Chapter 6
Moscow, SSR
Tatiana Beria stared coldly across the desk at Jeremiah Benson, ambassador to the United States. "Please convey to your leader that I have no intention of revealing any more data about my space station than I already have."
Benson sighed again. "Madam President, the presence of a space station within striking distance of our shipyard could be taken as a hostile act. And we wouldn't want that to happen, would we?"
"Quite right, we wouldn't." Beria said calmly. She didn't give any other signs of agreement, not even a nod. "But considering it has no nuclear weapons, and the curve of the Earth prevents an enhanced laser from hitting it, is our station really within striking distance? Or is your shipyard, and the most definitely nuclear-armed starships within, within striking distance of our station?"
Benson rose to the challenge. "Our shipyard was there before your station was, Madam President. I hope you remember that."
"It is a scientific platform, nothing more. If you want the specifications, I can have them delivered to your embassy."
"That would help." Benson said.
"Unless there is anything more, I have other matters to attend to," Beria said, gesturing to the door. That was a dismissal, and Benson knew it.
"Good day, Madam President." Benson said, leaving the room.
Once Beria was alone, she let her countenance relax a bit. Dealing with that pompous ambassador definitely did not make her day, as necessary as it was. She puched the intercom on her desk. "Chekov," said said, reverting to her native Russian tongue, "Bring in some coffee now. And page Iosef Michaelovich." She leaned back in her chair and stared at the stone ceiling.
The Second Soviet Republic had been founded in 2020 on the foundation of the old Soviet Union. Many predicted the country would fall, but things couldn't get worse than the capitalist Russia that had preceded her. The military had advanced to almost American levels of sophistication, and the economy had been righted. So far things were proceeding well, but the stress sometimes got Beria.
A knock on the door brought her to her senses again. "Enter," she called.
"Secretary of defense Iosef Michaelovich," Chekov announced, retreating after setting down a tray on Beria's desk.
"Madam President," Iosef Perogov inclined his head.
"Sit down, Iosef Michaelovich," Beria said. Perogov did so.
"I assume you've called me here because of your, hmm, discussion with the American ambassador?"
"You would be correct," Beria said, pouring herself a cup of the strong black coffee. "The Americans are becoming suspicious of our station."
"If they want to, I say let them." Perogov said. "They can take their radiation detectors and they will never find a thing."
"They claim it infringes on their territorial rights in space. We're too close to their spacedock."
"Then that's their problem for putting it over our heads," Perogov replied glibly. "Whatever happened to the non-proliferation of space? They started building their weapons platforms up there, not us."
"Satellites are one thing," Beria said. "But armed starships capable of movement in and around the Solar System, and two even capable of leaving it!"
"Granted, they caught us by surprise there, but we are almost ready to make an attempt ourself." Pergov said cautiously. He deliberately left out the time difference of forty years between the launch of the Activity and the start of construction on the Molotov. It was never a good idea to irritate Beria, but she was on that train of thought already, so it couldn't do too much harm.
"The farthest we've got is the asteroid belt! Yuri Gagarin never would have intended for us to get so far behind the Americans."
Perogov had a comment on how the capitalist system easily out-spent her communist counterpart, which led to the collapse of the first Soviet Union and the widening of the gap, but thought it wise to keep it to himself. "But now that we are organized again, we are catching up." he said instead.
"Yes, but fast enough? Is it possible that they have their own superweapon in development?"
"It is very possible. Their fourth Orbital Exploration platform, Van Allen, is very close to the antimatter belt in the same Van Allen system we ourselves are collecting from."
"If they load weapons of that magnitude onto their satellite platforms, we could be in serious danger." said Beria, strongly hinting that action should be taken without actually saying anything of the sort.
"We've tried investigating the station, but whenever our shuttlecraft get close enough to detect anything, they detect us and assuredly stop whatever they were doing at the time."
"Granted. That is a problem." Beria admitted. There was still no break in her stony features. "Very well, Comrade Michaelovich. That is all."
"Madam President," Perogov inclined his head before turning and leaving the room.
Allied Space Station OE-2
Walter Stone glared out the small porthole at the Russian space station in the distance, no more than a point of light. Earth's orbit was definitely more crowded these days, especially now that China had joined the Allies and Russia in space. Currently the Allies consisted of mainly Britain, America, and to a lesser degree Canada. Germany, France, and Spain were also involved, but not to the same degree. On the other side of the divide was Russia, and now China. Despite the best intentions, space was not turning out like Stanley Kubrick had wanted it to be. There was no Space Odyssey, only a nuclear stalemate carried up from the surface.
"Lieutenant Stone, Observation. Watch your radar, one of the Russkis is getting a bit cozy with us."
"Roger that Observation, I see him." Starships had come a long way since the delicate moving space stations of the 2020s. Modern starships actually could look menacing and sleek instead of bulky and embarrassing.
Such was the case with this starship, the Red October. Two downward curving wings shielded several missile batteries, all of which were nuclear capable.
"Red October, Red October, change orbit immediately. You are straying into our weapons range." Stone warned them over the wireless.
"Message recieve. Moving orbit." came the reply. Clearly their normal radio operator was asleep or off duty, and the replacement had checked off can speak English on the off chance. Stone chuckled.
Sure enough, the Red October moved into a more comfortable orbit. This wasn't the first time they'd tried something like this, and it wouldn't be the last.
His radar beeped insistently. Stone sighed. "Observation, can you give me a visual? My radar's malfunctioned, seems to think there's a new contact right in front of me." He waited for the reply. "Observation, wake up, will you?"
Still no reply. "What the hell?" Stone muttered as he switched to outside channels. The sheer amount of noise almost deafened him. Russian, Mandarin, English, French, and all at the same time.
He checked his radar again. Even though he had restarted the firmware, it still registered the new contact.
"Stone, Observation, we've got a new contact."
"You see where the hell it came from?" Stone asked.
"Dunno. There was a flash, and POOF! There it was."
Stone looked at his radar. "It's heading towards the Russian space station." He checked the wireless. Uh oh. "I think the Russians hailed it. And... And it's responding."
Battlestar Valkyrie
The DRADIS screen was cluttered beyond belief. There were starships and space stations everywhere. They weren't very substantial, nothing more than orbital jobs, but there were so many of them...
"We're being hailed by one of the space stations," reported Hoshi from comm.
"Put it on speaker," Adama ordered. The language wasn't english, strangely enough.
"Sounds like Cancerese," said Gaeta. "I've never heard this dialect before."
"Well, I suppose we're in the right place then," said Nelson. "Anyone speak Cancerese?"
"Maybe they speak Caprican. Otherwise..." Adama picked up the phone. "This is the battlestar Valkyrie to Space Station. Please respond."
Sure enough, the voice on the other end started speaking broken Caprican. "This is the Russian station Zhukov. What can we do for you?"
"We would like to request a meeting with your ambassadors or government, whatever can be arranged." Adama replied.
"Wait one."
"So far so good." said Nelson. "What are they doing?"
"Contacting their superiors, I assume." Adama said.
"We're receiving another communication." Hoshi reported. "This one's from the Allied Space Station OE-1."
"What? I thought they were contacting their superiors," Adama said, confused.
"They want you to come aboard," Hoshi relayed. "They say they'll ferry you down to the capital."
"Battlestar Valkyrie? This is Zhukov. We can ferry you down to the capital as soon as you're ready."
"What the hell is going on here?" Adama exclaimed so Zhukov couldn't hear him.
"Commander, we're getting another communication, this time from the Chinese starship Long March. What should I say?"
"Tell them we'll wait. Tell the Allies, too." said Adama. "We'll deal with them in the order we found them. Contact the Russians, we'll deal with them first."
Battlestar Galactica
"I have no idea what it was," Kara said. "It just looked like a cloud, or mist. Sort of translucent."
Agathon nodded, while taking down notes of her description. "What were the Terrans doing around it?"
"They'd set up a kind of sensor grid, or cordon. I saw three armed guards, continuously, for five minutes."
"Odd." Agathon closed the binder. "Were you detected."
"Nope." Thrace waited, making sure he was done. "Am I off-duty now? I haven't had a minute of free time since I got back."
"I hope you don't want shore leave, the parties are cancelled on account of the Terrans."
"No. Actually, I was hoping youcould tell me were Sam is."
"Ensign Anders? Couldn't tell you right now, you'll have to look for him yourself."
Ensign Anders? He'd taken a page from her book. Using his new rank as an indicator, she checked the hangar deck first. It turned out he'd taken to Raptors instead, and his instructor was none other than Margaret Edmonson.
"Nope, he's not due for another two hours." said Edmonson. "He's off-duty right now. Check the bar."
Sure enough, there he was. Odd thing was he was sitting alone. Kara pinned it down to her untimely 'demise'.
"Hey Sammy!" she said, sitting down in front of him.
"Good Gods!!" he almost jumped right out of his seat. "Where the frak did you come from? You're... You're dead! Or am I drunker than I thought?"
"It'll take a little more than a toasted Viper to keep me down!" she said, laughing maniacally. "You don't look so good. Not still pining over me, are you? Get over me!"
"Never thought I'd hear that," he muttered. "My dead wife returning to tell me to stop worrying about her..."
"Shut up!" she laughed. "Are you going to buy me a drink, or what?"
"Yeah, fine," he said. "Hey Joe, get me another and one for my deceased wife!"
Joe burst out in laughter at that, sliding two glasses down the bar. "New from BSG-41!" he said.
"Ah, fresh stuff!" Starbuck said, downing it in one go. "So, Sammy, have you hooked up with anyone else yet?"
That hit a nerve. "You were dead," he said.
"You did!" Starbuck chuckled with victory, buoyed by the alcohol. "Who was it? It wasn't Seelix, was it? I saw her looking at you..."
"Actually, no," Anders mumbled.
"Tori! You frakked Tori, didn't you? Haha! No no, wait, who else... Not Racetrack?"
"Good gods, no!" Anders shook his head vigorously. "She's one evil professor."
"A little hard on you nuggets, ain't she?" She finished off her drink and shouted for another one. "So who then?"
"Your second guess was right, but we ran into a complication, and broke it off." said Anders.
"Oooh, complication? Not little old me returning, was it?"
"No, a little worse than that. It didn't just involve us."
Thrace laughed. "What? You dropped a cigar on a fuel tank? Pissed off Tigh? Found out she's a Cylon?" She shut up as Anders suddenly left. Her intoxicated mind couldn't understand it. She remedied that by ordering another drink.
Pentagon, Washington D.C., United States of America
"What've we got now?" Brigadier General Patton mumbled as he rubbed his eyes. He didn't like being woken up in the middle of the night, or morning, or whatever the hell it was.
"Starship just appeared in orbit, sir." said an adjutant, rushing up with a stack of paper under one arm. "About nine hundred feet long, we're picking up weak radiological signatures, so they've got nukes on board."
"What action have they taken?" Patton asked.
"At the moment they're holding station between OE-2 and the Russian station Zhukov. We picked up uncoded transmissions between them and the Russians."
"What'd they say?"
"The ship appears to be crewed by humans, or some race that speaks English. The ships doesn't seem to be affiliated with the Russians in any way, but the Russians rolled out the red carpet before we did. They're going to start negotiations of some sort, and we've been told to wait."
"We still don't know who they are?"
"No, sir."
Patton shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "Right, uh, who else is coming?"
"General Trent should be in soon. You two are all we could get on such short notice."
"And let the President know about this. Try to keep things quiet,"
"General Patton!" boomed a voice from the other end of the room: Trent.
"Yessir?" Patton called back.
"What's up, General?" Trent asked, standing beside the plot table. Patton hashed out again what the adjutant had told tim.
Trent whistled. "Very interesting. The Russians, you say?" Patton nodded, and Trent continued. "Seeing as this ship has nuclear weapons, and the method of it's arrival, I'd say we have a serious problem here. Should this ship carry advanced technology, and this theoretical technology should, say, fall into Russian control, what would happen then?"
"Global war?" Patton tried.
"A complete shift in the balance of power! With Russian starships able to appear and disappear at will, our entire orbital defense network will be compromised! One of these ships took us completely be surprise! Imagine a fleet of them!!"
Patton didn't have to. The implications would be terrifying for the country, and the world. The last time the balance of power had been shifted so abruptly, World War Two had happened. Only this time, it would be with nukes (or worse, who knew what that ship carried?).
"I see what you mean, sir." Patton said slowly.
"So you see, we must make sure that the technology doesn't fall under Russian or Chinese control. That means either we get it, or no one does."
"How will we do this?" Patton asked.
"By any means necessary." Trent surreptitiously glanced over the room, towards the naval division. On the wall chart were the names of twenty-three Farragut-class ballistic missile submarines. Fourteen of them were at sea.