HunTrib Chpt 3

thumb|350px|link=Hunted Tribes
=Hunted Tribes=
==Chapter 3==
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“Determining good and evil, right and wrong is often very subjective. To a sizeable section of the colonial population we’re still regarded as inhuman monsters because we’re genetically engineered, on the other hand the average person on New Circe would likely have a moral problem with throwing enemy POW’s out of an airlock without much more justification than their race... we all bring our history and culture into the equation when we talk of ethics”''
Professor Nils Sundquist – University of New Circe, 3046 ''
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===Chat between man and machine===
Battlestar Galactica – Colonial Fleet – 3045 CEE
Kara “Starbuck” Thrace might have fairly expected her triumphant return from Caprica to have been met with more fanfare than it was but finding that the fleet had encountered the Thirteenth Tribe, and that one of the people she brought back was a frakking Cylon, had cast the successful mission she commanded in a very different light.
As she walked through the flight deck Kara looked over the latest shuttle Yukon had sent over and watched the supplies being unloaded. Chief Tyrol was having a conversation with its pilot through a translator, both of the Earth originating humans wearing flight-suits surprisingly similar to those of the Colonies, although with different markings of course.
‘They really look like us don't they?’ Kara observed to another viper pilot.
‘So do cylons on the outside’ the other pilot responded, ‘way I hear it they're almost as artificial as a Toaster Skinjob underneath’ he said. ‘Of course the food they've been bringing over provided the best meals I've had since we left the Colonies so I can deal with that’ he continued. ‘They'll be serving steak tonight in the mess-hall, I mean it, actual steak’ he exclaimed.
Starbuck grinned back. ‘I'll order mine bloody as hell’ she said.
‘No way, got to be well-done’ the other pilot disagreed. ‘I need to do my pre-flight check, see you later Starbuck’ he said, heading off towards the launch bays.
‘Later’ Starbuck replied and wandered over to the shuttle to take a closer look.
‘They don't use tylium as fuel.’ Chief Tyrol told her as he watched Starbuck run her hand over the side of the shuttle heading back towards the engines. He had finished talking to their guests and had been about to return to work.
‘So what do they use?’ Starbuck asked him. ‘Good work on tackling that Toaster by the way, Chief’ she told him. ‘Pretending to be a priest, what an asshole.’ she growled.
‘They use nuclear fusion,’ Tyrol told her, ‘they've got much more compact reactors than we do.’
‘Cool’ Starbuck replied, then quickly removed her hand from the shuttle. ‘This frakking thing isn't radioactive is it?’ she asked nervously, looking at her hand.
‘No, we ran a counter over it’ Tyrol reassured her. ‘I'm hoping to be able to get into the guts of their machinery soon, see what makes it tick’ he said. ‘If we can swap our jump-drive for their reactors and lasers I'll be a happy man’ he said.
‘They've really got lasers then?’ Starbuck asked. That was a notion that was hard to reconcile with them not even having artificial gravity which she had been told earlier.
‘We asked for a demonstration so they set up a target drone and shot it to hell with one of their fighters just before you came back’ Tyrol told her. ‘They've got fighter-scale lasers that'll cut right through the hull of a Cylon Raider and even more powerful things they call Particle Projection Cannon’ he said. ‘Their normal cannon designs are crap though’ he noted, ‘larger than ours with a lower rate of fire.’
‘So what are their birds like Chief?’ Starbuck asked, intrigued.
‘Let me put it this way, the armour on them probably weighs more than your entire viper Captain’ Tyrol replied seriously. ‘You can't dodge a laser beam like you can a kinetic-energy weapon in a dog-fight so armour matters more than manoeuvrability’ he said. ‘It's still a trade-off though, much more than a hundred tons of fighter and it would be too sluggish they say.’
‘A hundred tons worth of fighter?’ Starbuck responded in surprise.
‘They have a smaller type that only masses sixty but our vipers would run rings around either of them’ Tyrol told her. ‘The problem would be your cannons would take forever to eat through all that armour and if they hit you once you're dead.’
‘I think I'll have to suggest to the Admiral a little match with camera-guns’ Starbuck declared, ‘see what they’ve got.’
Tyrol smiled. ‘Might be worth arranging a betting pool for that Captain’ he said.
‘I'll put a month's pay on me’ Starbuck told him confidently.
‘When I've worked out the odds I'll make a note of your wager’ Tyrol replied. ‘Just remember that if you lose then you'll be letting down Galactica’ he reminded her.
‘It's losing the months pay that I couldn't face’ Starbuck joked, inwardly however she wouldn’t dream of letting down her ship or the Old Man.
In the ships brig Commander Thorpe was starting to wonder how much time he was going to end up spending there because having been temporarily held there twice he was now visiting the damn place. At least his “Caprican” was staring to improve so he needed Sundquist there with him to translate less and less, it had been a good few years since he had taken Ancient Greek, it wasn't exactly a skill used too much in his usual job.
The two identical cylon prisoners both behind bars in neighboring cells, they called themselves “Number Ones” had been talking amongst themselves when he arrived but they stopped and looked at him with interest when he came in and looked them over, clearly fascinated by them.
‘This must be one of the Thirteenth’ the Cylon who had traveled from Caprica with Starbuck stated. ‘Nice to meet you’ it continued, ‘my brother here has been telling me about you.’
‘Call me Marcus’ Thorpe told them. ‘You're actually machines?’ he asked. ‘Artificial lifeforms?’
‘We are’ the other cylon replied. ‘First time talking to an intelligent machine?’ it asked in amusement.
‘Yes but Artificial Intelligence are known to us’ Thorpe replied, ‘there was even a type of self-aware warship once’ he told them.
‘Did it rebel against its masters too?’ the first cylon asked with a chuckle.
‘No, they were made too loyal’ Thorpe replied, ‘when someone took over the government in a coup they followed him blindly because they were programmed to obey the man in charge’ he said. ‘Not enough free-will, the opposite of you really’ he said. ‘Billions died in that war before the end’ he told them then shook his head in amazement. ‘The sophistication needed to produce something like you is incredible’ he said wondrously.
‘I think he's trying to win our trust by playing good cop to Roslin’s bad one brother’ one of the cylons said to the other.
‘Well at least he got them to suspend throwing us out of the airlock’ the other replied. ‘That wins points given we’re too far from a Resurrection Ship to come back’ he noted.
‘Of course maybe he has plans to dissect us, or maybe vivisect us?’ the first cylon suggested.
‘It crossed my mind’ Thorpe admitted.
‘We thought you people were a myth, like all the colonial legends and their Gods are’ the second cylon told him.
‘And our God too of course’ the second added. ‘Religion is a human trait, we should have abandoned it and been the best logical machines we could be.’
‘You're atheists then?’ Thorpe queried.
‘Our model is, the others cling to their superstitions’ the first cylon told him. ‘What about you people, I hear you named your planet for Circe so do you worship the Lords of Kobol too’ he asked.
‘I'm agnostic myself’ Thorpe replied. ‘Most of my people are monotheists, with agnostics and atheists making up the rest’ he said. ‘So like you people really it seems’ he told him.
‘Now I'm sure he's playing the good cop’ the second cylon declared.
‘Perhaps we should think of him as another brother seeing as how he was supposedly made in a manner not entirely dissimilar from ourselves’ the first cylon replied. ‘That's correct isn’t it’ he asked Thorpe. ‘We weren't the only ones in the room born in a tub full of goo?’ he asked rhetorically.
‘It was more of a can in my case and I think you come out fully grown which I didn't’ Thorpe replied. ‘Still, at least I have a less narrow conception of what a person is than the people outside’ he said. The SLDF Officer really was trying to use psychology even if he was a little ham-fisted at it.
‘You're still human, inherently inferior and petty’ the first Cylon stated matter-of-factly. ‘I can see all those bubbling emotions in your eyes, feel that wave of nausea you feel looking at a machine that looks and acts so much like you.’
‘Deep down throwing us out of an airlock is just so appealing to that un-evolved reptilian brain-stem that still controls you’ the other continued. ‘If you don’t understand it kill it right?’ he asked with a smirk.
‘No, if you don't understand it analyses it until you do’ Thorpe responded, ‘that will make fighting the others like it easier’ he said. ‘That's logical isn’t it?’ he asked, smirking back.
Both cylons laughed. ‘He's a smart one’ the first said.
‘But you're wrong about having to fight us’ the other told Thorpe, ‘like we already told Roslin we've pulled out of the Twelve Colonies and we've decided to stop chasing this pathetic rump of survivors across half the galaxy’ he said. ‘It was a mistake born of thinking too much like you’ he continued. ‘We should embrace our own destiny and not go around seeking revenge or some other human justification for violence.’
‘So you've changed your minds?’ Thorpe asked them. ‘No more trying to genocide the human race?’
‘Nope’ the first Cylon confirmed. ‘You know if we'd known there were so many more of you out there we might have acted differently anyway’ he claimed. ‘As it was Caprica Six and Boomer Eight swayed opinion in your favour so no more naughty nuking of human cities’ he said, raising his right hand. ‘Swear on the Holy Book of your choice... not that I believe in any of them.’ he admitted.
Thorpe frowned. ‘I've got to wonder that if you changed your mind so easily, woke up one morning and thought, “ screw it let's leave the humans alone”, then surely it isn't too difficult to imagine you all waking up again tomorrow and thinking “We should probably finish the job, what if they come back looking for revenge like we did”.’
‘I hate to say it but he's got a point there’ the second cylon conceded. ‘We sort of shot away our credibility when we started acting like them.’
‘I said it was a mistake from day one’ the other agreed. ‘I said it, you said it but we were drowned out by the rest of those religious maniacs’ he grumbled. ‘Nuke twelve lousy planets and they'll hold it against you forever’ he muttered.
Thorpe looked from one to the other again. ‘I'll probably be back later and I think some of my people will want to interrogate you more thoroughly’ he said. ‘I've got to talk to the other one now’ he told them.
‘If she's still like most Eights she'll be spellbound by the new and shiny’ the first cylon told Thorpe. ‘You'll be a big hit’ he said.
Thorpe turned to leave but stopped and turned back. ‘If you offer to fully cooperate with my government I can see about getting you transferred to one of our facilities’ he said. ‘We don't summarily execute prisoners’ he told them, ‘it violates Star League Defense Force regulations.’
‘And we don't commit treason against our own so we reject your kind offer’ the second cylon told him firmly.
After Thope left the two cylons looked at each other. ‘These people could be trouble.’ one observed presciently.
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===Everyone like a Parade===
City of McEvedy – New Circe – 3045 CE
‘This trip is starting to get routine’ Racetrack told her ECO Skulls sat beside her as they came into land. ‘Of course we've not been carrying VIP’s before’ she continued, momentarily looking over her shoulder at the President and her small entourage in the back. A second Raptor carrying a few people from the press had been following behind when they first arrived in the system but it had been re-directed to set down at the edge of the military airfield before the President landed in order to give the photographer from Colonial Dispatch and the television news crew from Fleet News Service time to set up beforehand. ‘And we're not usually met by so many people’ she added as she brought the Raptor down as gently as she could in front of a large hanger.
President Roslin had been going over some notes and practising how to greet her opposite number in the language the Thirteenth called “English”. Nils Sundquist had written it out for her phonetically and after a lot of practice told her it was more than good enough to make the good impression she was after. ‘Can we get out now, Lieutenant?’ she asked.
‘They seem to be rolling a red carpet out to the Raptor, Ma'am’ Racetrack replied. ‘Might want to let them finish’ she advised.
‘Protocol’ Tory Foster observed. ‘You're being received by another Head of State and these things have to be done right’ she stated.
‘Someone is waving at me, Madam President. I think it's show time’ Racetrack announced. ‘Um, once you get out there you might want to take a breath before you turn around’ she advised cryptically.
The Raptor hatch began to open and half-stooping to get out Laura Roslin took a deep breath of fresh air as she clambered out of the compact interstellar spacecraft with as much dignity was possible, stepping onto the red carpet. A delegation was standing ahead of her on a raised dais, some in uniform some not, with a tall dark-haired woman in a very well-cut suit and wearing a sash with a star emblem on it stood in the middle of them. It was chilly on New Circe, even here on the equator, several degrees cooler than it had been within the Raptor anyway and Roslin wished her suit was made of thicker material as a chill breeze hit her. The city was built on a river delta that emptied into an ocean and it could be bitter cold at times as the wind came off the sea.
Once Tory Foster, her military escort Captain George Birch in dress uniform and her Secret-Service bodyguard had stepped out of the Raptor Roslin was surprised when the Colonial Anthem started to be played over loudspeakers. She straightened up and Birch snapped to attention as the flag of the Twelve Colonies was raised next to two others, those she recognised as the Star-League and the Wolverine Insignia of an animals head superimposed over claw-marks.
‘Nice touch’ Tory whispered as the anthem came to an end and the woman in the sash, a man in a more ornate version of the uniform Commander Thorpe had been wearing and a second man in civilian garb walked over to meet them.
‘President Laura Roslin’ the civilian began in badly accented Caprican. ‘May I present, Jennifer Vaun, Lord Protector of the Star League In Exile.’ he introduced them.
Roslin said the phrase she had been practising and then Vaun returned the gesture by offering the greetings of the people of New Circe in Caprican. They both smiled and shook hands and then Vaun gently placed a hand on Roslin’s shoulder and led her to the dais as the nearby press snapped pictures.
She was so caught up in the moment that Roslin didn’t realise what the Raptor Pilot had meant until she was on the platform looking back towards the spacecraft. ‘Oh Gods’ she said quietly as another anthem started to play and a full division's worth of infantry paraded across much of the rest of the airfield snapped to attention as one, the sound of thousands of hands simultaneously smacking against thousands of rifles echoing off the hangers like thunder.
‘I think they're trying to impress us’ Tory suggested redundantly as the Star-League anthem finished and a perfectly timed fly-by of fighters howled overhead.
‘They're succeeding’ Roslin replied, turning to smile at Vaun who smiled back.
After the fighters had departed a long column of khaki-painted ground-effect vehicles bristling with cannon, missiles and what Roslin assumed were their lasers and particle weapons rolled, or rather hovered past the dais at speed, hundreds of them. This wasn't the thing that caused Roslin to gasp however that was the appearance of what she initially took as robots marching on behind. ‘Cylons’ she said in horror, they made their own Cylons’ she exclaimed as they stopped as one in front of the platform, turned and stood to attention in a seeming mockery of the human soldiers nearby.
The translator said something to Vaun who laughed and shook her head. She called out to the machines in her own language and one stepped forward only for it's armoured head to open up, a visor sliding away to reveal a man inside. ‘It's Powered-Armor’ Vaun told Roslin through the translator. ‘We have a full company's worth in service, two hundred of them’ she explained. ‘Unfortunately those are the only ones we could recover from an old cache of Star-League equipment we recovered from a base in the periphery.’
‘It's like wearing a dead Toaster’ Captain Birch muttered disparagingly, earning an elbow in the ribs from Tory Foster.
‘They're very... imposing’ Roslin guardedly told Vaun through the translator.
Vaun laughed again and replied through the civilian herself. ‘You ain't seen nothing yet’ she replied.
George Birch felt the ground tremble slightly and hearing something off to one side watched as the doors of another hanger opened. ‘Frak me sideways’ he exclaimed as a huge bipedal machine that was better than twelve metres in height stepped out, a hundred tons of metal pounding the concrete as it stomped into the open, followed by another then a third.
‘Pulverizer II Assault Battlemech’ Vaun told the horrified, awe-struck Roslin. ‘The pride of the Star League in Exile.’ she declared.
Viper jock Birch watched in amazement as the machines moved forward with a grace that he wouldn’t have thought possible, movement fluid and smooth. They almost resembled the Powered Armor suits and as he looked more intently he realised it had a cockpit, someone was piloting that damn thing, he decided.
‘Twin Clanbuster Long-Range Particle Projection Cannon, plus anything else the crew want to mount on her for up-close and personal work’ Vaun enthused. ‘We were thinking LBX Autocannons for dealing with Clan Elementals but they should work even better on Cylons. Think really big automatic shotguns’ she explained as the translator did his best to turn that into Caprican. ‘With our targeting sensors she should be great for dealing with Cylon Raiders too, just like skeet shooting’ she added with a beaming grin.
The news crew who had come from Galactica were just as stunned as the other Colonials at first but they eventually snapped out of it and began filming the huge machines.
Captain Birch started to laugh, he couldn't help himself. ‘Where's your mechanical messiah now Toasters?’ he loudly declared to the universe.
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===Drunken Conversation===
Cloud 9 – Colonial Fleet – 3045CE
Gaius Baltar stared blankly at his empty glass and then pushed it across the bar. ‘Another’ he told the barman, his speech starting to get slurred and a hint of his original Aerelon accent starting to assert itself. The barstool he was sat on was starting to get uncomfortable too but he had been there for a good few hours by now.
‘Okay, Sir, but you’re getting towards your limit now.’ the barman replied.
‘What, has Roslin rationed the booze by executive order too now?’ Baltar responded sarcastically.
‘No, Sir, but if you have much more. I'll have to find someone to carry you home.’ the barman told him apologetically. ‘It's getting late’ he pointed out. Other than Baltar and himself the only people left at the bar were a viper pilot trying to use the kudos that came with his job to persuade a girl far too pretty for him to normally score with to come back to his room, and that lawyer guy who always wore sunglasses talking quietly to a client who was facing court the next day for stealing medical supplies.
Baltar laughed. ‘Don't think I could find someone to support me?’ he asked. ‘I'll have you know thousands of people support me’ he declared the sighed. ‘The problem is thousands more supported her’ he murmured to himself.
The barman took pity and poured him another drink, a large one. ‘I thought your concession speech was really good’ he told the former Vice-President, ‘Classy’ he said. ‘Dignified’ he added.
‘You think so?’ Baltar asked more brightly, he always wanted to be thought of as that way even if a little voice at the back of his head always whispered “Poncey Class Traitor” at him whenever he upped the pretence of being a properly bred and educated Caprican boy.
‘The way you offered your congratulations to President Roslin and said the smooth running of the election was a shining example of how Colonial Civilisation survived the fall of the Twelve Colonies was a great line’ the barman told him. ‘When the next election comes around that'll play good if you're thinking of standing again’ he said. ‘People hate a bad loser’ he observed.
‘How do they feel about losers feeling sorry for themselves and drowning their sorrows?’ Baltar asked, draining half his glass in one gulp and then grimacing.
‘Hey when I didn't get the job I wanted on Colonial One I got loaded myself’ the barman replied with a smile. ‘Of course I just wanted to run the bar there instead of here, hang out with the President and the Quorum, not actually be one of them’ he said.
‘Politicians are cheap and they don't tip very well’ Baltar replied, ‘you're better off here’ he told him.
‘So is that your way of saying I'm not going to be told to get one myself?’ the barman queried.
‘I'm out of politics’ Baltar told him, pulling a high-denomination note from his pocket and smacking it down on the bar. ‘That should cover my tab with enough left over to buy you a couple my friend’ he told the barman before finishing off his drink and getting up off his barstool. ‘I'll make use of your rest-room and be on my way to sleep it off’ he declared, half stumbling before recovering his balance. ‘I have drunk a bloody lot’ he realised. ‘Still upright though, Dad would be proud’ he joked to himself as he headed towards the toilets.
After flushing, it took three goes to manage to press the lever, he came back out from the stall and found a tall woman waiting for him. ‘You look better in red’ he told her, ‘and more blond’ he added.
‘You're drunk.’ the woman told him.
‘And you're very observant’ Baltar replied, ‘must be that superior Cylon brain’ he reasoned.
Another identical woman, this one wearing her normal red dress and with platinum blond hair appeared from seemingly nowhere. ‘It’s not me Gaius’ she told him. ‘That's Gina’ she explained, ‘the other me that was on the Pegasus remember?’ she continued. ‘You gave her a nuclear bomb’ she reminded him.
Baltar moved to the sinks and turned on the cold tap to splash some water in his face. He turned around again. ‘Nope, still two of them’ he said.
The model Six Cylon known as Gina Inviere pushed her glasses up her nose, it was annoying wearing them but along with the new haircut and they changed her appearance to a surprising degree which was all for the best considering the number of people in the fleet who would have happily fed her out of an airlock. ‘You're seeing double Gaius’ she told him in the tone she might have used with a small child, or a Centurion. He really must be wasted, she decided.
‘She can't see me, Gaius’ the other Cylon told him. ‘I'm in your mind remember.’ she said in the same tone.
‘So she's really here.’ Baltar asked the one in the red dress who nodded. ‘That's terrific!’ he declared. ‘I can't remember where I live’ he admitted, ‘can I crash at your place?’ he requested of Gina before nearly falling over.
‘Oh for frak's sake’ Gina moaned, dashing across to help him stay upright, grabbing his arm with a strength a woman of her slender build really shouldn't have.
‘Thanks’ Baltar told Gina gratefully as she stabilized him. ‘The other one isn't much help in this kind of situation’ he told her. ‘Great to look at, not much good at lending an actual as opposed to metaphorical helping hand’ he said. ‘Though at least she stuck around’ he continued, ‘as soon as the count was in my fair-weather friend Zarek cleared off sharpish’ he complained.
‘Sharpish?’ Gina repeated quizzically.
‘Sorry love’ Baltar apologised, ‘get a few drinks into me on a maudlin day and its straight back home to the farm for me’ he said. ‘It means quickly’ he explained, Aerelon slang often mystified outsiders. ‘So did you vote for me?’ he asked.
‘I'm not registered’ Gina replied.
‘Yes I suppose not’ Baltar replied, ‘tell me a secret’ he said, ‘if every cylon in the fleet had the franchise would they have represented a voting block worth pursuing?’ he asked. ‘I mean including any of the ones that might not know they were cylons?’
‘No’ Gina told him.
‘Then I'm glad that I didn’t start that “Votes for Toasters” campaign I had on the back-burner’ Baltar joked then hit the floor hard when Gina dropped him. ‘Sorry, my bad’ he said. ‘That was an uncalled for racial epithet’ he admitted. ‘I'm basically on my knees already if an apology from this level will get me a hand up’ he said hopefully.
Gina hauled him back to his feet again. ‘I was hoping to have a serious conversation but there’s no chance of that tonight’ she said. ‘I'd better take you somewhere to sleep it off’ she decided, starting to half-carry him away.
‘Any chance of sex?’ Baltar asked hopefully.
‘No, not even if you could manage it’ Gina replied in mild amusement, normally the very idea of having sex was so repugnant she could have never made light of the topic, the serial gang-rape at the hands of that bastard Thorne working for Cain had ensured that, but he really didn’t seem like much of a sexual predator right now, just a horny overfriendly drunk.
‘Bet you five million gold cubits I can’ Baltar wagered.
‘You don't have five million gold cubits Gaius’ Gina replied flatly, pushing open the door with her free hand and taking him towards the bar exit. ‘There probably isn’t that many in the whole fleet’ she noted, most currency was paper.
‘But hypothetically if I did have five million gold cubits?’ Baltar suggested.
Gina thought about that, it seemed a safe bet. ‘If you did then I'd take the wager’ she said.
‘Right, excellent’ Baltar responded brightly. ‘So would you screw me for fifty cubits from my wallet?’ he asked.
The cylon stopped walking. ‘What kind of girl do you think I am?’ she asked curtly.
‘We've already established that, now we're negotiating a price’ Baltar declared before breaking out into uproarious laughter which ended suddenly when Gina dropped him again.
The barman watched the attractive woman walk away from the former Vice-President lying sprawled on the floor. She then stopped, turned around, looked down at him and with an obviously reluctant sigh she went back, picked him up once more and helped him out through the doors. ‘Looks like someone else felt sorry for him’ the barman said to himself with a smile. ‘I'm closing up’ he announced. ‘Finish your drinks and be on your way please’ he asked the patrons smiling again as the viper pilot had seemingly achieved his objective, the pretty girl following him out, the two with arms wrapped around each others waists. ‘That means you too Mr Lampkin’ he told the lawyer whose client had left a few minutes earlier.
Romo Lampkin wandered over to the bar and pushed his sunglasses partially down his nose so the barman could see his eyes. ‘Do you know who that woman with our esteemed former Vice-President was?’ he asked.
‘I've seen her in here a few times’ the barman told him. ‘Why?’ he asked curiously.
‘I like to take an interest in the comings and goings of the movers and shakers in the fleet’ Lampkin told him. ‘Best to keep your ear to the ground in my line of work’ he continued, ‘Scientia potentia est, knowledge is power as they say’ he quoted. ‘Even if that knowledge is just in whom such a famous man in the fleet spends his time coming’ he said with a wry smile. ‘How much do I owe you?’ he asked, getting out his wallet.
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==Chapter Notes==
*;Chapter Note from the Author :We're now up to nBSG episode 2:20 Lay Down Your Burdens (Part II). Kara Thrace and the Raptors which went to Caprica have returned to find their world turned upside down.Using Tylium as fuel is explained in the show to give 81% of the energy of nuclear fusion. Given that fuel for fusion is far more prevalent in the universe anyway that indicates to me that the Colonials can't have developed Fusion Reactors to anywhere near the same degree as they have in the Battletech universe. Vipers carry two or three "Kinetic Energy Weapons" depending on model, these apparently being 30mm autocannon. Although these can shred Cylon Raiders with ease they would need a lot of hits to deal with a medium or heavy BT aerospace fighter which is designed to absorb the attentions of much more powerful weaponry. On the other hand a Viper is all engines, thrusters and pilot from the looks of it, it should easily out-manoeuvre what amounts to a flying tank. The Number One type Humanform Cylons, also known as Cavils, were atheists as opposed to the monotheism of the rest. In some ways it made them a little less cryptic I always thought, the Sixes were practically mystic by comparison. I took the notion of the Eights being easily distracted by something shiny (or new) from the Three who made that crack about them.Captain George Birch was CAG on Galactica for a while, he wasn't very good at it and was demoted back to being just a Viper pilot but I thought he might be a useful military escort for President Roslin when she visited New Circe for the first time. New Circe has a full-time professional force available for deployment off-world (the SLDF 331st Royal Battlemech Division) plus a conscript army for planetary defence, with everyone having to spend two years in uniform (plus twenty years in the ready reserves afterwards). They can put a very large proportion of their population in the field within hours if required, finding a divisions worth of soldiers for a parade is easy! The Star-League was using the Nighthawk XXI Powered Armour when it collapsed although the technology was to be lost in the Inner Sphere during the Succession Wars, they weren't a patch on later Clan designs but they would be a hell of a thing for Cylon grunts to face!According to the canon Battletech book "Betrayal of Ideals" at the time they left the clans (2823) the Wolverines had just developed a new assault battlemech, the 90 ton Pulverizer which mounted their new invention the "Gutbuster" Enhanced Extended Range Particle Projection Cannon. It's likely this weapon was the original basis for the even more powerful Clan model ERPPC seen two centuries later. Lacking the population or industrial depth to keep up with the Clans generally I've had the Wolverines fall behind in every field except Particle Projection Cannon. They already had an edge in that technology and therefore prioritised what R&D resources they had on maintaining that edge, eventually leading to the "Clanbuster LRPPC" mounted on the upgraded Pulverizer II and other vehicles. It's longer ranged and harder hitting than the latest Clan design and forms the basis of a tactical doctrine of fighting at extreme range (a good approach when you expect to be outnumbered and can't really afford to slug it out). The Wolverines canonically took the blueprints, tooling and equipment to make their advanced battle gear with them when they left the other clans incidentally. Also of note is that the Wolverines had by 2823 developed the Mercury II battlemech which again is the likely direct precursor to a Clan design, specifically the omnimechs which later terrorised the armies of the Successor States. Clan Coyote claims to have perfected the omnimech (a battlemech with modular weapon systems easily swapped out) in 2854 but it's mentioned in "Betrayal of Ideals" that they obtained the Wolverine Mercury II design and it seems probable that much of this was down to some back-engineering and gradual design tweaking of Wolverine tech, especially when you take a look at the "first" omnimech, the Coyotl.Baltar lost the election needless to say. When it was revealed later in the series that he was originally a farm-boy from the relatively poor colony of Aerilon he also demonstrated his original accent (which resembles Northern English Yorkshire/Lancashire rather than the more Southern RP accent he sports normally). I've gone with the notion of the people on Aerilon using British slang, he did say "Pub" rather than bar when talking that way (it just fleshes out some differences in the colonies).The lawyer Romo Lampkin was such a great character, I had to include him in the fic (he did use a latin quotation in nBSG too incidentally). I also thought the "Gina" Six should have stuck around longer as her treatment hadn't just traumatised her she was in some ways humanised by it.
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