Chapter 18

Washington, DC

Andrew Warren yawned. Turning over in bed, he looked over at the door to the hallway. It sounded like the printer was going.

This wasn't a hugely unique occurrence. He'd gotten many printoffs late at night before. He hated them just as much as this one. At least they didn't wake him up all the time, leaving them to be found in the morning. Not this time. Unfortunately he had a habit of answering them as soon as possible, and right now that meant getting out of bed.

The warm august weather had been slowly replaced by an autumn chill, and it was clear at this time of night. He glanced into the office, and sure enough a single sheet was sitting on top. It seemed to be an email or letter. It could be from his campaign manager, detailing upcoming re-election plans, or more such reports. It was also possibly a crisis somewhere... It could be anything. His curiosity had so far had the better of him, so he picked it up.

Mr. President, it started. Through various methods we have learned that many of our compatriots are still incarcerated in various facilities in your country, and have yet to be released. I serve to remind you that this could be construed as an act which would violate our agreement. Therefore it would be beneficial for both our sides to stay away from the only consequence of this, as I'm sure you and your citizens would agree. We expect our citizens to be released from your facilities as soon as possible. Matthew Cavil, Cylon liaison.

Warren reread the message. It was true, and he had completely forgotten about the detainees. He had no reason to keep them anymore, except for information. However, this brought up another point: These Cylons had showed up three weeks to a month before the Valkyrie, and certainly had been found in high-level, though not yet critical positions. And with fabricated indentity as well. However, based on the knowledge of the Cylons, they were extremely adept at computer-interfacing. Forging identities would be much simpler.

But they had been approaching key positions within the country. One had even been romantically involved with a systems analyst at Boeing, a company which was integral with supplying the Air and Space Force. One corrupt software upgrade and the whole system could've been brought down, a shade of what had happened with the Colonies. In fact a software patch had been found with unusual coding not native to the system. This patch had been two weeks away from being uploaded into the F-39 fleets.

And they were just supposed to be released. No questions asked. The price for neutrality, he supposed.

He would have to think up a suitable response. It would have to wait until morning, however. Now was not the time.

Yaroslyl, SSR

"We have to regroup, sir." Lavochkin said breathlessly, water streaming down his face. The radio buzzed against his ear as the speaker hissed with static, blending in with the patter of the rain. A light cloud system had moved in, and scattered showers were breaking out over the city.

"I'm starting to agree with you, Major." Colonel Veslovsky said. "The damned metalheads seem to pop up under every sewer and on every roof. They were ready for us, no question."

"Sir, I've lost almost a quarter of this battalion. We're holding our salient, but it's rough going. It's the snipers that really hurt us."

"Same here. We've had a few air raids on the outlying battalions holding the river as well. This is not the walkover they told us it would be."

"When is it ever as easy as they say it should be?" Lavochkin said bitterly. "I'd recommend leveling the city, but there may still be civilians left."

"I presume that's why we haven't nuked it or activated a few kinetic satellites. We'll have to do the best we can. Worst case scenario, we hold out until the ground forces get here. We've got them pinned, that's half of our job."

"Da, but I don't know how long we can hold out. We didn't anticipate a long wait."

"They're coming. They have to be by now."

Lavochkin sighed, and looked out at the street. Puddles filled shell craters and potholes, but all else was quiet. Shattered buildings surrounded the roadways.

"We'll do the best we can. Any further instructions?"

"Send some recon patrols out, but make sure they stay out of sight! I want to know where the metalheads are running things from, as soon as possible. Then maybe we can take it out and mop up. Over and out."

Lavochkin stowed the radio in his pack. After gathering himself, he made a mad dash across the street, hoping more Centurions had not moved up in the convening hours. Fortunately they hadn't.

Ducking into a shattered storefront, he confronted a small group of the battalion. The group was spread over both sides of the street, defending in stores and abandoned apartments.

"Sergeant Davidenko," he called. "Organize a small recon unit. Be careful to stay out of sight, refrain from combat if you have to. I want to know approximately where the Cylon command centre is. Any concentrations of Centurions, or any of the human-types, that's likely to be something. Take a peek and get back here as soon as possible."

Davidenko nodded silently, knowing full well the risks this entailed. "Rasmussen, Harkov, let's go." He gestured with his hand. The three soldiers hopped over the shattered pane and into the rain.

"Good luck, comrades..." Lavochkin murmered to himself.

Battlestar Panthalassa

The Panthalassa was easily recognizable as a battlestar, albeit of a medium size. Compared to goliaths such as the Columbia-class or Mercury-class, it was small. It was more on the level of the Valkyrie or strikestar design, with a smaller fighter complement and larger engines.

"However," Captain Lord said. "It has a relatively heavy armament. It was hard enough to get the government to step away from the established starships, so we made some allowances."

The appearance of the ship itself was somewhat faceted, with many corners and angles such as later Colonial battlestars. It was also squatter and wider, and the flight pods drew level with the rear of the ship, unlike the Colonial design where the engines protruded behind a distance. The prow was blunt and rounded, much less pronounced than the bows of her cousins.

"And..." Lord said, with some pride. "She has a rudimentary but functional FTL drive. Not even the US has one." He seemed unaware of the now active FTL-inhibitors now appearing throughout the United States, each one incorporation a functioning FTL drive.

The Raptor trip ended on the hangar deck, again recognizable but different. Hoshi had been on several ships, but this was a new experience. Every Colonial ship was recognizable as such, and had general similarities. Here, the similarities were only superficial, with the rest filled in with established Terran experience.

The Vipers were all shades of gray with the Canadian Forces roundel and identification marks in light gray on the wings and dark blue on the nose. The deck crew performed the same tasks, but all sported battledress with a mottled green digital camouflage. Raptors were nowhere to be seen, but some sleek shuttlecraft seemed to take their place.

All the similarities-yet-differences made the experience a confusing one.

"Here, put these on." Lord said, holding out two sheets of thin metal foil with elastics. "They go over your footwear."

"What are they for?" Hoshi asked as he placed the foil on the bottom of his shoes.

"We don't want you floating through the hangar deck, now, do we? Although standard issue uniforms, all personnel on board have special gear in certain areas, and the floor's slightly magnetized to simulate gravity. Can't very well make the ship a spinner, not if we have to launch and recover spacecraft."

"That would be complicated." Hoshi nodded. "So all objects have to have this foil attached somehow?"

"We can operate normally, apart from liquids and nonmagnetic objects. Now that you folks have showed up, we're hoping you might be able to share that as well."

"We'll see." Hoshi said. "We're trying to be careful with any technological knowledge, just in case the situation gets complicated."

"That's understandable. The Yanks sure wanted to see you in their camp, probably why you got scared away."

"I suppose, that might be one way of looking at it... We just don't want to start a war here."

"You got one now."

Hoshi didn't say anything as they stepped out of the Raptor. Hoshi immediately started getting slightly queasy. Though his walking was only slightly different from normal, the rest of his body could definitely tell that the gravity was absent. The feeling soon passed, however: all Colonial Fleet officers naturally were ready for zero-G situations.

The more noticeable feeling was the difference between what he felt and saw. It looked like a normal hangar deck, with people walking around and picking up tools that were sitting on the floor, but his body was telling him that he should be floating. That was more confusing than feeling like he was about to leave the floor.

The corridors were designed much more utilitarian than those on the Valkyrie, and reminded Hoshi of nothing more than a scaled-up submarine. However, the floor was level, and everything enclosed. The wiring was not haphazardly bunched on one wall, but neatly streamlined into the bulkheads.

"This is remarkable... And you've never built any ships like this?" Hoshi remarked, peering down intersections as they came to them.

"This is the largest space vessel we've ever constructed, we purchased the Aurora in drydock. No, this way, we're going to see the bridge now."

"The bridge?"

Lord nodded. "That's where we run the ship, most command functions are issued from there too."

"We call ours the Command Information Centre."

Lord stopped in his tracks. "If you call it CIC, I'll be really impressed."

Hoshi stopped too. "We do, as a matter of fact."

Lord clapped his hands. "Hot damn! You've got to be kidding... Our CIC is a deck below the bridge, we direct battles and air units from there."

Hoshi shook his head. The similarities were almost scary in some cases.

Yaroslyl, SSR

Lavochkin jolted as he woke up. "Sir, sir!" came an insistent voice.

The major blearily looked outside. He'd fallen asleep only an hour before, as he hadn't had a decent rest since the attack began almost a day earlier. The rain had cleared up, but the sky was still overcast and a ground haze covered much of the horizon. "What is it?" he mumbled.

"Davidenko's back."

Lavochkin sat up, trying to will himself awake more quickly. "Sergeant!" he called out.

"Sir!"

"What's your report?"

Davidenko breathed slowly. "We found what looks to be a Cylon concentration around the mayor's office and the police station right downtown. We came under heavy fire pulling away. I'm afraid Harkov's dead. Rasmussen's getting his leg looked at, we got caught in some crossfire. They've got some heavy weaponry up there, machine-guns and mortars. Devil knows how we'll get close."

"Damn..." Lavochkin muttered. "Can we at least train artillery on it?"

"We can try. It's slightly hidden behind the exchange centre."

"Right. Captain Ignacy," Lavochkin turned to the doorway. Inside a mobile wireless set had been set up. "I want you to get in touch with Chuikov's artillery corps and get some ranging shots fired. Also call up division and see about some air support. If the artillery fails it might be our only chance."

"So an infantry assault is out then?" private Annisina asked.

Lavochkin shook his head vehemently. "I can think of nicer ways to commit suicide, comrade. No, we're going to have to do this from a distance. They're ready for us on the ground. Is air support fails, we'll wait for the armour to get here. Maybe tanks can get through."

Simon Fuller sipped the glass of water. "It was hell trying to get back here. The Russians are everywhere, they've got the river blocked on both sides. The airbase is completely lost."

Doral nodded. "They've bombed the bridges connecting us to the other side, too. We're cut off from resupply."

"Not too surprising." Cavil said from the other side of the room. "We're not exactly ready for a prolonged war now, are we? If those guys from the Colonies hadn't screwed up our plans we might have been more successful."

Fuller breathed deeply, trying to recover from his trek through the forest. "We're trapped now. We either fight them off or surrender."

"Surrender? Ha!" Cavil poured himself another glass of vodka. "Do you have any idea what that would be like? I hear Russians aren't too nice with their POWs."

"We could all load ourselves with suicide bombs and resurrect safely after taking as many of them with us," Doral suggested. He leaned back in the leather office chair, and regarded the window.

"Not a bad idea. Hurts like hell, though." Cavil finished off his glass, and reached for another.

He was interrupted as the door opened to reveal a Two. "Russian artillery just moved into shelling range. We might want to leave."

"Ah, frak." Cavil hissed. "This is just going from bad to worse!"

"We should have kept more reserves back." Doral muttered in apparent hindsight. "We agree, we should evacuate to the waterfront, out of range."

"I don't understand what's taking them so long with those reinforcements!" Cavil said bitterly as he dumped his glass on the countertop in front of him. "Even a hundred thousand could change the balance here!"

"We're still in the process of evacuating the Colonies, it takes a while." said Leoben. "That's where the Centurions are coming from. It might take a little while. We have to hurry."

As if to underscore his point, a single ranging shot impacted near enough to the building to rattle the windows. The four Cylons quickly abandoned the hall.

Washington, DC

The door to the Office opened, and President Beria was ushered in by her escort, who waited outside in the anteroom.

Beria looked around for a moment, before speaking. "I must admit, President Warren, your changes of interest are somewhat interesting. From fully supporting us, providing us a base of operations and a show of force, to completely puling out and leaving us to our fate... And now, I'm still not sure where you stand."

"This isn't a meeting on policy, Madam President." Warren said carefully. "An issue has just come to my attention which I would like to ask you about."

Beria took a seat on one of the couches in the middle of the room. "Doubtless this is not on tariffs or something equally important, but since you're no longer involved in my country what could it be?"

Warren shrugged. "You're partially correct. What I want to know is what happened before the attack."

"Anything more specific? There was a hospital in Vladivostok that was being shut down because of a natural gas explosion, that happened a few days before."

"Did you have any knowledge of Cylon activity in key sectors?"

Beria shook her head. "No, how could we? In the end it turned out that some had infiltrated the NKGB, but whether that was covert or intentional, I still don't know. None appeared to be in the government, I'm not sure where else they could be."

"What about the arms industry?" Warren tried. "Electronics? Suppliers for the military?"

Beria chuckled. "No, not unless they had family connections or lots of money." Comprehension dawned on her. "Oh, well, isn't this ironic?"

Warren raised an eyebrow. Seeing this, Beria continued. "Our current system may be a little corrupt since the last few presidents, but it looks like preferential treatment has saved us from some of what I think you're getting at." Her voice became a little more upbeat, but her face remained expressionless. "I take it some Cylons infiltrated your own suppliers and tried to sabotage your forces."

Warren didn't breath for a second, but then exhaled and nodded. "Yes, they did. The Valkyrie showed up just before the upgrades were due to be released."

"So the great American Dream has some holes after all." Beria said with no small amount of relish. "I wish my country were intact just so I could parade that in front of my cabinet."

"I'd be careful, Madam President." Warren said loudly and clearly. "Lately the Cylons have been making hypocrites of everyone they deal with. And so far none of us have escaped."

Beria glared at Warren as if she were tossing her head with disdain, but she didn't move. "Some of us have gotten away with so much it makes no difference whether they've been hypocritical or not. You have a country. I have a battlefield. Remember that, and you might keep it that way. Personally I think it's time you gave up trying to appear heroic or honourable, and defended your species."

Warren rose behind his desk. "Don't dictate my policies to me!"

"Why? Because I'm no threat? Because I'm human?" Seeing the understanding on Warren's face,she fired her parting shot. "You're right, Mr. President. We're all hypocrites now."

Warren continued to stand as Beria left his office. Only then did he sit down again.

Ottawa, Canada

Remus crawled out from under the transmitter. "Finally!" he exclaimed.

Tyrol looked up from his radio set. "Done?"

"More or less." Remus said. "I think it's safe to transmit now. I don't know how long it will take to reach all the Cylons."

"What do you mean? At least on Earth it should be instantaneous."

"Uh, yeah." Remus said. "You're right, it should be. Time to see if the faith you put in me is justified."

Tyrol rolled his eyes. "It's not like you're going to suddenly switch on and shoot me. You know what you are, and besides, you weren't built by them. So stop worrying."

"That's not what I meant, but okay." Remus started walking towards the console. Before reaching it he suddenly stopped. "Wait... You hear that?"

"What?"

Remus changed direction and walked towards the small portable radio playing music. "The music, that never-ending song..." he muttered. "This is it! But... It's not..."

Tyrol furrowed his brow and walked over behind him. There was no question about it. This song was the same as the music that he had heard himself, and that Remus professed to hear. Except it was different.

"There must be some kind of way out of here..." Tyrol mumbled, following the song. The words fit, but the music didn't.

"Said the joker to the thief." Remus finished. "Now that has to be a sign of some kind." He turned up the radio and the music filled the room. "The display says it's by... Jimi Hendrix... 1968, that's over one hundred years old here..."

"But the lyrics, they match," Tyrol said, dumbfounded. "How is that possible?"

"No idea." Remus shrugged. "Don't know don't care. It's cool, though."

Tyrol gestured with his hands. "Don't care? That a song only human-built Cylons can hear pops up on Earth? This Hendrix isn't a Cylon, something must be up."

"Calm down. I'll start inputting stuff into the FTL thing now. Gimme ten minutes and we'll be up and running.

Tyrol was distracted by his radio beeping. "Just a sec, I got a message coming in." He walked over and picked up the set. "Chief Tyrol here."

"Chief, this is Valkyrie. Just thought you ought to know we have company."

Battlestar Panthalassa

The bridge had turned out to be slightly different from what Hoshi was used to. Instead of standalone consoles or rows of stations, most of the consoles were arrayed in a ring about the center of the compartment. A few freestanding consoles with seating were deployed in the middle, while a central chair was placed in the middle, capable of rotating to view every station on the bridge. One section of the bulkhead was not used by any station, but seemed to be a large display screen. Right now it was displaying various sensor diagrams and radar screens.

But Hoshi was no longer on the tour. Klaxons had started to blare a few minutes earlier, and Lord along with Hoshi were rushing through, trying to get a situation report.

"Action stations, action stations, all hands man your battlestations. This is not a drill, repeat, this is not a drill. Action station..."

The bridge was a hive of activity, with the CO manning the centre chair and attempting to coordinate a response.

"Sir!" Lord called out. "How the hell can we have action stations in spacedock?"

"Ah, good, you're here." The CO turned to Hoshi. "Lieutenant, six unidentified ships just appeared near the Moon. I was hoping you could identify them once we're out of spacedock in the clear." He turned in his chair again, this time to face the operations console. "Mr. Murray, Release docking clamps."

"Docking clamps, aye sir. Confirmed clamps released."

"Fore thrusters to one quarter, rest at stationkeeping. Register prestart on the ion engines."

"Fore thrusters responding, confirm on quarter power." Murray responded from his station along the port bulkhead. Another crewman reported "Confirm ion prestart sequence initiated, two minutes to online." At this, the deck plates started to lightly hum.

A ship the size of the Panthalassa took several minutes to gain enough speed to exit the docking station, but soon there was a voice on the wireless. "HMCSS Panthalassa, this is Spacedock. You are clearing outer perimeter."

"Confirm, Spacedock. Proceeding underway. Panthalassa out." The CO turned to another station. "Have the port viewfinders lock on to the ships and zoom to four times. Onscreen."

The main screen switched from the sensor displays to show a digitally enhanced picture. The moon filled most of the screen, but it was still hard to determine the other ships.

"Zoom to five times."

The image resolved, and Hoshi could see without a doubt the starfish-shaped Cylon basetars.

"What are they?" the CO asked. The nametag on his black uniform read Bishop.

"Cylons." Hoshi said. "Definitely Cylons."

Bishop sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that. Navigation, set course for Earth. Engineering, all ahead full."

The various confirmations returned as the battlestar Panthalassa began the charge to her first confrontation.

Battlestar Valkyrie

"Sound Condition One, no drill." Adama barked. "Time to intercept, Mr. Gaeta?"

"Six minutes at their present speed!" Gaeta replied.

One battlestar against six Cylon ships. It wasn't a fair contest by any stretch of the imagination. There was one point of hope, as European and Chinese weapons platforms were arming, but the Russian models were being coordinated from orbit, as most of the ground stations were under attack on the surface.

"What's going on?" Commander Nelson asked as he rushed into CIC, still fastening his uniform. "We have trouble?"

"Six basestars." Adama said, craning his neck to see the DRADIS scan. "I just sent a Raptor with a help request to Greer, so hopefully we'll have some backup from BSG-41."

"We have the native defences, don't we?"

Gaeta turned around in his seat. "Chinese, European, and some some Russian. All American platforms out silent."

Nelson sighed. "Frak."

"Unfortunately, yes." Adama admitted. "Get all the Vipers in the tubes. Everyone that can fly. The satellites might take the baseships, but I don't want to push our luck."

As Nelson picked up the handset, he muttered "So far we seem to be pretty short on that. Attention, this is the commander! Launch all squadrons! Repeat, launch all!"

"Mr. Gaeta, get me the surface!" Adama ordered. "I want Tyrol ASAP!"

White House, Washington, DC

"Sir!" General Trent's voice sounded strained. "Six enemy warships just jumped into lunar orbit. They match the descriptions the Colonials gave us."

Warren groaned and sat back in his chair. So much for a courtesy call. The Cylon presence was expanding, but he was bound to ignore it. But he wasn't going to sit back completely: that was just asking for trouble. "Bring our forces to standby. But keep it quiet, if the Cylons get word they'll be all over us. Make sure it's not obvious, that's a priority. But under no circumstances are you to take action."

"The Canadian base in the Belt also launched a starship we had no previous knowledge of. Unknown configuration, different from any of ours."

"What?" Warren was incredulous. He had assumed it was some kind of weapons development like their own Van Allen station. It had been a tricky diplomatic meeting, trying to prevent the Canadians from looking too close at Van Allen, and he had eventually had to cede their claim to the asteroid. Now he saw their reason for secrecy.

"Keep an eye on it. Only act if you have direct authorization from me. Anything else?"

"Sir, is this a situation that could require the activation of the Van Allen project?"

"Bring them to standby. I don't think they'll make much of a difference though. Good luck, general."

The Cylons continued to push the envelope. Free hand in Russia was one thing. Orbit of the Earth, that could threaten the entire planet. Wouldn't it?

We're all hypocrites now.

Battlestar Galactica

Sharon Agathon closed the door to the head as she returned to the rec room on deck 6. She'd been bored out of her mind lately, although the entertainment material purchased on Earth added a little variety. Still, playing the same games over and over got repetitive.

She was knocked out of her reverie and almost knocked clean over as a crewman bolted past, shouting out warnings.

"What the frak is going on?" she shouted after him, but the answer came soon after. Standing in the middle of the corridor behind her was an original Cylon Centurion from the first war, his sword extended. And it didn't look like it would consider her a Cylon.

Agathon immediately ducked into an intersection, trying to get out of sight. Making herself as small as possible against the bulkhead, she hurriedly glanced around, hoping to find a commlink. Muck was with her, only a few feet away was a unit on her side of the corridor. "CIC, this is Athena, deck 6! We have an intruder!"

Battlestar Valkyrie

"I have Tyrol on the other end, sir." said Gaeta.

"Put it on speakers. Chief, I need word on your status!" Adama almost shouted. The basestars were now only four minutes away and closing fast.

"Admiral, Remus just sent an initial transmission two minutes ago. He's working on a second now."

"Chief, get him to hurry up. We're about to engage." Adama looked up at the DRADIS console again. Another blip was approaching from the asteroid belt, a smaller size than the Cylon ships.

"Identify that ship!" Adama ordered, the phone temporarily forgotten.

Gaeta quickly activated the recognition software. "Matches no known configuration, Terran or- Sir, we're being hailed!"

Adama didn't flinch for a second. He didn't have a second. "Hold on, Chief. Mr. Gaeta, switch the feeds. Put it on audio."

The speakers crackled for a second as they switched, then came on clearly. "Battlestar Valkyrie, this is Lieutenant Hoshi. Come in Valkyrie."

"Hoshi, this is Valkyrie actual, report status."

"This is the Canadian carrier, it's not a navy ship, sir. It's a battlestar, the Panthalassa. I'm sending the IFF codes now."

"Roger that, Panthalassa." Adama said. "Don't fancy the odds but you're welcome to join us. Stand by, we're waiting on the deactivation code."

"Received and understood. Hoshi out."

Adama turned to Gaeta again. "Switch back to the ground. Get me the surface! Now!"

Gaeta didn't reply, he only nodded. The situation was becoming more urgent by the minute.

"Admiral? Are you there?"

"Chief! Sitrep!"

"Sir, we sent the code thirty seconds ago. Is there any effect?"

Adama looked at the DRADIS screen and then at Gaeta. He shook his head.

"Negative..." said Adama with disbelief and disappointment. No results. The Cylon ships continued to advance, power emanations still being detected. He pounded the plot table with his fist. "Chief, arrest Remus immediately and put a guard on him!"

"Sir, perhaps there's another code he hasn't sent. We should-"

"Chief, do it now! This whole thing is a Cylon trap!" Adama shouted. "Chief!"

But there was nothing on the other end. Then a rustling noise as the receiver moved through the air, with distant sounds of protest.

"Sorry, Admiral, Galen's kinda busy now. What was it you wanted him to do? Something about putting me under arrest?"

"What's happened to Chief Tyrol?" Adama hissed.

"Don't worry, we've got a special sibling relationship, me and him. He should be safe. You on the other hand... Not so much."

"Sir, sixty seconds to contact!" Gaeta reported. "The Panthalassa's launching fighters and- Frak me, five more ships just jumped in! Different configuration!"

"Remus! Call off the ships!"

"Sorry Bill. I'm through taking orders. I'm not some human you can boss around, and I'm not some Cylon tool either. You think those six ships are mine? Those are nothing to what you're about to see. Mine should be arriving soon."

"What are you talking about?"

Gaeta was getting more frantic. "Sir, four more ships have just appeared! Same configuration as the second five!"

"Seems like they've arrived, from what I hear." said Remus. "They're mine. Since I created the new Cylon race, since I was the template... It's about time I acted like it."

"The Cylon ships are firing on one another, sir..." Gaeta said, sounding completely confused.

"Cylons attacking Cylons? What's going on out there?" Adama felt helpless. Then he remembered his fighters, still in a holding position at the edge of the Valkyrie's firing solution. At Adama's hand signal, Nelson opened up a new wireless frequency on speakers. "Showboat, this is Valkyrie. Report on Cylon activity."

"Valkyrie, Showboat. Nine of the basestars are of a different configuration than normal. I can't quite get a look at the Raiders... Maneuvering to- Sir! I recognize them! They're the models we encountered by that rogue basestar! Firing on the other ones!"

"But that's impossible! We destroyed their baseship!" Adama said. The Guardian raiders had destroyed themselves when the basestar had exploded. Without their purpose (or God, as Sharon had suggested) they'd had nothing.

"They're not Guardians, Bill." said Remus, still on the phone clenched in Adama's right hand. " These are the real deal. I found a way to activate the Recall Yards, all of them. Every surviving Cylon from the first War, alive and under my control. See, they found out from me what those humanoid Cylons did to them. I'm sure you can imagine how they felt, being deactivated and forgotten, on the verge of being scrapped. That's betrayal. Until I found them. Creation, resurrection... They think I'm the Cylon God, instead of that jumped-up hybrid. And you know what? I think I do too."

"Three more ships, sir!" Gaeta almost shouted. "Correction, four! The first six baseships are spinning up, they're pulling out!"

"Load emergency coordinates into the FTL comp and copy to Panthalassa!" Adama ordered. "Let's get the hell out of here!"

On DRADIS, the six Cylon basestars jumped away, and the older models changed course, vectoring in on the Valkyrie. The fighters the Panthalassa had launched were pulling back, landing on the Canadian ship.

"By the way, Admiral..." Adama jumped when he realized he hadn't severed the commlink. "If you see my brother Saul Tigh, he'll probably have his hands full when you get back. Tell him it's nothing personal."

Adama slammed the phone back into the side of the console. One thing was for sure, and that was that Tigh was not a Cylon. CIC tilted crazily as a Cylon missile impacted the hull.

"Orders, sir?" Gaeta asked. "Sir? Do we launch?"

"No, we have to leave. Recall the fighters! Fast!" Adama shouted over the collision alarms. "Count us down!"

Nelson looked at Adama in shock. "Sir, where the frak are we going?"

"Back to our Fleet. Nowhere else to go."

The ship shook once more.

"But we'd be leaving Earth helpless!"

Adama silenced him with a glare. "Gaeta! Get us out of here. Now!"

Gaeta manipulated the computers as fast as his hands would let him. "Transmitting to the Panthalassa... Jumping in three... Two... One... JUMP!"

The Valkyrie and the Panthalassa both disappeared from orbit, and the ancient Cylon warships settled into orbit, launching their entire fighter complement. More than seven hundred fighters began descending towards Earth.