad. The last welder just checked in. All jump preparations are complete, and the weld teams are reboarding. The Cutters are stowed, and I'm retracting the Galactica's flight pods now. We should be ready to jump in about thirty seconds."

"Then we'd better get our fighters back aboard." He called out to the Communications Officer, "Order to all Vipers and Starfuries: combat landing! Back to the barn, immediately." As the order went out he calmly returned to his conversation with Adama. "And the bad news, Sir?"

"I assume you're aware the Cylons will open fire any moment? I had my people drop some sensor buoys. We're getting all kinds of radiological alerts. Those ships have their nukes armed, and in firing position. I wouldn't be surprised if most or even all of their missiles are packing nuclear warheads. They're pulling out all the stops."

"Yes, Sir. My sensors are reporting the same."

"Time to get the frak out of here, then."

"Not quite yet, Admiral. We need to give them a chance to fire. But it is time for the civilians to rejoin us, now that we're this close."

"Frak!" the Admiral swore viciously, though it came through muffled in such a way that John was certain he hadn't been meant to hear it. "You're playing a dangerous game, Commodore. You're sure everyone's where you're expecting them to be?"

"Locarno gave me the best data he could. Just a little bit longer, Admiral. I promised I was doing this for both of our peoples, and I meant it. But I need your people steady on this one. No one jumps until I give the word. That's...incredibly important. No one."

"I'll make sure my people are...properly motivated. The President's not going to like this."

"But we both know she won't second guess you on tactical decisions."

"Frak. I'm second guessing myself. Don't get my people killed, John."

"Jump gate activated!" the officer manning the sensor station called out. "Inbound wormhole! Minbari ships transiting!"

"I wouldn't dream of it, Sir," Sheridan replied. "We should be well outside the Minbaris' weapon range. Close enough to be visible, but hopefully just barely. That's what all the maneuvering was about."

"Mass missile salvo, all Basestars!" the Tactical Officer shouted. "We've got...frag me...we've got thousands of missiles inbound. T..tens of thousands!"

"All Colonial and Earthforce point defense is to engage those missiles, but make sure all of our fighters are aboard. Repeat, all of the birds in the barn! Comm the civilians...out of hiding, rejoin the fleet!" Sheridan fired off the order. Then, confident it would be obeyed, he returned to his conversation with Adama. "I'm sorry, Admiral…"

"But you need to fight this battle. Understood. I'll make sure no one jumps until you give the word. Don't frak this up," he repeated his earlier admonishment. "Adama out."

Five Basestars, four scabrously spotted with civilian vessels, and one riding the mass of the Eratosthenes, slipped out from behind the moon. They were followed by dozens of the largest of the Earth Alliance civilian vessels, each being ridden by a Colonial civilian ship. The civilian fleet struggled to match acceleration with the Colonial and Earthforce warships; who were forced to slow and maneuver themselves into contact with the encumbered Cylon and civilian vessels.

Stoically, Sheridan turned to face the mass of screens dumping information all over the bridge. He was the calm in the middle of the storm. "Captain Lochley," he called out, "how long until that salvo hits us?"

"Thirty-two seconds, Commodore!" she snapped.

"Order the Nova to open fire. They are to miss with several of the shots. Make sure they don't destroy more than three or four of those Basestars." He paused. "And how's our point defense doing?"

"There's just too many targets inbound! We won't get them all. Not even close." She spun her head to another flashing alert. "Reading nuclear warheads arming! We need to jump!"

"Not quite yet, Captain," he admonished, tamping down on his own rising anxiety.

"But…"

"Hold!" he snapped.

"Detonation in twelve seconds!" the Tactical Officer snapped, staring wide eyed at the displays showing the wall of nuclear armaments sweeping down on them.

"Open fleet wide channel, encrypted. Prepare to transmit jump order," Sheridan said, trying to regain his calm. "All ships to jump on my command."

"Seven seconds!"

"Hold.

"Five."

"Hold!"

"Three!"

Sheridan knew that, all across the combined fleets, fingers hovered above buttons or next to switches, just waiting waited for the command to jump. He waited for the Tactical Officer's lips to begin forming the word 'two' before overriding him. "Jump!" he practically shouted. "All ships jump now!"

The first nuke was already detonating, rolling over the fleet's position. Within the next three seconds over a thousand more would follow suit. For the next minute, the thousands of following missiles would maintain a roiling detonation in the area, an artificial sun that would vaporize anything and everything unfortunate enough to share that space.

.

Minbari Taskforce, Unknown System - November, 2249

Alyt Galhurs of the Sha'neyat stared morosely at the holographic display. His face a placid mask, rage boiled beneath that illusory calm. Robbed! He had been robbed. All, the time, the effort, the careful patience, and finally glory had been within his grasp. The humans had been surrounded, and he, Galhurs, would be the Minbari with the honor of bringing down Starkiller, and finally putting an end to the human war. Again.

And this mysterious alien fleet, this heretofore unknown power, had come out of nowhere and taken that from him! They had slain Starkiller, and Galhurs's own role in history had suddenly become nothing more than a footnote. His fame and fortune had been stolen!

"Scan the field again!" he commanded. "Is there any indication of surviving human vessels?"

"None, Alyt," the sensors operator reported respectfully.

"Could they have transitioned to hyperspace?"

"We would have detected the jump point initiation, my Alyt, even through the nuclear firestorm. We also still have vessels in hyperspace. They do not report any vessels or vortex formation. At these ranges, either should have been readily visible."

Galhurs tamped down on another snarl. His gaze swung balefully back to that alien fleet. Those thieves. "All ships, power weapons. Set course toward that fleet." The order spilled so easily from his lips, to be carried by the communications techs to the rest of the twenty-seven vessels he had brought into the system.

Moments later, those technicians called for his attention. "Alyt'el Rathnier wishes a moment of your time, my Alyt."

Galhurs scowled. He didn't care for that simpering Religious Caste fool. But Branmer and the Council seemed to favor him for some reason, so he would need to see what the man had to say. "Put him through."

The center of the hologram stretched across the ceiling, currently displaying the nearby tactical layout, shimmered and transformed to show instead the shoulders and head of the Alyt'el. Rathnier bowed his head respectfully and intoned, "My Alyt."

"You needed something, Alyt'el?"

Rathnier gave another respectful nod in affirmation. "I wished merely to verify my orders, my Alyt. They do not seem to be consistent with standing protocols for a First Contact with a new alien species."

"Is that what you think this is, Alyt'el?" Galhurs asked with a scowl.

"Of course, my Alyt. It appears these people destroyed the humans for us. The wisdom Vallen left for us proclaims, 'the enemy of my enemy provides a foundation for agreement, understanding, and cooperation.'" Rathnier folded his hands together and bowed once more, then added, "And since the Grey are seeking allies in these tumultuous times, it seems fortune has indeed smiled upon you, Alyt."

Galhurs tamped down on his irritation, at the Alyt'el and the situation both. "Indeed you are correct, Alyt'el Rathnier. Thank you for...seeking clarification. Indeed, the orders were meant to be merely to open the gun ports, with minimal power to the guns. And to approach to within visual range, so that we might engage in...proper diplomatic discussion." He had to force himself not to grind his teeth on the last. An Alyt must maintain proper decorum.

But it seemed that Rathnier wasn't quite done with his veiled lecturing. "My Alyt, did I not read that the new contact protocols call for gunports closed and weapons entirely powered down."

"There are over one hundred very large warships over there, Alyt'el. And they just annihilated Starkiller and his warfleet. We will take some measured precautions. But if you are worried about a repeat of our first meeting with the humans, then rest at ease. We shall step down our sensor emanations to levels even the humans would have no trouble with." His voice hardened. "I assume that will be sufficient?"

"As you say, my Alyt."

"Fine. Then we advance. Let's see what kind of...future allies we have found." He waved his hand, cutting the connection.

.

Cylon Flagship, Unknown System - November, 2249

One was getting very tired of being surrounded by incompetence. They were machines. They should just know how to do their jobs properly! "Well, Simon? Are you saying they jumped away, or not?"

"At least one of the civilian craft jumped away. We saw the drive cycle on that Basestar that was in close proximity to the Eratosthenese...but it was too close to determine if they were successful or destroyed by the initial blast. The rest of the nuclear detonations followed so closely thereafter, it's impossible to be certain how many, if any, of the other vessels also tried to jump."

"So maybe some of the civilian vessels escaped. Maybe a Basestar or two. Regardless, any that did jump should be easily rounded up and eliminated with a quick search using the Raiders," One said, feeling somewhat better. Then he saw the look on Two's face. "Oh, what now?!" he snapped.

Leoben grimaced, but replied, "It almost appeared that many of those civilian vessels were in actual contact with each other and the...non-Battlestar warships. It looked like dozens had practically landed on the Basestars. Or were literally sitting on them. But why?"

"Why should I give a frak? Maybe they were being repaired. Maybe they were trying to save fuel. Maybe, humans are just damned dirty herd animals drawing comfort in proximity. Or maybe they're just all insane. The answer is...there is no reason for me to give a frak! It's time to chase down and wipe out the rest of that damned species."

Simon, however, felt the need to interrupt. "We have more important matters to deal with. Namely, what to do about that alien fleet that's heading for us."

One felt his mood souring again at the reminder of those twenty-seven massive ships. "Have you got a screw loose?" he snapped. "There are no such things as alien boogeymen. No alien abductions. If you feel the need for an anal probe that badly, I'm sure something can be worked out. Those are humans, plain and simple. Just another group that somehow got past us and made their escape to here. They must have been intending to link up with Adama's band."

"But they look nothing like any ships we've seen before...Colonial or Earth ships," Leoben objected.

John was about to shout...again...that none of the ships were from Earth, but Simon broke in first. "Who cares what they look like? Why are they heading towards us?"

"Probably for the same reason...a fight. Maybe they're angry and want revenge. Maybe they're just stupid humans. But if they're stupid enough to come out to meet us, then we take them up on the offer and give them the extinction they so richly deserve," Cavil smiled. "Given their uniformity...there's a good chance these are some new class of Battlestar. Which means this'll be a real fight. But given they don't have the Nova's giant guns...the worst case scenario is that they have the kind of firepower the Lexington did. It'll be a fight, but we can handle it. With every last one of our Basestars here, we damned well better. And after all, the Nova and Lexington, and the rest of the Battlestars...they went down with a whimper. We lost five Basestars. A little damage here and there. This fleet is still an invincible armada. Show a little spine. You're machines. When the day's over, we're all that'll be left."

There was a long silence, but finally Leoben said. "We can't risk it."

"Excuse me?"

"If God gave us a chance to actually meet aliens, we can't go in shooting."

"There's no such thing as…" One began to snap.

Leoben, for once, actually did show some spine. He shouted back right over the top of John's words. "I call the vote."

"Excuse me?" John asked, shocked.

"We don't shoot," Leoben said, staring sincerely into John's eyes. "We go out, we meet them, and we see if they're...aliens. And then we figure out what that means for God's plan. That's my vote."

"You've gotta be…" Cavil began to snap again.

This time it was Simon who spoke over the top of him. "Seconded. Motion carries. We talk. The Council has spoken." He looked directly at John, as though daring him to disagree.

"Oh, this is just too precious," One said snidely. "Fine, we talk. But when it turns out those aren't aliens over there, we make humanity extinct, once and for all!"

.

Over the course of the next hour, the two fleets swept steadily closer to each other, each lightly scanning the other. They were at less than a thousand kilometers separation when one of the Twos reported a signal coming in.

"I told you," Simon said. "They want to talk."

"The signal carries both audio and video," the Two reported, "like a Projection. We should be able to interface with it without trouble."

"That's not human technology," Simon crowed.

"It's odd though," the Two reading the signal continued to report. "It's anchored, as though it's meant to be viewed from a particular angle and not interacted with."

"Inferior to our own technology then," Cavil said acridly. "Hardly a hallmark of advanced alien beings."

Leoben, reviewing the data his brother Two had provided, said, "this appears to be a view of these...people...and presumably the command deck of one of their vessels. I suggest we create a shared Projection of this room and ourselves, and use it to interface with the signal.

Simon nodded eagerly. Grumpily, Cavil merely said, "Let's get this over with."

The three of them dropped into the Projection, opening their eyes to the room exactly as it had been, with only two differences. Firstly, aside from the three of them, the Cylons populating this room were merely illusory figments, part of the Projection. Secondly, the far wall of the room had vanished, replaced with an opening into another command room on another vessel altogether. A room filled with people staring back at them.

The less than a dozen crew in that room stared at them in shock, freezing in their work. The one seated in a chair mounted in the center of the room, clearly the being in charge, stood slowly to his feet. His look of consternation mirrored that of his shipmates. A single word dropped from his mouth. "Humans."

Cavil looked around at these people. Some wore silly religious robes. Others bizarre looking armor. They all had shaven heads and wore fanciful headdresses along the backs of their skulls to accentuate the fact. But the facial features were unmistakable. These were no aliens. There were no feathers or fur or scales. No extra limbs or eyes. They were obviously human. He was clearly staring at a room full of religious or political nutjobs...which only made them all the more human.

The Commander of this vessel had spoken only a single word. Cavil responded in kind. "Obviously," he sneered, then cut the Projection.

Falling back into the real world, he looked around at Simon and Leoben. "I assume there are no more objections to wiping these pests out?" he asked acidly. When they replied with only silence he simply nodded. "Good." Raising his voice, he began issuing orders to the others in the room. "Take us into assault range. Weapons free, nukes hot. Forward all Raiders. Open fire, all missile batteries. I expect that to be the last time I ever have to look into a human face."

.

Minbari Taskforce, Unknown System - November, 2249

"They're humans?" Rathnier was asking over the comms link. "How can they be humans?"

Galhurs grimaced. "Obviously Starkiller's fleet was larger than we thought. He must have brought them. But the humans have proven that ultimately, they are nothing but savages in the starkest possible way. They turned on and slaughtered each other. We should probably thank them, for doing part of our job for us." The Alyt smiled. He still had his chance for honor. Perhaps enough that someday soon he might rise to Shai'Alyt.

Rathnier grimaced, "My Alyt, that would still seem to leave several unanswered questions, we should…"

"The time for questions is over," Galhurs snapped. "The enemy advances behind swarms of missiles and clouds of fighters. "Fight your ship, Alyt'el!"

Rathnier's face went blank at the reprimand. Then he simply bowed in acknowledgement, and cut the line.

Alyt Galhurs returned his attention to the developing battle. "The humans finally choose to face us. Let us show them what a terrible mistake this was. Activate stealth systems. Scanners to maximum. Launch all Nials in defense. When the guns are charged, you may fire at will."

.

Cylon Flagship, Unknown System - November, 2249

The Basestar shook and heaved around Cavil. "What the frak is going on!?"

"We're sailing through the shattered debris of our own ships," Conoy spat. "Not to mention broken ordnance, cooking off. The firepower coming off of those vessels is...insane. It's nothing like the Lexington. It's like facing thirty Novas! We have to get out of here!"

"No!" Cavil shouted back. "This is our chance to wipe out the humans. Our first missile salvo should be tearing them up any second."

"It already got there," O'Neill cut in. "Those ships activated some kind of stealth field, and are sweeping the area with an extraordinarily powerful jamming beam. All of our weapons lost lock, and half of our other systems are fluctuating!"

"If the humans are using e-warfare, then we can hack them back. Shut down their weapons!"

"We're trying," Simon spat. "They're definitely running an extensive network over there, but it's incredibly…"

"What?" Cavil snapped.

"Alien," the Four said dryly.

John was about to say something snide when the whole ship heaved again, tossing them both to the floor.

"Something just cut both of our escorting Basestars in half!" Leoben called out.

"We're not running!" One shouted, picking himself up off of the floor. "If you can't get a weapons lock, then close the fleet to point blank range and fire the missiles visually! Have the Raiders cover us in the interim. For that matter, we packed them full of nukes. Why haven't they struck those ships yet?"

"They tried," Leoben replied. They managed to get a few hits. Damage a couple of those ships. But they're heavily engaged against some kind of new fighter. They're absolute murder, and our missiles won't lock them up either. The Raiders are having to engage with guns only. It's...they're getting bled white."

"Then let them bleed!" One snarled. "Our Basestars too, for that matter. We've got the numbers. Overrun the enemy position and wipe them out!"

Leoben stood up straight. "No," he said calmly. "It's too…"

Cavil drew his sidearm and put a bullet right between the man's eyes. "That Two was malfunctioning. You," he snapped at another Two standing nearby, "take over his position. Now carry on with this attack!"

For the next several moments things actually calmed down, though the shaking of the vessel had gotten worse. Cavil, trying to exhibit an air of command, called out, "Damage report."

"We have minor damage to nearly every system, though nothing critical yet," the new Two reported. "About half of our Raider bays have been damaged. If we have enough surviving Raiders, we may have to recover them through the main hangar."

"And the fleet? How many losses have we taken? How many Basestars are still in operation?"

The Two checked and then paled. "Eighty...eighty-three."

One was shocked. "We've lost more than twenty Basestars?!" he demanded. That can't be right.

"No," the Two corrected, in a wavering voice. "Th..those are our losses. Eighty-three…" he blanched and began to physically tremble as his data feed updated once more, "N...ninety-five Basestars...completely destroyed."

It was Cavil's turn to pale, and he frenziedly queried the data himself, desperate that the incompetent Two be wrong. As he came face to face with the cold, hard data; an icy hand of dread reached up and squeezed his heart. John's head shot up, and spittle flew from his lips. "Jump us out of here! Jump the fleet! Jump! Jump!"

And that was the moment that something alien, powerful, and terribly angry hammered the vessel from the outside. John Cavil, the very first of the new Cylon race, prototype and pretend One, was sent flying into the nearest bulkhead, and all faded to black.

.

The White Star liner Olympic, Somewhere in a new home - December, 2249

"Welcome to the Olympic," Colonel Michael Garibaldi welcomed his two guests to the starliner as they stepped off of their Raptor. "It's a civilian ship, so no military formality here. I keep a second office aboard, since I also run the civilian side of fleet security. This is Lieutenant Tessa Holloran. That's her civilian law enforcement rank, by the way. Sheridan hasn't quite managed to convince her to join the military yet. Tessa, this is Colonel Saul Tigh and Major Kendra Shaw."

Tessa nodded, but did not shake their hands. "Sir. Ma'am. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Would you like a tour?" Garibaldi offered, then began a quick walk highlighting the ship's features, before they had a chance to respond. The highlight was of course the central atrium of the cylinder, with its greenery, walkways, boutiques and shops. But the tour ended at a large viewing window, dominating an entire room towards the bow of the craft. The only real view out the window was a few nearby ships, and the large protrusion along the spine of the ship, which housed the bridge. As the drum cylinder which replicated gravity for the Olympic rotated, everything on the far side of that window appeared to be travelling in lazy circles. The rest of the view out the window appeared to be nothing more than thick grey fog. The fleet had jumped in, spread out through this nebular soup. They all stared out at it contemplatively...perhaps a little somberly.

"How's the breakdown coming?" Gairbali asked.

"The Galactica's unpacked." Tigh said. "All your ships are back in space."

"The Pegasus too," Shaw noted. "But we got it done first." She sent a challenging glance at Tigh," who snorted in derision. "The Basestars are going to take a good while longer to break loose. Have to be careful to not cut into either ship when you're cutting them free."

Garibaldi nodded at that. Tigh, though, had had enough. "Alright Colonel, why don't you tell us why we're really here. You didn't call us over to give us a tour, and it sure wasn't to learn about unpacking the fleet. That's hardly a fleet secret. And neither Adama or Apollo would tell us what this was all about. So just spit it out. What do you want?"

"Me?" Garibaldi asked with an amiable smile. "I don't want anything. Least of all this cockamamie job I've been saddled with. But I've got it, and apparently, it's about to get a lot harder. That's where you two come in." He paused gathering his thoughts. "You see, this system is big...really, really big. Bigger than that system where the Colonies were. What was it...Cyrannus?" At Shaw's nod he continued. "This nebula blocks most of our sensors at anything more than a few dozen kilometers, and we really have no idea how big it is, or where that planet is at. We could be looking for that place for a long time. And in the meanwhile, you've got a flourishing black market, rampant crime, growing criminal organizations and lest I forget, a fleet full of average Joes just wanting some Cylon payback...with another fleet next door chock full of fresh faced Cylons. And what little law enforcement you have is mostly concentrated around keeping your politicians breathing. Did I forget anything?"

Saul's jaw tightened as the man tried to control his anger. Shaw didn't bother. "What exactly is your frakkin' point?"

"My point is that Admiral Adama decided to outsource the problem. Since I'm already handling civilian policing in our fleet, he and Commodore Sheridan figured it wouldn't be too much of a stretch for me to take over your problems. And since the two of you have your ears to the ground more than any other members of the Colonial chain of command, they figured we should meet." Saul and Kendra wore identical looks of disgruntlement, but Garibaldi wasn't quite finished. "But, since I'm a good little bureaucrat, I know how to delegate. Which is why I'm throwing the whole ball of wax to Ms. Holloran here. Which…"

"Wait, what?!" Tessa asked, spinning on him.

"Which will nicely mask the real reason we're transferring her to the Pegasus. Not that you don't actually have to do the job and get results, Tess." he added with a smirk.

"I need a frakkin' drink," Saul muttered.

"So what exactly is the real reason?" Shaw asked, giving Saul a derisive glance.

"You are, Major. There have been far too many coincidences on this journey. Something is...watching us. If we're lucky, looking out for us. But I don't believe in luck. More likely, they plan to play us like pawns on a chessboard. What we do know is that whatever was hiding in Baltar and Caprica...and Starbuck to I guess...was powerful, alien, and probably wasn't alone. So for the time being Major Shaw, what you can do just became a state secret. Tessa is just like you. And that's a secret as well. She's coming to the Pegasus to train you. To make certain you are in full control of your new capabilities."

"Chief," Tessa objected, "I'm the worst person for that job. Of the four of us," she cast a glance over at the two Colonials, uncertain she should even have revealed that number, "I am definitely the least experienced."

"Which is why you only have to work with the Major here," Michael explained. "Susan will be staying where she's at for now. She'll focus on Starbuck. Lyta accepted the commission Sheridan offered her. The new Lieutenant will be acting as the Earthforce representative in residence with the Cylon leadership. While she's doing that...and catching up on all the training and schooling required by her commission, Ivanova is laughing her ass off...she'll also be taking Caprica and the Hybrid named Allison under her wing. Which just leaves Talia. You may have heard about the new scientific and engineering think tank being established? Well, Boomer and Baltar were both assigned to it. So Talia's going in as their telepathic advisor, since she was already a Teep before Ironheart gave you all the old presto changeo. She can train Boomer and Baltar, God help her."

"Don't worry about Talia, Chief," Tessa reassured him. "If Baltar tries anything she'll snip off his balls."

"And on that lovely thought, it's time I sent you back to your ships." He turned back to the window, his prior levity sliding right off of his face. The others also glanced out, looking to see if he was staring at anything in particular. "Our troubles are far from behind us. We need to find a home and settle down as quickly as possible. And then we need to concentrate on growing as strong as we can, as fast as we can. It's a dangerous galaxy. And things are only going to get harder from here."

.

From the personal log of Commodore John Sheridan

Project Exodus was our last, best hope for survival. A self contained society aboard a dizzying array of ships, all searching for a new home. A society of over three and a half million humans; soldiers and scientists, businessmen and bureaucrats, artists and artisans, and every other skill necessary to give us the best possible fresh start. A shining symbol of hope...all alone in the night.

Until we weren't. Until we met new friends, discovered new allies, forged new hopes. Until we found our new home.

It was the dawn of the Third Age of Mankind. The year we fulfilled hope...and found home.

.
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The End of Part 2