The Final Circle

by Sufficient Velocity

This is a Babylon 5 centered tale. It explores a BSG style exodus due to the loss of the Earth Minbari war. It becomes a crossover with nBSG as of Interlude 1, and crosses with Firefly as of Interlude 2. Most B5 and BSG canon should remain unchanged, including EU. However, Firefly will mostly use series and film canon. Its EU began to expand after I had already merged the plots.

21. Part 2,Chapter 19-Strangers in the Night

Part 2 - A Dream Given Form

Chapter 19 - Strangers in the Night

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Unknown System, Refugee Fleet - July, 2249

"Sit-Rep!" the Admiral barked striding into the room.

Lieutenant Gaeta must have only arrived moments before him, but had already sorted through all of the relevant details. "We've got well over a hundred unknown ships of varying sizes coming right at us. DRADIS is having a hard time identifying them, but at least some of them must be Basestars, because we've got a clear Raider launch and assault in progress. The CAP and ready squadrons are already in place. The rest of our Vipers are launching now. Pegasus reports that they've already gotten the last of their birds into space."

"How long until we can jump?"

"This attack came at the worst possible time, Sir. We've got multiple ships with jump drives offline. We're looking at a couple of hours, minimum. The Galactica herself won't be jump capable for at least half an hour."

"Move faster. And shut off that damned alarm. How many Raiders are we looking at, Mr. Gaeta?"

"About a hundred, Admiral." His hand moved, flipping a switch and killing the noise of the alarm in the CIC, though it could still be heard from out in the adjoining corridors.

Adama shot the young officer a pointed look. "A Cylon fleet of that size should have put out a hell of a lot more Raiders than that, even if they aren't all Basestars. And what the hell else would they be?"

"I don't know, Admiral. Perhaps we've stumbled onto the Cylon equivalent of civilian infrastructure? A Resurrection ship, power, fuel, and mining vessels...maybe even simple residential lodging."

Adama grunted. "The Cylon equivalent to our fleet? That would be a sight. But it would certainly be guarded by enough Basestars to put out a hell of a lot more than a hundred Raiders." He looked over at Petty Officer Duala. "Are we picking up any comms chatter?"

"Nothing on known Colonial or Cylon frequencies. Nothing but our own ships. We should be picking up something from the Cylons, but it's all quiet," she responded, confusion and concern chasing each other across her face.

Adama regard the crowded DRADIS display with dissatisfaction. He needed answers. "Who's in command out there?"

"Captain Thrace was out with the CAP, Admiral," Gaeta offered. "She consolidated the CAP and ready squadrons into a defensive line until the rest of our Vipers could finish launching and forming up."

Without a word, Adama reached over and picked up the handset, stretching the cord as he pulled it to his face. He then nodded a silent command to Dualla, knowing she would understand his intention to speak personally with the Viper pilot currently in the hot seat. Upon her return nod, he spoke, "CAP, Galactica Actual. Do you read me, Starbuck?"

"I read you, Galactica," came the chipper response from the one pilot he would have wished to be out there in this crisis. Perhaps the gods were smiling on them today. Maybe they'd even make it out of this alive. "Sorry to disturb your beauty rest, Admiral. The frakking Cylons should learn to be more considerate."

"That's alright, Starbuck. It wouldn't have done me any good anyway. I need you to do a job for me. This Cylon fleet isn't behaving like a Cylon fleet. I need you to take whatever Vipers you have with you and push forward rapidly. Recon in force."

"Get a good look then report back in and run like hell?"

"Then report back in and await orders. I might need you to perform additional recon or even a spoiler attack."

"Will do, Admiral. We'll keep 'em off your backs."

"Thank you, Starbuck. Galactica Actual, out."

Just as Adama was signing off with Starbuck, Colonel Tigh strode into the room, silently assessing the situation, before walking up to stand next to his Admiral. "I thought we'd finally lost these frakking Cylons."

Adama glanced over at him, then pitched his voice low, for only Tigh to hear. "I don't know Saul. Something's not right here. They're not acting like Cylons. They've launched fighters, but far too few, and they haven't attacked yet. DRADIS is also reading a bizarre mix of shapes and sizes over there, and can't get a good read. So far, we've only seen the Cylons in a couple of models of Base Stars and their Resurrection ships. Gaeta thinks we might be looking at dozens of different classes here."

Tigh thought for a moment, then asked, voice also pitched low, "You think it might be another Colonial refugee fleet? Maybe even with another Battlestar or two? I wouldn't mind having another Mercury class around, so long as it didn't come with another Admiral Cain."

"I thought about that, but at this range we should long since have picked up on their IFF transponders...military or civilian. We're getting nothing on Colonial or Cylon frequencies. Go suggest to Petty Officer Dualla that she perform a broad spectrum analysis, looking for transmissions on unusual bandwidths."

As Tigh went to converse with the young Sagittaron, Lieutenant Gaeta waived for Adama's attention. "Admiral, a group of the enemy's fighters has broken off and are moving to intercept Captain Thrace's recon element."

Adama didn't hesitate. He grabbed up the handset again and checked to ensure that it was still on the previous channel. "Starbuck, Galactica Actual. Do you read me?"

"Loud and clear, Admiral."

"Starbuck, you're about to have company." He took a deep breath, then continued. "Do not fire unless fired upon." The order, spoken in his usual clear and commanding voice, brought silence to the CIC as all eyes swiveled towards him. "Push through and get a good look at that fleet. Stay in contact and keep us apprised every step of the way."

There was a moderately long pause, filled with the static that always seemed to seep into their communication systems. Finally, she responded. "Acknowledged, Galactica. I'll give you the play by play."

Nodding, Adama turned his attention to incoming reports on the progress towards restarting the jump drives. It wasn't promising. The tension in the room continued to climb, as the DRADIS showed the two groups of fighters sweeping closer and closer, until they were practically on top of each other.

Finally, Starbuck reported in. "Galactica, this is Starbuck. I'm not sure what these things are, but they aren't Raiders, and they don't look like Colonial craft either. They look like some sort of bastardized cross between a Viper and a Raptor. I don't think they want to let us through. They're on a direct intercept course...FRAK!"

"Starbuck, report!" Adama snapped, still cradling the handset. "Are you under fire?"

There was an interminable pause, until she finally responded. "Negative, Galactica, but they really don't want to let us pass. They set a direct intercept ramming course, and decided to see which of us would blink first. I'm not sure who won, but both formations are blown to hell, and we're all knotted up. Every time I try to push ahead, another one puts itself in my way."

Another voice broke in on the line. "Galactica, Kat. This one's trying to lock me up. Do I have permission to fire?"

"No!" Starbuck shouted, at the same time as Adama snapped, "Do not fire unless fired upon!"

The next several moments were interspersed with the grunts of pilots pulling high-G maneuvers, and frantic chatter as attempts at forward progress were blocked again and again. "Galactica," came Starbuck's voice, "I've had close passes on a few of their cockpits and gotten a good look inside. If they're skinjobs they aren't any models that I've seen. We might be looking at the final five models, but so far I haven't seen any duplicates."

"Starbuck," Adama said, "I know you're a fan of Pyramid. Do you remember the zone sweep maneuver?"

"Of course. Your teammates pull into a tight blocking wedge and push into the opposition, hopefully allowing you to maneuver around the knot and break out into the open with an open shot."

"Do you think your pilots could pull off something like that?"

There was a pause as Starbuck thought for a moment. "We'll give it a try." There was a significant delay as Starbuck organized the maneuver, the pilots continuing to struggle in their bloodless dogfight all the while, while Kat again requested permission to fire. But soon enough, Starbuck had her pilots in position. "Now!" came her shout, followed moments later by, "I'm clear! Going to maximum burn for their fleet. I'll get a good look for you, Admiral."

"The blocking fighters are giving chase," Gaeta called out. "There's another group of fighters and small ships setting up a secondary blocking line ahead of her. She should still get close enough to get some good images."

"Admiral," Dualla called out.

"Closing in on visual range now," Starbuck reported, her voice straining through the compounded G forces. "There's more fighters coming out to meet me. I can just see...damn, that's a lot of ships."

"Admiral," Dualla called out again, a bit louder this time.

"Later," he responded to her, never taking his attention from the DRADIS display and Starbuck's commentary.

"They look civilian, mostly. Lot's of different varieties. Looks like some kind of Battlestar in the lead...frak those are big guns."

"Admiral!" Dualla practically shouted.

"Petty Officer Dualla..." Adama barked, rounding on her. He cut off as she immediately flipped a switch and a disembodied voice began to speak mid-sentence over the speakers of the CIC, grabbing everyone's attention.

"I just picked this up, Admiral. It's on a frequency the Colonies haven't used in a few hundred years. Even then, it was used for things like garage door openers and speed guns, not comms. The signal itself is pretty basic, not encrypted at all, but uses data protocol and modulation unlike anything I've ever seen before."

She paused as the voice came to the end of what it was saying, and started over. "This is Commodore John Sheridan aboard the Earth Force ship Nova. We represent the Earth Alliance, and come in peace. Please identify yourself and state your intentions. Be warned, any aggression will be met with deadly force. Please do not let it come to that. We would much rather be your friends than your enemies." He sounded quite young, to Adama's ears.

There was a pause, and the voice began to repeat itself, apparently on a continuous loop.

Dualla began speaking again, right over the top of it. "I wouldn't have had a chance of decrypting it; their comms protocols are nothing like our own. But, it contains an embedded signal, a key, which seems to be designed to give anyone listening the information they'd need to interpret the signal. Our decryption software ate it up. It also helps that they're speaking Caprican...somehow."

Silence reigned in the CIC, save for the still looping voice of this Commodore Sheridan, and Starbuck's occasional commentary as she was met and pushed back by the second line of fighters, and some additional small military craft she was calling gunboats. Adama slowly raised the handset back to his face. Stunned, his hand had dropped to his hip as he had listened to the message from...from people who might just be from Earth. "Starbuck. Gather your recon force and pull back to the primary defensive line."

"Admiral?"

"Just do it, Kara. This is one encounter we don't want to frak up. And tell Kat that if she requests fire permission again without bullet holes in her craft, she'll be spending time in the brig." He hung up the handset, and turned back to Dualla. "Petty Officer. Can we transmit using the...unknown fleet's frequency and signal protocol?"

"Our systems weren't designed for it, Admiral. But, I believe I have made the necessary modifications. I'd appreciate it if Lieutenant Gaeta double checked the work."

Adama nodded to the Lieutenant, who sprinted over to review the adjustments Dualla had made. It took only a moment, and then Gaeta raised his head and nodded. Adama took several long breaths, then ordered, "begin broadcast." He picked up the handset then began, "This is Admiral Adama aboard the Battlestar Galactica. I represent the Twelve Colonies. Our intentions are not hostile. We will defend ourselves if provoked, but we also come in peace."

Lowering the handset so that it would no longer pick up his words, he turned back to Gaeta. "Lieutenant, you better get the President over here. Immediately." He was turning back to the plotting table when his attention was grabbed, along with everyone else's, by the looping voice of Commodore Sheridan suddenly cutting off.

With a momentary squeal, it was replaced by his live voice. "Admiral Adama, on behalf of my people and all of the children of Earth, I greet you in peace at this first contact of our peoples. It is my hope that we can turn this meeting into a lasting peace and friendship."

"Commodore, Sheridan," Adama responded, raising the handset once more, "that is my hope as well. On behalf of all of the people of the Twelve Colonies, we welcome this meeting."

"I've got to tell you, Admiral," Sheridan responded with a chuckle, "my officers over here are very excited. Your computer systems must be very advanced to allow you to communicate in English so quickly."

Adama shared a confused look with Tigh, then responded, "Actually, we're speaking Caprican. But my Communications officer said that your signal seemed custom designed to allow our...fairly limited computers to interpret it. Perhaps that is what you are picking up on."

There was a pause, and this time the Commodore's words came tinged with suspicion. "Admiral...the Twelve Colonies of where, exactly?"

Adama was still looking directly into his friend's face, so he watched as the increasing confusion was joined by a small amount of alarm. He felt it himself, but didn't allow it to touch his voice. "Kobol. The Twelve Colonies of Kobol, of course. We bid greeting to the Thirteenth Tribe."

The pause was even longer this time. "I guess...we bid greeting to the Thirteenth Tribe as well. Is that some sort of ritual welcome? So you're Kobolians then?"

Adama stopped trying to hide his confusion. "No. I told you, we're from the Twelve Colonies."

"Ok, but what species are you?"

Adama simply lowered the handset, looking at Tigh in astonishment. "Are you hearing this, Saul?"

"But not believing it. What the frak is this guy talking about?"

With a helpless shrug, Adama raised the handset once more. "Human. Our people are human. Are you...are you asking if we're Cylons?"

"I'm sorry, Admiral. Perhaps your translation software is having some difficulties after all. It sounded like you said you were human. Followed by something...wait...are you called Cylons then?"

Lowering the handset yet again, Adama commanded, "Make sure all the guns are hot, and get those frakking jump engines online." Back to the handset, he continued, "No, Commodore, we are definitely not Cylons. We're humans. We're from the Twelve Colonies."

"Which twelve colonies?" came the clearly confused response.

"Aerilon, Aquaria, Canceron, Caprica, Gemenon, Leonis, Libran, Picon, Sagittaron, Scorpia, Tauron, and Virgon," Adama rattled off.

"Listen buddy; I don't know if this is funny to you, but I know every single colony the Earth Alliance has ever founded, and those aren't on the list. But I also happen to know when some joker just takes the signs of the zodiac and twists their names a little bit."

"What the frak..." Adama took a deep breath. "Not colonies of Earth. I told you, we're the Twelve Colonies of Kobol. Descendants of the twelve tribes who left that world thousands of years ago. Just as the Earth is the thirteenth colony. Descendants of the thirteenth tribe of Kobol."

"So that's your game? I guess I should warn you, Admiral. The Centauri already tried to pull the star brother routine about a century back."

Adama finally gave up. He had no idea what the frak this crazy Commodore was talking about. "Perhaps...perhaps this conversation would go easier if we met in person?"
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"Earth Force shuttle on final approach." The announcement from Flight Pod Traffic Control crackled from the speakers in the dingy waiting room, ringing loudly in the nearly silent atmosphere. Despite how crowded the room was, everyone seemed disinclined to chat as they tensely awaited their visitors' arrival. Some wore their fears plainly on their faces. Others bore an almost painful look of hope. Most just craned their necks, eagerly awaiting their first sight of a craft from the thirteenth tribe.

When it finally came into view, a murmur of quiet conversation swept through the room. Bill, however, felt almost disappointed. It was hardly different than any number of shuttles he had seen plying Colonial space. He leaned over to Starbuck and asked, "You're certain those vessels out there couldn't be Colonial ships the Cylons gathered up?"

Starbuck grimaced and shook her head. "I don't think so, Admiral. There are a lot of ships out there unlike anything I've ever seen before. Particularly their Battlestars. From what I saw, rather than utilizing flight pods, they've integrated flight operations into the main body of the ship. Their Battlestar on point had a large hangar opening sticking right out of the bow."

Tigh grunted. "Damned stupid idea, if you ask me. If that hangar eats a nuke or even a few Cylon boarding parties, you've gone and lost your whole frakkin' ship."

The shuttle was just entering the flight pod, still fairly high up above the landing runway. Adama watched as it slowly began to reconfigure, landing gear cracking out of the formerly seamless lower hull. Well before the transition was complete, the shuttle suddenly seemed to wobble, then abruptly dropped like a rock. It crunched down on it's not yet fully deployed landing gear, mangling them and continuing downward until its fuselage slammed into the flight deck. The impact apparently sprung several of the vessel's pressure seals, as small white plumes of escaping atmosphere sprung forth from several locations.

The room went deathly silent, everyone stunned by the unexpected event, until Chief Tyrol cursed and slammed his hand down on the emergency alarm, then sprinted from the room. Immediately, klaxons could be heard blaring from every nearby speaker, and yellow flashing emergency lights came on throughout the flight deck. The emergency vehicles almost belatedly surged forward, making their way towards the downed shuttle. Shaking himself out of his momentary shock, Tigh grabbed up the nearest handset and contacted the CIC. "Retract the flight pods immediately. The moment they're sealed I need an emergency repressurization of the flight deck." Apparently the officer on the other end of the line balked at that, because Saul then shouted, "Screw the damned safety regs! You get atmosphere in that pod, unless you want to explain to that fleet out there why their Commodore died trying to suck vacuum!" He took a deep breath, then continued in a quieter tone, "Don't do it yet, but better get ready to relaunch our Vipers. Given what just happened, the Earthers might decide we double crossed them either way."

Adama never took his eyes off of the downed craft, though he had carefully followed Colonel Tigh's conversation, and had noted as the flight pods had begun to retract. A quick glance towards President Roslin showed her deep into a hurried conversation with her aide. No doubt she was issuing similar preparatory orders, in case the worst happened. Bill prayed to the gods that it would not, but his prayers had a pretty poor track record. Still, he maintained a calm, stoic face; a rock in the center of the storm. No agitated running around for him. He needed to show the crew that everything was under control; that the Old Man was still in charge. So, instead, he spent his time analyzing the situation, trying to figure out just what had gone wrong, and coming to some uncomfortable realizations. And the moment the atmospheric indicator lights on the flight deck turned green, he would open the nearby hatch and go out himself to check on their visitors.

The pod finished retracting with a dull boom, and debris was kicked up all over the flight deck, as atmosphere was pumped in at an emergency rate. A few moments later, still waiting, he felt Tigh's familiar presence over his right shoulder. Roslin also strode up, both having apparently finished their conversations. It was Saul who spoke first. "What the frak just happened?

Roslin apparently had been planning to ask the same question, because she simply nodded her head. Unfortunately, Bill was fairly certain he had an answer. He looked around to make certain they wouldn't be overheard, but the room had mostly emptied out. Everyone had left or been sent away to see to various tasks necessitated by the emergency. "They dropped the moment they entered the pod's artificial gravity field. They weren't expecting it."

Tigh swore again. "Which means they probably don't even frakkin' have the technology. That explains all the major ships with spinning sections Starbuck reported on."

He seemed about to say more, but Roslin broke in. "Is that important?"

Adama used the opportunity to both explain and try to clarify his own thoughts. "We've had artificial gravity technology for centuries. It advanced over the years, until taking a hit during the Cylon War...just like every other technology. But these days, very few ships go without it. Those that do, like the two or three we have in the fleet, use centrifugal spin to simulate gravity. They do so either for extreme fuel economy, or more likely as an eccentricity. A quaint little toy for someone with more money than sense to show off. If I'm right and they don't have artificial gravity... Starbuck reported on a significant number of ships in their fleet having rotating sections. But it wasn't all of them. Not even the majority."

"Good gods," Tigh swore yet again, "half their damned fleet could be suffering from null grav."

At Roslin's confused look, Adama again explained. "Extended withdrawal from a gravity field causes the human body to break down. Bones and muscles deteriorate. There's a whole litany of medical issues that pop up. Even a few weeks without gravity can be detrimental. You can combat the decay with drugs and exercise, but the best remedy is a gravity field, natural or artificial. Or, barring that, spin generated centrifugal force. Anything else only slows down the effects. So yes, a high percentage of those Earthers could be fragile compared to our own people."

The atmospheric indicators turned green, and Bill strode forward. Saul beat him to the hatch, hauling it open just in time for Bill to step through, marching for the downed shuttle. Tigh and Roslin kept pace with him, so he continued the explanation, though in a significantly louder voice on the now noisy flight deck. "But it's worse than that. Assuming a lack of artificial gravity, the fact that all of their ships don't have spin is troubling. It indicates that either they have trouble manufacturing the equipment, or perhaps that they have just recently invented the process. And that's technology we've had for millennia...since all the way back to Kobol."

"The Thirteenth Tribe came from Kobol as well," the President argued. "They should have had spin technology just as long as we have."

"Unless they threw it away," he responded. "Unless they imposed limits on themselves for religious or cultural reasons. Imagine the Sagitarrons trying to develop spaceflight in the absence of the rest of the Twelve Colonies. How long would it take them? What would it look like? Regardless of the reason, what we have here is a fairly strong indicator that Earth technology is significantly less advanced than our own."

"Not certain, though?" Roslin pressed.

"No, not yet. It's something we will have to watch and evaluate, but I'd bet money on it."

"Frak," Tigh growled. "What are these people even doing in space? The Cylons will tear through them like a wet paper sack."

They arrived at the shuttle, which was surrounded by emergency personnel, ready to provide aid. Those personnel, including Chief Tyrol, were being waved and shouted back by a group of what were clearly security officers, spilling out of the open hatch of the shuttle. Adama quickly scanned their faces. None of them were of any known Cylon models, nor matched each other. That would basically double the number of models of which they were aware, and exceed the twelve the Cylons were supposed to have. So, odds were that these people really were who they said they were. Bill released a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

The security officers seemed to be armed, and their weapons were drawn, but those guns, if that's what they were, looked bizarre enough that his people didn't seem to be taking them seriously. Tigh confirmed this by leaning over and chuckling, "Are those men carrying toys? They look like party favors! Maybe tazers or pepper spray?"

"We have no idea what those weapons are, or what they are capable of, except that they clearly are weapons," Bill admonished. Barking out in his best command voice, he snapped, "Back off people! Give them some space!"

As his people finally began to back up, he saw that someone had finally emerged to take charge of the Earther security. The young officer, roughly Lee's age, shouted at them to calm down and holster their weapons, which they seemed reluctant to do. Ignoring Adama's orders to back up, Roslin charged in and strode up to the flustered young man. "Officer, I'm President Laura Roslin." He barely had time to acknowledge her before she was continuing, "I hope you realize that this was an accident, and not some kind of attack on your people. We have no hostile intentions towards you. Can you convey that to Commodore Sheridan?" The officer seemed suddenly uncomfortable, but Roslin had no intention of letting up. "Will the Commodore be emerging soon? I hope he realizes he's perfectly safe here. He wasn't injured in the crash, I hope?"

As the young man appeared more uncomfortable at the grilling, Tigh chuckled and said, "Seems one thing we have in common is junior officers not knowing how to react to civilian brass."

As more of the shuttle's crew and passengers emerged, Bill came to a sudden realization. Striding forward, he interrupted Roslin's latest attempt to dig information out of the recalcitrant young officer. He held out his hand. "Commodore Sheridan. Admiral William Adama. Welcome aboard."

Taking Bill's hand in a firm grip, the young Commodore shook it, a sideways glance seeming to show amusement at the President's sudden silence. "It's a pleasure to be aboard, Admiral. We planned to go through a formal coming aboard ceremony, but we seem to have made a mess all over your deck. My apologies for that."

"That's all right, Commodore. These things happen." Taking a chance, he asked, "Weren't prepared for the artificial gravity?"

"Caught us completely by surprise. We haven't figured that tech out yet...but we're working on it. To be honest, the scientists that I brought along were so excited about the artificial gravity, I don't think they had time to think about almost dying in a crash. Oh, and we managed to safe the reactor, so you don't need to worry about the shuttle exploding or anything."

Bill nodded. Noticing that the original welcome party had mostly reassembled behind him, he half turned and said, "Allow me to introduce you to some of our people. You've already met President Laura Roslin." He watched as the young officer gave her a shallow nod, otherwise saying nothing. Laura didn't look pleased. "This is my XO, Colonel Saul Tigh. Our CAG, Captain Kara Thrace, call sign Starbuck. Our Chief Medical Officer, Major Sherman Cottle. Senior Chief Galen Tyrol, head of deck crews and senior noncom aboard the Galactica. And our civilian scientific advisor, Dr. Gaius Baltar." He did not mention that Baltar was currently running against Roslin for President, in an election that seemed just around the corner. He had given very specific instructions to Baltar, on pain of being tossed out an airlock, that no mention of politics would be allowed.

Sheridan went down the line, shaking each hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you all. Allow me to introduce my own officers." He brought Adama to a similar group of officers which had gathered behind him. Only one appeared any older than the Commodore. "My XO, Commander Laurel Takashima. Our Head of Fleet Security, Colonel Michael Garibaldi. Our Chief Medical Officer, Lieutenant Commander Stephen Franklin. Our CAG, Commander Alfred Bester. Captain Sandra Levitt, commanding officer of the Heavy Cruiser Lexington. And one of our chief scientific and xenocultural advisors, Dr. Maxwell Eilerson." As he went down the line, shaking hands, Adama noted that several of the officers carried bumps and bruises, but none had suffered any broken bones. That was unfortunately not true for several of the security personnel and shuttle crew, who were being brought out and made comfortable upon the deck. Dr. Franklin clearly wanted to attend to them, but just as clearly had been ordered not too. A medic who was part of the crew seemed to be doing a competent job though. As Adama shook the final hand, Sheridan noted, "I should advise you that Commander Bester is a teep. I hope that won't be a problem."

Not having any idea what that meant, but not wishing to get into their internal divisions just yet, Adama simply said, "You're all welcome here. I'd like to take this conversation someplace a bit more comfortable. We have numerous conference rooms aboard the Galactica, but I've picked out some place a bit more comfortable. Chief Tyrol, please lead the way."

As the visitors moved off, Adama held back for a moment, and Roslin and Tigh stepped up next to him. "Thoughts?" he asked.

"Children," Tigh blurted. "Their whole gods damned fleet is run by a bunch of children."

"Most of them were about Apollo's age," Laura countered. "If we trust him to run a Battlestar, I don't see why people his age couldn't run a fleet. How bad could it be?"

Grunting, Bill responded, "We're about to find out." He strode off after their visitors, his XO and the President of the Colonies in tow.
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Bill had chosen his own quarters as the most comfortable and welcoming location to hold this important meeting, and Roslin had not argued. He had asked Petty Officer Dualla to attend as a steward; serving drinks and meals and attending to other needs, but primary hosting duties would still fall to him. However, as the party began filing into the room, Lieutenant Gaeta popped around a nearby corner carrying a small stack of flimsies. It was obvious the Lieutenant wanted a word, so he hung back a moment as everyone else made their way in. "Mr. Gaeta. Make it quick."

"I'll be brief, Admiral, but I thought you'd want to see these." Handing over the stack of flimsies, he continued, "This ship is at the tail of the Earther fleet. We've been so busy analyzing the images Starbuck brought back of all of their ships that we hadn't gotten around to triangulating the positions of each ship from multiple images. So, we didn't realize how far off this one was until DRADIS finally got a solid lock. It's massive, Sir. Over six thousand meters in length."

Adama raised his brow in surprise as he studied the images of the massive Earth vessel. Perhaps Earth technology didn't lag quite as far behind as he had feared. The Colonies built plenty of structures that size. But we didn't make them mobile. At least, not since... "Is it armed?"

"We've identified several weapons emplacements, but they're all quite small for its size. Certainly nothing like the Battlestar they have on point. Maybe it's just a well protected civilian ship."

Adama grunted and handed back the stack. "Good work, Lieutenant. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go play diplomat."

"Of course, Admiral."

As Gaeta made his way back to the CIC, Adama entered his room to find Dualla already pouring drinks, while everyone else sat in tense silence. The President had apparently been waiting for him, because the moment he entered she rose and offered, "I'd like to take a moment to welcome our new friends from Earth, and to offer my best wishes that this association be long and fruitful. And, on a personal note, let me say how meaningful it is that here is this empty system, far from any of the worlds our birth, and for the first time in over four thousand years, we once again have brought together people from all thirteen of the tribes of Kobol."

Commodore Sheridan glanced around at his people. They all looked a bit uncomfortable, shuffling around in their seats. His final glance was to the single older gentleman in their midst...Commander Bester, if Adama recalled his name correctly. The man gave a single, shallow nod, and Sheridan seemed to relax a little, though his look of confusion increased. Finally, he spoke. "Madame President. Admiral. As I've already noted, while we are from Earth and her colonies, we aren't descendants of some thirteenth tribe. We've never even heard of Kobol, and the whole idea is...well we're fairly certain it's impossible. But we also know you aren't lying. I'm not sure exactly how, but my best guess is that we must be having a misunderstanding or miscommunication of some sort. I'm not sure how that's possible, given that you speak English. Which they tell me should also be impossible, by the way. Unless you had it when you colonized? Or picked it up recently as a trade tongue?"

Adama was closely watching their visitors. They seemed to be really worried about such an inane question. Why would that be? "We're speaking Caprican, not English. It's a recent language, not one we've had since colonization. But yes, it's a trade tongue."

His words seemed to relax their visitors. But then Baltar felt the need to offer, "In fact, it's basically been the lingua franca of the Twelve Colonies for a little over three hundred years. But it's origin was some fifteen centuries before that."

Those words seemed to agitate the Earthers all over again. "That's impossible," Sheridan muttered, mostly to himself. He then glanced again at Commander Bester (if he was a Commander, and Adama was beginning to suspect otherwise) and again received that shallow nod. There was definitely something going on there. Louder, Sheridan stated, "I'm sorry, but from what our history and science tells us, what you're saying should be impossible. For humans to be out here for eighteen centuries..."

"Four millenia," Baltar corrected, and Bill felt the need to reach out and strangle the man. "The Colonies were settled over four millenia ago."

Sheridan just nodded. "Yes, well, that should be impossible. I know you're not lying, but there's got to be some sort of mistake or miscommunication here somewhere. Maybe we could start by eliminating one of the obvious possibilities...that perhaps we mean different things when we say 'human.' If it's alright with you, we'd like to run a little test. Dr. Franklin has brought the necessary equipment. It's all on our shuttle. He would just need to draw a tiny amount of blood, under the supervision of your Dr. Cottle, of course. Shortly after that, we'll know if you are human as we would define the word, or..."

"Or what?" Tigh spoke up suspiciously, clearly sensing some sort of threat.

"Or...something else," Sheridan finished lamely.

"Like hell," Tight snapped. "You think you can just come in here and start demanding..."

"Agreed," Bill called out, raising his voice to override Saul, who cut off in surprise. "You can draw my blood. On one condition. We have our own test, which Dr. Baltar will administer. It will tell us if you're really human...or if you're Cylon."

"I'll provide whatever sample you need," Sheridan agreed. "But, what's a Cylon?"

"Maybe we should run the tests first. And there's no need for you to provide a sample. You've got plenty of bleeding and injured men who should be in our infirmary by now. Easier if we just test them." He didn't mention that he didn't trust that Sheridan, offering to provide genetic samples, wasn't a Colonial scooped up by the Cylons just for the purpose of testing as human.

"Right," Baltar said standing, seeming embarrassed. "I'll, uhhh, I'll go see to that, shall I?" He waved vaguely in the direction of his lab and, receiving no response, walked out. Adama really didn't trust the shifty little man, but he was all they had.

Dr. Franklin approached with a small device, which he offered to Dr. Cottle to inspect. Having done so, Cottle passed it back, and Franklin pressed the device to Adama's uniformed shoulder. There was a slight pinch and a hiss, and Bill assumed the sample was taken. Tigh really didn't look happy over the matter, but chose not to protest. Instead, he nodded to Cottle, "Why don't you escort Dr. Franklin back to the Earth shuttle, so he can run his tests?"

After the doctors had left, no one seemed inclined to discuss any matters of import until the results were in. They tried to pass the time with small talk. Sports fell flat. The Earthers seemed to have dozens of different sports, none of which seemed to match Pyramid, and none of them seemed particularly interesting. It was hard to talk about the weather, given it was always vacuum outside. And there was absolutely no way he would let them get started on politics or religion. That left a lot of awkward silences, and occasional forays into the military experience. As it turned out, they had a lot in common there. Though the Earther rank structure was bizarre. Placing Captain between Commander and Admiral? It was unnatural. And Colonel seemed to be a rank equivalent to Captain, on a parallel track of rank advancement. How the hell did they keep all of that straight?

Their ship classifications were nearly as bad. "Dreadnought?" he asked, tasting the bizarre word for the first time. It had an archaic feel, though the connotation was obvious. A powerful ship with nothing to fear from anyone. He preferred the term Battlestar, which was much more inspirational. He had to admit though, that over the past decades the term had become watered down, being applied to ships which should have carried lesser designations. At least these people called a cruiser a cruiser. The idea of having a dedicated carrier though...it gave him chills. If the Cylons jumped in right on top of it, it wouldn't last long enough to get off the first bird. Of course, that was no worse than putting the flight deck in the middle of the main body of the ship. He suspected that the Earth military simply wasn't as professional or effective as the Colonial military had been. Not that he was going to say that out loud. There was no point in offending their visitors.

"It's an ancient term from our waterborne navies. There was some push to designate vessels of that category as battleships...a fair match for your battlestars, I guess. But, that term had a fair bit of historical baggage associated with it, and the brass chose to go with the more colorful term."

Bill nodded his understanding. He then had to suppress a wince as Tigh poured himself another glass. The man was doing a passable job keeping the guests entertained, but the effects of the booze were starting to show, and it wasn't acceptable to give that kind of impression to the Earthers. Besides, his personal stocks were far from bottomless, and he'd be damned if he let Saul drink them all. Trying to keep the conversation going, and shift attention away from Tigh, he asked, "So, is piloting part of your career track? I flew Vipers myself, during the war." Immediately, he silently cursed himself, wishing he could take back the words. He had been so anxious to take attention off of Tigh, he hadn't thought through what he was saying. 'War' had immediately grabbed everyone's attention.

Commodore Sheridan, however, seemed disinclined to break the unspoken agreement to stay off of touchy subjects for the time being. "Yes," he responded. "It's a preferred track. Nearly every one of my command staff...everyone here except for Dr. Franklin, and Dr. Eilerson of course, has significant stick time in Starfurys. Hell, most of us wish we had more time to spend piloting them now."

Baltar was the first to return. All eyes swiveled towards him as he entered the room. Not wanting to waste the opportunity of having everyone's undivided attention, he flourished the printout of his results. "I tested a half dozen of the Earth crew and security. Not a single Cylon. And, with all due respect to your Dr. Franklin, I also confirmed that you're as human as we are."

Sheridan nodded. "Thank you, Doctor. Franklin should have checked in by now." Adama started as the Commodore touched a previously unnoticed device stuck to the back of his hand, then spoke into it. "Sheridan to Franklin. You almost done, Doctor?"

"Sorry, Commodore, I'll be just a bit longer. The results are rather...interesting, and I had to consult some of our historical and medical databases."

The response came through crystal clear, without any of the static that would be heard over most of their own systems. But that wasn't what was blazing through Bill's mind at that moment. He glanced around and saw similar devices attached to the hands of each of their visitors, and saw Saul taking similar stock. These people had brought clearly digital, wireless technology aboard his ship. And given the number and relative capability of these devices, they were almost certainly networked. They had brought a network aboard his ship! Without so much as a second thought or a 'by your leave.' Under any other circumstances, he might be prepared to throw them in the brig or out an airlock. Saul appeared to be preparing to do just that. But this meeting was too important; and if these people weren't Cylons, they clearly hadn't met them either. He spoke up, before Saul could say something to make matters worse. "Ladies and gentlemen, I assume those devices are part of your standard gear. I'm going to have to ask you to shut them down, turn them off entirely, and if possible remove their power sources. I will not ask you to relinquish them. But no networked computers, or unauthorized wireless communication devices of any kind, are allowed on board the Galactica. I apologize for the...inconvenience...but this is a critical matter of security.

Several of the Earthers seemed ready to protest, but Sheridan studied him closely. Adama didn't flinch under that intense scrutiny, and instead studied him back. And again noticed when Sheridan glanced at Bester and received that tiny nod. It was followed by a much larger one from the Commodore. "Alright people, you heard the man. Links off, and pull the power cells. Admiral, our shuttle is routinely connected to the fleet. Do you need us to shut that down as well?"

Adama hesitated, then asked, "Is the shuttle armed?"

"No."

"You said you safed the reactor. Can it be restarted automatically by the computer...if it had the right codes?"

"No," Sheridan replied, his curiosity obviously piqued. "It's been manually shut down, and has to be restarted the same way."

Bill hesitated, then nodded. "Should be alright then."

"Does this have something to do with those Cylons you mentioned? Perhaps it's time you explained." Sheridan was clearly a patient man, but also a firm one. His gaze demanded answers. Adama found himself beginning to like the man...even if he was a fraud. But, he wasn't sure if he was ready to give those answers.

The decision was taken away from him when Roslin began to speak. "The Cylons were created by Man. They were created to make life easier on the Twelve Colonies. And then the day came when the Cylons decided to kill their masters. They rebelled."

Bill broke in. "The Cylons had become a part of everyday life. Trusted. Unsuspected. They served as workers, caretakers, protectors. They had become the sharp end of our military and the muscle of our law enforcement. When those you don't suspect...don't even think about...when they rise up and attack you….we were caught completely by surprise. The slaughter was horrific. And during that initial uprising, the Cylons crippled our military and made off with the cream of our military assets. Worse, the Cylons were far better with our computers and technology than we were. They used everything against us. Infrastructure tied into our computer grids broke down at critical moments, reactors exploded, vehicles rammed themselves into key people and places. We had to throw out and restrict the technologies which had become a core part of our society. We were losing...everything. And it was that, more than anything else, which finally allowed us to unite the Twelve Colonies. Instead of separate worlds, competing for wealth and dominance, we became one people. Humanity united. We rebuilt our military. Fought back desperately. Every day we became stronger. More assured of survival, if not victory."

Roslin took over the narrative again. "After a long and bloody struggle, an armistice was declared. The Cylons left for another world to call their own. A remote space station was built, where Cylon and human could meet and maintain diplomatic relations. Every year, we sent an officer. The Cylons sent no one. No one had seen or heard from the Cylons in over forty years."

"Until they came back and kicked us off our frackin' sleeping asses," Saul spat.

"After forty years, we had forgotten the lessons of the last war. The new leadership thought they were smarter than their predecessors from the war. Networks started going back into our military installations and vehicles. It was supposed to make us more efficient. More deadly. Network security had advanced. They promised that the Cylons wouldn't be able to hack us like they had in the past. Besides, no one had seen the Cylons in over forty years. It turns out, they were just waiting for us to make that same stupid mistake.

"Somehow...somehow they infiltrated our networks again...all of them. They came back, and when our military came out to meet them, our guns and fighters and ships...they just frakkin' shut down. We were slaughtered. Those of us who survived got to listen in as they nuked the Twelve Colonies into dust."

"We know how they got in," Roslin interrupted. "Somewhere along the line, the Cylons changed. They look and feel human. Some are programmed to think they are human. They slipped right into the Colonies and destroyed us from the inside before the first nuke was even launched. Those of us lucky enough to be in space at the time, and not immediately come under direct attack...we gathered ourselves up and ran. The Colonies were lost. There was nothing left to do but try to preserve the species. We are out here, struggling to survive. Looking for a new home. But the Cylons are after us. They want nothing less than the complete and total extermination of mankind. We fight, just to survive another day."

During their account, the room had fallen into a deathly silence, all eyes riveted upon them. It was so quiet, Adama could hear the gentle susurration from the ventilation ducts.

Into that silence, Colonel Garibaldi said airily, "And then they sent Arnold back in time to kill your mother before you were even born. Don't worry though; he's naked, but he'll be back."

Commander Takashima, who had been cautiously sipping her liquor before the Colonel's pronouncement, snorted a good deal of it out through here nose. Bill winced in both sympathy and dismay at the wasted alcohol, as she clapped both hands to her face. Gasping and eyes watering, she attempted to suppress what was no doubt an excruciating sinus burn.

"Michael!" Sheridan snapped.

"Oh, come on, Commodore. You're not actually buying this claptrap, are you? John Connor here just gave us the plot to Terminator. And a dozen other B-list Twentieth and Twenty First century Sci-Fi franchises. Between that, the star-brothers thing, and colonies named after Zodiac symbols, it couldn't be more clear. This whole thing's a sham," he finished with a dark chuckle.

Bill felt the thunderheads darkening about his face, but could do nothing about them. In a dangerous voice, he asked, "Colonel, is there something about the deaths of fifty billion people you find amusing?"

Garibaldi stood, looking ready to walk out. "Sorry pops, I ain't buying it. Self aware killer robots wearing meat suits?"

"We call them toasters," Saul spat out.

"Because if you fight them you're toast?" Captain Levitt guessed, trying to mollify tempers.

"No. Because the original metal bastards looked like frakkin' toasters. And because...well, it seemed like a decent insult."

Garibaldi raised an eyebrow. "You put effort into thinking up insults...for robots?"

"No! For gods damned Cylons!" Saul took another drink and began muttering to himself, staring into his glass.

Garibaldi started to say something more, but Sheridan spat out, "Colonel, sit down and SHUT UP! Admiral, Madame President, friends, my sincerest apologies. Some of my officers have an unfortunate obsession with an ancient form of entertainment from Earth, which seems to leave them with some very strange ideas. But, between dreadnought sized warships and advanced gravitic technologies, you've got enough backing up your story that you deserve to be heard out." Sheridan made eye contact with him, and Bill gave him a respectful nod. "Just to clarify, Admiral. Did you say fifty billion?"

"I did. The population of the Twelve Colonies was just north of fifty billion at the time of the attack." Seeing his visitors' surprise at the number, he continued, "Being just one colony, I'd hazard a guess that your Earth Alliance's population was somewhere between two and seven billion, correct? You're probably not accustomed to thinking of that many people."

"Fifteen billion, actually," Captain Levitt responded "including our colonies. Earth itself only packed in about ten billion."

Now it was the Colonials' turn to be surprised. But, they didn't have long to focus on the extreme population density of the Thirteenth Tribe. Takashima, finally having gotten her running eyes and nose under control, muttered to herself "Nà zhēn de hěn tòng."

Chief Tyrol bolted to his feet, staring at her. "Tā jìnrù nǐ de zuǐ lǐ, ér bùshì tōngguò nǐ de bízi."

Laurel gave him a shocked look, and said aloud, "That was Mandarin. My mother's tongue."

"Old Canceran, actually," Tyrol responded. He looked over at Adama. "Sir, I picked up a little bit when I was..." he glanced to the side, embarrassed, "seeing Boomer. She grew up on Troy, but her family was from Canceron...or...I mean..."

"Never mind, Chief," Bill said, letting Tyrol off the hook.

"One matching language is simply impossible," Dr. Eilerson suddenly spoke up. "Two means there is, without a doubt, something strange going on. We just need to figure out what. Est-ce que quelqu'un peut me comprendre?"

Roslin's head came up sharply. "Vous parlez léonais?".

"French actually. That's three."

Dualla, standing against the wall, ready to pour more drinks, suddenly burst out, "Nani aliye na njaa?" Bill glanced over at her. He understood what she was asking, but he appeared to be the only one. Looking around at each other, their visitors shook their heads one by one.

"It's Swahili," Franklin said, walking into the room. "And I am, a bit," he said, answering her question.

"You speak Swahili?" Garibaldi asked.

"A bit. My father was dead set against it. Called it a 'completely worthless waste of effort.' After that, of course I had to learn it. But, right now, you should all hear what I found."

Dualla was carrying a tray of horderves over to him, and he was about to explain, when Roslin interrupted, "This is all very interesting. I'm sure we could spend years trying to figure this out. But, right now, it's just not important." She stood up and pulled her seat over, placing it directly in front of Commodore Sheridan, then sitting to look him directly in the eye. "Commodore, this fleet contains fewer than fifty thousand survivors from the fifty billion who once lived in the Cyrannus system."

"Wait," Sheridan interrupted. "All twelve of your worlds were in the same system? All habitable?"

"Yes, Commodore, but that's still not important. As the President of the survivors of the Twelve Colonies, I am asking you...I am begging you...for asylum and shelter. We've been out here, searching for a refuge. A refuge the Cylons know nothing about. It hasn't been an easy journey. It's been long and arduous. But we've been out here with the single shining hope of making Earth our new home. And here you are. Please Commodore. Take us to Earth."

Sheridan looked around at his people. They all suddenly seemed rather uncomfortable. "Madame President...I'm afraid we can't help you. At least, not in exactly the way you want. You see..."

Sheridan paused, searching for words, and Bill cut in. "You're not going to Earth. In fact, none of you are planning to head back there any time soon. You're a colonization fleet."

The Commodore blinked in surprise. "How did you know?"

He walked over and stood directly behind Laura, meeting Sheridan's eyes directly. "Your odd mix of numerous classes of civilian and military ships should have told me. But I didn't realize until right before this meeting. I received a fresh report on the size of one of your ships. A six kilometer long monster, moderately armed. We haven't built anything resembling that for four thousand years. Not since we used something similar in the original settlement of the colonies. I figure that thing is packed to the gills with civilians and colonization equipment."

Sheridan smiled. "Well, Admiral, you got nearly to the right answer, but I'm afraid you took the wrong path in getting there. That ship is one of our Explorer class vessels. As the name suggests, its primary purpose is exploration and pushing the boundaries of the Earth Alliance. It's a great many of our smaller vessels which are dedicated to carrying civilians and colonization equipment and materials."

"And none of that really matters," Bill stated bluntly. "There's only one question that matters. Do you believe us? Do you believe that we are who we say we are? If so, then give us the location of Earth, and we'll head there ourselves."

Bill had his eyes locked onto Sheridan's, and couldn't have missed when those eyes cut to the side, right toward where Commander Bester was sitting. Bill felt rather than saw the Commander's subtle head movement. Sheridan brought his eyes back and spoke. "We believe you. But I can't send you to Earth. You see..."

"Then I've had enough of this game," he barked, cutting off Sheridan to spin on Bester. "I'm not a fool, Commander Bester, or Admiral Bester, or whoever the hell you are. You're clearly in charge here. So I want you to tell me. Why the hell won't you help us?"

The diminutive Commander seemed taken aback. "I'm sorry, Admiral. You seem to have gotten confused somewhere. I am quite a few steps away from being in charge here."

"That's crap and you know it. Aside from the fact that you're the only one even old enough to be flag rank, the 'Commodore' here has been looking to you for permission throughout this meeting."

"Confirmation," Sheridan said from behind him.

"Excuse me?" Bill called over his shoulder, not bothering to turn around.

"I was looking to him for confirmation, not permission."

"Confirmation of what?" Bill asked, calming down but still speaking over his shoulder.

"Confirmation that you were telling the truth. I did tell you that Commander Bester was a teep."

Bill finally turned around, stepping back up behind the President who had not so much as moved throughout his whole outburst. "And am I supposed to know what that means?"

"Of cou..." Sheridan began. Then he trailed off, his face taking on a thoughtful expression. "Oh...oooh. My apologies, Admiral. It seems I failed to check all of my assumptions. Teep is slang for telepath. I assumed when you acknowledged that he could come aboard that you understood. Per our laws, the Commander has restricted himself from entering any of your minds, but he has checked to ensure you weren't lying to us. That's what I meant when I said we knew you weren't lying."

Bill glanced back over his shoulder at the Commander, embarrassed and irritated in equal measure. "And you actually believe this person can read minds?"

"Yes, of course. Don't you believe me?"

"Over the last several centuries, various of the Twelve World governments tested for things like ESP and the supernatural. And no one has ever found anything. So no, I don't believe in ghosts, black magic, or telepaths. But so long as he's telling you we're not lying, I'll agree with anything you say. So, now, since you know we aren't lying, why won't you give us directions to Earth?"

"Because going there would just get you all killed. And if you really want the directions, I will give them to you. But I strongly urge you to select another destination. The Earth Alliance...it's not there anymore. It's been overrun and destroyed. You were only partially correct about our fleet. It's not just a colonization effort. It's an exodus. We pulled together a seed to restart our civilization elsewhere, and to preserve what we thought was all that remained of the human race. Unlike you, we had months to prepare, to gather resources and passengers. But our people, just like yours, have seen their entire world fall to fire and death."

Bill looked around at the other Colonials in the room. The Commodore's words had clearly stunned them. Even Starbuck looked completely dumbstruck, and he heard the President cursing quietly under her breath. Still, something else about what the Commodore had said was gnawing at him. "If the Cylons destroyed the Earth, how exactly is it that you've never heard of them before?"

"Because it wasn't the Cylons. The Earth Alliance was lost in a two year long war with the Minbari."

Bill had never heard that name before. Glancing at his people, he could tell they were also unfamiliar with the term. "Is that one of your colonies? Was this a civil war then?"

Sheridan shook his head. "No. The Earth and her colonies were more or less unified. It wasn't perfect, and there were independence movements out there, but by and large we had a single functioning government. No, the Minbari are an alien species. Humanoid. Not too dissimilar to humans."

"What?" Saul guffawed, looking up from his glass. "Pull the other one." Bill just continued to stare at the Commodore.

Sheridan continued. "We made first contact a couple of years ago, and everything went wrong. We'd sent a military expedition into their space, hoping they would respect a show of strength. Perhaps they did. The Minbari approached with open gunports, a sign which to them meant respect between warriors. The man in charge of our expedition, Captain Jankowski, assumed it was an attack and opened fire, then retreated. It turned out the ship he was attacking was political in nature. He'd managed to kill an important leader of theirs; political or religious, we're not entirely sure. We think it might have been their equivalent of a President, but details are scarce. What we do know is that, from that point forward, the Minbari were out for blood. Battle after battle, they eviscerated our fleets, while we barely touched them. Their technology was far in advance of our own. We couldn't even get a weapons lock on them. For two years the Earth Alliance bled, as soldiers and civilians were fed into the meat grinder. And despite our best efforts, they crept inexorably closer to Earth, taking out colony after colony. When the brass realized the inevitable, they authorized this fleet, in the hopes of preserving our species and culture. We've been running ever since, and the Minbari have been chasing us. They seem determined to wipe out all of humanity. We think we may have lost them, but that is far from certain. So, you see, if I send you to Earth, it will just mean the death of all those lives you are trying to preserve."

Saul barked another laugh. "If you don't want us to go to your precious Earth, Commodore, just say so. Don't try to feed us a load of crap."

Colonel Garibaldi, it seemed, couldn't restrain himself. "You're trying to convince us of skin covered doom-bots, and you have a hard time with aliens?"

"Just because we've been chased halfway across the galaxy by a bunch of frakkin' toasters, doesn't mean I'm going to believe in magical mind readers or little green men from Pallas."

Dr. Eilerson, feeling the need to reinsert himself into the conversation, offered, "Actually, the little green men are from Vreetan. And they're more greyish tan than green. It's also extremely difficult to determine their gender, so calling them men might very well insult them, or at the very least get them laughing at your expense, which they love to do."

Saul was completely at a loss for how to respond to that, and Bill didn't blame him. It was Starbuck who first found the voice to ask a question. "How many...how many alien species are there?"

"No idea," Eilerson responded. "But we've met dozens, at various stages of technological development. Some are truly alien looking, and some could almost pass for human. The Earth Alliance has only been in space at all for about two centuries. We're the newcomers, and many of the alien races are more advanced than us. In many cases, frighteningly more advanced. One of our greatest scientific endeavors is searching empty worlds for the remains of prior inhabitants, and any technology they may have left behind."

"So, you're scavengers?" Kara wasn't even attempting to hide her distaste.

"Our findings provided some of the best defenses we had against alien threats," he protested.

"Which didn't help us, in the end," Sheridan interjected, attempting to end that line of conversation.

Roslin stood up, beginning to pace. The potential loss of Earth as a destination was clearly bothering her. Of the Colonials, only Baltar didn't seem to find it upsetting. But then, he was pressing for settlement of the newly discovered planet, the one he was calling New Caprica. She turned back to the Commodore. "So the reason you thought we might not be human, was because you believed we might be an alien species which closely resembles humanity?"

"Yes," he agreed.

"But Dr. Baltar's findings prove that we are all human."

"As do mine," Lieutenant Colonel Franklin chimed in. "I've been waiting for a good time to bring them up."

"One moment, Doctor. So, if you have only been in space for a couple of centuries, then your civilization must not be that old."

"It depends on what you mean by civilization. But, less than a millenia ago we were riding horses and swinging swords, and just beginning to understand the concept of science."

"Then how do you know you're not the lost thirteenth tribe of Kobol? Couldn't you be the descendants of a crashed and stranded colonization effort, which lost access to its advanced technology and had to spend the last four millenia rebuilding its way to the stars?"

Sheridan began to shake his head, but then paused and looked at Dr. Franklin. The Doctor took it as permission to explain. "No, Madame President. I'm afraid not. Our historical record extends back farther than that." Laura began to nod, but Franklin wasn't done yet. "In addition, the archeological and fossil record go back much farther than that. There is no doubt that humanity evolved on Earth."

Laura turned her head to meet Bill's gaze. Her confusion was evident at the unfamiliar terms. Turning back to Franklin, she attempted to press on. "Then perhaps there were already humans on Earth, and the Thirteenth Tribe chose to integrate themselves into the local population. If your people were as primitive as you say back then, would they even have noticed? Would they have left records?"

Franklin appeared thoughtful. "I suppose it's possible Madame President. But if so, then your tribe died out without leaving any descendants. It seems more likely that they simply were never there. Perhaps they went elsewhere."

"How could you possibly know for certain?"

"It's written in your DNA."

Baltar sat straight up at that pronouncement. "Excuse me?"

Franklin smiled, looking forward to engaging a fellow scientist. "That's what took me so long to return. I had to consult some of my associates back in our fleet. Geneticists and evolutionary biologists. As I said before, my findings are very interesting. But the answer is clear, if you know to watch for genetic drift, check the right genetic markers, and watch for plain old evolution."

Baltar was starting to look confused, but it was Roslin who spoke up. "There's that word again. Evolution. Do you mean...like a military evolution?"

Brows raised in surprise, Franklin responded, "No, ma'am. I meant in the biological sense. Evolution of species. The gradual change of genes over time, coupled with natural selection for survival traits relevant to prevailing environmental conditions." Franklin seemed to notice the confusion written on the faces of all of the Colonials. Bill himself was starting to feel as though their languages weren't the same. The Lieutenant Commander was starting to look confused himself. "Do...do your people not teach evolutionary theory? Is that cultural? We had that struggle ourselves, a few centuries back, but I assure you that all of my facts are based on well established and vetted science."

"Excuse me, Doctor," Baltar said, sliding forward in his seat. "Without undue modesty, I must say that before the fall I was one of the preeminent scientists in all of the Twelve Colonies and, to be blunt, was acknowledged as a genius," he added with a chuckle looking around to his fellow colonials for support. It was not forthcoming, and the scowls directed at him by both Adama and Roslin wiped the smile off of his face. "Right, well..." he continued, trying to regain his train of thought, "it can safely be said that there isn't a branch of science with which I am not aware, if not well versed in. And I've never heard of this ridiculous concept. Which means...it's not science."

Eilerson jumped back into the conversation, apparently challenged by Baltar's claim to genius. "You know, Dr. Baltar, one thing I've learned from studying the remains of multiple worlds and species is that worlds in isolation develop knowledge and technology differently. Wouldn't you concede that it's possible we may have developed a science which you have not?"

Baltar gave Eilerson his most patronizing smile. "I'm sure your scientists are all quite skilled. But we've been in space for well over forty centuries. You claim barely three. By your own admission, you were astonished by simple gravity technology. And, given that our computer science led to the Cylon problem, which yours has yet to do...the idea of you having any scientific field more advanced than our own seems...a bit... unlikely."

The smile Eilerson returned was clearly predatory. "Tell me doctor...these twelve worlds of yours...when you arrived...were they already inhabitable, or did they need to be changed."

Clearly taken aback by the apparent non sequitur, Balter simply answered. "A few of them had breathable atmospheres. Some algaes and mosses, that sort of thing. But they all needed to be kobolformed to one extent or another. The plants and animals we brought with us were very hardy and spread quickly, and there's not much left of the native biology."

"Kobolformed, huh," Eilerson said, tasting the new yet entirely clear word. His countenance shifted to one of triumph. "Well, there you go then."

"Excuse me?"

"How could you have developed evolutionary theory? Your worlds have no fossil record. Your ecosystems are all totally artificial, and totally under your control. Such systems don't adapt and evolve, they do what they're told. On Earth, we can track the biological changes of life back hundreds of millions of years. Don't worry, Dr. Baltar. It's not that your scientists weren't smart enough. It's just that they didn't have the right resources."

Baltar was preparing to object, when Roslin cut him off in exasperation. "I'm sure this all very interesting..."

"Madame President, if I may, please," Franklin cut in, and she nodded at him, controlling her irritation. "Look, if your worlds didn't have this science, then I understand why you wouldn't trust it. But, you have an eminent scientist here," he said gesturing diplomatically to Gaius. "Why don't I just relay my findings, and then I can provide the entire history and knowledge base of the field to Dr. Baltar, as well as the data that led to my specific findings. Then he can review it and advise you whether or not to believe me."

"That sounds fair," Bill stated assertively, wanting to cut off any more argument over scientific mumbo jumbo.

"Go ahead, Stephen," Sheridan said.

"Well, there was a lot of data to go through, but the result is pretty simple. You see, significant climatic and environmental events can leave detectable changes in the human genome. These can be referenced like a type of biological calendar. One such event was the Toba supereruption of seventy-five thousand years ago..."

"Doctor," Roslin interrupted. "You said you would keep this simple."

"Right, well, my data proves that the Colonials are human..."

"Which I already said," Baltar groused.

Ignoring him, Franklin kept on talking. "and they are from Earth."

"I don't need Baltar to tell me that's not true." Starbuck blurted.

"Not literally from Earth. I don't mean that you are lying. I mean that the analysis of your genes shows that you originated on Earth. The markers are there for events that happened on Earth, like the Toba eruption."

"We came from Kobol," Saul started to argue.

"Yes," Franklin agreed. "Four thousand years ago. But, somewhere between ten and twenty thousand years ago, your ancestors first left Earth. That's when the genetic markers stop matching up."

This time it was Garibaldi who objected. "We barely left atmosphere three hundred years ago. How the hell could we have put colonists on another star twenty thousand years further back?"

"How should I know? Alien abduction? Lost super-civilizations?"

"Atlantis? Your explanation is a sinking continent?"

Baltar began arguing again, and the entire room broke out into chaotic debate. Bill had had enough. He made eye contact with Commodore Sheridan and jerked his head sharply to the side. He turned to walk over to his liquor cabinet, the Commodore following him. Their movements were largely unnoticed in the continuing debate. Pouring a couple of glasses of one of his favorites, he handed a glass to the Commodore, then threw back his own, relishing the burn as it slid down his throat. He stared into the Commodore's eyes for a moment. "This is getting us nowhere," he said quietly, trying not to draw the attention of the rest of the room.

"Agreed. It's too much, too fast."

"I want to trust you, but I'm not in a position where I can afford to trust too easily."

"I'm in that same position. My first instinct is that we could do a lot to help each other. But this meeting just proves how difficult that is likely to be. We should probably wrap it up before somebody says or does something regrettable."

"I'd hate for this effort to be wasted. Or the whole opportunity, for that matter."

"Agreed. But this group isn't getting anywhere, we're all to invested in our own mindset."

Bill smiled. "Maybe we need to start smaller. Fewer people. Smaller egos. Less focus on the big picture."

Sheridan thought for a moment, then threw back his drink and gave a grin of satisfaction. "How would you feel...about an exchange program?"