The Hunted (nBSG)

[masterarminas]

Hudson and Vasquez turned off their welding torches as their cutting flames met. And Hudson grinned widely. “Sealed up tighter than a drum! All we need now is a six-pack, a pizza, and a deck of cards!”

Hicks came running around the corridor. And he groaned. “Rescue team on the way down,” he said scowling at the door. “ETA is about nine minutes.”

Hudson threw up his hands and he started to curse, he stopped and started to say something to Hicks, but then he bit his tongue and turned around, relighting the torch. “Nine minutes—we can’t cut through all of this in nine minutes.”

“Maybe we don’t have to,” said Vasquez. “Get the rest and meet me in Operations,” she said as she took off running.

“What is she thinking?” asked Hudson, and Hicks shoved him.

“Does it matter? Grab everyone and get to Operations! NOW, Marine!”

****************************************************

Gorman looked up from the monitors as Hicks and Hudson rushed in and began to grab the weapons piled on the table. “Where’s Burke, Ripley, and the girl?” he asked.

The Lieutenant, who had woken up only a short time ago stood and he grabbed a pistol and chambered a round. “Ripley and the girl are in Medical—Burke had to go to the can. Have they got in?”

“Negative, Lieutenant,” said Hicks. “Bishop called in—a rescue party will hit the landing pad in . . . eight minutes, thirty seconds.”

Gorman’s face melted in a look of relief and he holstered the pistol and picked up some of the excess weapons and gear. “Vasquez?”

“Meeting her in Operations—Hudson, get this gear there, now. Lieutenant, are you with me?”

“Operations? There is no exit to the outside in Operations!” Gorman said as he slung a flame unit and a satchel of grenades.

“She thinks there is, Sir,” Hicks slammed a magazine home and chambered a round and he headed out of the small room towards Medical. “Get going, Hudson—we’ll meet you there!” Gorman shouted, actually getting the name right this time.

Hudson opened his mouth and then he shook his head. “That’s right, just leave me to haul all of this SHIT!” And then he slid the gear into a backpack, picked up the other flame unit and his pulse rifle, along with the medical kit and the comm and flares and he stumbled with his arms full and staggered down the corridor towards Operations.

****************************************************

Carter J. Burke looked through the clear doors of medical at the sleeping Ripley and Newt. And then, with shaking hands, he looked over at the two stasis tubes holding live face-huggers. “I’m sorry,” he said—he whispered—to the two sleeping forms on the other side of the glass. “But this is more important than a washed-out pilot and an orphan.”

He turned and took three steps and he laid one hand on the stasis tube, and for a moment, he paused. But then, he gritted his teeth as the alien inside began to writhe in an attempt to get to him.

Burke put his second hand on the tube and then he spun around as he heard the clatter of boot steps. Gorman and Hicks charged in and the Marine officer stopped and looked at Burke. “I thought you were in the can?”

“I-I was,” he stammered. “Then I came down to check on them. What’s wrong?” he asked as Hicks barged into Medical and roused the woman and child inside.

“Rescue team is landing—get to Operations. We are leaving this nightmare,” Gorman said.

Burke swallowed. “We cannot leave them, Lieutenant,” he said, gesturing towards the stasis tubes. “Their value to the Company is inestimable—we have to take them with us.”

Gorman stared at the junior executive from Weyland-Yutani and he shook his head. “Out the question, Mister Burke—now MOVE.”

But Carter J. Burke stepped forward and put his hand on Gorman’s chest. “Your superiors are well-paid to do as the Company asks, Gorman. Now I am ordering you to take those tubes with us.”

The thunder of a pulse rifle exploded and Burke ducked down on the floor, his arm covering his head, as first one and then the second of the tubes—and the alien specimen inside them—exploded.

“Like hell we are,” said Ripley as she pointed the smoking pulse rifle at Burke’s stomach.

“Do you have any idea how much those specimens were worth?” Burke exclaimed.

“The Company can bill me; I’m already running a tab,” she said.

The exec balled one fist, but then he heard the click of a hammer cocking into place and felt cold metal pressing against the back of his head. “Don’t even think about it, Burke,” the Marine said in a very cold voice. “NOW MOVE!”

****************************************************

Hicks entered Operations carrying Newt in one arm and his pulse rifle in the other—Hudson was shaking his head and backed up against the far wall, “No man, hell no, she’s crazy, she’s lost it.”

Vasquez was laying out overlapping lines of plastic explosive across the expansive windows—she finished and embedded a detonator and then raised the interior shields.

“This is your plan? It’s thirty feet to the ground, Vasquez!” Hicks exclaimed and she threw him a pack.

“I recovered twenty meters of climbing line from the ruins of the APC, Corp,” she said as she wired the detonators to the clacker and she smiled, “FIRE IN THE HOLE!” She yelled and then pulled the trigger twice.

The BOOM of the explosion rocked Operations and she hit the controls—the interior shield slid back down into the floor—and the armored windows were GONE. Only fragments remained.

Hicks looked around the room and he tied off one end of the line to a support beam, and he nodded. “GO.”

Vasquez vaulted up to the rim, the wind howling like mad, and tossed the coil over the side. She grinned and then she jumped and slid thirty feet to the ground below.

“Hudson,” said Gorman, but the short-timer didn’t move. “HUDSON!”

“Man, oh man, oh man,” he whined as he slung his rifle and the heavy pack and slid down—but unlike Vasquez, he wound up landing on his ass.

“Ripley,” Hick instructed.

“Newt,” she began, and Hicks nodded.

“I’ve got her, GO!”

And she slung the rifle over her head and one shoulder and then zipped down to join the other two.

Gorman looked up and he tied the final knot in a sling and he stepped up to Newt. “Put your legs here and here, and one arm here,” he ordered, and the girl did, and then he lifted her up and put the final loop over Hicks head and shoulder. “I’ve got the rear, Corporal Hicks,” he said as he helped the Marine up.

Hicks nodded and he looked down at the girl. “Close your eyes—it’s just like an amusement park ride, honey,” he said—and when she did, he jumped away from the edge and slid down the nylon line.

“Your turn, Burke,” Gorman said as he turned around, and then he cursed. Burke was gone. “BURKE!” he yelled. And he swore. He leaned over the edge. “GO ON! I’LL GET BURKE AND JOIN YOU!”

Hicks waved and then he and Ripley, and Vasquez and Hudson began to move towards the distant landing pad—keeping a careful eye on the surrounding terrain in the fading light of the gas giant overhead.

He turned, and Burke staggered back in hold one tube with a dead alien inside. “It’s dead—but it is worth millions,” he said.

Gorman sighed. And he shot the tube, splashing the goo and the dead alien on Burke’s suit. “Down the line, NOW,” he snarled.

“You’re making a big mistake,” Burke growled as he grabbed the line and stood in the window. “When we get back, I’ll have you bro-KEEEENNNNNNNN!” Burke screamed as Gorman pushed him off the edge and he slid down the line to the ground, where he managed to land on his face.

“Damn if that didn’t feel good,” he said as he hopped up and joined the idiot below.

[MondoMage]

Yep, even now, Burke's still an ass. If a dead alien is worth millions, a working FTL drive should be several orders of magnitude moreso. If he can keep from getting shot for being such a prick, that is.

[Borgholio]

Well at the moment he's just a greedy corporate sleaze. It never progressed to the part where the marines wanted to waste him on the spot. So he might yet live.

[MondoMage]

Well at the moment he's just a greedy corporate sleaze. It never progressed to the part where the marines wanted to waste him on the spot. So he might yet live.

True, but his presence is going to paint a very bad picture of the state of the Earth to the Colonials... he's going to be representing Weyland-Yutani (and the other corporations) whether he likes it or not. And while Ripley and the other survivors will do good credit for the people of Earth (especially in the eyes of the Colonial military, I would think), Burke is not going to make a very good representative for the government of Earth (which for all intents and purposes appears to be the Corporations). He may be slimy and manipulative (if inept), but Roslin and Zarek will eat him alive.

[Borgholio]

You know I was thinking that he and Baltar would get along just fine....

[Dass.Kapital]

Not to mention that flesh Cylons with inhibitors might be a better 'model' than anything like Bishop's kind...?

Would Weyland-Yutani be that stupid....Me thinks they'd be stupid enough to try...

Indeed, eventually......Burke is going to meet Baltar....*Shudders*.......

[Skywalker_T-65]

Indeed, eventually......Burke is going to meet Baltar....*Shudders*.......

*la la la I'm not listening*


In all seriousness though, that is not going to be pretty for anyone...

[MondoMage]

The potential for political wrangling amongst the various factions that exist is simply astounding. The military folks (Terran and Colonial) are most likely going to be both amused and horrified at the mess that the civilians are going to make as everyone jockeys for what each of them considers to be the most advantageous position. Adama is going to have to keep a tight rein on things to keep things from getting completely out of hand. The fact that Colonial FTP tech is going to be highly sought after will be a blessing and a curse.

[masterarminas]

“Prince, Anubis Actual,” the wireless spoke into the pilot’s helmet. “I don’t like this talk of hostile lifeforms—the fourth Raptor is on the way down with full external loads.”

“Copy, Anubis Actual,” Hamish answered. Since the small Battlestar normally carried only two Raptors, the Admiral had asked for volunteers for two more—and aggravated by the actions of the media, Hamish had volunteered. So had Racetrack, who was flying the second of three Raptors loaded with Marines—but not fully loaded. They still had room for eight survivors among them.

“Coming up on the beacon, Prince,” Jester called out from the ECO station. “All Marines stand ready for deployment—arming cannon pod,” he continued and Prince saw the weapons station console come to life. Each of his Raptors carried just the one pod for this flight, but weight considerations with a full troop bay meant his other hardpoints were empty.

“It sure isn’t a vacation world, Prince,” Jester said. “High winds, barely breathable air, cold, lack of surface water . . . penal world maybe, but who in their right mind would colonize this place?”

“Certainly Acheron is a nasty bugger of a planet, Jester, but it does has a certain charm to it—and if those sensor readings are accurate, looks as if there is a sizeable amount of tylium ore in the crust.”

“Didn’t say it wasn’t a valuable world, Prince, but damn if I would want to live here,” he paused, “coming up on the lower edge of the cloud cover . . . now,” he said as the Raptor finally descended into moderately clear air.

“Hello,” Prince whispered as he saw the rough colony laid out below him. And his DRADIS showed the location of the automatic landing beacon ahead. And something else—there was a massive structure in the distance, easily twice the size of the Great Pyramid on Virgon. “Would you look at that,” he whispered. “Whoever these people are, they can build, Jester.”

“Recording,” the ECO reported.

“Excellent,” Prince answered and then he blinked. “What the . . .,” he whispered and he triggered his flood lights as he went to hover mode.

The sudden bright light illuminated the ground below—and a sea of writhing creatures bared their fangs at the Raptor high above them.

“FRACK!” cried the Marine commander—Lieutenant Tamara Mayne. “There are hundreds of those things down there!”

“And they are moving toward the colony structures,” Jester said tightly. “I think we need to get down and grab our passengers and get the frack out of here, Prince.”

“I do believe you might be correct, old boy,” Hamish said quietly.

“Marines, I want a perimeter around the landing pad! Unload the heavy weapons,” snapped Tamara. “If it ain’t human, kill it!”

“Looks like a welcoming committee,” Prince said as he approached the pad and set down. A single human male was standing there—looking very nervous. The hatch was open even before the skids touched the tarmac and the Marines flooded out with weapons at the ready.

Tamara walked up to the waiting man, “Lieutenant Tamara Mayne, Colonial Marine Corps—where are the rest?”

Bishop nodded—her Greek was atrocious, but he managed to translate the gist very quickly. “They are coming now—the xenomorphs are very dangerous, Lieutenant. Their outer carapace resists small arms fire and their blood is highly acidic in nature—what Colony are you from?”

“Libran,” she snapped. “This just gets better and better, Marines—we need to take them down at range.”

“I am not familiar with that Colony—or with your dropship,” Bishop said in a confused voice. “Is this all that you brought?”

“Raptors can hold eight troops plus the crew—I brought myself and fifteen Marines; you did want a place to sit on the ride to orbit, right?” She considered the man—he was unarmed. She unbuckled her pistol, and offered it to him.

He shook his head. “I am not a Marine, Lieutenant Mayne. I am a . . .,” he began.

“Ma’am, folks coming in!” the platoon sergeant barked.

Tamara and Bishop trotted up to the perimeter as four adults—one carrying a child—came hurrying in. Three wore uniforms and armor, but all four were carrying weapons.

Bishop spoke. “They neither speak nor understand your language, but I can translate.”

“Tell them to get the kid aboard a Raptor,” she said, and then she cursed. “Marines! North-east!” she shouted as she raised her heavy rifle and began firing at the on-coming wave of alien creatures.

Her guests needed no translation of that as they turned and three of them began adding their fire—the fourth of the strange looking Marines held a weapon that literally belched a stream of burning gel into the creatures.

Tamara blinked at that, but she didn’t have time as the creatures just kept coming and coming—she was switching magazines and watching in shock the carapaces of the creatures shrugged off some of the rounds. But not all. And she smelled the stench of their acid blood and saw it melting away the edge of the tarmac with incredible speed.

“DANGER CLOSE!” shouted Prince over the wireless and Tamara and the Marines pulled back—a Raptor in the sky swooped down and fired a salvo of rockets into the creatures, momentarily breaking up the wave.

“GET ABOARD!” she yelled pulling on the arm of one of the stranded humans—the Marine turned around and for a second, Tamara thought he was going to shoot her, but he nodded as she pointed to the Raptors and yelled to his people.

“There are two more!” Bishop said, as he pointed at Gorman and Burke—Burke running for his life while Gorman backed up, firing his pistol in the aliens chasing him and throwing grenades.

“SUPPRESSIVE FIRE, NOW, GODS DAMN IT!” Tamara yelled.

The Fleet Marines laid down a withering barrage, and the strangers added their own grenades to the mix—Burke screamed and he went down, holding his leg, but Gorman lifted him with one hand and continued to stagger towards the pad. The Marine she had grabbed ran forward—with one of his companions, and then a second who cursed. Tamara couldn’t understand the words, but she could tell he was cursing.

And behind her she heard a scream as one, then a second, of her Marines was torn apart by the claws and teeth of these creatures. She spun and fired a burst into three fighting over the first Marine—the second was being carried away, and she offered a quick prayer as she draw a bead on his body and put a bullet in the man’s chest. She’d want her men to do the same for her, if it came to it, after all.

The strangers picked up the two injured men and retreated firing behind them as they came.

“Make it fast, Leftenant Mayne,” Prince broadcast, “these things are encircling the pad. Racetrack and Burner are ready to lift—just you and our guests left.”

The fourth Raptor swooped in again—and if the rocket pods were empty, the two cannons pods were not. High explosive tracer shells ripped through the attackers on either side of the retreating Marines and then they were there and Jester was helping them up and into the hatch.

“GO!” screamed Tamara as she grabbed the edge in one hand sat on the deck, still firing at the creatures charging through her bullets.

The Raptor rose up, even as Racetrack and Burner hovered thirty meters up—their cannons adding fury and flame to the sea of creatures below. And then the Raptor shook—hard—and Tamara raised her rifle at the creature that had leaped ten meters from the ground to the wing and snarled at her.

CLICK. The firing pin fell on an empty chamber and time seemed to stand still as a slime-coated pair of inner jaws snapped out towards her face—to meet a shotgun blast that caused her ears to ring.

She screamed as the acid blood of the creatures coated her legs and then her guests hauled her inside and Jester sealed the hatch as Prince punched it for orbit.

Jester opened a survival pack and dug deep, extracting a brown package that he shook and tore open and he said, “This is going to hurt like all the hells,” and then he poured a red powder atop of the acid burning holes through her suit, clothing, flesh, and blood.

Tamara screamed in agony—and then she passed out. But the substance stopped the bubbling acid cold. The evacuees laid her on the deck and one of them held his fingers to her throat; he felt a pulse and he nodded. He babbled something in a language that Jester didn’t understand and held out one hand, but at the moment, the language didn’t matter, so Jester just smiled and he clasped the man’s hand and shook it.

[MondoMage]

So the Colonials stock anti-acid packs in their first aid kits for just such an emergency? Talk about being prepared.

Seriously, whatever that stuff was, that was some quick thinking. And that was an excellent introduction into the world of Aliens, just as it should have been. Running and screaming and shooting and (some people) dying. And some war stories that most people in the Fleet will find hard to believe, even if some of them literally have the scars to prove it. Now the fun begins.

[Diverball]

Don't worry, I haven't completely lost my mind here.

That was the big three reasons. And LV-426 is just 39 light years from EARTH. Now think about this. This is the Earth of 2179, just a few centuries from now. Earth with BILLIONS of people and major colonies. All ripe for attack by the Cylons.

By the official website for Prometheus they have colonies as far out as 1130 light years Capelli in this case which is a mining colony. So seems like they would have picked something up before then.

link

I'd take that with a pinch of salt. At 0.74 light years per day, 1130 light years is a hell of a long way out for a mining colony to be situated, given that we're only talking 2089. It's still a long way in 2179.

I could see radical political or religious groups wanting to disappear out into deep space, but I can't see Earth-based corporations doing much more than staking claims. Surely there's got to be more than adequate mineral resources within 100 light years of Earth to last a couple of centuries.

[dragon]

Don't worry, I haven't completely lost my mind here.

That was the big three reasons. And LV-426 is just 39 light years from EARTH. Now think about this. This is the Earth of 2179, just a few centuries from now. Earth with BILLIONS of people and major colonies. All ripe for attack by the Cylons.

By the official website for Prometheus they have colonies as far out as 1130 light years Capelli in this case which is a mining colony. So seems like they would have picked something up before then.

link

I'd take that with a pinch of salt. At 0.74 light years per day, 1130 light years is a hell of a long way out for a mining colony to be situated, given that we're only talking 2089. It's still a long way in 2179.

I could see radical political or religious groups wanting to disappear out into deep space, but I can't see Earth-based corporations doing much more than staking claims. Surely there's got to be more than adequate mineral resources within 100 light years of Earth to last a couple of centuries.

Oh I agree about taking it with a grain of salt. We do know that the orginal ship from Alien was out deeper as they were on the way to earth we they were diverted. Though they never did explain why they use sleep pods for FTL, unless it's to save on supplies. Or perhaps their form of ftl is harmful to awake personnel.

[Alan Bolte]

I believe there was an Aliens Technical Manual which explained that their form of FTL involved inverse relativistic effects. So, while to the outside world it would appear that the Sulaco traveled for only a few weeks, the interior of the ship experienced many years. Some of the Star Wars reference books describe something similar, but they use whole-ship stasis fields to make hyperspace travel into a 1:1 experience for the crew.

[masterarminas]

Prince’s eyes locked onto the warning lights that suddenly began to flash and he cursed. “JESTER! Port APU just died; we’re losing pressuring on the number three Tylium tank as well—and RCS clusters 2, 6, 7, 10, and 11 just went off-line! I’ve got a warning light on the landing skids—they have failed to retract.”

“It’s not instrumentation,” Jester replied as he stood wiped the fog from the hatch window and looked outside. “Prince, we’ve got great big holes all across the port wing, directly over the APU housing,” he reported.

“Prince, Racetrack,” the wireless said. “You are streaming fuel.”

“Cutting tank three from the loop—sealing lines and dumping fuel,” the pilot said, and then he sighed with relief. “Fuel pressure stabilized. Anubis, Prince, declaring an emergency, maneuverability compromised, request landing instructions.”

“FRACK!” yelled Racetrack. “Prince, one of those . . . things . . . is clinging to the under-carriage and trying to dig inside! He’s pulling apart the hull plate like it is wet paper!”

“We’re in hard vacuum! What the frack?” asked Prince in a stunned tone.

Bishop nodded back in the troop bay. “Reports state that they can survive in vacuum for at least a few minutes—they are a fascinating species.”

“Hold your course steady, Prince,” said Racetrack as she slid her Raptor in behind and below his . . . and Prince closed his eyes and muttered a short prayer.

“Please tell me you aren’t going to . . .,” he began and then Racetrack’s gun-pod began to flash and the Raptor suddenly shook hard.

“GOT ‘EM!” said Racetrack, and then she paused. “Eh, Prince. I kinda blew away your port skid—sorry. Oh crap, his blood just sprayed all up inside the hull!”

More warning lights began to flash and alarms sounded, and Jester spoke up. “Main Bus C undervolt warning—shut down all nonessential electronics,” he commanded. “Main Bus B in the yellow.”

“Shutting down DRADIS and all non-essential electronics,” Prince replied. “Starboard skids are retracted and bays closed. Fuel pressure steady,” that the Gods for small favors, Prince thought as the interior lights flickered and dimmed.

“Prince, Anubis Actual,” the wireless broadcast. “You are clear for immediate landing in Bay Four—emergency teams standing by.”

“Copy, Anubis; we have casualties on board. Be advised, we may have uninvited guests clinging to the hull.”

“The surgery is ready, Prince—Marines will be at hand once repressurization is complete.”

“All non-essential systems off-line,” reported Jester. “Frack, the battery charge is still failing—Main Bus B is now critical undervolt, I’ve got master cautions on Main Bus A. We’re shorting out power somewhere.”

“Affirmative, Jester,” said Racetrack. “There is a hole in the battery well directly beneath the troop bay where that creature was trying to get inside. I guess the splatter from his blood is doing a number on the cells.”

Jester exhaled deeply. Raptors had a large number of very powerful batteries stored beneath the deck allowing for constant operation on long-duration flights even when the engines were shut-down. Recharged by the two Auxiliary Power Units when the main engines were off-line, all power was channeled through the heavy—and toxic—banks of batteries from the main generator before being distributed among the systems. And sometimes, battle damage would result in the acid from those batteries entering the troop bay—hence the presence of the acid-nullification powders in the survival kit. “Copy, Racetrack,” Jester said. “Prince, I’m shutting the batteries out of the power loop completely—starboard APU is on-line for direct feed . . . NOW,” and he sighed as the warning and caution lights died away and the interior lights increased in illumination.

“That did it, Jester. Port and ventral RCS clusters are still non-responsive—landing the bird is going to be a bit sticky, so get the passengers to assume crash positions.”

Bishop nodded and he translated. One of the passengers—one of the Marines—began to rock and say words in a soft voice that sounded to Jester pretty much like someone whining, and then another snapped at him and the first quit talking. But he kept on rocking back and forth from his seat on the floor.

“Set fire suppression to automatic—and let’s trigger the manual on landing as well,” Prince said, “just to be on the safe side.”

“It’s the only way to be sure, with the damage this bird has taken,” Jester agreed, as he adjusted his controls and tightened his straps. He lifted a plastic cover over four manual switches and put his gloved fingers atop of them. “We will lose power the instant I trigger manual fire-suppression, so tell me when we’re down, Prince.”

“Copy that, Jester,” the pilot said as he approached the bay. Unlike the larger ships in the Colonial Fleet, Anubis didn’t have an actual flight deck—she had small hanger bays along her flanks. So landing a damaged bird was tricky—come in too hot and the Raptor would crash into the far bulkhead. Too slow, and the difference in orbital speeds might slam them into the aft bulkhead. Added to the danger was that unlike a proper flight deck, Anubis had full internal artificial gravity in her landing bays. The Virgon Prince blinked away sweat as he rolled the Raptor so that his undamaged starboard RCS could be used to brake and adjust course.

He glided into the bay and squirted the RCS clusters rapidly . . . and they responded. The Raptor slowed, and as the small vessel crossed the gravity plane, it fell towards the deck, slamming down hard, the single working ventral cluster firing constantly to slow the impact.

“NOW!” Prince said, and Jester triggered all four manual fire suppression systems. Both APUs and the twin engines were flooded with foam, along with fuel tanks and lines. And the interior and exterior lights died as power failed with the batteries off-line. Slowly the bay doors closed and Jester watched as the outside pressure gauge began to climb—when it reached the green, he yanked the hatch open and he smiled at the sight of emergency crews rushing into the bay—and armed Marines.

“Nice landing, Prince,” he said. “Frack me if I wouldn’t rather be fighting the Guardians instead of those critters down there.”

“You have got that bloody well right,” Prince replied.

[dragon]

Those pulse rifles will definitely make short work out of centurions. Let see they fired 10mm armor piercing explosive rounds. Hum wonder if the manufacturing ship will be able to copy them.

[masterarminas]

Despite my longing (heh-heh) to include xenomorphs more in this story, this is their last appearance. (Or is it?) I have used the setting of Aliens just so we have an Earth that has the capability of fighting the Guardians, without assuring either side of an immediate curb-stomp.

The story is going other directions from this point. I don't know if you are going to happy with that or disappointed, but we aren't going to be seeing the xenomorphs (or Predators, or the ancient alien astronauts) any further.

MA

[Diverball]

Those pulse rifles will definitely make short work out of centurions. Let see they fired 10mm armor piercing explosive rounds. Hum wonder if the manufacturing ship will be able to copy them.

Probably, but I can't see them bothering. Centurions aren't immune to small arms fire, and the standard Colonial sidearm has a minigrenade launcher attached.

[Diverball]

Despite my longing (heh-heh) to include xenomorphs more in this story, this is their last appearance. (Or is it?) I have used the setting of Aliens just so we have an Earth that has the capability of fighting the Guardians, without assuring either side of an immediate curb-stomp.

The story is going other directions from this point. I don't know if you are going to happy with that or disappointed, but we aren't going to be seeing the xenomorphs (or Predators, or the ancient alien astronauts) any further.

MA

It's fine. Xenomorphs are better suited to a horror setting anyway, and bringing in the wider Alien/Predator universe would just make things too complicated.

[Borgholio]

Yeah I'm pleased with this. Just enough of the Xenos to make a point and that's it. That said, I am looking forward to the interactions between the Colonials / Cylons and an Earth that is actually fairly well advanced.

That said, any attempt to bring more Xenos into the story would involve some...maneuvering. For instance, the only way Aliens 3 happened was because the Queen got onto the Sulaco. Didn't happen this time, and the only live facehuggers in the colony were splattered by Ripley.

So, time to compare technology. I think the Colonials have better FTL, but knowing how overpopulated our world is with nuclear weapons, I bet the battlestars will be overflowing with nukes now. Also, energy weapons. I recall in the director's cut of Aliens, Hudson was bragging about a particle (or plasma, I forget...) cannon that can flash fry half a city and fit inside the cargo bay of the landing craft. I think the Colonials might trade FTL for a supply of nukes and a particle weapon.

[LadyTevar]

I have no problems with ignoring the Xenomorphs from this point. Monsters like that are best left in Space. Still, the flamethrower would be a fun toy for the Colonies, since it seems like the Earthers are the only ones who decided that we "really wanted to set fire to that guy Way Over There" as Carlin said. Either way, I agree you made a good choice of movie-verse to set Earth in. It's really going to make the story interesting.

Now, we have Laura getting a huge bump in the Elections for keepingher promise of finding Earth. We have the problems of integrating the Fleshjobs with the rest of the fleet, and fighting the Guardians off. We have Earthers coping with the idea of refugee distant cousins bringing their war to Earth. We have Weyland-Yutani starting a intergalatic tech war trying to obtain and hold onto all of Galatica's tech. The Refit Ship alone would be priceless, and a FTL that can fit on a shuttle? Yeah, corps are going to be going nuts.

Yeah, this has a lot of places it can go that don't need Xenomorphs, Promethians, or Predators to make it a good story. If you have any stories like that, make the sidestories in a separate thread. Such as going back to that planet for the tyrium in the crust in a decade or so, and either ignoring the warnings or thinking the Xenomorphs died out. People can be so gullible that way... we've seen that eggs can wait long periods for the presence of suitable hosts.

Although, I do have to wonder if Predators knew of the Colonies as soft-meat hunting grounds. Logic tells me it's unlikely. Space Is Big, and Earth and her colonies were a different neighborhood completely. The Colonies would never have gone this way if it weren't for running, and then finding Kobol pointing the direction to go next. But now that little planet is full of Xenomorphs, a Predator hunting heaven.

Sidenote: The 12 Colonies were named for 12 of the Zodiac. The (newly restored) 13th Zodiac is Ophidias, the Snake. So, that would make Earth Ophidians?

[Vianca]

The Earth Marine ship is still in orbit, it just doesn´t have a FTL drive.
Can they get one from somewere?
If they can salvage or build a new one, they could then ad the Earth ship to the fleet.

If not, I would suggest stripping her entirely, Galactic still has a flight-pod that ain´t in use, could possibly be used for storage, for one.
When stript, I would use her as a lance of god, to try and kill those Xenomorphs, probably won´t work, but it gives you a change of 99.9% change on succes in whipping them out.
Might even tricker those fuel deposits, so BOOOOOM!!!!!!!!!
Keeps it out of Guardian Cylons their claws as well, so a tripple bonus.

Those Earth landers might make a nice adition to the Colonial heavy combat landers.
Food stocks are nice as well.
The armory is a bit more tricky, but the computers would be usefull.

[Borgholio]

The Earth Marine ship is still in orbit, it just doesn´t have a FTL drive.

Ummmm....yeah it does.

On another note, presumably once they re-board the Sulaco they will nuke the colony and the alien ship just to be safe so that when they DO go back to mine the Tylium, they don't get some unwelcome lovin'

[Themightytom]

Actually I have a question, I know you have to have considered crossing nBSG with Buck Rogers, because you have his fighters in the fic, did you consider doing an nBuck Rogers, maybe without Implausible Buck himself, but with the Earth Defense Directorate? I feel like it would have been around the same amount of work as crossing with Aliens in the long run, without the Xenomorph elephant in the room.

[Themightytom]

i just gave myself the image of Bill Adama kicking Tweaky down a hallway,

[dragon]

The Earth Marine ship is still in orbit, it just doesn´t have a FTL drive.
Can they get one from somewere?
If they can salvage or build a new one, they could then ad the Earth ship to the fleet.
.

It has ftl after all it got from earth to a system 39 light years away. And as the one said 17 days to expect rescue.