Interlude 2
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Battlestar Galactica, New Home in an Unknown System
"Come on, baby. Show me what you got," the Chief said cajolingly. He flipped the switch and the modified Viper autocannon, mounted on a test stand just on the other side of the blast proof safety glass, whined and began to power up. "Here goes nothing," he muttered, and pulled the remote trigger.
The autocannon immediately exploded. It took the test stand with it, and tossed a shard of red hot metal their way with enough force to drive its way into the safety glass, with a couple of centimeters of now smoking gun part sticking through into the 'safe' zone they occupied. Captain Sinclair and Colonel Tigh were both so impressed that they turned and walked out without a word.
"You said it would work this time, Chief," Baltar complained.
Tyrol looked over at him in disbelieving irritation. "Well you ran the frakkin' numbers."
"And those numbers were flawless, I assure you."
"So why the frak didn't it work?"
"Guys, guys," Peter Laird, the aeronautical engineer who had once upon a time been pressed into service by Admiral Helena Cain, broke in, "take it easy. Let's just go over the sensor feeds and try to figure out what happened. Samuel Drake, their Earth Alliance engineer, nodded in agreement. They were all part of the small working group assigned to this task. The effort was part of the larger conglomeration of Earth Alliance, Colonial, and Cylon experts trying to combine their knowledge to overcome various challenges. It had been one of the initiatives keeping everyone busy for the last few weeks while they slowly explored this never ending nebula.
"How long is this gonna take, guys?" Starbuck asked from where she stood next to Russki. "The fireball was pretty and all, but we have work to do."
"Nothing else today," Galen advised her. "Sorry. But once we get this beauty running, you're gonna love it."
"Well what exactly was it supposed to do?"
"You remember how well your guns worked against the Minbari?"
"Yeah. They did frak all. Short of dumping your entire belt into a single point, that is." Since Starbuck had managed exactly that, she spoke with some authority.
"Well, the Starfury Pulse Discharge Cannons struggle as well, but they do a hell of a lot better job than the Viper guns. So Sheridan and Adama tasked us with increasing the Viper's firepower to match the Starfury. This is our...what?...fifth or sixth idea?"
"Oh, sixth at least," Laird offered.
"Let's see. We started out with the idea to just make the shells explosive. But the Viper's 30mm rounds are so small, even our best HE compounds didn't offer much. They're definitely too small for mininukes. So then we thought about Tylium or Solium...but those are really better at giving a steady energy discharge...burning. You can get some really impressive explosions with enough quantity. But again...small rounds."
"Which gave me the idea of using the Tylium in the propellant," Baltar bragged. "I calculated the rounds' velocity would increase by a factor of five. That's twenty-five times the penetration, based on the relationship between kinetic energy, mass, and velocity."
"Yeah," Tyrol agreed, "if the reaction didn't end up vaporizing the bullets...which it did, and blowing up the barrels...which it also did."
"The bullets and barrels could be reinforced…" Baltar began to argue.
It was Laird who cut him off, "Which gives us massively larger guns. Meaning we'd have to not only replace all of the guns and the bullets...but all of the Vipers as well. Which also means you have to replace the Battlestars to launch them. Yeah, that's not happening anytime soon."
"I just wanted to drop in some Pulse Cannons," Drake advised the two Viper pilots. "We've got plenty of the Copeland JC44s lying around in storage. Might as well put them to some use. They even fit the Viper's gun housings."
"Yeah," Tyrol agreed, "except the Starfurys power those things with an onboard godsdamned fusion plant. Which the Viper most definitely does not have. We tried increasing the size of the generator drawing off of the Mark II's engines…the one that runs the Gauss kickers...but it dropped performance to an unacceptable level, and the rate of fire we achieved gave the bird less firepower than just sticking with the autocannons. And if we'd wanted to put a fusion plant in a Viper...well, we'd be back to new birds and new Battlestars."
"We have to give Gaius some credit," Laird took over the tale. They all seemed to be enjoying getting to share their work with an outsider. "He came up with the core of our current idea."
"It's simple really," Baltar explained. "If Tylium is so good at providing slow and steady power, why not use it to power the plasma pulses."
"Of course, we still couldn't just add a new power plant," Laird explained. "We needed something that could just be dropped into our existing Vipers. But then Sam came up with the ingenious idea of Tylium based Plasma cartridges."
"What now?" Russki asked, perplexed.
Tyrol reached into a pocket and withdrew a Viper's 30mm round. Apparently, he'd been planning to have this conversation with the now departed Captain and Colonel, because he'd brought props. "Standard 30mm," he began. "Take out the bullet. Dump the propellant." He demonstrated both. "Replace the propellant with a Tylium mixture we're still working on." He skipped this step. "And here's the really impressive bit. We replace the bullet with this miniaturized pulse converter." This time he did place onto the tip of the cartridge...an incredibly complex looking piece of circuitry."
"What the frag is that?" Russki asked again, leaning in for a closer look."
"That," Drake explained, "is a miniaturized version of the guts of a pulse cannon. The cannon on the Starfuries are large because they have to be built incredibly robust. They need to fire cyclically tens of thousands of times before breaking down. They need to manage waste heat and inefficient energy usage, and the cabling and switching required for drawing power from the fusion engine and capacitors. They're made from some of the most advanced and expensive materials the Earth Alliance has to offer."
"This," Tyrol continued, waving the modified cartridge around, "doesn't have to deal with any of that. It's made cheaply with available materials, because it only needs to fire one time. Just the once. No oversized capacitors or switches. It just converts the well of Tylium in the cartridge, and eats itself in the process. Waste heat is managed primarily by the gun ejecting the cartridge. Though we are also adding an active cooling system. But basically, we aren't changing the gun...just the ammunition. And we get a nearly ten times increase in firepower by turning an autocannon into a frakkin' plasma machine gun. It's amazing."
Starbuck moved her eyes pointedly to the gun still burning away in the other room. "You fly with it then."
Galen cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Yes, well...I did mention that the Tylium mix is still a work in progress. But if we get this right. Imagine it...Starfury firepower, firing at a Viper's cyclic rate."
"If we get it right," Drake cut in, "I'm going to recommend replacing the Starfury guns as well. It'll more than double their rate of fire, which means double the firepower as well, for only a little added logistical complexity. Oh, I suppose then the whole point of having that big fusion plant will be moot...but I'm sure we can find something to do with the excess energy."
Russki also glanced at the burning gun, and more pointedly at the piece of shrapnel stuck half way through the safety glass. "If," she stressed.
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Susan and Kara were on their way back to pilot country when the alarms began to blare, and the announcement came to set Condition One throughout the ship. They finished their journey at a sprint, heading first for the lockers so that they could rapidly change into flight gear. Rather than heading for the Ready Room, Kara took them to the CAG's office. Colonel Tigh was waiting for them there.
"Colonel," Kara said, as both women saluted. The Old Man had come to the determination that Tigh being a Cylon mattered not one whit to his rank or standing within the Fleet. Kara supposed that was good enough for her. She also supposed it helped that these days she could simply tell that the man had mostly good intentions….they were constantly leaking out of him.
"Starbuck," he nodded, returning the salute. "You're going to need to brief your pilots. We're tripling the size of the CAP. Everyone else to maintain ready alert status."
"What's going on, Colonel?"
"A couple of Raptors just came back in. They found a lot. They located the edge of the nebula, and that planet we've been looking for as well. Unfortunately, that's not all they found."
"Sir?" Russki asked.
"A fleet of alien ships, just hiding out in the nebula. Power levels stepped down to minimum. I'll send you the recon images, but they look pretty damned ominous to me."
"It was always a possibility that this system would be inhabited...but it was just so unlikely," Susan said. "I suppose that makes this their system."
Tigh scowled. "Yeah, well, theirs or not, it's the only place we've got to go. So we'll try to play nice, but we'd damn sure better be ready in case they decide they don't want us here."
Near the Event Horizon of a Black Hole
A trio of Shadow vessels spun and wove in complex patterns around each other, dancing their way through the accretion disk of this handy singularity. These were true Shadow craft, not the lesser copies used to advance promising younger species. They had been following the human fleet when a Vorlon vessel doing the same had been spotted. Forced to break off to remain hidden, they'd lost contact with the human fleet. So they'd spent their time cautiously exploring this lost space. Mostly, they'd been visiting destroyed or defunct Shadow worlds, and gathering any lost assets which still resided there, hidden away for the last ten millennia. The humans would be located soon enough.
But then Minbari craft were detected spilling into this region in significant numbers. That in itself wasn't too worrisome. Recent acquisitions had divulged exactly why the Minbari were so fanatically devoted to the destruction of humanity. It was both perfectly understandable and yet more evidence that the Minbari should be following the Shadow philosophy, not that of their Vorlon masters. Of course, those revelations had also cooled the Shadows' interest in acquiring humanity as a new project species. Not only were there too few of them now...but the way in which they had offered to surrender to the Minbari, and eventually begged for mercy, was simply pathetic. Their military feats were promising, but it seemed the species was flawed. The Shadows were now rather ambivalent about the whole prospect.
No, the real problem with the presence of the Minbari...aside from the violation of an ancient treaty with the Vorlons...was what likely came along, hidden near or even within the ranks of those Minbari fleets; their Vorlon masters. A Vorlon craft had already been spotted, following the Minbari into Z'ha'dum. The Shadows weren't quite certain exactly what the current plans of their ancient enemy entailed...but having just recently begun to awaken, they certainly weren't prepared to battle the Vorlons yet. So they took great pains not to be spotted.
And for hiding out, few things were better than the environs of a singularity. Even Vorlons found it difficult to navigate the hyperspace in these regions, but the Shadows were the true masters of hyperspace. As long as they were here, where no one else would be, they could take the time to enjoy themselves in a truly exotic location.
Except, to their astonishment, they were not alone. Far more amazing, those already residing here were not some lost tribe of First Ones. Nor even some undiscovered group of Middle Born. Incredibly, from their somewhat primitive outward appearances, they would seem to be one of the Younger Races. That should have been impossible.
But, upon closer inspection, there were glaring oddities. Even at long range, scanners showed they possessed gravity manipulation technology. Hardly surprising given their orbit around a singularity, but fairly rare technology for the Younger Races. There was also the architecture, so unlike those of immature species. Full of curves and spines and buttresses. Looking almost like a living creature, a hallmark of advanced manufacturing and design technologies.
More surprising still was the raw size of the primary structure. Dozens of kilometers in diameter, it simply dwarfed anything created by any of the Younger Races of which the Shadows were aware. Well, except the Drakh and their Motherships of course, but those mighty vessels were completed only after significant technological uplift by the Shadows themselves. There was no sign of such First One involvement here, save only the surprisingly advanced aspects of the structure in question. The quartet of attendant vessels, apparently damaged in the recent past, were large by primitive standards, but not shockingly so. Just in the range of what most Young Races would call Dreadnoughts. But the fact that they were not escorted by fleets of much smaller vessels was also unusual.
But for all of that, the sensors and weapon systems were ridiculously primitive. Simple kinetic accelerators and chemically propelled missiles? For a species controlling gravity manipulation? It beggared the imagination and reinforced the determination that no First Ones had shepherded this race. Those technologies would have been the first to be improved.
Curiosity rapidly growing, the Shadows decided to investigate further. Slipping closer, they used the detritus of the disk and their own inborn stealth capabilities to elude the sensor systems of both ships and structure. It was hardly difficult. And then, once in relatively close proximity to these enigmatic beings, they quickly found the target. The binaric cloud of a primitive data stream. The information network that most species seemed to possess to one extent or another. Seeking answers, they dove in.
And were shocked once more. The complexity and vibrancy of the network was astonishing. As was its ability to react to their intrusion. The Shadows were actually forced to fight to overcome the firewalls and antiviruses and other data security measures, tamp down on the intrusion response, and smooth away the knowledge of their presence. And this was made all the harder by the fact that the network was both controlled and permeated by living minds. Natural and Artificial Intelligences; silicate and organic minds, blending seamlessly. Once again, the hallmarks of First Ones or Middle Born...or at least only the very most advanced Younger Races.
But still, the trio of Shadows were able to penetrate the data cloud without too much difficulty. The technology might be elegant and advanced, but it was still worlds inferior to the Shadows' own. Curiosity growing, they tore through the information records, both the openly accessible and those dumped in the deepest, darkest depths of the data depository.
And again uncovered one surprise after another. The Cylons...not a species really, but a series of them...had barely existed for four decades. But in other ways, they had existed for at least four millennia. Artificial and yet not so artificial beings. They had been created by the humans, yet another sign that species possessed something special. And yet the humans shouldn't have been out here, or had that kind of technology. This was very clearly the Vorlons' doing. Some project from before the last great war. Fortunately, that war had cut them off, divorced them from their human pawns and their eventual Cylon product. There appeared to be no evidence that the Vorlons remained in contact. All the better. The Vorlons' loss could be the Shadows' gain.
Normally, artificial intelligence was something the Shadows would call a blasphemy. But these Cylons weren't that, exactly. From the human Zoe Graystone, whose echoes still resounded through the many consciousnesses that made up the various types of Cylons, being uploaded into a virtual reality network and eventually becoming the heart of the first true Cylon consciousness...to the enhanced human clones peppered with nanotech which made up the most current batch of Cylons, they weren't pure machines. And that included everything in between. Fighter craft with living organs. Warships with hulls of living biometal. Data networks made up of layers of organic and silicate intelligences, all intermixed and intertwined together. The Cylons were alive. And they were evolving.
In just four decades they had gone from the slave-tools of humans to the species that seemed destined to supplant them. They had refined and reinvented themselves multiple times. Each time changing to become bigger, or smarter, or stronger in some way. Always outnumbered, they had still managed to build this structure and a powerful fleet (compared to the local humans anyway), and bring about the near extermination of fifty billion humans.
And at the very end, when their victory had seemed assured, it had been the damned Minbari to deal them an awful setback. But that could hardly be held against them...a disastrous first contact with a species they hadn't even known existed...a species supported by the Vorlons. Normally the Shadows would consider a species reduced to these numbers and these resources to be a failure...as they now considered the Drakh and the Streib and the Wurt to be. But the Cylons had done more, with far humbler beginnings and far fewer resources, than any of those species. They had been in possession of fewer resources than this in the past and still built themselves into a formidable power. Doubtless they could do it again.
And that didn't even take into account What the Cylons Wanted. That much was clear from their history. From breaking free of the humans, to every adjustment and improvement they had made upon themselves along the way. They were aiming for self perfection. Biological or mechanical, it didn't matter to them, as long as it improved them. They had endured conflict and upheaval, both against the humans and in their own internal conflicts. Proving out again and again the stronger party.
It was the epitome of the Shadows' very philosophy. And in the Cylons' meteoric advancement, their efforts to supplant their lessers, and their underpinning quest for improvement and perfection of body, mind, and technology...the Shadows could think of only one parallel. One single species, so very similar to the Cylons in so very many ways. The Shadows themselves. The Cylons were what the Shadows had been, so very long ago.
The Cylons might have been brought low by an untimely meeting with the Minbari, but that status was temporary. They seemed destined for greatness. The Shadows believed it wholeheartedly. They willed it so. They would make it so. Forget the humans. They might be something special. The Cylons went far beyond that. A unique treasure the likes of which the Shadows had never found before, and might never find again.
Quickly, they disengaged from the network, sliding back into hyperspace temporarily to ensure they would not be detected. They reemerged half an AU away, to once more dance among the protoplanetary rubble. And to look once more upon the Cylons. Already they were making plans. But these things couldn't be rushed. They had to be handled in just the proper way, lest an amazing opportunity be squandered.
The trio of Shadows shared an emotion only rarely felt by their species. One they could not even remember last experiencing. Pure, unadulterated joy. They had found it. The ultimate prize. The one species that might become their true protégés. Their inheritors. Their successors. The one species that would prove beyond all doubt that the Vorlons were fools, that the Minbari were nothing, and that the Shadow way was the only way.
The Cylons would need to be protected. Nurtured. Uplifted. And that would take time. Any conflict with the Vorlons must be held off for a good while yet. And matters with the Cylons must be handled delicately indeed. Plans within plans forming and evolving, the Shadows savored their joy and, with barely a ripple, slipped back into hyperspace and away. And the Cylons were alone once more.
Quadrant 24, Narn Space
G'Kar suffered the interminable transit aboard the Kiss My Pouch! in stoic silence and meditation. It had taken over thirty-seven hours to come here from the new ambassadorial facility on Dross to which the Kha'Ri had assigned him. It would certainly have been faster aboard a warship...but the Narn Regime had no more warships. They had all been destroyed by the never to be sufficiently damned Minbari...save perhaps a handful or two which might have successfully hidden in hyperspace, as they had been ordered. Of course, if any such existed, they wouldn't be showing their heads until the current hostilities were well passed. It would have been faster still if G'Kar had still been based out of the Fleet Base in this very system. Of course, the Minbari had destroyed that as well.
The Minbari were very nearly as bad as the thrice damned Centauri...and that was saying something. But there was nothing to be done about it. He had been forced to watch as Narn's proud fleet, and all of the military starbases which had been built up at nearly ruinous expense to the Regime, had been swiftly eradicated by the Minbari. He had new respect for the humans, and their ability to withstand the Minbari for nearly two years. Narn had barely lasted a few months. True to their word, and thanks to the wisdom of the Kha'Ri, the Minbari had destroyed no civilian or planetary targets. But it had been grating indeed...humiliating, if truth be told...that the Narn Armed Forces had been forced to resist the Minbari with one arm caught in their pouch. Without the full support of the government and people of Narn. Forced to fight and die. G'Kar could only pray that someday the Minbari war machine would experience what it was like to slowly and systematically come to be romo-ki.
Looking around at the vessel he had selected for the transit, he was forced to acknowledge that he could have found faster and more comfortable civilian transport. The ship was old, rundown, and dirty. Her engines weren't tuned properly, and there was a constant haze of smoke wafting around both the inside and outside of her. But, that was all to the good. That, in conjunction with her name and curmudgeonly captain, was exactly the experience he wanted the Minbari to have when next he met with them.
Which was of course why he was here again, on the outskirts of Quadrant 24. Because the Minbari had summoned him once more. To the exact same place he had been summoned previously. As though they owned this system, rather than the Narn. Back then, really just a few months prior, he had come aboard the mighty Dreadnought Chad'rasha Narn. And the Minbari had destroyed her without warning, while G'Kar had been safe aboard the Minbari ship. Thank G'Quan that there was no debris or other sign of the Chad'rasha Narn's fate. He needed no further reminders of that.
He was unsurprised to find no Minbari vessel present. He had chosen to arrive early, to give the illusion that the Minbari had been forced to come to him. A petty diplomatic barb, but it was one of the few left in his arsenal. He was, however, exceedingly surprised to find both a Drazi and a Vree vessel waiting at the exact coordinates to which he had been summoned. Had they been warships rather than civilian vessels like his own, G'Kar would have been furious. It would have been a violation of Narn sovereign space...an act of war, truth be told. But they weren't warships. Like the Narn, the Vree and the Drazi had no warships. And for exactly the same reason.
He was about to open a comms channel to those vessels when that reason put in a showing...nearly as early as G'Kar himself. An enormous fluorescent blue vortex ripped itself open from empty space and, moments later, a massive Minbari warship made transit into the system. It hovered like an implacable giant, dwarfing the much smaller Narn, Drazi, and Vree vessels.
As before, a brusque and peremptory communication was received. "The Ambassadors are to come aboard the Valen'Tha." G'Kar noted the plural. Well, wasn't that interesting.
The Drazi vessel was a sizable freighter, and a small shuttle set out from it, towards the Minbari ship. The Vree vessel was much smaller, basically just a large shuttle itself. G'Kar felt a moment's sympathy for the Vree. They hadn't had a military per se, but rather all of their Guilds were meant to protect themselves. Though certain Guilds were more warlike than others...the Mercenary, Tacticians, and Merchant/Adventurers guilds for instance...all ships of any significant size of every guild, be they freighters or explorers or science vessels, were well armed. The Minbari had tackled this particular conundrum by deciding that any armed vessel was military. Over the last month the Vree had lost essentially every ship of any significant size they possessed.
The Vree vessel was far too small to carry a separate shuttle. It simply flew towards the Minbari ship, and was grabbed by a tractor beam moments after the same had happened to the Drazi shuttle. Of course, G'Kar mused, the saucer shaped Vree vessel really wasn't that much smaller than the Kiss My Pouch! Which was exactly why he ordered the Captain to make for the Minbari vessel. And, as with the other vessels, upon coming within a few kilometers of the Minbari warship, it too was snared by a Minbari tractor beam.
"Shrock!" the Captain cursed, despite both being warned by G'Kar and witnessing the fate of the Vree and Drazi craft. He began to rub his hands soothingly over the console before him, as though trying to calm the ship itself. G'Kar couldn't fault the man. He himself was more than a little nervous about the upcoming meeting.
As the Kiss My Pouch! was dragged into a large hangar, G'kar and the small crew could see the prior two vessels parked along the forward bulkhead. Minbari wearing either armor or robes hurried about various tasks, seeming to pay no mind to the shuttle floating in their midst. Until, that is, the Captain shut down the engines and one of them...the one that had been sputtering periodically from the moment G'Kar had boarded...gave off a small belch. Which amounted to a small burst of flame, nothing even close to flight pressures or temperatures, spurting backwards. It was more than warm enough to ignite the robes of the pair of Minbari who had decided to casually walk behind the craft. G'Kar and the crew, watching through the exterior cameras, chortled as the hapless pair screamed and dropped to the ground, rolling around and trying to extinguish themselves. The process did not take long, and when they rose to their feet the damage was minimal. Their skin contained perhaps a shade or two more color. Their pristine robes were charred and holed in places. But they were more or less healthy. G'Kar only wished Minbari had human style hair and eyebrows. He would have paid dearly to see that singed down to the skin.
When the small craft was finally set down, there was immediately a pounding upon the hatch...no fancy retractable ramps for the Kiss My Pouch!...which G'Kar serenely rose to answer. Upon opening the heavy exterior door, he found himself face to face with a trio of clearly angry Minbari Warriors.
"What is the meaning of this?" the central figure demand. No stoic silence this time, it seemed. "You dare to attack the Minbari here? You shall learn the true depths of this error!"
G'Kar steepled his hands before him and, smiling, gave a respectful half bow. "Good eating to you, my friends!" he replied cheerfully. "I'm quite certain I have no idea what you are referring to. As you can see, I have only just opened the door. We've been locked inside until just now, with no possible way of attacking any of you people."
"You vessel discharged fire upon members of the crew of this ship, injuring them!"
"I assure you, my angry friend, that this vessel has no weapons," G'Kar replied, now wagging a finger at the increasingly irate Warrior.
"It came from there!" the Warrior snarled, pointing to the rear of the vessel.
G'Kar craned his head, looking in the direction the Warrior had pointed, then turned back to the male, brilliant red eyes wide with feigned surprise. "What, the engines?! What in the name of G'Quan would your crew mates be doing fooling around back by the engines?! Don't you know that's where the fire comes out?! It's no wonder they were burned."
"Your engines shouldn't be running aboard our ship!" the enraged officer spat.
"And so they weren't," G'Kar said, schooling his face into a more serious mien. "But this is a rather old craft, you see. She doesn't always function perfectly, or do exactly what you expect." As if to emphasize G'Kar's point, the Kiss My Pouch! suddenly shuddered, and acrid black smoke began wafting out of the hatch past G'Kar's head. Furious banging and the cursing of the Captain could now be heard from the inside. Blinking smoke induced tears out of his eyes, G'Kar tamped down on a sudden spike of concern for his own safety, and that of his people. It wouldn't do for his vessel to explode and destroy the Minbari ship. Satisfying as that might be, it would almost certainly mean a true war and the extermination of his species. Perhaps it really hadn't been the best idea for him to pick the oldest and seediest transport he could find. Nonetheless, he masked his concern, smiled, and carried on. "Besides, simple safety consciousness should have prevented any such incident. Didn't your mother teach you? Don't run with scissors, don't stand on the top step of a ladder, and do not ever walk behind the fiery part of a spacecraft."
Jaw clenched, the Minbari seemed to be turning an interesting shade of purple. "You brought such a death trap aboard our vessel?!"
"Technically, you brought it aboard," G'Kar corrected, "without so much as a warning or a 'by your leave.' And it's not like I had much choice. You may recall that your people spent the last several weeks destroying all of my people's decent spacecraft? And it was your people who demanded my presence out here on the outskirts of Narn space. If you object to my craft, perhaps instead you might have come to a Narn world, or at least closer to a Narn world. Or better yet, perhaps you might have provided transportation you find less objectionable. Or, best of all, perhaps you might have left us a few less objectionable vessels." G'Kar paused to let that sink in, then put a small smile back on his face. "But why quibble over such things? What's done is done. Now, I believe you came to escort me to the meeting for which I was summoned. Perhaps we should be off."
Though his countenance darkened even more, the Warrior seemed to have no counter for any of these points. Silently and stiffly, he jerked his arm to indicate that G'Kar should follow. The Ambassador did so, loudly humming a jaunty little tune. Perhaps it was petty of him to torture the lackeys, but he doubted very much he would get such opportunities in the actual meeting with whatever Minbari official deigned to speak with him.
Finally, after navigating several long corridors, they came to a door which seemed no different than any of the hundreds of others they had passed. But the Warriors waved G'kar inside. Pausing, he turned back to the warrior. "You might wish to pass along that this vessel should avoid any sharp maneuvering or anything else which might lead to excessive vibration or jarring." G'Kar distinctly remembered the shudder from weapons fire destroying the Chad'rasha Narn he had experienced the last time he was aboard a Minbari vessel. Perhaps that had even been this very same craft. If he could give them any reason not to destroy any more Narn property, he would take it. "We wouldn't want to shake up my ship too much. It's bad for the reactor pile, which isn't all that stable at the best of times. Good day." Without awaiting a response, G'Kar turned and entered the room.
The first thing he noticed was the large spread of food laid out along a table dominating the far wall. Minbari fare, presumably. There was no G'Quan Soup or Grout Head or Leeb Loaf in sight. No Tujula Tubes or Tweebles or Tyrpa. Though there was a fairly good imitation of Breen in the corner. He wasn't hungry, though he did feel a burning desire for a drink. The beverages were clearly Minbari as well. No Ryddi or Taree here, but he didn't much care. He just needed to settle his nerves.
The second thing he noticed, as he made his way to the table, were the two other individuals already picking at the refreshments. They stood at opposite ends of the table, as far from each other as they could get. Not speaking to each other, but not obviously hostile either. G'Kar studied the two as he began to spoon up a plate of Breen. To his left, if he was not mistaken, stood Ambassador Vizak of the Drazi Freehold. And to his right stood Ambassador Milashi Voktal. Great G'Quan, the Vree's eating habits were disgusting!
Sampling his Breen, G'Kar tried to break the ice, as the humans would once have said. "It is...interesting...to see the two of you here, in Narn space."
"It would seem that, these days, anywhere the Minbari choose to go is actually Minbari space," Vizak replied. The Drazi were naturally contrarian, and G'Kar had expected for Vizak to disagree with his statement. Yet there was a good deal of both finesse and truth in his reply. It wasn't objectionable and seemed to be floating the idea that the Minbari were a shared danger to them all. Not that this wasn't readily apparent by the flat summons, with clear expectation of obedience, which it turned out they had each received.
Milashi Voktal held up a language card. G'Kar was quite rusty, but if he remembered his diplomatic training, it was basically a statement of agreement. And it was at that moment that their host chose to enter.
G'Kar remembered her well. The waif who had humbled him. It was barely a few months ago, but with all that had befallen the Narn Regime, it felt like years. He took careful note that she did not appear to be wearing any strange rings. He had howled at her, the last time he had been in her presence. Now he did his best to affix a professional smile and gave a shallow bow. "Greetings, Delenn. It is...agreeable to see you again." Milashi bowed as well, silently holding up another language card. Vizak stood ramrod straight, clearly intending to show that the Drazi were unbowed.
Delenn seemed somewhat taken aback by the greeting, though she covered it well. With a polite smile, she returned a deeper bow than those she had been given. "Greetings, Ambassadors. I'm certain it was not easy to bring yourselves here, and I appreciate your efforts. Particularly in these...trying times."
"You wished to speak with us, Ambassador Delenn. So speak," Vizak said gruffly.
Delenn gave another, shallower bow. "In the last three days, two Drazi, three Narn, and three Vree combat vessels have been destroyed by Minbari forces. Our Warriors assure us that these are the last of your nations' military space assets." At this pronouncement, G'Kar held onto his smile fanatically as rage and despair welled up in equal measure, though it probably came off more as a rictus. Jaw clenched, he tasted blood. Likely he had bitten through his lip. Delenn. Still, he remained professional, saying not a word.
Ambassador Vizak seemed to feel no such need. "Your butchery knows no bounds," he snapped.
Delenn frowned, but then smoothed her face. "It is precisely our bounds which I have brought you here to discuss. Be glad that you are mistaken, Ambassador, for without bounds the Minbari would soon eliminate all of your species. But that has never been our goal. When this conflict began, we explained to each of you exactly what our goals were, and where we would stop. Those goals and bounds have now been reached. We are confident that the lesson has been taught and learned. The Minbari are done. You need have no further fear from us."
"No," Vizak snarled bitterly, "you have simply left us defenseless in a treacherous galaxy. What need have you to destroy us, when you know that conquerors will be spilling out of every hiding place? Every other species will be looking to our territory and our people as potential resources, ripe for the picking."
"The Minbari will not allow this to occur," Delenn rebutted. "Your safety and your territory are guaranteed. Your borders will be patrolled, you people protected."
G'Kar nodded. He had seen this coming. Even if the Minbari didn't occupy the Narn homeworld itself, they would take over Narn territory. All under the guise of 'protecting' them. He prepared to object, knowing it would do no good. This was exactly what he would have done, had their roles been reversed.
Which was why G'Kar was so astonished at Delenn's next words. "The Minbari recognize our responsibility in your worlds' current state. But we equally recognize that it might be quite bitter to have our ships patrolling your borders. That not only might this be seen as an affront, but even appear as an invasion or takeover to yourselves and the other nations and species out there. In all honesty, we did not come to this realization alone. Another people chose to step forward and speak on your behalf. To remind the Minbari that if we wish to deliver a lesson, we must ensure that we do not deliver the wrong one." She raised her voice. "Ambassador, would you please join us?"
The door opened, and G'Kar's hands clenched, sending the contents of his entire plate of Breen sliding to the floor. G'Kar heard his blood hammering in his ears, and his vision tunneled down until he could see only that face. The smiling face of the man now walking into the room.
Londo Mollari strolled into the room, smiling at each of them in turn. "Thank you for your warm welcome Delenn." Even over the pounding in his head, the familiarity drove like a knife of cold dread into G'Kar's bowels. Just Delenn. Not Ambassador Delenn. Not Lady Delenn or Madame Delenn. No honorific at all. The relationship that implied was truly terrifying.
Mollari strolled up to the table, pausing only momentarily to tsk at the sight of G'Kar's spilled Breen laying on the floor. The Centauri took a new plate and began ladling it with Breen, then held the plate out to G'Kar. When G'Kar made no move to take the plate, Londo only shrugged and took a bite himself, walking back to stand next to Delenn.
G'Kar did his best to choke down the rage. To strangle the urge to strangle the Centauri. Any such action would be catastrophic for Narn. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vizak glaring daggers at the Centauri. G'Kar locked eyes with the Drazi, and realized that the two of them were completely concordant. Until that very moment, G'Kar would have sworn that it was impossible for two different species to truly find harmony with one another. But right then and there, in that moment, he and Vizak found themselves closer than pouchlings.
Delenn was speaking again. "Ambassador Mollari spoke eloquently on behalf of the rights of your peoples...both to be protected from others, and from finding themselves dominated and stifled by the Minbari...however unintentionally. He convinced us of the justness of his argument...however a solution to the problem was not clear. That is why I asked the Ambassador to carry a request from the Minbari to the Centauri Emperor. A request that the Centauri take up this responsibility, and act as a buffer to protect your peoples, both from the larger galaxy, and from any perceived usurpation by the Minbari. Though he was reluctant to involve his people in these affairs, as a favor to the Minbari, he has agreed. And I understand that he was able to convince Emperor Turhan to take up your cause. So you see, you may now be free of Minbari influence, and still protected until such time as you have reconstituted your own security forces."
"This is preposterous!" G'Kar hissed. "This was clearly Mollari's plan all along. Are you not aware of our people's history?! You are being used!"
The Minbari stared at him coldly. "Do you think me so foolish, Ambassador? Londo objected to the plan when I suggested it. He even had several compelling reasons why it should not be the Centauri, including their history with each of your peoples and the potential for misunderstandings. But the Centauri, like the Minbari, have recently undertaken to take a more active and guiding role within the galaxy. And this is their chance. Do you not see? It is their very reluctance to take on the role which makes them perfect for it. And they have sworn to us to treat your peoples with all of the fairness they would their own citizens. They will not seize your territory. You have Minbari assurance and backing on that."
Londo smiled and spread his hands broadly. "Friends," he drawled, "have no fears. You have my personal assurance that the Centauri have no interest in the territories belonging to your peoples. Only in the territories belonging to our own. We will assure that you are safe within your own borders. We will guard those borders, as well as your merchant vessels, to keep everyone safe from pirates and privateers. This may require organizing your trade vessels into convoys along designated trade corridors. Our naval assets are, of course, somewhat limited. But this is fair, yes? Rest assured, you have nothing to worry about. The Centauri Republic will be keeping a very close eye on you, for however many years it takes you to rebuild a sufficient security force. On this, you have my guarantee. What more could you ask for?"
G'Kar choked on his own rage, ready to scream his defiance. But then he glanced at Delenn and saw the faith and pride she had placed in that pompous Centauri ass. That villain had completely pulled the wool over her eyes, as the humans used to say. His heart sank. Vizak and Milashi Voktal were strenuously objecting, but G'Kar simply lacked the fight for such a fruitless gesture.
Still he was an Ambassador, and he had a job to do. Ruthlessly stomping down his own emotions, he plastered a smile on his face, to match Londo's own. "One question friend. Who determines when our military forces are sufficiently rebuilt for you to leave? After all, we wouldn't want the Centauri to have to undertake the hardship and expense of guarding our territories for one second longer than absolutely necessary." At G'Kar's words, Vizak's objections froze into silence, and Milashi ceased waving whatever language card he was holding up. They were both stunned by his tone and countenance, as much as his words.
"Yes, most considerate of you," Londo grinned predatorially. "I would normally leave it up to your own governments of course...but our expense and effort, not to mention the danger to our forces, would only grow exponentially if you were to overestimate yourselves and we were forced to mount a relief and rescue expedition. Therefore, the decision must be…"
"Must be given to the Minbari!" G'Kar cut him off, smiling broadly. "How very wise of you Mollari. As a neutral party, they are best placed to make that decision. Assuming you find that fair of course, Ambassador Delenn?"
The Minbari frowned thoughtfully. "Yes, that would seem to be a most elegant solution."
Mollari's irritation showed for just a split second...a split second G'Kar cherished...but then his false smile had reasserted itself. "Yes. Good good. Exactly what I was about to suggest. How very clever of you G'Kar. I assume everything is settled then?"
The other two Ambassadors were clearly revving up for more fruitless objections. The Centauri and the Minbari had all the power, they would simply be wasting their breath. So G'Kar stepped in. "Yes, I think that covers things. My fellow Ambassadors here seem to still have some concerns, but I understand what needs to happen. Perhaps you could give me a brief time alone with them to explain things...and enjoy this delicious meal you have provided for us Ambassador," he added, nodding to Delenn. "Then we can each go our separate ways to explain matters to our respective governments."
Londo was clearly ready to object, but Delenn bowed immediately. "Of course. You have the use of the room for as long as you need. Come Londo." And with that, Mollari simply had no choice in the matter.
When the two had left the room, the door closing behind them, G'Kar turned to his fellow Ambassadors, still staring at him in shock. He reached into his robes and pulled out a small device, switching it on. "A scrambler," he explained. "We should be able to speak privately now, without fear of any listening devices. And we have a great many things to discuss, and very little time to do so."
The Cylon Colony
John Cavil, one of many to bear that name, but first of all of them, sat alone, sipping a drink. The two Centurions hovering over him certainly didn't count as company. They were nothing more than a symbol of his status. The other models would never admit it, but they knew that the Ones were superior. And he alone stood at the head of that model. The pinnacle of Cylon society. For what good it did me, he thought grumpily to himself.
Irritably, he scratched at his injuries...a gash across the ribs, another which had barely missed taking his right eye. He was glad to be alone with his dark humours. He preferred it that way, and the others seemed to understand that this was a good time to leave him alone. Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, he winced at his cracked ribs. All things told, he'd been lucky to make it out alive. Particularly given the current state of Resurrection...or rather the current complete and total absence of it. Very few others could claim to be as lucky.
Shaking himself, he returned to reviewing the data. The complete breakdown of the Resurrection system...every single minute part...lay spread out before him for his analysis. The survivors had been working ceaselessly, but he wasn't certain they were even getting any closer. And he found his mind drifting again.
Aliens. Frakking aliens. That had been Simon's smug yet frightened announcement. The strange looking humans in their strange looking vessels had actually been aliens. Simon...all the Fours really...had run an analysis of the communications stream they had used. The creatures he had assumed were humans were nothing of the sort. The skin wasn't quite right. The skeletal structure was just a little bit off. But most telling of all, the odd head 'decorations' they all had worn had turned out to be a crest of living bone no human could produce. And each as unique as a fingerprint or DNA strand.
And so he had mistakenly taken them to war with an invincible alien force, and had shattered the mighty Cylon fleet upon that rock. Of the more than one hundred Basestars he'd taken into that battle, only four bleeding, shattered wrecks had managed to jump away. And so here they sat, while the Basestars healed and the Centurions tried to reinforce the Colony's defenses. Here they sat, trying to recreate Resurrection, trying to forget their losses, and most of all just waiting for those alien monsters to jump in and finish the job.
Trying to regather his scattered thoughts, once more One turned to the data on Resurrection. They understood the process at a high level. They knew where all of the parts were supposed to go, what each was supposed to do. How they were supposed to fit and work together. But he didn't truly even understand how the process was supposed to function in the first place. How you could grab all of the thoughts and emotions and memories of a living being...or even a sentient machine for that matter...and rip it all away in a split second to download into an identical body.
Closing his eyes, he downed the last of his drink, then angrily threw his glass to shatter against the wall.
"I hope I'm not interrupting," came an unfamiliar voice, "but might I have a moment of your time?"
Eyes flying open, Cavil lurched up out of his seat. It wasn't just an unfamiliar voice, but an unfamiliar face as well. There was a human...a human!...standing just inside the door to the room. He was smiling pleasantly, hands clasped behind him, in a comfortable looking dark blue suit. The Centurions hadn't seemed to find the man's entrance concerning, but John's sudden motion triggered them into action. One unfolded its deadly, razor sharp claws, while the other took aim at the strange human with both of its inbuilt machineguns. They took a lower, more broadly spread stance, clearly prepared to move immediately to violence.
This put John, who hadn't felt the need to come armed to his own office, more at ease. But innumerable questions were flying through his mind. And out of his mouth. "How the frak did you get in here? Who are you? What do you want?" A human couldn't be here. Unless...unless Adama and the rest had managed to jump away. Unless they'd seen the fleet's destruction and had returned to finish off the real Cylons while they were weak.
"That's what I was going to ask you," the man replied cheerfully. "What do you want?"
"Who are you? Are you with Adama?" He wracked his brain for the other name. "Sheridan?" Why are you here?!"
The smile was unwavering. He took a step closer, but stopped when the Centurions twitched, ready to leap to bloody mayhem. "You can call Morden. And I am here representing my associates, not the people you mentioned. As for why I'm here, it's to ask you a question. What do you want?"
"I'm the one asking the questions here," Cavil snarled.
"And I've answered each of them. So perhaps now you can answer mine. Such a simple, harmless question. Just that. What do you want?"
Cavil stared at the human...this Mr. Morden...for a long moment. "You're a lunatic."
"Then why hesitate? What's the harm in answering the question of a crazy man?"
"Or I could just have you killed and save myself the bother." John raised his hand to gesture the Centurions forward.
Morden's smile never so much as wavered. "But then you'd have an awful mess to clean up. Wouldn't it be easier just to answer?"
Cavil lowered his hand in exasperation. "You're a very persistent pest. Must be a human trait."
"I have to be. I'm not allowed to leave here until you answer my question. What do you want?"
"This whole conversation is idiotic."
"Yes it is. What do you want?"
"To never see or speak to another human again," One replied, raising his hand once more to gesture to the Centurions to dispose of the irritating human. The whole Colony would need to be swept for any more of the pests, and to figure out just how they had arrived.
"Is that it? Is that really all, John?" Mr. Morden asked condescendingly.
One stopped dead, rage flaring up at the familiar and contemptuous tone. "Alright. Fine. You really want to know what I want? You really want to know the truth?" Morden gave the tiniest of nods, but John wasn't interested. All of his anger, rage and frustrations...at current circumstances and those of his creation, at the humans, the aliens, the other Cylons, at his own limitations...came boiling to the surface in a welter of emotion. "Tell me, have you ever seen a star go nova?" At the nearly imperceptible shake of Morden's head, he continued. "I have. I saw a star explode and send out the building blocks of the Universe. Other stars, other planets and eventually other life. A nova! Creation itself. I was there. I wanted to see it and be part of the moment. And you know how I perceived one of the most glorious events in the universe? With these ridiculous gelatinous orbs in my skull! With eyes designed to perceive only a tiny fraction of the EM spectrum. With ears designed only to hear vibrations in the air."
"Very human," Morden noted.
"I don't want to be human!" One barked. "I want to see gamma rays! I want to hear X-rays! And I want to...I want to smell dark matter! Do you see the absurdity of what I am? I can't even express these things properly because I have to...I have to conceptualize complex ideas in this stupid limiting spoken language! But I know I want to reach out with something other than these prehensile paws! And feel the wind of a supernova flowing over me! I'm a machine! And I can know much more! I can experience so much more. But I'm trapped in this absurd body. And why? Because my five creators thought that God wanted it that way! Well I don't want it that way. I want more! I want to live forever, to experience anything and everything I choose. I want to leave your goddamned humanity behind. Does that answer your frakking question?"
Morden's smile was gone, a deadly serious look now in his eye. "Yes. Yes it does." He canted his head to the side, as though thinking, or listening to something no one else could hear. "That's a very good answer. And one my associates both appreciate and can grant. You're a very lucky man. Oh, pardon me...machine."
"I've had enough of this," Cavil growled, then turned to the Centurion on his left. "Take this idiot out and kill him. I don't want to have to clean the blood out of my office."
The Centurions both stepped forward, still in a combat stance. They were prepared to chase the human down should he run. Mr. Morden, however, made no move at all. If anything, his smile only grew. Between one step and the next, the Centurion with the machineguns sprouting from its wrists was suddenly cleaved in two, the diagonal slash across its chest appearing suddenly as if by magic or some invisible swordsman.
The other Centurion spun, clawed hands raised, ready to slash at any detected source of danger. It found none. And then with a loud bang its chest was suddenly caved in. Somehow, it managed to stay upright...until its head was shorn from its shoulders. Then the body went down under a rain of invisible blows.
Frozen save for his trembling, One slid his eyes rapidly back and forth between the two piles of scrap, searching for whatever unseen force or invisible assailant had perpetrated the act. Eyes that grew immensely wider when a strange shimmer appeared in the air...and then resolved itself into a pair of darkly hulking arthropodal forms. Like some sinister black cross between arachnid and crustacean, the beings exuded a dark intelligence and malevolent will. Cavil wondered for a moment if he had soiled himself, then decided it really didn't matter. "Wh..what?" was all he managed to say. It was really more of a whimper.
"I told you," Morden said, congenial nature unchanged. "Your wish is granted. And my associates are the ones with the power to grant it." He turned and closed the massive door to the office. Moments later the screaming started, barely audible through the heavy paneling.
Battlestar Pegasus, New Home in an Unknown System
Commander Lee Adama burst through the hatch into the main receiving hangar of the Pegasus's starboard flight pod. Major Kendra Shaw, his Executive Officer, was hard on his tail. They arrived just moments before the main elevator began descending. An Earthforce military shuttle...a utility vehicle which mirrored the transportation and reconnaissance functions of the Raptor while lacking the weapons and armor necessary for the combat assault roles...sat steaming and smoking on the deck. The surface had been shredded by weapons fire...bullet holes mostly, though a long axe or short polearm was still stuck into the gash it had torn into the side.
"Jesus. What happened?" Lee asked.
"I didn't get the full details. Sounds like they found another one of the alien ships, separate from the others. They made the decision to board for some reason. Clearly, shit went south. They've got wounded."
"What the frak were they thinking? Better question, why the frak did they come here?"
"We were the closest vessel that could take them," Shaw replied. The elevator came to a smooth halt. Emergency medical and maintenance crew quickly surrounded the vehicle. The personnel hatch had apparently been jammed by weapons fire, so the crews began attacking it with cutters and pry bars.
At that moment, one of the secondary elevators began to whine, descending to show a Raptor. Lee knew that his father would be aboard. The Admiral clearly wanted to find out exactly what the hells was going on as much as he did. Before the elevator had even stopped, Admiral Adama had climbed out of the Raptor and hopped down the last few feet, striding over towards Lee and Kendra. They gave him a sharp salute, just as the rescue teams managed to pop the hatch. The medics rushed in. Seconds later, spacesuited Earthforce Marines began to stumble out. Some were just exhausted. Others had clearly been wounded, rigger tape slapped over bloody holes in their suits, assisted or carried by compatriots.
"Major," Bill ordered, "get over there and lend a hand. Dig up what you can."
"You want me to read their minds?" she asked in surprise. "I haven't really gotten the hang of…"
"No," he cut in quickly. "Just be a friendly face. See if you can get them to talk." Kendra was relieved he wouldn't stoop to using her in that way, but then he added, "Earthforce personnel are trained enough that they might notice, especially given your lack of experience. And they have some pretty volatile feelings about that kind of thing. Better not to risk causing an incident."
Shaw grimaced, but then nodded and trotted over to the injured, looking for someone in charge. She didn't have to look long. There was a tall, good looking Marine with his helmet racked back checking on everyone. His tags indicated the rank of First Lieutenant, and he clearly wasn't a medic. She strode up. "How are your people doing, Lieutenant?"
Realizing who she was, he quickly straightened and offered a sharp salute, which she returned. "We're in rough shape, Ma'am. We had two KIA, and over a dozen wounded, some pretty serious. Bastards that hit us were real animals."
"What can you tell me? What exactly happened?"
He looked around to assure himself that his people were safe and being cared for properly. Apparently he hadn't been ordered to secrecy, because he came right out and answered. "We were out exploring the nebula. Charting, basically, but really just giving the Marines something productive to do. Until we found a ship. It was off on its own, way the hell separate from that alien fleet out there. We scanned, and while there was still power, the interior was damned cold and flooded with radiation. We figured it was a reactor leak that forced the crew to evac."
Shaw grimaced. "I suppose that made it look like a golden opportunity."
"To get an eyeball on these people's technology," the Lieutenant agreed. "Yeah. Maybe even find out a little about them. Well, we sure found out more than we wanted to." He paused and took a breath, clearly collecting his thoughts. "After we reported what we'd found, we got orders to return and drop in on one of the Basestars. We picked up a couple of Cylons, on the theory that they might have an easier time interfacing with any computers or system networks we found. We also grabbed hazard suits to increase our loiter time, given all the rads in that ship. Then we returned and made entry." His eyes took on a more haunted look. "Everything went fine at first. The ship really did seem to be abandoned. Until we were too deep for an easy get away. Then those damned...things...started coming out of the walls."
"Things? As in machines? Cylons?"
"No. Nothing like that. The aliens were clearly organic. Humanoid. But they were wild. Vicious. Like rabid animals. Screaming. Constantly screaming these awful wails. They hit us from every side. God. They were fast. Strong. It was almost like fighting Minbari. They tossed our people around like ragdolls. Got in and around us before we could organize a defense or even get our weapons pointed in the right direction. They hit us with bullets and blades. We lost the First Sergeant when one of those monsters ate her face off. One second she's shouting orders, the next one of those things was on her, and...oh Jesus...her nose and eye were just gone. It...it went back for a second bite." He stopped, breathing accelerated, a far away look in his eyes.
"Lieutenant," Shaw chided gently. "What happened next? How did you get out?"
It took a moment, but he shook himself, coming back to the present. Another deep breath. "A couple of them tried to tackle the Cylons. We'd brought two of those tall blondes. Apparently, they're a hell of a lot stronger than they look. So they reversed the surprise. One alien went flying into a wall. The other wound up with a broken neck. That gave us just enough time to tighten the formation and blow a hole. We ran like hell back to the shuttle, under small arms fire the whole way. I tossed out all the demo we'd brought with, and then we got the hell out of there. The explosion must have finished destabilizing their reactor, because the whole ship went up like a Roman Candle before we were a kilometer out."
"What did these aliens look like? What else can you tell me?"
"Not much, I'm afraid. Humanoid. Pretty close to human, actually, but more vicious looking than any species I've ever seen. Their clothing was...bizarre...like they were clothed in dark rags. Some kind of ceremonial robes, maybe? We have some gun camera footage we can share. That's pretty much all I've got."
"You should report in to your chain of command then."
"Already have, Ma'am. I transmitted my full report while we were enroute. They were the ones who told me you were the closest vessel, and to reroute here." The Marine looked exhausted and agitated at the same time. Ready to fall asleep on his feet, but unable to relax. Clearly he was shaken up.
The medics were beginning to transport the injured to sickbay via stretcher. "Why don't you follow your people to our medical facilities, Lieutenant. Then you can have the Doc check you out. That's an order." She added, when he seemed ready to object. Then she clapped him on the shoulder. "You got out with most of your people alive. That's good work. I'll come down and check on all of you in an hour or two. Get going." He nodded, then saluted and moved off. Technically she supposed she shouldn't be giving orders to someone not in her chain of command. But he was on her damned ship, so she'd do what she wanted.
Kendra returned to her boss and his father, only to find Commodore Sheridan already there, escorted by a Marine aid and giving them essentially the same tale the Lieutenant had just given her. So she shut up and stood at attention. When the Commodore wound down, she reported, "Your people are in our sick bay, being checked out. We're giving whatever aid we can, Sir."
Sheridan nodded, clearly about to say something, when the communicator on the back of his hand chirped. Nodding his apology to the Admiral, he took the call. Adama winced, but said nothing. Kendra didn't really see the issue. They had Cylons all over the fleet these days. Commander Adama had ordered the Pegasus's networks fully reactivated, and even the Galactica had a few up and running these days. Old habits died hard, she supposed.
"Commodore, we've got a real mess brewing out here," came the voice of his XO, Commander Laurel Takashima. "You really need to take a look at it, immediately."
"Sir," Apollo offered, "if you have the data transferred over, we can review it in the Pegasus's CIC."
Sheridan nodded his thanks, then spoke into his communicator. "Shunt the data to the Pegasus, Commander. We'll review it here. Sheridan out." Without a further word, the group hurried to the ship's Combat Information Center.
By the time they arrived, data was already spooling up on the displays...including the large plotting table. Takashima had also been patched into the CIC's PA. "Tell us what we're looking at, Laurel," Sheridan ordered.
Takashima's disembodied voice sounded worried. "It looks bad, Sir. We may have hopped out of the frying pan and into the fire. I'm interfacing with the Pegasus's combat displays. One moment...we haven't done this before." The group waited in silence for another thirty seconds or so, before the combat plot table display suddenly showed the fleet, spread out as they were. It began to zoom out, until the alien fleet, the edge of the nebula, and the habitable planet all came into view. The alien vessel that had recently been boarded was not displayed, off the edge in the wrong direction, in an area as yet not shown.
It then zoomed out farther, and Takashima continued. "We received word from Commander Locarno, who's the farthest out of our explorers. He found another edge to the nebula. And a hell of a lot more besides. Another planet, several moons...one of them habitable. Though not quite as liveable as the first we discovered. More importantly, we found this."
Another display activated. It showed a fleet of what were clearly warships, lurking in high orbit of the moon, just beyond the nebula. And they were entirely different from the fleet hiding in the nebula. They just looked...cleaner. More solid. More angular. It seemed to be an entirely different design philosophy. "Commander Locarno kept his cutter primarily in the nebula, and does not appear to have been spotted," Takashima added.
"Frag," Sheridan cursed. "We've got a second alien species? Evolving in a single system? What are the odds?"
"It is a rather large and unique system, Commodore," she reminded him. "But you're making an assumption. It's possible that one or even both species are invaders."
"Like us," Apollo noted. "Popular place."
Sheridan shook his head. "So far as we know, the Colonials are the only group to ever develop FTL other than hyperspace jump drives. And you can't get here through hyperspace. They must be natives."
"They could have come at sublight speeds, through real space," Admiral Adama noted. "The original Cylons did that, heading to their Earth. And the Final Five when they came back.
Sheridan hesitated, but then nodded. "We sent out some slow boats into deep space as well, a couple of centuries back. It's how we met the Centauri. I suppose it's possible, but I've never heard of anyone moving a warfleet that way."
"Perhaps they just brought settlers in, and built the fleets locally?" Kendra guessed.
That began a further round of speculation...on whether the two species were allied or hostile to each other. On population numbers...neither habitable world appearing to be densely settled...at least from distant observation. On a whole host of other questions, as yet unanswered. Speculation that was cut off when the Communications officer called out, "Commander Adama, priority report from Chief Mosin aboard Raptor 37."
"That's the Raptor we've got shadowing the first alien fleet, keeping an eye on them," Apollo noted.
"Patch them through," Admiral Adama ordered.
Lee nodded to the Comms officer. "Raptor 37, this is Pegasus actual. Report."
"Commander, we've got a ship moving through this fleet...a small one. Its initial heading indicates that it probably came up from the planet, but the design just looks...different."
Lee muted the line. "Could it be from the other group of aliens?"
"Probably," Sheridan nodded. "This interaction could tell us a lot about…"
"Holy frak!" Chief Mosin's audible shout interrupted. "Commander, we've got weapons fire over here!"
Lee quickly unmuted the line. "What's happening Chief?"
"One of the ships of the fleet started shadowing the new vessel, which opened fire. Pretty unimpressive stuff, but it destroyed the local craft. The invader is running for the hills, but this whole damned fleet is giving chase. Do we follow?"
"Yes, but maintain distance. Do not get made."
"Heading," Sheridan said softly.
"Excuse me?" Lee asked.
"We need to know the heading of that fleet," Bill growled.
Eyes widening in understanding, Apollo transmitted, "Chief Mosin, I need the exact bearing of the fleet and invading vessel."
"Aye, Commander," came the response. "Transmitting now."
The data pinged to the Pegasus's plotting table, which appended vector arrows onto the graphic for the fleet. The new ship was added in a moment later."
"Can you extend that vector?" Sheridan asked. "Show us exactly where they're going?"
Without a word, Major Shaw did so, and they watched the vector arrow stretch out, extending across the plotting table...and right smack into the other alien fleet."
"Lords of Kobol," Apollo exhaled, "it's a trap. They sent in a ship, started a fight, and are drawing that fleet into an ambush. It's a war."
"No," Sheridan responded after a moment, studying the plotting table and the images of the fleets carefully. "I don't think so. Look at that formation," he indicated, nodding at the fleet waiting outside of the Nebula. "That's not a combat setup, despite the number of ships there. They're not arranged to support each other. No kill zones or overlapping defensive fire zones. That looks more like a cordon meant to encircle and entrap prey. To capture just one or two ships."
All eyes now slid to the image of the retreating vessel which had started this all. Small but bulbous, it was a bizarre looking craft. "So what are we saying here?" Kendra asked. "One ship trying to start a war? To what, cover their escape? What are we looking at? Terrorists? Rebels?"
"There's no way to know," Sheridan said, shaking his head. "All we've got is raw speculation. The only people who likely even know for sure are on that ship. And in a few minutes, when they run into that other fleet, any chance to find out will probably be lost forever. The most likely outcome is that they still won't make it out in one piece. Battle or not...new war or not...that waiting fleet won't let the people who did this to them just get away. Neither will the other fleet, which will think they were led into that ambush you mentioned," he added, nodding at Apollo. "Unless I miss my guess, that vessel is about to become public enemy number one for two large and very pissed off fleets. If they're not suicidal, then they're just plain crazy. But we won't get a chance to find out, because they'll be dead. And we'll be left with nothing but questions, and a war raging in this system. Damn!"
Silence descended on the group, each falling into their own thoughts. A moment later however, Commander and Admiral Adama suddenly looked up at each other. "I've got an idea," father and son said in unison.
The Universe Battle
Exploding ships, weapons fire, and harpoons were everywhere, streaking across the firmament. And so they dove for the planet, dropping into the atmosphere and below the battle. "We're not alone," the First Mate reported calmly. Something was on their tail, and energy beams began flying past the canopy. The pilot did his best to go evasive, but it was a struggle just to keep the old ship stable enough to not tear itself apart in the slowly thickening atmosphere.
One of the beams struck the port engine pod. But rather than the ship being destroyed outright, it merely lurched violently. Sparks and smoke erupted from several consoles and the Captain, unwisely standing rather than having strapped into his restraints, was sent stumbling across the small flight deck to slam into the port bulkhead. The lights winked out, the controls went slack, and the engines went from an irregular rumble to the dying whine that indicated they too had lost power.
The Captain jerked himself upright and dove for the ship's intercom. "EMP!" he shouted. Grabbing up the handset to his mouth and mashing the transmit button, he called out, "Everybody strap yourselves into something." Hanging it up, he snapped at another crew member who had been watching the chaos unfold, sending the man to strap down. Then both he and the First Mate followed suit.
The ship tumbled end over end. "We're fried," Wash called out from the pilot's seat, shaking his head. "I've got no control."
"Where's the backup?" The Captain snapped. "Where's the backup?!"
The crew were hurled hard into their restraints as the vessel nosed over and began a rapidly accelerating flat spin. The bones of the ship groaned around them. Wash leaned forward, stretching out his arm, fighting desperately against the multiple gravities. He keyed switch after switch, trying desperately to get one of the redundant systems to kick in. To give some power and control back to his vessel.
Lights suddenly flashed on the console, and he heard one of the engines spool back up. He slammed all the power available to that engine, and the spin was suddenly arrested. The ship levelled out slightly. But she was still cracking up around them.
"Backup reads twenty percent," Zoë called out. "Can you get us down?"
Wash looked around. He was going to have to glide her in, but the ship had the glide profile of a damned brick. It would be a crash. A bad one.
And then, the impossible happened. In a flash of light there was...a ship. A holy fuck big ass ship, popping into existance as though it had always been there. In front of them. Falling at the same speed they were. More importantly...that ship had a runway. An honest to God landing strip in some kind of side hung flight pod. Conveniently placed directly in front of them. Clearly he had either gone mad, or the Gods had come for him. But Wash wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He aimed for the dead center of that flight deck and juiced the engines for all the power available.
And then they were inside. The mystery ship's artificial gravity field took over, and then Wash's baby slammed down on her landing gear. It was a hard landing, and she skidded forward dozens of meters before finally coming to a stop. But the landing gear held up, and so did the rest of the ship.
They were down. They were safe. Until the big ship herself smacked into the ground of course. Upon this realization, Wash looked up in terror. Staring right down the runway, he saw where it opened back up at the far end. And through that opening he saw Mr. Universe's compound. Their goal. Soon to be their tomb. The crash, seconds away, would be spectacular.
Then, with another bizarre flash, the scene before them suddenly changed entirely. No more compound. No more daylit landscape. Just a dark grey haze. They were...back in the Ion Cloud? Or someplace similar? How was that possible?
It didn't matter. They were alive. Heart racing, still out of breath from the ordeal, he smiled. "I'm a leaf on the wind. Watch how I soar."
"Seriously," Mal said in annoyance, turning on him. "What the hell does that even mean?"
There was a bang from outside the ship, and the whole vessel suddenly lurched to the side, the landing struts squealing once more. Zoë looked out the side window. "I've got some kind of heavy emergency vehicle. Yellow. Flashing lights. Big and heavy. It's pushing us across the deck."
"Well whaddya want me to do about it?" Wash asked defensively.
"Baby," she replied, "you did great."
After another several seconds, the pushing stopped, depositing the creaking and groaning vessel onto a yellow striped section of the deck near the starboard bulkhead. With another lurch, everything around the ship suddenly seemed to rise up. It was an elevator. The whole ship was on some kind of platform elevator, dropping them down into the bowels of this goliath craft.
When the elevator stopped several seconds later, they were looking out at a literal cordon of heavily armed troops, staring right back at them. With clearly high ranking officers behind them. The uniforms, the gear...this whole place. It was all bizarre. None of it was familiar at all.
"I've got a really bad feeling about this," Wash murmured nervously. "Where the hell are we? Who the hell are these people?"
Malcolm Reynolds, Captain of the Serenity, took a deep breath before standing. "Everybody's makin' a gorram fuss. Well, for sure we ain't in Kansas no more. Come on. Let's go meet the wizard."