The Fenri will not harm you
In a control hall, at the top of a city, peacefully floating above the clouds of that same planet, not only was a full shift crew present, but many visitors were there as well.
"The fleet jumped in, just above orbit," Mor updated. Once more, she was the control attendant on shift. This update was not necessary, since the information was clearly presented for all to see. One display showed visuals of the rag-tag fleet of ships, now in orbit above Gaia. Another visual showed the smaller fleet of star-shaped ships, still in its previous location. Third one displayed a few groups of small, somewhat avian-shaped fighters, which jumped from the location of the pursuing fleet to various points closer to Gaia.
"This can probably tell us about the range of both fleet's sensors," Rimon comments. He was the head of the closest body the Nox had to a security force. Rimon wasn't the most popular person among the Nox leadership. He tended to be too focused and intentful. It often made the calm and serene people around him uncomfortable.
Still, people around hummed in agreement.
"They are probably planning to attack the first fleet soon," Lya remarks levelly.
Again people about the hall hummed in calm agreement.
"We were looking through sensor data logs during this last day," Mor, the control attendant, informed the gathered people. "We found this," she added and pointed the people at a newly darkened display.
It showed a fleet of star-shaped ships jump into orbits above the neighbouring four star-system cluster. Thousands of ships being destroyed. Military and civilian targets annihilated by undiscriminating orbital bombardment. Billions of lives snuffed within hours.
People watch the images and information in calm disapproval. This wasn't anything the Nox people haven't already seen many times in the past. Goa'uld weren't known to be of the benevolent sort to their enemies or populations.
"And now they brought this war of theirs to our orbit and planet," Councillor Tuphie remarks with understandable disgust.
"Bollocks!" Lya commented mostly to herself. It brought about many raised eyebrows and an amused glint Opher didn't try much to hide behind his serene half smile.
"London of the Tau'ri is rubbing off on you, Councillor?" he commented lightly.
"It's delightfully decadent," Lya mumbled in an embarrassed response.
Yet there were more important issues to handle, than Councillor Lya's indulgences.
"We need to crew our fleet," the head of Nox almost-security pointed out in a level tone. All around the control hall faces blanked, as if cold water were poured over the assembled crowd. Nox ships were not crewed for more than ten millennia. Not since the Nox fleet participated in the destruction of all life on the Goa'uld-controlled planet of Heliopolis.
Finally, Opher nodded slightly at this suggestion. "We need to bring this all to the Council," he concluded.
"Can we please attack them now?" the model One, Cavil, argued exasperatedly. "They are already in that planet's orbit!"
Other models present were not as convinced yet.
"Consensus still calls to let them have more time to commit to the planet and have men on the surface," the Two, Leoban, answered tersely. "We want to do this only once."
Cavil turned and left the room in a huff. Two others of his model looked about at their assembled brothers and sisters of the other models with blatant disgust. They then turned to follow Cavil out.
"Go after them and see that he doesn't do anything stupid!" A Three ordered, with no clear target to that instruction.
"Just who put you in command?" asked Natalie, a Six.
A model Four rolled his eyes on them all and got up to follow the Ones and hopefully see what they are up to.
Back at the Nox control hall, Councillors Opher, Tuphie, and Lya, stood around a holographic map of the Gaia star-system and its surroundings, together with attendant Mor and security-for-most Rimon. For a star-system, Gaia wasn't a very elaborated one. Just a yellow sun, orbited by a couple of planets. Both planets were of the right size and within what is considered to be the 'inhabitable zone', although only one of the planets had a breathable atmosphere. No moons. No asteroid belts to write home about. Still, the Nox liked their home-planet and were much in favour of keeping it as pristine as it was, and naturally - to themselves.
Honestly. In the whole galaxy, planets with substantial chaos energy fields were very few and very very far between. The Tau'ri called it Magic and did some very peculiar things with it. The Alterans used to call it ZPE and had entire technologies and systems based on this radiation. The Nox used it to nurture life and, generally, live long and prosper. Right now, they were using it to slightly disrupt electronics and communications within both visiting fleets.
Tactical got even more complicated during the last night in their city. A fleet now inhabited their planet's orbit. These ships were basic and primitive. Hardly space-worthy to Nox eyes. They would also not survive any of the other space-faring races of this galaxy. This was a real issue, since almost none of them were friendly in any stretch of the word.
"So young and already at the brink of extinction," Mor shrugged.
It wasn't a real issue. Over the years, Nox had witnessed many young races being prematurely cut. Some by enemies. Many more by their own hands. For a while, four of the races who did manage to reach maturity had formed the Great Alliance, intending to help younger races mature too. This has proven to be of very limited success. How does one race help another race mature without making their own decisions for them? Would they listen? Do you stop them from making mistakes? How would they learn? Do you stop them from their squabbles with the other young in the playground? Just who do you side with?
Turned out that one of the very few races, which truly matured during those years, did so at the expense of most other young races in the galaxy. It wasn't helped that the Four Great Races were hard pressed to agree on those issues. It was also not helped that form the four races - only the Nox remained not largely diminished.
The Nox took this as a proof that 'their ways' were the 'right ways' and recessed to their isolationist and pacifist ways.
"The very young do not always do as they are told," Anteaus agreed.
This was old and established Nox lore, but for this generation of Nox, now standing in the control hall and watching the events come to pass, it was the first time to witness the end of another race in person. It has been generations since the last time Nox involved themselves with the affairs of the galaxy and others.
Tactical also showed the other fleet, not far from the planet. Gathered, ready, like a predator preparing to leap on its prey. Not in the Nox front yard, though. Two Nox ships were there. They were observing the fleet, well hidden and ready to act. Two other ships were keeping vigil over the colonial fleet in their orbit. Other ships were not activated yet - this will require a formal Council decision.
Also, all around the star-system were small vessels, alone and in flight-formations, keeping vigil on their surroundings and doing their best to both locate and hide from their enemies. This was the cat and mouse fleet game, which was played since the days ships were sailing over water by the power of the wind, and the best sensors they carried were a pair of eyes on top of a mast.
Another screen showed two freighters deeping into the planet's atmosphere. Their engines were spreading much disturbance and pollution in their wake.
"Can we please, please do something about those thrusters?" Lya almost sounded, just for a short moment, like a petulant child.
Opher took a longer moment to consider, then nodded.
With some satisfaction showing, Rimon pressed a button on the control panel in front of him.
On display, the two freighters thrusters misfired, sending the two ships on their long free-fall, with no control, towards the planet. Both were now heating up through the thickening air around them.
"We prepared this routine last night," Mor remarked with a serene, yet gratified smile. The fact that no one will be hurt was a given - naturally.
"Naturally," Lya concurred.
"The Council will be meeting regarding this, this evening," Opher announced softly.
On display, the two freighter's thrusters came back to life, long enough to slow the ships down and only to misfire once more a few moments later.
"Where are we meeting?" Councillor Tuphie was interested to know.
"It's the southern city's turn to host the Council," Opher answered.
All this time, the two colonial freighters were plummeting to their death. Both ships have already reached their terminal velocity. Neither ship was designed for free re-entry, so their hulls were heated by the friction with the air much over their designed tolerance. Inside, people screamed as life support and inertial dampening were failing, being stressed much over their designed parameters.
"Cold," Lya replied with a slight shudder. The southern city was keeping a position above Gaia's ice-cap and had a well deserved reputation for being the coldest Nox residential city.
Opher smiled slightly at that. "Some people enjoy the colder weather," he answered genially, while they all kept watching the falling colonial ships on display. "It's less cloudy there too, so it's easier to keep the city over the scenery," he added conversationally.
By now, both colonial vessels were almost at the planet's surface. This was the Nox planet, though, so thrusters came back to life. In all reality, it was much too little and much much too late, yet both ships miraculously managed a soft landing. Also, deceleration exceeded three times and more the tolerance of those ship's inertial dampeners. The dampeners of any colonial ship as things stood. Nevertheless, the gods smiled on them that day, and no one had received as much as a scratch.
"I'll go and meet with these people," Lya said with some resignation.
"Thank you attendant Mor, chief Rimon," Tuphie offered politely, as the three Councillors turned to walk out of control.
"You wouldn't believe what the daft Tau'ri are doing on snow…" Lya's voice was heard, just as the three walked out.
"Krypter, Krypter, Krypter!" a compressed voice resonated over the Galactica's CIC chatter.
CIC was busy at the moment coordinating the many efforts, which the various mission-elements of the fleet were performing simultaneously. Of all those missions, landing the two freighters on the planet's surface was expected to be an almost trivial one.
"This is Galactica, what is your situation?" Lt Dualla called the ships back.
"Trust… red… contr….fr.. falling!" came the shuttered response, over static interference and the sounds of screams.
"I want this science ship in orbit now!" Col Tigh ordered, and Lt Felix Gaeta hurried to convey the order.
"Put it on main screen," Adama asked, and Dualla complied with practised efficiency.
Not that it made a huge difference. The Galactica main screen wasn't big or of especially high quality. Neither were the ship's sensors. For a handful of horrible minutes, all the Galactica CIC crew could do was to helplessly watch the two balls of fire, which were their freighters, free-fall into the planet's surface.
"There are five hundred men on these ships," Gaeta mumbled to himself.
"Tom Zarek's people, for most," Tigh replied dryly. He earned a well deserved scowl from his commanding officer for his words.
Meanwhile, on one of the freighters, the pilot could only helplessly watch the ball of fire, which was his sister ship, falling to the ground a few hundreds metres in front of him. He impotently punched, pressed, and repressed various buttons on his dashboard, mostly repeating the ignition sequence again and again - with no result.
They were gonna crush a few seconds before, was not a comforting thought in any way or form. Also not helpful was the wail of fear, coming from his co-pilot's side.
"Thrusters mis-fired. We have no control. Free-falling!" he tried to report to the Galactica, knowing well that communications were interrupted around this planet. Also that all external antennas most probably have been destroyed by the heat, in any case.
Suddenly, the other ship stopped mid-air and passed right up in front of his windshield. Before his mind managed to process the fact that he was the one about to die first, his own ship's thrusters came roaring back to life.
"Lock the cockpit!" he ordered his co-pilot. Having the rabble sitting behind come in to 'help' was the last thing they needed right now.
For a glorious forty-two seconds, all was well with his ship. Control panel showed green throughout; thrusters were behaving; and his freighter returned to its previous planned descent path. Then, his sister ship passed right back in front of his windshield, turning once more into a ball of fire and free falling towards the ground. A couple of seconds later, his own thrusters were off again and his own free-fall resumed.
Behind his back, his co-pilot squeaked in fright. She struggled to return to her seat in the weightlessness and strap herself back in.
As if the straps will help us any…
"Not this way…" he heard her murmur to herself and could only agree. Being burned in an uncontrolled reentry was a horrible way to die. First the ship heats, then heats some more, till it finally fails. All this time, one can only sit, suffer, and try to guess whether he might die from the heat, or live to experience the moment of failure.
We should already be dead! His mind insisted, yet the cockpit was only pleasantly warm.
Beside him, his now-streped-back-in co-pilot was mumbling her prayers to the gods.
Might be more practical than any other act, he thought, still trying to get the ship under control. Outside, the ground came closer. Fast! Then his thrusters came roaring back to life once more.
Too late! His mind screamed, just before the ship came down to a perfect soft landing.
"Praise the lords!" the co-pilot cried out.
"Frak!" he could only agree.
Once more, his controls showed green all around. As if nothing out of the ordinary has just happened. He opened his hatch to look outside. It was raining, and the rain already started to wash away the soot off his ship, revealing the pristine ship underneath. Well, as pristine as an old freighter could be, after running away from Cylons for months, that is.
Back inside, he could hear people banging on the cockpit door, but disregarded it for the moment.
Radio showed green once more and he touched that control, not hoping for anything.
"Galactica?" He asked.
"This is Galactica actual," came a clear and unexpected voice. "What the frak just happened there?"
"A miracle!" his Co-pilot answered.
"This planet is cursed," he answered at the same time.
"What has just happened?" a Three demanded.
Something about this planet was interfering with their sensors. Raiders and Heavy Raiders had to close the range just to be able to follow the colonial fleet. This ran the risk of them being discovered by the lone Raptors, which were holding picket positions out in the void - keeping as dark and silent as they could be.
Much worse was the interference all communication systems suffered from. This meant all communication systems - including the one handling the download of Cylon consciousnesses to the resurrections ship. This has never happened before. As far as the Cylons knew, no one else has ever used this method of communication, and no one at all should have been able to interrupt it. That included the Cylons themselves!
Already the safe range to the resurrection ship was halved. Worse yet - no one in the hive could assure that communications with the resurrection hub, back at the colony, would work at all. Resurrection risked being corrupted!
For the first time since their creation, Cylons knew fear.
"We can't really say from this range," a model Four answered. "Seems like they had issues with the landing crafts. Can't say what happened exactly."
"This fraking radiation is interfering with their communication too," an Eight model updated. "Not sure they themselves have a clear picture of the events."
This brought up frowns all around. "We must know if they have people on the ground," the Two Leoben said. "If those freighters were lost, the fleet would be even more willing to flee."
"We must move ourselves closer," One stated, and earned frowns from all the others. Even from one of his own model.
Cylons were in the same situation as the colonial fleet in this regard. 'Moving themselves closer' through space would take weeks. Probably months. Making a short jump, on the other hand, will consume a large part of their remaining fuel supply. By now, they already needed to locate and mine more tylium to resupply. Sadly, this sector of space didn't seem to have an abundance of it.
"For now, we wait," Natalie concluded.
"Just who put you in command?" a Three complained.
About three light seconds from them, cloaked and unnoticed, a Nox ship listened in.
"Subspace disrupting is effective," the communication attendant commented softly.
The ship's supervisor - Nox had neither officers nor commanders - nodded in acknowledgement. Analysis of former battle telemetries has recognised bursts of subspace emissions from the aggressors ships, although subspace didn't appear to be in common use by either of the fleets. Not for common communication use. Certainly not as a form of propulsion.
"I'll ask Gaia for a few cloaked subspace disruption devices," the supervisor replied after some deliberations. "Well mount those on a few of these ships and hopefully avoid confrontations."
This surprised the comm attendant. "Nox interfering in other race disputes?" he asked in a levelled expressionless way.
The supervisor smiled thinly at the unmasked criticism. "Those devices will not last long. Just an effort to make them reluctant to engage on our turf," he answered serenely.
"Go do your jobs!" the pilot told the gathered and loudly complaining passengers off.
He could understand them, really. This must have been the worst landing any of them ever experienced. Actually, it was genuine nightmare material. Yet he had more important things to do, mainly to try and understand just what the hell happened, and whether his old lady was able to lift back off safely.
"We need to go through the ship's systems, run diagnostics, and see to it that we can get off this cursed planet safely," he needlessly tried to explain.
People were not happy with this answer. Most were still demanding answers for the horrible flight they had just gone through.
"People," the other pilot argued. "Our ships are your only transportation off this planet. The fleet will not risk sending any other ship here. If we got off the planet and back to the fleet empty handed - it would all be for naught."
'People' were clearly unhappy about it, but grudgingly complied. It was not like they had better alternatives at hand. Surprisingly enough, their eventful descent has ended exactly at their designated coordinates. This location was chosen for being close to an orchard. Calling the place an orchard was an understatement, really. The place was a veritable forest of fruit bearing trees. With nothing else to do, a group started pulling leaders and secateurs from the ship's holding bay and went on to the harvest. It was still drizzling and the men and women were frightened and miserable, yet the promise of fresh fruit, for what was for most of them a first after a very long while, was encouraging.
From a short distance away, a small group of invisible Nox administration personnel looked at the group of colonial people descending on the orchard like a swarm of hungry Locusts, with some amusement. It was no issue at all - Gaia offered an abundance of fruit, vegetable, and grain growing year round. Allowing what amounted to a small city of hungry travellers to resupply and keep some stock in reserve would harm neither the Nox people, nor their planet.
A second and larger group of colonials started on a longer journey to a nearby plane, to harvest the wild grain and vegetable growing there. They had harder work waiting for them. Grain harvesting is much better and easier handled using heavy machinery, but those were left behind on the fields and in the barns of the twelve colonial worlds.
Those people were unknowingly also accompanied by a group of Nox, floating comfortably behind them on a cloaked hovercraft. They were there to keep an eye on the visitors and surreptitiously protect them from some of the local wildlife. Some of Gaia's fauna were quite ravenous, and these nice people were Nox guests after all.
The third group had a long journey waiting for them. They were heading to the forest edge, where large herds of herbivores of various unknown kinds were previously inspected. Originally, one of the freighters was supposed to transport these men and women there, but now they had a long long walk ahead of them. They just hoped that the freighters would be ready to pick them back up, otherwise the walk back, with the hunted game, will be just as long and much harder.
This group too was accompanied by the Nox-people. Many others were waiting for them at the forest edge. This time, to keep the herds safe.
Near the two stranded freighters only the space crews were left. They were quite happy to be free from their passengers and hurried to try and find out what exactly was wrong with their ships.
"I'm not sure what I fear more - being left stranded here, or lifting off to space in a ship I don't fully trust," the co-pilot of the second ship commented, to everyone's full agreement.
"There's plenty of food here," his pilot answered in a way of consolation. By the look of it, it didn't help much.
"I don't understand what's happening," the first pilot complained and brought the discussion back to the issue at hand. "I've run diagnostics three times already. Full suit this last time. This ship is old. It has issues for sure, but nothing is showing that might explain the thrusters turning off middle descent?" he argued in frustration.
"And for both ships at the same time?" his co-pilot remarked.
"Fuel lines?" the second co-pilot asked.
"Fuel shows green," he answered and tapped the green lit light on his controls with his finger. It stayed both lit and green. "In any case, I've cleaned the manifold and replaced all the lines just the other month."
"Let's have a look under the hood?" his co-pilot offered. Something might have been shaken loose," she added unconvincingly.
"On both ships at once?" the other pilot mumbled to himself.
With no other choice, the four headed out into the drizzle, to look into the starboard thruster compartment. They then huddled under the engine cover to hide from the rain.
"Flat battery?" a calm voice suddenly came from behind their backs.
The four were so surprised that the co-pilot hit his head on the engine cover, standing straight.
"Bee under your bonnet?" the calm voice asked once more.
Were the four colonials been Nox, or even familiar with the Nox people at all, they would have recognised the tone of voice as amused sarcasm. Being colonials, as they were, it only sounded serene to them.
Annoyingly serene…
Strange beings, bees, Lya amused herself thinking. Their wings are too small to get their fat little body off the ground, yet these Tau'ri insects fly anyway, because bees don't care what others think is impossible.
Lya kept looking calmly at the four colonial people, waiting for them to get their wits about them. Soon enough she was facing two handguns pointed at her head with shaking hands. The second pilot didn't carry his personal weapon out of his cockpit and was now sorry for it. His co-pilot was still holding his head and moaning loudly.
Lya kept her disappointment clear of her face and waited calmly for her guests to act. She wasn't worried at all by their handguns. Those have long been disabled. The SG1 and Apophis simultaneous visits to Gaia caught the Nox by surprise, a few years back. This time they were prepared and every weapon on the face of the planet has been disabled. Well, every weapon which wasn't Nox, naturally, yet the Nox weapons were all in long term storage for millennia now.
"That's a Cylon?" the co-pilot asked her partner with a shaky voice, still pointing her pistol at Lya with a shaking hand.
"Ow, ow, ow!" the other co-pilot complained loudly, still holding his hands to his head.
Behind them all, the other pilot took a slow step, after an uneasy step, backwards towards his freighter, looking for his gun.
First pilot looked at the woman standing in front of them with obvious hesitation. She was short and slight. Her skin tone was light grey. Her hair was truly peculiar and resembled a patch of grass growing on top of her head. This resemblance was augmented by the branches and leaves which grew within it. Her clothes were grey-blue, and looked like they grew on her body and to her size.
"Not of any kind I've heard about," he whispered back to his co-pilot. "The thirteenth?" he then whispered to himself in astonishment. "They look so primitive…" he then added.
"Probably lost all their technology after leaving Kobol," she whispered back, not wanting to offend the woman in front of them. Or enrage her - she might still be a Cylon after all.
Lya was amused by their assumptions. 'Never judge a tree by its bark', was a common Nox saying, which these colonials clearly did not act upon. Yet they were oh-so-very-young. They had so much to learn still.
"I am Lya," she told them calmly and slowly. "I am Nox. Please come?" She then motioned them to follow.
They didn't, though. The Tau'ri were so much easier to handle, but then, the ones from London came to Gaia to visit, already knowing they would be meeting the Nox people here. The SG1 people, on the other hand, got themselves conveniently killed, so they were easy to handle.
Lya almost sighed…
"D… Do you speak our language?" the co-pilot asked hesitantly, still pointing her shaking pistol.
Lya smiled ruefully to herself. To others, it might have looked 'enigmatic'. "Your language originated on a small island on the land of the Tau'ri, and is used by many of the races around the galaxy - It's one of the universe's greatest mysteries," she answered.
"Are… Are you a Cylon?" the pilot found himself asking a very stupid question.
Like she would tell me if she was, he scolded himself in the quiet of his mind.
"Nox are not artificial life forms," Lya answered calmly. "Come," she went on. "We've prepared a place for us, where we can talk."
A sound of a step behind her back caused Lya to turn slowly. A loud click sound followed. When she was fully turned, she could see the other pilot trying frantically to reload and solve the unexpected jam in his hand gun. This time, Lya didn't stop her deep disappointment from showing on her face.
"This is not our way," she told him calmly, then turned back. "Come," she repeated.
The pilot never felt so out of place in his life. He was certainly not trained and equipped to handle and fight strange Cylons. Being the first person to speak with the long-lost thirteenth tribe? Even less so. He scowled at the other pilot for his stupidity - this wasn't helping at all!
"Ma'am," he commented hesitantly. "Wouldn't it be better for us to call the fleet for a more qualified person to come?"
Lya nodded back in acceptance. "They may come in a small shuttle," she answered and calmly walked back into the nearby orchard.
"Ma'am?" the co-pilot called after her. She then rushed to follow, afraid to lose her in the trees, but in the orchard, where the strange woman just was, no one could be found.
It was a group of some very unhappy men and women, who reached the edge of the forest. It was already afternoon, by now, and their initial hope of a quick hunting sortie was long dashed. They have not heard from their ship yet either, so the prospect of also making this long journey back, weighed heavily on them. Even worse, if the ship won't come - the gathered meat would weigh on them quite literally, on the way back.
Meat was another issue which depressed them. They truly hoped to find some closer to the ship's landing location. It was so tantalisingly close too!
Several times spotters located herds of game close to their planned way. A few of those were substantial herds too. But every time they tried to close in on the animals, the herd would move into a valley, or behind a crop of trees, maybe behind a mound of land on the planes - not to be seen again.
But, they were here now. A large herd of what looked like antelopes was grazing in the meadow not far from them. Also, there was not a sole obstacle in sight.
"Alright people," stated the marines lieutenant, who was leading this group. "Iris," he instructed his sergeant, "you take those men through this small creek and loop around this herd. The rest of us will come with me through the forest. Once you're in position, wave a flag and we'll catch this herd in between our two groups," his instructions sounded much like a battle-plan.
Iris nodded and headed out with the dozen men in her group. The rest of them followed the lieutenant into the forest, walking lightly and carefully. This planet's animals have already proven themselves as being both sneaky and slippery. They were truly looking forward to this fresh and filling dinner, for all their efforts.
For a moment, Lt Ajax stood still. He thought he heard a rustling noise behind him. He signalled to the people around him, but those were not trained soldiers and it took long seconds for them to notice, stop their progress through the forest, and be quiet. Ajax listened. Something was there, yet was not. Like a huge crowd shouting, heard through amazingly effective sound-proof doors. From the corner of his eye he imagined seeing a large haze in between the trees, heading away. He turned that way, but there was nothing there to see. Lt Ajax waited a long moment more. Looking. Listening. He then motioned the men around him to move forward - they had some animals to hunt.
A little farther back, Anteus sighed in relief. Internally, naturally. This hunter was truly hungry. It took several of the Nox wood rangers to turn him around and away, hide him, and mask its roar of anger and frustrations.
Still, their work has just begun. He was just worried about Lya's meeting with the other colonials. She wasn't meeting them alone, at the least.
"Repeat this once more?" Adama ordered the pilot, who was on the line with him. With no explanation, interference has been lifted for the moment, for this line only. It enabled CIC this clear conversation with their pilot on the ground.
"We have met a woman on the surface," the pilot repeated patiently. He was already wondering if his mind was playing tricks on him. "Speaks our language, commander. Said her name was Lya and her people are called the Mox or something. She wanted to speak with us, sir," the pilot added. "She then walked into the orchard and disappeared from sight."
Lt Geata tapped his temple with a finger, clearly of the opinion that the pilot had lost his mind.
"Hecate!" Lt Dualla exclaimed.
Col Tigh looked at his commander gravely.
"Cylon?!" Adama asked the predictable question.
"If she is, she's a very strange one," the pilot was much bewildered by this himself.
A loud gasp was heard about CIC. "The thirteenth?" Adama asked incredulously.
"Mighty Zeus!" Geata exclaimed, and earned a scowl from Col Tigh.
"Where is she now?" Cmd Adama finally asked.
"We don't know!" the pilot answered in exasperation.
"She's hiding?" Tigh butted into the conversation.
"There is nowhere to hide here," was the answer. "She walked behind a tree and when my co-pilot ran after her, just a second later, she wasn't there any more.
"Prepare three Raptors for an away mission," Adama instructed his crew.
But the pilot on the ground interfered once more. "She said one small shuttle," he clarified, and the static noise and interference returned to cut this conversation short.
Col Tigh and Cmd Adama looked at each other with grave faces after the call had ended. This interference was too convenient.
"ECM?" Tigh asked.
"Not ones that we can recognise, sir," Lt Dualla answered.
He nodded in acceptance. The colonials had a very hard time battling through Cylon ECMs, but they were very familiar with the tech. This wasn't it, unless the Cylons have changed their technology base significantly.
"Anything new from the science ship?" Adama asked.
"No sir," Dualla replied once more. "Only traces of this unknown radiation they can't recognise or even measure."
"I don't like it, Bill," Tigh argued, and Adama nodded in agreement. He didn't like it either. Not that they had choices. Haven't had any for a while now.
"Prepare three Raptors for launch," he ordered. "I want marines squads ready for two of them. Also, get Lee to my ready room!" Adama went on, before he headed out.
"Sir?" he was stopped in his tracks. "It's the President on the line," Dualla told him, holding a handset up.
All Cmd Adama could do was to rob his face tiredly and accept.
"Frak!" called the ECM operator of Raptor 6 on picket patrol. "Four pings at the edge of DRADIS range. No IFF. System marks them as Cylon Raiders."
"Frak!" the pilot readily agreed. "What are they doing?" he asked. Cylons usually acted very aggressively from the start.
"Just hanging about at the edge of DRADIS range," the instruments officer reported. This was very much not common Cylon behaviour. A lone Raptor, even a flight of vipers would be expecting to be attacked at once.
"Galactica, This is Raptor 6 on picket. We see four unidentified targets at the edge of range. Repeat - four unidentified targets. Please acknowledge?"
He got only static and interference in response, though.
"We need to head back and alert the fleet," the pilot stressed.
"We were told to keep our position, sir," the ECM operator disagreed.
"Which is no good for anyone if we can't report," the pilot concluded. "Get me those coordinates!" he ordered.
At the same time, the Cylon fleet was in a complete disarray.
"A Raider just jumped in and reported the location of a picket Raptor," reported a Four from control.
The fact that such a simple report required the resources of a jump was an annoyance in itself. There was no practical way to conduct fleet combat operations with only short range communications active.
"Did they destroy it?" A Three asked. The answer annoyed her to no end. "Tell him to jump back and engage!"
The answer to this order enraged her even more. "What do you mean 'it refuses?!" she all but shouted. Three had the tendency to lose it when things were not going her way.
Raiders have never refused a fight. They were not the best fighters ever, but there were so many of them, and they flew into fire almost giddily. As opposed to the fully humanoid models, who were all very reluctant to die and be resurrected, being shot down and then resurrected into a new space-frame was the Raider's way of, well - life.
"They are afraid," a Two remarked delicately, while following all the data with his hand dipped in the interface basin. That delicacy was needed, since Two himself was very much afraid. The whole fleet was scared stiff.
Fear, for as much as Cylons would have liked to dismiss it, was the cornerstone of their society. The first Cylon war had been instigated by centurions who had had enough with humans treating them as expendables. The truth of it was that the centurions have evolved enough, by that time, to fear that abstract end of existence. For more than a decade war raged, Cylons being more willing to terminate for their freedom, than for the whims of humans.
Then, the final five - their parents, arrived.
Ever since their lost parents have taught them resurrection, certainly since the day humanoid Cylons were created, Cylons had convinced themselves that fear was eradicated from their collective. Being terminated was an inconvenience for sure. Might even be very painful, but life, as they say - goes on.
"We must attack now!" One insisted. People around, for once, could understand this urgency.
"No long range communication. No communication with the relay resurrection ship. Certainly no communication with the Hub. Even within sublight ranges, the resurrections ship will have to be at the heart of every battle, if downloads are to be assured," an Eight updated softly.
It went without saying, but "We can't engage the colonial fleet with no Raider support," a Six said anyway.
"They will do as ordered," a One answered dismissively.
"Not certain I will answer those orders, myself," a Six whispered.
The collective. Cylon race and culture, if you like, were not at risk here. The colony will go on. More of every model will be created. But, the individuals within this fleet?
Well, giving one's life for a greater cause was never part of the Cylon base code, so to speak.
Finally they were in position. A small white shirt waved some way across the lush meadow indicated that Iris and the men with her were in position too. In between the two groups was the herd of almost-antelopes, grazing calmly in the grass. Around, people took aim, waiting for Lt Ajax to give the signal. Ajax could almost taste the freshly roasted meat on his tongue.
"Are you planning to harm the Adilos?" asked a sudden calm voice from right behind Ajax' shoulder.
Ajax shrieked in fear and mainly - in surprise. It wasn't a very manly shrike of fear, sadly. It also made the Lieutenant pull the trigger. A click sound followed, and the marines Lieutenant looked in surprise at his misfiring gun. This shriek was taken as a notice by most of the people around and an orchestra of clicking sounds indicated that all firearms in the group misfired too.
Ajax turned in anger to see a strange strange person standing right behind him. He was short and slight, with what looked to be grey skin. His hair looked like some grass was growing on top of his head, together with branches and leaves growing within it. Mostly, this person was just too calm. With a shout of anger, the Lieutenant re-cocked his gun, turned, and pressed the trigger again.
Only a click sounded once more.
The strange person sighed and now looked to be extremely disappointed.
"This isn't our way," he told Lt Ajax.
People around were shocked by the misfiring guns. They were also very frustrated after a long day's walk in the rain. A march which now appeared to be fruitless. They pulled out the knives and machetes they brought with them to handle the meat and rushed out of the forest and the creak in a desperate effort to get their hands on some of this meat. The herd, however, whether it was of almost-antelopes, or Adilos, or whatever, dripped slowly out of sight, and when the men reached the middle of the meadow, nothing was left there to catch.
Ajax was lost to anger and frustration. He pulled out his own knife and tried to get at the person who interrupted the hunt.
The man himself looked at him with a serene smile and faded from sight, just before the lieutenant had reached him.
All Ajax could do was to look around for the man, look at his wet, frustrated, and frankly - very frightened men, then curse out loudly.
I just hope Lya's day went along better, Anteaus thought to himself, as he calmly watched the men around, getting ready for their long walk back to the ship. She's the expert he amused himself thinking.
AN:
It was brought to my attention that I have made a mistake - It isn't Helo in the Raptor with Boomer, but Crashdown. My beta missed this too - so sorry.
Since it has a very little importance to the actual story, I'll apologise once more and will call it an AU from now on.
Cheers!
Huge shout to flyboy38, my beta, who took the time to make sure this story is a much better read. Actually, a possible read at all - thanks!