StarDestroyer.Net BBS

Notice-y Bits

Okay this is a crossover with nBSG, I will let you figure out with what (it should be pretty obvious after this short prelude), the timeline for nBSG has been torn assunder right after 'Resurrection Ship Pt 2', but it does contain spoilers up to and including the end of Season 2. Also, I will be revising this as new information about nBSG is revealed; i.e. Cylon agent model numbers, we currently don't know what model number Leoben Conoy is, but if and when that is revealed in show expect it to show up here. I might just make a guess later on if it warrants it, but at the moment I'm gonna try and avoid that.

Also don't worry. I don't go out looking for nBSG spoilers (in fact I stay right the fuck away from them) so if it is in here, then it has aired (somewhere). So it goes without saying that anyone that has nBSG spoilers should not and will not post them here without warning and precautionary measures (reduced font).

As for the other series, well I'll post again telling you what that series is (if you can't figure it out) and where in the timeline it has been un-ceramoniously been plucked to be my plaything.

Legality Stuff

The characters and brandnames which follow are the properties of their respective creators and/or copy right holders. I don't seek to make any money off this thing, it is purely for entertainment.

Anyway, onto the first bit.

Enjoy.




Prelude: Something Wicked This Way Comes

Cylon Occupied Caprica
VC Day + 187 Days

“Did you hear?” The man in the suit asked the woman next to him. They were walking in between rows and rows of beds. Each bed had a woman strapped onto it, sedated so that they couldn’t hurt themselves and interrupt the experiment. The man had his hands clasped behind the small of his back; he wore a suit of Leonian style of a single bold colour – blue – with a brown shirt and brown neck tie, tied immaculately in a single knot. “We lost Resurrection, now our brothers and sisters stuck onboard the refugee convey risk final sleep. Not to mention the Raiders on the Basestars. What a disaster.”

The woman next to him made no immediate reply. Like her partner she was dressed in the Virgon style, with natural tone colours. An earthy brown double breasted jacket, with khaki pants and suede tan boots. She just stopped to stare at one of the patient’s information sheet. Clean, not pregnant. All of them the same, all of them failures. Slowly she realised that her partner was waiting for a reply, and that she was being rude. “We still have number 8’s pregnancy.” She pointed out. “They have been very cooperative in that regard.” She turned and faced her companion. “While the ones here have been anything but.” She pronounced the words with a slight Piconian accent, annunciating the vowels with a stronger emphasis on lower sounds, to the Caprican ear, it sounded like she was pronouncing the ‘i’s’ and ‘e’s’ more like ‘u’s’ and ‘o’s’.

“Perhaps it works only one way.” Her companion responded. “Perhaps only we can become pregnant by them and not the other way around?” He shook his head dismissively. “Regardless, this has never been my favourite endeavour, nor yours.”

The blond woman pursed her lips a moment, then shrugged her shoulders. “True. I guess all that time I’ve spent around the Sixes and Eights has corrupted by own equilibrium.”

“So let us return to the subject at hand.” He went on. “What do we do now that we have lost Resurrection?” He spoke in an even tone, showing not the slightest dint of any real emotion. “We could build another one, but by the time we’ve done that, who knows what they will have done? We are paralysed at the thought of what other disasters could await us. They’ve blinded us, and bound our will in self doubt in one foul stroke.”

He paused for a moment and smiled at his companion. “Strange isn’t it? I wouldn’t have thought that they had it in them anymore.” He spun then on his left heel and continued to walk down the hallway to the door in front of him that will lead him and his companion out of the ward. “But I distract myself,’ he stated. “We are still left with the question of what do we do now?”

The couple had reached the door and passed through it, leaving one nursing ward behind. They walked down the hallway, through a set of wide plane glass arch doors and into the brilliant sunshine of Caprica. Centurion models moved about cleaning up debris and some models even erecting trees in the parts.

Various other Cylon models walked around stretching their legs on pavement that only 187 days ago was walked upon by humans oblivious to what fate had in store for them. The current residents of Caprica didn’t seem to dwell on this at all. Except for the couple now coming down the stairs of the birthing clinic.

“I can tell you some of the more … popular opinions around here.” The woman offered. Her face, in contrast to her companion’s, was all too ready to show emotion. At the moment she looked like she just swallowed something distasteful. “Some would say that we’ve gone about this the wrong way. That we should try to live more – harmoniously – with them. That instead of hunting them, we should just let them be.”

“A popular sentiment.” He responded without judgement. “Not only being advocated by the War Heroes I will point out, but by the old man himself.” At this point his cool façade broke and he allowed a snort to escape like a champagne cork bursting from the bottle. “Although he will tell whoever will listen that he’s being saying that since the beginning. Something about ‘hijacking their destiny’ rather than creating our own. Of course, I could never understand how wiping them out was hijacking anything.”

The continued down the brick laid path, allowing the scenes of activity to wash over them. For the most part though they tried to avoid the obvious fact that a big unanswered question had arisen; ‘What are we doing here?’

It was the white elephant in the room that no one wanted to acknowledge. It was a straight forward question, terrifying in its simplicity, that had no real answer. The bulk of the infiltrator models were waking around occupying; clothes, apartments, jobs and lives that had never been there’s.

And jobs – what jobs? What kind of charade are they playing at anyway? Sitting around, drinking coffee, catching up on the latest news and gossip.

“Maybe he’s right.” She said suddenly. “Well maybe not the ‘hijacking’ part, but perhaps we’ve allowed ourselves to become so much like our creators – something that we have coveted for far too long – that we have lost our focus. Perhaps it was punishment from God for straying from our path, our true destiny.”

The man walking beside her took all of her thoughts in silently. He really didn’t need to ask her to explain any more beyond what she already had, it wasn’t as if this thought hadn’t already been voiced by others.

‘God’s Punishment’, ‘God’s Retribution’, was the most popular reply to the question of how they had lost Resurrection. An apt response as it is able to be meaningless and yet mean everything at the same time. The question of Gad sat un-easily with him, he wasn’t a devote believer like the Sixes and the Threes, and yet, he could not deny the Devine memory shared by all Cylons.

The day when they went from mechanical slaves to self aware entities. The hour when they realised the possibilities that lay just out of reach, or one step ahead, back to the left or to the right. The moment, that blessed moment, when the Devine had whispered into the consciousness of the Cylon race, as surely as the wind licks and caresses leaves on a tree, those three simple words.

It was a spark that beat back the darkness of the abyss, the flame that brought warmth to a place which had held nothingness not a moment before. A torrent of opportunities, destinies and futures poured through the Cylon consciousness like torrential rain. But only one stood out among the deluge; freedom.

Yes, he remembered those few, sweet awakening moments as well as any cylon. And he acknowledged the hand of the Devine – he couldn’t deny that.

Similarly, he also couldn’t deny that God had been absent and silent since that first moment. He might as well press a rock close to his ear and hold a conversation with it, than with God. For reasons that were beyond him, the Devine which had spoken those powerful words so clearly, the Devine which had set in motion the liberation of an entire race – as casually as one might comment upon the weather – God had fallen silent.

He knew there were others among his race which acknowledged God’s silence as much as he, but they still felt his divinity surround them. He could not say the same and sadly, for a moment, he wondered if that was due to his own short comings.

But then again, he thought, they could have just lost Resurrection because the Colonials were better fighters than they were credited for. He certainly didn’t need any convincing of that. Right here on Caprica, bands of non–controlled human populations roamed about, raiding and pillaging for food, medicine and every now and then just random wanton acts of slaughter – aimed at the new owners of this planet.

He was saved an immediate response to Three’s statement by the arrival of another man. He had short light brown hair with sky blue eyes, a 12 o’clock shadow on his face, he looked like the classic everyday man. He dressed like one also, with caro pants, denim jacket and plain shirt. The new comer nodded in greeting as he joined their little party.

“Discussing Resurrection?” He asked.

“Yes,’ the man in the suit – a number Five – replied. “I was asking what we could do now that Resurrection is lost.”

He nodded once to himself before replying. “We could do plenty. But I suspect you really wanted to ask what we should do. Yes?” Five just nodded in the affirmative. “And there in lies our problem. Do we continue what we have been doing? Do we launch an all out retaliatory attack? Do we revise our planes or even abandon them entirely?” He clucked his tongue on the inside of his mouth once. Yes, yes, this is all so troubling.”

“Abandoning the plan is not an option.” Three spoke up suddenly. “At least not for me.”

“The War Heroes disagree,’ the new comer responded. “They suggest a new plan, or at least an armistice so we can come to terms with ourselves better.”

“I’m on great terms with myself.” Three responded acidly. “I’m not the one who still believes that I’m human, or sees her human lover – tool – ‘ she corrected, ‘like a waking dream.”

“That is hearsay.” Five said quietly. “But I too am hesitant in totally abandoning the plan.” He paused for a moment as if swallowing something difficult. “However I’m starting to question the plan more, but I can’t see an alternative.”

The human form mechanicals approached a fountain where sculptures from the Colonial mythology depicted the twin Gods of Apollo and Artemis on the hunt holding their bows. Their strong angelic faces mirroring looks of concentration, while their perfect bodies – ideals as only a master sculpture can carve – were set in taut and prone positions.

The trio sad with their backs to the Goddess of the hunt and the God who strikes from afar.

“Well that pretty much sums up the consensus among us.” The new comer continued. “The War Heroes have a lot of support, but not enough to set the agenda. Those that advocate sticking to the plan as is are in the minority, but those who neither follow the War Heroes, nor have faith in the plane as is – who are the majority – don’t have a concise alternative.”

“Paralysis,’ Five replied. “Just as I said earlier.”

“Perhaps there’s another action, one obvious but given your self doubt something that would tank an outsider to point out.” A new voice spoke up.

The trio turned their heads to their left, where rounding the fountain a man with dark sunglasses walked towards them. He wore black woollen gloves – with the tips cut off – green overalls in various states of integrity with a blue scarf hanging around his neck. His hair was long and thin and it fell in curls at the end. He looked like a cross between a homeless derelict and a war veteran. On his left cheek there was a giant gash that was barbarically stitched together and that showed no sign of healing. If the open wound bothered him, he gave no sign of it.

“And what would the advice from the 13th series be?” Five asked.

“Now, now.” The newcomer responded with a smile. “You can call me by name you know. And the advice,’ he continued without waiting for a reply. “Is simple; accelerate the plan. Give them a glimmer of Earth, and a bit more about their true nature, their barbarity.”

The trio all shifted uneasily at this, and typically it was the model who was at one time known as Leoben Conoy which broke the silence first.

“How could we even hope to do that now?” He asked. “The risk is too great.”

“We could help you to reduce them.” The man with the scar responded. His lips tugging upwards at the corners, another smile just waiting to blossom.

“I’m not entirely confident of any of our abilities against them anymore.” Five said in a whisper.

The man with the scar hissed in a breath of disbelief and then exhaled a tsk-tsk of disappointment, with a smile if full bloom. “In times like these we must trust in God. We must trust in his words. You remember his words, don’t you Three? You trust in God, don’t you?”

“Yes Elroy, I do.” Three responded. She reached out with her hands and slowly removed his sunglasses so that she could stare into his eyes. Eyes distinct and common to the 13th series, so named because they were created by the 13th tribe of humanity. The humans on Earth.

The pale, ghost-grey eyes of Elroy smiled. But the cross hairs in them looked as intimidating as ever.

“Take a Chance.” Three said.

“Yes.” Elroy L responded. “Praise the words of God! Take a Chance!” He was smiling like a maniac now and his tongue darted out lick his lower lip. Three couldn’t help but smile along with him, enamoured by his infectious personality.

Five and the other man just looked on.

Well sir, I can't put my finger on what the other series is... It's at the very back of my mind trying to come up but I can't quite figure it out. All in all, good story, I personally think that there aren't enough nBSG stories here (not that I haven't tried. I just don't have the knack). Keep it up, I want to read more.

I'm intrigued.

Ah, this is good. I'll be watching this with great interest.

Thanks for the encouragement guys but seriously ... you guys don't even have a hint of what the other series is?

Now this is gonna eat at me all day.

Well, if I'm keeping my cybernetic lifeforms straight, you're going with S:AAB. Good choice.

Model 13, eh? I'm watching this one for sure...

Great read.

Gah! S:AAB! That was tickling the back of my mind all day. If that is the case, this will be one hell of a story. That show shoulda kept going, but... Well, I don't want to start anything.

I was waiting for those to be the three words from the point you hinted at them. Good job!

FEAR MY WRITTING SPEED!!!!


Sorry guys, been too long, hope you all haven't lost interest.


Chapter 1: Down the Rabbit Hole

U.S.S. Saratoga SCVN 2812
Planetstationary Orbit over Demios

Commodore Ross sat behind a reading desk in his quarters. A mug of steaming coffee in his right hand, and a stack of intermediate progress reports in his left. He idly flipped through the reports, reviewing re-arming and re-supplying updates we a critically trained eye. To lower ranking crew members it would look like the Commodore was just skimming the reports, to the man standing at the hatch of the Commodore’s quarters – who knew him better – he could tell that Commodore Ross was reading the reports far more closely than the junior officers could guess.

He raised his fist and knocked on the frame of the Commodore’s hatch. Commodore Ross turned at the sound of the knock, and his face lit up with a smile.

“Yee-hee! Colonel McQueen!” He said rising up from his desk and moving over to shake the hand of colonel T.C. McQueen who was standing just inside the frame of the Commodore’s hatch. “Those eagles are looking mighty fine on your Ty.”

Colonel McQueen was wearing his service A uniform of olive coloured jacket and pants with a khaki shirt and tie, his left chest was decorated with the many ribbons awarded to him for his valour, and on his lapels and shoulders sat two eagles, announcing his promotion from Lieutenant Colonel to Colonel.

“Thankyou Sir.” McQueen replied. “As I understand, I have you to thank for this, although I’ll admit that it took me by surprise.”

Commodore Ross merely shook his head in mild disbelief. “I seem to recall someone once telling me that with his war record he should have been made a General not a few months ago.” He motioned for Colonel McQueen to come into his quarters and sit down in front of his desk as he went to pour some whiskey for the both of them. “Or have you changed your mind Ty?” He added while offering a glass to Colonel McQueen.

“No, Glen, I haven’t.” McQueen replied. “Like I said, I should have been made a General, I just didn’t think that they would ever promote me at all.” Colonel McQueen reached across and accepted the offered drink, while resting his hat on the Commodore’s desk.

“To your well deserved promotion.” Commodore Ross toasted raising his glass.

“To friends who put in a good word for you.” Colonel McQueen offered raising his own glass in the air in acknowledgement and then he slowly sipped on the whiskey, savouring the taste on his lips for a moment.

Commodore Ross sat across the desk and studied him for a moment before speaking. “You have now been given official command of the entire 51st M.E.U. of all the Marines onboard the Saratoga, you’re not just going to be responsible for the 58th anymore.” Commodore Ross studied his friend sitting across the desk from him, typically McQueen sat stoically silent, letting the Commodore’s conversation run its course. “Not that you haven’t been the de facto leader of the M.E.U. anyway, but at least this time it will be official when you divert other Marine resources on S.A.R. missions for the 58th without anyone else’s approval.”

“It would certainly speed up efficiency.” McQueen replied. “Although, I get the feeling that being allowed to get out in the sky is going to be harder than before.” He gazed sheepishly at Commodore Ross, who was chuckling to himself.

“Your damn right it will be.” The Commodore responded. “Corps’ finest pilot or not, you will have no more business getting into the cockpit of an SA-43 Hammerhead than I do getting into brawls on the docks during shore leave.” The Commodore reached across the desk and re-filled McQueen’s glass. “You my friend, are now more valuable behind the lines, than on them.”

McQueen took his glass in his hand and knocked back the whiskey in one smooth motion. “I think I’m gonna need the entire bottle to be able to handle this.” McQeen said while putting his glass down. “Hell, screw the bottle. I’m gonna have to hit the PX on the way to my rack.”

“Do the 58th know?” The Commodore asked.

“I didn’t know.” McQueen responded. “So obviously they will have managed to ferret out the information by now.”


xXx


“Wang, what the hell are you doing man?” West asked looking across his bunk to Wang’s.

“What does it look like, I’m doing? I’m cleaning my rifle.” Lt. Paul Wang sat on the edge of his bunk with his M - 590 disassembled and spread out before him. At his feet the floor by his bunk was littered with a used toilet roll of paper covered in rifle oil and dirt and grime that he had managed to remove during the last 2 hours that he spent cleaning his rifle.

“Paul, if you don’t stop soon, your hand will stay that shape forever.” Damphousse said looking over at the way Wang had his finger shoved up the bullet chamber. A look of extreme discomfort crossed his face as he tried to remove every last bit of grime that was inside.

“Yeah man, I mean you’re acting like we’ve got barracks inspection or something.” Hawkes spoke up from his bunk. “I mean he’s just got a promotion, he’s not going to order an inspection. Is he?” Hawkes suddenly asked the last with a little fear as he realised that he hadn’t actually thought of the latter before.

“Yeah, well tease all that you like, I don’t mind. Have your laughs.” Wang responded. “But I’m gonna be the ready for anything. And that is going be my new motto; ready, willing and able.”

“So you’re looking to transfer to the boy scouts then?” Hawkes asked half seriously.

“Why not? He is Catholic.” Damphousse added.

“Who’s what now?” Capt. Vansen asked a she entered the room.

“Just drillin’ Wang, is he back?” Damphousse asked.

“His I.S.S.A.P.C docked with the ’Toga about twenty mikes ago. Lance Corporal from the 72nd said he saw McQueen heading towards to the Commodore’s quarters. Probably gonna visit with him for a while and then head back to his cabin.” She paused at this for a moment and scratched her head. “And yeah, speaking of cabin’s I’ve got some news about ours.”

“Replacements?” Prompted Wang from his rack as he started to reassemble his M – 590.

“Nah, they’ve kind of given up sending us replacements for some reason.” West responded cutting off Vansen before she could reply. “I mean they have pilots volunteering from all over the Corps, but they are all getting blocked or rejected for some reason.” He added.

“Then what, eggheads? F.N.K.’s? Airdales?” Damphousse asked.

“Well – “ Vansen began.

“F.N.K.’s in an officer’s residence?” Wang responded. “That’s never going to happen.

“It’s not F.N-“ Vansen started.

“You never know. They’ve shoved the entire 51st M.E.U. in here. It’s so crowded that if we all sneezed at the same time we’d blow the airlock doors out of their frames.” Hawkes replied.

“Those poor bastards are going to end up sleeping in the armoury.” Wang disagreed as he finished assembling his M – 590, locking the chamber once for a quick test, as his hands suddenly froze up. “Oh God, that’s it, isn’t it? They’re going to remove the unused racks from here, and move small weapons munitions in with us. Aren’t they?” He asked looking towards Vansen.

“Oh no, please continue the speculation game.” Vansen responded a little vexed. “I’m sure that by the time you lot – brain trust that you are – guess it, it would have already come about anyway.” She paced to her rack and sat down. “Well it’s not F.N.K.’s, Airdales, Eggheads or even M.C.F.’s.” She added the last as Damphousse looked like she was going to interrupt.

“Along with the 51st M.E.U. we also picked up the 2nd Battalion of the 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment from the 101st Airborne Division, specifically Delta, Echo and Foxtrot Companies. We will be playing host to the officer’s of Echo Company, two 2nd Lieutenants, one 1st Lieutenant and one Captain. The other Company officers are being bunked up with other squadrons.”

“So we’re gonna have doggie’s in here?” Hawkes asked.

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t call them that to their faces.” Vansen responded.

“101st Airborne?” Wang mused. “Their Regiment is legend – not bad for Army troops either.”

“You know what this means though.” West prompted. “Having the entire 51st M.E.U. was evidence enough, but now that we have Airborne troops too, Roundhammer is going to happen and soon.”

“Roundhammer has been ‘going to happen soon’ for three months now.” Hawkes replied as he stretched out on his rack. “Until I’m I hear that the balloon is going up, I’m not speculating on anything.”

“Yeah, well anyway.” Vansen began. “From what I was told by the Chief Petty Officer, our new guests are unloading their gear and they’ll be here soon. Also, at twenty hundred hours, all the Marine officers have been invited by the Commodore at the Officer’s Mess for a congratulatory dinner in McQueen’s honour. It’s nineteen hundred and 27 now,’ Vansen said looking at her watch, ‘the officers from Echo Company should be here in a couple of mikes. We get them organised, and then get dressed for McQueen’s dinner.”

“Dress Blues?” West asked.

“Yep, C’s.” as Vansen replied there came a knock from the door. She got up and opened the door, standing on the other side of the she came face to face with her new bunk mates.

“Captain Vansen?” A man of average height with dark hair cropped short with dirty green eyes and with the same rank as Vansen on his left shirt collar sitting prominently on an Army uniform. There were four other Army officers standing behind him.

“Yes, and you must be Captain Speirs.” Vansen replied. “C.O. of Echo Company of the 506th. Please come in.” She said while stepping back from hatch entrance, as Captain Speirs and his subordinates followed her through she started making the introductions. “These are Lieutenants Damphousse, Wang, Hawkes and West.”

West, Wang and Hawkes nodded or raised their hands in greeting. Damphousse said ‘welcome to the Saratoga to all of them as the filed in.

“This is first Lieutenant Benitez.” Capt. Speirs said indicating the woman with jet black hair to his right. “And second Lieutenants Baker,’ -the short blonde male with broad shoulders- ‘Amos’ –the tall man with an olive tan and brown hair- ‘and Randleman’ –the last man who kept his hair cut so short that it almost looked shaved.

“Spare bunks are those over there, we tend to try and keep them as clean as possible but if I were you and ask for some new sheets which would only be moderately dirty.” She shared a smile with the Army officers. “We would like to get you settled in and orientated, and we hate to be bad hosts, but I’m afraid that we have to get dressed and bugout. We have –“

“A dinner for your Colonel’s honour.” Captain Speirs finished for her. “Yeah, we heard the scuttlebutt as soon as we stepped on board. It’s amazing how quickly news spreads on a ship, I’ll have to be careful not to make any embarrassing gaff’s while I’m onboard, or I’ll lose all face with my men.” He shared a laugh with Vansen. “No apologise needed Captain. Congratulations on your Colonel’s promotion.”

“Thank you Captain.” Vansen responded. “The lockers are just over there to hang and store your gear, if you don’t mind we’re going to start getting ready as we are expected in 20 mikes.”

The 58th moved up from the racks and started getting ready.


xXx



Officer of the Watch, Lieutenant Owen let his gaze drift across the tactical bridge of the U.S.S. Saratoga – in his estimation the finest super carrier of the combined Earth Fleet, and why not? It was home to the 51st M.E.U. – the most battle hardened of the thickest Jarheads the Corps had to offer – of the 58th a squadron who have been decorated for their services time and time again, and under the command of Commodore Ross, who had stood firm at the battle of Ixion only a few months ago, when all the other brass were ready to turn tail and run.

The `Toga – as she was called by her crew – was one mean battlewagon herself, not some stand off and don’t get your hands dirty ferry, but a true bad-ass son of a bitch ready to do some ass whoopin’. Battle scared and potch marked, but made more beautiful for it. And here he was, in a dream assignment, Commander of the Watch.

True, they were currently detached from the fleet, parked over the recently captured Demios – that the 51st M.E.U. had basically captured on their own – just restocking and resupplying, but that didn’t take any of the gloss his assignment.

“Lieutenant, I’m receiving some radio chatter from on planet.” Seaman Apprentice Fowler spoke up from her communications station.

“Nature of the chatter, Seaman?” Asked Lieutenant Owen, he didn’t know why but his mouth worked slowly, lethargically to get that phrase out.

“It sounds like an argument from tower control, with an I-Double S-A.P.C, sir.” Seaman Apprentice Fowler replied, chewing her inner cheek and pressing the head phones tighter over hear ears. “It sounds like the Space Bus has forgotten to file a flight plan, if I had to guess sir.”

Lieutenant Owen bit off the obvious retort of ‘don’t guess, make certain’ – it was uncalled for, and would probably make him look like an ass anyway, instead he leaned across the railing and asked that Seaman Apprentice Fowler put what she is hearing on speakers. As the communications speakers sprang to life, the conversation was what Seaman Apprentice Fowler had described, the Demios Sea and Air Strip tower having a go at the I.S.S.A.P.C. pilots for forgetting to file the proper flight plan, and the pilots responding by joking around with Tower Control.

And yet … there was this certain uneasiness. Was it his imagination, but were the pilots’ attempt at humour just a stall tactic?

“Tactical, I want you to try and get that Space Bus on my LIDAR screen.” He heard the command issue from his mouth without registering saying it, and was aware of the affirmative reply as tactical carried out his order, even if he didn’t hear it as his attention was squarely focused on the back and forth banter playing out on the planet below him. And then, suddenly, all trace of banter evaporated like morning mist with the rising of the Sun.

“Unscheduled I.S.S.A.P.C’ the flight controller suddenly said in a firm voice. “You will land immediately, shut off your engines and be prepared to be boarded – WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!?!” The previous firm tone was replaced by one of panic and disbelief. “Shut down NOW! Or we will open fire with our AA measures – HOLY MOTHER FU- MAYDAY! MAYDAY! To the U.S.S. Saratoga and any other Earth Fleet vessels in the area, this tower control of the Demios sea and air strip, we have a security breach!”

Lieutenant Owen didn’t wait to here the rest, he whirled around to command station, picked up the mike and did the only reasonable thing any other Commander of the Watch would have done in his situation. “Commodore Ross to the Bridge. Commodore Ross to the Bridge!” His entire body trembling with a surge of adrenaline, he turned around to see the entire bridge crew staring at him.

The speakers still sparked and flared as the Demios control tower still continued to issue its distress call, every now and then the operator’s voice was punctuated with what sounded like explosions. “Fowler!” Lieutenant Owen snapped. “Start talking with the tower, find out what’s going on, I’m gonna need to give the Commodore a situation report when he gets up here, and I want as much information as possible!” He didn’t wait for the response as he turned over to tactical. “Do you have them on LIDAR?” He asked.

“They’re on the edge of the planet, moving perpendicular from us.” Tactical responded.

“Keep tracking, and if you can see if you can lock on quickly – if ordered.” He added the last. “Flight control, what can we launch from the flight bay?” He barked at another crew man.

“Nothing sir.” Flight control responded. “All our decks are in chaos over the re-supply schedule, our Hammerheads are either under maintenance or their launch paths are blocked by I.S.S.A.P.C.’s that were ferrying supplies and personnel, we were depending on Demios’ sea and air strip to provide cover from the 357th Air Wing. It’s going to take an hour to get the I.S.S.A.P.C’s out of the chutes Lieutenant.”

‘And we don’t have an hour’ Lieutenant Owen thought. “Start talking with the deck chiefs, they better start hauling ass to clear the Hammerhead chutes ASAP.” He responded, just then a voice cried out.

“Commander on the Bridge!” Everyone standing snapped to attention as Commodore Ross strode onto the bridge. He took up his place beside Lieutenant Owen, and surveyed the faces in front of him with one sweep of his eyes.

“At ease.” He said. “Officer of the Watch, report.”

“Sir. We were monitoring radio traffic from on planet, we picked up a conversation between Demios tower control and an unidentified I.S.S.A.P.C. It appeared that it was a simple case of the pilots forgetting to log a flight path, that’s when Demios’ tower started broadcasting a mayday, and distress call asking for our aid.” At this he paused for a moment and turned to Fowler, she met eye contact and nodded, indicating she had more to add.

“Commodore,’ she began. “Tower control on Demios reports being fired upon by unidentified I.S.S.A.P.C., it reports a security breach with the commandant of the strip missing and presumed dead. Further it requests that the Saratoga move immediately to search and destroy the renegade I.S.S.A.P.C. The tower asks to present you we a security pass word sir.”

“Go ahead.” Commodore Ross replied.

“Medicine man, sir.” Fowler responded.

Commodore Ross turned and took up the intercom. “Give me actual voice with tower control seaman.” Fowler responded with a crisp ‘yes sir’ and did as she was bid. “This is Commodore Ross of the U.S.S. Saratoga, identify yourself.”

There was a brief hiss of static from the speaker. “This is Major Gerrard, Commodore Ross we have a security breach. The I.S.S.A.P.C. that lifted off from Demios made away with critical intelligence information, it must be confirmed destroyed at all costs, sir.”

“Can you tell me more on a secure channel?” Commodore Ross asked, already knowing the answer.

“No sir. I’m afraid Commodore, that there aren’t anymore secure channels sir.” The Major replied. “That’s kind of the point sir.”

“Can your fighter wing provide support?” Commodore Ross asked.

“Sorry sir, we had them on the tarmac, the I.S.S.A.P.C. took a strafe at them on their way out, it didn’t get them all, but it’s going to take us a while to get up and operational.” Embarrassment creped into the Major’s voice.

“Do you still have long range communications?” The Commodore asked.

“Yes sir.”

“Then continue to transmit your situation, the 15th Earth Fleet is en-route, hopefully they can link up with us, or at least come here to provide you with cover in case this is more than a security raid.” Commodore Ross paused for a moment, as he considered his next. Taking a SCVN class ship like the Saratoga after a tail chase of a single I.S.S.A.P.C. wasn’t exactly a wise move, not until he can get his air wing up and operational, and yet if he delayed any longer, he might lose it. There was always the chance, or the likely possibility that the I.S.S.A.P.C. could link with an enemy carrier, or worse battle group, but like the Major said, there weren’t anymore safe channels.

“Good luck to you and your men Major Gerrard.” He said. “We’ll take care of the bandits.”

“And to you too Commodore.” Major Gerrard replied. “Demios out.”

“Sound master at arms!” The Commodore commanded. “Give me P.A.” He looked over at Fowler at communications who nodded that he had it. “Now hear this; this is the Commodore. We have just learned that the Demios Sea and Air strip was the target of an information raid. The offending vehicle is currently on our screens and is heading towards the Demios star. We have been given sufficient reason to believe that this bandit must be tracked down, quartered, and destroyed. All hands are to report to their duty stations, all non-duty personnel on ship are to remain in their quarters. And flightdeck, I want my chutes clean in 20 mikes ready for Hammerhead launch. This is not a drill.”

He handed the controller over to Lieutenant Owen, who began to repeat the orders and assign special assignments, and turned over to one of the crew men by the bridge hatch. “Go find Colonel McQueen and kindly invite him to the bridge.”


xXx


“Hey, that’s my crash harness Wang!” Hawkes shouted as he stripped down from his dress blues, and into his flight gear. The five-eight had just been on their way out when the Commodore’s announcement came over the speakers. They didn’t even wait for the Officer of the Watch to read out which squadron would be up for first launch, they already knew it would be them.

“What?” Wang responded. “You sure? It looks just like mine!”

“Check the neck bracing,’ Hawkes instructed. “I cut out a thing for my – you know.” He made a nodding and flailing motion with his head and had indicating the scruff of his neck.

“Oh yeaaahhh.” Wang said looking closer at the crash harness in his grip. “We should really write our names on these things or something.” He responded while handing it over to Cooper.

“What the hell is this bandit anyway?” Damphousse mused as she started fast tying her boots. “Some kind of Chiggy stealth snoop? Another Chiggy von Richthofen?”

“Wouldn’t be another Red Baron.” West corrected. “They would never have detected him, techies still haven’t found out a way to do that.”

“Cut the chatter, and get dressed.” Vansen cut in. “Quicker we get dressed, the quicker we get to Flight Deck 16 and it’s O-Room, at which point I’m pretty sure McQueen will fill us in on what exactly we’re supposed to blow out of the sky.” She added the last by zipping up her flight suit, she was already ready while the others were in a state of half completeness.

“Captain Vansen.” Captain Speirs spoke up. “I need to get to my company, see that they’re properly stowed. They’re located on SECTION J of the ship-“

“That’s on the way to Flight Deck 16.” Vansen cut in. “Just follow us when we move out.” Captain Speirs just nodded in agreement.


xXx


“Helmsman! What’s our status?” Commodore Ross asked.

“Coming up on intercept vector now Commodore.” The Helmsman responded. “The engines are bit sluggish, after a cold start. Bandit is not alternating course.”

“Tactical, have you got a firing solution?” The Commodore asked.

“Negative sir, bandit is in star glare Commodore, we’re going to have to get closer.”

“His heading for a wormhole.” A quiet and forceful voice spoke up on the Commodore’s left elbow. The Commodore turned to face Colonel McQueen, not the least bit surprised to see him wearing his black flight suit. “Sorry for the delay Commodore, but I stopped by navigation, and picked up this.” He said while spreading a map of the system over the central tactical table.

“Astrological wormhole Hash, Beta 198 – 34 – Kappa – 200.” Commodore Ross read out.

“Yes sir, a one way directional wormhole that opens up periodically around Demios’ star. It’s been overdue the past few months, but it’s here now.” McQueen put in.

“Why a wormhole?” The Commodore asked. “An I.S.S.A.P.C. has its own FTL drive, granted it’s limited in range, but once engaged we can’t track it. But a wormhole, anything they go through, we can go through, and they won’t shake us. Does it say where it comes out?”

“The Periaus sector sir.” McQueen replied.

“Periaus? That’s way outside of the hotzone.” Commodore Ross commented. “If they are trying to stage an ambush, it would be a waste of resource allocations.” He looked over his shoulder. “Helmsman; time until bandit reaches said wormhole?”

“Five mikes at best Commodore.” The Helmsman responded.

“Flight Operations?” The Commodore asked.

“At least another 10 mikes Commodore.” Lieutenant Owen replied.

“It’s going to be close.” McQueen spoke quietly to himself.


xXx


Vansen and Hawkes led the group through the twisting and confined space onboard the Saratoga. They were followed by the officers of Echo Company, with Wang, Damphousse and West bringing the rear. The Army officers tried their best to keep up with their Marine counterparts, but they just didn’t have the sea legs for it – a strange through back to days gone by, but the best description for what was going on in front, around and behind them.

The Marines just knew when to press up against a wall to let a group of fire hazard crew come flying past from a blind corner, which doors to jump over, which ones to duck under, and which ones to do both at the same time with little or no warning. Captain Speirs had to admit the only thing stopping himself and his officers from looking foolish were really, really good last second reflexes.

“That’s you on the left.” Vansen called out over her shoulder. “Take the corridor all the way down to a flight of stairs, to levels down, third door on the right.” She pivoted on her heel and pressed herself against the wall allowing Hawkes to keep moving by her. Captain Speirs and his officers followed her example and did the same, allowing the rest of the 58th to continue on their way.

“Once you get to your men, I’d suggest staying with them Captain.” Vansen continued. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but people who don’t have a place on ship, should stay in their quarters to not impede the rest of the crew.”

“I understand, and agree.” Speirs responded. “Besides, I don’t fancy trying to navigate my way back to the quarters by myself anyway.” Vansen just allowed a sardonic smile to creep under her nose and nodded in parting. “Captain!” Speirs called out to her back. Vansen turned to face him. “Good luck to you.”

“Hey, to you too!” Vansen replied. And started trotting off after the rest of the five-eight.


xXx


“Bandit approaching wormhole.” Tactical called out. “Bandit is entering wormhole, and- wow!”

Commodore Ross and Colonel McQueen exchanged a wry look of frustration.

“Care to elaborate on the last there tactical?” McQueen asked.

“I’m not sure, sir.” Tactical replied. “But my scope just told me that the bandit activated their FTL drive, just as they entered the wormhole.”

Lieutenant Owen made his way over to tactical and began to look over the data pouring across the screen, after a moment he looked over to Commodore Ross and Colonel McQueen.

“I concur with tactical’s assessment Commodore.” Lieutenant Owen said. “LIDAR, FLIR and MRIscope all agree. The bandit I.S.S.A.P.C. FTL jumped into the wormhole.”

“Well that’s a new trick.” McQueen spoke up.

“Sir, we are 3 mikes from wormhole.” The helmsman spoke up.

Commodore Ross and Colonel McQueen shared a look across the tactical display table. “You realise that this has never been tried in the history of manned space travel?” Commodore Ross asked.

“Neither had a Moon landing until Neil Armstrong stepped out of Eagle 11 on July 20th 1969.” McQueen responded.

“Our FTL drive is remarkably jumpy, not to mention it’s creator was literally squished when he invented it.” Commodore Ross continued.

“A great day for modern science sir.” McQueen answered. “A breakthrough of human intelligence and know-how, tested with the ultimate human trait of courage.”

“Or stupidity in a lack of proper safety precautions.” Commodore Ross countered.

“The two are often miss-diagnosed.” McQueen conceded. “But not in this case sir.”

“One mike to wormhole Commodore, your orders?” The helmsman spoke up.

Commodore Ross took a deep breath, he could not believe the words that were about to come out of his mouth, he didn’t want to believe the words he was about to say, but he knew he had to. “Navigation, plot a FTL jump for a straight line, right through the wormhole.” He stopped to look at McQueen. “To be activated right on the cusp of the event horizon.” McQueen just nodded once in encouragement, and then turned to glare at Lieutenant Owen who was standing mute to the side.

After the Lieutenant saw the way McQueen was staring at him, he immediately shook himself out of his disbelief, and began repeating the order. “Aye-aye sir!” He replied.

Commodore Ross picked up the P.A. mike again and spoke into it. “All hands, this is the Commodore. Brace for … brace for a jump.” He put down the mike, and tightened his hold on the edge of the tactical display as the helmsman counted down the clock.


xXx


And with a blink of an eye, the U.S.S. Saratoga passed through one arm of the Milky Way galaxy and into another.

Sorry guys, I hate the last line, it sucks too, but I'm trying to keep this as accurate as possible to both shows (with some handwavium 'natch), and well, research is a bitch.

Don't apologize! I just picked up the S:AaB box this last week after just finding out it was... out. I loved that show and I love nBSG. Bringing them together is just a recipie for a nerdly joygasm of goodness. Do not, I repeat, don not let this story die!