The aft compartment of a raptor wasn't exactly spacious to begin with. Forcing a person share it with crates upon crates of parts and supplies should have been considered a war crime. Ensign Kendra Shaw's legs cramped from the strange and unnatural angles she had to position herself in, and she had to fight back the churning sensation in her stomach. Though that was less from the flight itself, and more the anxiety of what lay ahead for her.

"Command couldn't have spared one fraking raptor for a personnel transport?" Shaw asked bitterly.

"No, they couldn't." Came the curt reply from craft's copilot. "The military's requisitioned a quarter of the civilian shipping fleet just to move hardware fast enough. You think they're going to skip out on a shipment so your pampered ass can have more leg room?"

Kendra bit her lip. This wasn't how her career was supposed to go. The military was going to put her in the fast lane for her real goal. Her mother had pulled a few strings to get her into the academy, a fact her superiors were all too eager to remind her of. She'd serve four or eight years, letting the armed forces be a stepping stone to something greater in civilian life. The chances of there being an actual shooting war in that timeframe was nil. Or so everyone thought. She hadn't even had the chance to graduate before she was being thrown into a war zone.

"Scorpia shipyards, this is raptor eight-four-seven, on final approach. Requesting permission to enter docking queue."

"Raptor Eight-Four-Seven, this is Shipyard Control. Heavy traffic is expected on your current approach. Advise redirect by 30 degrees port, new bearing..."

Kendra tuned out that identical, droning voice every traffic control operator seemed to possess. She grabbed hold a handle on the ship's hull and pulled herself up. Blood flowed into her legs like a thousand pin pricks. The junior officer gleaned out the canopy, taking in a view that made her, just for a moment, forget her anxiety.

Scorpia Shipyards was the grandest facility in the Colonies – Full stop. Kilometers of steel and glass dominated her vision. Even from this distance, the full scale of the complex wasn't visible. Even their battlestars, the very symbol of Colonial pride, looked like toys beside the gargantuan station. A half dozen of them were berthed along various ports of the shipyard. More ships than she could hope to count swarmed around her field of view. Scorpia Shipyards was a hive of activity. And their raptor was just another drone.

Second by second, one particular vessel grew ever larger. Mercury class battlestars were among the most impressive warships ever constructed. They had their own fighter factories. They grew their own food. Though, dwarfed by the enormous fixture it was moored to, its true scale was hard to make out. Kendra's stomach dropped as the great black streaks across its hull became visible. Mercury's had dozens of meters worth of armor divvied up across multiple layers. Despite that, whatever it fought had left its mark. Tiny, one man crafts surrounded the warship, shooting bright sparks at the warship's hull. The repair crews weren't wasting any time. Given how deep the wounds seemed to cut, she wondered if they'd make a difference.

The ship's nameplate had taken a battering. Dark streaks ran across the lettering, though her lights still shone just as bright. Pegasus. Shaw's first assignment.

"Raptor eight-four-seven, you have clearance to land, call the ball."

"Pegasus, on final approach, you have the ball."

The craft reoriented itself. Pegasus rotated, then appeared upside down, owing to their ship's thrusters translating the craft to align with one of the warship's flight pods. Artificial gravity did weird things to your perspective. The starfield vanished as the battlestar's landing field enveloped them. Great metal doors began closing behind them as the automated docking computer brought the raptor a gentle landing, parallel to other sets of raptors. Pegasus's flight crews would have their hands full. The pilot muttered something into his microphone, and removed his helmet. Kendra carefully shuffled out of her compartment, carrying her 30-pound duffel bag of personal items.

Pegasus was a big ship, and Shaw had a CO to report in with. She schlept her bag over her shoulder, and started for a set of metal double doors marked as the exit. It whooshed open, revealing a crowded, noisy walkway. A team of repairmen were welding something onto a bulkhead. Somehow, a pair of officers could make conversation over the racket as they walked down the row. Kendra closed her eyes, and took a breath before taking her first steps towards her new life.

Kendra Shaw had absolutely no idea where she was going.

She turned left to face yet another identical looking hallway. Pegasus was a fairly new ship, and it showed in its blue-silver triangular highways and the multitude of interfaces dotting them. She must have past a hundred people by in the last ten minutes, and not a single one even acknowledged her existence. She took note of a computer terminal at the end of her hallway, which, of course, lead to another dead end. As she stepped up to the display, the screen took note of her. It shifted from Pegasus's emblem to a menu screen. The military made such a big deal over the gadgets their latest ships came with. She wondered if one of those happened to be a map.

Standing By, read the text centered in yellow font at the bottom of the screen. A dozen options presented themselves on the display. She raised a hesitant finger. Enviro settings. Communications. Maintenance log. Location. Ah!

She tapped the display. A top-down layout of what she assumed was the deck she was currently on appeared. Well, that wasn't terribly useful. She tried zoom out of the image. All it did was move the layout around.

"Can I help you find something?"

Shaw inhaled. She turned to find a tall, thin figured blonde smiling curiously at her. Oddly, she wore no uniform. She hadn't noticed until now how quiet this deck was relative to everywhere else. The two of them seemed to be the only people around. "Come again?"

"You looked a little lost." The blonde stated. "Thought I'd lend the new recruit a hand."

"What makes you think I'm new?" Shaw replied, making a mental note to dial back her attitude.

"Well... aside from that rank emblem on your collar..." She started smugly, "I don't know a lot of officers who like to take a stroll around sewage reclamation."

Shaw looked to the side. She pressed her tongue to her gums, trying to formulate a reply.

"Here." The blonde said, stepping up beside Shaw. "Where are you trying to go?"

Kendra looked down. "CIC." She said meekly.

"Terminal," The blonde began. The monitor beeped in affirmation. "Show me the shortest route from here to CIC."

The picture transformed to an isometric view of the ship's interior. A set of blue arrows appeared in the bulkheads beside her, pointing her down the corridor.

"There you are. Two rights, then a left past the long hallway. There's a lift that takes you directly there." Gina said in a friendly tone. "Just have to know how to talk to them."

"Thank you." Kendra said genuinely. "Everyone on this ship seems to be in their own universe."

"People are still shaken up from the attack." She explained. "They're focused on their work."

"I suppose." Kendra replied. "I should report to Cain."

"Lucky you." She said. Her eyes drooped. Her face changed to a smile. "What did you say your name was?"

"Shaw. Kendra Shaw."

"Gina Inviere." The woman said matter-of-factly. The woman held out a hand. "I'm a network specialist, going over the repairs on Pegasus's computer systems. I'm sure we'll be running into each other again."

"It'll be nice to have a friendly face around." Kendra said. Her spirits had lifted, if only a little.

"You should get going." Gina said. "Cain hates late comers. Trust me."

"Thanks for the warning." The officer said, starting in the direction of the arrow without another word.

The trip to CIC was blissfully unexciting. It meant less time to worry about what she'd find once she finally made it to her destination. She entered the lift, letting her bag support itself on the railing. It seemed to grow heavier by the second. Cain hates late comers. After some of her instructors, how bad could Cain be, really?

"I don't know how the hell you expect me to do my job!" Came a disgruntled voice the moment her lift opened. "Twenty. Twenty combat-rated vipers on the entire ship! Barely enough to fit one sorry looking squadron! And Gods help us if we want to actually rotate them!"

Shaw watched from outside CIC's glass-coated entrance as a woman berated the gentleman in front of her. The man didn't even look angry. If anything, the expression on his face betrayed a sense of bewilderment.

CIC was smaller than Kendra had expected. She'd seen plenty of pictures, though they'd always seemed grander in her head. The various crewmen seemed laser-focused on whatever station they happened to be occupying. Perhaps trying to pretend not to notice the scene unfolding in their workplace. She cautiously tiptoed forward, debating if she should come back later. Shaw had heard Admiral Cain was unusually young for an admiral, but this woman looked barely out of her 20's!

"Captain, everyone on this ship knows conditions aren't ideal, we're-"

"Not ideal!" The young woman repeated. "And if the Squids jump in ten minutes from now, are we going to be able to contribute? What if we have to make an emergency jump, and we're stranded in some far-off corner of the system? We'll barely have enough cover to form a decent CAP!"

"Pegasus isn't ready for front-line combat yet." The man said, managing to keep his voice level. "Most of the fighter's the fleet has to spare are being deployed to more capable ships."

"If Pegasus can't defend herself, that just means we'll be relying on our fighter screen that much more." The woman rebutted. "I can't be CAG if I don't even have birds to command."

Captain? CAG?

Oh. She wasn't Cain. A wave of relief washed over Kendra.

"Difficult doesn't begin to describe it, I know that." The male said. "Believe me, you're far from the first person to lodge a complaint. But you were brought here for a reason. Work with what you can, and we'll get you new birds as soon as we can, alright?"

She crossed her arms. Her lips pursed. "Fine." She said curtly. "But I'm going to bring this up with Cain. Again."

"Then you can do that." He conceded. "But she's going to tell you the same thing. Again."

"If Cain can't help me, then I'll go to the shipyard's director, and let them know we're nothing but a liability if-" The captain's eyes caught Kendra's. The Ensign froze in place. "Did you come here for the show, or are you actually going to say something?"

She moved her lips, but nothing came out. Kendra shook herself back into her senses. "I'm... um, here to report in.."

"Captain Thrace, thank you for your report." The man said sharply. "You're dismissed." The woman shot her a death glare before storming off through the glass doors.

"Colonel Jurgen Belzen." The man said, reaching a hand out. Kendra felt tingles of sweat on his palm when she took it. "Welcome aboard Pegasus. Don't let first impressions fool you."

"So you're the XO." Shaw noted. "Where's Cain?"

"With the rest of the admiralty." He said, reaching for a transparent data pad laid on the console beside him. "What did you say your name was?"

"Kendra Shaw. Ensign Kendra Shaw." She said proudly. "I just made it aboard a half hour ago."

"Shaw?" Belzen asked, punching something into his pad. His face twisted. "You weren't due for assignment on Pegasus for another three months."

"The board might as well have shoved us out the door after the Squids attacked." Shaw explained.

Belzen's eyes raised above the data pad. "You were supposed to be a Captain's assistant. What do they expect you to do if you haven't even finished formal training?"

"Whatever you need." Shaw replied. She gave a weak smile. "I heard you're in need of a new Dradis technician."

Lexington's hull groaned in agony as the ship fought to maintain its course in the increasingly violent environment of hyperspace. Sheridan could feel every beat of his heart pulse through his body, owing to the restraints that dug into his body and kept him from ricocheting across the room. The discomfort was a small price to pay. Lexington was being thrown around like a pebble in the ocean, and there wasn't a whole lot they could do to change it.

"Garcia, estimate on our distance traveled?" Sheridan requested. The sweat gathering on his forehead was gathering into a thin film of salty water on his forehead. The officer dabbed an orange rag across his head, envious of the artificial gravity tech the other races took for granted.

"You might as well be asking me to pilot a canoe upstream in a rainstorm." Garcia snapped back. "Best guess, somewhere in the neighborhood of fifty million clicks."

"Might be time for a pit stop." Jeremiah piped up. "Poke our head out, get our bearings before heading deeper in."

Sheridan gave a swift nod of approval. "Lieutenant Garcia, take us back into real space."

"Thought you'd never ask." The nav officer replied, slamming a set of buttons on her console. "Dropping out of hyperspace in three... two..."

The groaning intensified, then ceased altogether. After a particularly long trip, hearing the cold silence of real space sounded almost as alien as the alternative. Sheridan tapped his fingers anxiously as the bridge crew waited for stellar cartography to update their position.

Garcia smacked her control console. "How in the..." She slammed her console again. "We're a good half billion clicks outside of where we expected to be."

"You guessed a tenth of that!" Jeremiah cried out in frustration.

"What do you expect me to do? I can't navigate worth a damn in that gunk!" Garcia said with an air of hostility.

"We're still at the edge of the system." Sheridan remarked, studying their position on his built-in display. "Garcia, how much deeper in can you get us?"

"Without getting us killed?" The officer asked rhetorically. "It's hard to say. You can barely tell one direction from another in there. What we need..." She trailed off, tapping a few switches on her display. She grinned.

"Luck's on our side tonight." She said encouragingly. "There's a planet less than a day's travel time away at sub light. Our ship might have been drawn towards its gravitational wake."

Sheridan studied the small dot. Their sensors identified it as a planetary body. A small, lifeless world, roughly about Luna's size. Their spectrometers revealed a thick atmosphere of carbon dioxide, slightly unusual for a world this far from its host star. "And how exactly will this hunk of rock help us steer our ship?"

"What we need, is some kind of landmark. Some of the other races can navigate hyperspace by using the gravity well celestial bodies generate within hyperspace as natural beacons. Obviously, we're not that good, but if we were to get up close and personal with something like that, then it could give me the jumping off point I need."

Jeremiah's rubbed his leg. He motioned his head towards Sheridan. "It's taking a lot of effort just to get in. Getting out is going to be another world of hassle."

Sheridan gave a barely perceptible nod. "It will be."

"That makes the fifth shipyard brought under government control," Continued the suited man with the first vestiges of graying hair covering his head. Across the table, President Adar stroked his chin contemplatively. "The Naglfar Complex over Leonis is trying to make this into a legal battle. The planetary government has dispatched marines to seize it by force, make an example of them."

Adar quietly absorbed the minister's report. His calculative gaze shifted to the mammoth window that demanded the attention of whomever entered his Cabinet Room. The Capitol Building commanded an impressive view of the seemingly endless skyline of Caprica City. It was a very intentional design choice. From the moment a person walked through that sliding door, be them a Quorum representative, local governor, or political rival, the sight of the metropolis would grip them. And at the center of it all, the President of the Colonies. It provided a silent, but unquestionable demonstration of his or her power.

"Of course, having the facilities is only half the battle." Adar's Minister of the Interior continued. "We're going to be ordering new ships and equipment at a scale that's going to make the first Cylon war look like a tiff. The price of rare metals is going to skyrocket in the short term, and in the long term, we're going to have trouble meeting demand at all."

"We can order a halt on civilian construction projects." Offered Adar's Minister of Commerce, a red-haired woman seated two chairs down.. His "We've already started contracting out extraction and refinement projects from Hera to Zeus. But those are going to take months to bear fruit." She cleared the hair from her face. "There is one other way to alleviate metal shortages, at least for the time being."

Adar nodded agreeably. "Rationing is practically a dirty word. Especially for Capricans who can't imagine going this year without the latest holo-screen model."

"It's more than metal we're going to have to start thinking about." The Interior minister interjected. "Those ships are going to need crews. Pilots, engineers, servicemen..." He shifted uncomfortably. "I think we need to start talking about the elephant everyone's been thinking of."

Richard Adar rubbed his forehead. His hands covered his eyes, leaning his head in. He raised his eyes up to meet his cabinet's, who were currently all eying him expectantly. He swallowed, and clasped his hands together on his desk. "Just come out and say it. Are we going to consider conscription?"

The word itself seemed to echo through the room. Conscription had been mandatory for all able-bodied men and women during the Cylon war. Serve your obligatory two years, and get out. The backlash after the war had been severe to enough to make the very mention of it political suicide.

The Minister of Defense, a gruff looking man seated across from Adar, cleared his throat. "Recruitment has been at a record high. Every time we show footage of a civilian dry dock being obliterated, or of Galactica giving us a victory, we get another thousand enlistees." He paused, and gave a sigh. "However, if we're going to be taking losses like we did the other day on a regular basis..."

"I'm not ready to go that far quite yet, Takahiro. We're not in dire enough straits for that." Adar concluded, hoping to kill the issue in its crib. "I do want a list of all potential selectees compiled. In the event the situation deteriorates."

"That would be the pragmatic thing to do." The Minister of Interior replied.

"I want that list ready in one week's time." Adar ordered. "And a complete report on our logistics situation by the end of the day. Dismissed."

The dozen-odd members of Adar's cabinet gathered their belongings, and shuffled out one by one. Adar gazed down at his personal terminal, trying to fight off the stress that had been fermenting inside of him. Two days without a sighting was a blessing, and a curse. It meant they'd scared the aliens off for the time being. It also meant they were still completely in the dark about them. He looked back up, only to be startled by the gaze of his Defense Minister watching him silently.

"Michael? Did you need something?" Adar posed.

"You could say that." The man replied. "I needed to talk to you, privately. It's about our work at CIPED."

Adar scanned the room, then closed his terminal. CIPED had been at the forefront of trying to decipher what little information they had about their new enemy, but the reports had been distressingly scant. "Alright. What about it?"

"It's not helping." Takahiro bluntly. "Any hope we had of finding a way past the Squid's electronic warfare tech, I think we can give up. We don't have enough to go on, and what we do is only reminding us of how outclassed we are."

What little feeling of optimism had wormed its way into Adar's spirit after the cabinet meeting left him. He clasped his forehead. "And what else are we supposed to do?"

"There is one aspect we haven't considered." Michael Takahiro offered. "Something I didn't want to bring up in front of the others, and sure as hell not in front of the public." He set a small, unmarked file folder down in front of the President, and waited.

Adar watched him, expecting him to continue. When he didn't, he opened the folder and began scanning it. Confusion turned to surprise, then again into dread. "You cannot possibly be serious about this."

"Our survival is at stake here, Richard." The minister protested. "We can't afford to leave any option off the table."

"Considering our options is one thing!" Adar continued, slamming a finger on the page. "If people got wind we were even giving this an idle glance!"

"Who knows, they might even get to live to impeach us."

The leader of the Colonies didn't offer a rebuttal. He slowly shut the folder, and slid it towards the minister. Slowly, his eyes rose. "There isn't a scientist in the Colonies that would touch this."

"Actually..." The minister said. "There's one at CIPED right now known for being quite outspoken on the topic of computer technology."

Colonel Tigh's muscles twitched compulsively. His fingers massaged the flask hidden under his belt, weighing the decision to sneak it out. He wouldn't need much. Just a sip or two, enough to take the edge off for the rest of his watch. Saul clenched his fingers into a fist and pulled his hand away. He couldn't. Not with Bill counting on him.

"Almost feels like we're back over Aquaria." Saul remarked, while Adama read over the latest dispatch. It'd been unnaturally quiet. It wasn't just the lack of enemy contact. The war meant civilian traffic was nonexistent.

"Not quite." The commander replied, setting the sheet of paper down in front of them. "Two days without a sighting. Gave us some time to catch our breath."

"Squids had to have come from somewhere. We'll find em."

"Squids?" Adama repeated incredulously.

Tigh shrugged. "Pilots've been calling em' squids because their ships look like giant fish." He chuckled. "Figured it's as good a name as any."

"Right." Adama said, shrugging him off.

Across the room, from his noticeably more well-kept console, Felix ran his hand over the empty space he'd never been accustomed to aboard Galactica. No massive binders full of registry codes to sift through. No manually punching in status reports from across the ship. The retrofit had made all of that a thing of the past, which meant the lieutenant could expend more effort on his actual job. Which, by extension, meant he had quickly become mind numbingly bored.

Gaeta rechecked the ship's instruments. Aside from the occasional raptor or viper flight, nothing had sparked up on the Dradis console since they'd jump into orbit yesterday. He reached up to switch screens when something caught his eye. He turned his chair to the officer seated besides him.

"Hey, Serina, take a look at this. Grid 4-3A. That point of light look funny to you?"

The female officer leaned over to study Gaeta's console. "It could be a comet's tail. HQ doesn't bother accounting for every chunk of rock in space."

"A comet tail this far out from the sun? No way."

"Maybe some kind of stellar event?"

"I don't think so." He rechecked his screen. "The frak?" He muttered under his breath. "It's getting brighter."

"That can't be right." She skimmed over Gaeta's panel. "That thing isn't acting natural."

"No, it isn't." Gaeta confirmed, feeling his nerves tense up. The officer craned his neck around and called out across the room. "Commander! possible boogie bearing roughly seventeen karam one-three-three. Can't make out distance."

"Define possible?" Adama queried, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Our photodetectors are picking up some odd activity in that region. Could be an engine wake, still too far out for a Dradis reading."

"Would take a hell of an engine to make a detectable wake that far out." Tigh piped up.

"And none of our ships are this far out." Adama said. "They would've reported in with us."

"Object's luminosity is still increasing." Gaeta reported, his voice rising. "It's definitely headed our direction."

"Colonel Tigh," Adama barked out. "Bring us to condition one. We're not taking any chances."

Saul grabbed the receiver off CIC's console and punched in a set of numbers. "Action stations, action stations, set condition one throughout the ship. Possible enemy contact. Action stations..."

"Dradis contact!" Felix called out as Tigh's voice still echoed throughout CIC. "One boogie on the edge of our detection range. Coming in fast. Contact isn't squawking IFF."

Adama watched as a single, red circle popped into existence above his command station. Under it was the same menacing text they saw over Canceron. Unknown. And judging by the distance it was covering, it was hurling right for them.

"Prep alert fighters for launch." Adama barked. "And get a raptor to Picon. Inform Fleet Headquarters we've made contact with the enemy."

The instantaneous nature of jump drives meant they'd be sounding the alarm within minutes. Adama had seen to it Galactica had at least one raptor crewed and ready to jump at the first sign of trouble. After all the drilling and all the dry runs, what came after the klaxon sounded should be second nature to his crew. Reinforcements would be joining them shortly. This wasn't like last time, when they'd been too blindsided to react in time. The fleet would be bringing down the hammer.

"Raptor away." Dualla reported after a sparse few moments. "They're spooling up their drives now."

"Target is starting to decelerate." Felix called out. "Distance ten thousand."

Another few minutes, and they'd reach the planet. John fought to steel himself for whatever they'd find as they worked their way closer to the sun. The level of comm traffic was beyond belief. Most of it was too degraded to make out from their distance, but it let them know whatever inhabited the system had a presence to rival Sol. Like an oasis in the desert that made up this region of space.

"Reading new contact!" Called the strong, British accent of Lexington's radar operator. Harris was an older, balding man who looked somewhat out of place for his position. He'd been in service since before the Dilgar wars, usually on much larger ships. "Target is at edge of our radar range. Looks to be orbiting the planet."

"We knew they had a major presence in the system." Jeremiah said, hand playing with his console.

Sheridan nodded. Time to get some answers. "Helm, bring us to full stop. We'll approach slowly, give them plenty of time to notice us."

"Aye, cutting engines." Garcia said from her control panel.

"I've got solid reading on boogie." The British man reported. "So it can't be Minbari. We're just coming into range for a detailed scan..."

Sheridan watched the man's screen from his command chair in the center of the room. A wireframe of the contact began to materialize on the man's console. Sheridan's forehead wrinkled as the size of the ship became apparent. "How big is that thing?

"Somewhere in neighborhood of fourteen hundred meters."

"Damned thing's about the size of a Nova." Jeremiah noted. "Those pods are pretty big. Could be some sort of industrial ship."

"Or a carrier." Sheridan suggested.

"Ho-lee shit." The radar officer yelled out. The rest of the bridge crew turned to look in shock at the normally reserved man. "Target's gun ports are open. And holy hell does it have gun ports. Reading dozens of weapon emplacements spread along contact's hull."

"Alright, I was wrong. Definitely a warship." Jeremiah confessed.

"And it looks like they've noticed us." Sheridan said, a dozen scenario's racing through his mind. He didn't have a lot of time to make a call.

"We should open our own ports in turn." Garcia called out. "Show them we have teeth."

"No, no gun ports." Lexington's captain protested vehemently. "Do I need to remind you, that the entire reason we're in this damned war in the first place is because somebody was too quick on the trigger?"

"Multiple smaller contacts launching from target!" The radar operator cried out. "From their size, probably fighters. Lots of them. That thing is a freaking hornets nest!"

"Garcia," Sheridan started. He cleared his throat. "I want you to prepare to send the following transmission on every frequency and channel we have on the books."

"And pray they happen to be listening." Jeremiah said nervously.

Sheridan nodded. "We've come this far. Might as well go all out."

"Ready to broadcast." Garcia said, exhaling hard.

Sheridan took a breath. He raised his voice. "To the vessel orbiting this planet, my name is Captain John Sheridan of the Earth Alliance Ship Lexington. We mean no harm. Our intentions are peaceful. Please respond."

"Alert fighters are out, secondaries are being loaded into tubes as we speak." Tigh said as he slammed the phone back into its receiver. "Raptor just jumped away. Fleet should be hot on our tail."

"All gunnery crews have reported in, DC teams at emergency response positions." Dualla said calmly.

"I want all our birds to remain aside us until ordered otherwise." Sending one or two squadrons barreling at the alien ships would be suicide, Adama calculated. If they wanted anything accomplished, he figured either use all of them or none of them. "What's the status on my firing solution?"

"Targeting computer reports perfect lock." Gaeta said, scrutinizing his display. "I have a perfect reading on contact. Distance, range, position..."

"Sounds like the networked computers are doing their jobs." Tigh said proudly.

Gaeta shook his head. "No, the rest of the fleet had more modern sensors than we do, and they still didn't have any luck."

"Almost like they want to be seen." Adama realized. He turned to Tigh. "Squids pulled the same trick on some of our patrols back at Canceron. Make us think we had them, reel us in..."

"Looks an awful lot like a trap, doesn't it?" Tigh said gruffly.

Over the sounds of blaring alarms, Felix combed over his readings with mounting confusion. None of this made any sense. Something was out of place. Although, that thing out there clearly wasn't Colonial, so did it matter? Ultimately, his instincts tipped the scale in his head. "Commander, this isn't adding up."

Adama and Tigh turned towards Felix in unison as the officer began to explain himself. "The aliens use some kind of reaction-less drive we don't really understand. They don't leave any detectable engine wake. This ship, it stuck out like a sore thumb. Almost like some of our fusion drives."

"We can talk about what's under its hood after it's dead." Tigh said, dismissing the officer.

"All gun batteries fire on my mark." Adama commanded. Somewhere in his gut, though, something was giving him pause. He shrugged it off. There wasn't any time to second guess himself. They'd be sacrificing accuracy from this range, but he had no intention of flying into a trap. "Three, two-"

"Sir!" Dualla cried out. The commander snapped his head around. "The wireless is picking something up." The officer hesitated. "Coming from the direction of that ship."

"What?" Tigh said, more out of annoyance than anything else. "It's probably just white noise."

"No, no it's not." Dualla rebuked. She fiddled with her console, fully aware of the daggers her commanding officers was shooting at her with their eyes. "Oh my Gods. I can actually understand them! I think they're trying to hail us!" She hammered her control panel, desperately trying to clear up whatever it was she was hearing over her headset. "They're saying..." She blinked hard. Her jaw dropped. She looked as if she were trying to say something, but only vague noises came out. "You need to hear this."

"It's definitely some sort of trick." Tigh said bitterly. "They could be stalling for time, calling in reinforcements of their own."

"Maybe." Adama replied, staring ahead into space. He never fully believed the 'always trust your instincts' spiel. The chaotic environment of a battlestar wasn't the place to let primal urges dictate decision making. Despite himself, he couldn't help but feel Gaeta was on to something. "Patch it through the speaker, D. Let's hear what they have to say."

The speakers crackled to life. A garbled, male voice filled the room.

"-Captain John Sheridan of the Earth Alliance Ship Lexington. We mean no harm. Our intentions are peaceful. Please respond. Transmission Repeats-"

The world within CIC screeched to a halt. Every soul in the room disregarded whatever they were doing to gawk at the voice playing on loop in the background. The voice on the loudspeaker might as well have been the only thing in the galaxy.

"The what alliance?" Tigh let out in shock.

Adama shook himself back into his senses, gripping the metal in front of him. "That's not possible."

"Earth doesn't exist." The colonel protested. "It's a myth, a damned fool's tale."

Adama supported his weight on CIC's command console, deep in thought, mulling over the transmission.

"Bill, do not tell me you're actually considering this..." He paused, throwing his hand in the air, searching for words. "This fraking absurdity!"

The commander met Saul's eyes. "Two days ago, aliens were an absurdity, too." He stood up straight, eying the Dradis console and unknown contact staying well away from Galactica. "Felix was right. Something isn't adding up."

Tigh exhaled hard. "Bill, if you're wrong..."

"Then you can kill me later."

"That's if we're alive later."

"D, patch me through the wireless." Adama commanded, grabbing the receiver and holding it to his mouth.

Dualla nodded. The woman was a devout believer in the scrolls, Adama recalled. He wondered what was running through her head as he held the push to talk button. "This is the Battlestar Galactica, of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, to the ship claiming to be of the Earth Alliance. We have received your transmission. Do you acknowledge?"

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"This is the Battlestar Galactica, of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, to the ship claiming to be of the Earth Alliance. We have received your transmission. Do you acknowledge?"

Sheridan, alongside the rest of the occupants of Lexington's bridge, breathed a sigh of relief. "That's progress." He said encouragingly.

"Battlestar..." Jeremiah said, testing the word. "Quaint name for a ship."

"Vessel's targeting computer still has its eyes locked on us." Harris stressed.

Lexington's captain scanned his mind for words. He'd been briefed on first contact situations. It was part of every commanding officer's training, before the war broke out. He supposed the same principles applied here.

"Galactica, we acknowledge. We're not looking for a fight."

The gruff, masculine voice cracked through the speakers. "Somebody is." A brief pause. The voice resumed before Sheridan could finish choosing his words. "We thought Earth was a myth."

"Myth?" Jeremiah asked too low for the microphones to pick up.

"We detected your people's transmissions from the edge of this system." John explained, growing more hopeful. "We weren't aware of any humans outside of the Earth Alliance."

"We weren't aware of intelligent life outside our system at all."

"Unaware?" Sheridan replied, bewildered. "You must have known-"

"Captain!" Harris called out. "Four new contacts! All dreadnought sized, they just appeared out of nowhere!"

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"New contacts!" Gaeta cried out. The central Dradis screen lit up with wave of brilliant green. "Squawking Colonial IFF. Multiple battlestars just jumped into our obit."

"Galactica, this is Olympia actual. Thought you could use a hand. Our battlegroup is preparing to engage your target."

The Dradis was flooded with dozens upon dozens of smaller green dots as fighters were shoveled out of their mother ships. The cavalry was here. And it was about to unleash hell on their new acquaintance.

"Olympia, this is Galactica actual. Stand down!" Adama yelled through the receiver. "Target is not alien! Hold fire!"

"Galactica actual, please repeat?"

"Contact may not be hostile." Adama replied, placing stress on the 'not.'

"Our Dradis isn't pegging it as Colonial. Your computers are outdated, you can't trust them."

Adama shook off the jab at his ship. "Olympia, you're not going to believe this." He said into the receiver. He hoped to Hell his gut was right, and he wasn't leading them further into a trap. "Honestly, I don't believe it myself yet."

"Adama, what the frak are you talking about?"

"Well," Tigh said, hinting at a laugh. "This war just got a lot more interesting."

Doctor Baltar's eyes felt like they were ready to roll back into his head. He shut his eyelids hard, rubbing his fingers over them, before throwing his head back.. He'd do anything to make the stinging go away. He'd been pouring over this same stream of data for over six hours. The Dione was the first battlestar to have its blackbox recovered after the Battle of Canceron, and whoever was running the prison Baltar had come to know as his new job had a fervent desire to find out what was in it.

So, here he was, looking over line after line of senseless code, trying to figure out what exactly it was about the alien ships that rendered their sensors useless. And, much like those Dradis systems, his mind could see nothing.

"There's no network sabotage." Baltar concluded, stroking his chin. "It's like the space around our ships is being flooded with white noise, and our sensors can't penetrate it."

From across the room, Uilana Stiebel peered through the apochromatic lens of her microscope. The fragment of hull selected for their lab's examination had proved exceptionally troublesome. They'd been forced to take the thing to one of the metal refineries in orbit, and used a specialized laser to carve samples out.

"This is unreal." She said as she gawked at the synthetic specimen. "This doesn't look metallic at all. I almost want to say this structure looks crystalline."

"You're telling me their ships are made of crystals?"

"Not that. Not just from looking at one fragment from one section of their hull. But I'll be damned if it doesn't bare an absurd resemblance."

"So does that mean anything useful?"

"Well, no. Maybe. Just not right now. It's another piece of the puzzle." She looked up from the microscope, picking up a datapad displaying tables of data from tests they'd run on the sample prior to carving it up.

"Look at this." She said, sliding the tablet between them. "It's not just that their ships use some sort of super-jamming on steroids. If that were the case, our battlestars could just use something else to get a lock and be fine. Thermals, LIDAR, anything. Thermals refused to pick them out from the cosmic background, and when they tried LIDAR, the aliens just refracted the laser around their ships."

Gaius took the datapad from her, scrolling down its touchscreen for himself. "Their ships made a beam of light move out of the way?"

"Yeah. That's what I'm saying. Their stealth system is out of these worlds. If it were just some combo of Dradis-absorbent material and jamming, this would be a lot easier, but this." She said, smacking the datapad. "I mean, we can look at their ships just fine! Visible light isn't affected, but the laser is. This doesn't make any Gods damned sense."

Baltar plopped the tablet down on the table, and stood up. Blood rushed to his head. He couldn't recall the last time he actually stood up. "Uilana, It's been a pleasure working with you, but I desperately need to find a bed before my body decides to rebel against me."

Uilana frowned. "Fine, I understand. I'll find someone else to be my rubber duck."

Baltar simply nodded. He couldn't bring himself to say anymore. It was a ten minute walk from their laboratory near the top of CIPED's dome to the on-site housing that had been erected specifically for them the day before. It'd been a rushed job, and the accommodations were barely adequate. They didn't even have proper running water yet! How could they subject him to that?

"Doctor Baltar!" Came an unfamiliar voice. A pang of fear ran through his body. He used to take great pride in hearing his name separated from the crowd. To be recognized for his work, especially by the rather influential people he'd met over the last two days. But now, all he wanted was for the rest of the world to just go away for a few hours. "I was hoping I'd catch you."

Baltar didn't bother turning to meet him. The man walked in front of him, smiling that stupid smile everyone in a fancy suit around here seemed to wear. He held his hand out. Baltar grudgingly took it. "Name's Hutchinson. I'm an assistant to the Minister of Defense."

"Are you?" Baltar said with feigned surprise. "And what can I do for you, mister Hutchinson?

"Please, walk with me." He said, putting a hand on Baltar's back.

"Look, I've barely slept since you people abducted me from my home the other day, and I would really appreciate it if you would just get to the point." Baltar said pointedly.

Hutchinson's smile vanished. Which made him look slightly more tolerable, actually. "I understand, doctor. Suffice it to say that, the progress being made here is... well..."

"Is what? Pitiful? Well that's what happens when you give us two days to infer an entire species' technological base from a scrap of hull and sensor logs."

The man put his hand up. "That's not what we mean. It's what's in that data that's scaring the hell out of us." He said grimly. "We're out of our league here, plain and simple. And we don't know how long it'll be, if we even have the capability, to close that gap."

"So where do I come into this?" Baltar inquired.

"When we fought the Cylons, we looked to the past to survive. To get through this war, we might have to do the opposite."

Baltar raised an eyebrow. "What exactly are you saying?"

Hutchinson's fingertips connected. "Doctor, you're somewhat infamous for some of your controversial views on computer technology, are you not?"

"You mean my sane views?" Baltar said smugly. "Yes, of course. We're chaining ourselves to the past and it's holding back our future."

The man's smile returned. "I couldn't agree more. And that attitude is the reason we want you for this project. Nobody else would be willing to go near it."

Now the assistant had Baltar's full attention. He scooted towards the man. "What can you tell me about this... project?"

Hutchinson leaned forward, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Doctor, what exactly are your views regarding artificial intelligence?"

The constant, rhythmic clanking of four sets of mag boots echoed down Lexington's corridor. With each passing second, the anticipation filling the hallway grew that much thicker. Sheridan glanced at Zoah. The EarthGov official seemed noticeably worried. Behind him, a pair of Lexington's security officers stood shoulder to shoulder, PPG's holstered on their belts. A necessary precaution, but ultimately, a futile one. Sheridan's ship was at the mercy of the five hulks of metal surrounding it, and the crew knew it.

"Captain, this situation is completely unprecedented." Zoah admitted. "We have to handle this with the utmost care."

"Well, we may or may not have led the most powerful race of aliens we know of directly to their home system after you insisted we come here." Sheridan replied, making no effort to hide his accusation. "So I'd say there's a good chance that ship has sailed."

"That's my point. We have to choose our words carefully." Zoah replied.

"And I suppose that means letting you do all the talking, right?"

"I'm just stressing the need for discretion." Zoah said, stretching out his words. "First Contact is stressful under the best conditions. We don't know what these people are like, or if it was even the Minbari they fought at all."

Sheridan bit his tongue. The four stopped at the end of the hallway, greeted by the dull gray bulkhead of one of Lexington's many airlocks. The small, shuttle-like craft sent to greet them would finish its docking maneuver any moment now. The captain tapped the small communications device stuck to the back of his hand, a standard piece of Earth Force kit. "Sheridan to bridge, what's the status of our guests?"

"Their docking apparatus is somewhat different from ours." Came Garcia's voice. "We had to finagle it a bit, but I think we have it. We'll be ready to open the airlock momentarily."

"No matter what happens, do not shoot first." Sheridan implored to the two security officers behind them. They gave their affirmations as the shuttle's docking clamps audibly clicked into place, and the small light above the bulkhead changed from red to green. A few moments of pressurisation later, and the door began the slow process of sliding open.

The first shape to appear on the other side of the bulkhead was a tall, pale skinned man clad in thick, black armor, donning a helmet that obscured the top half of his face. To Sheridan's dismay, he brandished an assault weapon between his hands. Not pointed ahead, at least. Another ten like him were revealed, one after the other. Centered between them was a man dressed in dark blue and red. Sheridan had the impression he was the guy in charge.

"My name is Captain John Sheridan." He began, eyes locked on that particular man. "I'm the commanding officer of this ship."

"And I am Li Zoah. Ranking Earth Alliance official on this ship." Zoah said, placing a single foot forward. Some of the armed men twitched at his movement. Zoah put his foot back in place.

"Captain Sheridan. Li Zoah." Came the man standing opposite of the bulkhead. His eyes darted from Sheridan's legs up his torso, finally settling on his eyes. "So you're the supposed Earthers."

Sheridan smiled weakly. "Suppose we are."

One of the armed men, a nervous, younger looking lad, piped up. "I always knew, you were out there." He got out. "Praise the Lords of Kobol, the Gods are real!"

"Enough." The officer said, silencing the man behind him. "Captain Sheridan, do yo-" The man made two steps forward on Lexington's side of the airlock before he tumbled forward, then flung himself upside down in the gravity-less environment. His arms flailed widely for support, his eyes bursting out with intense shock. Sheridan reached forward to help the man up, only to be answered by the armed guards aiming their weapons for him. One of them reached forward, grabbing the officer from Lexington's hallway, and pulling him back over the barrier. He hit the floor, head first, with a thud.

With a thud.

The impact hit Sheridan's ear's like a gunshot. He hit the floor.

The man hit the floor! That shuttle had gravity. That ship was absolutely tiny! How in the hell did it have artificial gravity!

"Frakkers have no gravity!" exclaimed the officer, working himself back to his feet. He looked like he was holding back the urge to vomit. "Mag-boots on, all of you."

The soldiers manipulated a panel built into their armor, and a series of loud clanks echoed through the hallway.

"I apologize for that." Sheridan said, eyes darting across the alien, yet oddly familiar ship in front of him. For all the stress, he was eager as hell to find out what other secrets could be hidden away on board.

"Do you recognize these ships?" The man asked, taking a small device out of his pocket and presenting it to Zoah. Sheridan leaned over to view the screen. Pictured, to his mounting horror, was a formation of light-blue warships in sharp contrast to the blackness of space. The sight of those ribbed hulls and protruding fins sent shivers down his spine. Whatever small, glimmer of hope he'd been holding onto vanished as the full weight of what that image represented slammed into him. If their ship had gravity, he wouldn't have been able to support his own weight.

"Yes. I do." Sheridan said solemnly to the man. "Those are Minbari warcruisers alright."

"Minbari?" The officer asked, his mouth going over each syllable.

"Yes, Minbari. That's what they call themselves."

"So you've made contact with this race?"

"They're a highly aggressive people." Zoah said, fighting to speak before Sheridan had a chance to get another word in. "They attacked one of our expeditions a few months ago. We've been fighting a bloody war with them ever since."

"A fleet of their ships appeared in our system two days ago." Explained the officer. "They killed nearly a hundred thousand people before we managed to drive them off."

One hundred thousand. The number buried itself deep within Sheridan's head. More people killed in two days than in the six months Earth had been fighting the Minbari. And it's your fault. You brought them here.

Then, the crushing emotion was lifted from Sheridan for just an instant, as the second half of the officer's sentence hit him. "Wait, you drove them off?"

"That we did." The officer replied. "At a price almost too high to pay."

"It seems we share a common enemy." Zoah said. "I think it would be prudent if I spoke with your government directly."

"That's not for you to dictate." The officer replied. "Our orders are to escort you off this ship."

"I'd prefer the meeting take place on our ship. I'm sure you understand."

"Maybe I wasn't being clear." The officer gestured to his men. They raised their weapons to the four. "We're not ready to believe this isn't just an elaborate trap. Awfully convenient, you showing up just days after an alien attack. So you're coming with us. I'm sure you understand."

"Now just-" Sheridan raised his arm, cutting Zoah off.

"We'll come voluntarily, as long as my crew is unharmed." John proclaimed. "I'm carrying a sidearm on my left hip, if you want to confiscate that first."

"Disarm them." The officer ordered. A pair of guards stomped forward, grabbing the PPG from Sheridan's belt, and ripping the communicator from his hand. One of them shoved his hands behind his back, cuffing them. The guard holding Sheridan's PPG twirled it in his hands, examining it like a child would a new toy.

"Your ship is to stay put here." He replied. "I'd advise your crew against any sudden actions."

The marine grabbed Sheridan's collar, dragging him into the shuttle. The moment he crossed the threshold, the sensation of gravity overwhelmed Sheridan. He collapsed onto the floor, his weakened muscles unable to prepare themselves for gravity's full force returning to them at once. Sheridan mused if these people didn't live in stronger gravity than Earth standard, or if it'd just been that long since he felt its pull.

Baltar had never known how valuable a night of decent sleep had been until he'd been deprived of it. Hutchinson had refused to go into any further detail at the laboratory, and the doctor had refused to go anywhere else until he had time to make himself civilized. So here he was, six hours of sleep and a crappy cafeteria meal later, more than eager to figure out what all this was about.

"You look a lot more alive this time around." Hutchinson remarked as the automatic doors to CIPED's dome slid open.

"A few hours of sleep does wonders for a person."

The two exchanged words sparingly for the duration of the short walk to the elevator. Hutchinson's boss, the Minister of Defense himself, was apparently very keen to secrecy for this particular project. Baltar suspected those two buzzwords Hutchinson used the other night had something to do with it. The duo stepped into the elevator, which unexpectedly started hurling them downwards, into the ground.

"I didn't even know CIPED had lower-level labs."

"Not a lot of people do."

The doors whooshed open to reveal a brightly lit, dull colored room. His eyes locked onto the most out of place thing in the room. Spaced evenly across the concrete floor were a half dozen of what Baltar quickly recognized as missiles. Missiles! Good sized ones, too. The intimidating looking pieces of military kit were painted a plain gray, but more interestingly, they each had a sort of thick, emerald-green metal strap wrapped around their radius.

"These must be an older design." Baltar noted.

"And where are you getting that from?"

Baltar ran his hands along the projectile's ice-cold steel, coming to rest atop a small, exaggerated G etched on one of the warhead's compartments. So much of his childhood had revolved around devouring every minute detail of the company behind that infamous insignia. "Well, the Graystone Industries logo is a dead giveaway. Caprica's military contracted them to write up the code behind a lot of their targeting algorithms before the Colony's unified."

"Good eye, doctor." Hutchinson said, placing his hand on the missile beside them. "These things are pretty old. About forty-three years, to be exact. Vintage Apostle-series missiles."

"So these things date back to before the Cylon war?" The doctor asked, returning his attention returned to the peculiar addition.

"That'd be correct." Hutchinson said, rubbing his hand across that unusual green strap. "They were part of a very old military study. You might have heard of it. The Hammerhead Project."

Baltar's eyes widened at the words. "These missiles are from the Hammerhead Project?"

"The very ones."

Gaius's skin tingled with excitement. Suddenly, he admired the old warhead with a newfound reverence. "That program was a major case study through my entire computer engineering degree."

Hammerhead had been one of the more controversial projects to come out of the woodwork in the years leading up the Cylon war. The basic idea had been around for as long as the Colonies had waged war amongst each other. People were expensive. Ships more so. Instead of risking lives and cubits in a border skirmish with another major colony, they'd send out these missiles to rove the spaceways. They'd cut their engines, barely detectable, where they'd bide their time, picking out targets of opportunity as they presented themselves.

The ever present problem with the idea had always been getting people to trust the missile to recognize acceptable targets on its own. A ship's IFF would tell the warhead if it was Caprican or otherwise, but the public had always been squeamish about the idea of letting the warhead decide on its own if a ship was carrying weapons or passengers. Then the Cylons happened, and now people balked at the idea of giving a weapon system any amount of autonomy.

"Not a lot of engineers wanted their name associated with the project after the war, even if it was strictly out of public view." Hutchinson explained.

"The military kept this gear lying around for forty years?" Baltar asked warily.

"Not quite that bad." the man said, raising his hand. "The missiles themselves were sitting in a boneyard with their warheads removed, but anything related to Hammerhead's software was locked away at the bottom of a deep, dark pit." He shook his head. "Hell, there's hardly anybody around who still remembers how the damned code for it worked. And that's where you come in, doctor."

Baltar's hands returned to his sides. Two sides fought for dominance within him. One devoted to the pursuit of progress, while the other drunk in the realization of what might happen to him if people ever figured out what he would be taking part in.

And then, one more small voice was gaining momentum in the back of his head. He'd be a key part of bringing a new weapon into the war. When, if they won, he'd be a hero. The man who defied convention and risked his career to save billions.

Baltar straightened himself. "The people would have your head on a pike if they knew you were thinking of bringing intelligent systems into the picture again."

"We aren't going that far just yet." Hutchinson said reassuringly. "We're not looking to create Cylon-esque warheads that can think for themselves, but the technology behind Hammerhead could be put to use on a smaller scale."

"If you want me on this, I need to know exactly what your endgame is." Gaius said with what authority his voice could muster. "I'm not going to let you keep me in the dark, not with something like this."

"Absolutely." Said the aid with what appeared to be genuine resolution. "Our ships can't lock onto the Squids outside of point-blank range. The closest thing they can get is a rough approximation of their range and bearing. So, what if the missiles did all the heavy lifting once they left the tubes?"

"That's just active Dradis guidance." Baltar noted. "That isn't anything world-shattering."

In the military's world, two types of guidance profiles existed. Semi-active Dradis Tracking, or Say-Det's, required the attacking spacecraft to maintain a constant lock on its target, guiding it until detonation. The alternative, Active Dradis Guidance, relied on a warhead's built-in Dradis system to take up the legwork after reaching a certain distance. It gave the attacker the freedom to disengage and begin evasive maneuvers, but came at a high cost. Dradis systems were expensive, and ones small enough to fit in a missile, yet track a target across hundreds of kilometers of space, were prohibitively so.

"The difference is, these missiles won't even have a set target when they're fired." Hutchinson countered. "Define the parameters of an acceptable target, give them a rough area of space, and bombs away. Make no mistake, this isn't about breaking their stealth. This is about letting a Battlestar fire a volley from five-hundred kilometers away instead of fifty."

Gaius leaned against the Apostle as Hutchinson gave his overview. He raised a finger. "The aliens have a distressingly accurate point defense system. If you give our nukes more distance, that just means more will be shot down."

"Our idea is for entire Battlestar Groups to make use of the system, not individual ships." The man replied. "Admiral Cain's charge over Canceron proved their point defense system can be overwhelmed, just like any of ours."

Baltar pressed his thumb against the Graystone Industries insignia, dirtying it with layers of dust and grime. Ever so slowly, the doctor turned an eye to Hutchinson, his mind already lighting up with One of the voices in his head won out. The one he'd always followed since he was a boy. The one who got him where he was today. He smiled, and for the first time since his abduction, felt a sense of eagerness to get to work.

"So, when do I start?"

"I'd be very careful what accusations you make, Lorann." Came the light, higher-pitched voice of Alyt Reval.

Alyt Lorann had always imagined himself as one not to shy away from controversy. If the situation ever presented itself, he hoped he would have the courage to speak his mind. In Minbari society, that situation rarely arose. Minbari kind, and the Warrior Caste in particular, were a very secluded bunch. Officers could join the ranks, reach the apex of their career, retire, and die of age with nothing of significance taking place.

Now that such a scenario was actually playing out in front of him, Lorann was ready to run himself against a brick wall. It would have been about as productive.

He cleared his throat. "Mysteries aside, the human system is unusually well fortified. We won't do Minbar any good if we're dead."

"No human system has ever held its own against an entire Minbari fleet, let alone a Wind Sword battle group." Replied the opposing commander. "Did the humans give you one little scar on your head, and now you're afraid to face them?

"The humans aren't going anywhere!" Lorann spat out. "Why put Minbari lives at risk if we don't have to?"

"Lorann, think about what you're asking of us." Came the second commander. His posture was less rigid, though his skin was rough and wrinkled with age. "The Drala'Fi's destruction was a punch to our gut. If we were to retreat now, it would be tantamount to admitting defeat a second time."

"The Drala'fi's destruction should have been a wake up call!" Lorann protested. "A reminder that we can't let our technology allow us to give way to recklessness. Abidor's insistence on pressing this attack is the very definition of recklessness."

"Have you considered Abidor might have a better picture of the battle than you do?" Inquired the first commander. "Just maybe, a better picture than a fresh Alyt who only just recently managed to claw his way to the adult's table?"

"I've held my post for three years, Reval." Lorann stated bitterly. "And Abidor hasn't personally questioned some of the humans in this system. He seems to consider that beneath him."

"Abidor doesn't feel the need to micromanage every aspect of the war." Reval said curtly. "He's letting you play with your pets, then expects you to relay only the information that's actually important."

Lorann inhaled, formulating his counter, before cutting himself off. He let his breath out. He intentionally decided on every word. "Abidor may be allowing his personal vendetta against Starkiller to cloud his judgment."

He let the silence fill the room. Lorann tried to read the faces of his fellow captain's, but they'd had a good many years to block out those traitorous expressions. Noram's eye twitched just before his voice began.

"That's a very powerful accusation, Lorann." Noram said as he clasped his arms together in the front of his body. "I'm trying to be open minded with you, but you're stretching your luck to the breaking point."

"Talk to him yourself." Lorann said, nearly shoving the words out of his mouth before his mind could tell him to stop. "See for yourselves what he's getting us into, and why!"

"Coming here was a mistake." Reval said. The statement cut into Lorann like a knife. "I have a ship to command. Lorann, you need to understand. Abidor is our superior. If you want any place here, you need to respect that." The man said, rising up and giving Lorann a last, bitter look as he began for the exit. Every step felt like a thud.

"Alyt Reval is a little hot headed." Norm said, reassuringly. "But, he is correct. Abidor is our commander, and there's a reason he's Alyt'sa. He knows what he's doing"

"I so strongly hope so." Lorann said, less than convinced. Noram shook his head as he, too, stood up and began making his way out. The disappointment in the man's eyes was the most haunting feeling he'd had to endure yet. More so than Reval's harshness.

"Bringing in other Alyt's may have been a mistake." Khala said, only speaking up once she and Lorann were alone in the chamber. "If Reval were to tell Abidor about your doubts... That you went around his back to discuss them..."

"Then I'll take responsibility for it." Lorann said quickly, with more conviction than he actually felt. "I'm not going to stand by while he throws our fleet into the fire for nothing."

"There are other ways of speaking your mind. Ones that don't end with High Command raking you across hot glass."

"Like what?" Lorann said half mockingly, half genuinely hoping she had some idea. "I thought about convincing Abidor to send a handful of ships to report back to Minbar, but he wants every soldier here. And anything smaller than a frigate might not survive the trip back."

"We can-" Khala was cut off by a set of soft beeps beckoning for Abidor's attention. The alyt looked to the ceiling.

"Alyt, an unknown craft just appeared at the outer edge of our sensor range."

Lorann blinked. "One of our scouts?"

"It's not Minbari. That's all we can be sure of."

"Not Minbari?" The alyt thought out loud. His and Khala's heads snapped towards each other, exchanging curious glances. "We're on our way."

Alyt'sa Abidor had the entire fleet at attention by the time Lorann arrived at the bridge. Khala took her station to the fore of the chamber as Lorann called the ship's sensor feed directly to his terminal. He scanned space around them, looking for any blip or distortion that seemed out of the ordinary, to no avail.

"The ship vanished seconds after we detected it." Reported one of the command staff.

"Are we sure it wasn't a sensor ghost?" Lorann asked.

"Beyond any doubt." The young man answered. "Every ship in the fleet detected it, and every ship confirms it. A small ship with an unrecognized profile blinked into existence, then vanished just as quickly."

"He's right." Khala said. Lorann watched her scan through their sensor logs, finding the records of the peculiar spacecraft. "Their hyperdrive system reminds me of what we saw the humans use during the battle."

"It has to be human." Lorann deduced. "They're the only other intelligent life out here." Their fleet was tucked away far beyond the system's outskirts. The chances of the humans simply stumbling upon them would have been astronomical!

"That ship was small, barely strike-craft sized." Khala said, shaking her head. "They couldn't possibly build a hyperdrive capable ship that small."

"Then please, tell me who else-"

"New readings!" Khala cried out, in sync with a pair of great red dots appearing on Lorann's display. These were anything but small. He waved a hand, switching from the information feed to a three dimensional view of the void.

They weren't human. In fact, their design was unlike anything the Minbari captain had ever seen. The metallic vessels were made with two sets of three protrusions laid atop each other, held in place by a central shaft. Lorann thought they looked more like starfish than starships.

"What in Valen's name are those?" He asked, standing from his chair.

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From the impossibly clean, sterile environment of the basestar's central hub, an atmosphere of apprehension gripped the dozen humanoid models gathered within. Streams of a charged, transparent liquid oozed from the ceiling, flowing down from ventricles within the Cylon ship, and into the pentagram shaped interface jutting out from the floor. The fluid collected in thin puddles on the outer edges of the structure. It certainly looked like water, but held the consistency of sludge.

It was from these cavities the Cylon leadership saw the world outside their ship. Their hands pressed firmly into the chilled liquid, they saw what the ship saw. They felt what the ship felt. Every pulse within its circuitry, every stray gamma ray. They became an extension of the ship, and they bent it to their will.

"We found them." D'anna announced to the chamber.

"There's more of them than we anticipated." Remarked a Four. His dark skin contrasted against the angelic brightness of the room. "So much noise. It's impossible to make out a number."

"Let's get this over with." Cavil said with resignation. He struggled to keep his hand within the information stream. He heard what the ship heard – And the ship heard screaming. An unyielding, agonizing scream that drowned out the world around them and left them in darkness.

"Start the transmission." D'anna said flatly, seeming to fight the same struggle he was.

A harsh, repeating beeping filled the room.

Ping

Ping-Ping

Ping-Ping-Ping

"It's a sequence of numbers." Khala realized while the never ending pinging pierced the crew's ears. She hit a set of buttons, mercifully cutting off the sound before turning her chair to face Lorann. "Their ships are broadcasting a series of prime numbers."

Humans had attempted to communicate with them before. The first time, they couldn't decipher their language. That'd been just before their ships attacked the Grey Council without provocation. Every attempt at contact since then had been a plea for mercy.

"Something is off about these ships." Khala said, studying her instruments. "Visually, they're obviously metallic. Our interior scans are indicating something else entirely."

"Explain something else?" Lorann pressed.

"We aren't detecting human life signs." Khala began. "We aren't detecting any individual life signs. The entire ship is giving off a type of signature I've only ever seen twice before."

The Alyt raised his eyebrow. "Seen from where?"

"From Vorlon ships." Khala replied cryptically. "Under the surface, that entire thing is writhing. It's pulsating, breathing."

Lorann stroked his chin. Minbari were almost supernaturally smooth compared to other races. "Organic ships?"

"Just as organic as it is electric."

"Are you absolutely positive?"

"I am." She said resolutely.

"Abidor must have come to the same conclusion." Lorann said, tapping his fingers on his console. "He hasn't ordered us to open fire."

"Should we reply to their broadcast?"

"That's Abidor's decision." Lorann's fingers paused. His eyes lit up before he raised his voice again. "Order Tarreck to interrogate the prisoners, see if they have any knowledge of those ships."

Agathon awoke to that familiar thud of his cell door opening. The oppressing darkness that surrounded him gave way to the light. Ironically, it only served to make his eyes fight to shut it out again. The footsteps of his interrogator approached him. He'd learned to anticipate his approach by that heavy-footed walk that echoed through the room.

The alien grabbed Helo's chin, forcing his head upright. The officer squinted, his eyes trying to adjust to the sudden brightness. The figure raised an arm, pressed a pair of switches on a device, and a holographic image popped above him.

"Do you recognize this ship?" Were the interrogator's first and only words.

Helo examined the image, quickly coming to the conclusion he hadn't the foggiest idea what he was looking at. It looked like a pair of starfish plastered on top of each other. He gave a slight shake of his head. Any more movement was agony.

"It uses the same hyperdrive technology as your vessels." The interrogator said, in a tone that implied it should have made Helo feel less confused, as opposed to more.

"I've never seen it." He croaked.

"It's near the edge of your system."

"Wait..." Helo said, letting a thought click in his head. It did bare a vague resemblance to...

"What?" The alien said insistently.

Helo quickly realized his mistake. Now he was in it. "It's nothing, it couldn't be."

"What couldn't be?" The alien said impatiently.

The officer's head collapsed. "It looks like something they showed in history books... training videos..."

"What did they show you?" The alien said, his curiosity evidently piqued.

"Cylons." Helo got out. "Cylon basestars, during the war, they looked... Well, the Cylons were these machines. We built them, used them for menial crap we didn't want to do ourselves."

The alien's gaze remained unchanged. His posture was rigid. The hologram still floated, rotating in mid air. Helo gasped for another breath. "The Cylons revolted. Nearly destroyed us. Their ships, the basic idea, it looks similar."

"You created intelligent machines?" His interrogator said incredulously. "That's not possible. Intelligence life needs a soul to inhabit it. You can't manufacture souls."

Helo croaked out a chuckle. "A lot of people died stopping them. They might not agree with you."

"You might have created something that can imitate thought." The alien said accusingly, "You did not create intelligence."

"At some point, it stops mattering."

"What became of the Cylons?"

"We don't know." Helo said simply, to the alien's increasingly apparent glare. "We signed an armistice with them, after years of war. They vanished. We never heard from them again."

The alien cocked its head. It let out a noise that Helo somewhat recognized as disgust before it turned and waved its arm. The motion signaled the lights to shut off, leaving Helo in utter darkness once again.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

In contrast to the rest of Minbari technology, their translators left something to be desired. Minbari society was exceptionally introvertive, only occasionally making contact with other major powers of the galaxy, and seldom approached someone entirely new. It made the process of deciphering this new race's communications difficult and time consuming.

Abidor's ship had returned the prime numbers. The interstellar equivalent of waving one's hand in the air and declaring that you were, indeed, a sentient species. The unknown ships transmitted a data packet that Lorann assumed was their species' attempt to share their language with them. He almost wished Tarreck was up here. He at least had some knowledge of language beyond Minbari tongue. They were groping in the dark.

"They're sending something again." Khala announced. "I think they're trying to say something to us this time."

"Is our translator having any luck?"

"I think so!" She said, her tone rising. "Very basic, but we have something. Abidor is routing it the rest of the fleet."

We are Cylon. We come with hopes of peace for both our kinds.

Dozens of tormenting moments passed. Time ticked by on The Cylon basestar, Three's hand nearly numb from the pressure of holding it so tight to the information stream. Finally, the aliens saw it fit to take her breath away.

We are Minbari.

Elation tingled across Deanna's synthetic skin. She grinned through her victory, both of Cylon kind, and hers over Cavil. "They're responding." All at once, the Cylon ship transmitted back to the aliens.

We were not aware of other life in our galaxy. Where did you come from?

Far from here.

How long has your kind traveled the stars?

How did you find us.

Three's grin vanished. She looked to Cavil, whose solemn expression stayed locked beneath him.

"Not very talkative." One said flatly.

"They haven't shot us yet." Leoben said, his thumb twitching and scratching against the fluid. "We don't know how they converse."

We are explorers.

We are in open space. Far from resources. You were seeking us.

We wished to greet your kind.

How did you know of us.

We monitor this system.

You monitor the humans?

The humans.

Deanna noticed Cavil's lip twitch. Her legs shook. The constant shifting of a centurion's eyes, back and forth, strayed at the edge of her vision. Their collective voice reached out again,

The humans abused us. Raped us. Chained us. They are a threat to Cylon kind. They are a threat to you.

"Lorann!"

Tarreck announced his presence to the room, his fists clenched at his sides. The man's face brimmed with disgust. "Lorann, those things are abominations."

The snapped away from the holographic view. Tarreck approached the Alyt with eyes that seemed ready to set the air around him on fire. He raised his fist, pointing a finger towards the holographic display of those starfish-shaped ships, as if he expected to summon lightning from its tip.

"What in Valen's name did you find, Tarreck?" Lorann asked, pressing down on Tarreck's hand.

"They are machines." Tarreck said, nearly spitting the word out. "Metal husks that pretend to have a soul. The humans claim to have built them."

Lorann could feel his face twisting involuntarily. "Created them?" He asked, looking back at the smooth curvatures along the new arrival's ships. "Tarreck, those ships are as organic as they are metallic. I don't care how different these humans are from the Earth Alliance, the technology on those ships is a thousand years out of their reach."

Tarreck opened his mouth, teeth bared, ready to continue his tirade. Then he stopped. His voice dropped. "Organic?"

"Those ships are alive, Tarreck."

"But the only ones who can build organic ships..." Tarreck started, his eyes looking upward.

"Are the Vorlons." Lorann finished.

"Alyt, the Cylons are requesting a video feed." Khala said, eyes locked ahead of her. "Abidor is accepting. He's routing the feed to the rest of the fleet."

The external view displayed at the front of the room dissolved, replaced by an interior shot of what Lorann assumed was the interior of the Cylon ships. It certainly didn't take after any Vorlon ship he'd seen. Those ships had hulls that resembled muscle and tissue. What he saw now was clearly metallic. The projection was sterile and featureless. The image flickered.

A dozen figures popped into existence. They stood around a giant, central hub. Clear liquid flowed down its walls from a source off screen. Nothing like a Vorlon ship. Nothing like any other race he'd ever encountered, either.

But it was the figures that made the hair on Lorann's skin stand on end. They weren't the mysterious encounter suits he'd seen Vorlons wear. They weren't the incomprehensible forms he'd heard of in stories, or ethereal concentrations of energy.

They were human. Clearly, unmistakably human. An older man, a woman with long, brown hair. A balding, dark skinned man. And beyond the twelve, a number of metal monsters with a red, electronic eye, shifting back and forth. The humans looked expressionless as the brown-haired woman spoke in real time to Abidor.

"On behalf of Cylon kind, we humbly greet you."

Silence was her reply. Alyt'sa Abidor himself was the only man permitted to answer her. Lorann assumed their Alyt'sa was having a terse conversation with his command staff. After some moments, the older man whispered something to the woman. Her face grew more and more concerned.

"HER!"

Tarreck screamed across the room. Lorann grabbed for his heart at the shock from his subordinates outburst.

"That woman! That thing!" He continued, pointing at the left-most figure on the display. A younger human female. "Her face! Her body! It's identical! She's sitting in a cell on this ship!"

"Tarreck, what are you talking about now?" Lorann pleaded as much as asked.

The interrogator looked too stunned to reply. After a tense few moments, he raised his arm to manipulate the attached device. An image of a chained and battered human woman appeared above him. "Her! The human captive! Look! They're the same!"

"That doesn't mean-"

"Yes it does!" Tarreck shouted. "The look in their eyes. I never mistake them. They're one in the same, Lorann. There is no denying it!"

"You-"

"Abidor is sending an encrypted transmission to the fleet." Khala cut Lorann off. "He's commanding us to open our gun ports and prepare to fire on his command."

"No!" Lorann cried out. An instant later, he bit his lip. Abidor was in command. His opinions were of no concern. He shut his eyes so hard he felt like his eyelids were ready to tear apart. "Open the gun ports." He commanded. "Lock our targeting computer on the lead ship and await Abidor's word."

"Still nothing." Cavil said, more annoyed than anxious.

"Give them time." D'anna replied. Her initial optimism was rapidly giving way.

"They could still be trying to translate our language." Leoben offered. "We can't be-"

"Something's happening!" D'anna called out. The twelve remained connected to the data stream that was their way of interacting with the basestar and the space around it. The Ship felt a tingling building up in the space around it. Like the void was bubbling with energy.

"Radiation spikes coming from the alien ships!" An Eight cried.

"This is over." Cavil announced. "We're getting the hell out of here."

"We can't!" D'anna protested. "We've come so far, made so much progress!"

"You're going to get us killed!" Cavil said pointedly. "I don't give a frak about taking another bath, but if these aliens are hostile, we can't afford to throw away two basestars for nothing."

"I'm not going to let you do this, Cavil." D'anna said, removing her hand from the data stream. "We had a vote, and we're going to see it through."

Cavil looked at Three with revulsion. He glanced at Four, then at Eight. He let out a sigh. D'anna's expression turned to confusion. She cocked her head as Cavil reached for his hip. He revealed a pistol from its holster, raising it at Three's head. Confusion turned to hurt and anger.

"One, don't you fraking da-"

Cavil squeezed twice. Three dropped to the ground, blood spurting profusely from her forehead. He turned his focus back on the command hub. "Initiate jump prep."

"Spooling up drive." Four said nonchalantly as blood flowed across his shoes. "Ready for jump in ten sec-"

Fire erupted across the basestar's central hub as the Minbari warships opened fire all at once. Sparks turned to flame for a brief few moments before the hull ripped open. The concentrated fire broke the Cylon ship's spine, sucking blood and metal into space before the two basestars consumed themselves in flame.

Cavil woke up cold and numb, gasping for air fighting that same sensation of dystrophy he dealt with only days before. A copy of Three was there, standing above him, arms at her hips, glaring a disappointed glare. Cavil allowed his head rest on the pod. He coughed, clearing the amniotic fluid out of his throat.

"There. Are you happy now?"