Battlestar Galactica: The Guiding Fire

by GunnyStacker

199 days after the Cylon attack on the 12 Colonies, a chance encounter brings the Colonial Fleet in contact with the UNSC Spirit of Fire after the events of the Forerunner Shield World. Can they work together to reach UNSC space before the Cylons wipe them all out and manage to overcome the odds without killing each other first?

5. Chapter 5

Battlestar Galactica: The Guiding Fire

(A Battlestar Galactica-Halo Wars crossover)

Episode 2

Heritage: Part 1

With

Gideon Emery as Captain James Cutter

Faye Kingslee as Ellen Anders

Courtenay Taylor as Serina

Rob Mayes as Jerome-092

Zachary Quinto as Petty Officer Jonathan Green

Chiwetel Ejiofor as Lieutenant Isaac Larson

Guest Starring Shia LaBeouf as Ensign Reilly

AUTHOR'S NOTE: ANYTHING NOT EXPRESSLY CANON WILL NOW BE STATED IN THESE NOTES. I KEEP THE WIKI'S OF BOTH PROPERTIES OPEN WHEN I'M WRITING TO ENSURE ACCURACY AND DOUBLE CHECK MY FACTS. IF YOU HAVE A CRITICISM ABOUT ME BEING SUPPOSEDLY OFF-CANON, LOOK IT UP BEFORE YOU REVIEW.

199 DAYS AFTER CYLON ATTACK

49,564 SURVIVORS

GALACTICA VIPER WING

CAPTAIN KARA (STARBUCK) THRACE, VIPER 8757

2 HOURS 48 MINUTES AFTER CONTACT

A strange and awkward silence followed in the aftermath of the pitched battle, the remnants of which floated in a wide semi-irradiated cloud in the shrinking distance behind the Battlestar Galactica and the Spirit of Fire. The pair of far-flung warships now were limping toward the safety of the Colonial Fleet and more importantly, the Battlestar Pegasus. Side by side and only a couple kilometers apart, they flew together while repair crews of both ships went to work on the myriad of damages they both had suffered at the hands of the mutual enemy that forced the formerly belligerent factions to cooperate in the face of impending destruction.

For the Colonials, it was particularly uncomfortable knowing they'd almost accidentally gone to war with the very people they were hoping would save them from the cylons.

"Pelican Bravo Zero-Eight-Four to Viper escort flight, we are inbound to Galactica to assist. Try not to shoot us down this time." The pilot of the D77-TC Pelican dropship communicated condescendingly as it and another departed from a lower hangar on the Spirit's starboard side.

"If anyone dares take a shot at either of those birds without my permission, I'll have you court-martialed in front of the Admiral." Instantly came Starbuck's ultimatum in light of recent events. "Which reminds me… Racetrack, Skulls, I want your asses in the ready room the second your Raptor is in the hangar." She ordered with a tone of sturdy authority. "I'm going to put my boot up to the ankle in the both of you. Or maybe I'll take turns with the XO. You can bet your flight status he won't be happy." Starbuck continued, enjoying the silent misery of the two frak-ups who were in for the ass-chewing of the millennium. Reilly would probably be in for it too. That was if he had lived through the cylon boarding action and if he did, the kid may wish he were dead.

From above she watched Kat escort one Pelican to the edge of the landing deck where the crew disembarked to hook a tow cable on to one of the many empty Heavy Raiders to haul it out and make room for the Colonial pilots to land on their own gods-damned ship. It was times like these Starbuck hated that the starboard flight pod couldn't be returned to active duty but the museum conversion saw her magnetic plating stripped out.

Spirit too was having her decks scrubbed of the Turkeys she took on inside the twin hangars up on her bow as another flight of Pelicans had already dropped four of the damned things out thus far for McCullen's Longswords to then shoot the hell out of, intent on leaving nothing for the cylons to salvage later.

Off on the port side near the Spirit's darkened engines, Starbuck could see several more Pelicans working in conjunction with an equal number of blocky multi-armed craft topped with four antennae of varying length. Cutter had called them Tarantula Repair Drones when he announced their launch. The unmanned craft worked over the damaged engine nozzles like crabs grazing over a reef, repairing what they could and cutting away at the parts that weren't operable remotely. The Pelicans hauled away those more damaged components back into the larger hangars for the repair crews to work on directly. One thing was certain, the crew of the Spirit would have their work cut out for them if they wanted to get all their engines back online. From the glance Starbuck had taken immediately following the battle, most of its aft appeared to be only marginally damaged except for two of the outlying thrusters at the top right and bottom left which looked pretty well fraked by the nukes they took.

But they did it. Galactica fraking did it! Starbuck thought with a smile. An honest to the Gods ship of the Thirteenth Tribe here beside her Viper, beside Galactica and headed for the Colonial Fleet. Through fire and flames of utter incompetence and a cylon attack, the Twelve Tribes of Kobol had finally found their long lost sibling.

'Earth, here we come!' She thought, pounding her fist on the inner hull of her Viper in celebration.

Twenty more minutes passed before the landing deck was raider-free and the clear to land given by the LSO. The Vipers belonging to Kara's squadron came in first with their fuel reserves running especially low. Ever the ace she was, her landing skids barely bounced on the magnetic plating before they ground to a halt.

The deck around the cavernous A-shaped landing hangar was chronically understaffed by aircraft handlers due to most of the airlock doors still being fused with thermite. From what she could see, only four of the tuggers had drivers on them to pull the Vipers over to the deck elevators. Thankfully being the CAG had its perks and not ever waiting was one of them as the steel-treaded cart hooked up on her forward landing skid and hauled her over to the nearest elevator. Shortly, she descended until the overhead airlock door sealed and pressurized to let Starbuck down into the hangar deck.

And boy was she surprised.

The hangar was a hive of activity with deckhands and Marines running about trying to clear the swath of Centurion corpses lying about the deck in various states of destruction ranging from simple bullet holes to crumpled piles of scrap. Before even the elevator touched the deck, Kara had opened her cockpit and partly stood to better survey the hangar. She knew a lot of them got onboard but frak…nevertheless the bigger question on her mind was, where were all the bodies? The ones belonging to the Marines who fought them all off. This many Centurions didn't go down without exacting a heavy toll.

Chief Tyrol walked up just as the elevator touched down and Kara hopped down to greet him with her tucking her helmet under her arm. Of course a guy like him, a guy that survived being stranded on Kobol some one-hundred and fifty days ago made it through all this. As long as there was a Viper to tinker with or a loose bolt on Galactica, the Chief wasn't going anywhere. "Chief, what the frak happened here? I was expecting a bloodbath."

He exhaled and then motioned them to walk off with a sideways nod of the head as the aircraft handlers approached to clear the elevator for the next Viper. "Nearly was." He began. "Toasters got fourteen of my knuckledraggers and about ten Marines too before they showed up."

"Who?" Starbuck demanded with an air of disbelief.

"Remember that bird of Spirit's Reilly shot down at the start of this mess? Yeah, well turns out those guys aboard survived. Breached airlock twelve on deck fourteen and stormed the CIC. Put a gun to the Admiral's head." The Chief said much to Kara's shock. "From what I hear, half the casualties in the sickbay are from them. Mostly concussions and a lot of broken bones but they'll recover, probably. After that Baltar of all people managed to talk them down. And that's when those basestars jumped in."

"Frak, and they did all this?" Kara said skeptically, motioning her free hand to the graveyard of Centurions around being moved off into large piles inside the Viper launch tubes to be jettisoned later.

"Like nothing I've ever fraking seen. Fast, I'm talking damn-near untouchable, vaulting nine feet in the air and smashing Centurions like they were toys. Biggest one-sided fight I've ever seen. They had fraking energy shields Starbuck, I swear I saw them." Chief Tyrol said, not quite believing it himself. "Then when they ran out of ammo, they pulled out knives," Beside her, Chief Tyrol shook his head in disbelief. "Fraking can openers." The Chief said stopping at an open tube and the pile inside, with Kara following his gaze to a prominently displayed Centurion atop it. It was beat to all hell, bearing a deep round indentation in its right cheek that bore resemblance to the imprint of a fist. It's right arm was also torn off at the elbow but perhaps what was the most noticeable were the group of four thin holes almost the width of her pinky set inside shallow indentations under the Centurion's left bicep, leaking hues of black brown and red over the metallic corpses under it. Kara had seen knife wounds before but it was another thing entirely seeing it done to metal which didn't seem possible, shouldn't be possible. Out of curiosity she touched the metallic wounds with her hand, feeling grooves of parted cylon metal through her glove.

Behind a tugger beeped its horn at them as it came in with four more Centurions stacked on its back to add to the pile. Taking her hand away, Starbuck and the Chief moved out and off to the side of the airlock door. "Well, where are they now? Do you know?" she asked.

Galen shook his head again. "No, I lost track of them when things started quieting down, at least in here." He amended. "They could have gone off after any cylons headed to Aft Damage Control." He was about to add something else when something behind Starbuck caught his immediate attention. "Holy shit, there they are."

Kara, turned about, instantly sighting the eye-catching seven-foot armored behemoths. She knew they were big, having seen them partially in their Pelican but it was a whole other thing seeing them walk through a crowd a head above everyone else looking like a walking tank. The trio marched forward at a brisk pace, so quickly that Starbuck found herself without a clear thought in her head, preoccupied with the sight of one casually holding a heavy machinegun and another dragging an armless Centurion by its single remaining leg, its red eye still sweeping and head moving around.

"Frak," she cursed at herself for acting like such a deer in the headlights before jogging after them. Starbuck weaved around a couple of munition techs who had stopped dragging a destroyed Centurion to look on after they passed. A little further up she passed two Marines arguing.

"Are we just going to let them have free reign of the ship?"

"You want to try to get them to the brig, go ahead, but I'm not getting near those guys without orders." The other replied.

"Hey!" Starbuck called out but it appeared they either didn't notice or thought she was yelling at someone else. Kara racked her brain to think of something that would get their attention until she recalled their earlier conversation that happened before Skulls nearly fraked everything up. "Hey, Spartan Jerome! Alice!"

Her call was answered by them halting and turning their helmet's back in her direction. It was a bit unsettling, perhaps on-par with the Adama-Glare in terms of intimidation but much more enigmatic with that golden mirror obscuring their eyes.

Starbuck slowed to a stop but was cautious to give the Centurion they were hauling a wide berth armless or not. "Frak, you actually made it out." Kara said, feeling quite small at the moment. "Uh, it's me, Starbuck." She added, still focusing her thoughts.

"Mind explaining why we were blown out of the sky?" came the feminine voice of Alice from the figure holding the unsettlingly big HMG.

Her face turned downward, realizing all too late they were probably still extremely pissed about what must have been seen as a sudden and unprovoked betrayal. "I'm sorry, the Raptor crew acted outside of my authority when they thought you were…one of those things." Starbuck looked down at the Centurion, fighting the urge to draw her sidearm and put a bullet through its head.

"Have them get their eyes checked." It was the one Kara didn't know the name of who was holding the cylon by the leg. He spoke in such a deeply graveled tone that it somehow surpassed Adama's usual tone. "Last time I looked we weren't covered in chrome or had guns built into our arms."

Starbuck brought up to her eyes to the golden visor of Jerome's red-stripped helmet. "Look, I'm sorry, I'm going to make sure they face disciplinary action for what they did." She said sternly.

"Good," was his reply.

On the deck, the Centurion tried to sit itself up, to have the unnamed soldier knock it back down with a yank on its leg.

"Let's keep it moving." Jerome ordered to his teammates and Kara continued to follow.

Moving on to keep the situation from getting any more awkward than it already was, she switched over to a more current topic. "So, what's with the busted toaster?" she said, motioning her head to their 'captive'.

"Captain will want a prisoner for interrogation." Alice answered for Jerome.

She tried to keep herself from laughing. 'Interrogate a Centurion?' "Don't think you'll get much out of this thing." Starbuck answered skeptically.

Without looking back Jerome replied. "We'll see."

"I don't think I caught your name?" Starbuck directed at the Centurion-hauler.

"Douglas Zero-Four-Two." He answered with an air of slight hostility. Kara decided not to press further with him after that.

Not long after, they arrived at a maintenance pit occupied by the blackened remnants of their Pelican which had been hastily shoved in to make room for the Vipers now being ferried up and down the hangar deck into pits of their own. Their craft was missing its left-wing nacelle as well as the right nacelle on its tail. Apart from that, the structure had taken surprisingly minimal amounts of damage when compared to if a Raptor had suffered a crash like that. The wide troop bay was facing outward and missing the upper half of its bay door like a boxer that had gotten their upper teeth knocked out. Inside, black cargo netting hung messily down from the overhead across the left line of jump-seats against the hull.

Douglas unceremoniously swung the Centurion around with the one hand he had hold of the leg with, slamming its side into the right row of seats to let it tumble onto the floor, once again on its back. Before it could move, Alice stepped in and planted the heavy machinegun on its chest.

"Hold on to that for me." She told it rhetorically, stepping out of the ruined Pelican a moment later.

"Starbuck!" Kara heard Brendan Costanza, aka: Hot Dog call out to her on her left. Turning to meet him as he jogged up, his helmet off and hair a sweaty mess from the numerous tiring dogfights he'd participated in today. Coming to a stop now he caught his breath, momentarily distracted by the head-turning ability of Galactica's three guests.

"Hot Dog!" Starbuck yelled to bring him back to reality.

His attention turned back to her. "Yeah, sorry. Skulls and Racetrack just landed."

In response she chewed on her inner lip for a second while she thought about how she was going to handle them. "Listen, I'll catch up later, give you the 'Thanks for Not Shooting the Old Man' tour." Starbuck directed at the Thirteenth Tribesmen. "Right now it looks like I got some heads to crack. Stay out of trouble."

"Affirmative," Jerome replied.

Then Starbuck turned back to Costanza. "Hot Dog…go take a shower."

With that, she departed along with Costanza who left shortly thereafter with a long backward glance at the three.

"Alice," Jerome transmitted on a secure squad channel. "Go retrieve the package."

\\\\\\O

Further down the hangar deck strode Cally, returned after seeing Jammer off to a medical team on her way to the sickbay. Currently she was busying herself with checking the Raptor maintenance pits and clearing them of obstructions or tools left on the ground that could get in the way of the returning birds. It wasn't nearly as busy in the area of the deck she was. With the largest fuel tanks, the Raptors would be among the last to land, save maybe Raptor 307 which had been out the longest. A lot of deckhands had dropped their tools and gear in a hurry to get out. She still didn't know who managed to make it and who didn't. It was immensely frustrating and worrying at the same time wondering who she'd never see or talk to again but she had a job to do. Aircraft had to be put in their pits as soon as possible for the elevators to be clear so more pilots could land before someone ran out of fuel.

Sighting a toolbelt someone had thrown on the floor, Cally moved into the pit. She took a knee to inspect it for any name as a good number of knuckledraggers liked to keep their tools in arrangements particular to their own liking. This one she found had BROOKS written on the inside strap in thick black marker. Instead of searching high and low for the Specialist, Cally stood and placed it on the adjacent large tool box for him to find later, hopefully. While she did so something else caught Cally's eye, a bit of green, unusual for the hangar deck besides the pilots in their flight-suits. She moved around to the right side of the dull metal toolbox, almost behind between it and the support beam. It looked to be a backpack, though none like she'd ever seen with the bits of dull green metal wrapping around half of its base. Cally knelt back down, undoing the latches to see what was inside.

Flipping over the flap she froze, her eyes wide and her heart suddenly stuck in her throat. What she was looking at unmistakably appeared to be a set of detonators jammed into a huge block of military-grade explosives. Green lights atop the detonators seemed to stare back at her, knowing well what they meant. It was ready to blow at the press of a button.

She wanted to scream, run off and grab the Chief or the nearest Marine and scream at them what she had found but her legs just wouldn't move. A shadow then suddenly loomed over her, finally snapping her out of her silent panic and into a more real panic upon seeing the shadow belonged to one of those Centurion-killers from the Spirit of Fire. Her memories flashed back to Kobol when she was under fire by Centurions and scared out of her mind. It took a step toward her with Cally's body finally reacting by throwing herself back and to her left away from the Centurion-like figure, landing on her back she kicked herself a couple meters away. They had planted the bomb that she had found and now one of them was going to kill her. She kept her eyes locked on it as it stood there with eerie stillness staring back at her. Cally expected it to chase after her and crush her skull with those massive armored hands of its, instead it knelt where she had been and bent over the super-sized satchel charge. It tapped at the keypads of foreign script on both of the detonators, their lights blinking off shortly thereafter and then stuffed them into a side pouch. Pretending like she wasn't even there it slung the rucksack onto its back and strode off, leaving a very confused but still terrified deckhand on the floor. One thing was certain, she needed to find Chief Tyrol as soon as she could.

199 DAYS AFTER CYLON ATTACK

COLONIAL FLEET

COLONIAL ONE

OFFICE OF THE PRESIDENT OF THE 12 COLONIES OF KOBOL

UNKNOWN SYSTEM

2 HOURS 53 MINUTES AFTER CONTACT

"Madam President," Spoke the young Billy Keikeya, President Laura Roslin's Chief of Staff as he parted the curtain into her office.

"Yes Billy?"

"Admiral Adama is on the line, he says its urgent."

Laura nodded back. "Thank you Billy," she replied, picking up the phone before he had left. "Bill, are you okay? How is Galactica?" she asked, genuinely concerned.

"I'm fine Madam President, Galactica took a beating but she'll recover, she always does. As for the casualties, we're looking at just under forty currently." Bill paused. "Madam President, I have urgent information to report in regard to the mystery ship."

Laura straightened herself in her chair expecting distressful news. "Go ahead Admiral, I'm listening."

"The ship's name is Spirit of Fire, it's a military ship but not one of ours or the Cylons. It's them Madam President, it's the Thirteenth Tribe."

Bill's words struck like bus to Laura's senses, making her feel lightheaded. She tried to speak, having to swallow the inexplicable lump in her throat. "Wh-what did you say?" she asked through shaking breath.

"We found them Laura." She heard Bill say again to her disbelief.

"What are they like? Tell me what you know, please." She asked suddenly desperate for a thousand answers to a thousand questions she had yet to think of.

"I'm afraid we don't know much, I'll have my after-action report sent off as soon as its finished. I can tell you that the Captain of the ship is a man named James Cutter and they don't speak the same language as us anymore, which could create problems. Right now, Baltar wants to lead the negotiations but I'd prefer it be done through you instead. That's all as of now, I'll update you as soon as I can."

"Yes, of course Admiral, keep me posted as soon as something happens. Invite whatever delegation they want to send to Colonial One, I want to begin talks immediately."

"I'll send that along Madam President," Laura hung up the phone with a trembling hand, a surreal feeling enveloping her. This wasn't a dream though, it was real. Earth wasn't a lie, it wasn't legend, it was real. Feeling her eyes begin to moisten, she removed her glasses. "Billy?"

In a moment, the young man appeared, seeing Roslin in quiet tears as she rubbed her eyes and quickly moved to her side. "Madam President's what's wrong?" he said taking a knee beside her. In response, she pulled the former debate team Captain into an embrace.

"We did it Billy, we found them. We're going to Earth."

199 DAYS AFTER CYLON ATTACK

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA BS-75

HANGAR DECK

3 HOURS AFTER CONTACT

Just over twenty minutes had passed since Adama had negotiated with Captain Cutter for the unconditional return of his men as well as their destroyed dropship, frankly he just wanted them off his ship as soon as possible. Considering what they were capable of, Bill never wanted them to set foot on his ship again, nor any other if he had a say. The three in question stood only a few feet to his left separate from Saul, Baltar and a large contingent of Marines all around to welcome the retrieval team aboard the Pelican about to descend the port cargo elevator. A ship that size could never hope to fit on any of the elevators meant for normal Colonial aircraft. A klaxon sounded as the platform descended from the airlock above holding the large olive craft aloft, its lengthy tail casting a long shadow over Adama and Tigh. Once the elevator came level to the deck the rear door opened its complex mechanism to reveal a squad of black-armored soldiers of a more regular stature, wearing odd bulbous helmets with obscuring opaque visors. They filed out first, making two even lines of four abreast facing the Admiral and his men as well as the Spartans. Two more figures followed, foremost a young woman wearing brown cargo pants and a half orange, half black sleeveless shirt and her hair tied up in a bun in the back of her head. In her hands appeared to be a thick metal suitcase likely used for the transportation of sensitive materials.

Then came the last passenger. He wore an all-green uniform not unlike Bill's own double-breasted tunic but that was where the similarities ended apart from the insignia on the right shoulder as opposed to the left. The symbol itself, a black bird bearing a red and golden shield upon a light blue background shone brightly over the matte-black impact absorbing semi-ridged material encompassing the man's shoulders, collar and outer biceps. Another distinguishing feature being the double sets of chevrons paired with a single small golden oak leaf, distinguishing some unknown rank. The same bird symbol was also upon the right side of his chest, larger and bearing vague, inverted resemblance to the Colonial Seal.

Instead of more casual footwear, the man wore mainline combat boots with the pantlegs tucked in. Further up was a hefty utilitarian belt complete with leg-holster. Lastly he wore a green cap over his silver-grey hair bearing a crown of silver-grey olive branches upon the brim and the 'bird atop the globe' symbol on the brow.

The man himself was about Bill's age, with paler skin than his own but warmer than Colonel Tigh's pasty complexion. A fuzzy beard colored his jawline a shade of silver-grey stone, short and well-trimmed but unusually dense for such a short cut. He had sharp energetic blue eyes that while not aggressive, did not hesitate to meet the Admiral's own.

The moment he stepped off, the three Spartans performed the crispest and quickest salute Bill had ever seen which slightly startled some of the Marines. He stepped forward with the woman following on his right until halting a few feet from the Admiral and XO, save for the woman who then knelt down to open her briefcase on the deck. From it she pulled a tablet computer and five headsets, handing them off to the man, herself, Baltar, Bill and Saul who took his dubiously and only wore it after a few seconds of close inspection.

Now all looking ridiculous, the young woman keyed something on the touchscreen. "Alright, everyone should be able to understand each other." She 'said' in spite of her lips not at all matching the syllables Bill was hearing through the headset.

The man began with a salute, almost identical to a Colonial one. It wasn't forced or apathetic in the face of tradition, Adama could see it in the man's expression. "Permission to come aboard Admiral?" he asked with a voice Bill had recently heard threatening the destruction of his ship. It was Cutter, much to his surprise, though the stoic old man gave no hint he was. Bill knew what this was, he'd done it with Cain when Pegasus first met with the Fleet. Captain Cutter had come to get a measure of Bill and vis-a-vie, show the Admiral the kind of man he was.

Bill returned the salute. "Permission granted Captain." He returned and the both resumed casual postures.

Cutter then took a moment before continuing to address the Spartans. "At ease Spartans." He ordered with a strong but relaxed tone, the three assuming parade rest with unnerving unity.

"I'd like to introduce my second in command," Bill started. "Colonel Saul Tigh. As well as the Colonial Vice President, Doctor Gaius Baltar."

Cutter made a gesturing motion with his right arm to the young woman. "This is Professor Ellen Anders, she's a civilian scientific consultant with the Office of Naval Intelligence. And you already know the Spartans of Red Team." He said turning back to Bill. "I heard they saved a lot of lives here."

"They were invaluable to Galactica's defense." Bill was resigned to admit. "But I don't want to ever see them on my ship again."

"We should make sure this peace lasts then." Cutter replied, the undertone of his words barely detectable to all but a seasoned man like Bill. "Put our best foot forward to make the best of what there is." He continued.

"I agree," Bill spoke, pausing a moment before he continued. "I've spoken with the President, she would like to invite a delegation from your ship to Colonial One to discuss formal negotiations as soon as possible."

"What?" Baltar interrupted. "Admiral, I volunteered to lead those negotiations."

Bill cast a slightly annoyed but overall dismissive glance over to him. "The President wants to handle this directly, but she has given you the privilege of delivering the Codex of the Twelve Colonies to the Thirteenth Tribe."

The Codex was a PR stunt President Roslin had come up with around eighty days into the Fleet's voyage to keep up moral. Bill never thought it would actually be delivered. This document, the Codex, contained the abridged history of the Twelve Colonies as well as their laws, religion, art, a list of their technical achievements and poetry. It was to be delivered to the Thirteenth Tribe upon the Fleet's arrival to Earth as a way of greeting their formerly fictional long lost brethren. The proper formal copy of the Codex currently resided on Colonial One, bound in pristine leather emblazoned with the Colonial seal in gold salvaged from somewhere in the Fleet but for this meeting they would receive a less extravagant version consisting of three metal rings holding a thick ream of printer paper together.

As for the line about President Roslin giving Baltar the honor of handing it to them, Bill had simply made that up in attempt to satiate the man's ego, not that it wouldn't stop Baltar from complaining anyway. Thankfully he didn't need any coaxing to hand the papers over to miss Anders. "This document contains all that we are, from our greatest triumphs to our humble beginnings when we left Kobol and our tribes bid goodbye to yours."

A strange expression befell the woman's face but said nothing, placing the Codex in her open briefcase and retrieving a document of her own to whom she gave to Baltar in return. Upon it was that stylized image of an eagle atop a globe with the words: UNITED NATIONS SPACE COMMAND, printed boldly upon a banner beneath. Baltar's eyes flashed, like man dying of starvation presented with a feast.

"If that will be all Admiral, I'd like to return to my ship to monitor the repairs but we'll contact you once we're ready to begin the negotiations."

Bill nodded back. "Keep in touch." He said before returning the headset to Professor Anders as did Tigh and Baltar.

"Spartans, climb aboard, we're headed back to the Spirit." The Captain ordered and the Spartans immediately began to move to follow as the group climbed back aboard the Pelican, hauling their gear and their prisoner in tow. The Admiral was content to stand there and watch as the Pelican ascended. As brief as the meeting was he had learned a number of things about Cutter, that he was bold and wasn't afraid of placing himself in danger if it meant ensuring the safety of his crew and he looked completely comfortable in that combat-ready uniform. Judging by his energetic attitude and apt diplomatic tongue, he liked to play it aggressive but not as reckless as Admiral Cain was more predisposed to lean toward. Question was how intelligent was he and just how aggressive could the Captain be?

A quiet hiss marked elevator airlock sealing, giving Bill the peace of mind enough to remove the headset clamped over his ears. "What did you think of them Saul?"

"Hard to say after only five minutes." He said, having Bill offer a grunt in return. "That Captain though, he's a sharp one. Doesn't seem prone to back down. Actually, reminds me a bit of you that way Bill." He admitted. This time Bill gave a grunt with a slightly more humorous inflection, a slight upper curve on his lips breaking his stoic visage.

Then came the quick pattering of boots from behind, gradually slowing from a full run. "Admiral!" Bill heard Chief Tyrol call out.

By the time Admiral Adama casually turned himself about, the Chief had come to a stop. "Admiral," he gasped short of breath. "I've been looking all over for you. Tell-please tell me, one of the soldiers from the Spirit of Fire, the ones that came over on the first dropship. Did one of them have a backpack on them? Big, did it look full?"

"Yes," Saul answered with a cautionary tone. "Why?"

Chief Tyrol didn't reply immediately as he caught his breath, but the look in his eyes told Bill it wasn't good.

199 DAYS AFTER CYLON ATTACK

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA BS-75

PILOT READY ROOM

For the third time, Starbuck paced the first row of seats where Racetrack, Skulls and Reilly sat in various states of trepidation. Reilly looked like a mouse, whereas Skulls had the corner of his lip up in an agitated expression as if someone was holding a plate of his own crap under his nose. Racetrack simply looked annoyed.

"I should have the three of you court-marshaled." Starbuck said plainly. "Subverting the chain of command, disregarding the orders of a superior officer, opening fire on a spacecraft carrying diplomatic envoys."

"Those things look like diplomatic envoys to you?" Skulls spoke out of turn, challenging Starbuck's authority once more. Kara stopped and took a step toward him.

"Well they sure as frak don't look like cylons!" she shouted in his face. "I looked right inside that cockpit before you ever set eyes on any of them! When McCall, was the last time Centurions wore fraking helmets!" she roared.

"I tried to talk him down Captain," Edmondson 'Racetrack' cut in as an attempt to exonerate herself. "I don't get why I'm here."

Starbuck sneered back at her incredulously. "Frak her and her guts," she quoted, making Edmondson's face fall. "Yeah, I listened to your fraking flight recorder dumbass! You deliberately instructed a Viper under my command to prepare to open fire on a diplomatic transport containing people I had previously stated with high probability on an open radio channel of being from the THIRTEENTH FRAKING TRIBE!"

Starbuck looked to each individual with equal measures of raw anger and disbelief. "Do any of you get it? You incompetent frakheads almost started a war with the very same people we were hoping would save us from the cylons!" Kara then stepped back, leaning against the face of the podium she delivered her pre-flight briefings at. "I should strip all three of you of your flight status and have you dishonorably discharged. Fortunately for you, we can't spare the pilots right now. So instead…Lieutenant Edmondson, I'm revoking your flight status for two months, during which you will be assigned to janitorial detail. All passes are revoked and all privileges canceled for six months" Racetrack let out a groaning sigh. "Hey, you want to make it eight!?" Starbuck snapped.

Then she turned her attention to the rookie dumbass. "Reilly, the same for you, six months no leave and the only reason I'm letting you keep your flight status is because we lost nine pilots out there." For once the kid smartly didn't say a word.

Lastly Starbuck sighted McCall seated in the middle, looking more pissed off than ever and giving Kara more satisfaction in handing out her judgement. "As for you, four months in the brig, solitary confinement." Starbuck saw the flash of fear in his eyes. "But who knows," she added. "Maybe you'll be allowed some guests to visit. Those Spartans put a lot of Marines up in the sickbay and I'm going to make sure they and all their friends know just who pissed those three off and nearly lost us Earth."

APRIL 16 2534, 1917 HOURS

UNSC SPIRIT OF FIRE CFV-88

BRIDGE

UNKNOWN SYSTEM

"Galactica, this is Spirit of Fire Actual, we are going to maintain a distance of ten kilometers from the Fleet at this time. Be advised, we will also be attempting restart of our main thrusters in approximately fifteen minutes." Cutter communicated from beside the holotable, observing the highly accurate representation of the Colonial Fleet, not one vessel matching any recognizable model in the Spirit's databanks. It had been over an hour since the Captain returned aboard his ship from the Galactica and his interesting conversation with Admiral Adama. Currently, Petty Officer Green was adjusting the Spirit's heading to run parallel with the Colonial Fleet in high orbit around the class-1 gas giant positioned inside the sizable asteroid belt within the system.

"Galactica copies, Spirit of Fire Actual. You may proceed with engine restart when ready." Came the reply from a younger sounding man than the gravel-throated Admiral.

"Ha," Serina laughed as she appeared on her holotank. "It's cute how they think they're in charge. Why I could highjack their COM frequencies and blare Hell's Bells over the radios of every ship if I wanted to."

Cutter gave an amused smile back. "Good to know Serina. Anything else, or did you just decide to pop in for that little joke?"

"Still not a hint of a match against the Spirit's database of ship designs for the Colonial Fleet. I don't think they're from our part of town, sir."

"So, they're not Insurrectionists from some undocumented colony." Cutter stated flatly.

"You should go talk with Anders sir, we've finished translating the document they gave us. Well that's not true, I finished translating it over forty minutes ago, but decided to go ahead and let the good Professor work out the discoveries on her own." Serina said. She may be a smart-aleck at times but there was no denying she wasn't considerate when it came to the wellbeing of the crew, whether that be physical, psychological or personal.

"And?"

"I shouldn't spoil it sir, it would crush Anders' dear little ego. And if she doesn't lecture someone soon I'm worried she might wear a hole through the observation deck with all her pacing about."

"I'll head down then, Lieutenant Larson, you have the Bridge."

\\\\\\O

A short elevator ride brought Cutter down to Anders' improvised lab she had commandeered from the Captain's observation deck. It was large, spanning ten meters across by just a couple over twenty long. All surfaces with the exception of the ceiling and the wall partitioning the room's entrance were made of meter-thick titanium oxynitride glass, to stunning effect. From the floor to the two levels of large windows on three sides, there was a view of the entire system around, most prominently the orange-red gas giant that painted the side profiles of the Colonial Fleet. It was the last place any crew member with acrophobia wanted to be and even the Captain found it unsettling with no planet under his feet to admire but Anders seemed unfazed. Across the floor lay an assembly of scientific equipment, power supplies and the chaotic trails of wires networking them all. Cutter was glad to see the samples of technology from the ancient alien ruins of Harvest and the artificial planet were still within the confines of the seven specimen tanks placed randomly about.

"Captain," she greeted as she looked up from her tablet.

The Captain strode in like he owned the place, because technically he did, no matter what Anders might seem to think at times. "What have you got for me Professor? Serina says she's worried you might wear a hole in the floor."

Anders took a long breath and sighed coupled with a shake of her head. "Honestly Captain, I'm not sure where to begin. I started going through the history presented but it's impossible to say where that ends and their theology begins. According to them all humans including us by their account evolved on a planet called Kobol thousands of years ago. Roughly two-thousand years ago, there was a war or some disaster that forced twelve of the thirteen tribes to leave and find other worlds to colonize which they surprisingly did, but that's not relevant right now. The Thirteenth Tribe however, left another two-thousand years prior to that, supposedly finding a planet they called Earth. That is apparently who they think we are."

A perplexed expression grew on the Captain's face. "That timeline doesn't add up Professor, ancient human civilization on Earth was well established by that point and I believe fossil evidence points to humans evolving on Earth, and not on that other planet." He pointed out.

"Then there's the Greek connection, which makes it even more confusing." A puzzled Anders admitted, taking a seat at her desk.

"Work on that later," Cutter half suggested, half ordered. "What about those ships that attacked us?"

"Now that, I have answers for." The woman answered. A keyboard command brought a file up on the large display screen hanging from a free moving arm suspended from the ceiling. Upon it was a chrome-plated humanoid robot model far bulkier than any of the boarders that had attacked the Spirit. "They're called Cylons. The Colonials created them as a robotic worker force over fifty years ago, but turns out they made the cylons a bit too smart. They rebelled, violently, very violently." Anders stated. "After a twelve-year war, an armistice was signed and the cylons left, only to come back forty years later and nearly wipe them all out with a massive coordinated cyberattack and simultaneous nuclear strikes culminating in the deaths of over fifty-billion people."

"Genocide…" Cutter said shocked. "Makes the casualties occurred in the Insurrection look like a footnote in comparison." He said with a troubled tone.

Anders down from the screen to the Captain. "That fleet, that's all that's left of them. Less than fifty-thousand souls out of an entire civilization. Captain Cutter, whether or not we are this Thirteenth Tribe, we have to get these people back to UNSC space. Not just for a humanitarian cause but to answer the slew of questions their existence presents for Humanity at large. The technology alone of those super-accurate FTL drives could give us an unparalleled advantage over the Covenant in the war and the UNSC will want every drive possible for reverse engineering. Why we could theoretically-"

Cutter held up his hand in a pausing gesture. "That's enough Professor, I think I got the picture. I'll hail Galactica and inform them we'll depart for their Presidential ship in an hour to begin the negotiations. You and Serina have until then to create a briefing packet containing any other prevalent information I need to know."

Cutter about-faced and began to leave, behind him Anders stood up from her desk. "Captain, I'd like to accompany you." She requested.

"I plan on it, Professor." Cutter answered back before stepping out the door.

APRIL 16 2534, 2025 HOURS

199 DAYS AFTER CYLON ATTACK

COLONIAL ONE

OFFICE OF THE PRESIDENT OF THE 12 COLONIES OF KOBOL

UNKNOWN SYSTEM

Colonial One was an unusual reality compared to what Captain Cutter had expected as he was being led by a surprisingly young man who introduced himself as the President's Chief of Staff. The poor kid didn't even look twenty but Cutter was learning that adaptation was the name of the game in the Colonial Fleet with the President herself being the former Secretary of Education. Desperate times called for desperate measures it seemed. But strangely not desperate enough to call for Admiral Adama to call for martial law which puzzled him given the Colonials' circumstances. Adama certainly didn't seem like a weak man.

Cutter began ascending the spiral staircase with Anders behind and Mr. Keikeya in front, escorted by an armed man in a black suit serving under the President's security service at the head of the line and to the rear Corporal Locklear, an ODST handpicked by Major Markov for this mission for his aptitude with combat in close quarters.

They now entered the topmost compartment on the starliner, formerly the first-class seating. A short aisle of doubled-up seats lead to a room partitioned off by a curtain in a vertically stretched hexagonal-framed door.

The young Mr. Keikeya stopped just before it and turned about to face the Captain. He said something with an awkward tone of voice that Corporal Locklear then translated.

"He said you can't bring your sidearm in Captain. And he wants me to wait out here. Should I politely tell him where to shove it sir?"

"That's a negative Corporal. This is their ship, I'll show them the courtesy." Cutter spoke as he drew his sidearm and handed it to the ODST.

"If you're sure sir, I'll be right out here if you need me." Locklear ensured.

"I trust you will, son." He said before turning to Anders. "Okay Professor let's go, and remember what I said on the Pelican."

Ushered on by the Chief of Staff who held the curtain open for the Captain and Anders, the two entered President Laura Roslin's office.

It was a fairly spacious compartment, one could walk comfortably enough in there around the austere desk centered toward the back of the office. In the far-left corner sat a pair of dwarfish filing cabinets with a desk lamp and three sets of lawbooks atop them. To the outsides of the adjacent doorway by which they were placed stood a pair of bronze poles a few centimeters shorter than the ceiling, each holding what bust have been the Colonial flag. Around were a number of upholstered leather armchairs like the one Vice President Baltar sat in against the left wall, there like an afterthought when compared to Admiral Adama seated to the left at the left foremost chair nearest the desk. He who wore a pensive expression almost unseen until Cutter walked up to bare his eyes on perhaps the one thing that met his expectations today.

From the upholstered leather office chair behind the desk, a beautiful middle-aged woman stood up who couldn't have fit the textbook image of a schoolteacher more than she already was. Her brown, almost auburn hair flowed over the shoulders of her simple black work dress and the feminine black-framed glasses highlighted her warm yet intelligent eyes.

She approached with an excited spring in her step, greeting him in her language, caught up in the moment and forgetting he couldn't understand a word she said. Baltar then stood up as well as an unthought reaction mimicking Roslin's more politically savvy greeting evidenced by his awkward forced smile. Admiral Adama though, stayed seated.

Anders stepped in, handing the Captain and the two politicians the headsets from her briefcase opened upon a chair on her right.

"Admiral?" she said in English, attempting to get his attention to take a headset for himself. After a second call, she placed her hand on his shoulder which roused him from his thoughts.

"Thank you," he said passively.

It took a second for President Roslin to adjust her hair around the earpieces before she attempted a greeting once more.

"Captain Cutter, it's a pleasure to meet you." she said with a smile and her hand presented.

In response Cutter shook it lightly with a bit of a smile befitting a military man. "President Roslin,"

"And you must be miss Anders," she addressed Cutter's civilian companion.

"Uh, yes ma'am that's correct." Anders was almost as awkward as Baltar. Perhaps it was a shared trait amongst scientists.

"Go ahead, please be seated, we have much to discuss." A gesturing sweep of President Roslin's hand welcomed them to the set of chairs to the right of the room. Cutter took and Anders took the chairs opposite the ones of Adama and Baltar with the Captain taking the aisle seat. Cutter cast a glance to Adama and their eyes met for a moment, spotting a hidden glimmer of agitation in the Admiral's eyes directed at James. As Roslin began to speak, their attention was put on her as she took her seat at her desk.

"To begin, Captain, I would like to thank you for assisting Galactica in the defeat of the cylon basestars. That really was a remarkable thing you and the Admiral accomplished out there. How is your ship, I heard the engines were damaged?"

Cutter cleared his throat. "We have our main sublight power back up. Two of our thrusters were badly damaged and I'm waiting for my Chief Engineer to get back to me if they can be fully repaired."

Roslin nodded. "Well, if the Spirit of Fire is in any need of fuel, our tanker ship has plenty of tylium to spare her." This brought on a confused look from the Captain.

Anders then interjected. "I'm sorry, did I hear you right? Did you just say you used tylium to fuel your starships?"

Now it was Roslin's turn to be confused. "Um yes, why is something wrong Professor?" she asked with honest curiosity.

"The Spirit operates on fusion drives, madam President," Cutter answered. "She won't need refueling for another fifty-six years. And if you'll pardon me saying, I've never heard of anyone crazy enough to run their ships off the stuff you're using." Truthfully, it was like they were fueling their cars with gunpowder the way Cutter saw it. "But if you are offering, the Spirit's arsenal of ship-to-ship missiles and countermeasures are running significantly low."

Roslin was a bit slow to react upon hearing of that technological revelation. "That's excellent to hear Captain, I'm sure we can work out that little detail at the conclusion of these talks, I just have a few questions I wanted to direct your way."

"Go ahead," Cutter answered with an offering gesture.

"Yes, I've read the file you gave to my Vice President. I saw no mention of Kobol in it or really anything about the Gods."

Cutter took in a short breath after a second of internal deliberation. "Less than an hour ago, I wasn't aware there was a planet called Kobol. As for your gods, to my knowledge no one has practiced widespread worship of them for millennia."

Roslin's response was silence. Cutter had clearly dropped two very big bombs on the woman.

"You forgot about us?" Vice President Baltar spoke up. "What about the ships you left Kobol in, where did those all go, they certainly couldn't have just disappeared?"

"Four-thousand years is a very long time mister Vice President." Anders answered. "And the circumstances as to why our ancestors left Kobol is completely undefined in your Sacred Scrolls. There could have been a civil war, some reason why they'd want to forget about the past. As for the ships, conceivably they could have been autopiloted into the sun or any of the gas giants in Earth's solar system." It wasn't the truth, but it also wasn't a lie, just as she and the Captain had discussed on the Pelican ride over. Right now Spirit of Fire couldn't afford to alienate the Colonials by presenting a mountain of evidence contradicting a large portion of their history and religion which could possibly reignite tensions. For now, Cutter would string them along for the greater good of everyone until they got back to the UNSC. Let the higher-ups and the scientific community handle that mess of worms.

"Well that doesn't matter now," President Roslin rejoined the conversation with her lovely smile. "We're all of us, all thirteen tribes reunited at long last and that's all that matters." She said looking to all four faces in the room. Roslin then looked to a paper on her desk, looking back up to Cutter after reading something. "Captain, if I may ask, how exactly did Spirit of Fire come to appear so far outside UNSC controlled space, that matter is unclear to me."

"We were en route back to the colony of Reach from our deployment with Third Fleet to resupply when our slipspace drive dangerously malfunctioned and we were forced to jettison it before it destroyed the ship. The jump had us nearly run headfirst into an asteroid and did quite a number to our portside." That however was a lie, one Cutter made out of necessity. The absolute last thing these people should learn was that their only hope for survival was at war with a technologically superior alien civilization, a greater threat than the cylons might ever be. Such a shocking revelation could very well scatter these people to the wind, taking with them their unique FTL drives that could give the UNSC the strategic advantage it needed to press back against the Covenant. "That was over three years ago. With no slipspace drive, most of the crew entered cryogenic storage for the long journey back. We certainly never expected to encounter your Fleet."

"So you do know the way back to Earth?" Roslin asked with metaphorical held breath.

"We have a rough idea. No UNSC ship has ever been as far out as this before, we're definitely off the beaten path. Spirit will hit UNSC space eventually though, that's a guarantee."

Losing the smile, President Roslin then addressed the matter foremost on her mind. "Captain Cutter you are aware of the circumstances the Fleet faces?"

"I am." He answered solidly.

"Then as President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol and representative her peoples, I would like to formally request asylum within United Earth space."

Cutter stood to present himself formally. "As a Captain of the United Nations Space Command Navy under the United Earth Government, I will accept your request." Roslin couldn't have been more elated if she were standing on Earth itself right now. "However," Cutter continued. "Spirit of Fire will need a replacement drive if we are to accompany you and I cannot in good faith abandon my ship. My second condition is that all Colonial FTL drives and military vessels are to be handed over to the UNSC for scientific research upon arrival."

Roslin took her eyes off Cutter as she deliberated, a second later she met them again with her answer. "I believe that's something I can agree to." She acquiesced. "Admiral Adama?"

The sturdily built Admiral stood himself to meet Captain Cutter, for the first time yet since the discussions began Admiral Adama spoke. "Before that, Captain, I wanted to ask you," he began departing from the original topic, his words were unhurried but held a serious tone. "When your men departed for the Galactica, did you order them to take the explosives they brought aboard my ship?"

You could have heard a pin drop. Roslin sat in well masked horror at Bill's words but could not find any herself.

Cutter for his part, looked Bill right in the eyes, undeterred by his stoic glare. "No." he answered. "But I was aware."

"You sent special forces under the cover of a diplomatic mission." Bill then accused.

Cutter's reply was instant. "I sent men that I knew couldn't be taken as hostages and used as bargaining chips. You threatened to open fire and seize my ship unprovoked. I could have ordered them to detonate those explosives, disable the Galactica's flight pod and had my pilots shoot yours down while Red Team seized the Bridge to force a solution." The Captain explained with a deadpan tone.

"But you didn't." Adama intensely said back with equal measure of emotionlessness. "Why?"

"You risked the safety of your ship to save mine, a gesture like that can't be swept aside. That's why I'm here and not issuing demands from the Spirit with a gun to your head."

Bill gave a very low grunt in return. "Your soldiers already did that in my CIC."

"And it wouldn't have happened if your aviators were better disciplined." Cutter countered.

"Gentlemen please," A recomposed Roslin interrupted, standing herself. "Yes, the both of you threatened to blow each other up, everyone was confused but we're past that now." The President negotiated. "Admiral Adama are you willing to accept Captain Cutter's terms?"

Adama's posture softened as he turned his torso slightly to face President Roslin. "I will need some time to deliberate the Captain's terms. In the meantime, Pegasus has detected significant deposits of titanium in this system's asteroid belt, more than enough to make two full squadrons of Vipers.

"And with the cylons' main force in the area destroyed, we would have the time for the Majahual to engage in a mining operation." Roslin finished, though slightly irritated.

"Spirit has some mining capability of her own and we need to make repairs to all the damages she's sustained." Cutter added in. "We can still continue these talks without the galaxy having to stand still for us. After all, Rome wasn't built in a day."

It was a reasoning that Roslin could agree to despite not getting the reference. "Okay, we have the luxury, we'll take things slow. I'd like for us to meet back here and resume talks in around twenty hours, I'll have more proposals and points I would like to talk on by then. Captain, when you're prepared, I'd like to send over Galactica's engineering expert to analyze what it would take to make Spirit of Fire jump-capable and then oversee the installation if that's fine with you."

Cutter nodded. "We'll need to make some preparations, then I'll 'wireless' you when we're ready. Feel free to keep the headsets, we'll be coming back here anyway."

Roslin stepped out from behind her desk to stand next to Captain Cutter to shake hands again. "Captain, it's been a pleasure, I look forward to our next meeting. She said diplomatically but there was an honest charm to her voice anyone could have found likable.

"I'll see you in twenty hours madam President." He bid farewell before once again facing Bill and offering a courteous salute which Admiral Adama returned in equal respect.

"Admiral,"

"Captain,"

With that, Captain Cutter and Professor Anders departed for their dropship to head back to Spirit of Fire.

A good forty seconds of silence followed after their departure, a measure on Roslin's part to make sure they wouldn't hear her next words. "What the hell was that all about Bill?" Laura said, losing the façade of politeness.

The Admiral was slow to face her as he turned about. "I needed to know the kind of man he was, how far he'd go." He explained at his normal deliberate pace.

"Well, I hope you got your answer because you almost sabotaged this whole thing." She bit back.

"Cutter needs our spare FTL drives if he wants to get his ship home before the next century." Bill said, pacing slightly to the right of the room. "He'll help us, he was honest about that. But I get the impression that if he thinks that his crew is in any kind of immediate danger, he won't hesitate to take action, maybe even leave us behind if he feels he must. Call it a gut feeling."

Roslin's lips narrowed as she judged the weight of Adama's words. "I'll take that into consideration going forward Admiral. That will be all for today."

"Madam President," Bill bid farewell.

APRIL 16 2534, 2055 HOURS

199 DAYS AFTER CYLON ATTACK

PELICAN DELTA 091

COLONIAL FLEET

Now once again aboard the Pelican and returning to the Spirit from the interesting start to these negotiations, Cutter and Anders sat in the troop bay at the end nearest the cockpit and across from one another. There wasn't much to say. For the most part, things had gone mostly as expected and they managed to keep their cover story. The rest of the crew would need to be briefed as well to make sure the Colonials remained unaware to certain truths any one of them could let slip depending on how long Spirit would journey with the Fleet until they reached the UNSC. There was one major problem however, one that Anders then brought up.

"So, when are we going to tell them we don't know where Earth is either?"

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

So, Cutter is keeping secrets, Roslin is gitty, Baltar is Baltar and Adama is still wary about things he doesn't have control over. Next chapter I'll be introducing the Spirit's Chief Engineer and that'll be fun. Don't expect massive battles all the time, they'll happen from time to time with lots of drama in between just like in the show and I definitely want to keep that feel. As for the technical subjects…

1. Since tylium is a thing in BSG, then it is a thing everywhere and the UNSC must know about its existence. With refined tylium being an extraordinary high-explosive, I'm creating the connection that the UNSC uses it to achieve high-megaton yields in non-nuclear munitions like Archer Missiles and that Shortsword anti-ship missile I introduced in the previous chapter, actually fixing an existing technological plot-hole in the Halo canon.

2. Titanium oxynitride is what I'm calling the material used for starship windows. It is based on aluminum oxynitride, an actual existing material used commercially.

3. I based Spirit of Fire's Tarantula Repair Drones on the Gyges Construction Drones from Sins of the Prophets, an excellent Halo mod for the space RTS Sins of a Solar Empire: Rebellion. Seriously, check it out. You can finally play with all the UNSC's ships and more. Spirit of Fire would need such remotely operated vehicles like them in order to effectively operate as a fleet support and repair ship, which is one of her main duties.