At the now secure Baikonur Space Centre in Kazakhstan, Colonel General Surkov gradually became aware that his mouth was gaping, hanging open rather idiotically. He gazed in disbelief at the robotic being before him. Head like a light bulb, constructed like a human, wearing a luxurious robe, and apparently fluent in every language that had been spoken at the Armstrong Lunar Base, this cybernetic creation was so far advanced beyond anything he had ever seen that there were only two possible conclusions: Either it was indeed from outer space or he was being duped.
The colonel general didn't like being duped.
"Open it," he ordered Colonel Katko. She and her men were flanking not only the robot, but Sergei Makshin Orlov, the Executive Director for WASA. Many of the security guards that WASA had employed had been GRU plants, thus had helped neutralize those actually loyal to the Space Centre while keeping casualties to a minimum. It had been Director Borodin's master plan, put in place over the last five years. He had to admit that it had been effective.
"Open it?" Lucifer repeated back to him, his Russian conspicuously good for an 'alien' life form. "Colonel General Surkov, I am a premier example of the most highly advanced form of cybernetic sentience in all the universe, not a . . ."
"Colonel General Surkov, I'm done warring with you," Orlov blew out a breath of frustration. "It's pointless, like fish hitting ice. Do you think that if you 'open it' that there will be a little man inside? This is not a science fiction film. It is real! This is what we have been warning you about for decades! This is a Cylon! Some kind of an advance scout. And more like him just attacked the Venture! They have arrived, just as we have been telling you for ages! We have a satellite recording of their war ship near Mars!" Orlov raved, his face flushing with anger and desperation. "Just look at it!"
"Technically, I am actually not a Cylon, but one of their constructs. Their best one, truthfully," Lucifer inserted, his lights flashing as he processed information. "I would be invaluable . . ."
"I agree with you, Colonel General," Director Borodin was suddenly behind them, but keeping his distance. The way the director for Russian Intelligence could suddenly appear unexpectedly, in utter silence, was disconcerting. "We should open it up. Within, I am certain we would find recently developed American technology," he snorted loudly, "if not an American, in actual fact."
"And in the process you will destroy it!" Orlov argued, his face flushed.
"A calculated risk," Borodin replied indifferently. "We follow procedure for a reason, Sergei Orlov. Did you decontaminate it on your lunar base?"
"Of course, we did!" Orlov exclaimed. "Every decon procedure there is. Not a microbe was found . . ."
"I guess not . . ." Borodin inserted with a sneer.
"Director, you know that I would no more put my people at WASA at risk, than I would the rest of our world population!" Orlov reminded him.
"Now see here . . . " Lucifer protested, managing an aggrieved tone of voice.
"This satellite transmission of their war ship, Sergei Orlov . . ." Colonel General Surkov hesitated. Orlov had been a good man when he'd been in the Russian Air Force fifteen years before. It had been unfortunate when the officer and pilot had resigned his commission and joined WASA to follow the dreams of his youth.
"My people are studying it now, Colonel General," Director Borodin swiftly inserted. "Initial assessments imply it is fabricated." He made a growling sound low in his throat as if he would spit. "It looks like something from a Revell model kit for an American television series."
"Do not tell lies, Director!" Orlov berated him. "It is real, Colonel General! As is the Colonial pilot that saved the Venture!"
"Colonial pilot?" Lucifer echoed. "Interesting."
"Yes, the pilot," Borodin smiled grimly as a team of men came towards them dressed from head to toe in environmental suits, designed to protect them from possible biological or radiological contamination. One man was lagging behind, his helmet still off. He raised his head incrementally slowly, before letting out a loud sneeze and then wiping his nose on his glove. Borodin chuckled in a strange perverse pleasure. "The decontamination team appears to be ready to receive the pilot. And our scientists are standing by."
"NO!" screamed Orlov futilely. "The Colonial pilot is our most valuable ally! You cannot treat him like this!"
"Take it!" Borodin ordered, pointing a finger at the 'Cylon construct' and then turning to go. "I will direct the pilot's decontamination and interrogation personally."
"Colonel Katko, you will attend," Surkov ordered her.
"Yes, Colonel General," she replied, saluting smartly.
"Director Borodin, for a human in such a powerful situation, I am disappointed that you would not enquire as to the benefits of an alliance between your great nation and mine," taunted Lucifer. "Especially since you have detected one of our ships already with your limited scanners."
Borodin paused to study the IL thoughtfully. "Delay the analysis of this . . . Cylon construct until I have more time to debrief him." He nodded as he strode away, Colonel Katko on his heels. A moment later, the IL was led away.
"Wait, Colonel General!" Orlov pleaded, lowering his tone and waving a hand as a scowling Surkov turned to go. "There is something which you donotknow."
"Eh?" Surkov paused, waving a hand at the soldiers poised to take the robot. "And what might that be?"
"Thirty-five years ago, when the American President Curtis was in office, WASA was given access to long-buried information, technology and evidence that aliens had actually landed on Earth back in 1947, which accelerated our space program to where it is today." He didn't add that generous contributions to President Curtis' lagging re-election campaign had preceded this. "We have concluded that the ship that crashed on the Moon, the one we recovered Lucifer from, is virtually identical to the one that crashed in Roswell, in the American state of New Mexico."
"Do not toy with me, Sergei Orlov, or I will put you in the lip!" Surkov threatened.
Orlov raised his hands conciliatorily. "I am not, Colonel General. I swear on my mother's grave! Those aliens that crash-landed at Roswell, New Mexico back in 1947 were Cylons. Now if we could retrieve data from the Cylon fighter, it would prove what happened there . . ."
"It was almost a hundred years ago, Orlov. What does it matter, now?"
"Because for ninety-eight years, American intelligence has kept this information from the military, even when it was right under their noses. Instead, they encouraged the tales of little green men that expired." He curled a lip as if he found the phrase as distasteful as the rest.
"Even when WASA recently submitted our findings," Orlov continued, "the information once again found its way to the desk of their Director of National Intelligence. Mason once again buried it. Likewise, Director Borodin is aware, but appears to be doing his best to destroy the evidence. To destroy the Cylon." He lowered his voice, looking over his shoulder should the intelligence man reappear once again. "I believe that these cloak and dagger knights are working together, Colonel General."
Surkov snorted loudly. "You would have me believe that Russian and American intelligence are trying to cover up the existence of a threat against Earth? What would be their motivation?"
"The Guardians, the beings that first brought all this information to our attention, spoke of a powerful and evil force in the universe that sought to corrupt and then control all organic life. TheseCylons were of that being's creation. Once living, sentient, reptilian life forms, they invented a cybernetic army that eventually turned on them and destroyed them. Lucifer, and others similar to him, is what the original Cylon race has evolved to. If this force of darkness could not enslave us, he would instead destroy us. He would use his Cylon army to do so. I believe he has already enslaved some humans on our planet and corrupted them to do everything within their power to stop us. Director Borodin, Director Mason, Chairman Whatley of the United Kingdom . . ."
"Bah!" Surkov sounded as though he had something caught in his throat. "It sounds like a comic book plot, Sergei Makshin!"
"Of course. It sounds ridiculous, but . . ." he let out an explosive breath. "For the love of the Motherland, Alexei Andreivich . . ."
"You!" Surkov roared, pointing a shaking hand at the other. "You go too far!"
"Talk to her!" Orlov pleaded. "She will tell you! Has she ever lied to you before? You know she has not!"
Surkov raised a hand, ready to strike the other man. Ovlov didn't flinch. He merely held his head a little higher. Surkov clenched a fist tightly, before turning on his heel and pacing away.
xxxxx
The three ships put Carl Fraser, of ABC News in Chicago, in mind of an old Stealth Bomber, although the lines were more elliptical. He accessed the old file he'd received almost six weeks before, comparing that ship, which WASA had then claimed crashed on the Moon, to these machines. To the anchor's eye, they looked damned close. Of course, the Network heads hadn't let him run that earlier story, claiming that WASA was up to their old tricks again, trying to drive fear into the hearts of American viewers. Besides, as they had pointed out, it wasn't like he could fly up there himself to verify the information.
"You got this from WASA satellite imagery?" he asked again, confirming the source. As LM Dayton had mentioned, the ships appeared adrift in Earth's orbit at strange angles to one another, and in no obvious formation. As far as the satellite's scanning could determine, there was no one aboard, nor active power.
"In from Guiana Space Centre," Dayton replied, her tone clipped. "They were monitoring the mission."
He looked up at her from his desk, noting the dark circles under her eyes and her obvious nervousness as her eyes constantly darted around. "You look like shit, LM."
"Well, at least I don't have to eat it for three squares a day, Carl," she replied acerbically, waving a hand around at his expansive and elegantly decorated office as she bold-facedly called him a brownnoser. "You already have the file on the Cylons. How many times have I sent it to you at this point?"
"I know . . ." he muttered, not for the first time in his high profile career torn between what he could see in front of his eyes and what he had to tell the masses. "Look, LM . . ."
"No, you look, Carl!" she spat. "The Cylons are here! Are you really going to sit by and do nothing while National Intelligence continues to cover it up? The American people have a right to know!" Her hazel eyes blazed at him. "If this satellite image got through, then there are going to be plenty more sightings around the globe. It's only going to be a matter of time, Carl. This could be an exclusive . . ." she dangled it tantalizingly before him.
"I have my career to think about, LM," he replied frankly. "And a family . . ."
"If the Cylons attack Earth, you might as well kiss your wife and kids goodbye, Carl. If one of their capital ships turns its primary weapon on us, there will be nothing we can do to defend ourselves against it. Nothing!" Lauren returned heatedly.
"What about this other ship, LM? The one that intervened?" Fraser asked, ignoring the flashing light on his phone.
"Strike Captain Starbuck of the Colonial Nation," she replied.
"Starbucks?" he erupted, almost spewing his tall, extra hot, upside down, soy Caramel Macchiato with double froth in her direction. "You gotta be kidd . .."
"Don't look at me like that! I'm serious. From what I can tell, his people are our only chance, Carl. And there's more . . ."
The door burst open, smashing into the wall with enough force to knock a hole in the drywall as four men in suits rushed into the room.
"Finally!" one growled, charging towards LM Dayton, a weapon in his hands. His features changed to complete shock as his left hand passed through her.
"Isn't life a bitch?" she grinned, waving her fingers tauntingly at the goon. And then LM Dayton faded away as her holographic image was disconnected on her end.
"What the bloody . . ." began another suit.
"Alright!" said the first, pointing his weapon at Carl. "Where is she?"