The Cylons' Secret: Battlestar Galactica 2

by CRAIG SHAW GARDNER

  “We’ll send down a med team,” Sing agreed. “Other recommendations?”

  “Something has to be done here with the human staff. The old man at least looks like he could use medical attention. I’m not sure about the youngsters.”

  And what would happen if they brought the humans back? He didn’t think anyone would want to leave the facility under the control of Cylons—modified or not.

  Perhaps they could maintain the facility here until the original researchers on Picon could send replacements.

  It was a controlled situation, one laboratory setting on one world very far away from the Colonies.

  But he imagined Colonial citizens would be outraged if they knew anything about it. Supporting a site with Cylons? Too many people had lost too much in the war. The researchers here would be branded as traitors. No one could understand a place where man and machine could live in peace.

  If that was, indeed, the true nature of this place.

  “Colonel?” Sing prompted.

  “Sorry, sir. I was thinking what we might do in the long term with this place. Even though they seem to be cooperative, I don’t know if we can trust these Cylons’ continuing motives. We may need to shut the whole thing down. I’m not sure the Cylons would agree. We’d probably need at least a major force from the Galactica to get them to comply. It might get complicated.”

  “Understood,” Sing replied. “I’ll talk to the fleet. I’m guessing this facility is still under Picon jurisdiction. It will be up to them to decide.” The admiral paused, then added, “But that means talking to Colonial governments. That never goes quickly. I imagine it will take a few days to come to a decision. Are you comfortable with staying at the facility?”

  “I think that’s for the best. I believe I’ve gained their trust. We’ll stay here, tell them we’ve contacted their home government. See if they might want to send any messages of their own back to Picon. After the med team retrieves the prisoners, I think it’s best if just the four of us stay as our official representatives. The station seems in a fragile balance. The fewer new elements introduced into their lives at this point, the better.

  “I’ll know more about the situation here after I get a report from Athena and Skeeter. They’re out taking a look around.”

  “I understand they checked in with Galactica when they first went out,” Sing replied. “We haven’t heard back from them yet. We’ve been getting periodic interference with our signals up here, both wireless and dradis. I wanted to ask you about that. Is there anything down there you think can be causing this interference?”

  “Nothing I’ve seen, or they’ve told me about. Could there be some other cause?” Adama knew that storms and large magnetic fields had disrupted signals in the past.

  “Nothing natural, as far as we can tell. I’ve got the techs working on it. But stay alert!”

  “Yes sir!”

  “Hopefully Athena will check in soon. Talk to me again after you’ve spoken with her.

  “Sing out.” The admiral broke the connection.

  So they would have a couple more days to look around here before the ultimate decision was passed down from the Colonies. Adama was relieved it was out of his hands.

  He supposed it was time to go back and get ready for dinner.

  Athena heard the big boom of Zarek’s gun as she helped Skeeter back to the shuttle. The other pilot was able to walk, after a fashion, as long as she didn’t rush him too much. Her temporary bandage had stanched most of the flow, but Skeeter was still leaving a trail of blood all along the river path. It seemed to take forever to get him back to the level spot where she had parked the shuttle. She saw the small ship at last, twenty paces from the forest’s edge. She had to get him across the clearing as quickly as possible.

  “Come on Skeet, we’re almost there.”

  “I’m with you. I’m with—” He grunted in pain.

  They crossed the field without incident. She struggled him through the hatch and into the copilot’s seat. She checked the view through the windows as she powered up their transportation. It was all quiet out there. She couldn’t see any Cylons after them—yet.

  “Feels good to sit down,” Skeeter managed after a moment.

  “I’ll get us back to the Galactica.”

  Skeeter tried to smile. “Sounds good to me. I’ll just sit back and enjoy the view.”

  “You do that. In the meantime, I think we have a little news to share with home.”

  She tried to raise Galactica as she made the final preparations for liftoff. All she got was a burst of static.

  Athena frowned. “Well, I guess we’ve got to get out from under these trees.” She engaged the engines and grabbed the wheel. “Hang tight, Skeets.”

  She lifted off, and started climbing toward the upper atmosphere. Smooth sailing so far. When she got a little higher, she’d try to raise Galactica again.

  “Athena!” Skeeter pointed above her head. “We’re being followed!”

  She looked to where he pointed at the dradis screen above the front window. There was some sort of small craft in close pursuit. It looked like some kind of modified Viper, longer and sleeker than the models on the Galactica. Her guess was this was the special Cylon model.

  “I’m sorry, Skeeter. You’re going to have to hang on. We’ve got to shake our tail.”

  The shuttle didn’t have the same flexibility or speed as a Viper. Usually. She’d just have to ignore that and pretend it did. She rose quickly, then banked to the right. The Viper was gaining on them.

  “Frak!” Skeeter swore. “No way you can outrun something like that.”

  “So we’ll just have to outfox them. Maybe we’ll have to wait a bit to get back to Galactica. I think we need to take this news straight to Colonel Adama.”

  Athena knew they had hospital facilities at the research station. They could fix something as simple as a shoulder wound.

  “Watch it!” Skeeter shouted. “That baby’s gonna climb up our rear exhaust!”

  “Only if we invite it in. Which we’re not.”

  She dropped suddenly, skimming the shuttle just above the trees.

  The Viper overshot its intended target, shooting far overhead, then arced around to follow.

  Skeeter stared at the dradis screen. “We can’t do this forever! We have to have weapons! We’re slow and clunky! The Viper is going to get us!”

  That wound was making Skeeter negative. “The Viper is not being flown by Athena,” she replied. “Relax. I haven’t lost a passenger yet.” She didn’t mention that, as a Viper pilot, she had never ever had passengers. “So shut up. I think your blood loss is making you delirious.”

  Skeeter shook his head and sank down in his seat. “I hope you’re right.”

  “Oh, Athena is always right.”

  She flew low over the river, below the tree line, weaving with the wandering flow of water.

  The Viper crisscrossed in the air above them, looking for an opening. Something exploded on the far side of the riverbank.

  “They’re shooting at us!” Skeeter moaned.

  “And not very well. If we stay out here long enough, maybe they’ll just run out of ammunition.”

  She looked over at the suffering Skeeter.

  “That was a joke.”

  The Viper finally swooped down to their level, hugging the tree line some distance behind their tail.

  Athena smiled. “Ah, now I’ve got you right where I want you.”

  Skeeter sat up and pointed straight ahead. “Waterfall!”

  She looked up and saw a cliff face covered by a rushing torrent of water, directly in their path.

  She nodded. “Just the ticket.”

  She banked sharply as they rushed toward the cliff. The shuttle’s underside scraped the upper branches as it rose just above the rocks and trees.

  The Viper crashed into the cliff face behind them, the sleek metal crumpling beneath the rushing water.

  “Why did I doubt you?” Skeeter sa
id with a weak grin.

  “Hey, a Viper might be faster, but Athena’s got the moves!”

  “So we get to go back to Galactica?”

  Athena shook her head. “I think if we go back up there, we’re just going to gain another Viper. Hang on, and we’ll go talk to Colonel Adama.”

  “After that, I’d trust you anywhere.” He closed his eyes and groaned. “But I’d trust you more if we stopped moving around.”

  She nosed the shuttle slightly higher in the air, so they could see beyond the trees. The research station was dead ahead, and just in time.

  Skeeter looked like he was going to pass out all over again.

  People were shouting when the admiral stepped into the CIC.

  “What the hell?” said Sing.

  “Sir.” Captain Draken looked up from his console. “We’ve got something big coming up on the dradis. Something really big.”

  “I think this is what has been interfering with our communications,” the wireless operator cut in. “Excuse me, sir. They must have some sort of jamming device. Probably to keep us from seeing them.”

  “Granted.” Sing frowned up at the great yellow disk on the dradis screen. “But why are we seeing them now?”

  “I think it’s a Dreadnaught, sir,” someone said.

  “I thought all of those were destroyed in the Cylon War,” Draken replied.

  “Apparently not,” Sing replied.

  “Who exactly is flying this thing?” Draken asked.

  “They’re sending us a comm signal!” the wireless officer shouted.

  “Put it over the speakers,” Sing ordered.

  “Galactica. This is the Dreadnaught Invincible.”

  “Invincible,” Sing replied. “We were unaware that you were still in service.”

  “We are no longer a Colonial ship,” the curiously flat voice responded. “We were never really a Colonial ship. We have become what we were always meant to be.

  “We are a Cylon war machine.”

  CHAPTER

  22

  Adama turned away from the Viper, ready to return to the others. He would relay what he and the admiral had talked about in the most diplomatic way possible. Part of him was relieved that Picon would make the final decision here. He imagined that the only solution that made sense, both fiscally and politically, would be to dismantle the station. But that would end the research, as well as the sense of human/machine cooperation that seemed to have sprung up in this odd little community.

  Would any decision be the right one? He just hoped that somehow, some good might come from this place.

  As he walked back toward the hangar, he saw half a dozen companions gathered just outside the door. All of them were looking up at the sky.

  He turned and looked as well, to see a small golden disk, perhaps the size of a moon, hanging high above them in the sky. It was far enough overhead that he could not judge its true size.

  But Adama knew its true size, and its true purpose. He recognized it, even from this distance.

  It was a Dreadnaught. The largest Colonial ship ever conceived, it had been in its experimental stages when the Cylon War began. The Colonies had still managed to build three of them, and all three had turned against humankind. For the Dreadnaught was the first ship almost entirely operated by Cylons. They had designed thousands of specialized individual war machines—Cylon fighters, Cylon pilots, Cylon technicians. The Dreadnaughts all had a token human crew to supervise the Cylons—perhaps a dozen souls on each ship, without whom the ship would supposedly be unable to operate. But the heart of the ship was a vast Cylon culture, uncounted machines trained to fight so that men and women would never have to fight again.

  The Colonies found, once the Cylon War began, that they had built the Dreadnaughts far too well. All three of them were under Cylon control within moments of the beginning of the war. How the Cylons had gained control of ships that supposedly were unable to operate without a human failsafe was never discovered, since none of the Dreadnaughts were ever retaken by man.

  Two weeks before the war began, the fleet had asked for volunteers to man the Dreadnaught crews. Adama had been tempted, but decided he liked flying a Viper too much to shift over to a job supervising a bunch of machines. He figured, later, that that love of flying had saved his life. Three members of his crew had volunteered for Dreadnaught duty. He had never heard from any of them again.

  Later in the war, he had been a part of the Battle at Gamelon Breach, where four Battlestars and three hundred Vipers had combined to bring down the Dreadnaught Relentless. Captain Tigh had boarded a Dreadnaught—the Supreme—as one of a dozen commandoes assigned to take the ship from within while the Dreadnaught’s staff was busy fighting a pair of Battlestars. Tigh had barely escaped with his life when the Dreadnaught’s Cylon commanders had destroyed the ship rather than let it fall into Colonial hands.

  Talking about the war, back in all those bars between one port and another, both Adama and Tigh had marveled that they had faced Dreadnaughts—although many had faced them, since the war machines were involved in half a dozen of the conflict’s largest battles. But Tigh would never talk about his time inside the Dreadnaught, so the conversation had moved on to other things.

  The Dreadnaught Relentless had exploded beneath a barrage of enemy fire. The Dreadnaught Supreme had destroyed itself. And the last of the Dreadnaughts, the Invincible, or so the story went, was last seen with its engines burning, falling into a star.

  The Dreadnaught was slowly growing larger above him, as though it were slowly settling toward the planet below. More companions had come out onto the landing field to watch, and Adama saw they were joined by humans as well.

  He and Tigh had witnessed the deaths of two Dreadnaughts.

  Now he knew the Invincible had escaped the fire.

  Doctor Fuest approached him across the field.

  “Colonel? Is this one of yours?”

  “I’m afraid not, Doctor.”

  “Then we are both afraid. We are getting a message from the ship overhead. They wish to talk to us.”

  The doctor walked a few steps away and spoke briefly with a companion that Adama did not recognize. He turned back to the colonel.

  “I will have a portable device brought out here for my use. Everyone on the station seems to be coming out to the field. We will all hear what they have to say.”

  “Doctor!” one of the companions called. “There’s a smaller ship coming in!”

  Adama looked to the far side of the field. It was the shuttle. Athena and the others had returned.

  With a Dreadnaught in the air, who knew what other Cylon craft were patrolling overhead. Adama was glad they had made it back safely.

  The shuttle landed gently midfield. Adama walked quickly over to greet it.

  The hatch was thrown open as he approached. Athena stuck her head out and saw Adama.

  “Colonel, Skeeter’s hurt!”

  She pulled her fellow pilot to her side. Adama saw that one of his sleeves was drenched with blood.

  The doctor came up beside Adama. “Where’s Laea?”

  “We got separated.” Athena shifted her weight to support the limp pilot. “She took us out there to find someone from the scavenger ship. He ended up saving our butts.”

  The doctor’s mouth opened, as though he didn’t know what else to say.

  “There’s more, sir,” Athena added.

  Adama answered for her.

  “You saw Cylons.” He pointed at the golden disk in the sky. “We’re all going to see them shortly.”

  “We need to get Skeeter to the hospital.”

  Adama helped Athena lower Skeeter down to the tarmac. The thin pilot had no strength left to stand. The two lowered him so he could sit.

  Beta was at their side, examining the wound.

  “This can be easily repaired,” Beta said. “I need assistance!”

  Two companions with wheels—old delivery models that Adama hadn’t seen before—brought
a stretcher between them.

  “If you would lie down here, sir, we’ll get you immediate help.”

  “My grandmother was right,” Skeeter said. “Let’s go.”

  They rushed off with him.

  “Grandmother?” Adama asked.

  “He’s lost a lot of blood, sir,” Athena replied.

  “But Laea,” the doctor said at last.

  “I think she’s safe for now,” Athena said. “We’ll go back and find her soon.”

  Admiral Sing supposed they were in for a fight. He couldn’t see a single way the Battlestar could win.

  “May we speak with the one in charge?” the voice from the Dreadnaught continued.

  “That would be me,” the admiral replied. “Admiral Sing.”

  “This is a most unfortunate situation. You have stumbled upon a research project that we were hoping to maintain. There may be consequences. We are currently conferring with those above us.”

  “Is this a threat?” Sing asked.

  “We do not deal in threats. We deal in reality. We are a much larger ship than your Battlestar. Should we deem it necessary, we could eliminate you in an instant. We see no reason at the moment for this to occur.”

  “The Colonies and the Cylons have signed an armistice,” Sing countered. “I see no reason for either of us to fight.”

  “The Colonies and the Cylons are both far from this place. What happens here might never be known by either side.”

  Now that, Sing thought, sounded like a threat.

  “We are currently accessing the records of Research Station Omega. Please do nothing to interfere with our task.”

  Sing looked at the others in the CIC. No one spoke. He knew some of his officers had had experience with Dreadnaughts, and there would be some pre-war schematics in their records. He wondered if this Cylon war machine would have any weaknesses.

  “In our search, we discover that you have sent one William Adama to negotiate with the research station below. Was this Adama a lieutenant during the Cylon War? Did he fly a Viper?”

  Sing wondered why he was obliged to tell them anything.