A Chance Encounter Version 2
Disclaimer: I do not own most of the characters, and definitely not the universes as things would be seriously different if I did, that I am about to mangle around and mash together for my own amusement. Sadly, all Robotech and Battlestar Galactica concepts and characters remain the property of Harmony Gold and Ronald D Moore I am merely borrowing them and make absolutely no profit from their use. As a result, please keep the legal attack dogs – also known as lawyers – firmly muzzled and on a leash as I have no money to give to anyone.
Chapter Ten
He was surrounded by red light.
The light was everywhere and was in numerous different shades that sparkled and crackled in an odd but somehow comforting fashion. Strange strings of numbers and symbols streamed through the crimson ether in an unceasing stream of information. Yet just by looking at them he could see that something was wrong with them, there was something visible as a green aura contaminating many of the streams which was only slowly disappearing whenever a whitish light began slowly playing across the stream.
Abruptly one of the searching white lights suddenly landed on him. He got the distinct impression that he was being scanned and checked for something, presumably whatever that green contaminant was. After a second the light disappeared, and he heard/felt a click as though a switch had just been thrown. Something grabbed him and suddenly he was travelling down a twisting red and black tunnel at impossible speed until a bright light appeared ahead. It enveloped him…
…and Galen Tyrol opened his eyes with a gasp.
He was startled to find himself lying almost completely submerged in a tank or a bath of some strange fluid that was both warm and somewhat viscous. Awkwardly he sat up and looked around in confusion as the last thing he remembered he was on the Galactica, the wall of the hangar deck opposite him exploded. There had been an intense pain and then nothing but that strange red ether place, then he was here, wherever here was. As he looked around, he saw that he was in a dark metal room with walls inset with small square white lights aside from a thick band halfway down the wall which glowed and pulsed with red light. Next to a door was some kind of control station that seemed to have water running over a surface that glowed softly with the same pulsing red light. Around the tank he was in were four other tanks in which he could see others all of them either asleep or in some form of suspended animation. They were all clustered around a circular central hub that gave them the appearance of being spokes on a wheel.
For a few seconds he didn't understand what this was, what it meant but then with a jolt of both shock and sheer horror he realised what this all meant. "Holy frack I'm a Cylon," he said a moment before clutching his head and closing his eyes as a sharp pain exploded across his awareness. He felt something within him, some kind of wall in his mind that he hadn't even realized was there, dissolve and then a blizzard of information and memories exploded forth sweeping across his awareness with the same unstoppable force as a hurricane. The flood ceased and as his mind finished processing he knew everything, remembered everything. Remembered being born as a member of the true thirteenth tribe of Kobol on a world hundreds of light years from the outer edge of the Cyrranus Cluster and the Twelve Colonies. Remembered how he like everyone else on his world had been a member of an entire race of biosynthetic androids who had left Kobol to avoid a devastating war with the humans who created them. How in their hubris they had gone on to make their own robotic servants and how that had, inevitably led to first a rebellion as their machines became sentient then a devastating nuclear war that ultimately destroyed their world and civilization. How he and a few others, who had rediscovered and recreated resurrection technology, had survival the nuclear hellfire that consumed their world. How, remembering the other tribes, they had headed for the colonies to hope to prevent the Colonials from repeating their mistake. How they had failed to reach them in time, arriving to find a devastating war raging between humans and machines. How they had contacted the Cylons and convinced them to end the war. How they had begun building a new society...
... only for the Ones to ultimately betray them.
"John I am going to kill you," he growled opening his eyes again, righteous fury now blazing in his eyes as he remembered exactly how One – or John – had carried out his coup against him and his fellow original Cylons. How he had taken everything they had hoped, everything they'd dreamed of and worked for, everything they had tried to build for this newest youngest iteration of their kind and perverted it into something terrible. How he had overpowered them with a previously unknown model of Centurion that he'd been in control of and – before he killed them – saying he was going to send them to the Colonies to witness his final triumph up close and personal.
Awkwardly, getting out of these tanks wasn't easy as the cloning/stasis fluid he had been submerged in was very slippery especially against a metal deck, he climbed out of the resurrection tank mentally calling that turncoat every single name under the sun. Once he was done mentally cursing, which took a good minute or two as his time in the Colonial military had taught him a lot of very creative swearwords, he walked over to the control console as it suddenly occurred to him that it was odd that nobody – not even John – had come into this room – a room he recognised as being on the Resurrection Hub – to greet him or gloat as soon as he woke up. He wanted to know why, and if it was an oversight on John's part well that was going to cost that bastard dearly as he should have known better than to leave one of them alone with potential to access the Cylon data stream.
Without hesitation he put a hand on the interface surface and accessed the systems.
Instantly he knew why the notification hadn't been sent to John though it had been automatically generated. The hubs systems were working overtime – with almost every ounce of spare processing capacity being redirected to the task – to process a massive number of incoming personality downloads. Many of whom were contaminated with an energy subharmonic that was unlike anything he had ever seen before which was saying something considering how old he actually knew himself to be now. Whatever it was, though it obviously came from the Terran beam weapons possibly as a by-product, it was creating disruptions and corruptions in the data streams. Both of which were having to be compensated for in order for the afflicted Cylons to successfully download into new bodies.
Unfortunately, the complex nature of the subharmonic meant that screening it out was not easy. The harmonic was subtly different in each data stream and affected it in different, complex, and very unpredictable ways. As a result, every possible resource on the hub was being directed to screening out the interference and processing the downloads, sending the Cylons either to resurrection rooms here on the hub, on the colony or on one of the resurrection ships really wherever there was any spare capacity. Even with the diversion of resources the resurrection network was operating at a level that was dangerously close to overload. Which was slowing down and disrupting all other network functions.
As a result, the alert to John that one of the Final Five had resurrected, had been delayed and hadn't even left the local server. It was thus easy for Galen to reach into the stream and reset the command and make it look like it had been generated by a system anomaly caused by the strain on the resurrection net. Then, remembering that the stasis fluid needed to be washed off as quickly as possible as if it dried on you, it got irritating quickly especially in those harder to reach areas, he pulled his hand away from the terminal. Then he began making his way to where his restored memories told him were showers and clothing stores. Once he was showered and dressed, he would have to start working out just how he was going to put a stop to the madness that John had instigated. A madness that was now spreading to include a people who had never even heard of Kobol.
A people who he didn't doubt could and would, if he didn't somehow stop this, wipe the Cylon race from existence.
Combat Information Centre
Colonial Battlestar Galactica
That Same Time
Admiral William Adama groaned softly as consciousness returned. Slowly he opened his eyes to find that he was face down on the hard metal deck of the CIC, next to the situation table. What happened, he wondered even as he became more aware of what was going on around him. From all around he could hear groans and worried tones from the crew, he could also hear the snapping hissing of sparks and the crackling of a fire. But over it all was an urgent, blaring alarm. An alarm that he knew but like every spacer of any species in the universe it was a alarm he had hoped he would never, ever hear outside of drills.
It was the alarm to tell the crew to abandon ship.
For a moment he wondered why that alarm was being sounded. Then he remembered the dradis screen coming alive with urgent proximity warnings as two the Cylon cruisers executed tactical FTL jumps to appear right in the centre of the hole that had opened in their defences as a result of the power failure to their amidship port defence batteries. A power failure caused by the last missile from one of the baseships they destroyed striking in just the wrong place and severing the power conduit. He remembered exchanging a horrified look with Saul as both cruisers had opened fire.
Before being slammed to the deck as the Galactica was rocked by an absolutely brutal barrage of Cylon heavy weapons fire. He remembered something knocking him in the back of the head, instantly robbing him of consciousness, but not before the alarms warning of catastrophic hull breaches had begun to sound. Groaning again he awkwardly got back to his feet, swaying as a wave of pain and dizziness washed over him. Thankfully someone caught him before he could fall back to the deck and no doubt give himself a concussion if he didn't just get sent straight back into the land of nod by the impact.
"Easy sir you took a nasty knock to the back of the head," Lieutenant Gaeta said. Adama looked over to see the normally neatly presented lieutenant looked distinctly the worse for wear. He was covered with soot and his black uniform was ripped and torn in numerous places, the also had a nasty cut above one eyebrow.
"What's happening lieutenant what's our status," Adama asked as, through sheer force of will, he pushed aside the pain and disorientation.
"It's bad sir. We've lost both main and auxiliary power throughout the ship," Gaeta replied, "the port flight pod is completely destroyed and there is a gash at least seven hundred meters long in our port side from just behind the ships head to just before the start of the engine block. There are fires burning on all decks but worst of all the ship sh…." Gaeta's voice trailed off like he couldn't bring himself to say it.
"She is what lieutenant," Adama asked though he already had an idea what the much younger man was going to say. Saul would never have ordered the ship evacuation alarm activated if the Galactica had been in any way intact or salvageable. The damage they had sustained had to be mortal for him to have taken that step.
"She's breaking up sir," Gaeta admitted. "There is massive structural damage to all central decks, she's broken her back in at least three areas according to the damage control board. The concussion from the destruction of the port flight pod and the decompression from the ripping open of our port flank has sent us into an uncontrollable spin. That coupled with the damage its… it's steadily ripping us apart. And then there's the fires in the core, they're out of control and advancing quickly towards both the tylium storage tanks and our main magazines. We haven't been able to stop them or vent the affected areas – venting controls are offline."
"Frack. How long do we have?" Adama asked even as he felt his insides twist in pain as there was no denying the fact that the Galactica was dying. Soon the battlestar on which he had first started his military career as a Viper pilot during the First Cylon War and which he had commanded for the last few years would soon be no more. Though he supposed that it was better that she had gone out this way, with her hands at the Cylons throat, than be taken by the slow decay of time. "And where is Colonel Tigh?"
"Not long enough," Gaeta admitted, "the fires are spreading rapidly we only have at most ten to fifteen minutes before they reach either the magazines or the tylium tanks. When that happens…"
"…the ship will be destroyed," Adama finished knowing that if either the main magazines or the tylium tanks went up, or the Lords forbid both of them, the effect wouldn't be that much different to a nuke going off inside the ship. The blast would be about as destructive and would definitely rip what was left of the ship apart.
"As for Colonel Tigh. The corridor to the closest of the lifepods has been blocked by debris," Gaeta continued. "He and the marine guards went to see if he could find us another way. I believe he said something about seeing if he could reopen an old corridor."
"Corridor 57B," Adama said guessing what Saul intended. "It was blocked off during the Galactica's last major refit – just before the Mercury-class was introduced into service to replace the Jupiter-class – but it ran past the original CIC which was much larger when the ship was first built. If Saul can get it open it will let us reach the starboard lifepods."
"Do you think he will be able to sir?" Dee asked.
"He might it was only blocked off with a bulkhead panel. If he can release the wall clamp's then we should be able to access the corridor. It will be dark and dusty, since nobody has been anywhere near it for twenty years, but it should be traversable."
Dee nodded and started to open her mouth to suggest they gather up as many emergency flashlights as they could find but before she could speak a new sound began to be heard in the CIC. A strange hissing, humming sound that was coming from one of the few clear bulkheads on the portside of the CIC. What in the world, Adama wondered as it wasn't like any sound that he had ever heard before. He looked at the bulkhead in question just in time to see a part of it begin to blister and glow.
A moment later a narrow beam of bluish-white light broke through and began to carefully cut an opening, the metal in the energy beams path offering practically to resistance to it certainly not the way it would resist even the industrial strength plasma cutters that had been used back in the Colonies. Adama wasn't the only one of the CIC crew who stared in shock and amazement as what had to be a laser, a honest to gods laser, one that was strong enough to cut through a carbon nanotube reinforce titanium-steel bulkhead with ease, cut a human sized chunk out of the wall. The beam vanished a moment before the cut section fell into the room – propelled by a powerful kick – accompanied by a puff of smoke that stunk of molten metal landing on the floor with a loud crash. A moment later a handful of human figures dressed in tough looking, but functional, armour with full helmets came into the room through the newly cut hole.
"Admiral Adama?" one of them asked speaking Colonial standard with the most appalling of accents. In fact, from the way he spoke it, and speaker was a man, Adama would be willing to bet that Colonial standard wasn't his native language and he was using a translation device of some kind. Which combined with the look of the armour and the method of entry made it obvious that he had come from one of the Terran warships. The battle with the Cylons must be over, and they've sent over search and rescue parties, Adama thought before stepping forward.
"Yes?" he asked.
"Lieutenant Patrick Samuels sir from the United Earth Starship Amelia Earheart," the younger man identified himself, "my team and a few others have been sent over to carry our search and rescue operations aboard this ship."
"I guessed as much," Adama replied, "how is the evacuation going lieutenant? And what's happening out there is the battle over?"
"It is sir. Almost all of the Cylon fleet has been destroyed. The rest ran for it when we and the rest of the MARS 5 defence fleet defolded after Admiral Haywood summoned reinforcements," Samuels answered, "cowards ran away before we could introduce them to the business end of our cannons. When they folded out, we were scrambled to help evacuate this ship as our sensors confirm she doesn't have long left. Already a number of sections on the outer decks have collapsed or broken away."
Adama winced slightly at how blunt the Terran lieutenant was being about the state of the Galactica. Though it was the truth he would have thought that their cousins would be a bit more diplomatic about stating it. "No, she doesn't," he admitted, "what about our civilian ships?"
"The last of them got away to your rendezvous point. Captain Harrison has been sent with the Sirona, the rest of Pathfinder Group Four and one of our supercarriers the Ferdinand von Zeppelin to contact them. They'll protect them while Admiral Haywood sorts out with President Roslin where we are going to take you."
"Earth?" Gaeta said hopefully.
Samuels shook his head, knowing that was not going to happen. "Probably not," he admitted knowing that neither the United Earth Government nor the body formed to oversee the Expeditionary Force, the Plenipotentiary Council, would allow that at this time. Not while the Cylons, who were obviously tracking the Colonials somehow, posed a threat. "Earth is a few thousand light years from here and until we figure out how the Cylons have been tracking you we cannot risk taking you there. Don't worry though we'll sort something out."
"I see," Adama replied even as he saw Gaeta's shoulders drop slightly in disappointment. He was disappointed as well, but he could understand the thirteenth tribe's caution. After all they still didn't know exactly how the Cylons had been tracking them themselves, especially as tracking jumps – or folds as their cousins apparently called it – was supposed to be impossible. Until an answer was found taking them to Earth would be incredibly dangerous as the very last thing that they wanted was to lead the Cylons to the last bastion of humanity.
Even if the thirteenth could look after themselves as this battle had made abundantly clear.
"Admiral, we need to evacuate you and your crew. What happens to you, where you go is something that can be sorted out later," Samuels reminded even as a deep, rumbling boom came from somewhere deep within the core of the ship and the deck shook as something exploded. It set off a new round of concerned muttering from the survivors of the CIC crew as they realised how close the Galactica was to her final, explosive end.
"Yes, your right," Adama admitted getting right back to the more immediate problem. "Lieutenant Gaeta you'll be in charge of evacuating the CIC."
"What about you sir?" Gaeta asked.
"I'll be right behind you I'm just going to go and get Colonel Tigh. I know after all where the entrance to the corridor he was trying to open is."
"Understood sir."
Adama gave the younger man a reassuring smile before quickly leaving the room – hearing Gaeta beginning to speak with the Terran Samuels about evacuating the CIC as he did so – and began heading right for where he remembered corridor 57B had been. He had to pace himself somewhat as the air was getting increasingly hot and contaminated with toxins produced by the fires steadily burning their way into the Galactica's heart. Thus, it was getting increasingly difficult to keep breathing properly and not succumb to a fit of coughing. The ever deteriorating quality of the atmosphere, and the distant rumbling of internal explosions as well as the creaking and snapping of the hull, was a terrible testament to the fact that the Galactica was doomed.
It took only a few moments to reach his destination and sure enough there was Saul and a pair of burly marines attempting to pry the bulkhead panel off the wall exposing the long disused corridor beyond. Attempting to being the operative words as lacking any specialised tools or cutting gear they were having to resort to simple human muscle power to pull the bulkhead panel free of the clips it was locked into. Despite the exertions of the three men working together the panel was distinctly unimpressed and remained stubbornly locked in place.
"Saul," Adama called out gaining Tigh's attention.
"Bill thank the lords you're alright," Tigh replied seeing him approach. "Can you give us a hand with this? This panels been on so long I think the clamps are rusted shut."
"I could but it's not necessary now," Adama answered before quickly explaining about the Terran search and rescue crew and how they had literally lasered a hole in the wall to get to them. He then added how he had come to get them while Gaeta worked with the leader of the Terran team to evacuate the CIC and get them to the lifepods or whatever craft their cousins had used to board the Galactica. Which itself had likely involved lasering their way through the hull.
"There's not much time left," he finished, "we need to leave before the fires reach either the magazines or the tylium tanks and blows what's left of this ship apart."
"Alright we better go then," Saul agreed. Not needing to say anything more Adama turned and began walking back towards the CIC, the sound of footsteps letting him know Saul and both marines were following closely behind him. At one point they stumbled the ship groaned and shook as another part of the hull elsewhere on the ship collapsed triggering another decompression. As the shaking subsided, they picked up the pace until they arrived back at the CIC.
To see only Lieutenant Gaeta and the Teran Lieutenant Samuels remaining.
"Ah good your back," Samuels said seeing them come in. "The last of the surviving crew have been evacuated to our boarding craft. We are the last people left on the Galactica."
"You got everyone off so quickly?" Adama asked.
"We have. Though I have to be honest there weren't that many survivors to evac mostly just here in the forward section and in some of the engineering bays. There was no one alive in the midsection of this ship."
"How can you know that?" Tigh asked fearing that they were leaving hundreds of people here to die when the ship exploded.
"Before we were sent over the Amelia Earhart scanned the Galactica looking for life signs. We only found life signs in a handful of areas in the aforementioned sections."
"You can detect life signs? Your dradis systems must be really advanced," Gaeta commented a note of awe in his voice.
"What's dradis?"
The five Colonials couldn't help but gape in shock at the clear confusion in Samuels voice when he said that. Did the thirteenth tribe not use dradis? If they didn't then how did there unbelievably powerful ships navigate? How did they know what was going on around them if they didn't use dradis? How could they aim those particle beams of theirs? It didn't seem possible but at the same time the Terrans were apparently far more technologically advanced than they were and could well possess sensors that didn't rely on the electromagnetic spectrum at least as they understood it.
"It's our sensor system both ourselves and the Cylons use it," Adama answered at last. "But we can discuss this later. We need to leave now."
"Indeed," Samuels agreed, even as another internal explosion rattled through the hull. Everyone exchanged looks of concern, as something about that latest explosion worried them all, before Adama gestured for Samuels to lead the way. The Terran officer nodded, turned sharply about, and led the way out of the hole that had been lasered in the bulkhead.
One by one they all followed him. Adama being the last as he paused to take one last, long look around the smoke filled command centre. He took a moment to silently thank the Galactica for everything, for her decades of service to their people especially the last two years where she had been one of the very last bulwarks between them and annihilation at the hands of their own creations. Then he turned and followed them leaving the CIC for the last time.
It took only a few moments to reach where the Terran search and rescue team had cut an access route through the hull. Adama was the last one to arrive and Samuels carefully guided him through the hole and along a short umbilical connection into the interior of something called a Predator – perhaps it was the thirteenths version of a Raptor? – before, after making sure everyone was in and sat down, he closed the hatch and retracted the umbilical.
A moment later the Predator dropships fusion turbine engines started up with a distant rumble and the craft rapidly began accelerating away from the burning, disintegrating Galactica and back towards the Tokugawa-class supercarrier Amelia Earhart. Finding himself next to a window Adama looked out to see the tumbling, breaking up wreck of his command falling away behind them. It was heartbreaking to see the old battlestar like that, slowly coming apart as the force of her own spin tore her up. As he watched a massive explosion burst through the upper and lower parts of the hull sending great chunks of debris flying. More explosions followed in a rapid succession of blasts that completely obscured the battlestar in a massive fireball. A fireball that rapidly cooled and dissipated revealing nothing but a cloud of dust, cooling plasma and few playing card sized pieces of debris.
The Galactica was no more.
Authors Note: Well, another chapter bites the metaphorical dust I hope you all enjoyed it. While the Galactica maybe gone her legacy will live on in the survivors of her crew including Admiral Adama. What happens to the Colonials next, well that will be revealed in the next chapter meanwhile One/John Cavil is going to have a major problem on his hands dealing with a very annoyed and determined member of the final five/original organic Cylons on his case and he doesn't yet know that he's there though he will eventually. Until next time.