AN: Just an overhaul again. There should be no major content changes until I finish with the last of the original content, which should be contained in the next update on this site.

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Prologue Part 3: Ignorance is bliss.

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Part 3

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05.02.1348
Colonial Cruiser Poseidon
Beta Hephaestus mining outpost

The Berzerker Cruisers were ancient, older than the First Cylon War. Various upgrades and retrofit programs always kept a few of them around. These days, they have little in common with their original predecessors. About thirty years ago, a radical redesign proposal passed procurement. That resulted in not quite an aborted attempt to make a modular ship design inspired by the first Berzerkers—the Navy's workhouse warship.

The Poseidon was the proud legacy of that program. Everything between its armored nose and the drive section was divided into neat, easily swapped modules that were supposed to meet any mission the Navy might envision.

Unfortunately, that concept never got sufficient funding to solve all the problems that cropped up when implemented. First, despite their versatility and low costs, even the MK II variant of the Berzerker class was decidedly less capable in any mission role than a dedicated ship built for it. Second, the modular nature of the reimagined cruisers meant that their armor belts were weaker than those of purpose-built vessels that weren't modular in construction, making them easier to destroy.

Then there was the fact that the Battlestars were the successful hybrid design, as far as the Navy was concerned, and they were expensive. The Navy never could get as many Battlestars of any type as it wanted operational at any one time.

That should have been an opportunity for smaller, specialized ships to shine, bulking up the Navy's numbers and maintaining operational tempo, all at an affordable cost.

Instead, the focus and bulk of the funding went into procuring existing and new Battlestar designs, leaving less and less of the budget for creating, testing, and building smaller ships.

Thus, the Berzerkers remained second-line support ships. They all retained the notable benefit that they could be turned into rather sturdy logistics vessels, which could barely keep up with a modern battle group.

Not all of them turned into glorified cargo barges. Their cheap and modular nature ensured many of them remained in front-line service long after the Navy no longer placed orders for new units of the class.

The Poseidon, for example, was currently configured as a troop transport. She was meant to offer her battle group additional warm bodies if they had to deal with disaster relief or anti-piracy operations, which sometimes required boarding and searching a large number of vessels or a few massive ones for all kinds of illicit goods.

Being the Commanding Officer of a Berzerker wasn't glamorous, even when you were lucky enough to avoid hauling around supplies. Captain Timothy Winston still loved the Poseidon. She was his first independent command, and he was determined to make the most of it. They spent months of training and safe patrols in Hellios Delta alongside the rest of the Battlestar Prometheus' battle group. Now, it was finally time for Winston to stretch his wings.

The familiar brief discontinuity of a jump washed over the Captain. It was a stark reminder that he was no longer wet behind the ears, Lieutenant serving as a junior officer on a Battlestar. In contrast to a much more massive, not to mention a newer ship, the Poseidon shook, sometimes roughly, during the transition. There was no way to miss it. For a brief moment, William's straps holding him secure in his seat dug uncomfortably into his shoulders. Then, the ship stabilized, and multiple reports assaulted the Captain's senses.

"No Dradis contacts in range…"

"All systems nominal, we're green across the board…"

"A few light cases of jump sickness, the crew is all right…"

"The marine contingent is ready to deploy. Our Raptor squadron is green, and the escorts are green," The CAG announced.

In her current configuration, the Poseidon carried a whole Raptor squadron and ten Vipers to serve as an escort. A few more modules might have also allowed the Berzerker to take an entire Viper wing. However, the additional weight would have ensured she could not keep up with a Battlestar battle group under full military power. While her current configuration was less than ideal, it was a compromise that wouldn't leave Poseidon helpless in a bad tactical situation.

That was the theory, anyway. After all, there was a reason why the Colonial Navy hadn't used pure carriers for a long time. One lucky jump from the enemy or an unlucky insertion could see such ships shredded in short order. On the other hand, more or less successful hybrid designs proved themselves much tougher and thus more survivable when, not if, things went wrong. Sadly for Poseidon, she couldn't do both jobs well enough without unacceptable compromises.

"Hail the mining compound," Winston ordered. It was time to figure out what was wrong with this place.

"Beta Hephaestus, this is Poseidon Actual; please respond. I say again, Beta Hephaestus, this is Poseidon Actual, please respond…" An identification code confirming they were a genuine Colonial Naval unit accompanied each call, yet they received no answer.

"The mining complex is hot. We're seeing a lot of heat on thermals down there. Life support is up, and power generators are working," Lieutenant Lydia Biros, the Dradis operator, reported. However, there's interference, likely from the ores they're processing. I can't get good readings on life signs."

"Launch Raptors and Vipers. Keep four Vipers as Combat Space Patrol. The rest will escort our marines to the surface." Winston decided. "As soon as the jump drive cools, I want us ready to jump back just in case. Navigation, plot me a jump."

Several Ayes echoed over the tiny, relatively cramped CIC.

A series of loud clangs echoed throughout the ship.

"Vipers away. CSP is forming on us…" The CAG announced. More clangs followed. "Raptors away and forming for insertion."

The tactical plot updated, showing first the situation within the Dradis range of the Poseidon. Four Vipers MK V divided into pairs began circling the cruiser while the rest of her brood headed for the planet below.

Once upon a time, the inhospitable rock might have been as welcoming as any of the Twelve Colonies. However, an enormous asteroid roughly impacted when everyone's ancestors left Kobol, turning the place into a hellscape and causing earthquakes and volcanic eruptions. Only recently did the dead world begin stabilizing enough to make mining operations down there safe enough for investors. Beta Hephaestus was the second compound built on the surface. The first was around since shortly before the beginning of the war and didn't survive it. It didn't help that the Cylons nuked the best and safest mining sites to make their use as challenging and dangerous as possible. Only recently did they cool enough for anyone to bother setting up shop down there.

There were even rumors that resettling space purged during the war was terrible luck. Watching camera feeds of the planet below, Captain Winston had no trouble believing it.

The atmosphere was chock full of volcanic ash, and who knew what fraking poisons were in it? The visibility was almost zero, forcing the small craft to rely solely on Dradis until they broke through the low cloud cover.

Below, it was dark like Tartarus, an impression magnified by a glowing magma river in the distance. Nevertheless, the same factors that made the place a slice of hell also made it ridiculously rich in all kinds of useful elements—rich enough to justify setting shop down there.

Poseidon's small craft approached a well-lit mining and refining complex. Vast sealed warehouses and domed buildings dotted a large valley nestled between jagged peaks of volcanic rock clawing at the sky. Here and there, huge transport trucks moved loads of ore or gleaming ingots of refined metal.

"Berzerker Actual, Riptide Actual, the site is active. From up here, it looks like business as usual. However, we still can't raise them on the wireless or good old-fashioned radio," The Lieutenant in charge of the marine platoon being deployed reported.

"Riptide Actual, Berzerker Actual, find whoever is in charge and figure out why they aren't picking up their phone. So far, the skies are clear. Berzerker Actual, out."

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Part 4

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05.02.1348
Beta Hephaestus mining outpost

Amazingly, no one noticed the Marines' arrival until they were on top of the mining facility, or at least it appeared that way. They could detect no excited or worried chatter; no one hailed them, and more suspiciously, no one returned their hails. Only when a few of their escorting Vipers buzzed the facility looking for unpleasant surprises did the Electronic Countermeasures Officers finally hear old-fashioned chatter between the presumed drivers of the enormous trucks carting ore and refined metal.

Nevertheless, no one hailed them. Lieutenant Marik Link, the CO of 2nd Platoon, 31st Marine Battalion, reluctantly gave the order for land and investigate it in person. Perhaps it was his imagination or how this forsaken world looked, but he felt terrible about being here.

"We're going in to find out what the frak is going on here. I want two Raptors with a full complement of marines in the air, ready to bail any squad that might run into trouble. Keep frosty. If one of you smokes a civie without a fraking good reason, I'll shoot you myself, am I clear?" Link demanded.

A series of confirmations came over the Platoons net, and Link allowed himself a brief smile, which remained hidden under the helmet of his armored environmental suit.

Eight Raptors landed in front of the central hub building of the complex. Fully kitted out, marines ran out, seeking cover. Vipers roared overhead, a few close enough to properly see.

Yet, still, no one came out to greet them or see what the bloody disturbance was. Link didn't like that at all. Was everyone drunk or high in there? Wasn't there an accident with life support on a station a few years back that had everyone acting loopy until help arrived?

"Sergeant Roval, take a squad. You're on point. Delta Squad, go check on the communications tower," the Lieutenant ordered.

Tina Roval was the most experienced NCO in the Platoon, and if there was one grunt under his command, Link trusted not to frak up by the numbers; it was her.

"Yes, sir. Moving in. Beta Squad, on me." Roval's unmistakable chirpy voice echoed over the command net.

"Who the frak are you?!" A distorted, surprised-sounding voice came over the net a minute later, only after Roval's squad went through the airlock, keeping the messed up atmosphere outside out of the buildings.

"Navy marines. Identify yourself!" The Sergeant barked while a second squad pilled up into the airlock.

"Mark Delos, Stargard Security!" came the reply.

Link saw a tall man wearing distinctive orange-colored protective gear. It was thick and relatively well designed, yet certainly not meant for the conditions outside, even if the man's face was hidden behind a bulky rebreather. The Lieutenant wouldn't dare go out in this mess without a standard-issue armored suit.

"Sergeant Roval, Colonial Marines," The NCO introduced herself. "Can you tell me why no one around here is answering the wireless?"

The security guard shrugged.

"I have no idea, Ma'am. All I know is that the boss-man ordered the place locked down last night. No one has said anything about why since I got on shift."

The airlock cycled through, and a second Squad entered the building.

"We'll figure it out. You're going to take us to your boss-man, then to whoever is in charge of this facility." Roval's voice broke no argument. "And just in case, slowly unholster your weapons and put them on the floor," her suggestion was anything but.

"Do I look like I bite, Ma'am?" the guard asked.

"A girl can't be too careful. Now, put the guns down. Nice and slow!" Any levity that might have existed left Roval's voice, turning her voice icy.

Link entered the airlock with his command squad, and watched a camera feed of the guard, and very carefully and as not threateningly as possible put down his SMG. Then, he unholstered his pistol and laid it on the metal floor as well. A knife followed suit.

"That's a lot of gear for keeping a place out here safe," A Marine muttered.

"We're out in the middle of nowhere. Who knows what can come knocking? Pirates, your run-of-the-mill criminals, perhaps even Cylons, though if those come knocking, we're fraked anyway." Delos shrugged. There's a security room nearby. The security center is deeper into the facility."

The security room turned out to be empty, which apparently surprised Delos. That or he was a rather good actor. Link couldn't tell yet because of the rebreather covering much of the man's face.

"There should be at least three people in here in case of trouble or accident," Delos grumbled. Should I call it in?" He looked at Roval and then at Link.

"Keep it quiet. At the very least, your colleagues could use a sharp reminder to take their duties seriously," The Lieutenant said aloud. Roval, I don't like this at all. I want you to keep an eye on our new friends at all times. Poseidon Actual, Riptide Actual, there is something rotten down here. We're investigating."

"Riptide Actual, Poseidon Actual, we're receiving you loud and clear. Whatever the issue is with the locals wireless, it's not the environment…"

"At least on the outside, their communication equipment appears intact," Link added. "Delta One, Riptide Actual, report."

"Riptide Actual, Delta One. We've breached the communications tower. We had to hack our way through the door. The place had been sealed. So far, there is no sign of anyone inside. There is no trace of combat or struggle either, so things could be worse, sir."

"Keep searching. I want to know the status of this place's long-range wireless."

"We're a few minutes from reaching the top. Proceeding carefully just in case of nasty surprises. The elevator has been disabled, LT. I'll report ASAP. Delta One out."

Fire teams spread out throughout the building, searching for the workers.

"I'm getting orders from the Chief to check out what the commotion outside is," Delos said.

"We're almost at the security center, aren't we?" Roval asked.

"There's a stairway just around the corner…" Delos trailed off. "If anyone was inside, they should have seen us on the cameras."

"And someone else should have come to meet us." Link finished the thought.

"Roval is on point. Be ready for trouble, just in case."

The two Squads hurried up, keeping their Delos between them. They turned around the corner, ran up a stairway, and soon reached a pair of sealed doors.

"I have the code and pass card to get inside!" Delos told them.

"Roval," Link said.

Two fire teams staggered around the door a few muttered commands later, and the security guard opened the way. The doors slid into the walls with a soft pneumatic hiss, revealing an empty security room. Dozens of monitors covered two walls, showing a live feed from all over the complex. A few of the screens were shattered. One of the seats was upturned and shredded by bullets. It was covered with blood, too, and there was a badly wiped stain on the floor.

"What the frak?!" Delos exclaimed.

"Sir, look here," Roval pointed her assault rifle at one of the monitors. It showed a mess hall where many workers were gathered and kept under guard. Another monitor displayed a pair of guards carrying a body bag. A third one showed an armory where four more were busy attaching detonators to explosives.

"Roval, I want that armory secured yesterday. Poseidon Actual, Riptide Actual. We've got a situation down here. We might require reinforcements and most certainly will need the Criminal Investigation Division."

"Riptide Actual, Poseidon Actual, we're receiving you loud and clear. We're recording your feed. A Raptor will be on the way to call in the cavalry ASAP." The Poseidon's communication officer trailed off. A new and familiar voice replaced her.

"Riptide Actual, Poseidon Actual." The Captain's voice came over the wireless. "Make sure the facility doesn't go up in flames, then secure the workers and any evidence you can. I'm calling back your Raptors to deploy the rest of our marines. They'll deploy at your discretion. Gods speed, Riptide Actual. Poseidon Actual, out."