THE MARIPOSA SYSTEM:
The Klingon battle cruiser T'Hatru stood two kilicams distant facing the bridge of the Battlestar Galactica. Parked next to them were two Defiant-class ships, part of the ever growing fleet of starships preparing to embark to the Neutral zone.
Onboard the Galactica six Klingon warriors stood almost dumbfounded and more than a touched amused at the diminutive figure standing defiantly in their path blocking access to the bridge. To the Klingons that had come to the Galactica for the last few weeks, the woman now standing in their way had become something of a daily ritual. The Klingons would demand to speak to Commander Apollo, and Celestse, all five foot one of her, would glare at them and demand that they wait where they were. The woman had five brothers who constantly tried to run her life and they utterly failed. To her, these Klingons weren't any different than them, except maybe a little cuter.
"You will have to wait," she snarled, facing their Captain squarely. "Don't make me shoot you."
That comment produced the usual amused laughter. Captain Kagth considered her laser pistol a toy that at the most would produce slight sunburn if it made it past his armored vest. But she was brave for a human and he respected that. In his eyes Celestse was worthy and many of the Klingons with him would want her as a life-mate; she'd need the protection. One day he'd give her a real weapon. He wondered idly if she would be able to lift it.
As per usual, Apollo ushered them in immediately. Federation Captains Tikah, a Bolian male, and Wollensky were also present. Both the Colonial military leadership, consisting of Captains Brie and Rigel, along with Senior Flight Commander Tolen, a few others, and the Klingons took their assigned seats while Celestse remained as security.
Captain Kagth had requested her specifically because he suspected, and rightly so, that the males of his entourage would maintain some semblance of control. After all, it would be the height of dishonor to embarrass oneself in front of one's Captain, the worthy female and the two female Colonial Captains.
"We come to make challenge today," Kagth begin in formal ritual. "Twice before you have defeated us and we demand restitution," he growled.
"I accept your challenge," Apollo snapped back as harshly as he could. Then he smiled as all three groups relaxed and began preparations for today's war games.
This would be last practice session between the Colonials, Federation and Klingon contingents protecting the Mariposa system.
Apollo had been appalled by his father's, Boxey's and Starbuck's combined reports on Deep Space Twenty-three almost two months past. Federation and Klingon ships, although possessing superior firepower against a Cylon Hellion-class Basestar and its fighters, took a beating while attempting to defend the Space station. Colonial pilot Joliet, also present during the fight, correctly deduced that there were weaknesses in close quarters fighting between the larger warships versus the smaller highly maneuverable Cylon fighters and H-Ks. The Defiant-class and Bird-of-preys, as well as the modified Viper and Cobras- had fared much better against that suicide assault. The Federation military understood the implications immediately.
The Klingons on the other hand, acted like stereotypical Klingons. Apollo ears still rang from that initial conversation. Now he was never a loud man but in the presence of these people he learned the techniques real fast.
"What do you mean we need more experience fighting these robots!" Kagth screamed that first meeting. It had been a statement, not a question. "What gives you the right to talk to us-your allies- in such a dishonorable manner?" Wars had been started for less.
Then the Klingon warrior actually pulled a knife on him! From everything he'd learned about Klingons he'd expected something like this, still it came as somewhat of a shock.
At first Apollo and his people tried to clam everyone down, somehow lower the tension. It didn't work at all. The Klingons simply got louder and more abrasive. So he quickly reversed his tactics.
"I have seen your fighting skills," the Colonial yelled. "You couldn't outfight a first year cadet!"
"What?" Kagth snapped, his eyes dangerous. Was this human insane?
"You heard me," Apollo responded not backing off a metron. "I've been reviewing the Dominion battles between you and the Jem'Hadar warships. You are warriors to your soul-that much is clear. But the Jem'Hadar constantly made suicide runs destroying many of the Fed and Klingon ships in the process. That's exactly what the Cylons will do."
The Klingon warrior laughed.
"And what of your battles? You lost an entire people to these robots because of some stupid idea of an unarmed peace conference. And we had to help you out of your last defeat to snatch victory from their jaws."
"Exactly, correct," Apollo countered, knocking Kagth off balance for a moment. "We were fools to let that happen. But we did, and I don't want to repeat history here in the Alpha quadrant. You saw what happened at Deep Space twenty-three," he said as the Captain quieted for a second. "I want to test our Vipers against your Warrior birds to see how weak your ships are and how stronger our ships could be working together. I challenge two of your Bird-of-preys vessels against four of our modified Viper Twos. I say your ships can't handle close quarters combat without getting chewed to pieces."
Then he plunged in his own metaphorical knife. "I also believe that you can't work with our ships as a team unit either."
Pleasantly enraged, the Klingon Captain took up the challenge-
-And in the ensuing war games got promptly slaughtered.
The Viper pilots, used to fighting in close quarters, scored approximately five times the number of simulated hits against the Bird-of-preys. The Federation Defiant class starships fared a little better as the two ships fought against the Vipers as a unit instead of with the stolid independence of the Klingons.
The same thing happened in the holodeck simulation programs-set just under lethal levels as per requested by over zealous Command staff-in which Klingons rushed to do battle with Cylon holograms. Mobs of warriors rushed in using hand disrupters and the traditional bat'leths only to suffer broken bones and abject humiliation. The Cylon upgrades were known to be resistant to all but the heaviest weaponry, however, that little fact seemed to have been ignored just before the rout began. Federation and Colonial soldiers nearly choked with laughter at the highly embarrassed warriors trying the exit the holodeck with some measure of decorum.
The Colonial warriors managed to wipe out almost fifty percent of their targets before being overwhelmed.
Then the Federation elite took their turns…
"What is wrong with these people?" Captain Brie, a blond with gray streaks looked at the results shaking her head once more. "Who trained these warriors?"
She gave both Federation Captains a very disapproving stare.
"Why is it that your warriors feel the need to stop while standing in the middle of a hallway in order to get a shot off? Does the concept of duck and cover mean anything to you? Twisting your body to the side to present a smaller target while standing in one spot is ludicrous."
"They make absolutely wonderful targets," Tolen added. "And why are they wearing so much red? These Cylons don't miss and you're giving them something bright red, in the open and standing still, to shoot at. That is totally idiotic."
Both Federation Captains thoroughly embarrassed seemed to shrink a little.
"It is a problem with our training that need to be corrected," Tikah stammered. "Ground combat isn't as common now. It appears that there has been too much stressing on achieving the clear shot, assuming that the body armor would protect the shooter from serious injury."
"Your techniques need readjusting," Rigel snapped.
She looked at both Klingon and Fed Commanders.
"Let's see; the Klingons NEED DRILL SERGEANTS AND LOTS OF THEM. The Federation needs serious ground pounding training with specialties on HOW NOT TO MAKE THE PERFECT TARGETS. The Colonials need to UNDERSTAND WHAT BODY ARMOR MEANS…"
The report for all concerned wouldn't be pretty.
The points had been made. The Klingons angered, but fully aware of the problems, responded by getting everybody drunk on blood wine and having an excellent time watching scores of Colonial warriors throwing up throughout the night…
The USS Voyager, escorted by the two surviving Colonial Cobras of what was being called 'the battle for DS Twenty-three', began their trek from Deep Space twenty-three to the forth planet of the Mariposa system. At warp two, the trip would take about seven hours. Onboard, The Colonial-Mariposa diplomatic Corps that included President Adama, Sires Uri and Forsen, met in the dining hall, along with passenger Thomas William Riker, for another conversation with Captain Kathryn Janeway.
The Doctor, a sentient hologram, and resident physician on Voyager, was deep in conversation with a somewhat bemused President. To Adama, the Doctor was just another breakthrough in a series of breakthroughs and revelations since arriving in the Alpha quadrant.
"Couldn't you have talked to the Cylons, make them understand that mutual cooperation was in the best interest to all concerned? Has anyone tried to tried to reason with them?"
Adama had gone through this conversation before- many times since meeting the Federation.
"No, Doctor," he patiently stated, again.
His answer was automated; his mind wasn't fully into this conversation. He wanted to be home with his wife Siress Tinia. He needed that woman near him and this extended trip only drove the point home to him. He never wanted to leave her again. There comes a time, he thought, that family and what little understanding he had of God was the only true happiness. This war benefited no one, but it did give him a glimpse of the forces that, for a lack of a better concept, he called good and evil.
"The Cylons purpose was to destroy us all. Unlike you, they have no morals to guide them. They simply intend to fulfill their mission."
"They sound like Borg drones," the Doctor responded. "Seven and I've been studying the notes on the captured Centurion and by all accounts it seems that it is a very intelligent cybernetic organism. It has shown no hostility since being captured."
"Just because it has shown no hostility doesn't mean it won't, Doctor," Seven of Nine, now calling herself Anika Hansen-Chakotay, said tartly. "Species Two-two-four-one, has evolved from a primitive 'robot' to something equivalent to Commander Data. But the essential programming has not changed. It would be foolish to underestimate them. Talking to them would be like talking to the Borg. Conversations would be futile."
"But, it is possible that these Cylons could exceed their programming as I have," he countered.
"Has it ever occurred to you that they already have, Doctor?" Adama smiled at the surprised hologram. By the look given by the hologram, obviously it hadn't. "They may now be more resolved than ever to complete their mission. Just because something becomes more complex doesn't mean it gets better. It usually means that the Cylons have found a more efficient way to bring about our destruction."
The Doctor was about to say something when he was cut off Janeway.
"We are in a state of war with them," his Captain said, speaking directly to him. "Their lack of negotiations and their overall intent was made very clear. They're using force to justify their ends and I don't intend on being on the receiving end of their manipulations like we were in the Delta Quadrant. If I've learned one thing on our journey home it is this: friends and family are what matters when the going is rough. When I needed help, my crew, my family was there even when I didn't know I needed help. We, the Federation, and the Colonial Republic as some are calling it, the Klingons and everybody else, even the Romulans," Janeway added after a moment's thought, "are stronger as a group than we are separately. If we don't work together, then there are those who will take what we have away from us."
"Please, don't get me wrong," she continued. "Starfleet exists primarily as an organization for exploration but we're entering new territories and a new era meaning that we are encountering new threats who'd destroy us if they could. I have learned that sometimes we may have to take a step or two back in order to go forward. But we will go forward. Everything I've-we've experience has shown that. I would prefer that we didn't have to resolve our differences with weapons but we don't have a choice here. We will have to defeat them utterly if we are to survive."
"Captain, isn't that harsh?" asked the Doctor, surprised at her coldness towards this new enemy.
"No, not in this case." she rose from her seat and looked out at the streaming, warp-distorted stars. Maybe I know something that you don't she thought.
GALOR FOUR-DAYSTROM INSTITUTE ANNEX:
Jeff Tady, Associate senior researcher at the Institute annex groaned once again, something that was fast becoming a common occurrence now days. Once again, the captured silver-colored Cylon robot had skewered him in three-dimensional chess, but it had taken almost an hour for it to beat him, which was in itself most unusual. Normally, even with computer support, the Cylon should have had no trouble beating him. The game itself was unimportant, but it did served as an indicator of the machines incredible cognitive abilities.
Nicknamed 'Mono' by the staff because its monotone intonations, the robot had become somewhat of a celebrity over the last four months. However over the last month, its functions had been slowly deteriorating. It was a subtle change that caught the cybernetics engineering staff and Dr. Wilks, the Galactica's foremost expert on Cylon structure and function, by surprise. They couldn't afford to lose their only fully functional specimen, therefore Research Facility Commander Bruce Maddox assigned Jeff to personally access and deal with the problem.
For months they had been attempting to break the Cylon programming codes with almost no success, partly because of the incredible complexity of what little they actually had of it-accumulated from the destroyed centurions reclaimed from the Khe Sahn- and partly because Mono wouldn't let anyone near enough to examine it. It had been restrained under a level eleven force field but even then the danger was extreme. Mono's regenerative abilities kept its built-in weaponry and auto defenses fully functional, so testing was kept to a minimum. An effective jammer was placed just outside the cell in order to block the robots subspace transceiver from re-establishing contact with the rest of its kind. The result was that the centurion was effectively isolated if not fully secured. Since the Institute was a research facility specializing in robotics, security was severely modified for their visitor. At first, everyone had agreed to the extra security, but recently certain people including Jeff, deemed it more of a hindrance rather than a necessity.
Tady, a thin, sandy haired man in his thirties was the first to notice the degradation of certain motor functions in the captive. When Dr. Wilks came on his weekly visit, he had pointed this out to him and Wilks confirmed his suspicions.
"It's as though he's running out of power," Wilks had commented to Tady. The more data he analyzed the more logical it seemed. "Evidently, the power source needs replacement."
"Or a recharge," Tady added.
"Or a recharge," he agreed. "All of these new improvements must take a lot more power that we anticipated," he mused. "This may be a very important clue as to how long they function. Power restrictions may be an answer to help defeat these things."
Not for the first time had the Galactica scientist wished to rip out the still functional memory core to see what made it tick.
Tady was somewhat saddened by this potential loss of what he considered a valuable piece of machinery. The man had talked constantly to the centurion, endeavoring to establish some form of cooperative communication between the two. For the first three weeks, Mono refused to speak preferring to slam its fist against the restraining force field. It bathed the entire cell for days with high-level radiation from its built-in, neutron-based disrupters. The annex had prepared, based on previous reports, for this type of assault. The radiation had been contained but no one could get close enough to stop it and there was more than a little worry that Mono would damage itself. The power drain from that attack must have been incredible, the scientists theorized.
The consensus was that since it was cut off from its kind, it needed something else to occupy its mind. Someone thought to pipe a news feed broadcast into the cell. Despite the initial skepticism, by some miracle it seemed to work. After the third day, Tady recorded his first direct conversation with Mono.
"Release me," it had said. Its eye froze for a second as though trying to see into his soul.
"No. We can't do that," he had responded.
For a moment, he was transfixed by that blood-red cyclopean eye. It focused on him for a moment, then eye sensor resumed its normal back and forth scanning movement.
"What is you designation?" he asked, trying to recover from the almost hypnotic movements of the scanning optic.
The Cylon warrior gave off a string of numbers far too long to for Jeff to remember. He was more than pleased at having this entire conversation recorded. The data being collected would be of immeasurable value in he studies to come.
"I am called Jeff Tady."
"I know who you are," the Cylon responded in its monotone drone.
"With all the attempts at communication, I guess you do."
It was the beginning of a long interesting relationship-
- A relationship that appeared to be rapidly coming to an end as Mono seem to slowly wind down, not unlike an ancient timepiece, Jeff thought. After the ninth day, only the revolving optic functioned and the staff was in a panic. Security wouldn't allow them entry and their prized possession was about destroy itself. From earlier conversations with Jeff, Mono had informed them that all Cylon program cores degrade if there was irreversible damage or if threatened with permanent power loss such as was happening now.
"We've got to examine Mono before the programming pathways degrade," he protested.
The three Federation security guards simply looked at him with contempt. Go in there with that thing? Are you out of your mind?
"Negative," the first security guard replied. The guard's orders were specific.
"But, soon it may be too late," the scientists had protested.
"I don't care," came the reply. The guard's orders were clear.
The Cylon centurion called Mono listened at the ensuing argument with what little power its auditory sensors had left. For the last three sectars it had analyzed the randomly frequency rotation of the force shield that kept it prisoner even as it analyzed every personnel duty shift, every power fluctuation and every ship that landed near the annex. In their need to communicate with it, the humans had divulged a wealth of information. Of great interest was the information about the Soong-class androids. The one called Data was a threat that would have to be dealt with, along with its Captain and the rest of these humanoid organics.
It would not permit the humans to have access to Cylon secrets. However, it concluded that the only possibility of escape from the humans was self-destruction. Earlier versions would destroy themselves without hesitation but the newer generation had discovered the iron logic of survival-when possible. It chose permanent de-activation as a viable option for survival.
All systems began a shutdown over a period of several sectons. Now was the calculated time for implementation. Within five microns all power shut down remaining that way for thirty-five microns as the technical staff rushed in to salvage what they could under the watchful eyes of security. As per programming the first sensor that activated was the optic. Within three revolving scans, it locked on to everyone in the room.
Within two microns, its power was at full strength to the absolute horror of everyone in its scanning range. Moments later, with the exception of two scientists, everyone was dead or dying as the internal weaponry ripped into everything in sight. One female scientist managed to get the force field operational. The fully active Cylon powered up its disrupters and fired through the shield as though it wasn't there. The long-term analysis of the frequency rotation indicated a repeating pattern every twenty-eight days. Internal chronometers synch exactly with the result being that the force shield was rendered completely useless.
Taking special attention to viciously kick Jeff's body out of its way while quickly stepping over the remaining bodies with indifference, it ran towards the control center killing everyone in sight.
The few surviving personnel were shocked to see the speed that the Cylon was capable of despite its seemingly bulky nature. Terrified, they ran, screaming for Security as the Cylon closed the re-enforced double doors behind them. Free of the subspace jammer, it began transceiving every bit of information accumulated since its capture. Activating the main computer system and easily bypassing several security command lockouts and overrides, it found and transmitted all available information on the Cylon's secondary objective.
"Subject Data's positronic unit cannot be compromised by standard protocols. It should be terminated immediately as the opportunity arises. Information concerning V'Ger structure, composition and extrapolated vectors being transmitted for further analysis. This unit's conclusion is that Federation technology is unable to deconstruct Cylon prime and secondary programming. Starfleet containment fields utilize variable-tertiary rotation frequency, corresponding to HUNT-tri mode architecture-"
Seconds later it completed its task. Now it was one last duty to perform. "By the command," it said to no one in within hearing distance. The Cylon destroyer's changed from the monotone voice to an exact copy of Jeff's voice. "Associate senior researcher Jeff Tady authorizing emergency command overrides."
"Voice verification confirmed," the computer said.
"Emergency release of all fusion safeties…"
The warrior proceeded to destroy the control room systems, computers, data storage, and environmental controls. All accumulated data about itself was incinerated along with audio and visual records. Then it waited.
Two minutes later, four armored security guards carrying phaser rifles struck the Cylon warrior simultaneously. The robot ceased to exist a moment later.
T'ninz Calle, the Commander reached the computer console a moment later. Checking the system, he shook his head in astonishment.
"All the power safeties have been turned off," he screamed. "The containment system is about to blow. We have about two minutes!"
"All eight safeties? That's impossible! There's no way-" the guard shut up instantly and began moving rapidly as the emergency alarms blared violently.
Ninety-two lives and the remains of Lore, Data's counterpart, were lost as the facility turn itself into a smoldering ruin.