THE LOST YEARS
by Soledad
Disclaimer:
The context and the characters of the Original Star Trek series belong to Gene Roddenberry and whoever keeps the rights right now. Battlestar Galactica belongs to Glen A. Larsen and Universal Studios, as do all the characters which appear in the show. None of these stories are wholly original, and I'm not making any money off of them.
An appeal to the reader:
I know that introductions are boring. Nobody likes to read them. Not even me. But I ask you to do it nevertheless. This is a beginning of a very long series, and in order to understand it, you need some background facts. Some of us might only be familiar with one of the fandoms in question, and they might want to see the bigger picture.
WARNING:
These stories had originally been written bilinguically: narrative in Hungarian, dialogues in German. I'm trying to translate them into an acceptable English, but there might be misspellings and some grammatical weirdness. If they really bother you that much, I gladly accept offers for beta-reading.
This is a crossover series between the original Star Trek and Battlestar Galactica. It contains 30 multichapter stories, a few of them are already written, many of them in various states of completition. Depending on which crew would play a bigger part in the actual story, they would be posted either on the Battlestar Galactica, or on the TOS-page.
Now, let's come to the question: why writing this extremely long series?
An increasing number of people knows by now that – some 10 years after the original series had been cancelled –, the creator of that series, Gene Roddenberry (and his co-workers) developed the so-called bible for a second series. This would have been called Star Trek II. and was to happen during the second five-year-mission of the Enterprise, the time frame of which was planned between 2271 and 2276. The first movie, known as TMP, would have closed this second series.
It was planned that everyone from the original crew would return, save Spock, whom they wanted to make the head of the Vulcan Academy of Science; ensuring this way the one or other guest appearance of the extremely popular character, since Leonard Nimoy was not willing to pick up his old role as a series regular.
Spock's double duties – like on all other starships – were to be filled by two different officers As First Officer was selected Lieutenant Willard Decker, son of Commodore Matt Decker, known from the episode The Doomsday Machine. A sort of father-son relationship was planned between Decker jr. And Kirk, the latter seeing his young self in his First Officer.
Sciences were to take over by Xon (pronounce: Than), a young Vulcan of 22 (Vulcan) years, a genius among even his fellow Vulcans, who – not being a hybrid – wouldn't have to struggle with Spock's fears that he has to prove his worthiness in his chosen culture. On the contrary, his main problem would have been to understand humans with their unguarded emotions and special problems. The old Command Crew – Kirk himself in the first place –, who wanted to see a second Spock in him, would have been prejudiced for a while, considering him an intruder in their close-knit ''family''.
Chekov, now a Lieutenant, would have become Security Officer, to have this important department in a tight hand (unlike in the original series, where new and faceless security guards had to die heroically in every episode).
Navigations Officer would have been another newbie, the Deltan Lieutenant Ilia; the fully sex-oriented Deltan society and the specifics of Deltan biochemistry (that made males of other races totally fallible for them) would have demanded a celibacy oath from every Deltan serving on a starship with a mixed crew.
It was even planned to bring back the not entirely fairly removed Janice Rand, as second Transporter Officer.
Unfortunately, this second series was never made, though certain elements can be discovered in Star Trek – The Next Generation. However, some of the screenplays were already written, and these – just like some of the unfilmed episodes of the first series – are simply too interesting to let them get lost.
When I started writing The Lost Years (and it was a very long time ago), I wanted to save the good ideas of these scripts. I read different sources, compared them to each other and shaped them to new and different stories. My main goal was to give the shamefully under-used recurring characters a chance to shine. In case you wouldn't realize from the story itself, I'm a devoted Uhura-fan.
The main difference is the crossover that I have made between the original series and my first love in the realm of science fiction, Battlestar Galactica. Though the latter had not the chance to prove itself, it had wonderful stage arrangements, nice costumes and superior special effects – and some other, shamefully neglected supporting characters I'm very fond of: Athena, Colonel Tigh, Rigel, Cassiopeia and Boomer.
''Crossroads'' is practically a prelude to the whole series. It shows how the ragtag fleet of the Colonies, fleeing from the cylons into a time-space anomaly, happens to come to our own universe, meets the Enterprise, and how Starfleet manages to beat the cylon fleet before the anomaly would close on its own. Also, I set the seeds for ongoing relationships among the members of the two crews, the most important ones being the one between Uhura and Colonel Tigh, which – just like the one between Boomer and Lieutenant Masters from Engineering – would go beyond this story, through the whole series.
I tried to use all sources I could get my hand on, considering the second series. But I also tried not to contradict ''canon'' Star Trek facts. Consequently, all these stories happen after the last episode, Turnabout Intruder, but before Star Trek – The Motion Picture. The series is so constructed, that TMP (i.e. its predecessor, the planned episode In Thy Image) would be the closing act of this series, since I had to let Decker and Ilia perish before the second Star Trek movie.
In one thing only did I contradict the official Star Trek canon: I consider the episodes of the cartoon series as part of the tradition, too. I could never understand why official sources keep ignoring this series, which was created by Roddenberry himself and gives us useful information for example about Spock's childhood the replicators and the first glimpse of the holodecs as well as the very first Native American officer in the Trek tradition: Ensign Dawson Walking Bear came 20 years earlier to the Enterprise than Commander Chakotay to the Voyager. Not to mention that the animated series gave us the most charming aliens in the Trek-universe, thank the opportunities of that technique.
''Crossroads'', featuring the original crew, is not a true pilot, more a tie between the original series and the later stories. It's goal is not only to prepare the field for the new situation but to show the existing but always well-concealed conflicts between the members of the old crew. I tried to work in as much of the minor characters as possible: Dr. M'Benga, Lieutenant Charlene Masters, Lieutenant Boma, Transporter Chief Kyle, Ensign Tamura, Yeoman Zara Yamal and others.
I also used some of the Star Trek-novels from Simon&Schuster as a basis. When something is borrowed from a book, I'll always give the due credit in the Author's notes.
And now, that you have bravely survived my babbling, on we go.
Disclaimer: see Introduction.
Rating: G
Author's notes:
I used the novelization of ''The Lost Planet of Gods''(1) as a guideline. There has been nothing directly taken or quoted, however. All that seems somehow familiar, was originally written in Hungarian, some 7 or 8 years ago and was translated into English. I can't deny having been influenced, however.
The facts about Cylon society were borrowed either from the aforementioned book or from the various websites I've visited in those years. So, they are not mine, surely. At the end of the story I'll give a detailed list of my resources, so bear with me, please.
The anomaly was borrowed from the original Star Trek novel ''Enterprise – The First Adventure'' by Vonda N. McIntyre. I changed it a little, though. And no, I have no idea about astrophysics. I just needed a way to put our heroes through into the Trek-universe.
Commander Adama was utterly exhausted. Had he not been greying for yahrens, his hair would be snow white by now anyway, from the sheer hardness his position forced him to endure. And it was not the burden of command alone that made him feel his age more than ever. Although he was not a young man – 130 yahrens were considered advanced age, even by Caprican measures –, he still was able to mobilize reserve energies, if necessary, that would have made the youngest warriors under his command unfit to catch up with him. Not that he would have any other choice, really. The burden of command, that – as the warlord of the last Battlestar – he was forced to wear, was a light one compared to his other responsibility: to guide through the most dangerous sectors of space a rag-tag fleet that was never meant for deep space missions. This would have been hard enough, even without the never-lessening threat the Cylon Empire represented.
For the Cylons were implacable. Their leaders decided the termination of mankind, and the Cylon warriors tried unweariedly to execute the decision of their leaders. In fact, they really never got tired. They were like insects, incapable of independent thought, programmed for the extinction of mankind, and either they carried out their program or died trying. That was all they were capable of. And exactly this narrow-mindedness made them the most dangerous enemy mankind had ever faced.
Were they not Cylons, Adama might have admired their persistence; he might have considered them worthy adversaries. But he could not force himself to have any feelings for a society for which free will was a completely absurd idea – not even negative ones. Aliens – that was probably the most accurate description for them. They were the most disturbingly alien race Adama had met in his whole life. Humans couldn't even try to understand them. What little they knew from the race of the Cylons was frightening enough. What they didn't know was probably even more horrible.
Cylon society had much in common with insectoid societies. The bottom level was (at least as far as humans knew) that of the common warriors. A Cylon warrior, though born by natural means, was little less than a machine. In fact, they looked a lot like primitive droids in their clumsy armour, and nobody really knew where the armour ended and the Cylon warrior began.
Cylons were cybernetic organisms: life forms that were part of the armour they wore. Due to the sophisticated weapon technology, every Cylon warrior was a small part of an incredibly huge communications net. Like chess pieces, being pushed here and there by their leaders on an oversized board. But the size of their organization was also a disadvantage. So much information was added to the system in every micron that the leaders had to select and only pay attention to the most important events. And though the Cylon leaders had more than one brains (the highest-ranking ones, actually, had three), that supported them in this, luckily for Adama – and for mankind in general – they were not purely super-machines. They could – and did – make mistakes.
The Cylons had difficulties with independent actions. The fact that they were so dependant on their leaders was an advantage for humans, because they had nothing akin the human inventiveness. They worked with stiff effectivity in battle while human pilots improvised and followed their instincts. In a one-to-one situation they had no chance against a human warrior.
The only problem was that the Cylons never fought in one-to-one situations. Their raiders usually flew in groups of three, and their warriors... worked in a battle like a complicated circuitry where every link was in constant connection with all others. And exactly that made their roundabout-attacks so dangerous. Human pilots, even such excellent ones as Boomer or Apollo, needed yahrens to learn the reactions of their wingmates and to form a well-oiled unit. Cylons did that by design.
Adama could almost understand why they considered mankind such a threat. The Cylon idea of order and perfection was based on a society where the individual was to serve the common welfare in every possible thing, even the smallest one. A long time ago, human religious leaders, too, followed this theory, but finally human thinking had outgrown it. Even though one might have doubted it, considering the reactions of some Kobolian fundamentalists.
Not so the Cylons – they did not grow, after all, therefore they could not change, either. They developed this theory to its outmost. Every unit was nothing but a little cog-wheel in the incredible Cylon machine. And thusly, they managed to create the perfect order – but for a price no human being would be ready to pay. And that was why the Cylon leaders decided that mankind had to be terminated, Adama realized. The destruction of the Colonies was not enough for them. Mankind had to be eradicated. Not a single human being was allowed to survive, because they endangered the perfect order of the Universe – at least as the Cylons understood order.
Adama often asked himself why is it that the Cylons feared mankind so much when they order truly was as strong and unshakable as they assumed. He sometimes thought he knew the answer... and he liked it not.
His only mission was now to survive. Survive, at any price. He could not afford giving up hope. He had to appear strong, so that his troops could trust him, and so that he himself could cling to his hope. But at the moment it felt not easy to look optimistic. The chances weren't promising…
''Commander...''
A familiar voice shook him out of his pensive mood. Colonel Tigh stood on his side, his aide and second-in-command: a short, dark-skinned, despite his relatively young age silver-haired man, holding the latest reports in his hand. Adama was grateful for his presence. Without Tigh's unwavering loyalty he might not have managed it.
''Reports sound positive, sir'', Tigh said. ''If you would...''
Adama nodded, following his aide to the translucent star map that covered the whole back wall of the command center and watched silently while Tigh choreographed the new flight path for the fleet. The nimble, dark fingers of the Colonel had almost a life of their own as they sought out the best way through the seemingly chaotic lines of the star map. The silver family signet-ring on the little finger of his left hand awakened memories in the old commandant; memories that he thought (or hoped) long forgotten. That ring was the only thing that remained Tigh from his family and from the old mansion where his people had lived for nine generations.
Though almost a generation apart in age, long ago, during the Thousand Year War that ended so abruptly with the false peace offer of the Cylons and their treacherous attack that resulted in the destruction of the Colonies, Adama and Tigh had been a team – and a famous one, due to their recklessness and skills. Tigh had been hardly more than a child when he first got into the cockpit of a Viper, which was the very reason why they made him Adama's wingmate – in truth, though, he was the more sober and careful one of the both of them, keeping his impulsive wingmate from taking unnecessary risks more than once.
It was a shame that Tigh never achieved the command chair of a Battlestar that he would so richly deserve. When Adama, having calmed down considerably, took over the supreme command of the fleet, he often suggested Tigh for such a position. Unfortunately, as careful and considerate Tigh was in battle situations, as impulsively he spoke his mind in the wrong places, so his own command had been denied him every time. Time and again Adama warned him to choose his words more carefully, but the impulsive Colonel had little patience with the quirks of politics and he told it, too, every time, and he did it with a flowery... eloquence – regardless of the given situation.
In the command center of the Galactica Adama greatly valued Tigh's almost brutal honesty – in fact, he depended on it. Still, Tigh had deserved his own command, and now that he had the whole fleet under military rule, Adama would gladly give him that chance – if there were any other Battlestar the command chair of which he could have occupied.
''We have the new route, sir'', Tigh reported. ''We can give the changes into the navigations computer and send them to the other ships.''
Adama's eyes followed Tigh's hand; he studied the new route and the changing of the vectors. ''I don't like it'', he said quietly. Tigh looked surprised.
''But that is the only logical route, Commander! Look, how it brings us farther away from...''
''I don't like it, nevertheless. When something looks so easy and convenient, it needs to be examined very closely. For our own safety.''
The corner of Tigh's mouth curved to an ironic smile. ''I thought you'd be ecstatic. Sixteen Cylon raiders have we destroyed during that last attack.''
''And how many of them had a crew?''
Tigh hesitated before answering. ''We only scanned six of them. In none of those could we found any Cylons. But you know as well as I do, Commander, that the scanners aren't always reliable during a battle. They can't be fully reliable...''
''Still, it's not an unjustified assumption that the Cylons might send fully automated raiders against us.''
''Well, as an assumption...''
''They might want us to destroy those machines. To lure us into false safety, without sacrificing their warriors.''
Tigh nodded. ''The thought occured to me, I admit. On the other hand... the Cylons fell back, until'', he pointed at the star map; ''that point. That is a considerable distance. Big enough to hope that they have lost our trail.''
Adama gave a cursory glance the network of shining points in the sector Tigh had pointed out. ''I doubt it. I think they are still just behind us, barely out of the range of our sensors. Just like their base stars.'' He turned away from the map. ''Whatever we do, one thing is sure – we can't turn back.''
''And when exactly have we ever turned back and fought?''
Adama heard the frustration in the voice of his aide. Often had Tigh voiced his wish to cease fleeing and turn back and blast the whole Cylon war machine out of the skies. Not that Adama would blame him for that, especially since in the heart of his hears he had the same wish. On the other hand...
''Look!'', he said, producing a small laser pointer from his pocket and directing the narrow beam at the upper part of the star map. ''Directly above us is the planet Cassarion – according the War Book and old Cylon garrison. So we can't go there.'' He guided the beam lower, towards the bottom of the map. ''Below us is the Sellian asteroid belt: the billion ruins of that world, destroyed by the Cylons. We could never cross it with these big, clumsy ships. And through all that rubbish Apollo and Boomer could not burn a path as they did through the mine field at Carillon.''
''Our route is clear then'', Tigh shrugged. ''Straight forward. Where the patrols reported a safe transit.''
''That would be way too easy'', Adama murmured absently.
''Commander?''
Adama raised his voice. ''That last defeat of the Cylon raiders, their unexpected withdrawal...''
''Unexpected? The Galactica beat them!
''Yes... it looks like that, does it not?''
A sparkle of understanding appeared in Tigh's expressive, dark eyes.
''And the truth?'' he asked, challenging his commander to share his thoughts with him as always.
''It might be purely instinct from my side'', Adama answered slowly, ''which, of course, is sometimes more than simple facts. But I believe we are slowly, carefully maneuvered... ushered towards that... that safe transit route.
Athena, having stepped up to her father during the conversation, unexpectedly joined it, though it was not her way to intrude into the counsels of her commanding officers – not even if one of them was her own father.
''Why would they do that?'' she glanced at the star map, as if she could see beyond its curved lines and blinking lights that endless, black nothing with its few stars that reality, beyond the symbols of the map in truth was ''What might be out there?''
''I don't know, Athena. Maybe a coul-de-sac''(2), the Commander said, borrowing a Gemonese expression. Maybe something a lot more dangerous than all Cylon basestars. But I don't like it.'' He turned back to Tigh. ''We need more patrols.''
The Colonel didn't answer immediately, which surprised Adama. ''What is it, Tigh? You disagree?''
''Commander, we have pressed our pilots too hard lately. They are on the brink of exhaustion.
''We all are, Tigh. But there is something else that worries you, is it not?''
''Well, sir, when you asked... I'm worried by the fact that we have to put more and more half-trained cadets into the Vipers. Too many. And that's dangerous.''
Adama thought of the cadets he had seen a few days ago and that positively radiated exhaustion – both that of body and of spirit. These young men and women were not prepared by the Caprican Military Academy for all the trials and tribulations they might have to face during their career; they were not given solid basics in theory or a detailed, thorough survival training. Need dictated that they would be thrown into the middle of the battle as soon as they were able to know their way around the cockpit of a Viper. And more often that simply was not enough.
The Commander wished he could instruct his aide to call back all Vipers, to call back everyone from out there, back to the relative safety of the Galactica. Only that it was impossible, of course. Like it or not, he had to risk the lives of these young people, in order to save everyone else.
''Of course it's dangerous. But what other choice do we have, when the Cylons are still following us... and who knows what lies before us?''
Tigh nodded reluctantly, and his suddenly saddened eyes told clearly how much he disliked the Commander's decision, even if he understood its necessity.
''Colonel'', Adama said gently'', it's no use. We must increase our patrols, even if that means that we have to send out the cadets. According to the Fleet Archive, never have our ships visited this sector before... or if they have, they did not return to tell the tale.''
Slender, dark-haired Athena, wearing the blue uniform of the bridge officers, touched his arm. ''Father...?''
Adama gave her a disapproving look. He never tolerated liberties on the bridge, not even from his daughter who was closer to him than anybody else – not the last because she became more and more alike her late mother with every passing day. Athena took the hint and squared her shoulders.
''Commander. As you are certainly aware of the fact, I have been properly trained as a Viper pilot. I respectfully ask to be detailed to the fighting squadrons.''
Both men smiled. This was not the first time that Athena tried to escape bridge duty, but her request had always been denied. Like this time.
''Athena'', her father answered, shaking his head, ''You know that I can't do that. You are needed here, on the bridge.''
''Yes, sir'', Athena said, not the least disguising her anger and disappointment.
Tigh could understand her disappointment very well, for he, too, wanted to get into a cockpit and go out with his squadrons. More than once had he asked Adama to allow him to return to the fighting troops, since he still was not too old to bear the strain of the starts, and his vast experience would be a great help for the young pilots. But Adama denied his request as well, every time, saying that he was more needed on the bridge.
On the bridge... there were times when he positively hated the bridge. Bridge duty meant that he had to stand in front of the screens and watch how the young pilots that he had come to love and respect during training for their heroism and selfless sacrifices, were killed one by one. The longer their flight lasted, the less he could endure to be kept away from the fighting, condemned to simply watch... and he knew, Athena felt the same.
Suddenly the voice of Captain Boomer, the leader of Red Squadron came through the telecom. ''Red Leader to base. Colonel, we found something very… strange. Could we have a quick long-range scan? I'll send in the coordinates.''
Tigh nodded to the main bridge officer, but the experienced and utterly reliable Lieutenant Omega was already feeding Boomer's request into the bridge computer. The Colonel leaned over the microphone of the telecom.
''Base to Red Leader. Scan is going on. Don't approach until further instructions!''
''Acknowledged'', the careful and intelligent Boomer replied and broke the com link.
Tigh turned to Adama with worried eyes. (According to malevolent opinions, the aide of the Commander always found something to worry about, especially when he could express his worries in neatly-featured written reports. Of course, this was not true… well, not entirely. Several time had Tigh expressed his willingness to be converted to the Kobolian Way – assumedly, there was no need to write in heaven.)
''Commander?''
''What is it, Tigh?'', he asked tiredly.
''Red Squadron found something in the Sigma-sector, sir.''
Adama turned sharply. ''You mean directly before us?''
''Yes, sir.''
''Do we have a visual?''
''Telemetry is coming in, sir'', said Omega in Tigh's stead, watching the incoming date on the screen of the rotating command module.
''Put it on the big screen'', Adama ordered.
Omega's long, thin fingers danced upon the keyboard with amazing speed. Less than six microns later, the big screen of the bridge came to life.
''By the Lords of Kobol'', voiced his astonishment another twenty-three microns later Adama –, what is that?''
''According to ancient astronomy records such phenomena do exist – even though, to my best knowledge, nobody has ever seen anything like that since the foundation of the Twelve Colonies.''
Dr. Wilker, one of the few scientists who survived the Cylon attack at Cimtar – a short, thin, silver-haired and Scorpian aristocrat with elegant behaviour – watched the raging energy storm on the big screen with unveiled ecstasy. Huge clouds of cosmic dust were streaming towards something that looked like an irregularly-shaped rift in the time-space-continuum and broke apart into more tendrils of aggressive energy. The light that they could see (i.e. the wavelength of the spectrum, visible for the human eye) was but a fraction of the radiation that was raging out there.
''You still haven't told us what that is, doctor'', Adama reminded him. Wilker shook of his scientific ecstasy and shot another cursory look at the measuring records.
''Well, considering the intensity of this storm of hard radiation, this is doubtlessly a naked singularity, that...
''Just one moment'', Tigh interrupted him; the Colonel had some astrophysics during his Academy years, the basics only, but enough to understand what the scientist was talking about. ''We now that a singularity is basically nothing else but a collapsed star, surrounded by an incredibly strong gravitation field, due to its extreme density. But this… anomaly has no solid core at all, if we can trust our instruments.''
''That's why it is called a naked singularity'', Wilker answered delightfully. ''Such anomalies are extremely rare. This is, to put it blunt, simply a whole in space... a spontaneous rift in the texture of the time-space continuum that exist for a while, then snap closed just as spontaneously.
''Well, it certainly closed our escape route'', Captain Apollo, the leader of the Blue Squadron, remarked scowling. But his father shook his head.
''I'm not so sure. Dr. Wilker, what could be on the other side of such a... rift?''
The scientist shrugged with his narrow shoulders. ''Another solar system, another galaxy... maybe another universe. Who could tell? Not even the most ancient legends mention that someone had ever cross one of them to take a look.
Adama nodded slowly, thoughtfully. ''Not yet, anyway.''
''At least the analysis of Dr. Wilker solves the question'', Tigh said. ''We can't go that way. The radiation is too strong. Maybe if we follow its seams in a safe distance, we can go around the anomaly, or... what do you think, Commander? Commander!''
Adama, still deep in his thoughts, started leaving. ''I will be in my office. Until further instruction keep this route.''
''But that would lead us directly into the anomaly, sir!'', Tigh protested. ''May I propose...''
''Follow my orders, Colonel!''
After Adama, slowly like a sleepwalker, left the bridge, Apollo and Tigh exchanged worried, confused looks as if they had got sudden doubts about the sanity of their leader. After a moment Tigh shrugged helplessly, gave orders to keep the current route and collapsed into the command chair. He had known Adama long enough and well enough to have an idea what the Commander was planning... and that frightened her out of his mind, though he was not one who easily panicked.
Four centons later Tigh was relieved by Omega and pushed the buzzer button next to the Commander's door. Adama, as expected, was sitting in his study, reading an ancient, yellow-paged, battered book: the Koboliana, also called the Book of the Worlds.
''Our route?'', he asked.
''We are following the course ordered by you, sir. X-ray radiation is getting stronger. Soon, we'll reach critical levels.''
Adama nodded and looked Tigh straight in the eyes. ''I see you know what I am going to do… and disagree.''
''It is not my place to...''
''Oh, come down from your epaulettes, Tigh! I need someone to talk.''
Tigh relaxed a little and sat down on the corner of Adama's desk, as it was your custom under less formal circumstances.
''Adama'', he began in a calmer voice – his civil voice –, ''I know what you hope from this move, but it's insane. Scans report a magnitude of radiation storms that even the Galactica would be hard-pressed to withstand, and the shields of the other ships are not nearly strong enough. I am sorry to say, Commander, but should the Cylons still be after us, I'd chose them.
Now that he finally had spoken everything that was on his mind, Tigh shrugged with a sigh, like someone who did not really expect for his arguments to be considered seriously. Adama watched the expression on his face with tilted head for a while, then he lifted a little that battered old book.
''According to the Koboliana the Thirteenth Tribe, on their search for Earth, crossed a star-gate that closed right after their passing. We have been following the path of that tribe, as far as the inscriptions in the Tombs of Kobol could guide us...
Tigh shook his head hopelessly. ''You would lead our people to certain death, based on the legends of the Koboliana and a few inscriptions that you have seen for mere microns only?
''You brought up the same arguments when we crossed the Great Darkness... and have we not found Kobol on the other side of that dark void?
''Just because we had incredible luck that one time, I wouldn't bow to all the superstitious doctrines of that outlived book'', answered Tigh dryly. ''Forgive me, Adama. You know that I am... I am simply not a believer. Oh, I would like to be one, very much so – every time we re-start this argument, I feel the aching emptiness of being a heretic. But I've outgrown the time when I still could believe in wonders, and maybe it would be good for you, too...
Adama thought for a moment about Tigh's comment – and smiled. ''Well, maybe if you have to face a few true wonders, you would be won over, too.''
''Maybe'', Tigh said, but his voice was full of doubt. Truth to be told, he didn't even want to be won over. He was comfortable living as an agnostic.
Adama shifted on his seat. That barely recognizable move made his expression, his behaviour, his whole being military once again. ''We will go through that anomaly, Tigh.''
''I am aware of that, sir'', Tigh replied even more dryly. ''I just hope you are right.''
''Trust me, old friend.''
''I do, sir. That's what I have done all my life. And you always have been right… so far. I only fear that this is the time when you might be wrong – and that would be the end of us all.
''I know that all too well. But it's a risk we'll have to take.''
''Yes, sir.''
The calm, friendly tone vanished from Tigh's voice; he was all duty now. Adama wished they could remain here and discuss this sensitive topic with the soothingly abstract distance of a scientific point of view. But there were moments when the chain of command offered better leverage. After Tigh – touching his left shoulder with his right hand in a very regular salute – had left, Adama remained behind his desk for a long time, watching the mysterious anomaly on his desktop screen, as if he could solve the secrets of their future this way.
Before the Fleet reached the perimeter of the dangerous anomaly, Tigh gave Adama one last, very persuasive speech, trying to make him change his mind. It was still not too late, he argued insistently, lowering his voice so that the bridge officers wouldn't hear their discussion, since that would have undermined morale that was shaky at best anyway. They could still change the vectors and avoid the inferno that was raging outside, sneaking around its perimeter, and who knows, even the Cylon fleet might lose their trail again. So near to an energy storm of this magnitude they could not use their instruments properly either, after all.
Adama listened to him patiently then reminded him that the same was true for the sensors of the Galactica, not to mention the other, less well-equipped vessels.
''It is a very real danger that – due to some navigational error – we might get into the magnetic field of the anomaly anyway, and without reliably functioning instruments we won't be able to change our course. On the other hand, when we aim at the exact middle of the anomaly and follow that route straight, we have a good chance to pass it. Thank to the scrambling of their scanners by all that energy out there the Cylons won't be able to find us.
''Presuming that anybody will survive to be found! Tigh answered angrily.
Adama touched the white gem that adorned the broche upon his throat, shot a cold side look at the Colonel and said quietly but in a voice that bore no argument: ''We are going through.''
Right after they had crossed the perimeter, however, and the incredibly strong radiation storms began to shake the smaller ships like fragile nutshells, even Adama began to doubt the wisdom of his own decision. He ordered the Fleet to remain in a tight formation, but emergency calls kept coming in from the captains of the transport ships nevertheless, since they felt it more and more difficult to keep contact to the huge Battlestar.
''Navigators report an increasing fluctuation on the instruments, due to magnetic interference'', Omega said; his voice slightly trembled as he tried to hide his fear, and that frightened Tigh more than everything. Omega was not one to lose his calm easily. In fact, it hadn't happened before. Ever. Not even at Cimtar.
It seemed, however, that everyone was losing their nerves as the anomaly crept closer and closer like some monstrosity with a malevolent sentience of its own. The more sensitive members of the crew had a feeling of inevitable death gripping their hearts. Tigh couldn't suppress his concern that was now clearly visible on his dark, elegant face, and even the otherwise so calm and unflappable Rigel, who never lost an unnecessary word on the bridge, became nervous and chatty. Whenever they asked for the orders to be acknowledged, Adama calmly and quietly replied that they would keep this route.
It occurred to no one to measure the time it took them to cross the anomaly. Why should they? The main computer did it anyway, without an extra instruction. The navigators wrestled with their belligerent instruments with clenched teeth in order to be able to keep their course – going on autopilot would have been suicide under these circumstances when the whole electronics could go haywire due to the constantly increasing interferences.
The rift itself reminded of the Shining Road – the incredible, ten thousand metron long ice labyrinth on the northern polar continent of Libra – with its maelstrom of blinding colours and chaotic patterns. When somebody lost his way here, was lost for good, just like some careless cave searchers on the Shining Road... only that here a mistake would mean the inevitable destruction of the rest of mankind. Adama knew this as well as Tigh did... but even if he would give in to his own doubts, there simply was no way back any more.
''Commander'', he heard through the thick fog of his own fear Omega's astonished, though still shaking voice, ''the anomaly...''
Adama turned sharply to the main screen that had been covered by the maelstrom of too bright colours ever since they crossed the perimeters. It seemed him as if the chaotic colours had begun to fade.
''The anomaly is now behind us'', Tigh assured him, not quite able to use his voice properly yet. ''Screens will be operative in a few microns – I mean those that haven't burnt out.''
''Forward sensory array is operative again'', Athena reported in utter relief.
''Put it on the big screen'', Tigh ordered.
Athena obeyed. The fading colours on the big screen gave way to a grainy, grey vibration as always when interferences were jamming the sensors. Then the picture became clear; first it showed the velvety darkness of an unknown sector of space, adorned with bright constellations none of them had ever seen before...
And directly in front of them, a ship floated in that endless darkness. An incredibly smooth, shining white ship, It had a hull shaped like a huge fumarillo, attached to a dish-like forward section by pylons like a seabird's neck, with two slender nacelles lancing out of it backwards, like the wings of the same bird, except of the crackling red antimatter activity on their front end. Soft green and red running lights blinked around the dish section, while the forward and aft lights were bright white. In the front of the hull there was a thick golden deflector dish, probably some energy generator that fed the shields of the unknown vessel. But it could be some sort of sensor array as well. It was too different to be sure. The name of the ship was displayed in large, black letters on top of the dish section – unfortunately, none of them could read them. Just as none of them had ever seen a vessel quite like this.
''Where can we be now?'', voiced Athena the question that was in their all minds. ''And who can build a ship like that?''
''I have no idea'', her father admitted, ''but there is a way to find out. Rigel, send out Red and Blue Squadrons. When all Vipers have started, we'll try to contact that ship. If we can see them, they surely can see us as well.''
''Yes, Commander.''
''Omega, check if all our ships have crossed the anomaly. Then order all captains to leave the danger zone far enough so that no magnetic interference would scramble their instruments. As soon as we've found out whom we are dealing with, we'll continue our journey. This is not a safe place to wait.''
''Understood, Commander.''
''Athena, prepare first contact. As soon as our ships have gone to safe distance, call that ship on all known frequencies.''
''Yes, sir.''
And while Rigel, now her calm and competent self again, ordered the Vipers to start when ready, Omega delivered orders to the other captains and Athena prepared the com system for a wide-band contact, Adama tried to order his thoughts to greet the citizens of this unknown sector properly.
TBC – the next part will be more original, I promise. This one was just a necessary evil, in order to launch the story.
End notes:
(1) ''The Tombs of Kobol'' by Glen A. Larsen and Robert Thuster.
(2) Yeah, I know, it's not very original to have French for Gemonese, not even my idea, but…