Cloud Nine: Baltar's Suite - Post-Caprica Rescue Operation, 8 Days Later
Dr. Gaius Baltar was agitated.
Not only had he lost the election, NOTHING else seemed to be going his way.
He was, as usual, sulking in his laboratory. To anyone other than himself, Gaius' ranting would mark him as insane.
'Normal' people did not yell at empty air. Then again, normal people couldn't see the Number Six human-form Cylon which had somehow embedded itself in his mind.
She was both a devil and an angel, that always told him of God's plans for him, his and Six's child, and so on.
"And just where was your God when we needed him? I was supposed to win... for frakking's sake," Baltar groaned, re-filling his glass again with a deft motion of his left hand.
"God has a plan, he always does, Gaius." replied Six, "You really shouldn't be drinking that much, you might make another mistake."
"Oh frak you, frak me, frak humanity and frak all the bloody Cylons," as he drank another shot of the really hard liquor.
It really was worth trading some of his possessions in the Fleet's 'Black Market' for this bottle, Baltar thought.
"I'm going to get downright pissed and have fun doing so, so bugger off already!" Baltar said, wobbling a bit, his sense of balance seriously impaired.
Number Six just stood where she was, unfazed, with a steely expression of disapproval.
"In case you didn't hear me the first time," he cursed, "I'm planning on getting smashed out of my head, and enjoy it! So frak... the bloody... hell... OFF!"
Six was extremely tempted to give Gaius Baltar the beating of his life for his disrespect, yet still restrained herself.
If she gave in to that desire just now, Gaius might not survive. That was unacceptable. God's plan demanded that he remain alive.
"Fine," Six bit out, now with a look of utter disgust on her face.
"Do whatever the hell you want," growled Six, just before she disappeared.
Baltar let out a planet-shattering belch; had a dedicated fan of twentieth-century Earth science fiction been present, said fan would have sworn that Baltar's drunkenness put General Korrd of Star Trek infamy to shame.
-
Colonial Battlestar Galactica - Same Time
The celebration in the Galactica's Officers' Mess was still going strong; morale, not just on Galactica (known among several circles as 'the Bucket'), but across the Fleet, was reaching an all-time high.
Samuel Anders and Captain Kara 'Starbuck' Thrace had put together a makeshift Pyramid court out of requisitioned materials, that would have normally been slated for more essential projects as ship hulls, armor plating, or Fleet ordinance.
It would've been both tedious and difficult to assemble one, let alone collect the needed items, had Admiral Adama not offered his assistance, who had then personally made sure that the two got their material, by pulling a few strings, and calling in some favors from the captains of the forge ships.
Flash forward to the present...
The current match was in full heat, as both teams remained dead even. One team was lead by Galactica's CAG, "Starbuck" Thrace, facing off against Pegasus' CAG, Captain Louanne "Kat" Katraine.
Kat was still surprised that she managed to land that billet.
Today's winner would have the honor of jumping to the Lion's Head Nebula, while the losers would face the humiliation of having to babysit the Fleet.
Needless to say, competition was the fiercest it'd been in months. Each of the assembled pilots' knew that their own pride was on the firing line.
Defeat wasn't an option.
"Go Kara, go! Kick 'em all to the curb! They don't stand a chance!"
That came from Samual Anders, Starbuck's current love interest.
She'd gone through hell to get him back, yet it was all thanks to that frakkin' toaster who called herself Sharon Valerii...
Alright, this particular Sharon might have earned the right to some respect from the crew... if she were planning something, the recent elections would've been the prime opportunity, yet she'd done nothing to provoke hostility from either Galactica or Pegasus
Someday, Kat thought, she might be able to view 'this' Boomer as something more than just another Cylon skin-job, but that day hadn't arrived yet... but who knew? Maybe only the Lords of Kobol had that answer...
"Ah, frak it," Kat cursed, mentally.
"Why does Starbuck, of all people, end up with the resident hottie rooting for her?!"
That internal monologue resulted in Kat missing a pass.
Which ended up in the hands of Galactica's team.
Not that she really noticed, since she was still lost in thought, although trying to block the current ball-carrier.
"Gods, all I want is a hot guy to frak," she thought, staring at the crowd for her options.
"All of the good ones are already taken, or frakking dead..."
-
Colonial Battlestar Pegasus - Same Time
Newly-minted Lieutenant J.G. Anastasia "Dee" Dualla, was still getting used to the Pegasus' CIC.
Compared to Galactica's almost complete lack of automation (due to fear of Cylon hacking, which the Cylon Massacre proved was more than justified), Pegasus possessed nearly twice the overall volume of the older Columbia-class battlestars, like 'the Bucket', but also more advanced systems common to the Mercury-class.
The Mercury-class battlestars, of which Pegasus was part of, were also known for having a considerally smaller crew complement than any older vessels, and combined with the greater degree of automation, Pegasus' CIC occupied a much smaller area, with not even a dozen crewmen and officers on duty at once.
MUCH different than its counterpart on Galactica, which tended to have twice, or even three times that many people present at any given time.
Oh, she was glad she got the transfer to 'the Beast', as it meant having more time together with now-Commander Lee "Apollo" Adama, Pegasus' CO.
Lee himself, at the moment, was monitoring the Pyramid match on a remote display.
He couldn't leave his post to attend, since plans were underway for the Fleet to jump out to one of the nearby star systems, then send out Raptors to search for the nebula Doctor Baltar's notes indicated.
Maybe Lee's having mixed feelings about this match, considering his ship's CAG and his one-time best friend were facing off...
For a moment, Dee wondered on the implications of what she'd just thought a few seconds ago, but shrugged it off.
Nonsense.He's just letting himself feel like a kid again, she thought. Nothing more than that.
The match was being broadcast live to the entire Fleet, over the wireless.
Rumor had it that the citizens wanted to revive the Pyramid League, as not only would it provide a venue for entertainment, but also a way of releasing all the pent-up stress and frustration within the Fleet's personnel.
-
Cloud Nine: Unknown Location - Also Same Time
Unknown to their neighbors, two human-form Cylon models discussed the immediate future, all the while observing the Pyramid match on a hastily-obtained wireless viewer.
"You do understand what must happen, if they uncover any information on you, or the plan," said D'Anna Biers, or rather, Number Three.
"Yes, but will you be able to go through with it?" asked Gina, a Number Six model, albeit with slightly darker hair, than the Number Six known by Gaius Baltar.
"Certainly. As you will be reborn, it is not technically murder," Three explained.
Returning their attention to the sporting event, the 'reporter' asked, "Just what exactly do you see in this sport?"
Gina's eyes narrowed in concentration, attempting to recall the exact memory, before responding.
"Gaius told me a story once. It was back when he and Caprica Six were still lovers. He would buy a ticket for the both of them, and watch the matches."
As she spoke, the Number Six model gained an increasingly wistful expression on her face.
Something that the Number Three didn't miss, as Gina continued.
"He would close his eyes, and let the emotion from the crowd flow over him."
As she finished speaking, Gina stared out her suite's window (a very expensive suite, in retrospect) into Cloud Nine's artificial sky.
To her own (belated) surprise, she added, "Maybe, we can start our own league someday?"
To say that Number Three was shocked, would be an understatement of epic proportions.
Several of the Six models, much like some of the Eights, were possibly becoming too human.
Something would have to be done about that, preferably sooner than later.
"Perhaps," D'Anna replied, in a very cryptic manner.
-
Von Braun City, Luna - eight Days After Initial Contact
Von Braun city was certainly different from the Colonies, yet strangely familiar to Roy Focker.
Who had earlier been on a quest for a good, stiff drink.
Thankfully, the Anaheim Electronics people had given him some credits.
He'd hit the gold mine, when he found what was called a grocery store.
What he'd found, was many different kinds of alcoholic beverages, none of which seemed familiar.
Focker finally broke down and asked one of the locals, who recommended, 'tequila mixed with a soda drink called Squirt', as well as a drink called 'Scotch'.
He also almost died laughing when he found the locals had a coffee brand called Starbucks.
Racetrack just had to hear this, Skulls thought. Then again, with my luck, she's found out already.
He didn't dare consider the thought of bringing this subject up in Capt. Thrace's earshot. He'd be KIA within seconds.
Skulls ended up buying several cases' worth of each, after trying the tequila and scotch. Pretty good, but still not quite his taste.
With the sheer selection available, he wasn't really sure which thirty-two pack to give to Captain Thrace. Well, he'd still get a kick out of doing so.
His purchases made, Skulls started his way back to Anaheim Electronics, to get an update on the situation from Racetrack.
They'd been guests of the Thirteenth Colony for eight days now. More precisely, the Anti-Earth Union Group (AEUG) faction of the Earth Sphere, Sol System. The locals' name for their star system, apparently.
That acronym, 'AEUG', didn't sit entirely well with Roy, even though he'd been given the background on the group's origins, and their eventual goals of an Earth Sphere free of the influence of the dictatorial 'Titans' group.
At least the Titans clearly seemed to be the bad guys, given what he'd heard of the Colony thirty massacre. Three million souls, killed by G-3 poison gas, just to stop an anti-Earth protest, in a blatant attempt to discourage any further dissent.
It brought back extremely unpleasant memories of what Admiral Helena Cain, of the Pegasus, had done, all in the name of maintaining order and efficiency, to the small civilian fleet she abandoned, not to mention executing her long-time XO, who had protested her actions.
Get a hold of yourself, Focker! Pull your thoughts back on track!
With an effort of will easily visible to nearby pedestrians, Skulls brought himself back to the present, and to less offensive thoughts.
Margaret Edmondson, as both the ranking officer and a Viper pilot, had been busy with the 'official' side of business during their star, whereas he was more of a 'grunt' operator.
Thus, Skulls was free to explore and play the proverbial tourist. What he found, was that this lunar city was very reminiscent of home.
Quite a few cultural differences, which he really couldn't put words to, were foremost in his mind.
Yet at the same time, he saw how much alike his people and those of the Thirteenth Tribe were.
One difference he couldn't bring himself to accept, was the fully-squared shape of their books, and by extension, their paper.
He really missed the hexagonal-cornered variety that the Fleet used.
The manager of a local paper provider, FedEx-Kinkos, thought that Roy was out of his mind, after he purchased some stationery, and then proceeded to cut the corners off all the sheets.
Hey, I bought the damn paper, so I'll do whatever I frakkin' want with it! were Focker's thoughts on the subject.
He'd been to one of the local parks, silently watching the children play. The surrealism of it all, brought a tear to his eye.
The notion that Humanity was not dying out, that is was indeed strong and still growing, uplifted Focker's spirits to a level he didn't believe, existed.
Oh, for want of the day when all thirteen tribes would re-unite, and send every last frakking Cylon to the scrap yard...
Pesonally, I'd melt down a few Centurions, just to make a couple of nice, cheap, lamp posts, Skulls mused.
He fervently wished that that all of the Earthers would pull themselves together, and put aside this internal strife, like the Twelve Colonies did so, as a result of the First Cylon War.
Ironically, the original Cylons were created to help wage war against fellow Colonials, one colony against another, human versus human.
They had treated the Cylons as little more than disposable tools, until said 'tools' had decided to more or less tell their masters to 'Go frak yourselves,' thus all humans were now the enemy.
History tended to be cyclic, in a very cruel way, yet at the same time, proved that it played no favorites.
The Cylons would likely bring death and destruction down upon this fragmented patch of humanity, he was fairly sure. Just as they had with Focker's own people, not even two years ago.
The notion of a cybernetic race, whom now possessed the means to create nearly undetectable infiltrators, and had goals simply beyond revenge on their creators, had sent the leaders of the various Earth-, lunar-, Jovian- and colony based factions into an uproar.
Just what exactly those goals were, no one in the Fleet knew. Not even their own resident skin-job defector, who claimed that she'd cut off all ties to her people.
Skulls was currently reserving judgment on her, and her loyalty. He wouldn't go out of his way to help 'Boomer #2', but he didn't think of her as 'just another frakking skin-job toaster.'
Still, Focker mused, at least the information on the Cylons is getting some of the local higher-ups to pay more attention to more than just their immediate sphere of influence, limited as it was, and make at least some attempt at showing pan-global unity.
The latest rumors had it that a small fleet of ships were being assembled. That fleet's orders were to jump to the Colonials' last known position. In the event of confirmed non-hostile contact, the fleet was give any and all necessary support to the Colonial refugees, until their ships could be brought to a designated safe zone within the Earth Sphere.
Medical supplies (including the necessary staff), as well as foodstuffs and munitions were among the items being assembled. All of these provisions were crammed to capacity aboard a Jupitris-class super-transport, which rumors suggested was the maiden ship of the class, the Jupitris herself.
The various higher-ups, including those from AEUG, Axis, Federation, and even the Titans all agreed, that knowledge of Earth's position was to be protected at any and all costs, until all factions could beef up their defenses for a possible, and likely inevitable, all-out assault by Cylon forces.
Looks like his and Racetrack's return would be the proverbial mixed bag, Skulls concluded.
The entire Fleet would be ecstatic that they had some place that they could truly call a new home, and settle down in.
On the other hand... he couldn't even guess on how the Colonials would fare in the long term, especially given the frakked up political and social issues of the Earth Sphere.
Yeah, that part's not gonna make the Admiral, the President, nor the Quorum happy. Not one damn bit.
-
Mobile Suit Carrier Argama: Lounge - nine Days After Initial Contact
Racetrack hummed to herself, reflecting on the current situation, as she sipped from a fresh cup of coffee in the Argama's pilot lounge.
Plotting the jump to the the Fleet's location was taking longer then initially expected; the coordinates needed adjustments, factoring in stellar drift and relativistic conditions.
If it came down to it, there was the option of making shorter jumps (in order to avoid the all-too-real possibility of jump failure, or worse, a mis-jump to who-knows-where), and extrapolating probable target areas for the Colonial refugees, as the rescue fleet proceeded on its mission.
Fortunately, Earth computers seemed to be far in advance of the Colonials' equivalent, so the risk wasn't nearly as bad as it could've been.
And yet, the idea of FTL travel was barely even a consideration for the Earth scientists, outside of the realm of theory...
Still, neither she, nor Skulls had any intention of tempting death, due to their hosts' overconfidence in their computer technology.
Edmondson and Focker had warned the various participating Commanders on the electronic warfare capabilities of the Cylons, systems hacking in particular, just to be thorough.
Techs from Anaheim and the AEUG, after a detailed analysis of the Raptor's systems, had determined that the two computer technology bases were inherently incompatible, and thus virtually immune to ESW (electronic systems warfare) attacks from the Cylons.
The basis for the techs' conclusions, drew upon the history of Earth's information technology, all the way back to the old, pre-UC calendar era.
Earth, it seemed, had utilized an immense variety of operating systems, many of which had turned out to be incompatible with their competitors. Even in the current day and age, a similar practice endured.
Regardless, standards of that era (as well as the present), had demanded that those systems to at least be able to communicate with each other, if not necessarily run their competitors' products.
Not only that, innumerable hardware and software-based firewalls had been developed over time, to ensure network security. They utilized protocols completely different that those used by the Twelve Colonies, further reducing the threat of remote access.
On the off-chance that the firewalls were somehow bypassed, many thousands of anti-virus/malware programs existed. Utilized in a nested configuration, any foreign programming code that survived the firewalls, would be immediately find itself besieged and contained, if not outright deleted.
The finale 'ace in the hole', an odd metaphor if Racetrack ever heard one, were the Minovsky particle fields that their vessels deployed during combat conditions.
By all indications, those fields dampened virtually all electro-magnetic emissions. DRADIS (or radar, as the Earthers called it), wireless (Or radio another new term from the earthers), just about anything EM based (excepting visual), was rendered useless in a Minovsky field.
Even IF the Cylons could somehow break through all of the network security, and even that required the Cylons to somehow brute-force a 'handshake' with the Earth-based systems (which was already an extremely remote possibility), all of this was effort was rendered meaningless by the EM-dampening properties of a Minovsky particle field.
The Minovsky field pretty much frakked over both Colonial and Cylon hardware like no tomorrow, akin to setting off multiple EM pulses at close range.
Not to mention wireless communication was all but impossible. Laser-based messaging seemed to be the accepted standard for both MS and capital ship communications.
All of these factors, of course, reduce combat range to practically point-blank, knife-fighting. And that's a whole other issue altogether, Racetrack mused.
She'd have to bring those issues up with the Admiral, too.
In particular, missiles were likely to become secondary considerations for combat, even if the Fleet's entire stocks were somehow refitted to use ImRec (Image Recognition) based tracking, but that was probably too cost-prohibitive to even attempt, and probably wouldn't even work anyway.
No, missiles were definitely looking to be phased out, especially the Viper and Raptor-mounted versions.
-
Several Hours Later - Same Location
Forcing her thoughts to return to the present, her attention was currently occupied by the immense leviathan currently holding relative position, alongside the Argama.
"Okay... that ship is frakkin' big," she muttered, staring out the viewport. At 2 clicks in length, it dwarfed both the 'Bucket' and the 'Beast'.
"Well, to be fair, it IS a transport vessel," came from a voice behind her, who she identified as Lt. Bajeena.
"A pleasure to see you again, Lieutenant Edmondson," Quattro smiled.
She'd only arrived on the Argama hours ago, as Captain Noah had previously returned to Earth to pick up a few extra passengers.
Speaking of whom, here they are now, Quattro thought, even as he grimaced slightly at the presence of one of the Argama's newest pilots.
Immediately noticing the new arrivals, Racetrack stood up, sizing up the two.
Neither of the two men were particularly tall, she noted, the taller of the two standing no more than 5'9", the shorter, and younger-looking man around 5'6".
The taller man had dark-brown, curly hair cut short, almost in a bowl-shape, with a trim, yet very fit physique. However, what really stood out about him, were the pair of blue-hued eyes, that were among the most haunted Racetrack had ever seen, bar none.
This guy's definitely seen, and gone through some damn serious shit in his time. Probably wasn't even something he wanted to happen in the first place, Racetrack surmised.
The shorter of the two new arrivals, was something of a marked contrast to the first man.
His frame was somewhat slender, though unmistakably tensed, and his facial profile, framed by blue-colored (how did THAT happen?) hair, that was somewhat longer than his companion's, gave off an very slight feminine impression.
At least, that was what a stranger would have interpreted, until one looked into the young man's blue eyes.
As opposed to the haunted, yet also distant look that she'd seen from the first man, this one's eyes looked to combine anger, fear, mistrust, and a terrible sense of loss, all in one.
Oh frak, she thought. This one's just only been recently thrown into the deep end, and he's just barely managing to pull through, Racetrack concluded.
Just like a whole lot of us, after the Twelve Colonies were wiped out.
"May I introduce Lieutenant Amuro Ray, known among some circles as the 'White Devil'," Quattro gestured towards the brown-haired man, keeping a completely neutral expression on his face, which wasn't hindered at all by the dark-shaded glasses he almost always seemed to wear.
Amuro's expression had hardened at the reference, but held his peace, for the time being.
He wasn't fooled in the least by the 'Quattro Bajeena' identity, when they'd met briefly while on Earth. It was definitely HIM.
"And this young man here, is Kamille Bidan," Quattro repeated the same gesture as he had with Lt. Amuro, but also wore a slight smile on his face, this time. In addition, Quattro's stance wasn't nearly as tense as when he'd introduced Amuro Ray.
Kamille himself briefly tensed at the mention of his first name, then visibly calmed himself.
Ouch, having a girl's name can't possibly be good for a guy's self-esteem. Note to self: make sure not to bring that up in conversation; also make sure that Skulls knows not to talk about it, either, Racetrack noted.
"Gentlemen, this is one of our not-exactly extra-terrestrial guests, Lieutenant Margaret Edmondson, of the Colonial Fleet. She prefers her callsign, 'Racetrack'."
Both Amuro and Kamille gave a polite nod of their heads, as well as a restrained smile.
"These two will be piloting two Gundams available to us."
"Nice to meet the both of you," Racetrack extended her hand to both pilots, who shook her hand in turn.
"Lieutenant Ray, heard a lot about you from the other pilots. Supposed to be the best frakkin' pilot they know," Racetrack said, as she faced Amuro.
"Rumor mill says, you eat your enemies' hearts raw in a sandwich, and women throw themselves at your feet, begging to have your children," Racetrack joked, falling back on the time-honored grim, sarcastic humor that veteran pilots always seemed to use to lighten up a situation.
Amuro smirked, accepting the friendly bait, "Thanks, but the rumor mill's a bit off. Human hearts give me indigestion, and I've got no luck whatsoever with women," he finished.
That last part was actually true, in a way, Amuro mused. He'd lost track of Sayla over the years.
Really, Racetrack grinned. Kind of cute, but that thousand-klick stare would definitely drive off the more 'normal' crowd, she concluded.
"Change of topic here, but I heard that Project Zeta's prototype is coming along for the Ride?" Amuro asked.
"Already locked up, loaded, and ready to kick some serious Cylon ass. It's a thing of beauty," Racetrack replied.
"Handles like a dream, and the Waverider Mode's a really big plus, since I've had some flight time in a Viper." That was yet another massive understatement.
The Zeta Gundam was frakking transformable. It combined the best aspects of a jet-fighter mode, with all primary thrusters vectored aft for maximum acceleration, and could revert to mobile suit mode once it reached its designated combat zone for optimum maneuverability, as well as the more familiar piloting style used by all MS-assigned personnel in the Earth forces.
Theoretically, the Waverider Mode could even allow safe, un-aided re-entry into Earth's atmosphere, a curious (and possibly fatal) omission from the large majority of the Earth Sphere's mobile suits.
Even Vipers and Raptors were capable of such a feat, both into and out of, though that would suck down their Tylium reserves, like water to a very dry sponge.
"You already flew it?" Kamille asked, shocked. He was practically its original designer (though Anaheim had certainly helped out); he believed that he himself should have gotten first crack at piloting the Zeta.
"Oh, yeah. Nina Purpleton from Anaheim, let me and Lt. Kou Uraki try it out. Have to admit, he's pretty damn good... alright, better than I am," Racetrack admitted.
Amuro and Quattro both recalled the name from rumors flying around in the aftermath of Operation Stardust, back in UC 0083.
Amuro had heard the name muttered by some guards, several times during his house arrest, whereas Quattro had come across the name, spoken of in disgust, fear, and respect, all at once occasionally, from his clandestine visits to the various ex-Zeon factions.
The young, inexperienced, ex-test pilot had rapidly developed his skills to the point where he could fight Anavel Gato, a.k.a. the 'Nightmare of Solomon', considered among the very best non-Newtype pilots flying under Zeon ideals, on a nearly-even level.
Uraki may not have been a Newtype, but his piloting skills were certainly not just for show.
Kamille on the other hand, just barely recognized the name, once having overheard a conversation between his late father, and one of those murdering bastards from the Titans. He couldn't quite remember the conversation's topic, but the name was definitely there.
"Yeah, he's definitely good, but not quite in the league of Starbuck, Kat, or Lt. Bajeena here," she continued.
"Still surprised that you guys have to maintain your own rides. We've got a full deck crew for that... then again, I suppose I can see the reasoning behind it. Never know when you're the only qualified mechanic, Gods' know how far away from any safe harbor," Racetrack finished.
"Here, here..." chorused from the other three MS pilots.
Belatedly noting a certain coffee brand being used in an odd context, Amuro asked, "Starbuck? She a coffee-holic?"
Amuro understood quite well that the name was most likely a call sign, but it was such an easy mark for really bad puns...
Catching on quickly, Kamille followed up with, "You people got a Starbucks there? Wow. And here I thought the company was only system-wide, now they're interstellar... guys' who started that franchise must be filthy rich," he finished, with a downright evil smirk on his face.
That got few cheap laughs from all four pilots, followed by Racetrack's (often repeated) explanation of Thrace's call sign.
"Out of curiosity, why don't we pilots use call signs?" Kamille asked.
It was a question that hadn't really seemed important before now, but since the topic was brought up, he ran with it.
He was also quite curious about certain rumors regarding Lt. Quattro's past, and a nickname he went by...
"Ace pilots during the AD calendar used to have 'em. Well, either call signs or nicknames, why don't we re-instate the practice?"
Amuro could see where this was heading, and he decided to torment 'Quattro Bajeena', just a little.
While he respected the man professionally for his abilities, on a personal level, he still hadn't forgiven Char Aznable, nor himself for that matter, for the death of a certain person dear to both of them.
Amuro was, however, willing to at least put the past behind, and try to forget, all the while fighting alongside his once arch-enemy/rival.
The next few days would undoubtedly put that resolve to the test, far more than any other situation he could imagine.
Returning to the subject of callsigns and/or nicknames, "Not a bad idea, maybe we should. Your opinion, Lt. Bajeena? Or perhaps I should say, Red Comet?"
Quattro glowered disapprovingly at Amuro. That was a cheap shot, White Devil.
Kamille, for his part, recognized that nickname right away, and he put the scattered facts he'd collected on 'Quattro Bajeena' together.
No doubt about it. The Duchy of Zeon's greatest ace, during the One Year War... Char Aznable.
"That person is long dead. And I don't really have an opinion on that issue," Quattro replied, refusing to abandon his current identity.
"Doesn't seem that way to me," Amuro said, in sardonic amusement. "Should have gone for more than just the designer shades."
Racetrack immediately decided to change the subject, just knowing that any further conversation on this topic would soon end up hostile, and that was the best-case scenario.
She wouldn't have been surprised if an all-out fistfight broke loose.
"Ahem... Nina said she's re-assembled and upgraded the Mark II that Anaheim had been picking apart. The techs are also bringing the parts to assemble a few more mobile suits, probably for the Fleet's use," Racetrack elaborated, herself not quite sure why they'd bother, since the training involved was quite extensive.
She herself had only a few hours of instruction, and of course had nowhere near the skill of the MS aces present. Not to mention Starbuck, Kat, and the others would probably laugh their heads off at the very idea of a mobile suit, preferring their trusty and dependable Vipers.
That is, until they got a good look at what they could pull off; the Zeta Gundam might be slightly more to their liking, if only for the Waverider's jet-fighter like characteristics.
"Aren't we just going to bring the refugees back right away? Once we make contact, that is," asked Kamille. Unlike Lt. Edmonson, his appraisal of the situation was more astute than Racetrack's.
He suspected that the additional parts weren't really for new MS'es, but rather repair/replacement of their own units' systems. Almost as we weren't expected to return right away...
"No, we're not," replied Quattro, confirming Kamille's suspicions.
"That is the rationale behind bringing the Jupitris and its escorts. We do know the general location of the Colonial Fleet, however, there is always the possibility that the ships have already moved on."
"Thus, it is likely that our force will be called upon to search the surrounding systems. In the interests of safety, our hyperlight jumps will be relatively short-distanced, much like the Colonials, until we're more used to them," Quattro continued.
"In the event of contact, we are to verify their identities, ascertain their current tactical condition, and barring extraordinary circumstances, we will escort them in the Sol System's general direction."
"Again, the jumps on the return trip will be short-ranged, but this type for strategic purposes. Essentially, we'll be buying time for the Earth Sphere to prepare, but also sufficient time for us to conduct any repairs and refits on their vessels as needed, should the Colonial Government approve."
"By prepare, you're referring to the Cylons?" Racetrack added. While it wasn't as ideal a situation as she'd prefer, the tactical logic made sense. She'd have probably recommended the same strategy, if their positions were reversed.
"Exactly. Fleet numbers for all factions aren't what they used to be. Nearly a thousand capital ships, among all groups, were in service just prior to the outbreak of the One Year War," Quattro stated, seemingly about to enter 'lecture mode' again.
"We're looking at several weeks, possibly even months, despite all available resources being devoted to the construction effort, before the Earth Sphere has the ship numbers to reasonably stand up to a major Cylon assault."
"On the positive side, thanks to the FTL drives, gathering helium-3 won't be as difficult an issue as before. No more need for highly-covert, heavily-secured transit routes between Earth and Jupiter. Just jump in, gather the gas, then jump out."
"Even with this advantage, there is still the matter of training the ship crews, once construction is completed. Patrols will have to encompass all of the Sides, Earth itself, Luna, Jupiter and Mars," Quattro concluded.
"Briefing said the Cylons like to use nukes," Kamille said feeling sick at the idea, which was reflected in his expression.
"...and they like to use them in a way which makes the death toll from Operation British seem almost tame by comparison," Kamille finished.
"Tame? Thirteen percent of the Australia's land mass was wiped out, and the fatality count for just that one week, was over two and a half billion people!" Amuro seethed, who couldn't just categorize that week as a 'tame' event.
Amuro Ray had seen the live and after-action reports, both in and out of class, during his time in Side 7 as engineering student.
"Holy frack..." replied a newcomer, who was pushing a big carton of groceries.
It was Roy 'Skulls' Focker, Racetrack's DRADIS operator, if the three remembered correctly.
"Yeah, we'd better have learned our lessons from something like that... at least, officially," commented Amuro.
"Why's that?" asked Skulls, his curiosity morbidly peaked by the earlier discussion.
Just what kind of rules of warfare did these people have, anyway? Probably none, which can be a good thing, or a really bad thing for us...
"In the aftermath of Operation British, the Antarctic Treaty was amended to completely ban the use of the use of nuclear, biological, and chemical weaponry, as well as colony drops, and attacks on the Jupiter Energy Fleet," Quattro stated.
Colony drop? Frak, someone actually used one of those gigantic things as an orbital drop weapon? The sheer destructive force, possible fatality count, and long-term environmental damage... these people were out of their frakkin' minds! went through both Racetrack's and Skulls' thoughts.
Both chose not to dwell on that subject any further.
And yet, the Focker and Edmondson also recalled Kou Uraki's story, regarding himself, someone named Anavel Gato, Nina, and a nuclear-bazooka equipped Gundam.
Which might be one of the MS's being rebuilt as a result of the GP-unit project being restarted, though they didn't get details on that.
Of the two, Focker made the decision to make yet another change of topic... which seemed appropriate given how morbid the overall mood had turned.
"Say, Lieutenant, I got the supplies we wanted. I couldn't find the 'Cheezios', but these ones," throwing Racetrack a bag, "er, 'Cheetos', were in the vending machine. Looks like we're all set," Focker grinned, with a cheesy-looking grin.
All in all, he'd gotten the drinks, and the snacks. Yep, he and Racetrack were ready to head out.
Amuro glanced dubiously at time items, "You guys' planning a party, or you two gonna kill yourself by alcohol poisoning?"
"Huh... I choose party? Everyone here's invited. Though, yeah, I bought more then we needed. Gifts for buddies back at the Fleet." Roy said resting his hand on the Starbucks cases.
Everyone present could see the train wreck waiting to occur light-years away; the recipient of one of those Starbucks' cases was dead obvious.
Outcome #1: Kara Thrace was would switch to another callsign (assuming the other pilots even let her, you don't choose your handle), to save what was left of her pride in the aftermath...
Outcome #2: Skulls, and probably Racetrack as well, were dead men walking. Woman, in Racetrack's case, of course. But Skulls was definitely marked.
Either way, Thrace was going to have Roy to thank (more likely blame) for introducing something to the Galactica crew, that they'd never forget.
"You, are an evil, evil, man Roy," Racetrack said. She might actually miss him...
"Not only that, a couple dozen video discs and players. Not much entertainment variety left," Focker said, really hoping that his embarrassment wasn't too obvious.
"Yeah, I can imagine..." Amuro said, as Roy walked outside.
Amuro then commented, under his breath, "He has over a year's worth of porn," to Racetrack, Kamille, and Quattro.
Their reactions were pretty much what anyone would expect.
-
Colonial Battlestar Galactica: CIC - 9 Days, Post-Caprica Rescue Mission
Fleet Admiral William 'Husker' Adama hated surprises, no matter what the type.
The current situation was a far cry from the good kind.
Turning to Lieutenant Felix Gaeta, Galactica's Tactical Officer (who was temporarily taking over Dualla's communications' duties for the time being), he gave the order.
"Sound general quarters, set Condition One throughout the Fleet. Have all ships spool up their FTL drives for immediate jump! Launch alert Vipers!"
Four Cylon baseships had jumped into their vincinity, and were already launching their Raider wings.
In response, 'the Bucket' and 'the Beast' launched their full Viper complements, a mixture of Mark II's and VII's from Galactica, and all Mark VII's from Pegasus, led by their respective CAGs, Starbuck and Kat.
Lieutenant Brendan "Hotdog" Constanza, found himself leading one of Galactica's mixed squadrons, a position that the former Academy washout never thought he'd find himself in.
His opposite number, Captain Cole "Stinger" Taylor, also lead his own squadron of Mark VIIs; determined to take down as many toasters as possible, in order to make up for lost time being stuck in Pegasus' brig.
"Sir, Commander Apollo from Pegasus on the line," Gaeta informed the Admiral.
Personally, he was glad that the elder Adama had been promoted in the wake of Admiral Helena Cain's death, and not just for the man's considerably more sane disposition than his predecessor.
Having two Commander Adama's would have confused the hell out of everyone, military and civilian alike.
As a compromise of sorts, Lee Adama was being referred to by his callsign, rather than by first or last name.
"Pegasus reports, the jump calculations haven't been finalized yet, and are requesting additional time before..." Gaeta abruptly broke off his report.
Almost immediately following his last few words, another pair of baseships had jumped in, but their location, speed, and bearing...
"What the hell?! Admiral, DRADIS registers two additional Cylon baseships just jumped in, but... they're positioning themselves between us and first group!"
"Galactica, are you seeing this? This has gotta be some kind of trick," That was Apollo on the wireless.
"Affirmative, Pegasus, we're seeing it too. I don't believe it either, but let's not push our luck too far."
Turning once again to Gaeta, "Order all ships to continue jump preparations. I want us out of here the moment Pegasus finishes the FTL calculations."
Gaeta nodded his acknowledgment, and was about to relay the Admiral's instructions, when his boards indicated an incoming transmission... from one of the Base Ships of the second group!
"Admiral, we're receiving jump coordinates from the second Base Ship group, along with a message," Gaeta reported.
"Message reads: Jump out immediately to these coordinates, Commander, we'll talk later at the rendezvouz point, signed Sharon; P.S. I'm so sorry for shooting you... I love you like a father... it wasn't me! Message ends," Gaeta finished, in as much disbelief of the message as the rest of the CIC personnel.
"Galactica, we picked up the same transmission, it's being broadcast only in our general direction. You can't seriously be considering this? It just reeks of an ambush attempt!" Apollo exclaimed.
William Adama was inclined to agree, at first. But it seemed too obvious a ploy. If the Cylons really wanted to wipe out the survivors, they already had more than enough forces present to do severe damage, if not wipe out Galactica and Pegasus off the star maps, not to mention the civilian ships.
On the other hand, if they really wanted to herd the Fleet towards an even larger ambush, they could have used a more subtle attempt to drive them towards a desired location. Using a known Cylon model that had personally left him near death, to send this kind of a message, was far too obvious.
Discounting either of those possibilities, that left the option that, in utter disregard of all common sense, the message might actually be a genuine offer of assistance.
To his own utter disbelief (shared by his son on Pegasus, and both ships' CIC crews), his gut was telling him that this wasn't a trap.
Just to be sure, he contacted 'the Beast', one more time.
"Pegasus, Galactica actual. What's the status on those jump calculations?" Adama demanded. Time was running out.
After a few seconds of silence, "Galactica, Pegasus here. We're looking at least five more minutes before we're finished with 'em."
That left Admiral Adama with exactly one option left. Pushing down the profound sense of misgiving that his brain was radiating, he made his choice.
"...to hell with it! All Vipers, Return to the barn, at once. Retract the pods once they have landed and finalize jump prep! Same goes for Pegasus, and the rest of the Fleet! Stand by to distribute the received jump coordinates," Adama instructed.
"Admiral, you can't be serious about..." came from Lee, over the wireless.
"If this a trap, then it's a trap. We'll deal with that problem, if and when it presents itself, and no earlier!" the Admiral firmly stated.
Adama was frustrated, but managed to keep his calm, barely showing any outward anger at all.
"At some point, this endless paranoia and distrust needs to stop, but that's an issue for another time," Adama decided.
"As ranking military officer, I've determined that this option offers the Fleet the optimum chances for survival, and have made my decision accordingly!"
"At this point, whether we trust the contents of that message, or the sender's intentions is irrelevant. There is simply no other viable option available."
"I'll take full responsibility for this decision, when I make my report to the President. For the time being, follow your orders!" Adama finished.
"...Lords of Kobol, I think you've gone mad... very well, commencing final jump prep, in five seconds, go!" Apollo replied.
"Mr. Gaeta, if you recall my earlier instructions, carry them out immediately," Adama ordered.
Gaeta snapped off a quick, yet perfectly sharp salute, "Yes, sir! Relaying orders and jump coordinates to the Fleet!"
The next two minutes could best be described as controlled chaos, as the civilian ships finalized their own jump preparations. At the same time, Vipers returned to their mother ships at insane velocities, making ugly, yet still perfectly-executed combat landings into their assigned landing zones.
Seconds after the last Viper entered Galactica's port-side landing bay, the 'Bucket' began a rapid retraction of both flight pods.
Within 15 seconds, the pods were fully retracted and secured.
"Galactica actual to Fleet, commence simultaneous jump-out on my mark," Adama ordered.
Five seconds later, "Mark!"
The entire Fleet jumped out at the same time, followed shortly after by the two base stars, who had mysteriously chose to aid them.
-
Cylon Base Ship, Designation Unknown: Conference Room - Several Hours Later
The leadership of one of the four remaining Base Ships gathered to discuss the unexpected recent events.
There were seven in total, one each of the seven main human-form Cylon models present.
One of the Brother Cavil's served as the meeting's unofficial leader.
"This is bad," was his opening.
"Well, that's an understatement," replied the Number Three.
"Fortunately, when the 'two great heroes of the Cylons' spoke, only few of us listened," came from a Doral model, or rather Number Five.
"Heroes? Please, they're traitors!" the Cavil model spoke with contempt.
"They actually want us to live in peace with them! There can't be any peace after how they've treated us in the past!" the Cavil model exclaimed.
"Well, to be fair, the remnants are more or less our parents," came from the Number Six.
"And surely, some among us must have felt that we could at least try to move past killing one another," Six finished.
"I'd be more careful not to sympathize so greatly with the survivors, After all, the 'greatest among your line' is among those, whose actions led up to this incident," the Doral model warned her.
At that warning, the Six model decided to remain silent for the rest of the meeting. Her entire series was now currently under suspicion, as was one other model...
The Number Eight present at the meeting hadn't spoken a single word during the entire meeting thus far, nor would she even attempt to do so.
Both "Caprica Six" and "Boomer" were responsible for the others casting doubt upon their numbers.
"The humans are an evolutionary dead end, we represent the future. God's plan, and our part in it, will show that to the universe," came from the Simon model, trying to steer the meeting back on topic.
"I still can't let go of the fact that, some of us put themselves in front of our ships, to save the humans of all things!" came from the Cavil unit.
"If they somehow believe that they'll be accepted by Colonial refugees, they're even more faulty than we realized," the Three model commented.
"Only time, and the results of God's plan, will tell," said the Leoben representative. "The patterns that I see, they have undergone a paradigm shift. Many changes are coming."
"Cease that nonsense of yours immediately, what we have here is a group of traitors to our cause, no more, no less! The simplest explanation works best here," the Cavil model scoffed.
"We need to press on the attacks," the brother Cavil intoned. "We will eliminate any and all obstacles that hinder our efforts."
A tentative, silent agreement was reached between the leadership. The time for words was over, now the deeds were to follow.
"We've recently located a planet suitable for colonization," came from the Simon model, "I propose that we set up a more permanent base of operations for this sector, on that world."
"Very good, we shall establish a presence there immediately. The security of our Resurrection Ships are must not be compromised in any way," Number Five concluded.