Sorry about the wait, just got wrapped up in real life.

Okay, with Kobol wrapped up time for some bad guy exposition. There are questions about who's who and what's what, and why. I figure that now is the time to start hinting at the why, but at least give an idea as to the what and who our heroes, whether Colonial or Earth, will face in the coming struggle.

Chapter 23

Location: Planet Gaul

Date: February 26, 2025

Time: 0200

In orbit around a lone, yet incredibly busy planet on the periphery of the galaxy a lone Hat'ak class Mothership dropped out of hyperspace. A day ago it had left this planet alongside a powerful fleet of several dozen other such ships. Aboard the king of the many millions of people living on the temperate planet and many others fumed at the failure of his expedition and the loss of his most cherished benefactor.

His name was King Rhone the Star Conqueror. He'd earned this name through the obvious and rather unprecedented use of the remnants of a shipyard once owned by the Gou'ald System Lord Taranis who he himself had slain. An able warrior and gifted tactician he'd made the leap from conquering the feuding lords of his own local area to his whole planet within a few years. This was helped by the fact his planet had only two continents nearby one another and a meagre fifty million people residing on them. However it was the major leap to the crude construction of Gou'ald Motherships and expansion through the Stargate that had made his mark truly notable.

Conquest had come easy enough, striking down the most powerful lords and upstart kings was a simple task from high above. And holding these new lands through the stars had come with great rewards of treasure, resources, and power. He'd copied the foundation that a race of parasites posing as Gods had once built, but he would rule as a King, not a god to be worshipped. King Rhone knew this to be perilous, and knew such acts of brutality would draw the ire of those who he feared most, the Taur'i. To quarrel with the Taur'i was a fool's errand, and he'd maintained anonymity with his conquests, staying limited in use of force, and benevolent in victory as it suited him.

However things had changed in the past year, he'd found religion. Or rather, religion had found him. One day his fleet had encountered a single ship of unknown origin bearing not just warriors, but a priest of a religion he'd never before heard. As was natural for him he listened, and was transformed by the message heard. The texts he was memorizing were preaching of a God that coincided with what kings wanted to hear, justification for power. What he was reading said that those unbelievers who refused to come to the word of his God were worthy of subjugation and slavery. He took up the golden emblem of his Agent, much to the bearded, hooded man's graceful glee, and helped impose this system onto his subjects.

In return his own armies were met with great gifts of technology to aid in battle. Granted most were reverse engineered Gou'ald designs, but it was the manufacturing process to build them had transformed them into a formidable army. His soldiers brandished staff weapons, staff cannons, plasma repeaters, and the ability to build a great fleet. To them this fleet numbered in the dozens, around sixty in all. To crew them increasingly happy subjects from conquered lands filled the ranks as their homes saw increased crop yields, trade, wealth, and easier lives.

Such were the gifts of the Amarr, as he knew his benefactors to be named. To them he was a useful convert, a man to be used for a greater purpose. They tasked him with simple missions, which he accomplished time and again with increasingly blind fervor. The power he felt with their gifts was but a trifle, as he had been repeatedly told. But now he feared this power that may fall upon him as a consequence for failure.

He sat on his throne in the bridge of his ship and saw a sight he was accustomed to seeing over his homeworld, a long golden and tan hulled ship one thousand meters long with a curving grace to its lines. The vertical head of the ship curved backwards with antennae protruding from the rear of the head. Two stubby wings in the front of the ship jutted out like the head did and was where its heavy laser turrets were located. The hull thinned out as it went to a massive single engine in the rear, connecting at two separate points, one large section closely above a smaller secondary hull.

Rhone remembered it being named as a Redeemer Class Black Operations Battleship, and was the only ship able to make the journey back and forth aside from another type of ship that he had yet to see but had heard was a sight to change a man's life. Usually he would be excited to see this ship, but now he feared it. He knew such a failure as he'd suffered would not be received well, especially when the infidels had murdered one of the Amarr's, and his own, trusted Agents.

"Hail the Amarr," Rhone called out to his helmsman, "Let us hope our apology will be accepted, and forgiveness imparted."

"Yes your majesty," the man said with a bow and pressed the crystal to make the transmission.

He waited, tugging on his tunic nervously as the Amarr battleship received the transmission and now answered.

"King Rhone, you have returned," the old man, a senior and powerful man known to him as Ada Khanid, greeted him. His face bore a thick white beard, and everything above his nose covered by his maroon cloak.

"Yes your eminence, I'm afraid my return is in defeat. Our forces were out-numbered, and with the arrival of the Taur'i to assist the barbarians tasked to me we were badly out-matched. Our losses were complete, and…I must bear the shame and sadness to report the loss of the Agent."

"This is…unfortunate," Khanid's voice growled, "But not unexpected as we have learned."

"Your eminence we threw ourselves against the enemies of God, and many have paid the ultimate sacrifice only to be met with failure. For that I apologize, and I ask for your forgiveness," Rhone bowed his head, knowing that at any moment a bright yellow light from the golden warship before him could wipe his mothership from the sky, a suitable punishment for failure. But he had to try.

"Your faithfulness and devotion have long impressed me, and your skill and talents in accomplishing your tasks have earned you the benefit of our gratitude. One failure, while great in scale, will not change that. For forgiveness is imparted on the faithful."

"Thank you, I shall not allow this to dampen the fire that has been lit here. For it is written that the fire of the faith is a light no ocean nor night can darken," Rhone cleverly replied, quoting a verse of the texts he'd studied.

"As it is written. You shall reflect and examine the battle and we shall aid you in preparing for your next engagement."

"I will throw myself into the next effort with your guidance," Rhone bowed, and was able to breathe a sigh of relief as the feed was cut, and he started to figure out what he was going to do now.

First though, he would need to assert his rule. Such a tragic loss of forces was a massive blow to his ability to maintain a large enough force to continue to take territory. He would need to consolidate his losses, as he walked to the ring chamber to ring down to his massive mountaintop fortress in the heart of his capital city he began hatching new plans. The first of which involved completely controlling the closest planets that had some sizeable population centers. Once done he thought of buying the loyalty of other smaller planets' leaders with the promise of weapons and treasure. The ones that couldn't be bought would be destroyed, quickly and efficiently.

Location: Tawa, Sagittaron

"How long?" Zarek growled, looking over the map of the city in the basement of this low-income apartment building he'd arrived in the day before, just escaping through the mountain passes before Colonial forces could be brought to bear upon his fighters.

"We've reached the foundation of the garage for the plant," his chief of operations for the city's growing contingent of SFM members, "We're waiting on the plutonium shipment to be fully prepared. Once we have that intel we'll know they're ready, we blow the floor, take the canisters and scatter them to bomb makers."

"Good, good," Zarek nodded, "Try not to kill too many people, we don't want to be seen as committing massacres. Not the best way to gain a base of support. Have we begun to stir things up around town?"

"Already done, an unfortunate kid got ran over by a car belonging to a Caprican shipping tycoon yesterday, all caught on tape. It's spreading like wildfire, and the fact the stupid frakker fled to Caprica and hasn't even been arrested yet is even better than we could have planned it."

"The kid's alright I assume?" Zarek demanded tersely.

"He's a bit banged up, not dead as the news would have us and everyone else believe. A bag of animal blood spilled on the street can make anyone seem dead."

"Excellent, I heard the riot going on earlier, we get some of that brutality on tape?"

"We got a good one of some frakking anarchist taking a rubber bullet to the balls, that was worth a laugh," someone mentioned.

That drew a few laughs, male humor was rather unchanged, even in a terrorist war room.

"So public opinion is extremely agitated to say the least?" Zarek asked.

"Oh very much so boss."

"Okay…" Zarek decided, determined to make an attempt on ultimate liberation soon, "Make preparations for a protest turned riot at the Assembly Hall. Agitate the crowd, break the barriers, and take over the building. The next day the cops will try and mass and retake the building. We'll be there to defend the people."

"By defend you mean…"

"We'll do what we need to do," Zarek declared, "Start moving weapons and ammunition for our guys to pick up. This means everything, rockets, machine guns, explosives, everything. This time the tide's turned."

"You think the reservists will help us?" one of Zarek's lieutenants asked, knowing that regular Colonial Army troops wouldn't turn.

"I think enough will so that we can take the armories in the city," Zarek nodded, "Once a few join more will also join. With increased success we can build on it, as long as we're smart. No death squads, no public executions, no brutality. Detain and deport, that's our public plan, that's what the cameras and people will see. Understand?"

Murmurs of agreement, some sour, came from the half dozen lieutenants of Zarek's operation. This plan was many years in the making and they had it all memorized by now. It was a good plan, one that had a good chance of working given the right circumstances.

Location: Cylon Fallback Point

Things had happened quickly, the fleet had been lost, the plan was in ruins, and the whole of the Cylon council was in shock. The Cavils especially hadn't anticipated such a setback. Their belief was that they were perhaps the most formidable armada in the galaxy from what the Lucians had told them. But the Lucians didn't have a frakking clue what had just curb-stomped them all.

The Resurrection Hub and a pair of Resurrection Ships were all that remained of their ability to remain immortal. To protect them fifteen upgraded Basestars formed the last vestige of a fleet that numbered over a thousand. It was a bitter pill to swallow for the Cylons, who now didn't know what to do. Meetings had been held, but nothing had been decided.

"We can't just sit here," a Two pleaded to the council, "If we stay we die."

"And go where?" Cavil mumbled, eyes jaded over, mind off to other places.

"Somewhere we can rebuild," a Five elaborated.

"And do what? Lose another thousand Basestars? I don't think so," Cavil growled, shaking his head profusely.

"What I want to know is why those people attacked us!" an Eight interrupted.

"We've tried three times with a Heavy Raider to ascertain why, every single one is destroyed on sight. Those…people are obviously not interested in talking. They came as conquerors, our brothers and sisters returning from Lucia have already said they're taking over, building cities, industry, everything a conqueror does."

"Could…could they have known what we wanted to do?"

This created a pause in the room. Logic dictated that most anything was possible. The first thing into most of their minds though was the obvious belief that their security had been foolproof. In their minds it was completely impossible, but then again, impossible was the description of many things before it was accomplished. A ship as large as the Colony was among those impossible feats, and yet, it had split the Colony in half. Ships had flown into Basestar formations and jammed out their FTL's. They had seen hundreds of ships of types and capabilities only ever theorized upon. It was a rude awakening for the Cylons, and it had cost them dearly.

"It is possible as anything is," Cavil grumbled, "But the better question is how do we salvage this?"

"Salvage?!" an Eight screamed, "It's over! The plan is now a dream. The time has come to reevaluate what our own purpose in life is. God sent this tragedy for a reason, it is time we reflect on what that reason is and seek our real destiny."

Cavil looked at her with tired, stunned eyes, his days of near total control of the Cylons were well and truly over. Now the Cylons had to find a new path, one that didn't involve what they thought it had originally involved, and that was the destruction of Humanity. What their new purpose was was up for debate, and would be debated for a long time. Yet now was the time to start.

"We'll need to find a planet, one far away, unseen, undisturbed," a Two recommended, "There, we can rebuild and reflect."

"We should start sending long range scouts and find a suitable world then."

"All in agreement?"

Location: Battlestar Galactica, Orbit around Kobol

"What's the butcher's bill?" Adama inquired from his desk, looking up at Colonel Tigh.

"Twenty-three dead, eighteen wounded aboard ship," Tigh began, "We lost eight birds. The rest of the fleet's still counting their losses, but we've taken some serious damage. Already we've written off five destroyers and two cruisers need drydock to repair the damage. Battlestar Acheron has taken near-critical damage. Her starboard pod has been split in half, two of her engines are gone and two more need major repairs, one of her FTL's needs to be replaced so she's limited to say the least. We're not in very good shape here."

"We knew we would take losses," Adama nodded, "They're not as high as we'd originally anticipated though."

"Still breathing you mean?"

"To an extent. The degaussing fields held up pretty well, have to say I'm impressed," the Admiral smiled, not minding the new Galactica one bit at all.

"She was built tough alright," Tigh chuckled, placing the damage and casualty report on Adama's desk and sat down on an easy chair across from him, "But frak, those tin cans and cruisers…they didn't have a chance in hell."

"No, Fleet needs to figure that out, can't have every engagement bleed us like this. We won't last in a long campaign for shit," Bill agreed sourly.

"We're pretty frakking lucky that that Earth fleet showed up though, whatever they hit them with…damn, never seen anything like it."

"It seems we share at least one enemy. Question I'd like an answer to is this, for what reason? And what now? Do we…go to being neutral acquaintances? Friends? What's the play now?"

"Awfully political questions there Bill," Tigh pointed out.

"We have to start learning some rudimentary politics out here," Adama grumbled, "It's not as simple as it was back in the day when we just…saw a toaster and blew it up. Now…we gotta make sure we know what they're doing, why they're doing it, and know how to make sure we get what we want without them stopping us, and without hurt feelings or blood spilled…frak I miss the old days."

"Times are changing, we're just the old guard, ready to give our wisdom to those who need it and will use it," Tigh laughed as he leaned back.

"Sure looks like the old guard did its job today," Adama smiled with satisfaction, leaning back himself, "But were we better or just luckier?"

"We're the ones in control of the planet and picking through their wreckage, I'd say we were better this time."

He was right to an extent. A dozen Marinestars had taken to the planet, landing their division of Marines and special forces detachments with attached Marine air cover to Kobol. They'd begun an easy bout of mopping up operations to secure the planet's scientific research bases and a long series of hostage rescues that were just dragging on and on. Colonial Commando teams from each of the Marinestars were being dragged across the map to these high-risk places where concentrations of hostiles were bottled up with Colonial civilians or captured military personnel were held hostage. So far no disasters had occurred, but each instance held new risk.

However none of these tense situations could hold back the flood of fresh Marine divisions and complete domination of the skies. The Colonial objectives were completed, at a price which was quite unfortunate. Casualties on the ground were still climbing as their forces retook lost or abandoned territory. Already they had ascended the thousands, most of them civilians killed in the aerial bombardment of the bases and their attempted escape vehicles.

Militarily casualties were incredibly steep. One Battlestar was crippled and several hundred crew potentially killed or wounded while another was put of action for equally heavy loss of life. Four cruisers had been either lost or crippled, and eleven destroyers had been also put of action or completely destroyed. On the planet more than two hundred Vipers and Raptors had been destroyed on the ground along with several hundred vehicles and weapons emplacements. Several battalions had been reduced to echelon forces from orbital bombardment and reinforcements through the ring had taken modest casualties. All-in-all, it was a horrible victory, paid for in blood.

But the price of defeat for their enemies was steep, perhaps more-so. Body collection had counted up several thousand hostiles dead, and many hundreds captured. Their fleet only escaped with the flagship being the lone survivor. And no one really knew the crew compliment of their ships, so their death tolls could have risen past twenty thousand. But there was no real way of knowing. Earth's nuclear salvo had left little biological material with which to quantify crew numbers.

But Kobol was safe, and no one could have asked any more of the Colonial defenders than that simple task. However the victory was not theirs alone. Currently, the whole of the Earth fleet hovered over Olympus, sweeping the city for anything of danger to the city itself. The care the Earthers took to try and repair some of the major damage to the city amazed the Colonials. And once complete, they just sat there, awaiting any other possible danger until they were satisfied the planet was safe. They could see what the damaged Colonial blockade could not.

At the standard jump point for arriving vessels a wave of flashes greeted the tired and jumpy Colonial forces in orbit around Kobol. A pair of mammoth Warstars lead a fleet of twenty Battlestars and fifty cruisers with over two hundred accompanying destroyer escorts. An attack on Kobol had set of a shitstorm of mobilization that had seen this response fleet jump to Kobol's rescue. Assembled here now was a shade under a fourth of the whole of the Colonial Fleet's Battlestars.

As awesome a show of force as it was, it was indeed quite late. However this was the reinforcement that Earth was waiting to show up so they could leave. Colonial troops on the ground that could see the Earth fleet watched closely as the fleet turned and made their jump into hyperspace, well aware of what they owed them.

Location: Moon of Choros, RSEC Headquarters

"Well?" Admiral Queen asked as the last of his teams returned from Kobol.

"Marines are fully deployed, Commando Teams have taken over special operations. Kobol's been declared pre-emptively secure. I think we can start trying to figure out who the frakkers were that attacked us and strike back hard," Colonel Black growled as he took off his helmet and allowed himself to relax.

"What were our casualties in Olympus?" Admiral Queen asked, directing Black to the briefing room as the other teams went to turn in their weapons and change and get some food.

"Near total loss amongst the security teams, we lost a few from the other teams, but my team's still one hundred percent. That's why I'm asking for the first mission to strike back through the ring," Black demanded.

"Strike missions will come Colonel, first, we need to know our enemy, find him, and then he's yours to do away with. That is another reason I'm ordering an additional combat course for all civilian team members and now mandatory carry for PDW's," Queen stated firmly, "From what I was told by Agent Fraser the civilians you had with you performed above expectations."

"Hate to give him credit but it's justly due sir," Black agreed, "Fraser picked a helluva team. Dr. Cruzii in particular, dare I say it deserves a frakking medal. I saw his helmet recording already, the frakker's the real deal."

"Let's not let him hear it," Agent Fraser now spoke up as he entered the briefing room himself having to check his team members to be sure they were alright, "Cruzii's ego is unbearable as is."

"Fraser," Colonel Black nodded to the man, a sign of real respect between them now, but still their professional rivalry existed in a way more akin to competition, "How're they?"

"They're doing better than I had expected to be perfectly honest. Reaction to first combat's a tough thing to gauge."

"That's good to hear Agent," Admiral Queen said, offering a handshake that was taken, "Pass along my congratulations to them on a job well done."

"Thank you Admiral."

"Now, I don't think I'll have to explain to you two that we need to get back out there," Queen pointed out, "Civilians will remain with the teams but after a refresher combat course and mandatory defense weapons being carried at all times. We still have our mandate to explore, find and bring back anything we can use. Initial reports suggest the Fleet took massive casualties driving these guys to atmosphere before Earth finished them off. We need everything we can get."

"No argument sir," Colonel Black piped up.

"Really? No 'civilians aren't soldiers' dig?" Fraser asked sarcastically.

"So far so good. They've earned the benefit of the doubt so far."

"Alright then, your team has a twenty-four hour leave, rest up. You'll need it."

So this was a somewhat shorter chapter, but it was filler of a kind. I'm looking to start a series of chapters and chapter arcs that equate more to Stargate SG-1 episodes to begin fleshing out the teams and changing face of the galaxy and the struggle both sides will have in understanding why it is happening for Earth and just what is out there for the Colonials.

As such, I'm actually open to any episode-esque little episodes through the gate for the teams to come across. If you have an idea for a little adventure or a culture/time period for them to come across leave your idea in either PM or review form. I love hearing ideas and remember, it's Stargate, the multitude of combination of time period and culture is a wealth of potential.

Next Chapter Preview: Some soul-searching for SG-1's new crew is in order. As is a re-evaluation of their relationship, or lack thereof, with the Colonials.