The End of Things . . . (BSG fanfic)

[tygertim8]

Please bear in mind this is a rough draft. Please do comment in this thread. I need to refine my aproach. Enjoy it if you can.
thanks~ tygertim8


The End of Things are Beginnings
“Blood and Thunder”
Timothy Fay
Chapter One

We were on our way to the Urin mining complex, when we got the first message. Caprica in flames, Sneak attack. Cylons. After Forty years of peace, the Cylons. Captain Osir ordered the intercepted transmissions played on the PA system for the entire crew to hear.
As the messages cam in, Osir, our Captain got a grim look on his face. His eyes slitted and his mouth became a razor thin line. The news just got worse and worse, and morale on the Star Dancer more tense and low by the minute.
After the Colonial government “Case Orange” all points broadcast was heard, the chill that swept through the crew was almost visible.
“Sparks, This is the Captain, prep an omni directional drone. I want you to crank up the power output as much as you possibly can on all frequencies. Never mind the dammed regs neither, I don’t think that matters any more. Let me know when its ready to launch.” Osir turned to his XO, Silvia, and Andros our navigator, with a nod to all of the officers. “I’m going to plot a jump. Begin an inventory of everything on this ship, hear? The works all of it! Include our Cargo, and all personal effects on board. That’s all.”<br> The Captain went up to the navigation station, and began to input numbers. Wouldn’t let anyone of us near, when he did it. The Colonial One intercept muttering in the background. Sparks finished the prep on the drone, and the Captain recorded the weirdest message I ever heard. He whistled, and it sounded like a Kravlalian birdsong. “End message.” he said when he finished. “Sparks, launch drone!” Osir ordered. I felt the launch through the deck. “Drone launched!” sparks told no one in particular.
Osir returned to his command chair and pushed the PA button. “All hands! Stand by for Jump!” Osir’s voice echoed though out the ship, Osir pointed his finger to the pilot, “Jump.” We jumped right away. We all wondered why the Captain wasn’t following the book, he was such a stickler for procedure. Hell, “by the book” was his middle name. We came out of jump in the Deep. A thousand K off our port side, a dark and silent Station floated. It was an old Horus 92. It looked like it was in pretty good condition, for a Station that was older than any of us aboard. I thought that they’d all been sent to the breakers long ago. Good for scrap, that’s about it. Osir’s voice out over the PA, telling us that the war with the Cylons was lost, that we
were in process of running for our lives. Osir had once been an Admiral in the Fleet, and had fought the Cylons in the Cylon Insurrection, before he retired. Osir and several of the officers that he had served with, disgusted with the direction the political leadership was taking, and worried about the future that they could dimly see, had clubbed together, all chipping in to purchase the old Deep Space Horus 92 at a Surplus auction after their forced retirement. The Horus 92 was a Haven for several Independent Trade ships.
“We’re not the only ones, people. The whole Human Race is running and they’re going to need help. A lot of us Veterans figured it might just go this way, so we made plans. Now we’re going to work like we’ve never worked before in our lives. We have no other choice. Anyone who thinks otherwise, think over the transmissions we’ve been listening to. The Cylons have made it pretty clear. They’re just going to kill us all . . . Caprica, Aquaria, Pisces, Cancernia, have been destroyed outright. There have been no transmissions from them for some days. Gemminon, Libra, Taurus, and Virgo; from the intercepts, are still fighting, but the end is near. Aries, Leotia, Saggitauria, and Scorpia have the best defenses of all the Colonies. The Intercepts have made it clear that they have all been subjected to bombardment, but are still holding out against the Cylon for the moment. That can’t last though. The Fleet has been wiped out, with the exception of the Galactia, which is currently decommissioned, but under power, commanded by Admiral Adama. Adama is a clever and resourceful officer, so I wouldn’t count him out just yet, but it is difficult to see how he can prevent the destruction of the holdouts when the Cylon units from the destroyed Colonies are maneuvered into the battle against the last Colonies. I expect that the former Imperial Capital, Aries to hold out the longest. According to the Intercepts the Arians have fought off the Cylon units assaulting them. It appears that the Cylons were only able to partially bombard the planet. The Leotians, Saggitaurians, and the Scorpians likewise have been damaged. We don’t have the resources to resist and they will be unable to hold out for more than a year or two at most. We have lost the war. The Cylons have the numbers and the resources to win a protracted siege. We have that long to ready what survivors we can to exercise the only option left us; to run and survive. Our people did once before, in the days of the blessed Lords of Kobol. We can do it again.
Officers will assemble in the Officers lounge for their unit assignments. I’ll be assigning a work party to go over to Haven Station and start it up. Everyone on board will have a job to do. Hop to it!”<br> We did. As the work party was in final approach to Haven, Ships began to appear out of Jump. Jessup’s Folly, Chow Down Express, Single Clan, Precles’ Rainbow, Thing How, Vulcan’s Forge, and on and on. Soon there were some eighty ships in orbit around the station. All Independents, of various kinds. We had Traders, Long Haulers, small Liners, Repair ships, Factory ships, Freighters, Tankers and ships of so many different kinds as to boggle the mind.
Osir seemed to be in charge. It turned out that all of his pension not sunk into his ship had been but into Haven, and he owned the biggest share. Osir sent Lucius Crues’ mining fleet, and assorted factory ships to an empty system to find heavy metal asteroids, and H2O comets, while Star Dancer and others began to raid old junk piles and mothball fleets all over Colonial Space. Star Dancer and every other ship had been upgraded at Haven with heavy weapons, and proscribed pre-Cylon Insurrection era War Computers. The proscribed tech made some people real nervous, but Osir told us that they had been “hard wired” against Cylon hacking.
One day, we dropped out of Jump into system A01218513. Here, the mining fleet had been busy making huge hulls, miles long; enormously bigger than a Battlestar. Eight big bastards, all in a row, made for an awesome sight. All the Jump Space and pulse drive engines and envirotech we were hauling around suddenly made sense. The Hulls were real rough and ready, and we all worked like daemons to get them up and running. Meanwhile, our little fleet had continued growing, and a lot of ships had been carrying agricultural cargo, as well as the Far Seeker, which had been carrying a complete colony start up kit as it’s only cargo. We put it all to good use.
Osir had made what he liked to call an Oblique contact with Adama’s fleet just before the battle of the Ragnar Ragnar Anchorage. We had maintained some covert contact with Adama and had made what supply drops we could, while his fleet fled the Cylons. Adama focused the Cylon attention very nicely, drawing their fleet after him in their quest to exterminate Humanity. Now Adama’s Fleet was getting pretty desparate. I heard that the filters and scrubbers were pretty well shot, and some of the ships were hip deep in shit, literally. Everything was rationed, and everything was in short supply. People were starving to death.
Our “Habitat” Hulls had been designated the “Exodus” Class and had been designed so that all of the ships in Adama’s Fleet could just dock to the exterior, jus like at a regular Station, but Osir’s designers had rigged acceleration braced clamps for ships and orbital stations. Osir didn’t intend to be sitting around ferrying people back and forth, during boarding. He intended to “grab and run.” We had twenty-four of those big bastards now, each of them could hold up to Five Hundred Thousand people, a good thing, cause we’d been snatching survivors from everywhere we could in Colony Space. Deep Space and Orbital Scientific stations, Observatories, Hospitals, Mines, whole Transshipment Warehouse complexes, Schools, Residential Habitats, even from the Surviving hold out planets before they fell, and isolated secondary and tertiary daughter colonies the Cylons hadn’t got to yet. Haven Station was pretty big, but was beginning to fill up. All of the ships designated for refugee in parking orbit around Haven Station were full. When refugees began sleeping in the passage ways, I think Osir’s thumbs began to itch.
Osir and Adama set up a rendezvous, to be carried out during a “break” in contact with the pursuing Cylons. We all made a run for it, about the time the miners had finished their third batch of hulls.

[tygertim8]

Blood, Sweat, Toil, and Tears
Chapter Two
Timothy Fay

Captain Lucius Crues, Master of Vulcan’s Forge, and Owner of six Mining/Metal Fabrication factory ships, stood staring out of the view port of his office on Vulcan’s Forge, tears streaming down his face. The asteroid belt of Tanzer’s Star filling his eyes for as far as he could see. The Reports had been coming in for hours. Sneak attack. Cylons. After all these years, worrying, praying he and the others were wrong. Damned Fools . . . FOOLS! Forty years. We had begun to hope our fears were groundless, that we had been wrong. Fools! The lot of us.
Osir and Crues, who had been Admirals of the Fleet, had warned the High Command long, long, ago. The war with the Cylons could not end until the last Cylon was finished. How could it? Cylons were programmed, and programmed to win. The Civilian leadership of a war weary population and the High Command were playing politics. They thought they could negotiate with Cylons like any other enemy. They had forgotten, if indeed, they had ever understood, that the Cylons were programmed to win. By a religious fanatic! The High Command had grown tired of our warnings. Offered a choice, we took retirement instead of a Court for insubordination. Not much of a choice, really. The question was: had those damned fools gotten us all killed?
It was time. Lucius punched the Com section. “Com, monitor the special emergency Frequency. Call in all the work parties, we’re getting out of here before the Cylons find us. That is all.” Lucius called up a little used program on his office workstation, and ran it. Soon all of his ships would gather at meet point three. He had begun.
Once the work parties had returned aboard, Lucius addressed the Crew from the bridge. “Attention all Hands! This is the Captain speaking. The news is bad. Reading between the lines, I have come to the conclusion that we are losing badly. Much of the Fleet is dead. The President of the Colonies is dead, along with most of his cabinet. His successor is the Education Secretary, Laura Roslyn. Adama has taken control of what remains of the Fleet from Galactica, which was recently decommissioned. He has no weapons, with the exception of the remaining viper squadrons on board. That’s the only good news, such as it is.
So We’re going to run for it, and so is what’s left of humanity. The only thing we face before us is Blood, Sweat, Toil and Tears. I wish I could give you more than that, but it is not to be. Those of you who have been with me the longest, know I have feared this very event since before I retired from the Fleet. Well, We will not be the only ones running. A lot of people are going to need help. We will not fail them. We have no other choice. We will come through this, just as our ancestors did during the evacuation of Kobol, so long ago.
Oh, Lords of Light, the Sons of Darkness gather and slay. I pray you gather all who here died this day into your keeping. Guide their Souls, O Lords of Kobol; Guide the lost to the Light, that they may live again, one day. Hear my Words, O Lords of Light! So mote it be, So say we all. Lucius wiped the tears from his eyes, “All hands, stand by to Jump. Jump!” At the command the pilot took the ship into jump space, leading Lucius Crues’ little fleet into the Deep. One by one, his ships came out of Jump at meet point Three. Together they all Jumped to Haven Station.
Osir, Crues, and a group of other like minded officers had clubbed together their prize money and pensions and bought an old Horus 92 Deep Space Mobile Station. The Horus had been in pretty decent shape, but they had replaced every part and upgraded every system they could think of. With their pension money, they had bought ships, and entered upon a second career, doing very well indeed. They named the Horus 92 Haven, and parked it in the Deep, keeping the location secret. During the Cylon war officers had organized on a cell basis, emergency meet points, known only to those Captains in the cell. Nothing important was ever put down in a computer data system. The Coordinates were kept in a Captain’s head. It was the only way, with the Cylons for enemies. The Osir led Cabal created by these retired officers had many meet points in their private system, of which Haven was one of many.
At the beginning of the Cylon Insurrection, phobia had rapidly spread because of the Cylon’s hacking abilities. The High Command had neither the time or the inclination to hack proof every system against the Cylons. A lot of equipment had been dumped out in the Deep, Often with out proper records of the location and orbits being kept. Admiral Harry ‘Hap’ Phaestus, CO of Logistics Command, had spent years reconstructing all of those missions. He kept all of his records on paper. Nothing went into the system. He retired when Osir and Crues did, and became a founding member of the Cabal. In the years since the end of the Insurrection, the Cabal had rotated “scrounge patrol” duties recovering much of the lost equipment. Some started up R&D firms working out in the Deep doing research and development on these systems, knowing that some day it might be needed. Some of the more roguish element also “recovered” ships and equipment from mothball fleets all over colonial space. This equipment was deposited in designated locations, known only to the Cabal.
The Independent Captains held a conference at Haven Station. Osir was placed in command of the Cabal. Osir sent Crues to A01218513.

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The Independent Captains held a conference at Haven Station. Osir was in command of the Cabal. Osir sent Crues to A01218513.
Crues looked at the distant sun of A01218513. Here, under the sun he had deliberately left uncharted over forty years before would begin the salvation of his people. Vulcan’s Forge was his flagship. Electrum, Iron, and Steel sought out suitable asteroids, which he had noted so many years ago this system abounded in. Projects with some real scope, he remembered thinking at the time. Many of the asteroids would make natural hulls, being almost pure Electrum Titanium alloys, almost the same mix as the hulls in Fleet had. Manganese, Bronze, and Gold were seeking out other metals and Ice asteroids out in the outer reaches of the system for useful materials.
Vulcan’s Forge had work crews out erecting the end caps for the asteroids, and cutting crews were already at work on the first asteroid, mapping scanning, and cutting a bore according to the blue prints the architects had worked out. The hull would be huge, being some One Hundred and Twenty miles long by Sixty Five miles in diameter when work finished. Each hull designed to hold Five Hundred Thousand people, enough to fill a large city. The plan called for Standardized ship sizes.
Other crews were out building the framework for the Solar reflectors. These computerized vanes had to be precision interments as the temperatures had to be strictly controlled during construction. In short order, the Star came to be know to the mining crews as Hephaestus’ workshop in honor of the yard boss’s memorable temper.
As the boring crew finished, the spoil was processed for other subprojects. Now clear of the spoil from the boring phase, the Ice Crew filled the bore with a precise amount of water ice. The End Cap Crew would move the flexible, heat resistant end cap and pressure valve into place and seal the bore. The End Caps resembled an old fashioned umbrella in their construction. The Reflector Teams then went into action spinning the asteroid along it’s long axis at a controlled speed, heating the asteroid to a precise temperature. As the metal heated up, the ice in the interior of the asteroid vaporized into steam, blowing up the asteroid like a balloon. When the hull reached its planned extension, the reflector vanes rotated on their axis ending the solar heating process, the pressure valves opened, releasing the steam out to space, to instantly freeze into ice again. Beams of Ion particles streamed onto the molten exterior, then miles long adjustable belts of rollers were then clamped around the length of the hull as it spun slowly and expanding roller frames were carefully moved into the interior of the cylinder and finished the walls of the interior.
Ports for hatches, weapon mounts, various instruments, external wiring were cut while the metal was still hot. The Jump Matrix and Shield Matrixes were laid out. The new hull was then allowed to fully cool. For the first time since the beginning of the heating process, the spin was halted. The end cap was removed from the interior, and the Finishing Crew began construction. Prefabricated inner hull sections were installed. The hardest part of construction was the artificial gravity system, electrical wiring and the high pressure valves and tubing required plumbing for a ship in space.
On the exterior of the hull, automated work bots began to construct the Jump Matrix, Shield grid, place sensor arrays, running lights, and acceleration bracing clamps for the ships and space habitats that would be docking to the hull. Osir’s plan called for “grab and run” pick up of refugees. Some space stations would require special bracing, as they and equipment that could not be readily moved into the hull. “Grab and Run” was a dangerous procedure, but these were desparate times.
Just as work was completed on hull number eight, Osir’s fleet blew in and all hand fell to, completing construction, hooking up Jump engines and Pulse drives, and competing the environmental systems. Pressurizing the hulls for the first time, Desperately needed crops were planted on the farm decks and an any free space that could be spared for the purpose. Many stasis pack vegetation was stored away, waiting for the parks that someday would house them. Some of the ships from Haven were docked on the hulls, as the need for labor increased, despite the increasingly automated construction processes. For Crues and the crews worked long days, into the second and third batches of hulls. There was no rest. The days wound into one another, no time for anything but eat, sleep, and work time.
Adama’s Fleet fled past the red line marking the explored region of space out into the Deep. Adama and Osir kept in contact with each other through courier ships meeting in the deep, far from possible Cylon observation. Adama’s ships were all scanned for Cylon spies. The survivors in Adama’s fleet were on their last legs, almost out of water, filters worn out, and tainted atmospheres, and some literally starving to death. It was time. Osir and Adama chose a meet point at a newly surveyed system where the Fleets would merge, and flee in an Exodus not seen since the ancestors left Kobol so long ago. The 24 new ships would see their first, long voyage.
Nothing would be left behind, not even Haven Station.

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The Oblique Approach
Chapter Three
Timothy Fay

The conference room looked out into the Deep. The distant stars were truly faint; hardly discernable by the eyes of man. The men in the conference room, deeply worried, had just elected Captain Indra Osir to command. A choice made by desperate men. Indra Osir, formally Admiral Osir of the Colonial Fleet had for forty years been the prime mover of the movement to forestall the very events now washing over their people.
Indra Osir was a decisive man. He moved quickly, assigning tasks to his fellow Independent Trader Captains. Reading the highlights of the communications intercepts Osir realized that he could lose contact with a large contingent of survivors. Adama’s Fleet was calling all ships to the Ragnar Nebula Anchorage. One of the few places truly dangerous to the Cylons, it held a fleet refueling and supply depot. The Ragnar Nebula was a good choice for a meeting place and supply point. Adama wouldn’t stay long, which presented problems that needed to be solved. Osir caught the eye of Ninha Cinn, Captain of Tanisis’ Wings and called her over with a shake of his head. Never a beauty, Ninha was still a handsome woman. It was suspected by many that the retired Fleet Intelligence Officer was a smuggler. They were right.
“We’ve got a problem, Ninha. If Adama leaves for the deep before we can get someone in his fleet, we’ll lose them, maybe forever. I’ve got a message for Adama. I want you to brief him on our operation. His Fleet will hold the Cylon’s attention and well away from us. We need Adama to hold it for as long as he can stand it. We will aid his fleet as well as we can, but we have got to be able to find them to do it! I’ve given him procedures for Message drops for his fleet to mark locations for food and ammunition resupply. Tell him I need a general direction. Take Tanisis’ Wings and meet him at the Ragnar Anchorage. I want you to be damn cagey. These reports of Cylons in human guise are disturbing. This is going to be an information battle. We’re going to be playing the spy game. Only Adama, or his successor are to get the message . . .” He handed her a message chip. “the cipher key is Einlil. He’ll know what you mean.” Osir snorted. “He served under me during the Insurrection. Good Officer.” Ninha’s face was grim. “We’ve got to throughly infiltrated. That’s the only explanation for such a complete Bullocks up! They knew everything they needed to know, and hit it all in one swoop. I think Fleets been hacked . . .” Looking thoughtful, her grim gray eyes stared out into the Deep. “The Intel Officer I used to be, I’ve got to admire their work. The damned Cylons got all our files, very smoothly, too! I don’t trust our programming anymore Indra.” Ninha Cinn looked Osir in the eyes. “I think you better sic your tame hackers on the problem.” Nodding his head, Osir grasped her arm and drew her away from the window. “I’ve thought of that. I’ve already ordered counter measures taken.”
You’d best join Adama Fleet at the Ragnar Nebula station. You’re going to need a persuader, so I want you to take a cargo of food with you. We’ve got several million rations floating around here somewhere. Adama’s going to need it all.”<br> Tanisis’ Wings jumped into existence near the gateway of the Ragnar Nebula. Cinn called up her nav program and selected the Ragnar coordinates. Tanisis’ Wings leaped into the Nebula’s twisting corkscrew pathway on autopilot while Cinn made dinner. She was washing up when the Fleet challenge came in. She identified her ship. A quick scan, and she was directed to the depot. Security was lax, in her opinion, if that was all that they were going to check.

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At the Ragnar Anchorage, Tanisis’ Wings was met by a security pod and boarded by fresh faced youngsters led by a stern faced young Lieutenant, Lazar Anki. The Lieutenant motioned to Tech 5 Marlo Suemer, who pulled out a bioscanner, searching for synthetics in her system. “Looking for Cylon Spies, Mam.” Tech 5 Suemer informed her with a polite nod. “Thank the Lords of Kobol you kids think fast on your feet.” Cinn told them. “She’s clean,” Suemer informed Lt. Anki. Giving Cinn a hard look, Lieutenant Anki inquired, “What’s your cargo?”. Captain Cinn’s eyes had a bit of a twinkle in them. “I’ve got thirty million surplus Fleet survival rations in the hold. Some friends and I thought you’d need’em. Is Galactica the only Fleet unit to make it in?” If Lt. Anki was surprised by her question, it didn’t show. “So far . . . Some friends?” Anki’s raised eyebrow invited her to say more. “Yeah. Got a message for Admiral Adama. Can you clear me through?” Anki tried mightily not to roll his eyes. “I can take it.” ,Anki told her blandly. He held out his hand, palm up. “Sorry. It’s eyes only material.” Cinn gave them the eye while her hands moved in Fleet sign. Lt. Anki’s reserve was finally broken. This wasn’t the usual after all. “Fleet Intel.” After a hard look, Lt. Anki didn’t ask any more questions, just pulled out his com and called in the request. “Contact Galactica Flight Control on channel seven for coordinates and transit instructions to Pod Bay 6. Major Marduk will meet you on the Pod Bay deck to escort you to Admiral Adama. Have a good flight.” Captain Cinn nodded and the boarding party left in their pod.
Captain Cinn walked down to her pod bay and boarded her Penance, the Inanna, and began to work through her preflight checklist. The preflight check finished, she slapped the com button and set the com to channel seven. “Galactica Flight Control, This is Pod Inanna, Captain Ninha Cinn commanding out of Tanisis’ Wings, orbit 23 mark 49, slot 17 Requesting transit instructions and clearance for Pod Bay six.”
The Flight Control division was bustling with controlled activity, the mutter of low voices faintly heard through out the compartment. Ensign Stacy Asovmova noted the new icon on her screen and pulled up the tab for Inanna’s clearance. Asovmova pressed the com switch. In a cool, crisp voice she contacted Cinn. “ Inanna, this is Ensign Asovmova, Galactica Flight Control, please stand by. . .” Asovmova consulted the transit scan and noted the position of both vessels and plotted an efficient course, shot it over to the channel seven track for transmission. “Inanna, coordinates are being transmitted now . . .” she sent the transit coordinates to Inanna. “You are cleared to transit on the flight plan at 2301, mark!” Inanna captured the data and Cinn locked the flight plan in. “Roger that, Flight Control . . .” Cinn hit the grapple release and opened Tanisis’ Wings bay doors. Inanna’s engines pushed her out right on the 2301 tick. “Flight Control, we have launch on . . . Mark! Inanna is in transit at this time.” The flight was uneventful and Inanna landed on the Pod Bay Seven Deck in a smooth maneuver honed by years of practice. Major Marduk was, indeed waiting. Cinn endured a second bioscan with good grace before Major Marduk escorted her to Adama’s office.
The Admiral’s Yeoman greeted her as they came in. “Hello, Captain Cinn, you’re expected. Please be seated, the Admiral will see you shortly . . .” Ninha just nodded and sat. A buzzer sounded and the Yeoman announced her presence. “You can go in, now.” Yeoman Kannin informed her. Adama’s face was bruised and there were superficial cuts - showing signs of the recent assassination attempt at the Ragnar Anchorage Depot. He was working at his workstation, and at her entrance, closed down whatever he was working on. Captain Cinn began her message without preamble. “Osir sends his regards. He says to tell you it’s Enlil. You’d know what to do. Osir has been thinking and planning for this day since they kicked him . . . Retired him. In forty years he’s organized the Independent Traders. There’s more than four times the number of survivors in our hands than you’ve got. The bad news ~ you get to be hippogriffin bait. If they’re looking at you, they’ll not see us.” Handing Adama the info chip Ninha looked Adama full in the eye, “The necessity exists. . . . We’ll be setting message beacons at locations to be determined later. The currant locations on the chip are meet points for exchanging info before you leave. We’ll be making food, equipment and ammo drops for your fleet. If it’s any consolation, Osir says to tell you we’ve also got some good surprises.”<br> “I’m to make forty-seven thousand civilians griffin bait?! Adama exclaimed hotly as his eyes bored into hers. Cinn’s expression did not relent. “before I left, we had over two hundred thousand, Admiral, and so far, we’ve been undetected. There have been no Cylon strikes as of yet. You know our sheer numbers would make us an important target if they knew . . . The logic’s ugly, yes, but the necessity still exists. Live with it! We need you to fight for it! The Cylon know about your fleet, that‘s why you‘re the bait!” Adama looked at her hard for a minute, before accepting the logic of her argument, and replied dryly, “Captain Cinn, I know the drill, I served under the Admiral during the Insurrection. I’ve played the bait game before. . . It’s good to hear that the Admiral’s alive.” Adama closed his eyes and his lips moved in a brief prayer. With grim resolution in his voice, he turned his head and said thoughtfully, “We’re going to have to keep that fact quiet. The Fleet will be jumping past the Red Line from here, moving towards the blight. That’s when you’ll go back. In this chaos no one will notice.” Turning to his console, Adama put an empty chip into his office computer, downloaded the Coordinates. “You’ll give him this, the key’s Sut. He’ll know.” He pulled out the chip and handed it to Captain Cinn. Adama looked at her curiously. “You served under him, didn’t you?” An amused noise escaped her lips, and Cinn nodded. “You don’t need to know more than that. I’m in the database as a smuggler, let’s just keep it that way. This is primarily an information war. We have to deny information to the Cylons and their spies.” A serious expression of the eyes. “Your ah, passengers have no need to know where they are, how many ships you have, the standard drill. I’m a ghost. Better that no one knows I was here. Pass that along to anyone who’s seen me, would you?” Adama gave her a nod. “I’m familiar with the Spy Game, believe me. I’ve already set policy on that. Everything is going to be compartmentalized. On the chip I’ve included the Autopsy results on the Assassin. It was a Cyborg . . .to all outward appearances human. The only way to detect them is levels of certain synthetic materials in the body, very subtle. It let slip more information than it thought it had… . . . When they are destroyed, they Back up all their currant memory to some sort of central nexus and a copy is animated. They do have weaknesses, however. The radiation produced by the Nebula slowly destroys the molecular bonds in the synthetic proteins, very similar in fact to the effect on Cylon Warrior circuitry. It’s all on the chip I gave you. Osir’s going to have to screen all of his personnel. I’ve already got my cyber teams checking out all programs and circuitry on board my ships. We’ve been infiltrated, who knows were else the Cylons have been at work? Gaius Baltar’s new navigation program is infected. Check all systems on your ships, that’s vital. A spy doesn’t have to walk and talk, after all.”

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Adama turned his head and looked out his port to the depths of the Deep. “Do you need to see the President?” Cinn Snorted, “Hell, no! I don’t trust the politicians anymore, especially after the way they screwed us over at the end of the Insurrection! The bastards damn near got us all killed, and so has the Phobe faction in the Fleet!” Slowly shaking his head, Adama turned back to Cinn, “President Roslin’s not like that. I’ve had a chance to observe her up close. She’s basically a good person in the right place during a bad time. For a school teacher, she makes good decisions. She learns fast too.” A derersive snort escaped Cinn’s lips. “Riiiggght!. I’ll take your word on that Admiral, but I still don’t want to meet her. Politicians leak, it’s their nature. Better nobody knows I was here!” A small, slightly feral smile played around Adama’s face. “Alright, if that’s the way you want it. Is there any thing else?” Ninha Cinn rose from her seat, “I’ll be offloading about thirty million Fleet Survival Rations from my ship. I’ll return to Osir when the Fleet leaves. You’re right, that’s the best time. I figure You’re going to have a few Ships running off hoping that your fleet will draw the Cylon’s attention long enough to get away.” Adama rose from his workstation and walked her to the office hatch. “Thank you.” Adama told her sincerely. “Good Jump.” he wished as she left. He gave instructions to Yeoman Kannin as she walked out the outer office hatch to find out who had contact with her and gave orders.
The offloading went swiftly. Refugee placement teams sent refugees into the hold ignoring her suggestions that they find somewhere else. Cinn finally accepted them, but insisted on full bioscans of all of the passengers. Once they were cleared of being Cylons and settled in, Ninha topped off her fuel and prepared to depart when the fleet did. She monitored Fleet data channels to keep currant with the situation. Suddenly, a recon Viper swept in. Flight Control Broadcast a warning to all ships that the Cylon Fleet had parked itself at the entrance to the Nebula. Cinn was pissed when she heard the all ships warning. Damn Fleet was infiltrated, all right. Cylon Base Stars! All the ship Captains held an comlink conference, and Adama explained the plan. “ The situation is this: the Cylon Fleet is waiting at the entrance to the Nebula hoping to catch us as we exit. Galactica will lead, fighting a holding action while the Fleet Jumps immediately on exit from the Nebula. We will rendezvous at the Coordinate being transmitted now. Do not remain behind unless you want the Cylons to destroy your ship. All ships will top off your fuel, if you haven’t already done so. We will be emptying the Depot before we exit. Make room anywhere you can. We leave nothing behind for the Cylon.”<br> Hours of frantic activity followed. Galactica finally nosed out into the exit lane, followed by the refugee Fleet. Ninha prepped Tanisis’ Wings as well as she could, and joined the stream of ships headed for the exit.
At the entrance, Galactica opened up with everything she had and pushed the Cylon Fleet back past the Nebula’s radiation field, and past the Jump line. The refugee fleet exited under fire and Jumped as soon as they reached the Jump line.
Punching in her transit flight plan and destination coordinates into the board felt good. She was heading out on a dogleg return, with some very surprised passengers. No way in hell she was leading the Cylons to Haven Station.

[tygertim8]

Hello, Fanfic fans - Just a quick note ~ this story was written by a weboard friend on the Baen's bar webboard when I (off the top of my head, right after I viewed the Miniseries) posted the first chapter. Madoc Pope liked it, and was inspired to put his two cents worth in. It definatly was worth it, as I'm sure you'll aggree ~ enjoy!
tigertim8



Bill of Materials (BOM)
Chapter Four
Madoc Pope

Not for the first time did Mitch Daniels thank his lucky stars that Owens Shipwrights had Steve Huma working for them. I wasn’t just that Steve was a hard working and dedicated professional, everyone who worked for OS was that or else they didn’t for OS long. No, what made the good Mr. Huma special was his knack for wading through project assembly process specs and working them against the bill of materials for each project OS handled. Steve Huma was an “optimizer.”<br> That doesn’t sound like much, it certainly wasn’t anything sexy or dramatic to look at, but with modern spacecraft and space facilities assembly being so thoroughly automated - especially at such efficient yards such as those run by Owens Shipwrights - wading though such specs and BOM’s (Bill of Materials) could make the difference between a project being profitable or even being started in the first place. Steve Huma was just one those guys who took to such a task and Owens Shipwrights paid him handsomely for his skills.
In the Past his scrutiny revealed over priced components or flaws in the assembly schedules which needlessly slowed them down - which added to their cost. In some cases this was just a matter of changing the order in which the components were slated to be fed into the assembly process. In other cases it meant finding lower cost suppliers. Or changing the specs, or letting the customer know his specs would entail a higher cost/later delivery date. In some cases the customer nixed those changes, in others they accepted them for the capability their specified components would give them.
In any event, keeping atop such minutia was one of the many ways in which Owens Shipwrights stayed atop its profit margin and also stayed in business. It wasn’t glamorous, it wasn’t thrilling to look at, and it was even less exciting to describe but it kept the ink black at Owens Shipwrights and that profit was something to celebrate.
But making any more profit, or even staying in business, was no longer a priority. Not since the Cylons attacked. Now it wasn’t profit that mattered but survival. There was no more money coming in, there was no more business for the yards. At least not in the traditional sense.
The Owens Yards were still busy though. Busier than they’d ever been in fact. Instead of building their usual commercial hulls or space habitats for remote projects (asteroid mining, colonization, manufacturing centers, etc. . .), now the Owens Shipwrights were building space habitat structures for the evacuation ships Osir and Crues had spec’d out. Those vessels were truly massive things, and Owens got the nod to build a good chunk of the habitat modules because they did a lot of that business to start with, and they had the yard capacity to do the job. Well, they had the mobile yard capacity.
Their main yards, the ones in orbit around the Colony worlds, had been vaporized by the Cylons in the same attack that had vaporized to many billions of Colonist throughout human space. But, because Owens did a lot of manufacturing work at remote locations, a good portion of their mobile yards survived intact and got out to the various rendezvous points ahead of any Cylons sent to vaporize them as well.
Those were dark days. Hell, they were still dark days. Long ones too, thought Daniels. Will Garnet, the head Shipwright’s Union rep at Owens Shipwrights to survive the Cylon’s attack knew all too well how long the days now were. His yard dogs were working non-stop, contract clauses be - damned, and he was proud of that. Story was that one of those yard dogs had seen fit to complain to Will about the hours they wee now working. When that yard dog brought his complaint up the head Union rep, Garnet punched him out. Knocked him on his ass, he did. And them made the guy go right back to work - bloody broken nose and all.
But the obscene pressures to get these habs built didn’t mean the job wouldn’t be done right and that’s were Steve Huma kept at it. Steve had been working equally as insane hours as any of the yard dogs, doing his part to optimize the manufacturing process of building the hab sections. Among other things, this meant going through those assembly process schedules looking for items which could be deleted. In some cases there were thing which would be pretty damn useless for these hab sections given their new use - but it’d take more manufacturing time not to include them.
So there were some hab sections which had a finer finish applied to their interiors because there wasn’t enough of the basic stuff to go around on that particular habitat manufacturing facility. In other cases, it meant entire systems were simply left in their shipping crates, unused. It was a hellish thing to keep track of all that, but that was what Steve was good at. And that was what Steve kept up with. It was in the midst of this that he found something strange enough to catch his eye.
It wasn’t anything big, and in normal times it might not have even been worth bothering with. But these weren’t normal times. Not by a long shot. In this particular case Steve noticed the BOM called for a specific bit of equipment as part of its inter - ship communications system. Between the fiber lines and various inter ship radio communications systems in use throughout the Colonies (well, what was left of them) there were a lot of such systems and just about every customer seemed to have their own preference and their own specifications. This one was no different. The original order for this space habitat was for a standard five module, on thousand units structure. Nothing terribly unique nor expensive about it. Included in this order though was a spec for this specific communication system which used this specific equipment - and not the slightly lower cost standard comm system offered by Owens.
In normal circumstances Steve, upon finding this tidbit would’ve fired up an inquiry to the customer in order hoverfly that they really wanted to spend the money and take the time to have this particular system installed. But this customer had been on Caprica and if they didn’t die in the initial nuking of that planet, then they were certainly dead now. Sustained nuclear orbital bombardment of a planet’s surface will tend to do that and that’s what the last ships out of the Caprica system reported the Cylons as doing.
So, Steve checked to see if there was enough of the standard Owens system to go around, and there was. He had this fancier system pulled of the queue and tagged for reexamination. Doing so saved about four hours assembly time for every sixteen decks of the habitat structure. On a small project like the original order this wouldn’t have justified the attention, on the multi-thousand deck project now underway such a saving was immense.
But this didn’t mean that the sidelined units were utterly useless. As there was a shortage of everything now, Steve had a salvage crew sent to examine the comm systems to see what could be made of them. And that’s where the strangeness began. Looking them over, they seem normal enough. They were just the usual set up of emitters, receivers, hubs amplifiers, and filters. They were standard enough but that was the problem, they were too standard. Nothing in the BOM for these units set them apart from the standard units that Owens already used. It was just the control units that seemed different and it was those that Steve had the salvage crews look at. What they came back to him with was strange indeed.
Most of the materials in those control units was also standard stuff. Most, but not all. Buried amongst all the various bits ere several small components which didn’t seem to have any use for inter-ship communications. Odder still was their power connections which were too high level for inter-ship use. Steve had a tech pop apart one of those units to see what was inside and that’s where the real fun began. And that was also what was how on Mitch’s desk.
Through bleary eyes and a sleep deprivation induced migraine that just would not go away, Mitch listened as Steve pointed out the weirdness once again.
“ - that coupling here is our part - but this unit is something else. There’s no standard serial number on it. Those markings are barcodes alright gut they’re not in any of the Colony Standard Component Bar Codes Database (even though the migraine Mitch could hear the capitalization there) so they’re definitely not made by us and you know what that means! Steve stopped at that, waiting for Mitch to reply. “Steve, look, I know this is hot for you but it’s just a non-spec part. We’ve got lots of those, they’re nothing.”<br>! Dammit!” the clearly frustrated optimizer yelled. “You’re not getting it. These parts, they’re not ours!”<br>

[tygertim8]

“No! Dammit!” the clearly frustrated optimizer yelled. “You’re not getting it. These parts, they’re not ours!”<br>“Steve, you’ve already said that. I understand that they’re not from Owens.” Mitch said, Rubbing his temples as his migraine began to get worse.
“Dammit, Daniels! That’s not what I said! These parts aren’t just not ours, they’re not just non-spec, they’re not just not made by us - they’re not made by humans!”<br> “What?” Now Mitch’s migraine really exploded.
“Finally! You’re getting it. Mitch, these parts aren’t ours. They are not manufactured by any company run by humans. If they were, they’d have used parts with Colony Standard Component Bar Codes. If even just down in their subcomponent level. Hell, even down to the chip level there should be some component with a Standard Code. But there’s not. They’re also not assembled in any standard fashion. Just look at this view of the welds on the leads to this chipset. Ah, crap, Mitch. Look, what I’m trying to tell you is that these parts were made by Cylons.”<br> That got Mitch’s attention and got it cold. “Steve,” Mitch said in as level a tone as he could, “that is one helluva leap there. Just because it’s a non-standard part doesn’t mean it was made by the Cylons. You’ve got to have more to go on than this or else you wouldn’t be up here wasting my time.” Mitch knew Steve was good, gut he also knew that Steve Huma could be a bit obscure when it came to explaining what he did. Nothing unusual in that. Lotsa guys at Owens were so focused on their expertise that they had a hard time explaining it. But now Steve had to, and the strain of it was plain on his face. It was just so blindingly obvious to him that he had to rein himself back in trying to explain it to his boss.
“Mitch, once I found this was a whole assembly on non-standard parts, I decided to run some tests. I took a complete unit, put it up on a breadboard to dupe the standard comm system inputs and then I began running sims on it. Mitch, it’s a comm unit but it’s an over strength comm unit. I knew that much at least. I had a suspicion this wasn’t ours as soon as I found those codes weren’t in the Colony Standard Component Bar Codes Database and if they’re not Colony Standard . . .”<br> “Yes Steve,” Mitch interjected, “I know, they’re not ours - what about the test?”<br> “Well, I had the Whole rig in a signal shielded test vault - one over in Unit 29 - and set to running normally. I used the same sort of burn-in simulated commo traffic we use for our units. I set it running like that for two shifts. When nothing happened immediately I went back to working on the habs we’ve got going on Karsten’s - They’re running low on triple point door hinges so I redirected . . .”<br> “Steve stick to the subject.” Mitch growled.
“Uh, yeah. Anyway, two full shifts later there was nothing unusual. I still had my suspicions. So I altered the simulated commo traffic going through by downloading a real shift’s comm traffic and then feeding that in to the sim. I also overclocked the whole thing so I was running a twenty times the normal time rate. After an equivalent month of commo traffic this little comm unit broadcast an external signal. I had the breadboard configured like it was a full-on ships comm system. This innocent little comm unit ran a search program, found the comm system’s architecture, and then found the path to access an external antenna - all on its own. Had it been hooked up to an actual comm system it would have broadcast that damn signal. It would’ve broadcast that signal in hyperspace Mitch. It would’ve given our position away. Mitch it would’ve broadcast it to the Cylons.”<br> Mitch didn’t say anything. He tore his eyes from Steve’s looked down at the components on his des, and recoiled. He thought of asking Steve if he was sure of what he’d just told him, but he thought better of it. Steve wouldn’t have told him all that without his being sure. Steve never wasted time. That wasn’t what he did for a living. “Crap.” Was all Mitch could say. At first. Steve just stood there, relief visible over his entire body. “Those damn machines. Steve, how widespread are these units? Have they been installed anywhere else? What other contracts used them? Not just the units we’re building now gut the ones we built in the past? Damn, these fracking things could be everywhere!”<br> “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!” Steve said, almost in pain, “That’s what I have been telling since I came in this office!” he reined himself in again, “Mitch, I’ve already run the queries and found three other projects underway that also use units from this supplier. I’ve already issued change orders to stop any further use. That’s the easy part.”<br> “And the hard part?” Mitch asked.
“The hard part, is going back sand pulling these things out of the systems we’ve already assembled. Right now there’s about ten days worth of these systems.” Steve didn’t look happy explaining that either.
“Crap.” Mitch exploded, “Ten days!”<br> “This has got to be a manual thing, Mitch, and they have to get to each and every one of these control units. Then they have to pull these components from each of those units. I’m not even including the time to install replacement comm control units. Right now I think is more important to get these damn things out of the systems, period. Ten days, Mitch, and that’s a hands-on ten days worth of labor.”<br> Mitch turned to his desk screen and began bringing up his task order and communications protocols. Looking back up at Steve he saw the relief and the fatigue written all over the man’s face. “Steve, good work. Crues may have our asses over this, gut it will probably save our asses too. I’ll take this from here. You go rack out. We’ll need you for the implementation - But we’ll need you fresh. Get some sleep, you’ve earned it. In the meantime, I’ll send out the word to the other yards, and to the other companies. And to Crues. Just give me that BOM so that they’ll know what we’re talking about.”<br> As Mitch Daniels turned back to his main program, he thought again what a lucky star resulted in Owens Shipwrights having folks like Steve Huma working for them. This was one Cylon plot which would get stopped before it killed ever more humans that the other plots already had. And all because of one sharp eyed human catching something odd in a bill of materials.