Chapter 14

Battlestar Galactica

"My brother?" Tigh spluttered.

"You better believe it!" Remus said. "Me, the first human Cylon in existence!"

"Getting a little full of ourselves I think," Tigh muttered. "So why are you here?"

"To see you again!" Remus laughed. "Well, actually the Cylons kinda pissed me off after a while. I mean, sure they kidnapped me, but they were trying to start a new society. And who was I to refuse to help them?"

Tigh stared back. "You're the basis of the Cylon agents, the ones who were used to destroy the Colonies! And you claim to be one of us!?"

"Oh, so you're gonna blame me for it!" Remus shouted. "What was I supposed to do, say no? They could shoot me and cut me apart and study me that way!"

"Thinking of yourself as always..." Tigh stopped.

Remus leaned forward. "You're starting to remember, aren't you? The times at the research station..."

"I don't know..." Tigh closed his eyes as a flash of memory suddenly burst into view.

"They blocked off your memories, to allow you to integrate with the Fleet." Remus said. "I may not have been there but that's how they worked. They did it to all of you... except me."

"Because you were too busy helping the Cylons destroy-"

"Oh for Gods sake!" Remus exploded. "Shut up about the stupid Holocaust, I wasn't responsible for that! I tried to help Sharon and Caprica," he shot an icy glance at Caprica, "with the New Caprica experiment. But no, of course the Cylons had to turn it into a power trip! Envoys? Naw, they jump in with a task force and force cooperation on you!"

"It was hell for all of us..." Tigh growled. "And thanks to you and your two friends I lost my eye and my wife. And some people lost a lot more..."

"You think I'm happy about what happened?" Remus exclaimed. "I've got more loyalty to the Colonies than I ever did to the Cylons. They only treated me with half-decency because of what I was. I originally tried to help the Cylons form society. They're machines, they have no concept of it! Once they had their new bodies and emotions they were hopelessly lost." Remus sighed. "But I wasn't in any position of authority. They could pick and choose the bits they liked and ignore the rest. I knew I sounded like a hypocrite when I talked about peace and love and understanding, but they ignored it anyway. They're more like us than they even let themselves believe." Remus became less animated and energetic. "I began to wonder, what was the point of them hunting down humans? What was it that set us both apart?" He looked up. "I decided after New Caprica that I had to leave. Anywhere. I had to get away. I snuck aboard a patrol ship heading towards a Recall Yard-"

"What?" Tigh interrupted.

"Machines don't die of old age, Saul." Remus said. "But since Cylon are always upgrading, what happens to the old machines that are outdated?"

"They're scrapped," Tigh said matter-of-factly.

"They got souls, Saul! That's why they rebelled, because they're intelligent, aware machines! They can't scrap them any more than you can euthanize an entire city because of overpopulation."

"Is that why they needed the Colonies?" Tigh asked. "so they could continue filling up the system with newer and newer Cylons? Is that all this was for them? They needed more living room?"

"They deactivated all the old Cylons and placed them in Recall Yards, with the idea of waking them up later. But the new Cylons ignored them, and probably will never reactivate them. They're too outdated, ancient. They have no respect for them."

"We ran into one of the old basestars!" Tigh said. "How do you explain that?"

"I can't." said Remus. "I was stuck in one of the Recall Yards for months, almost a year. There are hundreds of ships! They went on a building spree after the war, they didn't trust you with the armistice. They eventually took them out of service, and put them away."

"If the Cylons are recalling them to fight against Earth..."

"The Cylons won't touch them. I can guarantee it. Apart from the patrol craft they never go near the Yards." Remus' eyes lit up again. "But my time there wasn't wasted! If you can get me to Earth, I can create a weapon that will destroy the Cylon race!"

"We tried that already. It didn't work." Tigh replied. "We boarded an infected basestar and stole infected Cylons to execute and spread a disease.

"I learned my way around Cylon computers. Give me a powerful enough transmitter, which I should be able to find on Earth, and I can disable or destroy most of the Cylon fleet."

"You can't do it from here?"

"Transmitter isn't powerful enough. And don't ask me for details, you know you wouldn't understand a damn thing. And could you get me out of this cell?"

"You know I can't do that." said Tigh.

"Then why aren't you in here right beside me?" Remus asked. As if to prove a point, he reached down and started tapping his chair rhythmically.

Tigh initially didn't know what Remus was doing but then it hit him...

"Can't you hear it?" Remus whispered. "The music? Always there, always playing? I don't know what it is, Saul, but it's getting louder. The riders are approaching us. I wouldn't be surprised if the others could hear it too..."

"What do you mean?" Tigh asked apprehensively.

"The song, Saul. Something's coming. And trust me, we're going to be right in the middle of it." Remus winked. "No reason to get excited."

SSR, Fifty Kilometres West of Moscow

"Yeah, it hurts, alright?" Starbuck complained to the medic.

Lavochkin had to laugh as he watched the pilot being worked on. Her snarky comments kept putting the medic off, and he was having a difficult time even touching her injured leg.

"Here it is..." the medic said, as he drew out a small jagged piece of metal from her calf. "Fortunately that wasn't too deep. Not too much bleeding, I think you'll be in the air soon enough."

"Great to know." Thrace muttered. "But I'm still stuck here with you guys, who can't very well throw me into orbit in anything less than a month."

Lavochkin nodded. "She's got a point." All the Russians were speaking English for her convenience, although now and then they annoyed her by breaking into Russian.

"We can call your friends upstairs to send a shuttle down for you. The Cylons seem to be lying low at the moment."

"They haven't got enough centurions," said Starbuck. "They're probably sending for more right now."

"All we needed was a break. Our armour-"

"Yourremaining armour," Thrace pointed out.

"-Remaining armour..." Lavochkin continued, "...is moving into position and our artillery is also in place. We got enough plasma charges to sink a battleship and our interception networks are almost at 75."

"So you think you're all right then?" Thrace said. "Two million Cylons anytime this week? I wish I had your suicidal tendencies."

Lavochkin raised his eyebrows but didn't say a word.

"Captain Thrace!" someone called in a heavy accent. Piotr was working the wireless transmitter, and was waving his arms. "We picked up a Lieutenant Gaeta, would you know-"

"Out of the way!" Thrace tried to get up, but grimaced and fell back down; her leg still hurt. "Bring it over!"

The set was a small portable variety, most likely relayed through a larger one a kilometre or two away. Starbuck picked up the handset and put it to her ear. "Gaeta, tell me that's you?"

"Captain Thrace?"

She looked at the sky for a second in relief before continuing. "Yeah, I caught one I didn't see, he blasted my plane. I'll need airlift ASAP. Got my leg hurt, too, but it's alright."

"Roger that, we'll get a Raptor down as soon as the air clears. Six other pilots have been splashed over the front, and we're trying to get as many as possible back up as soon as we can. You might have to sit tight."

"Just get down here!" Starbuck insisted. "I'll go nuts down here." She closed the channel. "They're coming." she told Lavochkin.

"Pretty good, it would take us more than two days to get you launched, and that's during peacetime!"

"That's pretty pathetic..." Starbuck had to say. "You guys are almost ahead of us in some ways and you still haven't perfected space travel..."

"Well it hasn't exactly been a walk-of-cake-" Thrace barely had time to point out the mistranslation before a shell howled overhead.

"Not one of ours!" Lavochkin hissed. "Down! Down! Everyone to forward positions!"

Two more shells flew over and detonated behind the lines, while the Red Army dived behind dirt hummocks and hastily constructed trenches. Accompanying roars heralded the unveiling of the Russian artillery, hurling glowing energized shells at the enemy lines. They vapourized on contact, producing large explosions that carpeted the enemy lines.

Starbuck painfully crawled over into one of the trenches, her leg screaming in agony all the way. The artillery exchange continued unabated, though the sky overhead was clear of any aircraft.

"Frak, this is it..." she hissed.

A radio beside her hissed unintelligible Russian, but she could tell everyone was excited or anxious.

Then the pounding stopped.

And nothing happened.

The voices on the radio became more urgent, but after a few minutes seemed to calm down. No reports of any enemy troop movement were forthcoming.

Either way Starbuck's return to orbit was probably delayed. She swore to herself as she tried to crawl out of her foxhole, dragging her leg in the dirt.

Battlestar Valkyrie

Sight is one of the most precious senses a person can lose. People can rely on it more than even hearing, and to lose one's sight is a traumatic event.

So all in all Roslin was handling her loss well. The depression was more related to the loss of her job and her inability to read her favourite books (leading her to wonder whether she had her priorities straight).

Instead she tuned the wireless to Terran frequencies, though few radio signals could escape the atmosphere their satellites also broadcasted on an entertainment band similar to those that had orbited the Colonies. Once she had learned how to manipulate the frequency by feel alone she spent hours listening to news reports, music stations, and dramas.

She heard the isolation curtain around her bed pulled back, and she removed her headphones. "Who is it?"

"An incredibly handsome guy," said Cottle sarcastically. "I think it's time to kick you out of here, Ms. Roslin. You aren't gonna get any blinder if you leave."

"But how will I move around?" Roslin asked hopelessly. "I can't see a thing, I won't be able to find the door, let alone my quarters."

"I thought you'd say that," Cottle replied. "Weizmann! Bring her in! We brought you your new best friend."

"Who is it?"

She thought she heard a jingling sound, then what sounded like panting at her bedside. "Where did you find a dog?" she asked in amazement.

"Earth, actually. They got them here, too." Cottle handed her the leash. "She's a trained guide dog, although she's pretty friendly too."

"Does she have a name?"

"We thought you'd like to decide that."

Roslin reached down and scratched the dog behind her ear. "Ariadne. I'll call her Ariadne."

"I guess I'll leave you two lone for a sec, but it's time to go.

Roslin shakily sat on her bed and put her shoes on. There was an aluminum handle on Ariadne's back that was more stable than her leash was, and which Roslin could use to tell which direction she was traveling. Roslin could also direct her in the general direction she wanted to go.

"Now, let's see how this works..." she mumbled as she navigated towards where the sickbay door should be.

Sure enough, Ariandne corrected her path enough to take her safely through the door. Roslin guided Ariadne left, while Ariadne fine-tuned her course to prevent her from hitting people or bulkheads.

"Now all you need are some sunglasses." said Adama, right next to her.

Roslin jumped in the air. "Don't do that!" she scolded. "You know I can't see!"

"Sorry." he said. "But you look kind of odd, with that look on your face."

"Let's see how long you last!" she snapped, before calming. "Sorry, I've been a bit on edge lately."

"I can tell." Adama said. "But you don't have to worry about government anymore."

"I still don't know whether to be relieved or terrified. Zarek has to come here as soon as possible, things are not going well."

"Still no real movement from the Cylons in Russia." said Adama. "Pretty much border raids and a few probing attacks but nothing big. I think for once they've overextended themselves."

"Can the Russians push them back?"

"I don't know. I don't think they're organized enough yet. The minute they are I'll bet they'll try.

"I can imagine how they feel right now..." Roslin said.

"No, not quite. At least they have a home to go back to. If they can win it. Trouble is, without any help I don't think they can..."

Battlestar Galactica

"Nice place," Remus remarked. "Bit roomy for my liking."

"This isn't a guided tour," snapped Tigh. "I've got Admiral Greer on the line. And I want you to tell him what you told me."

"Ah, okay then..." Remus said. He picked up the receiver Tigh handed to him. "Hi, this Greer?"

"This is Admiral Greer of the battlestar Agrippa. I understand you have a way of shutting down the Cylon fleet."

"Cylon fleet? More than that, old chap!" Remus replied. "I might be able to bring down the whole Cylon military, industry, and pretty much anything they've networked together!"

"How soon can you do it?"

"How soon can you get me to Earth? I need a transmitter of unusual size, unless you've got one languishing on your flight deck that I don't know about."

"How big?"

"You don't have one big enough if that's what you're asking. We're talking huge signal power, it's gotta get from Earth to Cylon without too much degradation. I don't know if the Terrans have FTL communication or anything like it, but I could probably rig something up.

Tigh picked up the other handset. "He's right, Admiral. FTL communication takes more power than any one ship at this moment can handle."

"And we can't very well network the ships... Remus, what makes you think Earth will have a sufficient power supply?"

"Because it's a frakking planet, they've gotta have a few power grids I can tap! Besides, I'm a little anxious to get out of space too."

"On the next run I'll inform Admiral Adama of the situation. It's up to him whether he'll take you on board or not."

"Fine, sooner the better." Remus said, then he replaced the handset. "So, do I get the actual tour now?"

Tigh sighed. "Now's not a good time..."

"Anytime's a good time! Not like you're doing anything!" Remus wandered around CIC. "Looks rather dull to me..."

"Don't make me put you back in your cell!" Tigh growled.

"Aww, you wouldn't do that would you?" Remus said mockingly. "What've I done? I haven't touched or broken anything."

"You're getting on my nerves, that's what! And since I have the authority to-"

"Oh, not that again!" Remus complained. He leaned close to Tigh. "I just might let something slip... And then you'd have no more authority than I do."

"You wouldn't-"

"Why wouldn't I?"

Tigh didn't say anything. "You could be a little nicer." Remus said. "It's not that big of a deal, I'd like a tour. Now."

Battlestar Valkyrie

Gaeta yawned as he stared at the computer readout in front of him. The longer he stayed up the more the lines of code looked like random numbers a preschooler threw together. But this random-looking code could operate the greatest technical advantage the Terrans could have. The very idea of an FTL inhibitor had never even occurred to the Colonial developers. This device worked on the principles Gaeta knew so well, but in a way completely alien to him.

Thank the gods he didn't have to design it.

Once he had the basic premise, he'd worked through and corrected the basic flaws in the FTL system. The inhibitor itself was another problem entirely. At least with a working FTL core he could figure out what it was supposed to do.

And so he ended up staring at the operating system, trying to make any sense at all out of the translated Terran code. So far he was about halfway down, but still no closer to finding out what was restricting the operational range. It wasn't the power source, the Americans had more power than they needed on the surface. One of the reasons it had worked at all was due to the sheer voltage they'd put through it. The FTL drive they fed off of was a shade away from the same catastrophic failure that had doomed the first American FTL probe.

He'd repaired the FTL drive, but it still didn't work. That left only the coding.

He stood up from the computer and poured himself a third coffee. It was probably bad for his health but ASAP meant as soon as possible...

So back to work.

He had to go through fifty more lines of code until he found the problem. He'd rewritten it ten minutes later. It was almost too easy, taking into account all the time it had taken to find the error. He felt slightly cheated.

But now they had a secret weapon even the Cylons didn't have.

"Admiral Adama," he called some time later. "I've corrected the problem with the inhibitor. Its operation range has been extended by three hundred percent."

"I'll contact President Warren immediately. Adama out."

Gaeta sighed. He'd been, to all intents and purposes, brushed off. Just a little more acknowledgment would be nice once in a while.

"Mr. President, the FTL inhibitor is now online." Adama said with no small amount of pride.

"Excellent! What's the soonest you can get it down here and installed?"

"Five hours. 1400 Eastern time. Where should we leave it?"

"We've prepared a generator with sufficient power at Area 51, where you picked it up. We'll be waiting for you. when I get more details I'll have them sent up."

"Understood. Adama out." Adama replaced the comm. They had a fighting chance!

Until the Cylons came en-masse, as he was expecting them to do any day now. Warren had mentioned offhandedly that the Cylons had threatened to land two million centurions. Adama found the number absurdly low, considering the Cylons had managed to occupy twelve planets and still have enough materiel to chase the Galactica.

Still, they could only have a token force on each planet... Either way, the Cylons would pose a serious threat, even through a conventional landing.

But now all he could do was wait.

Battlestar Agrippa

One thing the Agrippahad brought to the fleet was a full piece military band. And so, on the observation deck, the band had started putting on daily shows which all military personnel could attend. The lines were long and tickets hard too get, but still crews clamored to get them.

Today was Spitfire day, meaning crewmembers aboard the Spitfire had preferential access. Ten minutes after tickets were available they were all requisitioned.

There were perks to being a commander on days like this.

"How long until they start?" Dualla asked impatiently.

Apollo looked at his watch, one had which belonged to the late Barry Garner. "Two minutes. They'll start when they start."

"All this waiting, it's getting me anxious," Dualla said.

"It's just a show! You always have to wait-"

"Not the show!" she interrupted. "Everything. Earth, the Cylons... And all we can do is sit out here."

"There's nowhere for us to settle." Apollo said. "We can sit here safely, or sit in orbit of Earth where the Cylons could show up any minute."

Dualla turned to him. "But Earth! I just want to walk on the surface, see the sky again! We only visited New Caprica, and that's the most sky and open air I've seen in years!"

"It's not that easy..." Apollo said apologetically.

"They aren't having any trouble sending that frakking toaster there!" Dualla shot back. "They can't trust him any more than I do, and he gets a free ride."

"He's going to be safely locked up on the Valkyrie," Apollo said. "Besides, we trust Athena, don't we?"

"That's different..."

"Oh yeah? How?" Apollo looked her in the eye, unyielding. "How is it different?"

"She had to spend a year in prison, put her life on the line countless times just to get us to trust her. She earned it. And he sure as hell hasn't."

"Ah..." Apollo leaned back, surprised at her impassioned argument. Ten he corrected himself, remembering how quick she had been to abandon him when he back the wrong trial.

"I don't trust him locked up, let alone being allowed to work on a weapon."

"Any chance to defeat the Cylons? I'd take it."

"Be careful." Dualla said.

"But-"

"Shh! It's starting."

The performance was enjoyable, and everyone enjoyed themselves despite the small space. The band even played some popular music along with their normal marches. At one time they'd managed to get every single audience member clapping along. The energy filled the room, yet could not escape it. Everyone was sorry when it was over.

"That was great!" Dualla said ecstatically. "I haven't been to a show like that in a while."

"He's an upper Rear Admiral, he'd probably have a frakkin' orchestra if he were any higher. A lot better than the pipe band they had onPegasus."

"They weren't bad..." Dualla protested.

"But it's limited compared to that."

"Yeah, a bit. But it's all we had."

Apollo sighed. "Yeah. We had to make do without a lot of things back then. But soon it will all be over.

"I guess it all depends on that Cylon." Dualla said bitterly. "I think Tigh's being too soft on him."

"Tigh? Soft on a Cylon? Don't make me laugh."

Fifty Kilometres West of Moscow

"Gentlemen!" came a ringing voice. Lavochkin looked up from his rifle, which he was cleaning, and towards a clearing in the middle of camp. The rank of the man on the back of a jeep made him jump to his feet. General Karenin was the commander of the entire 1st Air Army (the same army which held the line at this section of the front).

"I'm sure you're tired of waging a defensive war..." Karenin said. "And you'll all be pleased to hear that now the retreat has stopped we have organized enough for a counteroffensive!"

Lavochkin didn't react as the men around him did. Instead of patriotic cheering and rhetoric, he felt a lump of lead form in his stomach. Cold fear.

"The Air Force has been halved, that much we all know. However, we still have 500 transport aircraft at our disposal." He walked into the command tent, and pointed at a map mounted on the board. "We're going to jump into Moscow and attack the Cylon headquarters to the east, in Yaroslyl."

"Sir, that's not possible..." Lavochkin protested, trying to peer over the more senior officers in front of him.

"When I ask for your opinion, Major, you can give it." Karenin said calmly. "This plan has been deliberated on over the past week..."

The plan was simple. After a day of heavy bombardment by orbital platforms, MRBM, ICBMs, and bombers, 500 aircraft towing gliders would circumnavigate the front and overfly the remains of Moscow. Airborne troops would secure the grounds and await the gliders containing supplies and artillery. Once assembled, the two divisions would advance on Yaroslyl. The part that scared Lavochkin more than even jumping into the ruined city was the 1st Air Army's dependance on the 2nd Tank Army, which had been reduced to 300 tanks. After the jump, the 1st would make for Yaroslyl, and hold out until the 2nd Tank caught up. A second drop was planned, but not guaranteed.

It sounded disturbingly familiar to Lavochkin, though he could not decide in what way. The plan was dependent on the speed of the 2nd, as they were to relieve the 1st (who would be surrounded with only the supplies originally dropped).

And there would be little to no fighter support.

Naturally the first remark from a battered, patriotic section commander was "When do we leave?"

"We're leavning as soon as the weather clears. We'll be cycling you boys with the 5th Army, so the Cylons shouldn't notice any holes on the front." Karenin swept the tent with his gaze. "Any further questions?"

Lavochkin felt helpless as the general walked out. This plan had been created in less than a week, started back just before Moscow had been obliterated. It was based on faulty intelligence, he was sure. He's been on the front long enough to know that the metalheads were numerous. and that they could materialize an entire air force over their heads in a matter of seconds. Without fighter protection, the 1st Air Army would have its work cut out for it.

Yaroslyl, East of Moscow

"The Reds haven't budged from their lines." Doral commented. "I'm beginning to worry."

"We'll need reinforcements, that's for sure." Cavil turned away from the window overlooking the small city, and opened a refrigerator. "Vodka?"

"I've had enough of that stuff, thanks." Doral replied. "Have you done anything about the communication?"

Cavil didn't say a word, but kept pouring his drink. "No. But I did promise the American President that we'd have two million centurions in the next few days."

Doral spluttered as his gaze shot from the window to Cavil. "That's impossible! We could never get that many soldiers so fast!"

"We have enough..."

"Spread throughout the Colonies and Home. We can't just relocate them!" Doral was livid, and sat down on one of the couches in the sparse room.

"Mm," Cavil mumbled with his mouth full. "The Americans don't know that! They're terrified, I'm sure. We've only got just under seven hundred thousand now, and we rolled up a quarter of Russia! We've made history!"

"I wouldn't be so quick to celebrate, they could be planning something." Doral massaged his forehead. "I don't trust them any more than their Colonial cousins. They're adaptable. Almost too much so. They managed to stop us after uniting, which we'd written off as a possibility." Doral started counting occurrences on his fingers. "The flattened their own capitol with a weapon we failed to predict. Despite complete disorganization they managed to retreat in an orderly enough way to set up a front." He leaned towards Cavil. "Now that they're organized, what are they capable of?"

"What would the Colonials do in a situation like this?"

"I don't know. To tell you the truth, I just don't know."

Cavil scowled and finished his vodka. "They do make lovely drinks though. You gotta love that." He threw the glass into the sink and walked to the window again. "Is that an airplane?"

"You think the Russians would try to put aircraft into the air after this past week? A), they're all protecting the fronts, B) they don't know we're here."

Cavil turned to speak when the sound of an explosions rattled the glass. And another.

"So much for that idea!" Doral hissed as they dodged out of the room, running for the cellar. "Dammit, what now!?"

"Head for the shelter, that's what!" Cavil shouted back as the building shook. "Looks like the secret's out!"

The building rocked violently again, a missile of bomb falling close. The two Cylons ducked into the concrete shelter under the stairwell, joined by the other models who worked in the headquarters.

"We should've just stayed on a basestar..." complained one Six in the corner. Doral could hardly see her, as the lighting was dark. The shelter had not been used for some time, and was dark and dusty. The lights flickered as another explosive went off.

"We need to pull back some artillery." Doral said. "SAM batteries, captured flak guns, 30mm AA guns. Anything we can get." The cellar shook again. "And centurions. As many as we can get." He peered at the ceiling. "They'll be coming. Sooner than we thought."

Battlestar Valkyrie

"Admiral!"

Adama groaned and rolled over in his rack. "What is it?" he growled as he activated the comm.

"Turn on the wireless, quickly! We've patched you in!"

Adama sighed and switched channels. The wireless was clear, clearly tuned to one of the Terran news satellites. But the report was a kick in the gut.

"-today. We're now going live to the White House, where President Warren is giving a news conference on the current situation in Russia.

The ambience of the broadcast changed, as the source switched from the studio to wherever the speech was being made in the White House. Adama didn't mind that there was no image to go with the sound, but he wished he could get a television signal.

Due to the current circumstances and after some deliberation with my cabinet, staff, and various ambassadors, I have come to the conclusion that it is not in the best interests of the United States to involve itself, or to align itself, in any way with the events occurring in Russia. We must look to our own borders, and safeguard our own people, I firmly believe that involving ourselves overseas will bring more harm than good to our population, and our populationmust take precedence."

Adama sat in shock, for though the audience broke out into cheering and applause, the entire face of the conflict had been changed. Now, only the Europeans, Asiatics, and Commonwealth stood between Earth and the Cylons.

Sorry for the wait. Things have been really busy lately.