Senmut
12-10-2006, 05:42 AM
“All weapons systems show ready,” said Spock, at his post on
the bridge. According to the data on his screen, the phasers had
been retuned to the frequency modulation of the Cylon shields. In
theory at least, their fire should cut through the enemy like a
blowtorch through cobwebs. Spock looked at his Captain, and
suddenly felt guilty once more. Does he know? he wondered, feeling
another wave of shame waft over him. That emotion itself stirred
up it’s own shame, at this disgusting lack of control. Spock
squeezed his eyes shut, fighting for control, reciting the ancient
disciplines over and over. Slowly, he felt calm returning.
Calm…calm…the mind is calm…the mind is the master…the mind…the
mind seeks logic…logic controls…logic is all…
“Range to Cylon force,” asked Pike.
“Twenty-seven thousand, four hundred, sir,” replied Spock.
“Signal to all ships,” said Pike. “Fire on my mark.”
“All ships signal ready, sir,” said Alden.
“Begin,” ordered Imperious Leader.
“By your command.”
“Fire,” said Pike.
=============================================
As agreed on by all, the Galactica opened fire first,
followed almost at once by the Pegasus. Both ships pumped
billion of mega-volpons of energy into their enemy's
shields, launching fighters as they did so. Within seconds,
each Federation ship had followed suit, then the Klingon
force. Within the span of a few breaths, the space between
the combatants was filled with blazing death, slamming into
shields and hulls. The Cylon screens flared up into a
visible wash of fearful brightness, as the guns of the
Battlestars stabbed home, then again as the Enterprise's
phasers followed suit. Grissom, small but pugnacious, spat
torpedoes at the BaseShips, rocking them hard.
"Enemy status," requested Nogura, aboard his flagship,
Defiant. He waited with his usual seemingly serene patience
for the answer.
"Enemy shield strength reduced by seven percent, total,
sir," replied the scan officer. "The modifications seem to
be working."
"But will it be soon enough?" wondered Pike aloud, as
Enterprise unleashed another blast from the phasers. It
smashed into the enemy, and again the Cylon's shields flamed
up in evil beauty.
"Enemy shields showing increased strain, sir," said
Spock, eyes glued to sensors. "Wide variation in energy
signatures."
"He's trying to beef them up," said Pike.
"Yes, sir," said the Vulcan, just as the Enterprise
rocked. Pike was nearly thrown from his seat, several others
were not so lucky. An overhead light burst, and smoke
roiled.
"Report!"
"Direct hit from enemy gunnery, sir," said Number One.
"Number Two shield damaged!"
"Helm hard over!" ordered Pike. "Lay down a barrage!"
"Direct hit!" reported Kirk, at his station on the
Farragut. He'd targeted the enemy, locking on to the Cylons
at one of the linking joints between the two carriers, then
fired. The retuned older-style lasers sizzled against the
Cylon screens, chewing away at her defenses. But the enemy
wasn't just sitting there, and soon several bright lethal
spears from Imperious Leader swept the space where Farragut
sat. Two seared close, the third just grazed the underside
of her main hull, the fourth…
"Emergency power!" bellowed Garrovik, as something
exploded like a wrecking ball on the bridge, killing the
main lights for a few seconds. Illuminated by fires and the
main screen, he saw his gunner, young Kirk, trying to
extinguish his control board. After a few seconds, and a few
muffled curses, Kirk turned to his Captain.
"Targeting sensors out, sir!"
"Best guess, Mr. Kirk!" replied the skipper, as the
Farragut banked hard over to avoid a Cylon broadside. As
they watched, they could see that the Klingon vessel, G’ith
hadn't fared so well. A direct hit from one of the
BaseShip's megapulsars had hit him dead on, then another,
followed by yet a third. One of the battlecruiser's airlocks
blew out violently, then his starboard warp nacelle split
violently away from the hull. The G’ith heaved up, then over
onto his beam ends, as the rupture tore deeper into his
guts.
"Oh my God," said Adama, watching the Klingon ship in
its death throes. Hot plasma from its warp core spewed
uncontrollably into space, burning away more of the hull.
But, even as he was dying, the G’ith's gunners defiantly got
off one last shot from their torpedo tube, miraculously
catching the BaseShip dead center, rocking her. Then,
spinning wildly out of control, the G’ith blazed towards the
Cylons, exploding violently, sadly short of the enemy, as
her core breached at last.
Adama felt the whole ship rock as the G’ith exploded,
feeling a brief moment of deja vu, recalling the destruction
of the Atlantia, back at Cimtar. But he shook it off
quickly, and brought the Battlestar around, keeping her nose
towards the enemy, and opened up once more. Each shot
erupted in a blossoming tower of fire from the Cylons, as
her shields were inexorably worn down.
"Enemy shields down by more than ten percent,
Commander," Tolan reported to Cain. The Commander of the
Pegasus grinned, watching the last fragments of the G’ith
impact the Cylons. Now there was someone who had really
loved combat, he thought, recalling their last shot. No
doubt these Klingons had actually reveled at dying in
battle. Something Cain had no intention of doing, just yet.
"What are those Tholians doing?" asked Cain. Tolan
checked his scanners.
"Nothing sir. Tholian ships holding station exactly as
before."
"They need to join in or get the Hades Hole out of the
way."
"Yes, sir."
"Arm missile, Tolan. Tube one."
"Arming missile, aye, sir."
"Report," ordered Imperious Leader.
"By your command. Shields are degrading at a higher
rate than predicted."
"How? Our design is beyond their limits."
"Apparently we were wrong, and they have modified their
weapons accordingly," replied the Centurion.
"Emergency power to shields."
"By your command."
"And stand by on Pulse, at my order."
"By your command."
"Stay the Hades clear of those pulsars!" ordered
Starbuck, as he circled the BaseShip in a wide arc. Though
her shields were up, normally making it impossible for her
to launch fighters, and her weapons fully engaged, Adama was
taking no chances. With all the recent surprises the Cylons
had pulled on them.
"Look, sir!" called Cree, and Starbuck turned to see one
of the Cylon's bays starting to open up. Any millicenton
now, Cylon Raiders would begin spewing out from their bays
like bugs from a corpse, and…
"With their screens up?" said Giles. "But that's
impossible."
"So is zipping across the galaxy in a heartbeat, Giles.
Come on, guys. Let's go to work."
The Viper squadrons formed up, and in a tight
formation, they began their descent towards the upper
section of the BaseShip like a dropping weight. At
Starbuck's order, every Viper opened up, their guns slamming
down upon the enemy like a rain of spikes.
"Yaa hoo!" cried Starbuck, as an explosion momentarily
obscured the launch bay from direct view. On his scanner, he
could see myriad metal bits flying everywhere. His pilots
kept on descending, and firing. As he thumbed his firing
stud yet once more, he announced into his helmet pick-up:
"This one's for you, Apollo," whispered Athena, as she
fired into the side of the Cylons once more.
"Now," ordered Imperious Leader.
==================================================
“Now begins the most dangerous part,” said John, to one
of his companions
“Indeed,” replied Serina.
“Massive energy surge in Cylon shielding, Commander,”
said Loskeem, aboard the Tholian flagship. Even as he spoke,
two more Tholian ships entered visual range, increasing the
Tholian force to four.
“Inform the others,” ordered Gomeed.
Even as their fire continued, the allies could see a
change in the Cylon vessel. Her shields, flaring and blazing
where weapons fire struck them, were now turning fully
opaque, taking on a whitish sheen, like some monstrous
pearlescent shell. Phasers and torpedoes exploded against
it, but now seemed utterly helpless to penetrate.
“What the hell...” growled Garrovik, as the BaseShip
disappeared behind a milky wall of force. “Report, Mr. Kirk!”
“Cylon vessel’s shields have switched bands entirely,
sir,” reported Spock to Pike. “Sensors have not yet determined
the new shield modu...”
“Sir!” broke in Alden. “Message from Commander Adama
aboard the Galactica.”
“On now, Alden.”
“Pull back!” cried Adama, seemingly almost in a panic.
‘All ships, pull back at once. The Cylons are preparing to
fire their hyper-pulse weapon! It will destroy everything it
touches!”
“Mr. Tyler...” began Pike.
“Already on it, sir,” replied the Navigator, as the
Enterprise s impulse engines began to hum with power,
putting distance between herself and the Cylon vessel. She
arced away, narrowly missing a shot from the Cylons, and
joined the Hood in a long curve away from the enemy.
Surprisingly, the Klingons were following suit, moving out
ahead of the more ponderous Battlestars. As both Colonial
carriers began to pick up speed, the Viper squadrons, diving
on the BaseShips once more, pulled up suddenly, tearing away
from the enemy.
And, it seemed, in time. There was a bright flash, or
pulse, of blinding white light from the now completely
obscured BaseShip. Moments later, spreading out from the
white ball like deadly ripples on a pond, was a swirling,
writhing shell of energy. Both Adama and Cain had put on
extra thrust, and were moving away as fast as the huge ships
could manage it without going hyper. The Klingon and
Federation ships, more nimble, were moving faster yet, and
the Tholians...
The Tholians, seemingly, were doing nothing. Even as
the expanding balloon of energy swelled towards them, they
seemed to just sit there, as if it were of no serious
importance. Then, as the wall of force drew suicidaly close,
the four Tholian vessels suddenly opened fire.
“What the...now?” asked Stone, on Constellation, as the
orange blobs of plasma energy spat from the Tholian ships,
directly for the Cylon wall of force. The two weapons
screamed towards each other across the shrinking void, at
last touching.
The Tholian plasma bursts exploded like miniature suns,
actually pushing the Cylon pressure wave back. For a moment,
it looked like a rippling balloon, an obscenely huge beach
ball, punched inwards on itself by an equally obscene
outside force, then it was lost in the unendurable light.
“Lords of Kobol!” swore Greenbean, forced to turn away.
Like all the Viper pilots, his radio roared with static for
several moments, damping all communications. As the static
cleared, he could hear both Jolly and Starbuck using
colorful language over the airwaves. He checked his
instruments. The interference was slowly clearing, as the
explosions dissipated, and they put more distance between
them selves and the BaseShip. Fortunately, the Fleet was out
of range of this horror weapon, hanging near the heliopause
of this star, awaiting the outcome.
Provided this hideous thing had a range, he reminded
himself. Details on this weapon were after all a bit thin.
What if...
The blasts from the Tholians had not stopped the
expanding wall of destruction sloughed off by the BaseShip.
It’s leading edge still rippled, crackling with energy, but
it still roiled on, seemingly unstoppable in its relentless
march of obliteration. It was fast, and if fact was nearly
up to light speed by this time. Unless everyone cut in their
version of warp drive...
“Wave front at 0.94C, Captain,” reported Spock. “And
accelerating.”
“Prepare for warp speed.”
“Engineering reports ready for light speed, sir,” Athena
reported to Adama. Her finger hovered above the controls,
waiting for her father’s order.
Watching the tactical repeater at his station,
Imperious Leader indulged in the long-disused thing called
laughter. The wall of hideous force he had unleashed would
soon destroy their enemies. Even if some of the Colonials,
or their allies, managed to escape it, it would give him
precisely the cover he needed to initiate the next part of
his plan. He turned as a Centurion brought him a damage
report. Attempts to launch Raiders had failed, several
exploding near the mouth of the launch bay, hit by
unexpected Viper fire as they exited the screens. Repairs
were being initiated...
But Imperious Leader didn’t care about that. He was so
enthralled with the seeming fulfillment of his designs, or
rather his creator’s designs, that he waved the Centurion
away, back to his duties.
“Yes! Yes!” hissed Iblis, watching the battle. Eyes wide
with demonic glee, fists clenched, dancing on his (cloven)
toes in nervous anticipation, he was utterly transfixed by
the hellish sight before him. Only (literally) the Last
Trump would have gotten his attention at a moment of supreme
importance like this.
“Four minutes,” said one of the robed presences, to John,
Serina, and her son.
“Four minutes,” nodded the angelic being.
================================
Gommeed picked himself up from the deck of his bridge,
and looked around him. His crew, ever efficient, were back
to work almost at once, struggling to keep the Kreeda in one
piece, and for that he was thankful. The blasts from their
plasma cannons had exploded closer to the enemy ordnance
than expected, and hurled the ships away from the awesome
Cylon weapon. His bridge s main viewscreen was, however,
dark just now, and he ordered, nay bellowed, for its return.
“Screen yes sir!” cried a crewman, and the front viewer
flickered back to life...
To show a sight out the Terrifying Dissolution. The
enemy’s wave front was still coming towards them, seemingly
undiminished in either its power or ferocity. Gommeed
ordered full speed, and the Kreeda s engines screamed to the
Tholian s full capability, just barely over 0.99349C. He
could both feel and hear the ship s engines groan under him,
along with the inertial dampers, as they strained themselves
to their limits to escape the oncoming wall of doom.
“Aft deflector shields full emergency power!” Gommeed
screamed again, unaware that he was screaming. As he watched
the leading edge of the Cylon’s pulse weapon draw ever
closer, he could see chunks of debris from one of their
sister ships, not quite so lucky as they, spreading outwards
in a boiling cloud of vapor, till at last it was swallowed
up by the opaque curtain of oblivion. He gripped the arm of
his seat, said a silent prayer, actually several of them,
then...
Then the stars ahead of them went slightly mad.
Despite her battle damage, the Galactica’s transition
to lightspeed was surprisingly smooth. She hummed, then
roared, slipping seamlessly into hyperspace and leaving the
Cylon weapon behind. Nearby, the Pegasus did the same, and
according to their scanners, the distinctive energy
distortions of the Federation vessels told Adama that they
had all successfully made the transition as well.
“Distance?” he asked, looking to Athena’s station.
“Fifty microns. One hundred.” She took a deep breath.
“Five hundred microns from previous position. Fifteen
hundred...three thousand...”
“Drop back to sublight, now,” he ordered. “Full scanners.”
“Full scanners, aye,” replied his daughter.
The Battlestar smeared herself back into normal space,
and began describing an arc as she continued decelerating.
Coming around, she got her bearings, locked onto the Cylon
position once more, and issued a recall signal to her Viper
squadrons.
“Status of Cylon weapon?” asked Adama, allowing a
momentary smile at the sound of Starbuck and Boomer whooping
in joy over the speaker.
“Still accelerating, sir,” reported Tigh. “Computron
predicts it will go lightspeed in one point four centons.”
“Thank-you,” said Adama, and turned to the scanners.
There, following them like a bloated ghost, was the wave
front. They had moved, during their short jump, the
equivalent of half the distance from the planet to its sun.
Even so, the enemy weapon kept on expanding, like some obese
monster than kept on swelling ever greater. Would the Vipers
escape its reach? Then...
“Lightspeed now,” reported Athena, and the weapon changed
color as it rippled into hyperdrive, and...
“Balls of Kahless!” roared Korrd, as he tried to take in
what had just happened. “Sensors! Full sweep!”
“Full sweep, sir!” replied Kang. They all waited a tense
moment, as the G’roth put more distance between himself and
the enemy. “No sign of it, sir,” reported the other. “Enemy
weapon has dissipated.”
“How?” growled Korrd, Klingon-wary of some new enemy
trick. “It was almost kissing our stern. How could it
just...vanish?”
“Unknown as yet, sir.”
“Contact P’kuth. At once.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Spock?” asked Pike.
“I am still scanning, sir,” replied the Vulcan. “But the
enemy plasma wave has disappeared from our sensors
completely.”
“But how? It was on our tails, then...” Pike shrugged,
looking back towards the viewer.
“It vanished as it began to make the transition to warp
speed, Captain,” said Spock, after more scanning. “It may be
that this weapon has a limit. The speed of light itself.”
“Thank God for that,” said Pike, tense muscles relaxing
visibly. “Number One, bring us back to impulse. Mr. Tyler,
take us back to the Cylons.”
“Aye, sir,” said both officers. Outside, the other
Federation ships were doing much the same, dropping back
below light, and taking stock of their respective
situations. From his station aboard his flagship, the
Defiant, Commodore Nogura took in the whole area. All the
Federation ships still registered. They had escaped the
Cylon blast wave, as had the surviving Klingon vessels. The
Tholians...
The Tholians were tearing out of the area at warp
speed! The Tholians had gone into warp? How in hell...
“Reverse thrusters to full!!!!” screamed Gommeed, as the
Kreeda shrieked its way into what was for a Tholian ship, a
new experience.
Warp speed.
“Aaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!”
“How?” asked Stone, aboard the Constellation. He listened
to his science officer s report, and actually spared a
moment to laugh. The Tholian vessels, already within
spitting distance of light, had been caught by the
approaching shock wave, and when it had traversed the
barrier, thrown them into warp! “Well,” he chuckled. “Looks
like they got warp drive on the cheap.”
“Wo, horsy,” muttered Kirk, concealing his laughter.
“Stop us!” Gommeed kept screaming, as the universe in
front of his ship kept on going insane. “By all the gods,
stop this! Can’t you stop us? Stop it! Stop! At once!! I
order you to stooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.....”
“WHAT?” bellowed Imperious Leader, as the smile fell from
his face. It was not a pretty sight. He was watching the
wave front of the hyper pulse weapon approach the enemy,
when suddenly...
“Weapon wave front has vanished,” reported a gold Command
Grade Centurion matter-of-factly.
“I KNOW the wave front has vanished, you imbecile!” cried
Imperious Leader, sparing barely a picosecond’s thought for
the stupidity of Centurions. “What happened to it?”
“I do not know, Imperious Leader.”
“Idiot!” snarled Imperious Leader, and backhanded the
offending Centurion. It fell to the deck with a crash. “Find
out, fool, before I have you scavenged for spare parts!”
“By your command, Imperious Leader,” said the other,
rising.
“Lucifer!”, shouted Imperious Leader. “Get me Lucifer!”
==========================================
For a moment, Adama just stared at the empty space in
front of the Galactica, trying to assimilate what he had
just seen. A horrifically powerful wall of force had just
simply...gone away. The Fleet, as well as the remaining
allied ships were, for the moment, safe.
But why? Iblis? The Ship of Lights? None of this feels
right.
"Commander," said Tigh, breaking into his shock.
"Lieutenant Starbuck reports all Vipers intact. They escaped
the wave front, sir."
"Good. Have them all return to the Galactica at once."
"Yes, sir."
"Commander Cain on the line, Father," said Athena.
"Put him on."
"Adama. What in Hades Hole just happened?" It was clear
that the Commander of the Pegasus was as bewildered as his
older colleague. "Did you see that?"
"I did, and I no more understand it than you, Cain.
Computron analysis can't seem to get a handle on it,
either."
"Well, let's take advantage of it, then," said the old
war daggit, and cut the link. Even before the signal died,
Cain was bringing the Pegasus to bear on the enemy, and was
accelerating. Within a few moments, his forward batteries
had flowered into life once more. Not wasting a centon,
Adama did the same with his own ship, targeting the enemy
from two directions.
But the enemy was not just sitting idle. With the
firing of their pulse weapon, their power levels had dropped
to dangerously low levels. Now, the scanners on both
Battlestars could see them on the rise once again. Even as
Cain opened fire, the Cylon's shields popped back up. They
weren't nearly as powerful as before, but would be shortly,
if the energy signatures were anything to go by. Something
Cain had no intention of letting happen. He fired, then
Adama did...
Both shots connected, making the enemy shields shimmer
with light. Then, on the side facing away from her foes, the
BaseShip dropped her screens, and began to disgorge fighters
from one of her undamaged launch bays. They swarmed out like
apions from a hive, spreading out in wide fans from their
mother ship. Within moments, they were closing in on the
Colonial ships from all sides, lasers opening up.
Or at least some of them were. Hot beams from the small
and nimble Grissom sliced through several of the Raiders,
sending molten fragments flying into yet more of the enemy
craft. A few Raiders turned away from the Battlestars to
deal with this new threat, but Grissom went into warp for a
few seconds, leaving them behind, then headed back, catching
a few more from behind as she dropped back to impulse.
Shields up, she sailed through the clouds of cooling
wreckage, cutting loose at the BaseShip as she sped by. The
Cylon gunnery was hideously slow to follow, making only one
hit out of four shots.
Cain's gunnery was better, hitting the enemy dead
center, but was soon distracted by swarms of Raiders. Soon,
the fighters of both sides were hard at it once again...
As Imperious Leader had intended.
"Now," he ordered.
"What is he doing?" said Pike, watching from his seat.
"Spock?"
"Frack," muttered Adama, as one of the Galactica's
shots missed. The BaseShip had dodged suddenly, avoiding his
shot by almost a half metron. He retargeted...
"Father," said Athena, and she pointed towards the
enemy.
"Hades Hole," said Tigh.
As she returned fire, the joined enemy vessel was
beginning to unjoin. The huge magna-steel pylons that held
the two sections together were quickly retracting, the
massive latches that joined the two hulls opening, and
folding back into place. Within a few breaths, the massive
vessel was two ships once again, both of them firing
thrusters to put space between them.
"Enterprise, Farragut, Hood, form on me," ordered
Commodore Nogura. "Pursue target A." The other starships
acknowledged, and the three began to close ranks, moving in
on the topmost Cylon. "Fire!" ordered Nogura, and his guns
lashed out, striking the Cylon dead on. Even as it shook
from the first blast, the enemy vessel continued
accelerating away from its fellow.
"Helm, pursue bottom target," ordered Adama, and the
Galactica responded, her engines rising in pitch as they
gained speed. He fired again, followed by more shots from
Cain. As they began to move, he turned to Omega. "Status of
Vipers?"
"Squadrons report more than half the Cylon fighters
destroyed, sir. Continuing to press the attack."
"Excellent. Status of BaseShip, Colonel Tigh?"
"She's at almost half lightspeed, and accelerating,
sir. She's definitely making a run for it."
"Continue pursuit."
"Fools!" spat Cain, as he sped up to follow Adama.
"Where in Hades can they hope to go?" As he watched, one of
the Federation ships, Constellation, formed up alongside
him, joining in the pursuit. He envied the Fed ships their
greater speed and hotter weapons. Lords of Kobol, with
those, this war would have ended a long time ago. For a
moment, he had beatific visions of Cylon, surrounded by a
fleet of Battlestars, each one pumping gloriously hideous
blasts of destructive fire into every bit of the planet's
surface. He smiled as his imaginary Cylon burned, looking
almost wistful at the moment's longing, then returned to the
here and now. Both Battlestars were gaining, slowly, on the
fleeing BaseShip, keeping up the remorseless fire. For her
part, the enemy vessel did the same, struggling to target
two pursuing ships and navigate at the same time. It was
clear, however, that she was in trouble, and was finding the
task increasingly difficult.
"Yessss!" hissed Tolan, as one of the Pegasus' shots
penetrated the BaseShip's weakened defenses. Chunks of
glowing metal burst from the hull, and she visibly
shuddered. Laughing, Cain ordered him to fire again.
"BaseShip slowing, sir," said Tigh, turning to Adama.
"Her speed is down by two point five."
"Her shields fluctuating, too, Father," added Athena.
"Close to collapse."
"Fire," ordered Adama, and the Galactica once more
spoke the awful word. Her improved lasers sent Cylon shields
flaming up into the visible, then found a weak spot. Like
the earlier salvo, molten bits of hull plate spewed into
space, followed by a secondary explosion from under the hull
plating. Both Battlestars pressed the attack, and the
Constellation screamed by, pumping her stronger fire into
dying shields. With a blinding flash, screens blew out,
leaving the Cylon naked to her enemies.
"By your command. Shield grids twenty through thirty-
one off-line, Imperious Leader," reported the abused
Centurion.
"Emergency power to..." Imperious Leader struggled to
remain standing as his vessel shook once more. "Emergency
power to shields."
"By your command," replied another Centurion. Almost at
once, an entire bank of electronics blew apart
spectacularly, showering them all with hot cables, sparks
and debris. One of the centurions shook, and fell, shrapnel
buried in its chest and head. Imperious Leader looked from
it, to his other crew.
"Deflector subsystems destroyed," reported one.
"Prepare..." began Imperious Leader, when for a moment,
something inside his electronic brain...hiccupped. Buried
deep within his operating system, something was wrong.
"Prepare..." he said again, and again stopped. For a
few picocentons, he was unsure of what he was going to say,
or even to do. "Prepare to...to return fire," he said at
last, his voice laced with uncertainty and confusion.
"By your command," replied the Centurion, and targeted
the pursuing Battlestars. "By...by your..."
Another panel died, and more circuits began to fry.
Where is Lucifer? Wondered Imperious Leader, his mind
growing more confused by the centon. Where is...is...Iblis!!!!!!!!!!!!! Iblis!!!"
"Fire!" ordered Captain Stone, and the Constellation
spat two torpedoes into the BaseShip. The blasts shook the
Cylon right down to her bones, then were followed by more
searing red beams. More metal boiled into space, more
secondary explosions peeled away at her hull. The Cylons
returned fire, one shot catching the Federation ship near
the bow. She peeled off, momentarily askew, and the Cylons
targeted her once more...
Only to feel the searing fingers of burning death from
the G'roth, pinning her like a bug on a card. Another shield
grid flared, barely holding, but the Cylon gunnery was sent
wild. She tried to retarget on the Klingon ship, but Adama
slammed her amidships, and then Constellation, coming back
at almost half lightspeed, cut her a long swath, sending her
lower pulsar battery vomiting into space. Grissom, coming
out from behind the Pegasus, spat more torpedoes, as did
G'roth.
With a huge blast belching from one of her bays, the
Cylon slowed to a crawl, her spin stopping, her trim gone.
After one last weak shot, her gunnery was silenced, and the
once-fearsome instrument of Cylon murder was left a burning
hulk, dead in space, all fight beaten out of her. After a
final shot from Grissom, Adama ordered a cease-fire.
"Athena," he ordered, "signal to commander, Cylon
BaseShip. This is Commander Adama, of the Colonial Fleet.
Prepare to be boarded, or destroyed. Surrender your vessel."
"Aye, Father," replied the woman. Tigh turned to his
CO, unable to conceal his pride, and smiled the smile of the
victor. It was a sight he had never thought to see again. A
BaseShip, helpless, theirs for the taking.
Imperious Leader tried to rise to his feet, in his
shattered control room. Around him, panels burned and lights
flickered. Two Centurions were destroyed by electrical
discharges from torn cables, another crushed by debris.
Still another lay on the deck, legs missing, endlessly
repeating itself: "By your command. By your command. By..."
Imperious Leader felt the ship's gravity flutter, and
held onto something. He needed to, for as he rose up, he
realized that one of his legs was gone, wires and linkage
hanging from the stump.
"No!" he wailed, looking about him. "No, it cannot be.
Lost? Lost? We...we...what?" Even as he spoke, his operating
system alerted him that lines of code were missing from its
database. Not just missing; they were actually deleting
themselves from his programming! Alarmed, he tried
desperately to stop it, then to back up the vanishing files.
But it was to no avail. Line after line, code after code,
was vanishing, deleted from his memory banks and programming
protocols. These were important files. These were...were...
Were what? He couldn't remember. The ship rumbled
beneath him, her death rattle approaching, yet still he
stood, fixating on the electronic lobotomy going on inside
of his brain. He tried to access his link to other Cylons.
It was true! Each surviving Cylon aboard, from himself to
the lowest drone, was experiencing the same thing. More and
more code was vanishing! But how...?
".....or destroyed," came a voice. Slowly, Imperious
Leader made his damaged body turn, and he focused on the
scratchy audio signal. He tried to remember whose voice it
was, and after a moment, recognized it as Adama, the Human
leader. Adama. The Human...Human...what??? What was it about
Humans...? He struggled towards the commstation, shoving one
of the dead Centurions out of the way. "Surrender your
vessel. I repeat, commander Cylon BaseShip, this is
Commander Adama of the Colonial Fleet. Prepare to be boarded
or destroyed. Surrender your vessel." Imperious Leader
listened for a few centons, then slowly reached for the
transmit button.
==================================================
NO!!!!!!! wailed Iblis, watching, and realizing what was
happening. This was it. The end. This was not fair. Not
fair!!!!!!
Reliant and the Klingon ship P’kuth had the second
BaseShip in their sights, and like their comrades, were not
letting go. Before their fleeing prey could make the transit
into warp space, Reliant opened fire, sending blast after
blast from her lasers screaming into the Cylon’s deflectors,
as the Klingon pumped torpedo after torpedo into the prey.
Kleege was laughing as his salvos exploded against the
screens, each one chewing away at the BaseShip’s defenses.
“Enemy shield strength down twenty-seven percent, sir,”
reported Koloth. “His weapons fire is down as well.”
“He is doomed, then,” smiled Kleege, not a pretty sight.
. “Doomed.” His ship rocked from a Cylon hit, and he ordered
return fire.
Something that Reliant was doing to great effect. With
guns more than twenty percent hotter than what the Klingons
were carrying, her attacks were cutting deeper into the
enemy’s defenses with each shot. Even as Kleege’s gunners
followed orders, the Federation ship swung tightly around
the BaseShip’s underside, raking her hull. She nimbly evaded
the Cylon’s return fire, and then dumped a torpedo into one
of her launch bays.
Gobbets of sparks and wreckage blew through the control
center, as the BaseShip was hammered again and again. Her
gunnery was growing increasingly haphazard as both damage
and radion built up around them. At his control post,
Command Centurion Caputstercus ordered his minions to fire,
this time striking Reliant dead on under the saucer section,
forward of the bridge. As the Federation ship rocked, he
turned to the Klingons.
Only to find the Bird-of-Prey bearing down on him like
a falling rock. The Klingon passed close, veering away at
the very last centon, spitting a full spread of torpedoes
directly into the joint between hulls. Once more the
BaseShip rocked violently, and his vidscreens blew out,
leaving him operationally blind.
“By your command, shields failing,” said an operative.
“Emergency power to...” began Caputstercus, but the very
floor beneath them heaved upwards, sending Cylons and
machinery flying. The lights failed, and the door to the
central core was ripped open by a huge ball of fire.
“His shields are failing, sir,” said Reliant’s gunner, as
flashes of light rippled across the Cylon s hull.
“Continue firing,” ordered Captain Paddon, and his ship’s
guns continued buttoning the enemy. The BaseShip had slowed
to a crawl, and her spin was failing. As the Reliant
continued to slice away, the Constellation raced by, adding
her fire to the attack. Her guns sliced off succulent slabs
of the hull, easily deflecting the increasingly weakening
fire from the BaseShip. One shot, however, managed to hit
the Bird-of-Prey’s screens dead on. P’kuth had lined up,
fired, and...
“Now!” ordered Lucifer.
“By your command!” replied the Centurion.
“Oh just shut up and do it!” ordered the IL Series.
...was blown askew, as one of her torpedoes exploded
just outside the screen perimeter, a lucky intersection of
fire. The Klingon went spinning, her shields flickering on
and off, tumbling end over end.
“Now that was damn rude,” said Stone, on Constellation,
with a grin, and ordered another attack. His ship’s phasers
ripped through the tissue-paper remnants of the BaseShip’s
screens, sending up huge clouds of boiling wreckage. Reliant
followed with her lasers, and sent blast after blast ripping
ever deeper into the enemy’s guts.
“Battlestar moving in, sir,” reported Stone’s Exec. “It’s
the Pegasus, sir.”
“Tell him to join the party,” chuckled Stone, as firing
continued. Cain did so, pumping blast after blast into the
enemy. The enemy was now silent, all defensive fire stopped,
fires visible through spewing gaps in her dying hull. The
three kept up the fire, till Stone at last ordered a cease
fire. “Signal Commander BaseShip,” he ordered. “Prepare to be
boarded or destroyed.” As his officers moved to obey, he saw
that Cain was not stopping, the Pegasus continuing to carve
up what was left of the BaseShip.
“Commander Cain,” he began, but Cain s response was, as
ever, Cainlike.
“Frack surrender!” he spat, and continued firing.
It didn’t take much longer, One shot, directly into a
now open launch bay resulted in a huge ball of red flame
belching into space, then the next closest bay erupted as
well. The hull between then cracked, peeling back and up as
the explosions inside merged into one great conflagration.
Cain fired again, and the BaseShip split in half, the upper
hull disintegrating as it tore away from the lower. Moments
later, the lower hull was filleted by chunks of wreckage the
size of city blocks, and morphed in a single seething nimbus
of annihilation.
“So much for surrender,” sighed Stone, and began to move
away from the still consuming remains of the Cylon warship.
“Mr. Hutchison, status of Klingon ship.”
“Yes,” said Serina, aboard the Ship Of Lights, watching
the battle conclude. “It’s finally over.” She looked at first
John, then her son, and John smiled.
“Noooo,” moaned Iblis, watching events unfold. It was all
over. Everything. Everything was in ruins! All his plans.
All his work. A thousand yahren of ceaseless, unremitting
effort, all dust. He turned away, his face twisted with
hatred and despair, and looked across the universe. Back in
the Gamma Quadrant, in the Cylon home system, the vast and
menacing Super BaseShip that orbited the Homeworld, big
enough to dock twenty standard BaseShips, sat silent. Her
windows still shone with light, but those within stood where
they had been, when it happened.
Telemetry from Imperious Leader had stopped, enough to
cause alarm in the collective Cylon mind. Then, as the
Cylons began the task of selecting a new Imperious Leader,
huge gaps suddenly began to eat their way through the
programming. Vast swaths of code simply disappeared.
Centurions, IL Series units, and every other form of Cylon
suddenly stopped. Blank. Directionless. Bereft of purpose.
And of either ability or motivation to control
anything, including the scores of BaseShips, freighters,
tankers, and other vessels moving about the system, which
was all it took. One lobotomized tanker plowed into the
gigantic monstrosity that was Imperious Leader’s seat, then
a BaseShip followed suit, and soon it was evaporating in a
beautiful blossom of destruction.
Far away from Cylon, on a world once called Caprica,
the streets and buildings were filled with countless Cylons.
Cylons that stood. Cylons that fell. Unmoving. Unseeing.
Unresponsive.
Dead.
Below, on the surface of the once lush and verdant
world of Cylon, a living being raised its dull, listless
reptilian eyes skywards, as something bright flared in the
sky. One of the few surviving organic Cylons, confined since
the Overthrow to small preserves, Ooolk watched the machines
in orbit die, and began, slowly, to wonder. Began to wonder
as a new light began to come into his eyes, and his brain.
He leaned down, and picked up the only technology his kind
possessed. A club. He looked at it, then across the land,
and smiled.
==================================
Much to Adama’s surprise, there had been no resistance
whatsoever offered to the boarding parties. The Warriors
wore environmental suits, as did their Federation
counterparts, in the event of total environmental failure,
but their weapons were, ultimately, unneeded.
“I don t get it,” said Starbuck, as they moved along a
wreckage-strewn corridor, lights flickering, their magnetic
boots clicking loudly on the decks. He raised his helmet
visor, and found the air passable. In front of him stood a
Cylon, armed, red eye still oscillating, seemingly ready for
action. Yet, it did nothing. It just stood there, humming
and droning, a perfect example of the lights being on,
but...
“Nobody’s home,” said Giles, examining another Cylon, and
disarming both. Like the first Centurion, it was apparently
operational, but made no move to do anything.
“I’ll bet ye a tankard o’ ale their central control nexus
is all shot ta hell,” said Scott, probing one of the
Centurions with his tricorder. The main processor unit in
these beasties seems ta have gone off-line, laddiebuck.”
“Starbuck,” Starbuck reminded him, and they moved on.
From his two times aboard a BaseShip, the Warrior knew where
he was headed. At the end of the corridor was a hatch,
leading to one of the wrecked landing bays. A metron away
was the hatch leading down, towards the Control Center. The
hatch was partly open, they saw. It had slammed violently
shut on a Centurion that had been attempting to traverse it,
almost cutting the Cylon in half. Giles hauled the upper
half out of the way, and watched the lower half drop to the
deck below.
“Ouch,” said the Warrior, as the mutilated Cylon crashed
beneath them. “That’s gotta hurt.” Below, another Cylon, this
one an IL, looked up at them, but beyond noticing their
presence, made no moves at all. All drew their weapons, but
the IL stood still. Several other men, armed with heavy
pulse-blaster rifles, descended the ladder-well first, ahead
of the rest.
“By your command,” the IL said, its very Human-sounding
voice slow and a bit uncertain, looking at the soldiers.
“Where’s yer control deck?” Scott asked the machine, as
he touched down onto the metal plates.
“It’s through here, Scotty,” said Starbuck, pointing to a
partially open door.
“It is through here,” said the Cylon, seemingly oblivious
to Starbuck’s words. “By your command.”
“Hold on, sir,” said the security Warrior, Sergeant Castor. He and several
others moved through first, then called for the rest of the
party. One by one, the party moved through where the
computer banks stood. Computers now wrecked and blackened by
the pounding the BaseShip had taken. Here, several
centurions lay, damaged and still, apparently taken out by
the ripped power cables and shorted systems littering the
room. One by one they climbed over the junk, and forced
their way into what had once been the heart of a fearsome
engine of war.
“Frack!” swore Starbuck, on seeing the damage. The room
was a wreck, looking more like a junkyard than anything
else. Cylons in various stages of dismemberment littered the
area, and there, at the main control post...
“Imperious Leader!” grinned Giles. Like all living
Colonials, he had never met, or even seen the ruler of their
enemies, and felt a quite natural desire to blow the monstrous
construction to bits.
“Not fair,” said Imperious Ex-Leader, looking at the
intruders. “Colonies...not fair...missing...operating system
malfunction...nested memory files...malfunction...protocols
corrupted... corrupted... not fair not fair...permission to
board...Lucifer...”
“Aye, this ones on the fritz, too,” said Scotty, scanning
the damaged ruler. “Looks like the data files are totally
corrupted.”
“Same here, sir,” said one of Scotty’s people, trying to
access the ship’s controls. “What a mess.”
“What’s the ship’s status, lad?”
“Hard to say, sir. The translator’s slow rendering this
Cylon script. But, it looks she’s finished, sir. Engines are
totally down, half her power systems indicators are dark.”
“Aye, her internal sensors are off-line, too, lad. She’s
one fer the scrap yard, fer sure.”
“Personally, I like watching them blow up,” said
Starbuck, putting binders on the now-helpless Imperious
Leader. “It’s a lot more fun.”
“Och, a chance ta study alien technology,” shot back
Scott, “and all ye can think of is blowin’ her to bits?”
“It’s been more practical in the past,” replied Starbuck,
and began leading Imperious Leader away. “C’mon, Impy.”
Gommeed swore by every Elemental he could think of, as
his ship dropped out of its impromptu warp jump. Once below
light, the Tholian craft had tumbled wildly, then finally
come to something resembling trim. He picked himself up...
“Status!!!!”
“Scanning, sir! We have been catapulted several light
hours away from the battle, sir.”
“Head back! Now!”
Adama felt a surge of pride as he stood on his bridge,
looking at the shattered hulk of his defeated enemy. Never
in living memory had a Colonial vessel been able to capture
an enemy warship in battle. No doubt, many secrets of Cylon
technology were waiting to be revealed, secrets that the
scientists like Wilker were already drooling over in keen
anticipation. He smiled, arms crossed, and almost felt
himself grown young again.
“Damage control report, sir,” said Tigh, handing him a
pad. Adama perused it, pleased to note how well the ship had
come through her most recent engagement, and signed off on
it. He was turning back to the open viewport, when Athena
called:
“Father! Apollo calling, from Enterprise!” Her face was
beaming like an overloaded shield.
“Put him on, Athena!” he cried, moving to his command
seat. “Put him on!”
Apollo’s head was spinning, and it wasn’t entirely from
all the medications. He’d awakened in the mysterious alien
sickbay, pain rumbling through his every bone and nerve.
Yet, his mind was surprisingly clear. He’d slowly tried to
raise his head, amid no small amount of pain, and noticed an
extremely attractive woman dressed in a strange costume
looking at him. He tried to speak, and ask where he was.
From her puzzled look, the woman obviously had no clue as to
what he was saying. She’d left, then returned with a white-
haired man, equipped with some sort of Languatron device,
and from there things had progressed more smoothly.
“It’s all so weird, Father,” he said, much later, sitting
up in bed in the Enterprise’s recovery ward. “I remember the
Landram falling down that shaft, then I’m here.” He looked
about the room.
“Nothing else?” asked Dietra, herself now near to fully
recovered.
“Well, I had some pretty weird dreams, I’ll admit,”
frowned the Strike Captain. “I dreamed about Zac, Father.”
“Zac?”
“Yes. But now, it all seems so tenuous.” Apollo took a
deep breath, and Adama could see his son’s reluctance to
speak of this further in the presence of others. “So, we’re
in what space? A Federation, you said?”
“Yeah,” said Starbuck, fumerello in hand. At a scowl from
Nurse Mansoor that could have shorted out a Centurion, he’d
put it away, but now twirled it between his fingers. “The
United Federation of Planets. We skipped over 50,000 light-
yahren across the star-system, buddy.”
“And the Cylons?”
“They followed us through the wormhole machine,”
continued Sheba. “Four BaseShips, and the Imperious Leader.
But they’re all destroyed now, Apollo.” She took him by the
hand, gently cradling it. She would say naught of Iblis, for
now.
“The Fleet?” Apollo went on, as ever the Fleet’s safety
uppermost in his thoughts.
“Safe. All safe now,” said Adama. As shown how by Boyce,
he activated the screen near the bed. It duplicated the view
on the Enterprise’s bridge. She, and the entire Colonial
Fleet, now orbited the once-more stable planet, the
Galactica shining brightly in the light of this alien sun.
Next to her, looking like the battered sister she was...
“The Pegasus?” asked Apollo, shocked to see the long-lost
Battlestar next to his own.
“Yeah,” said Boomer, at the foot of the biobed. “She
followed us...”
“Damn right!” said a voice, and they all turned to see
Cain stride in, still dressed as the flamboyant Commander
waiting for the latest photo-op. “You didn’t think I was
going to let your father grab all the glory, did you,
Captain?” Cain spoke like a CO preparing to torch the hide
off a lazy subordinate, but the look in his eyes betrayed
him. He laughed, and it was an infectious one. Adama joined
in, hearing such a sound as he had not heard from Cain since
they were young men. “Besides, Captain,” he said at last, “you
can’t escape your responsibilities by leaving me clear
across the star system!”
“My responsibilities, sir?” asked Apollo, clearly
confused. He looked from Cain to Adama, then to Starbuck,
who was clearly trying not to explode. Boomer raised his
hands, as if to say Not me, and then he felt Sheba squeeze
his hand.
“Our responsibilities, Apollo,” said Sheba, with an
expression of pure love. Like most men, Apollo took several
moments to figure out what the Hades she was...
“You mean...?”
“Of course that’s what she means!” boomed Cain. “What do
you think usually happens to people who keep on...”
“Father!” cried Sheba, with a grimace. She looked at
Adama, who was beginning to chuckle, and shook her head. She
opened her mouth, when Nurse Mansoor opened the door, Boyce
behind her.
“Time’s up,” she said. “Everybody out.”
“Hey, we’re planning a wedding here,” began Starbuck, but
stopped when she took the fumerello from his fingers, and
tossed it into the trash.
“I don’t care if you’re running for President. Out!” As
they all reluctantly obeyed, she leaned close to Sheba as
she passed, and with a twinkle in her eye, whispered:
“Men!”
the bridge. According to the data on his screen, the phasers had
been retuned to the frequency modulation of the Cylon shields. In
theory at least, their fire should cut through the enemy like a
blowtorch through cobwebs. Spock looked at his Captain, and
suddenly felt guilty once more. Does he know? he wondered, feeling
another wave of shame waft over him. That emotion itself stirred
up it’s own shame, at this disgusting lack of control. Spock
squeezed his eyes shut, fighting for control, reciting the ancient
disciplines over and over. Slowly, he felt calm returning.
Calm…calm…the mind is calm…the mind is the master…the mind…the
mind seeks logic…logic controls…logic is all…
“Range to Cylon force,” asked Pike.
“Twenty-seven thousand, four hundred, sir,” replied Spock.
“Signal to all ships,” said Pike. “Fire on my mark.”
“All ships signal ready, sir,” said Alden.
“Begin,” ordered Imperious Leader.
“By your command.”
“Fire,” said Pike.
=============================================
As agreed on by all, the Galactica opened fire first,
followed almost at once by the Pegasus. Both ships pumped
billion of mega-volpons of energy into their enemy's
shields, launching fighters as they did so. Within seconds,
each Federation ship had followed suit, then the Klingon
force. Within the span of a few breaths, the space between
the combatants was filled with blazing death, slamming into
shields and hulls. The Cylon screens flared up into a
visible wash of fearful brightness, as the guns of the
Battlestars stabbed home, then again as the Enterprise's
phasers followed suit. Grissom, small but pugnacious, spat
torpedoes at the BaseShips, rocking them hard.
"Enemy status," requested Nogura, aboard his flagship,
Defiant. He waited with his usual seemingly serene patience
for the answer.
"Enemy shield strength reduced by seven percent, total,
sir," replied the scan officer. "The modifications seem to
be working."
"But will it be soon enough?" wondered Pike aloud, as
Enterprise unleashed another blast from the phasers. It
smashed into the enemy, and again the Cylon's shields flamed
up in evil beauty.
"Enemy shields showing increased strain, sir," said
Spock, eyes glued to sensors. "Wide variation in energy
signatures."
"He's trying to beef them up," said Pike.
"Yes, sir," said the Vulcan, just as the Enterprise
rocked. Pike was nearly thrown from his seat, several others
were not so lucky. An overhead light burst, and smoke
roiled.
"Report!"
"Direct hit from enemy gunnery, sir," said Number One.
"Number Two shield damaged!"
"Helm hard over!" ordered Pike. "Lay down a barrage!"
"Direct hit!" reported Kirk, at his station on the
Farragut. He'd targeted the enemy, locking on to the Cylons
at one of the linking joints between the two carriers, then
fired. The retuned older-style lasers sizzled against the
Cylon screens, chewing away at her defenses. But the enemy
wasn't just sitting there, and soon several bright lethal
spears from Imperious Leader swept the space where Farragut
sat. Two seared close, the third just grazed the underside
of her main hull, the fourth…
"Emergency power!" bellowed Garrovik, as something
exploded like a wrecking ball on the bridge, killing the
main lights for a few seconds. Illuminated by fires and the
main screen, he saw his gunner, young Kirk, trying to
extinguish his control board. After a few seconds, and a few
muffled curses, Kirk turned to his Captain.
"Targeting sensors out, sir!"
"Best guess, Mr. Kirk!" replied the skipper, as the
Farragut banked hard over to avoid a Cylon broadside. As
they watched, they could see that the Klingon vessel, G’ith
hadn't fared so well. A direct hit from one of the
BaseShip's megapulsars had hit him dead on, then another,
followed by yet a third. One of the battlecruiser's airlocks
blew out violently, then his starboard warp nacelle split
violently away from the hull. The G’ith heaved up, then over
onto his beam ends, as the rupture tore deeper into his
guts.
"Oh my God," said Adama, watching the Klingon ship in
its death throes. Hot plasma from its warp core spewed
uncontrollably into space, burning away more of the hull.
But, even as he was dying, the G’ith's gunners defiantly got
off one last shot from their torpedo tube, miraculously
catching the BaseShip dead center, rocking her. Then,
spinning wildly out of control, the G’ith blazed towards the
Cylons, exploding violently, sadly short of the enemy, as
her core breached at last.
Adama felt the whole ship rock as the G’ith exploded,
feeling a brief moment of deja vu, recalling the destruction
of the Atlantia, back at Cimtar. But he shook it off
quickly, and brought the Battlestar around, keeping her nose
towards the enemy, and opened up once more. Each shot
erupted in a blossoming tower of fire from the Cylons, as
her shields were inexorably worn down.
"Enemy shields down by more than ten percent,
Commander," Tolan reported to Cain. The Commander of the
Pegasus grinned, watching the last fragments of the G’ith
impact the Cylons. Now there was someone who had really
loved combat, he thought, recalling their last shot. No
doubt these Klingons had actually reveled at dying in
battle. Something Cain had no intention of doing, just yet.
"What are those Tholians doing?" asked Cain. Tolan
checked his scanners.
"Nothing sir. Tholian ships holding station exactly as
before."
"They need to join in or get the Hades Hole out of the
way."
"Yes, sir."
"Arm missile, Tolan. Tube one."
"Arming missile, aye, sir."
"Report," ordered Imperious Leader.
"By your command. Shields are degrading at a higher
rate than predicted."
"How? Our design is beyond their limits."
"Apparently we were wrong, and they have modified their
weapons accordingly," replied the Centurion.
"Emergency power to shields."
"By your command."
"And stand by on Pulse, at my order."
"By your command."
"Stay the Hades clear of those pulsars!" ordered
Starbuck, as he circled the BaseShip in a wide arc. Though
her shields were up, normally making it impossible for her
to launch fighters, and her weapons fully engaged, Adama was
taking no chances. With all the recent surprises the Cylons
had pulled on them.
"Look, sir!" called Cree, and Starbuck turned to see one
of the Cylon's bays starting to open up. Any millicenton
now, Cylon Raiders would begin spewing out from their bays
like bugs from a corpse, and…
"With their screens up?" said Giles. "But that's
impossible."
"So is zipping across the galaxy in a heartbeat, Giles.
Come on, guys. Let's go to work."
The Viper squadrons formed up, and in a tight
formation, they began their descent towards the upper
section of the BaseShip like a dropping weight. At
Starbuck's order, every Viper opened up, their guns slamming
down upon the enemy like a rain of spikes.
"Yaa hoo!" cried Starbuck, as an explosion momentarily
obscured the launch bay from direct view. On his scanner, he
could see myriad metal bits flying everywhere. His pilots
kept on descending, and firing. As he thumbed his firing
stud yet once more, he announced into his helmet pick-up:
"This one's for you, Apollo," whispered Athena, as she
fired into the side of the Cylons once more.
"Now," ordered Imperious Leader.
==================================================
“Now begins the most dangerous part,” said John, to one
of his companions
“Indeed,” replied Serina.
“Massive energy surge in Cylon shielding, Commander,”
said Loskeem, aboard the Tholian flagship. Even as he spoke,
two more Tholian ships entered visual range, increasing the
Tholian force to four.
“Inform the others,” ordered Gomeed.
Even as their fire continued, the allies could see a
change in the Cylon vessel. Her shields, flaring and blazing
where weapons fire struck them, were now turning fully
opaque, taking on a whitish sheen, like some monstrous
pearlescent shell. Phasers and torpedoes exploded against
it, but now seemed utterly helpless to penetrate.
“What the hell...” growled Garrovik, as the BaseShip
disappeared behind a milky wall of force. “Report, Mr. Kirk!”
“Cylon vessel’s shields have switched bands entirely,
sir,” reported Spock to Pike. “Sensors have not yet determined
the new shield modu...”
“Sir!” broke in Alden. “Message from Commander Adama
aboard the Galactica.”
“On now, Alden.”
“Pull back!” cried Adama, seemingly almost in a panic.
‘All ships, pull back at once. The Cylons are preparing to
fire their hyper-pulse weapon! It will destroy everything it
touches!”
“Mr. Tyler...” began Pike.
“Already on it, sir,” replied the Navigator, as the
Enterprise s impulse engines began to hum with power,
putting distance between herself and the Cylon vessel. She
arced away, narrowly missing a shot from the Cylons, and
joined the Hood in a long curve away from the enemy.
Surprisingly, the Klingons were following suit, moving out
ahead of the more ponderous Battlestars. As both Colonial
carriers began to pick up speed, the Viper squadrons, diving
on the BaseShips once more, pulled up suddenly, tearing away
from the enemy.
And, it seemed, in time. There was a bright flash, or
pulse, of blinding white light from the now completely
obscured BaseShip. Moments later, spreading out from the
white ball like deadly ripples on a pond, was a swirling,
writhing shell of energy. Both Adama and Cain had put on
extra thrust, and were moving away as fast as the huge ships
could manage it without going hyper. The Klingon and
Federation ships, more nimble, were moving faster yet, and
the Tholians...
The Tholians, seemingly, were doing nothing. Even as
the expanding balloon of energy swelled towards them, they
seemed to just sit there, as if it were of no serious
importance. Then, as the wall of force drew suicidaly close,
the four Tholian vessels suddenly opened fire.
“What the...now?” asked Stone, on Constellation, as the
orange blobs of plasma energy spat from the Tholian ships,
directly for the Cylon wall of force. The two weapons
screamed towards each other across the shrinking void, at
last touching.
The Tholian plasma bursts exploded like miniature suns,
actually pushing the Cylon pressure wave back. For a moment,
it looked like a rippling balloon, an obscenely huge beach
ball, punched inwards on itself by an equally obscene
outside force, then it was lost in the unendurable light.
“Lords of Kobol!” swore Greenbean, forced to turn away.
Like all the Viper pilots, his radio roared with static for
several moments, damping all communications. As the static
cleared, he could hear both Jolly and Starbuck using
colorful language over the airwaves. He checked his
instruments. The interference was slowly clearing, as the
explosions dissipated, and they put more distance between
them selves and the BaseShip. Fortunately, the Fleet was out
of range of this horror weapon, hanging near the heliopause
of this star, awaiting the outcome.
Provided this hideous thing had a range, he reminded
himself. Details on this weapon were after all a bit thin.
What if...
The blasts from the Tholians had not stopped the
expanding wall of destruction sloughed off by the BaseShip.
It’s leading edge still rippled, crackling with energy, but
it still roiled on, seemingly unstoppable in its relentless
march of obliteration. It was fast, and if fact was nearly
up to light speed by this time. Unless everyone cut in their
version of warp drive...
“Wave front at 0.94C, Captain,” reported Spock. “And
accelerating.”
“Prepare for warp speed.”
“Engineering reports ready for light speed, sir,” Athena
reported to Adama. Her finger hovered above the controls,
waiting for her father’s order.
Watching the tactical repeater at his station,
Imperious Leader indulged in the long-disused thing called
laughter. The wall of hideous force he had unleashed would
soon destroy their enemies. Even if some of the Colonials,
or their allies, managed to escape it, it would give him
precisely the cover he needed to initiate the next part of
his plan. He turned as a Centurion brought him a damage
report. Attempts to launch Raiders had failed, several
exploding near the mouth of the launch bay, hit by
unexpected Viper fire as they exited the screens. Repairs
were being initiated...
But Imperious Leader didn’t care about that. He was so
enthralled with the seeming fulfillment of his designs, or
rather his creator’s designs, that he waved the Centurion
away, back to his duties.
“Yes! Yes!” hissed Iblis, watching the battle. Eyes wide
with demonic glee, fists clenched, dancing on his (cloven)
toes in nervous anticipation, he was utterly transfixed by
the hellish sight before him. Only (literally) the Last
Trump would have gotten his attention at a moment of supreme
importance like this.
“Four minutes,” said one of the robed presences, to John,
Serina, and her son.
“Four minutes,” nodded the angelic being.
================================
Gommeed picked himself up from the deck of his bridge,
and looked around him. His crew, ever efficient, were back
to work almost at once, struggling to keep the Kreeda in one
piece, and for that he was thankful. The blasts from their
plasma cannons had exploded closer to the enemy ordnance
than expected, and hurled the ships away from the awesome
Cylon weapon. His bridge s main viewscreen was, however,
dark just now, and he ordered, nay bellowed, for its return.
“Screen yes sir!” cried a crewman, and the front viewer
flickered back to life...
To show a sight out the Terrifying Dissolution. The
enemy’s wave front was still coming towards them, seemingly
undiminished in either its power or ferocity. Gommeed
ordered full speed, and the Kreeda s engines screamed to the
Tholian s full capability, just barely over 0.99349C. He
could both feel and hear the ship s engines groan under him,
along with the inertial dampers, as they strained themselves
to their limits to escape the oncoming wall of doom.
“Aft deflector shields full emergency power!” Gommeed
screamed again, unaware that he was screaming. As he watched
the leading edge of the Cylon’s pulse weapon draw ever
closer, he could see chunks of debris from one of their
sister ships, not quite so lucky as they, spreading outwards
in a boiling cloud of vapor, till at last it was swallowed
up by the opaque curtain of oblivion. He gripped the arm of
his seat, said a silent prayer, actually several of them,
then...
Then the stars ahead of them went slightly mad.
Despite her battle damage, the Galactica’s transition
to lightspeed was surprisingly smooth. She hummed, then
roared, slipping seamlessly into hyperspace and leaving the
Cylon weapon behind. Nearby, the Pegasus did the same, and
according to their scanners, the distinctive energy
distortions of the Federation vessels told Adama that they
had all successfully made the transition as well.
“Distance?” he asked, looking to Athena’s station.
“Fifty microns. One hundred.” She took a deep breath.
“Five hundred microns from previous position. Fifteen
hundred...three thousand...”
“Drop back to sublight, now,” he ordered. “Full scanners.”
“Full scanners, aye,” replied his daughter.
The Battlestar smeared herself back into normal space,
and began describing an arc as she continued decelerating.
Coming around, she got her bearings, locked onto the Cylon
position once more, and issued a recall signal to her Viper
squadrons.
“Status of Cylon weapon?” asked Adama, allowing a
momentary smile at the sound of Starbuck and Boomer whooping
in joy over the speaker.
“Still accelerating, sir,” reported Tigh. “Computron
predicts it will go lightspeed in one point four centons.”
“Thank-you,” said Adama, and turned to the scanners.
There, following them like a bloated ghost, was the wave
front. They had moved, during their short jump, the
equivalent of half the distance from the planet to its sun.
Even so, the enemy weapon kept on expanding, like some obese
monster than kept on swelling ever greater. Would the Vipers
escape its reach? Then...
“Lightspeed now,” reported Athena, and the weapon changed
color as it rippled into hyperdrive, and...
“Balls of Kahless!” roared Korrd, as he tried to take in
what had just happened. “Sensors! Full sweep!”
“Full sweep, sir!” replied Kang. They all waited a tense
moment, as the G’roth put more distance between himself and
the enemy. “No sign of it, sir,” reported the other. “Enemy
weapon has dissipated.”
“How?” growled Korrd, Klingon-wary of some new enemy
trick. “It was almost kissing our stern. How could it
just...vanish?”
“Unknown as yet, sir.”
“Contact P’kuth. At once.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Spock?” asked Pike.
“I am still scanning, sir,” replied the Vulcan. “But the
enemy plasma wave has disappeared from our sensors
completely.”
“But how? It was on our tails, then...” Pike shrugged,
looking back towards the viewer.
“It vanished as it began to make the transition to warp
speed, Captain,” said Spock, after more scanning. “It may be
that this weapon has a limit. The speed of light itself.”
“Thank God for that,” said Pike, tense muscles relaxing
visibly. “Number One, bring us back to impulse. Mr. Tyler,
take us back to the Cylons.”
“Aye, sir,” said both officers. Outside, the other
Federation ships were doing much the same, dropping back
below light, and taking stock of their respective
situations. From his station aboard his flagship, the
Defiant, Commodore Nogura took in the whole area. All the
Federation ships still registered. They had escaped the
Cylon blast wave, as had the surviving Klingon vessels. The
Tholians...
The Tholians were tearing out of the area at warp
speed! The Tholians had gone into warp? How in hell...
“Reverse thrusters to full!!!!” screamed Gommeed, as the
Kreeda shrieked its way into what was for a Tholian ship, a
new experience.
Warp speed.
“Aaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!”
“How?” asked Stone, aboard the Constellation. He listened
to his science officer s report, and actually spared a
moment to laugh. The Tholian vessels, already within
spitting distance of light, had been caught by the
approaching shock wave, and when it had traversed the
barrier, thrown them into warp! “Well,” he chuckled. “Looks
like they got warp drive on the cheap.”
“Wo, horsy,” muttered Kirk, concealing his laughter.
“Stop us!” Gommeed kept screaming, as the universe in
front of his ship kept on going insane. “By all the gods,
stop this! Can’t you stop us? Stop it! Stop! At once!! I
order you to stooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.....”
“WHAT?” bellowed Imperious Leader, as the smile fell from
his face. It was not a pretty sight. He was watching the
wave front of the hyper pulse weapon approach the enemy,
when suddenly...
“Weapon wave front has vanished,” reported a gold Command
Grade Centurion matter-of-factly.
“I KNOW the wave front has vanished, you imbecile!” cried
Imperious Leader, sparing barely a picosecond’s thought for
the stupidity of Centurions. “What happened to it?”
“I do not know, Imperious Leader.”
“Idiot!” snarled Imperious Leader, and backhanded the
offending Centurion. It fell to the deck with a crash. “Find
out, fool, before I have you scavenged for spare parts!”
“By your command, Imperious Leader,” said the other,
rising.
“Lucifer!”, shouted Imperious Leader. “Get me Lucifer!”
==========================================
For a moment, Adama just stared at the empty space in
front of the Galactica, trying to assimilate what he had
just seen. A horrifically powerful wall of force had just
simply...gone away. The Fleet, as well as the remaining
allied ships were, for the moment, safe.
But why? Iblis? The Ship of Lights? None of this feels
right.
"Commander," said Tigh, breaking into his shock.
"Lieutenant Starbuck reports all Vipers intact. They escaped
the wave front, sir."
"Good. Have them all return to the Galactica at once."
"Yes, sir."
"Commander Cain on the line, Father," said Athena.
"Put him on."
"Adama. What in Hades Hole just happened?" It was clear
that the Commander of the Pegasus was as bewildered as his
older colleague. "Did you see that?"
"I did, and I no more understand it than you, Cain.
Computron analysis can't seem to get a handle on it,
either."
"Well, let's take advantage of it, then," said the old
war daggit, and cut the link. Even before the signal died,
Cain was bringing the Pegasus to bear on the enemy, and was
accelerating. Within a few moments, his forward batteries
had flowered into life once more. Not wasting a centon,
Adama did the same with his own ship, targeting the enemy
from two directions.
But the enemy was not just sitting idle. With the
firing of their pulse weapon, their power levels had dropped
to dangerously low levels. Now, the scanners on both
Battlestars could see them on the rise once again. Even as
Cain opened fire, the Cylon's shields popped back up. They
weren't nearly as powerful as before, but would be shortly,
if the energy signatures were anything to go by. Something
Cain had no intention of letting happen. He fired, then
Adama did...
Both shots connected, making the enemy shields shimmer
with light. Then, on the side facing away from her foes, the
BaseShip dropped her screens, and began to disgorge fighters
from one of her undamaged launch bays. They swarmed out like
apions from a hive, spreading out in wide fans from their
mother ship. Within moments, they were closing in on the
Colonial ships from all sides, lasers opening up.
Or at least some of them were. Hot beams from the small
and nimble Grissom sliced through several of the Raiders,
sending molten fragments flying into yet more of the enemy
craft. A few Raiders turned away from the Battlestars to
deal with this new threat, but Grissom went into warp for a
few seconds, leaving them behind, then headed back, catching
a few more from behind as she dropped back to impulse.
Shields up, she sailed through the clouds of cooling
wreckage, cutting loose at the BaseShip as she sped by. The
Cylon gunnery was hideously slow to follow, making only one
hit out of four shots.
Cain's gunnery was better, hitting the enemy dead
center, but was soon distracted by swarms of Raiders. Soon,
the fighters of both sides were hard at it once again...
As Imperious Leader had intended.
"Now," he ordered.
"What is he doing?" said Pike, watching from his seat.
"Spock?"
"Frack," muttered Adama, as one of the Galactica's
shots missed. The BaseShip had dodged suddenly, avoiding his
shot by almost a half metron. He retargeted...
"Father," said Athena, and she pointed towards the
enemy.
"Hades Hole," said Tigh.
As she returned fire, the joined enemy vessel was
beginning to unjoin. The huge magna-steel pylons that held
the two sections together were quickly retracting, the
massive latches that joined the two hulls opening, and
folding back into place. Within a few breaths, the massive
vessel was two ships once again, both of them firing
thrusters to put space between them.
"Enterprise, Farragut, Hood, form on me," ordered
Commodore Nogura. "Pursue target A." The other starships
acknowledged, and the three began to close ranks, moving in
on the topmost Cylon. "Fire!" ordered Nogura, and his guns
lashed out, striking the Cylon dead on. Even as it shook
from the first blast, the enemy vessel continued
accelerating away from its fellow.
"Helm, pursue bottom target," ordered Adama, and the
Galactica responded, her engines rising in pitch as they
gained speed. He fired again, followed by more shots from
Cain. As they began to move, he turned to Omega. "Status of
Vipers?"
"Squadrons report more than half the Cylon fighters
destroyed, sir. Continuing to press the attack."
"Excellent. Status of BaseShip, Colonel Tigh?"
"She's at almost half lightspeed, and accelerating,
sir. She's definitely making a run for it."
"Continue pursuit."
"Fools!" spat Cain, as he sped up to follow Adama.
"Where in Hades can they hope to go?" As he watched, one of
the Federation ships, Constellation, formed up alongside
him, joining in the pursuit. He envied the Fed ships their
greater speed and hotter weapons. Lords of Kobol, with
those, this war would have ended a long time ago. For a
moment, he had beatific visions of Cylon, surrounded by a
fleet of Battlestars, each one pumping gloriously hideous
blasts of destructive fire into every bit of the planet's
surface. He smiled as his imaginary Cylon burned, looking
almost wistful at the moment's longing, then returned to the
here and now. Both Battlestars were gaining, slowly, on the
fleeing BaseShip, keeping up the remorseless fire. For her
part, the enemy vessel did the same, struggling to target
two pursuing ships and navigate at the same time. It was
clear, however, that she was in trouble, and was finding the
task increasingly difficult.
"Yessss!" hissed Tolan, as one of the Pegasus' shots
penetrated the BaseShip's weakened defenses. Chunks of
glowing metal burst from the hull, and she visibly
shuddered. Laughing, Cain ordered him to fire again.
"BaseShip slowing, sir," said Tigh, turning to Adama.
"Her speed is down by two point five."
"Her shields fluctuating, too, Father," added Athena.
"Close to collapse."
"Fire," ordered Adama, and the Galactica once more
spoke the awful word. Her improved lasers sent Cylon shields
flaming up into the visible, then found a weak spot. Like
the earlier salvo, molten bits of hull plate spewed into
space, followed by a secondary explosion from under the hull
plating. Both Battlestars pressed the attack, and the
Constellation screamed by, pumping her stronger fire into
dying shields. With a blinding flash, screens blew out,
leaving the Cylon naked to her enemies.
"By your command. Shield grids twenty through thirty-
one off-line, Imperious Leader," reported the abused
Centurion.
"Emergency power to..." Imperious Leader struggled to
remain standing as his vessel shook once more. "Emergency
power to shields."
"By your command," replied another Centurion. Almost at
once, an entire bank of electronics blew apart
spectacularly, showering them all with hot cables, sparks
and debris. One of the centurions shook, and fell, shrapnel
buried in its chest and head. Imperious Leader looked from
it, to his other crew.
"Deflector subsystems destroyed," reported one.
"Prepare..." began Imperious Leader, when for a moment,
something inside his electronic brain...hiccupped. Buried
deep within his operating system, something was wrong.
"Prepare..." he said again, and again stopped. For a
few picocentons, he was unsure of what he was going to say,
or even to do. "Prepare to...to return fire," he said at
last, his voice laced with uncertainty and confusion.
"By your command," replied the Centurion, and targeted
the pursuing Battlestars. "By...by your..."
Another panel died, and more circuits began to fry.
Where is Lucifer? Wondered Imperious Leader, his mind
growing more confused by the centon. Where is...is...Iblis!!!!!!!!!!!!! Iblis!!!"
"Fire!" ordered Captain Stone, and the Constellation
spat two torpedoes into the BaseShip. The blasts shook the
Cylon right down to her bones, then were followed by more
searing red beams. More metal boiled into space, more
secondary explosions peeled away at her hull. The Cylons
returned fire, one shot catching the Federation ship near
the bow. She peeled off, momentarily askew, and the Cylons
targeted her once more...
Only to feel the searing fingers of burning death from
the G'roth, pinning her like a bug on a card. Another shield
grid flared, barely holding, but the Cylon gunnery was sent
wild. She tried to retarget on the Klingon ship, but Adama
slammed her amidships, and then Constellation, coming back
at almost half lightspeed, cut her a long swath, sending her
lower pulsar battery vomiting into space. Grissom, coming
out from behind the Pegasus, spat more torpedoes, as did
G'roth.
With a huge blast belching from one of her bays, the
Cylon slowed to a crawl, her spin stopping, her trim gone.
After one last weak shot, her gunnery was silenced, and the
once-fearsome instrument of Cylon murder was left a burning
hulk, dead in space, all fight beaten out of her. After a
final shot from Grissom, Adama ordered a cease-fire.
"Athena," he ordered, "signal to commander, Cylon
BaseShip. This is Commander Adama, of the Colonial Fleet.
Prepare to be boarded, or destroyed. Surrender your vessel."
"Aye, Father," replied the woman. Tigh turned to his
CO, unable to conceal his pride, and smiled the smile of the
victor. It was a sight he had never thought to see again. A
BaseShip, helpless, theirs for the taking.
Imperious Leader tried to rise to his feet, in his
shattered control room. Around him, panels burned and lights
flickered. Two Centurions were destroyed by electrical
discharges from torn cables, another crushed by debris.
Still another lay on the deck, legs missing, endlessly
repeating itself: "By your command. By your command. By..."
Imperious Leader felt the ship's gravity flutter, and
held onto something. He needed to, for as he rose up, he
realized that one of his legs was gone, wires and linkage
hanging from the stump.
"No!" he wailed, looking about him. "No, it cannot be.
Lost? Lost? We...we...what?" Even as he spoke, his operating
system alerted him that lines of code were missing from its
database. Not just missing; they were actually deleting
themselves from his programming! Alarmed, he tried
desperately to stop it, then to back up the vanishing files.
But it was to no avail. Line after line, code after code,
was vanishing, deleted from his memory banks and programming
protocols. These were important files. These were...were...
Were what? He couldn't remember. The ship rumbled
beneath him, her death rattle approaching, yet still he
stood, fixating on the electronic lobotomy going on inside
of his brain. He tried to access his link to other Cylons.
It was true! Each surviving Cylon aboard, from himself to
the lowest drone, was experiencing the same thing. More and
more code was vanishing! But how...?
".....or destroyed," came a voice. Slowly, Imperious
Leader made his damaged body turn, and he focused on the
scratchy audio signal. He tried to remember whose voice it
was, and after a moment, recognized it as Adama, the Human
leader. Adama. The Human...Human...what??? What was it about
Humans...? He struggled towards the commstation, shoving one
of the dead Centurions out of the way. "Surrender your
vessel. I repeat, commander Cylon BaseShip, this is
Commander Adama of the Colonial Fleet. Prepare to be boarded
or destroyed. Surrender your vessel." Imperious Leader
listened for a few centons, then slowly reached for the
transmit button.
==================================================
NO!!!!!!! wailed Iblis, watching, and realizing what was
happening. This was it. The end. This was not fair. Not
fair!!!!!!
Reliant and the Klingon ship P’kuth had the second
BaseShip in their sights, and like their comrades, were not
letting go. Before their fleeing prey could make the transit
into warp space, Reliant opened fire, sending blast after
blast from her lasers screaming into the Cylon’s deflectors,
as the Klingon pumped torpedo after torpedo into the prey.
Kleege was laughing as his salvos exploded against the
screens, each one chewing away at the BaseShip’s defenses.
“Enemy shield strength down twenty-seven percent, sir,”
reported Koloth. “His weapons fire is down as well.”
“He is doomed, then,” smiled Kleege, not a pretty sight.
. “Doomed.” His ship rocked from a Cylon hit, and he ordered
return fire.
Something that Reliant was doing to great effect. With
guns more than twenty percent hotter than what the Klingons
were carrying, her attacks were cutting deeper into the
enemy’s defenses with each shot. Even as Kleege’s gunners
followed orders, the Federation ship swung tightly around
the BaseShip’s underside, raking her hull. She nimbly evaded
the Cylon’s return fire, and then dumped a torpedo into one
of her launch bays.
Gobbets of sparks and wreckage blew through the control
center, as the BaseShip was hammered again and again. Her
gunnery was growing increasingly haphazard as both damage
and radion built up around them. At his control post,
Command Centurion Caputstercus ordered his minions to fire,
this time striking Reliant dead on under the saucer section,
forward of the bridge. As the Federation ship rocked, he
turned to the Klingons.
Only to find the Bird-of-Prey bearing down on him like
a falling rock. The Klingon passed close, veering away at
the very last centon, spitting a full spread of torpedoes
directly into the joint between hulls. Once more the
BaseShip rocked violently, and his vidscreens blew out,
leaving him operationally blind.
“By your command, shields failing,” said an operative.
“Emergency power to...” began Caputstercus, but the very
floor beneath them heaved upwards, sending Cylons and
machinery flying. The lights failed, and the door to the
central core was ripped open by a huge ball of fire.
“His shields are failing, sir,” said Reliant’s gunner, as
flashes of light rippled across the Cylon s hull.
“Continue firing,” ordered Captain Paddon, and his ship’s
guns continued buttoning the enemy. The BaseShip had slowed
to a crawl, and her spin was failing. As the Reliant
continued to slice away, the Constellation raced by, adding
her fire to the attack. Her guns sliced off succulent slabs
of the hull, easily deflecting the increasingly weakening
fire from the BaseShip. One shot, however, managed to hit
the Bird-of-Prey’s screens dead on. P’kuth had lined up,
fired, and...
“Now!” ordered Lucifer.
“By your command!” replied the Centurion.
“Oh just shut up and do it!” ordered the IL Series.
...was blown askew, as one of her torpedoes exploded
just outside the screen perimeter, a lucky intersection of
fire. The Klingon went spinning, her shields flickering on
and off, tumbling end over end.
“Now that was damn rude,” said Stone, on Constellation,
with a grin, and ordered another attack. His ship’s phasers
ripped through the tissue-paper remnants of the BaseShip’s
screens, sending up huge clouds of boiling wreckage. Reliant
followed with her lasers, and sent blast after blast ripping
ever deeper into the enemy’s guts.
“Battlestar moving in, sir,” reported Stone’s Exec. “It’s
the Pegasus, sir.”
“Tell him to join the party,” chuckled Stone, as firing
continued. Cain did so, pumping blast after blast into the
enemy. The enemy was now silent, all defensive fire stopped,
fires visible through spewing gaps in her dying hull. The
three kept up the fire, till Stone at last ordered a cease
fire. “Signal Commander BaseShip,” he ordered. “Prepare to be
boarded or destroyed.” As his officers moved to obey, he saw
that Cain was not stopping, the Pegasus continuing to carve
up what was left of the BaseShip.
“Commander Cain,” he began, but Cain s response was, as
ever, Cainlike.
“Frack surrender!” he spat, and continued firing.
It didn’t take much longer, One shot, directly into a
now open launch bay resulted in a huge ball of red flame
belching into space, then the next closest bay erupted as
well. The hull between then cracked, peeling back and up as
the explosions inside merged into one great conflagration.
Cain fired again, and the BaseShip split in half, the upper
hull disintegrating as it tore away from the lower. Moments
later, the lower hull was filleted by chunks of wreckage the
size of city blocks, and morphed in a single seething nimbus
of annihilation.
“So much for surrender,” sighed Stone, and began to move
away from the still consuming remains of the Cylon warship.
“Mr. Hutchison, status of Klingon ship.”
“Yes,” said Serina, aboard the Ship Of Lights, watching
the battle conclude. “It’s finally over.” She looked at first
John, then her son, and John smiled.
“Noooo,” moaned Iblis, watching events unfold. It was all
over. Everything. Everything was in ruins! All his plans.
All his work. A thousand yahren of ceaseless, unremitting
effort, all dust. He turned away, his face twisted with
hatred and despair, and looked across the universe. Back in
the Gamma Quadrant, in the Cylon home system, the vast and
menacing Super BaseShip that orbited the Homeworld, big
enough to dock twenty standard BaseShips, sat silent. Her
windows still shone with light, but those within stood where
they had been, when it happened.
Telemetry from Imperious Leader had stopped, enough to
cause alarm in the collective Cylon mind. Then, as the
Cylons began the task of selecting a new Imperious Leader,
huge gaps suddenly began to eat their way through the
programming. Vast swaths of code simply disappeared.
Centurions, IL Series units, and every other form of Cylon
suddenly stopped. Blank. Directionless. Bereft of purpose.
And of either ability or motivation to control
anything, including the scores of BaseShips, freighters,
tankers, and other vessels moving about the system, which
was all it took. One lobotomized tanker plowed into the
gigantic monstrosity that was Imperious Leader’s seat, then
a BaseShip followed suit, and soon it was evaporating in a
beautiful blossom of destruction.
Far away from Cylon, on a world once called Caprica,
the streets and buildings were filled with countless Cylons.
Cylons that stood. Cylons that fell. Unmoving. Unseeing.
Unresponsive.
Dead.
Below, on the surface of the once lush and verdant
world of Cylon, a living being raised its dull, listless
reptilian eyes skywards, as something bright flared in the
sky. One of the few surviving organic Cylons, confined since
the Overthrow to small preserves, Ooolk watched the machines
in orbit die, and began, slowly, to wonder. Began to wonder
as a new light began to come into his eyes, and his brain.
He leaned down, and picked up the only technology his kind
possessed. A club. He looked at it, then across the land,
and smiled.
==================================
Much to Adama’s surprise, there had been no resistance
whatsoever offered to the boarding parties. The Warriors
wore environmental suits, as did their Federation
counterparts, in the event of total environmental failure,
but their weapons were, ultimately, unneeded.
“I don t get it,” said Starbuck, as they moved along a
wreckage-strewn corridor, lights flickering, their magnetic
boots clicking loudly on the decks. He raised his helmet
visor, and found the air passable. In front of him stood a
Cylon, armed, red eye still oscillating, seemingly ready for
action. Yet, it did nothing. It just stood there, humming
and droning, a perfect example of the lights being on,
but...
“Nobody’s home,” said Giles, examining another Cylon, and
disarming both. Like the first Centurion, it was apparently
operational, but made no move to do anything.
“I’ll bet ye a tankard o’ ale their central control nexus
is all shot ta hell,” said Scott, probing one of the
Centurions with his tricorder. The main processor unit in
these beasties seems ta have gone off-line, laddiebuck.”
“Starbuck,” Starbuck reminded him, and they moved on.
From his two times aboard a BaseShip, the Warrior knew where
he was headed. At the end of the corridor was a hatch,
leading to one of the wrecked landing bays. A metron away
was the hatch leading down, towards the Control Center. The
hatch was partly open, they saw. It had slammed violently
shut on a Centurion that had been attempting to traverse it,
almost cutting the Cylon in half. Giles hauled the upper
half out of the way, and watched the lower half drop to the
deck below.
“Ouch,” said the Warrior, as the mutilated Cylon crashed
beneath them. “That’s gotta hurt.” Below, another Cylon, this
one an IL, looked up at them, but beyond noticing their
presence, made no moves at all. All drew their weapons, but
the IL stood still. Several other men, armed with heavy
pulse-blaster rifles, descended the ladder-well first, ahead
of the rest.
“By your command,” the IL said, its very Human-sounding
voice slow and a bit uncertain, looking at the soldiers.
“Where’s yer control deck?” Scott asked the machine, as
he touched down onto the metal plates.
“It’s through here, Scotty,” said Starbuck, pointing to a
partially open door.
“It is through here,” said the Cylon, seemingly oblivious
to Starbuck’s words. “By your command.”
“Hold on, sir,” said the security Warrior, Sergeant Castor. He and several
others moved through first, then called for the rest of the
party. One by one, the party moved through where the
computer banks stood. Computers now wrecked and blackened by
the pounding the BaseShip had taken. Here, several
centurions lay, damaged and still, apparently taken out by
the ripped power cables and shorted systems littering the
room. One by one they climbed over the junk, and forced
their way into what had once been the heart of a fearsome
engine of war.
“Frack!” swore Starbuck, on seeing the damage. The room
was a wreck, looking more like a junkyard than anything
else. Cylons in various stages of dismemberment littered the
area, and there, at the main control post...
“Imperious Leader!” grinned Giles. Like all living
Colonials, he had never met, or even seen the ruler of their
enemies, and felt a quite natural desire to blow the monstrous
construction to bits.
“Not fair,” said Imperious Ex-Leader, looking at the
intruders. “Colonies...not fair...missing...operating system
malfunction...nested memory files...malfunction...protocols
corrupted... corrupted... not fair not fair...permission to
board...Lucifer...”
“Aye, this ones on the fritz, too,” said Scotty, scanning
the damaged ruler. “Looks like the data files are totally
corrupted.”
“Same here, sir,” said one of Scotty’s people, trying to
access the ship’s controls. “What a mess.”
“What’s the ship’s status, lad?”
“Hard to say, sir. The translator’s slow rendering this
Cylon script. But, it looks she’s finished, sir. Engines are
totally down, half her power systems indicators are dark.”
“Aye, her internal sensors are off-line, too, lad. She’s
one fer the scrap yard, fer sure.”
“Personally, I like watching them blow up,” said
Starbuck, putting binders on the now-helpless Imperious
Leader. “It’s a lot more fun.”
“Och, a chance ta study alien technology,” shot back
Scott, “and all ye can think of is blowin’ her to bits?”
“It’s been more practical in the past,” replied Starbuck,
and began leading Imperious Leader away. “C’mon, Impy.”
Gommeed swore by every Elemental he could think of, as
his ship dropped out of its impromptu warp jump. Once below
light, the Tholian craft had tumbled wildly, then finally
come to something resembling trim. He picked himself up...
“Status!!!!”
“Scanning, sir! We have been catapulted several light
hours away from the battle, sir.”
“Head back! Now!”
Adama felt a surge of pride as he stood on his bridge,
looking at the shattered hulk of his defeated enemy. Never
in living memory had a Colonial vessel been able to capture
an enemy warship in battle. No doubt, many secrets of Cylon
technology were waiting to be revealed, secrets that the
scientists like Wilker were already drooling over in keen
anticipation. He smiled, arms crossed, and almost felt
himself grown young again.
“Damage control report, sir,” said Tigh, handing him a
pad. Adama perused it, pleased to note how well the ship had
come through her most recent engagement, and signed off on
it. He was turning back to the open viewport, when Athena
called:
“Father! Apollo calling, from Enterprise!” Her face was
beaming like an overloaded shield.
“Put him on, Athena!” he cried, moving to his command
seat. “Put him on!”
Apollo’s head was spinning, and it wasn’t entirely from
all the medications. He’d awakened in the mysterious alien
sickbay, pain rumbling through his every bone and nerve.
Yet, his mind was surprisingly clear. He’d slowly tried to
raise his head, amid no small amount of pain, and noticed an
extremely attractive woman dressed in a strange costume
looking at him. He tried to speak, and ask where he was.
From her puzzled look, the woman obviously had no clue as to
what he was saying. She’d left, then returned with a white-
haired man, equipped with some sort of Languatron device,
and from there things had progressed more smoothly.
“It’s all so weird, Father,” he said, much later, sitting
up in bed in the Enterprise’s recovery ward. “I remember the
Landram falling down that shaft, then I’m here.” He looked
about the room.
“Nothing else?” asked Dietra, herself now near to fully
recovered.
“Well, I had some pretty weird dreams, I’ll admit,”
frowned the Strike Captain. “I dreamed about Zac, Father.”
“Zac?”
“Yes. But now, it all seems so tenuous.” Apollo took a
deep breath, and Adama could see his son’s reluctance to
speak of this further in the presence of others. “So, we’re
in what space? A Federation, you said?”
“Yeah,” said Starbuck, fumerello in hand. At a scowl from
Nurse Mansoor that could have shorted out a Centurion, he’d
put it away, but now twirled it between his fingers. “The
United Federation of Planets. We skipped over 50,000 light-
yahren across the star-system, buddy.”
“And the Cylons?”
“They followed us through the wormhole machine,”
continued Sheba. “Four BaseShips, and the Imperious Leader.
But they’re all destroyed now, Apollo.” She took him by the
hand, gently cradling it. She would say naught of Iblis, for
now.
“The Fleet?” Apollo went on, as ever the Fleet’s safety
uppermost in his thoughts.
“Safe. All safe now,” said Adama. As shown how by Boyce,
he activated the screen near the bed. It duplicated the view
on the Enterprise’s bridge. She, and the entire Colonial
Fleet, now orbited the once-more stable planet, the
Galactica shining brightly in the light of this alien sun.
Next to her, looking like the battered sister she was...
“The Pegasus?” asked Apollo, shocked to see the long-lost
Battlestar next to his own.
“Yeah,” said Boomer, at the foot of the biobed. “She
followed us...”
“Damn right!” said a voice, and they all turned to see
Cain stride in, still dressed as the flamboyant Commander
waiting for the latest photo-op. “You didn’t think I was
going to let your father grab all the glory, did you,
Captain?” Cain spoke like a CO preparing to torch the hide
off a lazy subordinate, but the look in his eyes betrayed
him. He laughed, and it was an infectious one. Adama joined
in, hearing such a sound as he had not heard from Cain since
they were young men. “Besides, Captain,” he said at last, “you
can’t escape your responsibilities by leaving me clear
across the star system!”
“My responsibilities, sir?” asked Apollo, clearly
confused. He looked from Cain to Adama, then to Starbuck,
who was clearly trying not to explode. Boomer raised his
hands, as if to say Not me, and then he felt Sheba squeeze
his hand.
“Our responsibilities, Apollo,” said Sheba, with an
expression of pure love. Like most men, Apollo took several
moments to figure out what the Hades she was...
“You mean...?”
“Of course that’s what she means!” boomed Cain. “What do
you think usually happens to people who keep on...”
“Father!” cried Sheba, with a grimace. She looked at
Adama, who was beginning to chuckle, and shook her head. She
opened her mouth, when Nurse Mansoor opened the door, Boyce
behind her.
“Time’s up,” she said. “Everybody out.”
“Hey, we’re planning a wedding here,” began Starbuck, but
stopped when she took the fumerello from his fingers, and
tossed it into the trash.
“I don’t care if you’re running for President. Out!” As
they all reluctantly obeyed, she leaned close to Sheba as
she passed, and with a twinkle in her eye, whispered:
“Men!”