Chapter 10

Tau Ceti II

"What a mess," muttered Kowalski. Many of the tents were torn by bullets. Much of the infrastructure was intact, but the hastily dug entrenchments where the former occupants, caught off guard, had had their stand were heavily damaged. There were bodies, but it was clear some of them had escaped. They would find them later, with aerial searches.

"We took a beating, no two ways about it," said Hollingsworth. "We may have to abandon Base Camp until the Shackleton arrives."

"We can ferry up materiel and crew," said the main Raptor pilot, Sharon Agathon. "The Activity is on the other side of the planet at the moment."

"That should be fine. Can we get some more people down here to help take this all down? Shouldn't take more than a few hours, it's pretty modular."

"Alright." said Athena. "I'll send a call up to Galactica."

"Hey!" called a voice from the rock face. A bedraggled pilot dragging a helmet and bundled up parachute limped over the ridge. "I suppose you just forgot about me, huh?"

Athena laughed. "Sorry, Starbuck, but you're like the last person I'd expect to see shot down. By a handheld, too!"

"Yeah, a few more assumptions like that," she hissed, limping closer to the party, "And I really would be dead! Brilliant..."

"Hurt your leg?"

"Same one as before, dammit!" she growled, dropping to the sand like a ton of bricks. "Not broken though, just bruised a muscle. Still hurts like hell."

"We'll get you up in orbit when we ferry the Terrans back," said Athena. "Speaking of which, did any of you see that thing?"

Patterson blinked blankly. "What thing?"

"The giant animal. It attacked one of the Centurions."

"Oh, that..." Patterson scratched the back of his head, embarrassed. "Yeah, that's kinda our fault. We opened this anomaly thing with an experimental FTL drive a while back, and tore space apart in some areas. This is one of them. Things come through time, it's from our past."

"You must've got the radioms wrong." said Athena.

"What?" Kowalski looked completely blank.

"Clearly you never took FTL theory." Athena smirked. "I had to, basic flight. I was pretty good at it. At least I remember I was."

Starbuck snorted. "Of course you would've been, if you'd taken it. You're more efficient than a calculator. I hated basic flight, myself."

"Did half of it in hack, as I recall," Athena mumbled. She looked at Starbuck and both of them burst out laughing, as Kowalski and Patterson looked on blankly.

"Inside joke," Kowalski muttered. "Must be."

Washington, D.C, United States

In a city of traditionally early risers, Andrew Warren was one of the last to wake up. Usually, he was up late at night working on whatever happened to need doing, whether it was reviewing speeches with his adjutants or going over budgetary complaints and industrial negotiating, and therefore could easily go until nine o'clock without rising. This was one of the few nights he had gotten to bed at a reasonably decent hour, but as luck would have it a powerful thunderstorm had woken him up at four in the morning, and he could do absolutely nothing to return to the land of nod.

So instead, yawning like a possessed man, he had to content himself to watching television on his new ultra-high definition 46-inch plasma monitor. Usually he found himself turning down the quality slightly, because he found that the sharpness of the screen could almost be painful. Some people swore by ultra-high definition, but others preferred the older high definition.

"...and the situation remains the same as it has for the last ten years. Now, on to other news, Bill Blakeney is approaching Buck Bokai's consecutive hit streak, and is only three games away from breaking the record of 59 games! Blakeney and the Blue Jays are advancing to play the Red Sox tomorrow night in Toronto. In hockey, the Ottawa Senators..."

Warren yawned again, and then blinked as a bright flash of lightning split the air, the thunder rolling in five seconds later. He sighed and took a sip of an open root beer sitting on a massive stack of National Geographic magazines sitting on the table beside him. The newspaper, brought up by White House attendants working what was still the graveyard shift, sat unopened on the coffee table. He was too tired to assimilate any information, or at least he felt that way.

"... And once again we turn to Valkyrie Watch, our five minutes where we have a look at the goings on in orbit. And here with us is Paul Wells, Paul, welcome."

"Hey Brenda."

"So what have we got today?"

"We've got action aplenty! Admiral William Adama has opened communication with the General Secretary of the United Nations, and many would say that it's about time too. What they have been discussing is as yet unknown, but it sure sounds important! As well, several of their "Raptor" shuttlecraft have been dispatched into the Asteroid Belt, probably to inspect the mining sites. Who knows what they might be thinking?"

"Sounds like something's going on up there,"

"Oh, I'd say so. Don't forget to look at the tracking radar on our website, "www54.cnn.usa/valkyrietracker/". And tomorrow at this time we're actually going to have an interview with one of the Valkyrie's crewmembers, and then we'll have a picture of what life on a Colonial spacecraft is really like..."

Warren was by this point staring at the screen. He'd known about the (multiple) shows that the news channels had, but that they would have news before he did was absurd. Then he looked at the clock, and figured it out. They'd probably done it sometime in the night, and the news channels were always leaping on things like vultures. Besides, if there was anything seriously important, he would've been...

The phone rang.

Warren took another sip of root beer and shook his head. "This is Andrew Warren speaking."

"Mr. President, we have received an urgent summons from the United Nations."

"Urgent? What reasons do they give?"

"Emergency, sir. This is a matter of planetary security."

That was an expression Andrew Warren had never heard in his life. And it wasn't something he could ignore, either.

Moscow, Second Soviet Republic

It was early in the afternoon, but Beria still thought it was hotter than it had any business being. Wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead, she walked off the balcony into the mercifully air conditioned office. She sighed and sat down, looking at the stack of paperwork in front of her. Most of it consisted of production and distribution reports, information on how the supplies produced by the factories were circulating to the people who needed them most. One of the greatest problems with post-Soviet Russia had been the vast size of the country, and how many people outside of the cities faced difficult times when the old communists supply system had collapsed after the fall of the First Soviet Union. Now, with a more organized government in control of the country, supplies were rationed out accordingly, placing the SSR's needs above the needs of the world. It had resulted in drastically reduced exports, but Russia had been in shambled for so long something had to be done. After forty years of the SSR, Russia was back on her feet, and catching up to the United States.

"Madam President."

Startled by her speakerphone, she activated the two-way conversation with her adjutant. "Yes, Chekov, what is it? Any news on the missing Colonials?"

"No, Madam President. We have just received an urgent summons from the United Nations, urging us to attend an emergency meeting."

"Very well, when will this meeting be, next week?"

"No, Madam President, it is tomorrow."

"This is very short notice, especially considering that we must fly to America." she said calmly, restraining herself from blurting out "Are they serious?!". She managed it, as she always did, and not a muscle twitched on her impassive face, solid even though she was alone.

"I have a helicopter on standby if you wish to attend."

"One thing first: What is the emergency?"

"I believe the message only stated that it was a matter of Planetary Security. The American news channels are covering the subject more than our own, but we believe it is the result of a call made to the General Secretary by Admiral Adama this morning."

"Have the helicopter here as soon as possible. Is that all?"

"Yes, Madam President"

"Very well." she said, switching off her speakerphone. Once the connection was broken, she allowed herself to relax, something no foreign diplomat or Party official would ever see. She should have expected, or at the very least assumed, that a matter as unique as Planetary Security wouldn't be broached (or coined) by anyone other than a Colonial, and if there was a Colonial in that position it was Adama. All thoughts of settlement seemed to have gone out the window now.

But who, or what, was powerful enough and dangerous enough to threaten Earth? And how come their appearance was so soon after the arrival of the Valkyrie?

Battlestar Agrippa

"Attention, everyone, could I have you attention please."

Sitting in Agrippa's wardroom were the commanders of every warship in the sector. Most of them were from Greer's own battlegroup, but Colonels Tigh and Naslund were attached to independent ships.

"The Raptor we sent to Valkyrie came back fifteen minutes ago, and the news we have received from Earth, while not bad, hasn't exactly been encouraging, either."

"What's the holdup, Admiral?" Commander Adama asked.

"Put simply, the Terrans aren't thrilled to have forty five thousand refugees settle down on their planet. The bickering has been so bad they haven't even been able to state their requests, let alone negotiate a settlement."

Naslund nodded. "When I left, forty years ago, there was some tension between the United States and Russia, especially in light of the FTL experiment and the ongoing civil war. I assume the Russians have swung one way or another by now."

Greer took another look at the report, and nodded. "According to this, one of the countries we're dealing with is the Second Soviet Republic. It says here that the country itself is only about forty years old, so that's consistent with your observation." He poured himself a cup of coffee, a pot of which was sitting on the table, and leaned back again. "The United States has been hindering us, mostly to prevent us from negotiating with the SSR, and to a lesser extent, China as well. What you may not know, is that our President's Raptor, upon departing Valkyrie, was targeted by a Terran orbital satellite, and shot down over Chechnya. This satellite is Russian, but was activated by an unknown party who naturally does not want to show themselves for fear of retaliation on our part."

"They should be afraid, all right," growled Tigh. "What's the President's condition?" He shot a glance at Naslund, who was looking slightly shocked at the turn of events back home. His mental picture of an America that was open to anyone and everyone had clearly been dealt a serious blow. Having the President of the Colonies shot down only made things worse, though at least the US wasn't responsible. They couldn't be responsible.

"At present, Admiral Adama is conducting negotiations as best he can. Unfortunately, the Cylon incursion of Bajor has forced him to take extreme measures. He has contacted the closest thing to a planetary administration Earth possesses, and will soon be briefing them on the Cylon threat."

"So what do we do?" asked Commander Matthias, CO of the Odyssey.

"All we can do, for now, is hang tight here. We're going to start sending regular shuttle runs, at least once every day. If the Cylons decide to hit us, we're going to have to hightail it to Earth fast. They have a pretty decent defense network of Orbital Weapon Platforms, and a minor starfleet of about nine ships. Unfortunately these ships a mostly small sublight in-system cruisers. The Americans have two big ships, the Sentinal, and the Prometheus. The Canadians also have one Prometheus-class ship, the Aurora, donated by the Americans.

"What are they like with regards to weaponry? Will they be able to hold off a sustained Cylon assault?"

"Unlikely. They've only recently began putting weapons in space, and their tactics are still relatively untested." Greer flipped the page of his clipboard. "Something called the Space Preservation Treaty. After the first sublight starship, the Enterprise, it wasn't long before weapons were placed in orbit."

"Then we're screwed," said Tigh. "What happens when we run out of battlestars? The Terrans don't seem capable of taking care of themselves for very long."

Greer consulted his report again. "The Terrans do have a highly developed surface defense system. They have an impressive array of air forces, and if we could get them to cooperate, I'm sure they could give the Cylons a reason to stop and think. They have nuclear missile submarines which could do heavy damage to Cylon forces."

"And they also appear to have bases in the belt of asteroids surrounding the orbit of the fourth planet." said Apollo.

"I still believe the Terrans' best chance depends on how fast we can deploy over there. The Cylons should still be unaware the Galactica has run into BSG-41, and that could prove crucial. We also know the location of the Cylon homeworld, something they don't expect us to know. We could launch a pre-emptive strike."

"Against the Cylons?" one of the commanders, Reynolds, blurted out. "I can think of nicer ways to commit suicide."

"It's only a last resort."

"Not very pre-emptive then, is it?" Tigh pointed out.

"Okay, so an assault is off the table." Greer admitted. "But we've been waging a defensive war too long."

"Are you sure it's wise to attack a superior foe with only small force?" asked Naslund.

"No, but if we have to, we have the location of their centre of operations."

"We can't do much, considering the forces we have. The Cylons must have over a hundred ships by now, maybe even five hundred. We can't repel a force of that magnitude."

Greer dropped the clipboard on the desk with a bang. "With a defeatist attitude like that, Commander Farragut, we're not going to get much of anything done. But, by the gods, we're going to give them a bloody nose!"

Farragut and several other commanders sighed, but nodded as well.

Greer was interrupted as one of his adjutants entered the room. "Sir, Pri-Fly reports communications difficulties with incoming flights."

"Which flights?" Greer asked.

"Flights returning from Bajor. We're having difficulties bringing them in, there's too much interference. It could be jamming."

"Jamming? How can they be jamming us if..." Greer trailed off. "Sound general quarters! Set condition one throughout the entire fleet! Prepare to leave orbit as soon as it becomes possible."

Everyone in the room scrambled to get out as fast as they could.

United Nations General Assembly, New York, United States

Adama stepped through the entrance at the rear of the hall and stopped in his tracks. Every country had one or two representatives, and that resulted in large gathering of chairs and tables, in a giant semi-circular hall filled with people. The Colonies didn't have that many independent bodies of authority, and as such had nothing on this scale outside of music halls and movie theatres. With only twelve colonies, anything larger was an indulgence. But on this planet somehow dozens, maybe even hundreds of nations coexisted.

The hall burst into polite applause as he walked down the aisle. He saw many people casting curious stares his way, still unwilling to believe he was in fact from another world.

The General Secretary introduced him, and once again polite applause filled the building.

"Admiral Adama, you have requested an emergency session of the United Nations. I am pleased to answer with a nearly full chamber, but we are all anxious to hear your reasoning for this unscheduled meeting."

Adama nodded as he sat down at the front of the chamber. "I was led to understand that the 'Security Council' would be overseeing this."

The General Secretary, Mordechai Lebonitz, leaned down towards Adama's position. "The Security Council has never had to deal with a matter of planetary security before." he whispered. "I thought it wise to call the whole assembly."

"I see," said Adama.

Lebonitz rose to his microphone again. "Silence, please, while Admiral Adama addresses the assembly."

Adama cleared his throat. "This may be difficult for many of you to understand, or believe, but yesterday we received word of a raid on the planet of Tau Ceti II. You should understand that this planet was recently contacted and colonized by members of the United States Air and Space Force aboard the USS Activity, launched forty years ago. This attack was committed by a race known as the Cylons."

"An actual alien species this time?" came a voice from the back.

"No. They are a creation of mankind. Us. We developed them long after this planet had been colonized, back on our homeworlds. They are a mechanical construct, and have one purpose: To destroy or control all humans."

"Why does this involve us? We've never done anything to them." This was the representative from Australia.

"If we are not ready for a direct assault, when it comes we will be completely wiped out." Adama insisted. He could already see that he was fighting an uphill battle against skeptics.

"Admiral, You make it sound like an attack is inevitable. Why is that? And why is it happening so soon after your arrival?"

Adama looked to see President Beria. And she had a point, he had to give her that. "It is not because of our arrival that you may be attacked. It is because of our arrival that you have found out about an attack before it happened. In fact, there are Cylons already among us."

"You said they were mechanical constructs," President Warren stated. "We'd notice them."

"I'm afraid not," Adama sighed. "Cylons have adopted a human form. They look like us now."

This started excited buzzing in the rows. Lebonitz waved for order. "Excuse me, let the Admiral continue."

"Thank you, General Secretary." Adama took a deep breath. "We have compiled a list of known Cylon agents, and are willing to pass it out to all interested governments and INTERPOL."

"That's very generous of you, Admiral, but what prevented you from saying any of this when you first arrived?"

Adama was silent, for he could not come up with a reason. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. And it wouldn't have made any difference-"

"No, but it could've gone a long way to a more trusting relationship, don't you agree?"

"Just like blasting one of our Raptors out of the sky and kidnapping the crew!?" Adama pounded his fist on the desk. "That would go a long way to a more trusting relationship!"

"Calm yourself, please, Admiral." said Lebowitz. "The representative has a point."

"It wouldn't have changed anything!" Adama insisted. "Whether or not we can start throwing blame at each other now doesn't matter anymore. What does matter, is that we have an enemy on our doorstep."

"An enemy of your creation," Beria pointed out.

"They're here now. And they're why we're here now. They completely destroyed our homes. All twelve planets were sterilized. Billions of people were killed. And unless you can put away your petty bickering and skepticism this planet will fall like they did."

"We're more than capable of defending ourselves." said Warren. "It would take a significant force to make any sort of impact."

"And yet my ship completely outmaneuvered yours! We appeared without warning and sent your alarm systems into diagnostic modes because they didn't believe what they were seeing! We're one ship! Now imagine dozens, hundreds of ships like that! And they won't stop at a show of force. We have countermeasures. We have a fleet at Tau Ceti we can bring to defend Earth for a little longer. We know how the Cylons fight. And they will fight. You must be ready for them."

"If the Cylons are really this big of a threat, shouldn't we at least go to a higher state of readiness?" Warren suggested. "Bring this fleet from Tau Ceti just in case they do come."

"There is one more thing you must do. The Cylons are experts at hacking computer networks. If any of your armed forces rely on computerization to function, you must bring them to manual control, or firewall them as best you can."

Warren almost choked with indignation. "A majority of our technology relies on networks and computers. That could leave us defenseless!"

"Exactly. It would leave you defenseless. The Colonial fleet at one point had hundreds of battlestars, myriads of support ships. Every single one the Cylons found were shut down and obliterated. The only ones that survived had their networks offline or weren't constructed with any. There are now less than fifteen warships of the Colonial fleet remaining. Your ships are vulnerable."

"We'll take the appropriate precautions and firewall all of our transceivers." said Warren.

"We will do the same," admitted Beria. "Of course we hope that nothing will happen."

"Do you have any more warnings the international community should be aware of, Admiral?"

"Not at this time, sir. I do believe that time is of the essence, and the longer we delay the more vulnerable we will be. We're on borrowed time, and the clock's ticking."

SSR, Unknown Location

"I assume the President will get medical treatment, of course." said Racetrack.

"Of course," said Gorbunova. "It's in all our interests."

"So where are we?" asked Racetrack.

"We're approaching Moscow. But for now we're staying at this military base while the convoy refuels."

"I see." said Racetrack. "Am I not allowed to move around until then?"

"It's for your own good, trust me."

"I'll have to take your word on that." said Racetrack. "This place looks like a dump."

"Most military bases in these parts do. They are not used very much."

"So then why bring me here? Why not to a newer base?"

"This route is faster."

"But if they aren't being used, why is there fuel here, why is..."

"That's enough questions for now." said Gorbunova. "We are here, we are here. Complaining won't change anything."

Racetrack folded her arms across her chest as Gorbunova left the shack. This was becoming more and more insufferable as time went on. Her rescuers wouldn't tell her where she was. They wouldn't tell her why she was where she was and they wouldn't say when they were leaving again, or when they'd get to Moscow at all. Every time she asked she got a runaround or a vague answer.

The murmur of voices caught her attention. She leaned against the wall trying to get any information at all out of the noise.

"...starting to ask questions. But they shouldn't be any problem. Now that they're out of the way, would you like to finalize our agreement?"

"Of course, Colonel. Is Gromyko in full agreement with this course of action?"

"Yes, he is. Once this is complete, what will happen with the prisoners?"

"They will be disposed of..."

Racetrack leapt back from the wall. It wasn't for her own good to be locked up anymore, that was for sure. She couldn't leave the President, but she didn't have much choice. In a panic, she checked the rear corner of the shack. Sure enough, there was a plank loose. She pulled on it, really straining her back, and was surprised when it popped right off. There was barely enough room to squeeze through, but her desperation made her forget about the discomfort. She had to get away, get away.

But she had barely stood up when she walked straight into yet another copy of Aaron Doral. This one was wearing a Russian military uniform.

Then it hit her. What was he doing here?

She thought fast, swinging at his jaw, but he was faster, ducking out of the way and sending her sprawling to the ground. "You're not supposed to be out here," he said.

"Am I? Well frak you too..." she hissed, scrabbling to get to her feet.

"Such courage." he said non-chalantly. "You know, Lieutenant, you should feel privileged. Because you just walked into the middle of a historic negotiation."

"What?" Racetrack peered behind Doral, to see Gorbunova. "Do you know who this is?" she asked, expecting to get a false name or identity.

"His name is Aaron Doral." said Gorbunova. "I thought you two would've knew each other already by now."

"What?" Racetrack gasped, the world spinning out of focus into a terrible reality. Gorbunova seemed to know what Doral was...

"You see it, don't you?" said Doral. "This historic moment is the signing of a new alliance between the Second Soviet Republic and the Cylons." Doral winked. "Changes everything, doesn't it?"