Chapter 9

Battlestar Valkyrie

One thing the Valkyrie was not short of were computer terminals. Every corridor, every command post, and all the quarters had them.

So far Tyrol's services had been required only once, during the launch and recovery of the main Vipers squadron. And yet, during all the down time, he had yet to check the archives for information on the Cylon program.

He didn't know why. He kept telling himself that he'd do it. He had Tigh's access code on a slip beside his terminal. And there it stayed.

Cally kept checking on him, asking what was bothering him. He couldn't keep brushing her off ( that was a surefire way to keep her coming back). There was only one way to calm himself down. And that was to check.

He finally picked up the paper, and typed in the command code. The screen instantly brought him to the restricted archives of the Valkyrie digital library:

CYLON HOMEWORLD FASTER-THAN-LIGHT COORDINATES

COLONIAL FLEET DEPLOYMENT

Tyrol had to shake his head at that one. What's the use keeping it classified when there was no fleet to deploy? He continued to look until he found what he was looking for:

CYLON DEVELOPMENT LOGS

A new directory list came up:

TRAINAR INDUSTRIES

DEVELOPMENT

MK1 CYLON

MK2 CYLON

MK5 CYLON

CENTURION 006/007

CENTURION 008

But one of them caught his interest:

PROJECT MIMIC

It turned out to be exactly what he was looking for. The first watermark was fifty years old, predating the first Cylon War. The last date was in the beginning of the conflict.

Project Mimic is an attempt by Trainar Industries to develop the first androids. As we all know, androids are mechanical constructs designed to mimic the behaviour of Humans. Until this point, the technology hasn't been available, but with the rapid advances made through the Cylon program, we now have the advances we need to attempt such a program...

Tyrol stared at the screen. The Cylons hadn't come up with the idea themselves. Like so much of their culture and technology they'd simply stolen it from their creators. It could also explain how they could quickly evolve from silvery walking kitchen appliances to bodies that were inseparable from their human counterparts.

He closed the introduction, and opened the construction log. Inside were the details of each model constructed.

The Mk.I was the first true humanoid Cylon model. We're quite proud of it, although it can get annoying at times (we uploaded a personality based on my own, we have yet to perfect a unique one). We're planning to upload an amalgam of several different personalities to come up with something more unique. And I'm happy to say it ages exactly as a human would.

The Mk.II was the second attempt, and was even more successful than the first. The personality we uploaded is a unique creation, an improvement over the Mk.I. This one is slightly more authoritative and aggressive, but seems to lack an empathic sense. We're working on that, and it should be ready in the next model. One feature of this model is the the growth rate, as we found a way to accelerate it to maturity faster than the others, before slowing down to a more human rate. Detailed explanations into this follow in the article. We decided not to attempt this again, as I can attest that growing up slowly is hard enough and it might not be wise to subject them to too much mental stress. This being said, the increased aging rate has proved successful biologically, and no damage was done to the subject.

The Mk.III and Mk.IV were both based on similar patterns, but we were overjoyed to discover that they have grown independently of each other! They look nothing alike! We may be on the verge of artificial human life! The models we've created so far are as much a human as I am, albeit engineered. In fact, there's nothing to qualify them as Cylons at all. The painstaking work is paying off! I can just imagine my paycheck next month...

Tyrol sat back in shock. He was a Cylon, but not a Cylon... He was created by the Colonials to be as human as inhumanly possible. He also knew that he was a Mk.III or IV. Anders was probably the other one.

The Mk.V is a first... A female! We're almost celebrating here, as this is a departure from the previous models. The pattern used for this model is only vaguely based on the previous models, and...

He stopped reading, and checked the directory. There were no more models after that.

Tyrol rubbed his eyes. No wonder the Cylons didn't talk about the Five. They were imperfect human constructs, and served only as the basis for the more advanced models the Cylons now used. They were probably embarrassed to admit that they derived from the Five at all.

The last article was the most interesting. It was dated in the early days of the Cylon War.

The Cylons are attacking the compound again, and the Forces representatives are evacuating us to Alpha Site. The humanoid Cylons, up to this point, have remained mostly ignorant of what really is happening, Unfortunately, we had to tell them yesterday after a raid by Cylons forces that saw Remus, the Mk.I, kidnapped. So we're leaving the building now, and taking three of the models with us. They're about four years old now, except for the Mk.II. He actually wanted to fight! We had Admiral Hastings grant him a commission as a crewman in the Fleet under the pseudonym Saul Tigh (that was my idea, actually). He's about eighteen years old now, and can probably handle the workloads. We're all so proud of our boy... We're moving out now. This will probably be the last recording of the project. I hope it survives to be restarted (if this war ever ends). END RECORDING

Tyrol could only slouch back in his seat. One weight had been lifted and replaced with another. There wasn't much chance of hidden programming to activate him. And there was only one of him, so no identical twin could pop up suddenly.

But it was confirmed. He was still a construct, a creation. Something that crawled out of a test-tube on Caprica. He wasn't human.

"But I'll be damned if that stops me..." he muttered, turning off the computer.

Tau Ceti II

They were halfway back to Base Camp, and marching quickly. The effort was wearing all of them down, and the pace had slowed since leaving the unknown craft.

"C'mon, skipper, we gotta take five!" Kowalski insisted. "We won't be much good if we're too tired to stand when we get there."

"Fine." Hollingsworth said. "Five minutes. We leave after that."

There were sighs of relief as the team dropped to the sand.

"Patterson!" Hollingsworth called. "Get the battlestar Agrippa on the wireless. Maybe they can identify the ship we saw."

"Yes, sir." Patterson said. He slung down the radio from his back and pulled out the handset. "Battlestar Agrippa, this is Activity team. Agrippa, this is Activity team on the surface of Bajor, come in."

"Activity team, this is Agrippa, what can I do for you?"

"We've found a small vessel down here, apparently empty." He proceeded to describe the craft in detail.

There was silence on the other end. "Team, it might be premature, but we believe the craft to be a Cylon Heavy Raider."

"What's that? What's a Cylon?"

"Have you lost communication with your base camp? We can't reach them. We originally thought they had communications difficulty, but after this report and your previous request for troops we believe that a Cylon force has landed on the planet. We're still manning the Raptors. We'll have reinforcements there in twenty minutes."

"Thanks, Agrippa, over and out." Patterson turned off the radio.

"They identify it?" Hollingsworth asked.

"Yes, sir. They called it a Heavy Raider, affiliated with some country called the Cylons. They wouldn't say who they were, though, but they believe Base Camp is under attack."

"An opinion I'm inclined to agree with." said Hollingsworth.

"Hey, what was that?" asked Kowalski tilting his head.

"What was..." Then Patterson heard a crunch.

"Rifles to the ready... said Hollingsworth. "It might be a Cylon soldier."

Crouching in a ready position, running on mostly adrenalin after the marching, the team retreated backwards, making extra sure they had all their gear.

Suddenly a large reptile reared up from behind a rock face, standing on two legs while holding four off the ground, two of them arms, or arm-like. It settles down onto four of its six limbs, two of them still help up. It seemed to be approaching them.

"Ready..." said Hollingsworth.

"Is that what we were looking for?" Patterson asked.

"No, I'm quite sure that's native," hissed Hollingsworth. "I've never seen anything like it."

It was muscular, that was certain. The mouth contained razor sharp teeth, though the mouth itself wasn't large compared to the body. The upraised arms had lethal talons.

"Orders?" Patterson asked.

"Ready the grenade launcher," Hollingsworth instructed. "If it attacks, fire."

"Yes, sir," said Kowalski, loading the electromagnetic launcher.

The creature stood, growling quietly. It didn't know what to make of the team, as it had never seen any creatures as organized or close together.

"Another one?" Patterson muttered, as he heard a low growl from the ridge above them. The team flattened themselves against the rock face.

"No, no..." said Kowalski. "Different sound entirely."

The question was answered when another giant shape leapt off the rock face, heading straight for the first creature. Only this one was a more familiar shape, with four legs and a snout not unlike a large dog, only more robust. The jaws of the new creature went straight for the neck of the six-legged beast.

"They don't look anything like each other!" Patterson shouted as the team used the distraction to leap around behind the rock face to observe.

"Brialliant, Holmes," said Hollingsworth. But you're right. It's not native to this planet."

"What, is it?" asked Kowalski. "It looks like a big weird dog."

"It's not a mammal, or a reptile... It's something else entirely." said Hollingsworth. "Nothing like it has been seen on Earth for millions of years. This one is from the Permian."

"What!?" Patterson burst out. "This thing came from Earth through the anomaly?"

"It's a gorgonopsid, maybe an Inostrancevia." said Hollingsworth. "I'd have to check on our database. But, it's what we came to find. We found it."

"So this is a safari again, huh?" Kowalski muttered. "I suppose it's a break."

"From walking?" said Patterson. "I'm not complaining."

Meanwhile, the Terran predator was having the better of the Tau Ceti native. It was just as large, but faster, and outmaneuvered the hapless alien beast again and again. Soon the Tau Ceti native was losing too much blood to stay in the fight, and was sinking to the ground, defeated.

"Time to go," said Hollingsworth after snapping a picture of the Gorgonopsid. "We've worse things than ROUS to worry about."

"What?" Kowalski asked.

Hollingsworth winked. "Reptiles of unusual size."

Battlestar Valkyrie

"Pass the word for Admiral Adama. Admiral Adama, contact CIC."

Adama sighed and put down his book. Another novelty of the new battlegroup was the amount of new reading material they brought. He hauled himself out of his armchair and walked over to his desk. "Adama. What is it?"

"There's a call for you on the line," said Gaeta. "I think it's General Secretary Beria."

"Has she said what she wants?" Adama asked. "Does this to do with negotiation?"

"I don't believe so, sir. She called it urgent though."

"Put her through." Adama ordered. He waited while the line was reconnected. "Madam President," he said.

"Admiral Adama. I presume you're wondering why I've called you."

"You could say that." said Adama.

"This concerns the crash of your Raptor. I had a salvage team at the wreckage, and there don't appear to be any bodies."

"What are you saying?" Adama asked, sitting up.

"Either they are dead and someone has taken them, or they were alive and someone got to them before we did. My advisors and I are of the opinion that the initial recovery team was... Compromised, in some way."

"What the hell do you mean, 'compromised'?" Adama hissed. "Are you saying that my crew could be alive and in custody?"

"That is exactly what I'm saying." said Beria. "We suspect Chechnyan rebels, but this would be difficult for them to organize in such short notice."

"I see," said Adama. "And I'm guessing no one has claimed responsibility."

"As far as we know." said Beria. "I assure you, Admiral, we are doing the best we can."

"I hope so." said Adama. "This would be a black mark on your petition for negotiation for our settlement and technology."

"I understand, Admiral." said Beria. "I remind you that we are doing the best we can."

"I only hope your best is enough," said Adama. "Is that all?"

"I believe so, Admiral." said Beria. The connection was broken.

Adama had only just put the phone back when it buzzed again. "What is it?" he asked wearily.

"News from the Americans on the capture of the Cylon agents. They've captured as many sympathizers as they can, and are holding them in detention. They expect to get information as to the whereabouts of Doral."

"So you're saying they've gotten essentially nowhere..." Adama rubbed his eyes. "Very well." He replaced the phone for the second time, and picked up his book again. It was hard to focus on it.

Strikestar Spitfire

Lee Adama put down his book and stretched out on his cot. He'd been in orbit for several days now, waiting for the Valkyrie to return with news. But it was taking much longer than he'd thought. Of course he'd always expected to appear in orbit of Earth with a home and family waiting for him but he knew deep down that it wouldn't be that easy. At least he told himself that, but he knew he'd still be disappointed, and he was.

"Commander Adama, contact CIC asap. Pass the word for Commander Adama."

Apollo sighed and reached for the phone. His quarters were small compared to what a full sized battlestar (like Pegasus, he often thought), and he often found things within a stride or two of where he sat.

"CO, what is it?" he asked.

"We have a situation on the surface of Bajor," said the officer on duty, McClane. "And expeditionary team reported encountering what we believe to be a Cylon Heavy Raider, and contact has been lost with the Activity's Base Camp."

"Understood. What action has been taken?" Apollo was sitting upright now.

"Marines from the Odyssey are preparing to depart to the surface. We're at condition two in case the Cylons jump in."

"Coordinate any battle plans with the Activity. Keep a line with the flagship open."

"Aye, sir"

Apollo replaced the phone. A Cylon ship could mean anything from a recce patrol to an armed beachhead. It was impossible to say at this point. Either way, their secret was now out.

He picked up the phone again. "This is the CO. Patch me through to Agrippa."

He waited until he heard Admiral Greer on the other end. "Admiral, I've just been alerted to the Cylon presence on Bajor."

"So have I, Commander. I've got every commander in 41 and Galactica all over my ass trying find out what to do. The Terrans fortunately have an armed expedition, but we're sending down reinforcements."

"What do you think happened to the camp?"

"Odds are it was taken by surprise. They were expecting large animals, not trained comabat machines. They probably had a smaller sentry than they would if they were expecting actual combat. I'd say they were caught with their pants down. Cylons aren't stupid: they know what they are doing."

"I'll have two Raptors of Marines ready in ten minutes."

"Keep them on standby. We don't want too many boots on the ground there. Things might get dicey."

"Understood. Spitfire out."

Tau Ceti II

Kowalski and Patterson dove for the ground, peering through field glasses at the camp. There were few bodies, but no one alive, either. What movement they did see was mechanical.

"What the hell are those things?" Patterson muttered.

"They look like those armoured combat suits for the army. But completely mechanical. And big."

"I can see that!"

Patterson dug out his radio. "Skipper, we've got a visual on Base Camp. The anomaly's unguarded and the sensor grid is offline. I see five casualties, but that's all."

"It's possible they abandoned the camp. We're in position now. Colonial air support is on their way. Wait five. When you see the signal, open fire."

"Understood." said Patterson. "Team two out."

"Five minutes, huh?" Kowalski mused. "Better than I thought."

A large boom cut the silence. "Those are aircraft turbines, they'll be here sooner than we thought." said Kowalski. "Why couldn't the Air Force be so punctual?"

Sure enough, two of the stubby beige shuttlecraft came screaming out of the air alongside three sleek interceptors. The mechanized soldiers didn't even bother running for cover. They just raised their forearms and opened up with rapid-fire automatics.

"NOW!" Patterson hissed and charged forward with Kowalski over the ridge. An unguided rocket shrieked from the other ridge where Hollingsworth and his team were, along with several rocket-powered grenades. Two missiles from the escort fighters also zeroed in on the Cylons. Three of the combat robots were vaporized, while two more were blown off their feet.

Patterson and Kowalski charged down the hill while Hollingsworth and his team came from the other side of the camp. At the same time Colonial Marines were discharged from the landed Raptors, the black combat uniforms looking very uncomfortable and painfully visible in the bright sun.

"How many left?" Patterson shouted over the gunfire.

"I read three metallic signatures!" Kowalski returned, checking his scanner. He squeezed off another shot at a glint of metal. "Move up!"

The two of them dodged closer to the camp, avoiding automatic fire. One of the Colonial fighter craft was suddenly hit by a Cylon missile, blowing a stabilizer off and sending it plunging to the ground. The pilot shot straight up into the sky, before the parachute opened. That left two fighters.

"Shame they aren't jump jets," Patterson said. "They could take these bastards out for us."

The Colonial soldiers seemed to have more smaller firearms than the American men. But they were getting in a lot closer, meaning the smaller caliber rounds could be more effective.

"We gotta get closer!" Kowalski hissed.

A clank behind them made them jump as if electrocuted. Kowalski tried to shove a grenade into the launcher attached to the barrel of his rifle. They spun around, diving behind a rock, but couldn't see the Cylon.

The clanking of the combat robot made them spin around again: it was behind them. It was standing with an arm upraised, and extended fearsome metal fingers that looked like they could rip flesh.

A thunderous roar distracted it, and the next thing Patterson knew a Gorgonopsid streaked at the Cylon, knocking it off its feet. The hapless machine was completely baffled, as nothing like the prehistoric Terran predator had ever been entered into its programming, and it was having to write new countermeasures on the spot.

Kowalski took advantage of the lull to arm the launcher. The Gorgonopsid quickly discovered the metal construction of the Cylon, despite having damaged the Cylon horribly with its massive jaws. It leapt backwards, suddenly uninterested in the metal soldier, and Kowalski destroyed the remnants of the Cylon seconds later with a grenade. The Gorgonopsid reared away from the explosion and fled, running through the camp and back through the anomaly, into the Permian.

Battlestar Valkyrie

"Sir!" Gaeta said as Adama entered CIC. "I think you ought to see this."

"What is it?" Adama asked, looking at the transparency on the plot table.

"This is the Terran asteroid belt." Gaeta pointed at the map. "I have marked various American mining installations, but there are several bases we can't identify."

"Elaborate," Adama ordered.

"Well, all but one of these bases are around smaller asteroids, less dense ones that probably don't have the mass to merit large scale mining. We've also detected traces of nuclear radiation. This does not seem to be active, like an atomic motor or power plant, more like a latent nuclear bomb, only I can't see any point to demolishing smaller asteroids."

"You said all but one. What's the other one?"

"It seems to be a space station of some sort, not attached to any of the asteroids but using them for protection." Gaeta unrolled another map. "The Americans I contacted on the nearest space station were genuinely unaware of its purpose. All they will acknowledge is that it appears to be Canadian in origin."

"Canadians? The same country Captain Thrace crashed in?"

"Affirmative, sir, but we haven't sent any Raptors out that way. Should I order a recon mission?"

"Yes, but do it quietly. If they even have the possibility of being detected, abort the mission. I don't want to alienate the Terrans just yet."

A shrill beeping pierced the low buzz of CIC, and the DRADIS console started relaying data.

"Sir, a Raptor just jumped into range," reported Nelson. "Transponder codes say it's from the dreadnought Odyssey."

"Odyssey?" Gaeta mumbled.

"Something's wrong." said Adama, picking up the handset. "Patch them through."

"You're on," Hoshi said, without looking away from his console.

"This is Admiral Adama," Adama said into the phone. "What's going on?"

"This is Captain Williams of the Odyssey. Admiral, the Cylons have attacked Tau Ceti."

Adama gripped the handset hard enough to make his knuckles white. They were running out of time.

He lowered the handset and stared at Gaeta. "Get me the General Secretary of the United Nations. That's the only way we'll get everyone in the same room, and if we ever needed to, now's the time."

"Uh, sir, that might be difficult seeing as New York City is currently showing a standard time of 2:30am..."

Adama glared at him. "Then wake him!"