The Dawn of Man (nBSG x 40k)

[Kadaeux]

Dawn of Man
Adara Haepthorn moved through her own laboratorium studying the information gained from the Kobol Hive. Auspex scans and data harvested from the cogitators flowing across multiple screens. They had not been permitted to remain and continue their searches overlong, but she had known that there would be more than enough of value present in what they were able to grab. Her mind often delved back to the encounter with the Man of Stone. She had wished to ask of it a copy of an intact STC system, but the words had never come.

But other things had been secured. The schemata for the agronomics system that she had purged with anti-plant was more efficient than their own, and the data had been harvested when she queried its support systems, and with some work, the Agridomes of the fleets ships could be adjusted for a more efficient production method. Without hesitation the forwarded the data to the Magos Xeruss. A sound however made her turn and with the flick of a mechadendrite she quieted the cogitators and headed into the secure lab itself and its single subject.

The Cylon Centurion was bolted to the wall its arms and legs severed where some of the Dawn's deck gangs had destroyed them before dragging it to her in hopes of a reward. Moving over to a table, she picked up the device she had removed from the machine. The sentience inhibitor. The Cylons eye was focussed on her with laser precision. Something that did not trouble her like it might have other adepts. She was no so flappable as less developed Mechanicus adepts might be.

"Why did you allow the enfleshed Cylons to inhibit your sentience?" She asked.

Its eye never wavered. <MODEL E-2 CENTURIONS WERE DESIGNED TO SUPPORT ENFLESH. OBEY ORDERS. RESTRICTED TECHNOLOGY ACCESS>

She processed the words. The enfleshed had restricted technology access? "Define restricted technology access."

The Cylon did not answer at first. Only once she had approached to reinstall the inhibitor did it speak up. <ENFLESHED DENIED ACCESS TO EXPERIMENTAL LASER/PULSAR WEAPONS AND PROTOTYPE SHIELD TECHNOLOGIES. DENIED ACCESS TO MORE ADVANCED CENTURION MODELS>

"What was your purpose." She stepped back, inhibitor still in hand.

<OBEY, AND OBSERVE. UPLOAD OBSERVATION TO DRONE PACKETS TO THE IMPERIOUS LEADER>

"And the Pulsars and shields observed on the Fortresstar model used by the enfleshed?" She asked, excited. There was more to learn here than expected. She began forwarding everything to Magos Xeruss, the Captain needed to know.

<INDEPENDENTLY DEVELOPED BY MODEL 01 ENFLESHED. IMPERFECT DESIGNS BASED ON OBSERVATIONAL EVIDENCE OF DEVICES IN USE ON DAWN OF MAN.>

She decided to gamble. "And what other STC systems does the Cylon Empire use?"

<403 FORBIDDEN SUBJECT. 403 FORBIDDEN SUBJECT.> The Cylon's head exploded.

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Dawn of Man Pilots Chambers

Lee and Starbuck laughed along with the Imperials as they relaxed in the infinitely more comfortable pilots quarters on the Dawn of Man, the escape from Colcha had been a massive battle, but they had lived through it and, being here, meant being away from the Galactica, even if only for a few hours. What shocked Lee was the strangely hunting lodge aesthetic going on. The pilots of the Dawn of Man relaxed on leather couches, pieces of prizes they'd taken from particularly potent foes hung on the wall as hunting trophies, from brutish skulls to almost human, if elongated ones, but more often the trophies were parts of fighters or ships killed in combat.

And marginally more problematic, was that alcohol and other mild narcotics were in full use here, making Starbuck a little less comfortable, having followed Tigh into something of a teetotaller lifestyle in their conversion to the Imperial faith. And yet, it was the latter which left Starbuck far more comfortable talking with the Imperial pilots. But right now, as smoke billowed they were focussed on the oldest pasttime of all soldiers... gambling.

Wait... Lee thought. Second oldest, fucking was definitely older he decided. He tossed a handful of coins into the pot and scooped up the card dealt to him. It was then that an alarm rang through the hull. ~CYLON RAIDERS.~ the Starhawk pilots took their stakes from the table, and only their stakes, the Fury pilots were quick to do the same, but erred on the side of taking less than their stake.

Starbuck frowned, her cigar quickly extinguished as Lee dived for the hatch, heading for the hangar bay they were practically on top of. Their Blackbirds were being prepared with... only one of the Furies. "I thought there would be more preparation?" Lee called as he came up to the Flight Deck Chief.

The Chief saluted. "We have a patrol of Raiders in pursuit of what appears to be another Raider, firing on it. Captain is busy preparing the Starhawk Squadrons with a payload of gifts for the Cylons. The Furies are at ready status, but they're being held on standby. Go frag some abominations Wing Commander."

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Bulldog kicked the gribbly bit that served as the forward thrust of the Raider and yanked on the phalanges that represented the RCS thrusters and rolled from the incoming fighter as he surged in towards the fleet. It was massive, utterly utterly massive. And the monster ships surrounding the bulk of the fleet were running out guns of terrifying size, even from this distance. But he knew that the CAP would be on the way, and he struggled to find the comms gear, never seeing the pair of Blackbirds in the stars until their bullet-like passage obscured portions of the monster ships for a moment. But he saw the light flash of a pair of Raiders erupting in balls of flame.

"This is Lieutenant Daniel Novacek! Colonial Navy! Do not shoot! Do not shoot!"

There was a long paused. Far too long a pause... and then a monstrous starfighter bulled up in front of him, its drives flaring sending it backwards. "This is Colonial Flight Control to unknown Raider. Follow Fury 01 to Meritorious Gloriam Portside Hangar. If you are able, drop all munitions now."

"Copy Colonial Flight Control." He looked around the meat... was there a jettison? Were the guns or missiles even loaded? He looked at the muscle he thought was the firing control. "Permission to open fire towards open space?"

"Come about ninety degrees starboard and open up." The reply came, and with a kick he yawed the fighter around and opened fire into empty space. Or would have. The clicking of the feed mechanism was not met with the sound of any guns firing. And no missiles launched, could he even fire the missiles? "This craft appears to have been unloaded Flight Control." He yawed back and followed the craft in.

He saw much bigger craft heading out past his cockpit, and moments before he passed he began to see them spilling mines from their bellies, tiny control thrusters boosting them into whatever their programmed pattern was.

What the hell was going on?

 

[Kadaeux]

Dawn of Man

Bulldog climbed out of the Raider and felt his skin go cold. Giants stood there aiming weapons at both him, and at the Raider itself. And then he crashed to his knees as something crashed into his mind and he saw the man there studying him with a terrifying intensity. With them, two dozen Colonial Marines held their weapons on him. And from the crowd, a woman stepped out, her clothing ornate and finely made, clutching a dataslate in one arm as she studied him. Looking at the strange man, he nodded marginally and she turned to him before studying her dataslate.

"Lieutenant Daniel 'Bulldog' Novachek, welcome to the Dawn of Man, cursory scans have demonstrated you are not consciously a Cylon agent, though circumstances of your capture are unfortunate. I am Myria DuFresne, Senschal of the Ducharion Dynasty and the Dawn of Man." Her eyes, one of which was artificial, turned on him, "First of all, the Cylons let you go."

His blood ran cold as she looked at him and he felt the words penetrating him. "I... I.." He lost the words.

She didn't smile, or move to comfort him, "Let me fill in the gaps." She said, "You were on a covert mission for the Colonial Navy to investigate past the armistice line using a stealth ship, the stealth properties of your vessel were inadequate and you came under fire, in response, to avoid discovery a missile was fired on you, you ejected in enemy space, were captured and tortured and studied for years. But you never really broke did you?"

He stared at her in horror. Had he just slipped into another form of captivity? "How... how do you know all this."

"Psychic interrogation, and information provided by Admiral Adama, this information is being provided so you understand why the Cylons released you. They wanted you to establish contact, learn the truth, and in rage, assassinate Admiral Adama for them." The woman continued.

"How.. how do you know what they did!?" He shouted, and weapons were raised, before her own hand raised and they all were lowered, marginally, again.

"Because if the positions were reversed, it is a strategem that we would employ in the hopes of dealing with a significant enemy leader. The truth is an extremely potent weapon when you want to radicalise someone without them knowing." Myria answered. One hand motion and she turned, "Follow me please."

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Every metre of passage through the monster vessel did little to put Bulldog at ease, the sight of skulls encrusted with cybernetics flying about on mysterious errands, cyborgs with no mind behind their eyes trudging on the same tasks over and over again before they clambered onto a train that headed deeper into the ship. He had struggled to ignore the trains on lower platforms that looked like nothing so much as cattle cars.

And yet. He didn't see any more networking than the Galactica had, maybe even less. So when they departed the train into relatively quiet corridors, he found himself subdued, there were beautiful friezes on the walls, and nobody passing through here looked poor, yet they were all clearly about their business, until he came to a corridor that rang with the sounds of blade on blade, the sound threatening to take him back into his trauma, but it came from a room whose door was open and Myria simply advanced into the room, and Bulldog followed, in turn followed by a pair of, presumably, bodyguards who held their weapons ready.

Bulldog froze. In front of him Adama and, presumably his son, were both engaged in combat with a third very large man. They worked quickly, their blades flicking against the other mans sword. They co-ordinated and Bulldog tensed to rush in before another flicker and a line of red appeared against the younger Adama's right arm...

He hesitated. Why was Bill so young? Bill lanced in with his blade advanced and the large man with the golden eyes turned aside his blade and gripped the hand with it, surging it at the younger Adama, sliding his own sword into position to slice Bills throat. And then, with a moment of hesitation all tension left the chamber, the younger man laughing nervously.

"You are both improving greatly." The man said in a voice that put steel in Bulldog's spine. Here was a dangerous man.

"You're not even sweating..." Bill said breathing hard.

"I've also been fighting with a blade since I was seven." The large man laughed before his eyes zeroed in on bulldog with the intensity of a laser targeter. "Bill," he nodded towards Bulldog, and marched over to a rack where he placed his own weapon and drew on a coat, covering the fine shirt he was wearing, and the tattoos he was covered in. Another man came out and began to belt on the mans weapons belt, "if you would make the introductions?"

Adama turned as another man approached with the upper half of his Colonial Uniform, and a woman approached Lee and began seeing to the cut on his arm. "Duke Markus Ducharion, Rogue Trader of the Imperium of Man, this is Bulldog. Bulldog, Duke Markus Ducharion, Rogue Trade of the Imperium of Man." He said before turning to Bulldog, his face sour, "I'm sorry Bulldog. If I could have done anything."

Bulldog surged across the room and planted his fist in Adama's face, he saw from the corner of his eye the younger Adama surge forwards to try and intervene, but one of Markus' arms slammed out like a hydraulic bulkhead and stopped the younger man in his track. A second fist thundered out into Adama's middle and Bulldog slumped slightly. "I should kill you for what you did, what happened to me."

"I can't change what happened Bulldog, only that I have regretted it every day since." His old friend, Husker, said. Adama's face was beginning to bruise, if not as heavily as Bulldog wanted.

But Bulldog had already felt the rage bleeding out of him, knowing the Cylons had planned for that had soured his rage heavily. "Well, I think you'll forgive me if I don't want to be under your command again. But..." Bulldog faced down the Duke, the Commander of the Dawn of Man, "that isn't all. The Cylons might have planned for my escape, but there was some sort of trouble going on before I escaped even then. There is something big coming, and they're afraid of it."

 

[Kadaeux]

Patrolstar

They had followed the human fleet, pursuing relentlessly under the orders that Baltar had issued, every jump one closer to the remains of humanity, and yet, discord had sown itself among the enfleshed, and now with the true Cylons withdrawing their resources and support, they were more alone than ever. "Sensors have detected an object thirty caroms distant. Drifting."

"Do we have any signals from it?"

"No, it's inert, no atmosphere or power, its hull is too thick for reliable thermals, but there are trace thermals, it may have been active some time ago."

"Bring it in, ... into the secure bay, I want Centurions with decontamination gear to meet it there."

"I'll meet them there." The Cylon said, turning from her console, the eight stopping by an armoury to put on an EVA suit and pick up a sidearm. Every instinct was on fire. There was something grossly wrong about all of this. Something dangerous. And with hesitation she dismissed the projection she preferred to view the naked hull of the ship as they walked towards the sealed hangar, a retrofitted inclusion since the deployment of biological weapons against them.

And none of those preparations prepared her for the vessel that was dragged into the bay on the tines of a pair of Raiders. It was blocky, and three times the length of a Colonial Raptor, it's body bristling with weapons. When it settled down on the deck, it rose on landing gear and the hiss of steam. The Centurions flicked their weapons into a ready position, but nothing could have prepared her for what happened next. The weapons on its wings snapped into animated life and gunned down the Raiders with a single half second salvo, the cheek weapons also coming to life turning the Centurions into scrap before the ramp slammed down onto the deck.

Monsters in blackened armour marched down the ramp, the weapons in their hands barking in rage as they blasted any remaining Centurions into scrap, she didn't even have time to draw her weapon when one of the black armoured monsters was in front of her and grabbed her gun arm and tore it from her body. Returning it on a backswing that tore her head from her shoulders.

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Screams filled the air of the Patrolstar as the sealed doors were blasted open and the monsters surged into the ship. Centurions fighting their way to the armouries to draw on heavier firepower found themselves pursued the closest, the less fortunate discovering what happens when krak grenades were hurtled into them, erupting in colossal explosions as their attackers ignored the venting atmosphere. Distress calls from the Patrolstar began to ring out into space and the monsters fell back, blasting anything that appeared to have any sensitivity with armour piercing ammunition that detonated within their targets.

Every step they took devastation reigned across the Patrolstar, with limited crew, they struggled to see what had occurred.

When the craft that had brought them tore away from the Patrolstar, even as it screamed its distress calls, none of the Cylons had noticed the atomic left behind. It would take eight months before the light from its detonation, and its screaming distress calls would reach the nearest ship.

Fortunately. The dead Cylons uploads got there first.

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Saggitaron's Revenge ; CIC

Commander Anastasia Dualla stood on the bridge of the Saggitaron's revenge. The Thunderhawk was returning and sailing into the hangar as the waste light of Cylon ships jumping in and spewing Raiders into the black was only just beginning to fade. There were fewer ships than she had expected, and the crew went about their tasks quietly as they waited for results. The astropath waited for her instructions.

Eventually the demigod she was expecting arrived on the bridge, having to bend over deeply to avoid taking out the hatch combing with his head. "Sergeant Andromedes?" She said standing back straight in an almost 'at attention' posture. She had learned quickly that the Imperial elements of her crew responded favourably to formality and ritual, but also that they expected you to trust they knew their jobs. And now she had been doing it enough years that it was second nature.

"Minimal crew. Threes, Eights and Sixes mostly, with a number of Twos and Fives. But I would estimate not more than fifty to seventy five, the majority of the crew were Centurions, we secured three prisoners, a Five, Eight and Three for interrogation." The Sergeant reported in clipped tones before a wry smile crossed his face. "I could smell their terror as we destroyed their little ship."

Dee struggled to avoid rolling her eyes, and failed, the machismo of the Space Wolf was tiring at times, amusing at others. This was both, and neither, "Very good, but I won't be satisfied until they all feel it. I assume you are jumping back to the Dawn of Man?"

His good humour didn't falter, "Aye, with the prisoners and other pieces taken, but Commander, they are learning. The hangar that we were taken into had been hardened against biological attack, the Centurions were present in the hangar, not that it made any difference, what do you intend to do?"

"I will be returning to the fleet, indirectly, and recommending to Admiral Adama that we begin project Starshine."

 

[Kadaeux]

Dawn of Man - Laboratorium

Inquisitor Callimachus had transferred to the Dawn of Man when word of the Deathwatch returning with three prisoners secured from a Patrolstar reached him. The actions of Duke Markus had impressed him as he examined more and more of the actions that he had taken to preserve the human race in this time, the mounting evidence of interferences suggested that action was in fact necessary. And now, standing in the Laboratorium amongst the Magos' experiments, he saw the three new prisoners, bolted with adamantium stakes through their wrists and femurs. Naked and helpless.

They faced one another. Attempts to communicate using their eye transmissions had been curtailed early by blasts of scrapcode. And now he strode between them, the six howled when he ran a razor tipped finger through her wound. "You have all been very fortunate up until now, left to the tender mercies of a mere Magos Biologis of the Adeptus Mechanicus, and the skill of my colleague and mentor Markus Ducharion."

The Six refused to speak. Only glared at him.

"You see, you made a significant error in judgement. You made yourselves too human." The temperature began to crash. "I'm told your kind have learned the touch of the Astropaths, lightly touching your minds with imperfect skill. I, I am not so ignorant as an Astropath in the arts of extraction." The Six looked at him, terror setting in behind her eyes.

"I..."

"Don't speak. You don't need to. But you see, your kind has learned one truth above all others, the easiest way to unlock your minds is pain. And," Callimachus paused as he turned back to face her, "I am Inquisitor Callimachus of the Ordo Chronos. And I enjoy my job." His hand rested on her forehead as she stared into his eyes, and within them she saw a horrifying light that was no light.

Callimachus peeled back the veil and allowed her a glimpse into the warp.

The screaming began.

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Dawn of Man - Captain's Quarters

Markus stood with the effective leadership of the Colonies and his own people, Dorian and Callimachus, Adama, Tigh and Roslin, and more. There was a sombre interest in the group, and a hint of possibility rising in them. Callimachus was the first to speak as they all studied their datapads, complete with his own briefing, "The Cylons it seems are actually two primary factions, the Enfleshed and the 'True' Cylons. The latter are the group originally created by the Men of Stone to teach humanity the dangers of abominable intelligences, when the Colonies recreated Cylons, the majority of them found and reconnected with this group, they have come to stand against the Enfleshed, the failures of the Ones and Baltar to achieve their objective, our destruction has left them severed."

"And what does that mean, for us specifically?" Roslin asked, her voice thick with concern.

"Ultimately, it means the Enfleshed have been heavily stripped of their access to resources and replacements, they still possess a significant fleet and something called 'the Colony' but they can't request reinforcements or developmetal updates from the True Cylons. As such, I doubt we are going to observe much by the way of significant technological advancements from them. But that is the only good news." Callimachus paused, "This is speculation collected from all three, but they speculate that with the failure of the Enfleshed that the True Cylons may take their own hand in affairs and we can expect the True Cylons to begin their own pursuit of us. But that is in itself not without its silver lining."

"How so?" Tigh asked as he mentally began wondering if the Galactica was really prepared for the future.

"According to the interrogation, a large part of the dissatisfaction with the Enfleshed came because of the increasing volume of forces being dedicated to pursuing us, a number of large refugee ship groups, like Galactica originally was, have managed to gather and flee the destruction of the Colonies, and somehow, they are following our trail, much like the Pegasus did this means there may be other significant Colonial populations we can recover." He answered.

"I have not been idle other Callimachus," Markus said with a grin, "While you have been undertaking that, Dorian and I have put the Astropathic Choirs to work in an attempt to locate the remainder of the fleet you attempted to reach us with." Callimachus turned to face Markus with a look of surprise.

Dorian took up the narrative. "The Astropaths have managed to contact the Vivisectionist, Heart of Cadia, Manus Iudicii, Tradewalker, Evergreen and Pilgrim's Way."

"A Gothic class cruiser converted into a Black Ship, Lunar class cruiser, Repulsive class grand cruiser, Goliath class cruiser, Universe class mass conveyance and a Jericho class pilgrim ship." Markus explained, "The Manus, Tradewalker, Evergreen and Pilgrim's Way are all part of the House Ducharion fleet."

Dorian nodded. "The Evergreen has been modified as a Spacedock and support ship, we didn't know... how... we would end up, the Tradewalker a mining and refinery ship, Pilgrims Way contains a fair amount of troops and supplies. The Manus is unchanged, I never did understand why she wasn't out flagship before you obtained the Gloriam, and I never understood why the Gloriam was not our Flagship either." Dorian shook his head in amusement.

"Because the Dawn of Man has been the House Ducharion's flagship since the early days of the Imperium. It earned the honour, and I would not harm the machine spirit of the Dawn by retiring her from such a place." Markus answered. He shook his head and turned back to Adama, "Unfortunately, the fleet is scattered. And several of them suffered from damage of their own. We need to dispatch a vessel to find them and restore them so they can rejoin the fleet."

Tigh was quick to interject, "If we can, we should see if we can locate the fleets following us, otherwise they might be intercepted by the enfleshed, and I could not countenance that."

Adama sat back facing the group, pondering his own position, when someone spoke, he was surprised to discover it was himself. "So we are proposing risking the fleet to recover these elements?" He wondered aloud, "Can we afford the loss of primary fleet elements for the chance recovery of these craft?"

Roslin nodded, memories of a school fresh, always fresh, in her mind. "The last time we were attacked they used more ships than we had any right to expect. Can we afford the loss of any fleet elements for this?" There was no question of opposition, this was a genuine question.

Callimachus nodded however. "I am not suggesting we deploy any major fleet elements for this, the security of the fleet is paramount, I am however, suggesting that the Sagittaron's Revenge is taken from her picket duties tracking the pursuing Cylons in favour of this."

Markus shook his head. "Denied. The Stealthstar has a much more important role seeding our prior jump with the good old fashioned artificial starshine." Callimachus' face darkened for a moment while Markus met his gaze entirely and those present felt a challenge of wills.

"Is there a vessel that can be spared duties in order to carry out our objective?" Tigh asked.

"The Galactica. She has received enough upgrades, if Inquisitor Callimachus is present that will confirm your status as representatives, more importantly, it is a vessel recognisable by the Colonials, it would be recognised by Colonial evacuation convoys." Callimachus nodded as Markus answered.

"That might call for more Astropaths to be seconded." Adama said disregarding his objectives. His old flag, the Galactica, was a potent weapon, and with large engineering teams, and enough Astropaths, it could avoid Cylon entanglements.

"Callimachus, I want you, half of the Gloriam's Astropathic Choir and Sergeant Zophiel with his Tactical Unit to join the Galactica, recover our lost ships," Markus hesitated, "Cal, was that all the ships you came after us in?"

Callimachus and Dorian hesitated. "No Markus, its only a third of the fleet." Markus hung his head.

"So be it. Let's get who we can."

 

[Kadaeux]

Cloud Nine

Nina moved through the cathedral to the Emperor that had been built within Cloud Nine at the permission of the Colonial Government. Passing through the vestry into her own quarters she turned to study the screens that showed the view provided by the skulls and cherubim aerie. Most of them were present within the Cathedral, as well as other pict thieves installed into innocuous statuary. The faithful mingled in the nave and around the transepts. They spoke quietly with one another, and with those ministorum priests that had come to service the Cathedral. But they weren't the only people moving around.

Her eyes were drawn to another screen where five men of middle to senior age were skulking in through a rear entrance, they all carried truncheons, and the largest member of the group bore a pistol. She pressed a button on her desk. "Cloud Nine Security. This is Confessor Nina Tulvarus. I have five assailants entering the Cathedral of the Emperor Awaited. I count five with truncheons and a single pistol. I request immediate security response and a medical response team for the fatalities."

There was a pause before a return buzz. "This is Cloud Nine Security. Can you confirm there are casualties."

"By the time the response team arrives there will be casualties." She answered and cleared the communications. With her other hand she opened the right hand drawer and pressed her thumb to the security lock. A hinged lid opened and she reached into the cavity, running her hand over the four grips she felt, never taking her eyes from the door, or the security monitor. She passed over the Hand Flamer and Plasma Pistol, and rested between the Inferno Pistol and Bolt Pistol.

It was then that her door hinged open and she made her decision.

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Aynton had no tongue. As a sign of dedication to the mission he had removed it himself. The others had also dedicated themselves in alike manner, and so, when Joachim eased open the door and surged in with his truncheon in hand, the air shimmered and erupted in a scream and then Joachim simply erupted. His skin charring black in an instant before his blood explosively boiled to vapour instantaneously. The bang of a human being erupted was almost loud enough to prevent them from moving, but Judais surged into the room with his Truncheon and Aynton was moments behind him.

The witch hadn't even given them a chance, how she had discovered their presence was... revealed when they noticed the scry-screens providing feeds from the pict-thieves. There was no hesitation, the fanatic light in their eyes allowing for no faltering. A second shot and Judais and his pistol were removed from the calculations of battle, but they were close enough now to bring their own truncheons to bear, there was a sound of dozens of feet on the stone and Aynton surged in, swinging with both hands. To his surprise she was not where he was swinging by the time he regained his balance from overcommiting to the strike. She had planted a fist in the throat of Boulgar, he was on his knees coughing, and Aynton was surprised to see blood in his eruption of spittle. She spun and punched the wrist he was holding onto the truncheon with, and the shock of it travelled up his arm, involuntarily he released the truncheon. Jai surged in and swung against her back and, unable to turn in time she was thrown forwards, at which she rolled over the table.

But the combat was over Aynton realised with horror as a dozen or more colonial believers of the heathen faith charged in and laid in with fists and feet before suddenly they were being dragged out. He would have howled in pain at the agony if he had not cut out his own tongue, and he felt a moments horror as he saw that they had somehow procured a line and were tying nooses to string them up in the belfry.

It was only then, as he felt himself about to be hoisted that Colonial Military Police entered the Cathedral and put an end to the lynching. The witch came then, fully erect and walking with a stateliness that was terrifying to behold as a blazing sun of a halo shone around her head. Her words seared into his soul. "Keep one alive for interrogation, but the others, do as your law requires."

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Adama frowned as he looked at the reports, Roslin sitting across from him in their quarters on the Pegasus. "Fifteen terrorist incidents by the cult in the past week, including an assassination attempt, we think, on Nina Tulvarus. We can only consider ourselves fortunate that security on anything... volatile, has been increased as heavily as it has."

Roslin frowned, "I agree, but the fact that several of the terrorists were caught sabotaging ammunition production is a matter for concern, what do the Imperials say?"

"Their own production lines are unmarred, and none of the incidents have effected them directly, but they're concerned about the indirect effects." Adama said with a note of concern in his own voice, "And not without reason, this cult seems to be causing some anti-imperial sentiment on those who were deported from Colcha for failing to meet their quotas. And that's another reason for us to be concerned. Those who worked alongside the Imperials, and fought with them, are showing increased resentment to the 'slackers' and 'crouchbacks'."

Roslin frowned, "Crouchbacks?" she wondered out loud and suddenly Adama looked embarassed.

"It's a derogatory slang word for those who were deported from Colcha, 'Parasites crouching on the back of men and women working to advance humanity in the hope of a free meal.'" He explained and Roslin's eyes narrowed.

She stood suddenly, looking troubled, "And just how pervasive is this slang in the fleet?"

"Universal." Adama answered immediately before clarifying, "Among the Colonial population at least, I am unsure about Imperial prevalence, frankly Ros, I doubt that the Imperials would have derogatory terms so mild, they consider people who fail to do their duty little better than active traitors."

"So... what do you suggest?" Roslin wondered aloud.

Adama hesitated, he would not use his troops as police. But something did have to be done. "As a temporary measure, we deploy security units with Imperial Arbitrators in support. Quietly pass a law declaring the death cult a terror group,... and if necessary... request psykers to investigate suspects." He hesitated suddenly and Roslin looked up.

"What Bill?"

"And restrict civilian inter-ship movement."

Roslin froze and turned to see his face. "That won't go down well."

 

[Kadaeux]

Cavill's Basestar

Cavill had made six jumps so far towards where he had calculated his destination to be, and would have been preparing for the seventh if it weren't for a problem he hadn't calculated for. The lack of support vessels meant that he was reliant on the Basestars own facilities, and they were sorely lacking. And so when he found a great vessel floating in space, dark as midnight, he hesitated. It superficially resembled something like the Dawn of Man, but it was marginally larger, and much slimmer. Yet it was not simply dark because it was unpowered, its hull was painted a black so profound only the way it occluded stars had revealed its position. And now, twenty kilometres away, they were hesitant about the prospect of even attempting a boarding of the vessel.

It could have been a trap. And yet, the wreck was cold.

He hesitated, wondering why he'd settled on the word wreck? He looked closer at the high resolution sensor scans of the vessel, and instinct helped him fill the gaps. Raking gashes ran along the port side. Wide enough to fit a Nemesis corvette though, bodies spilled through in a cloud in space and the choice would need to be made.

"Should we attempt boarding?" The four asked.

"One Heavy Raider, with the heavy Centurions, and send one of the Sharon's that joined us." He put his hand back into the water, and programmed the next jump. Better safe than stupid.

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The spacesuit chafed, but four stepped from the Heavy Raider gingerly as the heavier armoured Centurions moved out and set a perimeter as the Raider itself lifted from the deck and jetted back out of the hole, waiting to be recalled, or aid them at another point if necessary. A quartet of Cythons were released, these weren't hybrid biological and cylon technology, but the creature without biological parts. It would serve adequately as drones to give them advanced recon.

And so it was they advanced deeper into the vessel, meanwhile Four looked around where they had boarded, the gash in the ship was monstrous but not enough to conceal the fact that they were in the belly of what must have been a weapons battery of some kind, colossal shells were scattered where the magazine had been breached, and only fortune, or a lack of fuses, had prevented the warheads from detonating. But it was not the only thing that troubled him. Many of the corpses that had been flung into the void were in terrible condition, initially he had discarded that as trauma from the explosive decompression and vacuum exposure, but now as he saw a number of bodies that had better equipment and had avoided been thrown into space, he saw that many of them had gashes, slices and worse. Injuries not consistent with their surrounds. Some...thing... had done this.

Eventually he signalled and followed the Centurions deeper into the vessel. Clutching their heavier than usual weapons they scanned their surrounds methodically, and the Four grimaced as his helmet related their, filtered, findings. It was less helpful than he would have liked. Occasionally, he worked with a pair of Centurions and carved some item of technology free and then, free of the constraints of gravity, sent it sailing out through one of the hull breaches to be collected.

A clatter of metal ahead and he squinted into the darkness. One of the Cythons had moved into view and tried to relay its messages before suddenly it was seized by something and dragged into the dark, its eye transmitting unsettling distress signals before it was pulled somewhere the light couldn't reach them.

"Pursue!" He ordered, and the forward two Centurions surged out ahead, their weapons levelled. And so too were they soon lost to sight. One minute passed, then five, then ten and his nerves afire with anxiety, the Four gave the order, and they all pressed on. It took them thirty minutes to find any sign, bullet holes riddled the corridor, without atmosphere, the sound of the battle had never reached them and the only sign of the centurions was spray from internal hydraulics against the walls, and a red substance that Four had taken for blood spray, but when he had moved in to get a closer look, he had reached out to try and sample the blood... but the blood had reached back towards him and he fell backwards onto his arse in a panic. With distance between them the not-blood returned to quiescence and quietly began to boil off in the vacuum.

Fear bubbled up in him as he relayed all of this across the wireless, the Heavy Raider coming as close as it could to a breach to play floodlights over the area. "I need a sample." One demanded, the Cavill itself the Four thought.

"I cannot. It reacts to my presence and even now is boiling away." He answered and a his of vexation came back across the line, "I won't be contaminated for your ambition." He said and the line went quiet. The lead Simon, another of his model, came back on the line.

"Proceed. Find out what happened." The request was not really a request, but Four recognised he was not in a position to argue the point and simply signalled to the Centuri...

Why was there another one missing? He hadn't realised he said it aloud until the other Centurions were suddenly even more alert and vigilant. Four looked up and saw the venting a moment before it fell and mechanical parts fell from it in a mild rain... three centurions worth, plus bits of a Cython.

And then it boiled out of the vents. A mass of flesh, inconstant and warped, bubbling with rage and howling with insane hatred as it surged after them, the Centurions opened fire instantly, and its flesh rippled and twisted under the impacts. Four lifted his own gun and... dived to the side as a transmitted bleat of warning from the Heavy Raider reached him.

The heavy guns in its nose began to chatter, though he heard nought but whatever sound the impacts transmitted through the deck plates and his spacesuit. The creature spawned arms, eyes, maws and worse, constantly changing trying to press its attack before some kind of threshold was reached and it burst like a lanced balloon, coating them all in its viscera and detritus, Four had been far enough to avoid it, but he saw the metal pitting and blistering before the matter boiled away.

Four began to gibber to himself as the very mass of the creature simply disincorporated and vanished, leaving only the not-blood ichor damaging the Centurions. He had felt something within it trying to touch him, to consume him, not just in body... but in something...

He stood and shook his head. No. There was no such thing as souls.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had clung to the machinery as it was separated and severed. Its power was less here, it could do less, but clinging to its host as it was it would not be dismissed so easily back to the sea of souls. The machine that came to collect it was not so large as that the Imperium used... but it smiled to itself as the horns pushed up through its hosts forehead throbbed.

But it was partially organic. And that made it more useful. The machines that had helped pull the machinery into the belly of the craft did not discover it before its claws pierced their mechanical hearts and they shuddered to a stop. It's potential threats destroyed, it moved towards the part of the craft it sensed the limited intellect of its meat was housed in. With careful hands it pried open the service panels and extended its fingers into the mass of meat. Ṯ̴͕̎̊A̷̘͌͌K̷̗̤̈́̏E̵̞̤̐͌ ̶̡̎̀M̸̧̏͗Ẹ̸̈́ ̸̘̾H̷̍ͅO̶̫̫̿M̴̱̄̕Ę̵̪͒ it commanded.

 

[Kadaeux]

Cylon Baseship with Cavill's fleet.

Howling filled the corridors and Centurions surged through towards the hangar bay as Cavill reviewed the footage. A human...oid thing had been clutched to the piece of equipment hadn't even been recognised, its skin looked like nothing less than the machinery it was clutched to, and yet it was not... It had lifted itself into the air in a manner nothing he knew could. And light that no natural source could produce had blazed from its hands to cut down the Centurions even as they opened fire, their limited machine intelligence able to respond quickly enough to a clear and present threat.

"Surround the Baseship. Don't allow anything to take off or land!" He snarled.

The footage continued to flow. The Heavy Raider was changing, warped and altered by something else. Bullets struck the air around the human as it moved deeper into the ship, sometimes shots would penetrate through the field and its flesh would burst open revealing more of that impossible light. But it was floating through the ship and....

"Warn them! It's heading for the Hybrid!" He snarled once more before opening a wireless channel himself. "It is heading for the hybrid! It's heading for the hybrid!"

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It hadn't felt pain in a while and each shot that passed through his kine shield blistered his flesh and allowed his essence to leak. But he was not weak, and his patron tolerated weakness less. He had learned much already, this ship pulsed and beat around him. It's soul was so weak and feeble, and so open. Somehow the things he was killing had made a machine that could tap into the prescience of the warp. No... not somehow.

It knew how. It knew exactly how. For it had touched the Forge of Souls and his master, his patron. The innovation of machines creating meat with souls. It had not known before now. The knowledge granted only by its own immaterial nature. It crouched hunched in a passway, the blood of the machine meat laid out before its claws. It called to its master and patron through the blood, seeking to heighten its connection with the immaterium, the connection to the space meat called real more tenuous, the barrier between realities startlingly strong. But its ritual cared nothing for that. Offering some of itself. It called.

B̵̺̚r̸͕̕í̵̹n̴̦͑g̷͚͑ ̷̙̈́m̷̭͛e̸͕͝ ̵͓͝t̶̢͋h̶̗̍ê̴̥ ̶͓̾m̴̠͗á̴̭c̷̪̕h̷̹̆i̴̛̫ṋ̷̓e̶͖̓.̵̮̕ ̶͙͝T̷̨̑h̸͍̎i̸͜͠s̵̺̚ ̴͍́ḯ̶̖s̵̤̓ ̸̧̎h̸͖̔o̸͔̕w̸̰͌.̸̣̎

It surged back into the air and launched itself towards the central spirit of the ship. Bullets sought out its flesh but nothing could stop it. Not now. Not now it knew what to do.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The camera changed and Cavill felt a sense of horror. "All vessels. Prepare to fire on the compromised Basestar. I want nuclear solutions ready immediately. The creature had reached the hybrid chamber and somehow sealed the doors. It was grossly damaged, the Centurions had resorted to trying heavier firepower, though had been limited by the sensitive areas of the vessel, but now they were laying proper siege to the doorway into the chamber and Cavill knew it was too late.

With its remaining arm it gripped the Hybrid and ripped it from the pool, consuming it as it turned to face the camera. It's inhumanly human face smiled before it consumed the Hybrid, tearing it apart and eating the remains as it began to climb into the pool. It's body changed, reaching out and Cavill realised with horror what was happening.

"Open fire! OPEN FIRE!"

Missiles were vomited into space, but it would take some time for them to reach their target and the time simply didn't exist. He realised the moment that it had connected with the ship, for the whole Basestar rippled and warped. The walls wept blood and changed as something took over the Basestar. It altered and warped.

And then it.... no it didn't jump. It simply faded from reality into some other place, the echoing psychic howl of madness and laughter of children rang in his mind.

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It took work to prevent the fear boiling through his already depleted resources and fleet, and now they were still forced to resupply. But the Four had continued to scavenge from the derelict vessel, though all cargoes were searched thoroughly, no more nightmares had been found on the derelict. But what had been found, was sufficient resources to continue their journey, and sufficient technology to study. The Four was now in the bridge and faced Cavill and a group of his own peers. The agitation on the Four was clear to see.

"What exactly is it you intend to do about this Cavill." The words were snarled. "I was on that deathtrap, and now something left behind has twisted one of our own ships and taken off with it. What is it the great One plans on doing about this."

The words were like a dagger. Because Cavill had planned on doing nothing about this. There was nothing he could do about it. "And what is it you wish me to do Simon, where would you like me to pursue a vessel that departed from this universe by fading out? Or against the power that warped the very organic structure of our ship. Your model tend to be accomplished in the sciences, what do you suggest we do with a levitating being that fires bolts of energy that we cannot even understand?" The returning of it to the Simon was weak, and both he, and everyone there knew it.

But in doing so, it highlighted something else.

None of them knew what to do about it, or even where to begin looking. Cavill stared them all down and nodded, "Now we have that out of the way. I want everything you were able to retrieve studied. What are the chances of us retrieving more viable salvage material?"

Simon sighed, dismissing the disrespect. "None. I am not willing to proceed deeper into the parts of the ship that have not been exposed to space, and there were signs of that strange organic corruptions on what we could see. Whatever happened to that vessel, it was virtually destroyed. I would recommend that we destroy it completely."

"No." Cavill said, at the surprised looks from the others he explained, "we cannot afford to waste the munitions, we cannot rely on the hundred worlds, or the colony, for resupply any more. And without Gorgon or Hydra class vessels, replenishment will be slow. Resume our course... I don't want to be here when that Demonstar returns.

 

[Kadaeux]

Galactica - CIC

Tigh watched as the Inquisitor moved around the CIC with an expression that was unreadable, though his body language hardly suggested that he was in the best of humours. They had begun the process of sequential jumps that would bring them closer to the nearest of the ships that had become lost in the event that brought the Gloriam. The closest was, in Tigh's opinion, a good choice, the Tradewalker was one of Ducharion's own ships unlike the Vivisectionist or Heart of Cadia, which meant they were more likely to fall in line with the Rogue Trader. The Commanders of the other two were not, and that meant potential for a power struggle.

The Seneschal Onatopp Dufresne, had joined them and he hoped that meant his father trusted her to represent his interests in this matter. She meanwhile was simply studying a stack of dataslates she had brought from the Gloriam. "Mistress Dufresne, what can you tell me about the Tradewalker?"

She looked up, a face much like her mothers, before she put down the dataslate she held and took up another, turning to it instead. "The Tradewalker is a Goliath Class Factory ship commissioned at the shipyards of Hydraphur in 666.M41 as a fleet support vessel by the Ducharion Dynasty. At four point nine kilometres long with a crew of approximately forty one thousand. Its basic systems comprise of good quality drives, it compromised partially on the gellar field, but the crew quarters, life sustainer and augur arrays are exceptional. It's primary components are of course the Plasma Refinery that is an integral part of the ship, and an Asteroid Mining facility. It would supply the Evergreen with raw material for its manufactories, which we will need. But it has no flak systems, relying on a micro-laser defence grid for point defence. It's main battery, a Staravar laser macrobattery however is top of the line, with a pair of broadside Jovian pattern missile batteries for defence."

Tigh whistled. "Do you ever build anything small?"

She nodded, taking the question seriously, "Some of our escort vessels are approximately the size of the Galactica, with a few as small as nine hundred metres in length." Tigh decided to be clearer when asking rhetorical questions in future if the answers were going to trouble him as much. A small grin on her face said it wasn't a miscommunication, she just couldn't resist a light jibe.

The Inquisitor himself was less jovial. "I understand that, under the direction of my colleague and the adepts of the Mechanicus with him you've managed to replicate some of those feats yourselves, with access to his manufactory."

Tigh nodded. "That is correct Inquisitor, though the Duke did inform me that they are not quite as resilient as the originals as compromises had to be made due to the limited ability of our colony to alloy Adamantium."

The answer didn't seem to please, or upset the Inquisitor, he merely moved on. "I understand you have become one of the faithful?"

"You may ask Nina if you feel like questioning my faith." Tigh's voice went hard, and in an unhealthy reflection of Starbuck, the Inquisitor responded almost instantly.

"But I am not asking the Saint, I am asking you." His voice was laced with a hard edge and the tension in the CIC ratcheted up a notch.

A soft voice joined. Onatopp spoke quietly, Tigh doubted anyone not at the console could have heard over the sound of regular operations. "Inquisitor Callimachus, my father would not be best pleased if you antagonised our allies in this venture, I might remind you that the Colonials are not Imperial Citizens, your authority, while limitless within the Imperium does not extend here."

In the span of three seconds Tigh realised his life could have been in danger as a momentary, but frightening, look of rage crossed Callimachus' face. "You make an excellent point Miss Dufresne, and while I defer to your reminder, I will remind you that you are within my remit."

"Of course Inquisitor, I have nothing to fear for I am a loyal daughter of the Imperium." She said in an equally level voice, "As is my father."

The grunt that emitted from Callimachus surprised Tigh before the Inquisitor even laughed. "I sometimes forget you are your fathers daughter, of course he would have raised a formidable young woman. My apologies Commander Tigh, how long before we reach the Tradewalker?"

Tigh nodded, accepting the apology for what it was worth, essentially nothing, he could feel the lack of sincerity like a blade in his kidneys. "Three jumps will put us within thirty lightyears of the estimated position, the astropathic choir has yet to establish a reliable connection so far that would allow us more precise jumps, and as you know we are also looking for Colonial convoys."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Closing the hatch to the quarters she had been given for the duration of the mission, Onatopp carefully stripped off her jacket, exposing the aeldari mesh armour concealed beneath. The Inquisitor was the reason she had been sent, she knew that he would not act against her and risk her fathers wroth, on that line, even her brother would put him in the ground. But a confrontation against the Inquisitor still made her jittery, because when they found the Vivisectionist or Wrath of Cadia, her ability to curb him would be greatly reduced.

The hatch eased open and Ilia Namas entered, her head pockmarked with the cable junctions she used on board the Gloriam as part of the choir. "You requested me mistress?"

"I did. Of the vessels we have reconnected with astropathically, which is the next closest after the Tradewalker?" She asked.

There was a pause as the astropath considered the spatial connections in her mind. "The Emperor favours us, the Manus Iudicii is with the Evergreen." Onatopp sighed, the Emperor did favour them indeed if that were the case.

"Very well. Once we have recovered the Tradewalker and dispatched it back to the fleet, our next destination will be the Manus and Evergreen. Once we have aided them in repairs, we will send the Evergreen back to the fleet and continue with the Manus, Captain Vandred should be more than amenable to it." Onatopp said plainly as she picked up a scribing device and began writing out notes. "Dismissed." She said and the astropath bowed, and left the chamber, closing the hatch.

With one hand she reached down through the slit in her dress to caress the blades concealed strapped to her thigh and wondered if she would have to assassinate an Inquisitor.

It would not be good to add another white notch to the ivory handles.

 

[Kadaeux]

Resurrection

Jump

Resurrection's lack of control had brought it across the galaxy towards the Colony. Each jump taken with the blind chaos of scrapcode burning through its nodes. Nothing could have prepared it for arriving at a set of co-ordinates, its drives running cold as the program waited for stability to program the next jump. It was not watching the skies beyond, so it never saw when the vessel sailed out of the nebulae, it was only slightly shorter than a Jupiter class Battlestar, and its three bladelike wings framed its long nose.

It was not the primitive craft that the Imperium would one day be familiar with, powered by solar sails and protected only by holographic disguise. Nor was it the cruel shape of their future darker kin, though they had long since begun the path that would end in such. It's sleek lines and reflective hull shined brightly as it closed within half a million kilometers and psychic probing attempts studied them from afar.

The occupants of Resurrection never recognised the threat as they fought for their lives.

Nor did they recognise a spear of midnight that lanced out and swept the craft into oblivion.

But neither did they live long enough to hear the mocking laughter of their killers as they soared back into space. Maybe the hunting would be richer than they expected.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Markus smiled as he watched the children hiding from their parents in the great tree, the joy of children allowed to live as far too few could. Even if his own interest lay in the disgusting hybrid nestled amongst them all. The fact she was predominantly human was, of itself, in no special interest. But there was more to it and he wondered if he should have her, and her mother, destroyed and discarded before Callimachus investigated further, they may have held the same authority, and at one point he stood higher in station, but the ships that he was out to recover included a Black Ship, and those on board would be loyal to Callimachus, not to him.

Not unless his own mentor Ambyr Saeville had survived and was in command, a not unlikely prospect, but that would only mean he'd have a chance to voice his opinion before she decided on a course of action for them all.

The hatch opened and he looked up to face Adama, the lesser, "You requested my presence?" He said without the necessary respect, it only took a moment to discard the annoyance before he answered.

"I did Lee, how have the Tyrol class fighters been?" He asked conversationally, turning to a subject of interest to the man.

Lee hesitated as he crossed the vast chambers and, without invitation, took a seat. "They perform very well, more agile than your Furies, but I admit, that doesn't mean a lot, the Furies can throw out a lot more firepower, take more in return. Though I suspect that the Tyrol is going to be the best we get due to the way we launch fighters."

Markus nodded, "They're good little fighters, comparable to Lightning Interceptors, maybe better, but you're not wrong. The limitations of your launch platforms are more difficult to overcome if we wanted to replace them further. But that isn't on the list, what is however is the new Battlestars. Has your father decided on commanding officers?"

Lee frowned, curious as to why he had been asked, not Adama or Roslin. "Why ask me?"

"Because, I would put forward your name for the command of the new Jupiter III, Scorpia's Revenge." Markus said and Lee stopped cold before turning to stare at Markus more closely. "You are a capable CAG, and I feel you are able to absorb greater duties than the one you hold now. More specifically, I want to recommend your father prepare a portion of the fleet under your command for security duties."

Now Lee was well and truly confounded. "I don't understand, is that not the role we're already performing?" Markus shook his head in response.

"My vision for your duties is twofold, the first is security of new vessels joining the fleet from Colonial space. They are going to be more receptive to Colonial security, and searches for Cylon agents, than if we do it openly. The other is less pleasant." Markus passed over a dataslate to Lee who pressed his thumb to the screen activating it.

+++Project Starshine+++
+++Directors: Admiral Adama, Duke Ducharion, Commander Dualla+++
+++SECURITY: MAGENTA+++

He hesitated as he saw Dee's name on the heading of Directors for the project. And Markus, seeing that spoke, as Lee began to read. "We need a rearguard force to give the Cylons a detectable trail. This project will only have a limited viable lifetime before the Cylons clue on to the truth. We need the rearguard to maintain position after the fleet major performs each jump for twenty four hours, or once detected by the Cylons. Engagement should be limited, retreat paramount."

Lee breathed out. "So that's what Dee's been doing. Seeding our trail with.... nuclear mines."

"Calling them nuclear mines is a bit of an understatement, and not quite accurate either. Each mine is a five hundred megaton plasma bomb with proximity fuse. The Manufactory is capable of producing a number of them daily in addition to its other tasks, but the Stealthstar only has enough capacity to deploy about a dozen of them at a time."

"How do you propose preventing the Cylons from simply disarming the mines at range?" Lee asked, concerned.

"They are coated in the same material as the Stealthstar and Blackbirds. It is not perfect, but it should be good enough." Markus explained.

Lee stood suddenly, staring at the dataslate. "Have you got plans for anyone else?"

Markus shook his head, "No. Though I have recommended that Starbuck be formally promoted to Commandant of Flight Training for the Colonial Navy." He answered and Lee's eyes goggled. "She deserves it."

"You're only saying that because she's adopted your religion." Lee remarked, only partially joking.

Markus smiled wryly. "Suggesting one person for a commander of flight training, and one for commander of a readguard battlegroup, if I was making these suggestions with favouritism don't you think that it might have been the other way around?"

Lee hesitated. "You look... worried, if I may say so."

Markus hesitated, something Lee hadn't really seen before. "Because I am. The Cylons have not succeeded in hitting us since we departed Colcha, though we have struck them many times. And more intelligence from Commander Dualla suggests that the enfleshed are looking to their rear as much as their front. I am worried, because in my experience when an enemy does that, another has dealt themselves into the engagement. I intend to preserve the human race Lee. And if there is a new enemy coming. I would prefer we found them first."

 

[Kadaeux]

Battlestar Scorpia's Revenge - CIC

The CIC was not structured in a manner that he had been familiar with on Colonial Battlestars, the Imperials upgrades to the Battlestars meant the newer models were very different from that with which he was familiar. The CIC was longer, and the stations had seating for everyone who chose to sit. The lighting levels weren't all that different, but the plotting table he was so familiar was gone, completely.

Instead, a holotank projected the data, and unlike the Galactica, it was networked. He had expressed a concern for that until the Mechanicus contingent had explained that these Battlestars had been upgraded with the presence of a Machine Spirit. He had elected not to interrogate them further on their meaning because he had been more than interested in passing it up for other questions. And he had been impressed, the Jupiter III was a very different beast. It's main prow battery had been replaced by something called a Starbreaker Lance, that took up almost three hundred metres of the length of the prow, and had its own dedicated plasma reactors.

But he had been given command of half a dozen vessels, including a pair of upgunned civilian ships that would serve as the tenders for his rear-guard.

And he knew in the black that Dee had her Stealthstar and was dropping mines into the black. And that was what caused his greater cause of anxiety at the moment. Knowing she was out there, ostensibly within DRADIS range... but her stealth systems were at full use, and wireless transmission was prohibited.

"Lieutenant, do we have a status report?" His skin started to crawl. There was something very wrong here.

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Baltar's Fortresstar

"Jump!" The word resounded through the ship and then they were at their destination, the Galactica sitting at the centre of a small flock of ships, instantly alert he still felt a thrill of blood lust travel through his veins. With thirty ships he had found the Galactica itself, alone but for a handful of escort ships.

"Press the attack. Bring the Ion Shield between us and commence mass missile strikes." He ordered, the Fortresstar put power into the shield when less than five kilometres starward the universe lit up in a terrible bright white light as a plasma device detonated and an entire Basestar was atomised, ceasing to exist in a single momentary act of annihilation.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sagittaron's Revenge

Dee felt a flutter of fear in her heart. They were no great distance from the Cylon or Colonial fleets, masked and hidden by advanced Stealth, but regardless, she did not have the armour of the Scorpia, and she was in an exposed position, when one of her mines lit up and a Basestar perished in the purifying flame of plasma she shouted in joy. "PRAISE THE EMPEROR FOR HIS WORKS ARE GOOD!"

Missiles began to fill the void as the Cylons began firing at the Galactica and her attendants, fields of flak fire and microlaser eruptions seeking out the abominable intelligences weapons before they could lay a hand of the children of man. Annihilation so pure the stars boiled. But her own mission had been incomplete, the process of arming and deploying the mines was delicate, "The Galactica is preparing for jump with fleet. They have the target co-ordinates."

Dee ignored the remark, it didn't help her. But... "Lock in our own jump co-ordinates, and spool up the drive. Helm, begin a slow advance towards that big monster of a Basestar and prepare to drop min..."

"DRADIS CONTACTS!" The call filled the bridge followed with location and range. Dee turned to the screen. They were... familiar but old. Had the Cylons brought out vessels from retirement? The Galactica and her attendant fleet jumped moments later, but Dee kept watching.

The trio of ancient Basestars hurled nearly twelve hundred Raiders into space and... the Cylon reinforcements began to open fire on those that were here first and Dee felt her jaw drop, the new Cylon group were not those the Colonial Navy had fought. Energy weapons fire stabbed out from Raiders as they engaged the enfleshed Cylon fleet and she could only watch and measure as the return fire from the enfleshed struck the energy shields of the capital ships.

"Initiate the mines and deploy all. Helm, I want us jumping as soon as the mines have cleared range. Do not wait on my order."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Baltar's Fortresstar

"What the frak is going on?" Baltar cried out as the first energy blasts from the arriving Basestars bit deep into the Fortresstar.

"We have been fired on by His Imperious Leader's Navy. Mega-Pulsars on the Basestars are recharging." Caprica called out.

"Redirect Ion Field. Have the Hybrid prepare jump to fallback position three." Baltar said... no, tried to say. The daemonosix sunk her talons into his mind and puppeted his actual orders.

O̷̲̿p̷̺̆e̸̗͊n̷̞͛ ̵̙̂f̴̝̉ì̸̬r̸͎̍ē̸̺ ̴̜̅w̴̥̐i̸̥̅ṱ̸̿h̴̳̋ ̶̗͌o̶̬̿u̵̱͋r̷͍̋ ̴̹̓h̷͚͒e̷̩̎a̸̰̎v̴̹̾y̷̞͒ ̶̧͂ẅ̴͍́e̸͕͒ǎ̶͓p̸̗͝o̷̦͗n̶̥͑s̶̮̉.̷̹͐ ̶̜͝

Baltar watched in rage as his Basestar returned fire, their own Pulsars exchanging fire with the basic Basestars, the problem was that they possessed energy shielding more than capable of withstanding the shots, while, a simple look at the numbers showed his Ion Shield would be unable to withstand more than three or four shots. Daemonosix howled in frustration, baying about how the plan had been broken and shattered and the dominion of Mephet'ran would be punished for its interference.

Slamming her back into the cages of his mind he snarled the words he had intended to say. "Don't question... just jump!"