Date: Wed, 5 Jul 1995 From: Patrick.Alan.Mcdonald@Microserve.com (Patrick Alan Mcdonald) Subject: Battlestar Galactica loose fiction I figured I'd submit this little piece I wrote a few months ago to see what everyone thought. It's only very loosely related to BG, based in fact upon a Club RP storyline called Battlestar 2270. I give you a brief background so you'll know the basis of the story. It's 2270 AD, about 100 years after the Galactica discovered Earth (already hi-tech with space travel; we discarded Galactica 1980 like most people do ). Terra was united under the Eastern Alliance, which has a tentative peace treaty with Earth and the Colonials (since they have a mutual threat with the Cylons). The Eastern Alliance, centered on Terra, has numerous small colonies throughout a 50 light year radius. This story takes place on one of the smallest. It's a light comedy, not intended to be serious, so take it in that vein. :) THE GREAT CYLON INVASION by Patrick Alan McDonald The Cylon troop transport hadn't intended to pass through the Ion storm. For that matter, nothing intelligent would ever intend to pass through an Ion storm. But when a minor computer glitch crashes the autonomous Nav program, the unintended happens. As it turned out, the transport's shields were enough to hold it together through the storm, though the ship's many casualties included a fragged sensor grid, comm system, and nav relays. The result was a deaf, short-sighted 'uneducated' troop transport carrying two thousand silver Cylon shock troops and about a thousand tons of heavy equipment on a joyride through space, with Tylium leaking from it's reserve tanks. It was not going to be a very long joyride. As luck would have it, the nearest planet in the first star system they stumbled across was being bombarded by one of the largest meteor showers ever seen. And the near fuel-dry Cylon transport was, of course, heading straight towards it. Amazingly, the transport came very close to making an unhindered landing. However, fate seemed obsessed with adding insult to injury by having a meteor strike the ship just minutes before it completed it's final landing sequence. Out of control, the transport made a crash landing that did nothing but annihilate the star and impulse drives, cave in the empty fuel tanks, and then destroy the bridge for good measure. If there had been any doubt before, there was none now: the ship would never fly again. Dazed and rattled, the pragmatic Cylons decided to make the best of the situation and sent out scouts. They soon returned, bearing news: the planet was inhabited by humans. Fortunately for the Cylons, the same meteor shower that had crashed their ship also masked their entry. Their presence was unknown. "By your command." "Speak, Centurion." The silver Cylon standing before the IL-series reported, "The planet is named Muldaria and is the site of a colony of the Eastern Alliance." "Ah." replied Baal in a despondent voice, his dome head glittering, "Terran Sapien, a sub-group of the species of man. Why must these things always happen to me?" "There are two cities, fifteen towns, and small holdings scattered across the largest continent. We are two hundred miles from the nearest town." "Very well. Prepare the troops. If we are to reside here, we must make the planet habitable by cleansing it of Man. We shall destroy the nearest town and measure their level of retaliation." "By your command." As it turned out, the 'town' was barely a village. Two large streets intersecting in a big square, with, at most, a dozen buildings higher than one story. Several hundred people inhabited the place. A hi-tech mineral extraction site was being assembled nearby, with a processing and refining site next to it. It was intended to produce up to six different hi-tech polymer metals for use in the factories in the far-off capitol. The end-track of a heavy-duty hover-rail train line met up with the town an industrial site. Considering their were no garrison troops in the town, the two hour battle was actually longer than it should have. But since the Cylons were operating without a global comm-net (the ship was supposed to provide it) and no space fighter support (only the six air fighters in the cargo hold), they actually did rather well. Every building was leveled or burning when the Cylons withdrew to just outside of town, leaving only the bodies of the fifty or so humans who hadn't run fast enough. "Why weren't all of the humans killed, Centurion?" "They ran." came it's neutral response. "You pursued them?" "Affirmative." "And?" "They ran faster than us." "I see." This was intolerable, thought Baal miserably. The bloody humans were ALWAYS running faster than they. If the humans were so inferior, how come they could run faster? It was simply unfair. Where was the Imperious Leader when they needed him? The response, when it came, was rather laid back. The town went out of contact, so they sent a ship. An older Intruder-class destroyer, in fact. In came swooping down from orbit and circled, no doubt relaying back it's discovery. Several Cylon troopers near a ridge opened fire with their rifles. The energy bounced harmlessly off the ship's shields, but it served to draw their attention enough to close on the troops' position. Suddenly, all six Cylon air fighters rose up from behind the cliff and opened fire at point-blank range. The destroyer didn't know what hit it. As missiles and energy beams cut it's belly wide opened, the destroyer exploded, raining flaming debris down on the hapless troopers who were just then beginning to regret volunteering to be the bait. The second response was a little more circumvent. Another destroyer made several high-altitude, high- speed passes near the site of it's dead sister-ship, to draw attention away from the high-speed grav train that approached on the single rail line, disgorging several hundred Enforcer troops that immediately scattered for cover. Once they stopped gawking at the high-speed antics of the ship overhead, the Cylons turned their attention to the Enforcers attacking them and managed to defend their position. Laser energy beams blasted back and forth across a death zone as silver Cylons and grayish-blue uniformed Enforcers with their cool reflective-visored helmets exchanged fire and lives. "Where did they come from?" demanded the Terran Governor of Muldaria. "We haven't a clue." replied Commandant Forshank, "They must have slipped in during that meteor shower." "Well, why don't we just send in the cruiser?" "The Commodus was damaged in the meteor shower. Her drives are out." "And that's after that blasted Ion storm toasted her nav and sensor systems several light years out." replied the Governor bitterly, "Sometimes I think Fate has it in for the Commodus." Forshank read over a paper an aide handed him, "Our troops are reporting thousands of Cylons with support aircraft attacking them." The Governor looked grave, "I'll send word to Terra. We could have a full scale invasion on our hands." "President Jolmar!" his aide Loren burst into his office, "We have a priority red emergency from our new colony on Muldaria." "Call the War Council." "Gentlemen, it would appear the Cylons have finally decided to attack us directly." said the President to the assembled Generals and Admirals, "They're in the process of destroying Muldaria even now." One of the officers looked up from reading the photocopied reports, "Sir, it says here there's no sign of any Baseships or space support in the Muldaria attack." "And yet they're attacking with upwards of-" Jolmar scanned his own copy, "of 'ten to twenty thousand' Cylon shock troops and over a hundred aircraft and tanks." "That's no punitive raid." interjected another, "That's over-kill. They plan on destroying Muldaria." "But why not use Baseships and heavy space fighters?" "Unless," began a fourth, "They're needed elsewhere..." They all looked at him, the junior most, annoyed at the interruption, until sudden comprehension dawned on their faces. "Needed to attack Terra itself!" said the first. "By Terra! They're planning a full-scale, multi-system invasion!" "And to think we were going to send our fleet to Muldaria, and leave Terra wide open." "That's their whole plan! Lure our fleet away to some remote spot while their main force destroys our homeworld!" "Ha!" replied the senior-most General. "Well, we're not as stupid as those Colonials who let that happen to their Twelve Colonies. Our fleet is staying put right here!" "Agreed." said President Jolmar, "And just to be sure, we'll contact the T/CDF and have them send a few Battlestars our way." The assembled military command of the Eastern Alliance grinned and shook hands, proud at having deducted the Cylon Grand Master Plan. Things weren't going well on Muldaria. Baal sulked miserably in his hastily-made bunker outside the small town. Over half of his troops were destroyed by the out-numbered Enforcers. Humans didn't just run faster than Cylons. They charged faster, fired faster, reacted faster, ducked for cover faster, and even dodged return fire faster. It seemed Fate had been drunk when dealing with the Cylon race. So much for superiority. Orbiting Terra was a grand fleet. Over forty cruisers and a hundred fifty destroyers stood guard, with the Battlestars Pacifica, Royal Sovereign, Orion, and Galactica mixed in. They sat battle-ready, tense and waiting eagerly for the upcoming battle. It wasn't often they could anticipate a Cylon attack and prepare for it. It was going to be a slaughter. When the Governor had learned that Terra wasn't going to send reinforcements, Commandant Forshank sighed and led the last few hundred troops (Muldaria only had 600 total) out towards the devastated town of Fate's Hand. Lord knew it certainly seemed Fate had put her hand to that town: in the form of a first. Estimates said they'd already killed off about 1500 Cylon troops, but his men were tiring rapidly. He knew that with the thousands more Cylons they all expected, his men would tire so far they'd crumble and be swept over in an instant. Suddenly noticing the decreased sound of combat, Forshank looked up in the sky. It was clear. "Trooper, how many enemy aircraft have we downed?" "Only six, Commandant." Where were they? Massing for a blitzkrieg? About halfway through the next day, the Cylons stopped coming. Just like that. They'd killed only 2000 of them, barely a scratch on a proper Cylon nvasion force. And yet the attack had ceased. Not a Cylon in sight. It took another day of silence (broken only by the lewd catcalls of Enforcers yelling at the unseen Cylon troops, calling them silly English Ka-Nig-Its) for the dazed Terrans to realize it was over. "We won!" shouted Commandant Forshank, showing the first positive emotion of the week, "We drove them off! Our incredibly brave defense awed the Cylons and scared them right off the planet! They've retreated!" A cheer rose up from the troops. There followed several days of revelry as the Enforcers partied with the civilians that came back out of the woods to investigate the noise. They broke out the liqueur from the cellars of the destroyed buildings (Cylons didn't have basements in their cities, so they hadn't thought of looking for them), got drunk, and danced through the streets of the town of Fate's Hand, where not one building still stood following the intervening hand of Fate. No one remembered to call Terra. So engrossed were they in their partying that they didn't even bother to search the Cylon bunkers outside of town, wherein sat a despondent Baal, all by himself. The sound of revelry outside annoyed the IL-series: he wasn't even worth their bother, he thought miserably; What do I do now? Oh, well, he thought to himself, I suppose I could hot-wire my brain to glow three times as brightly and hire myself out as a novelty lamp. Several days after the 'victory' at Fate's Hand, Muldaria, the Grand Cylon-Smashing Fleet orbiting Terra was getting restless. Just like those danged Cylons to keep them waiting! Someone on the Battlestar Pacifica suggested they pretend the Enforcers were Cylons and they conquer Terra instead. That idea was nipped in the bud before it gathered to much momentum. The first to leave was the Battlestar Orion. Bored, they decided to cruise over to Erotica III for some much-needed shore leave. They didn't bother mentioning they'd just come off of shore leave two weeks earlier. Within a week, they'd all gone their separate ways, except President Jolmar in his Presidential flagship, the cruiser Augustus, all alone in orbit. The entire senior military staff, along with Jolmar, glared at the sensor screens, waiting impatiently for the expected Cylon invasion. It was going to be a long wait. The End