A Chance Encounter V2
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters and universes that I am about to mangle around and mash together for my own demented author amusement – sadly all Robotech and Battlestar Galactica characters and concepts remain the property of Harmony Gold and Ronald D Moore – I am merely borrowing them and make absolutely no profit from their use. As a result, please keep the legal attack dogs – also known as lawyers – firmly muzzled and on a leash as I have no money to give to anyone.
Authors Note: I had a few reviewers after the last chapter express some concern that I was downplaying the capabilities and weapons of Robotech in order to make this fic work. I wish to take this moment to reassure everyone that I am not doing so as Robotech warships and weapons are far superior to those of the Colonials and the Cylons and will actually cut through even heavy armour with relative ease. That doesn't mean however that the Cylons are not a very clear and present threat, especially since they're on a major genocide all humans mission, though its not due to their hacking abilities which are somewhat overrated in a lot of crossover fics. No what is going to make them dangerous, and a threat is something else entirely. Hopefully that reassures you all. So, without further ado let's crack on with the next chapter shall we.
Chapter Four
Bridge
UES Sirona
A Few Minutes Earlier
"Sir we're receiving a transmission from the unknown vessel," communications reported drawing the attention of everyone on the bridge of the Sirona but especially Captain Harrison. "It appears to be a data file of some kind. Pattern indicates simple mathematical concepts along with what looks like a basic language and grammar primer."
"What could be the purpose of that," Tylen wondered from the first officer's station. At the baffled tone of the micronized Zentraedi warrior John Harrison had to smile as there were times, still, when Ty gave away the fact that like all his kind, he had originally been made to be a weapon of war, a tool of conquest and destruction, by the Robotech Masters. Thus, there were times when he wouldn't understand something, though he had gotten a lot better over the years.
"It's a first contact package Ty," John explained, "designed to ease the establishment of contact with a new civilization. We made a few ourselves before your forces first showed up in Sol at the start of the Robotech War. One was sent to Breetai's ship when you first arrived not that it was recognised."
"I see," Tylen acknowledged with a nod. He was well aware that before they'd been freed from the mental cage that the Masters had built around their minds the Zentraedi would have – in accordance with protocols that had been implemented after the first uprising against the Robotech Masters by the Disciples of Zor – ignored any communication attempts from micronians. Well, any micronians who weren't the Masters that was as no Zentraedi – not even the crazy ones like that late and very unlamented by everyone Khyron – would have ever ignored a communication from their makers. Not like they would now.
"Communications can our systems process it," John asked looking back over at the female comms lieutenant who had just come on duty replacing the young man who had been there when they'd first folded to this system.
"Yes, sir they can the information is in a simple binary data format," the lieutenant answered, "as for the language… what the fucking hell?"
"Lieutenant," John asked giving a look that said he was not amused by the language. The glare coupled with his obvious physical size – there were advantages to packing two hundred and twenty pounds of mostly solid muscle on his six-foot two frame – made the young woman wince and cringe.
"Sorry sir it's just that the language is well Greek sir. Specifically, it's Mycenaen Greek, though with some drift as would be expected given how old that tongue is."
"Mycenaean Greek?" Tylen questioned.
"It's a very old language from Earth," John explained recalling some his old GCSE classes from when he'd been a schoolboy plus his father had been a historian and had lectured at the University of Wales in Cardiff, "one that originated in the Bronze Age over four and a half thousand years ago. Nobody on Earth has spoken it in literally millennia."
"Curious," Tylen commented, "the people on the crashed ship are definitely Terran so that would fit but how did they come to be out here and speaking such an ancient language?"
"All good questions," John agreed knowing that there would be a lot of very interested people back on Earth when they learned of this. It also played into something that they had noticed when they had first begun translating the language on Zor's battlefortress when she first crashed into Macross Island. As a ship captain he had been informed that the language they'd found aboard was a very odd hybrid of Greek, Assyrian, Sumerian, and Ancient Egyptian. This was just more proof that someone, who they didn't know, had interacted with people from the Ancient World, possibly even taking some of them elsewhere in the universe for some unknown reason.
He put aside those thoughts for now. "Can you establish a translation matrix from it," he asked looking back over at the communications officer.
"I have already done so sir," the officer replied, "it might be a bit rough, our information on such an old language is quite basic, but combined with the transmitted information they should be able to understand us."
"Alright then begin trying to contact them. Explain that we mean them no harm and that we are engaged in search and rescue operations for their crashed ship."
"Aye sir."
"Think they will how do you say buy it," Tylen asked.
"They should as their sensors should have detected our dropships by now. What's their status by the way?"
"Both dropships are just coming into dock in the port and starboard hangars," Tylen answered checking his feeds and noting both the Predator dropship they'd sent down to the surface and the one that had remained in orbit providing overwatch were landing. "Medical teams have been dispatched to the starboard hangar to take the wounded survivors."
"Very good. Keep me up to date with their condition please."
"Of course."
"Sir we're receiving another hail from the unknown ship," communications reported, "live audio transmission, frequency is a bit odd even for a radio signal but intelligible. They want to talk sir."
"On speakers."
"Aye sir."
For a few moments nothing more happened then the hidden, overhead speakers came to life with a soft crackling sound. A sound that honestly reminded John of the old record player that his grandmother had owned, and which currently sat in his mothers study in the family home which amazingly still stood as the small Welsh village it was in was nestled deep within the foothills of the Brecon Beacons and had thus been spared the Rain unlike the major cities of South Wales Cardiff, Newport and Swansea all of which had been obliterated by reflex cannon fire.
"This is Admiral William Adama commanding officer of the Colonial Battlestar Galactica calling the Sirona," a strong, if strangely accented male voice said. "Did you say you are from Earth?"
For a moment or two surprised silences reigned on the bridge of the Sirona. Despite the fact that these people – Colonials? – spoke an obsolete language from Earth the fact that his Admiral Adama knew the name Earth was still surprising. As was the fact that his name was William, a name that historically began with the Germanic peoples of the medieval period not the ancient Greeks. This puzzle just keeps getting more interesting, John thought even as he shook off his surprise.
"Put me on with him," he ordered.
"Aye sir."
A secure phone on the captain's console lit up showing it was connected to the communications link with the Galactica. John took a deep breath, mentally crossed his fingers that he didn't screw this up, before picking up the phone and bringing it to his ear. "Greetings Admiral Adama," he said calmly, "allow me to introduce myself I am Captain John Harrison commanding officer of the United Earth Starship Sirona."
For a moment there was silence then the distant admiral spoke again. "So, you really are from Earth?" he asked again a strangely desperate note of hope in his voice. Something that set mental alarm bells ringing inside John's head as he knew that tone, he had heard it often enough among the dazed and disoriented survivors wandering the wastelands that the vast majority of the Earth's surface had been turned into by the Rain of Death, and the climatic and geological upheavals that had followed it, all of them desperately searching for some refuge from the harsh environment. Something had to have happened to these Colonials – and wasn't that an odd name for a civilisation to give themselves? – something terrible that had them searching for Earth in search of refuge.
"Yes, we are," he answered at last.
"I know that this might be a presumptuous question but is Earth anywhere near here?"
"No, it isn't to be correct Earth is several kiloparsecs from our current location," John answered, "my ship and our companions are pathfinders, we are part of a deep space exploration and charting mission. One of our long-range probes detected the subspace echo of fold jumps coming from this system, which caught our attention, bringing us here in time to discover some of your ships. I am sorry if we scared them by our arrival."
"Several kiloparsecs," Adama repeated, "you're a very long way from home then."
"Not really barely a single space fold," John answered unknowingly shocking the crap out of the other man as he suddenly realized the impossible – by Colonial and Cylon standards – range that the Sirona – like all robotech vessels – could jump in a single go if they wished. "Admiral, may I ask why this interest in my planet? Know that we are generally a peaceful people but will aggressively defend ourselves if attacked."
"We mean your world no harm Captain Harrison. In fact, you might be our only hope for survival."
"Explain."
"It's a very long story but the short version is that the Galactica, a handful of other warships and a fleet of civilian ships carrying forty-nine thousand people are all that remains of our civilization. We were attacked without warning or provocation, billions perished in mere hours."
"What happened?"
"An unprovoked attack by an enemy we had been at peace with for forty years. The particulars of it are a very long story that I would rather not discuss over the wireless but in a handful of hours most of our fleet was destroyed and all twelve of our planets subjected to carpet bombardment with thermonuclear weapons."
"Jesus," someone on the bridge muttered as everyone could hear what was being said since John hadn't muted the overhead speakers. For everyone it brought up very painful memories of the Rain of Death.
"What is it you want from us Admiral Adama," John asked at last.
"President Roslin would have me arrange a meeting with your leaders to ask for sanctuary but right now I have a more pressing concern."
"Your crashed vessel. We have rescued five survivors from the crash they are being attended to by our medical personnel as we speak. I will not be able to release them too you until the medical staff are done with them."
"I understand. Would you object to me sending a delegation aboard your ship to check on them ourselves."
"I have no objection, but they must come unarmed."
"I can agree to that. I will have two Raptors prepared one will bring some of my people over to your ship the other will head back to the fleet to notify my superiors – especially the president – of what has happened here."
"Understood," John acknowledged before alarms abruptly began to ring from the sensor station. He put a hand over the microphone to muffle it, though through the speakers all could also hear alarms aboard the Galactica. "Report?"
"Sir four large contacts just appeared from Colonial style fold jumps," sensors reported, "sensors indicate four large vessels approximately two kilometres across constructed of an unknown biomechanical alloy. There definitely warships we're reading multiple missile launchers and fighter launch tubes. Unknown vessels launching fighters – biomechanical construction, two light autocannons and two missile bays.
"Sir three of the vessels are targeting the Galactica. The other is orientating towards us."
"Bring us to stage two alert and prepare to summon in the rest of our group," John ordered before unmasking the microphone. "Admiral Adama, I take it that these new ships are not friends of yours?"
"They're our enemy they're a race of machines called Cylons," Adama answered, "they believe that they are on a mission from their god – however odd it is for machines to have a god – to wipe humanity from existence."
"Sir we're receiving a signal from the approaching ship," communications reported, "what the-? They just tried to upload a virus. Firewalls and counter-viral programs caught and neutralised it instantly."
New alarms went off. "Vampire, vampire, vampire," tactical called, "approaching ship launching missiles. Tally sixty contacts a mixture of high-explosive and nuclear warheads. Forty targeted on us and twenty on the Inuit."
"Excuse me admiral I need to defend my ship," John said into the phone before putting it down. "Battle stations launch interceptor missiles. Stand by all lasers and pinpoint barriers. Main guns target the Cylon ship. As soon as we've knocked down their missile salvo open fire."
"Aye sir," tactical acknowledged even as alert klaxons began wailing throughout the six-hundred-and-ten-meter length of the Damocles-class cruiser summoning the crew to their battle stations. As they did so the faint whoosh of missiles being launched could be heard as the cruisers eight pop-up defensive missile launchers sent eighty of the latest generation of the Foxfire defensive missile – which to this day gave many a Zentraedi pilot nightmares – screaming into space on course for the incoming missiles.
Cylon Baseship 221
A Few Moments Earlier
Standing with a hand in the main datastream interface the model One Cylon in charge of this small battlegroup smirked as the jump concluded and the Galactica hung in space before them alone. When he had received a message from one of his brothers aboard the battlestar that she was venturing away from the fleet he had jumped on the chance to eliminate one of the humans two surviving battlestars.
"Dradis indicates two smaller warships near the planet," a Number Two reported from another station. "Must be the alien ships your brother reported."
"If they're aiding the colonials than they should die with them," One answered, "dispatch one of our ships to engage them. Try to disable them first with a logic bomb but destroy them if necessary."
"By your command."
"All missile batteries are locked onto the Galactica," a Number Three reported.
"Then let us finish that pest Adama. Open fire."
"By your command."
"This is foolish," a Six commented, "we shouldn't be sending a ship against a race we know nothing about. We should try talking to them first, they might not even be aware of the Colonials crimes against us."
"It is already done," One replied a little annoyed at his command being challenged during a battle. "I am in overall command of this battlegroup, and I have made my decision. Respect it."
"Your decision can be overruled," Six answered as like many of her line she had started to become concerned with how draconian and authoritative the Ones had been becoming since they began executing The Plan. They were respecting the consensus less and less and intimidating the other models into going along with their aggressive approach more and more. It was not the way Cylons were supposed to behave.
"It's too late our ship is uploading the virus… what the frack," the Three replied. "The alien firewalls and counter-viral programs erased it immediately."
"Impossible nobody can stop our viruses," One exclaimed even as he observed there first missile salvo launch, heading towards the Galactica which immediately began firing her defensive guns putting up a flak barrier to stop their missiles.
"Well, they did our ship is opening fire."
"Understood. We will get answers about those who dare aide our enemies from the wreckage."
Six shook her head slightly and sighed at the way One was behaving. Determined to see what was happening for herself, so she could inform her sisters and they could try to decide what they were going to do about it if anything, she placed her hand in the datastream. Immediately she watched as missiles from the basestar streaked towards the two small alien ships… the largest was barely the size of a Colonial fleet destroyer like the two Argo-class destroyers with the Remnant fleet… which had fired an impressive salvo of their own missiles back.
Yet the missiles weren't focused on the basestar that had fired at them. Instead, they were on intercept course with their own missiles. In seconds they began impacting and missiles began vanishing in brilliant flashes of some type of energy sphere that appeared upon detonation. Dradis scan showed some type of plasma. Interesting, she thought. She was aware that the Colonials had been looking to develop plasma-based explosives, they had been trying for decades even before the First War in point of fact, but the research had never gone anywhere. Whoever the aliens where they had obviously ironed out the problems that had plagued the Colonials efforts and the result was quite an impressive weapon. A she watched three of their missiles got past the defensive cordon only to vanish seconds later as each was pierced by something impossible fast.
Then the aliens fired back at the attacking basestar…
…and her blood turned to ice at what happened next.
Annoyed at being attacked without warning or provocation the Sirona locked her forward dorsal dual turret on the attacking basestar. For a moment nothing more happened then for a moment a blue-white glow appeared in the barrels before two streams of relativistic, super compressed protoculture generated particles erupted into space. Simultaneously the smaller Inuit also fired a pair of her own, slightly lighter, beams, both robotech vessels firing at the same point on the attacking ship.
Travelling at near light speed the four beams slammed into the armoured core of the basestar nearly instantly. Biometallic armour designed to withstand the kinetic energy weapons of the Colonials was no match for the force of the beams. It didn't bend or distort as it would if hit by Colonial cannons or missiles, nor did it melt instead it simply vaporised allowing the streams of searing energy to slice deep into the interior of the ship. Bulkheads and decking disintegrated as the beams tore through the basestar, eviscerating the superstructure with an ease that was both contemptuous and terrifying, before exploding out the other side in an eruption of flames and debris.
The beams vanished even as they did so secondary explosions erupted on the basestar as damaged power systems overloaded and blew out. In her pool the ships hybrid screamed and writhed in pain as she fought to isolate and shut down damaged systems while also closing bulkhead doors to isolate the damage. It wasn't enough as another salvo of particle beams arrived, targeting the already weakened central column of the basestar tearing through it with even more ease than the first time as the beams struck already weakened areas, the questing deadly streams eventually finding and ripping open the basestars main tylium fuel tanks. With the predictable results as the basestar erupted into a titanic fireball.
Bridge
UES Sirona
"Enemy ship has been destroyed."
From his command station John nodded at the report from the tactical officer. He had to admit that he was surprised and how easily the Cylon vessel had fallen to their guns, yes, he knew robotech weapons were extremely powerful and very destructive, but he would have thought a ship that large would have strong enough armour to survive a few hits. Yet it hadn't with just two salvos from the guns of both his ships being all that was needed to send the alien warship to its doom.
"So, I see," he said after a moment, "what is the status of the Galactica?"
"They're taking quite heavy fire sir," sensors reported, "most of the Cylon missiles are exploding against some kind of physical flak barrier similar to the ones we fired from our first-generation ships but enough are getting through to cause her some damage.
"Sir we're picking up an incoming space fold," the officer added, "the rest of our group are arriving."
"Good. Have them target one of the Cylon ships closest to the Galactica and destroy it. We will target one of the others and destroy it as well."
"Aye sir."
"Do you think the Cylons will run once we destroy another of their ships," Tylen asked from the first officer's station as the thrum of their cannons firing again could be felt more than heard through the bridge. Through the forward viewports they could see a pair of blue-white lances of protoculture energy shooting forth from the upper forward turret. "They should given how pathetically weak their ships are against our guns."
"I hope your right Ty," John agreed as he observed the tactical display as their beams once again began to tear one of the Cylon vessels to pieces. "Though if they don't well, I will burn them all from the sky."
"Indeed," Tylen agreed with a predatory grin as the targeted basestar succumbed to their fire, disintegrating in a brilliant explosion as another two salvos of particle beams simply erased it from existence. Simultaneously one of the other basestars – speared by six beams from the other six ships of pathfinder group four which had just folded in to engage this unexpected foe – exploded consumed by the power of weapons it had never been designed to withstand. Weapons whose destructive power was simply beyond anything the Colonials or the Cylons had ever thought possible.
"Only one left," Tylen commented.
"Tactical target them prepare to destroy."
"Aye sir."
Cylon Baseship 221
"WHAT THE FRACK!"
The shocked horrified shout of the One hung pregnant in the air of the command centre. Before there eyes they had seen three baseships – ships which should have taken at least two full battlestar groups to destroy – be blown from the stars with an ease that was both terrifying and utterly contemptuous. What was even more frightening was just how they had been destroyed, not by cannon fire or even nuclear missiles but by fracking energy weapons.
"I told attacking them was a bad idea," Six said turning her ire on One. "Now they are targeting us and will certainly blow us to pieces as well. In your mindless desire to destroy the Galactica you've gone and made us a terrible enemy Cavil."
"We'll resurrect and adapt," Cavil/One replied glaring back at the Six.
"How," the Three asked, "nothing in any of our databases even indicates that energy weapons like this are even possible. How are we supposed to adapt to defend our ships against weapons whose physics we don't even understand the basics of?"
One scowled and was about to point out that they were a) machines and could analyse data better than humans could ever hope to and b) that their sensor logs would provide critical data as it would be resurrected with them. But before he could speak, he was thrown to the floor as the baseship rocked violently as particle beams tore into it. Sparks and smoke shot out of numerous junction boxes around the command centre a moment before a brilliant blue light – a beam tearing into this very room – surrounded him accompanied by a sense of searing heat…
…before everything went dark.
Combat Information Centre
Colonial Battlestar Galactica
That Same Time
Shocked silence reigned in the CIC of the Galactica as the last of the ambushing basestars exploded. With their capital ships destroyed the raiders, deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, began jumping out as well. Each machine knowing that there was little they could currently do against the firepower that had swatted four basestars like they were mere toys.
"What the frack kind of weapons were they firing," Saul Tigh asked after a moment as he gazed alternatively at a dradis display and at a feed from their external video cameras. Which showed spinning plumes of debris and cooling plasma where the four baseships had been, baseships that had been torn from the stars by something that should be impossible.
"I have no idea," Adama answered as amazed as his XO by the ease with which the Earth ships – of which there were now six more – had annihilated the Cylons. He had thought their goose to be well and truly cooked when four baseships jumped in as while Galactica could take on a baseship one on one and even had a good go at two on one they were no match for four of them. "One thing for sure our Thirteenth Tribe brethren have little to fear from the Cylons."
Saul nodded in agreement. Based on what they had seen so far, the Thirteenth Tribe was a hell of a lot more technologically advanced than they were themselves, possessing weapons that even at their height were beyond the wildest dreams of Colonial weapons smiths. And then there was the fact that the Cylon logic bomb – one of which had come very close to destroying the Galactica a few months back, would have if their Cylon prisoner hadn't helped them defeat it and then turned it back on her own kind allowing them to kill a few hundred suddenly helpless raiders – attack had done absolutely nothing to their ship.
"Sir we're receiving a message from the Sirona," Dee reported, "they want to know if we're alright. They also say it wouldn't be advisable to stay here now that our position has been compromised."
"Tell them that we have some damage but we're fine," Adama replied even as he scowled. He knew Captain Harrison was right, staying here now was not an option as the Cylons would certainly soon be back with more basestars and there was no guarantee that the thirteenths ships would be enough to defeat the much larger force that they were sure to send. "Mr Gaeta begin calculating a jump back to the fleet. Dee send the fleets coordinates to the Sirona."
"Yes sir," the two officers announced.
"Are you sure that's a good idea Bill," Saul asked. "We still don't know much about our brothers and sisters."
"Your right we don't," Adama replied. "But they've just saved our butts Saul. I think they have earned a little bit of trust from us."
"I hope you're right."
"So do I."
Authors Notes: Well, another chapter bites the metaphorical dust, I hope you all enjoyed it. I think it is pretty clear by now that in a straight up fight that the Cylons are no match for the power possessed by robotech warships. They never were going to be as robotechnology based weapons are simply far too powerful for them and are based in sciences and technology that neither the Colonials nor their wayward cybernetic creations have ever even conceived of. Of course, they are still dangerous in other ways. Until next time.