AN: Minor changes to clarify that the Colonial military still uses "Gearheads", and only a clean up for the second part, no content changes there from the original.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Stargate, Halo, or Battlestar Galactica movies, books, or games. They belong to their respective creators and/or copyright owners. This story is not for sale or rent!

Prologue Part 3: Ignorance is bliss.

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Part 1

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05.02.1348
Commander's Quarters
Battlestar Galactica
Picon Ancorage

Returning to the old girl after all these years, as her Commander no less, was a bittersweet experience for William Adama. If Bill was a more spiritual man, he would swear that ghosts were stalking Galactica's corridors. More than a few times on his way to his new quarters, the Commander was all but certain he would hear one of his own squadronmates, the barking of a familiar Chief, or even see the CO stalking past. At least he no longer had to worry about the CAG being on everyone's case or their insomniac of an XO hunting for anything, even a tiny bit out of order.

Soon enough, Saul would be busy prowling all over the decks, so the XO situation would be similar. Perhaps helping Bill set the old girl in order might even distract his old friend from Ellen's latest stunt. Adama grimaced at that thought and shook his head. Some things shouldn't be seen, and worse, couldn't be unseen.

William gave the empty quarters one more look, glanced at his neatly arranged luggage at the corner near the door, and decided that unpacking the few personal possessions and his uniforms could wait for later. He promptly turned around and walked down familiar corridors, determined to re-familiarize himself with the old girl.

Galactica still had engineering crews onboard, putting down the finishing touches of what was almost certainly her last refit. She was one of the last still active Jupiter II Battlestars, and she was showing her age. Her sister ships were either destroyed during the war or retired in its aftermath due to damages suffered and being replaced with newer, not necessarily better, vessels.

Adama passed an open bulkhead with parts and instruments spread all around them every few minutes. He could usually see the legs or rear end of an engineer or two stuck inside open servicing spaces. Most of them were on loan from Picon's shipyards, while most of Galactica's crew was either on shore leave or have yet to arrive in case of freshly assigned personnel.

Those who were on board were quite busy. The handful of officers present, including the Weapons Officer who was the Acting CO until Adama's arrival, had to carry multiple hats. They had to oversee the refits, deal with more than enough paperwork to keep a command staff busy and ensure the Battlestar got properly provisioned for her shakedown cruise. This included taking in the new Mark VI Vipers and replacing the aging fives. At least a squadron of new Raptors, along with their pilots and maintenance crews, should be arriving over the next couple of days.

Adama was sure that was the extent of his to-do list for the foreseeable future as well, or at least he was until a scowling Saul marched his way carrying a couple of folders. Now, Saul scowling was his typical state, so there was no surprise there. The XO stalked towards Bill with a purpose and paperwork—that was ever ominous.

"Bill, did you see this?!" Tigh waved the top folder in front of the Commander's face.

Adama had to concede he was getting damn old because he could only get a glimpse of the words typed on the folder's cover. It wasn't enough for him to recognize what would cause him a headache.

"Possibly. You look a right state, old friend." Hopefully, not because Ellen has pulled yet another stunt. The last one was bad enough. Frankly, it was a miracle Saul was sober right now. Under the circumstances, Bill wouldn't blame him too much if he had been getting drunk in an out-of-the-way compartment.

"Here, see!" The Colonel grumbled.

"Gearheads? Here?" Adama exclaimed.

"Yes, those bastards!" Saul snapped, baring his teeth as if to put them on display. "I still have three ceramic teeth as souvenirs from the last time those goons were around!"

"I know," Adama nodded, his mind spinning at the implications. He had seen that particular mess and had to drag Saul to the medics, and then he suffered his grumbling on the way to a proper dentist.
"You know, almost everyone wanted their heads after the Army had the brilliant idea to use them to 'control' protests!" Tigh continued venting.

That much Bill could recall clearly. The exoskeletons used by some elite formations in the war and many engineering units became controversial, to say the least. Due to misusing such formations against protesters, they were now political poison. The exoskeletons were also a rallying point for every anti-technology group that arose after the war.

That the Army somehow kept fraking it up in a most spectacular fashion in front of cameras didn't help matters. Still, that didn't change the fact that the combat and engineering exoskeletons were damn useful. The same was true about their operators, the so-called Gearheads, even if those frak-heads had a chip on their shoulder the size of a Battlestar.

Every few years, someone tried to bring exoskeletons back for civilian use. Usually, the odd construction company has rumored links with the military. And every single time politics interfered, protests formed, though admittedly smaller and smaller as the years passed, and the idea got shelved. The military kept using them, though it did its best to keep them out of sight and out of mind, with mixed results.

"That's the first time I'm hearing about Gearheads being stationed on a Battlestar since the original Marine units got disbanded," Adama eventually said. At the same time, Saul kept venting and cursing like a memetic naval Chief.

"I don't want anything to do with those bastards, Bill!" Tigh protested. He was outright whining now.

"Orders are orders…" Adama said in his best placating voice. He had a lot of practice, especially when Saul and his marriage troubles were involved.

"Do you think we got saddled with them because of Ellen?" Tigh finally stopped cursing; instead, he scowled murderously, making a couple of crewmembers all but run the other way when they saw his expression.

"I'm sure it's not because of her…" Bill cringed at the idea. While Ellen's exploits all but guaranteed Saul would never become a Commander, being this spiteful was a bit much even for the brass, surely… Then again, Ellen did sleep with half the Flag Officers in the Navy, or so the rumor mill claimed, not to mention her latest stunt this new year…

"You were on that god's forsaken celebration just like I was, Bill!" Saul hissed in vexation.

Adama numbly nodded and turned his attention to the folder in his hands. The Gearheads were supposed to begin arriving in an hour or so. Anything not to think about that fraked disaster.

"Let's go meet them and make sure there are no goons. We have to space or something," Bill wisely changed the topic away from Ellen Tigh and her infamous stunts.

"I really could use a drink or ten," Saul grumbled and walked beside Adama, glowering at anyone who crossed their path.

Eventually, they ended up in the starboard pod. The hangar was currently mostly empty. A handful of Raptors were on display, surrounded by several deck crew, busy running maintenance or inventory on crates with spare parts.

"Commander on Deck!" A nearby NCO barked.

"At ease, Chief," Adama returned the man's salute. "I understand we'll be having some unusual guests soon?"

"Chief Zavala, sir!" the middle-aged NCO introduced himself. Yes, Gearheads of all things!" Surprisingly enough, his eyes shone with excitement at the mention of them. "Can we get them to help with loading supplies? We will be loading metric tons of spare parts and ammunition over the next week or so."

"You don't have the usual qualm about them?" Saul leveled his best glower at the Chief, who happily shook his head in the negative.

"Whoever has a problem with them could haul spare parts for us, sirs! I would love to have some exoskeletons to help us with the workload. Besides, I'm from Tauron, sir!" The Chief said as if his accent wasn't a giveaway enough. "I'm perfectly aware it's not the gear that busts skulls; it's the fraking bastards using it."

Ah, yes. How could anyone forget the infamous Tauron secret police from before the war? It came as no surprise that those goons trained some of the most brutal and murderous Cylons to do their dirty work right before the uprisings, and countless people died screaming because of that bloody insanity.

"I'll see what I can do about it, Chief. Carry on," Adama promised.

"Sirs!" Zavala saluted and went back to running inventory.

"Kids these days…" Saul shook his head in exasperation.

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Part 2

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05.02.1348
Admiral Nagala's office
Picon Naval HQ
Picon

After months of quiet inquires, finger-pointing, and enough backstabbing to make the Quorum proud, the Navy had new leadership. Fleet Admiral Theseus Luka retired, not quite in disgrace. Nearly a quarter of the Navy's Flag Officers would find their careers stalled or outright derailed into dead ends, if for no other reason than to make it painfully obvious that the backstabbing spree that happened must never repeat itself.

It might have been even worth it if it hadn't been for the political price to be paid. The President wasn't going to run for a second term, which opened a can of worms considering the political situation in the Colonies at large. Too many younger people no longer saw a reason to pay for a Navy large enough to properly protect them if the Cylons ever came screaming over the border. The recent reconnaissance debacle ensured that the Navy lacked credible evidence to the contrary.

Fleet Admiral Anastasia Nagala was the one who ended up having to clean up the resulting mess and attempt to salvage the Navy's future. With her paperwork somehow done for the time being, she could finally tactically retreat from her desk and collapse on the guest couch in her office. She stared dully at a colorful map of the Twelve Colonies and quietly cursed her predecessor – she kept finding new reasons to do so, which meant new headaches and problems that needed solving.

Anastassia hoped that everyone else entangled in that mess would be damned to Tartarus for eternity. They left her holding the bag! Barring a direct divine intervention, in the years to come, she would have to find a way to keep the Colonies safe with an ever-shrinking military budget at a time when parts of the Navy were a real boondoggle she wouldn't take out against a bunch of pirates, much less the Cylons!

To make her position even better, the way Nagala got her job – over the burned careers of many Admirals- would taint her in the eyes of many of her peers, making her job harder. It didn't help that some of those peers were clamoring for a pre-emptive strike against the Cylons before the toasters could attack because of that damned recon mission!

Nagala rubbed her forehead, muttered a curse, and got up. Now that she briefly wouldn't have to deal with the political part of her job, it was time to get a comprehensive look at the Navy and everything it was currently dealing with. Anastassia made her way back to the damned desk she felt she was chained to and sat in Admiral Luka's chair, now her own, and scowled at the office as if its very existence was particularly offensive.

"Gina, send them in as soon as they arrive," Anastasia called her predecessor's aide, whom she also inherited.

After that, Nagala put on her Number One smile, the bright and welcoming one reserved for competent Navy personnel. No matter how she felt, Anastassia kept smile number two locked down. That one was only for meeting politicians she would rather throw out of an airlock or shoot out of hand.

It was time to be a chipper professional Admiral again. That was hard when she thought about all the paperwork undoubtedly spawning just for her, thanks to the Navy high command tearing itself apart over the last few months.

In hindsight, it was a very good thing that the Cylons didn't jump over the border during the past few months, even if the whole navy was at high alert awaiting just that kind of eventuality… without saying so to anyone below Flag rank or being directly involved in the debacle that sparked the firestorm that followed. That by itself burned some of the Navy's precious political capital when it needed it most.

The first to arrive was Captain Felix Mayo. He had been Nagala's adjutant for the past six months. If at all possible, the young Caprican Officer had been even busier than she was.

He arrived carrying stacks of folders and encrypted data drives in preparation for the long briefing they were about to suffer through.

Admiral Peter Corman marched in next. Anastasia would never know how he managed to survive the debacle more or less unscratched. Perhaps it was because he was on record stating that the reconnaissance mission in Cylon space at this time was a less-than-stellar idea. That and knowing where most bodies were buried because, as far as the Navy was concerned, he was the spook who disposed of said bodies. Corman had been working for Naval Intelligence for decades before he took the agency's reins a few years ago.

Admiral Demeter walked in behind him, looking uncomfortable in his brand-new Admiral uniform. His commissioning papers and approval by the Quorum were still hot from the printers. Demeter was a bit young for his rank; however, his record was exemplary, and, most importantly, he wasn't tainted by the recent debacle.

"Gentlemen, take a seat. We have a lot to discuss." Anastasia invited her guests.

Captain Mayo hurried to her desk to put down his load, and after she nodded at him, she went to plug in one of the data drives he carried.

"First things first. Anything critical I need to know?" Nagala pointedly looked at Corman.

"Critical? No. Need to know? Certainly." He stated in his usual gruff and direct manner, which often caused people to underestimate him.

"Admiral Demeter?"

"If there is such information, Ma'am, I haven't been briefed on it either."

"Security situation on the Cylon border first, then," Nagala decided. "I hope there are no nasty surprises there?"

"We have not recorded any breaches on the border. However, long-range monitoring stations detected several sensor ghosts at extreme range. It might be the Cylons or it could be an equipment glitch. Those are brand new after all, and our engineers are still calibrating their sensitivity," Mayo began. "As you know, the Navy has increased patrol routines on our side of the border for the past three months," the Captain was curious. While he and many others speculated on the reason the secret so far held. That might account for a divine intervention and all the luck the navy had left after they apparently avoided a war.

The most popular rumor was that the Navy was saber-rattling to maintain its too-generous budget—a budget they wouldn't be maintaining, unfortunately. Anastasia kept her smile despite how she felt screaming inside and nodded to Mayo to continue.

"With an increased proportion of the fleet concentrated near the Cylon border, piracy is flaring up on the fringes of our space. Several freighters went missing over the past few weeks, and we've lost contact with one mining outpost. Beta Hephaestus went dark early this morning. We received an official request from Aquaria to check on them. Commander Pikos from BSG 31 dispatched a cruiser to investigate an hour ago. We should receive a report soon. Otherwise, the security situation is nominal."

"As far as the Navy is officially concerned anyway," Corman pipped up.

"And now you're about to tell us that it's not all sunshine and roses, aren't you, Peter?" Anastasia gave him a deadpan look.

"You know better than that, Fleet Admiral. We've got increased terrorist activity on Saggitaron. That Zarek fellow is again taking credit, though as far as Colonial Intelligence is concerned, he hasn't done even half the things he claims. My sources tend to agree. It is virtually guaranteed that we're having even more trouble bubbling under the surface. However, there are no credible threats concerning the Navy at this time," Corman frowned.

"You wouldn't be talking about it if that was the case. Out with it," Anastassia loathed Corman's habitual dancing around the point. You had to use a crowbar to get anything useful out of him on the best of days.

"I've heard rumors about monotheists causing trouble on Saggitaron and Gemenon. Not the usual One God bullshit. Instead, a bunch of people are preaching about a Goddess this time and causing a ruckus. Our colleagues in Colonial Intelligence dismiss them as lies, misinformation, or misunderstanding."

"You don't agree," Nagala already could feel a headache building behind her eyes.

"No. However, I don't have anything solid to give you right now. Nevertheless, I would like to retain at least a few units with strong marine contingents on high alert just in case," Corman finally said what he wanted.

"I'll see what I can do about it. What's next?" Regrettably, experience had taught Anastasia that dismissing Corman's concerns was never a good idea. Say what you will about the man, but he had a knack for finding and anticipating trouble. Now, it was a safe bet that Nagala would need to keep a few troopships with marines ready for deployment at hand.

"The pirates, your aide mentioned. There is indeed a surge of genuine piracy; however, at least one mercenary unit uses that as cover to hit Colonial Shipping's competition." Corman looked particularly smug at this proclamation.

"This fraking insanity again?" Demeter exclaimed.

"No one has been stupid enough to pull such a stunt in nearly two decades," Anastasia agreed. "Are you certain?" Nowadays, Corporations know better than to use surplus military vessels and armed merchants to shoot at each other to directly deal with the competition.

"Nothing we could prove one way or another in a court of law, no. However, I have one of my people in the 'pirate' crew." Corman air-quoted. "I recommend we pick them up the next time they're up to no good and use them to make an example of Colonial Shipping."

Of course, nothing could ever be simple. This had political complications written all over.

"I'll figure something out," Anastasia promised. She had an idea of whose lap to drop with this particular problem. "Now, the reason you're here, Admiral Demeter. You'll be taking command of the Scorpion Shipyards next week. The post is responsible for overseeing nearly two-thirds of the fleet overhaul and port maintenance program. In the coming years, we'll have to do our jobs with fewer resources. I will need a comprehensive plan for fleet upgrades to make our vessels as capable as humanly possible…"