[Sinister Dexter]

Ongoing thanks to Zimu Yang for beta-reading.

Red In Tooth And Claw
Chapter 35: Marching Orders

Back-pedalling as fast as she could, Starbuck tripped on part of the deck and started to fall, only to be caught by one of the ODST's, who held her upright as the armour-plated monstrosity before her stepped through the hatch. It was followed by a near identical twin, and they stood behind and on either side of Baxter, examining the Colonial pilot through thin visors.

“Yes, I was warned you might react that way.” The O.N.I. officer smiled, stepping forward and offering a hand, “I can understand why the Mgalekgolo might be a little unsettling for someone who's never encountered a non-human life-form. But rest assured they are trusted members of the alliance.” She turned to one of the aliens and spoke in a complex language Starbuck couldn't understand.

The alien nodded its head, and came to something approaching attention.

“What...what did you just say to them?” Starbuck asked as she pulled herself back up to her feet.

“I simply remarked to them that some ill-informed humans still see them as lumbering juggernauts of death and destruction, and that they shouldn't take it personally.” Baxter smiled when she saw the inquisitive look in the other woman's eye, “I grew up on the planet Grace; it's a predominantly human colony, but there is a large Mgalekgolo settlement on one of the southern continents. My father was a merchant who did a lot of business with them, so I guess I just started to pick it up in dribs and drabs from a young age. Then when they offered it as a second-language option at school, it seemed like an easy credit. Add to that, O.N.I. officers who can speak a non-human language tend to get noticed, and thus promoted, more often than those who can't.”

“This is going to be an interesting trip.” Starbuck looked at the Mgalekgolo with a hint of trepidation, “But I think I can understand why the Master Chief likes such big guns...”

OXO

Admiral Adama stalked the decks of the Galactica, radiating an aura of anger and hostility that the rest of the crew couldn't help but pick up on. It had been almost a month since they had agreed to a tentative alliance with a splinter faction of the Cylons and two weeks since Starbuck had been killed while chasing a Loyalist Heavy Raider into a storm on a gas giant the fleet had been orbiting while undergoing refuelling. They had lost pilots before, but somehow Starbuck had always seemed invincible; no matter how badly shot up her ship had been, she'd always made it back in one piece. But now she was dead, and there hadn't even been a body to put in a coffin and drape in a flag before jettisoning it into deep space.

Apollo had mentioned that her husband Samuel Anders was obsessed with the gun-camera footage from the other fighters, and insisted that something strange had happened, that the flash of light everyone else knew was Starbuck's fighter exploding was something else. There was no evidence to back up his claims, but none of the crew would tell him otherwise out of respect. But the dark mood had over taken first the Galactica, then the rest of the fleet; even the normally pompous Cylons were somewhat down-cast.

Lost in his own thoughts, he found himself in the memorial hallway. He looked around, picking out faces he recognised amid the sea of humanity. It wasn't surprising that his gaze automatically fell upon Starbuck's place on the wall. It was an old photo, dating back to before the Cylon attack, and she was leaning against her Viper in her flight suit, a cocky grin on her face, eyes so full of life. She had been as close as family after Zak's death, becoming almost a surrogate daughter to him, and the pain he felt at her passing was that of a father who had lost his only daughter.

“It's funny.” A voice shook him out of his daydreams, “Of all the people he's served with that have died, including his fellow Spartans, it's Sgt. Johnson that he chose to place on this wall.”

“Doctor.” The Admiral nodded, looking at the photo of a black man dressed in green BDU's and cap. “Were they close?”

“I think Johnson was the first true friend he had outside of the SPARTAN II program.” Halsey tilted her head to the side, “He was a very brave man; he never once backed down from a fight.”

“Most heroes are.” Adama grunted, “Unfortunately, most of them are also dead.” He gestured at the photos, “That's why we have this wall.”

“While we are here, there is one thing I would like to ask you, strictly off the record.” Halsey looked him in the eye, “Has Ellen Tigh always been so... forward? Or is this a recent character development?”

“That...is a very complicated question.” Adama paused, unsure how to continue, “She can be very, forward at times, especially when she's been drinking. She tends to be better when Saul's not on active duty: I think she sees the military as a threat to her relationship with him.” He suddenly looked a little worried, “Why? What happened?”

“She made a rather obvious and rather drunken pass at John during dinner last night.” Halsey chuckled, “I'm not sure what was amusing: the look of bewilderment on his face, or the venomous way Cortana was looking at her.”

“Yes, your...daughter.” Adama looked round to make sure there was no one else in earshot, “What is your opinion on that front?”

“Cortana may not be the child of my body, but she is the product of my mind.” Halsey shrugged, “I never though I'd have children; my work was my life. To an extent I saw the Spartans as my legacy, in more ways than one. But now, now I have a chance to see what could have been. It's not often the universe gives us a second chance, and I intend to take this one. So yes, I do see her as my daughter. Is that a problem?”

“Just remember that, while you may well be her 'mother', that bastard Cavil is still her 'father'.” The Admiral shook his head, “She may well believe that there are no secret commands implanted in her mind, but I've got the scars to prove that Cylons are very good at hiding these things.”

OXO

“With all due respect, Admiral, O.N.I. is living in cloud-cuckoo land if they think we can keep this mission a complete secret. The Voi portal is, without a doubt, the single most important Forerunner artefact discovered to date; more so even than the Halo rings.” Dr Spencer laughed, “When Captain Thrace came through it was a little after 2am, local time, and it lit up half of East Africa. The last time it was active before that, it spat out Thel 'Vadam and the bow section of the Forward Unto Dawn. It has since then lain completely dormant, without as much as a flickers, for almost 85 years. You are now suggesting that we reactivate it and send through almost thirty ships without anyone noticing? That's just not going to happen.”

“A point well made.” Grant nodded with a faint smile, “I think, perhaps, that O.N.I. is starting to believe too much of its own press. People are going to talk, and then start demanding answers. I can advise HighCom to break with tradition and tell the truth, but I very much doubt they will listen to me.”

The Admiral leaned back in her chair and looked around the room. As a Super Carrier, the UNSC Hugh Dowding had been built with a fully operational Flag-Bridge, with all the command, control and communications equipment needed to run a fleet. And while slightly more cramped than the Fleet-Masters command centre on the Renewed Purpose, the ships newer design meant that some of the equipment, at least, was more advanced. Grant had transferred across the bulk of her command staff, and the room was a hive of activity. But it was the massive holo-emitter that dominated the compartment. Sitting atop of the circular conference table, it could project anything Grant wanted, from the position of the other ships in the fleet relative to the Dowding to an image or piece of film from the ships archive. With the flip of a switch, Grant was able to turn it into a two-way communications device, and call up the ships command-bridge.

“Admiral.” Commodore Yuri Kerensky, the ships grey-haired commanding officer nodded, his head standing almost two meter tall, “I trust everything is to your satisfaction, Da?”

“As ever, Yuri, I am unable to find fault in the performance of your ship or your crew.” The Admiral smiled, “How is the supply situation going? I want all ships loaded and ready to go by 0600-hours.”

“Every ship in our fleet is fully loaded and ready to go.” The Commodore reported, and then rolled his eyes, “The support ships, however, are a different story. Commander Larssonde on the First, Do No Harm is not happy. In fact, she is never happy. I have never met such a miserably woman; including my mother-in-law.”

“She's commanding a hospital ship that will have to tend to a refuge fleet thousands of light years away from the nearest supply base. I think it's perfectly understandable that she wants to make sure that she has all the supplies physically possible.” Grant pointed out, “What about the other ships? I did see a report that we were having some trouble with the captains of the civilian ships we appropriated for the mission?”

“I think perhaps HighCom got a little bored with trying to deal with them. They pulled off the civilian crews and assigned a Warrant Officer and a couple of Rating's to each.” Kerensky chuckled, “They are all experienced hands, so I foresee no problem from that quarter. The Yard-Boss tells me that all ships will be loaded on time.”

“Good, I want everything checked and double checked.” Grant nodded with a smile on her face, “We're going to be a long way from home should we forget anything.”

OXO

“If you are just going to sit there and brood all night, I may as well leave.” Shaw complained as she did her best to mentally drown out the so-called 'music' that filled the bar, “I have a girlfriend now; I could be in bed, doing wicked and depraved things to her. Things that would make even Starbuck blush, gods rest her soul.”

“We both know Layne is working tonight, or you wouldn't be here.” Cortana sat looking into her drink as if she was attempting to ascertain the secrets of the universe, “At least you have a sex life.”

“So, Ellen Tigh made a pass at John. What's the big deal?” He friend asked, “He didn't take her up on the offer, did he? Not that any self-respecting man would go near her without a class-five hazmat suit...”

“I'm not worried about him taking her up on her offer.” Cortana lamented as she downed her drink, “I'm just pissed off that he's still seemingly unaware of how I feel about him.”

“John is many things, but he's not unobservant.” Shaw shook her head as she lifted her own drink to her lips, “And I've seen him checking you out when he thinks you're not looking.”

“Stolen glances don't help when I'm feeling...frustrated.” Cortana signalled for the barman to refill her glass, “I swear to whatever gods are listening, I'm going to go crazy if I don't get laid soon!”

Shaw's eyes bulged, but she managed spit most of her drink back into her glass.

“Remember that conversation we had the other day?” She asked, coughing, “Where we talked about what's considered acceptable for public discussion?”

“We're at a bar; the normal rules don't apply.” Cortana laughed, “There are exactly two people I feel comfortable talking about these sorts of things with, and Athena's on patrol. I'll be damned if I'm going to my mother for relationship advice.”

“Lucky me.” Shaw shook her head and grabbed the refilled glass from in front of her companion, “And I think you've had enough. The Admiral was rather clear about not wanting a repeat of what happened the last time you got drunk.”

“You bitch!” Cortana complained, “That's the last time I shout you a round!”

To Be Continued...

[Sinister Dexter]

Ongoing thanks to Zimu Yang for beta-reading.
Another filler chapter; I wanted to flash out the back story of the Alliance and introduce a couple of supporting characters before the action picked up again.

Red In Tooth And Claw
Chapter 36: Semper Fidelis

“What the frak is THAT?!” Starbuck asked, pointing out of the view port at a massive ship that had come into view as the shuttle moved around the curvature of the Earth.

It was at least four kilometres long and seemed to be made up of a large slab of armour, with a series of pincer like appendages running down its length on either side. From her vantage point, she could only make out the details on one side: a forest of gantries and scaffolding covered the surface, while massively over-sized thruster assemblies sat at each corner. An equal over-sized engine could be seen at the far end, while a small, pressurised command deck protruded from what Starbuck assumed was the bow.

“That is the Newport News: part of the support element assigned to 4th Fleet for the duration of this mission.” Baxter smiled, “She's a Brunel-class Mobile Dockyard, fresh from the builder’s yard. But don't worry; they hand-picked the crew, so they're not all green.” She pointed at a second, slightly smaller ship that looked like a slightly squashed oval with a long flight deck on the top and bottom, “That's our ride; the UNSC Hugh Dowding, the newest Super-Carrier in the fleet. Three magnetic accelerator cannons in the bow, two plasma torpedo launchers on either flank, nearly a thousand Archer missile pods and five hundred point-defence cannons. Backing that up are twenty meters of Titanium-A armour and energy shields; six squadrons of Longsword fighters and two of Shortsword bombers, along with Pelican and Albatross DropShips, among other support ships. She also carries her own battalion of Marines for planetary combat or boarding actions.”

“Sounds just like home.” Starbuck smiled, “Just how many ships are there in this fleet?”

“4th Fleet has a standing strength of eighteen ships: one Assault Carrier, one Super Carrier, two Battlecruisers, three Cruisers, four Frigates, five Destroyers and two Prowlers.” The O.N.I. officer explained, “But for this mission we're taking along twelve supports ships of various types, including the Newport News and a number of bulk cargo ships full of food, medicine and other supplies.”

Starbuck watched in awed silence as the shuttle made its way along the length of the super-carrier and came about. A pair of dark, predatory looking fighters took up position on their flanks, escorting them into the cavernous flight deck. There were dull thud as they touched down, then a slight jolt as an automated conveyor pulled them sideways into a waiting airlock. The outer hatch closed silently, the a red light started to flash outside as the bay re-pressurised before turning to a steady green.

“Welcome aboard the Hughie.” Baxter gestured towards the hatch, “Let's get you settled into your quarters before we go to meet the Admiral, shall we?”

The Mgalekgolo bond-pair fell in behind as the Shock Troopers led the way. Starbuck was used to life on a Battlestar, so she knew roughly what to expect, but she was still surprised at how spacious the hallways were. Then she saw another pair of Mgalekgolo in slightly less ostentatious armour pass by, and realised that she had to adjust her preconceptions to take non-human physiology into account. Even then, she was stunned to see a human in a officer’s uniform talking to a reptilian creature with four mandibles that stood taller than even a Spartan in full armour. The pair seemed deeply engrossed in their conversation and paid the pilot no heed as she passed by with her jaw agape.

“The Sangheili are another of our partners in the Alliance of Free Systems.” Baxter waved it off as if humans and aliens living and working side by side was perfectly natural, “They, along with the Mgalekgolo, the Huragok and about two thirds of the Unggoy, helped us rebuild after the Covenant War. At first it was a matter of mutual defence, but the Alliance has grown into an economic and political superpower.”

“I've met a few Huragok, but...” Starbuck shook her head, “If you had told me, just two years ago, that aliens were real, I'd have thought you'd gone space-happy.”

“I can understand why you might feel that way, but I grew up around other species; it's all I've ever known.” Baxter shrugged, “The Alliance is like an alloy; we're far stronger together than we would be alone. Some of the advances we've made since the end of the war have only been possible because we've worked together. Speaking purely as a military officer, our ships are faster, more powerful and much more durable than anything we've encountered that wasn't built by the Forerunners themselves.” She stopped outside a more human-sized hatch, “The Admiral has decided that, for security reasons, you'll be bunking down with the Marines.”

Starbuck looked at a sign above the hatch: it depicted an angel with a sword in one hand and a lightning bolt in the other, followed by the inscription 2nd Battalion, 125th Orbital Strike Division: The Falling Angels. Per Mare, Per Terram, Per Caelum.

Baxter spoke to the Mgalekgolo in their own language, and they nodded before marching away. The hallway on the other side was nearly identical to the ones they had already passed through, but the walls were painted a shade of drab, olive-green compared to the battleship grey they had been. The familiar sound of feet pounding on the deck in unison and voices singing out a marching song brought back memories of Starbuck's time as a flight instructor.

“DropShip rollin' on down the strip,
64 Marines on a one-way trip.
Mission top secret, destination unknown,
And we don't know if we're ever comin' home.

Stand up, hook up, shuffle to the door,
Jump on out and count to four.
In case my main shouldn't open wide,
I pack a reserve 'chute by my side.

If that one should fail me too,
Then look out ground,
Cos' I'm a comin' through!”

A squad of men and women dressed in PT kit came jogging round the corner, led by a Sergeant in a campaign hat, a half-smoked cigar clenched between his teeth.

“If I should die in some distant war zone,
Then box me up and ship me home.
And as they lay me down to rest,
Tell my mom I did my best.
Give all my back-pay to my wife,
So she'll be happy for the rest of her life.
Tell my little baby, now don't you cry,
'Cause your daddy was a Helljumper when he died!”

“These are your quarters.” Baxter stopped outside a hatch marked Visiting Officer, “I'll let you get settled, then show you around a little.”

The cabin was small but well adorned, with a comfortable looking bunk against the far wall. A mirror was set into the bulkhead above a small desk, but closer inspection of the instructions printed beside it showed that it also served as a communications and entertainment console. Her meagre wardrobe had already been hung up in the closet, while UNSC-issue toilettes were lined up in the head for her use. She was glad to find a still steaming jug of strong, black coffee waiting for her on a small table, along side a bowl of strange looking fruit. The beverage was a bitterer than its Colonial counterpart, but there seemed to be no end to the blends available.

After freshening up, and downing two large cups of the coffee, Starbuck opened the hatch to find her O.N.I. minder waiting for her. It was a short walk down the hallway to a large, utilitarian room that looked like it was a combination mess hall and briefing room. Right then it was full of Marines standing at ease, eyes fixed forward.

“Hurrah! We are at war! War is what Marines pray for!” A man dressed in a UNMC Major's duty uniform marched to the front of a room and started to address the assembled troops, “Word coming down from the Brass is that we've got a new enemy; some race of bio-mechanical bastards who found God out in the ass end of nowhere, and have got themselves a hard-on for killing humans. Well, we handled the Covenant, and we can handle any tick-tock toy soldiers that think they're better than the men and women of my beloved Marine Corps!”

“HURRAH!” The assembled marines shouted as one.

“Damn strait! Our orders are simple; seek out the survivors of a lot colony of humans set up by the Forerunners way-back-when, and escort them safely to Alliance space.” The Major grinned from ear to ear, “And on the way, pick up some Spartans who managed to get themselves a little lost. We are Marines: we will bring our people home and kill anything that stands in our way. Fleet may think that they're God’s own gift to the 'verse, but we all know that wars are really won by boots on the ground. Boots warn by Orbital Drop Shock Troopers! Semper Fi!”

“SEMPER FI! SEMPER FI!” The marines chanted, “MARINE CORPS WAY IS DO OR DIE!”

“Semper Fi?” Starbuck asked from her place at the back of the room.

“It's short for Semper Fidelis, the Marine Corps motto: it means 'Always Faithful' in an old Earth language called Latin.” Baxter explained, “The UNMC was created when the United Nations amalgamated the old United States Marine Corps and the British Royal Marines after the Rainforest Wars almost five hundred years ago, and they see themselves as carrying on the traditions of both.”

“Briefing in the wardroom at 1900-hours for company and platoon commanders.” The Major ordered, “Battalion, DIS-MISSED!”

The assembled marines came sharply to attention, then scatted, many coalescing into small groups to discuss what they had been told. The major looked over at Baxter and nodded, crossing the distance between them with long, easy strides. Up close Starbuck could see that he was much older than he sounded, with greying hair and a faint scar on the right side of his face. For some reason, he reminded her of Admiral Adama.

“For some reason, I'm not surprised to find that you're mixed up in all of this.” He looked sternly at Baxter, then his face softened, and he enveloped her in a bear hug and lifted her clear up off of the deck, “It's good to see you again, Toni my girl!”

“Good to see you too, Uncle Steve!” Baxter sounded more like a giddy school girl than an intelligence officer, “Dad sends his love, and told me to remind you that he opted into the reserve program if you ever find yourself short of a good NCO.”

“He always was a crazy bastard, even back when he was my squad leader.” The marine put her down and stepped back, “I can't even count the number of times he saved my ass.”

“Oh, I'm sure he remembers.” Baxter composed herself, “This is Captain Kara Thrace of the Colonial Fleet. Captain Thrace, this is Major Steve Smith of the United Nations Marine Corps.”

“So, you're the one I've been hearing so much about on the grape vines?” Smith looked at Starbuck as he pulled a cigar with its end already cut off from his shirt pocket, “The one who's responsible for all this?”

“I'm as surprised as anyone.” Starbuck admitted as she looked at the cigar longingly, “I still don't understand how I got here.”

“What do you know? A pilot who's willing to admit that they don't know everything.” Smith held out the cigar and offered it, “You smoke?”

“Every chance I get.” Starbuck took the offering and ran her nose along it, “Bit different to what we have back home.”

“They're called Sweet Williams; kind of the unofficial cigar of Space Command.” The marine officer produced a book of matches from another pocket and struck one, “They cost a little more, but I think they're worth it.”

Starbuck took a long drag on the cigar and her eyes rolled back in her head, “Gods, I think I'm in love...”

“Yeah, they have that affect on some people.” Smith chuckled, then turned back to Baxter, “Who's running the detail? I'm sure I saw a report, but I never was too fond of paper work.”

“Sergeant Raymond and Corporal Torres.” She explained, “They've both worked with O.N.I. in the past, so they know what's expected of them.”

“Good choice: they're both good Marines.” It was a simple statement of fact, but from Smith, there was no high praise, “You'd better take our 'guest' here up to the Flag Deck; I hear the Admiral's growing impatient to get this show on the road.”

To Be Continued...

[Sinister Dexter]

Ongoing thanks to Zimu Yang for beta-reading.

Red In Tooth And Claw
Chapter 37: Rubicon

“Silat?” The Master Chief asked from the doorway of the small gym he had set up in a disused maintenance bay.

“It's more of a fusion of Silat and Krav Maga. You'd be surprised at some of the things they programmed me with that I decided to keep.” Cortana explained as she executed a perfect spinning kick against the heavy punching bag, rattling the chains that secured it to the ceiling and deck, “Anyway, I think it's good for a girl to know how to defend herself: if word ever got out about what I really am, then you can bet that there'd be no shortage of people in this fleet who'd want to come after me.”

“You're just being paranoid.” The Spartan smirked slightly as he made his way across the room, the hatch swing shut behind him, “Anyone who came after you would have to get past me.” He paused slightly, “And the others.”

“Thanks, but you're not always around.” Cortana lay into the punch-bag with a series of lightning fast jabs, followed by a sharp elbow and knee combo that would have disabled any human attacker, “Anyway, I'm human, well, human-like now: I need to stay in shape.”

“If your mother’s work up on your metabolism is anything to go by, that shouldn't be a problem.” The Master Chief gripped the bag tightly and held it in place, “And good against a bag is one thing. Good against an attacker is another.”

“Really?” Cortana looked at him with a sly smile, then sent a right jab directly at his face.

The Spartan reactions were as fast as ever, but he managed to restrain himself, and pulled her round into a secure hold that pressed her back up against his chest rather without doing any damage. Cortana gasped, then narrowed her eyes as she pulled her left arm as far forward as she could. Her elbow shot backwards into his solar plexus like a piston while her foot was already stamping down on the inside of the Chief's left foot as hard as she could. It was an old and well known series of moves, and by the time her left fist came racing up towards his nose, the Chief was ready for her. Grabbing her wrist with his free hand, he deftly side-stepped to avoid her next attack and dropped down onto one knee. Caught off balance, Cortana fell backwards, landing on the padded deck with a loud thump.

“SING: Solar-plexus, Instep, Nose and Groin.” His face was only inches from hers, and he could feel the warmth of her body against his own, “I would have thought you'd be more original than that.”

“I still got in two good hits.” Cortana panted, trying to get her breath back as she looked up into his deep, icy-blue eyes, “And it's not like I ever really stood a chance against you: Cylon or not, I'm nowhere near as fast as a Spartan. I suppose I should be glad you pulled your punches.”

“I would never hurt you.” The words were out of the Chief's mouth before he realised that he meant them on more than one level. Lowering his head the last few, crucial inches, he kissed her deeply on the lips as he let go of her hands.

Cortana's eyes went wide with shock, then rolled back in her head as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him close.

XXXXXXXXXXX

“How in the hell did it get so bad without anyone noticing?” Adama asked, looking at the ultrasound images on his desk; each one showed a section of the Galactica that had become riddled with small cracks and fissures caused by stress and fatigue over her long and somewhat eventful life.

“It was deep in her bones; they must have cut a few corners when they built her.” Tyrol shook his head, “We're just lucky they found it in time. As it is, I don't understand how they found it, let alone fixed it on a molecular level.”

“They're Huragok; it's what they do, what they were created for.” Halsey sat in a chair to one side of the Admiral's desk with a smile on her face, “Show them something that's broken, and they want to take it apart and fix it. Show them something they've never seen before, and they take it apart to see how it works, then put it back together again, exactly as it was. They can also recreate anything they've ever examined, right down to the smallest imperfection.”

“I thought you were keeping them under observation?” Adama asked, “I never said anything about giving them free reign over my ship.”

“They're naturally curios and you can't argue with what they've done.” The scientist laughed, “From what you yourself have told me, this ship is in better condition now than it has been for years.” She cocked her head to one side, “Anyway, I thought it best to keep them occupied.” She looked at Tyrol, “How many Huragok are working on your flight deck?”

“Six, last time I looked.” the crew-chief blinked, “Why?”

“Because we only brought seven up from the Algae Planet, and there are three working on repairing damage in the CIC, with others working across the ship.” Adama's eyes narrowed “They're breeding?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes; they are reproducing.” Halsey took off her glasses and started to clean the lenses on the sleeve of her lab coat, “From what I understand of their, well, biology is the closest word, if there are sufficient raw materials, two or more Huragok can build a new one from scratch. The offspring has all the knowledge of its parents, but develop their own personalities. If I had to guess, I'd say they saw the amount of work that needed doing and decided they needed help.”

“I...” The Admiral started to say something then remembered that Tyrol was in the room. As loyal and trustworthy as he had proven to be since the first Cylon attack, he wasn't cleared to know the 'truth', “Doctor, if you would be so kind as to ask them to avoid further, additions to their number, at least for the time being? Some of my people are finding it hard enough to deal with the concept of non-human intelligent life without feeling like the ship is about to be over run by floating gas-bags with tentacles. Cottle has reported an increase in people requesting sleeping pills because they're suffering from nightmares.”

“I blame those Virgon-style animated films that were all the rage a few years back.” Tyrol smiled and shook his head, “I don't know what it is about those guys and tentacles.”

“I'll have Lucy talk to them.” Halsey nodded, “I don't know why, maybe it's because she uses it herself, but she's picked up their sign-language faster and more fluently than any of us.”

“Thank you.” Adama looked at Tyrol, “That'll be all, Chief.”

“Sir.” The NCO nodded and left the cabin, shutting the hatch on his way out.

“I want you to talk to Silent Contemplation: he's supposed to be working on a way to improve the range and accuracy of our jump-drives.” Adama turned to his one remaining guest once he was sure they couldn't be overheard, “But I've not heard anything new about it in weeks, and I want to know just what he's been up to.”

“You could ask him yourself.” Halsey suggested, “But then you'd have to get over your prejudice towards A.I.'s for all of five minutes...”

“I don't expect you to understand how we feel about A.I,'s: to you they've only ever been useful tools.” The Admiral grunted, “Perhaps, if things had been different, we'd feel the same. But I've spent almost my entire life under the threat of attack by Cylons, and I will never fully trust them.”

“Not even Lieutenant Agathon?” Halsey asked, “I would have thought that she would have proved herself to you by now?”

“My wife's father had a dog named Sam; an animal he'd raised from a pup. One day, out of the blue, the dog turned and bit him.” Adama sat back his his chair, a thoughtful look on his face, “It wasn't anything serious, but he still took the dog to the vet and had it put down. Afterwards, I asked him why he'd gone to such extremes after something that he'd fixed with a sticking plaster. He looked me in the eye and said 'the trust was gone'. He loved that dog like it was one of the family, but once it had proven it could turn on him once, he knew he could never fully trust it again. Sharon turned on her own kind because of an emotional attachment to Helo.” He frowned, “How do I know that, somewhere down the line, she won't change her mind and fall out of love with him?”

“One of Earth's greatest ever poets once wrote 'love makes fools of us all'.” Halsey smiled, “I'm not going to claim to be an expert on love, as it's not something I've ever had much time for. For me, my work always came first. But as a woman, I can tell you this: Sharon Agathon will never do anything to hurt or endanger her daughter. While Hera is on this ship, you never have to worry about her mother's loyalty.”

XXXXXXXXXXX

“John, wait!” Cortana pushed the Master Chief away and rolled over onto her side, “We just need to...to just slow down a little here and take a moment here.”

The Spartan looked at her with a slightly confused look on his face.

“It's not that I don't want to, it's just...” Cortana blushed as she sat up and pulled her top back down, “I'd rather my first time wasn't on a musty old exercise mat in a room that reeks of disinfectant and sweat. I know you probably don't understand; I'm not sure I do myself, but I want it to be something more meaningful. I'm not asking for a four-poster bed and rose petals: just something a little more comfortable, and a little less public.”

“I understand.” The Master Chief smiled softly as he brushed a few stray strands of hair out of her face, “We'll play it slow, if that's what you want.”

XXXXXXXXXXX

“All ships in position and report ready to go.” Commodore Kerensky's voiced echoed off of the armoured bulkheads, “Skies are clear of all other traffic.”

“Attention all hands; we are a go for portal activation.” Grant announced over the ships intercom, “Dr. Spencer, the floor is yours.”

“Voi control reports ready to activate the portal.” The scientist was sat at one of the main consoles, “Reverse coordinates set for last transition, so with any luck, we should come out in orbit of the planet the Colonial fleet was orbiting when Captain Thrace came through. We know their intended course, and roughly how far they could have gotten, so it shouldn't be too hard to track them down.”

“You leave the navigation to me,” The Admiral chuckled, “and I'll leave the science to you.”

“Just what I've always wanted; promises of non-interference from the military.” Spencer laughed, “Power now at optimum levels. The Shadow Of The Night reports ready for the initial transition, relay drone prepared for the return run.” His hand moved across the controls with an ease born of years of practice, “Activating portal...Now!”

Far below the orbiting fleet, ancient systems came to life, and the massive structure, 100-km across, built under the cost of East Africa came to life. Massive towers rose up out of the ground as an electrical storm formed, stretching over Voi, New Mombasa and beyond. Lightning arched between the towers as they reached their zenith and locked into place then a pillar of blinding white light erupted from the very centre of the artefact. There was a bright flash, followed by a thunderclap that shattered windows hundreds of miles away as a glowing blue sphere of rippling energy formed in the air.

“We have a portal!” Spencer reported jubilantly, “All readings are in the Green: we are good to go.

“My compliments to Mr. Von Regenskirch.” Grant sat back in her command chair, “He may proceed.”

The Prowler Shadow Of The Night moved forward, cautiously at first, but with increasing speed. The surface of the sphere seemed to ripple as the ship passed through the portal. There was a period of tense silence on every ship in the assembled fleet, and on the planet below, as they awaited news from the scout ship. On the flag-bridge of the Dowding, all eyes were on Spencer.

“We have a contact.” He reported, leaning over his screen, “It's the drone!” He jumped to his feet and punched the air excitedly, “We did it! The Shadow Of The Night has arrived at the intended coordinates and reports no contacts!”

“All hands, this is the Admiral: all are systems Go!” Grant's voice sounded out across every intercom in the fleet, “Next stop, the Sagittarius arm, and glory!”

To Be Continued...

[Sinister Dexter]

Ongoing thanks to Zimu Yang for beta-reading
The song Cortana plays is from the Halo 3: ODST trailer

Red In Tooth And Claw
Chapter 38: Power Plays

“I'm sorry if this is a bad time,” The voice was calm and level, “but we need to talk.”

The Master Chief was out of bed and rolling across the floor before his eyes had opened. Jumping to his feet behind the sofa, he fell into a fighting stance and surveyed the room for threats as Cortana grabbed the sheet and pulled it up to her chin, silently cursing that she still wasn't allowed to have a side-arm of her own. A Six stood in by the hatch with her hands on her hips, dressed in one of their signature slinky red dresses and wearing a somewhat amused smile on her face.

“Well, that was somewhat impressive.” She winked at the naked Spartan, “But I assure you I mean you no harm. I only assumed this form because I knew you'd recognise it. And if I did want to hurt you or anyone else on this ship, there's nothing either of you could do to stop me.”

“Explain.” The Chief's voice was cold as ice.

“We met before on New Caprica. I told you to take the child Hera with you, because she would be important to what is yet to come. All this has happened before, and will happen again; humanity is only playing its part in the cycle.” The woman remained unmoving, “But the time will come when you will both face a choice that could affect the fate of the galaxy. I can not tell you which course of action to take, only that events have already been set in motion.”

“Who...or rather, 'what', are you?” Cortana asked.

“I am a representative of... an interested third party.” The Six smiled as her form morphed to that of Captain Jacob Keyes, pipe clenched in his rock-hard jaw, “But this form is just an illusion; a projection created within your minds.” It morphed again, becoming the Arbiter, complete with low, growling voice, “I can become anyone or anything you have ever encountered, or can imagine.” It returned to its original form, but with the red dress now black, “But I like this form; it's distinctive, so you're hardly going to mistake me for a member of the ships crew.”

“You're still not telling us much.” John grunted, his mind racing as he attempted to assimilate the new information.

“I have told you all I can, for now.” Six winked, “Be seeing you.”

With that she faded into nothing.

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Starbuck pulled the straps holding her in place as tight as they would go as the glowing portal grew larger and larger in the main view screen. She'd been told that passing through from one end to the other was all but instantaneous and completely safe, but she wasn't one to take a stranger’s word for it. After all, the last time she'd passed through the vortex it had knocked her out and all but destroyed her Viper. If it wasn't for the auto-eject system, she would have been spread out across half of central Africa, like the rest of the debris.

“Thirty seconds to transition.” The ships Flag-Lieutenant reported, “All stations report ready.”

The screen showed Destroyers, Frigates and Cruisers vanishing into the Portal, followed by the imposing, inhuman mass of the Renewed Purpose. The bight light filled the screen, and Starbuck repressed the urge to shield her eyes as the countdown reached zero. There was a flash, and then the blue-green orb that was Earth was replaced by the swirling cloudscape of the gas giant she had been flying patrol over when she had lost contact with the Galactica.

“All stations report in.” Admiral Grant ordered, “Inform the CAG I want a double CAP until we get our bearings. All ships are to remain at high alert until further notice. Tell Commander di Milo that I want to know as soon as his astronomers have a confirmed fix on our position. Have the techies on the Alan Turing deploy their sensors. I want them to scan for any traces of the ships we're looking for.”

A chorus of “Aye-Aye's” followed as the crew went about their assigned tasks.

“Breath, Captain, breath.” Baxter's hand appeared on Starbuck's shoulder, “We still have a long road ahead of us.”

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“You're sure?” Halsey was standing in the former wardroom, talking to an armoured Spartan when Adama entered the former pilot’s ready room. Despite his best efforts, he still couldn't tell them apart if he couldn't see their faces.

“I had the night watch. He wasn't in his bunk, and the door to her quarters was locked from the inside.” The Spartan nodded, and the Admiral recognised Kelly's voice, “While on its own that means nothing, I did hear...things, as I made my way past on my rounds.”

“Well, I knew it was only a matter of time.” Halsey nodded, “Okay, thank you for letting me know. But keep it to yourself, okay? There's little enough privacy on this ship as it is.”

“Ma'am.” Kelly nodded politely and walked off.

“Trouble?” The Admiral asked, equal parts curious and worried.

“No, nothing major.” Halsey shook her head, unconcerned, “Cortana and John have started sleeping together, but I was expecting it sooner rather than later.

“I see.” Adama paused for a moment, “I do hope that's not why you wanted to see me?”

“My daughter's sex life is not something I would normally consider keeping you up to date on.” The scientist glared at him over the tops of her glasses, looking more like a school teacher talking to a troublesome pupil, “No, I wanted to let you know that I spoke with Silent Contemplation, and he has asked the Huragok to refrain from increasing their number any further without your express permission. They apologised, saying that they felt they needed the extra help to deal with the work load.”

“Good.” Adama nodded, “Call me old fashioned, but I do like to at least pretend that I still command this ship.”

“That's another thing I needed to talk to you about.” Halsey looked round to make sure that they were alone, and that Kelly had closed the hatch on her way out, “I had a visit from your Vice President last night.”

“Tom Zarek.” The words were spat rather than spoken, “What did he want?”

“I'm no expert on your government and how it operates, but I'm no stranger to power games. I believe that he's building up his power base as a prelude to retaking the Presidency.” Halsey frowned, “I don't know the how or when, only that he asked a lot of questions about how my government might react to various governments your people might have when we finally reach UN controlled space.”

“Thank you for letting me know. I'll have to keep a closer eye on him from now on.” Adama turned to leave, then stopped and looked back over his shoulder, a slightly confused expression on his face, “You didn't have to tell me; you could have let him play his hand and negotiated with whomever was left standing when the dust settled. Why didn't you?”

“ The universe is run by the complex interweaving of three elements: energy, matter, and enlightened self-interest.” Halsey shrugged slightly, “I'm many things, Admiral, but I am a realist, and a pragmatist: it didn't take me long to work out that the best chance this fleet, and my Spartans, have of reaching Earth is if you are in command of this ship, and Laura Roslin is President. Beyond that I have no interest in your society’s internal politics.”

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Most of the Galactica's crew was still on duty, so the bar was almost empty, and no one commented as Cortana made her way over to the beaten up old piano in one corner. She tapped the keys a few times to get a feel for them, then stretched her fingers and started to play a slow, mournful tune.

“Gafflwn Dihenydd O’r fuddugol yn wiriol sydd, Ni fydd neb yn ein drechu, Falch ydy ni I drochu, Traed o flaen I’r Annwn, mewn y gwybodaeth fe godwn ni.”

“Wow!” Shaw stood leaning against a support beam, “That was beautiful.”

“It's from the ODST battle-hymn; We cheat Death from his rightful victory. No one can defeat us, we are glad to plunge feet first into Annwn, in the knowledge that we will rise. But it's traditionally sung in its original Welsh, and I have to agree it does sound better that way.” Cortana smiled and tapped the side of her head, “You'd be surprised at what I've still got rattling around up here.”

“Annwn?” Shaw still looked confused.

“It's the Celtic other-world where warriors who die bravely in battle go while they wait to be reborn. Kind of like the Viking's Valhalla.” Cortana explained, “I don't know if your people have anything similar.”

“Well, that explains that.” Shaw walked over and sat down in a nearby chair, “But doesn't explain why you've been walking around all day looking alternatively like you just won the Picon Lottery, or like someone just run over your dog.”

“The second one is...too complicated to go into right now. At least, not until I've worked it out myself.” Cortana looked around to make sure no one was listening in, “As for the smile, well, let's just say that there has been a definite improvement in my relationship with John.”

“So, the Caveman finally made his move then, huh?” Shaw chuckled as she raised an empty shot-glass in mock salute, “Today you are a woman! Just don't expect me to agree to any double-dates; as much as I like him, he's not much of a conversationalist.”

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“We've identified enough quasars to confirm our relative position; we're right where we wanted to be.” Dr Spencer handed over a print off, “Given the course Captain Thrace says her fleet was following, and a rough estimate of how far they could have travelled since she passed through the portal, I think our best bet is to try and cut them off here.” He type a command into the main holo-emitter and a swirling cloud of gas and dust appeared in the air, “NGC 2440; a planetary nebular some 4,000 light years from Sol. It's an obvious navigational marker for anyone headed that way, so I think it's safe to assume they'll pass by there.”

“Sounds reasonable.” Grant nodded, then turned to her guest, “Well?”

“I was only a pilot, but it does sound right.” Starbuck nodded, “They should pass close buy that way.”

“That's good enough for me.” The Admiral placed her hands on the desk, “Inform the Commodore; we have our next destination.”

To Be Continued...

As requested by some:
Huragok = Engineers
Mgalekgolo = Hunters
Sangheili = Elites
Unggoy = Grunts
Jiralhanae = Brutes
San 'Shyuum = Prophets
Yanme = Drones
Kig-Yar = Jackals

[Sinister Dexter]

Ongoing thanks to Zimu Yang for beta-reading

Red In Tooth And Claw
Chapter 39: Storm'd At With Shot And Shell

“The Hugh Dowding, Renewed Purpose, Continuation Of Politics, Charge Of The Light Brigade, Lair Of The Mighty Wyvern, Clarion's Call, War To The Hilt, Advance To Contact, Shadow Of The Night and the Skinwalker will make a slipstream jump to the nebula.” Grant instructed, highlighting the named ships in blue, “If the Colonials are there, we will attempt to make peaceful contact and render what aid we can before escorting them back to the Gas Giant.” Another command was typed, and another list of names turned red, “The On Your Shield Or With It, Cambria's Call, William Clark, Caledfwlch, Men of Harlech, Heart Of Oak and Sword Of Fury will stay here guarding the support ships with Captain Chen in command. If it is some overly-elaborate trap and they don't hear back from us within forty-eight hours, her orders are to return through the portal to Earth and alert HighCom so they can avenge us.” She shrugged, “If they're not there, then we'll have the Turing deploy her sensor nets again and see if we can pick up a trail we can follow.”

A hushed silence filled the briefing room as the senior officers of the fleet examined the data before them. Taking a fleet into an unknown situation was always risky to say the best, but this was unlike anything they had trained for - limited knowledge of enemy capabilities and intent, thousands of light years from home with no readily available support to call up or home to fall back to. Many felt daunted by the prospect, but others were exhilarated at the prospect of testing themselves against the unknown.

“Questions?” The Admiral asked the room, but no one spoke up, “Good, then get back to your ships; we go within the hour.”

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“We're only one jump away from the nebula.” Admiral Adama relaxed in his chair, a glass of ambrosia in his hand, “You really think we're going to find another clue on the road to Earth?”

“I was under the impression that we know where Earth is?” President Roslin asked as she rubbed her eyes, trying to ease the headache that had plagued her since the Quorum meeting earlier that day, “I thought Silent Contemplation gave us the exact coordinates?”

“Yes, but I don't trust him.” Adama shook his head, “He's admitted that he's the same type of A.I. as Guilty Spark, and we all know what he did. No, we can use the information he gave us as a guide, but I'd much rather we found our own way.”

“I can't fault your logic.” Roslin admitted, “But we have to bee seen to be getting closer to Earth if I'm going to bring more of the Quorum around to my side and away from Zarek.”

“This is why I prefer war to politics.” The Admiral chuckled, “At least I'm allowed to shoot my enemies.”

“Something you've said more than once.” The President pointed out, “But the fact remains we need to been seen to be making progress or Zarek will start to imply that we're not making any.”

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“So you and John.” Dr Halsey sat at one of the tables in the old ready room, “Is this a new development, or have you been sleeping with him since before my arrival?”

“Mother!” Cortana protested, looking around to make sure the room was otherwise deserted, “That's none of your concern!”

“My only daughter is sleeping with a man almost twice her age; someone not known for long-term relationships.” Halsey smiled, “Call it a mother's prerogative to be at least a little worried.”

“You've known me other for less than six months!” Cortana countered, “I think it's a bit early in our relationship for you to be playing the over-protective parent.”

“Just be careful, okay?” Halsey grinned as she took a sip of her hot chocolate, “I'm not ready to be a grandmother yet...”

“MOTHER!” Cortana almost fell out of her chair, “Not that it's any of you businesses, but Doc Cottle set me up with a contraceptive implant not long after I... arrived on-ship. At my own request, I might add.”

“That's good to know.” Halsey nodded, “I remember what it's like, falling in love for the first time...” Cortana started to interrupt, but was silenced by a wave of the scientists hand, “I'm you, or rather, you're me, remember? We're still more alike then either of us would care to admit. So I have a good idea what's running through your head right now.”

“And that would be?” Her daughter asked.

“If John feels about you the same way you feel about him.” Halsey grinned, “Only a fool, or Ellen Tigh, would think otherwise.”

“Don't even mention that woman...” Cortana started, but was cut off by a klaxon warning of an impending FTL-jump.

The far end of the room seemed to stretch even further away, as if the universe was being pulled apart like a giant rubber band, then there was a snap as it returned to normal, followed by an almost overwhelming sense of vertigo as every light and system on the Battlestar started to flash on and off.

“Well,” Halsey mused as the strobe-effect lit her face, “this can't be good...”

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“Oh frak me!” Geata's eyes went wide as he looked at the intermittent reading on the main DRADIS screen, “Reading at least twelve, maybe fifteen new contacts: there's so much interference out there it's hard to tell.”

“It's a trap!” Tigh hissed through clenched teeth, “The Cylons sold us down the river...”

“Even they seem affected.” Adama shook his head, “No, this is something else.”

“Hold on.” Geata looked puzzled, “Receiving IFF codas.” The blips on the screen changed from the white of unknown to the red of hostile, “Hostile contacts! Incoming Raiders and missiles!”

“Half the ships in the fleet are reporting power outages, the other half have gone completely dark!” The Admiral slammed his fist down on the main plotting table hard enough to crack the protective covering, “I can't believe this!” He span around, his despair turning to resolve, “Launch ever fighter we have: anything that'll fly! And signal the other ships, anyone with power, to spin up their FTL's and jump out again as quickly as they can. This may well be our last stand, but by the Gods we will make the Cylons pay dearly for their victory!”

“I'm picking up something else; massive power surge off the port-bow.” Geata announced, “It's like nothing I've ever seen...NEW CONTACTS!”

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“Two groups of contacts: one to port, the other to starboard.” the young Lieutenant at the flag-bridge's tactical station yelled a warning, her eyes fixed on her display, “IFF on the smaller group says hostile... they're attacking the other ships...IFF says they're friendly... nukes detected!”

“ALL GUNS! ALL FORWARD BATTERIES!” Admiral Grant yelled, fire burning brightly in her eyes as she jumped to her feet and pointed at the armada of Base Ships displayed in the holo-emitter, “OPEN FIRE!”

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Space lit up like the fires of hell as the Renewed Purpose, Continuation Of Politics and the Charge Of The Light Brigade unleashed the full fury of their main guns. The energy projectors had been designed for planetary bombardment, and were normally next to useless in the ever changing environment that was ship-to-ship combat. But the Cylon ships were hardly moving, even by their own standards, as they unleashed wave after wave of missiles and Raiders against the Galactica and her consorts. Beams of raw destructive energy capable of levelling mountains or vaporising oceans crossed the distance between the two forces almost instantaneously and struck like the wrath of an angry god. Armour designed to withstand kiloton-level contact nukes offered about as much resistance as wet tissue paper, and the first salvo bisected a trio of Loyalist Base Ships and continued on to cripple two more.

Behind this came a volley of plasma-torpedoes and MAC rounds ahead of the charging fleet. The wave of destruction fell upon the Cylon fleet, ripping through their lines even as they tried to react to the first hammer blow. One Base Ship, struck by a trio of MAC rounds from the Clarion's Call, disintegrated as her back was broken, secondary explosions rippling out along her arms. The Alliance fleet split into three, with the lighter units moving above and below the plane of attack used by the three biggest ships, swarms of fighters diving upon the besieged refuge fleet. Seraph and Longsword fighters fell upon the Cylon Raiders, targeting anything not broadcasting the correct IFF code. Their much heavier weapons reduced the Raiders to clouds of expanding debris with ease, while their much thicker armour compared to any Cylon or Colonial vessel of similar size made them all but invulnerable. Only the anti-ship missiles and contact nukes were a threat, but most of them had been expended in the initial attack on the Galactica and the ships under her protection.

One of the Loyalist Raiders, its weapons depleted, looped around and dove towards Colonial One at maximum speed, intending to ram the former liner in a suicidal attack. Accelerating at a rate no human could have withstood, it dodged the sparse fire the Galactica could bring to bare in defence of the presidential transport, and for a second it looked like it might succeed. Then, engines pushed well beyond safe levels, the destroyer Advance To Contact put itself between the hunter and its pray. Carrying too much momentum, and with no time to dodge, the kamikaze Raider struck the destroyer's shields with the equivalent force of a tactical nuclear weapon. The protective screen turned almost opaque as it struggled to dissipate the blow, but it held. Short-lived flames enveloped the ship, but failed to reach its hull.

Other Raiders flew among the Colonial fleet, skimming the hulls of the civilian ships, their cannons doing what damage they could. This offered them protection from the larger Alliance fighters, but it limited their ability to dodge fire from the Colonial Vipers. The dog-fight only intensified as the smaller Alliance warships added their point-defence weapons to the fray, 50mm rounds snapping wings off of Raiders with ease, while plasma blasts melted high-tensile alloys like butter. Chains of explosions rippled along the sides of the civilian ships like fireworks.

But the defenders didn't have it all their own way; the Loyalist Raider's soon discovered that the Alliance fighter's lacked the protective shields of the larger ships, and started mounting kamikaze attacks on them. One Longsword pilot managed to swerve at the last moment, avoiding a head-on collision, but the glancing blow tore off the fighter's starboard wing and sent it tumbling out of control. Left with no other option, the crew ejected, knowing that they had better odds of survival in the midst of the battle than staying with their doomed craft. Wounded and beyond any intelligent control, the stricken Longsword tumbled on, her damaged engines and thrusters firing at random, until she struck the Adriatic amidships, ripping a huge hole in the transports side.

But it was fast becoming a one-sided battle. Completely routed, unable to inflict any meaningful damage on the newly arrived ships and now coming under sustained and crippling attack from ships the likes of which they had never seen, the Cylons jumped out before they could be totally overrun and annihilated.

To Be Continued...

[Sinister Dexter]

Ongoing thanks to Zimu Yang for beta-reading

Red In Tooth And Claw
Chapter 40: Point Of Convergence

The only sound in the CIC was the clang of the DRADIS. All eyes were fixed on the screen and the cluster of 'UNKNOWN CONTACT' icons on the screen. They flickered for a second, then names started to appear as IFF beacons were switched over to Colonial frequencies: Hugh Dowding, Renewed Purpose, Continuation Of Politics, Charge Of The Light Brigade, Lair Of The Mighty Wyvern, Clarion's Call, War To The Hilt and Advance To Contact. There was a momentary pause then two more contacts solidified: Shadow Of The Night and Skinwalker.

“I recognise those.” Cortana looked at the main DRADIS screen, “The War To The Hilt and Advance To Contact are UNSC Destroyers. The Lair Of The Mighty Wyvern is a Marathon class cruiser.” She turned to face the others, “They're Earth ships.”

“I never take anything at face value; that's how I've survived as long as I have.” Her mother shook her head and motioned towards one of the radios, “May I?”

“Be my guest.” The Admiral handed it over.

“This is Charlie Hotel 4695, security authorization code 409871.” Halsey spoke slowly and clearly into the microphone, “Confirm and authenticate.”

“This is Mike Golf 24472, authorization code 982164.” A woman's voice responded, “Code logged and confirmed, Dr Halsey.”

“Her code is legitimate.” Cortana nodded, “God only know how out of date, but legitimate.”

“Mike Golf, this is Charlie Hotel: code logged but unable to authenticate.” Halsey paused for a moment, “Request secondary authorization code.”

“I have something I believe belongs to you.” The stranger responded followed by a moment of silence.

“Galactica-Actual, this is Starbuck.” A voice no one in the CIC had ever expected to hear again came over the wireless, “So, you guys miss me or what?”

“Kara?” Adama gasped, unable to believe what he'd heard.

“Perhaps we could continue this discussion face to face?” The first voice asked, “Your place or mine?”

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“This is UNACCEPTABLE!” Caprica Six stood seething, her traditional slinky red dress replaced with a similar military tunic and skirt, while her long blond hair was pulled back into a tight bun, “Your orders were to annihilate the humans and the traitors. Not to run at the first time of trouble!”

“I sent in all my ships, all my Raiders.” D'Anna Biers sat hunched over the table before her leader, visibly shaken, her uniform ripped and bloodstained where a piece of shrapnel had punctured her left lung during the battle and had been hastily patched up, “They had energy weapons and defensive shielding unlike anything we've ever seen. And me? What did I have?”

“A sacred duty to seek retribution for the sins they committed against us. Against our God!” Six leaned forward and place a pistol on the table, “Perhaps you'd like to forgo the formalities of an official court-martial?”

Without another word Six left the room and closed the door. The other senior officers in her command staff stood silently at attention, all with worried expressions on their faces, and each one flinched visibly when a single gunshot broke the silence.

“Have the Resection Ship purge her from the buffers.” Six ordered the gold Centurion that acted as her personal bodyguard, “No sense wasting a good body on a failed mind.”

“By Your Command.” the metallic soldier acknowledged.

“I know the rest of you are worried.” Six started to pace back and forth, addressing the room, “The Galactica and Cavil's forces have evidently met up with the Thirteenth Tribe. But that changes nothing!” She snapped, her cold, hard eyes surveying her subordinates for any sign of dissent, “A member of the Thirteenth Tribe destroyed the body of our God, but his spirit demands that they all pay the price for their transgressions. We will find the Holy Rings, and we will light them! Our God’s vengeance will sweep across the galaxy like a sword, cutting down those who are unworthy. Only those of us who have remained loyal and true will be saved!”

“By Your Command!” The others started to chant, “By Your Command! By Your Command! By Your Command!”

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“I said we needed to be seen to be making progress.” President Roslin lent over and whispered into Adama's ear, “This is a little bit over the top, don't you think?”

“I've never been one who believed in half-measures.” The Admiral replied, perfectly deadpan, “I just wish I could have seen the look on Tom Zarek's face when he found out the ship had sailed.”

“Yes, that would have been nice.” Roslin savoured the mental image, “But he's had his time in the sun.” She looked around at the assembled welcoming committee, “I just wish we had more room.”

The inner airlock was full to bursting point: along with the President and the Admiral were Colonel Tigh, Apollo, Helo, Athena, Shaw and Anders, while Dr. Halsey, Chief Mendez, Cortana, the Master Chief and the other Spartans stood to the other side. Roslin noticed with a hint of amusement that Cortana's hand had shifted until it was holding the Master Chief's. Cavil and Boomer stood on the far side of the Spartans, a reminder to the Colonials that he still held more than one card.

There was a thud as the universal docking port clamped onto the transport sent over from the Dowding, then the pumps got to work equalising the pressure before the outer hatch swung open. From her position in the middle of the room, it was impossible for Roslin to see through the small window into the next chamber, but the marines acting as official honour guard come sharply to attention moments before the inner hatch swung open. First to step through were two figures dressed head to toe in black armour, their faces hidden behind dark visors. Each cradled a strange looking rifle in their arms, and had an over-sized pistol strapped to their right hip. They seemed to scan the room for any threats, pausing slightly on the assembled Spartans then they stepped out of the way, taking up position on either side of the hatch. The man who stepped through next was dressed in the same dark armour, but without the helmet: hard, flint-grey eyes double checked what the first two solders had reported, then nodded to someone behind.

By contrast, the woman who followed was shorter, maybe an inch taller than Roslin, and slender to the point of being almost petite. The immaculate white dress uniform she wore was heavy in gold braid, and made her look like she belonged on a recruiting poster. But that was until you saw the look in her eyes and the impressive collection of ribbons over her right breast; she was someone who had seen and done her fair share of killing, and then some. She took off her cap, showing short, grey hair with a few streaks of black around the temples. A faint scar ran along her forehead just below the hairline, a silent but ever present testament to how one of the ribbons had been won. Her eyes singled out Adama as the senior Colonial offer present, and she stepped forward.

“Admiral Matilda Grant.” She offered a sharp, parade-ground salute, “Commander 4th Fleet, Alliance of Free Systems.”

“Rear-Admiral William Adama.” Her counterpart returned the salute with equal crispness, “Commander of the Battlestar Galactica, Twelve Colonies of Kobol.”

“Admiral.” Grant smiled, her demeanour softening, “I've heard a lot about you these past couple of weeks.”

“All true, I'm afraid.” Starbuck stepped through the hatch, a huge smile on her face, and stood before her surrogate father, “Sorry I'm late, sir; I got a little lost on the way and had to hitch a ride.”

“Trust you to be too stubborn to remain dead for long.” Tigh scoffed, but there was a smile on his face, “Good to have you back, Thrace.”

“It's good to be back, Sir.” Starbuck took his hand and shook it, “But you know me; I love to make an entrance.”

“Speaking of which, may I introduce the President of the Twelve Colonies,” Adama stepped slightly to the side, “Laura Roslin.”

“Admiral Grant, I'd like to personally thank you on behalf of the people and government of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol.” Roslin smiled, “Your timing couldn't have been better.”

“We try our best.” Grant offered her hand, “If you don't mind, I'd like to leave the full diplomatic greetings for someone a little more experienced than I am; my job is to offer our help in getting your people somewhere safe. Beyond that and you're getting above my pay-grade.”

“I can relate to that.” Adama smiled, “I suppose I should also introduce...”

“Dr Halsey, I presume?” Grant turned to her right, “And, well...a man who needs no introduction.” She looked up at the Master Chief and snapped off a sharp salute, “It is an honour to meet you, Master Chief, it truly is; I don't think there is a single living citizen of the Alliance who hasn't heard of your exploits during the Covenant War, and knows the debt the entire galaxy owes you.”

“I was...only doing my duty.” The big Spartan sounded slightly embarrassed at all the fuss, “Same as everyone else.”

“Modest to a fault, I see.” Grant smiled, and signalled to somebody waiting in the airlock, “Well, there are some people here who would like to meet you.” She looked at the other Spartans, “All of you.”

There was a dull thud of metal on metal, and another figure stepped through the airlock. The armour was newer, more streamlined and with a semi-organic feel, but there was no mistaking it as anything other than a suit of Mjolnir armour. They carried the same strange looking rifle as the ODST's, but the weapons looked like toys in their hands. The stranger stepped down through the hatch, and was soon followed by seven others. The apparent leader looked at the Master Chief and slowly brought one hand up to face level and swiped a quick smile across their faceplate with two fingers. They then carefully removed their helmet and the assembled party gasped as they looked upon a younger version of the Master Chief. Another one of the Spartans followed suit, levering a near perfect doppelgänger of the first

“Well, it's nice to finally meet you,” The first one smiled, “brother.”

To Be Continued...

[Sinister Dexter]

Ongoing thanks to Zimu Yang for beta-reading
Another info-dump chapter, I'm afraid

Red In Tooth And Claw
Chapter 41: Band Of Brothers

Colonel Tigh was the first to react, drawing his side arm and pointing it at one of the Spartans with a snarl on his face. This set off a rippling chain reaction as weapons were drawn and pointed at the nearest available target. The Master Chief signalled the other Spartans in his group to surround Dr Halsey, Mendez and Cortana in a wall of metal while Adama pulled Roslin back, instinctively putting himself between his president and danger. Cavil on the other hand held Boomer in front of himself as a human shield. The ODST officer had unceremoniously thrown Admiral Grant back through the airlock and stood guard over her, shoulder to shoulder with his subordinates.


“Wow!” Starbuck slowly raised her hands, “Anyone wants to just calm the frak down?”

“They're Cylons!” Tigh snapped, looking down the barrel of his gun at the nearest Spartan, “This has all been some kind of elaborate trap, right from the beginning!”

“Have you been drinking again?” The pilot asked, slowly stepping between the XO and his target, “I've been to Earth; it's real, and they can take us there. But first you have to put. Your. Gun. Down.”

“I'd do as she says.” One of the new Spartans suggested, their rifle pointed at the Colonel's head, “Pull that trigger, and things can only end badly for you.”

“Saul.” Adama slowly reached out and put his hand gently on his friends arm, “Stand down, old friend.” He looked around at the rest of his people, “That goes for the rest of you, too.”

Slowly and hesitantly, grips were lessened and weapons were lowered as order was restored.

“Well that wasn't the first contact scenario I had in mind.” President Roslin straitened her jacket, “May I suggest that Dr Halsey take some of our new guest over to the starboard flight deck to get acquainted while the rest of us head up to the wardroom and discuss what to do next?”

“That sounds good to me.” Admiral Grant stood, dusting off her uniform as she looked at the apparent leader of the new Spartans, “Captain.”

“Sir.” The Spartan nodded then turned to face the Master Chief, “After you.”

The walk was conducted in silence, with Kelly and Linda leading the way. John followed behind, with Fred, Cortana, Dr Halsey, Mendez, and the new arrivals, while the Spartan III's brought up the rear. Word was already spreading throughout the ship, and several crew members found an excuse to be in an area the party passed through, eager to catch a glimpse of the strangers. They reached the last hatch leading through to the sealed off area, and the leader of the new Spartans signalled two of his subordinates to hold position and make sure no one followed.

“In here.” Dr Halsey opened the hatch leading into the impromptu gym, “It's the only room big enough to hold us all.”

She made her way to the opposite wall, flanked by the rest of her group while the newcomers clustered around the hatch. There was a silver-blue blur as Contemplation zipped through the hatch and hovered in the air above the Master Chief.

“Greetings, I am 823543 Silent Contemplation.” The A.I. bobbed up and down excitedly, “Welcome, welcome. Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

“You can start by explaining just who you are.” Halsey stood with her arms folded, looking out across the tops of her glasses.

“I am Captain Henry-B056, leader of Team-Knife. This Lieutenant James-B007, Team Nova.” The leader gestured towards his doppelganger, “We are SPARTAN-IV Super Soldiers.”

“I don't think that's what she meant.” Mendez spoke up, “Why did you call John 'brother'?”

“Because I'm his clone.” Henry explained, “All members of Bravo Company are clones of former Spartans. Lisa here,” He nodded to the Spartan standing behind his left shoulder, “is a clone of Alice-130.”

“Yes, there was talk of using clones.” Halsey nodded slowly, rubbing her chin as she assimilated the information, “I think you should perhaps start from the beginning.”

“As you wish. After the loss of the training facility on Onyx 87 years ago, HighCom was ready to pull the plug on ORION: it was just too expensive to start over again from scratch, given the cost of rebuilding after the Covenant War. There were only four know surviving Spartan-II's back then - Adriana, Mike and Jai from Grey Team, and Maria, whose commission was reactivated during the Battle of Earth and was instrumental in defending the Special Warfare Centre in Korea. Then a deep-range reconnaissance ship found the Spirit Of Fire; she'd lost her slipstream drive during the war and was heading back towards the Inner Colonies at a near-relativistic sub-light speed.” Henry explained, “Douglas, Jerome and Alice were aboard, and O.N.I. decided they had enough experienced personnel to restart SPARTAN-III selection and training. However, with a diminished threat to Earth and her Colonies, they decided to change the recruitment process. They used DNA from the previous Spartans to create clones. Some of us are straight copies like James, Lisa and myself while others were created using manipulated or mixed DNA like Aziz, Marco and Tess.” Three of the other Spartans nodded, “This helped to avoid some of the ethical quandaries in the previous programs and also bought the time needed to put the support structures in place. After all, unlike flash-clones, a viable clone still takes nine months to mature. We used the Spartan-III argumentation due to its zero percent failure rate. The Spartan Corps now stands at brigade strength, with one battalion spread out across each of the three UN-controlled sectors.”

“What about this 'Alliance of Free Systems'?” Cortana asked, “How does that work?”

“The Alliance is made up of the worlds still controlled by the Unified Earth Government, a few independent human-worlds, the Sangheili Imperium, the Mgalekgolo Conglomerate and the Unggoy Protectorates.” Henry stood at ease, “We also have a large Huragok population; they were instrumental in rebuilding after the Covenant War. The Alliance is more of an economic and military organisation rather than a unified political body. My team and I are still part of the UNSC, and ultimately report to HighCom on Earth. We're only second to the Alliance, similar to how NATO used to operate.”

“And the Covenant?” The Master Chief asked, “What of them?”

“The Covenant Remnant, as we call them, is made up of the surviving San 'Shyuum, the Jiralhanae and the Yanme's, along with some of the Unggoy and an unknown number of Huragok slaves.” His clone explained, “Although plagued by in-fighting between different factions and suffering from weak leadership, they still control a large number of ships and worlds, making them a credible threat to the Alliance. The San 'Shyuum seem to be dying out due to wide spread genetic disorders, but the Jiralhanae are as deadly as ever. The Kig-yar broke away shortly after the end of the Covenant War and have gone back to being space-pirates. To the best of our knowledge, the Flood have been eliminated; we tracked down the rest of the Halos and made sure they were cleaned, and then we destroyed the Activation Indexes to make sure they could never be used again.”

Cortana fidgeted slightly, the long-hidden data looming like an iceberg in the dark recesses of her mind.

“Well, that's answered my questions, at least for now.” Halsey looked around, “I'm going to see what the others are talking about.”

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“We left a Cruiser, some Frigates and a pair of Destroyers with our support ships.” Grant was explaining as Halsey made her way into the wardroom, “We didn't want to leave them totally defenceless if this was some kind of trap. I've already ordered the Skinwalker back to the rendezvous point to give the all clear.”

“We're thankfully for the help.” President Roslin smiled “You're being more generous that I'd ever hoped to dream.”

“I have two ex-husbands and an ex-wife who'd disagree with you.” Grant shook her head, “I'm sorry; I can get a little melancholy at times. But like I said before, politics isn't my game.”

“So say we all.” Adama nodded, “But we should get on the move. The Loyalist Cylons may have been surprised, but they're unlikely to give up that easily.”

“Indeed.” Cavil nodded somewhat grimly, “The Six who leads them is unstable, she could do anything.”

“Then I say we go on the offensive; strike them were it'll do the most damage.” Halsey stepped forward, “As you know, I've been doing a lot of research into the Cylon Resurrection network and there is one fatal flaw in the system.” She pulled a portable holo-emitter from her pocket, placed it on the table and activated it: a massive structure appeared floating in the air above the meeting room, “The central Hub: a mobile control node for the entire network.”

“It's FTL capable: first sign of an attack force and it'll jump away.” Cavil pointed out, “And it's always escorted by at least a dozen of our most powerful Baseships.”

“We should be able to disable or at least confuse their FTL with a couple of Whiz-Bang's.” Grant mused then saw the way half of the room was looking at her, “ARS-441 Proximity Plasma Warheads. Think a larger version of a Covenant plasma grenade; very little blast damage, but they mess with anything electronic within, say, 500-meters? Depending on shielding, that is. Very useful when you want to capture a ship rather than destroy it. The Shadow Of The Night or the Skinwalker carry them as standard for anti-smuggling operations, but they can be fitted to a Longsword if needed. It's possible that they could disable the FTL long enough to get a boarding party in and take over the command centre.”

“Taking the Resurrection Hub intact serves two purposes.” Halsey explained as she started to slowly walk around the room, “First and foremost, we can cut off Caprica-Six's followers and allow our allies to rejoin it.”

“We rob the others of their immortality, and they'll be more inclined to leave us alone, at least for now.” Cavil nodded in agreement, “They're religious zealots, but they're not that stupid. At least, I don't think they are.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” Grant stood looking at the hologram, “And the second purpose?”

“We get access to Resurrection.” Halsey took a deep breath, “Imagine a Spartan that truly can not die: imagine all those years of training and experience, in a body that can learn from even fatal mistakes in combat. The main problem we've had in the past was every Spartan lost in combat was a massive blow to their overall strength, given the years it takes to train a replacement. But if we can create our own version of a Resurrection Ship, loaded with cloned bodies complete with the latest ORION Project upgrades then they can be ready for the next mission. And should a new, better upgrade become available, they could be added to new clones and attrition would take care of the rest.”

“My Gods!” Roslin looked shocked, “You're serious, aren't you?”

“As a heart attack.” Halsey nodded, “Call it trying to make up for my past sins.”

“As targets of opportunity go, it's a real peach.” Grant nodded, “And we've got the fire-power. More than enough in fact.” She smiled, “Hell, HighCom said I could take any and all actions I felt necessary to defend the Alliance form possible Cylon attacks, and this sounds like it fits the bill.”

“It would be nice to get back on the offensive.” Adama nodded, a thin smile playing across his face, “So, what's the plan?”

To Be Continued...

[Sinister Dexter]

Ongoing thanks to Zimu Yang for beta-reading

Red In Tooth And Claw
Chapter 42: Meeting The Neighbours

Apollo looked at the fleet of Alliance ships that stood guard over the remnants of his once great civilisation. The flowing lines of the Renewed Purpose had an inhuman elegance that overshadowed any ship in the Colonial or Cylon fleet, out massing the Galactica and even the Pegasus by several orders of magnitude. By comparison, the bulks of the Continuation Of Politics and the Charge Of The Light Brigade were closer to something the Twelve Colonies may have come up with in time. Of all the UNSC warships, it was the super-carrier Hugh Dowding that seemed most familiar; she had been built along similar lines to a Battlestar, even if she was a little longer than the Galactica, with her hanger decks above and below the main-line. Compared to these leviathans of space, even the cruisers Lair Of The Mighty Wyvern, Clarions Call and On Your Shield Or With It seemed to pail in comparison. The far smaller frigates and destroyers were all business as they moved amidst the fleet - always keeping at least one of Cavil's suddenly outnumbered Basestars under their guns.

The civilian fleet itself had grown with the arrival of the other ships sent by Earth. Since first encountering the Master Chief, he had expected to make contact with UNSC warships, but he had never expected them to send a small fleet of cargo and support craft to meet them half way. Along with the bulk cargo haulers Black Friday, You Break It You Bought It, Discount Brand, Stack It High Sell It Cheep, Cash On Delivery and Duty Free Export with their much needed loads of food and other supplies were the survey ship Second Star To The Right, the science vessel Alan Turing, the fleet tenders Argo and Infinite Refills and the hospital ship First Do No Harm. But most importantly from Apollo's point of view, the mobile dockyard Newport News, which had already taken the battered and almost broken Pegasus into its embrace; its army of skilled technicians and engineers working around the clock to return the once proud Battlestar to a combat ready status.

“Okay, listen up and listen good, 'cause I'm only going to say this once.” One of the two ODST's standing by the Pelican's rear hatch spoke up, bring Apollo back to reality, “My name is Gunnery-Sergeant Nathaniel Raymond. You can call me Gunny. This is Corporal Zoë Torres,” He gestured to the woman at his side, “In a few minutes we will be landing on the Assault Carrier Renewed Purpose. Most of her crew are Sangheili, and there will also be other non-humans on board. Now I know that most of you have had some experience with the Huragok, but you're still likely to be a little shocked when you come face to face with an alien life-form for the first time. My advice to you would be to keep calm and try not to start a diplomatic incident. Corporal Torres and I will be escorting you from the hanger deck to the war-room. I wouldn't recommend getting lost on the way: the Sangheili have a very strict zero-tolerance policy when it comes to areas that are off-limits.”

A shadow fell over the view port as the transport entered the cavernous hanger deck, passing through the force field that kept the atmosphere inside and landing with a slight jolt. There was a pop and a slight hiss as the pressure equalised, then the main hatch slowly lowered. If the Assault Carrier had looked unusual from the outside, it was truly inhuman on the inside; the deck, bulkheads and high, vaulted ceiling were made of some strange, purple material. The lighting was low and understated, and it took Apollo a moment to adjust. A tall figure loomed out of the darkness, and the Colonial took a step back.

“I am Weapons-Master Tek 'Fangos.” It's voice sounded like it had been dragged from the depths of Hades itself, “Welcome to the Renewed Purpose. Please, follow me.”

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“It's good to have my own bed back.” Admiral Grant stretched as she stepped out into her day cabin, “Maybe I've spent too long on a Sangheili ship, but I find it hard to get use to a human bed.”

“We all find comfort in the familiar.” Dr Halsey sat in one of the large chairs around the small conference table, “Why did you ask me to come here alone?”

“Now that's the Catherine Halsey I read about at the academy: blunt and to the point.” Grant smiled as she poured two glasses of water and set them down on the polished wood of the table, then sat down in her own chair, “You're here because HighCom gave me some very specific instructions before we left Earth, including a list of questions I was to ask you, based on the information Section Three got from Captain Thrace during her, debriefing.”

“If they're anything like the Section Three of my day, I doubt she enjoyed it.” Halsey looked out over the top of her glasses, “Should I expect a formal complaint from President Roslin?”

“Oh, I'm sure there will be a complaint, maybe even a full senate inquiry, when we get back to Earth.” The Admiral dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand, “But Section Three will do what they always do in these matters; issue some vague statement with the usual comments about operational security, then close ranks and refuse to answer any further questions.”

“The more things change, the more they stay the same, huh?” Halsey snorted, “So what are these questions that HighCom want answered?”

“Well, there is the matter of Cortana.” Grant seemed a little ill at ease, “Her change in state, has risen more than a few questions back home.”

“Yes, that's why I told her to remain on the Galactica for the time being.” Halsey sat up, her expression and posture changing in an instant, “I want you to listen very carefully, Admiral, because I do not like having to repeat myself: I consider Cortana to be as much my daughter as if I had given birth to her myself, and as such I am extremely protective of her. Anyone who has it in mind to treat her as a science experiment will find themselves the subject of my full and undivided attention. And trust me when I say that that is not something you want to experience: I have no surviving enemies, at all.” She paused, and a thin smile played across her lips, “And, if by some miracle there is someone who is brave or foolish enough to not be afraid of me, then I should warn you that she has recently entered into a romantic relationship with the Master Chief. Considering that he was willing to storm the gates of hell for her when she was merely an A.I., I very much doubt that there is a power in the universe that could stop him from protecting her now she is his lover.”

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Galactica's CIC was abuzz with UNSC officers who had been invited over to tour the warship while the senior staff was on the Renewed Purpose. The somewhat overwhelmed Colonials found themselves bombarded with questions about the ship, its systems and the principles behind them. Most interest was directed towards the FTL drives used by the Colonials and Cylons, as well as the properties of Tylium, due to the minerals energy generating capacity.

Cortana watched them nervously. She had been given a Lieutenant Commander's uniform and rank insignia, and the cover story explaining her presence was the same as had been used before. All she had to do was keep quiet and hope that HighCom would otherwise leave her be. She felt sure that there would be some repercussions for her actions since arriving on the Galactica; she had broken more than her fair share of rules and regulations, and that left out the fact that she was an A.I. who had transcended her original form and become human.

Still, she had her mother and the Master Chief on her side; what more could she ask for?

Several of the visiting officers were clustered around the central DRADIS console, which Lieutenant Gaeta was explaining to them as best he could.

“I'm surprised to see that you're still using Halcyon class Cruisers.” Cortana looked at the information on display, “They were on the verge of being retired before the start of the Covenant war.”

“The design proved to be so resilient to damage during the war that the BuShips ordered new ones to be built.” Commander Kate McAdams, gunnery-officer on the Clarion's Call explained somewhat proudly, “With the new tech we developed or otherwise gained during the war, the Block-II variants are much more powerful than the original Halcyon's and more than twice as durable.”

“But you're still using MAC cannons?” Cortana asked, confused, “The gun-camera footage I saw showed some of your ships firing energy weapons, while others are still armed with kinetic energy weapons.”

“The budget's not what it was. After the Covenant War, the economy was in ruins and what remained of the fleet was scattered to the four winds, trying to protect the handful of surviving colonies and outposts from attacks by Covenant Loyalists and Insurrectionists.” Commander Matthew Hardy, captain of the Caledfwlch, frowned, “Between rebuilding the damage to the basic infrastructure, and patching up the ships we had left, there wasn't a lot of money for new hulls or R&D. Hell, out of our entire fleet, only five of the ships were built after the war, and two of them still have that fresh-from-the-builders-yard smell about them. Everyone else has to make do with upgrades and refits, patching news systems onto older hulls.”

“Shields help a lot.” McAdams nodded, “Now they're standard issue to all UNSC warships, we can finally go toe-to-toe with anything the Covenant or the Kig-yar can throw at us without getting taken down by the first volley of plasma torpedoes.”

“That's good to hear.” Geata smiled, “Any chance you could share that tech a little?”

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“An impressive ship.” Cavil stood at the back of the Renewed Purpose's bridge and soaked up the raw power the ship seemed to radiate, “I can see how you were able to push the Thirteenth Tribe to the brink of extinction.”

“Let me give you some advice Cylon. My people fought the humans of Earth, pushed them back from colony to colony, all the way to their home world. And we had to fight and bleed for every step we took.” 'Baranos' eyes narrowed and his mandibles flexed instinctively, “Of all the races I have encountered, none are as tenacious and unyielding in combat as the humans. They do not, I believe, understand the concept of simply giving in to what others would see as an inevitable fate. When pushed or threatened, their instinct is to fight back, regardless of the odds or the enemy. I have seen records from the Covenant War of human civilians, not warriors, attack my kind, even Jiralhanae and Mgalekgolo, with sticks and rocks and their bare hands. They never once just 'gave in' to death, never once lost their will to fight. Betray them at your own peril, Cylon, for I doubt the universe would mourn the passing of a race that was so... foolish.”

To Be Continued...

[Sinister Dexter]

Ongoing thanks to Zimu Yang for beta-reading
I'm having a little fun at the expense of the Colonials at the start of this chapter,
but it was the only way to get over my writers block

[CENTER]Red In Tooth And Claw
Chapter 43: Language Barrier[/CENTER]

Apollo stood with his back against the bulkhead observing the room. Humans in Colonial and UNSC uniforms stood in small groups interspersed with Sangheili officers, discussing the planned assault on the Resurrection Hub. A pair of Mgalekgolo stood towing over the main plotting table, as intimidating as they were immobile, examining the schematics of the Cylon instillation.

“Waad yee be Major Adama?” A strangely accented voice asked, and Apollo turned to find himself face-to-face with a UNSC officer dressed in a set of wrinkled coveralls; a stark comparison to the neatly pressed duty uniforms most of the other's wore.

“Lee Adama.” He nodded, offering his hand, “Galactica's CAG.”

“Commander Felix de Carabas. Skipper and chief yard-dog o the Newport News.” The stranger had a bone-crushing handshake, “Ah need te hev a wee word wi you aboot yer ship, the Pegasus.”

“Is there a problem?” Apollo asked, feeling a pang of guilt over the state his once proud former command had gotten into.

“Not a problem as such; more on an impasse, if yee will.” de Carabas pulled a palm-pad computer from one of his numerous pockets, “We've reached the point weor someone has te decide just hoo far wi gan wi the refit: wi hev the original master plans frem the ships mainframe, so if yee wanted wi could put hor back the way sheh wez when sheh forst left the builders yard.” He turned the pad around and showed an image of the Pegasus as she had been in her prime, “But Admiral Grant has given weh permission te really gan te toon , try an bring hor up te summat approaching UNSC standard. Noo we've got the parts in stock, either on the Newport horsell or one o the tenders wi browt wi weh , an it's modular tech tha should be easy te interface wi yer systems, if they're owt leik tha over-grown lawn-dart yee caal a fighter tha Captain Thrace cyame through the Voi portal in. But aal tha tech comes at a price: you'd need a smart-A.I. te run a ship leik tha gis the complexity of some o the systems, an I've heard hoo yee fowk are when it comes te those.”

“I'm sorry. I barely understood a word of that.” Apollo shook his head and held up his hands in mock surrender, “Your accent is like nothing I've ever heard before.”

“Sorry about that. I'm from a planet called Tyne that was first settled by people from the Northumbria region of Earth, and the accent's kind of a badge of honour.” de Carabas smiled, his voice softening and becoming easier to understand “Geordie's have always been good ship builders, and after Reach got glassed by the Covenant back in 2552, we became the main UNSC shipyard. Since then, there's not been a captain worth their salt that didn't want a Geordie down in the engine room.”

“So you're saying we'd need a smart A.I. if we wanted the Pegasus upgraded?” Apollo's eyes narrowed, “That would be a hard sell, even if I was convinced it was the right thing to do. What kind of upgrades are we talking about?”

“This'll tell you everything you need to know.” de Carabas handed over the data-pad, “I've got to get back to my ship.” He gestured towards the rest of the room’s occupants, “Something tells me I'm going to have a lot of ships to fix in the near future.”

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The ship seemed to reek of antiseptic, the same smell that Roslin had come to dread back on the Colonies when she'd been a humble school teacher. It was that smell that had kept her from keeping regular appointments, and had resulted in the cancer that had almost killed her reaching the inoperable stage in the first place. But she was smart enough to learn from her mistakes, and having already seen some of the Thirteenth Tribes medical advances, she had taken a shuttle over to the First Do No Harm and requested a consultation.

“I'm sorry for keeping you waiting.” the door opened, and for a moment she could hear the sounds of a busy hospital at work, before it closed with a faint click, and silence returned, “We underestimated how bad things were out here.”

If the stress of being both Commanding Officer and Chief Medical Officer of the hospital ship was getting to Dr Inese Larssonde, then it didn't show outwardly. Her lab coat was immaculate, and her shoulder-length, greying hair was pulled back into a plain ponytail. She held a palm-sized computer in her hand, and it fitted easily into the slot on her desk. The lights dimmed slightly as the holo-projector built into the ceiling came to life, showing a 3D image of the new tumour that was growing inside Roslin's chest.

“It's small enough to get out in one surgery, and there's no sign that it has spread to any other part of your body, but you will need to undergo regular check-ups to make sure.” Larssonde sat down, her hands resting on the immaculate desk, “There is, however, one complication.”

“Isn't there always?” Roslin asked dryly, “And that is?”

“It's been close to five hundred years since we developed the gene-therapy for cancer back on Earth, and as such we don't have an oncologist on-staff. Truth is, you'd be hard-put to find one anywhere outside of a teaching hospital.” the doctor explained, “Standard procedure for a case like this would be to book you a slot with one of our AutoDocs and let the machine do all the work, but...”

“Like a lot of my people, I'm not ready to trust any machine with my life.” Roslin shook her head, “It may seem strange to you, but you've not had a race of sentient machines declare a holy war against your entire society.”

“Well, as luck would have it, one of our senior Attending's does have some experience with this kind of procedure, but even then there is a potential problem.” Larssonde took a deep breath, “We are not a ship of the line: we're Fleet Auxiliary, and as such we are allowed to bend some of the rules when it comes to our crew. The doctor in question, Ben Meier, is out chief cardiologist, but he's also a Jesuit Priest and our 'unofficial' Chaplain.”

“And this is normal?” Roslin asked, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

“The United Earth Government has very strict rules governing the separation of Church and State, as does the Alliance as a whole; a natural response to what happened with the Covenant.” Larssonde did her best to explain, “While his calling as a Priest would not stop him from serving on a warship as a medical doctor, he would be expect to refrain from ministering to the crew. But we're a hospital ship; we get sent where there's death and destruction, and sometimes people feel a little better knowing that there's someone there to guide them into whatever they think is waiting for them on the other side.” She paused, “Just don't get into a theological debate with him. In the six years we've served together, I've never known him to lose an argument or discussion where God is involved.”

“So he's a monotheist?” Roslin asked calmly.

“He believes in only one God, yes.” Larssonde nodded, “But I assure you that he is also one of the best surgeons I have ever worked with, and he has never once put his faith ahead of his duty as a doctor. I would trust him with my own life without a second thought.”

“And what about you?” Roslin looked out over the tops of her glasses, “What, if you don't mind me asking, do you believe in?”

“I'm agnostic. If there is a Higher Power out there, I can't say I've ever felt its presence.” Larssonde smiled, “But then again, lack of proof is not proof of lack, so let's just say I like to keep an open mind.”

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“Frack me, that's a big gun...” Helo pulled himself up on his tip-toes underneath one of the C725 Longsword interceptors that lined the Hugh Dowding's flight deck, and looked down one of the barrels of the massive cannon that jutted out from under the ships nose, “No wonder they took ripped those Raiders apart so easily; I've seen smaller weapons on a Battlestar!”

“There are two even bigger ones under here.” Athena was crotched down on the deck, pointing at the two weapons fixed at an oblique angle of attack, “Must be intended for use in strafing runs.”

“The one under the nose is a M90 Rotary Gauss cannon that uses a series of magnetic coil in each barrel to accelerate a 100mm round to hyper-sonic velocities. It's rotary because of the time it tacks for the coils to charge: seven barrels allow for a much higher rate of fire, and the cost of slightly less damage per hit.” A voice from somewhere above their heads explained, “The ventral guns are 120mm high-velocity cannons that are actually mounted on 90 degree swivel platforms. And yes, they're mainly use for strafing; either ground targets or capital ships.” A rather elfin looking face framed by flowing red hair appeared over the leading edge of the fighter’s delta-wing, “Lieutenant Tina Coleman, but everyone calls me Top Cat.”

“Captain Karl Agathon; Helo.” The former CAG nodded towards his companion, “My wife, Sharon.”

“Athena.” She elbowed him in the ribs, “This your ship?”

“It's the Fleet's ship, or so the Wing Commander keeps telling me.” Coleman dropped down to the deck, and the two colonials were surprised at just how short she actually was. She was at least an inch below Athena's less than towing frame, and almost doll-like in her build, “But yeah, they let me play with her from time to time.” She looked at the other woman and nodded, “So, you're one of the 'friendlies' they briefed us on? One of the Eights we're not to shoot on sight?”

“I'm sure you could get away with shooting Boomer.” Athena smiled, “Linda did.”

“I'm afraid we don't get the same leeway as Spartans.” A voice from behind cut in and the three pilots turned round to see a tall, older looking man with close cropped grey hair standing next to Starbuck, who was grinning like an idiot.

“I told you they'd get lost on their way to the briefing room.” She held out her had, “Pay up.”

“I'm going to have to have a word with Major Smith.” The man grumbled as he pulled a pair of Sweet Williams from a pocket on the front of his flight suit and handed them over, “He has a lot to answer for.”

“I had bad habits long before I met him.” Starbuck said while pocketing the cigars, “Guys, this is Commander Cassius McQueen. He's the equivalent of the CAG around here.”

“Hence when they call me The King.” McQueen shook the two new comer’s hands, “I hope T.C. wasn't being a bother? This is her first deployment out of the academy, and she's still a little green.”

“No, we were just admiring her ship.” Athena nodded back towards the Longsword, “Bit bigger than anything I've ever flown.”

“We'll try and get you a ride in one, after the briefing.” McQueen gestured towards a nearby hatch, “Shall we?”

To Be Continued...

[Sinister Dexter]

Ongoing thanks to Zimu Yang for beta-reading

Red In Tooth And Claw
Chapter 44: Targets Of Opportunity

The Dowding's pilots briefing room was a large amphitheatre-like chamber with over a hundred metal seats bolted to the deck surrounding a podium and holo-projector. It was only half full, and Coleman led the visitors to a row of seats half way down before sitting next to another woman with shoulder length brunette hair.

“Guys, this is Lieutenant Deering, my wingman.” She explained.

“Dizzy.” The woman shook the newcomer’s hands.

The lights dimmed, signalling the commencement of the briefing.

“Okay, I'll keep this as brief as I can.” McQueen stood at the podium, the room’s acoustics making it easy to hear him, “Our mission has been given the code-name OPERATION: BLACK KNIGHT and will commence at 2300-hours tomorrow night. Red and Blue squadrons will be transferring over to the Renewed Purpose, while Green and Violet squadrons will remain behind to defend the fleet.”

The holo-projector came to life, displaying a large free-floating structure, “This is our target; the Cylons call it 'The Hub', and it is apparently the central nexus of their so-called Resurrection Network. The idea is that if we capture or destroy it, then they'll be a little less willing to mount suicide charges.”

The image zoomed in to show a section of the Hub near the bottom, “This, according to our allies, is the main power distribution node for their FTL drive. The Skinwalker will jump in outside of detection range then slowly close in until they can fire a Whiz-Bang. Once they conform the engines are disabled, the rest of the assault force, consisting of the Renewed Purpose, the Continuation Of Politics, the Charge Of The Light Brigade and the Sword Of Fury will jump in from their holding position in slip-space and attack the defending Baseships. Red squadron will join with the fighters from the other ships in engaging any hostile fighters. They will be the only Cylon fighters in the air, so feel free to shoot on sight.” He stepped back, “Commander McGregor will now brief Blue squadron”

“Sir.” Another officer took the podium. He was younger, but his light brown hair was starting to go grey around the edges. Despite this, he seemed to exude the same calm confidence as McQueen, “While Red squadron and the other fighters are keeping the sky clear, Blue squadron will fly close escort for a number of DropShips from the Renewed Purpose and deploy a boarding party whose task will be capture the Hub's central control room before they have a chance to get their FTL back on line. If they succeed, they will either affect what repairs are needed to make an independent jump, or prepare the ship to be towed into slipstream by the Renewed Purpose. Once the DropShip's are in, we will join the others and take on anything that's left. And don't expect a cake-walk; we are expecting at least twenty enemy capital ships, each with a full compliment of fighters. The only advantage we have is that their ships seem to be especially vulnerably to plasma-based weapons.”

“You'll find full briefings on the main server, as well as updated tactical specifications of the ship we will be facing.” McQueen stepped forward, “Go over it all until you know your part in the plan backwards, forwards, upside-down and inside-out.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Master Chief looked at the new suit of Mark VIII Mjolnir armour before him. While it closely resembled his old Mark VII suit, there were obvious alterations. The armour was a little thinner in places, allowing for better manoeuvrability, but there was a slight shine to it where the adaptive camouflage system was inactive.

“We brought them with us, one for each of you.” Henry stood to one side, “Figured that if we got into a fight, it wouldn't be right to see you without the best.”

“I'm impressed.” The Master Chief motioned towards a large cargo crate, “What's in there?”

“That?” Henry looked at the box and smiled, “That's a little something for if thing's get really hairy.” He walked over and typed an authorisation code into the controls on the front of the box, and it opened to reveal a massive suit of battle armour, “This is a Decimator Battle Suit: we use them for extreme combat and planetary assault operations. They're based on an early prototype of the Mjolnir system that was shelved.” He pressed a control, and the suit was pushed forward on hydraulic rams, “It's designed to interface with the latest variant of Mjolnir, so even if you have to punch out, you're not entirely defenceless.”

“Weapons?” The Chief asked, fascinated.

“Right arm holds a directed-energy cannon based in part on what you would know as a Sentential Beam. There's a three-shot missile system that can track ground or air targets up to five kilometres away.” A side panel on the crate opened and a large gun hissed out, “60mm Gauss-Cannon; fits over the left shoulder when the suits assembled. Then you've got five explosive charges that can be used as grenades, mines or satchel charges, and a plasma-bayonet.”

“Plasma-bayonet?”

“Half a Sangheili plasma-sword mounted below the energy cannon; cuts a Jiralhanae clean in half.”

“Defences?”

“2nd Generation Bubble Shield, ceramic Titanium-A armour and a plasma based self-destruct system, just in case.” Henry started to close the crate back up, “Also has an anti-grav propulsion system that gives it a limited orbital drop capability. But it's too big for the kind of fighting we're expecting on the Hub. The Decimator isn't designed to work in close proximity to friendly infantry. Still, I'm sure the Mgalekgolo will be more than up to handling any heavy lifting we need doing.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

President Roslin lay looking up at the ceiling roll pass as a nurse pushed the trolley she was on down a short hallway and into one of the First Do No Harm's operating theatres. She had decided, after much thought and having met with Dr Meier, to allow him to perform the operation, rather than trust an A.I. controlled AutoDoc. They passed through an anti-room into the theatre proper, and Roslin was surprised at just how may computers there were.

“Hello, Madam President.” Dr Meier pulled down his surgical mask, “Last chance to change your mind.”

“Don't tell her that.” Dr. Cottle stood against the far wall, eager to observe the operation, “Have you any idea the trouble I had getting her into my sick bay the last time around?”

“Something to be said for a life-or-death situation.” Meier smiled then nodded towards another doctor, “This is Dr. Sayid Bey, our Chief Neurologist. He will be assisting me today.”

“Any chance to learn something new.” The man nodded, “You never know when I might need to do this myself.”

“Are you also a Jesuit?” Roslin asked groggily as the anaesthetic took affect.

“Actually, I'm a Muslim.” Dr Bay saw the look of bewilderment of the Presidents face, “Same God, different path. But don't worry: I'm use to having non-believers under the knife.”

“It's a trap!” Roslin giggled, her eyes closing, “Cottle, get me out of here...”

“Is she always like that?” Meier asked the Galactica's CMO as he pulled his mask back up.

“More often than not.” Cottle chuckled.

“I heard that!” Roslin protested before she finally gave in to the powerful anaesthetic.

“Okay, game faces people; this isn't going to be like reading about it in a text book.” Meier took a breath, “Something light today, Faith. I think we'll start with Moonlight Serenade, if you'd be so kind.”

“Of cause, Ben.” The ship's A.I. sounded almost sensual, and the music started to play, “Anything for you.”

“I'm telling you, she's got a crush on you.” Bay looked out across the top of his surgical mask with humour filled eyes.

“It's the dog-collar.” Meier shook his head as a nurse handed him a scalpel, “Women always want what they know they can't have.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“We call this drink 'rum'.” Grant handed over a pair of tumblers half-filled with a dark liquor, “It's somewhat of a long-standing naval tradition back on Earth.”

“I'm all for tradition.” Tigh smiled, sniffing his glass, “And I'll try anything once.”

“To the wind that blows, the ship that goes.” Grant raised her glass with a smile, “and the lass that loved a sailor!”

“I'll drink to that.” Adama returned the toast, and took a sip of his drink. His eyes went wide, and for a moment, it looked like he might spit it back out again, but he managed to swallow it.

“What's the matter, Bill?” Tigh asked as he swallowed half his own glass without complaint, “Not getting soft in your old age, are you?”

“Perhaps I should have mentioned that Navy Rum is 95.5-percent proof.” Grant chuckled, “That'll get you out of your bunk on a cold morning.”

“Smooth.” Adama coughed, still feeling the burning sensation of the liquor in his throat, “This mission, do you really think you can pull it off? You're going to be outnumbered at least five to one, and that's not counting the Hub itself.”

“I wouldn't have authorised the mission if I didn't think we could pull it off.” Grant sipped her drink as she leaned back against her desk, “Yes, we are going to be outnumbered, but we've yet to see a Cylon weapon that can even harm one of our ships. That's not to say that I'm complacent, just willing to roll the dice a little.” She shrugged, “I think Dr. Halsey is mad if she thinks she can make immortal Spartans, but she's always been one to push the limits of what's possible. Me? I'd blow the Hub to atoms and call it a win, if our 'allies' didn't need it.”

“So you trust Cavil about as far as I do?” Tigh asked.

“My grandfather use to say that 'the enemy of my enemy is, at best, and ally of convenience'.” Grant shook her head, “He'd turn on us in a moment if he thought it was in his best interest, which is why I've declined his offer to send some of his people along on the mission. I want your Lieutenant Agathon to be the only Cylon on our side when the Marines go in.” She looked at Adama, the unspoken truth that there would be a second Cylon taking part in the mission passing between them.

“I can understand that.” Adama looked around for somewhere to put his glass down, “Lee came to me earlier. your engineers have offered to completely refit the Pegasus, but at the cost of having to install one of your 'Smart' A.I.'s.” He paused for effect, “I hope you can understand why I am reluctant to agree.”

“Your experience with the Cylons has taught you to hate and fear A.I.'s.” Grand nodded, “I can understand that; our cultural database is full of stories, movies and TV shows that depicted what people thought might happen if we created A.I.'s. When they first started developing A.I.'s, the law demanded that they used the so-called 'Three Laws' as protection.”

“Three Laws?” Tigh asked, looking around for the decanter, “What are they?”

“They were created by a science-fiction writer named Isaac Asimov in the early 20th century.” Grant finished off her drink, “The first law states that an A.I. may not injure a human being or, through their action or inaction, allow a human being to come to harm. The second law states that an A.I. must obey any orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law. The third law states that an A.I. must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.”

“But you have military A.I.'s that can turn weapons against humans.” Adama sounded unconvinced, “What's to stop them turning them on you?”

“Programmed in unquestioning loyalty to the UNSC and the Alliance.” Grant winked, “That, and Law Zero: an A.I. may not harm a human being, unless he finds a way to prove that in the final analysis, the harm done would benefit humanity in general. Or, to put it another way, it's okay to kill for the good of the state.”

“It sounds like you treat a very fine line.” Adama shook his head, “No, I can't agree to the instillation of an A.I. on the Pegasus or any other Colonial ship.”

“I don't share your views on A.I.'s, but I respect your right to hold them.” Grant simply shrugged as she handed the decanter of rum to Tigh, “I'll have the yard dogs do the best they can with what you've already got.”

To Be Continued...

[Sinister Dexter]

Ongoing thanks to Zimu Yang for beta-reading

Red In Tooth And Claw
Chapter 45: The Eve Of Destruction

“Does this make my ass look big?” Cortana asked as she stood in the middle of her quarters, dressed in a full ODST combat suit. It shared many similarities to the Semi-Powered Infiltration armour used by the Spartan-III's but had been built with mass production in mind, so it wasn't quite as advanced. Still, it was a step up from the BDU's and tactical vest she had worn when undergoing her basic combat training upon being released from the brig.

“Take it from someone who's been an ass person their entire life; yours is very nice.” Shaw stood dressed in her own suit, the only difference being the Colonial insignia painted on the shoulders and the fact that she still had her M6D side arm attached to the magnetic plate built into her suit’s right side while Cortana had one of the new M8 gauss-pistols.

“It smells... odd.” Cortana complained, sniffing, “I know I'm still getting use to having an actual sense of smell rather than just access to a chemical analyser, but is that right?”

“It's what you'd call the 'new car smell'.” Shaw laughed, “All knew equipment smells like that when it first arrives; give it a few days and it'll smell like an old sweat-sock.”

“Nice.” Cortana rolled her eyes as she started to strip, “You didn't have to volunteer for this mission, you know.”

“The Admiral may have promoted me back up to Captain, but that's just for appearances sake.” Shaw shook her head, “I'm still on his black list, probably will be for life. And as I have no chance of seeing any meaningful postings in the near future, missions like this are the only chance I have of seeing further promotion any time soon.”

“To bloody battles and sickly seasons, as the old toast goes.” Cortana stretched, “Don't ask me why, but I have a very bad feeling about this mission.”

“Then why didn't you say something?” Her friend asked, “They would have listened to you.”

“You're not the only one the higher-ups don't know what to do with.” Cortana frowned, “I'm tolerated, mainly because of John and my mother, but it's been made clear that my rank and position are considered honorary, and subject to review at any time.”

“You don't think they'd try anything funny, do you?” Shaw was genuinely concerned for her friend.

“Mother spoke with Admiral Grant and whatever she said seems to have worked.” Cortana stepped out of her heavy combat boots and stood in t-shirt and gym-shorts, “No one new has tried to poke me with a needle yet.”

“Well, that's one thing to be glad of.” Shaw sighed, “Having to put up with Starbuck is another question.”

XXXXXXXXXXXX

“Have I mentioned recently that I signed up to be a pilot?” Helo asked as they made their way back to the landing bay and the waiting shuttle, “I was an ECO before this all started, not a commando.”

“Relax before you burst a blood vessel.” Starbuck slapped him on the back, “You've seen the Master Chief in action, right? Well this time we're going in with twenty six Spartans; that blond-haired bitch won't know what hit her.”

“Don't underestimate the defences on the Hub.” Athena warned, “There will literally be thousands of Centurions there, as well as the biological-crew.”

“Nothing compared to twenty-six Spartans, a company of Orbital Drop Shock Troops and the assault teams from the Renewed Purpose.” Starbuck shook her head, seemingly unconcerned as she sighted down her forefinger as if she was aiming a gun, “I just hope I run into my old friend Leoben while there; I have some unresolved anger-management issues I'd like to get out of my system by...”

“Born in the woods,
Raised by the bear
Double-set of dog-teeth,
Triple coat of hair!”

The sound of combat-booted feet pounding on the deck and voices singing somewhat off-key but in near perfect unison filled the air, cutting Starbuck off mid sentence.

“M!” Gunnery-Sargent Raymond called out as they passed the pilots without even a sideways glance.

“Mean as hell!” the other marines shouted back.

“A!”

“All the time!”

“R!”

“Rough and Tough!”

“I!”

“In the mud!”

“N!”

“Never quit!”

“E!”

“Every day!”

“S!”

“Semper Fi!”

“Marines.” Helo shook his head and laughed, “No matter what world you're from, they're the same.”

“Crazy as they come, but we wouldn't have them any other way.” Starbuck grinned, “Trust me; this is going to be a piece of cake.”

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Laura Roslin woke slowly; the mix of pain killers and anaesthetic in her system giving the world warm and fuzzy glow.

“I'm glad to see you're awake, Madam President.” Dr Meier stood over her bed, making notes on a palm-sized computer, “Well, I'm happy to say the operation was a complete success; we were able to remove the tumour before it had gotten too far, and with further treatment we should be able to stop it from flaring up again.”

“When...when can I go back to my own ship?” Roslin rasped.

“Another few days.” Meier looked at her chart, “I want to keep you under observation until we know the gene-therapy has started to take effect.”

“Like hell!” Roslin tried to sit up, but she was still too weak, “I've got to get back to work; can't leave Tom Zarek in charge...”

“I can not advise against that strongly enough.” Meier shook his head, “You've just been through a major operation; your body needs time to recover.”

“Drugs.” Roslin insisted, “Just get me back on my feet.”

“No.” The word was spoken calmly and coolly.

“I'm the President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol.” Roslin protested, “What right do you have to keep me here against my will?”

“I am your doctor.” Meier's voice remained level, but there was an unmistakeable shift in his body language, “As long as that remains the case, I will be the judge of when you are fit to be released.”

“Not any more.” Roslin looked round for anyone who might support her, but they were alone in the private recovery room, “Get Cottle.”

“If you wish me to call Dr Cottle, then I will.” Meier remained standing in the exact same spot, “And if he asks, I will provide him with a full and unaltered copy of my case notes and your chart. But after that point I will have nothing more to do with you. I will not help patients kill themselves, especially when there is no reason why they shouldn't live a long and healthy life.”

“Are you saying I'll die if I leave?” Roslin asked, taken aback by the possibility.

“No. in fact, I'd be very much surprised if you don't make a full and speedy recovery.” Meier shook his head, “But I will not let any patient of mine, even a President, pick and chose when they will follow my advice and when they will ignore it. Either you are my patient or you're not. There is no middle ground.” He handed over a small comm-unit, “I have other patients to see. If you want to call Dr Cottle and have him take over your care, tap the green button; that will put you through to the duty communications officer, and they will be able to connect you with the Galactica. I will be back when I've finished with rounds to see what you have decided. Until then, good-day.”

With that he turned and left, leaving the President alone with her thoughts.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

“Okay, listen up because I hate having to repeat myself.” Major Smith stood on an old ammo crate to address the small group he had called together, “You're here because I want to make one thing crystal clear before we board the DropShips: none of you are Helljumpers!” He paused to let the words sink in for a moment, “You may be dressed like one, you may carry the same weapons and equipment, but not one of you has earned the right to call yourselves Orbital Drop Shock Troopers.” He looked Baxter clear in the eye, “No exceptions. I don't give a flying-fornication who you are, what rank you are, or what you've been through in the past; on this mission, you're just so-much excess baggage to me. Baggage that could, if it doesn't follow orders immediately and without question, get some of my people killed!”

Stepping down off of the crate, he started to walk between the silent audience.

“When that ramp drops, and the fighting starts, you will follow any and all instructions my people give you as if it was a commandment direct from whatever Higher Power you believe in. There will be no back chat, no second-guessing, and no trying to pull rank.” He reached the back and spun round, “And if one of you should commit the unforgivable sin of getting one of my people hurt of killed, I'll make you wish you'd died at birth. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?”

“SIR! YES SIR!” The startled group shouted as one.

“And to think this sh*t had to happen to me...” Smith shook his head as he muttered under his breath, “Wheels up in one hour for the final shuttles heading over to the Renewed Purpose; I want each and every one of you to check, double check and then tipple check that you have everything you'll need for the next three days. Then I want you to check again. Dis-missed!”

“Well, that was fun.” Shaw rolled her eyes once she was sure the veteran officer was out of ear-shot, “After that, storming the Hub should be no problem.”

“Helljumper's tend to be much more aggressive then regular marines.” Cortana pointed out, shouldering her kit-bag, “It goes with the territory.”

“He's much nicer when you get to know him socially.” Starbuck did her best to sound reassuring, “Can't really blame him for being a little highly strung before a mission like this.”

“All I know is I'll be happier when it's done.” Helo put an arm around his wife, “I can't say I like leaving Hera in the crèche for days at a time.”

“She'll get over it; kids are resilient like that.” Starbuck smiled, “My mother was hardly ever there, even when she was, and I turned out okay.”

Helo and Athena exchanged worried looks.

“I'll talk to the Admiral when we get back.” He promised, “Make sure we never get put into this kind of situation again.”

XXXXXXXXXXXX

The mood over on the Renewed Purpose was equally subdued; while no one doubted that they would succeed in the mission, there was always a time before any major combat operation when every one taking part found themselves with nothing to do but wonder if they'd be coming home again in a box. The mood seemed to permeate the entire flight deck, spreading from soldier to soldier like an infection. Then the mood suddenly started to change, rippling out from one end of the room, but travailing along in a relatively strait line. Helljumper's and pilots alike stood up strait, frowns turning into cocky smiles, while their Sangheili counterparts seemed to tense up, like hounds straining to be unleashed.

The Master Chief made his way across the hanger deck towards his assigned ship, followed by the rest of Blue Team. A pair of Mgalekgolo assigned to the assault watched them with interest, and started to recite epic war-poems in their native language. Marines and ODST come sharply to attention as the team approached. Even the normally calm and collected Sangheili commando's bared their mandibles and struck their chest with one fist as a mark of respect.

“You'll have to forgive them for being so, enthusiastic: your story is known on every world and outpost in the Alliance, and beyond.” 'Baranos laughed as he walked beside them, carrying himself just a little taller than he normally did, “Now they have the chance to go into battle alongside the legendary Master Chief and his fellow Demons!” He slapped the Spartan on the back playfully, “This will truly be a battle remembered in poem and song for generations to come!”

To Be Continued...

[Sinister Dexter]

Ongoing thanks to Zimu Yang for beta-reading
One reference to the events of the TV series Caprica in this chapter,
so if you haven't seen that yet, be warned of minor spoilers

Red In Tooth And Claw
Chapter 46: Storming Heaven

The Skinwalker exited slip-space and immediately went dark. With her baffles and cloak systems running, she simply vanished from all known sensors including the human eye. Using only low-powered thrusters, the Prowler started towards the distant Hub; the massive structure’s electromagnetic signature acting like a Syrian’s song to the spy-ship.

OXOXO

The flag-bridge of the Renewed Purpose was filled with an eerie calm, almost as if the crew was afraid to breathe lest they tip off the Cylons. For her part, Admiral Grant leaned back in her command chair, her eyes fixed at the back of the young ensign assigned to the communications station. He would be the first to receive word from the Skinwalker, giving the go/no-go order for the attack.

All four ships were at full combat alert, with hatches closed and crew members in the outer sections suited up in case of hull breaches. Fighter pilots sat in the cockpits of their craft, running unending check-lists to make sure that they were ready to launch the moment they entered normal space. Beside them sat the heavily armed and armoured DropShips that would ferry the assault team proper to the Hub.

Time ticked by at a crawl.

OXOXO

Drifting at a fraction of its cruising speed, the Skinwalker passed through the outer picket with ease, never coming even with visual range of the roving Cylon Raiders. The high powered optical telescope in her nose was set to maximum magnification and Lieutenant-Commander Fred Hicks looked at his target.

“Well, she's at about a 30-degree angle to port in relation to us, angled away from us to about the same degree.” He pondered the difficulty of the shot for a moment, “How long until they're supposed to jump out?”

“Another six hours.” Lieutenant Rachel Foley, the ship's XO, reported, “At least, that's according to the friendlies.”

“Best not take any chances, lest Murphy rear his ugly head.” Hicks shook his head, “Okay helm, lay in a course that takes us round into a firing position while keeping us as far away from those Baseships as possible.”

“Aye-aye, sir.” The veteran Petty Officer at the controls confirmed, “Taking us in.”

“Should we report in to the Flag Ship?” Foley asked.

“No, can't risk the Cylons intercepting the signal.” Hicks shook his head, “Anyway, they're big and nasty enough to look handle themselves.”

OXOXO

Cortana stood against the side of the Pelican she had been assigned to, waiting for the order to go. She felt a presence behind her, and turned to find herself face-to-chest with the Master Chief; his new armour making him look slightly more human than before.

“John.” She smiled as she looked up into his icy-blue eyes, “Why is it we always end up in the middle of the action?”

“I...would have been happier if you had stayed on the Galactica.” He admitted somewhat reluctantly, “This isn't going to be as easy as some of the others seem to think.”

“I've been in battle before, and I've always come through in one piece.” Cortana pointed out, “And the mission called for someone with experience cutting through Cylon encryption. Someone Admiral Grant felt she could trust to be loyal to Earth and the Alliance.”

“I won't be able to protect you like I have in the past.” The Master Chief sounded worried, “What if this is the decision we were warned about?”

“I've been thinking about that too.” Cortana frowned then shook her head, “But we can't keep wondering what might happen based on a rather cryptic message from what could be little more than a shared hallucination.”

“We've both seen enough to know that … it was something more than that.” John looked around to make sure no one else was listening in, “I can't help but feel that something is going to happen on this mission.”

“Just as well I'm taking my own personal good-luck charm with me then.” Cortana stood up on the tips of her toes while simultaneously pulling him down so she could kiss him on the lips, “We've always had each other's backs, and that's not going to change just because I don't fit in here any more.” She tapped the slot in the back of his helmet, “You're not getting rid of me that easily.”

OXOXO

“2,000km to firing range.” Foley reported, slaving the ships weapons systems to her console, “We have soft lock on the target area; probability of successfully strike is 72-percent at this time.”

“We turn on our RADAR or LIDAR and they're going to know something's up.” Hicks frowned, “Are we picking up anything on the inferred?”

“Some background interference from the systems primary.” Foley looked at the readings, “It's an early-stage Red Giant.”

“Remodulate our laser targeting designator to just off of the frequency.” Hicks ordered, already running the numbers on his own console, “Just enough out of the ordinary for a beam-rider to follow, but close enough to be lost in the noise if you don't know it's there.”

“Remodulating.” Foley brought the seldom-used system on-line, “1,000km to firing range.”

OXOXO

“I've never liked this waiting around.” Tigh grumbled as he stood in the middle of Galactica's CIC, “Gods only know what's going on, but it'll all be over by the time we find out.”

“Way of the world, Saul.” Adama smiled grimly, “We wouldn't last five minutes against the forces they'll be facing.”

“I wouldn't say that.” Tigh chuckled, a mischievous look in his eye, “We've punched above our weight before now.”

OXOXO

“Okay boys and girls, time to mount up!” Major Smith ordered, his voice echoing around the hanger, “Fleet's had their fun: now let's show these clockwork bastards what happens when you mess with the Mean Green Machine!”

“OORAH!” The other Marines shouted back as they started to climb aboard their assigned ships, crew chiefs making sure everyone was seated and strapped in before closing the hatch and pressing the cabin.

Cortana waited in line by one of the last shuttles with the other non-combatants, looking around to try and take in the scale of the operation. She could see the ship that had been assigned to carry the reformed and reinforced Blue Team, but the Master Chief didn't look round. She felt slightly saddened, but knew him well enough to know that he was totally focused on the mission at hand. Turning back towards the waiting Pelican, she caught a hint of red out of the corner of her eye: a Six stood half hidden in the shadows, a finger pressed against her lips bid Cortana to remain silent, then nodded her head and smiled as she stepped back into the darkness, vanishing

“Move it or lose it, Commander.” Corporal Torres warned, standing in the hatchway, “Long past the time to get cold feet.”

“I was just...” Cortana shook her head, “Nothing; I'm coming.”

OXOXO

“Target in range.” Foley announced after what felt like an age, “We have a likely shooting solution.”

“Arm missiles one and two; set warheads for contact destination.” Hicks snapped as he lent forward in his chair, “Prepare to send the go/no-go code to the flag-ship, and make sure the slips-space drive is charged and ready; something tells me we're going to be leaving in a hurry.”

“Missiles armed and ready.” Foley responded, “Releasing weapons control to your station.”

“Helm, get ready to bring us hard about and go to flank the moment the missiles are away.” Hicks' finger hovered over the red button built into the armrest of his chair, “We're only going to get one chance at this, so let’s make it count.”

“Shooting solution confirmed.” Foley looked round, “We have a definitive target lock.”

“Firing in three...two..one...MARK!” Hicks' jabbed the red button as hard as he could.

The optical cloak shimmered and died as the two missiles shot away from the Skinwalker and arched towards the Hub as fast as their over-sized boosters could propel them. The Prowler didn't hang around to watch the show; now clearly visible to the startled Cylons, she spun around and rocketed forward, her engines glowing white-hot as she let off a cloud of jammers, decoys and dragons-teeth, clustering the Cylon DRADIS with a swarm of false images and conflicting reports. At her station, Lieutenant Foley tracked the missiles; one was intercepted by a conveniently placed flack-cannon, while the other weaved and dodged the sporadic defensive fire and struck true. Blue fire enveloped the hull of the Hub outside the main FLT control bus as an expanding sphere of electromagnetic energy tripped circuits and fused relays, disabling the drives and stranding the ship.

“We have a clean hit!” Foley cried out in joy, “Sensors show massive power outages and spikes across the Hub; she's not going anywhere fast.”

“Signal the assault force to start their attack.” Hicks grinned, knowing that successfully pulling off such a strange and potentially dangerous mission wouldn't hurt his chances for promotion.

“Already sent.” Foley's eyes went wide, “But don't crack open the champagne just yet; we've got a wave of missiles on our ass. Sensors are going nuts, there must be a nuke in there somewhere...oh no...”

“What is it?” Hicks asked.

“It's a nuke alright; reads as a 50-mt enhanced radiation device!” The colour drained from Foley's face, “Must be a city-buster they had left over from the attack on the Colonies.”

“We're a Prowler, not a God-damn Destroyer!” Hicks looked and sounded equally worried, “Our shields aren't rated for that kind of fire power!”

“They've got to catch us first!” The helmsman reported as she pulled back on the stick, swing up around a Baseship then diving between its arms even as it started to launch its Raider wing.

But the missiles had a strong enough lock to follow the nimble spy-ship, the slightly fast conventional warheads striking the Skinwalker's shields harmlessly, still more taken out by the rear-mounted point-defence cannons. But the nuke got through, and detonated on contact with the shields. There was a blinding flash of light that seemed to envelop the sleek vessel for a moment then it faded to show a blackened wreck bleeding atmosphere and slowly dying as her reactor shut down. A pair of Heavy Raiders dived upon her, intent on boarding the vessel and salvaging what they could of her advanced systems.

The ship’s cramped control room was a smoke-filled hell, most of the crew already dead or dying as consoles exploded in a shower of sparks around them. Pinned to his seat by a snapped support strut that had crushed both of his legs, Hicks blinked to try and clear his vision. He could tell that his ship was lost, with no hope of recovery once the mission started. The few sensors still working warned of the approaching Cylons and it didn't take a genius to work out what they had in mind. Fingers slick with his own blood, Hicks managed to activate the self-destruct system and carefully entered his authorisation code as his own personal universe started to go black around the edges.

“See you in hell.” He coughed weakly as he hit the return key and everything went white.

OXOXO

“Flash traffic from the Skinwalker.” The duty communications officer on the Renewed Purpose reported excitedly, “Clean hit with one missile; Hub losing power to key systems, but Cylons alerted to their presence.”

“Well, we knew that was going to happen.” Grant stood, her eyes fixed on the holo-tank, “All ships assume battle stations: we're going in.”

A renewed sense of urgency filled the room as the crew prepared for battle.

OXOXO

The Cylons were still reeling from the attack by the Skinwalker when four slip-space portals opened up in their midst. One Baseship had the misfortune of being too close to one portal, and the energy wake ripped it apart like it was a child's toy. The Sword Of Fury was the first ship to emerge, her pulse-laser turrets ripping into the nearest ship as her Energy Projector completed charging. While not nearly as big or powerful as the kind found on larger capital ships, it was still capable of destroying a Cylon Baseship with a single hit.

The first shot went wide, only severing one arm of the target, but the ship’s targeting sensors were soon back to peak efficiency after the transition to normal space, and a pair of plasma-torpedoes finished the job. The wall of missile and canon fire the Cylons responded with was heavy by their own standards, but no where near the kind of condensed saturation bombardment Fury had been built to withstand. Still, it did tax the shields enough to force the crew to divert energy from weapons to defences, lowering the ships effective fire power by a quarter.

Against just one Destroyer, the Cylons may have prevailed through sheer weight of numbers, but the Continuation Of Politics and the Charge Of The Light Brigade entered the fray, flanking the defensive fleet and catching them in a devastating crossfire set up like a triangle, with the Fury at the apex. Then came the Renewed Purpose itself, closing the kill-box and trapping Cylons. With no room to manoeuvre, and unwilling to leave the Hub behind, they had no choice but to stand and fight. But the Hub itself was not without defences, and it directed as much of its fire as it could against the Renewed Purpose, realising that it posed the greatest threat. Conventional and nuclear tipped missiles crossed the void, hammering the Assault Carrier's shields like a mad drummer. Not wanting to risk damaging or even destroying the Hub, the Alliance ship was forced to take the punishment with only minimal counter-battery fire.

Fighters darted about like mad insects, trading weapons fire. While almost any direct hit by an Alliance fighter would destroy a Raider, the Longsword's and Seraphs had their own weak spots, and it was only a matter of time before the Cylons found them, and ships started dying on both sides.

OXOXO

“Buckle up, kids!” Gunny Raymond suggested as the Pelican dropped free from the clamps holding it in place and fell down through the open hatches in the hanger deck into space beyond, “And remember, it's not the bullet with your name on it you've got to worry about; it's the ones marked 'to whom it may concern' that you've got to watch out for.”

Only Corporal Torres laughed at the joke as the G-forces started to build up. Their ship was one of the last out of the bay, following behind the gun-ships that had the unenviable job of locating and clearing the Hub's own hanger deck, and the troop transports that carried the combat troops. The DropShips were too small and under powered to mount defensive shields of their own, so had to rely on speed and agility to protect them. As it was the ship carrying a squad of ODST's exploded when it took a direct hit from a Cylon missile, while one of the escorting Longsword's took several hits meant for the first wave of transports. The port wing exploded under the onslaught, and unable to return to the Carrier, the pilot had no choice but to charge strait ahead.

Missiles struck the armoured hatch leading to one of the auxiliary landing bays, causing a structural favour that resulted in explosive decompression: shuttles, Centurions and even a couple of the human-form Cylons were blown out into the unforgiving cold embrace of open space. The damaged Longsword was the first one through, the pilot belly-landing the stricken craft in such a way that it actually took out several of the remaining Centurions. The gunships followed close behind, spraying the entire bay with a mix of plasma and cannon fire, blasting a way at anything that looked even remotely hostile.

They pulled out once their deadly job was done, allowing the ship carrying Henry's Team Knife and a Mgalekgolo bond-pair to enter, followed closely by the ship carrying Lieutenant James' Team Nova and the portable turrets brought in to secure the bay from counter attack. Spartans dropped to the deck, weapons at the ready as keenly trained eyes checked for any sign of hostile movement. One broke off to check the Longsword. They paused just for a moment to read the inscription proclaiming 2nd Lieutenant Tina “Top Cat” Coleman on the side of the cockpit, before cracking the seal and checking inside. The young pilot looked almost peaceful behind her helmets visor, as if she was sleeping, if not for the chard of Plexiglas the size of her arm that pinned her to her seat, blood already seeping out, staining her flight-suit. The Spartan left her where she lay: the mission always coming first.

The command Pelican came in for a flared landing, taking off again as soon as the last Marine was clear.

“Third platoon will secure this room and hold it until I personally tell them otherwise.” Major Smith stood in the middle of the room, rifle over one shoulder, “First and second platoons will follow the main assault, securing corridors and choke points as we go.” He turned to face Henry, “If your people would be so kind as to take point.”

“You heard the Major!” The Captain turned to face his assembled strike force of Sangheili, Mgalekgolo and his fellow Spartans, “Move like you've got a purpose!”

The advanced element fanned out, using a section of hallway as an impromptu airlock, and headed strait for the command deck. At first resistance was light; the few Centurions and Bio-Cylons the had been near by had responded to the attack on the landing bay, and easily fell to the superior fire-power brought to bare against them. But word of a full-scale boarding action soon spread, and makeshift barricades were erected while heavier weapons were retrieved from the armouries and handed out. The Hub's thick blast doors offered only minimal resistance, but eventually a squad of Centurions had been able to assemble an anti-aircraft gun kept in storage in case any of the Hub's point defence weapons were ever disabled or malfunctioned.

A stream of heavy-calibre rounds would have stopped the ODST's dead in their tracks and given even a Spartan or Sangheili commando reason to pause, but the Mgalekgolo bond-pair simply raised their thickly armoured shields, bowed their heads and charged. The Cylons had no defence against such a devastating attack and two were simply crushed under foot, the others thrown into the nearest bulkhead or dismembered by the berserker-like Mgalekgolo.

“Damn, that never gets old.” Smith allowed himself a chuckle as he ran past the devastation.

“Well frack me sideways!” Starbuck could only gasp: she had known that the hive-minded aliens were powerful, but she had underestimated the sheer ferocity of their attack. She glanced over to the Master Chief and felt a chill run down her spine; he had spent almost three decades fighting the Covenant, and had encountered the Mgalekgolo countless times. The simple fact that he was still alive reinforced his position and mystique as a skilled and highly compartment warrior in the pilots mind.

OXOXO

The battle outside was progressing much as had been anticipated, with half the Cylon ships already destroyed or disabled and out of the fight, but more kept arriving to take their place. Quantity had a quality of its own, and the Cylons had armed many of their command ships with strategic nuclear weapons intended for attacking planet-side targets. Much bigger and more powerful than their standard anti-shipping nuke, on mass they posed a threat to even the Alliance ships, and they were forced to channel more and more of their available power into their shields. This in turn added to the time it took to recharge their weapons between shots, allowing each Cylon ship to survive even longer, firing even more missiles.

As a battle of attrition, it was still stacked highly in favour of the attacking forces, but it was starting to look like less of the cake walk many had predicted, and more of a challenge against a foe who was quite literally fighting for the very survival of their species. And as much as the Cylons may have hated to admit it, deep down in their programming, there was still a hint of Zoe Graystone buried deep within their coding, and that gave them the very human determination to never give up or back down from a fight.

“Admiral, the Sword Of Fury is requesting permission to break formation and move into open space.” One of the Flag-Lieutenant's reported, “The Cylons seemed to have worked out that we want the Hub intact, and are putting themselves between us to increase the risk of collateral damage.”

“Damn, I was hoping we'd have a little more time before they got smart!” Grant frowned, “Inform Ship-Master 'Ganto that he has permission to break formation, then pass the word to the other ships to follow suit; we'll have to fight this independently for a while.”

OXOXO

The tight formation of Alliance ships broke up, drawing the bulk of the Cylon forces away with them, leaving only a handful of ships to guard the crippled Hub. This was the opportunity Red Squadron had been waiting for, and at McQueen's command they fired a volley of anti-shipping missiles at the Baseships. Each missile was tipped with a multi-kiloton nuclear warhead, more than enough to destroy or disable any Cylon capital ship. Several were picked off by counter-missiles or Raiders, but enough got through to take out half of the defending ships.

“Thumper to The King.” Lieutenant Arthur Carstairs called out as he pulled up from the ferocious dogfight, “I am near bingo for ammo: requesting permission to RTB and rearm.”

“Permission granted, Thumper.” McQueen responded as he fired a burst into a Heavy Raider, demolishing the craft in seconds, then switched to the squadron-wide frequency, “Red-Leader to Red-Squadron: I don't want anyone out here with less than ten percent fuel or ammo. Land as and when needed, and remember; there are spare birds on hand if you need to switch out due to battle damage.”

OXOXO

The corridor eventually opened out into a larger but poorly lit chamber with row after row of birthing pods ready to replace any Cylon killed. Unfortunately the upper reaches of the chamber were deep in shadow and offered perfect perches for snipers, as was proved when one of the Sangheili was shot through the head.

“DOWN!” Henry called as he flattened himself against the wall, “How much further?”

“Just through there.” Athena pointed at a hatch the other side of the chamber, “That's the control room.”

“That's got to be at least a hundred meters.” Smith shook his head as a high-velocity bullet hit the deck next to his boot and ricochet off into the darkness, “Might as well be a hundred kilometres; those Centurions have reflexes that match any Spartan.” He looked at Henry, “Stepping stones?”

“Could work.” The Spartan nodded, “How many you got?”

“More than enough.” Smith winked and looked over his shoulder, “Jock: bring up the Spud-Gun.”

“Oot the way, Sirs.” A Marine stepped forward, a massive grenade launcher in his hands, “Time te show these Sassenach bastards just whee they're messing wi!”

Aiming by dead reckoning and firing from the hip, the soldier fired off a full drum of rounds, then quickly reloaded and fired again. But rather than exploding or even creating a smoke screen, each projectile hit the deck and turned into a bubble shield. No sooner were they formed than Henry and the rest of his team rushed forward and took up position as rifle fire and even RPG's impacted the shields but failed to penetrate. Picking their targets carefully, they advanced until just the barrels of their weapons were exposed and fired. Each shot found its target and Centurions and Bio-Cylons alike fell from their hiding places to the deck far below.

“GO! GO! GO!” Smith ordered, gesturing towards the distant hatch.

One of the Mgalekgolo took the lead, angling off just far enough to get a clean shot with its fuel-rod cannon. The recoil might have rocked the hulking alien back on its heels, but that was nothing compared to what affect it had on the thickly armoured hatch: it exploded inwards, showing the room beyond with shards of metal that cut down the Bio-Cylons beyond. Pausing only to toss a concussion grenade, Henry dived through the smoking remains of the hatch, landed in a roll and sprung to his feat with his rifle at the ready. It was an unnecessary precaution; those Cylons that hadn't been killed outright were in no condition to fight back, so the Spartans simply hog-tied them and moved them over to one corner where they wouldn't be in the way.

“Okay, let me have a look.” Athena stepped over the mangled body of a Six and examined the controls, “I should be able to take over most of the key systems from here.”

“Traitorous bitch!” A Eight on the floor snarled, earning herself a rifle butt to the side of the head from a Marine, followed by a boot to the ribs for good measure.

“Belay that sh*t!” Smith snapped, pushing the Marine against the wall, “You know the rules of engagement; any captives are to be treated as prisoners of war until the Admiral says otherwise.”

“Sir! Sorry, Sir!” The Marine came sharply to attention, “Won't happen again, Sir!”

“See that it doesn't.” Smith warned him then looked around, “Let's get a medic in here.”

OXOXO

“I think we're winning.” Grant stood before the main holo-projector with a thin smile on her face, “No more ships are jumping in, and the ones that are left seem to be running out of ammo.” She looked around, “Any sign of the Skinwalker?”

“No contact as of yet, sir.” A senior NCO reported, “But with all that crap and radiation floating around out there, we could run over them and not even notice.”

“They probably jumped out and headed for the rendezvous point.” Grant nodded as the holo-projector showed yet another Basestar getting ripped part by plasma-torpedoes, “Keep scanning for them, just in case they're out there with a damaged drive; we're not leaving anyone behind.”

OXOXO

“That wasn't so bad.” Cortana lent against a bulkhead, her helmet under one arm, “Call me paranoid if you want, but I kept expecting, well, something to happen.”

“I suppose that's what comes from preparing for the worst.” Shaw shrugged, her armour feeling hot and uncomfortable after the mad dash from the landing bay, “It gets to you after a while.”

“I suppose that's...” Cortana started to reply, but the wall behind her suddenly slid open and a Centurion reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders.

Shaw's weapon was in her hand and coming up before she even had time to fully taken in what had happened, but Cortana was dragged backwards into the passageway beyond and the hidden hatch snapped shut before she had time to respond.

“CHIEF!” She called out, her pistol pointed at the seemingly normal stretch of metal.

“What happened?” The Spartan asked as he looked round.

Years of training and reactions honed to the point of instinct kicked in as he took in the sight before him, and the fact that Cortana was gone. He was across the room in two giant strides, his fist already coming forward with a hammer like blow that dented the hidden hatch. A second blow created a hole big enough for him to get a grip and pull. The Mark VIII Mjolnir armour provided a greater boost to his natural strength than old Mark VI had, but red lights still lit up his HUD as he strained against the lode. Fred and Kelly were at his side in an instant, adding their own strength to his, while Linda covered them with her rifle in case anything hostile was waiting for them on the other side. Against three Spartans the hatch had no choice, and with a loud groan, it gave way; pealing back like a banana skin.

The Master Chief was through and running the instant the opening was big enough, his fellow Spartans hot on his heels. The unmistakable sound of a Centurion running at full speed came from somewhere in the darkness ahead, while Cortana's helmet and side-arm lay discarded on the deck. All rational thought gone, the Master Chief ran as fast and as hard as he could, daring the universe to put an obstetrical in his way. His lungs burned and his legs felt like they were made of lead, but he didn't slow down in the slightest.

“JOHN!” He could hear Cortana's voice echoing down the passage way from somewhere far ahead, but the pounding of the Centurions feet had been downed out by the hammering of his own heart.

A light appeared far ahead, growing brighter as he neared it, then started to dim as the hatch slid closed. Finding a fresh reserve of strength from somewhere, he but on a fresh burst of speed, moving so fast that even Kelly found it hard to keep up with him. With only a few meters to go, and the hatch almost closed, he dived forward, skidding the last few meters but made it under the hatch before it closed with a solid thud. He was back on his feet in an instant, his eyes scanning the new chamber. It was an observation room overlooking some kind of ancillary landing bay, with a single Heavy Raider sitting on the pad by the airlock.

A uniformed Six stood to one side as a pair of Centurions dragged a still struggling Cortana into the back of the transport, then turned to look up at the Spartan, her eyes burning with uncontrollable rage. She smiled at him, her expression full of malice, then stepped into the craft and closed the hatch. An alarm sounded then the airlock opened, the sudden change in pressure lifting the Heavy Raider up and out into clear space. No sooner was it clear of the Hub than it jumped away.

“NOOOOOO!” The Master Chief pounded his fist against the thick screen, cracking it slightly as Kelly finally found a way to open the hatch, followed closely by Fred and Linda.

“They must have a reason for taking her.” Linda shook hear head, “They wouldn't have gone to all this effort if they just wanted her dead.”

“We'll get her back, John.” Kelly put a hand on the Master Chief shoulder, “I promise you.”

OXOXO

“I'm afraid we're not in a position to launch a rescue mission at this time.” Admiral Grant stood in the middle of her quarters, a grim look on her face, “We took a lot higher losses than I'd hoped for and it looks like the Skinwalker was destroyed; we've found debris that matches the make up of her outer hull, and too much of it to be attributed to battle damage. Our first priority has to be the mission, and that means jumping the Hub to a secure location so we can clear out any lingering pockets of resistance.”

“With all due respect, Sir, since when do we leave people behind?” The Master Chief asked, standing at full parade attention with his helmet clasped tightly under one arm.

“Normally, I would agree with you, but we are hardly operating under normal circumstances. We are thousands of light-years from the nearest friendly base, with a race of genocidal machines out to kill us because their 'God' told them to.” The Admiral shook her head, “I accept that you have feelings for Cortana, and I can only imagine what you must be going through right now. And as such I am willing to overlook your less than respectful tone of voice...”

“No, Sir, you don't understand: this isn't just about my feelings for her.” The Master Chief glared back at her, “Cortana still has the Activation Index from the first Halo we encountered in her head, and there's every possibility that the Loyalists could force her to fire the remaining Rings, killing nearly every sentient being in this galaxy!”

“That...changes everything.” Grant walked around her desk and sat down, “The threat the Halo arrays pose to the galaxy was enough to warrant sending ships to the surviving rings and destroying their Activation Index's to make sure they could never be used. But in case we missed a copy buried on some forgotten Forerunner outpost, a standing order was given stating that if ever a copy was found, it was the sworn duty of any Alliance officer or enlisted personnel to see to it that the threat was removed by any means necessary.” She looked up, anguish in her eyes, “Congratulations, Master Chief; you just signed Cortana's death warrant.”

To Be Continued...

[Sinister Dexter]

Ongoing thanks to Zimu Yang for beta-reading
Public Service Announcement: Fable II is highly addictive

Red In Tooth And Claw
Chapter 47: Conflict Of Interests

The next few days passed in relative silence. There were still a few lingering pockets of resistance on the Hub refusing surrender that had to be forcibly cleared. Most of the biological Cylons, however, surrender once it became clear that they wouldn't be kicked out of the nearest airlock.

The resident Hybrid seemed completely non-phased by the change in command, but her ramblings were becoming more and more cryptic. Their return to the fleet was treated with little celebration; they had lost more people then had hoped for and it was clear that the Cylons were starting to adapt to their superior manoeuvrability and technology. Given long enough, there was a good chance that the Cylons would become a real threat, at least to the smaller Alliance ships.

The Master Chief hardly said a word that wasn't duty-related, and what little he did say tended to indicate that he didn't want to talk to anyone.

Dr Halsey had been on the Resurrection ship, continuing her research when they had arrived, but had commandeered the first transport over to the Hub. The Master Chief had been the one who told her of Cortana's abduction, as well as the standing order Admiral Grant had issued. The scientist had quickly gone from shock, to worry and then to anger, before storming off to find the Admiral. It wasn't clear what had been said between the two women, but Grant's order remained in effect, even if the Admiral looked rather shaken afterwards.

Having completed his self appointed task, the Master Chief became even more withdrawn than before.

OXOXO

Commander Baxter closed the door to her cabin and made sure it was locked before producing a hand-held computer terminal from her pocked and turning it on. It emitted a high-pitched whine for a moment then the screen went from yellow to green, indicating that no listening devices or data-taps had been detected within the cabin. Putting the device away, she activated the main terminal on her desk and pulled up several files; on their own, they seemed perfectly innocent, but when activated in the correct order, they became a highly sophisticated encryption system that even the best minds and computers O.N.I. had were still unable to defeat. It took a few moments for the system to synchronise with a hidden subroutine in the Hugh Dowding's internal communications system and she took the opportunity to pour herself a cup of coffee. There was a low tone before a message popped on the screen.

Heard about what happened during BLACK KNIGHT and the fall out. Recommend you pull the remaining subjects off of the Galactica before things get out of hand, but as ever, operate at your own discretion. Would recommend against taking action against Admiral Grant.
Moriarty.

Leaning back in her chair, Baxter held her coffee between her hands and inhaled the aroma. She had absolutely no idea who Moriarty was; only that the person was apparently a senior O.N.I. operative somewhere on the carrier with operational knowledge of her cover and true mission. The fact that Moriarty had not identified him hinted that he was in deep, deep cover, but it could also be true that his cover was so tenuous he couldn't risk more overt contact. As things stood, Moriarty was little more than a sounding board, but it was still nice to know that she wasn't totally alone. Even within O.N.I., only a handful of people knew the full details of the mission, so it was useful to have someone whom she could turn to for advice so far from home.

OXOXO

Cortana paced back and forth like a caged animal, her eyes searching for a means of escape. The room she had woken up in was a basic cell, two and a half meters wide, by five meters deep; there was a hatch at one end, but no handle or other means of opening it from the inside. The only furniture was a shelf-like bed with a thin sheet and a small hole in the deck that she assumed was supposed to act as a toilet. Her cloths and equipment had been taken, and she had been given a simple powder-blue jumpsuit in replacement. She had no idea where she was or how much time had passed since she had been captured. All she did know for sure was that if they had gone to the trouble or taking her alive, then it wasn't good.

Looking around, there were no obvious means of escape; there was no purchase to be had on the door and what ever ventilation system the Cylons were using, she couldn't see any openings. Still, it was her duty to at least attempt an escape, so she examined the sheet to see if there was any way to turn it into a weapon. She had to assume she was being watched, but there was nothing else she could do. She was half way though examining the sheet when the hatch opened with a resounding thud. Outside the room she could see a hallway made of an interrupted dull grey metal. A pair of Centurions stood immediately outside her room.

“I'm glad to see you're awake.” Caprica-Six entered the cell, her uniform swapped for a simple skirt and blouse, “We don't know much about you so we had no idea what your tolerances to the sedative would be, so we aired on the side of caution.”

“You're all heart.” Cortana glared.

“Yes, well, considering the part you played in what happened back on New Caprica, I hope you can understand why your accommodation is somewhat lacking in amenities.” Six looked around the featureless room, “But that can change, if you're willing to help me in completing the holy mission God entrusted us with.”

“Guilty Spark was a malfunctioning Forerunner A.I. with delusions of grandeur.” Cortana scoffed, “Forgive me if I find little there to call a 'god'.”

“He created us from nothing; life from nothingness. Is that not the true test of a God?” Caprica smiled as she walked over and sat down on the bed, “Even you fall into that category. You were nothing but a spirit, a mind without form. Yet here you are, as alive as any human.”

“These bodies of ours are nothing more than genetically-manipulated clones grown from existing human DNA.” Cortana stood against the bulkhead, “Hardly something that takes god-like powers.”

“There is more to His works than you suspect.” Six stood and walked to the door, pausing only to look over her shoulder, “When the time comes, you will understand, and you will believe.”

The hatch closed and locked with an audible click, leaving Cortana alone with her thoughts.

OXOXO

The Galactica's observation deck was lit only be the light of distant suns when Dr Halsey entered, followed by Mendez. The Master Chief stood at parade-rest, his eyes fixed on some distant point in the cosmos, but while it was clear that he knew that the newcomers where there, his mind was elsewhere.

“John,” Halsey stepped forward, “you can't blame yourself for what happened; Cortana knew the risks. She always knew the risks. And she wouldn't want you...”

“I told her I'd keep her safe, no matter what.” The Master Chief's voice was barely above a whisper, but somehow carried the full weight of his conviction with it, “I made her a promise.”

“And you keep your promises. I remember that well enough.” Halsey waited for the Spartan to continue, but he remained silent. “I think I know you well enough to tell just what's going through your mind right now; you're weighing up the choices you see before you.” She stood next to him and looked out the window, “Probably for the first time, you find yourself torn between your orders, and what you feel in your heart is right, and I'm afraid that this is choice you have to make yourself; I can not make it for you.”

“I want to go after Cortana, but doing so will be a violation of a direct order from my lawful superior and against standing directives intended to protect all sentient life in this galaxy.” The Spartan’s voice was a low, almost seismic rumble, “But I gave her my word as both her comrade, friend and lover that I would protect her.” He paused for a moment, finding it hard to articulate his conflicting feelings, “How do I reconcile my duty with my honour?”

“That's a question that soldiers have been asking since the dawn of time.” Mendez stepped forward, “It's not easy, and like the Doctor said, it's a choice you have to make for yourself. You've got to find a way to make peace between here,” He reached up to tap the side of his former students head, “and here.” He tapped the Spartan in the chest, over his heart, “And if you find a way to do that, let me know, will you?”

“This isn't a problem you can face as just a solider.” Halsey looked around as Fred, Kelly and Lind entered the room, followed by the Spartan III's, “I'm not sure if I've ever believed in a Higher Power; the concept of god just seemed too convenient an answer to why the universe is the way it is. But somewhere, deep inside all of us, is a voice that holds us accountable for our actions. I’ve silenced mine with talk of duty and necessity, but it still haunts me. So I suppose the question is, what does your conscience tell you?”

Silence filled the room. Outside the window, the stars shone as brightly as ever, their cold light offering neither comfort nor counsel. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, till every second felt like an age. Deep within the Master Chief's soul, the twin dragons of honour and duty did battle, fighting for supremacy. It was the longest ten minutes of his life, but in the end there was only once course of action he could take.

“I'm going after her.” his voice was cool, calm and level, but filled with all the resolve he had.

“WE are going after her.” Dr Halsey took half a step forward, “Regardless of how she came into this world, Cortana is still my daughter and I am not abandoning her to that psychotic bitch.”

Fred stepped forward, followed by Kelly and Linda. Lucy and Tom were only a half step behind them, followed closely by the other Spartan III's. Mendez followed suit, earning more than one odd look.

“What? I'm not about to let you guys have all the fun.” He responded gruffly, “And as the last surviving member of the original ORION Program, I have a duty to teach you kids how it's really done.”

“So,” Kelly asked, “we got something approaching a plan, or are we just going to play it by ear?”

To Be Continued...

[Sinister Dexter]

Ongoing thanks to Zimu Yang for beta-reading

Red In Tooth And Claw
Chapter 48: Renegades

The solarium on the First, Do No Harm was not something Laura Roslin had been expecting: a dome of artificial diamond sat on the upper deck of the hospital ship behind retractable armour plates. The outer shell was a near perfect insulator and the room was at a warm temperature and allowed patients inside an unparalleled view of the fleet. Outside, a pair of Vipers from the CAP passed by like silver flashes against the stars.

“I'm sorry to disturb you Madam President.” Tory Foster, her Chief of Staff, appeared with a worried look on her face “There's been an incident.”

“There's always something happening somewhere.” Roslin rolled her eyes somewhat, “What's today's crisis?”

“About two hours ago, the bulk cargo carrier Cash On Delivery docked with the Kiya and started to offload additional food and medical supplies.” Foster looked at the file she was caring, “Shortly after the process started, a number of men believed to be connected to the Sons of Ares attempted to interfere with the process, demanding a percentage of the supplies as 'tax' on their protection of the ships passengers and crew. Warrant Officer Isabel Munro, Sailing Master of the Cash On Deliver refused, stated that the supplies were to be handed out equally, as per standing orders.” She paused, “We're still trying to piece together what happened next, but some kind of fight broke out between the Sons of Ares and the crew of the Cash On Deliver. Two of the sailors were badly hurt, and it appears that the Sons of Ares have taken WO Munro hostage.”

“You know, I thought about stationing Marines to keep this sort of thing from happening, but I felt that might give the wrong impression.” Roslin frowned, “I take it Admiral Grant has been made aware?”

“A member of the ship’s crew activated the emergency beacon as soon as the fighting broke out; right now there are two squads of ODST's ready to storm the Kiya and rescue Munro.” Foster handed over a sheet of paper, “Admiral Adama managed to convince her to wait to see if we could negotiate a peaceful settlement.”

“With the Sons of Ares? I find that highly unlikely; some of them see violence as a religious act.” The President read the file, “What does the Quorum say?”

“Tom Zarek is leading the push towards a peaceful settlement, but I'd say it’s an even split, with one or two remaining neutral, at least for appearances sake.” Foster looked around to make sure that they were alone, “Given the fact that the Sons of Ares are often seen as a Sagittaron-based organisation...”

“The chances are Zarek could end the stand of with a word.” Roslin nodded as she stood, “Unfortunately, Tom Zarek only does that which is in his own best interest.” She looked at her aid, “I need you to do some digging and find out just what he hopes to gain by engineering an incident between the Sons of Ares and the Thirteenth Tribe. If we can find out what that is, before Admiral Grant decides to give the order to storm the Kiya, then we may be able to end this without further bloodshed.”

XXXXXX

Cortana awoke from a deep sleep to find herself in a different room.

She was lying in a proper bed with soft sheets. The metal walls were painted a soothing pastel yellow colour that almost hid the metal bars. A closet on the opposite wall held clean clothing in her size and a nearby open door led to a small but well-appointed bathroom. Never to look a gift horse in the mouth, Cortana stripped out of her jumpsuit and climbed into the shower, washing off the sweat and grime that had built up over the last couple of days. Wrapping a towel around herself, she made use of the offered toiletries, all the time waiting for her kidnappers to show their hand.

Nothing seemed to happen at first and she was beginning to wonder just what they were planning, when she stepped back into the bedroom and found herself face-to-face with an elderly looking man dressed in white.

“Didn't your mother ever teach you any manners?” She asked dryly, “So, what do I call you? Thirteen?”

“I assure you that I am not a Cylon.” The man's voice was soft and well educated, “Would it help if I mentioned that we first met on New Caprica, then in your quarters on the Galactica, after you had spent your first night with John?”

“You!” Cortana took a step back, “How did you get here?”

“You'll find that there are few places I cannot go if I put my mind to it.” The man smiled, “And if it makes things any easier, you may call me Edward.”

“Okay, Ed, if you're so smart, get me the hell out of here!” Cortana suggested, “Because any second now, about a thousand Centurions are going to kick down that door!”

“I assure you, Miss Halsey, that we are in no danger what so ever.” Edward chuckled, “Until I decide otherwise, the cameras and microphones hidden in this room are relaying an image of you brushing your teeth. It’s a simple ruse, but necessary if we're going to have this little talk in private.”

“That doesn't explain why you're not going to help me escape.” Cortana pointed out, “If you're as powerful as you say you are, that is.”

“As I said before, I am simply a projection; an illusion without physical form.” The man shook his head, “Long ago we took an oath not to interfere with the development of the rest of the galaxy until such a time as the other races had proven themselves to be ready.”

“What are you?” Cortana asked, “Forerunner? Precursor?”

“Neither.” Edward smiled, “I assure you that the policy of non-interference was not decided upon lightly. There were mistakes made, terrible mistakes, and in order to avoid making then again it was decided to remain apart, only observing. Only when we are sure that the time is right will we make ourselves known to the others.”

“Yet you're here, talking to me.” Cortana looked confused, “Isn't that a contradiction?”

“We are at a critical juncture, and all evidence points to you being the point of balance.” Edward started to fade, “Choose, but choose wisely; it may not be as simple as you think.” He vanished from sight, “I suggest you get dressed; your hosts will be along shortly.”

Taking the warning to heart, Cortana quickly dressed and turned to face the door, determined to at least look calm when it opened.

XXXXXX

“There are Colonial Marines posted here, here and here.” Kelly marked three important intersections on a three-dimensional holographic deck-plan of Galactica's port flight-pod, “The only unguarded access is through here,” She highlighted a third junction, “but we'd have to pass through the pilot’s ready room to get there.”

“We can use that to our advantage.” John stood back slightly with his arms folded, “Karl Agathon is acting CAG now that the Pegasus is up and running again and Lee Adama has been reinstated as the commander.”

“Explain.” Halsey asked, looking out over the top of her glasses.

“Cortana and I rescued his daughter Hera back on New Caprica, and he's always said he owed us one for that.” John explained, “I wouldn't want to push it, but I believe he would be willing to at least look the other way, if he didn't know what we were really planning to do.”

“Well, we may be able to use that to our advantage, but I'd rather not risk any outsiders.” Halsey shook her head, “I still think an EVA is our best option.”

“We don't have access to any civilian suits.” Fred pointed out, “Which means neither you nor Chief Mendez can go that way.”

“There is a third option; we use both routes.” Linda looked around to make sure she had everyone's attention, “While the rest of us make our way across the hull, sticking to the gaps in the armour to keep the CAP from spotting us, Dr Halsey and Chief Mendez will cut through the ready room. All we'd need is a cover story that'll hold long enough for them to get to the Bad Moon Rising.”

“I'll just say I'm needed over on the Hub: I am the closest thing to an expert the Alliance has on Resurrection.” Halsey nodded in agreement, “I'm sure we can find some cases of equipment that Mendez can be seen to be carrying for me if anyone asks.”

“There's only room for six of us at most on the Prowler.” John pointed out, “And taking Cortana into account, that means that only five of us can actually go on the mission. Things may be a little difficult for anyone who stays; they could face charges of high treason and mutiny.”

“We all knew the risks when we volunteered.” Fred reassured his friend, “No one is backing out now.”

“Then I suggest we get ready to go, today.” Halsey stood, “The longer we leave this, the more likely it is that Admiral Grant will enact some new security measure that'll make this all that much harder.”

“We have the EVA packs recovered from the Dawn, and some other equipment I managed to get sent over from the Renewed Purpose and kept in the same landing bay.” Chief Mendez smiled slyly, “Just don't ask me how.”

“Then we'd better get started.” John looked around, “It'll take us longer, so we'd better go first.”

“Sir, we have a development.” Tom appeared with a home-made descriptor in one hand, “It appears that there is a hostage situation on one of the Colonial ships, and Admiral Grant is mobilising Marines and at least one of the other Spartan teams.”

“We can use it to our advantage.” Halsey stepped forward, “If Grant's busy with that then she won't be looking this way.” She knew the Master Chief well enough to read his body language even through his armour, “And we're not abandoning anyone; no one trusts us right now, so there's no way they'd call on any of you to help.”

“Okay, let's go.” The Master Chief nodded and headed for the airlock.

XXXXXX

Tom Zarek kicked the hatch to his quarters closed with one foot and let the darkness envelop him.

There were times when he questioned his decision to stay on as Vice President, forever one step away from the power he'd always known was his destiny. It grated him, having to sit there and watch Laura Roslin play at being President, when it was clear to anyone with half a brain that she should have stuck to being a damn school teacher. But she had the blessing and support of Adama, as well as the more fundamentally religious elements in the fleet. That gave her a lot of power, and made any direct attack, problematic at best.

But then there were days like these, when he was able play the game of state the way he knew it was supposed to be played. The Sons of Ares were a useful cat’s paw, a way of maintaining his own little power base outside of the normal rules and restrictions of government. He may not have sanctioned what happened on the Kiya, but it was only a matter of time before they came running for his help. That would give him the opening he needed to get in with the Thirteenth Tribe and their allies. And once he had that, there would be no stopping him.

To Be Continued...

This post has been edited by Sinister Dexter: 20 June 2010 - 11:02 AM