As always, I don't own the universes and characters used within. This is intended as entertainment and tribute, and I make no claims.
Chapter Six
Bad enough we have to dance with the frakking Cylons, thought Kara "Starbuck" Thrace, but who the frak are these people?
She rolled the Viper out of the line of fire of one Raider, clipping it with her own shots. She spared a moment to glance at her ammo gauge. The number was lower than she liked. A lot lower. She didn't let herself focus on that, eased back into her pilot's couch, let instincts born of years of flying carry her through the battle. Her instincts were very good. Better than just about everyone she'd ever flown with, and everyone she'd trained.
She'd watched a lot of her students buy the farm, these last few years, because of it. It frakking well hurt.
Cat's voice crackled over the wireless. "Who the frak are the these guys?"
"No idea," replied Starbuck on the squadron freq as she lined up one of the squiddy bastards herself, tore it up with an extended burst from her guns. "But at least they seem to be going after the Cylons, too." Whatever the squiddy things were, they didn't seem to play favorites when it came to picking targets.
The wireless crackled. "All Vipers, this is Galactica Actual – fall back on the fleet. Some of these newcomers are inbound on the civilians."
Starbuck swore as she flipped her fighter around, firewalling the throttle. Her onboard DRADIS pinged several of the little, fighter-sized ones inside the fleet, where Galactica's guns couldn't safely smite them. The Grand Old Girl was laying into one of the big ones, the hundred-meter thing trading those weird blue-white blasts against her autocannons. For a long moment, she watcher her DRADIS carefully, barely daring to breath – then saw that the Cylons were also trying to deal with the newcomers rather than harass the fleet. Several of the big suckers were closing on the two basestars.
Cat on her wing, Starbuck swooped down on one of the critters that seemed to be taking a chunk out of Colonial One, cannons thundering.
Gaius Baltar ignored Six's smug smile as he followed the Marines into CnC, irritated at being awoken at such a godawful hour. He wasn't well loved by the military, he knew, but damned if he'd let them treat him like this. "What's going on," he demanded when he reached the CnC.
Adama glanced up from the DRADIS. "We're under attack, mister Baltar."
"I could tell that," said Gaius acidly. "Why wake me? Surely you can handle the Cylons."
Adama nodded to one of his subordinates, who slid a glossy flatpic towards him. "They aren't Cylons. Not just Cylons, anyway." He paused a moment, as the scientist turned politician stared at the... thing in the picture. "Mister Baltar... what are we dealing with here?"
That cannot be a spaceship, he thought. He felt himself pale. "I..." oh, it was going to hurt to say this, but he couldn't avoid it, "I don't know. Some kind of... creature?" But nothing can live in vacuum. Unless...
"Be careful of your assumptions, Gaius," said Six, leaning close, unnoticed by all others. "You assume you know everything about God's Creation. That's a very human arrogance."
Tigh's voice growled. "Well, then, Mister Baltar, why don't you figure out what the frak it is, and how we deal with it?"
"Yes, of course." He quickly made his way to one of the sensor stations, started punching data through the console. The politician was swept away; as was the posturing ladies man. Baltar the Scientist dove into what he loved most, and tried to puzzle it out.
Outwardly, Lee Adama was almost calm, so far as anyone could tell looking into his cockpit. The CAG was composed and efficient, tracking his pilots on the Viper's status board and rattling off orders. Thank the gods the Cylons decided to get distracted too, he thought as he spun the lithe fighter around. Whoever, or whatever, these strangers and their bizarre, squid-like ships were, they seemed to want to go after anything that moved, not just the weaker targets.
Though the handful of the little frakkers who'd gotten in amid the civilian fleet had done damage enough; their strange, bright gunfire leaving half a dozen ships bleeding air. And something about them genuinely twisted his head when he tried to look at them.
He was damn grateful that his was one of the newer Vipers. The improved instrumentation meant that trying to target by his scopes and not the mark one eyeball was reasonably doable, even this close to civie ships. He didn't know how Kara and her bunch were managing with their older models. Training and experience let him keep the appearance of calm as they fought these... things, picking off the little ones amid the fleet.
Inside, he was screaming. There were bigger ones, a hundred meters long if they were a centimeter, closing in on Galactica and the two BaseStars against them. The three closing on Galactica were slowly pushing through the hail of fire from the Battlestar's broadside, though the cannons were chipping away at them. The streamers the lead one trailed had to be air and coolant. Because, sinuous motions or not, they had to be ships of some kind. Nothing could live in deep space.
If it can, said a mental voice tinged in bleak humor, The President's going to be very disappointed. She thought she'd killed those Cylons, after all.
He wondered, briefly, how they were going to deal with those big ones, that seemed so resistant to gunfire. Probably throw Athena and her Raptors at them, hit the suckers with some nukes. But then, they'd have to rearm to go after the BaseStars, and that leaves us vulnerable...
The last of the little frakkers died beneath Hotdog's guns, and Lee allowed himself a savage smile at the satisfied whoop that sounded over the squadron's Wireless. He let it go for a moment, then set about to wrangle them back to order. "Okay everyone," he said, keying the Wireless. "Let's deal with the big ones now, before the Toasters decide to come after us."
It seemed his father had had a similar thought – the Galactica's guns cut off, then suddenly blazed madly, the entire broadside targeting the beak-bow, not beak – it can't be a living thing – of the lead ship. The tone of its jamming – or whatever the frak that scream was – changed to one laced with greater pain, and it started to come apart under their pounding, shedding-
That cannot be hull metal and air – that looks like blood, flesh, bone... what in the God's names is that thing? His head twisted, stomach lurching, at the sheer wrongness of it all.
Then the two big ones still heading for Galactica blazed away with volleys of their strange, glowing cannons – energy weapons? Just a theory, but makes more sense than... and the big ship rocked. Air gushed for a moment, then cut off – no, not entirely. He could see air still leaking from the hull; the battered old ship's pressure seals no longer entirely intact. Frak. Hope the Chief is in good form today.
The other two big squids fell to Galactica's concentrated fire in short order, Starbuck's squadron helping with the last. In the distance, the sharp snap-flash of nuke strikes haloed another squid like a spider in a candle's flame. "All right people, check your ammo and fuel. We're going to have company again in a moment." He checked his own by reflex – low, but he had enough for a dogfight or two. Enough to clear a path for Athena and her Raptors.
Then space twisted once more, around the point where the last wave had jumped in, and another squidlike ship passed through it, and Lee's heart nearly stopped at the sight. His mind wanted to deny it; to refuse to believe something like that could exist – it had a face, and too many eyes, and he felt himself gibber at the sight as its massive, sinuous form pushed into space, loosing some strange sound that carried despite the vacuum; a sound of challenge.
He looked away, forcing his eyes down to the DRADIS. Seven hundred meters long. How much tougher than the last ones is it?
By reflex he ground out orders to his squadrons, tried to get them together, back into some kind of order. The Cylons were quicker; the snap-flash of nukes lighting up one of the thing's flanks, though against this one's mottled hide they seemed mere pinpricks, and appeared to do almost nothing. Energy crackled along trailing tentacles, swept out in an almost lazy arc, tearing through the Cylon raiders like fire through dry grass. Another tentacle waved, and one of the BaseStars simply was suddenly gone.
His squadrons were still forming up when his DRADIS pinged, reporting a new contact. And a wave of azure light devoured the squid whole.
"The Voidspawn is dead, Commodore," said the weapons officer, and Joffery Hoss nodded sharply. It had been over a century since the Republican navy had run afoul of the damned things, but the standing orders were clear. And fortunately, it seemed they hadn't changed much in the intervening time.
"Transmit to the remaining ships: This is Commodore Joffery Hoss of the Bradeson Republican Naval vessel Admiral Minsk. We have defeated the Voidspawn attacking you, and shall be sealing the breach it used to attack. Please remain calm." He paused, waiting for the communications officer's nod, then keyed the intraship comm. "Bridge to Thaum lab. Please get started on charting and sealing that rupture."
"Thaum to bridge – will do, Commodore."
"Helmsman, hold our position. Guns, watch that rift. If more of those Voidspawn stick their beaks out, blow them off."
He heard a pair if 'Aye, sir's and a small chuckle. He and this new crew were getting used to each other – he'd not served with anyone on this ship before, and only two of the destroyers in the task force. He'd never expected to get a second chance, so he was doing everything he could to rebuild his reputation as a good officer. Humor had worked before, as had taking an even and fair hand to tasks of discipline. Well, not perfectly even. He tended to land a bit harder on officers than enlisted, but that seemed to work alright for discipline – if only because, based on her record, he could count on the ship's bosun to take up any slack he might give the enlisted.
He wasn't going to waste this. So few officers got a second chance.
"Sensors, what are the locals up to?"
"Both forces appear to be forming up, sir. From the way they're banging away with active sensors, I think they're about to get into it with each other."
Perhaps the Voidspawn interrupted them. Even so... he shook his head. He was about to walk to the bridge's science station when the comm officer said, "Sir, both fleets are hailing us, prerecorded messages."
"Let's hear them. First, the fleet with all the escorts."
The transmission played, the speaker sounding like a man old, tired, and defiant. "This is Admiral William Adama of the Colonial Fleet Battlestar Galactica to Admiral Minsk. Thank you for your assistance against that... creature. The Cylon force is almost certain to attack us now that it's gone. We have nearly fifty thousand civilians in the fleet, and only Galactica herself and our fighters are armed. Any assistance you could render would be... appreciated."
Hoss heard someone swear, and frowned himself. That doesn't sound good. "And the other one?"
The message started, in a voice harsh and mechanical. "Your assistance is appreciated, however, we have a dispute to settle with the Colonials. It is not your affair, do not interfere."
A weight settled into the pit of his stomach. "Comms, hail the 'Cylon.'"
The comm officer tried to raise them. "No response, sir."
The tactical officer said, "Their fighters are forming up for a run on the Colonials, sir. Scans show them packing some kind of atomics – looks like just low kiloton yields, but they've got a lot of them."
"And those Colonials – is that fleet actually unarmed?" Oh, I have a truly bad feeling about this. If that fleet was mostly unarmed, and these Cylons meant to slaughter it...
"It looks that way, sir." The tactical officer's voice was grim.
Oh, Queen of Ice and Darkness... "Can Galactica and her fighters hold them off?"
"Not sure, Commodore. Not enough data... but I'm not reading any shields on those civies- even firecrackers like those KT-range nukes could crack them."
For a long moment, Hoss stood with eyes closed, weighing the General Orders against his conscience. We don't know a damn thing about the situation, and G.O. Three dictates not to get into the middle of a dispute between unknown spacefaring powers. If we get involved directly, they'll crucify me. No way in the icy hells will I get a third chance...
And if I don't, I'll never be able to look in the mirror again without wincing. I will not play silent witness to another massacre. "Guns. Fire a warning volley between those forces. Comms, warn the Cylons off."
The video feed from the Vipers was grainy, low quality from the compression, but it showed the wave of fire slash before the Raiders. Adama allowed himself a moment of hope – these strangers would not stand idly by and watch the wounded Battlestar and her charges be overwhelmed. Perhaps the Gods still have some mercy for us.
"Any word from that ship?"
At his station, Gaeta replied, "They just told the Cylons to back off again." A pause. "The tone I'm hearing is more 'don't do it where we can see you' than 'don't do it.'"
"Probably the best we could hope for," muttered Colonel Tigh.
Adama nodded as he watched the DRADIS. The Raiders seemed to be hesitating. "It might be enough."
The comm crackled with his son's voice. "CAG to Galactica Actual – what are your orders?"
"Fall back on Galactica for now, Apollo." He turned towards their pet mad scientist. "Mister Baltar. What are we dealing with here?"
The scientist glanced towards empty air for a moment, then looked at him. "I have-" He stopped, trying to compose himself. "I have no idea, Admiral. These people, whoever they are, are vastly more powerful than we are. The Cylon's missiles barely scratched that last... thing... but they obliterated it. Using some kind of directed energy weapon. Our science-" he shot another glance at empty air. Adama kept his expression neutral – having their one and only real scientist crack completely right now could be a minor disaster. He sent a silent prayer to the Gods that they'd keep him sane enough to help. "Our science considers energy weapons to be a theory – and impossible to make practical. I can't make any sense of the energy readings off that ship, either." A pause for breath, and then he shrugged. "I'll need time to give you any kind of definite answer. I can tell you, that whatever they used to get here wasn't a jump drive like our own, and it wasn't whatever the creatures were using."
"Well that's frakking useless-" snarled Tigh.
Baltar found some steel in his reply. "I am watching something that everything I know says is impossible. I don't know what their drive is. I don't know what their weapons are. I don't know what their sensors are. Yet. You dragged me up here to try and tell you what they are, so kindly shut up and let me work."
Adama grabbed Tigh's shoulder before his XO could do something they'd eventually regret. "Take your time, Doctor."
Gaeta interrupted. "Admiral, we have the Quorum on the Wireless. They're demanding an explanation."
"Of course they are," muttered Adama. I wish I had one for them.
The remaining BaseStar was crewed entirely by Centurions. The other ship had been in command of their little task force, under a Number One. With his rather abrupt death they fell back on their own judgement and standing orders. Their orders were to destroy the Colonials, or at least Galactica. They recognized the warning shot for what it was, and they certainly knew enough to recognize that, given what it had done to the unknown ships, the Admiral Minsk would almost certainly be able to destroy them. The Hybrid was babbling nonsense that seemed to at least vaguely agree with that, inasmuch as the Centurions could interpret her words. They were hampered, under the circumstances, by the Number One's determination that the Centurions' minds must be simple, that they not be capable of abstract thought and learning.
That left them with their last orders, and those orders were clear: kill the humans once the unknowns were dealt with.
If this stranger wanted to be an obstacle to their carrying out their orders, it would have to be dealt with.
"Commodore, those Cylons have a death wish."
Hoss turned towards Tactical. "I'm sorry, what?"
"They've formed up and they're painting us with targeting sensors."
"Comms, warn them off again." Are they completely insane? Or do they just not realize that we can laugh off mere kt-range nukes?
"No response to our hails, Commodore."
The tactical officer said, "Sir, their fighters are starting an attack run. Mass fire from fighters and the capital ship – looks like explosive tipped kinetic penetrators."
Hoss looked to his display, brought up the tactical view. The Cylon's fire rained down upon them, impacting the shields like a summer storm – enough to be noticed, but not even close to a danger. On the visual, he saw streaks of dirty smoke reach from beneath the ships as they fired their missiles, and shook his head. They must be some kind of fanatics. This is lunacy. Well, standard rules of engagement... "Guns. Deal with them."
The range was long for the mark one eyeball to make out details, but Starbuck made due. She'd had a frakload of combat experience, especially in the older Vipers, and she could see enough. Whoever this Commodore Hoss was, he drove one hell of a ship. It had absorbed an incredible amount of fire from the Toasters without seeming to even notice, and then replied in kind, impossible cannons shattering the Basestar, lesser weapons picking off Raiders in job lots.
She joined her squadron's triumphant whoops, the sight of the Toasters getting thrashed helping shake them out of the fear the squids had induced. Watching that felt good. Real fraking good.
Apollo's voice crackled over the Wireless. "All right people, quiet down. We don't know what these new people are going to do next, stay sharp."
I was wondering when she'd get here, thought William Adama as Laura Roslin walked into CnC. She wasted no time on pleasantries. "Admiral, what's going on?"
"The Cylon force that attacked us has been defeated by a... third party. Beyond that, we don't know."
The schoolteacher turned president blinked. "A... third party?"
From his console, Baltar said, "An unknown, highly advanced ship with significant defenses and firepower. I'm still gathering data."
She seemed to recover her poise. "I see. Have they said anything to us?"
"Not much," said Adama. "I was preparing to contact them again when you arrived."
"Then by all means," she said, gesturing towards the status board.
"Captain's Log, stardate 55632.6. Our mission to field test our experimental Dimensional Drive has been both more and less successful than we had hoped. While we are able to control the Drive to some extent, there appears to be a lasting and thus far negative side effect to its use: we are creating anomalies in space-time when we make use of the drive. Mr. Data, along with our supposed 'experts' in this field, are unable to determine why these anomalies are coming into being, or where, precisely, they lead. All we know with any certainty is that they act as pathways of some description.
The creature that emerged from these anomalies defy conventional description. It does not match up with any phylum of terrestrial life of which I am aware, though in the most basic of senses it bears a vague resemblance to a cephalopod. More, simply observing it for any length of time leads to intense and painful headaches. Furthermore, Counselor Tigan informs me that several members of the crew have reported disturbing dreams featuring those selfsame creatures. They bring to mind the works of Lovecraft and his ilk, though I dislike giving any credence to the idea of monsters from beyond space.
I believe it is in our best interests to continue to explore and gather information; if only to determine the cause and hopefully solution to these strange anomalies.
It was a subdued staff meeting. Seldom was Starfleet so thoroughly reminded that there were still many things in the universe it didn't know about, and Tom figured this finding was as bad as most. That thing, some kind of living creature, had taken quite the beating, and given the Enterprise a sizable whack at the same time. The rupture it had come through had begun to close shortly after the... creature... emerged, though their data and Copernicus' didn't quite agree on exactly when, which was... unnerving.
Commander Data was just finishing summarizing the theoretical information about the breach and how it had formed, and it had been mostly dry and technical. Oh, intellectually Tom knew that most of the information was probably important, but he just couldn't get his head around a lot of it, the interplays of dozens of exotic radiations and such. That the creatures were telepathic also grated on his nerves – and that godawful scream the thing had loosed could have been nothing else. Even if you're reasonably sure that a given telepath is friendly, they tended to be unnerving. Spacegoing telepaths the size of capital ships were the sort of things that plagued one's dreams.
Still, he wasn't in the worst shape of the bunch. G'rokas and Lister both seemed just as confused, though the Klingon's stoic expression was still solid. He tuned back into the conversation as Data finished. Picard let the silence hang for a moment, then nodded. "All right. That brings us to our current situation." He glanced towards Seven, then asked, "What did the probe discover?"
"The probe was unable to penetrate very... for lack of a better term, deeply, into the rift. Upon crossing its threshold, the probe's impulse drive ceased to function. Inertia and thrusters carried it deeper, but not so deep as we had planned." She took a moment to touch the controls at her conference table seat, and the radiation chart they'd had on the room's viewer was replaced by a wireframe sensor map of the interior of the rift. "The rift's interior is irregular if largely cylindrical, and it appears to be saturated with radiation similar to what it emits, though lacking the tetryon and hibrionic radiation. The probe detected no definite life signs, but there were several moving objects, and the probe's telemetry cut off... abruptly."
Oh, that's the sort of thing you just love to hear, thought Tom grimly. "So it's probably populated."
"T' critter 'ad tae come from sommat, dinnit?" said Lister. The souser's expression was clouded, deep in thought, belying his easy words.
Picard nodded, expression thoughtful. "Mister Data, Seven... how great an impact would proximity to one of these rifts have on an M-class planet? Specifically the radiation it releases."
"Unknown, but likely a notable one," said the android.
The borg frowned, then added, "I do not have sufficient data to give a definite answer, but I suspect the same. The testing determined that the radiation surge of a jump could be deflected by shields, it did not measure the effect on living tissue."
"Consult with Doctor Crusher, if you please. Should these spread, StarFleet needs to know how to respond."
Tom frowned at the display. Something about the map... He called it up on the smaller screen built into the conference table before him. A lot deeper than it looks from out here... and it almost look like it... curves away at the 'bottom,' not just ends... like it continues further than the probe could see. "Is it my imagination, or does this look almost like a wormhole?"
"Or a tunnel," rumbled G'rokas. "Klingon legend speaks of creatures like these, making their lairs in the deepest places of space."
"Smeggin' great," muttered Lister.
Picard's face took on an odd expression for a moment. "A tunnel, or wormhole. Mister Data, based on the information we already have, can you extrapolate where this rift might lead? And perhaps plot a way through it using the dimensional drive?"
"Intriguing," said the android. "I may be able to do so, though I will require the assistance of the science division."
"Make it so."
Strange as it seems, this place is almost... peaceful, thought Janice "Starlight" Parker as she guided her Ferret on its CSP. No Cats, no pirates, nothing but us.
And a hole in space that occasionally spits out killer space squid.
She shook her head, clearing the thought from her mind. This was not a good time to panic. Nobody wanted to stick around here, including, so the grapevine relayed, Tolwyn himself. Nobody was quite sure why they hadn't jumped back, or why Taggart and the Bonnie Heather had followed them, though rumor had it that Maniac and Maverick knew something they weren't allowed to say. It would be just their luck if this was some spook's idea. Most likely some spook sitting in an air-conditioned office back on Terra, who'd never had to risk his own personal ass in the field.
The system itself seemed mostly unremarkable. Relatively thick asteroid belt, one planet just inside the liquid water zone, a couple gas giants in the outer system. They didn't have the surveying gear to look everything over properly, but she suspected if this place wasn't... well, on the far side of a bizarre hole in space, it'd be a decent candidate for settlement. If nothing else, some asteroid mining facilities would likely be profitable – she'd done a pass through the belt yesterday, and a goodly percentage of those rocks read as ferrous.
On her scopes, she could see several other fighters just coming into range – the picket they'd left on the jump point. A handful of the squids had come through, and run smack into a wall of fire from Angel's Rapiers. It looked like they'd rotated out, however – she saw Sabers on station at the moment.
She keyed the comm. "Starlight to picket, coming into range now on my CSP. Any activity?"
"Doomsday to Starlight – not a peep from the hole for the last few hours. Figure it's trying to lull us into a false sense of secur-"
The message cut off as something surged into view from the portal. "Starlight to Concordia! New contact at the portal, size heavy cruiser or better!"
"Scrambling the ready fighters now, do not engage until they join you."
"The jump appears to have been successful, Captain," said Commander Data as he worked his console. "I am detecting several small ships in the vicinity of the anomaly."
"On screen." The ships appeared – a group of what looked to be fighters, vectoring away from them at speed. "Open hailing frequencies," said the Captain. He paused a moment, then began, "This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation Starship Enterprise to all ships in this system. We are on a peaceful mission of exploration; investigating a series of space-time anomalies and do not have hostile intentions. Please respond."
There was a long silence. As it stretched, Data said, "Captain, long range sensors are detecting what appears to be a capital ship, possibly the base ship for the vessels in this vicinity." Said ships had stopped their headlong flight, and were holding position nearby.
After a long moment, they received a reply. "This is Admiral Tolwyn of the Terran Confederation vessel Concordia. We are also investigating strange anomalies." A brief pause, then, "Perhaps we could compare notes."
The TCS Concordia, thought Tom idly, is one damned impressive ship.
Neither Picard nor Tolwyn had wanted to start discussing things on an open channel, and so Tom Paris was flying the Captain, Seven, a security officer, and several members of the science team, towards the big ship aboard USS Fraser. They'd been told Concordia was simply a carrier, but it was one hell of a well armed carrier. G'rokas and Data had still been trying to puzzle our her armaments when the runabout launched, but if they compared at all well with her shields, they would be impressive.
Following the landing beacons he'd been instructed to, he guided the Runabout into the starboard launching bay, landing delicately on the pad. "Want me to keep the engines hot, Captain?"
"That should not be necessary, lieutenant, and we don't want to seem to be poor guests." Picard stood, moved to the hatch. "That said, please keep a transporter lock on us at all times."
"Aye, Captain. Good luck."