Adult-FanFiction.org : Television / Streaming

Battlestar Titanica	By : Phynxlegion Category: 1 through F > Battlestar Galactica Views: 2024 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Battlestar Galactica or anything which someone else has legal claim to like characters, settings, etc featured in this fic. I did create many original characters, but its just for entertainment and no money/profit is being m

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Entering the XO’s quarters, the meek girl scans the room with a calculating stare. Running her finger tips over every trinket and book on the shelves, she seems preoccupied with the low roar of the ship constantly ringing in her ears. Making her way around the room, she arrives at Myosha’s sacred reading corner and admires the framed photo of the previous XO. Myosha rolls her eyes in disbelief.
“I have put that picture away at least a dozen times, and I swear it keeps finding its way back there. I must be going nuts and bringing it back out in my sleep.”
With a childish giggle, she sets it back down on the table and meanders towards the shower. The warning claxons sound for an imminent jump, and Myosha grabs a hold of a support beam as the ship subtly lurches from one location to the next. After a few minutes, she hears the ‘all-clear’ and points out the shower amenities and heads towards the door. Over her shoulder she mentions she’ll wait outside. With an urgent beckoning, the girl calls out.
“Please don’t. The last time I had them wait outside, a certain someone of authority took advantage of his status and ordered my guard away. Just wait inside and don’t let anyone pass, will be fine. Besides, I haven’t had any new company in a very long time, except my ship. Our conversations get a little old after a while, you know system statuses, star positions, astronomical anomalies…it all gets old. Tell me about yourself. Nothing too personal, just talk so that I know you’re still in the room. Start with your names.”
Surprised, Myosha secures the locks on the door, and moves a chair in front of the massive steel door before she begins. The water in the shower turns on and sounds of her undressing echo in the silent room.
“Well, I’m Colonel Myosha Huron, and my ship commander is Commander Florus, and…well…there’s nothing much to talk about really if you’re not from around here. I’m a naturally born Caprican, from a family of ship captains. I’m the first in three generations to serve in the military; my family was proud business owners before me. I realized the only way I was going to fill their shoes was to join the colonial fleet. I have an engineering background, thanks to my father, and fell into the recovery and demolition division. It’s not as glamorous as a battlestar commander, but the ship commander track is far quicker…or at least it was supposed to be.”
After a noticeable pause, the girl giggles once again, signaling Myosha to continue.
“I have a brother who is filling my father’s shoes…at least I hope he survived the attacks. We don’t think many did.”
From the shower, the girl yells out over the running water.
“What attack? Against these Cylons or machine warriors?”
Suppressing the tears of remembering her family, Myosha swallows sharply and replies.
“Yes. We call them Cylons. We had a war with them long ago but it only ended in a stalemate. It seems they coordinated a massive sneak attack on our colonies, and we believe most of our race is gone. They laid waste to hundreds of our largest cities, killing everyone. Our people were in the billions, now we hope it’s at least still in the millions. No one is sure of anything now.”
The girl continues to shower and talk.
“I am extremely sorry. Are these Cylons intelligent and self-aware or controlled by a separate government or species?”
Shrugging, she speaks up over the din of the water.
“We’re told they are self-aware, but legends say they were once inhabited by human souls, and fought back against becoming our slaves. There’s no proof of that, but it’s an interesting fantasy to entertain. Kind of changes things if you think of it that way, but they did start the war, and they did attack us first both times. I just know my family is more than likely dead, we have no home to go to, and no safe port to call our own. How did you hear about them?”
A silence longer than Myosha imagined is finally interrupted by the girl.
“My ship intercepted a number of communiques, and I think that’s the name he heard. Do you know what their primary grievance is with humans?”
Shaking her head Myosha hears the water shut off.
“No idea. They’re machines, and we’re not?”
Hearing the girl drying off and changing, she finally continues.
“You have been extremely forthright, so I will do the same. My people are priestesses or warriors, while a few are both. I am an explorer, something that doesn’t quite fit into their paradigm. I see the universe through a different set of goggles, and I roam. My ship’s Secondary FTL drive broke and we accidentally arrived here. It’s almost fixed, but I still have a few more years until it is operational. Needless to say, it’s complicated, but I can still get around quite well without it. Not well enough to get back home, but travelling faster than light is still available.”
Stepping out of the shower room, Myosha nearly stops breathing upon viewing the immaculate beauty of the nymph-like pixie-haired girl. Barely a young woman in contemporary walks, her icy hair is laced with a baby blue tinge and crisp green hued tips. With a flawless snowy complexion, her doe shaped icy-blue eyes are peppered with specks of emerald. With a petit nose, her sharp features off set her warm stare. Returning an impassioned glare, she breaks it to flip the veil over her face and don a pair of black boots. With a light blue and green camouflaged flight suit, she seductively closes the snaps on her flight suit and then boots before continues.
“I choose to reveal my true appearance only to a select few, so I wear the veil at all times around your people. Those of weak character have difficulty restraining their urges, so I have to take precautions.”
Nodding, Myosha snaps out of the spell, and mentally records every nuance of her words.
“Around my people? So you’ve been in contact with humans before. When?”
Through her veil, Myosha can see her grin broadly.
“A very long time ago, little one. I’ve been sleeping for far too long as well. My ship told me that it would be a while before the repairs would be completed, but it conveniently failed to give me the details. He knew I would be perturbed regarding the length of time, but it is what it is. I’m not angry with him…just annoyed. Ship auto-repairs can take considerable time.”
With an incredulous expression, Myosha leans forward.
“Auto-repair? Your ship fixing itself? That’s some serious technology. The Cylons appear to have taken advantage of our networking capabilities and bypassed every major technological advance we’ve made since the first war. This ship was a prototype and should have been outfitted with all the latest computer advancements, but it’s been lost for over seven years. My original team found it and restored it just in time to get back into the fight, and didn’t suffer the fate of her sisters. For some reason all our wireless networking nodes were disabled when we found her, and we didn’t have the parts to fix what were simply destroyed. The Cyclons used those nodes to access our fleet’s computers and override our defenses, even on our fighters.”
As she approaches Myosha, she looks up at her protector’s hazel eyes to speak.
“I take it your computers are less sophisticated than a Cylon…low tech and not up to par against an AIS or an Artificially Intelligent System?”
Taken back, Myosha practically spits back.
“Well…yes! We do our own thinking and controlling. We don’t relegate the processes off to a computer which we can do just as well, if not better.”
Giggling in a childish tone, the girl carefully counters Myosha’s heart filled response.
“This is funny for me, in that in your fear and hatred for the enemy has blinded you to the value and potential of superior technology. I could tell you of places and times which if it weren’t for those advanced computers, humanity would never have taken to the stars in the first place. I understand your pain and hatred, but I think one has to ask is what were the true circumstances of their birth and purpose? The Cylons I mean. My people had a similar war against a machine race, like you, but we instilled fundamental respect and love of life, no matter if it was carbon-based or silicon. Our AIS chose to take up arms in our defense, not ordered. After the war was over, many of our people went back to an older age as you have and returned the systems to our own control like you did. Those robot warriors dismantled themselves and chose to be incorporated into fundamental systems like water reclamation, painters, musicians, builders, and even planetary defense grid controllers for the few hardened warriors.”
The girl reads the disbelieving expression painted on Myosha’s face and resists laughing as she continues.
“My ship was one of those warriors. He saw horrible combat where his brothers, sisters, and my people’s blood spread across the fields of battle, and he had a difficult time finding a new place in our society afterwards. He sought me out, and made me a deal: if I made a ship, he would take me to the edges of universe. I was no warrior or priestess, and we both had skeletons in our closets. He’s been a fair travelling companion, who still gets all giddy when we discover a new form of life or some astronomical anomaly only theorized to exist. And for the life of me, I have no idea why I’m telling you all this. I think I have been asleep for too long.”
With a dramatic sigh, she stands erect and thrusts out her bare pale hand.
“My name is…Kreysta.”
Myosha can’t help but feel a surge of trust the girl is placing on her. Taking her hand, she firmly shakes the creamy white hand. She can’t believe how soft and supple the small hand feels in her grasp, and an incredible wave of adoration flows into her. After she releases Myosha’s hand, she quickly dons a pair of baby blue gloves, reaching nearly to her elbows.
“I am ready to return to my ship, Colonel Myosha Huron of the Colonial Fleet. When your Commander Florus is ready to receive me, I will meet with her. Besides, you have much to tell her first, yes?”
With a sly grin, Myosha turns and unlocks the door.
“Is that bad?”
Through the veil, Myosha can barely discern a devious grin on Kreysta as she silently shrugs and steps into the corridor. With a guard trailing behind Myosha, she leads the pilot back to her ship and instructs the guards to treat her as a distinguished emissary, not prisoner.
“Kreysta! If you need anything, these guards are instructed to notify myself or my Commander of your needs.”
With a subtle bow at the waist, she disappears under her ship and up the ladder.
Arriving back on the bridge, she gets a status update and mentions they will be jumping in an hour to a safe site the Third Gemenon Fleet is massed. Nodding, she barely has time to grab a cup of tea when Commander Florus peeks in on the bridge and beckons Myosha to her conference room. Joining the commander of the destroyer Gryphon’s Charge, he introduces himself as she gets caught up.
“Good to meet you Colonel Huron, I’m Major Hemic. Your commander has everything, but what can we do to support the Titanica?”
With her eyes plastered wide open at the question, she represses her urge to sound stupid or shrug ignorantly.
“Well for starters, we have a dangerous amount of excess stock on our support craft. After rearming, we should still have too much ammo and resources stowed on those lightly armed craft. I imagine you could use more rounds, supplies and water between the missile boat and three destroyers?”
Commander Florus nods and interjects.
“The destroyer Caprican Rising was fully rearmed before we jumped, and we are getting the missile boat Argos rearmed before we jump again. All ships called in damage control procedures were underway Colonel. Sorry I had you playing Colonial diplomat, but she seemed to take to you. You can brief me afterwards.”
The major shuffles nervously in place.
“As for our needs, all destroyers called in that all fires were under control, and repairs underway. We weren’t as damaged as we predicted, thanks to you. I wanted to meet you personally Colonel, as we will be getting very close from now on. I’ll coordinate through you for whatever support you require from us. The Battlestars Damocles and Poseidon are fully armed and ready, despite three scrapes with those basestars, but support ships are hard-pressed scrounging together supplies. All the active depots are either destroyed or empty. We had a rumor that a few of the decommissioned depots might be still have stock, so we made this run. We think there are spies amongst the fleet, but we have no idea how. Better yet, our recon reports many supply depots are still intact on the colonies, but the Cylons have amassed a sizeable force on each colony.”
Shaking her head, Commnader Florus sighs.
“Retaking a colony is a distant possibility for now. Let’s finish the repairs and get underway. It won’t take these toasters very long to come looking for us after the bashing we gave them.”
As the major departs, Commander Florus motions to join her on the bridge. As they walk around the status board, she leans over and whispers over the table.
“They’re in pretty bad shape despite what their spirits say. The Cylons are destroying the support craft then attacking the battlestars afterwards. Those support craft are essential for an effective perimeter defense strategy, a strategy the new battlestars were specifically designed around. The mass of cover fire a destroyer brings allows a battlestar to concentrate fire on a more powerful opponent. Without them, we need 25 to 45 percent more fighters to make up for their lack of cover fire. This was a dilemma we discussed in advanced tactical college, a chink in our defense plans no one can counter in an extended war. A battlestar without destroyers or missile boats backing them up is living off borrowed time. An older battlestar was built to take on Basestars of the old era and go toe to toe with them. These new behemoths are in a category of their own. We proved today the effectiveness of the strategy, but I don’t see how we can do it without their support.”
Myosha dwells on the tactical revelations her CO provides and feels a fearful aura of doom creeping over their situation. A pang of jealousy rubs at her, when she realizes she should have attended those very same war colleges; but thanks to her old CO his FITREP scores always prevented her from the selection process. As she gets back into the flow of the bridge, Doneatha finally comes back to her for a briefing over their guest. Myosha controls her body language and pulls her commander off to the side.
“Her name is Kreysta and she’s not from our region of space, but she hasn’t revealed exactly aware. She’s not from around here both in time and space. She’s been locked in some sort of hyper-sleep by her ship, and she never told me if the ship woke her up or she woke up on her own.”
Taking a sip of her tea, she finds the strength to continue.
“She has an interesting perspective on the Cylons from what little she’s seen, and it can really rile you up if you don’t have an open mind. She is from a higher technological level than us, that I believe, but I’ve seen no physical proof. And more importantly, we’re not the first humans she’s had contact with. She’s wearing her veil because of her prior contact with humans went badly, or at least that’s what I feel.”
Pacing in front of Doneatha, she gnaws on her lower lip and finally stops to address her commander.
“Have you ever got the feeling you were being tested? Not physically, but morally and ethically? That’s how I felt when talking to her. She told me some personal details about herself, and I think she’s testing my character on how much I’ll reveal to you, my superior.”
Taken back by her revelation, Commander Florus sits back and ponders her words before speaking.
“Do you see any tactical or strategic value to telling me right now?”
Myosha spends a minute chewing on her inner lip.
“I see a tactical and long term strategic value in establishing a rapport with her, here and now. Something is telling me to gain and maintain her trust; and if that means not sharing every tiny minute secret she told me, then I think we’ll be better off in the long run if she’s our ally.”
Nodding, Doneatha gently pats Myosha’s hand.
“Then proceed with your best judgement Colonel. If anything changes that it can or will affect your ship or crew, then I expect you to come to me immediately.”
She numbly nods in agreement.
“That is never going to be an issue Commander. Perhaps you should invite her to a private dinner with a couple of the executive officers and spend some time getting to know her? She might open up and tell us more. I think she got very talkative because she’s lonely with only her ship to talk to.”
Taken back, Doneatha nods and mulls over the idea.
As the clock ticks down the tempo on the bridge picks up and the cargo ship Coeus reports cargo download complete, the small fleet assumes their departure configuration. Departing first, the destroyers jump followed by the missile boat and cargo ships. Lastly the Titanica lumbers ahead and joins the fleet. As the fleet checks in to the battlestar, the all clear sounds and they roar towards the rendezvous coordinates.
Commander Florus suppresses her elation for linking up with a pair of battlestars. She assumed command of the Titanica, and she pondered if some admiral would strip her command upon seeing the aged trophy. Dismissing the thought, she reasoned that her feelings and pride should never take precedence over the necessities of war. As they approached the small field of asteroids surrounding the rogue planet Medusa, she orders the launch of Gold Swindler squad and three raptors to lead the fleet into the field. Doneatha feels a dreadful welling in the pit of her stomach as they enter a noticeably clear corridor through the field. As the minutes fly by, they travel a twisting path designed to limit the speed and volume of enemy craft which can enter at once. Despite the tactical superiority of the location, she couldn’t fight the feeling that something was off. Missile batteries should be lighting them up, and viper or raptor scouts should be verifying their identities. With complete silence at every turn, Doneatha knew things had turned horribly bad for the rogue colonial fleet assembled in this unlikely hiding place. After 25 minutes of twisting and turning, the horrific fate of the Third Gemenon Fleet was revealed. In what should have been a network of space stations, cruisers, and battlestars instead glowing masses of debris and wreckage is spread out in a large vacant area of space. Devoid of the protective asteroids, the area seemed miraculously vacant, and there was little fighter wreckage. Signaling the destroyers, she painfully speaks.
“I’m sorry Commander Gallion. Let’s assume a defensive posture and we’ll keep the FTLs spun up while we search for survivors and supplies. We’re sending our escape coordinates now.”
Doneatha can feel the remorse in his distant acknowledgement of her command.
Myosha found the heaviness of their duties stifling. With a round the clock salvage operation underway, the crews of the destroyers were getting a unique opportunity to train under the famous Red Demeter Salvage team. Techniques refined under years of past scrutiny and failures were thrust on the somber survivors of the Gemenon Fleet. Another small miracle occurred after the first few hours of salvage: survivors. It started with a dozen trapped in a blistered bulkhead, until they began to recover pilots knocked unconscious in their vipers and raptors. While Myosha franticly buzzed through the flight deck receiving the wounded and damaged craft, their bewildered guest approached her with a guard in tow. Stressed and exhausted, she tries to bury it enough to remain as cordial and welcoming as humanly possible. With a motioning of her hand, she has the guard wait a distance away as Kreysta speaks.
“I heard on the COM. I’m sorry. How is the recovery of survivors coming along?”
With her wits stretched to the breaking point she focuses on her clipboard, directing ships along and supplies to the storage bays.
“Sporadic at best. We find them as we search for supplies.”
Kreysta nods heavily.
“Don’t you have the technology to scan for them amongst the debris?”
With a ridiculous contortion of her face, she shakes her head.
“I wish! There’s so many bodies floating out there, we have to just leave them behind and keep searching.”
A surviving viper from the Poseidon is pulled along and Myosha directs it to the farthest available catapult. She glances up and watches Kreysta staring at the recovered ships and equipment buzzing by with what seems like tears in her eyes. She hears her inhale sharply, and she looks up to see her take a small communicator from her pocket. Barking out orders in an unknown language, she turns to Myosha as she finishes. A distinctive whine erupts from Kreysta’s ship and the running lights slowly ignite from front to rear. A massive armored plate retracts into the top of the ship, revealing the cockpit through a large pane of glass.
“Well, it appears I can finally offer my assistance.”
Pulling the portable airlocks out of storage in the Coeus, they attach them to a dozen raptors while Kreysta begins an exhaustive search of the debris field. As each raptor is ready, it jets out of the Titanica’s pod and is directed to the debris field. Breaking up into shifts, the salvage operation continues for three days until every intact nuclear missile is stowed and the fleet has exhausted every possibility of recovering survivors. Kreysta stayed in her seat piloting her ship for forty-nine hours until she was certain there were no more survivors to be found. When she returned, she informed Myosha she was going to sleep and she’d notify her when she woke. Jumping to their safe coordinates, they drudged aimlessly towards depot MR278, and the unforeseeable future.
Doneatha gathers all the commanders in her conference room, and seals the door. Opening up the colonial regulations and law books, she lays each open for the five surviving commanders to review. Doneatha clears her throat before addressing the leaders.
“We have an important decision to make before we arrive at MR278. By all accounts, we are the last free ships in the colonies. I’m sure there are more, but we need to become unified in our operations until we link up. We have several options available, but in my professional opinion, I believe we should regroup our command structure under the Maconian structure.”
Commander Tobber sighs wearily.
“I’d like to say for the record that only the Colonial Command can authorize a promotion to Admiral, but I do see the necessity to establish a proper chain of command. We cannot function effectively as long as we are six individual commanders.”
Commander Hemic, who was flipping through the regulations stops reading and brings the book down into the middle of the table. Pointing to a specific section, he booms out reciting the regulation.
“In the event forces are isolated from command and control for extended periods, leadership will establish and maintain a proper chain of command and continue the mission to the best of their abilities.
“Further more…
“Temporary combat promotions can be effected to maintain the leadership structure for command and operational purposes.”
“I believe assigning one of us as a temporary Admiral is both legal and essential to our success. We cannot act like it’s a political post, so once we determine who the Admiral is, we MUST ACT as if that person was assigned that rank and position by Colonial Command itself. Anything less and this won’t work.”
Commander Tobber immediately chimes in.
“And we must be unanimous on this! What we decide now cannot be undone. This person in all intents and purposes will be our Fleet officer until we link up with command or a more senior admiral is found. Period.”
Nodding in agreement, the officers pass weary glances around the table. Reviewing each of their career schools and courses, years of service, they finally agree on two candidates. As the four remaining officers dwell on the decision they must make, they lay the admiral ranks on the table confounded by the task at hand. They drift between service records and career accomplishments. An uneasy silence descends as the two candidates sit in a corner of the room discussing the best way to deal with their supply issues. The four commanders stare at each other exhausted. Three hours pass, until they sit quietly staring at the Admiral shoulder ranks. As they try to reengage the subject, they jerk suddenly as the rank begins to slide across the table by its own accord. All breathing stops as they watch the rank slides effortlessly across the table. Command Hemic glances under the table, then back to the top terrified. They quietly watch the rank slide across the personnel files, first Commander Tobber’s, then onto Commander Florus’s. In terrified amazement, the rank comes to rest and stops. Looking at each other, they finally breathe and sit back. None of them want to be the first to break the silence, and the tension signals Doneatha and Commander Hemic to turn back to the table. Nodding to each other, Doneatha tentatively addresses them.
“Are we done?”
- 5
- 6
- 7
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Battlestar Titanica